Guardians of Ga'Hoole 15 - The War of the Ember

came looking for their brother in a snap,” Nyra said. “Puffins are stupid. It would have been easy.”
    The Striga had to refrain from saying, “You’re stupid.” Instead, he replied, “Those puffins’ bodies would have been discovered sooner or later. Rumors would start. It was better to get out as quickly as possible. We are just lucky that the one dragon owl got out with her botkin of eggs the night before.”
    “I suppose that’s true. We didn’t lose much. One egg went rolling into the water and another got smashed onthe floor of the ice cave. But do you think that dragon owl who got out will find her way to the Ice Cliff Palace? What’s her name?”
    “Olong,” the Striga said. “She is named for the color of her feathers. It means sapphire in our language. She’s smart. She’ll find her way. Now try not to worry. Many of these eggs are double- and triple-yolked. This is our starter batch. The converts are bringing in more.” The “converts” were those Dragon Court owls who had surreptitiously been learning to fly and, one by one, or, on rare occasions, two by two, had been leaving the Panqua Palace. With the help of corrupt servants they were purloining eggs and bringing them to the Northern Kingdoms. Until now they had been stashing them in the most remote regions, inhabited, if at all, by the pirate owls, the kraals, who most other creatures tried to avoid. The eggs were sterile when they had been imported from the Middle Kingdom, but with proper brooding, unlike normal sterile eggs, they could be made to quicken and finally to hatch. This was part of the peculiar mystery, the terrible secret of a hagsfiend’s genesis.
    “And to think I nearly had my talons on that book. I had tried to read it but it was very hard to understand,” Nyra whined.
    “But you remembered some of it. And between us—look, Nyra! Look what we have already achieved. I should be pulling out my feathers in punishment, for the first time I ever heard Coryn mention the Book of Kreeth, I didn’t have the wits to ask him more. I even got a glimpse of it one time in the library. You are indeed the better bird. You figured out its value.”
    If there was one thing the Striga knew, it was how to flatter. It was flattery that fueled the feckless life of the Dragon Court, and fawning adulation was its lifeblood.
    The Striga thought back on that night when he had first glimpsed the Book of Kreeth. It seemed a lifetime ago. (Indeed, the blue owl was beginning to suspect that he had had many lifetimes. It was as if echoes from a long-forgotten past would sometimes reverberate through his brain.) On that particular night he now recalled that Otulissa had accidentally left a small cabinet in a back hollow of the library unlocked, and he had slipped into it to peek. What he found was a volume entitled the Book of Kreeth, and it puzzled him. It was mostly illustrations. But it made no sense whatsoever and he had thought the strange pictures were something to do with loathsome vanities. Just as well it be locked away. How stupid he had been!
    At last the two owls with their precious cargo found a narrow opening in the ice cliffs. “I think this should do,” the Striga said with relief.
    “Is this the Ice Palace?” Nyra asked.
    “I’m not sure if it is the Ice Palace proper. But I think we can be safe here. And now to construct a good schneddenfyrr,” the Striga said.
    “A schnedden…what?”
    “A schneddenfyrr. It is an old Krakish word for ‘ice nest.’ That is what the owls of the Northern Kingdoms use because they lack trees, hence no tree hollows for eggs.”
    The Striga busied himself settling the eggs in ice nests. Nyra followed suit.
    “You learned a lot,” Nyra said.
    “I learned it from your son and Otulissa and Soren. They aren’t stupid, you know.”
    Nyra glared as he spoke.
    “You must learn, Nyra dear, to use your enemies.”
    She did not like the intimacy of his tone. She was about to object but held her tongue. The Striga was right. One must learn to use one’s enemies. And who knew, when the ember was hers, who her enemies might be? Perhaps the Striga! The dark, grayish eggs were the means to the ember. But the ember would only be possessed byone owl, and she planned to be that owl. So she would hold her tongue now and indulge this blue owl, who seemed to revel in these terms of endearment. A thought suddenly occurred to her— Is he trying to woo me? Woo me as one would woo a mate? Would