by Ross Turner
Kay and Hale led them through into the sitting room at the rear of the cottage, standing aside to allow them all to pass by in single file, Isabel, then Zanriath, followed by Cole, and then Rose.
Isabel entered and her eyes immediately scanned the again plain room, lined with heaving bookcases and dressers and shelves and stands, to find the High Priest sat at a small, round wooden desk, facing the window, beside three empty chairs.
As she had expected, he poured over a small, leather-bound book in the unusually bright light that emanated from the window, and from the small flickering fire in the hearth.
Kay and Hale both smiled, though it seemed to be forced, indicating that the High Priest would see them now, and disappeared back into the kitchen. The sounds of clattering pots and pans could be heard shortly afterwards, and Isabel stood with Zanriath, and Cole with Rose, resting his hand on her back as she lay crouched on her haunches, her head ducked only slightly, fitting almost exactly into the remaining space. They waited patiently and quietly for the old man to look up from his reading.
He eventually set aside the old text and rubbed his eyes wearily before turning to his guests, sighing deeply as he did so. When he spoke, his unchanged voice was laden with sorrow, and bags beneath his eyes hung heavily, deep and black from fatigue and concern.
The sight and sound saddened Isabel yet even further.
“Isabel. Zanriath.” He greeted them. “Cole. Rose.” He then said, looking to the young boy and his demon that seemed to be a mixture of both horse and lion.
“High Priest.” Isabel replied for them. He smiled and sighed.
“So formal.” He said agedly, and somewhat regretfully. “Always so formal.” The age-old wisdom in the Priest’s voice was still present, but his enthusiasm seemed to be fading, if not already having ebbed away entirely.
When he stood and returned the book he had been reading to its correct place on the large bookshelf to his left, his movements were sluggish and jittery, his outstretched hand shaking.
It seemed he had deteriorated considerably in the years of peace between their meetings, and this new threat was a drain on his strength that Isabel could see quite clearly he was unlikely to be able endure.
As that knowledge came to her, in the same unbeknownst way it always did, she was also struck by sorrow, ever deepening, even by the second, as she looked upon the fragile old man, once so full of life and purpose. But it was that same purpose that was draining him, drawing him closer and closer to his end.
Since she had met the old man and his two assistants, Isabel had always thought the High Priest would live forever, and now that she could see he was not going to, her heart was torn. He only smiled understandingly as she made her silent realisations.
“No mortal may live forever.” He said, calmly returning to his seat, not a hint of bitterness in his tone - if anything he sounded glad. He gestured to the three empty chairs and they obligingly took them. Kay and Hale appeared then with water and bread and cheese, and the smell of hot food brewing from the kitchen suddenly became prominent, and Cole’s stomach growled noisily.
The old man smiled fondly at the sound, knowing they had travelled far, and that Cole was still a growing young man. Then Rose’s stomach growled too, though it was more of a roar than a growl, and the old man laughed delightedly, which in turn brought a smile back to Isabel’s face, at least temporarily.
“Marvellous.” He said, looking fondly at Rose. “Do not fret little one. Food is on its way.”
Rose edged closer to Cole and he rested his hand on her head, stroking her gently from where he sat between his parents, opposite the strange old man whose eyes now poured into him, brightened by at least some remaining spark of his younger days.
This examination continued for several minutes before finally the old man seemed content to break the strange silence. With a shaking hand he scratched his chin though his thinned beard and spoke.
“Interesting.” Was all he said at first. “You’re not what I expected at all.”
“Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” Cole replied. Isabel and Zanriath exchanged a brief glance, feeling as though they had missed something. The old man sat back and laughed warmly only again.
“I honestly don’t know.” He said smiling. “But Rose here is just splendid.” He complimented, nodding to her and holding his hand outstretched. She looked back at him in response, her nose twitching, taking in his scent.
“Thank you.” Cole said uncertainly. The old man sighed wearily again.
