Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile

got here maybe a moon cycle ago.”
    “He may have only gotten to the great tree a moon cycle ago, but he’s been around my neck of the woods longer than that, believe me.”
    Octavia coiled up in alarm. “You better talk to Otulissa immediately!” she whispered.
    Bubbles, no mental giant, squawked, “But we ain’t never sold nothin’ to Otulissa. She don’t like geegaws.”
    “Well, tonight you might have something of interest to her,” Octavia replied.
    Trader Mags cuffed Bubbles. “She’s not telling us to go to Otulissa to sell her anything, nincompoop.” She adjusted her red bandanna. “Where is she?”
    “In the library, I think, and if not there, try the hanging garden.” Octavia slithered onto the branch from which she had been suspended and swirled her head around to detect vibrations of anyone who might be listening in. “Tell her that the Striga has been here longer than we thought, much longer,” she whispered.
    “And where is Bubo?” Trader Mags asked.
    “In his cave, well into his cups, I imagine.”
    “You mean drunk?”
    “Precisely.” Octavia nodded.
    “And what about the harp guild snakes? What are they doing tonight?”
    “Not much!”
    “This is unbelievable!” Trader Mags muttered.
    “I wish,” Octavia replied mournfully.

CHAPTER EIGHT
Deep Gizzardly Twinges
    T rader Mags had quietly flown into the library and taken up a perch as Fritha was proofreading The Evening Hoot . “Oh, Mags, I didn’t hear you come in,” Otulissa said. “I’m afraid you won’t be doing much business here tonight.” Although Otulissa had always been one of the magpie’s most severe critics, she had gained a new respect for her in recent times. Mags had been most helpful just after Coryn had retrieved the ember and become king. It was a time sometimes referred to as the Great Flourishing. Mags had been invaluable in procuring many articles that were needed at the tree for new devices and tools they were building, which ranged from scientific instruments to parts for a printing press. The owls of the tree were now able to reproduce books and other literary matter. There would have been no Evening Hoot had the press not been assembled.
    “So I gather. But Octavia thought I should come speak to you.”
    “About what?” Otulissa asked.
    “This blue owl fella. Octavia thought you’d like to know he’s been around longer than you think.”
    “What do you mean by that?” Otulissa was suddenly alert.
    “Well, he might have just got to the great tree when the moon was newing. But he’d been on the mainland for a whole moon cycle before that.”
    “He was?” Otulissa blinked. “Where?”
    “Here, there, everywhere.” The magpie tossed her head about as she said the words. “You know, I get around. I get as much information as any slipgizzle in my line of work.”
    “So, what do you hear?” Otulissa asked thoughtfully.
    “Younger ones are quite caught up with him. You know, the blue feathers and all.”
    Otulissa felt something clench in her gizzard. “A Blue Feather Club?” she asked in a somewhat tremulous voice.
    “Yes, they call it something like that. Or maybe it’s called the Blue Brigade.”
    “He’s started something here, too,” Fritha said.
    “Do you know what they do?” Otulissa asked Mags. “This Blue Whatever?”
    “Not much. They always have a small ground fire, though, at their meetings.”
    “A small ground fire?” Fritha and Otulissa both said at once. Ground fires made on purpose in the wild by owls were very odd. In the great tree, fires were for cooking, illumination, and, of course, Bubo had his powerful forge fires. “What would be the reason for these ground fires?” Otulissa asked.
    “I’m not sure. Got to admit, I ain’t got close enough to really see.”
    “Maybe they’re just roasting squirrels or voles, outdoor cooking,” Fritha offered.
    “Nobody cooks in the wild. We’re the only ones who cook our meat,” Otulissa said.
    “No, it ain’t roasted meat. That’s not the smell. Sometimes it’s a strange smell. I can’t place it.”
    “Well, they certainly haven’t been having ground fires around here,” Otulissa huffed. “We would have noticed.” But this did not set her mind at ease. She knew that since the blue owl had been at the great tree he had made flights to the mainland. Coryn explained that these were periods when the Striga felt a compelling need to be alone in the wilderness because he was overwhelmed by