Immortal Darkness: Shadow Across the Land (10 page)

Padding up to his suffocating prey, Molar
placed one of his paws over the fish. Just before his meal could
escape from his grasp, he lurched one of his toes forward and
allowed it to impale through the fish’s eyes. The next thing he
knew was finding his deceased fish under his paw.

It worked!
Molar exclaimed silently
just before lying down with the fish in his beak. Flying through
Mocrano for the first time was an exciting, yet exhausting
experience for anybody that had been flying as long as he had.
I
deserve this.

It had taken a while for Molar to finish his
fish, but he eventually found himself overwhelmed with the energy
his meal had given. Before taking any use of the energy did he
decide to rest his skeletal rib cage on the sandy ground.

As he lay among the millions of particles of
sand, Molar’s cloak acted much like a blanket. It easily protected
him from whatever breezes lie in his way, preventing the incoming
drafts from causing a chill to run through his bones.

It had not taken much resting for him to
regain the strength to fly. Lifting his wings into the air once
again, Molar allowed the fish’s energy to blast him off into the
sky. He felt at peace using fish for the way it was intended rather
than for a selfish cause—such as for decoration. Why anybody would
want to make such useless use for such a useless product was beyond
his knowledge.

At the peace of his flight, Molar noticed
what appeared to be four large and beautifully sculpted legs tipped
off with a lion’s paws. Just below the paws was a plaque in which
the sculptures were connected. Surrounding this plaque was a group
of busy slaves who had only one purpose at this moment: to finish
their carved figure. He was well aware that these slaves were
building a statue of something—but
what
?

We are actually letting those low-ranked
slaves build such an important statue?
Molar thought
contemptuously. It was then when he realized,
But we let those
filthy mongrels touch everything we have; why?

Drawing his mind off the subject of the
slaves, Molar noticed a small, white castle—a castle which he
decided to land next to without a moment’s second thought. He took
a listen to what was going on in the castle by pressing the side of
his skull next to the door. This way, he hoped to pick up on what
was going on inside.

What’s going on in there?
Unfortunately for him, Molar hadn’t known that the door had already
been opened just a crack. Because of this, his body flung itself
into the white castle as its door came flying open.

Once his body came into the castle, Molar
tumbled onto a welcoming carpet—all the while placing a frozen
expression on his face.
Oops!
Nearly half of all those in
the castle turned their gaze toward the small griffin, slightly
confused at first.

However, nothing could have matched the
confusion placed into Molar’s head at that moment. Each of the
Mocranians in this castle gave the appearance of slaves. Skin
clambered over their bones with such a natural look, bringing Molar
to believe these were slaves.

Without hesitation did Molar come to his
feet, explaining all the while, “You’re slaves!” A growl formed in
the back of his dry throat when he asked, “What are you doing here!
Shouldn’t you be working on that plaque out there?”

Silence.

“Get back to work!”

Silence again. What was going on here?

Before another single word could have
sprouted from Molar’s beak, the sound of “Molar!” was heard from
the back of the castle.

What?

“Molar!” the voice called out once again.
Fearing for his life, Molar hastily flapped his wings and brushed
his way through what seemed like millions of slaves before coming
to the source of the voice. Such a source was his father.
How
does he keep finding me in the worst of places?

Carpla sat in a room at what seemed like the
back of the castle on top of a flight of stairs. Upon finally
finding Molar sitting in front of him—tired and confused—Carpla
released a sigh of disdain. “Molar—”

“Did I do something wrong?” he wondered
contemptuously. “Because—I
couldn’t
have done something
wrong! Those were all slaves!”

“They were
not
slaves!” exclaimed his
father. “Did you see the golden jewelry hanging from their
necks?”

It was then when Molar realized they all
had
been wearing jewelry! But why they had done so only
caused wonder to fill his mind. A pause came into play before he
finally asked, “That jewelry—what was it?”

