Guardians of Ga'Hoole 11 - To Be a King

evening, brother. It has been a long time. You have been studying, I suppose, not soldiering.” He turned to the other owls who were in the hollow. “My brother, Theo, is of a studious bent. Not a fighting sort of owl.” There were mumbles that Theo interpreted as disapproving. “Indeed,” Shadyk flew down from the throne, that fabled throne that was said to have been miraculously sculpted by the elements to resemble a tree with scores of limbs on which the king, his queen, princes, and princesses could all perch. But most of the limbs had rotted away, and it was evident that all this once resplendent throne could now sustain was the weight of one rather small Great Horned and his minions of tiny Elf and Pygmy owls. Theo stepped forward.
    “That’s far enough!” Shadyk flapped his wings.
    “Good evening.” Theo paused, and Shadyk swelled up into a threat posture. “Commander Strong Talon,” Theo added.
    In those brief seconds, Theo realized that Shadyk had either forgotten or denied their past history—all thetimes that he had protected his younger brother from his father’s rages, nursed not only his bruised feelings but his bruised wings and broken shafts—it was in that moment that Theo realized that Shadyk was not just yoicks but completely insane. A mad glint danced in his amber eyes.
    “Ain’t it all so grand, Theo?” Philma whispered to him. He thought that if his mum said “grand” one more time he’d yarp a pellet. “He’s got quite a way about him, don’t he, lovey?”
    “My family and I shall adjourn to the banquet hollow.” Shadyk turned to the Elf and Pygmy owls. “Please join us, my sweets.” The small owls twittered about him, making fawning gestures.
    The banquet hollow was a disgusting mess. The remains of half-eaten lemmings, snow squirrels, and ice rats were strewn around but no one seemed to notice or care. The melting ice was streaked with blood. Theo had thought he was hungry but had no appetite now, even as several owls flew in with fresh kill.
    “So, brother,” Shadyk swiveled his head toward Theo. “Still studying? Join the Glauxian Brothers yet?” he drawled, and cast a glance at his audience. There was a loud raucous churring from the delegation of owls who hadfollowed them into the dining hollow. They clearly had contempt for study and contemplative owls.
    “Uh…” Theo hesitated. “Yes, um, yes, I have been studying and am thinking of taking my vows.” So far, the truth. They need not know that I have taken vows as a Guardian on a faraway island in the S’yrthghar and sworn allegiance to the rightful heir to this throne. For the first time in his life when not in the midst of the violence of war and given no choice, Theo felt true rage rising within him. Now, he thought, I am truly a warrior!
    “I don’t know if many of us in this palace have the time for such study. It does seem rather like a luxury now, does it not?” Shadyk drawled while weaving and bobbing his head about to catch everyone’s eye except that of his brother.
    His ways have become very strange, Theo thought. He speaks in an odd manner, each word prolonged to the point of silliness. And he casts his eyes in glances that are both simpering and haughty. My brother is mad. And yet no one sees it. Not Mum, not Wyg. Not the four little owls flitting about him. How has he done this? How has he gathered these owls and these hagsfiends around him? Does no one else see that this palace is rotting? Are the only sane creatures the hagsfiends who perch on the parapets and the turrets?
    At that moment, he saw a Spotted Owl come to serve her master a plump ice rat. She approached him in mincing steps, her head bent, obsequious, submissive, the perfectattendant to a king on the rotting throne. But despite that bowed head, Theo glimpsed a glint of gold in her dark brown eyes, her very sane dark brown eyes, and he knew that he was the only one who recognized her sanity. And who also recognized her : This was Emerilla, daughter of Strix Strumajen and Strix Hurthwel!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
To Be Emerilla
    D elicately, Kreeth wove the feather into Lutta’s plumage. “You see, my dear, it is not enough to look like just any Spotted Owl. You must be a particular one. With this feather from the head of Emerilla’s father you will be able, in a sense, to become her. Yes, you have mastered the call of the Spotted Owls, the long whuff-whuff. And you are excellent at capturing that peculiar tilting action of