Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile

flattery delivered every minute of every hour, night in and night out, by the servants. “Oh,good Glaux,” Otulissa whispered to herself in a kind of stunned horror, “that is what he was trying to do to me.” And, she realized, what he had been doing to Coryn. How clever he was!
    It was then in the Striga’s hollow when she discovered the burnt scraps of paper that she began to formulate her plan. The first part of it involved removing the most treasured books to a temporary hiding place. One by one, they would move them. The second stage would be transporting them to the Palace of Mists. Hopefully, the Band would return by the time she was back and they could decide how to rid the tree of this dangerous owl.
    Otulissa looked up at the stars to check their course, then glanced over at Fritha, who seemed to be flying a bit unevenly. She sensed that the young Pygmy Owl was tiring. Fritha was so fired up about going to the Palace of Mists that Otulissa knew that she would never admit to being tired. Very few owls in the great tree knew about it, even though they owed it much. Fritha, who was smart beyond her years and had suspected another library someplace for a while, was thrilled to be finally going there. She could hardly believe her great luck, although it was a result of a horrendous crime.
    Otulissa had confided her plan to only two other owls—Pelli and Bubo. Pelli, it turned out, was veryalarmed by what she had heard when Blythe and Bash had reported the activities of the Blue Feather Club. She had been about to insist that Bell return the feather but Otulissa prevailed upon her not to as it might arouse the suspicions of the Striga. Pelli nearly fell off her perch when Otulissa had told her about the book burnings. “Who could have ever imagined! And to think that he was the one who rescued my daughter! What should we do?” Otulissa had said that she must not let on that she was worried to any of her children and, least of all, the Striga.
    “You must play this very cool, Pelli. It is the only way we can hope to be safe until the Band is back.”
    “But Coryn! How could Coryn…?” She hadn’t finished the sentence.
    All this came back to Otulissa as she flew across the Sea of Hoolemere. “Land ho!” she said, turning to Fritha. The scratchy outline of Cape Glaux appeared on the horizon just as the sky began to lighten. The wind died. The sea grew so still that from the altitude at which they were flying it looked like an enameled surface painted with the first pink streaks of the dawn, twixt time.

CHAPTER TWELVE
A Mist of Gloom
    O ne more story, Mum. Please?” Bash begged. It was past First Light and time for all the owls of the great tree to go to sleep. Pelli was exhausted. I’m this tired , she thought, and there has been no real Harvest Festival . It was amazing how anxiety could just wring every ounce of energy from an owl. She did not want to betray her worry to the young’uns. Earlier that night she had met with Coryn. He had requested that she come to his hollow. In the presence of the Striga he read her a note he had received from the Band saying that they had found it necessary to extend their expedition on the mainland. They had been frustrated in their attempts to track the windkins and needed more time. When she asked if Soren had included a note for her, the Striga answered very quickly that there was no such note. And then rather casually, too casually, he nodded his head and gave a meaningful glance to Coryn.
    “You know the Band. They keep to themselves. Often exclude those to whom they owe the most.”
    “I don’t understand what you mean. I am Soren’s mate. He would write to me.” Pelli did not want to be too pushy. She must play it cool, as Otulissa had cautioned.
    “It seems that their first loyalty is always to one another,” the Striga said, again with another glance at Coryn.
    “I, too, sometimes feel excluded, Pelli,” Coryn said sympathetically. Pelli shook her head. It wasn’t that she felt excluded. This note from the Band somehow did not feel right to her. She worried about it for the rest of the evening and was still worrying about it as twixt time approached and she was tucking the three B’s in for the day.
    “Just one more story,” Blythe echoed Bash. “I love them so much.” Pelli had been reading them some owlet stories based on the legend cycles. They were compelling tales, and Primrose had adapted several for young’uns. Wensel, a very