The First Collier (15 page)

On the second night after Svenka had left, Siv felt odd stirrings in her gizzard. She knew that tonight was the night her son would hatch. “I knew it as surely as I had ever known anything in my life,” Siv said. “He would come on this ice-sheathed, star-swirled night, the longest night of the year.”

I
myself had waited patiently through the early winter gales wondering when this chick might hatch. In the helter-skelter of my parting from Siv at the Ice Cliff Palace, I had forgotten to ask her when exactly she had laid the egg. I had a feeling it had not been long before H’rath’s death. Normally, it would take the complete moon cycle for it to hatch. But where the egg began in that cycle, I had no idea. Then one wind-bitten night, the longest night, the last night of the old owl year, when the day is but a dim thread in an endless darkness, the egg seemed to grow more luminous than ever, and I saw it jiggle forcefully. It was quickening! The jiggle then turned into a rocking motion. It was a glimmering time in this long night when the seconds slow between the last minute of the old season and the first of the new. The sky was alive with countless stars, sharp and bright, and the forest with its icy mantle caught their reflection so that it
appeared as if the trunks and branches of every tree were encased in stars rather than bark.

Theo poked his head into the hollow. “He’s coming, he’s coming,” I said.

“May I come inside?” Theo asked.

I nodded and dared not speak.

The egg rocked harder and harder. I leaned over. My gizzard jumped as I saw the minuscule point of the chick’s egg tooth poke through.

I learned later that at the precise moment the chick’s egg tooth pecked the shell, the hagsfiends attacked Siv.

Siv had disciplined herself to accept as nothing exceptional that first tinge of yellow that would turn the ice tawny in the night. She stood at the ready, gripping the scimitar of her mate in her talons and, most important, in her mind’s eye she held the clear image of the hatching of her son. She could imagine everything about it. The egg tooth poking out, the fracture that began slowly and crept across the surface of the shell. She could imagine the tiny crackling sounds. She could even imagine the schneddenfyrr I had built but she willed herself not to imagine where it might be. This, she knew, could endanger the prince.

She had forgotten the pain in her port wing. She had forgotten yellow. It was no longer even a word in her vocabulary. It was not a color in any spectrum of color. She was filled not with hatred, not with vengeance, but love. The great spirit was flooding through her hollow bones. Her gizzard was trim and burning with Ga’, her wits keen and her heart bold as she flew fearlessly out of that ice hollow in the berg with her scimitar raised to face the hagsfiends.

And this time, it was the hagsfiends who were distracted and amazed. How could this crippled owl fly? How could she blast through their awesome yellow light as if it were nothing more than the pink tinge of a summer dawn? And what was even more astounding was that in her talons she held the scimitar of H’rath. She flew directly for Penryck.

“What’s happening?” Lord Arrin cried out.

I’m happening,
Siv thought. She raised her scimitar and slashed at Penryck. But the hag veered off sharply. She was after him, but she began to feel an odd current in the frigid night air. It was Lord Arrin. He no longer flew like a Snowy at all. The leading edges of his flight feathers had turned even more ragged, chopping the air as he flew. She took a steep spiraling turn, plunging toward the frozen
firthkin. If only there were some open water. But there was none. Ahead, everything gleamed of solid ice in the moonlight. She skimmed as close as she could, hoping that the hagsfiends—there were several now chasing her—would be too fearful of encountering an open patch of sea. They were gaining on her. And now, finally, her wing began to hurt.
I shall not be distracted! I shall not be distracted. I can fly through pain. I shall fly through pain, for my kingdom, for my son, for owlkind.
She flipped her head upward and felt her gizzard clench. Printed against the moon were the ragged shadows of three enormous hagsfiends. She was surrounded!

Had I known what was happening at the same moment the chick was hatching, I am not sure what I would have done. Instead of hagsfiends, I was seeing a little miracle happening in front of my eyes. Every hatching is in some way a miracle, a miracle that is beyond any magic. But this one in particular seemed especially miraculous when one considered the short violent history of this little chick in its egg. As soon as the egg tooth pierced the shell, a crack began to creep across the surface of the egg. The egg then gave an enormous shudder. Theo and I were rapt with attention. There was a sharp cracking sound that went on
for several seconds and then, suddenly, the egg split wide open. We gasped as a featherless pale blob tumbled and flopped onto the down of the nest.

Within those same seconds when the egg split, Siv was brought down to the ice of the firthkin. She stood in a pool of moonlight, still, with her scimitar raised.

“You can’t be serious, milady,” Lord Arrin said, lighting several paces in front of her.

“I am deadly serious. Stand back.”

“My dear,” he began.

“No ‘my dears,’” she shot back.

“All right, milady. Save yourself, save your young’un. Join us. You can be my lady, my queen, the queen of the nachtmagen. And here is your court.” He swept a ragged wing toward the half-dozen hagsfiends who were now closing in on her.

“Never.”

“We can control everything through our magic. You have already proven yourself invincible in ways that have amazed us. Is that not right, Penryck?” They came closer.

“That’s right, Lord Arrin,” said the foul hagsfiend, larger than the rest. He stared hard at Siv. “How ever
did
you escape the yellow fyngrot?”

She ignored the question.
They are trying to distract me,
Siv thought. She was fully prepared at this moment to die.

“Has the chick hatched?” Lord Arrin asked.

She would not answer any questions. She was silent, silent as the night, and she stood in her silence as solid as the ice that covered the firthkin. She was completely undistractible. She could not be amazed. She was fearful of nothing except losing her son or revealing anything that might suggest that the egg was not with her, but with Grank. She knew at this moment that he had hatched. That he was alive. She and her chick might be leagues apart but they were in the same world. She felt a deeper connection with him than she had ever felt for anything before.

