The Owl Keeper (32 page)

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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

[Image: Max and the owl.]

Max, Rose and Miranda stood in a bare moonlit room, watching Gran burrow through an old trunk. The silver owl sat motionless on Max's shoulder as Gran lifted out a cloak of shimmering fabric.

"This cloak belonged to Fuchsia, the first Owl Keeper," she explained, shaking it out. Dust and silver feathers drifted to the floor. "Every Owl Keeper has worn it since." She handed it to Max. "Go ahead, try it on."

It was similar to the cloak Gran wore, only this one had owls stitched in silver thread along the edges. Max fingered the cloak. It was luminescent and the fabric was soft and velvety, the way

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he imagined the petals of the deadly purple sphinx to be. He threw it over his shoulders and heard a muffled giggle behind him: Rose. When he looked down, he saw the cloak puddled around his ankles.

"You'll grow into it, don't worry," said Gran, adjusting the shoulders. Her eyes grew solemn as she pressed a shiny object into the palm of his hand. "This, too, is for you: the clasp to your cloak, forged by Sages in the holy town of Silvern. For generations it has been handed down to each new Owl Keeper."

Max stared at a brooch wrought of delicate silver, fashioned into the shape of an owl. It glimmered in his hand, casting a soft, steady light. "Gran, I don't know what to say. This is all so ... well, I just can't quite believe it. It seems incredible."

"As are you, young Owl Keeper." Her lips grazed his head, soft as moth wings, reminding him of his mother's last kiss. Sorrow and joy pulled at his heart.

"Follow me." Gliding toward a rough-cut stairway, Gran motioned to the children. "We go to a hidden room at the heart of the tower: the Chamber of Silver Scrolls."

Silent with wonder, Max and the others followed her up the narrow stairs to a door of golden oak with an owl carved at the center. Gran extracted an elaborate key from her robes. "It was in this room, centuries ago, that the first Sages encountered the silver owls and set them free from their spell of stone." Turning the key in the lock, she pushed on the door and it swung open.

Max peered into a vast, windowless room lined with stone niches along the walls. He could almost envision those enchanted silver owls, waiting in frozen silence for the spell to be lifted.

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Candles flickered from iron sconces, and at the far end a fire blazed, sending sparks up a huge brick chimney. On each side of the chimney, enormous stone shelves were built into the walls, rising from the floor to the ceiling. Max could see that the shelves were empty--all except one. Gran strode over to it, reached inside and extracted a rolled-up parchment bound with silver thread. She held it up for the others to see.

"A Silver Scroll!" breathed Max. His owl leaned into him, bristling with excitement. The Scroll looked so mystical, he thought, but fragile, too, as though in an instant it could fall to dust.

"The Sages composed the Silver Scrolls centuries ago in a forbidden runic language. That was their task, and still is, you see: to keep the Old Knowledge alive so that no one forgets the old traditions, nor the Sages' philosophy of peace and nonviolence," explained Gran. "During the Great Destruction, the Scrolls were scattered and lost. Defying the government's edicts, the Sages have been secretly gathering up the Scrolls, a difficult and dangerous endeavor."

"Where are the Sages?" asked Rose. "And where are the Scrolls?"

"They are on their way, my child," said Gran, smiling. "They will be here."

It was almost midnight when Gran led the children out of the Chamber of Silver Scrolls. They trooped through a maze of corridors and followed her up a winding marble staircase to the upper half of the owl tower. Somewhat unsure of his new role, Max took care not to trip on the hem of his robe, which somehow seemed to fit him better than when he had first put it on.

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At last they stood before a plain wooden door with images of fierce owls carved along its edges. Bearing down on the latch, Gran told Max to go ahead. "The Owl Keeper," she said, "must be the first to enter."

Swallowing hard, Max stepped inside, the others stumbling in behind him. His silver owl made a low keening sound as he looked around in shocked dismay. Unlike the warm, welcoming rooms below, this part of the tower was cold and dank, with thick shadows and cobwebs floating on the murky air. He caught his breath when he looked up at the thatched ceiling: every inch seemed to be covered in silver owls.

Multiple twisted staircases ran at breathless angles along the high curved walls, and beneath the eaves Max could see small gaps for the silver owls. He gazed out through the thin arched windows and saw the two moons rising.

"See where the roof comes to a point?" said Gran, pointing. "And the small balcony just below it?"

Max looked straight up. He could see a platform attached to the rafters, just below the apex of the tower. A dangerous-looking staircase twisted its way up to it. Max felt his heart leap into his mouth. He had to go all the way up
there?
Would that crumbling wooden staircase hold him?

"At seven past midnight, the time of your birth, when you turn twelve years of age," Gran went on, "the silver owl must begin her OwlSong."

Max pressed his silver owl to his chest, against the soft folds of the cloak, drawing strength from her presence. In a low voice, Gran spoke. "Remember, Owl Keeper: the silver

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owl is your muse. And she is muse to all the silver owls. You must carry her to the highest point of the tower, where the moonbeams cross and merge. Only then can she begin her OwlSong."

Gran, Rose and Miranda stood silent before him, regarding Max with expressions of excitement and joy, and a bit of worry as well. He gave each one a swift hug. Heart pounding, he turned to the stairs and started up. The staircase twisted at sharp angles, creaking underfoot. He felt cobwebs land on his face, and dust flew up, making him sneeze. He climbed higher, gripping the stone rail in case the steps gave way, not daring to look down.

