Guardians of Ga'Hoole 10 - The Coming of Hoole

owl, a graymalkin, who would not slip into leth-argy as Grank had but sink to profound evil.
    But, Grank thought, was Hoole that owl of both goodness and power? Was his power such that he would be neither vanquished by it nor use it for tyranny or nachtmagen? And even if Hoole were such a good owl, as Grank suspected, it was not a given that he would know how to use the power wisely and with compassion. For this, an owl must be prepared, raised in the way of Ga’. So far, he had tried his best, but was it good enough?
    Grank thought about all this as he tried to sleep in the growing light of the morning. Failure to do his proper duty by Hoole was unacceptable, unthinkable. Forget courtly behavior with all its affectations. How could he have ever worried about such trivialities with Hoole? He must raise a prince to be a king. A king must be tempered like metal. He thought of how Theo worked with the metals in the forge for the battle claws. He heated the metal until it was white-hot and then hammered it, then folded it and hammered it again. Through this constant cycle of heating and hammering and folding, he made claws that were strong yet flexible. That was how a prince must be tempered to be a king. Strong enough for any battlefield, any war, but tempered with compassion and wisdom so that he knows the richness of restraint, the fruitfulness of peace, and the grace of mercy. And just such a king was now desperately needed.
    By noon, as streaks of sun washed into the hollow where they slept, Grank gave up on sleep and wandered out in search of a vole, or perhaps a weasel.
    He had flown over one of the few meadows in the region and looked for the tracks of a ground animal in the tall grass. He found one and began to follow it and did not notice that it led right into the pale trees of thespirit woods before it dwindled to nothing. He sighed deeply for now he was truly hungry, having anticipated a plump rat or rabbit or vole at the end of the track. He jerked his head quickly as he heard a sigh as if in answer to his own. It couldn’t be an echo. There was nothing in this place to create an echo. He had alighted on a bare mound where the path had ended. Surely a weasel or mole or whatever rodent he had been chasing did not sigh. But he heard it again. A sound not so much like a sigh but a ragged expiration of breath. He stood perfectly still, his feathers becoming flatter and flatter against his body. He saw something in the tree ahead of him, gathering like mist.
    It was H’rath—the scroom of H’rath. He was thankful that at least it was he in these woods and not Hoole. He had never encountered a scroom before, but his grandmother had, and she had told him that one must wait for the scroom to speak. She’d told him it was not like speaking at all but that the words seemed to fill your head. It was a very peculiar way of hearing and communicating. And it was incomplete. The scrooms could rarely tell you everything, though they seemed to know what was going on in your own mind. So much so that when one was communing with a scroom, one barely had to form thequestion before the scroom sensed it. Grank stared at the scroom of H’rath and a sadness seeped into his gizzard.
    Don’t be sad, Grank.
    It is you, Your Majesty?
    Just H’rath. We no longer need titles once gone.
    Grank felt himself float and rise toward the limb on which the mist had gathered. And yet when he looked down he saw his body still standing there on the mound.
    Have you seen him? Grank thought, but did not actually speak the words.
    Yes, he is indeed something to behold.
    I am trying, H’rath. Doing all I can to raise him to be a great king like you.
    I was a good king, but never a great king. I did not have Ga’.
    But he might?
    I can’t answer…
    What can I do for him? If he does have the seeds of great Ga’, how can I nourish them?
    I am not sure. I have feelings but no real answers…But…but…you must urge him to…Yes! To look for the channels.
    Channels? Channels of what?
    In the flames, Grank, in the flames.
    The mist began to seep away. H’rath…H’rath…don’t leave.
    “Don’t leave!” It was his own voice shouting aloud that brought him out of the strange trance. He looked down. He was exactly where he had been: on the mound, his talons firmly digging into the earth. He looked up and blinked where the mist had gathered, where he had floated and spoken to the shape that was H’rath. But there was nothing there.