A/N: I designed this to serve as an epilogue to A Queen, Made Lonely, as that story had a fully open ending, an ending that needed to be resolved.
And so, here is the conclusion to it, a tale of light and darkness that is sure to stir the hearts of my readers.
If you dare, listen to "Betula Pendula" by Carbon Based Lifeforms on Youtube as you read this fic. It is by far the saddest song I have ever heard, and coupled with this story, I can guarantee that the tears will flow for most of you.
A Transition Most Melancholy
The time of the White Rain was hitting the owl world hard, blasting its frosty breath across each and every kingdom.
Even the enormous home of the Guardians was not immune to its chilling grip. Stripped of its leaves and lacking any sort of surrounding geography to protect it, it was pelted endlessly with gusts of frozen air and flurries of thick snowflakes. Though the mighty roots entrenched in the island held firm, the trunk creaked and groaned ominously as the wind rocked it back and forth.
The weather outside was tumultuous and frightful, but the owls on the Island of Hoole had no reason to fear it. They were safe and warm in their sheltered hollows, respecting the powerful storm from the comfort of their abodes.
Life continued on as usual for the owls residing there, albeit with a few restrictions placed on the forays conducted by the chaws. Classes had been mostly held inside for the past week, since not even the rybs dared to guide their students into such an unforgiving cyclone and place them at high risk.
The Queen fully understood and upheld the rybs' decisions, apologizing to the students directly for the termination of talons-on training as a result. Aside from that change in routine, lessons were taught and tests were handed out, and thus the process of learning continued unabated.
In general, the mood of the owls and snakes in the Great Tree was deliciously positive, not counting the incidences of petty squabbles between mates, parents and their children, or rybs and their apprentices.
But to be fair, the same could not be said of the Great Tree's monarch.
Ever since the passing of her mate two years prior, there had been a marked change in Pellimore's personality and attitude. It was as if a void had opened up in her gizzard, siphoning off the majority of the joy life in the noble Ga'Hoole Tree invoked in her.
She was neutral at best, stifling her negativity and positivity to a decent extent. She was too brave to let the former show excessively, and just the same, too wounded to let the latter show excessively.
Her smiles were smaller, her laughs were weaker, and her gaze was darker.
To lock eyes with her was to be reminded of how hurt she was, and what she and all of the creatures of the Great Tree had lost: her cherished mate and their noble king. Her physical appearance was substandard and partly unsettling, her aging influenced by the perishing of the owl she loved most in the world.
But in spite of the grueling trials Pellimore's been through these last moons, the Guardians can see that she has a resolve as solid as the late Bubo's nickel-alloy metal. Pellimore has never given up the fight, continuing to reign skillfully in Soren's absence. She's worked so hard, Glaux bless her soul, to ensure that the interactions of the creatures within the Great Tree run smoothly, in addition to maintaining fruitful relations with the owls in the other kingdoms.
It is safe to say that high above, in the paradise that is Glaumora, Soren is beaming down at her with pride.
The Guardians dread the day when she, too, will lose her grip on life, but there is truly no way to prepare for such a heartbreaking occurrence. Soren's distant death still burned the minds of the Guardians like fire claws, and to suffer a second round would no doubt be the limit of what they could endure emotionally.
In actuality, Pellimore's death would be even more severe in magnitude, bringing an abrupt close to a period of kingdom-wide prosperity unmatched since the ancient time of Hoole. It would go down as the gloomiest day in the Guardians' history, and the owl world would be sent reeling when they heard of the terrible news.
But her legend will be immortalized by quill and ink, her wondrous life and stunning achievements scribbled carefully onto pages of parchment that will be bound into books and distributed to every inhabited region on Earth. Pellimore will eventually cease to be a part of the physical world, but her memory will live on in the hearts and minds of owls everywhere, never to be forgotten.
Scholarly owls will study the legendary novels and recreate her in their minds, digging deep into her psyche and attempting to conceive what it would have been like to meet her face to face.
Content parents will convey to their children bedtime stories about her, be they real at times or imagined at others.
Adventurous owlets will read about her and take heed of her mettle, aspiring to grow up courageous and imitate her character in as many ways as possible.
Yes, her passing will send rippling shadows of pain across the kingdoms, but her written sagas will be a force of relentless vigor. She will be honored as an owl that performed momentous deeds and battled through life's cruel machinations, but will also be honored as an owl who virtuously earned her trip to Glaumora.
On Earth and in heaven, Pellimore will last forever, as she rightfully should.
The owls of the Parliament were eating in the otherwise empty Dining Hollow, talking amongst each other as they consumed fresh roasted vole, milkberry tarts, and drank milkberry tea.
Timothy, the slim, confident son of Ruby and Ambrose, had been invited to join the planned feast the previous night, but he had not yet arrived. Nonetheless, the Parliament was patient, since it was a few hours before First Black. At that early hour, every creature in the Great Tree was still waiting for the cloak of night to fall, their Short-Eared Owl steward being no exception.
