The Shattering by Kathryn Lasky
“Get to bed.”
“All right, all right.”
The light in the hollow was quite dim and outside it was very bright. If this Sooty was keeping watch on her, he would have to constantly adjust his eyes because of the contrast of light. The first idea that came to Primrose was to arrange herself in the nest so that the back of her head was facing the Sooty. A Pygmy Owl had two dark, feathery spots on the back of its head that were called eyespots. For owls not accustomed to flying behind a Pygmy, these eyespots could be disorienting and cause confusion. With the back of her head facing him, she could examine the amber bead more carefully, which was exactly what she planned to do. She crouched down in the pile of moss and downy fluff. Once more, the buzzing began to niggle into her head. But Primrose was determined. She rubbed the amber again. The feathers stood up and she felt a slight prickling sensation. Not only that, but a small bit of moss seemed to almost jump to the amber drop. That was interesting. She tried it again. Glaux! There was all sorts of stuff clinging to the amber bead. This can’t be a magnet. It’s not iron or even magnetic rock. She knew that from her metal class with Bubo. Amber was fossilized sap from an evergreen tree. And what could amber do? Holy Glaux in glaumora, it’s charged. I rubbed it, and it’s become charged!
Primrose realized if the amber wasn’t a magnet, how else would things be drawn to it? It must have been her rubbing it that did it. Yes, Bubo had often called amber “fool’s iron,” and she guessed if you rubbed it, it became a sort of magnet. So if I rub this hard enough and often enough and then poke it down into the moss, what will happen? Primrose removed the bead of amber from her neck and, holding on to the chain, let it drop into the piles of moss and down.
A moment later, Primrose had her answer. She pulled up the chain, and the bead of amber was bristling with hundreds of tiny flecks. Now, how could she get rid of the foul stuff? She knew that fire destroyed the magnetic properties of flecks and left them harmless, but she could hardly start a fire in here. She looked around. There was a niche in the tree where some bore worms must have been feeding. She supposed she could scrape the flecks off into that. She just had to get them away from her head. After all, she suddenly realized, she had slept in the same hollow with Eglantine and had suffered no ill effects.
So Primrose began excavating the flecks, but she thought of it more as fishing than excavating. Each time she pulled up the chain, very quietly so as not to alert the guard, it was bristling with flecks. It took twelve times for the amber bead to finally come up clean. “You really are my lucky charm,” she whispered.
And now, she thought, all I have to do is pretend that I am shattered. She remembered Soren and Gylfie explaining to her how they had pretended to be moon blinked when they were imprisoned in St. Aggie’s. Well, she would pretend to be shattered. After all, she had a very fine example to follow—Eglantine. And with the thought of her friend, Primrose’s gizzard twisted in the most agonizing way.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As a Gizzard Twitches
It had been three days since Primrose had disappeared. Everyone had different theories. Otulissa was sure that it was an indication that the Pure Ones were active again.
“Why the Pure Ones?” Soren asked. “Why not St. Aggie’s?” They were in their hollow having a light snack of dried caterpillars as it would be another hour until tweener.
“I can’t imagine them coming this far north,” Gylfie said.
“What would they want with Primrose?” Twilight asked.
“I’m not sure, but Primrose is smart. I’d been in the library with her a lot lately. She catches on quick. She was really interested in quadrant theory,” Otulissa replied.
“Quadrant theory?” Twilight asked.
“You know, the stuff Ezylryb was telling us about the humors,” Otulissa said.
“The Pure Ones don’t want to know about quadrant theory,” Soren said emphatically. “They want to know about flecks. They want to know about how, with higher magnetics, you can make other things fleck-full, and how, with a dowsing rod, you can find flecks. They want to control all the flecks in the world.”
“But don’t you see, Soren, it’s all connected,” Otulissa said. “Remember when we were at St. Aggie’s, and they were tucking the flecks into the nests in the eggorium? The Pure Ones were doing that. It’s not just flecks they want to control, it’s minds—mind control.”
Digger suddenly flew in through the sky port. He dropped Otulissa’s dowsing rod on the floor of the hollow.
