Chapter Text
Despite refreshing hints of spring stirring, icy hell and frigidness still ruled the Shadow Forest. Owls were no good at smelling. Yet the faint scents of the inevitable thaw managed to reach Kludd, right through the yearning thick fire in the Rouge of Silverveil’s forge that stunk up the air in the cave. The hammer in his talons swished through the smoky air
Or perhaps she’s the Rouge of the Shadow Forest now… eh, best not to be a particular stickler about it.
Night’s wicked coolness was felled by the fiery beast before him, coating him and the cave in thin layers of gray soot. The clangs of metal upon metal resounded a thousandfold more so than usual, for he was the one striking a hammer upon a glowing twist of copper. His heart screamed as the fire did. Fire was beyond frightening, yet he forced himself through the ordeal.
There was no rhyme or rhythm or reason to his strikes. Kludd merely pounded away. He must strengthen his gizzard. The swirling hagsmire of black-charred fuel and hot orange struck deep into his memory. His worst sin surfaced at the forefront of his mind. Kludd grated his beak as his heart seared with shame.
As he aimlessly forged, he reflected on what he’d been taught. A moon cycle had passed. He also pondered the rumors they’d heard of the Pure Ones, particularly those of the heinous Iron Wing, Metal Beak’s new, mysterious enforcer. He shuddered that he once thought of himself as such an infallible fallacy. A mysterious feeling arose, and throaty words bellowed out.
“Moon light, blood knight!” The hammer struck, sparking sparks.
“The metal mask, masks!” Roaring flames jumped about, coming close, so close.
“Who he is, I must ask!” He knew not, nobody knew.
“Beneath dark shadow!” The mere thought of their evils sickened him.
“And winds' black flow!” His own evils sickened him, and he remembered.
“A soulless soul!” That was what he remembered of Jatt and Jutt, those who’d taken them.
“Yet never hollow!” The setting of his family’s tree alight perturbed his nightmares.
“The iron creaks, flesh worn!” The battle claws he’d used to hold Eglantine creaked in memory.
“Crimson streak, eye torn!” Bile swarmed at the red flames that’d lit up Tyto forest.
“Hide face, rise above scorn!” Who knew how many he’d killed and rendered homeless.
“Declare himself eternally sworn!” How foolish he was to once have been so loyal to the ugly Nyra.
At that, he hit the glowing copper in anger–at himself and the disgusting cruelty of the Pure Ones. Charred wood popped as if in agreement. He took ten breaths to annul the darkening thoughts. A slight calmness came. Realizing how weary he was, he decided to rest.
The hammer split straight through the ugly amalgamation of copper. Such was the force, in fact, that he heard the stone below crack . His legs hurt from the exhaustive pounding. Yet he felt the bundling muscles in them. Now done, he knocked the brown-hued hunk into a bucket of water.
However, a tower of steam hissed and shot up. Hotness huffed Kludd’s face. Quickly, he used his wing to cover his face. Bits of dirt and wood splashed out. He dropped the hammer and hissed himself, flapping his wet, hot wing about. Regret joined in company.
“I would think you a great gadfeather, if not for your excellent display of bumbling.” A heavy female churr chirped behind him.
Sighing, Kludd brushed the debris into the fire, stoking it some. “Very funny, Thora.” He walked over and hung the hammer with the smith’s other tools. He turned to face the snowy. As he did so, he dipped his wing into the rapidly cooling water and wiped off the chest ash. Next, the beak dipped and preened a fair swath of feathers. The taste was oily and ashy.
“Humor is an oft relative subject, Kludd,” said Thora. She strode over to him and readjusted the hammer’s positioning. Starlight twinkled in her amused yellow irises. “For example, Simon may value life, but he knows a shocking amount of hagsmirish comedy. No need to be so hook and dandy about it.”
