Read Online Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile by authors_sort - Free Book Online

the blue owl asked one of the others.
    “Yes, Striga. Vanities abound.”
    “I would think that in this barren land, there would be no fripperies or ornamentation.”
    “It ain’t ornamentation so much as books,” said a Horned Owl. “Ever since that printing press got started, them books—why, they’s like a blight, a disease that’s spreading.”
    “Yes, it spreads,” said the blue owl. “I think we need to strike now. Make an example. You say you have a target, an offending burrow?”
    “Yes, sir,” said a Screech Owl. “Not a quarter league from here and we already found a good pyre.”
    Pyre , thought Doc Finebeak. What in hagsmire is a pyre? He had never heard that word. He felt something crinkle in his gizzard. He suddenly had the most dreadful feeling that a pyre might be a haggish sort of thing. He was crouching behind a bramble of cotton bush. The soft white fuzzy buds opened at this time of the year and provided a perfect camouflage for the Snowy. What is going on here? he wondered.
    Doc Finebeak would learn all too soon as half a dozen of the twentysome owls gathered rushed into a burrow not far from where Doc was concealed.
    “Kalo!!!” An anguished scream split the air. Then pandemonium struck. Owls from nearby burrows poured out. Cries of “It’s the Blue Brigade! The Blue Brigade!” came from all sides.
    “You were given a warning to turn in your books or be raided,” the Striga addressed the crowd. “Prepare to light the pyre.”
    Now Doc Finebeak saw exactly what a pyre was. How clever! This blue owl and his helpers were using plants that grew here naturally to make a fire. There was a large huckleberry bush and right next to it an immense creosote bush, two of the most combustible plants in the entire Southern Kingdoms. And since there were no trees in this region, there was no threat of forest fires. But still, fire was fire and it could destroy. Finebeak watched in horror as the objects for destruction were ferreted out from the surrounding burrows. The owls of this Blue Brigade came out with scrolls, books, and the occasional sparkly bauble.
    “Kalo, let go of it. It’s not worth it,” Burrowing Owl shouted. “Please, Kalo.”
    A lovely-looking Burrowing Owl stood in the center of the clearing, clutching a book in her talons. “I just got this book! It is worth it,” Kalo protested. A Great Horned with a blue feather stuck right between his horn tufts was wrenching the book from her.
    “What’s the problem here, Field Marshal Cram?” The Striga lighted down.
    “Oh, we get one of these book huggers now and again. Won’t let go.”
    “What sort of book is it?” the Striga asked, wondering if it might be a study of something useful like metallurgy and worthy of sparing.
    “Looks like a legend of sorts,” Cram said.
    “Take it away from her,” the Striga ordered harshly. “What about fripperies?”
    “Some pearls. They look valuable,” Field Marshal Cram said, holding up a strand of pink pearls.
    “They are!” the owl named Kalo said. “Genuine saltwater pearls. Take them. Just leave me my book!”
    “Books, pearls, it makes no difference!” the Great Horned said.
    “Let her keep her book,” another owl said. He was younger than Kalo, but not young enough to be her son.
    “Coryn, stay back,” Kalo commanded.
    “Did you say ‘Coryn’?!” The blue owl wilfed, as did his companions.
    “Yes,” replied Kalo. “Although sometimes we call him Cory.” Planting her long, slender, featherless legs in the ground, she drew herself up to her full height, which wasimpressive. “My brother was named for our king.” The nearly horizontal band of white feathers across the top of her brown head framed her yellow eyes, giving them a powerful intensity. Doc was impressed with this Kalo. She could certainly stand up to a threat.
    “That’s blasphemy—using the name of our revered king,” the Striga spat.
    “I knew the king when he was but a lad and I was a lass.