They were all blissful, conversing about all manner of subjects from the interesting to the serious. The silence was constantly kept at bay, as was the audible straining of the Great Tree's trunk as the zephyr raging outside shifted a few inches this way and that.
Ten minutes into the social gathering, the sound of talons clicking on wood echoed from the passageway that led to the Dining Hollow. A few moments later, Timothy's cream-and-russet form materialized out of the dim tunnel.
The diminutive Saw-Whet Owl named Matthias greeted, "Come in, come in, Timothy! This gathering isn't quite complete without you here."
"We're glad you could make it," Artemis the Barred Owl put in. "We had Cook prepare your portion after ours, so that it would still be deliciously warm for you," the gray-striped owl added.
Timothy strutted up to the nest-maid snake serving as the table and claimed a spot next to Amalthea, a Barn Owl.
"Thank you for allowing me… to be a part of this gathering," he said cheerfully, his beak opening wide in a yawn.
"Still feeling tired, are we?" Amalthea questioned teasingly.
"Perhaps a little, but it does not matter. Losing an hour or two of sleep is a harmless sacrifice."
Amalthea replied, "Well said, Timothy."
He flashed the female Tyto a bright smile, and then seized his roasted vole with his right foot. He brought it up to his beak and removed the head with a clean tug, his eyes closing momentarily in bliss.
"How is it?" an Elf Owl not much larger than Matthias asked.
Timothy gulped down the fleshy lump and smacked his beak, his insides pleasured by the delectable meat.
"A very fine vole, Rita. I'll be sure to give Cook my thanks. But then again, he never fails to create splendid food, now does he?"
"No, he doesn't, lad," Flynn the Masked Owl replied gleefully.
Timothy went for a second bite of the limp rodent, but a bold male voice stopped him short.
"How is the Queen doing? Have you talked with her lately?"
Timothy put the vole back on the polished metal plate and replied, "I don't know, Ashton. I haven't met with her since yesterday. However, she was doing fine then, and I don't think her condition has changed. I was delayed in arriving because I was busy making her hollow more comfortable, and she wasn't there while I was doing so."
"I see," the slender Long-Eared Owl replied.
"My nest-maid snake informed me when I awoke that her gizzard was awfully quiet, though she could not say why. The news confused me, to be honest, and made me worry for Pellimore. I hope she isn't falling ill, and has yet to exhibit the symptoms."
"I'm sure she's doing perfectly fine. Granted, as fine as she could possibly doing. What a blessing it would be to receive a shred of her steadfastness," Lydia the Snowy Owl admitted, sipping her milkberry tea.
Timothy ripped the vole in two and downed the larger chunk, easing its journey with a dose of tea.
It was then that a Burrowing Owl spoke up.
"Say, Timothy?"
"Yes, Liam?"
'"Why don't you search for our monarch and ask her to join us? It might be just what she needs to boost her spirits and get her gizzard churning again."
Everyone else nodded their heads in agreement.
"I suppose it would be nice to chat with her before things get busy. I'll go as soon as I finish my meal."
"Good choice, lad," Flynn exclaimed.
Rather eager to carry out their request, I ate slightly faster, but not so fast as to sicken myself. The remainder of my vole disappeared first, and then I set about devouring my milkberry tart. What a scrumptious desert it was, the sour jelly core balanced out by the sweet crust. Coupled with the richness of the liquid brewed from the exact same fruit, it was an indulgence fit for royalty.
Having cleaned my plate and emptied my cup, I bid a momentary farewell to my companions and exited the Dining Hollow. My tasty fare had left me at ease and cleared my head, erasing my concern for the health of the Queen.
It was true that she had not been in her private hollow during my previous visit, but I assumed that that was where I should go first. It was a relatively long climb from the lower portion of the trunk to the crown, where Pellimore lived.
I treaded as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb the scores of sleeping owls. The myriad of paths inside the Tree tended to amplify noise, and it was for that reason that I walked cautiously.
When at last my upward trek was complete, I turned to the right from the main passageway and continued down a shorter, narrower tunnel that led to her home. I paused in front of the milkberry vine curtain to catch my breath, straining to pick up any audible confirmations that she was inside.
I called softly, "May I enter, my Queen?"
There was no answer.
"Pellimore?"
Silence still reigned supreme.
I assumed she was either resting and could not reply, or was not even at home to begin with. I inhaled quickly, and then parted the curtain with my wings.
The shock of what I saw was so intense, my gizzard contorted with dread. I thought for several moments that I was hallucinating, that what I was seeing could not possibly be real. But it was not long before I realized in horror that my eyes were not deceiving me.
And that was when my world shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.
