Hortenses' Story
But first, they had to talk to Hortense. It was not, of course, just a question of picking the right moment but the right words. The moment was easy enough. The following evening, Soren and Gylfie managed to synchronize their schedules so that Soren had a break from his broody chores while Gylfie was still on moss-tending duty. Soren requested permission to help his friend deliver moss, which was granted, as there were still shortages in both the hatchery and the eggorium. Together, the two owls made their way up to the distant outcropping where Hortense sat this evening on a large nest with at least eight eggs in it.
"Phew!" Soren sighed. "Some hike up here." "Nothing to it." Gylfie hopped along. "You get used to it. All right, now, you know the drill. You begin."
It was Soren who had thought of the opening words -- or word. The opening word was a name:
"Hortense." And the speech was simple.
They were now approaching the top of the outcrop. The wind was strong. Indeed, it was the first time that Soren had felt the wind since he had arrived at St. Aggie's. Silvery dark clouds raced against the sky.
This was where owls belonged -- up high with the wind and the sky and the stars that swirled in the night. He felt invigorated and confident.
"Welcome 25-2 and 12-1 to my humble abode."
Soren dropped the moss from his beak onto the nest, and Hortense began tucking it into the niches and gaps. "Hortense!"
Hortense looked up and blinked at him. Her yellow eyes thickened with the moon-blink gaze.
"Hortense, this is not humble, this is where owls belong -- high, near the wind, near the sky, close to the heartbeat of the night." Amazing, Gylfie thought. Soren might not know the word "revolution" but this owl could talk. "Hortense, you are an owl, a Spotted Owl."
"I am number 12-8."
"No you're not, Hortense," Soren said, and this was Gylfie's cue.
"Hortense, cut the pellets. You are Hortense and I saw you acting not as 12-8 but as Hortense, the brave, imaginative Spotted Owl. I saw you deliver an egg from this nest to an eagle."
At that moment, Hortense blinked again and the daze lifted from her eyes, simply evaporated like fog on a sunny day. "You saw?"
"I saw, Hortense," Gylfie said gently. "You are no more moon blinked than we are."
"I had my suspicions about you two," Hortense said softly. Her eyes seemed to lose their brittle stare.
Indeed, Soren thought they were the loveliest owl eyes he had ever seen. Deep brown like the still pool in the forest that he had seen from his family's nest in the fir tree. But there was also a kind of flickering light in them. Speckles of white dotted the crown of her head and her entire body seemed dappled in shades of amber and brown, shot through with spots of white like blurry stars.
"We never suspected you," Soren added quickly "That is, until Gylfie saw you that night."
"Are there any other owls here that are un-moon blinked?" Gylfie asked. "We're the only three, I think."
"How did you get here? How did you resist moon blinking?"
"It's a long story how I got here. And, as to how I resisted moon blinking, well, I'm not sure. You see, where I come from there is a stream, and the flecks that they pick from pellets run heavily in that stream."
"What are the flecks?" Gylfie asked.
"I'm not sure of that, either. They can be found in rocks and soil and water. They seem to occur everywhere, but in our part of the Kingdom of Ambala there is a large deposit that runs through the creeks and rivers. It is both a blessing and a curse. Some of us have unusual powers because of the flecks, we think, but for others it disrupts their navigational abilities to fly true courses. I had a grandmother who eventually lost her wits entirely, but before that she hatched my father, who could see through rock."
"What? Impossible!"
"No, it's true, yet my brother went blind at an early age. So one never knew how it might affect them. I think in my case it perhaps made me resistant to moon blinking. But that doesn't explain how I got here.
It was no accident. I chose to come."
"You chose to come?" Gylfie and Soren both gasped.
"I told you it's a long story."
"I'm on break," Soren said.
"And they're short on monitors. I won't be missed," Gylfie added.
"Well, first of all, I am much older than I appear. I am a fully mature owl." "What?!" Soren and Gylfie both said with complete disbelief.
"Yes, it's true. I hatched almost four years ago."
"Four years ago!" Soren said.
"Yes, indeed, but perhaps one of the effects of the flecks on me was that I was always small, small as an owlet, and never really grew to be much bigger than owlet size. My feathers were delayed coming in, and, of course, I have further delayed them." At this point, Hortense stuck her beak into the nest and pulled out a lovely brown-and- white Spotted Owl feather.
