The Owl Keeper (31 page)

289

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

[Image: The tall woman and the owl.]

Max heard the groaning of the massive wooden door as it swung open to reveal the entryway to the owl tower.

The tall woman with flowing white hair ushered the three children and their dog inside. Eyes bright, the silver owl hovered close to Max. She had a certain look, he noticed, as if she was returning home from a long journey. Had she been to this tower before? he wondered.

The winter sun danced through diamond-paned windows, setting the rooms and passageways alight. Max was charmed by everything: the courtyard of brick and cobblestones; the tables

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and sideboards of gleaming rosewood; the blazing lamps and fires; the cavernous kitchen that smelled of lemon and nutmeg, a jade tree growing up through the middle. He felt instantly at home beneath the high arched ceilings inlaid with stars and in the rooms painted in shades of blue and poppy and emerald.

What impressed him most were the hundreds of books that Gran kept here--more books than Max had ever dreamed existed. Everywhere he looked there were bookshelves reaching to the ceilings, lining the walls and hallways, tucked beneath eaves, set into niches and vaults.

"Books salvaged from libraries, before the burnings," explained Gran, looking pleased that Max was so taken with them. "I had assistance getting them here, of course. Books weigh far more than one might imagine."

She guided Max, Rose and Miranda down corridors, pointing out stone terraces and balconies, tapestries and roofed halls, and secret places beneath the dormers. It didn't seem to bother Gran that Helios was dripping snow everywhere, shaking wet flakes from his fur as he trotted about sniffing around the hearth fires and woven carpets.

"Here in the owl tower you will find an ancient magic," said Gran as she led them from room to room. "It runs true and deep, kept alive by Sages and silver owls for centuries."

Max looked around, sensing that very magic in the snow-covered ground the tower was built on, in the dreamy light of the stones; he felt it in the blues and greens of the windows, and in the vast silver tree with its enigmatic owls.

Gran led them through a room of hanging dried peppers, down

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a long passageway and up a spiral staircase to a circular room where silver feathers floated in the air. There were nests and roosts and hollowed-out spaces deep within the stone. Directly below the eaves, Max could see small round windows, carved just big enough for owls to fit through.

"This is where the silver owls sleep," explained Gran. "They arrive here in a weakened state, some of them barely alive. I do all I can to restore their strength and energy, which they need to guard the city. But despite all I've done, they make no sound. They have forgotten the OwlSong."

She passed around a battered leather book with rough-edged pages. "I keep track of their progress--a daunting task, since new silver owls are arriving daily. Sadly, some are so weakened"--her voice caught--"they do not survive. I've buried them in a small graveyard behind the tower."

"Oh, those poor little things," said Rose quietly.

The owl quaked against Max and he held her closer, feeling protective. A lump formed in his throat as he listened to her shaky sounds of sorrow.

Gran pointed out leather-bound books on the feeding of owls. She showed the children a medical chest for owl ailments, bottles of clary sage oil to keep feathers sleek, tweezers for extracting thorns and thistles. Max watched Miranda scrutinize each bottle, each implement.

"Perhaps when Miranda is older," said Gran, "she can help look after the owls." She called to the little girl. "Those are tools for repairing aeries, Miranda, and different kinds of wood for constructing owl roosts."

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Miranda nodded solemnly.

Afterward, in the old-fashioned kitchen with hanging copper pots, the children sat at a round table spread with durum wheat bread, pots of honey, and fruit piled into ceramic bowls.

Max watched Gran make buttered toast and sprinkle it with cinnamon and sugar--his favorite. She carried it on a tray to the table, along with pewter mugs of honey-clove tea. Helios stretched out before a blazing fire; the silver owl fluttered down and landed on the dog's back. Moments later, both owl and dog were asleep.

"When you were in jail," said Rose, munching, "maybe you bumped into my mother? She's real tall and her name is Violet Silvertree-Eccles--that's hyphenated--and she writes me letters from a high-security prison in the Low Dreadlands." She swallowed. "Well, she used to."

Max felt a pang in his heart. What if Rose got her hopes too high and they came crashing down? He was furious with himself for telling her that the Owl Keeper could fix everything. It had been a thoughtless thing to say, since he knew virtually nothing about the Owl Keeper's powers.

"I'm afraid I never met your mother," said Gran. "I was in the eastern hills, you see, a stone prison with six cells. Fortunately I wasn't there long."

"Oh," said Rose, disappointed. Max knew Rose well enough by now to tell that she was devastated. But, as usual, she put up a brave front.

"I know her by reputation, of course," Gran added on a more hopeful note.

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Rose's face brightened. "You do?"

"We heard a rumor via the underground that Violet Silvertree-Eccles led a prison uprising in the Low Dreadlands not long ago," Gran went on. Max leaned forward, listening intently. "Many political prisoners escaped."

"My mother too? She got away?" Rose looked hopeful. "Max, do you know what that means? My mom could show up any day now looking for me and we'll go spring my dad out of jail! You can come with us if you want!"

Max exchanged a worried look with Gran.

"Don't get your hopes too high--not yet, my dear Rose." Gran placed a sympathetic hand on Rose's arm. "In time we'll know more details, but until then ..."

Rose stared down at her toast, suddenly quiet, and Max felt terrible. Then his thoughts turned to his own parents. "I never said goodbye to my mom and dad," he told Gran in a quavering voice. "They don't know where I am, they don't even know if they'll see me again!" The thought of his parents going off to the domes without him filled him with sorrow and regret.

"Oh dear, you poor, poor children." Eyes glistening with tears, Gran reached over and took Max's hand. "Your father is my only son--I miss him and Nora terribly. This is why the Owl Keeper has been summoned: we are in the time of Absolute Dark, as foretold in the Silver Prophecies, when evil stalks the land and families are torn apart."

