Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile

would change tactics. Anything to get in. “It’s not really of a personal nature,” he blurted out. “I mean, this person used to be my friend, but I want to report a suspected hoarding incident.” The Blue Brigade owls were always keen to hear of hoarding incidents. “Let him in,” said the Striga.
    Great! Cory thought. Now if he could just see the king alone! But they were not alone. The Striga perched nearby. What could he say to the king with that horrid owl right there? And the king seemed odd, not at all kingly. His feathers were dull and lusterless. He had heard gossip that the king rarely left his hollow. He was standing in front of a small case that glowed with the light of an ember and was staring at it. Could this be the Ember of Hoole that I have heard so much about? Cory wondered.
    “What is it?” the king asked without turning around to look at the owl.
    “A hoarding incident to report,” the Striga said.
    The king sighed. It was a sigh of boredom more than anything else. He continued peering at the ember. He felt none of the old exhilarating tingle he used to feel when around the ember. The Striga was right. He had grown stronger in its presence. “It’s chilly in here,” he finally said. “Could you poke up the fire in the grate, Striga?”
    “Yes, it’s beginning to flurry outside,” Cory said.
    The king turned around slowly. Was there something familiar in the timbre of that voice? He looked at the young owl and blinked. Who is this owl?
    And while that disturbing thought swirled in the king’s mind, Cory wished that he could be alone with him for only a minute or two.
    “A hoarding incident,” the Striga prompted.
    “Yes. I think this owl has been wrongly accused. And I know that King Coryn…”
    Something twitched in Coryn’s gizzard. There was something about the way this young owl said Coryn’s name that seemed like a distant echo of something long ago. The fires in the grate burst into a lively blaze. Cory stood between the king and the grate. The young king suddenly pushed him aside. The gesture was misinterpreted by both the Striga and Cory.
    “He wants you out! Now!” the Striga commanded.
    “But I haven’t said what I have to say,” Cory pleaded.
    Before Cory knew it, two guards hustled him from the hollow and the king had done nothing to stop them. But Coryn had spied something in the flames. Something alarming. Something terrifying. “Leave me alone,” Coryn said when the Striga returned. The blue owl silentlyretreated. Coryn continued to stare into the fire. How had he let himself forget his gift? Coryn could see things in flames. But how long had it been since he had even looked into a fire? It was a skill that the Striga knew nothing about.
    And I must not let him know! Coryn thought. For the first time in many moon cycles Coryn felt a true tremor in his gizzard. It was as if it had been dead, insentient as a rock, but now it was awakening.
    He was seeing shapes in the flames. The first shape was that of an ember, and in its center a lick of blue and then there was the shimmering edge of green. How could I have forgotten that green? His eyes widened. He spun about and gazed at the ember in the case.
    “It’s a fake,” he whispered to himself. “How could I have not known?” And the young owl who had just been in the hollow, the Burrowing Owl? He had never even asked his name but he knew it was Coryn, brother of Kalo—Coryn hatched from the egg he had rescued long ago. Great Glaux, what has happened to me? He looked again at the counterfeit ember. I cannot blame the ember this time. Yes, I have been weak. The Striga has groomed and nurtured a great weakness in me, through flattery. The very methods used to render the owls of the Dragon Court weak and powerless! Stupid! How stupid of me! But he was done with being stupid. He flew out of his hollow and was about to command that the Striga come to see him immediately. But he stopped short. Who were all these new owls and why were they all wearing blue feathers? He had thought that the Blue Feather Club was just a silly owlet thing. Something for the young’uns. He felt a bilious surge in his gizzard. Where were his trusted Guardians? The true Guardians of Ga’Hoole? The Band was away—he knew that. But what about Pelli, Eglantine, Otulissa, for Glaux’s sake? He realized he had hardly seen them except in the dining hollow. Something definitely was up.
    The Striga flew down onto the branch where