Despite Kludd’s cleaning, the thinnest layer of ash particles stuck to him. They’d never come off, nor the nicking singes on his beak from handling coals she and Simon brought. “And what would a mere smith know of singing, hm? It’s not as if she has a famous sister at the Great Tree.”
“Even if I didn’t,” Thora countered, “I’d still say there is no point in singing whilst working if it will kill you. Your legs are strong, and your wings too, but much less your sense in the forge. You’re lucky Simon has a sense of taste for the meat he brings, elsewise you’d have no recompense for me.”
The fire jumped as if in agreement. Kludd wilfed, his heart jolting as the rush of heat blew over him. Thora churred again. Embarrassment tickled his twisted head. He unspun it as he spoke. “Well, it’s a good thing I do not intend to become a smith, then. If my… father… tells me it is good practice for me, I do it, even if I just tear and misshape metals.”
Thora cluck-clucked as if tutting. “Well, speaking of Simon, he does want you outside.” Seriousness returned to her eyes. She flapped over to a crack in the cave wall, turning her head towards him as she inside. “It is time for that test of yours.” All traces of humor had faded.
Wait, already?
Thora reached in–and out came the battle claws she’d fitted to him right after Simon’s. A hotness burned up his spine. The last time he’d worn battle claws… the fire in his memory screeched high and piercing. Kludd clamped his beak and walked over, nervousness crippling half his stomach. Thora merely tossed them to him once he was close. They bounced with a hard plink.
As he tentatively touched them, Thora left him be. “Well, you go do your thing, then, youngling.” She walked straight past. “I have actual forging to do, once I hammer out your little mess.”
Kludd nodded meekly as he strapped on the battle claws. He did not like them. Their sharp, gleaming points felt as if they pointed toward what he’d done, of so much terribleness in such a short time.
Once affixed, he splayed out his talons, feeling the weight of the weapons upon him and his mind. Uncertain of Simon's, no, his father’s –it both hurt and comforted to think of him that way, so he forcibly corrected himself–intentions, he settled the battle claws on firmly.
Kludd high-tailwinded it out of the cave. Past the Rogue, past the fiery pit of death and the smells of iron and out of the choking warmth of it, and into the freezing winter hellscape
of the frozen life and bare ground, looking up at the massive redwoods. The smaller trees around the cave cast shadows in the warping moonlight.
Looking about, the snow-clad soil sunk as he walked over it, wings close to his sides. Smoke tendrils wafted. “F-father?” Kludd called out. The darkness seemed to grow. The sudden eeriness echoed. He launched himself up towards a nearby low-hanging branch. The drafts of the forge’s warmth evaporated completely. “I am here… what is it I must do?”
“Attack!”
What in the name of Glaux-
The branches above exploded. A fish owl crashed towards him, snapping through the crown. Kludd yelped and flew before he might be crushed. Simon’s battle claws sank into where he’d been. Cold updrafts guided Kludd to the safety of another tree.
Simon launched himself after, swiping his talons. Kludd stroked faster and further. The enemy only hooked and tore the tip of a tail feather. Battle knowledge clicking, and spotting a tree to land on, Kludd ruddered his tail and swerved.
Yet before he could arrive, an unusual whistling caught his eardrums. There was a fiery, incoming smell. Memory flared to life against his well. A mirage of fire churned on every tree around him–an orchestra of crashing and crackling sounds quickened his heart and his lungs.
In a split second, he cocked his head to better hear the whistling. Even with the living phantoms of fire roaring around him and his scars and beak brimming in fear, he calculated the trajectory.
He whirled mid-flight. Wings stretched and strained, Kludd flapped against the agony of memory–and succeeded. The fiery illusions disappeared, returning night to normal as could be.
Flipping himself sideways, Kludd watched as the black, rocky chunk rocketed past, by talon lengths. Simon approached in the corner of his sight.
Its trail of heat and smoke whizzed just over his facial disk. The hot coal glowed and popped, firing sparks straight onto his face.
