“Now, a-one and a-two and a-three …” Six little peeping voices began to sing:
There’re voles in holes
And voles on coals.
Yummy, yummy in my tummy!
All so nice and warm,
Warms you once,
Warms you twice.
Roasted voles
Are awfully nice.
“Nicely done! Now eat your voles while I take our visitors around the camp.”
Wynnifryd took us on a tour. The first thing I noticed was the unnatural silence that enveloped the camp. Normally, when a bunch of owlets get together, there’s a constant racket of noisy chatter — gazooling, the elders call it. And owlets are always playing.
No one was playing here. Very few were even flying. It was obvious that many had been orphaned before they had fledged, and there weren’t enough adults to begin them on branching. Many of the owlets looked so thin and tattered that I had to wonder if they’d even have the strength to branch. The fledged owlets had feathers that were so sticky with burrs and debris, it was doubtful they’d ever felt the gentle preening strokes of a cleaning beak.
A little Spotted Owl who had just begun to budge was perched on a stump, crying. A Snowy tried to comfort him.
“I know I’m not your mum. But I can keep you warm, and why not try to eat this bit of mouse? I took the fur off for you. Come on now, take a little bite.”
“But I’m not hungry!”
Wynnifryd leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Some of them are too weak to eat. That’s why I cook their food. It’s easier to get down.” She turned to Loki. “Fly back to my griddle and get that last vole. We’ll bring it to this little one and try him on it.”
It was heartbreaking. Later that same afternoon at tweener, we perched in a large hollow with Wynnifryd and the camp director, a Lieutenant Lyngaard Strix Varia.
“We’re not as flooded with orphans as some of the other camps. It’s tragic,” he said. I could not help but remember the dreadful night when Lysa died. If she had lived, would she be in a camp like this? Would I have ever been able to find her?
The lieutenant swiveled his head toward me.
“I suppose you have heard, Lyze, that your brother has been recommissioned?”
“What?” I was stunned. “So soon? Why?”
“We desperately need soldiers. I hate to say it, but we can’t be picky. No offense.”
“None taken. My brother has been the offense. I hope he redeems himself on the battlefield.”
“May Glaux guide him.”
It was not long after we returned from Lav Issen that we dispatched our first contingent of Kielian snakes to spy in the region of the Ice Talons. Lil, Strix Struma, and I, along with three others, conveyed the snakes to the drop point. Octavia was commander of the operation on the ground.
We flew in under the thick cover of an early morning fog — the perfect conditions for a drop. There was a long, quiet moment as we said good-bye on a wind-bashed, sea-scoured rock a few leagues west of the Ice Talons. I peered into Octavia’s glittering green eyes, but I couldn’t glean what she was thinking.
She was setting out on an unbelievably dangerous mission. She and four other snakes were going to penetrate the labyrinthine network of ice passages behind the three peninsulas that spread like icy talons across the thrashing waters of the Everwinter Sea. Collectively, these fingers of ice were known as the Ice Massif. If she or any of the snakes were caught, they would be executed immediately.
Octavia had become my closet friend and confidante other than Lil, and I shared worries with her that I dared not share with Lil. The Kielian snake and I spoke no words in parting. We nodded to each other and then she was gone, slithering through the crashing waves as she made her way toward the southernmost prong of the ice formation.
I perched on the rock and followed Octavia with my eyes as long as I could before I lost sight of her. It was as if a part of me went with her. I caught myself holding my breath each time she dove under the water, and peered hard to make out her head — just a dark dot in a cresting wave — when she surfaced.
She later told me the incredible story of her mission, which I now transcribe here in her own words.
I could feel Lyze’s bright yellow eyes following me as I swam. I knew he dared not fly over me in case the fog thinned and he was spotted by enemy scouts. We both knew that we might never see each other again. But if I died on this mission, I would die happy. Lyze had given me a life, and I didn’t need death to understand that. I knew everything had changed the first moment we met. A lazy, selfish, and very unhappy snake had been offered a matchless opportunity — a chance for a meaningful life of dignity, service, and grace.
