by Alex Rey
In a heartbeat—beyond his own control—did Caeo push Molar off the cliff’s ground with his paws, quickly noticing guilt’s punishment on his mind. Oops, he lamented, taking a step back from where he’d just shoved Molar.
“Whoa!” Molar cried, unprepared for the fall. My wings—I just have to keep flapping them! Without any pattern or order, he gave his wings many rapid flaps while in the air. Such an action would save him from injury—he just knew it!
Unfortunately, no matter how many beats he made per heartbeat, Molar’s wings were not strong enough to hold him in the air. They were not used to the wind rush that Mocranian fliers felt when they flew. Giving up easily, his wings quickly grew too sore to flap anymore.
Feeling heavier than usual, Molar found himself plummeting to the ground. Molar’s wings were not spread out enough for him to even make a start on flying. There were certain lengths—depending on what the creature was—that had to be measured before a child could start learning how to fly, and Molar wasn’t even close to that specific length.
“Molar!” called Caeo, fighting against the urge to jump off the cliff and save his endangered friend. Fearing for himself and for Molar, he ran down the cliff in the opposite way of which he’d climbed up. All the while did he seem to move faster than Molar had earlier while moving up the cliff.
Oh—I can’t save him! Helplessly, Caeo stopped in his tracks and watched his friend fail at an attempt to stop himself from hitting the ground. Such a failure was celebrated with a thunderous crash and then with the sounds of horrified sobs.
Taking sight of their injured friend on the hard, sandy ground, Caeo and Mesd hurriedly rushed down to help him. “Look! His paw! It’s in the wrong place!”
How were they supposed to heal the poor, young griffin while—at the same time—steering clear of trouble? The plan to do anything of the likeness was foiled when—without warning—Carpla stepped behind the two griffins, investigating what had caused the loud thump.
A shock ran through the two griffins’ bones at the sight of Molar’s father. Nervously, Caeo came to be the first one to speak to Carpla. “H-how did you get here?” he stammered, his bones still as ice.
A pause occurred just before Carpla responded coldly, “I was just about to pick him up—but now I have to pick an injured griffin up.” As he bent over and picked his wailing son up off the ground, Mesd and Caeo fearfully backed away. He then slowly walked home, not speaking a single word to Molar or either of his friends.
Mesd and Caeo exchanged shocked glances as they watched their friend’s father leave short-lived footprints in the sand. All the while did they both hear their friend’s cries spread through the air.
Time seemed to move as slowly as a turtle’s pace in Molar’s mind. The pain he had felt made him seem somewhat dizzy. He barely noticed his father’s ash-like hands curling around him as though Carpla were carrying a human baby. Such a thought made him feel puny.
--
After what felt like a century, Molar heard the creaking of his father’s opening front doors. His dizziness almost completely faded away, Molar felt a carpet’s fabric tickle his injured paw. With a quick glance did he realize both he and his father were inside. Once he was gently placed on the carpet in his father’s antique room, he took a look up to see Carpla standing over him—a blade in-hand.
Looking down at his front paws, Molar heard Carpla calmly ask him, “What were you doing there?” He was too ashamed to reply, but he knew his father would grow even angrier—and such was the case when Carpla yelled, “Answer me!”
“I was trying to fly,” sighed Molar, embarrassed by his own foolery.
After a pause, Carpla gave a shake of his head. “Why on Mocrano were you trying to do that?” he asked irritably. He then took notice of Molar’s best response: a shrug of his shoulders.
“Well,” Carpla continued with a sigh, “You’re just going to have to stay in this castle until that paw is healed.” With those few words, he turned around and strode out of the room—leaving Molar to lie alone on the itchy carpet.
Molar could not stand having to remain cooped up in the castle where there was nothing fun to do. He would rather go outside and fall off the same cliff he’d just injured himself with—but this time would he deliberately shatter his cranium! Only a few heartbeats had passed when Molar’s injured paw caused boredom to rain over his entire being.
