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

Chapter 16

Airella couldn’t help but feel a shiver run down her spine as she looked down at the familiar pale face before her. Fresh droplets of gold blood seeped from the corners of his mouth, a stark contrast to his pallid complexion, casting an eerie aura that seemed to amplify his somewhat daunting presence.

Her gaze shifted to notice the subtle blush of red on one of his cheeks, a stark yet delicate touch of color amidst the otherwise ghostly visage. As her eyes traveled downward, she observed the untended gold stain that adorned his chest, a silent reminder of some past encounter left unhealed.

When his yellow-eyed gaze met hers, she felt an inexplicable chill, as if his intense stare could pierce right through her.

“I’m just getting a lot of visitors lately, aren’t I?” His voice held a curious mix of amusement and something more enigmatic, his eyes glistening with a hint of their mesmerizing golden hue.

Airella found herself caught between deciphering his intentions, unsure if his words carried a hint of sarcasm or a deeper meaning beneath the surface. Choosing not to dwell too much on the uncertainty, she simply ignored his words, her own thoughts swirling with unanswered questions.

“Why did you help us? Me, even?” She asked in a somewhat demanding tone, thinking back to the moment he had pushed her from the winged Miscreant’s attack.

“Why did you chop off the beast’s claw for my sake?” He countered, which Airella believed to be quite mocking.

She shook her head, unable to give him an answer. “I’m not the one tied to a post here,” she said with a hint of frustration clear in her voice as she crossed her arms, a mix of emotions swirling within her.

“I couldn’t simply abandon all of you to face that fate,” he spoke softly, concern etched on his features. It seemed unthinkable to him, a waste of precious lives. With a brief pause, he continued, “And well, I can’t learn more about your people if you’re all dead, can I?” Airella observed the hint of uncertainty in his tone, the way his gaze shifted, strands of his white hair cascading over his eyes.

She continued to observe him silently, her thoughts racing. Perhaps Jonathan was onto something; maybe Sirius did harbor genuine intentions to aid them. Despite her reservations, doubts lingered in her mind, unsure of what the future held.

“Look, after the fight with the winged Miscreant,” Airella started, her voice tinged with concern as she observed the aftermath of the battle on Sirius’s chest. “I noticed you had some bad flesh wounds on your chest. I brought some bandage here if you want me to wrap you up.” Uncertainty lingered in the air as Airella hesitated, unsure of the gravity of the situation unfolding before her.

A nod from Sirius encouraged her, prompting Airella to take slow, deliberate steps towards him.

With a sense of urgency, she retrieved the bandage she had discreetly taken from Duran’s tent during his absence. As she carefully wound the bandage around Sirius’s upper chest, her touch gentle yet purposeful, she couldn’t help but notice the unusual gray hue of his skin beneath the fabric.

Airella felt his unfaltering gaze as she worked, his eyes holding a new intensity and a hint of vulnerability. Airella, feeling a twinge of unexpected emotion, nervously bit her lip, breaking the charged moment between them. Despite the curiosity gnawing at her, she remained silent, opting not to probe into this enigmatic aspect of Sirius’s being.

As she finished securing the bandage around his chest, she rose to her feet with a mix of determination and apprehension evident in her eyes.

“You’re coming with us as we venture further into the island,” she stated firmly, her mind flashing back to the sight of the men laboring to construct their prison wagon on her walk here. “Your skills may prove invaluable should we encounter other miscreants along the way, given your exceptional resourcefulness,” she added, her voice tinged with a hint of concern for his well-being.

Despite having no obligation to assist them, Duran’s unwavering conviction in the man’s abilities seemed to tip the scales. For the time being, it was a choice between aiding their cause or facing the death at the hands of Duran. If they could even kill him, a Miscreant.

His face had returned to its emotionless state as he watched the blonde leave the tent. She turned her head in his direction, making one last moment of eye contact before exiting without a goodbye and heading to her own tent.

The moon cast a soft glow over the campsite, illuminating the fluttering shadows of the surrounding trees as a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, creating a serene ambiance in the night’s stillness. As she walked, she couldn’t help but overhear the sounds of commotion going on inside of Duran’s tent. Being as curious as she had been to see Sirius just moments before, she peeked into the entrance of the tent.

“Duran, we have to go back.” Jonathan pleaded, his voice laced with concern, but Duran remained steadfast, his eyes unwavering.

“Shut up. You don’t have the authority to give me orders.” Duran’s retort echoed through the tense atmosphere.

“We can’t afford to linger here any longer, can’t you see that?” Jonathan implored, frustration evident in his gestures. “It’s too perilous for our people to stay.”

Duran’s confidence surged. “We possess the means to triumph over these creatures, Jonathan. We must strategize, understand our foes’ vulnerabilities. Then, we’ll rally our forces from Eldaraya and—”

“Stop trying to be Lysander! What are you trying to achieve? You’re not him, so cease this pursuit of an unattainable ideal. Your tactics are turning you callous, not formidable.” Jonathan interjected firmly.

Duran looked at him, and his gaze eventually turned into a deadly stare. By this time, his broken nose had swollen and turned purple. His hand had been carefully tended to, the bandage neatly wrapped around his hand.

“Get out of my tent,” Duran spoke with coldness wrapped in his voice, the chilling tone sending shivers down Airella’s spine, causing her to shudder.

