Immortal Darkness: Shadow Across the Land (49 page)

Come on!
he swore.
First that old
owl, and now this—this—whatever it is?
After a small pause,
Just what does everybody want with my blade?
A single
scream, however, brought him back into the reason why he even
treaded into this castle to start with.

“
Help me!
”

“Who keeps saying that?” Pesstian finally
shouted.
I really hope nobody heard that,
he strained,
realizing what he had just done. As luck would have it, however,
nothing but silence was uttered afterwards.

With a look to his left, Pesstian took sight
of the entrance to a new room. A few hops brought him into what
seemed like the entrance to a new level in this castle. It was also
here when he took hearing of somebody’s light footsteps.
That
human!
the little owl realized.
But I can’t follow
him.

If he stalked this human-like character, he
risked the possibility of being caught and even executed by it. On
another note—if he
didn’t
stalk the human, his blade would
be lost forever. At that moment, however, did Pesstian notice how
he seemed to start becoming attached to the blade. He didn’t
understand why; something simply drew him closer and closer to the
sword.

“
Help me!
” the mysterious voice called
out once again—this time quieter than it had ever been.
Did that
human take them?
wondered Pesstian.
What did it do?

Taking no time to hesitate, Pesstian swooped
up the castle’s next level and found himself in the midst of two
intercepting pathways. One appeared devoid of any living creature’s
attention, while the other held within it the human creature.
Deciding to play it safe, Pesstian decided to go down the empty
path.

The sound of the naive cries for help
continued to echo in Pesstian’s head as he continued to glide down
the narrow pathway. Sitting in such a passage was not a group of
treasures and valuables, but multiple boxes filled up with objects
beyond Pesstian’s knowing.

“Help—,” with a hoarse voice.

Without a word, Pesstian zipped past all the
boxes and all the foreign objects—all to this one person. He cared
not who remained with this person in need; he
had
to save
the, no matter what!

After many incidents of heartache and fear,
Pesstian finally found himself face-to-face with whom he believed
he was the robed human’s adversary. Before him was yet another
skeletal creature—much unlike anything Pesstian had ever seen.

With a male voice, this skeleton gleefully
cried, “You’ve come to save me?” This creature held a large beak in
the front of his head along with enormous attached to his back and
two broken paws. Pesstian nearly released a gasp from his beak when
he realized this creature’s back paws were nonexistent, while the
front two were shackled.

“Who are you?” wondered Pesstian. After
taking a look over his own shoulder, “And who was that?”

“I’m Molar,” the little one replied. “And
that—he was my father.”

With a quick look over his shoulder, Pesstian
took hearing of footsteps still gradually fading away. Another look
back In Molar’s direction and he asked, “Did he do that to your
feet?”

A moment of silence came between the two
before Molar feebly replied, “Y-yes.”

One little word made Pesstian feel as if his
heart had been struck by a million bolts of lightning. What kind of
father—of any age or culture—would injure their own child in such
brutal a manner? Such a thought made the user of such force
inconceivable to say the least. The only thing Pesstian could
wonder was,
What was his father thinking?

Enunciating each word, Pesstian brought his
beak up to Molar’s and commanded, “Tell me everything.”

“Okay,” the skeletal creature confirmed. “But
first—could you please close that door?”

“Oh, sure.” Pesstian was now left confused.
Door?
he wondered. That wasn’t a term he’d come to
know—whether he was with Leyai or the humans. He pretended to know
what a door was, but honestly he wasn’t fooling anybody. All he had
on his side were his lucky guesses and improvisation.

Coming up to a wooden palette sticking out of
the wall, Pesstian grabbed a hold of its frame and gradually shut
it over the room’s opening. “Okay,” he muttered, “I’m closing the
door now. Here I go.” All the while did he look in Molar’s
eyes—hoping he was making the right move.

With a small creak, the
door
finally
came to cover the hole in the room. A pause of silence then
commenced as Pesstian worriedly looked into Molar’s eyes. When no
hasty words approached from the young one’s beak, however, Pesstian
knew he was all good.

