Immortal Darkness: Shadow Across the Land (28 page)

Trusting the silent feathers within his
wings, Pesstian quietly flapped his way up to the top of the wooden
block. A sense of surprise lit up in his mind when he realized the
top of the block wasn’t made out of wood.

This thing feels like it’s made out of a
smooth stone,
Pesstian thought. From the feel of it, the stone
held a hint of ice upon its surface.
No!
Pesstian realized
while shaking his head.
That’s impossible.

In the course of his thoughts, Pesstian drew
his gaze slightly ahead of his feet and took notice of a thin sheet
of tan. The very sight of it caused the words,
What is that?
to buzz through against the corners of his head.

This question continued to ring through his
mind as picked the sheet up from the ground. Now with this strange
object in his grasp, Pesstian took a close look at the sheet—only
to realize a series of scribbles had been painted onto the sheet.
Are these—are these supposed to be—pictures?

While carefully holding the sheet under the
grip of two fingers, Pesstian noticed as it began to tilt to the
left. A small sense of panic coursing through his veins, he
attempted to squeeze the sheet in hopes of stopping it from
slipping. To his disappointment and failure, he had only stabbed a
hole through it.

A bead of sweat began to roll its way along
Pesstian’s head when the sight of the hole slipped into his eyes.
At the same time, he began to wonder why the humans would ever use
this fragile material for
anything
.
It doesn’t look like
you’re supposed to use it for fighting,
Pesstian pondered to
himself.
Maybe—

With this one word still buzzing in the back
of his head, the young owl swallowed a small his confusion. Upon
doing so, he gave his head a full spin—hoping to insure the room
was completely empty of passersby. Noticing the coast was clear,
Pesstian re-twisted his head back to its original position.

Slowly and awkwardly did Pesstian lean his
head toward the sheet of human fabric. At the very same time, his
beak began to open—opening more and more with every passing
heartbeat. With his beak barely any distance from the sheet, he
soon found his mouth taking hold of the human fabric.

Before he could have damaged the human’s
sheet any further, Pesstian nervously dragged his tongue across the
sheet’s skin. Only a few moments had passed when he carefully took
the sheet out of his beak and claimed,
I guess it’s not
food.

The little owl backed away from the sheet,
made his way to the edge of the wooden block, and carefully jumped
down to the floor. With the feel of wood now coming underneath his
feet, a sense of slight mischievousness began to rush up to his
head.

But even that could not remove his feelings
of despair.

Well—I guess I just wasted my time
, he
thought, releasing a sigh. While expecting many of the humans’
treasure to have simply rested in the room, all he had found so far
was a useless sheet of fabric.

It was then when Pesstian began to feel the
need to turn back toward the other owls. That was when a foreign
stench began to fill the air around him. Such an aroma made him
feel as if he were going to vomit. In response to this malodorous
presence, Pesstian covered the top of his beak with his two
wings.

What can that possibly be?
he
wondered, his wings still covering his beak. In this state did
Pesstian begin to think back to a specific day—the day when this
kind of rankness was first introduced to him.

This brings me back—but back to what?
What was once a minor drizzle of confusion converted into a mental
rainstorm of questions at that moment.
I
know
that I’ve
smelled something like this before. But what—that’s it!

Rushing back to the physical world, Pesstian
removed his wings from his beak. Feeling as the surrounding odor
choked him by his lungs, he sauntered over to where he believed
this smell odor had originated

I
knew
this smelled familiar! The
last time I’d smelled something so bad was when I was near a whole
colony of these human devices. And what I found were—

No matter how much he may have wanted to,
Pesstian proved unable to finish his silent sentence. Instead, he
felt compelled to exclaim through his beak, “Ocean creatures!”

--

The images of the first day he had seen these
ocean creatures
began to take shape in Pesstian’s mind.
Standing next to him was his mother, he remembered; she was a
lovely little owl named Metea. Both owls stood atop one of the
humans’ large monuments.

