The Kingdom of Tamarack (Book One in The Tamarack Series)

by Ross Turner

  In an instant, Isabel felt his mind spreading to the surroundings, pushing everything it touched. Immensely powerful, he needn’t have used his soul too, but he was cruel.

  With all her strength, she protected herself and her unconscious father, but it was wasted effort. Her energy was swallowed by the boy’s enormous power, a mere stepping-stone in his path.

  With her eyes tightly shut and her arms wrapped around her father, it was as if a black hole bore down upon the two of them, an endless abyss swallowing them like helpless children. Their feeble defence shattered.

  Isabel’s will collapsed under the pressure. She fell into unconsciousness, leaving them both at the mercy of the boy - both at the mercy of the demon.

  4

  Everything was black. Isabel was back in the Vale, surrounded by demons. One by one they melted from the ground, from the rocks, from the dirt, screaming into the wind. One by one they came after her; they stalked her, they hunted her, wearing her down. Whereas before she’d held strong, resisting their attacks, fighting back, defeating their never-ending waves, now she faltered. And as she weakened under the pressure, they bore down upon her, one by one, closing in around her, reaching out for her. She called out for her father. But he wasn’t there. She was alone. She fell to the ground, collapsing into exhaustion.

  Her head was spinning. She couldn’t move. Was she awake? Was she even alive?

  Now she was back in the street. Her father lay sprawled on the ground. Cold. Lifeless. She wanted to reach out to him, wanted to call to him, wanted to help him. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She had lost him. Lost him to the boy, to Depozi. And then there he was. The boy stood over her, grinning at Isabel with that same hideous smile. His eyes gleamed like razor-sharp emeralds, piercing her mind. She could feel his judgements, his thoughts, even his soul. And again she collapsed.

  That same ominous evil lingered in her mind still, ever-persistent shadows clouded her consciousness, just as the boy had done. He’d left them to torment her. He wanted to weaken her resolve.

  Using the little strength she could muster, in a single exertion she forced the evil from within her. It flowed through her feeble body like water, passing through every limb, organ and bone, seeping like poison that had infected her. Isabel could only but fight harder. Eventually determination won over plague and she was successful. Comforted by the vanishing of the shadows, she gave herself entirely to the overwhelming exhaustion consuming her.

  Many hours passed, meaning nothing to Isabel as she slept. Eventually, after much rest, she slowly began to regain consciousness. At first she was light headed, barely able to organise her thoughts. She slowly became more aware of her surroundings. She sensed reassuring warmth, comforting her where she lay. It gave her a certain security, helping to lift the heavy blanket of exhaustion still smothering her body.

  Opening her eyes, she squinted slightly, allowing them time to adjust to the dim light; she lay beneath a white ceiling. Where was she? What had happened? Where was her father?

  Snapping from her slumber and springing to her feet she spun for several seconds, her heart skipping a few beats. Following her sudden movement, again she became light headed and lost her balance, stumbling against a very heavy-looking wardrobe.

  The room was plain. Curtains were drawn across a very wide window and thin streaks of light trickled in through a small gap between them. Besides the wardrobe she leant against and the bed she’d slept in, there was little else in the room. Just two closed wooden doors that almost blended into the walls. The only spots of colour besides white were the wooden wardrobe and bed frame, which was blanketed with a rich, dark blue quilt. She stood for a minute, unable to quiet her mind, steadily trying to process a hundred thoughts all at once.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Startled by the noise her eyes snapped across the room, and she stared blankly for a second, wondering exactly what to do. Was it safe? Was it a trick? The boy? Her mind flashed for the briefest moment to the memory of the petite woman knocking at their house and making her jump with her father.

  Another knock followed. It was quieter and somehow softer than the first; it even managed to sound concerned, knowing that she was confused. Again she waited, though not knowing quite what she was waiting for. Eventually she pulled herself together and took her chances.

  “Err…yes?”