It did not matter to me that I was a snake fighting for owls. In a world on the brink of disaster, what difference did it make which species one belonged to? Lyze an avian, myself a reptile — we were all in this together against the most terrible tyrant the Northern Kingdoms had ever known. Differences are muted under these circumstances.
Nevertheless, I was terribly afraid. This mission was very dangerous and I’d heard horrific stories about what the enemy did to slipgizzles. Bylyric had black sites not for training, but for torture. Many of them were rumored to be deep in the Ice Talons — secret chambers where unimaginable atrocities were performed.
The current was with me. As I swam, I rehearsed my cover story. I was coming back home, home from the Southern Kingdoms. I had served down there as a nest-maid snake in the Great Ga’Hoole Tree but — and this was key — the southern owls preferred the snakes native to the great tree. Those snakes were blind, and everyone knew that the owls of the great tree were very secretive.
If it were true that Bylyric had his eyes set on the Southern Kingdoms, he would take this bait. What better source of information on the Southern Kingdoms than a nest-maid snake who had served at the great tree? They would be fascinated at what I had seen while I was there.
In preparation for this mission, Lyze and I had pored over every document in the military library that related to the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. I could name every snake guild of the great tree, from that of the harp guild to the weavers and the lace makers. The Plonk family singers’ papers were also in this library, and Thora, a descendent from that line of distinguished warblers, had told me everything her family knew about the great tree. I was ready.
The three other snakes that accompanied me were not to penetrate into the labyrinth as far as I was. They were to lie low around the outer perimeters doing what carefree Kielian snakes do best — diving and having fun. At this season, snakes often took annual diving trips to the Ice Narrows. If I found out something critical, the three other snakes would serve as my transmission agents.
It didn’t take me long to begin my work. I lingered briefly around the southernmost talon when a smallish Spotted Owl approached me.
“What are you doing here, snake?” His amber eyes bore into me. “Been diving in the Ice Narrows?”
“No, I’m anxious to get home. But the wind and current are against me.”
He was very still and kept staring at me. It was unnerving, like he was sizing me up. I felt I had suddenly become completely transparent, and he would be able to detect every lie I was about to tell.
“Get home from where?” he finally asked after what seemed like endless minutes of silence.
I tried to steady my voice as I spoke, but at the same time, I looked around for a quick escape. All I could think about were those black sites where slipgizzles were tortured. “Southern Kingdoms,” I said as casually as I could. “I’ve been down there for a spell.”
“That so?” His eyes flashed as he blinked, and he tapped his battle claws on the ice.
“Yes, but I live way up the Firth of Fangs and I need a job.”
“You don’t like lazing about like most of these snakes?” Once again he tapped his battle claws, and then he dragged them a bit across the ice. The sound shivered up my spine.
&n
bsp; “No, I don’t, actually. I like fishing — fishing for capelin.” I knew that on the Ice Talons, where red meat was scarce, the owls mostly ate fish. But Fish Owls as a species had proven loyal to the Kielian League. For fishing, the Ice Talon owls had to depend on Eagle Owls, who were not nearly as good with small fish like capelin.
“We might be able to use you in low mess,” he suggested.
I felt a quiver pass through my scales. This confirmed that there was an Ice Talon contingent still embedded in the southern talon. And if there was a low mess, there might be a high mess hollow for high-ranking officers.
“Follow this lead.” He flipped his head toward the narrow channel on the north side of the southern talon. “You’ll see a Burrowing Owl there. Tell her Wick sent you for service in low mess.”
I did as I was told and soon encountered a Burrowing Owl who was furiously digging out a small ice hollow, or schneddenfyrr, the kind of nests that birds of the nearly treeless north often built for their eggs. I had not seen one of these in a long time.
“About to lay an egg, madame, I presume?”
