Guardians of Ga'Hoole 02 - The Journey

dreaded teatime. If it was like yesterday, Twilight would be bragging about his power dives and reverse spiral twists. Gylfie and Digger would both be talking about how exciting their practices were, and he, Soren, would have nothing to say. Maybe he would skip tea. Just as he was having this thought, Bubo waddled over to him.
    “It gets better, Soren. It really does. I know this is tough for you. It wasn’t the chaw that you wanted, but it’s reallyan honor—double chawed and all. I think you’re the first Barn Owl ever to be. Come on now, lad. Come with me. Take tea in the forge. I got some fresh moles, you can have them raw or smoked—whatever takes your fancy, and Cook made a nice milkberry tart.”
    So Soren followed Bubo into a cave not far from the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, which served as both Bubo’s forge and home. Soren had never been in Bubo’s cave before and, once one went deep enough into the cave to escape the heat, it was quite comfortable—all fitted up with moleskin rugs and a surprising number of books. Soren had never taken Bubo for a bookish sort of owl.
    He could not help but think of the dying Barred Owl’s cave and wondered if that owl had been a blacksmith. But a blacksmith for what? That owl had lived completely alone in those woods. Somehow Soren didn’t feel comfortable talking to Bubo about the Barred Owl because it made him think of “you only wish.”
    “What’s this?” Soren said as he spotted a contraption dangling from the ceiling of the cave. It had bright-colored things swirling about, catching the reflections of the many lit candles. As the bright bits swirled, they cast spots of color all over the cave.
    “Ah, me whirlyglass. Plonk helped put it together for me.”
    “Madame Plonk?” Soren couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. He had never heard anyone refer to her as simply “Plonk.”
    “Oh, yeah, Plonk and me go back—way back.” He winked his eye. Soren wondered if Bubo was part of Madame Plonk’s book about her life and fabulous times. “She’s got a special relationship with Mags so she can get me lots of bits of glass.” Bubo shoved a cup of milkberry tea over to Soren and a morsel of mole. “You know, when you start flying weather with Ezylryb, he won’t let you eat meat cooked. He likes you to eat it raw with the fur on it. Says you can’t fly into a blizzard or a hurricane with burnt-up meat in your gut and nothing for your gizzard to grind.”
    “Oh,” said Soren. “But who’s Mags?”
    “Oh, dear me, ain’t you never heard of Trader Mags?” Soren shook his head. “I forget, you only just got here a bit ago, didn’t you, and Mags, I guess, she hasn’t been here since summer.”
    Bubo pointed a talon at the whirlyglass. “Those bright pieces came from what was called a window in something called a church.”
    “Churches!” Soren exclaimed. “I know about them. And that’s stained glass from their windows! Barn Owls used to live in churches.”
    “Certainly did. Some still do, live in churches and barns as well, and even castles.”
    “Castles—what’s a castle?”
    “Well, it ain’t a church and it ain’t a barn, but it’s a big old fancy thing made from big stones, towers, walls, one of them things that the Others made.”
    Soren had heard of the Others but he was never exactly sure what the Others were, except that they definitely were not owls, or birds, or really any other living thing that he had ever seen. And, for that matter, they were no longer living. They were creatures from long, long ago, maybe in the time of the first Glaux. Glaux was the most ancient order of owls from which all other owls descended.
    “Castles,” Soren said dreamily. “Sounds exciting, beautiful—very grand.”
    “Oh, grand indeed. But you ask me, no owl, Barn Owl or not, belongs in a church or a barn or a castle. Better life in a tree.”
    “But you live in a cave.”
    “That’s different.”
    “I don’t see why.”
    Bubo squinted one eye at Soren as if studying him more closely. “Got a lively mind, don’t you, lad?”
    “I don’t know.” Soren shrugged self-consciously.
    Then, as if trying to change the direction of the conversation, Bubo said abruptly, “Don’t you want to know about glass?” Soren nodded again. “Well,” continued Bubo, “the churches and castles, they have these windows made of glass and they colored the glass.”
    “Oh, I read about that in a book in the library.”
    “Yes, they made