Isle of Beasts and Shadows (The Forgotten Isle Saga #1)

Chapter 15

Sirius awoke to a cacophony of yells filled with anger, confusion, and heated arguments echoing through the tent. Amidst the chaos, he heard someone’s desperate plea to ‘release him’, the urgency cutting through the tense air.

Struggling to make sense of his surroundings, Sirius blinked his eyes open to a blurry vision, his ears still ringing from the commotion.

A surge of pain shot through his chest, causing him to wince. As he tried to move, he realized rough ropes tightly bound his wrists together, immobilizing his arms and tethering him to a sturdy pole.

Gradually, as his senses sharpened, he took in the stark sight of the sandy floor beneath him and the vibrant red cloth that adorned the interior of the tent, the colors contrasting sharply. Sirius’s heart raced as he tried to piece together his predicament, the sense of confinement and uncertainty weighing heavy on his mind.

Before he could contemplate any further, Sirius found himself in a face-to-face encounter with the first-in-command, Duran. The latter wore a smug smile that crept across his face, accompanied by a light chuckle that hinted at concealed amusement.

“So, the Miscreant is finally awake, I see. How was your nap?” Duran’s words dripped with contempt, his emerald green eyes locking onto Sirius with an intensity that sent a shiver down the latter’s spine.

At this proximity, Sirius couldn’t help but notice Duran’s features. His complexion bore a sun-kissed tan, while his hair, a dark shade of brown bordering on black, framed his scarred face with an air of authority. The subtle signs of aging, evident in the graying roots of his hair and the lines etched on his face, spoke volumes about the man’s seasoned years, adding a layer of complexity to his intimidating presence.

Amid the tense exchange, Sirius, fueled by a surge of defiance, unleashed a spit aimed directly at Duran’s face. The glob of saliva trickled down the man’s forehead, a symbolic act of defiance that was met with a chilling response.

“Scoundrel!” Duran’s voice boomed with fury as his hand recoiled, delivering a stinging slap across Sirius’s cheek.

The impact left half of Sirius’s face flushed with a fiery red hue, yet beneath the surface, he remained resolute, defiance glinting in his eyes. Undeterred by Duran’s attempt at intimidation, Sirius met his gaze head-on, a defiant smile playing on his lips.

“Don’t play games with me, Miscreant,” Duran’s voice resonated with a menacing edge as he seized Sirius by the collar, aiming to instill fear through physical dominance. “I won’t show mercy. Any escape attempt will be met with swift retribution. You will be escorted to the king for interrogation. Perhaps, if you cooperate, we may consider allowing you to live in a petting zoo for the rest of your days.”

Sirius pulled his head back swiftly, the momentum causing it to collide with Duran’s face in a sudden, jarring impact. As the blow made his head recoil, Sirius met Duran’s chilling glare, witnessing his expression turning deadly in an instant. Blood trickled down Duran’s nose, prompting him to instinctively reach up and assess the damage, gingerly probing his fingers for any sign of a break.

Reacting swiftly, Duran seized Sirius by the chin, forcing eye contact amidst the chaos. To defend himself, Sirius sank his teeth fiercely into Duran’s index finger, the sharp pain eliciting a guttural scream from Duran as he yanked his injured hand away. Examining the wound, Duran’s features contorted in a mix of shock and agony, his focus momentarily stolen by the throbbing pain.

Spitting out the appendage he had bitten off, Sirius taunted Duran with a sneer, “You taste disgusting,” his voice dripping with disdain.

With a frustrated huff, Duran stormed out of the tent, leaving behind an aura of tension that lingered in the air.

Just then, two guards entered the tent, their presence adding an air of authority to the scene. Positioned strategically near the exit, they exchanged a glance, silently acknowledging the aftermath of the altercation. One guard, his gaze fixed on the departing figure of Duran, turned to his companion with a perplexed expression.

“What do you think it is?” he inquired quietly, his voice tinged with curiosity.

His partner, equally puzzled, observed Sirius and remarked, “I’m not sure. He appears human, but those yellow eyes are unsettling. Even his hands and feet seem oddly distinct...”

They had taken Sirius’s cloak away, as well as his scythe. However, the commander didn’t order these two soldiers to be in the tent. The tension was palpable as Sirius sat there in silence, his presence casting an eerie shadow within the tent.