Jonathan, feeling a surge of disappointment, shut his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself, before he turned to walk out of the tent. Airella, sensing his dismissal, stamped out of his path, feeling invisible in his presence.

As she gathered her thoughts, she turned back to the entrance of the tent, a mix of determination and fear swirling within her. She knew that now was the opportune moment to seek answers about her father, to unravel the secrets shrouding her past.

Summoning her courage, she took a tentative step forward and ventured inside. Upon entering, she noticed Duran had his back turned to her, his imposing figure dominating the space.

“Now what, Jonathan?” He growled, his voice dripping with disdain as he glanced over his shoulder. Realizing that the intruder was not Jonathan, he swiftly adopted a more menacing demeanor. “What do you think you’re doing in here? I didn’t give you permission to enter. And where is your armor? We have a Miscreant captive in our camp and you’re not wearing your armor? Just get out of my sight.” Duran’s eyes blazed with fury, a storm brewing behind his intense gaze.

“I need answers,” Airella asserted, her gaze unwavering as she met Duran’s fiery stare, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. Despite her inner turmoil, she masked her trembling voice with a facade of bravery, determined not to show weakness.

Duran advanced towards her, his massive frame looming over her, casting a shadow of intimidation.

“I said get out,” he barked, his voice resonating with authority, his steely gaze challenging her defiance.

Airella refused to yield this time. A steely resolve etched on her features. She silently vowed that things would change, that she would no longer be fearful of this ill-tempered man. In a defiant gesture, she stood her ground as Duran seized her shoulders, his forceful grip propelling her towards the exit, the tension between them palpable in the stifling air of the tent.

“Wait!” She squirmed, feeling the urgency rising within her. “I need to know more about my father.”

Duran let out a sigh, his grip loosening as he looked at her intently. “Why, you little rat... eavesdropping, eh?”

“Please, Duran. I have to know.” She heeled him as he made his way to a worn chair in his makeshift tent.

Duran, with a nostalgic look in his eyes, reached for a rag dampened with cold water and pressed it gently against his bruised nose.

“That man,” he began, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips as Airella stood before him, eager for every detail. “He was a legend, a friend, and Jonathan’s mentor. Lysander Devereaux was what every ordinary man dreamed of being. His strength was extraordinary, unmatched, and his willpower was akin to that of a god.”

Airella listened intently, captivated by the image being painted of this remarkable figure.

“His nickname, The Executioner,” she inquired with genuine curiosity, her eyes reflecting the desire to uncover the missing pieces of her father’s tale. This was the part of the story she felt had eluded her for so long, and now she was on the brink of unraveling its secrets.

Duran raised an eyebrow as he looked at her from behind his desk. His gaze held a mix of curiosity and concern, his expression betraying a hint of somberness.

“A master of war and an inspiration to Eldarayan soldiers everywhere,” he began, his voice carrying a weight of history and reverence. “During the War of Aurian, he single-handedly turned the tide of battle, felling thousands of enemy soldiers with just one swift stroke of his legendary battle axe. Dawnbreaker. It was astonishing and the most inhuman thing anyone had ever seen.” His eyes shifted to the axe strapped to her back.

Pausing for a moment, Duran’s eyes seemed to drift into the past, lost in contemplation of the events that had unfolded. “He proved himself not just as a warrior, but as a leader of unmatched skill and courage, earning the esteemed title of the king’s hand and war general. As his closest confidant,” Duran’s voice softened, tinged with a hint of wistfulness, “I couldn’t help but become envious of my best friend. What had he possessed that I lacked? What secret to success had eluded me for so long?”

Turning to face Airella, his gaze intense, Duran’s demeanor shifted, a sense of urgency creeping into his tone. “The both of you... initially, many believed it to be the work of dark magic, myself included,” he confessed, his words heavy with the weight of revelation. “But now, with the truth laid bare about the secrets hidden on this island, I realize it’s something far more profound, far more extraordinary.” Rising from his seat, Duran loomed over Airella, casting a shadow that seemed to stretch beyond the confines of the room. “You, Airella Devereaux, are no mere mortal,” he declared, his voice carrying a sense of coldness.

Airella, taken aback by the gravity of his words, felt a surge of defiance rise within her.

“What do you mean?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing, a spark of curiosity igniting within her.

Duran’s gaze bore into her, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.

“Your lineage,” he began, his voice barely above a rough whisper, “it’s not of this world. The blood that flows through your veins carries a legacy far older, far more powerful than you can imagine. You, my dear, are a being of legend, a Miscreant born of ancient myths and forgotten truths.”

Airella’s disbelief was palpable, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “No, that can’t be true. My mother is human, and so was my father.” Her words faltered, her arms rising in a futile gesture of defense as Duran drew closer, the revelation of her true nature looming ever closer.

“I will not let you or anyone else get in my way of my duties. I will surpass your father and bring glory to Eldaraya with the civilization of this island. As for you, you’ll just end up like your father. Locked away and left for dead along with the rest of the Miscreants that lurk upon this island,” he spat, his words filled with venom, causing Airella to stumble and fall to the floor of the tent, the weight of his threats crashing down on her.

Her eyes filled with tears, reflecting the turmoil within her. What if it was all true? What if she really was one of those things the elders spoke of in hushed tones? The thought sent shivers down her spine as she scrambled to her feet, a sense of dread pushing her to flee the tent, leaving Duran standing alone in his place, his cruel intentions echoing in the air behind her.