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

by Ross Turner

  Fatigued and wearied, Cole could not think to stop the enormous fiend, and even as Thorn lifted his monstrous legs in great strides and charged towards the floating, battered ship, Cole’s mind raced helplessly. The monstrous demon created a new and vast monsoon of waves with every movement, and bore down upon Isabel and her family with his mighty wrath.

  Thorn’s impact with the vessel was immense, nothing short of colossal, and suddenly all of their defences disintegrated. The ship, not surprisingly, did not take kindly to Thorn’s titanic charge, and his black, hulking mass smashed through the hull, ripping it completely in two.

  The thick wooden planks did not break as such, they simply shattered with a deafening whip-like crack, sending pieces of jagged, splintering wood flying in every direction.

  Flying debris struck the monster that was Thorn, but he was simply too big to be affected by it, and ploughed through the ship without slowing, sending each half off in opposite directions on massive surging waves.

  The ship’s passengers however, had not been so lucky as to escape the maelstrom of lethal debris.

  Isabel and Zanriath were thrown for the third time like ragdolls, back against the side of the ship, or at least what remained of it, and were then also pelted with the storming rains of shattered wood. Several large shards of splintered timber had embedded themselves along the length of Zanriath’s right leg, from his ankle to his hip, and another, slightly smaller piece, had lodged itself between two of his ribs, also on his right side.

  Isabel’s wounds were of a similar nature, with sharp fragments protruding from her left side, her arm and leg, as she clung desperately to her husband, and blood ran freely down the side of her face from a deep gash to her forehead: the painful result of having been thrown with such speed across the deck and into the side.

  Even as the sharp, splintered wood pierced their bodies, they were forced back against the barrier, blood spouting from their mouths and wounds, desperately clinging to each other still.

  Isabel caught only glimpses of the other half of the ship - the half where, she hoped, Cole and Rose still were – and even those brief sightings were interspersed with flashing memories from her dreams of late.

  Between the fleeting sights of the other half of their destroyed ship, Isabel saw her son, sat alone on the sinking boat, in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by a limitless army of demons.

  He was alone because she and Zanriath had abandoned him, giving in to their wounds and to their fatigue and to the demonic onslaught.

  Screaming in denial, coughing up thick clots of black and red blood in the process, spluttering it down her front, Isabel fought with what strength she could muster. But her efforts were useless as water poured over the ship thoughtlessly and smashed into her weakened, fragile body, separating her even from Zanriath, their grasps on each other broken.

  Then the demons were on them once again, slashing and clawing and biting. She choked on saltwater and blood and could see almost nothing between fleeting reddened glances.

  Zanriath too struggled desperately to keep the monsters at bay, but they overwhelmed him too, drawing yet more and more blood from them both, weakening them further with every passing second.

  Next, after only a few more moments, the two halves of the ship, now utterly and truly demolished, sank below the surface, swallowed by the dreadful, black depths. And even as the destroyed ship surged downwards, it created vast currents that dragged the poor, defenceless family down with it.

  Isabel and Zanriath writhed and fought as the freezing, black waters engulfed them, their lungs crying out in desperation for air. But then, once again, without remorse, the demons were upon them, dragging them down yet even further and further into the black abyss.

  Where their son and his demon were, they did not know. Whether they were even still alive or not, became impossible to determine. Any hope of any of them surviving this final assault shrank away, as they plummeted down to their deaths.

  Their last precious pockets of air escaped their lips as the light from above faded, and their struggles weakened, their limbs and thoughts falling numbly down, swallowed by the engulfing waters.

  Strong demonic hands and claws were then upon them and, with vicious grasps and menacing lust, they pulled their prey eagerly down, down into the blackened depths, closer and closer to a looming, watery, and lonesome grave.

  43

  Cole could no longer see or even sense his parents. He could only just about feel Rose’s presence at his side, despite the fact that they were so closely linked. Sinking into the darkness, even his awareness of her was faint.

  When Thorn had hit the ship, neither Cole nor Rose had been able to stop him, or even protect themselves. They had been thrown heavily into the side and over into the freezing water. But the cold had been the least of their worries.

  Immediately after their watery submersion, the enormous waves created by Thorn’s great strides had sent their half of the ship cascading down into them.

  Rose had taken the brunt of the blow in an attempt to protect her Cole, but was now mortally wounded: her ribs were cracked, her front legs were both shattered, and she was bleeding profusely from innumerable wounds, great drifts of blood floating around her body in the darkened water.

  Cole’s condition was little better. After the base of the ship had ploughed into Rose, irregardless of her efforts, it had continued to churn amidst the great rushes of water, rolling directly over him as his fragile human body was tossed effortlessly in the black surf.

  As the icy water and lack of oxygen continued to numb his senses, he could no longer feel his injuries, and soon became unaware of them altogether, though he was fairly certain the entire right side of his body was now all but ruined, and the left was not far behind it.