From what he could recall, a large group of
humans—the likes of which remain far below the little owls—were
loading up wooden cans and boxes into what appeared to be one of
their homes.
But what are those supposed to be?
his curious
mind asked itself.

As if Metea had stared straight into her
son’s mind, she glanced down at him and explained, “Those wooden
shapes that they’re carrying are supposed to hold—well—they
basically hold whatever stuff that the humans want.”

It wasn’t necessarily what he had asked, but
he was satisfied nevertheless. The young Pesstian took a confused
look up at his mother just before wondering, “What kind of
stuff?”

Metea began to scratch the back of her neck
with her left talon—a sign Pesstian recognized as her attempting at
thought. After pondering this moment to herself, she took a deep
look up at the moon and responded, “Well—the humans usually put
just about
anything
into those things.”

Moving his gaze toward the ground, Metea’s
son responded, “
Anything
? Would they put grass in
there?”

Metea gave a small shrug and took a look down
at Pesstian when she mumbled, “Maybe. Humans seem to have
some
kind of use for almost everything in the world.”

A moment of hesitation sat still in the
air—only to be interrupted when Pesstian started laughing at the
idea of using grass to his advantage. “Well—maybe if I ate
everything
like the humans do,” he chuckled, “
Maybe
I
would eat grass!”

“I know,” Metea giggled in response. “It
doesn’t really—”

A loud thump interrupted Metea at that
moment, causing a small shake to rumble beneath the owls’ feet.
Although it was only a small shake, it withheld enough power to
nearly cause Pesstian to fall off the humans’ roof. At the same
time, a horrified gasp escaped from Metea’s beak.

Fortunately for Pesstian, he regained the
strength to pick himself back on his feet before his head could
have met ground. A sense of worry spreading into his head, he
cautiously backpedaled his way over to his mother.

Only a heartbeat had passed when he noticed
as a foul odor began to spread into the air. It was then when
Pesstian covered the top of his beak and grimaced.

Just before Metea could have asked what was
wrong, she found herself making the exact same response to the odor
as Pesstian had just done. “What happened?” she choked, struggling
to keep her stinging eye opened.

Struggling to keep his own two eyes open,
Pesstian locked his gaze onto the lower ground when he explained
between coughs, “I—I don’t know
what
it could be!”

Little did the owlet know, the answer to
Metea’s question lay directly in his path of sight. Although it had
taken him a while to take realization of this fact, Pesstian
noticed how a large group of strange, foreign creatures had been
spilled onto a wooden ground.

Most of these creatures appeared a gray-blue
color—almost blue enough to blend in with the ocean. Each of them
was covered in chains and chains of scales, the likes of which
glistened within the sun’s reach. Attached to their sides were what
appeared to be some of the tiniest wings Pesstian had ever
seen.

Taking sight of this mess, he removed his
wings from his beak and screamed in question, “What’s
that
thing?”

Opening her stinging eye, Metea took a look
down at the ground. Confused for what her son was talking about,
Metea asked, “What is what? Are—” And then she saw it. “Oh.”

Once Metea had discovered
exactly
what
had just happened, both she and Pesstian locked their eyes forward.
It was forward—and only forward—where the ocean creatures lay.

“I’ve never seen that kind of animal before!”
Pesstian exclaimed, awe and confusion curling around his mind.

“I think I
might
have seen them at
least once,” Metea muttered while scratching the back of her neck
once again.

Turning his gaze over toward his mother, her
son asked, “What’re they called?”

“I don’t think they really even have a name!
Nobody’s ever seemed to call them by some kind of unique name. We
always called them ocean creatures.”

“Ocean creatures? So they come from the
ocean?”

“Yes,” Metea replied, admiring Pesstian’s
curiosity.

Drawing his mind back to the rank stench the
ocean creatures had spilled into the air, Pesstian placed his hands
over the top of his beak once again. Feeling as if he would vomit
at any moment, he gasped for breath while asking, “Why do they
smell so
bad
?”

