Guardians of Ga'Hoole 08 - The Outcast

all these years. We waited for the right owl. Now the kingship has been restored. We are released from our duties at the Sacred Ring until, upon your death, the ember must be buried again. The prophecy of great King Hoole has come true, and after our lifetimes of service, we may choose to be anything we want or dare. We have all chosen to remain as wolves, to serve you, King Coryn, but we have also chosen to regain what we had lost. Our twisted limbs have been straightened. Our eyes are restored, our tails made whole once more. But we shall always be prepared to come to your aid, good King Coryn, always. That is our pledge.”
    “And I vow to protect you and lead you with all thewisdom and fairness that Glaux has given me. To be merciful and kind and just to all. To never fight for a wrongful cause. This I pledge.”
    Then all the wolves and owls on that edge of the Beyond, which swirled with sparks and leaped with flames, bowed down to Coryn. They had wanted him to wear a crown of finely incised bones, but he refused. Otulissa and Gwyndor watched from the side as Fengo urged him to take the crown.
    “No, I need no crown,” Coryn said good-naturedly. Then Otulissa began to whisper to herself the ancient words from the legends of Ga’Hoole: “And what was known of this owl was that he inspired other owls to great and noble deeds and that although he wore no crown of gold, the owls knew him as a king, for indeed his good grace and conscience anointed him and his spirit was his crown.” She then turned to Coryn. “It’s time for us to leave.” Coryn blinked. A look of confusion filled his eyes. “To the great tree, Coryn.” She gave him a searching look. “You know that is where the ember belongs now. And where you belong.”
    Coryn felt a joyous trembling in his gizzard as he never had before. It flooded through him. He felt as if he were shimmering inside. “To the great tree,” he whispered. “Finally, to the great tree!”
    Before he left the Beyond, Coryn sought out both Hamish and Gyllbane to bid them farewell in private.
    “Hamish, you befriended me from almost my first day here. I shall never forget you as long as I live.”
    “Nor I you. But now you are king. Your Majesty.”
    “No, please, we owls are not like wolves. We do not have these complicated orders of rank, custom, and tradition. You must still call me Coryn.”
    “If it pleases you.” But instinctively the yearling wolf began to lower himself to the ground.
    “No, Hamish, please don’t. You must be my friend first and always.”
    Coryn then turned to Gyllbane. “I see the sadness in your eyes.”
    “Does it show that much?” the wolf asked.
    Coryn nodded. “You have now lost a child for no reason. There is no Sacred Watch for him to serve in.”
    “I have lost a child and a clan but gained a friend and a king.”
    “Would you not consider coming to the great tree? You are both strong swimmers. You could cross Hoolemere.”
    Both wolves shook their heads. “We are wolves of the Beyond, Coryn,” Hamish said. “No matter what, thisis where we belong. But if you ever need us, we shall come.”
    “Coryn,” Otulissa called down from an ice perch. “We must be going.”
    “Good-bye, friends,” Coryn said. They were all three weeping now. Coryn spread his wings and lofted into flight. Once more, he flew around the Sacred Ring with the coal in his talons and then, flanked by Otulissa and Gwyndor, he headed away from the star Never Moves, on a course south and east toward the Island of Hoole in the middle of the west Sea of Hoolemere where the Great Ga’Hoole Tree grew.
    It was a fine night for flying. Coryn knew that although he was flying away from those he loved, he was at last flying toward something for which his heart and his gizzard had always yearned.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Uncle Soren and the King
    A shadow had descended on the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. It was the shadow of death. The great harp had remained silent for days now. Madame Plonk’s sister, the Rogue smith of Silverveil, had been murdered. And now Boron and Barran lay gravely ill.
    “First Madame Plonk’s sister and now this!” Audrey, one of the blind nest-maid snakes, commiserated with Mrs. Plithiver and Hilda.
    “Oh, there goes Soren, I feel his wing beats,” Mrs. Plithiver exclaimed. The nest-maid snakes were sunning themselves on this late autumn day in the time of the Copper-Rose Rain, when the milkberries turn their most gorgeous hues. It was