Sighing, Molar began to regret having ever made the attempt to fly before he was ready. He should have known that it would have only caused him to hurt himself; how could he have not seen this coming?
Within moments did the boredom he’d brought to himself caused sleep to start swelling in his head. As such a notion took over his mind, Molar had forgotten about the pain in his paw while resting his head upon it. Very slowly, he noticed a dream fade into his mind.
--
Time had passed—time brought changes—and change brought Molar’s wings to the height of their strength. His paw had fully healed, and his wings were ready to bring his feet from the ground. Finally Molar would be able to do what he had attempted with his friends so long ago—and he would be able to leave without a broken paw.
Right at the brink of dawn did Carpla come marching into Molar’s sleep. Upon waking up did he resist the urge to yawn—as he was afraid such an action would hurt his chances of taking to the sky today. It was before actually preparing for flight when Molar quickly consumed a fistful of fish and sipped a mouthful of malid.
Soon Molar found himself standing on a large cliff with his father at his side. It was maybe five times taller than the cliff where Molar had hurt himself on the attempt to fly. Such was a place where Molar and a horde of other flying creatures were to have their first flight.
Upon making his way to this educational cliff, Molar took sight of Mesd, Caeo, and Toakld—who hadn’t seemed to change a bit—sitting together. “I’ll let you go now,” his father murmured with a pat on Molar’s back.
Without a look back in Carpla’s direction, Molar trotted over to the three familiar griffins. Upon coming up to his friends, Molar spoke to and chatted with them until the flight teacher came up to the front of the group of fliers.
“Quiet!” the teacher hushed, catching all the students’ attentions. “So young fliers—today you will learn how to fly. What you must understand is that all of you have no feathers, which makes this especially harder than it would a slave to teach.”
“What is he?” wondered Molar through a whisper.
“I’m not for sure,” Toakld began, “but I think he’s what you call an eagle.”
“What’s an eagle?”
“Quiet!” the teacher growled. He stood up tall on his two feet, his back straight as a dignified look placed itself upon his face. Such was the look of an intimidating leader, indeed. “Anyway—I won’t give you the ability to grow feathers, but I will give you the courage, strength, stamina, and spirit to fly freely!”
“How exactly will you do that?” one of the children stirred behind Molar.
“Well, my plan is mainly to tell you all that there is nothing of the sky to be afraid of—that the only worry is that if morale goes down for you, then being up high will be dangerous.”
Beyond the young fliers’ imaginations, the teacher was able to show the young fliers how to not be afraid of heights in less than a day—how all they needed was morale. None of the fliers could believe the sophistication placed into the teachers’ words, how it actually helped them—almost as if he were once a skilled counselor.
After much mental training, the teacher was able to give the children a small amount of physical training. It was only a fraction of the time he’d spent on mental training when he decided it was time for them to fly for real.
“Now is the time!” the teacher explained, pointing the students to the edge of the cliff. “It is time to fly! Remember that the wind you pass through should hit your wings.”
The children surprisingly didn’t feel nervous at al
l, but really excited and full of this morale their teacher had told them about. “Ready—and fly!” he commanded.
The fliers flapped, and flapped, and flapped until Molar took sight of one of his other griffin friends—who was already hovering off of the ground!
Chapter IV
The Feeling of Flight
Molar couldn’t believe what he had just seen! “Caeo! You’re flying!”
“I am?” he panted, taking a look down at his feet. He noticed as they barely even tiptoed their way along the ground. “I’m flying!”
The sight of another one of the griffins hovering gave a boost of confidence to form in Molar’s mind. He could almost feel himself walking on air as he gave his wings gave another great flap. Already Molar began to feel lighter and lighter with every heartbeat—soon realizing his feet were no longer touching the ground. He took a look down to notice the only things of his paws that touched the ground were his paws’ shadows.