A moment of silence filled the air as Metea
walked up to her son, nuzzling the back of his head. Once
Pesstian’s head stood at the midpoint between her wingtip and
shoulder, Metea coldly responded, “They’re dead—all of them.”

A shock of fear and surprise swelling into
his head, Pesstian flinched a look toward his mother just before
asking, “
Dead
animals? In that container?”

With eyes closed, Metea made her response
through a curt nod.

“What would they want with dead creatures?
The fact that they have them in those wooden things is just
stupid!”

“Humans rather prefer to eat dead food—as
opposed to living creatures.”

“The humans are going to
eat
that?” he
wondered, backing away slightly from his mother.

Resisting the urge to flinch at these words,
Metea took a look at her son, took a deep breath and replied, “A
lot of animals already
do
eat those. The weird thing about
the humans’ way of eating it is that the fish are already dead. It
doesn’t really make any sense to me; fish rot away once they’re
dead.”

--

“How long have these things been dead?”
Pesstian whispered to himself. Shaking his head, he assured
himself,
Doesn’t matter. But what I don’t get is the fact that
these aren’t the same ocean creatures that I remember from my
childhood.

Pesstian recognized the sight, but not the
smell these creatures emanated. They were not scaly, nor blue nor
winged.

Each and every one of the ocean creatures sat
deceased in a net with a volume maybe five times that of
Pesstian’s. Each of them seemed rocky in appearance; what looked
like jaws seemed to crawl together and form into an enormous
maw.

Yet another vision of the past began to fill
Pesstian’s mind when he described the creatures’ description to
himself.
Where’ve I heard of this kind of animal before?
A
moment of complete silence had come into place before he blurted
though a whisper, “Oh—
now
I remember!”

It was at the moment of uttering these four
words when he rushed over toward the net of deceased creatures.
Seeing as their rocky build clouded his eyes, Pesstian silently
continued,
These kinds of creatures don’t move around in the
water like all the others. There’s no way it could; it doesn’t have
any wings.

Scratching his head, the confused owl asked
himself while slowly walking toward the net,
But there was
something else about them. What was it? Something about a
treasure—

Not noticing as he came closer and closer to
the net, Pesstian felt as a little talon crept its way up his neck.
In response to the feel of the animals’ skin, Pesstian let out a
small shudder.
Their lips are so bumpy!

“Wait a moment!” he exclaimed, noticing as a
spark of realization ignited in his head. In an attempt to grab
hold of one of these creatures, Pesstian reached his talon into one
of the net’s openings.

Feeling as one of the creatures slipped
within his reach, Pesstian caught hold of what felt like a jagged
rock. It was then when the feel of rough skin permeated against his
talon.

Now taking complete hold of the animal,
Pesstian pulled and pulled—all with the hope to yank both his talon
and the ocean creature out of the net.

Without any warning, a shock of fear spread
into Pesstian’s mind when he realized his talon was caught in the
net.
Is it stuck?
a panicked voice echoed in his head.

It was at that moment when Pesstian tightened
his grip on the jagged, slippery skin, pulling with every will in
his body. He felt as his heartbeat increased and his blood began to
boil with frustration.

Wait a minute.
Only a few heartbeats
had come to pass when Pesstian took notice of his true problem.
This creature was far too large to squeeze through the net’s
grasp.

A growl of irritation passing through his
beak, Pesstian released his grip on the ocean creature. Shortly
thereafter did the annoyed owl realize,
I hoped it wouldn’t come
to this—but I have no other choice.

Listening as these words echoed about in his
head, Pesstian took three steps backward just before raising his
talon. Feeling as his claws crawled up beside his beak, he strained
the muscles in his leg, readying himself to sweep his right talon
through the net’s fabric.

His intentions clear, his mind focused,
Pesstian clawed through this net with the intensity of lightning.
At the same time did he nervously clench his eyes closed, begging
of the net all the while,
Please don’t release all of the
creatures at once!