Read Online Lost Tales of Ga'Hoole by Kathryn Lasky - Free Book Online
Authors: Kathryn Lasky
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Bartholomew or even Bartimoo, the High Tyto had found it.
Uglamore I was named, and Uglamore I became.
Over the years, Uglamore had gotten used to being called by his Tytonic Union name. He even liked it some days, like when Nyroc said it. In fact, many things seemed to change after the little chick was born. When he was merely days old, he had tried to say “Uglamore,” except, in the garbled speech of the tiny owlet, it sounded more like “Oolamoo.” It brought warmth to Uglamore’s old gizzard.
How carefully had the name Nyroc been chosen for him, Uglamore recalled. When Nyra had first laid the egg, the “Sacred Orb” as she had called it, she had desperately wanted the hatch day to fall on the night of an eclipse. Because then, the little chick would join a most exclusive group: the Nyrolian owls, those owls hatched during an eclipse.
As the night of the eclipse neared, Nyra became fixated on the egg.
Uglamore was sure that Nyra had pecked at that egg to cause it to hatch before it was truly ready—an act that only the worst of owl mothers would even consider. It was the first of many perversions she would practice, Uglamore thought grimly: hate instead of love; mindless obedience instead of free thought; murder instead of friendship. He had felt sorry for the little chick even back then.
Just before the sun climbed over the horizon, Nyra announced that her son had hatched. Nyroc, she predictably called him, after herself. Maybe Uglamore shared a bond with Nyroc because they were both destined to their names—he after his father and his father’s father, the young chick after his mother. Or perhaps he felt the bond because he and Nyroc were both fatherless. Who can say for sure? What he was certain of was that he felt an attachment to this chick that he could not explain, an attachment that was stronger than any he had felt since he joined the Tytonic Union of Pure Ones. What was more peculiar was his sense that this chick was different from any others he had ever known. When Nyroc looked into Uglamore’s eyes, Uglamore felt as if his gizzard were being scoured, but it was a gentle scouring, so unlike the caustic gaze of the little one’s mother, Nyra. He felt like his truest self—whatever that was—whenever he was near the hatchling. These were strange thoughts for a Pure One, that he knew.
Maybe because that connection was clear to all those who saw them, or maybe just because his best fighting days were behind him, Nyra began to entrust little Nyroc to Uglamore’s care. Nyroc needed a father figure, anyone could see that, and Uglamore was happy to take on that role. She even told the chick to call him “Uncle Uglamore”—a title he outwardly objected to among the lieutenants, but inwardly held dear. Stryker had mocked him, calling him “Colonel Broody.” He shook that off like rain on his feathers.
Since the original Tytonic Union of Pure Ones was reduced to remnants through their defeat in the battle known as The Burning, his job as “Uncle Uglamore” became more important to him than even achieving the rank of colonel—a goal that he had had since before he got the name Uglamore. Thankfully, when Nyra wasn’t hags-bent on training Nyroc to be the perfect Pure One, she entrusted him to Uglamore without question.
As the hatchling grew, it became abundantly clear that Uglamore was more like a father to him than his real father, Kludd, could ever have been. Uglamore’s own father had died before little Bartholomew’s First-Meat-on-Bones ceremony, and Uglamore scarcely remembered the owl these days. His mother had kept him fed and safe, but she didn’t do much beyond that.
Nyra was a different breed of mother entirely. She saw her son as a weapon that needed to be forged and honed rather than as a little owl who needed love and caring.
On the occasion of Nyroc’s first flying lesson, Nyra berated him for being too slow and too loud. Unbelievable, thought Uglamore, the chick had flown
Uglamore I was named, and Uglamore I became.
Over the years, Uglamore had gotten used to being called by his Tytonic Union name. He even liked it some days, like when Nyroc said it. In fact, many things seemed to change after the little chick was born. When he was merely days old, he had tried to say “Uglamore,” except, in the garbled speech of the tiny owlet, it sounded more like “Oolamoo.” It brought warmth to Uglamore’s old gizzard.
How carefully had the name Nyroc been chosen for him, Uglamore recalled. When Nyra had first laid the egg, the “Sacred Orb” as she had called it, she had desperately wanted the hatch day to fall on the night of an eclipse. Because then, the little chick would join a most exclusive group: the Nyrolian owls, those owls hatched during an eclipse.
As the night of the eclipse neared, Nyra became fixated on the egg.
Uglamore was sure that Nyra had pecked at that egg to cause it to hatch before it was truly ready—an act that only the worst of owl mothers would even consider. It was the first of many perversions she would practice, Uglamore thought grimly: hate instead of love; mindless obedience instead of free thought; murder instead of friendship. He had felt sorry for the little chick even back then.
Just before the sun climbed over the horizon, Nyra announced that her son had hatched. Nyroc, she predictably called him, after herself. Maybe Uglamore shared a bond with Nyroc because they were both destined to their names—he after his father and his father’s father, the young chick after his mother. Or perhaps he felt the bond because he and Nyroc were both fatherless. Who can say for sure? What he was certain of was that he felt an attachment to this chick that he could not explain, an attachment that was stronger than any he had felt since he joined the Tytonic Union of Pure Ones. What was more peculiar was his sense that this chick was different from any others he had ever known. When Nyroc looked into Uglamore’s eyes, Uglamore felt as if his gizzard were being scoured, but it was a gentle scouring, so unlike the caustic gaze of the little one’s mother, Nyra. He felt like his truest self—whatever that was—whenever he was near the hatchling. These were strange thoughts for a Pure One, that he knew.
Maybe because that connection was clear to all those who saw them, or maybe just because his best fighting days were behind him, Nyra began to entrust little Nyroc to Uglamore’s care. Nyroc needed a father figure, anyone could see that, and Uglamore was happy to take on that role. She even told the chick to call him “Uncle Uglamore”—a title he outwardly objected to among the lieutenants, but inwardly held dear. Stryker had mocked him, calling him “Colonel Broody.” He shook that off like rain on his feathers.
Since the original Tytonic Union of Pure Ones was reduced to remnants through their defeat in the battle known as The Burning, his job as “Uncle Uglamore” became more important to him than even achieving the rank of colonel—a goal that he had had since before he got the name Uglamore. Thankfully, when Nyra wasn’t hags-bent on training Nyroc to be the perfect Pure One, she entrusted him to Uglamore without question.
As the hatchling grew, it became abundantly clear that Uglamore was more like a father to him than his real father, Kludd, could ever have been. Uglamore’s own father had died before little Bartholomew’s First-Meat-on-Bones ceremony, and Uglamore scarcely remembered the owl these days. His mother had kept him fed and safe, but she didn’t do much beyond that.
Nyra was a different breed of mother entirely. She saw her son as a weapon that needed to be forged and honed rather than as a little owl who needed love and caring.
On the occasion of Nyroc’s first flying lesson, Nyra berated him for being too slow and too loud. Unbelievable, thought Uglamore, the chick had flown
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