Guardians of Ga'Hoole 09 - The First Collier

Glaux that she had insisted that Siv remain tucked in at the base of the Ice Dagger, a short flight away. She suspected what might be going on here. If it was true, then the evil intricacies of the hagsfiends’ nachtmagen was worse than she had ever imagined. Myrrthe had heard stories from an old aunt that there was a spell that some very powerful hagsfiends could cast, called the Nacht Ga’. But her auntie had been a nervous, apprehensive type, imagining a hagsfiend around everycorner and making the slashing sign with her talon to ward off evil. So Myrrthe had never given much credence to her ramblings about hagsfiends and nachtmagen. But now Myrrthe’s gizzard gave an alarming twitch.
    Let me explain something, Dear Owl, about the nature of the gizzard. The gizzard is not simply a second stomach that accommodates the indigestible parts of our prey by compressing bones and fur and teeth into neat little pellets. Hardly! It is through this most mysterious of all organs that we experience our strongest feelings, emotions, and instincts. But it is more even than that. The gizzard of an owl can possess or develop what we call “Ga’,” which means great spirit; a spirit that somehow embodies not only all that is noble, but all that is humble as well. It flourishes, however, to its greatest in very few owls. H’rath, for example, was a kind and great king. But did he have great Ga’? It is a hard question to answer. At that time in my life, I had never met an owl who could be said to have great Ga’. The extent to which Ga’ evolves within an owl varies. But the seeds of it are there in every owl.
    The spell of the hagsfiends, the Nacht Ga’, freezes the seeds of a gizzard’s Ga’; in fact, the spell suppresses all of the rare and extraordinary powers of the gizzard, turning that marvelous organ into what it was in the most commonof birds—a mere second stomach, a lump in the gut. The spell allows the hagsfiends to invade an owl’s being and force that bird to do their bidding. Although the owl might look as it did before, the owl’s gizzard, its identity, the very essence of its owlness and personality were now in thrall to other powers—those of the hagsfiends. So even though the Glauxess looked exactly as she had before, she was not. She had been rendered powerless to exercise any moral judgment, powerless to act upon any conviction, powerless even to think any genuine thoughts. Myrrthe now knew that Rorkna and the other sisters had fallen under this spell. Even if she had not known about the Nacht Ga’, she would have wondered about the strange grinding noises coming from their gizzards. She knew the cause was not a bad vole—mere indigestion. The old Snowy knew that she must get away from this place as quickly as possible. She looked at the rock slab in the large burrow where she and the others shared the vole. Dread swept through her: She was not surrounded by the good sisters of Glaux but by hagsfiends who merely looked like the sisters. One false move and they would be on her like a pack of mobbing crows. She had to exercise the utmost caution. Her gizzard contracted and trembled as Rorkna spoke.
    “Would you not honor us with one of your ancient gadfeather songs?”
    Ancient gadfeather songs! Myrrthe thought frantically. Did she know any ancient gadfeather songs? Something sounded dimly in her brain. “Yes,” she said hesitatingly. “Let me just get these vole teeth set away in my gizzard.” She gulped and pretended to be flexing her gizzard, which, in truth, was trembling so hard it was barely functional. She was trying to buy herself some time. She then coughed delicately. The words of the song were coming back, and she sang:

From a time before time
    when we gadfeathers roamed
    o’er mountains, valleys, and sea,
    We sought not a home,
    not a limb for a perch,
    we only wanted to be free.
    Now the sky is our hollow,
    the stars we do follow.
    The wind is our friend.
    That’s all we need in the end;
    To fly and rarely rest.
    The whole world is our nest.
    Let us be, let us be, let us be.
    Let us be free, free, free!

    “Lovely! Ain’t it, Sisters?” the Glauxess turned and spoke to the others.
    The word “ain’t” ground in Myrrthe’s ear slits as loudly as the gizzards grinding around her. She could not leave quickly enough. As soon as she could, she bade the spellbound sisters farewell.
    Taking her leave, Myrrthe set off on a roundabout flight path for fear of being followed, and