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

by Ross Turner

  Staring up, not wanting to wake him, Isabel collected her thoughts and found that she was actually quite relaxed as she examined the plain white ceiling. Specs of dust floated above her, dancing carefree between the streaks of yellow sunlight cast across their double bed. The room around her was quaint but furnished well with dressers, sets of drawers and cupboards, all made from a light oak that was nicely complemented by the cheery morning beams being cast across them.

  At that moment she found it surprisingly easy to clear her mind of all the muddled thoughts that had been at the root of her uncertainty recently, returning to the calmed state of mind she had discovered back inside Dragon’s Peak. She could almost feel Ormath’s soothing presence with her as she lay comfortably beside her Zanriath.

  After a few more minutes she was completely awake and alert. Knowing she had had enough sleep and that time was still precious, she rose to bathe and ready herself, gently kissing Zanriath awake before she did so. He too was soon up and a mere twenty minutes later they found Ayva awaiting them downstairs, already ravenously attacking her breakfast. They joined her, realising their own hunger.

  Their breakfast was plain but satisfying. The inn had a homely feel to it and as increasingly more people arrived to eat they received more and more sidelong glances, each filled with inquisition. Eventually, a brave guest from the ball they had attended recognised them as he came in for his usual breakfast and, of course innocent, banter with the barmaid; soon after he decided to highlight their importance to the entire inn and the three were swamped by excited guests and regulars, all desperate for an update of their journey since the ball.

  Isabel found it strange at first that they were all so interested, yet, though she hadn’t thought of it this way before, she realised that to these town-folk they were heroes, setting out to save the Kingdom in a time of great peril. It all sounded too much like a fairytale, but she knew better than to think of it in that light.

  In fairy tales there wasn’t this much suffering. Ben and Zhack would still be alive and five children wouldn’t have had their families murdered. Because that’s all it was - they’d been chosen some time long ago for these tasks, and in that same moment, the final fates of their families had also been sealed, for one reason or another: detachment, insight, revenge…hope.

  Even after they’d replenished supplies from the innkeeper and tended to their horses in the stables, people still filed in to ask them of their journey and whether they were headed to confront Depozi, and each was as excited as the last with the answer. Finally Kambeth appeared at the stable doors and Zanriath breathed an obvious sigh of relief.

  “Kambeth.” He greeted his old friend warmly with a strong handshake. “Can you please shake these people off us?” He pleaded his tone one of exasperation. Kambeth laughed in reply and looked encouragingly to Isabel and Ayva, pleased that they had seemingly so easily returned. Isabel supposed he held it as a good sign for things still to come.

  “I’ll do my best Zanriath. However…my father does wish to speak with you. He has a certain influence on people, and I’m sure he can help spread the word without everyone needing to keep bothering you, but you have to understand, you are legends now.” He said with a quick wink. At that point Kambeth’s father entered also, closing the door to the stables behind him, sealing them at least a little privacy.

  Isabel had been introduced to him on the night of the ball where they had exchanged extended words. He was exactly as she remembered him - shorter than Kambeth with carefully combed grey hair and a beard to match. He still wore a suit, though it was slightly less pressed than the one he had worn four nights earlier, and it pulled a little around his generous middle.

  “Glad to see you’re all back safe and sound.” His voice was deep and gruff, but Isabel saw his intentions were genuine, though she couldn’t help but think there was more to his visit that just kind intention.

  “Thank you.” Zanriath replied. “I hope you’re well?”

  “Yes indeed I am thank you.” He said, still content to accommodate small talk, but not for long. “So I hear this is it? The final leg of your journey before you must meet Depozi?”

  “It is indeed.” Zanriath said coolly, not quite sure what the old man was heading towards. For some reason Isabel thought she had an inkling.

