Guardians of Ga'Hoole 13 - The River of Wind

flew forward. He looked no different from any of the rest of the pikyus except that from his eyes streamed a pale greenish light. “It is,” whispered Tengshu, “the gleam of deep wisdom. It comes from a life of complete dedication to the basic values of owlness. You might detect subtle glints of green in some of our eyes, but none as vivid this.”
    “Theosang?” Otulissa whispered.
    “It comes from the name of our first H’ryth—Theo,” Tengshu replied.
    Theo! The name hung in the air like the echo of a chime, a chime in the Mountain of Time.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A Feather in the Wind
    L ook! Look over there at those…those…those…It looks like something from the weavers guild at the great tree. Something torn loose from the loom,” Primrose shouted.
    This must be a sign that we’re getting nearer to something, Eglantine thought. If it were true, she would be glad. Although the long flight on the River of Wind in many ways had not been as arduous as she had expected, she knew that the terrible sight of those mummified creatures spinning through the tumblebones would haunt her for a long time. She had felt compelled to look at them, for she was fearful that her own brother or some other Chaw of Chaw member might have been caught in them. So despite the lovely, soft, swift breezes of the River of Wind, she had never been able to completely relax. And she was still uncertain if Soren, the king, and the rest of the Chaw of Chaws had actually arrived on this side of the Unnamed Sea.
    She looked up in the direction that Primrose had indicated. Something colorful was dancing in the wind eddies of this marvelous stream of air that had borne them across the Unnamed Sea. They began to follow the strings of the qui just as the Chaw of Chaws had done a few nights before. But this time, the welcoming gong did not sound. Tengshu, who had returned to his hollow at the end of the River of Wind, was caught completely by surprise. He looked up, startled from minding his qui.
    “Hee naow, hee naow,” the sage stammered. “I…I was not expecting you…You are Soren’s sister?” The similarity was striking. But Primrose and Eglantine were blinking in amazement. The color of this owl was astonishing, and yet had they not seen blue feathers in Ambala? And now this blue owl was talking about her brother. My brother! Soren!
    Eglantine gasped with relief. “You mean they got here?”
    “Oh, yes, yes! Soren-sister and Little One.” The sage nodded toward Primrose.
    “Thank Glaux!” Eglantine and Primrose said at once. “We must find them immediately,” Eglantine said. Her voice was almost hoarse with desperation. “The Pure Ones—they are coming. A slink melf—an assassination squad.”
    So this was it, thought the sage. This was the undecipherable part of the eight astrologers’ prediction that had been written in an ancient form of Krakish. There were suggestions of some threat that was to come. But who would have ever thought so soon? When he had returned from the owlery, he had left the Spotted Owl, the one called Otulissa, pondering the writings of the eight astrologers. Tengshu knew that action was necessary, not further thought. He must dispatch these owls to the owlery with all haste and stay here to “welcome” the vicious owls that were to follow.
    “You must fly, Soren-sister, to that distant ridge and then to the next that will appear. Keep Little One,” he said, nodding at Primrose, “under wing, for the winds turn very boisterous.”
    “But Eglantine,” Primrose said. “You’ve lost your crow feather.”
    “Crow feather?” the sage asked.
    “Crow feathers protect us from crows during daylight, and it’s almost day now.”
    “There are no crows here. Do not worry. Just go. And take this.” Tengshu tore off the red tail of his qui. “Fly with this. It is the signal for danger. Imminent danger! Now fly!”
    Far behind them, across that vast sea, a black feather drifted in lazy swirls.
    “What’s this?” the Burrowing Owl Tarn asked.
    “What’s what?” Nyra barked. The frinking blue owl’s instructions had got them absolutely nowhere. “Zong Phong…fly to tomorrow,” she muttered.
    “It looks like part of the crow feather that Doc Finebeak flies with,” Stryker said.
    “What?” A new heat surged through Nyra’s somewhat restored gizzard. “Finebeak! The traitor!” The Snowy, the finest tracker in any kingdom, had joined the owls of the great tree. He had once tracked