Guardians of Ga'Hoole 03 - The Rescue

fire. On one of the walls, a new set of battle claws and a helm hung. Soren could see that the work was very fine, every bit as good as Bubo’s.
    “It used to be a walled garden. At least, that’s what I think. Maybe part of a castle.”
    “The Others?” Soren asked.
    “Oh, you know about the Others do you?” the smith asked.
    “Just a little, from the books in the library when I was reading about castles and churches and barns. Being a Barn Owl, it interested me. I just know that they were creatures from long, long ago, and they weren’t owls or birds or like any other animals we’ve ever seen.”
    “That they warn’t. Did you know that not only did they not have wings or feathers, but that they had two long sticks for legs that were just for walking.”
    “That’s all?” Digger said. This, of course, interested him, being a Burrowing Owl who walked as well as he flew. But he certainly preferred having the option to do either one. “How did they get along?”
    “Not that well, apparently. They’re gone now. In addition to no feathers, they didn’t have fur.”
    “Well, no wonder they didn’t last,” Twilight snorted.
    “Rocks, they had rocks,” the Snowy said.
    “Rocks? What can you do with a rock?” Twilight muttered.
    “Plenty,” the Snowy replied. “They built with them—castles, walled gardens.”
    “Why would anyone want to wall in a garden?” Digger asked, thinking of the lovely gardens that were planted around the Great Ga’Hoole Tree that seemed to meet up in a seamless way with the ferns and wildflowers of the forest.
    “Don’t ask me,” the Snowy said.
    The Snowy had begun to lay out some freshly killed voles and a couple of ground squirrels.
    She chuckled to herself as if she had discovered something terribly amusing and a light drift of coal dust sprinkled down on her face.
    “So it’s hard for you all to believe that I am the famous Madame Plonk’s sister, eh?”
    “To put it mildly,” Gylfie replied.
    “She’s a good soul but she’s very different from me. We were born, my sister and I, deep in the Northern Kingdoms, far beyond the Ice Narrows, on the eastern coast of the Everwinter Sea. Some say that is where Snowy Owls originated. But there were others up there. Your teacher Ezylryb came from an island near where I was born. And he’s a Screech Owl. Anyhow, there was always a lot of fightingup in those parts. Warring clans. The fiercest warriors came out of the region of the Everwinter Sea. My father and my mother being two of them. But despite their warlike ways, my parents were artists, and for generations the line of Plonk singers were renowned. For thousands of years in every community, in every kingdom, there has been a Plonk singer. But the singer for the Great Ga’Hoole Tree is an inherited position and it is given to only one Snowy in each generation—the one considered the finest. Well, that was my sister, Brunwella. I could have lived with that, but what I couldn’t live with was my stepmother.
    “After my mum was killed in the Battle of the Ice Talons—the last battle in the War of the Ice Claws—my da found a new mate, a horrible old Snowy. She treated me like seagull splat. And, of course, fussed over my sister because my sister was going to be the singer for the great tree. I had to leave. Even Brunwella saw that it was impossible for me to continue in the hollow. My father, however, was besotted with this female. She could do no wrong. I wasn’t sure where to go. For some reason, I felt it was important for me not only to get as far away as possible from my family but to take up a whole new line of work. My voice wasn’t bad. But not nearly as good as that of most Plonks which, of course, meant it was a lot better thananyone else’s. But I wanted no part of it. And I wasn’t as lovely-looking as my sister. I was given to gray scale, which made for unsightly splotches where the feathers fell off. As a matter of fact, my stepmother used to call me ‘Splotch.’”
    “How mean!” Gylfie said. “What is your real name?”
    Will she say what it is? Soren thought. He looked at her closely.
    “My true name?”
    “Yes,” Gylfie said in a barely audible voice. It was as if she sensed she had ventured into forbidden territory.
    “That is for me to know, and only me.”
    But what about your sister? Soren thought. Doesn’t she know your true name? And what is the difference between a true name and a real name? Is there a