or two away from the shore. “That looks nice enough.”
The four owls lighted down on the rocks by a small tide pool. As they ate their bat wings in the moonlight they peered into the shallow water.
“Are starfish good to eat?” Digger asked, spotting one on the bottom.
“They’re fish aren’t they?” growled Twilight.
“They don’t look like fish,” Digger said.
“I wouldn’t risk it,” said Soren. “Remember how that Brown Fish Owl’s hollow smelled last autumn in Ambala?”
“Hmmm.” Digger looked at the starfish and seemed to think twice about eating it.
“I don’t think it would be good for your gizzard,” Gylfie said. “I mean bones and fur, that’s one thing, but Glaux knows what these creatures are made from. I’d steer clear of it.”
“Pretty though, aren’t they?” Digger said.
Twilight now bent closer to look at the starfish. “S’pose you could take it back for decoration. They dry out, you know. Might be able to trade it for something with Mags.”
“TWILIGHT!” they all shrieked.
“It’s alive,” Soren said. “You kill things to eat, not for decoration.”
“Barely alive, I’d say. Doesn’t have a brain, doesn’t have a gizzard.”
“Still,” Gylfie said, “it’s alive in its own way.”
“S’pose you’re right,” Twilight said and looked up from his examination of the starfish. “Hey! What’s that over there caught in the rocks?”
Something was fluttering between two rocks in the next tide pool. Soren lofted into the air to fly-hop the short distance. “It’s a piece of paper.” He poked at the piece with his talon. “Or a piece of a piece of paper.” And then more slowly, “Or a piece of a page of what was once a book.” He blinked at the smeared letters. “Great Glaux … Fleckasia! It’s part of the book that Dewlap confiscated from Otulissa.”
“No!” Gylfie said in a stunned voice.
Soon they were all crowded around Soren and peering at the fragment of the page. Then Digger spoke: “Otulissa will flip her gizzard when she sees this. Can you make out any of the writing? She was just talking about this thing called shattering, which fleckasia can cause. It’s worse than moon blinking. But she never got to finish the chapter because Dewlap came in and took the book.”
“Then Dewlap must have thrown it away,” Soren said. “What a complete creep that owl is. Imagine destroying a book like this.”
“How did this piece of it ever get this far without completely dissolving?” Gylfie wondered.
“Maybe a seagull picked it up then dropped it here. You know they’ll try to eat anything. And it was caught in this little crack where it kept pretty dry,” Soren said. “In any case, we have to take this back to Otulissa. Maybe she can make something of it.”
When they returned to the great tree, the first pink streaks of dawn were just showing. After a quick breaklight Soren, Digger and Gylfie went to their hollow. Otulissa had completed her experiment for Ezylryb on the far beach but had not yet returned from a special errand for Barran and Boron. She was flying to a slipgizzle who it was thought might have information about the Northern Kingdoms. Soren felt that Boron and Barran were trying to placate Otulissa, who had been plotting a very complex attack on the Pure Ones in which she envisioned enlisting recruits from the Kielian League. Soren and Gylfie had discussed this plan, and both thought it was probably never going to happen. But Boron and Barran seemed to have decided to let Otulissa explore where things stood in the Northern Kingdoms. Ever since Strix Struma had been killed in battle, Otulissa had been obsessed with her plan. In any case, the owls of the band would wait until the next night to show Otulissa the fragment of the page they had found.
In the coolness of the breaking day, the owls nestled into their hollow and, after a few sleepy words, were sound asleep – except for Soren. His mind continued to speculate almost playfully on how that fragment of paper got to where it was between those rocks. He supposed it could have got caught in the sub-Lobelian current. He tried to recall what those current charts looked like and imagine the course that little piece of paper had travelled. He wondered if there were possibly more pieces of paper caught in rocks. No, not a chance, this was a one-in-a-million thing. He yawned again and was asleep.
The sea seemed to float with pieces of paper and oddly enough, the writing on the bits of paper was perfectly legible. But every time Soren swooped down to pick one up, the fog rolled in and he couldn’t see. He wished that Twilight were here. Twilight was the master of seeing in conditions like these.
Aaah, finally the fog is lifting. But suddenly, Soren realised that he was no longer over the sea. Racdrops! He looked down and saw the regularly undulating hills. The Beaks! His gizzard twitched with dread. Mrs Plithiver’s raspy voice scratched in his ear: “No owl, especially a young impressionable one, has any business in The Beaks. It’s a bad, bad place.”
And then below him were the tantalising Mirror Lakes that had transfixed the band in a kind of deadly stupor on their first journey to Ga’Hoole. Great Glaux. He blinked at the dazzling sparkle of the lakes beneath him, but those lakes abruptly shattered into thousands of pieces.
“I’m sorry, Mrs Plithiver,” he heard himself say. Without even banking, he did a steep dive towards the lakes. He blinked. A dazzling white brightness nearly blinded him. Dread crept around the edges of his gizzard. The radiant brilliance of the shards reminded him of something. Something terrible. What was it? No time to wonder. The fog was drifting back over the lake. Only it wasn’t fog. It was smoke – but there was one small clear space above the lake. He would dive for it now. “I’ll take these lakes – piece by piece. Yes, Mrs Plithiver, piece by piece by piece.”
Soren woke up suddenly and clamped his beak tight. Great Glaux! It was a dream! I was talking in my sleep! He looked across at his hollowmates and hoped his babbling hadn’t woken them up. But they all seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Soren went back to sleep and would not remember this dream for a long, long time – until it was almost too late!
And in another hollow, another Barn Owl dreamed another dream.
Yes, just like the old fir tree, Eglantine thought. Just like home. And look, there’s moss draped across the opening, the same way Mum did it, to keep out the cold wind, or the sunlight if it was too strong. She crept closer on the branch. Did she dare peek through? Why, Great Glaux! Even this branch I am standing on is the same. Then she heard a soft hiss and a slithering sound. Why, that’s exactly the sound Mrs Plithiver makes when she’s tongue-vacuuming and sucking up all the vermin. I’d know that sound anywhere! Eglantine’s gizzard was about to burst with excitement. This is more than a dream, she thought. Oh Glaux, don’t let it end! If I peek in, will I see Mum and Da and Mrs P? Will everything be like before? Eglantine edged in close to the moss curtain. Behind it, she saw a shape bustling about. The whiteness of a Barn Owl’s face shone through the green