  “Hmm…” He mumbled, a little unsure. “I was praying for the three of you while you were gone. It seemed to work, so I will do so again. I wish the best of luck to you all.” With that, he abruptly turned to leave, obviously something on his mind, but he either didn’t think such a thing would be important, or didn’t realise its significance. Isabel called out to stop him.

  “What did you dream?” She asked out of the blue, moving to stand at Zanriath’s side, carefully entwining her fingers in his. Ayva too stepped forward, unsure what Isabel knew that she and Zanriath did not, but eager to find out.

  “How do you…?” He began, looking between them and his son who looked equally as confused.

  “I just do.” She replied vaguely. “It’s very important that you tell me.” Zanriath looked across at her with an eyebrow raised, just as confused as the rest. He was finding that gradually, more and more often now, Isabel was gaining knowledge of events, occurrences and realisations that she had no justification to know, but perhaps every reason to, and so she perceived them nonetheless.

  “I dreamt about you. And I dreamt about Depozi. I think I was imagining your meeting.”

  “Go on.” She urged him, her voice quiet and gentle, yet forceful. He began to sweat, as if the confrontation were taking place that very moment.

  “You were facing each other, but you were just standing there not doing anything.”

  “Where were we?” Her question surprised them. She wasn’t concerned in the slightest what the outcome of his dream was, only the location. He was sweating heavily and the front of his white shirt was saturated and looked uncomfortable.

  “A graveyard.” He whispered. “You were in a graveyard.”

  36

  Their pace was steady but not rushed, allowing them valuable time to prepare for what lay ahead. Instead of following the River Avrik back down to Still Waters they had set off east from Akten, wanting to avoid the lake if they could. The decision had been made on Ayva’s suggestion and was intended to avoid any demons still lurking in the water. Isabel knew there were none, but had said nothing, grateful to not have to see the lake again so soon.

  She rode slightly behind Ayva and Zanriath and quietly cast another thought across the island. It seemed peaceful enough. She thought they might have some trouble once they came to the bridge, but she was readying herself for that and for now was content that this island was safe. She knew Land wouldn’t be - least of all for her.

  Quickening their pace they made good time over the gently rolling landscape, cresting each hill after what felt like only seconds behind the last. Still moving east, Isabel could see on the horizon the large forest Ayva had noticed almost a week before, and just behind it the faint view of the misty ocean. It was nothing in comparison to the woods of Vak’Istor, but considerable compared to the small clumps of trees she’d seen so far here.

  The thing that still struck her the strangest about Rilako was the distinct lack of roads, boundaries, even fields. The whole island seemed to be one huge patch of common with endless unploughed fields extending in every direction. She had seen a few patches of farmland along their way, but not enough to support the island’s population. There must be farms on the west side of the island that they had not come across. They certainly hadn’t been short of food at the banquet, and it must be coming from somewhere.

  The whole concept of the different customs of each island’s people was strange to Isabel. She’d become so set in her ways in Land that any change seemed almost unnatural. Their journey had opened her eyes to the lives of others and how, even though they were technically the same as one another, the environmental differences in their lives had divided them to s
uch a great degree. But the more she dwelt on the matter, the more she reasoned that change would seem strange to anyone leading a set or sheltered life, no matter where they were from.

  They continued on and the day held clear and even warm, certainly a kind contrast to the blasting cold of Inferno Range. Isabel cast a quick glance back over her shoulder at the mountains and found her attention once again captivated. Though the thick white haze of the storm had fallen over them, they still looked magnificent and nothing had been taken from their splendour by the violent tempest. Unknowingly, Zanriath reined in beside her.

  “See what I mean?”

  “Mmm.” She replied longingly. “Yes I do.”

  “When I was younger I would sit there and look at them for hours. And when I finally got there, all I wanted was to stay.”

  “Was it hard?” Ayva asked, also pulling her horse in beside Isabel. “To leave them I mean?”

  “Harder than I thought it would be.” He admitted. “We were lucky in a sense.”

  “Lucky?” Isabel asked.

