The Siege by Kathryn Lasky Page A

again about the dying Barn Owl. He blinked his eyes open and shut.
    The young Spotted Owl would never know exactly what made him do it, but suddenly he was carving a wide turn and climbing upward, higher and higher and higher. He was above the forest now and heading for the aerie on the very tallest peak of the mountain of Ambala. His gizzard quivered, and he could hardly hold his wings steady.
    Suddenly, an eerie luminous green scrawl slithered out of the night. I am not going yeep. I am not going yeep, the Spotted Owl repeated to himself. He quickly dodged the flying snake.
    Three more snakes came out of the night, but Hortense continued. Then he felt a presence flying near him. It was not a snake, but he could not quite see what it was. It seemed as if a corner of a cloud had been torn off and was drifting in a lazy way sometimes in his wake, sometimes off to one side, sometimes just ahead. But since it had arrived, there had been no more flying snakes.
    As he approached the aerie, he saw the two immense eagles. He lighted down on the edge of the nest, which seemed as huge as the treetops over which he had been flying.
    “What brings you here, young’un?” It was the male who spoke. There was a rumor that his mate couldn’t say a word because her tongue had been ripped out in a battle.
    “There’s a Barn Owl down there,” the Spotted Owl flicked his head in the direction of the lake. “He’s with six other owls, and I think he’s dying. His friends are really upset. Worms aren’t working.” He thought he heard a soft churring sound come from where the patch of cloud had settled. He looked in that direction, but there was nothing there now. He could have sworn it sounded like the churrs of a Spotted Owl.
    “Tell me a little about this Barn Owl and his friends,” the male eagle said. Hortense could tell that the female was listening intently, and in some wordless way, signals were passing between them.
    “Well, they’ve fetched up in the hollow of that old sycamore, the haunted one.”
    “Ah-hem, so they say,” said the male eagle. “The one where that poor owl Simon met his end. Simon, who only wanted to do good.” The male eagle sighed. The Spotted Owl could have sworn he heard another sigh, like a dim whisper. It wasn’t the female eagle but when he looked around, he saw not another soul.
    “There’s the wounded Barn Owl, his best friend, a little Elf Owl.” He felt some sort of current go through the air. “Then there is a Burrowing Owl, and a big old huge Great Gray who looks really tough.” The two eagles exchanged glances that seemed to say Could it be? Hortense continued with descriptions of the other three owls, but the eagles weren’t interested.
    “Fetch Slynella!” the male eagle blurted out to his mate. The female was immediately airborne, and then once more the Spotted Owl saw a wisp of fog, no bigger than an immature owl drifting beside her. Was it a scroom? he wondered.
    No, the harder he looked, the clearer the shape became.It was a Spotted Owl, but a very pale one who flew a crooked path. This must be the one they called Mist. Finally, he could see her.
    The female eagle and Mist returned with a flying snake. It was glowing like a scroll of green lightning.
    “Meet Slynella,” the male eagle said.
    The young Spotted Owl began to quiver uncontrollably. If he had been flying instead of perched on the edge of the eagle’s nest, he would have gone yeep. His wings hung at his side like two stones. The snake twisted her flat head toward him. Her glittering turquoise eyes fixed him in her gaze. A bright, forked tongue slipped out. It was the strangest tongue Hortense had ever seen. One side of the fork was a pale ivory color, the other was crimson.
    “Enchanted, I am sssssure.” The words slithered off the odd-colored tongue.
    “Relax,” the male eagle said to Hortense. “She won’t hurt you.”
    “Relax,” he says. He must be yoicks. Hortense knew that inches away from him