Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile

said.
    “Really?”
    “Yes, you see, Braithe, who is somewhat of a genius, chose this place carefully. It’s what we used to call the moss hole. There’s a deep dip in this part of the forest, and the steep sides of it are lined with the thickest moss that you’ve ever seen. It absorbs every bit of sound.”
    “You said you used to call it the moss hole. What do you call it now?”
    “The Brad,” Hortense replied.
    “The Brad?” Soren asked.
    “Braithe will explain.” Hortense paused, just a beat. “All will be revealed.”
    And, indeed, word by word, all began to be revealed. As they flew, the verdant landscape below them suddenly pitched steeply into a small valley.
    “Are those the crowns of heartwoods?” Digger asked, pointing to the lush, dense canopy that capped the steep dell. “They don’t seem tall enough to be heartwood trees.”
    “Oh, they are,” Mist replied. Heartwood trees grew to enormous heights. Had the grove of trees not been rooteddeep in the moss-lined dell, their lush crowns would have scratched the sky, towering above the surrounding trees. They were the only species that even came close to the Great Ga’Hoole Tree in size. Hortense now began a steep banking turn, and they followed her, losing altitude. As they drew closer to the trees, the dell appeared to widen. They could now see that the heartwoods were clustered in a dense grove in the bottom of a mossy bowl-like valley. As they spiraled into this bowl, the light changed. It seemed to glow with a dim shimmering amber radiance. They caught the sweet scent of mint on the light breezes that found their way into the bowl. It did seem to be a place of enchantment.
    The Band swung their heads in wonder as they perched on something as puffed and cushiony as one of the velvet pillows from Trader Mags’ “interior collection,” as she called it. But it wasn’t a pillow or a cushion. It was a moss-covered rock. Hortense’s remarks about the moss were understated to say the least. Nothing could have prepared them for this thickly lined green place, so hidden, so insulated from the world around them that it might as well have been in the stars. And walking, perched, or flying in low orbits were two dozen or more owls. Words, countless words flowed from their beaks. An Elf Owl swooped by:
“‘Call me Grank. I am an old owl now as I set down these words but this story must be told, or at least begun before I pass on. Times are different now than they were when I was young. I was born into a time of chaos and everlasting wars.’”
    The Band blinked and looked at one another in wonder. It was the first volume of the legends cycle, the story of the first collier.
    “Amazing!” Digger said in a hushed voice. And at just that moment a burly Great Horned flew by. In a deep-throated voice that was almost a growl he recited:
“‘What were my feelings that night as I huddled with my faithful servant, Myrrthe, the Great Snowy, both of us trying to protect the egg that would be my first child if it was not seized by the hagsfiends? Though a queen, I do not think that my feelings were different from those of any other mother….’”
    It did not sound the least bit odd to hear this deep male voice with a rough burr on its edges intoning The Queen’s Tale . This slim volume, the story of Queen Siv, the mother of Hoole, had been found recently, preserved intact in a niche deep in the Ice Cliff Palace where Sivhad hidden for a while during the terrible wars nearly a thousand years before.
    Hortense seemed to be glimmering with a new intensity. “This is the Place of Living Books. Nowhere in all the owl kingdoms do I think books are as treasured as they are here in Ambala.” She shook her head and the vaporous drops seemed to blur for an instant. “I don’t know why. Blame it on the flecks!” She churred. “But each of these owls has devoted his or her life to memorizing at least one book, word by word, and passages of others.” A Snowy Owl now swept by, and Soren gasped as he caught the first words.
“‘It befell in the days of Uther Pendragon, when he was king of all England, and so reigned, that there was a mighty duke in Cornwall and he was called the duke of Tintagel and it was at this castle of Tintagel that Arthur was born of Igraine.’”
    The Snowy was reciting the legends of King Arthur. This was one of his and Pelli’s favorite of all the Others’ books, even dearer to them than the Shakes plays. Soren thought