Guardians of Ga'Hoole 13 - The River of Wind

home?”
    “Certainly.”
    “You’re going, Striga?” Bell said, turning to the blue owl.
    “I’ll be back. I promise.”
    “How can I thank you?”
    “You don’t need to. I should thank you.” Yes, thought this owl, once called Orlando and now called Striga. I might have found the shortcut to the completion of my phonqua. It really does seem possible—at last.
    “But I want to do something for you,” Bell protested.
    The blue owl hovered and peered deeply into Bell’s dark eyes. The pale yellow light seem to flood through Bell’s hollow bones. “Just live purely and simply from the innermost part of your gizzard—the ‘ryth,’ as we owls of the Middle Kingdom, the kingdom of Jouzho, call it.”
    “You mean, no red berry decorations?”
    The blue owl churred. “That’s a start…that’s a start,” he said, and then began a steep banking turn to join the Guardian fighting units of the tree.
    He was intoxicated with this new feeling that flowed through him and powered his flight. He felt a new alertness in his gizzard. It felt trim—trim and ready for the completion, the moment when the cycle was at last broken and his life would be a real life, not a travesty. A zeal burned through him. Now the lessons of the Danyar would be his. It was all about control, self-control, and through that, one could indeed become the master of one’s fate.

CHAPTER TWENTY
Lessons of the Owlery
    I t is all in the breath, Twilight. You must first master the zong qui,” the danyk said. She spoke decent Hoolian, but with a slight Krakish burr. This danyk was one of the five senior teachers of the Danyar—all of them female owls. “No move can be accomplished until you master the zong qui.”
    Twilight sighed. “This is the hardest battle trick I have ever tried. It’s harder than working with those frinking ice splinters of the Frost Beaks.”
    “It is not a trick!” the danyk screeched. “That is what is wrong with you.” She flew up and gave him a cuff that sent him flying across the hollow. “Why do you think we call this the Hollow of Extreme Concentration? We are not practitioners of cheap tricks. We fight bare-taloned with our minds and our gizzards. Why is the hollow of Danyar shaped like a gizzard? Now, before you can erect a zi field for combat, you must learn to breathe properly.”
    A small blue object whizzed by Twilight like the tail of a minuscule comet and slammed a much larger owl off its perch. It was a Pygmy Owl. Despite being blue, these owls did seem to be of a familiar species. The owl he had just knocked down seemed to be a Great Gray like Twilight—except he was blue. Twilight blinked. “What was that?” he asked.
    “That was Pinyon,” the danyk said, “executing a perfect third-degree Zi Kyan Mu.”
    Twilight had done this move before but wondered about the meaning of the words “third degree.” “Third degree?” he asked.
    “It simply means that he performed it with his talons turned in, so as not to kill.”
    “Oh.” Twilight blinked. It was hard to imagine a Pygmy killing a Great Gray with nothing but his talons.
    “Now back to the zong qui,” the danyk ordered.
    At first, Twilight had been surprised that the five senior danyks and many of the other teachers were female owls, but he was beginning to understand. In most owl species, females were larger than males. This would give the females an expanded lung capacity and since this breath was crucial to all the Danyar moves, it made sense that so many of the teachers were female. Very few other things, however, were making sense to Twilight.Not the least confusing was why they refused to call this fighting, but “the way of noble gentleness.” The art of Danyar was every bit as lethal as any battle claws or firebrands he had ever fought with. Who’re they trying to kid? he thought. He was then knocked flat on his butt feathers. “You’re not concentrating!” the danyk screeched. “Look at Ruby! She is concentrating. Beautiful focus.” Ruby had just knocked an owl twice her size temporarily senseless.
    Meanwhile, in another part of the owlery in the Hollow of Mental Cultivation, Otulissa, Digger, Soren, Gylfie, and Coryn sat with Mrs. Plithiver, huddled with the H’ryth, an owl who, with his featherless legs, most closely resembled a Burrowing Owl. He scratched his ya ni ni, which was the single blue feather that stuck up from the crown of his otherwise featherless head. It seemed to help him think. It was