Immortal Darkness: Shadow Across the Land

by Alex Rey

  Stifling a scream, Molar told himself silently, Well, I guess I’ll just have to walk there. Sighing, he folded his wings just before starting himself on a dawdling pace. At least then he could move with less pain surging through him.

  The pace that Molar had placed proved to make him look slightly undignified. As he walked, his legs and paws remained stiff to ensure his vertebrae wouldn’t feel any pain. He felt fortunate nobody else was around to see him waddle toward his own home.

  Waddling as thoroughly as he could, Molar silently begged his father not to close the door on him. Almost making it through the castle’s walls, Molar witnessed his father had shut the castle’s front doors; he could tell by hearing a specific click—the click in which indicated the doors’ lock sealing the castle closed.

  As he heard the click, Molar stopped in his tracks and let out a sigh. Feeling weariness pulsate through his bones, he decided to rest his head on the castle’s outside walls. All the while did he make an attempt at healing his spine by holding it back against the wall behind him. Molar thought doing so would help his back to heal itself.

  Putting himself in a position where his front paws rested on his knees, Molar allowed his limbs to rest on the sandy ground. Although there was no amount of pliability in the castle’s walls, it provided him with much comfort on his injured spine.

  Feeling himself lost in thoughts for what seemed like only a few heartbeats, Molar began to hear the sound of child-like laughter coming from the corner of the walls. Shaking himself into reality, he took notice of each of his friends having a peaceful conversation. Walking with them was a slightly harrowing older griffin with a body twice the size of Molar’s.

  Once the sight of his friends came into view, Molar asked himself whether or not to walk up to his friends to greet them. I am feeling a bit sore, still. This statement rang in his mind as he became unaware of how his friends’ shadows had already beset upon him.

  “Hi Molar!” greeted Caeo. Turning his head over to the larger griffin—whose beak was resting upon his shoulder—he explained, “This is my brother: Keok.”

  After a short pause, Molar sighed just before whining, “You won’t believe what I saw at a yavia earlier!” Without waiting for anybody to respond, he continued, “My father told me that the slaves there were enslaved because each one of them tried to take over us.”

  “Which they did,” Toakld pointed out. In agreement, Mesd gave a quick nod of his head.

  “But I don’t think all of them did it!” Molar protested. “And who knows if the slaves will even try to rebel again? If they’ve really been working for us as long as my father’s told me, then I think they’ve been punished enough.”

  Another pause of silence came into place as Molar sensed something in his mind urging him to retreat from his friends. A spark of worry flashed through his bones just before Molar felt himself being clawed and pecked at by the other griffins—almost without any warning.

  Each of the griffins attacking him, Molar found himself coming to a terrible realization of his own people. Not too long ago had somebody thrown a limestone at his spine; now he was being attacked by Caeo, Mesd, Toakld, and Keok.

  All this had to do with one fact: Molar disagreed with the majority of Mocrano. It seemed to him now that the Mocranians were a very close-minded type of people. It was while thinking of the close-mindedness of the Mocranians when Molar released a great song of pain

  Hearing his son’s song, Carpla popped his head out of one of his home’s windows and took sight of his son receiving a series of painful blows to many various places. He took a pause in his business to take a short glimpse at his son—and merely turned his head when his viewing was over. Taking no heed toward his son, Carpla slowly walked over to the other side of his home and made his way to a whole new room.

  All the while did Keok quickly hold Molar down by pressing his large paws against the young one’s shoulders. Such a sensation brought Molar back to when he had done the same to the human slave the day before.

  Molar’s thoughts were interrupted when Keok snarled, “If slavery had never happened then all the structures we have today would have never existed. Would you rather live a life where we had to do all the work ourselves?”

  “N-no!” Molar cried with a stammer. His voice gaining more stability than before, he continued, “But the slaves—they could work with us if they wanted to.”

  As these words sprouted from Molar’s beak, he took sensation of Keok placing even more pressure on his shoulders. He then released another cry of pain and listened as Keok raised his voice and command to Molar’s former friends, “One of you go inside the castle and grab a bag and a rope!”

  “I’ll go,” Toakld volunteered before anybody else could make a sound. “Do you want me to just pick it up from Carpla’s castle?”

  “Yes,” Keok seethed, hearing the sounds of Toakld’s footsteps grow fainter and fainter with every passing heartbeat.

  Making his way through the walls, Toakld took a quick glance at the beautiful plants surrounding him—thinking, Whoa—Molar lives here? It was then when he hurriedly made his way to the castle’s front door. Without even knocking, he made an attempt at pushing his way through the doors—only to notice how he was already stepping on just what he was looking for.

  Taking a look down, Toakld noticed what he was stepping on was a bag with a rope—the likes of which had already been shaped into a special knot around the bag’s opening. After a short pause, he quickly scooped the bag and rope into his beak and made his way back to Keok without a word.

  Not even stopping to take so much as a wince at Carpla’s small forest, Toakld picked up the bag and rope and rushed over to his friends at a much faster pace than before. With time did he come back to his friends, slightly enthusiastic yet worried. He spat the rope and bag out of his beak upon coming around to the corner of the castle’s walls.

