Lord of the Island

Chapter Five of Forgotten

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The next snippet of Forgotten is here! This piece is written by the wonderful Ruby Miner. Enjoy!

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Devon sat with his hands on his chin. He was sitting in a chair of the finest skins, facing a large window overlooking the island.

He looked first at the glittering ocean, then at the docks, the village, and the farms.

Everything he had known and watched for as long as he could remember.

There was a short knock on the door, and Devon called him in.

“Sir. I have my report ready.”

He waved his hand, “What is it? Make it quick.”

He read in a slow, monotone voice that Devon had known for too long. The report droned on about farming statistics, village trading, the birth rate, and on and on and on.

Before he finished, Devon flicked his wrist in a dismissive gesture. He hadn’t turned around, still looking at the harbor, but he knew that his reporter was hurriedly rolling up his scroll and had a sad expression that he hadn’t been able to finish reading.

He heard the door close behind him, and he leaned down, resting his elbows on his knees.

Everything was the same.

Day after day.

Nobody but the few guards and the reporter had ever known he existed.

No one knew that he watched over the island like a silent shadow, keeping it in check, driving away trouble where he saw fit.

Alone. That was how he felt in all of this.

He ran his hands through his hair.

He had tried capturing people from the village, asking them where they were from and who they were a decade ago.

But the answer was always the same.

“It has always been.”

There was another sharp knock on the door. “Come in!” He said sharply.

“Sir. The prisoner is willing to talk.”

Would he talk? Devon was afraid that he would only tell him the same thing. The same thing everyone else had told him.

He stood up half-heartedly and drew his black cloak close around him. He let the guard follow behind him as he wound through his dark fortress. The outside walls were camouflaged into their surroundings, having been laced with thick foliage, but inside, it was dark and dimly lit, each corridor nearly the same as the other.

He opened the door and sat on the chair beside a long, sturdy stone table. A man sat opposite him. He knit his brows. “Who are you?”

“You need not know that. Now, I will let you go if you answer one question.” He leaned forward, placing his black-sleeved elbows onto the table. The other man fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze, and he felt a sort of satisfaction at that. “What is the first thing you can remember?”

“I-I don’t know. Someone kidnapped me and put this hood over my head. Then I was unblindfolded here. And the—”

Devon frowned, “No. I mean, your first memory. Ever.”

The man knit his brows again, and a wrinkle was starting to form there. Devon guessed that that man had usually worn a smile for as long as he could remember, doing his happy little things in his happy, pre-planned life.

“I’ve been a farmer all my life. I don’t know anything past that—I-I’m sorry. Can I go back now?”

Devon looked down. He clenched his fist. “Yes, you can go back.”

“Guards! Bring him back to his farm on the East side,” he said, striding out of the room. Once out of sight, he pulled back his hood and frowned, his eyes downcast.

No one had ever satisfactorily answered his question.

But somehow, deep down, he knew someone would.

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