Guardians of Ga'Hoole 08 - The Outcast

uncivilized. A great thing is happening this evening. A prophecy is coming true. There is a young owl about to retrieve the Ember of Hoole.”
    Stunned silence fell upon the hollow of the parliament. Never had Soren expected this. Never in a thousand years. But then again, according to the legend, that was exactly how long ago good King Hoole had reburied the ember and then passed on to glaumora.
    “At the moment the ember is his, we shall die. So it is writ.” Barran’s voice was growing more frail by the second. “Yes, you shall miss us, but do not mourn us. This is a great and happy occasion…Our…” She fought for a breath.
    “Our business…” Boron now spoke and in a thin voice finished the sentence, “on Earth…is finished. Glaux bless you all.” Both owls took one last breath and died. Therewas a slight wind in the parliament hollow as their spirits passed over.
    The final ceremonies took place immediately. Soren returned to his hollow. His mate, a lovely young Barn Owl named Pellimore, or Pelli, was sitting on the clutch of eggs. Soren had rescued Pellimore from a fire in Ambala the previous summer. It hadn’t exactly been love at first sight, because Pelli had struggled fiercely, thinking Soren was a Pure One. What had it taken to convince her that he was not? A recitation from the Fire Cycle. He would never forget her response. “Quite an appropriate choice, considering the situation we’re in.” Trees full of sap were exploding all around them. Soren had admired first her courage in trying to fight him off, and secondly her cool answer in the midst of the very hot fire. So their friendship began as a literary one. She knew the legends by heart, but she did not know how to read. He taught her, and she learned quickly. They spent many hours in the library together poring over books, and their passion for books had slowly turned into a passion for each other.
    “Any action?” Soren asked upon arriving in their hollow.
    “No,” Pelli said and shook her head.
    “Want me to sit for a while?”
    “No. I want you to go figure out whatever it is that is bothering you.”
    “Why do you think something’s bothering me, Pelli?”
    “Soren, I can always tell when you’re bothered. You have this odd little habit of fussing with your port plummels. Now tell me what it is.”
    “It’s just that when Boron and Barran were dying, Barran said, ‘At the moment the ember is his, we shall die. So it is writ.’ But I can’t find anything like it in any of the legends or the cantos. It makes me think that something is happening or about to happen.”
    At just this moment, Mrs. Plithiver slithered in. “Why, I think you’re half snake, Soren, with your forebodings.” Blind snakes were known for their refined sensibilities. “I have a feeling, too, that something very important is about to happen. The heat of that ember seems close. You two fly up to the crown of the tree. I’ll nest-sit for you.”
    Soren knew there was no arguing with Mrs. P. or doubting her instincts.
    “But Mrs. P.,” Pelli protested.
    “Quick, off that nest.”
    Mrs. Plithiver slid onto the nest and arranged herself in a wide spreading coil so she could cover each of the three eggs. How far they had all come together, she mused. The fir tree in the forest of Tyto seemed a lifetime ago.Soren, a new hatchling then, had been pushed from the nest by his brother. Now look at him, about to be a father of three little girl chicks. Yes, Mrs. P. knew that in these eggs were three feisty little females.
    Soren and Pelli joined Ezylryb at the top of the tree. It was a dark moonless night.
    “Welcome,” Ezylryb said.
    “Good evening, Ezylryb,” Pelli replied. “Good evening, Octavia,” she said to the fat greenish-blue snake that was suspended from a branch.
    “How’re the eggs coming?” Octavia asked.
    “Coming, Octavia, coming,” Ezylryb fussed at his old friend and nest-maid snake. “Eggs are completely boring until they hatch out, if you ask me.”
    “I didn’t ask you. So, in your own words, why don’t you put a mouse in it?” Octavia and Ezylryb enjoyed bickering. Even though they were owl and snake, they squabbled like an old couple, mates of the same species.
    Soren was silent. His eyes were fixed on the dark horizon across the sea. There was something out there. A dim little pinprick of light. Was he the only one seeing it? He thought he could see colors. He spread his wings and lofted himself into