Removing a bead of sweat from his presence,
Pesstian sat down in front of Molar. Even when sitting, the little
owl noticed how the creature in front of him towered to over twice
his height.

With a shady gaze and a heart full of heavy
sorrows and whimsical joys, Molar told him everything. From his day
of flight to his fame’s demise, he left no stone unturned. He told
of his stories of royalty and of rebellion—how both had all been
but taken away from his grasp.

Pesstian listen as every word seemed to bring
a thorn to his heart. He was left teary-eyed at the end of Molar’s
tale; and yet the only thing he could ask was, “What can I do to
help?”

“Will you stay?” murmured Molar in
question.

“Will I stay?” Pesstian repeated in
confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Somebody needs to stop my father and the
Mocranians—and I know that’s not me.”

“B—but I,” stammered Pesstian. What was he
supposed to tell Molar? He couldn’t stop a giant power all by
himself; he didn’t even think he could do so with an army.

“That scar on your face,” Molar interrupted,
pointing his weary paw toward Pesstian’s forehead. “Don’t ignore
it. It’s there to help you. It will flash faster depending on how
close you are to your destiny.”

“You must find Leyoht and the monster
approaching him before it is too late.”

“Monster?” asked Pesstian. “What
monster?”

“Goodbye.” With a swivel of his head, a flash
of light temporarily blinded Pesstian.

Molar,
began he,
Who is he? And
what did he do to me?
It was then when the little owl realized
he was back in the cave he’d earlier fallen asleep in.
Did that
really happen?

With a moment of silence commencing, Pesstian
realized the harsh sound of ice bashing on top of the mountain had
disappeared. He guessed that meant it was safe to come out now.
I’ll just grab my blade and
—

Silence endured as Pesstian looked and felt
around for any sign of his missing blade.
Where’d it go? Did
somebody take it?
It was then when an insane thought entered
his head.
Did Molar’s dad take it from me?

But that was just a dream, wasn’t it?
Maybe a thief took it when I was sleeping.
Thinking a thief
with a blade of that size and weight would have left behind tracks,
Pesstian pointed his gaze toward the ground and searched for any
signs of theft.

No footprints? No feathers? Fur? Tracks of
any kind?
A grunt escaped from Pesstian’s beak as he himself
escaped from the cave’s grasp.
Where is it?
he felt like
screaming.

Molar’s father—he—did he steal it?
In
an attempt to draw Pesstian’s mind off of the thought his stomach
started rumbling with sheer intensity.
Oh,
he began,
I
feel like I just ate—but I’m still hungry!
Now without his
blade, he realized, he saw no need to grow accustomed to hunting
with anything else but his claws and beak.

A sigh withdrew from Pesstian’s maw as he
made an attempt at finding more food. Now with a mountain sitting
behind him, he felt as if he could find more creatures hiding in
soil and stone. As a result, he needn’t any wings to help him scale
across the terrain in front of him.

With footsteps as light as feathers, Pesstian
treaded his way toward whatever source of food he could find. He
felt like swallowing up a handful of insects, but his stomach
demanded so much more than such little creatures.

Within moments the sound of slithering and
hissing pummeled against Pesstian’s ears, catching his attention
with ease.
Where’s that coming from?
With further
investigation, he found himself staring at what appeared to be an
oversized worm sticking out of a mound of soil.

At first Pesstian thought nothing of this
little inferior creature—that was until he took notice of its true
size. With a rapidly-beating heart, he bent down toward what he
first believed was a worm and took notice of something much bigger.
A moment of hesitation came to Pesstian’s mind just before he
grabbed this creature by its tail.

With a small struggle, the pink creature
quickly slipped out of the dirt. A series of hisses and slithers
continued to spout from its mouth.

It was then when Pesstian realized this was
not a worm at all—but a blind, pink snake. A jolt of fear spread in
his heart when he took realization of this fact.

This snake—confused and infuriated—snapped
its jaws at random while simultaneously trying to wiggle its way
out of Pesstian’s talons. Knowing it was about to be a meal for a
nocturnal bird, the reptile made an attempt to sink its teeth into
the little owl’s leg.