Kludd breathed, feeling the tugs of his twirls. Instinct raged to yeep at the hint of flame, it scared as if death. In his gizzard, he knew he mustn’t, though. And so he didn’t.
Simon did not halt his chase upon his dodging of the coal. Kludd completed his waltzing whirl, Simon coming closer. Fast as lightning, Kludd let his wings go. He dropped, free falling. The fish owl lashed at empty air. Surprise cratered his face. Silent and observant, Kludd saw Simon move hurriedly. His battle claws faintly glowed red and had a hot scent.
As silent as a mouse with no heart beat, Kludd soared upward. The sounds of the almost-dead forest whispered in the currents of the rustling trees and distant, scurrying prey. Simon pivoted to see around him, trying to spot him, but Kludd was faster.
His dilation increased as that red glow rapidly cooled. He rose and rose, getting closer and closer. Simon’s visible whereabouts were becoming as dark as the night. That did not stop Kludd from seeing it in his mind’s eyes.
The wind shifted against him and Kludd flapped the wrong way. Simon jerked his head toward him. However, he corrected himself as the fish owl jutted forward to ram.
Kludd descended upon Simon and smacked him with his wing. Simon crashed away. Hastily, he flew in a jarring manner and alighted on the nearest tree.
Upon that moment, Kludd barged into him, forcing Simon onto his back. He tried to scramble his battle claws; however, Kludd placed his battle claws upon the base of his neck.
“Attack.”
“Swell reactions. Good analysis and no paralysis.”
Kludd retracted, and Simon stood up. The redwood’s branch bowed. Simon ruffled his feathers with a few flurries of wing exercises. Another icy wind blew over. Kludd shivered, noting that Simon’s battle claws were now cold and dark for having carried a coal. Such was the bitterness of the season. He hoped the coal could be found and returned, lest they tempt Thora's wrath.
Simon harrumphed, and Kludd rotated his head to face him. “So, quite a test, hm?”
A hideous desire to be angry arose, to be mad for the danger he'd been put through. “I didn't expect it today, nor to be assaulted by a frinking coal!” Kludd wheezed outward. “But… such is the point.”
Simon latched onto Kludd with his wings and pulled him into a warming huddle. “I do apologize for it, and I'm glad you understand.”
The battle claws he bore felt a flaming poison, a burden of pain. Kludd tore up the bark, clenching them. “It’s just… I don't like battle claws, I don't like fire in any capacity… yet I must, in spite of my related ugliness,” he huffed.
“Look me in the eye, son.” Kludd did so, his right eye twitching. “You are different and beautiful regardless of your appearance. Say that to me, right now.”
“I am different and beautiful, regardless of my appearance.” A lightness bubbled in his chest. Watery eyes blinked. In and out, Kludd breathed deeply. “Thank you for that.”
“That's what I'm here for.” The fish owl nuzzled the barn owl. “There are many things that will be vile to your gizzard that you must overcome, and today, you've proven your ability and willingness to do so.”
Kludd clawed the branch, metal scritching wood. “What… what now? What more have you to teach me?”
Simon straightened up. “Not much, I'm afraid. As a Glauxuian monk, I learned much of healing and diplomacy. What little I've taught you, you demonstrated and extrapolated on today. That was the limit of self-defense they taught.”
“So-”
“So, we will spend until plants blossom, refining your skills, and having you deal with fire–and then, we shall go to Ga’Hoole, where you can learn what I cannot teach you. We will hearken unto the wind and find them. In spring, or as they call it, the time of the silver rain, we depart.”
Kludd nodded silently, almost giddy with awe.
Memories of the legends his Da had told him arose… bittersweetness roiled.
Ga'Hoole…
His gizzard rumbled, and he knew he must do it.
For the world, for Soren's dreams to live on.
