Guardians of Ga'Hoole 09 - The First Collier

rake the cliffs of the Hrath’ghar mountains. It was great fun and we were doing all sorts of acrobatic flight tricks. The three of us loved showing off for one another. We made up names for our different moves. There was the kukla spiral, “kukla” beingthe word in Krakish for crazy. There was the hag’s swirl, but if anyone knew we had used that word—or even part of that word—in jest, we would have had our ear slits boxed. And then there was dizzy-izzy, which was quite comical looking. We would rotate our tails in one direction and then tilt our primaries into the wind and go spinning up and up and up until we could go no higher, often yarping up what we had just eaten. We had just finished a spectacular set of dizzy-izzies when we heard a call from a nearby ice shelf.
    “Some flying!” a Great Gray Owl called to us. He was perched on the shelf and was picking over a lemming he had just caught.
    “He’s a warrior,” Siv whispered. She could tell from the long blood-streaked ice shard at his side.
    “He must be returning from the campaigns in the south!” H’rath said, his voice absolutely bursting with excitement. H’rath loved warriors. He dreamed of ice shards and ice swords and all the weapons that the owls of the north fought with.
    “Come on over. This is a fat lemming, plenty for everyone.”
    We, of course, flew over. If he was in this part of the Hrath’ghar glacier, he was not an enemy. The enemy in those days was in the southern and eastern parts of theN’yrthghar Kingdom. And Hrath’ghar was the stronghold of the H’rathians, followers of King H’rathmore, H’rath’s father. So we flew over and settled on the shelf.
    H’rath eyes were immediately drawn to the ice sword. “It still has blood on it,” he said with wonder in his voice.
    “Course it does. Blood of a Screech Owl, one of Hengen’s knights.”
    “Hengen, Hag of Mylotte?” H’rath asked.
    “Indeed, young’un,” the Great Gray answered.
    Hengen, Hag of Mylotte, was one of the most savage knight warriors of a chieftain who had allied himself with Mylotte, a powerful hagsfiend. While H’rath was looking at the ice sword, I was looking at the lemming. It was plump and succulent and its fur glistened in the pale twilight of this late winter day. I could feel my gizzard rumble with hunger.
    “Let your prince eat first,” said the Great Gray. I grew very still. I felt my eyes blur as they often did right before a vision came, but this time, there was no fire and no sunlight. I was standing very still. “Eat up, lad!” the Great Gray was saying.
    “No,” I said.
    “What’s wrong? It’s a perfectly good lemming,” the owl replied, a nasty edge to his voice. But when I stared at the lemming, I saw something green coiled within it.
    “No!” I shrieked this time, and with my talons kicked the lemming off the edge of the ice shelf. A terrible hiss scalded the air as a bright eerie green thing slithered through the gathering darkness.
    “A flying snake!” H’rath shouted, and we backed ourselves against the wall of the ice shelf. The snake coiled at once as if to strike.
    I rose straight up into the air. And although I scarcely remembered it later, I was told that I spoke in strange words and at once the snake appeared to go yeep but then turned and glided off into the night.
    The Great Gray was gone by the time we recovered.
    “He tried to kill us!” H’rath said in stunned disbelief.
    “He tried to kill you ,” Siv said.
    “You’re right,” H’rath said. “He said that the prince should eat first.”
    And we all knew which prince he meant. At that moment they both turned to me. “Grank,” H’rath whispered. “You saved my life. How did you know?”
    “I’m not sure. I just see things sometimes.”
    “But never quite like this!” Siv said.
    She was right. Never quite like this.
    “Yes,” I said softly. “Never quite like this.” For I, too, was mystified.
    “Grank,” Siv said again, and stepped toward me, her lovely amber eyes glistening. “Are you a mage?” This sent a tremor through me, as well it should have.
    How exactly does the magic of a mage differ from a hagsfiend’s magic? When I was young, there was really only one kind of magic, nachtmagen, or bad magic, the magic of hagsfiends. But it was rumored that there were mages who practiced good magic. Some said the owl we called Hoole had been a mage. But most owls thought that this was pure invention. Good magic was