Read Guardians of Ga'Hoole 14 - Exile for Free Online

the great tree when the moon was newing. But he’d been on the mainland for a whole moon cycle before that.”
    “He was?” Otulissa blinked. “Where?”
    “Here, there, everywhere.” The magpie tossed her head about as she said the words. “You know, I get around. I get as much information as any slipgizzle in my line of work.”
    “So, what do you hear?” Otulissa asked thoughtfully.
    “Younger ones are quite caught up with him. You know, the blue feathers and all.”
    Otulissa felt something clench in her gizzard. “A Blue Feather Club?” she asked in a somewhat tremulous voice.
    “Yes, they call it something like that. Or maybe it’s called the Blue Brigade.”
    “He’s started something here, too,” Fritha said.
    “Do you know what they do?” Otulissa asked Mags. “This Blue Whatever?”
    “Not much. They always have a small ground fire, though, at their meetings.”
    “A small ground fire?” Fritha and Otulissa both said at once. Ground fires made on purpose in the wild by owls were very odd. In the great tree, fires were for cooking, illumination, and, of course, Bubo had his powerful forge fires. “What would be the reason for these ground fires?” Otulissa asked.
    “I’m not sure. Got to admit, I ain’t got close enough to really see.”
    “Maybe they’re just roasting squirrels or voles, outdoor cooking,” Fritha offered.
    “Nobody cooks in the wild. We’re the only ones who cook our meat,” Otulissa said.
    “No, it ain’t roasted meat. That’s not the smell. Sometimes it’s a strange smell. I can’t place it.”
    “Well, they certainly haven’t been having ground fires around here,” Otulissa huffed. “We would have noticed.” But this did not set her mind at ease. She knew that since the blue owl had been at the great tree he had made flights to the mainland. Coryn explained that these were periods when the Striga felt a compelling need to be alone in the wilderness because he was overwhelmed by the worldliness of the tree. She supposed it might fit that the Striga felt too “full up” with the ways of the tree. But still, it was all very disturbing.
    “And where do they get the fuel for these little groundfires?” Otulissa suddenly asked. “Certainly these young owls belonging to the Blue Feather Clubs aren’t seasoned colliers or blacksmiths.”
    “Oh, Otulissa, you show me a Rogue smith or a collier who doesn’t want to make a bit on the side. And there is a buyer for everything. Take it from old Mags.” Then the trader blinked suddenly with alarm.
    “What is it?”
    “I just remembered something.” She shook her head in wonder. “I was flying over one of them dying ground fires, and something caught my eye. Thought it reminded me of something. Something sparkly but now all burnt up. I didn’t pay it much heed at the time ‘cause I was in a hurry.”
    “But what was it about the sparkly thing?” Otulissa asked.
    “Well, ain’t it simple enough? Most sparkly things, them glittery things that you don’t like and Madame Plonk loves. Where else would they come from but me? And why would someone be trying to burn them up in a fire? Imagine them burning up perfectly wonderful treasures that I search all over creation for. Owls love my goods—why would they allow them to be burned?”
    “I’m not sure,” Otulissa said slowly, but once more she felt a twinge in her gizzard. “But I don’t think those gemsand jewels that sparkle would necessarily smell if they were burned.”
    “‘Course not. But it weren’t no burnt-cloth smell, either. Or any metal smell like you get when you’re around a forge.”
    “What did it smell like? Can you think, Mags?”
    “Maybe paper,” the magpie replied.
    At that moment, Fritha came up, looking a bit agitated. “Otulissa, I can’t find that book of Lyze’s poetry. No one’s checked it out. I just wanted to quote something from it for the newspaper.”
    “And you know what else is missing?” Winifred, the