Guardians of Ga'Hoole 11 - To Be a King

you have the ember.” There was a weird gurgling sound that came from Fengo as his chest heaved, gasping for every breath. “Say farewell to my old friend Grank… And now the time.” With his last bit of strength, he cocked his head and fixed his single eye on Hoole. It was time for lochinvyrr. Even though Hoole had not brought on this death, and although Fengo was not Hoole’s prey, this was an honorable death. It must be recognized as such in order for Fengo’s spirit to climb the spirit trail of the stars to the cave of souls, the wolf heaven.
    Namara, who had been standing off to one side, now approached Hoole. “The hagsfiends are all dead, Hoole. There were thirty to start with and there are thirty bodies accounted for.”
    Hoole looked up. He saw small piles of feathers. Once again, as in Ambala, he was astonished at how small they appeared in death. Hoole wondered, however, if these were the only hagsfiends in the S’yrthghar. And if they had simply strayed here after the Battle in the Beyond or if they had been ordered here by Lord Arrin. Had they diminished the enemy’s strength enough so that when the Short Light came, the enemy could be defeated? Well, he had done his best with the help of the wolves, but there were many questions still to be answered, and at least one battle yet to be fought.
    And was the world of owls any closer to being rid of all magic? That was the real question.
    The wolves dragged Fengo’s body far from those of the hagsfiends. At the bottom of a sandy rise they dug a pit and buried their chief so the carrion eaters would not tear his body to pieces.
    The owl and the wolves then left the desert, and before the night was half over they were back in Ambala where they found a large old oak. It had turned cold and the wolves made what they called a sleep fold, in which they huddled together for warmth when there was no real shelter. As for Hoole, he was happy to be back in a tree. The night was still too young for any self-respecting owl to sleep,so he flew to the topmost branch of the tree. The darkness flowed with stars. Grank had taught him the names of the different stars and constellations, and Hoole knew that the group of stars that the owls called the Golden Talons was known as Lupus or the Star Wolf to the wolves. And as the last stars climbed to the front paws of the wolf, Hoole felt a strange mixture of sadness and joy: sadness at the loss of his old friend, and joy as he watched the spirit trail burn out of the night sky just beneath the Star Wolf. He’s on his way to the cave of souls, Hoole thought. Quietly, Hoole lifted off from the tree and flew into the night.
    Am I flying or loping through these stars? he thought as he traced with a wing tip the outline of the Star Wolf’s muzzle. There was a gathering of mist in the shape of a wolf that appeared to trot softly up the spirit trail. It passed Hoole and then paused. Turning its head, it raised its muzzle high and a sonorous howl flowed that was made of clouds and mists, star shine, and all the heavenly bits of the night. “Good-bye, my friend,” Hoole whispered. “Good-bye.”
    And far away on an island in the middle of the southern sea, another Spotted Owl peered into his own fire and saw that his old friend from the Beyond was climbing the spirit trail to the cave of souls. Glaumora? The cave of souls? thought Grank. They are one. We shall meet again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Emerilla?
    T he great tree shook violently in the early winter storm. “Only a fool would be out there tonight,” Justin, a young Short-eared Owl, said. “What in Glaux’s name are Grank and Strix Strumajen perched on the lookout for?”
    “They ain’t fools, Justin. I just come off watch, and we think we spotted her daughter flying in.”
    “The young master of the short blade, eh? Well, stars in glaumora—that’ll set the old Strix up something fine, wouldn’t it?”
    “It certainly would.”
    Now both owls became curious enough that they crept from the coziness of the guard hollow they shared near the very top of the great tree and peered up. A lovely Spotted Owl had just landed next to Strix Strumajen and Grank.
    “Mum?”
    “Emerilla!” Strix Strumajen’s beak dropped open.
    “This is your daughter?” Grank asked.
    “Yes!” Strix Strumajen gasped and then folded her daughter gently into her wings. The young Spotted Owl closed her eyes tight and tried not to fall off the branch as a wave of nausea swept through