Immortal Darkness: Shadow Across the Land

by Alex Rey

  I wonder if it’s possible to fly upside-down, Leyoht thought, stifling a yawn.

  Boredom began to cloud Leyoht’s mind with these few words slipping his mind. Boredom turned to tiredness; tiredness into sleep. Before he could have made an attempt to shake himself awake, darkness penetrated the depths of his mind and took control of his body.

  --

  He’d awoken at the brink of dawn—his back in need of a stretching, his wings in need of flapping. The feeling of having accomplished nothing this morning caused him to pick himself up on his feet, a yawn pushing itself out of his beak.

  For an unknown amount of time had Leyoht slept in the midst of a place he hoped he could someday call home. How long he’d been sleeping, however, would turn out to have been longer than he’d first expected.

  Within a few steps had Leyoht found himself making contact with a sheet of snow that had been spilled into the tree. His feet running cold with unease, he resisted the urge to release a yelp of surprise as he yanked his feet away from the snow.

  How long was I asleep? Leyoht finally came to ask himself.

  With a turn of his head, Leyoht took notice of his friends—noticing they were still asleep. Darn it! he swore. Focusing only on Xemson, he wondered, When is he going to wake up?

  In an attempt to kill some time, Leyoht sauntered over toward the spilled snow. A bead of sweat rolled down his face as a pang of anxiety stung his stomach. I hope it’s not that cold out there! With a bolt of energy coming to his feet, he used all his stealth to pass through the snow in the tree without waking anybody up.

  An unaccounted-for number of steps came underneath Leyoht’s feet as he made his way into the midst of outside world. I wouldn’t have to go through this if I could only fly! he silently grunted. It hadn’t taken long for him to notice his toes growing numb with the freezing temperature of the snow.

  While his first attempt had been nothing short of futile, Leyoht abruptly thought to himself, Maybe I’ll be able to teach myself how to fly today—without Xemson’s help!

  Realizing just how dangerous this way of thinking truly was, Leyoht stopped himself in the midst of lifting his wings up into the air. If it had happened once, it would most likely happen again. He’d known this fact for sure from experience. How else would he have known this?

  While his mind objected to what his stomach was telling him, Leyoht decided to flap his wings more and more. All the while did he release a series of frustrated grunts. He did so almost entirely with the intent of taking his feet out of a sheet of snow—but to no avail.

  “Leyoht, are you okay?” called out Xemson’s voice from the tree.

  A spark of fear spread throughout Leyoht’s bones at the sound of Xemson’s voice. Now that he’d thought of it, he was making a lot of noise in his futile attempts for flight. How he couldn’t have realized this before was beyond his understanding.

  “Come on, Leyoht,” sighed Xemson. “All you have to do is wait.”

  “But that’s the hard part!” Leyoht snapped while locking his gaze onto Xemson. “How can you think I’ll just be able to wait for something that I’ve already been waiting for since the day I was born? Tell me—how?”

  Finally had the moment arrived when Leyoht realized just how incompetent he truly was. His weakest link was finally visible. Only by impatience could Leyoht break away from his true self: a kind, loving person.

  The very thought of having figured this out only just now made him feel ignorant. How could he have been so ignorant this whole time? But—in a sense—was everybody ignorant without realization?

  A moment of silence passed before Leyoht continued, “I—I’m sorry.” What’s coming over me?

  Before Xemson could have made a reply to Leyoht’s apology, Biaulae suddenly came crashing into the freezing outdoors, a yawn forming in her beak. Blinking a small array of tears away, she flicked her gaze toward the two men of the house.

  With another small blink of her eyes, she allowed a burst of energy to spring beneath her wings. “Are we gonna learn how to fly today?” she wondered hopefully.

  It was at this moment when the three owls’ gazes snapped onto the sun. It was a clear, crisp day; what could have gone wrong today? Absolutely nothing. Sweeping over the three of them was a misty cloud; how satisfying!

  Creating a break to the silence, Xemson asked the two owlets, “Okay—are you guys ready to fly?”

  With an enthusiastic smile swiping over his face, Leyoht perked up, “Of course I’m ready to fly!” I was born to fly!