  The door opened smoothly without a sound, and in an oddly respectful manner. A young man appeared, around Isabel’s age. He was handsome and held himself in a notably balanced posture. His eyes showed compassion and empathy, but with a seemingly sorrowful glint of expectation, often derived from a life ruled by endless and sometimes unreachable goals.

  “Sorry, did I wake you?” He spoke calmly and his voice was soft, his movements purposeful but relaxed, composed and steady. Isabel made all these observations almost instantly, even unconsciously, though she had no idea why. Strangely, though only for a matter of seconds, she felt a wave of complete security in the presence of this stranger as he eyed her rumpled clothes and hair.

  “No.” She answered, taken aback somewhat. “You didn’t…” A sudden flurry of questions flooded her mind. What’s going on? Where’s my father? Who are you? What am I doing here? She almost blurted them in succession at the poor boy, but managed to hold her tongue, and instead ended up floundering and looking confused. His expression remained unchanged, but his eyes pooled with understanding sympathy.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything soon enough” His words flowed just as smoothly as his manner. “Take a minute or two to freshen up and we’ll talk over breakfast. You must be famished.” Dumbfounded, she glanced down at her shabby clothes. Presentable the previous day, they were now torn, tattered and dirty.

  He gestured toward the wardrobe and she nodded almost mindlessly. Without another word he left, closing the door softly behind him, and Isabel found herself alone once more. The following hour passed in a blur, filled with robotic movements requiring little or no thought.

  She soon found herself in a bath of hot, steaming water. It was refreshing and soothed her aching body, helping to clear her mind. But all too quickly she began to register recent events, seeming almost like nightmares now, but eventually the horrifying truth dawned upon her. She wrapped her arms around her legs, not that it made her feel much better, and brought them close to her chest. She buried her head in her knees in a feeble attempt to block out the dreadful reality. She wept.

  Soon enough she opened the bathroom door to the bedroom she’d found herself in not long before. With one hand supporting the towel wrapped round her, she ran the other through her damp hair, breathing deeply. Moving to the wardrobe she found that clothes had been prepared for her. They were plain, yet surprisingly comfortable. She dressed in soft trousers and a loose top, the neck rounded and lowered only slightly at the front, white and unadorned. The trousers were a deep royal blue with a diagonal stitching across the bottom of the left leg.

  There was another knock at the door.

  “Yes?” Isabel called, more confidently this time, oddly willing it to be the same young man again.

  “Did you find everything?” He replied as he entered, his voice as kind and gentle and smooth as it had been before. She couldn’t help but think of her father. How he had cared for her, fought for her. Nonetheless, she couldn’t dismiss the feeling that this particular young man had been through much more than anyone could guess. He commanded an experienced air about him that she didn’t fully understand, but it didn’t unnerve her, as he held that bearing without a hint of arrogance, leaving a flurry of unanswered questions.

  He carried a blue robe matching the trousers she wore.

  “You must be hungry.” He posed, pausing for a second before holding the robe out for her. “Here, it’s a little cold.” At the mention of food Isabel’s stomach growled and she realised just how hungry she was. Without another thought she took the robe and followed her stranger from the room, closing the door c
arefully behind her, and down a rickety staircase. Every step creaked as she descended and the walls were adorned with pictures of proud looking men. She presumed them to be the original owner and his subsequent successors of the building, each one seemingly younger and thinner than the last.

  Before she knew it the two of them were heading briskly away from the inn and down the street to a small tavern, already serving food to ward of the cold morning chill. The street was surprisingly crowded Isabel noted, though, she didn’t know exactly how long she’d slept. Surely most people knew what had happened by now and would be staying put safely at home? Or they could be making preparations to leave? Both notions were probably quite appealing to most people at this point. She wasn’t entirely sure how serious the situation was.

  Isabel’s family had been the most renowned Demon-Slayers in all of Land, and now with both her parents gone, the Land suddenly seemed quite vulnerable. Many had probably decided they’d rather take their chances hiding alone in the country than with everyone else. An abundant source of prey always attracts lots of predators after all.