—
The ever-present helmet pressed against Iron Wing’s face. Having not been fitted to him properly, it caressed him tightly as if it was caring for him while trying to kill him. Yet it was a sensation he was familiar with, no, used to. It was not too far removed from a second gizzard, in a weird, unnatural way.
“You did well today. A most pleasant ambition fuels you, like a consuming fire.”
Iron Wing flitted his gaze back to Metal Beak, examining the gouged-out eye in his possession. Between the moonlight and the candlelight, the light amber orb retained an eerie personality. Iron Wing’s fully-fledged and strengthened body trembled. The ancient owl promptly crushed it. He threw it past the bowing barn owl, joining three others.
“Skench and Spoorn were always annoying anyway.”
Iron Wing only felt a small twinge of disgust at his work. The blood still stained his battle claws and dripped upon his chest. He’d taken so many lives that they blurred together. But not that of his sister. That’s all that mattered, all that mattered.
It’ll be okay, Eglantine, it’ll be okay…
He prayed to Glaux she was alright. It’d been a while since he’d seen her.
The musty cave they were in very much fit Metal Beak. A varied collection filled it: books and papers; diagrams and prints; battle claws and armor; banners and flags; preserved and rotting body parts… He wished to see more, but it was hard with only one candle illuminating.
Metal Beak got up and headed towards him. Iron Wing held his pose, his left eye quivering. Kuneer’s nighttime coldness licked his feathers as if to mock him. The Pure Ones’ leader walked right past his blind side, chuffing at Iron Wing’s fearful, submissive form; he only got up at the plink of heavy battle claws summoning him. He joined Metal Beak outside. Looking across the darkened sands atop the outcrop, a silver radiance shone.
“It is time for a gift, Iron Wing, for proving yourself by slaying two of my mightiest non-Tyto warriors.” Metal Beak whistled. In response, a grizzled Barred Owl slipped out of the shadows to Iron Wing’s right. Ash and soot stained the gray-brown owl. “You have grown mighty and skilled with your battle claws. Your strength is unlike any other owl I know, in both body and mind.” He tingled, uncomfortable at Metal Beak evaluating his physical appearance. “This is your next step.”
Metal Beak shook his tail at the Barred Owl who then set them down in front of Iron Wing’s weaponized feet. These new battle claws looked about the same–except for their glowing tips. Additionally, there was something faintly familiar about them, but he could not place it.
Slits for coal… I… I read about these at… No! Never think about there!.... I never thought… this is viscous…
They hobbled his old battle claws off, a rusty set borrowed from Glaux knows who. With the smith’s help, he put on the new set. They fiddled with the straps to fine-tune their tightness. The claws themselves fit shockingly well for having never been fitted before. The special ends fascinated, in a cruel way.
“Feel their power, their glory, their strength, their heat.”
Iron Wing obeyed. He tested out their flexibility, observing the tiny chunks of embedded coals, they did not wiggle or loosen. The dark silver color called to him. Looking at the details closer, these were not new battle claws. They were well-worn and taken care of. They’d only been modified.
“Fire claws feel good, don’t they? Especially when they once belonged to Lyze of Kiel.”
The smith gasped and wilfed. Iron Wing looked to Metal Beak, whose face bore a knowing, gleeful smile. Much came to his seething mind, and he tried to wipe it away. Iron Wing followed Metal Beak’s gaze to the frozen Barred Owl.
“Kill him. He now knows too much, doesn’t he, Iron Wing? Or ought I say, Soren?”
That is not your name! You have no other, and never have! Soren is gone, burnt to a crisp!
“No, no, it is Iron Wing, Iron Wing!”
Screeching, Iron Wing surged forward. The smith attempted to retreat but stumbled on a rock. He fell with a yelp, coughing up sandy dust. An armored beak bit and tore his wing, pulling him back. Then, freshly adorned fire claws ripped into his chest and burnt his heart. There were no screams of pain to be had.
“Most excellent. That is one less double-crossing slipgizzle to deal with. Now, onto further business. Look at me.”