"Is that from a molt?" Soren asked. He had molted when he had shed his first down. There had been a First Molting ceremony, and his mother had saved those baby feathers in a special place.
"No, not a molt. I pull them out myself."
"You pluck yourself?!" Soren and Gylfie gasped in horror.
"Well," she laughed, and the churr sound of a Spotted Owl's laughter was indeed a lovely sound that no moon- blinked owl could ever make. "I am," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "a DNF."
"Destined Not to Fly." Soren said the words softly.
' Yes, because of my top secret work, but also because of my delayed feather development. So I was a natural."
"A natural for what?" Gylfie asked.
To come here. To find out what was going on. You see,
in the Forest of Ambala, our losses due to St. Aggie's patrols had become increasingly heavy. We had been losing baby owlets and eggs at an astonishing rate. Something had to be done. And this, of course, meant sacrifices. One of our bravest owls had followed a St. Aggie's patrol and discovered this maze of stone canyons in which they lived. That particular owl, Cedric, had sacrificed an egg from his and his mate's nest just so he could follow them.
"I volunteered for service as well. I figured that I probably wouldn't have much of a normal life, what with my delayed feather development, and then when my feathers finally did come in, they just didn't seem to work that well. No power, no lift, shaky drag capabilities. I could hardly manage anything but the shortest of flights. Who would have me as a mate? What kind of mother would I make, not being able to hunt or teach my babies to fly? How should I put it? I was bound to be one of those odd single owls, always dependent on relatives' charity, given the wormy, maggoty, down-the-trunk hollow. I hated the idea of being the pathetic dependent owl, the one the owlets were always forced to visit. I decided that it was contrary to my nature to lead such a life and that if I could not live like a normal owl, I would, in fact, use my disability for some noble purpose. Thus, I chose to go to St. Aggie's and do whatever I could to stop them in their horrible quest for power and control of the kingdoms of owls. For that is what they want to do. You realize this, don't you?"
Soren and Gylfie nodded numbly.
"The eggs are part of it. I do what I can here. Since my arrival I have saved more than twenty eggs. The owls of Ambala work with the big bald eagles. It's safest that way. Eagles can get closest to this place most freely. Rock crevices are the natural nesting places for many eagles. So they know the territory.
The eagle is the one bird that really strikes fear into the gizzard of these owls. That scar on Skench's wing
-- that was the talon work of an eagle."
"But how did you get here if you can't fly long distances?" Soren asked. "HALO," Hortense replied.
"HALO?" Gylfie and Soren both said at once.
"High Altitude Low Opening situation. You see, you wait for a day with thick cloud cover. I had plucked myself to owlet status." Soren winced. "Two big Snowies who blended in perfectly with the cloud cover flew me to the boulders just before the entrance of the canyons of St. Aggie's. There is a grove of trees there with a lot of moss under them. It's where the moss that is used in these nests comes from. No owls live there anymore but that is where they dropped me on that cloudy day."
"You say you've saved twenty eggs?"
"Yes, indeed. And back in Ambala they now tell stories of me. I, who had no stories, am now the hero of stories," Hortense said with no pretense of humility.
"But Hortense," Soren said, "there must be more to your life than this. You cannot remain here forever."
"The eagles promise to come and get me. But I always say, 'oh, just another dozen more or so.' I have become rather addicted to what I am doing."
"But there are risks," Gylfie said.
"Anything worth doing has risks." Hortense paused. "And believe me, this is worth doing."
"We want to get out of here. Won't you come with us?" Soren said. "How can I? I can't fly. Nor can you, for that matter."
"But we're going to learn," Soren said fiercely.
"Good," Hortense replied softly, and there was a quaver in her voice that gave both Soren and Gylfie a very creepy feeling. Then, realizing that perhaps she had frightened them, Hortense spoke cheerfully.
"Oh, don't worry. I am sure you shall. Where there's a wing there's a way! Now let me see those wings of yours."
Gylfie and Soren both spread their wings for Hortense to examine. "Lovely, lovely," she said softly.
"Coverts coming in nicely, Soren. Very nice tip slots developing between the primaries. Essential for drag control, especially during
turbulent conditions. Your barbs, both of you, are still soft but they'll stiffen up. And I am sure you will both make splendid fliers."
"Any chance we could see the eagles when they come in?" Soren asked.
"Well... they fly in just before first light."
"I'l work a double shift so I can come up here," Gylfie said quickly "And Soren, try to arrange for a break then for yourself."