“Cole.” He said pointedly. “The first time I met your parents, I was concerned that what I had to tell them, and their companions, would be too much for them to bear.” The old man admitted honestly, hardly taking his eyes from Cole’s, though his gaze flitted over to Rose once or twice. “But my fears were unfounded it seemed, and they succeeded. In fact, they didn’t just succeed, but they have brought Tamarack’s people closer together, almost in kinship, and it is marvellous to see.”
Cole nodded in response, but still said nothing. He didn’t know where the strange old man was leading with this, but he doubted he was going to like it.
“That’s exactly what I mean.” The High Priest said sadly, raising an open hand in gesture and sighing. “I simply know what I must to pass on to you, regardless of the fact that the news is unpleasant.”
He sighed again, more richly this time, and ran his hands through his grey, thinned hair before eventually continuing.
“It has always brings me great sorrow to deliver these tasks unto people such as yourselves. But then, it is only people such as yourselves capable of carrying these terribly heavy burdens.”
“What task?” Cole asked quietly, grasping almost instantly the fact that perhaps this meeting would give him direction enough to focus his life-long discontent.
The aged man thought for a moment again, as if battling some internal moral dilemma, but in the end, it seemed, he decided to simply plough into the heart of the matter. He seemed to know almost instinctively that Cole’s own lifelong self-drive and determination, loathing almost, would spur the young man more greatly than anything he, or anybody else, could ever say or do.
“My friends, as you are well aware, once again a great evil has arisen from the darkness, and that evil now plagues our beloved Tamarack.” His voice was serious and dark. “And sadly, I must once again deliver to you the knowledge that the burdensome task of expelling such an evil from our world, falls to you.”
His audience’s faces were grave, and even Rose looked sombre, as if this moment was one she had been dreading. The old Priest spoke as though he was addressing them all equally, but he looked only at Cole and Rose.
“As before, the deductions you have made thus far are accurate.” He said, speaking to them all, but directing his gaze now to Isabel. “The demons you so despise will, with time, surely come forth from their dwelling once again. Only this time, they will have the guidance, and the lust, and the hatred, of the Souls of the Ocean instilled within them. Their power will only increase, just as the knowledge of the lost souls has done over the millennia, and together they shall grow to be mighty adversaries.”
“Splendid.” Zanriath commented sourly under his breath, but still audibly.
“Indeed.” The High Priest replied. “It plagues us all, does it not?”
“So what’s going to happen?” Isabel asked wearily, unsure whether she really wanted the answer she was seeking. “What do we need to do?”
“As I told you the last time we spoke, Isabel my sweet…” The old man began. “Demon-Lord Depozi could fall only by the will of your hand, and only through you would come Tamarack’s eternal protection.”
He remained silent for a moment, but Isabel still did not understand, it seemed her intuition was failing her, or simply that she had not been allowed to glean this information alone. Her blank expression drove the High Priest to continue.
“Colvan.” He said gently, still addressing Isabel directly.
“I was referring to Colvan.” Isabel’s eyes widened with realisation. “He is the Eternal Son, and Tamarack’s Protector.” The old man told her.
Suddenly, the blindingly obvious truth struck Isabel like a great blow to the stomach; a blow that she was certain would have felled an ox. She had even been told it would be so, many years ago, by the voice that, still to this day, she could find no owner for.
“Do not berate yourself Isabel.” The High Priest attempted to reassure her. “There was no way for you to know.” She nodded, but could not find her voice to speak, so he continued. “Zanriath, Isabel, even as you have spent the past fifteen years doing, now still, the task falls to you to guide young Colvan in the successful completion of his burden, for he is the only one who may do what must be done.” They nodded, but it was Cole who spoke next.
“What must I do?” He implored of the old man, leaning forward in his seat, but never once taking his hand from Rose’s neck. The High Priest sighed.
