Symphony of Shadows

56. Blast

A/N: Next chapter will be posted Wednesday at around 8pm European Eastern Standard Time!

On Berserker Island...

The smell of death and the sound of destruction overwhelmed Dagur's senses as he tried to sort out the mess on his island. Boat after boat of Meatheads docked in the Berserker Harbor. They all told the same story of a giant sea dragon demolishing their island with balls of blue fire. Dagur had felt the earth tremors a few days ago but had brushed them off as an anomaly. Boy, had he been wrong. He hated being in the dark about an unknown threat but felt lucky his people hadn't been the ones to suffer the attack.

The poor tribe had barely escaped with their tails tucked behind their legs. They'd fled in fear that the beast would come back and finish them all off. They didn't have the defenses to hold it off. Most of them looked half-dead, while the rest smelled like it. Those who suffered critical injuries hadn't actually made contact with the dragon but instead had been crushed in the rubble from the blasts. Crushed bones and severed limbs had their village healer working overtime. Fortunately, the Meathead healer survived and was now sharing the brunt of the load with Revna, his tribe's healer. Amputations were common, and the screams of patients could be heard throughout the island.

Dagur had already met with the Meathead leader, Chief Mogadon with the eyepatch and peg leg, who seemed utterly dejected. He was a man of few words but conveyed the idea that the tribe had been at the utter mercy of the sea monster. Chief to chief, they'd agreed that the Berserkers would be the ones to manage the new defenses in case of another attack. He'd already sent his men to set up the catapults on the north side of the island, where they were most vulnerable to an attack.

"Do you think we'll have enough space for them all?"

Einar asked in a hushed tone, careful to keep his question out of the hearing range of the refugees trudging to the Great Hall.

It was the question they all had been thinking. They only had a certain number of resources to repart among the Berserkers—let alone another tribe.

"Einar, I appreciate the question, but now is not the time. Refrain from your commentary and help lift the wounded from that ship over there that just docked, please? Thank you."

Dagur tried to keep his tone pleasant, but it was becoming increasingly difficult when the burden on his shoulders was becoming a hell of a lot heavier. Didn't he have enough on his plate with the Svikari? Now he had to deal with this?

He needed a vacation.

Unfortunately, that would have to wait.

To his right, Sigurd sighed and hoisted a limping woman over his shoulder like she was a bag of wool. She looked back at Dagur in amusement and patted Sigurd's side.

"I'm not complaining, big guy."

Sigurd simply grunted and nodded.

"I'll go see if we have any spare cots, Chief."

Dagur tried to contain his chuckle at the unlikely pair and refocused his attention on directing the flow of people.

"Welcome to Berserker Island; you're home away from home. If you need a healer, please join Group A to your first tourist destination. If you need accommodations, follow me, your humble tour guide, to the Great Hall."

The Meatheads were not exactly thrilled at his witty commentary but followed his instructions. Oh well, at least he was trying to look on the bright side.

His group was made up of four women, three children, and one man. Two of the kids couldn't be older than eight, and the third one looked like a young teenager. Heavy darkness filled his mind. Who could do something to hurt such innocent people? To hurt children?