The Souls of the Ocean (Book Two in The Tamarack Series)

by Ross Turner

  Closing her eyes, Isabel prayed to the Gods that Cole would be safe, and that, whatever it was that was plaguing her subconscious, would not harm him.

  ‘You know we cannot promise such a thing Isabella.” Ormath’s silent voice rang softly through her thoughts, the sound of it resonating deeply through her mind.

  His voice startled Isabel somewhat, for she had not heard the voice of a God in many years.

  ‘It has been some time.’ He silently agreed with her.

  ‘Ormath…’ Isabel responded unwittingly. ‘I didn’t expect…’

  ‘You are one of my own now Isabella.’ He comforted her. ‘But you know better than most, though I may wish to, I am unable to give you the reassurance you seek.’

  ‘I know.’ She said. His words rang true as Isabel’s thoughts fell to the shred of knowledge that had troubled her deeply when she had first learned of it, and in fact did so still.

  ‘Indeed’ Her God agreed with her. ‘I, nor my brothers or sister, have the power to ensure prevention of what so troubles you.’ He was, as Isabel had guessed, referring to the unnerving truth that the Gods did not have total control over their world, as many believed to be the case. In fact, it was becoming more and more apparent to her that they had very little influence indeed.

  She glanced out of the square, framed window in Cole’s bedroom that gave a darkened view over the vast commons in the distance, the soft rise and fall of the land evident against the skyline even in the midst of the night.

  ‘As you have guessed my child, there is more afoot here than it first seemed.’ Ormath continued. ‘Even we do not know what is to come.’ He warned, speaking for Ayva and Enthel and Koack as well.

  Isabel sighed. She had been entirely correct, it seemed, but she was still no closer to knowing what the nagging truth plaguing her subconscious was. And, she imagined, she would remain in the dark until the time for her to know eventually came - an unnerving prospect indeed.

  ‘Sleep Isabella.’ Ormath comforted her as best he could, considering the circumstances. ‘I am certain all will reveal itself in due course.’ His words were gentle, but Isabel could not help but notice a hint of concern, uncertainty, even worry, in His voice. Clearly the Gods shared her disquiet regarding the unknown that seemed to be creeping so rapidly up on them.

  Her three nightmares in a row, the most recent of which she had never had before, were not due to chance, and she knew that all too well. They were a warning, a sign. But of what, she did not know. And apparently neither did her Gods.

  ‘Goodnight Ormath.’ She thought caringly and sincerely, before pulling the door to Cole’s room closed and returning silently to her bed.

  ‘Goodnight Isabel…Goodnight Cole.’ The ancient and wise voice sounded quietly, though Isabel knew that all the wisdom in the world could not prepare them for what was still yet to come.

  4

  As per usual, Cole excelled that following morning in his tuition and, though it was by no means necessary, it was viewed very highly by society if an individual could read and write and make accurate calculations. Isabel was, as always, very pleased with her son’s efforts, and he continued to show further and further improvement, far surpassing the ability of any of the other children of his own age.

  That morning however, Cole had seemed less than enthusiastic, and more than a little preoccupied. It was not until he had finished and could set his studies aside that his troubled thoughts came to surface in words.

  “Mother, when did you realise you had demonic power?” His voice was sincere and his eyes pleading. It was a question Cole had asked her in the past, but never so directly, and with so much obvious pain. Isabel thought for a moment, considering her son’s sudden words.

  “I was very young.” She replied, not in an evasive manner, but a cautious one. “I don’t remember my awakening, but my father was there when it happened.”

  “Your awakening?” He repeated.

  “Yes. The moment you discover you have potential, and simultaneously the first time you make use of it.” She told him.

  “What happens? The first time you discover your potential I mean?” Cole asked, his intrigue deepening as this new knowledge that he had not possessed before began coming to light.

  “It can be very dangerous.” Isabel replied carefully, eyeing her son’s reactions. “It depends entirely on how much potential you have, how old you are, and particularly what you’re thinking at the time. So, until it happens, you really have no idea.” She explained patiently, though still somewhat warily.

  “So, it could be something very small, something you would hardly notice at all…” Cole began, his mind working rapidly. “Or something enormous, something so cataclysmic that everyone with demonic power would know?” He seemed excited by the prospect. Isabel eyed him thoughtfully and sent a gentle thought, a probe, barely even a whisper, out to touch his mind. She sensed nothing at all and relaxed her will, content than Cole had not awakened without her realising.

  “Yes.” She replied. “That’s what makes it so dangerous. It’s always best to have another person with demonic power with you when you awaken, but there’s never any guarantee.”

  “How was it that grandfather was there when you awakened?” Cole asked, before changing his question on an impulse. “What was grandfather like?” Isabel smiled at the memory of her father, but also felt an all-too familiar pang of regret.

  “He was very caring. He looked after me very closely. He gave his life for me.” Tears almost stood in her eyes as she spoke quietly. Cole said nothing.

  After a few moments Isabel swallowed deeply and continued, wiping her eyes forcefully.

  “When I was young, there were still many demons loose in Land.”