I went yeep where I stood, falling backwards and ending up on the floor. I stared blankly at the ceiling, one string of words repeating over and over in my head: Oh Glaux no… please no…
The nest-maid snake's back was loaded with empty plates and nut cups, for the owls of the Parliament had all finished their snacks.
"Thank you for your service, Melanie," Rita chirped as the snake slithered for the exit.
"You are all very welcome, and it is my pleasure," the iridescent reptile replied.
The owls settle themselves in the middle of the chamber and resumed talking, but Melanie's urgent hiss interrupted them: "Oh dear… I believe Timothy is coming… and his gizzard is incredibly distressed!"
The Parliament owls blinked and locked their eyes on the oval-shaped hole, their moods tense. Melanie drew back and coiled up just before being trampled by the Short-Eared Owl.
His pupils were dilated, and he was trembling uncontrollably. His chest raced in and out, as if he was exhausted.
"What in Glaux's name is wrong, Timothy?" Lydia asked forcefully.
His words came in fragments, clear evidence of his unrest: "It's the Queen… she's… she's…"
He wilfed in an instant, turning into an oddly-skinny version of himself, a change most disconcerting to the Parliament.
"Well? Answer us, lad!" Flynn screeched.
"Pellimore… is dead…"
He burst into tears right then and there, and the seven members of the Parliament went yeep in unison, collapsing to the floor in a mess of feathered bodies.
Timothy escorted the Parliament to the Queen's hollow after they had broken out of their yeep states, where they positioned themselves in a semicircle around their fallen monarch.
Some wilfed, and the others cried as they cast their eyes upon her, for she was mute and unmoving.
She was lying on her left side, her left wing pinned under the grass harp and her right wing covering it. A primary feather much too neat to be hers was stuck under the upper frame of the instrument, the Parliament recognizing it as Soren's.
"Oh Pellimore… may Glaux rest your soul…" Liam whimpered.
Rita moaned, "She died alone… with no one to comfort her… in her final moments. How tragic… how unfair…"
Amalthea forced herself to move closer, reaching out with her wings to reorient her monarch. She tugged slightly on her corpse, emitting a sharp shriek as only Barn Owls can when the dead female rolled over. She jumped back as Pellimore's right wing unfurled, revealing the damage to the grass harp. But the living Tyto's focus was not on the instrument.
The monarch's dull black eyes were staring up at her, cold orbs of darkness that pierced Amalthea's soul with sadness.
As streams of tears rolled down her face, Amalthea pulled her leader's eyelids down over her eyes in a final act of closure.
"You may now… sleep peacefully… my Queen…"
The only remnant of Pellimore's expression was her frown, a uniquely forlorn one that only a lifeless creature could wear.
Lydia sobbed, "The striking era… that she and Soren ushered in… is over. It's all over…"
Timothy queried in a low tone, "What are we going… to do now?"
"We need to alert… everyone in the Tree… immediately. Instruct them to... gather in the Great Hollow. Inform the rybs… that all classes… are cancelled… until further notice. And as for Pellimore… she will remain here… undisturbed… until preparations are made… for her Final Ceremony."
Artemis strode to the ovoid hole and motioned with his wing.
"Come… everyone. We have not… a moment to waste."
The Parliament hobbled away in single file, Matthias bringing up the rear. He tossed one last watery gaze at his superior, and then he disappeared into the dusky hallway.
In a fitting display of morose symbolism, the harp's thinnest string was broken, its two ends curled into ragged spirals.
The Parliament dispersed throughout the maze of tunnels in the crown of the Tree, rousing every owl and nest made snake in the myriad of hallways. When asked about their emotional states and twisted gizzards, the Parliament members were hesitant to speak the clear truth.
To have to repeat over and over that fateful admission would be too much to bear, and so they avoided doing so by answering with vague statements along the lines of: "You shall see soon enough."
The Parliament systematically descended down through the trunk, constantly adding to the streams of owls and snakes that were on their way to the massive Great Hollow.
It was by far the largest chamber in the Great Tree, but it would be a mighty stretch to fit the Tree's entire population in that one room. But it was the only option available, and so any discomforting effects the Guardians would feel after cramming themselves into the Great Hollow could not be helped.
Once the Parliament members had traveled as low as they could go within the trunk, they rushed to the Great Hollow and advised the mass of creatures that they would be returning shortly. The band of seven then scampered back up to Pellimore's Hollow to collect her and her belongings.
Artemis gripped the cold form of the Queen in a bear hug, her head resting over the spot where his right wing fused with his body.
Ashton obliged to carry the grass harp, his height and strength necessary to lift the instrument.
Rita was the one to grab Soren's ancient primary, pinching the dense lower end of the shaft in her beak.
To the Great Hollow they marched, Artemis, Ashton, and Rita being the final three owls in the line. They no longer shed any tears or sniffled, and they realized that the Guardians would be the ones who would break down in their place.
