Guardians of Ga'Hoole 13 - The River of Wind

with three other Pure Ones. Time for the Zi Phan, the talon like the spiked flower. It was a deadly move, and the three owls followed their lieutenant to the ground.
    Tengshu felt the first weakening in his zi field, which was the region of concentrated energy and control. He had done well. The group of a dozen or more owls that the great moonfaced owl had been leading were scattered. They would undoubtedly reunite, but he had slowed them down. Still, he was three hundred and twenty-five, he reminded himself—and for that age, he had done a decent job. Hopefully, Soren-sister and Little One had reached the outer winds of the Mountain of Time by now.
    Hopefully, he thought, and flew back to his hollow. Some yak tea would restore him and yes, of course, a poem. He must put quill to paper and write—write of something peaceful with great dignity. Isn’t that what Theosang had always done?
    In the dimness of his hollow wrapped in the rich glow of the butter lamp, he picked up his quill and began to write.
Soon it will be spring
    Ice melts
    The Puoy bird will whoop and wipe its muddy feet on a leaf
    A bud begins to unlock its secret

CHAPTER NINETEEN
A Cycle Broken?
    L isten to them.” The blue owl spoke softly. “Their words grow thick. They are drinking the bingle juice. You say it will make them drunk?”
    “Very,” Bell whispered. “My parents only give us just a drop mixed with lots of water on special occasions. But…but…” Bell cocked her head. The little one was obviously hearing something, the blue owl thought. Her hearing was quite amazing. “I don’t think they are drunk yet. But their heartbeats are slowing and they might fall asleep soon. Their breath is snory.”
    “Asleep? Oh,” the blue owl said, suddenly remembering. This was a new word for him.
    “Sleep, you know,” Bell said, turning to look at him. “What do you call it? Is it different in Krakish?”
    “Yes, we call it something else.”
    “What?”
    “We call it going to the spirit realm.”
    “Oh,” Bell said with wonder. “That’s nice. I like that. But do you actually go someplace?”
    “In a sense.”
    “Where? Is it a good place?”
    “Sometimes it is good, sometimes it is bad.”
    “Explain it to me.”
    “It’s as if part of us leaves our body as it needs rest…the spirit part.”
    “Sort of like a scroom,” Bell said.
    “Yes, of course, sort of like a scroom.” But the blue owl had no idea what a scroom was. Another little, but not quite, lie.
    “And what does your spirit do?”
    “It roams.”
    “Where?”
    “It is hard to explain.” The blue owl truly did not want to explain. His spirit sometimes roamed to a dark and horrible place. A place he felt he had been before, where his feathers had not been blue, but raggedy and black. A place in which he had been possessed by uncontrollable urges for which he knew he must now pay until the phonqua was completed.
    But almost as bad as his previous life was the one he had been forced to lead in the Dragon Court of the PanquaPalace. A life of complete and utter luxury, a life of no physical need, but a life that was no life at all. It had been severed from what the owls of the Middle Kingdom called the golden thread, which tied the spirit and the body together in a meaningful way. So with the cutting of the golden thread, life became a mockery. Perhaps the worst part was the sheer boredom and the constant shame at the travesty that they had grown to look like the magnificent dragons of the past but had none of their power. Every minute of every night and every moon cycle for year upon year reminded them of their impotence, reminded them of the travesty of their so-called lives in this court.
    It was only after years and years that the phonqua could be brought to a close that would result in a new life. He desperately wanted the phonqua fulfilled, the cycle to end, but he was impatient. It was this impatience that had driven him to escape the Panqua Palace. He felt that there must be another way. And now he was going to shorten that cycle. He was going to rescue this little owl. He would restore her to her parents, to this tree they called the Great Ga’Hoole Tree. The guards were asleep, gone to the spirit realm. He was sure he could do it. He had felt himself growing stronger.
    So lost in thought was he that he had not noticed thatBell had crept up the short tunnel to the opening in the burrow where the guards kept their watch. She returned