Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile

to be heaped on a bonfire. Next were the somewhat older owls like the three B’s with their favorite things.
    “Stop whimpering, Bell,” Bash said.
    “It’s all right. They’ll think she’s crying over the berry necklace. And that’ll be good pretending, like Mrs. P. told us,” Blythe said. She herself was clutching a piece of music—not a favorite one, at least.
    “Will you two ever forgive me?” Bell swiveled her head first to Bash and then to Blythe. “Will you ever get to sing, Blythe?”
    “Hush! If things work out, yes, I’ll sing. And yes, we forgive you.”
    A little owlet ahead of them began to sob as one of the Blue Brigade pried from her a pretty tail clip with sparkly stones that she had clutched in her beak.
    “Now, you don’t need this!” said the Boreal Owl harshly. “These fancy things are just silly adornments. They will get in the way of your humility.”
    The ranks of the Blue Brigade had swelled and they were now singing the songs of relinquishment.
And to the flames consign things vain
Give up your prideful ways .
Submission is the path to grace
Where each owl knows its place .
Bless our Striga for his suffering ,
For his enduring pain .
Scour our gizzards of the vanities’
Horrible shameful stain .
    A-Glaux!
    Bell tried to keep her eyes down as she passed the Striga with her necklace. She was tempted to look up and stick her tongue out at him. How had this blue owlfooled her? It didn’t help when Bash and Blythe reminded her that he had even gotten to the king’s gizzard. It was her gizzard that he had gotten to, and she should have minded it better. It flinched constantly now, racked with shame. Somehow she had to make things better. Prove herself a better owl. “I will.” She muttered the words softly. “I will!” Mrs. Plithiver watched her nervously. But Mrs. P. knew that for all her faults Bell had a steely determination, mettle as strong as anything hammered in Bubo’s forge.
    “You see that little one there?” The Striga leaned over on his perch above the line of owlets and spoke in a low voice to his field marshal.
    “Yes, sir.”
    “She’s the daughter of Soren and Pelli. And she’s mine now.”
    The field marshal wasn’t exactly sure what the Striga meant, but he nodded. “Yes, I can see that she has an air of perfect humility.”
    “Well, not quite perfect yet. But she will. Now review with me again the schedule for this evening.”
    “This is the first of three marches. The second march is the March of the Diamonds, and then the third is the March of Scurrilous Books.”
    “Ah, I like to call it the ‘March of Pride’ because these owls have been the most prideful. Their stubbornness in clinging to their books is most un-Glauxly. They put their gizzards and their minds above Glaux. I have chosen a few of those especially prideful owls for the special relinquishment ceremonies.” The Striga churred softly.
    “Yes, indeed,” the field marshal replied.
    “They will be perched on their pedestals of books and then ignited. That will be a surprise for these ‘Guardians.’ A surprise and a lesson. But I feel we must have a break between these marches. So anticipation can build for the grand climax.”
    “Oh, yes, indeed. The games begin soon. Right after the March of the Toys finishes. Look—they are perching up now—the Greenowls and the others for the first set of colliering games.”
    A ruddy-feathered Short-eared Owl perched on a high limb next to a tiny Northern Saw-whet. Their expressions were grim. “All right,” Ruby said to Martin. “I guess we have to try and make a good show of it during this colliering thing.”
    “You’re darned right, you do!” Bubo flew in and settled beside them. “We are all actors tonight. Rememberwhat Otulissa said. Just a few rounds, then the March of the Diamonds begins.”
    “First team to participate!” Elvanryb was the game announcer. “In the colliering competition will be the Guardians’ team of Ruby, Short-eared, Asio flammeus , member of the colliering chaw, trained under the late great Ezylryb.”
    “Why’s he giving our formal species name?” Ruby asked.
    “Buying time,” Bubo said softly.
    “This magnificent owl, known for her short, steep vertical plunge into exploding tree crowns will be teamed with Martin, Northern Saw-whet, Aegolius acadius . This tiny bird is distinguished for his precision wing work, as well as his stylish manipulation of collateral drafts created by