  They entered a musty-smelling tavern, poorly lit by oil lamps and set slightly further back from the street than the buildings either side of it. The doorway had seen better days and stood at a slant as its timber props heaved silently under the uneven weight.

  Her young stranger spoke briefly and exchanged coin with the burly bartender before they seated themselves strategically close to an open window. The man grunted sourly, scratched an armpit and lumbered back into the kitchen. He returned with what looked like leftovers, a slab of cheese and slightly stale bread. Either the concept of a hearty breakfast didn’t stand very firmly in the man’s mind or, more likely, trade had gone downhill recently, apparently in line with his personal hygiene. Isabel reasoned he was probably keeping the nicer food for himself in case he had to hole up for a few months, she only wished he’d bathed that morning too.

  The meal was plain but Isabel ate eagerly, hunger being the infamous sauce that it is. Once her cravings had been partially satiated, questions once more pushed to the forefront of her thoughts. Her mind raced all of a sudden, full to the brim, bursting with question upon question, desperate to fill in the many gaps.

  He sensed her worry and smiled comfortingly. Their eyes met for a moment, and in an instant she was transfixed, a deep rich blue, shimmering mystically in the light. His brown hair was not cut short, almost covering his ears, though without sacrificing that sharp and collected look he maintained so perfectly. She realised that she was looking at him in an altogether different light to the way she had always previously approached men her own age.

  “My name is Zanriath. But please, call me Zan.” His introduction was simple, but sufficient. “I know you have lots of questions. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything you need to know. After breakfast we’ll take a walk.” That remained the extent of their conversation in the tavern, they were both eager for fresher air, and Isabel had a feeling he wanted their discussions to remain private. She complied happily, keen to leave, and they were soon finished, free from the stagnant and quite repulsive reek of the dim tavern, almost definitely the result of festering alcoholics and laxity in cleanliness.

  The clear morning air was still fresh and crisp, as light and appealing as always, offering much in the day to come. The two walked through the busy streets until they came to a large grassy clearing. There they sat on a wooden bench beneath a stout Wykvan tree. Isabel pulled her robe more tightly round her to keep the chill at bay. Oddly, Zanriath wore only a thin long-sleeved blue shirt and black trousers, but seemed to not feel the cold at all.

  The tree was somewhat rare in Land, with only a handful remaining on the island, due mainly to their excessive use in construction, if you could call the haphazard heap of buildings making up Aproklis construction. It bore large leaves and a strange looking purple fruit. Oddly, its leaves never fell, they only changed colour as the seasons ran through, and it produced fruit all year round, sweet and delicious. People had a remarkable affection for it, probably because it was so different to any other tree. Its leaves varied from lustrous green to the deathliest blue or black when the weather turned notably dire. The one they now sat securely beneath had grown out at an angle and stood like a slanted umbrella. Its trunk and branches were oddly entwined and wove round each other in a sturdy spiral.

  All around the tree smaller shrubs and bushes had sprouted and stood protecting it, as if they knew it was a delicate rarity, all too keenly destroyed by the ever eager hand of man.

  Generally in Tamarack the weather was constant, and usually bright and sunny for long periods. Land could often go for weeks without a spot of rain. However, spells of bad or cold weather tended to precede snowstorms, brought through by cold, damp air from the south over the ocean. In turn, temperatures would plummet, often with snow following for weeks at a time. Land’s folk were accustomed to sudden changes in the weather and had learned to cope quite well.

  “Alright” Isabel started a little hesitantly. “Zanriath?”

  “Yes. But please, Zan is fine.”

  “Ok. Who are you? Where are you from?”

  “I’m a blacksmith’s son. I’m from Rilako.” He replied quite simply.

  “How did you get here? You didn’t really come through Compii Tower did you?” By now Isabel was certain this stranger was whom her father had spoken to only the day before - an all too familiar pain accompanied her realisation and she spoke again before he could answer. “My father? He’s gone isn’t he?”

