The Eggorium
The following day, Soren was back at his post in the pelletorium. Indeed, he had been promoted to a second-degree picker and was now appalled to find himself reciting the exact same words to a new owlet that 47-2 had said to him upon arriving. "I am 12-1. I am to be your guide for the pelletorium.
Follow me." He spoke in the same peculiar manner. The hollow, clipped sounds came naturally to him now. So when Gylfie came up with a tray of fresh pellets, he was perhaps more than ready to listen to her suggestions of a possible new worksite.
"The eggorium. I think I found us an entry-level position. Egg sorting. Fellow in the pellet storage area told me about it. Mite blight in the hatchery"
"So what does that mean?" Soren asked.
"I'm not sure. All I know is that they had to take owls off duty in the eggorium and put them in the hatchery."
"I still don't really understand what they do in either one of those places. Not to mention, what are these flecks
that the first-degree pickers pick? It's like a puzzle that never seems to quite come together. It's as if we have all these pieces of things, but are we any closer to knowing what this place is about and how to get out of it, or if we'll ever learn to fly?" Soren was getting more and more agitated as he spoke.
"Try to keep calm, Soren. I just have a feeling that we're close to something."
Soren and Gylfie stood in a small antechamber. Above them perched a large Snowy Owl.
"Welcome to the eggorium!" the Snowy hooted deeply. "To work in the eggorium and the hatchery is the highest of honors. You have been given temporary top secret clearance. We are in a bit of a bind these days as we have had an epidemic of mite blight. For this reason you shall not be given a DNF, or Destined Not to Fly ranking, but you shall have to undergo a procedure at the end of your term, which, although not painful, shall make you forget the information that you shall be exposed to here."
"Moon scalding," Gylfie whispered. "But we know how to handle that." "Right." Soren was still weak with relief over not being a DNF.
"And now into the eggorium. Please follow me." The Snowy hooted softly.
There was a collective gasp from all the owls. For even a perfectly moon-blinked owl could not help but be stunned by the scene before them. Thousands upon thousands of eggs were being sorted, eggs of all sizes and all pure white, glistening now in the moonlight. And as they sorted, they sang a song.
By these eggs we set a store
We sort them out and ask for more.
Vygmy, Elf, Spotted, and Snowy
Make our gizzards get allglowie.
Barn Owls, Great Grays, Barred, and Screech Give our hearts an extra beat.
The work's top secret, that is true,
But we are the best -- the eggorium crew! Don't give a hoot that no one flies
For upon these eggs the future relies.
Such is our noble destiny
To guard St. Aggie's through eternity!
The instructions were simple. For this first phase, each of them was to look for eggs of their own species, as these would be the easiest for them to identify. Thus Soren was to sort out Barn Owl eggs and Gylfie was to sort out Elf Owl eggs. They were to roll the eggs into a designated area. From there, they would be transported by larger and more experienced owls to the hatchery.
Soren was simply aghast. This was exactly what he had overheard his mother and father talking about --
egg snatching. "Unspeakable!" That was the word his mother had used. Unspeakable. But here it was, right before his very eyes. He began to tremble. There was a sickening feeling in his gizzard.
"Don't go yeep on me," Gylfie hissed.
"How can I go yeep? I don't even know how to fly yet."
Going yeep, as every owl and bird knew, was a term for when one's wings seemed to lock, when a bird lost its instincts and could no longer fly and would suddenly plummet to the ground.
As loathsome as the work was, it was pretty easy. However, Soren could not help but wonder with each Barn Owl egg he found where it had come from in Tyto. Did his parents know this owl egg's parents?
Luckily, the Barn Owl egg station and the Elf Owl station were not that far apart. So as Soren and Gylfie arrived at their respective stations, rolling their eggs, they would exchange a word or two. "I haven't seen 12-8, Hortense," Soren said.
"She's not here. She's in the hatchery. That's where the broodies are -- they sit on the eggs. We've got to get in there."
"How do you plan to do that?" Soren asked.
"I don't know. I'll think of something," Gylfie said.
Just before their shift ended, Gylfie thought of something.
"You!"
"Me what?" Soren asked.
"You're a perfect broody."
"What? Me a broody? Have you gone yoicks? I'm a male owl. Male owls don't sit nests."
"They do occasionally -- in very cold climates sometimes."
"Well, this isn't an especially cold climate. Why not you?
"They don't need an Elf Owl now but they do need a Barn Owl. I heard them talking and, by the way, they have plenty of male owls up there sitting on nests."
"What do you mean by 'up there'? Up where?"
"Up there, Soren. I think it's higher than the library....
I think its very close to the sky. I think ..." Gylfie paused for dramatic effect. "We could fly from up there." Soren felt his gizzard give a lurch. "I'll go "Good fella!" Gylfie gave Soren a friendly cuf Ł
although she was so short she could hardly reach his wing. But it seemed like a really male owl thing to do and she wanted to assure Soren that, although he was going to be a broody,he was still one tough little owl. 'And I myself plan on getting promoted to moss tender."
