Guardians of Ga'Hoole 08 - The Outcast

flight.
    “Soren, where are you going?” Pelli called out.
    Ezylryb put a gentle wing on her. “Let him go. This is fitting, Pelli. He should be the one to greet him.”
    “Greet who? I can’t see anything out there.”
    “But Soren does. He sees the first glimmer of the ember, as well he should.”
    Soren flew into the gusting winds. With each stroke, the ember glowed more intensely. It was a beautiful thing, just as it had been described in the legends. It seemed to draw Soren forward. He had never felt such joy coursing through him. He could now just make out the shape of the three owls. One was definitely Otulissa. One flew like a Masked Owl, and the third one in between them seemed to fly like a Barn Owl. Soren listened more carefully, contracting the muscles in his facial disk to scoop up the sounds. Yes, the heartbeat, too, sounded like that of a Barn Owl.
    Closer and closer they came. The rest of the world seemed to fade away for Soren. The sea hushed, the winds died. He heard nothing except the wing beat of the Barn Owl. The Barn Owl flew so softly. It reminded him of the way his mum and da had flown years and years ago. That he could even remember such sounds was astounding. But the wing beats of this owl were identical. And then, at last, the owl’s face was in view. First, he noticed the Ember of Hoole clutched in its beak, glowing beautifully in all ofits orange and blue, yellow and green splendor. And then he felt a little jolt as he saw the scar running down the owl’s face. But that was nothing. That was only the outside of the owl. When he listened more closely, he could hear the fine pulses of a decent gizzard, the beats not only of his wings but of a generous heart. And now Soren knew who it was. It was an owl born of tyrants, but with the heart and the gizzard and the mind of his grandparents. This was a noble owl.
    Coryn dropped the ember into the bucket that Gwyndor held. Soren met them in midair and lofted down off Otulissa’s starboard side. Otulissa spoke. “Soren, this is your nephew, Coryn, King of Ga’Hoole.”
    “Uncle Soren, I am honored.”
    Soren’s eyes filled with tears as he dropped in next to his nephew and they continued to fly. “No, I am honored. You have done what no other owl could imagine doing. More miraculous even than retrieving the Ember of Hoole.”
    Coryn blinked.
    “You who were born into evil found good. You who were raised in tyranny sought equality. You who were schooled in brutality learned only mercy. You who were taught the dishonorable discovered honor. You who were nurtured on the poison of the most ignobleowls in the world are most noble. You are my nephew and my king.”
    “And you are my uncle and my hero. But I still have much to learn. So I would also have you as my steward. You must carry the ember with me to the great tree.”
    Gwyndor then passed the two owls the bucket, and the king and his uncle flew forth.
    As they flew on toward the tree, the owls perched in its limbs, waiting, saw a strange sight. Two Barn Owls flew toward them, each with a talon on a collier’s bucket, but as they approached, the bucket seemed to become translucent as if it were made of glass. And the Ember of Hoole shined brightly through it. Indeed, the glow from the coal bathed the whole tree in its colors. It was as if a rain of embers had illuminated the entire island. Eglantine could hold herself back no longer. She flew out to greet her nephew and her brother.
    “Welcome to the great tree, Your Majesty. I am your aunt Eglantine.”
    “Then I must call you aunt and you must call me Coryn.” Eglantine blinked. “Yes, Coryn sounds fine to me. I might be king, but all my life, all I have really wanted to be is a Guardian of Ga’Hoole.”
    “Well, then, Coryn, come and follow me,” Eglantine replied.
    At that moment, Otulissa looked up and saw a gathering of glowing vapor in the sky. The spots shimmered brightly. She flew right up to her old leader.
    “I believe, Strix Struma! I believe in you.”
    “Yes, dear. And what a fine night it is. It is a night for heroes and young kings. And now my business on Earth is finished.”
    “I believe…I believe…I believe,” Otulissa kept whispering as she hovered, and the scroom of Strix Struma dissolved in the night to find her spirit trail to glaumora.
    And all the owls of the great tree that night believed, as well. They believed that there were many kinds of truths, those of science that could be proven