  “That was quick!” Caeo exclaimed as Keok picked up the bag with his beak.

  “I need you all to help me out!” Keok grunted, struggling to keep Molar still. “I want two of you to drag the bag around Molar’s body and scoop him through. Once he’s in the bag, I want the last one of you to pull the rope until the bag’s opening is closed.”

  Quick to his word, Caeo and Toakld were the ones to hold both sides of the opening to create a fitting area for Molar to squeeze through. As quickly as he could, Keok removed his paws from Molar’s shoulders, allowing the bag to cover up Molar from his feet to his head. And with Molar captured, Mesd tied the rope around the bag’s opening and gave it a tight yank.

  Oh no! I’m stuck in here! Using whatever energy he had left, Molar made an attempt to escape from his small, enclosed space. His first method was to kick at the bag until its fabric tore open, but its leather proved too strong for him to tear through. Another idea he had thought of was to use his beak to cut through the bag. Unfortunately, an attempt to do so was foiled when he remembered his spine was far too weakened to stretch his back in such a manner.

  As he felt the energy being sapped from his body, Molar sensed a strange pulling which caused his mind to churn with confusion. It was only a heartbeat after he began to feel the pull when he realized not a single part of the bag was touching the ground. I’m being carried! But where to?

  Without another word, Keok’s beak tightened onto the bag’s opening and a piece of the rope sealing it. A great gust of wind brushed through the children’s faces as his wings gave a series of immense flaps up toward the sky. It only took a small number of these flaps for Keok to find his paws no longer touching the ground.

  Feeling himself coming into the air with Caeo’s brother, Molar wondered, What’s he going to do to me? There was a great number of punishments he could have received for acting out against Mocranian beliefs—some of which he thought proved crueler than necessary.

  This particular ride through the sky found Molar in a very uncomfortable position. It was worrisome enough as it was that he had to care for an i
njured spine while it healed. Matters only grew worse when he found somebody else flying him through the air—all without allowing him any control to where he was going.

  In the course of thoughts, Molar let out a great cry of pain when he felt his shoulder come in contact with a Mocranian hut. Being made out of granite, no damage was dealt to the small home—while, in contrast, an immense amount of pain was placed onto Molar’s bones. It was not too long after when he felt something scrape across his paw, nearly breaking off a toe from the rest of his foot.

  Through this short series of bludgeoning, Molar found himself whimpering as he curled himself in the pit of the bag. A stream of anguish surged through him as he grew more and more curious to know what pain would be brought upon him next.

  Fearing for another blow to come up against him, Molar felt himself grow in weight as Keok made his way to the ground. His head have a light hit to the ground as Keok released the bag from his beak.

  As the pain on his head started to fade away, Molar took hearing of inaudible mumbles from outside his bag. He found himself only making out a few words in the conversation, causing a great deal of annoyance to form in his head. I want to know what they’re talking about!

  Within time, however, Molar found himself growing calm for the first time in what seemed like a year—only to feel himself being carried once again. Oh no, not again! he exclaimed silently, thinking he was going to have himself crash into another home.

  However, he began to calm down when he came up with a relaxing realization. Judging by the way this creature moved, Molar was able to tell it was a different creature carrying him. Whatever had happened to Keok was beyond his knowledge—but now all he could care about was receiving a moment without his mind being inundated by worries.

  By the sound of the creature’s grunting, Molar was able to tell this was a male human. He could sense the human’s hand gripping lazily around the bag’s opening—but there quickly came a time when he had to wrap both of his hands around the opening as the bag began to drag across the ground.

  The sound of the bag’s fabric scraping against a hard ground echoing in his head, Molar began to wonder where this human was taking him. A more important question in mind, however, was, Where on Mocrano am I? I’ve never felt heard this kind of place before!

  All around Molar were the sounds of moans, groans, and cries of desperation. He couldn’t imagine what would cause any amount of people to hold such resentment toward this place. Maybe they just have bad tastes, he hoped.

  As he heard a strange creak penetrate through his skull, Molar asked himself, What was that? The question was nearly asked out loud as Molar gave his body a great jerk of surprise.

  For only a second did Molar feel himself being lifted off of the ground, only to notice himself coming back down with a nosedive. Before he knew it, the bag concealing him quickly went from tipping upwards to falling on its side.

  Ow! he screamed, urging himself to keep his beak shut. After only a heartbeat of lying on his back, Molar felt as the human tackled the already-grounded griffin to the ground. It was just feeling such an awkward occurrence when he began to hear something rubbing against the end of the bag.

  A jolt of surprise ran through Molar when he took notice of a hole into the bag—and seeing it as his path to freedom, he pushed through it in an attempt for escape. Slowly making his way toward the opening in the reopened bag, Molar discovered the human who had carried him here was purposely pulling the bag away from him.

  Within moments Molar found himself rolling out of the bag’s opening and crashing head-first into a wall. At last did he release a scream into the air, unleashing all his sorrows and pain. Before he could take a glance over his shoulder, another creak was heard just before the sound of a metal clang rang throughout the room.

