Guardians of Ga'Hoole 11 - To Be a King

ember gave Hoole pause. What were its limits? What was the reach of its light?
    Hoole came fresh from the great Battle in the Beyond against the forces of Lord Arrin and his hagsfiends. Lord Arrin was the usurper of the N’yrthghar, and slayer of King H’rath, Hoole’s father. Then in the Battle in the Beyond, Hoole’s mother, Queen Siv, had been slain aswell. Though Hoole and the H’rathian Guard had won this last battle, Hoole’s gizzard twisted in the agony of loss that shadowed their triumph.
    But now was not the time for mourning. A new order was to begin on this night. Now more than ever, Hoole had to reclaim his father’s kingdom, oust the rebellious lords and their hideous hagsfiends. Even more important than this, he must rid the owl world of the poisonous nachtmagen that had begun to spread like some terrible disease. Until this time the cunning magic of the hagsfiends had been confined to the N’yrthghar. But for the first time hagsfiends had ventured into the S’yrthghar. Hoole dared not think what would happen if they stayed and increased. The magic they practiced was of the vilest sort.
    Hoole knew the ember had great powers, but would it help him think? Would it help him lead? For that, Hoole felt he must use his firesight; there were flames to be studied. There would be new plots, ominous alliances. Lord Arrin had been beaten into retreat but not yet destroyed, and the hagsfiends were roaming the world of owls. Suddenly, Hoole’s dire thoughts were interrupted by an excited shout.
    “The tree! The tree!” dozens of owls hooted. The branches seemed to reach out to embrace them, and from each branch slender vines hung down, stirred by a gentlebreeze. On the vines were berries the color of gold with just a touch of rose.
    Grank, battle weary and thinking that indeed he had grown old, suddenly felt a tingle in his gizzard. He blinked in amazement at the sight of this huge tree. How well he remembered when they passed over the island not even a moon cycle before on their way from the N’yrthghar to the Beyond and had lighted down for a rest. The island had been barren then, with nothing but scrub and rocks.
    Grank recalled how Hoole had stood apart, weeping for his mother, and how his tears had fallen on one tiny seedling just then sprouting from the barren soil. And how the tree began to grow at a miraculous rate.
    How odd, he thought now as he approached the tree. Its berries appear to be shaped like teardrops. The old Spotted Owl blinked again to clear his eyes.
    Hoole’s words flooded back to Grank as they flew through the gently swaying curtains of teardrop berries. “This is a good tree. It has…Ga’, Uncle Grank. Yes, Ga’!”
    Ga’ was that most elusive of all owl qualities. It literally meant “great spirit”; a spirit that somehow did not contain only all that is noble but all that is humble, as well.
    Hoole had been right in bringing them back to this tree and not directly to the N’yrthghar. It was not yet time to go north. All in due course…all in due course, thought Grank.
    Suddenly, there was a great din in Grank’s ear slits, a surging up of hoots and chimes, of hoo-hoos, woo-woos, and whoops. Every species of owl had its own particular way of hooting, but they were all crying out the same words: “The Great Ga’Hoole Tree! The Great Ga’Hoole Tree!”
    The young king swiveled his head and blinked in confusion at his mentor. “What is this?”
    Grank churred softly and replied, “They have named the tree Hoole.”
    “But—” Hoole started to say.
    “Yes, Great Spirit of Hoole. It is named for you, Hoole, and rightfully so.”

CHAPTER TWO
Just Plain Hoole?
    O utside the Great Ga’Hoole tree, a late summer storm raged and lightning peeled back the sky. But inside the tree, which still continued to grow but more slowly, all was dry and cozy. Even with the loudest claps of thunder, the immense tree hardly shuddered. Hoole was in the loveliest hollow he could ever imagine, gazing at the ember glowing through the piercings in a small metal container. Grank flew into the hollow.
    “Ah, a lovely new box, Your Grace.”
    Hoole looked up at his mentor in dismay. “Not you, too!”
    “Me, too, what, Your Majesty?”
    “We’ve been here barely three nights, and everywhere I turn it’s ‘Your Grace,’ ‘Your Highness,’ ‘Your Majesty.’ I can’t stand it. If you start, too, Uncle Grank, I’ll feel I have lost my oldest friend.”
    “You must