  “I’m sorry.” Zanriath’s empathy was sincere, but sadly, that made little difference. Tears welled in her eyes as she buried her face in her hands. “I believe the boy you encountered is a direct underling of Depozi, or at least he’s much more powerful than the other demons. I’m sorry Isabel.”

  “I couldn’t stop him. I should have stopped him.”

  “No Isabel.” She looked up at that, his tone seeming uncharacteristically firm. “It would have been far too much to ask of you to stop him alone at this stage.”

  “What happened? Did you kill him?”

  “No, to be entirely honest, I’d stand even less chance than you. Ormath took a hand and distracted him while I saved you. I’m afraid I couldn’t save your father. He was already very weak. The attack that knocked you unconscious killed him.”

  “Ormath? Rilako’s God? How?”

  “He’s my God. He’s the one who instructed me to come here, and so that I can do what must be done, he promised he would watch over me.”

  “Why didn’t he stop the boy?” She demanded, using feigned anger in an attempt to hide the searing pain being the confirmation in Zanriath’s words.

  “He can’t Isabel.” Zanriath replied calmingly. “It’s not his place to interfere in such a way. Such action is not allowed - Tamarack wouldn’t survive. He was only allowed to step in the way that he did because it was not your time to die. Depozi had no business trying to alter the course in the way he did.” This sudden flurry of information was a lot to process and Isabel took a minute to absorb everything she’d just been told, again doing her best to swallow what he’d said about her father. She’d already accepted at face value that she’d lost him, but coming to terms with the fact on an emotional level was going to be difficult.

  Zanriath waited patiently as Isabel mulled over everything he’d said, knowing it was a lot to comprehend. She hadn’t realised just quite how quickly things were moving, Zanriath’s information confirmed there was a lot more to this game than just Depozi’s rage.

  “Ok. What else do I need to know?” All of a sudden she had a burning desire to know everything, almost as if it was vital that she was properly prepared. She didn’t want any more nasty surprises.

  “There’s quite a lot, and much of it I’m still yet to understand. We don’t have enough time to discuss everything right now. It’s more important at this stage that you tell me what you know. My knowledge of the demonic is limited, but
once I know more, I can help you start to use the amulet to your advantage.” She looked at him a little blankly.

  “Your eyes…” She started. They had changed. They were purple, a deep rich violet she somehow recognised.

  “Amethyst.” He told her, gesturing towards the amulet at her neck. Pulling it out from concealment, she saw that it too was a rich violet colour.

  “I know this is hard to understand Isabel. I’m afraid important things usually are, but you need every ounce of strength you can find. We have a long way to go.”

  “Where?”

  “Don’t worry for now. I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

  “Is that what the boy meant? About Depozi knowing what’s going to happen?”

  “No, that was a lie. He was taunting you, trying to intimidate you. Depozi is involved to a great extent, in fact, this is mostly His doing, but you’re not His puppet. Only you control your actions, only you make your decisions, He doesn’t know how this will end. The four Gods share Tamarack’s responsibility evenly, but there’s still so much that they don’t know.”

  She nodded, still unsure. Zanriath continued.

  “First I need you to tell me about the demons, about how people harness demonic power. I can’t help you unless I know, and I have a feeling you’re going to need to be as strong as you possibly can be.”

  Isabel couldn’t deny that Zanriath’s hunch put her more than just a little on edge, since she was feeling almost exactly the same way. What on earth was she going to have to do? An all too familiar chill ran up her spine as she thought back to the demon her father had faced. Choking back tears once again and swallowing a lump in her throat, memories came flooding back to her: the demon, her father, her mother, the Vale.

  Zanriath remained silent, allowing Isabel to grapple with her emotions. This initial, painful process would have to be done alone. Only once she had fully come to terms with her loss he could try to comfort her. Try to soften the heavy blow. Yes, it’s a difficult way to move on, but life does wait, if only for a limited time. Sometimes it is necessary. Isabel was strong, and he had every faith in her.