  Stifling a small chuckle toward Leyoht’s enthusiasm, Xemson instantaneously flicked his gaze onto his daughter before continuing, “When you first fly, you have to make sure you’re flapping your wings at a steady rhythm. Your breathing should tell you just how well you’re doing.”

  My breathing?

  “You should try to breathe in—” it was at this moment when Xemson raised his wings above his arched head. “—when you lift your wings and out when you bring them down. That’s a great way to keep your rhythm steady. A small pause infiltrated the air before Xemson commanded to the children, “Do it with me; breathe in.”

  Slightly startled by Xemson’s sudden commandment, Leyoht felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of his head as he tried to match what Xemson had been doing. Back arched, wings raised, and feet planted firmly in the ground, Leyoht attempted to mimic Xemson’s actions.

  How Biaulae could have so easily copied Xemson’s actions was beyond Leyoht’s understanding. Leyoht himself couldn’t seem to copy Xemson as perfectly as Biaulae. Such a fact puzzled his mind.

  Barely taking any acknowledgement toward Leyoht’s inexperience, Xemson continued on with the owlets’ training when he continued, “Okay—now we’re going to learn about speed. What we’re going to do is spread our wings out to our sides and—without flapping them—run across the area. Like this.” Wings extended out to his sides, Xemson demonstrated as clearly as he could how the children should fly.

  Running around and around in circles, he explained over the wind in his ears, “just like this. Make sure you’re not flapping.”

  Why wouldn’t we flap? Leyoht asked himself. A grimace bestowed itself unto Leyoht’s face at this moment.

  Almost as if she’d the ability to read minds, Biaulae nudged her friend on the shoulder and chirped, “C’mon! Stop whining and do what he says!”

  But I’m not whi— It was before Leyoht could have finished this silent sentence, however, when Xemson commanded, “Go!” with enough force to shatter the eardrums of anybody standing right in front of him.

  Confusion coming to his feet once again, Leyoht fumbled in his first attempt to run. Fortunately for him, he was just in talon’s reach of Biaulae. The force of her pull on his wings was enough to bring Leyoht back up on his feet in an instant. Before he could have thanked her, Biaulae sneered, “You’re welcome!”

  A spark of slight annoyance flared up in Leyoht’s head, but nevertheless, he spread his wings out to his sides, angled them almost perpendicular to his c hest, and started himself running. He could only imagine just how ridiculous both he and Biaulae looked. At least nobody was able to glance over at their direction. He couldn’t even imagine what kind of humiliation he would have felt had the simulation become a reality.

  Unsure of which direction to strive toward, Leyoht decided to follow Biaulae’s lead. At least then could he be sure of where Xemson wanted them to go.

  Soon had the time come when Leyoht’s heart began to heave about in his chest. Wherever in his body it would land would be a matter of chance. It wasn’t until Xemson hollered, “Stop!” when Leyoht regained some control of his heart once again.

  What other pointless exercises are we going to do now? This next exercise, however, would not prove anywhere near as tedious as the last two. “Break time.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Leyoht leaned up against a tree, its bark scratching up against his spine. It was at this moment when Leyoht realized he was in a
completely different place from where he, Biaulae, and Xemson had first resided.

  How long were we running? Leyoht asked himself. The atmosphere this place seemed to give off was that of a dense, shady area. But at the same time, not a single stirring soul rest amongst this area. Right?

  Rather than breathe and recover, Leyoht spent the resting time Xemson had given him by observing this foreign milieu. It almost came as a surprise when Leyoht heard the words, “Okay; let’s do something else,” slip into his ear.

  Oh darn it! he silently cursed. If only I’d actually rested! What’s wrong with me? Unfortunately, Leyoht hadn’t any time to kick himself in the foot; he had to put his head back on the field of suspense.

  Xemson came in with a loud “Okay,” and caught the children’s attention. “I want you both to gain upwards momentum while climbing up that tree.” All the while of explaining this did Xemson point toward the very same tree Leyoht had just leaned on.