Fearing for his life, Pesstian waited for the
right moment—wondering what his outcome would be. With reflexes
faster than light itself, he flung the snake enough to make it
dizzy and finally shoved it down his throat. All the while did he
hope for none of the snake’s teeth snatching onto his tongue.

Luck on his side, Pesstian was able to gulp
down the pink snake with ease. He felt as its scaly surface
clambered down the inside of his throat. He nearly released a
giggle as a result of feeling such a phenomenal sensation.

That wasn’t too bad
, Pesstian agreed
with himself. It was then when he realized,
I haven’t had a
snake since I was back home. Are there just not that many snakes
here?

His wings spread out to his sides as the
little owl skyrocket up into the air. He felt the wind blow beneath
his feathers as discovered,
Most of what I’ve been eating since
I’ve come here were the same rodents over and over again. Is this
all the other owls have to eat? Is there
that
little
variety?

A sigh blew from Pesstian’s beak when his
scar interfered with his sight once again. He repeated Molar’s
words,
Don’t ignore it.
A small pause came before,
It’ll
lead me to where I need to go. Hopefully it’s my blade.

Now—as Pesstian flew far above the snowy
landscape above him—his love for his background grew stronger than
ever before. He gradually forgot about the place he held back in
his humble abode in favor of this new home. While he took no sight
of any plants sitting on the ground, Pesstian found a connection
between himself and the tundra grow stronger and stronger with
time.

Like a compass, Pesstian’s scar continued to
lead him to as his top priority. Continuously did it flash on his
head with a very strobe-like effect.
Molar was right
, he
realized,
This thing
is
helping me!
While he couldn’t
put it in words, something seemed to bring Pesstian’s emotions to
its extremes. The more his scar flashed, the more joy he felt
welling inside of him. If the scar flashed any less, however,
Pesstian would then feel thoughts of death and negativity lingering
about in his head.

Egotism took over Pesstian’s mind as he made
a small dive toward the ground.
This breeze feels so amazing! I
can’t believe I’ve never felt anything like this before! Why
haven’t I felt it back at home? Why haven’t I felt it back when I
was with Leyai?
Not even thoughts of Leyai could have brought
him down.

Coming to the happiest state of mind he could
imagine, Pesstian was taken aback by a terrible shriek! Such a
sound piercing his ears, Pesstian headed toward the source of the
noise.
What was that? Was Leyoht in a fight?
With a gasp,
No! What’s that?

Standing in front of Pesstian was a black
owl: a species of owl he had never seen before. The sight of such
blackness caused a shiver to run down the little owl’s spine.
Despite all fear he asked this strange creature, “Was that
you?”

“No—” the black owl replied through a devious
male voice, “I am not Leyoht.”

“What, now?” wondered Pesstian. “Who’s
Leyoht?

“My name is not Leyoht.” It was then when the
owl sucked all the light out of his body and started growing. This
creature’s beak grew bigger and sharper—with talons humungous!
Chest growing bigger and stronger, the black owl’s head suddenly
developed the horns of a great horned owl.

Every part of his body was black and
blood-stained. “Ah,” murmured the horned creature. “I am
invincible! Whoever wishes to hurt me will only end up hurting
Leyoht.

“What?” shrieked Pesstian. “Who are you? And
who’s Leyoht?”

“I was once known as Bearneomal,” replied the
black animal. “But now—I am Neionmt!” With a small start of
hesitation, “I was told by my master to pursue and capture Leyoht
at any cost.”

“Master?” Pesstian wondered. “You mean
Molar?”

“
Molar
?” Neionmt huffed with a moment
of hesitation coming to his beak. “I—don’t even talk about Molar
this isn’t about him! Begone with you!” Another huff brought about
a flame from Neionmt’s beak—heading toward Pesstian’s
direction.

For fear of death, Pesstian lifted a wing
above his gaze as an array of light blinded his gaze.
Neionmt—who is he?
Within moments he realized he was not on
fire; he hadn’t been hurt at all! With a heartbeat of silence, he
took a glance over at where Neionmt was.