Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile

air, and Stingyll followed. They began scrolling themselves into myriad shapes and gradually letters began to form. “You sssee, it wasss all his idea. To reverse the ssspelling of his original name from Nyroc to Coryn!” Slynella paused. “That owl’sss a geniussss!”
    “Yesss. Ssso why isss he ssso dumb now?” Stingyll asked.
    The Band was bewildered. Soren flew straight up to them as they continued to slither out in midair. “It’s the Striga that is burning books. What does any of this book burning have to do with Coryn?”
    “Why, he ordered it,” Slynella said. “The Ssstriga is acting on Coryn’s command.”
    Soren felt himself wilf. Zan, the larger of the eagles, flew to him instantly.
    “She’s got you, Soren. She’s got you,” Hortense called out.
    “I’m fine, don’t worry.” But, indeed, Soren had started to go yeep.
    The entire Band was stunned by this news. “I just simply can’t believe it.” Gylfie shook her head. “We all know that Coryn has been growing very close to the Striga, but I never thought he’d have that much influence.”
    “Well, we came here for information and we got it,” Twilight said, looking across the eagle’s nest at Hortense, who was hovering near Streak.
    “But what are we to do?” Soren asked. “This is not exactly war.”
    “It could be,” Twilight said.
    “But right now, it’s about books,” Soren said.
    “Books and owls,” Hortense said. “This Striga and his Blue Brigade have been raiding nests, hollows, burrows, looking for books and the things they call vanities— – ripping apart owl homes.” The mist around Hortense seemed to quiver almost sadly. She continued, “There are rumors that a few from the great tree’s library were stolen right from under the librarian’s nose and brought to the mainland and burned.”
    “No!” The four owls of the Band all wilfed.
    “That sounds like war to me,” Twilight said.
    “But the question, Twilight,” the vapors shimmered a bit as Hortense turned toward the Great Gray, “thequestion is, how do you proceed if it is war?” Twilight started to answer, but Soren put out his wing and touched him lightly, a silent signal to wait, to listen, which was not first nature to Twilight. But Soren knew that Hortense was a subtle thinker. He wanted to hear her thoughts on this. “I don’t think it has come to war yet. The blue owl lives at the great tree, and is a close advisor to your king. Do you attack the tree? I think not. First, you must save the books before it is too late, and then stop this terrible destruction of art, the fripperies, as he calls anything pretty.” She looked at the Great Gray. “You see, Twilight, knowledge is more than equivalent to force.” Hortense paused. “I read that in a scrap from the Fragmentum , a part of a book by an Other named Doctor Sam. I began thinking about knowledge as force, and books as important as battle claws.”
    “She’s got to be kidding!” Twilight muttered.
    Soren gave him a swift kick. “Go on,” Soren urged.
    “I have started a program here in Ambala.”
    “A program,” Twilight said with more than a tinge of despair in his voice.
    “Yes. You see we have been fearful of this for some time now and have established a place in Ambala that we call the Place of Living Books.”
    “Tell us about it,” Digger said.
    Hortense shimmered a bit as the beads of mist seemed to thicken, then re-sort themselves. “Since the printing press was built and began working the owls of Ambala have become passionate readers and book lovers. But not many books come our way. I think it is the lingering suspicions many owls still have of the flecks in our streams. Let’s just say we are sort of ‘back woods,’ not along the usual well-worn flight paths. Even Mags doesn’t venture here often. But the few books that come our way, we treasure. So when we began to hear about the book burnings, we wanted to do whatever we could to protect our books.”
    “So what did you do?” Twilight asked. “What is this Place of Living Books?”
    “Well, I cannot take all the credit, really. A young Whiskered Screech named Braithe thought up the idea. We could go there tonight, if you like, but there is not much left of this night and the distance is far. And you know I am a weak flier,” Hortense added.
    Thus, the owls settled down into the immense aerie on the highest peak in Ambala. Silvery clouds scraped across the last remnants of the night. The