  With Xemson’s back turned on them, Leyoht asked of Biaulae, “What is momentum?”

  “It means force movement—or something like that. My dad says it’s really good for flying upwards. But you don’t want to lose it.”

  This thought lingering about in his head, he flapped his wings while simultaneously trying to clutch his talons onto the bark of this tree. Over and over again did his talons slip off the tree’s fabric. What am I doing wrong?

  “Leyoht!” called out Xemson without making a single backwards gesture. “Make sure your wingbeats match a steady rhythm.”

  Maybe a faster pace will bring me up faster, Leyoht thought. It has to! This thought in mind, he flapped his wings as rapidly as possible—yet still managed to keep a steady beat. To his expectations, however, he tired out quickly.”

  “A fast pace isn’t necessarily the best one to take,” informed Xemson. Even when expelling these words from his beak did Xemson manage to keep his body locked in one place.

  How is he doing that? asked Leyoht. It seemed—in his mind—that no creature on the face of Earth could have withheld the ability to hear wingbeats. Or—am I really being that loud? All he’d been able to hear while attempting to climb the tree was the bodacious thumping of his heart.

  Despite his difficulties in understanding Xemson’s abilities, Leyoht smacked a claw onto the tree’s grain. Giving his wings a few beats, he stuck his other talon into the tree with as much force as possible. Allowing a slightly distracting shockwave spread through is fingertips and up to his legs, Leyoht continued his wingbeats—begging for the strength to accomplish the task in front of him without losing his momentum.

  These thoughts in mind, he found himself reluctant to give his wings’ flapping a slight boost whenever he shoved one of his claws into the tree. It was a slow process that took time and patience to rise above—yet Leyoht eventually found himself reaching a greater height than Biaulae. As long as he kept up this pace, he knew, he would find himself touching the leaves at the top of the tree.

  Soon came the time when Leyoht was supposed to parachute his way down to the ground. This’ll be easy, he assured himself. Keeping this thought in mind, he yanked his talons out of the tree for the last time.

  Upon doing so, he bounced directly off of the tree and attempted to ricochet over to Xemson. Rather than in Xemson’s direction, however, Leyoht found himself floating down to a solid, icy lake

  Oops, he suddenly resented. It was while gliding down to this lake when Leyoht struggled to turn back toward the tree. He tried over and over again to readjust himself in midair—but to no avail. Just when he felt as if he’d finally done it right, Leyoht found himself plummeting head-first into toward the very same tree he’d tried so long to come up to.

  This intervention lasted only a heartbeat—ending in the collision of Leyoht’s head to the tree.

  Crawling the tree from below, Biaulae found herself ridden with shock—as if this would be her fate before too long. Fear enveloped her heart and her mind until she silently urged from him, Don’t crash; don’t crash!

  Before long Xemson finally turned his gaze over to Leyoht—taking notice of the horror upon his face. “Leyoht!” he called out just before flying to his aid.

  It was before this moment, however, when Leyoht began spinning down toward the ground. This very notion made him motion-sick. Barely any time would have passed between Leyoht’s current airtime and the moment he would end up drilling into the ground.

  I have to make this count! Xemson stressed. With every will, every muscle, every urge in his body, he swept an upwards arch close to the ground just in time to save the child. Upon making this arc, he reached out his talons toward Leyoht just in time to stop any forward collision with the ground.

  Tears flowing from his clamped eyes, Leyoht thought for sure he’d become a thing of the past. This was until he opened his eyes and flicked a look up at Xemson. He—he saved me! Witnessing her friend being caught in the talons of her father allowed Biaulae to feel much safer had she made a mistake in climbing.

  Without any warning, Xemson placed Leyoht down in the snow. Such an abrupt drop down to the ground gave Leyoht no time to reach his feet down below. As a result, the owlet landed on his face rather than on his feet. Coughing the snow from his face, he picked himself up on his feet. Well, that was humiliating.

  --

  Not too long after Leyoht’s humiliation did Biaulae finally jump off of the tree—successfully. This very thought caused insects to fly about in his stomach.