  Cole nodded in response, knowing from the many tales he had heard of his parents’ exploits that the Isle of Ayva had once been known as the Land of the Demon-Lord.

  “So everyone watched their children very closely, especially those parents who already had demonic power.” Isabel continued. “Nowadays, just as many people have the potential, most people do in fact, but fewer people recognise it, and most of them never even awaken. With the demons gone, it’s not so important now…”

  Cole absorbed everything his mother said with awe before replying.

  “So…if I have the potential, I may never even know…if I never need to use it?” He formulated slowly. Isabel pondered his question for a moment before replying.

  “Yes, that could be the case.” She agreed. “If the need were to arise, and you do have the potential, you would undoubtedly awaken, but if the need never arose, which, without the demons, it is unlikely to, you may never know.” He sighed as she confirmed his thoughts in one swift blow.

  “At least, even if I never awaken, I may have potential without even knowing it.” He concluded glumly.

  They remained silent for a minute before Cole spoke again, once more on something of an impulse.

  “Will I ever have to defeat anyone like Depozi?” He asked his mother. A lump caught in Isabel’s throat as the question struck her like a great blow, powerful enough to fell even the most shielding and protective of parents.

  There was recognition in his words, recognition in her mind, but she could not let it show. Her features remained untouched by the small piece of knowledge she had just gleaned, even as she replied to her only son’s question.

  “No sweetheart.” She said in a level voice, though her mind raced and screamed, objecting to the words she spoke. “I don’t think so.”

  It was then that Zanriath entered the room. He walked in rubbing his hands together to warm them from the outside chill that had crept in that day.

  The look in Cole’s eyes as his father appeared, Isabel immediately noticed, was the combined expression of an adolescent fear of inadequacy, and the single, deep, overwhelming desire to prove himself and his potential to those he loved most dearly.

  That fear she saw in her child struck a note of alarm in Isabel’s he
art that she could not shake; for though she knew of her son’s torment, she knew not how to release him from it.

  “Cole…” Isabel began, eyeing her husband warily, with clear concern in her eyes. He picked up on her disconcerted expression and stepped to intervene. “We have finished for today.” She continued, as if nothing had passed between her and Zanriath. “Could you pick a few things up from the market for me please?”

  “Yes mother.” He replied automatically, almost submissively, giving in not so much to Isabel, but to the new knowledge of hopelessness only adding to the desperations that were drowning him.

  Cole fetched his coat and shoes while Isabel drew up a hasty list. Within minutes, Cole, following brief instruction on the correct quantities of the spices and foods Isabel had scribed, was out in the chill air and walking briskly towards the jumbled mass of houses and stalls that was Kalaris’ market.

  Isabel turned to her Zanriath and fell into his embrace without a word, bringing her arms in close to her body and her hands to his chest. He held her for some time before they spoke again.

  Many a time had they had this conversation, or one very similar, and they still had yet to construct a solution to their worries.

  “He was asking about the demonic again.” Isabel whispered to her husband. “But this time he asked about my father, and my awakening.” Zanriath held her tight and listened closely, sensing there was something else. Isabel sighed. “And he asked whether he will have to fight someone like Depozi.” A lump caught in Zanriath’s throat, just as it had done in Isabel’s.

  “It’s over Isabel.” He reassured her. “There aren’t any more demons, so he won’t ever have to. Like you said, people were trying to discover their potentials because it was the only defence anyone had against the demons. But now they’re gone, there’s not the same need for Demon-Slayers anymore.”

  “He doesn’t want to fight demons.” Isabel sighed regretfully. “He wants to make us proud.” Zanriath started for a moment, admittedly a little surprised.

  “We are proud.” He said resolutely.

  “I know we are.” Isabel replied rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. “But he doesn’t think so. He’s so disappointed in himself.” She sighed sadly.

  “He needn’t be.” Zanriath said. “He probably does have potential, but it won’t show now the demons are gone. It’s over.” He concluded, reiterating his point. Isabel pushed back slightly and looked up to her husband, her hands resting openly on his chest, tears standing in her eyes.

  “What if it’s not?” She said in a voice so hushed and full of fear that it was barely audible. Zanriath stared at her incredulously.

  It was then that Isabel told him of the nagging feeling that had been plaguing her. She told him of the dream she’d had the night before, how vivid it had been, and of her conversation with Ormath outside Cole’s bedroom.

  “That’s three nightmares in a row now Zan.” She struggled. “That’s never happened before.”

  “Hmm.” He said, his mind racing, churning over possibilities. “And how did Ormath sound when you spoke to Him?” He asked.

  The answer to that question would have, in the past, been a universal one. But the deep, incomprehensible knowledge and power that was once the voice of their God, had indeed not been the same. There was but one word that Isabel could think of to describe it.

  “Afraid.”

  “Oh dear.” Zanriath replied in something of an understatement.

  “Depozi is gone.” Isabel said, flitting through thoughts wildly in her mind. “And the demons were banished, but they still exist. They’re still there.”

  Zanriath stared as his worried wife with deep sorrow, understanding now the trail of her frightened thoughts.

  “They still want Tamarack.” She whispered. “I can feel it. All they need is a way in.”

