The Shattering

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PROLOGUE (#ulink_7cefda6d-97d5-5b57-9e00-5cb27793e424)

It was the same. That was her first thought.

It looks just like the old fir tree, the one where Soren and I were hatched. And even the shape of the hollow’s opening where Mum and Da made their nest, a lopsided O – wasn’t that the exact shape?

Eglantine knew she was dreaming, but it seemed so real. Like no dream she’d ever had. It was so lovely she didn’t want it to end. She wondered if she flew a little closer and just took a peek, would the hollow look the same inside? Would her mum and da be there? Oh, it had been forever since she’d seen them. Soren said they were dead. He had seen their scrooms, the spirits of dead owls. She hated it when Soren said that. Eglantine squirmed now in her sleep as the words from the awful conversation wove through her dream.

“You saw their scrooms? That means they are dead, doesn’t it, Soren?”

“It does, Eglantine, and there is nothing we can do about that.”

And then Twilight had added his horrible conclusion. “Dead is dead.”

“Dead is dead.” The words swirled around her like black crows getting ready to mob. “Dead IS NOT dead!” She shouted back in her dream. “Dead IS NOT dead.”

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_3a6f7b07-871b-521c-a819-d0f431880e23)

A friend in Need? (#ulink_3a6f7b07-871b-521c-a819-d0f431880e23)

“Wake up, Eglantine! Wake up!” Primrose, Eglantine’s hollowmate, was vigorously shaking her. “You’re just having a bad dream.”

“Oh, for Glaux’s sake, let her sleep,” said Ginger, the newest hollowmate. Ginger was a Barn Owl who had actually been part of the attacking forces during the terrible siege of the previous winter. She had been wounded, but during her recovery she had decided that she’d had enough of the Pure Ones and much preferred life in the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. She had not yet, of course, been approved for training as a Guardian. That would require some time. Nonetheless, Eglantine had taken her under her wing, so to speak, and become a kind of big sister to Ginger during her recovery. They had grown quite close in the process. But Primrose was still Eglantine’s best friend in the tree.

“Let her sleep?” Primrose swivelled her head towards the reddish Barn Owl. “Let her continue to have this awful dream?”

Ginger merely sighed and said, “She’s tired. She needs her sleep, bad dream or not.”

Suddenly Eglantine’s eyes flicked open. “Why in the name of Glaux are you shaking me? I was having the loveliest dream.”

“Loveliest dream?” Has she lost her mind? thought Primrose. “You were screaming your head off about being dead or not dead, Eglantine.”

Eglantine blinked. “No I wasn’t,” she replied defiantly. “I was having a wonderful dream about the old hollow in the fir tree back in Tyto where Soren and I lived with our mum and da. And I was just about to go into the hollow. Something wonderful was about to happen, and then you came along and shook me.” She looked accusingly at Primrose. Ginger pretended she wasn’t paying any attention and commenced humming a little owl ditty that Eglantine had taught her.

Now it was Primrose who blinked at Eglantine. Something about her friend seemed different. She’sseemed different for a while, Primrose thought. Is it just my imagination? It must be my imagination. What if she doesn’t want to be my friend any more? Primrose didn’t think she could stand that. She had to stop thinking this way. She and Eglantine were best friends. They had been from the very start, from the day Eglantine had been rescued. Why, she herself had been on the rescue mission that had found Eglantine.

Like most of the young owls in the Great Ga’Hoole Tree, Primrose had also been rescued by the Guardians. She had lost everything in a devastating fire that had swept through the forest of Silverveil. In a matter of minutes her hollow, her homeland, her parents and even the eggs of her future brothers and sisters had been destroyed. But since her rescue, life at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree had been wonderful, and the best part was having a best friend. It didn’t matter that she was a Pygmy Owl, quite small, and that Eglantine, a Barn Owl, was huge by comparison. They had so much in common. They were so much alike. No, she’d never find another friend like Eglantine.

“Look,” she said to Eglantine, “I’m sorry I woke you from your nice dream. It looked like a nightmare to me. I just couldn’t stand hearing you cry like that.”

“It’s all right, Primrose, don’t worry. I know you meant well.” Eglantine said it softly, and then repeated, “Don’t worry. I’m going right back to sleep and finish my nice dream.”

But Primrose was worried.