Timothy entered the Great Hollow first and cleared a gap in the throng, asking them to move to either side of the entrance and scoot even closer together.
As the next four owls entered, they could see that the Guardians had wisely sorted themselves into rows based on height, the tallest in the rear and the shortest in the front. Small contingents of owls of all species had also flown up and perched on the dozens of ledges jutting from the walls of the Great Hollow, their elevated vantage point less limited than that of the others.
And then came the final trio of Parliament members.
A literal cacophony of gasps erupted as Pellimore, her harp, and the feather of her mate were brought in.
The sobbing began as the limp Tyto was laid on a flat-top wooden protrusion that grew from the floor, which the Guardians would use as a multi-purpose pedestal during festivities or important meetings.
The monarch was placed on her back, her wings folded over her chest; Rita tucked her cargo beneath Pelli's wings, while Ashton flew up and set the harp on a low ledge sprouting from the wall behind the monarch.
The seven members plus Timothy then congregated at the base of the pedestal, eyeing the humongous crowd of distraught Guardians.
"My fellow brothers and sisters," Artemis began ruefully, "this is by far the darkest and coldest day we will ever experience. The passing of our Queen signals the conclusion of a grand era, perhaps the grandest since the legends of Hoole. Let us now assume the posture of mourning, in reverence of our deceased monarch…"
The eight owls near the pedestal turned halfway around and bent over, their beaks touching the floor. The illusion of a wave manifested as the mass of Guardians imitated them, the wave rapidly shifting colors as heads were concealed and backs were shown.
The Guardians choked back their tears and clamped their beaks shut. As a result of their efforts, a silence as dense as ice permeated the chamber, unbroken for well over a minute.
Ashton wrapped up the mourning gesture by facing the crowd and flapping his wings a few times. They stirred and assumed normal postures, as did the owls closest to him.
A large number began sniffling once more, while others broke out into full-fledged crying. Amalthea took a step forward and cleared her throat.
"Though she was my superior, I also deemed her my teacher and my counselor. She offered me help whenever possible, showed selfless generosity and uplifting concern to me when my spirits were down, and opened my eyes to many things I would not have discovered without her influence. But most importantly, she played the role of a sister to me. She was someone I could look up to and strive to emulate, though I could never hope to be on the same level as her, in character and in action. But I truly loved her and admired her, and that is why her passing is especially crippling to me."
She inhaled deeply and continued, "But let it be said that, while her departure is a harrowing event, we cannot overlook the positive aspect of her demise. She is mended in Glaumora, and is now free to fly with Soren for all eternity. Her earthly life was a marvelous one for a while, but became only a burden to her after Soren, her reason for it, vanished. She is now content in Glaumora, alongside Soren, Glaux, and the other worthy owls we all have heard of through song and book. In a sense, we can be both severely disheartened that she is no longer with us, but we can also be cheerful that her indomitable spirit has flown off to reside in the realm where it belongs. And there will come a time when each of us embarks upon that same journey into the clouds, where we will meet with Pellimore once again. And so let us live on with this one creed in our minds: her separation from us is only temporary and it is the destiny of each individual here to reunite with her in the future. But for now, may Glaux bless her soul, from one day to the next, until the end of time itself."
Scores of Guardians nodded their heads in approval, her melancholy speech curing the tears of some and instigating tears in others. But then, her words merited another, more disturbing effect.
The steady wind outside let off for a few seconds, then increased in velocity and battered the tree in a furious gust.
The barely-audible humming was now a constant moan, eerily sweeping up and down in pitch as the seconds ticked by. The very Tree could be felt rocking, the frosty gale packing enough punch to physically sway the gargantuan home of the Guardians.
In a flash, one of the heavy milkberry curtain blocking a porthole in the left wall of the chamber was blown in. The vines flailed as the icy wind rushed in, a veritable bubble of snow expanding as it travelled from one side of the room to the other. Many owls shrieked as a result of the startling occurrence, particularly the Elf and Saw-Whet owls nearest the porthole.
"Could someone please shut the curtain?" Timothy ordered over the howl of the wind.
Some Saw-Whet owls advanced on the porthole, but the snow-laden mini-blizzard proved too strong for them. They were knocked down before they could even grab hold of the vines, and eddies of snow kept flying in.
As suddenly as it had come, the tempest ceased, the wind dying down to nothingness.
The vines fell back against the hole as a tiny cyclone of spiraling snowflakes danced towards the Parliament, slowing down and dissipating as it went. When it was roughly two feet in front of them, it lost its power completely. The flakes drifted to the floor in spiral patterns and melted, the cold air that had ferried them warming in seconds.
It was then that another explosion of gasps was heard, the Parliament included this time around. Standing in the exact spot where the eddy had died was an ivory cloud, its shape instantly recognizable.
It was none other than the scroom of Pellimore, her form impeccably detailed.