  5

  Cole’s stride lengthened as he paced his way through the village. His hands were stuffed into his coat to keep them warm against the cold of the approaching winter and he held his mother’s list tightly clenched in one fist.

  Gravel crunched and grass squelched under his feet as he made his way between the squat stone houses. There were no roads to speak of in small villages like Kalaris, and the buildings were mostly surrounded by grass, damp and spongy under his weight, and the occasional littered stone path was evident to keep the mud at bay.

  In the darkening shadow of the looming Kalaren Peaks to the north, the troubled young man hurried on. The mountains so far above were no longer simply tipped with snow, but looked rather like they were structures of half rock and half ice protruding up from the gentle, rolling landscape all around.

  Cole had often wondered how the mountains of Inferno Range compared to those of the Kalaren Peaks, and if they looked just as out of place in the mostly gentle and rolling landscape of Rilako. But, forever concealed to the north behind those summits overlooking his home, he had never yet been able to find out.

  A strange pang of regret coursed through Cole and, with that feeling suddenly burning fiercely inside of him, the young man silently vowed to one day venture to the northern reaches of Rilako to visit Inferno Range for himself. Little did he know that the selfsame feeling was one that his father had felt for many long years during his childhood, and it too, accompanied by a strange and saddening set of circumstances, had also driven him into the arms of the mountains.

  With his thoughts still wandering elsewhere, Cole moved between the stone houses and stores with a strange speed and purpose that he was almost unaware of, and barely recognised. Stone walls, wooden framed windows, and stout, heavy front doors seemed to pass by him in a blur, his focus elsewhere, but his body still performing its tasks, seemingly without the need of a mind to guide it.

  Suddenly, a cold wind caught him off guard and he shivered and, looking up from his bizarre daze, he realised he had already reached his destination. Before him the market was buzzing with life, and the low murmur of trade gradually reached his ears with the kind of resentful urgency that was only felt a few times each year.

  This particularly urgency was that of the merchants, desperately trying to sell their remaining stock before the harsh bitterness of winter came into full force and the pace of everyone’s lives slowed considerably, drying up commerce for some time.

  It was clear that many of them were weary from travel, and had probably been on the move for most of the year between various towns and markets. Though winter would slow their lives to a crawl, some were probably even somewhat thankful for the approaching snows, for they looked forward each year to the respite that winter brought them.

  Most stands and stalls were simply stout wooden tables with a canvas sheet drawn above them for cover from any form of precipitation, and some had not even that. Products ranged greatly from toys and tools to crockery and vegetables, most clearly past their prime, and sweets and savouries no longer fresh, but still more than welcome when there was little else to come for the next few months.

  Times were not often hard, for all in the community did their part to provide, but it was always true that the winter months were the leanest to be had.

  Cole could see many of the children of the village ogling the produce, either on errands like him, or simply along for some entertainment before they were confined to much less exploratory lifestyles for the cold months.

  Some of the children eyed Cole warily when they saw him. Others ignored him, and some talked and snickered to each other while his back was turned. In all honesty, Cole did not really care what the other children thought of him.

  He had long since adopted an indifference that even he himself did not quite understand, but was grateful for. It meant he was unaffected as to whether they thought of him as powerful and frightening, or fraudulent and failing compared to his parents, or, much more simply, that he was just a bit odd for having so few friends, save a strange blind lady almost twice his age.

  Regardless, he moved through the mass of children and
adults and stalls purposefully, and it did not take him long to work his way down the list his mother had given him. He spent her money carefully, as he always did, and was rewarded by finishing with much more remaining than he had expected.

  By now he knew which of the merchants and keepers were more desperate to sell their goods than others, as they likely had to return to Akten on Avrik before the bad weather hit, and so, consequently, he could drive a harder bargain, and still get the best remaining produce.

  It was a game he always enjoyed playing, and the young man bartered most skilfully.

  Feeling somewhat pleased and successful, Cole turned and began for home, when, out of the blue, a crowd gathered about a very tall and thin man with paper white skin caught his eye. The man he recognised as a local by the name of Crane, and he was often seen with an audience at The Lonely Peak, the village’s only tavern.

  He seemed in engaging animation with his audience as Cole approached, and his enormously long and skinny arms wove huge circles and created dips and rises in the air, as he brought new and refreshed to life the tale he was telling.

  Cole had always found the man quite strange, and somewhat intimidating. Like his body, his face seemed unusually thin and long and his short black hair was untidy, though quite short. His eyes were a strange colour that there seemed to be no name for, a mixture of black and grey and brown, and they flitted all around madly, looking always somewhat possessed.

  Zanriath had often told Cole of how Crane recited tales in the tavern for drinks and food and often a bed, as no one knew of a home that he owned. Though, sometimes, his father had told him that Crane would often refuse such offers, and wove tales of the past simply for the sake of keeping them alive.

  As Cole approached the crowd, somewhat apprehensively, few saw him. But one of those few was indeed Crane, for his strangely coloured and fiercely piercing eyes were always sharp, taking in every detail of the mass gathered before him. He gave no hint to indicate that Cole’s approach had altered his rhythm, but after a few moments, as Cole came into earshot, he brought his story to a close.