Sins of the Father

C.R. Rice

Description

There’s a Ghost haunting the Realm

From the moment of his birth, whispers fluttered in the wind, condemning his very existence and throwing him into exile. For even in a world of magic, the teal of his eyes spoke of a chilling destiny.

Silas Frost lived out his first years in a town tucked deep within the mountains. His days were spent surrounded by hateful stares and venom-dipped words—none of which could eclipse the love and warmth that his mother had poured into him.

But one moment can change everything, and when Silas returns home to find her dead, his reality fractures. Lost in the pits of his despair, his father finds him and pulls him from the ashes, forcing him down the path of shadows. Forged into a weapon, he is masked and unleashed on any who dare to stand against his father.

Sujets

• Imaginaire
• Suspense
• Supernatural
• Young Adult Fiction
• Thrillers
• Young Adult
• Suspenso

Informations

• Publié par: 4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.
• Date de parution: 03 janvier 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781644503201
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Table o f Contents
C hapter One
C hapter Two
Cha pter Three
Ch apter Four
Ch apter Five
C hapter Six
Cha pter Seven
Cha pter Eight
Ch apter Nine
C hapter Ten
Chap ter Eleven
Chap ter Twelve
Chapte r Thirteen
Chapte r Fourteen
Chapt er Fifteen
Chapt er Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapte r Eighteen
Chapte r Nineteen
Chap ter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Tw enty-Three
Mo re to Come
About the Author



Sins of the Father: The Story of Silas
Copyright © 2021 C.R. Rice. All rights r eserved.


4 Horsemen Publicatio ns, Inc.
1497 Main St. S uite 169
Dunedin, FL 34698
4horsemenpublicat ions.com
info@4horsemenpublicat ions.com
Cover by Valeri e Willis
Typesetting by Aut umn Skye
Editor S. L . Vargas
All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain per mission.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used ficti tiously.
Library of Congress Control Number: 20 21948810
Audio ISBN: 978-1-644 50-319-5
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-644 50-320-1
Print ISBN: 978-1-644 50-321-8


