CIRCLE OF SHADOWS Part 1: Shadow Chaser
† 5 - a father’s love †

Brushing past a thorny bramble, Siril breathes wheezily, air flowing haggardly into his chest. Stumbling slightly he adjusts Talli’s limp body across his shoulders, the grey cloak hanging dully down his back. His tired muscles cramp agonizingly under the dead weight, his body pushed much harder and further than his old bones should have, he pauses as he looks at the forest surrounding him. Wiping his arms across his face, the green sleeve damp from the sweat pouring down his face, he presses the cloth against his brow.

‘Not far now.’ he mutters softly under his breath as he takes a deep breath and starts walking again. Each slow step he takes moving him deeper into the dark forest ahead. Grey dawn breaks through the darkness, grey silhouettes appearing out of the gloom. Pushing through a clump of bramble bushes growing over a hidden track he emerges at the edge of a tiny clearing, the rising sun casting the lush grass in sharp relief after the greyness behind him.

‘Halt!’ a course voice barks from the left, the order flowing through the silent air unexpected. Stopping, knees almost buckling under the weight, Siril looks around as he searches for the source of the voice.

‘Let me pass!’ he replies, voice clipped as he strains to remain upright.

‘Siril? Is that you?’ the voice enquires briskly, as a green clad man appears from behind a oak trunk, the faded green cloth hard to discern amongst the grey trees staggered around him. Siril’s rasping voice floats through the silent glade, ‘Yes, Borath! Please lower the guards so I can move through. This is getting heavy and I still have a bit to go.’ with a grunt he shuffles into the glade.

‘Yes Sir!’ the guard answers quickly before he turns away, disappearing as he retreats into the forest. The glade and trees across from Siril ripples, the forest expanding outwards as a hazily cloak shimmers into being in front of him. Nose turning as a whiff of metal tang drifts through the air, Siril moves forwards, his legs feeling stronger as a burst of energy courses through his veins. Crossing the remainder of the glade, he heads towards the trees on the opposite side, a smile creeping over his face. Glancing back as he walks under the canopy spreading above him, he notices the light green livery of the guard on watch, sitting perched in the lower branches of a great elm to the side of the track.

The guard flicks a finger in the air, a silent salute before turning around, ignoring Siril’s nod in response as he continues his dawn guard duties vigilantly. Ambling along steadily Siril feels the air contracting and bending behind him, the threshold barrier in place once again. Unnatural calm permeates the forest ahead of him as the barrier spreads invisibly all around, dulling the senses and sounds from outside, to those walking within the enclosed area.

Trudging a few yards onwards, Siril emerges from the trees out onto a wide expanse of soft grass, swaying fields of green grass rolling far into the distance. His eyes follow a silver-watered creek cutting sinuously through the fields, large trees clumped on the riverbank standing tall, thick branches arching brown and green into the clear blue sky as they cast shadows across the slow moving river. Willows grow staggered on the water’s edge, limp branches swaying lazily in the gentle breeze blowing through the air. Light blue sky dappled with wisps of white fluffy clouds spreads out overhead, the mid morning sun a glowing orb above the tree tops with birds soaring on the currents of air high above.

Gazing ahead, a smile splits Siril’s weathered face, a whisper slipping from his open lips.

‘Home!’

Soft leather boots crunching softly on the gravel of the path running between the grasses, he walks towards the creek lying ahead, thatched roofs becoming noticeable amongst the trees, scattered grey panelled cabins sprouting up along the creek.

People walk together talking amongst the houses; workers stand amongst the grass fields beyond the huts tilling fields of wheat and grain. A steady sound of chopping sounds from the forest beyond the village as villagers gather wood and stone. Walking closer Siril hears the sound of metal on stone as the blacksmith sharpens swords and axes. The Fletcher sits quietly outside his house, twining goose feathers to arrows and fixing broad arrow heads to half-lengths of wooden sticks, a pile of finished arrows to be waxed and polished lying on the ground next to him.

A cacophony of voices and laughter reaches Siril’s ears as he walks past a narrow street between the huts, causing him to walk with renewed vigour. Shifting Talli’s weight on his tired shoulder, he crosses the wooden bridge leading to the other side of the river.

‘Siril!’ A familiar voice sounds loudly behind him. Turning around Siril looks back towards the side street, grimacing as a dark haired man breaks away from a small group of brightly dressed people. Frowning with impatience, Siril watches as the man heads towards him, a slow smile spreading across the rugged face as he comes closer at a slight jog. A gaudy yellow-green cloak billows out behind the dark man him as he rushes towards Siril, fur lined edges flapping wildly in the wake of his passage.

‘Good day, Beril.’ Siril says curtly as the swirl of yellow-green stops before him, dipping his head in a quick nod before letting Talli’s limp body slip off his shoulder, placing her gently on the grass next to the path.