“I think we should go back outside,” one guard whispered nervously, breaking the silence. “He’s scaring me. He looks like something straight out of a nightmare.” With a shared glance of agreement, they swiftly exited the tent, leaving Sirius alone in the dimly lit space.

Along the serene shoreline of the camp, Airella took a moment to cleanse her face, rinsing away the remnants of dried Miscreant blood with water from a nearby spring. She gazed at her reflection in the shimmering water, observing the weariness etched on her features. In a rare moment of respite, she had shed her battle-worn armor, opting instead for the comfort of a white blouse, layered with a brown leather vest, pants, and sturdy boots. It was a change of pace, considering Duran rarely allowed them out of their armor. The soft rustle of the waves and the golden hues of the setting sun painted a tranquil scene around her, offering a brief escape from the chaos of the day.

How was it that Duran, despite the ominous signs, remained resolute in his decision to linger and further explore the enigmatic island? Had the harbingers of danger not been sufficiently alarming to designate this place as a forsaken land?

As she strolled back into the camp, Airella observed a flurry of activity in the darkness, with men scurrying in various directions, clutching wood and supplies. Their sole source of illumination was the towering campfire blazing at the camp’s heart.

Rumors circulated that Duran had instructed the construction of a makeshift cage to transport their captive, unwilling to leave him unguarded while the others were out surveying. The fear of his potential escape loomed large among them.

Airella, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity, watched as the team hastened to piece together the prison wagon meticulously. Uncertainty clouded her thoughts as she pondered the situation. In that moment, Duran trudged past her, his hand wrapped in a blood-soaked rag, a trickle of blood staining his purple-hued nose.

“Duran, what happened to you?” Airella inquired, not solely out of genuine concern, but also driven by an insatiable curiosity that gnawed at her.

His response was grim, laced with a mix of pain and resentment, “That Miscreant—no, that pest—bit my finger off and broke my damn nose!” The intensity of his words matched the fury in his eyes as he forcefully pushed Airella aside, his relentless stride reflecting a determination untamed by the recent altercation.

She felt an unsettling twist in her stomach, unsure of Sirius’s true allegiance. His actions seemed to oscillate between saving lives and committing the unthinkable. Still, a part of her believed that Duran may have had it coming. As she nibbled nervously on her lower lip, her gaze fixed on the imposing figures of the armored guards stationed at the entrance to the tent Duran had just exited.

“Should I go in?” she pondered silently, unintentionally blowing the situation out of proportion in her mind.

Seating herself on a rough tree stump near the crackling campfire, she found herself locked in a staring contest with the tent. Her uncertainty loomed large, the weight of her decision teetering back and forth. She willed herself to move, only to halt abruptly. This internal debate dragged on for what felt like an eternity until a surge of determination finally urged her to rise from her seat and traverse the sandy ground towards the tent’s entrance.

Just before she could step inside the tent, a pair of soldiers clad in polished armor stood guard, their imposing presence halting her progress.

The soldier on her left, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty, questioned, “No one is to enter. Duran’s orders.”

Airella couldn’t help but notice a subtle tremor beneath his stoic facade, a glimmer of fear betraying his outward composure.

Pondering the soldier’s reaction, Airella’s thoughts meandered. Was he scared of her? She mused silently, a flicker of curiosity dancing in her eyes.

As she stood at the threshold, a hushed whisper reached her ears from the soldier on her right.

“Just let her through, Daniel. She’s The Executioner’s daughter.” The soldiers shared a quick glance with one another, weighing the consequences of denying her or Duran.

Airella caught wind of his words, stirring a sense of unease within her. She grasped fragments of her father’s legacy, aware that he once commanded the king’s military forces with great power. However, the finer intricacies of his reign remained elusive, evading her grasp like a fleeting shadow.

With a steely resolve in her gaze, she countered the soldiers’ apprehension with a measured response.

“In case it has slipped your notice, I possess the same formidable abilities as my father once wielded,” she asserted, her voice carrying an air of undeniable authority. “Should you dare to question my capabilities, I invite you to put them to the test.”

With a graceful yet assertive movement, she navigated past the two soldiers, leveraging their trepidation to her advantage as she breezed through the tent’s billowing flaps, leaving a trail of uncertainty in her wake.