  There was, however, one injury he could quite easily identify, even after having lost any sensation in his body, due solely to the frightening quantities of blood rising up in front of his face from his chest.

  Even in the engulfing darkness and with his hazy vision, the thick shard of timber Cole could see protruding from between his ribs was obvious, and the oozing liquid seeping rapidly from the wound, mixing with the blackness all around him, could only have been the clear and unmistakeable sight of his life quickly ebbing away into nothing.

  The pressure pushing relentlessly on Cole’s head, and the screaming pain in his lungs, was unbearable. He continued to choke as his body sucked in water disappointedly, filling his punctured lungs, searching desperately for air. But there was none, and soon his whole body seemed to be filled with black, salty, blood-stained water.

  Soon he lost the strength to even choke, and his body drifted motionlessly amidst the dark surf. His mind fought helplessly for a few final seconds before the lack of oxygen ended his body’s suffering, casting him to failure.

  It was not only the weight of the water, and of the demons, and of his injuries, that Cole could feel bearing down upon him, dragging him down and ruthlessly murdering him, but also the weight of his responsibilities.

  For a fleeting moment, he saw the faces of people he had known for his entire life - those he had grown up with, those who had taught and guided him. Even Rosynn’s face flashed before his eyes, and a familiar striking agony churned yet more fiery pain to flare in his chest.

  Then, once his mind had exhausted the list of faces he recognised, he was presented with endless more, none of which he knew, but all of which were nonetheless a part of his task to protect, the task which he was now on the brink of failing.

  But it seemed there was nothing he could do.

  Hundreds upon thousands of faces flashed before him, even in those precious few seconds. They were the faces of children, parents, and grandparents, all practically his kin alike. And he was going to submit them all to death, likely worse.

  Finally, he saw four more faces, possibly the last images his dying mind would ever process. First was the face of a dragon, a face he once again did recognise. And th
en he saw a gryphon, and a phoenix. Though these faces were unfamiliar, the drowning young man acknowledged them immediately as the Gods who, now, because of his disappointing actions, would be left once again without peoples to oversee.

  He would cast them out into the cold of the universe; a universe poisoned by the evil Cole himself had created and allowed to prosper.

  The thought was unbearable, unthinkable, but there was not the fight left in the boy to endure. He simply could not go on.

  But then the fourth and final face was presented to him. The flawless face of a young woman, her glorious eyes striking at Cole’s heart.

  This face was so beautiful that, at first, Cole could not believe it belonged to anyone mortal. It took him a precious moment to realise that, in fact, it was not the face of a mortal. Yet, Ayva’s long blonde hair and deep blue eyes poured still emotionally into Cole, carrying with them an eternal pity.

  Neither She nor Her brothers were angry with him. Their expressions showed not fury or disappointment, but rather concern, pity, the sadness of everlasting regret and an unimaginable loss.

  Their final hope had tried his utmost, and they had not known whether he would be successful or not, but now, clearly, it was all too much for him to endure. Even with the aid of his parents, the great Isabella Ta’Quedara and Timeless Zanriath, young Colvan, the Protector and the Eternal Son, had been unsuccessful.

  That harsh reality crushed Cole with the striking pain of failure, that and the longing, backed by the terrible feeling of worthlessness that had haunted him for the whole of his life. These truths crashed down on him with greater pressure than the entire black ocean surrounding him ever could.

  Then his hand brushed against something lifeless and, amidst the agony of his injuries and failure, Cole managed to somehow open his eyes. He immediately wished he hadn’t, as he laid his eyes upon Rose, only to see her floating motionlessly before him, surrounded by an army of greedy beasts eagerly moving in to devour her carcass, and undoubtedly his also.

  Somehow then his senses made him aware of his own movement through the water, and strong hands gripped his ankles and dragged him down further and further into the blackness, leaving him no escape.

  So this was what it was like, he thought, to have great friends, great family, great expectations; heroes, legends, saviours, Gods alike, and to fail them all.

  But as of yet, his failure was not complete, as somehow his mind continued to work furiously to fight off the clutches of death, for some reason simply refusing to submit to the lack of oxygen.

  All he could think of was Rose, and her lifeless body floated before him torturously.

  His awareness began to expand once more. He sensed the hordes of demons all around him, and the evil contained within them. And then he sensed something altogether different.

  He saw the bridge, the link, the crossing: the tear between the two realms, between Tamarack’s and that of the demonic.

  Then, as his awareness had a habit of doing, it showed him the tear’s past. He saw his mother and father, and Ayva, though at that point a mere mortal, suspended for some reason in the air, far above Tamarack, staring into the pit of blackness that was the realm of the demonic.

  Next, he saw the tear flicker and close as his mother banished her own God from the torture He had brought upon Himself and upon His people.

  She had been victorious. She had endured and succeeded where no other could.

  And now he was going to just give up, and let her and his father die?

  He was going to let Tamarack die?

  He was going to let Rose die?