“Here? Are you yoickers?” the Burrowing Owl snapped. “Don’t presume anything, snake. I’m done raising chicks. I’m making this for myself. We’re running out of space inside the Ice Talons.” She clamped her beak shut when she realized she’d said too much. “I mean, I prefer to have a hollow that opens directly on the lead. The ice here is easier to dig.” Her featherless legs began whacking at the ice.
“Let me help you with that.” In one swift stroke of my head, I doubled the volume of the schneddenfyrr.
“Oh, my goodness!” the Burrowing Owl exclaimed in delight. A small stream of ice worms tumbled out at the same time.
“Not to worry,” I said cheerfully. “I do worms as well.” And I quickly slurped them up.
“Oh, you are a wonder! The ice worms and the frost vermin are real pests around here.” She flipped her head about and then upside down as she surveyed the ice walls and ceilings that tunneled through the Talons. “The whole place could use a good cleaning up.” She swiveled her head sharply and looked at me with narrowed eyes.
“What brings you here?” It was as if suddenly she felt she had let her guard down and become too hospitable, too intimate. Her eyes hardened with suspicion.
“Wick directed me to you. He thought I might serve in low mess. You know, providing capelin.”
“And you fish, too!” A brightness was rising in her eyes, the anticipation of something delicious, luscious. But she quickly quenched it. Once again I had caught her off guard. Desire, craving had no place in the Ice Talons, for it was equated with weakness. She squared her shoulders and in a curt, no-nonsense voice said, “Follow me. I’ll show you to low mess.”
I advanced rapidly in my life as a nest-maid snake for the enemy. I spent only two days in low mess providing capelin for the soldiers. Word spread that ordinary enlisted owls were eating better than the colonels and generals, and so I was soon promoted. On my third evening, just before a patrol was sent out, I began humming a tune as I served up a particularly tasty variety of capelin. It was not just any tune, but one I had found in the documents I had studied about the Great Ga’Hoole Tree.
“I say, snake.” A Snowy swiveled his head toward me. “What’s that ditty you’re singing?”
“‘The Westward Wind.’”
“‘Westward Wind’? Never heard of it.”
“Oh, it’s a Hoolian song. It’s sung at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree on the first full moon after Founder’s Night.”
“What are you talking about?” A Great Gray blinked at me. “How do you know all this?”
“I spent a year there, working at the great tree.”
“You spent a year at the Great Ga’Hoole Tree!” The Great Gray began to bristle up. “But aren’t all the snakes at the great tree blind snakes?”
“Yes, that’s true,” I said. “Most of them are.”
“And why did you leave?”
“Well, quite frankly, they don’t care for snakes that can see. I saw too much for their taste, I guess. But it was all for the best — I was homesick as well.”
The Great Gray summoned a Pygmy and whispered into his ear slit.
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
Although I worked in the high mess, I suspected that there was one even higher. I knew that much of the fish I brought was sent elsewhere. Soon, I was being escorted out from the southernmost talon to the middle talon. The network of channels and leads through the ice there was even more complex. Deeper and deeper we went, and farther and farther from safety. The tide was coming in, which made traveling difficult and sometimes I slipped into the water to swim, with a Pygmy Owl directing me from overhead. After some time, I arrived at a ledge and was told to climb to a higher and drier one. Then, following the little Pygmy, I trailed him through a narrow passage slippery with water.
“It’s an unusually high tide,” the Pygmy commented to a tiny Saw-whet as we entered a cavern.
The Saw-whet looked up in alarm. “What’s that snake doing here? We don’t have servants here. You know that. Except for her.” She tossed her head toward a snake in the corner. “She’s the only other servant permitted, aside from myself. It’s a security violation, you being here, especially with a stranger.” She was in a twitter.
“I have an X-O Nineteen clearance,” the Pygmy replied curtly. The Saw-whet blinked. I suppressed a shimmer in my scales, the natural reaction for a Kielian snake when extremely excited. I knew I was closing in.
“Is she to go into the mess?”
“Not without a blind. But he wants to talk to her,” the Pygmy said.
“Hmmph!” the Saw-whet replied with more than a tinge of disapproval in her voice.
“This snake is the one who has been fishing for us.”