“What are you doing with my dowsing rod?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask, Otulissa, but I had a hunch.”
“Well, I hope it was a good hunch,” she said huffily.
“It was a good hunch, but I am afraid I have very bad news.”
“What?” Soren had a terrible feeling deep within him. His gizzard began to tremble.
“Soren, I had been feeling for a while that something is wrong with Eglantine—more than just summer flux. You know, because Eglantine had once before been imprisoned by the Pure Ones, and her mind had been disturbed then…Well—” Digger hesitated. “I think she is perhaps even more vulnerable.”
Soren was so frightened he couldn’t even blink.
“You see, I took the dowsing rod into her hollow. Soren, it went crazy when I passed it over her nest. The place where she sleeps—it’s loaded with flecks.”
Otulissa wilfed suddenly. “The Pure Ones have infiltrated us!” she cried. “And they know more about flecks than we have ever imagined. They know how to shatter. Eglantine has been shattered,” she said with horror.
“Eglantine’s gone,” Digger added.
“Gone?” Soren asked. “Gone where?”
“I don’t know. But Ginger is gone, too.”
The alert was given for the search-and-rescue chaw to prepare. There would be two empty spots in their flying formation because now both Primrose and Eglantine were gone. It was Barran herself, the Snowy Owl and monarch of the tree, who led this chaw. Soren was determined to appeal to her and ask if he could fly with the chaw. Twilight was another member of this chaw.
“I don’t know if it will work, Soren,” Twilight said slowly.
“Look, they need another owl. You’re short by two,” Soren replied.
“But maybe you’ll get too emotional. It’s your sister, after all.”
“Too emotional for what, Twilight?” Soren spat out the words. “Too emotional to fly? To see? To hear?”
Twilight knew then that Soren could not bear to wait in the tree for news of his sister.
Ten minutes later, Soren had stated his case to Barran. The dignified Snowy peered at him and blinked. Soren’s gizzard clenched. Would she say yes or no?
“So you would like to fly as a replacement for either Eglantine or Primrose?”
“Well, I know I can’t exactly replace Primrose. I mean she’s a Pygmy owl, after all.”
“Precisely.” Soren’s heart and gizzard began to sink somewhere toward his talons. “I mean, how good are you at low-level flight, threading your way through tall grass? You know those Pygmies are noisy when they fly, but you cannot beat them for low-level precision surveillance.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose that’s true, but…” Soren’s voice trailed off.
Barran blinked, then her eyes softened and the yellow light streaming from them was like the delicate pale light of the sun in the earliest morning, in that small fraction of a second when it first slips above the horizon. “I’ll tell you what, my dear. How about we get Gylfie to fly Primrose’s position?”
“But…but…what about me?”
“Hush, Soren, hear me out. Elf Owls are as good as Pygmies at this low-level stuff, and I propose that you fly left ear. Eglantine had been covering that spot.”
“You mean, I can go?” Try not to be too emotional. Try not to cry. Oh, Glaux! Don’t cry in front of her! But if he could get Eglantine back, even shattered, he swore to himself he would put her back together, piece by
Piece by piece? Soren wondered why these words reminded him of something. Something very dim and shadowy. Piece by piece. The words nagged at the edges of his mind, prickling his gizzard. Well, no time for wondering now. Time for action.
Fifteen minutes later, the search-and-rescue chaw lifted off with Soren flying in the spot normally occupied by Eglantine. They had no idea where they might find either one of the missing owls, but Barran sensibly thought that since both Eglantine and Primrose had been ill this summer, chances were, they would not fly into an opposing wind. The wind had been blowing north by northeast, a perfect wind for Cape Glaux, the site of the great massing of the Pure Ones months before. What a scene that had been, Soren thought. The Chaw of Chaws had been sent on a covert mission to penetrate St. Aggie’s. The Chaw of Chaws was the special force comprised of the band in addition to Otulissa, Ruby, and Martin. On their return from the mission, they had heard the rumor that owls were massing on Cape Glaux and, indeed, they had been! There had been close to a thousand Pure Ones that Kludd had recruited for his invasion and siege of the Island of Hoole and the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. The Pure Ones had long since evacuated the cape as a base. There were rumors of them in a region known as Beyond the Beyond, but others had placed them in the Desert of Kuneer. They were all rumors, however, and now Soren reminded himself that they were not looking for great massings of Pure Ones, but for one very tiny Pygmy Owl and his own sister, who was shattered by the deadly power of the flecks. “Full-blown fleckasia,” Otulissa had called it.