Halfway up, Max noticed his silver owl shining brighter. The higher he went, the brighter she became, her golden eyes illuminating the way. He stumbled once, but quickly caught himself and continued on, calmed by the light from his owl, strengthened by her glowing energy.

At last he reached the top of the tower. Wary of looking down, he stepped from the staircase onto the balcony, his heart pounding. He looked up, startled to see hundreds of pale spectral shapes moving about. The silver owls! Suddenly they fell still, not one of them moving, fixing their golden eyes on the small silver owl.

Max had no doubt his timing was perfect: he knew intuitively that it was exactly seven minutes past midnight. Through the windows fell light from the two moons--thick beams of silver and crimson, crossing through each other as they illuminated the balcony.

Dazzled by the light, Max lifted his owl, her silver feathers

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nearly blinding him. At once she began to emit a low, unearthly thrumming--a sound so resonant he felt it in every nerve of his body, a vibration so deep it rippled through the air around him. Mesmerized, he listened, a deep serenity enveloping him.

The silver owl shimmered as if spun from moonlight, emblazoned with silver light, burning with a wild silver fire. Her OwlSong rose up and up, filling every corner of the tower, resonating off the ancient walls. Max realized that this was the pitch-perfect point, the exact confluence of light and space and sound within the tower. The owl's ethereal humming grew deeper, huskier, glancing off the stone tower, resounding for miles.

Then Max could hear, one by one, the silver owls overhead joining in.

He imagined all the lost silver owls, perched in trees and dark places, turning their heads and blinking their eyes, awakened by this small silver owl. On hearing her song, they would begin to sing as well, weaving their OwlSongs together. They would grow brighter, stronger, their faded feathers turning to silver, their golden eyes alert. OwlSong would resonate across the regions, creating a protective force of good, shifting the balance of power away from the evil forces.

Max surveyed the glowing room, and a rush of sheer joy flooded his heart. Not only was this tower made of stone and brick and wood, he thought, it was imbued with a magic beyond imagining.

Then he turned to his silver owl, looking at her with a pure, unshakable love. Transformed, this somewhat broken bird with

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her crooked wing and damaged eye had become a ferocious, magical, light-filled creature, calling the silver owls to her side, ready to vanquish the powers of the Dark.

As the two moons crossed over the sky, Gran and the three children ventured out of the tower. Hands linked, they stood beneath the enormous owl tree, staring out at the darkness, silver owls flying in and out of the tower, the snow falling hard and fast.

"Ghosties!" shrieked Miranda.

"Not ghosties--they're silver owls!" cried Rose.

"Look, my dears, they are coming," said Gran. "The Sages are on their way here! I can feel their presence."

Max's silver owl fluttered above his shoulder, making low noises in her throat. He didn't catch quite everything she said, but he was getting better at understanding her language. She was describing the silver owls as fierce warriors, explaining how they would align themselves with the wise Sages and keep the Darkness at bay.

"A mystery, this life," mused Gran. "Yet somehow we muddle through. Rose and Max, you have found your way. You hung on to hope, you kept hope alive."

Max looked into Gran's amazing blue eyes. They were the color he imagined the sea to be on a bright summer's day.

"Hope!" cried Miranda, breaking away and leaping with Helios in the snow.

Gran lifted her exquisite shell, which hung by a silver chain from her neck. Max could see it glowing like a distant star. "To

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you, Artemis Rose Eccles, I give the Seraph Shell." Gran placed the chain with its shell over Rose's head. "Thus begins your apprenticeship in healing."

Max grinned, seeing Rose's delighted expression. It was, he thought, the perfect gift for her.

"It's beautiful," she said under her breath.

"You's beautiful!" Miranda shouted to Rose. "You's glowing like the shell!"

Lightning flashed for a single mad instant. A thousand owls cried out. Elegant and wild, the silver owls came swooping down, feathers flying in the cold air, looping and wheeling around Max. He laughed out loud in sheer delight, raising his arms as if to embrace them.

For a moment, time crunched to a halt and he watched the years go in reverse, backward over the centuries, to a time when Port Sunlight was Silvern. In his mind's eye he saw the owls awaken from their trance, shaking off the dust of the stone tower, rising like silver flames into the air.

He felt the wind change direction and the owls spiraled upward, soaring into the lightening sky. His silver owl beat her wings and flew after them, high above the branches of the magnificent owl tree. Struck by the owls' grace and symmetry, Max watched them spread in all directions, warming the stones of the city, keeping watch over the owl tower and the fortress walls, holding back the Darkness.

"Here they come!" cried Gran excitedly. "Look, down there on the path, the Sages are coming!"

The children cheered. Max could see stately robed figures

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making their way up the cobbled path, each one carrying bundles of rolled-up Scrolls in their arms.

Snow kept falling, falling. The children shivered in the cold light of dawn. Max brushed a twig from Rose's hair. He thought of magic and hope and mystical places, and of Rose beneath the owl tree, the first time he'd ever seen her.

"Remember what you said, Rose?" he whispered. "How sometimes, for a moment, earth and heaven meet?"

"I remember," she whispered back, looking at him with those enormous green eyes.

"I think," he said, "that this is one of those times."

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