“From this point onward, the fate of our kingdom, and indeed our universe, is divided, not into two, but into three possibilities.” He began. “The first possibility, the possibility that we are fighting for, is that the demons are vanquished, the lost souls are quelled, and our world as we know it remains intact.”
He stopped for a moment assessing the effect of his words on his audience. Cole was focused so intently on the old man that he paused for but a second or two before continuing.
“The second possibility, is that of which you are most afraid. In this eventuality, Cole will not succeed in quelling the one you know as Thorn, and he, along with the lost souls, will command the demons and destroy Tamarack. And then, undoubtedly, they will spread their evil throughout the rest of the universe, brutally and relentlessly, for their power will grow to be immeasurable and unstoppable.”
Now he halted for a few minutes, giving time to allow them to absorb the fierce truth he was delivering. But still Cole was not satisfied.
“And what of the third possibility?” The determined young man asked, his voice quiet, yet resolute.
“If anyone was ever fit for this task, it’s you Cole.” The High Priest complimented him warmly, though his tone soon changed once again. “Cole, whatever the outcome of this journey, the question that has dwelt in your mind for so many years now will indeed be answered, one way or another. You will find that the greatest threat to Tamarack, and even to our universe, is in fact not Thorn, or the other demons, or even the Souls of the Ocean, but something else entirely.”
“What is it?” Cole asked, almost in a whisper, breaking the deathly silence that fell at the end of the High Priest’s words.
“When you find that out young Cole, you will face your greatest challenge. If, at that point, you fail, if you are overcome, then Tamarack, and the rest of our universe, will suffer the third eventuality.”
He leaned forward purposefully, his voice lowering solemnly.
“You may well defeat Thorn, Cole.” The High Priest told him. “And you may well vanquish the demons, just as your mother did so before you. But that alone will simply not be enough.”
A lump caught in Isabel’s throat as she hung desperately on the old man’s words.
Cole’s heart was a rock thumping heavily in his chest, reminding his perilously of his fragile human condition, even as his fate was laid out before him.
“If you cannot surpass your final test,” the old man told Cole gravely. “If you cannot endure, if you cannot control that which you yourself will undoubtedly create, our universe, and everything in it, will be destroyed.”
25
That evening passed quietly for its remainder, and Cole sat pensively with Rose as the heated glow from the open fire flickered orange and red and yellow bursts of dancing light across his face, warming his cold skin in the chill air of the late autumn night.
Isabel watched her son with concern. She saw his hand gently rubbing behind Rose’s ears as she laid her massive head down beside him, breathing deeply in a soothing rhythm. Her hot breath steamed out from her massive jaws and snout, and whenever she moved her huge, muscular bulk, her claws sunk deeply into the damp, cold ground in order for her to get a strong enough hold to shift her weight.
Cole’s troubled mother could see little in this darkened vision of her son. But one thing she could clearly see was an awful repetition of the days leading up to the terrible deaths of Ben and Zhack. Cole was quiet. He had barely spoken, if at all, since their counsel with the High Priest the day before.
At the sound of footsteps, Isabel looked up and saw her husband returning though the darkness. He had been to speak with their six guides who, after their meeting with the High Priest, had changed their minds regarding their return to Kazra, suggesting that Isabel, Zanriath, Cole and Rose rest for a day or so. Zanriath approached, kissed Isabel on her forehead, and sat down beside her, leaning back on the wooden wall of the barn against which Isabel was propped.
“They said there’s rain coming.” He whispered quietly to his wife as he took her hand in his, her skin warm against his cold fingers, bitten by the chill of the night.
“You’re cold.” Isabel noted absently, rubbing his hands. Zanriath smiled.
“There’s no fire out there.” He said by way of explanation. Isabel nodded somewhat numbly, her senses too chilled by the night.
It had indeed been getting rapidly and noticeably colder, and if they were to get caught in a storm, their return journey would become infinitely more difficult and uncomfortable.
“Stone said he wants to leave tomorrow morning, an hour or so after sunrise.” Zanriath continued.