She was made of translucent fog, it seemed, her physical features crafted to perfection from that strange substance. The beaks of the eight owls behind her opened wide in awe, their expressions dumbfounded.
They instinctively repeated their maneuver from before, crouching down in a submissive bow of respect. The multitude of owls and snakes before her did the same, sending a second wave of motion and hue from the front to the back. The beings on the ledges bowed their heads, since leaning over would cause them to tumble from their platforms.
The scroom spoke in a firm, caring voice, though it resounded not in their ears, but in their minds.
Rise, my humble Guardians.
They obeyed her command, locking their countless pairs of eyes on her misty spirit. An ethereal calm poured from Pellimore and flooded the chamber from floor to ceiling, mollifying the entire legion of Guardians with its unseen essence.
Timothy muttered, "Your Majesty… we had no idea you would be returning…"
She faced the Parliament and blinked, a solemn look on her monochrome face.
"Why… why have you come, Pellimore?"
She cocked her head to one side.
Patience, dear Flynn. All of the uncertainties stemming from my passing will soon be cleared up.
He dipped his head in a slow nod.
"Of course, my Queen."
She faced the majority of the creatures and filled their brains in unison with her sweet voice.
I appreciate all of you immensely for attending my Final Ceremony. I swell with utmost pride due to your gestures and humility, so much so that I can hardly contain it. I am deeply sorry for abandoning you so blindly and leaving only my frail body behind as evidence. If I had the choice, I would choose to remain your monarch indefinitely. But death is a necessary evil, one that ensures the natural order of this world by disposing of the old to make room for the new. I miss you all more than words could possibly explain, and that is why Glaux has permitted me to visit you one final time. But before I move on, let it be known that, as Amalthea has previously said, I am at ease in Glaumora. Soren and I are bound to each other, never to be apart, and I am the recipient of happiness uncontested. You all have the right to be sad and mourn my death, and may it go on as long as you all feel it should.
Her voice went silent, and then resumed.
But in the coming days and months, I pray that you can find in your gizzards the fortitude to banish your sadness. When your period of grieving has ended, I ask that you relish in the optimism that is sure to bloom in the near future. She advanced on the tiny owls at the head of the pack, walking on noiseless talons. After taking five steps, she stopped. I am sure you are wondering who will be elected as the new rulers of the Tree. That is the main reason why I have come. Glaux, Soren, and I have discussed this matter extensively and with great consideration. It was in our best interest to only consider mated pairs of owls, though I will spare you all the explanation as to why. Our discussion was long and intense, but nonetheless, we reached a unanimous consensus regarding who the next monarchs of the Great Tree shall be. I harbor the decision within me, and it is now that I shall make it known.
Pellimore paused as her subjects murmured to one another for fifteen seconds or so, and then beat her vaporous wings to quiet them down. In a queenly tone, her summoning call reverberated in the minds of the chosen pair.
Ruby, Ambrose, I ask that you come forward.
A bout of sharp inhalations ensued as the avian duo took briefly to the air, sailing over the heads of their companions. The Short-Eared owls landed delicately in front of the ghost, their eyes glimmering in disbelief and exasperation.
Ruby, you are a senior member of the Chaw of Chaws, having supported it, fought for it, and thrived in it for many years. You have developed exemplary skills in many of our fields of training, as well as a markedly bold personality. Only a tough gizzard can cope with the stress of being a monarch, and that is precisely the kind of gizzard you possess. That is the logic behind your election to the position of queen. Do you accept, dear Ruby?
The living owl stared deep into the blank eyes of her queen's ghost, feeling a mysterious power flow through her. It embraced her heart and tickled her gizzard, a sensation unlike anything Ruby had ever felt before.
Everything her former ruler had described about her was true, and the Short-Eared Owl found it impossible to deny such a gracious request.
Ruby puffed herself up, and from her beak slipped the reply, "I accept, Pellimore."
The ghost nodded once, and then planted her focus on the male.
Ambrose, you are more than just Ruby's mate. You are her compliment, supremely gifted in the mind. But with your elevation to the status of king, an entire realm of knowledge will be opened to you. It is a privilege of the highest degree, and the mental enrichment even you have not studied is out there, waiting to be absorbed. A wise king is an efficient one, and I must say that you are the wisest Short-Eared Owl I have had the pleasure of meeting. That is the logic behind your election to the position of king. Do you accept, dear Ambrose?
There was little room for Ambrose to refuse, he realized. He was uplifted by the praise-laden words of his late monarch, his gizzard swelling with self-worth. And if his attractive mate had welcomed the role of monarch, he would not hesitate to do the same.
He was hers, and she was his, and he would stand by her side until the ultimate end.
He narrowed his eyes in determination and said with conviction, "I accept, Pellimore."
The scroom nodded a second time, raising herself higher on her talons. She placed her left wing on the crown of Ruby's head, and placed her right wing on the crown of Ambrose's head. Every owl was rapt and speechless as she issued her coronation speech.