The coastline of the cape began to appear as a blurred line jutting out into the sea. They would make their landfall on a more or less protected beach within a bay called The Bight. There were some good trees that would afford perches for a rest before they began scouring the landscape in a tiered formation of low-level, mid-level, and high fliers.
It has to work, Soren thought. It just has to work. He had lost Eglantine once. But he would not lose her twice! Twice would be too cruel to endure.
The dread that Eglantine had first felt when she realized that she was caught in a dream from which she could not wake up had continued to build. As she flew into the headwinds that tossed up slop from the Sea of Hoolemere, there was one thought that she tried to keep in her mind. She repeated it again and again. I must look into my dream mum’s eyes, I must look behind her eyes. I must see what is real and what is not. I must go back one last time.
“Eglantine!” Ginger shouted out. “I don’t understand why we couldn’t have waited a few hours for this weather to pass. Why now? This stuff is hard to fly through. Your mum will still be there.”
She’d better be, Eglantine thought. But was it really her mother? She began thinking of the very small differences, starting with the words her dream mum used, and her face. Had her mother’s face been quite that white? And why was her da never there?
The two owls flew on. The weather grew worse. Ginger was having a hard time. But finally the coastline of The Beaks appeared. Soon they were flying over the Mirror Lakes.
I should have known…I should have known, Eglantine thought. Hadn’t Mrs. Plithiver told her about the Mirror Lakes of The Beaks and the strange spell it had cast on Soren, Gylfie, Twilight, and Digger? The gleaming surface of the water had dazzled them and they had become fascinated by their own reflections—hypnotized, Mrs. P. had said. It was a dangerous place. And now, thought Eglantine, it was a dangerous place with dangerous owls. Once more, she felt a jolt run through her gizzard. Dangerous? My mum dangerous? How strange.
She was now approaching the fir tree. She knew she had to appear normal—but what was normal? How long had it been since she had been normal? A fog was beginning to lift in Eglantine’s brain, but it took enormous energy not to sink back into it.
“Darling!” her mum called out. “Oh, I’m so pleased. And in this bad weather. Oh, how lovely that you came.”
My real mum would scold me for flying in this bad weather.
“Come in. I have your favorite snack waiting for you—centipedes. But darling, Eglantine. No papers for me? You know how much I enjoy the papers you bring me.”
“Uh…it was raining, you know. I thought they might get wet.”
“Oh, yes, of course, silly me. Your da is always saying I’m such a silly old thing.”
“He does?” Eglantine said blankly. “Are you sure?” Suddenly, the big white-faced owl blinked at her as if watching her more closely. Uh-oh! Be careful. Eglantine’s gizzard quivered with fear. But the quivers felt almost good, because each time her gizzard stirred, she began to feel more like her old self.
“I have a wonderful surprise for you.”
“A surprise? Da? Soren?” Eglantine blinked and looked closely. Is she my mum? Really? How can I tell for sure?
Primrose could hear their conversation. She was being held in a hollow just off the one in which Eglantine and the Barn Owl were talking. She blinked her eyes. What in Glaux’s name was Eglantine talking about? How could Soren or her da be here, and why was Eglantine calling this female owl “Mum”? Primrose had seen and heard all this before when she had first arrived, just before she had been stuffed into the sack. She could hardly believe her ears then, and now she was hearing it all again!