  “That the storm was setting in. When conditions are that bad and you don’t have any shelter you just want to get out. You don’t care where you go as long as you can stay warm.”

  “So if the storm hadn’t come…” Isabel began.

  “It would have hurt me to leave all over again. And I imagine you too by the way you still can’t take your eyes off them.” At his comment Isabel forced herself to tear her gaze from the range, knowing Zanriath’s words were true, but not wanting to be held so easily by something so ridiculous. He smiled.

  “It’s not ridiculous Isabel. Ormath’s presence is in those mountains. You’d be blind not to see it, even from here.” He looked across to them and with relief she followed. Yes. There was something about them.

  At their steady trot they reached the forest in the distance by late afternoon and skirted round the tree line to the south. The trees were relatively sparse but the woodland would offer them shelter for the night.

  Isabel was worrying constantly about how they would get to Depozi. And then of course, there was the army standing between them and Him. Even if He wasn’t commanding it, the demons still sensed that Isabel wanted to drive them from Tamarack, and a thousand angry individuals can be much more dangerous than one man’s hatred, even if that one man is a God. Ayva was the first to breach the matter as the day wore inexorably on.

  “So…” She began, “how are we planning to get past this army, cross the water to the Lair of the Demonic, and find Depozi?”

  “I’ve been working on it…” Isabel replied unconvincingly.

  “And how big is this army going to be exactly?” She continued. Isabel sighed gently and admitted honestly that she hadn’t wanted to find out.

  “I’m guessing that most of the demons will be back in Land now though…so I could probably get a good estimate.” Ayva said nothing, but looked at Isabel with her eyebrows raised and her expression imploring. Isabel sighed once more. “Ok. Fine.”

  Isabel closed her eyes to concentrate and gathered her will strongly for a few moments. The thought she cast out across Rilako swept the island powerfully in a split second. She saw every tree, every rock, every human, every animal, but no demons. Without stopping, she threw her thought east and south, seeing Hinaktor and Vak’Istor in the same instant. Still nothing. She was unsure whether that was a good sign or not, so she didn’t dwell on it. Instead she concentrated her efforts on Land, thinking, before anything else, of home. Her thoughts swept the hills and mountains, the Great Forest and the marshlands, and finally the Vale of Shadows. The demons were everywhere, and they could feel her mind. They were waiting for her. Looking for her specifically, and now they felt her, their minds raced.

  Isabel let out a small cry as they overwhelmed her and she faltered. Zanriath and Ayva steadied her before she fell from her horse. Her breath was short and sharp for a moment, but she soon recovered and faced Ayva and Zanriath’s inquisitive expressions.

  “Thousands.” She revealed rather meekly. “Everywhere. And I don’t know how we get through, or how we get to Depozi. They’re waiting for me.” The bold truthfulness in her voice was brave and Ayva appreciated it, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “I need some time.” Isabel said quietly. They’d almost reached the southern-most point of the forest now and the tip of the spire of Still Waters was visible far in the distance.

  The afternoon had passed surprisingly quickly and Ayva and Zanriath took Isabel’s mount to begin setting up camp while she wandered alone. Finding a small clearing in the sparse trees wasn’t too difficult, and they kept just in from the tree line. Soon Zanriath was tending the horses and Ayva was rooting through supplies, preparing food for the three of them. By the time the horses were content and resting Ayva had the preparations for dinner well underway and Zanriath made a fire for her.

  Isabel wandered alone through the trees, her thoughts clouded by a sudden and thick uncertainty. She hated how quickly lingering doubt always seemed to return so easily. She tried desperately to cast them aside and thought of Kambeth’s father’s dream of a graveyard and tried to understand it. Somehow she knew the graveyard was hers, but in what way she could not fathom.