“I think I‘m flying!” Molar cried with glee. After he gave only a few more beats of his wings, he felt something slightly sharp press against his back. What’s going on? Getting a chance to turn his head, he noticed his teacher was pushing him off of the cliff with his beak.
A horrific cry for help split the air at that moment; all the while did images of himself falling as a younger griffin fill his mind. Just as he had done after being pushed by Caeo, Molar furiously pounded his wings against the air. Within moments, however, did his screeches of fear turn into cries of laughter—vibrating in the air—as he realized he had just succeeded in learning how to fly.
Flying like a bird, Molar flapped his wings again and again as he became one with the sky. Images of flying at many high altitudes flooded his mind. He could only imagine the places opened to him now—and all the sights he could see. Where will I go from here?
In the midst of his thoughts, Molar flinched when he heard the teacher remind him, “Remember to stay here until everybody is done!” Taking a glance over at the eagle, Molar gave a quick nod. Upon doing so did he take notice of another flying creature—whom he narrowly missed with a quick shift to the left.
To pass the time, Molar and most of the other flying creatures glided around and around in circles. To anyone who was used to flying, this would have seemed a most boring exercise—but to any flying novice, such a practice induced great fun. Such were the thoughts within Molar’s head.
It had not taken long for the last flying creature—a bat—to find herself flying with the rest of the enthusiastic fliers. Once so was done, the teacher gave them all some time to enjoy their new flying abilities. Little did he know of how much it would hurt the children to take away their freedom to fly.
After only a short time, the teacher let out a screech, which drew the other fliers’ attention to him. Almost every one of them scowled at the sound of the high-pitched cry, stopping in midflight all the while. Floating in one area, each of the students locked their gazes on the eagle.
As silence penetrated the class, the flying teacher continued, “Well—now that you’ve all learned how to fly, we’re going to go to the Mapharaux so that Yofel can congratulate us.” Some of the flying children exchanged excited glances, but one of them—a small crow—asked the teacher, “What’s the Mapharaux?”
At the sound of these words, many of the fliers—Molar included—turned their heads toward the little crow. Each of them wondered, How can he not know about the Mapharaux? Almost half of them looking at the crow gave a glare toward the little bird.
After having received a moment of grief, the crow hearing of the flight teacher when he told him, “The Mapharaux is an enormous tower that lies in the center of Mocrano. Not only is it really big, but it’s also where Yofel lives and gives out his speeches.” A pause occurred as the teacher placed himself in front of the other fliers.
“Everybody follow me!” he commanded, beckoning the others with a talon. He then gave his wings a flap as most of the younger fliers stumbled to catch up within the first heartbeat of flight.
Molar tried his best not to accidentally run into any of the other fliers. The last thing he wanted was to cause mayhem in the moment of everyone’s peaceful excitement. Before he knew it, his peaceful moments soon became worrisome moments when he thought of one of the other fliers running into him.
Thankfully, Molar’s worries faded into nothingness when he took sight of the Mapharaux’s graceful figure. While he hadn’t ever been within this building’s presence, Molar had heard multiple stories about it—all of which sprung from Carpla’s mouth.
From where he’d been flying, the Mapharaux appeared tiny to his eyes. Such a sight brought forth wonder into his mind. Surrounding the tower’s entrance were over a hundred Mocranians; one of which was Carpla.
“Congratulations to you all!” the fliers heard Yofel cry from the Mapharaux. The sound of Mocranian cheers split the air at the sound of Yofel’s flattering words. Each of the young fliers felt a shock fly through their spines when they realized that the cheers had come from what appeared to be a small pool of milk.
Of all the fliers, none was more surprised than Molar. That’s my grandfather! he realized, nearly forgetting all about the notion of flight. A cringe formed in his shoulders when he took sight of his grandfather’s shocking mask. What’s he doing out here? Why are there so many people here?