"Is that why you hid the poem for Max to find?" asked Rose with a sniffle. "So he'd bring the silver owl?"

Gran nodded. "Five years ago, when I knew I'd soon be arrested,

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I hid the Silver Prophecy in your closet, Max, away from prying eyes such as that Mrs. Crumlin's. I trusted you would find it when the time was right."

"Actually,
I
was the one who found it," said Rose loftily. Max couldn't help smiling, thinking how typical a Rose remark that was.

He looked over at the silver owl and saw her open her eyes. She launched herself off the sleeping dog and landed on the table next to his mug of honey-clove tea. Miranda reached over, offering the owl a crust of toast.

"Nobody told us
you
were the Owl Keeper, Granny Unger!" said Rose. "That was a really big surprise!"

"Ah, but you are mistaken, my dears." Gran gave an enigmatic smile. "I have been tending to the owls until the Owl Keeper arrives." She leaned toward the owl, stroking her feathers with the tips of her long fingers.

Max sat back in his chair, astounded. How could Gran
not
be the Owl Keeper? Hadn't she kept the tower going all this time and cared for the silver owls? Wasn't she the wisest person he had ever known in his life?

Miranda crammed another slice of toast into her mouth. "You's not the Owl Keeper? My grampy says you is."

"Then if it's not you"--Rose tapped her knife against her plate--"who the heck is it?"

Granny stood, eyes shining, her bright garments swirling around her. "As the time of the Owl Keeper nears, Sages and silver owls are making their way to Silvern. It is a long and arduous journey, but Absolute Dark is upon us and we can wait no longer.

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The powers of evil have multiplied, spreading dark tendrils throughout the country. But now, at long last"--she looked pointedly at Max--"the Owl Keeper is here."

Max dropped his toast. Disconcerted, he stared at Gran. Why was she looking at him like that?

"I sent the silver owl to bring you here, Maxwell Unger, because
you
are the Owl Keeper. You were born with a gift, a power. This has been your destiny since the day of your birth; you cannot turn away from it, Maxwell Unger. The power has been bestowed. All you can do is accept it."

The small owl gave a silvery hoot, fluttering to Max's shoulder. His blood quickened. "I--I don't understand," he whispered, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Nothing of consequence can happen here without the Owl Keeper," said Gran. "The Owl Keeper's task is to bring together Sages and silver owls to destroy the dark forces. He must make the tower indestructible. The Owl Keeper combines the warriorlike qualities of the silver owls with the wisdom of the Sages. He is of the Ancients--he is the spiritual force that holds everything together."

The room fell silent.

"Hold on, you're making a big mistake!" said Max, unnerved by the way Rose and Miranda were staring at him. "I'm not special, I'm just a kid! I don't know how to fight against the dark powers!"

"According to the Prophecy, the Owl Keeper is a Night Seer, small in size and generous of heart." Gran smiled. "He--or she--must be born at exactly seven minutes past midnight, on the seventh day of the seventh month, during an eclipse of the moon-- or moons, as the case may be. His love for owls has no bounds."

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Max dug his fists into his eyes, trying to make sense of her words. Inside his chest his heart thumped wildly. Was Gran losing her mind? Elderly people often got befuddled, he knew, so maybe she was mixing her stories up.

"The Prophecy says the Owl Keeper will undertake a long and dangerous journey," she continued. "Along the way he will be tested, forced to choose between the Silver Teachings and the hollow promises of the Dark."

Max felt delirious. A thousand urgent questions swarmed through his head. His owl rubbed her beak against his face, trying to get his attention, but he was too distracted to respond.

"Is that true, Max?" Rose leapt up, her green eyes flashing. "Born during a moon eclipse at seven past midnight?" He saw a wild, overexcited look on her face. "The seventh day of the seventh month?"

"Yeah, but--" The Owl Keeper isn't me, thought Max, it's somebody brave and magical who can save the world. "What if the Prophecy's wrong?"

"Not very likely," said Rose. "When it comes to six-hundred-year-old prophecies, they don't mess up!" She waved her arms around dramatically. "I can't believe it! All the time we were looking for
you! You're
the Owl Keeper, Max, and we didn't even know it!" She and Miranda began to laugh.

"That's ridiculous," Max growled, his ears smarting from the sound of their laughter.

"The High Echelon wanted more than anything to take this gift away from you," said his grandmother softly. "That was why they intended to make you Skræk Master."

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Max winced, remembering.

"They knew all about the Silver Prophecy, you see, and the circumstances of your birth. It was your innocence they were after, your pure heart. By taking your soul on the day you turned twelve, depriving you of your destiny as Owl Keeper, they planned to turn the Prophecy on its head--ensuring that this time nothing would stop the forces of the Dark."

Frowning, Max sat very still, absorbing Gran's words. He remembered the odd phrases Mrs. Crumlin had used, like
tabula rasa
and
untainted by civilization.

Rose and Miranda looked at him expectantly. Were they waiting for him to do something stupendous and magical? They'll be disappointed, he told himself. He knew without a doubt that he was just plain old Max Unger. Even so, he couldn't escape Gran's unwavering gaze. Her eyes were wise and honest, and he knew she would never deceive him.

Stretching to her full height, the silver owl flapped her wings and puffed up her chest. How proud she looks, thought Max, how regal. He smoothed her glistening feathers and stroked the top of her head. From inside her throat came soft, urgent noises.

"Listen to her, Max!" shouted Rose. "Your owl knows who you are! Can't you see she's telling you?"

From the silver owl's beak fell soft, silvery notes, spiraling up into Max's ears. He seemed to hear her sing:
You are the Owl Keeper and this tower is your home.