“Yes.” Isabel replied. “Ok.” Then she looked over to her son once again. “But I want to spend some time with Cole first.”
Zanriath looked at her questioningly, his eyes expressing his concerned question better than words could.
“The High Priest was right.” She explained. “We need to help Cole. He needs our guidance.” Isabel sighed then, wholeheartedly. “And I feel like I haven’t been fulfilling that responsibility.”
Zanriath again did not respond with words, he only wrapped his strong arms around her protectively, understanding the feelings of doubt and self-disappointment that plagued is wife, for he felt them with equal weight.
Cole needed their help now more than ever.
The next morning, Cole rose early, even before his parents, as the heavy weight of the air, dense with black clouds, pressed down above him. Rose stirred also, Cole’s awakening mind rousing her thoughts too.
‘Did you feel that?’ He asked of his friend silently. Rose only nodded in reply and looked up to the still darkened morning sky.
Though the sun was breaking over the horizon, a blanket of menacing clouds hung all around, each ready to burst at any moment, obscuring it from view.
As he looked around in the still dark morning, Cole could faintly make out the outlines of barns and windmills and grain stores jutting up towards the angry, grey sky, holding their ground defensively against what they knew would inevitably come.
Seeing this solid and steadfast resistance, somehow Cole and Rose felt all of a sudden very exposed, exposed and isolated. Cole looked over to his still sleeping parents and felt the strange urge to protect them, as if it were his duty to shelter them from the approaching onslaught, from the oncoming attack, from that which could not be controlled or stopped.
Then it happened. It came without warning, as it usually had done whenever it had occurred before. Previously, Cole had always sensed his mind expanding, and his strange awareness reaching out in all directions, showing him everything it touched.
This time, however, he did not feel his thoughts searching; he simply became aware of his surroundings as they altered and changed. There was no slow and gradual spreading of his awareness, it was, quite simply, already there, as if laid out in preparation.
Why that was, he did not know. In fact, he wondered how in the world his strange awareness was doing these t
hings at all, but soon, as he sensed the beginning of what was coming, his contemplations no longer mattered.
It happened first of all far to the north. The pressure building behind the floodgates became too great to withstand, and finally the heavens were forced to open, dumping torrential amounts of rain upon the expanses of open land and the sea of forests below them.
Cole could not help but smile as he saw, even felt, the movement of both pressure and water through the air. It was like a great, grey ocean above him, extending out in all directions across the vast sky.
A tiny ripple became an enormous wave that rolled and billowed out endlessly, bringing with it great torrents of water, as if the clouds themselves were tremendous surf crashing down above him, and he revelled in it. Cole laughed at first, and Rose danced with delight, as she too felt the strange sensation, the odd awareness engulfing them both.
But then the wave reached them, along with the falling water; their joy was replaced by fear as the sense of exposure and isolation returned in horrible floods.
Instinctively, Cole leapt to Rose’s side and raised his arms above his head with a great cry. The sound awoke Isabel and Zanriath with a start and they jumped to their feet with alarm, panicked by their son’s shout.
“Cole!?” Isabel called frantically, she and her husband rushing to his aid. “What is it!?”
“Are you ok!?” Zanriath shouted, raising his voice against the hammering sound of the rain, fearing the worst.
But their son did not reply. He crouched low with his arms raised defensively above his head, and Rose stood above him protectively, baring her teeth and growling fiercely up at the sky.
It was only then, as they saw Rose’s stance, and the fear in her eyes, that they looked around and realised what was happening.
As Stone had rightly surmised, a storm had indeed arrived. All around them, as far as the eye could see, the black clouds above were emptying their contents enthusiastically upon the land and saturating it wholly, dumping countless litres of water in a tremendous downpour. The raindrops were thick and cold and heavy and aggressive, pounding and smashing into the ground, hammering the distrusting, defensive buildings without relent.