“Come down here!” Yofel beckoned to the altitudinous fliers. At the sound of their leader’s voice, each and every one of them made their way to the large balcony from which Yofel made his speeches. Almost a half of them collapsed under their feet when they made this attempt at landing.
Before handing out each of the individual fliers their rewards, Yofel personally walked up to Molar with his two hands hidden behind his back, his gaze driven away from all the other fliers. Such a notion caused nervousness and excitement to drizzle down his spine. What were to be their first impressions toward each other?
“Molar,” he began, “I have seen your progress in flight throughout your life. Now that you have the ability to fly freely, I would like to award you with this cloak!”
With outstretched arms did Yofel present Molar with a hand-woven cape. A majority of its fabric colored green, this cloak showed a picture with a griffin in a sunset background. After taking a quick glance at his prize, Molar placed the cloak upon his shoulders, looked up at his grandfather and praised, “Thank you!”
“As for you others,” Yofel began through a stronger voice, “Come over here so you can claim your flight medals!” Before even receiving a chance to admire Molar’s cloak, all the other fliers made their way over to Yofel’s side. Each of them received medallions—rewards with which they wore around their necks. The medals themselves gave off a circular appearance, with the picture of a bird crafted onto its beautiful gold.
As the other fliers achieved their medals, Molar walked over to the flight teacher when he asked him, “Can I go fly now?”
After a pause, the dignified eagle nodded in response. “Sure. Go ahead.”
Without another word, Molar walked over to the edge of the balcony—once there did he spread his large wings and set off for flight. He took not a single glance back at what once was, the feeling of flight surging over his being.
While freedom seemed enveloped his mind with sheer intensity, Molar quickly found himself dodging a wave of pillars. Such obstacles were meant to carry the planet’s magma from below Mocrano’s ground up to Earth’s volcanoes—thus ensuring Mocrano’s safety. Their one and only purpose in existence was to keep Earth’s natural lava flow from seeping into the city’s core. If it were not for these pillars, Mocrano would be empty of all life—filled to the brim with nothing but molten rocks.
Molar quickly came to realize how most of the pillars were oozing out molten rock. Thinking it would hurt him to touch this goop, he panicked in an attempt to wisp his way through the series of pillars in front of his eyes. In order to do so, Molar spun and squeezed his way through many tight spac
es. Although it had proven hard for a creature of his size to make his way through such odds, he quickly pulled through.
As he left the threatening obstacles alone, Molar noticed a series of pictures forming in his mind; ergo, he noticed himself experiencing a strange vision.
In his vision, Molar took sight of himself fighting Yofel in the midst of the Mapharaux. The grandfather and grandson standing on one of the highest points in all of Mocrano, the two of them strategically waited for the other to attack.
For a reason he was unsure of, an old blue blade protruded from Yofel’s chest. He noticed his grandfather take hold of the blade in his chest, his knees collapsing to the ground just before the blade could penetrate his heart.
Using the last of his energy, Yofel took a look up at Molar and weakly threw the blue blade at him. Fortunately for Molar, the blade was only able to touch the tip of one of Molar’s toes, causing practically no damage to be dealt.
Although he felt no pain, Molar began to feel a great tiredness overwhelm him as he witnessed Yofel take his last few breaths. As so was done, Molar asked himself, What’s going on—and why am I killing my grandfather?
--
Before the images could have become reality, Molar gave a quick shake of his head, causing the vision to fade away. It was then when he noticed the sight ahead of him was filled with many working slaves and marketplaces. A shiver suddenly ran down his spine as he hoped he hadn’t wandered off too far when the vision had obscured his mind.
Whoa! My wings are starting to get a bit tired! Deciding to take a break, Molar flew down to the ground in an attempt to land on the sandy ground below him. Struggling slightly, Molar found himself bringing up a cloud of dust when his enormous paws hit the ground. Shaking the dust from his head, Molar felt something hard pierce the back of his head. Ow! Stifling a yowl of pain, he turned his head—only to see an enslaved human male.