Stepping off the body, Iron Wing accordingly rotated his head. Metal Beak opened his battle claws up. A blinding blue, familiar light shone. Iron Wing took a step back. He smushed onto a warm pulp of wing but did not care.
Flecks, flecks!
A dusty instinct to wilf itched, but did not come to fruition. The electrifying arcs of the clump fizzed the air. He remembered being tugged… but there was no tug. The barn owl angled his head in confusion.
“Your helmet,” Metal Beak explained, “Is lined with mu metal, a fancy old trick now lost to time.” He then plucked the clump up and swallowed it. “I am merely immune, as Nyra was…” A sliver of regret was present before he blinked, returning to his usual aura of pure evil.
Iron Wing's beak clamped shut, dreading what might come, but he still had to ask. “What… what is next?”
Metal Beak immediately hit Iron Wing. The might of the attack sent him against the rock. His helmet pummeled hard. Managing to get up, Iron Wing coughed, only to be then be pinned to the rock by the massive sooty. He lowered his good eye to meet the barn owl’s good eye, helmet to helmet.
“You do not interrupt your teacher, nor are you the one to ask questions!” The ugly scars were so close, so disgusting, so near. He cackled and growled. “So, you will listen to me! Unless you wish for poor Eglantine to be moon blinked…”
“Not on my watch! You promised not to kill her-” A slam into the rock pounded him, causing him to cough again. A fat, chilly breeze rolled into Iron Wing, hindering recovery.
The sooty snapped his beak. “I promised to not kill her, not to never harm her. Do you understand?”
He shrank, blinking in affirmation. With a huff, Metal Beak let him go and moved aside, but not too far. He balanced on a precipice of the outcrop, staring out at the blue-black horizon of Kuneer. The light of the moon enveloped him.
Iron Wing staggered forward, fast, to his side. There was no need for caution. Half the world was forever dark to him, and he’d grown used to it. For half a second, he imagined using his fire claws, but he dissipated the thought as soon as he reached Metal Beak’s side.
Metal Beak grabbed Iron Wing and twisted his head to meet his gaze, battle claws pressed under the chin. His expression could not be gleaned nor appraised, for nobody could know what went on in his sick mind–save for his intoxicating lust for power. That was all.
What does he want, what does he want… Iron Wing could only ponder.
“Ga’Hoole deserves to burn for what it has done to the world, done to us to Tytos, done to me, done to you, yes?”
“Yes… it does. They… they used me to advance the imperialist ideals, their stranglehold on the hearts and minds of all owls.”
Metal Beak released but shoved him forward, to the edge of the cliff. He broadly gestured to the horizon. The stars were dusty dots staring back. “And that is the problem preventing us from bringing glory and freedom to all Tytos everywhere.”
The nothingness far below brought an ill dizziness to his gizzard. He did not complain. Battle claws clinked against his helmet and raked his back. The heat of his battle claws pulsated. A wind passed over. This time, though, a small warmth hid inside the cold.
“Soffen issen, or spring as most here say it, is coming, and with it, our chance to reclaim the Southern Kingdoms.” Metal Beak’s voice pitched to the abyss of the world, both in sight and beyond them. Jubilance crossed his face, staring down at the much smaller barn owl. “You, Iron Wing, shall conquer it for me. First, the canyonlands, for we must recover our flecks.”
“I… me, me? At the helm of your armies?
“Yes, yes indeed, you shall lay waste to all those who oppose us! All shall fall down!”
This is madness… but what choice do I have… the Gua-they will surely defeat us…
“You, a righteous convert, shall lead the charge. You shall let it be known that we, the Pure Ones, are the rightful rulers of all. Who better to convince them, with word and claw, than a Guardian who freely renounced his way?”
“I… I am most humbled, Lord Metal Beak…” Iron Wing gulped.
Metal Beak tutted. “Do not call me that, my son, when we are alone. Call me…” The light of a burning meteor flashed across his feathers. “Surtr.”