By the authority vested in me, backed by the Almighty Glaux, I pronounce Ruby the new Queen of Ga'Hoole, and Ambrose the new King of Ga'Hoole. May your reign be lavish and extensive, preserving the peace here in the Great Tree and throughout the neighboring kingdoms.
Pellimore stowed her wings against her sides and beamed at the couple, a smile as wide as the crescent moon stretching across her face.
"Pellimore… I don't know what to say. I never imagined that I would be called upon to replace you. It's so… surreal…"
A simple thank you would suffice, my dear.
"Thank you, a thousand times over. I am hardly comparable to you, Pellimore, but I know in my gizzard that I will be a queen most honorable, and most humble."
The scroom raised her wings and cupped the female's face with them.
Of course you will, dear Ruby. But know this: we are all equal to one another in the eyes of Glaux.
Pellimore locked eyes with Ambrose, and he said sternly, "I will do whatever it takes to meet and exceed the expectations of my kingly duties. You have my word, Pellimore."
With that kind of attitude, exceed them you shall. You will perform magnificently, assisted by your intimate bond with your mate and your understanding of how she operates.
She turned her head slightly to the left and added, The same goes for you, Ruby.
"I understand."
The ghostly Tyto nodded, whirled around, and lofted up to the edge of the pedestal with a few deep strokes of her wispy wings. Her succulent tone infiltrated the minds of the Guardians and the lesser creatures too.
My time on Earth is running out, and so I must address a few more topics.
She paused and shook her head, and then resumed her dreamy speech.
There is but one complaint I have regarding my Final Ceremony. Do not fret, however, for it has nothing to do with its quality so far. No Final Ceremony can ever be labeled proper without the burning of the deceased owl, especially if that owl was a queen. That being said, I ask you to construct a pyre on the soil outside destroy my body.
"But my Queen, we cannot even venture outside due to the storm. How do you propose we burn you?" Ashton blurted.
The storm will abate very soon, as Glaux has willed it to be so. After I am destroyed, may my ashes be scattered into the Sea of Hoolemere, and may my bones be buried in the same pit as Soren's.
The Parliament bowed briefly, stating in unison, "As you wish, Pellimore."
Thank you very much.
"You are most welcome," Matthias replied.
As for Soren's feather and my harp, their final resting place shall be here. I ask that the feather be tied gently to the harp with vine, in a place where it will be plainly visible. And from this point on, the harp is never to be played. It will serve as a keepsake, a visual reminder of me, so that I may never be forgotten. Soren's feather will serve the same purpose, so that every creature who glances upon those two objects will see that we are together in death.
"Your requests shall be fulfilled, Pellimore," Liam replied.
The see-through cloud then glided from the pedestal and touched down within wing-reach of the Parliament.
I have but a few minutes left before I am summoned to Glaumora. My business on Earth is finished, except for my bittersweet goodbyes.
She administered a heavenly hug to the eight owls before her one by one, bringing another round of tears to their eyes.
I have not enough time left to say all that needs to be said. But let it be known that I love each and every one of you beyond comprehension, even though I lack a gizzard. But love is perhaps the third force of existence, a counterpart to life and death, and is freely able to surpass the barrier between them.
Pellimore faced the league of animals and added on to her eloquent enunciation.
I can hear your hearts beating for me, and I can sense your gizzards churning for me all the same. But I am no longer the one they should be focused on to such an extent.
Pellimore motioned towards the recently-crowned monarchs with her wing.
They are the ones who deserve your full attention now, in both heart and gizzard. They, not I, are the ones who will lead you into a future brighter than the full moon. Do them justice by playing your parts as their subordinates, and do me justice by keeping me in your thoughts. In some form or another, I shall always be near. Be strong for me, but be stronger for them, and for your brothers and sister Guardians. Promise me that.
"We promise, Pellimore," the owls chanted.
Her scroom then retreated to the porthole which she had used previously to enter.
I bid you farewell, valiant Guardians. Soren and I shall be keeping watch over you from Glaux's realm, ready to welcome all who pass on with open wings. I will never return to the world of the living, and I realize that that is akin to being stabbed with an ice scimitar. But treasure me here – she pointed to the spot where her heart would be – And here – she pointed to her phantom gizzard – And my spirit will never desert you. Goodbye, brothers and sisters, owls and snakes alike. You are the agents of peace, and by your word and deed, it will be peace everlasting.
An impromptu surge of chilled air whooshed in, the milkberry vines lifted until they were suspended horizontally in the air. When the surge of frost ebbed, there was nothing to been seen in the vicinity of the porthole, save for a small mound of snow.
Pellimore's scroom had been whisked away in the blink of an eye, her unreal emotional influence dissipated.
