Guardians of Ga'Hoole 13 - The River of Wind

way. They got to the River of Wind somehow…not from Bess…”
    “Battle stations!” a pikyu commanded, and then the entire Mountain of Time reverberated with the sound of an immense gong.
    “This way,” the H’ryth shouted, and flew straight up to the port through which Eglantine and Primrose had just entered. The Chaw of Chaws was right behind him, and as they flew into the gusting winds they spied, surging over the last ranks of jagged peaks, twelve, perhaps fifteen owls,their battle claws glistening in the light of an almost fullshine moon.
    Coryn’s gizzard stilled. It can’t be. It can’t be! he thought. But it was. His mother, Nyra, her scarred moon face illuminated by the glare of the stars, flew through the slashing winds, her battle claws extended.
    Soren blinked and drew in his breath sharply. He saw the glaring face as well. But there was something different yet eerily familiar about her face. One side of it shone with a truly blinding brilliance.
    “It’s the mask of Kludd!” Gylfie said, her voice cold with shock. “She is wearing the mask of Kludd!” Kludd, Nyra’s mate and Coryn’s father, had worn this metal mask to cover his battle-mutilated face. Why would she wear it? Had she been terribly injured? Coryn’s memory reeled back in time to when he was a young owlet being raised by his widowed mother in the canyonlands. To a time when he was so young he did not know her evilness, to a time when he had believed that his uncle Soren had murdered his father. Coryn had attended the Final ceremonies in the cave where Kludd had been killed. He remembered it vividly. It was in the cave where they had burned his father’s bones that he had discovered his ability to read fire and experienced his first insight of the flames that began to reveal the lies—all the lies that he had been told.
    “It’s a slink melf,” Eglantine screed as she landed on a parapet of the owlery. “But we sent word to the great tree.”
    In the background, Coryn heard the almost tranquil voice of the H’ryth giving commands to his pikyus. Next to him, a member of the circle of the acolytes perched. These acolytes were the H’ryth’s closest advisors. This one, a Spotted Owl, turquoise with deep midnight blue spots, translated. “The H’ryth will give the signal for zong qui and then the first of our Danyks will advance.”
    “We have no battle claws,” Soren whispered.
    “Yak butter!” Otulissa said, and swooped down to pluck one of the flaming brush torches.
    “We use what we have,” the H’ryth said. “The breath of qui, the butter of yak, and our fields of zi will converge.”
    There was a sudden gusting sound that was not dissimilar from the wind bong they had experienced on their way to the owlery when the winds had exploded through the notch in the mountains.
    The senior danyk from the Danyar caught a glimpse of her stubborn pupil. He’s doing it, she thought. He’s actually doing it! Twilight had swelled to three times his size with the deep intake of one breath. He felt the zong qui flow through him. His gizzard seemed twice its normal size. He sensed a field of energy surrounding him. And did he feel a buzz or humming?
    “Extend coal claws,” Nyra screed.
    How have they gotten coal claws? Soren wondered. Coal claws were the most dangerous of all battle claws. In each tip, a bonk coal burned. The Pure Ones advanced upon them now, the claws glowing red with a tinge of blue—hot fangs in the night.
    Fight fire with fire, Soren thought, and inhaled deeply. He was no master of the zong qui but he did feel himself fly very fast. “Grip, split, and roll,” he shouted. It was a strategic maneuver to divide an attacking unit, particularly useful when that unit had superior weapons. The butter torches seemed made for this job.
    “Eeeyawk,” Twilight cried as he saw Nyra spin out. “I’m going to put that mask where it belongs!” he shrieked.
    “Do not waste breath of zong qui, young one,” said the danyk who, with a tail move, had severed a Pure One’s wing. A quick death. The glowing talon trailed a wake of sparks as the owl plummeted down into the icy gorge. Twilight, inspired, curled his own talon into the shape known as the deadly blossom. He was on the tail of a Grass Owl who was flying very fast. Concentrate, Twilight told himself. Concentrate! The Grass Owl suddenly wheeled about in midair. The glowing claws were coming straight toward him. Twilight dodged and heard a crash