Guardians of Ga'Hoole 03 - The Rescue

ones.”
    “Yes,” Soren said slowly. “Now try and tell us more, Eglantine.”
    “Well, they hated music. Music was forbidden.”
    “Why was that?”
    “I’m not sure, but for some reason we all craved music. They said we weren’t working out.”
    “What did they mean by that?” Gylfie asked.
    “I don’t know.” Eglantine cocked her head quickly in one direction and then the other, in the way young owls often did when they were confused or disturbed.
    “Do you remember anything about the place you were in or how you got there?” Soren pressed.
    “Not really.”
    “Was it a forest?” Digger asked.
    “No.”
    “Was it a deep stone pit?” said Gylfie, remembering thebleak stone prison of St. Aggie’s that spread itself through rock gulches and canyons with nary a tree or a blade of grass.
    “There was stone. Most definitely there was stone like the stones of the rogue smith’s forge in Silverveil, all carefully carved and stacked into walls.” Eglantine blinked, and blinked again as if trying to see an image, an image dim and faded and steeped in shadows.
    Soren suddenly had an idea. Last summer, Eglantine had started to shake, to have her fit, and then she remembered who she was when she had seen the fragment of the isinglass on Trader Mags’ cloth. Just seeing the sliver of isinglass had jolted her out of her stunned state. And then all the owls from the Downing started clamoring to hear the music, for, indeed, Madame Plonk had just started harp practice. The owls of the Great Downing had been frantic to get to the music. And it did seem to restore them.
    “Gylfie.” Soren turned to the little Elf Owl. “Don’t you have some isinglass from Trader Mags?”
    “Yes, I was going to string it into a whirlyglass, but I haven’t had the time. It’s almost all strung but just not hung together yet.”
    “May I have a piece for a minute?” Soren asked.
    “Certainly,” Gylfie replied.
    Just as Soren was picking up a string with sparkling pieces of the mica stone, the noonday sun flared into the hollow. Eglantine turned and gasped and her eyes fastened on the bits of glass that Soren held. Slowly, the colored spots of light dappled the air and the dancing colors spread across her brother’s pure white face. “You look just like the stained glass windows in the castle,” Eglantine said softly.
    “A castle!” the other four owls exclaimed.
    “Yes,” Eglantine said. “When we first got there, we thought it was so beautiful, even though it was in ruins with many of the walls down and just parts of others standing, but we soon learned.” Eglantine was talking now in a dreamy voice as if she were in some kind of a trance. “It was beautiful but there was ugliness, too. They called themselves the Pure Ones and, at first, they seemed kind. They wanted to teach us to worship Tytos because they said we were the purest of the pure of all the owls, and that is why we spoke the praising songs. But it wasn’t at all the way that Mum and Da used to read to us, Soren. No, not at all. I mean, you remember how Mum would try to hum a little tune and almost sing. We could not do that. They wanted nothing to do with music. They thought music was like poison.” It reminded Soren of St. Aggie’s, wherequestions were thought to be poison and the worst punishments were reserved for those who asked questions.
    “But it was the one they called the High Tyto ,” Eglantine continued, “he was the worst. He never said much. But he was so frightening. He wore a kind of mask, and they said his beak had been torn off in a battle.” Then Eglantine realized what she had just said and fell into a faint.
    “Metal Beak!” they all whispered in terror.
    Gylfie immediately began flying over Eglantine, wafting drafts of air down upon her face to revive her. Twilight also tried, but his wings churned the air so violently that Eglantine was practically lifted off the floor of the hollow.
    Eglantine’s eyes blinked open. “My goodness, I fainted, didn’t I?” Then she looked up at Soren as she staggered to her feet.
    “Take it easy now, little one,” Twilight said. “You’ve just had a bad fright.”
    “No, no I’m fine. I’m really fine. I feel so much better. But just imagine—I came face-to-face with Metal Beak. It’s all coming back to me now. He was the one who hated music the most. He thought it was impure. In fact, he thought any owl who was not a Tyto alba was a little less than completely pure.