  Bright and shining, the afternoon sky showed itself to Leyoht, Xemson, and Biaulae. Taking this occurrence almost like an omen, Xemson decided to make an announcement to the children. “Now it’s for the moment you’ve been waiting for.”

  Oh boy! Leyoht silently cried. Finally!

  Silence bestowed itself upon the children before Biaulae wondered, “How are we going to do it?”

  “Uhm,” Xemson thought for a minute. What should I make them do? I’ve pretty much used up every good idea. Uncertain of what he should do, he came to the conclusion, “Get flapping!”

  Before even flapping could he fell wind brushing past his ears. Such an array of wind seemed to whisper to him, Go ahead—follow your dreams.

  I will, responded Leyoht. So sure of himself and so sure of his experience, he began to flap his wings at random. It was before getting too carried away, however, when he violently reminded himself, Rhythm! I have to keep a steady rhythm! Successfully had he avoided another reminder from Xemson.

  Hoping to copy Biaulae’s techniques, Leyoht looked over his shoulder and back over to her. Even Biaulae is having trouble?

  Leyoht spoke the truth; not only could Biaulae keep a steady beat, but her left and right wings didn’t both flap at the same time. Knowing that Biaulae couldn’t help him, Leyoht decided to listen again to the wind.

  Suave and extant, this wind continued to palatably brush past the young owl’s ears with every flap of his wings. Commending voices from this wind continued to call out, Push on—push on! almost as if they reveled their helping of Leyoht.

  I have to keep a steady beat, he constantly reminded himself, trying to ignore the voices in his head. It was just after uttering these silent words when Xemson called out from Leyoht’s back, “Come on! You can do it!” Leyoht, however, heard, “Come on! —do it!” Feeling as if he were to be chastised by the rancor Xemson, he pushed on harder—all the while trying not to panic.

  Upon making sure Xemson was nowhere near him, Leyoht took a look over at his rather ardent friend. From what his eyes had come to tell him, she wasn’t doing much better than last time he’d seen her.

  Biaulae’s wingbeats came off as limpidly vociferous—as if she were going through a chaotic time. Panic and an oversaturation of enthusiasm corroded into her mind, causing her to make herself look as if she were purposely deviating from the proper flying technique. This all added up to the point where Xemson walked up to his ingenuous daughter.

  “Biaulae, stop,” he commanded.

/>   “No!” the recalcitrant owlet snapped. “I can do this!”

  Leyoht looked over to his friend, noticing her inability to commend her father’s words. She hadn’t the ability to inter her impatience; hadn’t the aptitude to waive her techniques. How long would it be before Biaulae finally amended her flying style?

  Hoping to obviate Biaulae’s mistakes, Leyoht continued to flap his wings. Over and over again did he remind himself of the dangers impatience could bring. Flapping his squalid black wings, Leyoht began to feel lighter—yet even then he found his wings giving off a decrepit feel.

  “Come on Leyoht,” Xemson kept on shouting, “after this you won’t need anyone to get your own food; you’ll get it by yourself!”

  I know! Leyoht kept replying silently. What had he done to make himself so reprehensible? Hoping to remain apathetic, the black snowy owl was flapping his wings harder and harder with every passing heartbeat.

  Within time Leyoht’s wings seemed to spontaneously flap on their own accord. Within heartbeats Leyoht felt an overwhelming urge to exult as the result of a sudden realization: he was no longer touching the ground.

  Still on the ground, Biaulae took a look up at Leyoht and immediately halted her flapping. It was at this moment when she noticed how obsolete her own wingbeats truly were. How brash had she been acting? What kind of indemnity was her father paying for her? She at least felt thankful for Xemson’s parsimonious behavior.

  I’m finally doing it! I’m finally—!

  Almost as if a bolt of lightning coursed through his veins, Leyoht stopped where he was. Where am I? What happened to me?

  Noticing his wings were still outstretched, Leyoht immediately put them down and took in the area around him. Nothing but pitch blackness surrounded him—added to the sound of dripping water.

  Feeling as if he would go insane had he remained inactive any longer, he tried to run away from his problems. Feeling as if nothing was coming from his futile attempt at escape, he started flying.