  Hurriedly turning around, Molar noticed the human who had carried him to this place had already taken the bag away. He only had to turn his back for a second to sense a tugging on the front of his throat. It was then when he realized human was yanking his cloak off. As Molar’s cloak came out of its owner’s reach, the human pulled his thin hand through two metal bars.

  As a shock shivered through his spine, Molar rushed up to the human just as he began to lock the small area in which the little griffin sit. Backing away, he took a glance at his surroundings, noticing how he was surrounded by a family of bars. Each of them helped to create a cage-like cube around him.

  Molar looked up to notice the human held in his left hand a key-ring, a thorny club in his right. On the man’s head was a dark-gray helmet—the likes of which covered nearly the whole of his face. Finally there was his chest—which was protected by a small series of interconnected rings.

  Just before the human could take a step away from his enclosed space, Molar’s beak poked in between two bars when he asked him, “What’s going on? Where am I?”

  The human stifled a hardy chuckle when he sneered, “You’re in prison.” He shuffled the keys on his ring as he continued, “A larger griffin came here with a bag and told me what you did. He told me you were Carpla’s son.”

  “Y-yes,” Molar stammered, “I am.” As these words were spoken, he took notice of the human giving a surprised look on his face.

  After a pause, the human replied, “Well—we’re going to tell Carpla about this so he’ll pick you up.” After another pause did he make depart from the saddened griffin.

  As the sound of the human’s footsteps slowly faded into silence, Molar realized now just what kind of a place he was in. What? A prison? I don’t belong in this pit of thieves and murderers! Who thought this was a good idea?

  Molar looked to his left, and then took a look to his right. All around him were creatures who were accused of either rebellion or withholding a corrupted mind. To his surprise, most of the prisoners surrounding him were regular Mocranians instead of former slaves.

  Many of the Mocranian prisoners locked up in this cruel place acted as if they hadn’t eaten in days. The slaves here, however, didn’t give off such a thin appearance as did the ones outside of the prison. Such a sight confused Molar. Why aren’t the slaves as sad as the Mocranians?

  While many prisoners mourned for their freedom, there were very few who would risk their lives to escape from the jail. The human prisoners would often reach their hands in between the bars of the cells to reach the outside of their cells to grab hold of whoever was walking through the prison hallway.

  After glancing at the many prisoners surrounding him, Molar started thinking of what Carpla would think of him when he heard the words concerning his arrest. What worried him more was what his own grandfather would have thought of the recent acts he had done. It hurt Molar merely thinking about such consequences.

  I may as well finish myself! Molar whined through his mind. If I had kept my beak shut, none of this would have ever happened!

  Had he been made of flesh rather than strictly bone, tears would have streamed from Molar’s two eagle eyes. Before breathing in the scent this prison had to offer, Molar held a belief—a belief that the rest of his life would come by easily. Before the first day he ventured from his home, not a single soul had ever questioned him. After all this, what was there to question now with him named a Mocranian traitor?

  While Molar remained locked in this tiny cell, an idea came into his mind. He remembered having learned an old trick from his grandfather when he was still a flightless griffin. Such was a trick he hoped would help him escape

  Guessing the ground beneath his paws was made of tin, Molar pecked at the ground repeatedly—finally until he received a large enough sample. He then tried sticking his piece of tin into the keyhole while carefully scratching around the rock’s edges, gradually making it fit through the hole. As he carved the edges of his tin rock, Molar constantly looked over his own shoulders, hoping to ensure his work was hidden from the other prisoners who had wanted out for the first time in what seemed to them to be millennia.

  Some of Molar’s nai
ls grew filthy in the process of trying to make a shape just perfect for the keyhole. Over and over again did he try to stick his tin into the keyhole, but only to find failure’s face brought upon him almost every time. It was rather hard for him to get a good grip on his stone, as he would often have to stand on his hind legs, carefully slip his paws through the bars while having a loop he had created on one of his nails, and sway the stone enough for its teeth to make their way into the keyhole.

  Molar would often poke his beak through an opening between two bars when he needed to see the keyhole. Such a task proved tedious with the fact that his head was just the right size where it would barely squeeze through the bars. Oftentimes would he find two bars’ metal grasps squeezing up against his beak, causing irritation to cloud his head.

  --

  Days and days had passed since Molar started working on his tin project. All he had to eat were terrible-tasting sardines—but it was all worth it when he found his project nearing its completion.

  Although it had taken many long days of hard work, Molar soon found a perfectly-shaped key in his paws. At last, a voice echoed in his head. It’s time for me to get out of here.

  With another quick look over his own shoulders, Molar made extra precautions—the purpose of which to ensure everybody around him was either sleeping or unconscious. Upon confirming this occurrence, he made an attempt at poking the key into the hole—but was stopped when a completely unexpected shadow stood over him.

  Slowly, Molar’s head tilted upwards to notice the tall figure of his father standing in front of his cell. Oh no! he thought, shuddering in fear.

  Judging by the way Carpla gripped his sword, Molar was able to tell his wanted to give his son a great punishment not only for becoming a traitor to Mocrano, but for also trying to escape from a prison. Molar felt as if he lost count of all the rules he’d broken in the course of these past few days.