For Zayn,
72



C hapter One

“G et b ack here!”
Silas burst from the tree line with wide, panicked eyes. His feet stumbled at the sudden shift of texture. The soft, plush grass of the forest was forgotten on the worn, unforgiving town roads. Rocks dug mercilessly into the soft and worn underbelly of his shoes, causing him to hiss in a painf ul breath.
The last shadows from the ancient, twisted trees fell behind him, unleashing the vibrant flare of sunshine against his sensitive eyes. Silas flinched at the searing pain in his iris as a red haze vignetted his vision. He blinked several times, attempting to clear the building blur and regain his bearings. He couldn’t afford to take a wrong turn, not t his time.
His chest heaved with exertion as he came to the edge of the hill. His eyes scanned over the town that lay below him. Simple, rustic, and forgotten. Silas hesitated, his foot hovering in its next step as his chest heaved with deep breaths. The town below wasn’t any better than the hollering tormentors be hind him.
The villagers never failed to gossip about the town’s once lively and animated aura. The blame for its tense and heavy weight fell solely upon his shoulders. At least, that is what the townspeople whispered when they thought no child was close enough to hear, vicious words and treatment over the strange teal of his eyes. The town declared him an abomination, a monster, a thing that never should have been born. Even in a Realm of magic, something as different as he was had never existed. Silas shook the haunting pain of their words away. He had more important things to worry about. The children chasing him were drawing t oo close.
Every inch of this town was imprinted on his mind, an important tool when his tormentors were on his heels. He knew which houses had the easiest porch to hide under and which one always left a single, low window open that was perfect for those emergency situations when the other kids were too close for him to hide. He knew the baker’s wife left an extra loaf of bread to cool on the windowsill every third day and a special pastry on the railing eve ry second.
He knew the butcher left his shop for exactly thirty-three minutes every fourth day with a scowl, only to come back with a strange, euphoric grin. It was during those thirty-three minutes that Silas would slip inside and steal a few minor cuts of meat for him and his mother. He knew the florist would present her newest ribbons in a grand display that drifted just above the ground, leaving him a perfect place to hide away for a few moments.
Silas’s eyes widened impossibly as his breath came out in heavy pants and the wind whistled past his ears. Long, dark hair fell over his eyes, blocking his vision and sending him sprawling onto the densely packed earth. Rocks pierced his tender palms and knees, ripping through the pants his mother had already had to patch several times. Silas groaned inwardly. She was going t o be mad.
“You can’t run forever!”
The taunting words were too close. Scrambling to his feet, Silas swallowed through the pain as fear pushed his feet impossibly faster. Relief was cruel as his house came into view between the hanging branches of the o ld trees.
Just a little farther.
Don’t run, a voice chided. You have nothin g to fear.
They are going t o hurt me!
A growl rumbled in his mind. Not if you hurt th em first.
The angry, vicious tone had dread pooling in his stomach as his vision went hazy and red. Consumed by swallowing the voice’s anger, Silas missed the low-lying branch. Pain snapped him from the panic as the branch bit into his skin, piercing his cheek before ripping free as he forced himself forward. Instantly, the feeling of warmth traced his cheek.
A relieved sob left his throat as he ran up the rickety steps of the old, worn porch. Careful to avoid the single uneven wooden plank, he slammed his palms against the rough door. His breath came in quick pants as his pursuers burst through the thin tree lining, their faces marred with anger and hate. Silas forced his eyes from the terrifying faces, his hands struggling against the simple latch. Finally, the lock gave, and Silas slipped inside, slamming the door back into place and resting his head against the scratchy surface. A thump of something smacking the door had him jolting away as fear brought a tremble to his limbs.
“Si? What’ s wrong?”
Silas flinched at the soft, closely spoken words. With a forced smile, he turned to face his mother, careful to clasp his hands behind his back. “Oh nothing,” he promised. “Just playing a game of ... catch with the ot her kids.”
A smile tugged the corners of her mouth as she took a slow step forward. His mother was pure grace, even to a child’s eye. With her moonbeam skin, night hair, and glittering eyes, she reminded Silas of the moon goddess that she often spoke of. “Playi ng catch?”
Silas swallowed against the acidic taste of the lie. “Yup,” he said. Though the entire story hadn’t been a lie—they were trying to catch him; they always were. However, the extent to which it would be considered a game versus forced play was a rather thin line.
Silas fidgeted under his mother’s eye. His hands clenching again and again, sending a fresh trickle of blood into the palm of his hand. He shifted his weight. A tightness clung to the skin of his knees, reminding him of the injuries he was sure she could see.
Instead of reprimanding him for the blatant lie, she simply smiled and knelt before him, lifting a hand to the tender wound on his cheek . “I see.”
The pain receded as a faint blue glow drifted from her fingertips and poured into his torn cheek. Silas watched his mother as the familiar feeling of his wound being mended itched his skin. “Why don’t they like me?” he whispered. “Did I do somethi ng wrong?”
His mother shook her head, a painful frown knitting her brow as she dragged her eyes to his. “No, baby, you didn’t do anything wrong. Some people are just cruel to those that are different f rom them.”
Silas pondered his mother’s words as she shifted her attention to his scuffed knees. Curiosity got the best of him as he ask ed, “Why?”
A sigh left her lips as the final scuff disappeared. Sitting back on her heels, she lifted her hands to him. “Would you mind showing me you r hands?”
Silas obliged, bringing his hands forward, palm up, as he waited for her answer. He watched the anger harden her typically soft eyes with curiosity. His eyes dropped to watch her work. With one hand, she cupped his hand, while the other lifted to rain down a faint glow that instantly cooled the burning pain. Silas released a relieve d breath.
It wasn’t until the last piece of torn skin stitched itself together that she spo ke again.
“Sometimes in this life, when the unknown or different arises, fear spreads and, with fear, comes anger and uncertainty.” She lifted a hand to brush his cheek, her eyes full of motherly love. “You are a very special boy, Silas. Never let their anger and fear of what makes you special make you feel you are anything less t han that.”


C hapter Two

L ater that night, as Silas thought over his mother’s words, his fingers moved of their own accord, constructing an elaborate pattern among the various sizes of colored stones. His mind wandered, lost in another place and time.
“Time for bed, lit tle one.”
Silas jerked in surprise, the clatter of rock-on-rock sounding as he looked at his mother’s smiling face. “Already?” he asked. His eyes drifted to the window. The sun had long since disappeared behind the mountains, leaving the moon to hang high and full in its place. Strange, he thought. For him, it seemed like mere minutes ago he had finished dinner and asked to play with his mother’s stran ge stones.
She nodded. “Af raid so.”
Silas’s hopeful expression fell as his attention was claimed by the mesmerizing pattern within the stones. “Five more minutes?”
His mother pursed her lips before shrugging and joining the cross-legged boy. Her breath a