  The almost clear sky above her head was beginning to darken and the sun off to the west was almost kissing the horizon, casting a soft, warm glow across her cheeks, more orange now than yellow. Looking up, light clouds were passing overhead in a steady breeze, too high for her to feel. The silence all around her was calming, beside the few scuffles of small animals she heard amongst the trees and bushes.

  As her surroundings dimmed she leant back against the oddly smooth bark of a tree and slid to the floor, running over recent events in her mind and desperately trying to picture future ones too, looking for a solution, a way to Depozi. Anything she could do. But then, even if she did find a way through to Him, she still had to defeat Him. How? She yearned to be back in the mountains. Her mind had cleared so easily.

  Sitting with her knees tucked close to her chest Isabel wrapped her arms round them and leant her head forwards, closing her eyes and listening to the dull thud of her heartbeat throbbing in her ears. She allowed a small tear to streak harmlessly down her cheek for a few moments before wiping it away, hiding her weakness.

  She ran her hands down her face forcefully and opened her eyes, freezing for a moment in the rapidly fading light. She leaned against her tree in a thin patch of the woodland, facing a small clearing surrounded by trees and a strange silence that seemed to have come on without her realising. She was sat in a graveyard.

  The sight before Isabel’s eyes unnerved her at first. Eight graves were set out neatly in pairs - two in front and two behind. But there was something setting her off ease more than just the fact that the graves she was seeing didn’t exist; she recognised them. That was why this was her graveyard, because the graveyard from Kambeth’s father’s dream was not from his imagination at all - it was from hers.

  She rose slowly to her feet, treading carefully over the leaf-strewn forest floor, and moved like a ghost between the headstones. Sweeping across the ground her feet hardly made contact with now icy earth. It was as if she was intruding on something very private that shouldn’t have been allowed to find. As she knew Zanriath had come to realise, she was stumbling across things that she had apparently no reason to know or see, but for some strange reason, she definitely needed to be here, in this place that wasn’t really there.

  Each gravestone was blank. Isabel stood central to the four pairs and looked round at each in turn. Her amulet coursed bursts of energy through her, each one more of a shock than the last until she finally laid a hand upon it and silently urged it to stop. It calmed.

  Her eyes fell upon one pair of the grave heads and settled there for some time. One she had definitely seen before and did exist, the other did not, but she still knew it nonetheless. It was her mother and father. She trembled slightly. Looking round at the other blank graves she recogn
ised them too, though again none of them really existed. Zanriath’s parents, Ayva’s parents, Ben and Zhack’s too…She permitted herself another streaking tear.

  She ducked her head and wiped it away, and once more, when she raised her gaze her surroundings had changed. The trees were gone and the darkness around her extended into nothing. Surrounding her eight graves were now hundreds more, not in pairs, but each standing alone, forming lines and lines of headstones front and back, all blank. She checked behind her and sure enough there were more, in every direction, completely surrounding her. Looking down at her feet instinctively, she saw two more had appeared in the centre of the original eight. Blank again. Ben and Zhack.

  A ghost once more, Isabel swept emotionlessly through her blank cemetery. Graves of friends and family were littered all around: all those in Land who already had, or even now fell victim to the demons there, all the braves from Heldvik’s army, all the poor souls burned and slaughtered at Kalaris, all the innocents in Vak’Istor ambushed and caught off guard.

  The sight was overwhelming. But remembering the strength she had somehow found before to steel herself against this pain, she restored those barriers and felt no sorrow, nor pain nor regret, only determination, and willing. Finally, after so long of searching, she knew what she had to do, and she realised why she was seeing these things that existed only in her mind. Because they could never exist in anyone else’s and they would need her imagination, her thoughts, to reach the end of their journey.

  Her feet hit the ground firmly and she turned her back on the graves in her imagination and removed herself from amongst them. Moving with almost inhuman purpose she was between trees once more and no longer headstones, ahead of her as she walked she could see the faint flickering of Zanriath’s fire guiding her back to him, helping her find her way home. The time had come and everything was almost set.