Timothy bowed his head and muttered, "Farewell, my Queen. I will always love you… and I will always miss you…"
The several hundred owls stuffed into the Great Hollow all copied him in some personal form or fashion, their voices entwining into the epitome of a prayer. In the wake of their goodbyes, the Guardians and snakes gazed at the floor unblinkingly.
The only sound detectable was that of the glacial squall whipping by outside, swaying the Great Tree this way and that.
Her testimony held firm, as it was but a few minutes before the typhoon released its frozen grip on the Island of Hoole. In small clusters the creatures ventured out, the owls spiraling to the ground while the snakes slithered down the trunk.
They huddled together to stave off the biting cold, the vulnerable serpents swaddling themselves in the belly feathers of any nearby owls. They gathered in a great circle that ringed Soren's burial site, leaving a plot of empty space in the center.
The Parliament vacated the Tree last, Ashton bearing the load that was the Queen's hollow shell. A pyre was carefully constructed by the Parilament, using twigs harvested from the naked branches of the Tree.
The Guardian's blacksmith, a female Masked Owl named Sienna, made a short trip to the forge to ignite a branch.
She did so, and then jetted back to the pyre. Timothy was handed the crackling, burning bough, him being the proper owl for the job. He touched the stick to one side of the rectangular hill, and it burst to life with startling vigor.
And so it was that Pellimore went up in flames, the red-orange beast devouring her greedily.
A thin column of smoke rose undeterred into the sky, while the gray soot generated as she burned pooled around and in between her bones. When the scorching beast had used up all its fuel, it winked out.
Pellimore's blackened, cracked bones were removed, and the copious amounts of ash were collected into ember bowls and dumped into the Sea. When the sloshing waves had done away with the ash, a team of Burrowing owls, including Liam, expertly dug down to where Soren's skeleton lay.
Pellimore's skeleton was arranged next to it, guaranteeing that the lovers could now rest side by side, as they were destined to. The dual grave was then covered up and the dirt patted down, a conspicuous grass-free blotch of ground.
The Guardians felt a sense of release, as if Pellimore's final tethers to Earth had been cleaved in two. The closure brought about by the fulfillment of her Final Ceremony was a confusing swirl of felicity and woe, though the former trumped the latter in quantity. They could move on with their lives, knowing that Pellimore was thriving in paradise.
And though the climate did not indicate it, the Guardians were residing in paradise of a more earthly variety.
It was the middle of the night, the crescent moon hovering directly above the Island of Hoole.
In the Great Tree's library, a male Spotted Owl sat behind the desk, a blank sheet of parchment and a pot of ink at his disposal. A pair of gently-flickering torches mounted on the walls bathed the room with a warm orange glow, providing an ample amount of illumination for him.
His facial markings bore a striking resemblance to a scholarly female owl of the same species. He had inherited much of her intelligence, but thankfully, none of her snobbishness.
Aside from those traits, he was a unique specimen.
His mood at the moment was somber, teetering between cheerfulness and despondency. He had been instructed by his mother to write a message detailing the recent events at the Tree, a message which would be duplicated by the Printing Chaw and distributed throughout the land.
It would not be easy, but he would conquer his adversity and draft the important letter without letting up. Him being the official historian of the Tree since his aging mother's retirement fourteen moons ago, he was fully qualified – and expected – to fabricate such an influential memorandum.
He had spent the better part of an hour composing in his mind what needed to be scribbled upon the paper, and now he was ready to turn his thoughts into words.
In one swift movement, he plucked a flight feather from his starboard wing. He nibbled on the shaft to sharpen it, and then dipped it in the jet-black ink. He touched the utensil to the parchment, steering the quill deftly as he began to scrawl letters onto its surface.
In five minutes he had whipped it out, a smattering of orderly lines and dots covering the parchment.
He let out a heavy sigh and lay the quill next to the pot. He fanned it with his wings to dry the ink faster, and when he was sure it wouldn't smear, he carefully rolled the sheet up.
Tucking it under his right wing, he set off to the Printing Chaw's equipment hollow. In another example of parental succession, Fritha's daughter was there, checking over the printing presses.
"Hello, Amber," he greeted cordially.
"Hello, Forrest. Your mother warned me over an hour ago that you would need my assistance sooner or later."
"And she is quite correct. Would you mind copying this for me?"
He withdrew the scroll from under his wing and handed it to her with his right foot.
"May I read it?"
"Go ahead."
She unfurled the scroll and glanced over it, blinking as she analyzed the strings of Hoolian letters.
She stated, "Oh," and lowered the page.
She gave him a slightly upset look and asked, "How many copies should I make?"
"Only as many as you feel comfortable making. You don't have to use up all your supplies or tire yourself out by running the presses until First Light. Say, where is the rest of your Chaw? You could get them to operate the other presses and speed up the process greatly."
"Last I heard, they were in the Dining Hollow. Could you go there and fetch them for me?"
