Guardians of Ga'Hoole 04 - The Siege

Grank, the first collier, was hatched. This was the time when a few special owls discovered that fire could be tamed.
    And in another hollow, Martin repeated to himself a short piece from the weather sagas about an owl that, just as Martin once had, plunged to the bottom of the sea to be rescued, not by a seagull as Martin had been, but by a passing whale.
    Otulissa tried to sleep, but she had failed, as had the others. Her head now swirled with so many thoughts. There was so much to know, to learn—and to unlearn! Soren had been right. She couldn’t appear too knowledgeable about the Northern Kingdoms. And then there was her portion of the Ga’Hoolian cycle to know, which one could never learn well enough. On that her very life, her gizzard, her mind depended.
    There was no sense even trying to sleep, she thought. She untucked the book Ezylryb had given her from where she had stashed it deep in the moss and down of her nest bed. She would read just one or two pages. Reading did ease her mind. It always had, always would. She was just about to turn the page when suddenly a voice oozed into the milky light of the hollow.
    “Caught you!” Otulissa’s gizzard seemed to drop to her talons. It was Dewlap. The Burrowing Owl had poked her head into the hollow through the sky port, blocking the mid-afternoon sun, so that shadows spilled across the floor. She beckoned with a talon at the end of her long, featherless leg. “Come here, immediately, and bring that book!”
    “B-b-b-but, but…” Otulissa stammered.
    “No buts.”
    Otulissa got up shakily and moved toward the sky port. Dewlap snatched the book.
    “But you don’t understand,” Otulissa said. “Ezylryb…”
    “I understand perfectly. More than you think. Now, you follow me, missy. I have a special flint mop for you.”
    Otulissa didn’t know what to do. She could hardly tell Dewlap that within two hours she was supposed to go to the cliffs on the far side of the island to meet the others for a top secret mission. She knew that Ezylryb was fast asleep in his hollow, and it was always strictly forbidden to wakehim up. What would happen if she simply refused to fly after Dewlap? But that, too, might raise a fracas. In no way could she jeopardize the mission. It was unthinkable. So the Spotted Owl followed the old Burrowing Owl. And as she followed her, she could not help but notice what a miserable flier this ryb was.
    Burrowing Owls, of all the owls, were the least skillful and the weakest fliers. They were known, however, for their superior abilities in walking and even running over all sorts of terrain on the ground. Dewlap was the worst flier Otulissa had ever seen. She lacked silence and balance as she flew. Her strokes were rough and feeble. She rarely got any significant lift from them and when she carved a turn, it was a complete mess. And she was attempting to fly while still holding in her talons the book she had snatched from Otulissa.
    Otulissa thought she knew where Dewlap was leading her; to another side of the island, about as far away as could be from the cliffs from which they were supposed to take off on their mission. This was a favorite flint-mop site. The cliffs here were not very high. There was a small beach below, where seaweed drifted up, sometimes accompanied by dead fish or pellets yarped by owls as they flew over Hoolemere. The dead fish, the pellets, and the seaweed were extremely rich in nutrients that benefitedthe tree if properly buried at its base. So groups were often sent on collection trips. This was obviously the flint mop that Dewlap had selected for Otulissa.
    Well, Otulissa thought, perhaps if I work quickly, I can get it over with and still be on time. But before she even began, Dewlap insisted that Otulissa go kill a vole for her, as she was hungry. The young owl did this promptly and dropped it at the Burrowing Owl’s talons, which were placed protectively on the book.
    “That’s a nice vole,” Dewlap said in that oozy voice of hers. Otulissa did not respond. “You’re a bit angry, I suppose.” Otulissa would not even give her the satisfaction of looking at her. She immediately flew down to the beach and began collecting seaweed and salt-soaked pellets.
    The sky had turned a dusky purple. It was a weak light at the end of one of the short, winter days. The world would soon enough be plunged into darkness. In the winter, First Black seemed to drop suddenly and sharply like a stone blade from the sky,