‘Ah, I see you have found her...,’ a breathy puffing of air as Beril looks around Siril, glancing at Talli’s still form lying on the ground, his thick lips pursed tightly together as he breathes through his nose. Thick eyebrows bending together, the peaked of a hawkish nose arching jaggedly out from his face, Beril sniffs disdainfully. ’...that is good. Welcome back.’

‘Yes I have.’ Siril answers glumly as he rubs his sore shoulders, grimacing at the bunched up muscles knotted beneath the grey cloak as he stands quietly, eyeing Beril suspiciously from the corner of his eyes.

‘Such a waste of precious time and energy that could have been put to use on something else.’ Disdain thickens Beril’s voice, his brown eyes narrowing sharply as he looks into Siril’s face, blue eyes flashing challenging.

‘Be that, as it may,’ Siril responds icily. ‘I still have to do it. It is my responsibility as a father!’

‘I know Siril! I just wish it would end. This constant running away and disappearing into the forest must stop.’

‘As do I! Alas, a wilful spirit, young or old, can be any person’s downfall, no matter whom or where they are.’

‘So...,’ Beril pauses, frowning as he contemplates Sirils pointed word. ’What punishment will be given to her this time?’

Siril’s eyes flick down to Talli and back to Beril’s face, a flash of annoyance darkening his face as he begins to speak.

‘I... shall have to think on that. I will decide what is to be her due punishment,’ voice turning softer he looks down at his clenched fists, forcing them to open. ‘But first I must rest. Therefore, for now, I shall take her back to the cabin, feed her and get her comfortable before making any rash decisions.’

Shrugging his shoulders Beril inhales deeply, voice thickening. ‘Shouldn’t she be kept in the safe-hut? Surely that will be the... proper way... of keeping her... at least till the hearing starts.’ Pausing, Beril shifts uneasily, shuffling first one foot then the other. ‘It is the correct path to follow under the circumstances, as it could be days before they convene and she may attempt another escape.’

Stepping closer to Beril, eyes flashing Siril’s voice rasps from his throat. ‘I am well aware of the proscribed protocols, Beril! But she is still my daughter!’

‘I understand that, Siril, but...’

Spittle flies from his mouth as he grabs Beril’s collar tightly with his thin hands, dragging the larger man closer as his thin voice hisses past clenched teeth.

‘I... will not... have her locked up... like... like some animal... till they decide when it is fitting to judge her fate!’ Lettings go, shaking as he steps back unsteadily, Siril’s arms fall limply to his side and he takes a deep breath, looking up sadly at the other man. ‘I am sorry about that, Beril. I am tired.’ S~ᴇaʀᴄh the Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

‘Do not fret Siril. I truly understand your concerns for her.’ with a small chuckle. ’The things our children put us through, can be very... ageing.’ Glancing behind him, Beril adds quickly. ‘Fear not, I shall speak with them. Take Talli home. Get some rest. We shall speak again soon.’

‘Thank you Beril. I am truly sorry.’

‘Do not worry, old friend, it is forgotten,’ Beril says smiling, waving his hand. ’Now go!’

With a nod of his head, Siril bends down as Beril walks away, lifting Talli tiredly up onto his shoulder. Glancing back at Beril already half way back to the small group talking together in the distance, he shakes his head sadly before heading up the gravel street running between the huts.

‘Oh well!’ mumbling gloomily to himself he trudges towards his small cabin of grey wood, climbing up two steps to the porch with his back aching he opens the door and slips inside. The thick door closes with a snick softly behind him as he walks through the dark interior. He walks through an open door to the next room, thin stripes of light shining through gaps in the wood slashing through the air around him, illuminating pieces of furniture standing inside the small room. Dropping Talli on a soft bed, Siril pulls a light blanket over her still form, gazing down at her face, wiping sadly at a curled bronze lock fallen across her forehead, the perfect curls framing her slightly angular features. Sighing he turns around and walks out and closes the door behind him. Crossing the floor to the front door, he pulls the thick curtains open, a flood of sunshine shining in through the windows, the luminous glow of gold casting the square interior in sharp relief. Dust hangs in the air, swirling as Siril moves around and the shafts of sunlight spears through the air, beams of moving light. A small table stands against the far wall, papers strewn across the dark wood panelling, a pot of black ink doubling as a paperweight holding them down. Pulling the small chair out from under the table he sits down heavily, his shoulders slumped tiredly, head hanging limply over the scattered papers as shudders rack his body. Silent sobs of frustration. Crossing his arms on the tabletop, he lays his head down. Sunlight cast in through the window behind him falls across his back, warming the chill he feels creeping from inside his body. Closing his eyes, he sinks blissfully into sleep, fatigue finally taking hold of his aged body.

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