"Right away, Amber. And if you feel up to it, you could travel to the mainland with them and begin dispersing the sheets. But you might want to ask Pelli- I mean, Ruby and Ambrose, for permission first."
"As soon as we are done here, I will go and ask them. Come to think of it, they haven't reinstated the Chaw classes. I wonder how long it will be until they do."
"You might as well ask them that, too."
"Hmm, you're right."
"Well, I better be off. Don't want to keep you waiting. Oh, I almost forgot? Who am I to bring back with me?"
"Jasper, Sean, Maya, and Electra."
"Right. Bye, Amber."
"Bye, Forrest."
With that, the Spotted Owl turned and marched out of the roomy enclosure, the thump, thump of the press chasing him as he went.
Upon arriving in the somewhat populated Dining Hollow, he asked around to locate his quarry. He was led to them by a friend of Electra, and saw that they had not yet finished their meals. He explained the reason he had come for them, and then waited patiently for them to fill their gizzards.
Ten minutes later, the quintet of owls left the loud Dining Hollow and trekked to the lair of the presses.
Having made a copy for each of them, Amber ordered them to get to work, informing them that there was no rush. Forrest opted to sit back and observe the owls as they worked the machines, each one churning out a duplicate every thirty seconds or so.
All told, one hundred copies were made, using up over half of Amber's stockpile of parchment and three quarters of her ink supply. Each owl packaged his or her twenty sheets in a light-but-resilient voleskin botkin.
Amber hurried off to petition for permission to leave, popping back into the press room in five minutes flat. Having been urged to go by the monarchs, the squad of owls set off due south, the botkins dangling from their talons.
Forrest tagged along, having nothing else of interest to do at the Tree.
A lumpy mass of grayish-white clouds continued to block out the wonderful night sky, but had not spawned another punishing storm since Glaux had extinguished the first. The air was chilled, but was rendered ineffective by the owls fluffing up their feathers.
To the Forest Kingdom Of Tyto they sailed, the roiling masses of snow over their heads and the violet-black expanse of the Sea Of Hoolemere below their talons.
After a ten minute flight, they soared over the sandy shore of the mainland and hurled themselves into the stands of pine and fir trees. The Printing Chaw was now responsible for bring to light the happenings at the Tree, but only Glaux could foresee how fast the information would sweep from kingdom to kingdom, and the impact it would make.
A Masked Owl couple was observing their daughter swallow a vole for her First Meat ceremony when their sharp hearing picked up the flutter of wings. A disheveled male Barn Owl landed on the rim of the hollow and peered in, a botkin pinned under his left foot.
"I apologize for the disturbance. I am Jasper, a Guardian at the Great Tree. I have a special note that is of great significance to you both."
He opened the container and withdrew a tube of parchment. He held it out, and the young Masked Owl wobbled over to grab it. She pinched the end with her beak, and Jasper released his grip.
"Farewell, fellow Tytos," he said.
He gazed down at the female and added, "Listen to your parents, little one, and stay safe."
She nodded happily in agreement, and Jasper vanished on beating wings.
"Bring it here, Adriana," her father ordered.
The female walked backwards and turned around, presenting the tube to her father.
"A special note from the Great Tree? Whatever could it be about?" he stated.
"Open it up and see, dear," his mate replied sweetly.
He seized it and pressed it to the floor with his right foot, flattening it out. Adriana tucked herself between her father's legs, unable to make sense of the Hoolian characters littering the parchment.
The senior male cleared his throat and scanned the page, his mate leaning over his shoulder and copying him.
It is with a heavy heart I report to you that Queen Pellimore, the monarch of the Great Ga'Hoole Tree, has died. Her passing the previous day was a near-unbearable blow to our morale, and we have only recently begun to come to terms with her loss.
I speak not only for myself, but for all the Guardians when I say that her departure has stolen a piece of us, a piece that cannot be regained. We honored her with a Final Ceremony, paving the way for her one-way trip to Glaumora.
The only positive outcome of our situation is that she met with us one final time as a scroom and elected the Great Tree's new monarchs, a pair of Short-Eared Owls named Ruby and Ambrose. Quoting her directly, she told us that they would be the ones to "lead us into a future brighter than the full moon."
This will turn out to be a transition most melancholy, but one we shall strive to bring to fruition, for Pellimore's sake. She expects nothing more from us, and on our honor as Guardians, we shall provide.
Pellimore will never be consigned to the past and forgotten. No, she will be cherished by each and every one of us, and will be an integral part of the bright future she predicted. And without a doubt, her prediction will become reality.
May Glaux bless her soul, and the souls of all owlkind.
Yours Truly,
Forrest the Historian
Guardian of Ga'Hoole
I think I deserve a review for my hard work. Favorites are welcomed as well.
Kudos to those who can identify who Forrest is related to. I think I've given enough hints. ;-) Leave your answer in the review.
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