“Uh… th-thank you, Surtr…” This was becoming more and more bizarre by the moment. Yet there was something… fuzzy and nice about it, in its own way. A sea of calm between death after death at his talons.
Metal Beak loosened Iron Wing and refitted his wings to his sides. “Now, as we prepare our forces for the spring offensive, is there anything you will need? Anything, anything at all.”
Iron Wing’s gizzard pulsed as if in an inferno. Except for my sister’s freedom…
However, an idea struck immediately, one that almost caused his chest to leap.
“I… wish for two things, actually, Surtr, if I may…”
Please, please, please…
“Ah, very brazen of you. Do tell… and I may grant.” A dark churr roared.
Iron Wing gulped. “One last chance to speak to my sister before I set off for good this time… a-and I’d like 78-2 as my sub-lieutenant… please.”
Metal Beak considered his words; then he stretched his wings. “I figured as much.” He turned his head and barked an order. Iron Wing chased his gaze after. Almost right away, a helmeted, mindless soldier came gliding into view from above. 78-2 descended beside him.
Beneath the guard, within snatching distance, was Eglantine. She was fine and pretty, perfect and pristine–save for an almost invisible scar on her neck. A beautiful brown speckle tarnished her mix of light brown and white. Iron Wing was on her as soon as she landed.
He blinked, sniffing, not caring what Metal Beak might do for openly showing affection. Iron Wing briefly hugged her tight; she weakly did the same. Glancing at her, dim yellow-amber colored her eyes. The only brightness within was moonlight reflecting off his helmet. She was still and solemn.
Iron Wing tilted his facial disk, creasing out a positive look. “It’ll be okay, Eglantine, my sister, it’ll be okay… I’m… I’m going to be gone for a while, seeing the world, for us. I’ll be back soon, alright?” She said nothing and only blinked in affirmation.
Taking her wing, he cried some more. “It will be okay in the end. We have each other, and that’s all that matters…. Do you understand?” Eglantine nodded. “Good… good…” He nuzzled beak to beak. “Now, as I fight for, go learn to fight yourself… they’ll make you a good warrior yet...”
Eglantine did not speak. Her only response was to lift her left wing and touch his cheek. Her head angled sideways. A rich spark of life flickered for the barest moment in her gaze. Her beak slightly gaped–then it closed.
The light died. Her soft, gentle feathers slowly returned to her side. She flew back to the guard. He saw nothing, not even a sadness, on her. Only pure neutrality. Eglantine did not look back at him, focusing on her flight. They vanished into the night.
Afterward, a scampering 78-2 took her place in front of him. The light gray sooty, too, was now grown, just like he was, given their similar ages. Taller yet lankier, her black eyes possessed a fiery warmth.
A strangeness pulled at Iron Wing as he stared into her impassiveness. He could not place it, all he knew was that ever since he’d known her, he’d felt better with her around compared to Metal Beak’s torture. That she’d personally treated him only added.
She delivered a quick, curt bow, then stood. “You… wish for me… for the spring offensive?” 78-2 spoke slowly but assertively. “Why? I was only assigned to heal you during your tenure as a prisoner, nothing further.”
“You are… intelligent, 78-2, and we know each other well. I will need someone at my side I can… trust.” The words nearly fumbled out of Iron Wing. “That, and should I be injured, you know me better than anyone.” He couldn’t help but think of her as pretty, too.
“Thank you, I cannot appreciate it enough. I will work hard to truly earn this promotion and shall prove that I deserve it. Teach me to fight, and I shall. For the glory of all Tytos!”
Metal Beak sauntered to them, and chuffed. “Hm, excellent. A fellow sooty like myself in the upper echelons is certainly a welcome sight. I approve...”
78-2 hastily bowed before Metal Beak, and Iron Wing copied her, in thanks to their ruler.
I can only hope the future holds something… more…