Lucky I had plucked my own breast feathers for the schneddenfyrr. For this little chick, and it was a male, was as naked as could be. Not a tuft of fluff on him. He was a funny little creature with his big head and bulging eyes sealed shut. Though he could barely hold that very large head up, he tried to stagger to his feet but flopped down again. Then he looked up.

“Welcome, Hoole,” I whispered gently, and he cocked his head as if he were really listening, even though he could not yet see me. “Welcome, little one.”

And the wind stilled and the trees stopped creaking and the very stars in the sky stopped twinkling as if holding their breath. It was as if all the world knew that something fantastic, something magical, had just happened. A small owl of great consequence and great nobility had been born.

Across the Bitter Sea, in a remote icebound firthkin, a lone Spotted Owl stood with her scimitar raised, prepared to fight to the death. She was not fearful in the least, for in her gizzard she knew that her chick had hatched, and a new life had begun.

Call me Grank. I am an old owl now. What I have told is only the beginning of the story. My writing ends here, but the story goes on. It is time for others to take up the task, others who have lived through this strange period of magic and violence.

S
oren watched from his perch as Coryn finished reading the last page of the book. The young king closed the ancient tome and looked at Soren.

“I think I know why he wanted us to read this,” Coryn said quietly.

Soren felt his gizzard give a small twinge. “Why, dear boy, why?”

“I think the ember is dangerous, very dangerous, and that is why I was destined to retrieve it before…” He hesitated. “Before my mother, Nyra, did. If the ember had come into her possession it would have meant…” Coryn looked deeply into his uncle’s dark eyes. He could see his own reflection in them.

“Nachtmagen,” Soren whispered.

Coryn swallowed and felt his gizzard crackle. “Yes, Soren. You know, I think, with that ember…” He paused and looked down at his talons. “This is very hard to say.”

“Go on, my boy,” Soren said gently.

“I think that ember would have released…” He hesitated
again. “Released something in her. Transformed her into what she truly is.”

“And what would that be?” Soren asked.

“You mean, you don’t know?” Coryn blinked in surprise.

“No, I don’t. Tell me.”

There was a deadly silence. Soren felt a twinge deep in his gizzard and leaned forward. “Tell me,” he said again.

“As I said when I first came to the great tree, Soren, where there are legends, there is truth. And I have learned an unexpected truth from Grank’s tale.”

Coryn paused and blinked.

“My mother is a hagsfiend.”

Book One:
The Capture

Book Two:
The Journey

Book Three:
The Rescue

Book Four:
The Siege

Book Five:
The Shattering

Book Six:
The Burning

Book Seven:
The Hatchling

Book Eight:
The Outcast

Book Nine:
The First Collier

Book Ten:
The Coming of Hoole

Book Eleven:
To Be a King

Book Twelve:
The Golden Tree

Book Thirteen:
The River of Wind

Book Fourteen:
Exile

Book Fifteen:
The War of the Ember

A Guide Book to the Great Tree

Lost Tales of Ga’Hoole

The Band

SOREN: Barn Owl,
Tyto alba,
from the Forest Kingdom of Tyto; escaped from St. Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls; a Guardian at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree

GYLFIE: Elf Owl,
Micranthene whitneyi,
from the Desert Kingdom of Kuneer; escaped from St. Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls; Soren’s best friend; a Guardian at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree

TWILIGHT: Great Gray Owl,
Strix nebulosa,
free flier; orphaned within hours of hatching; a Guardian at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree

DIGGER: Burrowing Owl,
Athene cunicularius,
from the Desert Kingdom of Kuneer; lost in the desert after an attack in which his brother was killed by owls from St. Aegolius; a Guardian at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree

The Leaders of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree

CORYN: Barn Owl,
Tyto alba,
the new young king of the great tree; son of Nyra, leader of the Pure Ones

EZYLRYB: Whiskered Screech Owl,
Otus trichopsis,
the wise old weather-interpretation and colliering ryb (teacher) at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree; Soren’s mentor (also known as LYZE OF KIEL)

Others at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree

OTULISSA: Spotted Owl,
Strix occidentalis,
a student of prestigious lineage at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree

OCTAVIA: Kielian snake, nest-maid for Madame Plonk and Ezylryb (also known as BRIGID)

Characters from the Time of the Legends

GRANK: Spotted Owl,
Strix occidentalis,
the first collier; friend to young King H’rath and Queen Siv during their youth; first owl to find the ember

H’RATH: Spotted Owl,
Strix occidentalis,
king of the N’yrthghar, a frigid region known in later times as the Northern Kingdoms; father of Hoole

SIV: Spotted Owl,
Strix occidentalis,
mate of H’rath and queen of the N’yrthghar; mother of Hoole

MYRRTHE: Snowy Owl,
Nyctea scandiaca,
faithful servant of Queen Siv, formerly her nursemaid and governess; flees with Queen Siv after the death of H’rath

RORKNA: Spotted Owl,
Strix occidentalis,
Glauxess of the Glauxian Sisters’ Retreat on the Island of Elsemere, cousin of Queen Siv

LORD ARRIN: Spotted Owl,
Strix occidentalis,
powerful chieftain of a kingdom bordering King H’rath’s realm

PLEEK: Great Horned Owl,
Bubo virginianus,
enemy of King H’rath; known to consort with hagsfiends; rumored to have taken one for a mate

THEO: Great Horned Owl,
Bubo virginianus,
a gizzard resister and apprentice to Grank; possesses great blacksmithing skills

SVENKA: Polar Bear,
Ursus maritimus,
in the Bitter Sea, comes to the aid of Queen Siv

PENRYCK: Male hagsfiend, ally of Lord Arrin

Y’GYRK: Female hagsfiend, Pleek’s mate