Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile

Soren approached Coryn, he hoped he could keep his identity a secret a bit longer. But he was worried.
    “That moss does not grow in Ambala,” Soren said, flying close to him. “Where do you hail from?”
    It’s useless , Coryn thought and began to speak. “I hail from the great tree, but I went afoul, dear Uncle. Now I am back. I am a Guardian—a Guardian of Ga’Hoole.”
    “Coryn, is this really you?” Soren gasped.
    “It is I, Uncle. Please let me join this fight tonight not as king but as a Guardian, with Kalo by my side. Kalo from The Barrens who, on orders of the Striga, was to bebrought here tonight to be burned. She fights as fearlessly any Guardian.”
    At that moment another owl came around. Coryn’s gizzard lurched as he spied its blue feathers.
    “Fear not, Coryn!” the sage said.
    “Tengshu, you are here?”
    Soren and Tengshu quickly explained how the owl from the Middle Kingdom had flown the River of Wind to find the cursed owl, whom he knew would prove dangerous.
    There was no more time to explain. The bonfires on the beaches of the Island of Hoole had been lit. The Balefire Night games were about to begin.
    Soren turned to Coryn. “You two follow me. I’ll pass the word to the Band.”
    “You believe me, Soren, don’t you? You believe I have changed?”
    “I believe that you are the owl you were always meant to be. You were ill. You are well now.”
    “Sickness cannot always be an excuse. I failed all of you.”
    “Then don’t fail us now. The plan is simple. We play the games for a while. We have learned that there are prisoners who have been brought to the tree, who will be killed. Owls who, like Kalo, had refused to give up their vanities,their families’ possessions, and their books. We may be outnumbered. But Doc Finebeak went searching for hire-claws. We hope he found them. Otulissa and Pelli have been secretly training forces within the tree. We must hope for the best.”
    The island was now less than a league away.
    The Greenowls started one of their most boisterous and jolly songs.
    We are the Greenowls of Ambala ,
    Across thermals we scrambala .
    To the top with a bounce
    We would like to announce
    That downdrafts don’t faze us
    And hardly amaze us .
    We catch bonks on the fly
    While eating milkberry pie .
    Dance a fine little jig
    Then alight on a twig .
    Oh, we’re the jolliest of jollies ,
    We mossy green owlies .
    So, hip-hip-hooray!
    Until night fades to day
    And Balefire fades to gray .
    “And who do you say they are, Field Marshal Cram?” the Striga asked.
    “Owls from Ambala. They call themselves Greenowls because for holidays they clad themselves in green. An ancient custom.”
    “Perfectly harmless, I suppose. No vanities.”
    “No, sir. No pearls, nothing like that.”
    “Which reminds me: any luck in apprehending the notorious Trader Mags?”
    “No, sir, but we do have her assistant, Bubbles.”
    “Have you been able to get anything out of her?”
    “No, sir. She’s as daft as any magpie you could imagine.” He paused. “I just have one question, sir. I was wondering if we should worry that any owls here might be, you know, still loyal to the Band?”
    “No. I think I have given these owls what they always longed for. A life without distraction of the vanities. A simpler way. It was the children, the young’uns, who really led the way.” He looked down from his perch to the Blue Feather Club. Perhaps the Striga did not notice that Bell, who had been his most ardent early member, was shaking and weeping copious tears.
    Bell was crying because she realized how wrong she had been about the Striga. Mrs. Plithiver had told them earlier this evening of the lies the Striga had spread abouttheir father, of how he had deceived Coryn to such a point that he had, as Mrs. Plithiver tried to delicately put it, grown so weak in his gizzard that he had fallen ill. She also told the three B’s that they would have to be very brave little owls now. They must do some mighty good pretending because the noble owls, the Guardians like their own dear mum, were going to try their best to set things right.
    In the new special ceremonies that had been added to Balefire Night, it was the March of the Toys that came first. The youngest of the owlets—hatchlings and fledglings—had lined up with their favorite toys, owli-poppen, which were down-stuffed animals—usually field mice or tiny chipmunks that they often took to their nests when they went to sleep. All