So far, Primrose had not only resisted shattering but given a fairly decent impression of a shattered owl. She had even managed to affect that glassy, unblinking look that she had noticed in Eglantine. At first, she thought it was a symptom left over from the summer flux, but now she knew better. It was the look of a shattered owl. She was sure. But still the fact remained that she was a prisoner, and so was Eglantine for that matter. Because even though Eglantine’s body was free to fly back and forth between this hollow and the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, her mind was completely enslaved to these owls. And they were the Pure Ones. They were not here in full force, but there were enough of them to make escape almost impossible. Metal Beak and apparently hundreds of others were off on some mission. Otulissa was right; they should have launched an attack as soon as they could after the siege of last winter. They had to fight offensively. But how in Glaux’s name could a two-ounce seven-inch Pygmy Owl fight these monsters by herself?
Primrose leaned closer to the opening, trying to catch more of the strange conversation going on in the hollow below.
The wind howled. The fir tree at the edge of the Mirror Lake rattled ferociously.
“Odd for The Beaks,” the large Barn Owl said. “But now for the surprise,” she said to Eglantine. But then she looked up and emitted a sharp shree. Something tumbled down out of a hole above that led to another hollow. There was a blur of feathers. Eglantine blinked. There, standing before her right next to Ginger, was Primrose. The two owls stared at each other, displaying neither shock nor dismay.
“Here is your little friend now,” the Barn Owl said. She looked from Eglantine to Primrose and back again. “Are you surprised? I always like to encourage friendship, you know.”
Eglantine felt a dreadful quiver in her gizzard.
“Hi,” said Primrose softly. Eglantine didn’t quite know how to respond. She had so many questions. Why were Primrose’s eyes so glassy? It was Primrose, wasn’t it? Or was it a dream Primrose like her dream mum? Eglantine’s gizzard began to twitch as it had not in weeks. Her mother set out some centipedes, and then turned to Primrose and to Ginger.
“Eglantine and I always sing the centipede song together, don’t we, darling?”
Eglantine swung her head toward the large Barn Owl. Her black gaze bore into this dream mother. And one thought filled her brain: Would I rather live in a world without my mum and da or in a world with a dream mum? She knew the answer. In that infinitesimal sliver of a second, the world became clear to Eglantine.
“It’s Eggie! Mum called me Eggie. NOT DARLING!” she roared. Eglantine now knew that this was not her mum, nor just any dream mum. This was Nyra, the deadly mate of Kludd. And now Nyra was moving toward her with a savage look in her eyes. Her beak dropped o
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Piece by Piece
Ezylryb and his weather-and-colliering chaw perched in the highest branches of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. The weather was foul, but nonetheless they tried to look out across the Sea of Hoolemere. Legions of electrical storms like attendants for a monarch had been accompanying this late-season hurricane that had swirled out of the warm waters of the southernmost region of the sea. Ezylryb had been expecting something like this. All summer his weather probes, a series of devices and experiments, had shown unusually warm water. Hurricanes fed on warm water.
Next to Ezylryb perched Soren, frantic with worry over his sister and Primrose. They could be anywhere out there in this beastly weather, he thought. And the two young owls were completely inexperienced in flying the unpredictable—and often lethal—winds of a hurricane. Soren himself had flown in only one, and it had really been just the raggedy fringes of a hurricane at that. But it had been bad enough.
The search-and-rescue mission for Primrose and Eglantine had been called off due to the weather. But…Soren almost dared not give words to the thought. He turned his head slightly toward Ezylryb. Was the old Whiskered Screech thinking of launching a weather-and-colliering chaw mission? With all the electrical storms, there were bound to be forest fires. Bubo’s forge was low on the kind of coals he liked the best, the hottest ones, which burned with a fierce energy and were full of what blacksmiths called bonk. If it hadn’t been for the great abundance of bonkful coals last winter, they never would have survived the siege of the Pure Ones. But, of course, Soren was hoping not just to find bonk coals but also his sister and the dear little Pygmy Owl, Primrose, whom he had met on his very first night in the Great Ga’Hoole Tree when she had been brought in dazed from a fire in her home forest of Silverveil. Just as Soren was thinking about all this, Bubo lighted down on the limb.