Page 50 of Isle of Beasts and Shadows

“The name’s Odelle, child,” she introduced herself with a hint of amusement in her voice. “Though I’m sure you’re far older than me.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she observed Sirius, trying to gauge his reaction.

“I had a vision just now,” Sirius pressed on, his tone filled with curiosity. “What did you do?”

“Oh, dear,” Odelle replied nonchalantly, a small smile playing on her lips. “I wouldn’t call that anything but a few side effects of the potions I had to use on you.” Her gaze held a mix of mystery and wisdom, hinting at a deeper understanding of the situation.

As Sirius delved into his thoughts, recalling any information about the few witches that used to patrol the isle, a sense of intrigue filled the air.

“Magic used by witches is personal,” he mused aloud. “What ties do you have to the princess and the king?”

Odelle let out a soft chuckle, a twinkle in her eyes. “Wow, I’m impressed,” she remarked, her demeanor playful yet enigmatic. “What vision did you see, exactly?”

“Answer my question,” Sirius insisted, his gaze unwavering.

With a graceful gesture, Odelle waved her hand in the air, a subtle sign of her confidence. “Stubborn child,” she teased lightly. “We all have our secrets. You keep mine, and I’ll keep yours, Miscreant.” Her words carried a hint of warning, laced with a touch of familiarity. “Princess Thea is my granddaughter,” she revealed, a mix of pride and protectiveness in her tone. “My daughter, the late Queen Elara, married the king, and I stayed here. I couldn’t be caught with my potion-making in the castle, could I?”

“I need something of you.” Sirius narrowed his eyes and brushed past her, walking back inside the dimly lit one-room cottage, the musty scent of herbs and potions filling the air.

“Oh, and what’s that?” She asked in a raspy old voice, curiosity piqued as she followed Sirius back inside, her worn hands clutching the edges of her tattered shawl.

“I need a masking potion,” Sirius uttered with urgency, his voice tinged with concern. In the vivid tapestry of his mind, he could see King William’s regal figure conversing with Princess Thea about the imminent ball set to take place that very night. “She’s a magic wielder, you know,” he added, emphasizing the mystical nature of the princess.

Taking a seat once more in the cozy dining area, Sirius winced slightly in discomfort, his gaze wandering around the cluttered room adorned with an assortment of enigmatic artifacts and ancient tomes. Amidst the mystical relics, his mind remained focused on the task at hand.

“The masking potion is for Airella. I can manage myself,” he affirmed, determination gleaming in his eyes.

Odelle, with an air of solemnity, interjected, “I’ve witnessed these visions as well. Our bloodline pulsates with untold magic, a carefully concealed secret we’ve safeguarded diligently. Thea, my dear Thea, remains veiled to the truth for years, her potential shrouded in mystery. I see her lost and adrift, unaware of the immense power she holds, trapped within the confines of that castle.” Her voice carried a weight of sorrow and determination as she spoke. “I’ll brew the potion for you, but not without an exchange,” Odelle declared firmly, her hands resting on her hips. The crackling flames from the hearth danced in the background, casting a warm glow upon herweathered countenance, revealing a juxtaposition of shrewdness and ancient wisdom etched in her features.

“What do you need?” Sirius crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering, though he winced as a sharp pang shot through his side, a reminder of the battle that had brought him to this peculiar abode. He watched intently as her blank stare transformed into a sinister grin, the dim light flickering ominously.

“Your blood, the blood of a Miscreant. Not a lot, but enough to make a good potion. Grab that bottle right next to you and I’ll get the knife.” Odelle finished her demand, her voice echoing with a chilling intensity as she reached for a knife that gleamed malevolently in the candlelight, adding an element of foreboding to the eerie scene.

“Why didn’t you just take my blood while you were working on me?” Sirius questioned, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of concern. The witch, with an expression of patience and wisdom, replied calmly, “Had I did that, you wouldn’t be alive right now. You needed time to heal, to regain your strength from within.” Gesturing gracefully, she motioned for him to offer his hand, a mix of trust and uncertainty flickering in Sirius’s eyes.

Sirius, though feeling a sense of unease creeping up within him, extended his left hand towards her, a mixture of apprehension and compliance evident in his actions. As the sharp blade met his skin, a moment of discomfort flashed across his face, quickly replaced by a stoic resolve.

The witch deftly guided him to clench his fist, urging the gold liquid to flow forth, each droplet cascading into the awaiting glass bottle below. The vessel gradually filled to its brim, shimmering under the dim light of the room.

Once Sirius completed the ritualistic task, he observed the newly formed gash on his palm, a blend of fascination and wariness in his gaze.

The witch, with a hint of nostalgia in her eyes, commented softly, “I’ve needed Miscreant blood for a long time. They are becoming scarce in these lands, the remnants fading into obscurity. The few we encounter are often like me, veiled in secrecy, concealing our true nature.” A subtle chuckle escaped her lips as she carefully stowed the filled bottle into her satchel, preparing to depart.

Wrapping his hand with a bandage, Sirius winced slightly from the fragrant herbs interwoven within the fabric, their soothing aroma mingling with the metallic tang of blood. As he exhaled a weary sigh, the weight of the unknown future ahead settling upon his shoulders, he couldn’t help but ponder the mysteries that lay shrouded in the shadows of the witch’s cryptic words.

“Now, this potion has a limited use,” Odelle explained in a hushed tone, her voice carrying a hint of mystery. “It will only last for about an hour.” With careful steps, she reentered the room, the glass bottle clutched in her slender fingers, its contents swirling like liquid fire.

Sirius accepted it with a mix of apprehension and curiosity, aware of the weight of this gift.

“Use it wisely,” Odelle advised, her words laced with ancient wisdom. As if to ensure its safekeeping, she presented him with a small satchel, its fabric soft. Sirius handled the precious potion with great care, treating it as if it were made of fragile glass.

Sitting down beside Airella, whose peaceful slumber painted a serene picture, Sirius felt the weight of the impending task ahead. The air outside carried the whispers of a setting sun, signaling the approaching dusk. The royal ball, a place of opulence and intrigue, awaited them.

Reflecting on his encounter with the witch, Sirius couldn’t shake off the feeling that his vision held more significance than a mere dream. It felt real, tangible, like a thread connecting him to a larger tapestry of fate.

Gently rousing Airella from her sleep, Sirius whispered her name with a tenderness that belied the urgency in his voice. Her eyes, vibrant and multicolored, widened in surprise as they met his gaze.

“Sirius? You’re okay?” Airella’s voice carried a mix of relief and joy as she threw her arms around him in a heartfelt embrace.

Sirius winced, a reminder of his tender chest, causing her to retreat apologetically. He let out a pained chuckle, his eyes crinkling with amusement. Airella’s smile, bright as a sunbeam, put him at ease despite the looming mission ahead.

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