Lost Tales of Ga'Hoole

forest around him.
    Braithe stared into the mist. Then, slowly, the lingering mist began to gather itself into the shape of an owl. The image was shimmering and shifting in the dim light but it was now clearly an old Whiskered Screech. Braithe saw that the owl was not just old, he was decrepit and battered. He was missing a toe on his left foot, his left eye seemed to be stuck in a perpetual squint, and his beak had a deep notch in it. Braithe realized then that the owl was the reflection he had seen in his dream. He should have been scared, but he wasn’t. He looked at the old owl with searching eyes. Despite his ghastly appearance, there was something oddly comforting and familiar about him.
    The old Whiskered Screech moved his beak as if to say something. The sound that Braithe heard reminded him of distant thunder. Braithe tried to lean toward the owl to hear better. Suddenly, he felt himself rising from his nest, yet he knew he was perfectly still. Braithe watched as a misty version of himself drifted toward the old owl.
    The two mist owls hovered outside of Braithe’s hollow.
    What is happening? Who are you? Braithe asked the apparition. He wasn’t using his voice, he realized, and he wasn’t using his body, either. He had left his body behind on the nest, and a misty version of himself was speaking to the old Whiskered Screech—using only his mind—and the old owl heard him.
    But instead of answering his questions, the old owl gazed at him wistfully and said again, Lil’s spots , just as Braithe had heard in his dream.
    I don’t understand. Are you a scroom?
    I’m Ezylryb. Or Lyze of Kiel, as I was once called.
    The weather ryb from the great tree? I’ve heard of you, of course! But why are you here?
    Your gizzard is troubled. You carry a great burden…a secret that fills you with shame. Your da…
    What do you know about my da? Braithe thought desperately. This scroom was reading his gizzard as well as his mind!
    Your da was a good owl.
    These fragments of parchment …Braithe looked back at his nest. Thoughts rushed from him. In his mind he explained to Ezylryb about the fragments of the letter that he had found, and how he suspected that his da had been in league with the owls of St. Aggie’s, and was an egg snatcher. He also told him about his fears of having been snatched himself as an egg. When he was finished, the misty Ezylryb looked at him with a strange mix of doubt and tenderness.
    Your da was a good owl , the scroom repeated.
    Braithe wanted desperately to believe the old scroom.
    Then what does this letter mean? Why does it say that my da was loyal to St. Aggie’s? Why does it say that he snatched eggs?
    I don’t know, lad, I don’t know… Ezylryb’s misty image began to fade.
    Wait! Then why are you here? Braithe asked. Isn’t it true that scrooms always have unfinished business? Do you think this is yours?
    Ezylryb’s scroom said nothing for what seemed to Braithe like an eternity. Finally, he responded. Something drew me here. I had visited Ambala many times in my life, but never knew about this place. Then, after passing, I found myself here again and again, and I didn’t know why. That is, until I saw you. I think I needed to see you. And maybe you also needed to see me. To know where you came from and who you are.
    Braithe was at a loss for words. He knew where he came from—Ambala—but that his da was a good owl he couldn’t quite believe, much as he wanted to. Sadness possessed him again.
    I guess I thought you would know. I wish you could tell me more. I wish you had all the answers. And more than anything I wish I could believe that my da was a good owl. What he wrote on that parchment seems to prove otherwise , Braithe replied.
    When I passed, I found I knew many things. But not everything. It’s like I know the story, but not all the words that make up the story. I know he was good, though not why, or how.
    Braithe pondered this. If he was a good owl, then what was he doing at St …Braithe paused midthought. He was about to ask a rhetorical question when something that Ezylryb said hit him. The story! He was reminded of his telling of “The Ransom of Red Chief” to the three Spotted Owlets a few nights ago. He thought he was telling the story, but he’d left out some of the words. And a few missing words can change a story completely! Maybe he’d got his da’s story all wrong.
    He was a good owl at St. Aggie’s, Braithe continued. Of course, there were