Guardians of Ga'Hoole 11 - To Be a King

Prologue
    “Nachtmagen!” The word hung in the air treacherous, insidious.
    “Do you really think so, Coryn?” Gylfie asked. “Do you think that nachtmagen has seeped back into our world with the ember?”
    The six owls peered down at the latticed iron box that contained the glowing Ember of Hoole. It was less than the cycle of one moon since Coryn had retrieved the ember from the fires of the volcano Dunmore in Beyond the Beyond to become the rightful heir to the throne of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. Good Coryn, noble Coryn. But now the owls were shocked as Coryn spoke of this bad magic, this nachtmagen from the ancient times that threatened to destroy the owl world. Through the latticework of the box, they could see the ember’s orange glow with the lick of blue in its center ringed in green. It seemed to pulsate, to breathe.
    For several long nights and days the six knightly owls of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree had been reading the ancient volumes that contained the legends of Ga’Hoole. On his deathbed, Ezylryb, their beloved teacher, had instructed them to read these secret books that he had hidden away in his hollow.
    “Ezylryb meant to warn us,” Digger said.
    “But I don’t understand,” Gylfie protested. She was perched on the shoulder of the Great Gray, Twilight. “We were just getting to the good part. The Great Ga’Hoole Tree and the good magic that made it grow.”
    Soren sighed and felt a bit of a tremor in his gizzard. “I am sure the ember brings much good. But we know that good and evil can exist side by side.”
    “Soren is right,” Otulissa said. “Evil may cloak itself as good, and good can sometimes appear to be evil. They know each other’s ways.”
    Coryn looked closely at Otulissa. The Spotted Owl had been his mentor in the Beyond. He trusted her greatly, but even he was surprised at how fairly she had described what he sensed were the dangers of the ember. Had King Hoole himself been aware of the perils of the ember? Had he been able to vanquish the evil? The nachtmagen? Perhaps they would learn from this last book of the legends. He turned to Soren. “Uncle Soren, let us begin the third legend.”
    Soren swept one wing over the mouse-leather cover of the ancient volume. A puff of dust swirled into the air. The tarnished gold letters seemed to shine in the glow of the coal that was set nearby. In large letters were the words: THE LEGENDS OF GA’HOOLE. And then written smaller were four words — TO BE A KING.

CHAPTER ONE
A Great Tree
    I t matters not who I am, only that I tell the rest of the tale…
    Hoole flew on, a simple knight among knights. No crown, no kingly trappings. He wore only his battle claws and, from his starboard claw, hung a crude metal container. In it glowed the mysterious coal that he had retrieved from the boiling lava of the volcano Dunmore in the Beyond. The heat from that ember, though strong, was not as intense as another, more illusive power that seemed to emanate from its depths. How odd, Hoole thought. The ember had drained Grank of energy and caused the powerful old owl to succumb to an overwhelming lethargy of mind and body. But this was not the case for Hoole. Indeed, it was quite the opposite. He felt a new strength that almost frightened him and with it came a taste for vengeance. Vengeance for his mother’s death, for his father’s murder, vengeance for all the ruin and desecration that Lord Arrin and hishagsfiends had brought to a once-great kingdom. Hoole felt a deep unwelcome movement in his gizzard. Vengeance could be a distraction. And worse, vengeance was the elixir of tyrants. Creatures had been driven mad by vengeance.
    On his port wing, Hoole was flanked by Grank, his mentor and foster father, and, on his starboard wing, by his two best friends: tiny Phineas, a Pygmy Owl, and Theo, a Great Horned. Behind them flew scores of owls and beneath them boiled a tempestuous sea. Through the sea’s cresting waves an island broke and on that island a great tree loomed. It was the most immense tree any of the owls had ever seen. It soared out of the clouds as if to scrape the moon and fling some of its silver to make a path for the owls to follow, for a thickening fog began to swirl that obscured the sea itself. But the mist turned pearly and a luminous glow surrounded the island. Did this light come from the moon? The stars? Or the glowing ember the young king named Hoole clutched in his battle-clawed talons? Once again, the power of this