Another sigh released itself from Carpla’s
dust-filled maw before he continued, “There are some nobles out
there—rich, powerful Mocranians—who will wear skin on their
bodies.”

“But why?” his son interrupted. “Everybody
will think they’re slaves—like me!”

“That’s why they’re wearing necklaces,”
stated Carpla. “If somebody has the skin of a slave but they also
have that kind of necklace, they’re a noble Mocranian.”

Another moment of silence came between the
father and son before Molar simply mumbled, “Oh.”

“Just go back out there—and
don’t
leave the castle!”

“Why?” wondered Molar at the room’s exit.

“Later we’re going to hold a ceremony down
here,” Carpla explained, “So make sure you stay down here.”

With a nod of approval, Molar rushed back
into the castle’s front room and witnessed all the slave-like
nobles he’d witnessed earlier. Just beside him was a human male
with his arm around a female human. Both of the nobles held brown
hair on their heads, with red and purple robes covering much of
their skin. Each of them kept their glances on Molar until the
embarrassed and slightly remorseful griffin walked out of their
sight.

I wonder what we’re all going to do in
here,
Molar thought as he walked by the many disguised nobles
in his way.

It was while still trotting through the
castle when a new excitement rushed through him. He realized how he
now had many stories to tell his friends from one single flying
trip, and it was likely that so would also be the case with them.
But where could they possibly be now that they had all learned how
to fly?

They could be anywhere!
It was
troublesome enough as it was for Molar to try to find his friends
before they could fly. Now they could either be travelling on the
ground or by the air; his friends could either be on the ground or
in the sky!

But I have to stay here
, he remembered
with a sigh. How could he find them now?

“Hey Molar,” a voice called from behind.

A spark of surprise lighting up in his head,
Molar turned around to see all three of his friends. They stood
there without another single word, waiting for Molar’s
response.

“Hi everybody!” Molar greeted to Toakld,
Caeo, and Mesd.

“Hello, Molar,” Toakld responded. “How was
your
first flight?”

“It was great!” Molar didn’t know what to say
after that, since there was so much to talk about. Before anything
could have sprouted from his beak, however, the others started
speaking of their experiences during the past day.

Molar’s words were not very different
compared to his friends. They talked mostly about the creatures and
wonders they’d come to see—but apart from Molar’s experience, they
hadn’t been hurt physically or emotionally by any of the slaves
they had seen.

Molar began to think about the moment when he
had killed the strange human—whether or not it was the right thing
to do. But why would the human—or any creature, for that
matter—offend the great empire in which Molar would someday rule
over?

Such thoughts came to their end when the
sound of a whistle echoed throughout the castle.

“Molar!” Carpla called out from the same room
Molar had last seen him in.

“I have to go!” Molar quickly exclaimed to
his friends before rushing back up the stairs.

Much to his surprise, Carpla came walking out
the room’s exit—causing Molar to nearly bump into his father. It
was after preventing such an accident when he listened as his
father explained, “It’s time for us to drink from the Iofinad.”

Without asking a single question, Molar
responded nervously, “Oh—well—okay!” and followed Carpla to another
room. This room sat underneath the flight of stairs Molar had taken
to meet his father—in it sat an enormous cup.

“Is that the Iofinad?” wondered Molar.

“Yes.”

Now in the midst of this strange cup, Molar
peered into its core. From what he could understand, it contained
red liquid made up from many things he had clearly never before
laid eyes on.
I hope I don’t have to drink from this
, he
resented as thoughts of revulsion entered his mind.

“Now Molar,” Carpla began, creeping up from
behind, “you must drink from the Iofinad.”

Darn it!
his son silently swore, a
barely-noticeable cringe forming in his shoulders. Trying to hide
his disappointment, he turned his gaze over on Carpla when he
asked, “But why?”

“Drinking from this giant cup gives us many
blessings, Molar. Now drink from it. You are the first to drink
from it as a guest of honor.”

