Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile Read Free Page A

very gifts Glaux had given owls to make a life for themselves? But Otulissa, for whom arguments were like a tonic, had no desire to engage in any further discussion with the Striga on the subject. Indeed, after this odd conversation, Otulissa was rendered speechless for one of the very few times in her life.

CHAPTER FOUR
Simplicity
    O tulissa was not the only one that early evening who had entered into a very odd conversation. When the Band left Coryn’s hollow, the young king felt as if something rather strange had occurred. It was almost as if it was not he himself speaking. But it was. He, of all of them, had spent the most time with the Striga since he had arrived at the great tree. Although their lives had been entirely different and Coryn had never lived in anything comparable to the Dragon Court of the Panqua Palace, he somehow sensed a resonance with what this owl had been saying. Coryn’s early life in the harsh, unforgiving landscape of canyonlands had been entirely different from the Dragon Court. He had never been pampered, and had been abused by his mother, who had subjected him to a merciless indoctrination in order to make him a leader of the Pure Ones. The two words, “Pure Ones,” almost carried a stench. For the Pure Ones believed that Barn Owls, Tyto albas , were the only true owls. The rest were impure,inferior, afflictions to owlkind. It was a base, venal notion. The violence that could be justified by such thinking was revealed to Coryn most brutally when, before his eyes, his mother killed his only friend.
    But then the Striga had come to the great tree, invited by Soren and the rest of the Band after the defeat of Nyra and the Pure Ones in the Middle Kingdom. He had fought bravely, if not strictly according to the fighting methods practiced by the owls of the Middle Kingdom. The Striga’s attack had been bloody and the Hoolian owls were in his debt.
    The Striga preached that within every owl there was a “perfect simplicity.” But to find it, one must cleanse—or “scour”—one’s self of vanities and fripperies and all such distractions, and then a level of perfect simplicity would be attained. And thus, the message was an uncomplicated one: Burn away vanity. Being truly cleansed, one would achieve the supreme state of perfect simplicity, ready to receive Glaux’s blessings forever and ever.
    Just as Coryn was thinking about this, the Striga entered.
    “How did it go?” the Striga asked.
    “I’m not really sure.”
    “They agreed?”
    “Yes,” Coryn replied.
    “Well, that’s good.”
    “Yes, it is.” Coryn nodded his head vigorously, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. “It is. Yes, I’m sure it is. But…”
    “But, what?” the Striga asked.
    “Well, it’s a change—this new way of celebrating the Harvest Festival. I promised them that we were just trying this. That we’d still have Punkie Night.”
    “Of course,” the Striga said quickly, although he had no idea what Punkie Night was. He felt that now was not the time to push.
    “I think Soren felt a little bad about Blythe not singing.”
    “She will sing better when she has achieved simplicity. Then it will not be a vain art.” The Striga paused. “I was having a most interesting conversation in the library with Otulissa.”
    “Really?” Coryn looked up.
    “She is a very intelligent owl.”
    “She’s practically a genius!” Coryn said.
    “Yes, well, you know she has embarked on a very—very interesting research project.”
    “Oh, yes. Her study of windkins and the currents in the River of Wind. She and Soren are veterans of the weather-interpretation chaw, and were taught by the old master Ezylryb himself.”
    “I think these studies are good. Practical. Would it not be a benefit to the tree if she were allowed to pursue them further?”
    “Well, yes. She had talked about going out and performing some experiments, some feather-drift trials.”
    “Feather drift?” Striga asked.
    “Yes.