“I wouldn’t know. They only let the top officers eat the capelin.” She paused. “And her, of course.” The Saw-whet swiveled her head toward the snake in the corner, who cast me an anguished look. She was a cyan celadon like myself, but I had never seen a sorrier-looking snake. My scales tightened and dulled to a muddy green color. This is the closest a Kielian snake comes to wilfing. There was something very strange about this snake, even tormented, but I couldn’t determine what it was.
“Go on, take a taste!” the churlish Saw-whet squawked. Terror filled the snake’s eyes as she took a small peck from the midsection of the fish.
“Swallow it!” the Saw-whet commanded. “You know what happened to the last snake when they discovered she was spitting out the food. She died a worse death than any poison. Flayed, skinned alive — how would you like that?”
Then I knew. This snake was the food taster for the Monster of the Ice Massif, the Tyrant of the Talons, the Orphan Maker — Bylyric himself! No wonder this poor creature was quaking. Twice a day she was expected to test Bylyric’s food. Twice a day she lived in fear of dying.
But Bylyric was here! I had found him!
“Swallow!” the Saw-whet said again. When she saw that the snake had obeyed, she began to count. When she reached one hundred, she nodded at the snake, seized the fish, and left through a small passage in the ice wall with the Pygmy following behind her. As soon as they disappeared, I turned to the snake.
“Is there another way out of here?” She looked at me with a glazed expression, then swung her head to one side indicating a small slot behind her. There were tears in her eyes, but they didn’t glitter. I realized that her eyes had no luster whatsover but were a cloudy beige. A terrible dread coiled through me. I had to get out of here, but I also had to ask her, “Would you like to come with me?”
“I can’t,” she said softly. Then I knew why she seemed so strange, what caused the murky beige in her eyes.
“You’ve been excised,” I said softly. She nodded. My own scales turned almost black.
To be excised was the worst thing that could happen to a Kielian snake. These hagsfiend owls had severed her extension plates, the p
lates that connected to the shape-shifting muscles of her head. Imagine an owl without its wings. She was the living dead.
She began to speak. “When I eat his food, I’m not afraid that I’ll be poisoned. I’m afraid that I won’t be. You have no idea how much I want to die. Please, please, have mercy. Kill me, I beg of you.”
“Bylyric is in there, isn’t he?” I said.
She nodded, then tipped her head beseechingly to one side. “Please. Kill me.”
I could have finished her off swiftly. But I was so stunned I couldn’t think and then I heard the sound of talons coming through the passageway. I had to get out.
“I beg you, please! You are my only chance.”
What did she have to live for? Death by flaying? But it had to be quick and painless. I slammed my head down on her, and just before I struck, I saw such joy in her dull eyes. There was a tiny sparkle of green and then she was dead.
I slipped out of the cavern through the crack in the wall and slithered myself away as fast as I could. I was just about to slink out into a corridor that I thought might lead out of the middle talon when I heard the loud fluttering of the Saw-whet’s wings.
“Lieutenant Jesper!” she shrieked. “The taster is dead!”
Jesper! That was Bylyric’s son.
“What! Poisoned?”
“No, murdered! By that other snake that was here!”
I froze.
“Set up channel blocks immediately on every water lead. Every exit!”
I was paralyzed. With each passing second, my chances to escape were dwindling. I peeked out of the crack and slithered into the water. There was a fairly strong current, but was it going my way? I was in an ice maze, and I’d gotten badly turned around.
My first decision was to not fight the current. There was no sense in tiring myself out when I didn’t know which way to swim. I took a deep dive as I didn’t want to leave any trace of a wake. I surfaced for breath before I really needed to because to burst through the water gasping would be a giveaway. This worked fine until the third time I surfaced, when I heard the wing beats of several owls close by. It’s said that owls are silent fliers, but that wasn’t true in the tight confines of these narrow ice passages. Everything from their voices to their wing beats echoed off the ice walls and was magnified. There was a patrol coming my way. I dove quickly, still unsure which way to go.