Within a few minutes it would be tween time, those slivers of seconds between the last minute of the day and the first of the evening. It was a lovely time, especially in summer as it was now. The sky turned a soft lavender just as the sun began to slip away. Sometimes there were streaks of pink and a fragile light illuminated every leaf and blade of grass, making everything stand out with special beauty. Primrose sat on the branch just outside her hollow and watched the subtle transformation of the lovely Island of Hoole as the light played across it. How close they had come last winter to losing it all to the terrible owls known as the Pure Ones, who were led by Kludd, the brother of Eglantine and Soren.

How fragile life is, thought Primrose, how fragile everything is, including friendship. And once more she felt a tremor deep within her gizzard, where all owls feel their most intense feelings.

She could not dwell upon this, she realised. She was now up for the evening, and the rest of the tree would soon be up as well. Perhaps she would go to the library. It was summertime and there were fewer chaw practices and classes, so she could pick out a book and read just for fun – a nice joke or riddle book. Nothing too serious, like colliering techniques, weather interpretation (which the owls of the great tree were expected to be familiar with) or land and celestial navigation, which Primrose, being a member of the search-and-rescue chaw, was expected to know. No, not tonight.

Tonight, she would find herself a really good joke book and she would laugh as loud as she wanted because there would be no one else in the library at this early hour of the evening.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_ab961f47-dbfa-5305-adb6-4f87d33a027a)

Spronk No More (#ulink_ab961f47-dbfa-5305-adb6-4f87d33a027a)

But Primrose was not to be alone.

“I just don’t understand it Digger.” Otulissa said in a low, rasping whisper as Primrose entered the library. “If it hadn’t been for Dewlap, Strix Struma would never have been killed. She’s a traitor, I tell you.”

“Look, I agree that she’s a traitor but we would have had that battle with the Pure Ones any way you look at it,” Digger said. “Primrose, you’re up early,” he added, seeing her come into the library.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep,” Primrose lied. “You’re talking about what’s going to happen to Dewlap?”

“Yes, and as far as we can see, nothing’s going to happen to her,” Otulissa huffed. “It just isn’t fair.”

“They say,” Primrose offered, “that she’s had a nervous breakdown. That she’s really sick and didn’t know what she was doing.”

“Breakdown my flight feathers!” Otulissa harrumphed. “And I’ll tell you what she was doing.” Otulissa didn’t wait for them to ask. “She was not only leaking information to the enemy and destroying books, she was also hoarding.”

“Hoarding!” both Primrose and Digger said at once.

“Hoarding what?” Digger asked. “What possibly could there have been to hoard last winter?”

“I’ll tell you what: while we all were starving during that long siege, she had her own private supply of milkberries and Ga’Hoole nuts. You didn’t see her getting any thinner last winter while the rest of us were so pathetically skinny we could have slipped through a knothole.”

“I can already do that,” Primrose said, trying to make a small joke. After all, she had come here to read a joke book. She had not expected such serious conversation.

“Oh, sorry,” Otulissa replied. “I wasn’t talking about Pygmy Owls, but you got awfully skinny yourself, Primrose. Probably could have slipped into a hummingbird hole.”

“What are you reading, Otulissa?” Primrose asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Dowsing and divining techniques for metals and water. There’s a short chapter in here by Strix Emerilla. You know, my ancestor—”

“The renowned weathertrix,” Primrose finished the sentence. They all knew about Otulissa’s ancestor Strix Emerilla. There was hardly a word written by her that Otulissa hadn’t read, and she rarely missed an opportunity to remind them of her connection to the great owl. But Primrose didn’t mind. She was happy that Otulissa was showing signs of being herself again.

“That’s terrible, about the hoarding,” Digger said. “I never knew that. I wonder what the parliament will decide about Dewlap.” Then he looked slyly at Otulissa. “Have you been to the roots lately?”

Very few of the owls knew about the roots, but Primrose had once overheard the band – as Soren, Gylfie, Twilight and Digger were often called – talk about them. Of course, they had immediately sworn her to secrecy. The place they called ‘the roots’ was a cramped space deep under the Great Ga’Hoole Tree directly beneath the parliament chamber. Something about the tangled roots and ceiling timbers caused sounds to resonate, most particularly the sounds coming from the owls’ innermost parliament chamber. The roots transmitted the voices of the owls in the parliament above. Listening in on closed parliament sessions was the only really bad thing that the band, plus Otulissa, ever did. It was out-and-out eavesdropping. They all knew it. They all felt guilty about it. But they simply couldn’t stop. They had a million and one ways of rationalising their snooping activities, but their excuses never made them feel much better. Still, they continued to secretly listen.

“I just don’t buy it – the stuff about Dewlap having a nervous breakdown: she’s not shattered.”

“Shattered?” Digger and Primrose both said at once.