A moment of hesitation befell Molar before he
nervously turned back to the Iofinad.
Here I go
, he
nervously thought, tipping his head down toward the red liquid. As
a series of waves spread through the Iofinad, he dipped his beak
into its viscous interior and took a sip. To his surprise, however,
the liquid did not taste as bad as he thought—in fact he rather
enjoyed its sensation in his beak.

With a quick pull did he remove his beak from
the liquid’s essence. Wiping the rest of the red from his beak, he
stepped aside and allowed the next person to take a drink

If there were ever a slave who had drunk from
the cup, its liquid would gradually remove all of their
organs—except for their bones. It was a very painful process, but
it made the slaves live for all eternity as a Mocranian
citizen.

In Mocrano, such a tradition was called
Mes’xo. It only happened whenever a new Mocranian leader arose. It
wasn’t just done because of the emperor’s grandson learning how to
fly, but also for his birth and for the virtuous future he was
expected to lead.

Chapter V

The Imperial Slaves

Molar rested well that night, though the
excitement from flying still tickled his thoughts. His excitement
kept him awake until millions of heartbeats since his father had
been asleep came to pass.

Apart from the excitement he received from
flying, Molar was also looking forward to learning about the
Mocranian slaves. The next day would be the day when Carpla would
take him to eastern Mocrano: the busiest section of the whole
empire.

There were many times when Molar had asked
his father why the slaves were treated so cruelly. Yes, he had
treated them cruelly himself—but that was only because everybody
else did. The response he was most likely to receive was one which
claimed the slaves to have disgusting bodily functions. It was an
accusation Molar could understand well, but he didn’t see how that
could cause all the fuss.

Letting his thoughts run freely through his
mind created a very peaceful night for him. He woke up in the early
morning the next day, not a shred of tiredness showing anywhere on
his bones. His anxiety caused him to rush from his room and down to
the bottom floor to his father’s castle in an instant.

Slowing down slightly, Molar made his way
into the castle’s kitchen—where he took notice of nothing but a
glass cup sitting on the dining table. A confused expression
crossing his face, he slowly walked up to the table, realizing the
cup held a strange, clear liquid.

“Hello, Molar,” came a voice from
behind—sending a shock to travel down Molar’s spine. His entire
body jerked as he spun around to take sight of Carpla leaning
against one of the room’s rocky walls.

Once a wave of relaxation swept over Molar’s
body, he heard Carpla command, “Have a drink.”

Switching glances between his father to the
glass of clear liquid, Molar created a pause of silence. After a
few moments of examining the glass, Molar interrupted the silence
by telling Carpla, “Thank you.”

No words were spoken by Carpla as here merely
continued to lean against the wall. Slowly turning his head over to
the glass, Molar silently asked himself why his father was acting
somewhat strangely.

At first, Molar thought this liquid would
prove to be a delectable beverage. Carefully, he placed his beak
into the cup and began to suck its liquid into his system. Upon
emptying almost half of the glass of its innards, a rather fowl
taste splashed into his beak.

He turned his head toward Carpla, almost
spitting the liquid out. As if reading his thoughts, Carpla quickly
shook his head, causing Molar even more drama.
He wants me to
finish it,
Molar realized.
Why?
Without another moment
of hesitation, he returned his beak back into the beaker.

Although it had taken a few seconds longer
than necessary, Molar found himself slowly gulping the liquid into
his bones. He gave a great shudder of his whole body just before
pulling himself away and asking his father, “What
was
that?”

Pushing himself away from the wall, Carpla
chuckled in response, “What you just drank was a liquid that is
just as important to the slaves as malid is to us. It’s called
water.”

“Why’d you make me drink it?” Molar asked
with a hint of anger spreading in his voice.

“We don’t really need it here,” Carpla
continued, as if he hadn’t heard his son’s question. “With the
exception of the slaves, we don’t need to drink water. However,
what it does to us Mocranians is cool off our bones—rather than
adding moisture to them.”