  It was at that point that the words formed in Cole’s struggling mind, and somehow his will rekindled within him, enduring, surviving, even as his body failed him. The answers to questions that he had been asking himself for so many years, for his whole life, at last began to take form.

  He realised then that even those very questions had been fed to him, imprinted directly upon him somehow, by, he was almost certain, the voice that was not of a God.

  The very notions that had haunted and driven him for as long as he could remember, were not even his own. They had been placed there, implanted, ready, waiting, in preparation for this very moment.

  If great things were to be asked of him, like they had been asked of his parents, would he match up to the legends of Timeless Zanriath and Isabella the Eternal? What was missing from the life that had the potential to be so great, and yet seemed so unfulfilled? Was he capable? Did he have the potential?

  The words tumbled over each other as one question appeared before he had even been able to process the last.

  Or would he succumb? Would he give in? Would he fail?

  The final question hung ominously, almost as if it were suspended before him in the water. It was the critical choice that he now faced, as he and his only family were swallowed by the depths of the dark ocean, giving in to the evil creatures that lay hidden within.

  And so, faced at last by that simple decision, began the wrath of Cole’s determination. A resolve instilled in him by his parents, possibly even by some greater power, as both he and Isabel had now come to realise.

  The enormity of his task weighed down heavily upon him, just as his parents had felt theirs weighing down upon them, almost two decades ago.

  But now, even as it had done for them, that deeply rooted resolve drove Cole forwards, forever enduring, giving him no option other than to keep fighting.

  44

  A power felt by all throughout Tamarack radiated from Cole at that moment. His immense and limitless will burst into life once more and seethed dangerously within the meagre constraints of his ravaged and broken body.

  The demons, still dragging Cole down further and further into the depths of the ocean, suddenly released their hold on him in terror and fled for their lives. Their fear quickly spread through the demonic ranks and soon they were all swimming madly in any direction that was not towards Cole. Thorn was greatly angered by the sight of his army’s abandonment, and advanced on his creator yet again, though, even he too was fearful.

  Cole’s ripped and water-filled lungs were useless now, and the rest of his body was in no better condition, but it seemed that it did not matter. His awareness rippled through the black water like a wave building strength, and spread wider than he had even felt before, not ceasing even once as it did so.

  Even as it spread, he felt his thoughts somehow already entwined with Tamarack itself, with the land and with the ocean, as if he was simply a part of the world within which he lived.

  Even Isabel and Zanriath, in their ruined state, sensed their son’s power and somehow, their strength slowly returning, managed to open their eyes. They laid sight immediately upon Cole and realised that their numbing pain was gone. Looking down, the huge splinters in their wounds had vanished and their flesh was healing, grotesquely knitting itself back together with a mind of its own.

  Then they choked and spluttered and gagged as their blood and water-filled lungs emptied into the water still suspending them, heaving litres of black and red liquid back out into the depths. Somehow then, once their lungs had emptied and healed, they felt not the need to breathe, and looked over to their son through the dark waters in astonishment, unsure how any of this was possible.

  They barely even felt alive - they simply watched.

  They felt Cole being overtaken by the same eerily calm composure that they both recognised, seemingly turning him into something that was barely even human, let alone their son.

  Suddenly, from the masking blackness all around, another demon rushed towards Cole with renewed vigour. Isabel tried to scream out a panicked warning to him, but in the depths of the ocean, her body would not comply.

  It was her nightmares come true.

  The beast charged with breath-taking speed, its powerful fins and flippers beating relentlessly, guiding it gracefully through the murky water.

  The beast reached Cole in a matter of seconds, though it
seemed to slow its pace as it neared him. Isabel’s dread eased and faded as he laid his hand affectionately on the monster’s neck.

  Rose had finally regained the strength to assume a more suitable amphibious form, now that her grave injuries had been healed, and she moved effortlessly through the dark waters. Her body was streamlined and still enormously powerful. Elegant flippers protruded from her sides and a strong tail propelled her like lightning through the otherwise hindering masses of water.

  Nothing happened for a few more moments. It seemed that, although his awareness was still spreading, and his will was still building, Cole was content, if only for a few seconds, to remain in silence and stillness. He stayed suspended in this dark alien world, far below the black surface - something that was all about to change forever.

  Isabel’s vision was all of a sudden filled by Thorn’s enormous mass as he charged past her and towards her son, generating vast churning swells once more as he moved his great hulking body sluggishly through the deep.

  Horror seized her yet again, but this time it did not last long, as she and Zanriath were abruptly propelled upwards towards the surface on a powerful current, that had appeared seemingly from nowhere. It shot them rapidly up and their ears screamed and popped violently with the rapid change in pressure.

  They burst from the bleak surface of the ocean with great relief, but did not remain there. Somehow, even without the current to push them, they continued to rise into the air. The sky was a serene light blue, in strange contrast to the gloomy waters below it, and the sun shone gloriously, casting great, long streak of yellow across the huge, open expanses between small wisps of white cloud.

  Zanriath looked across to his wife, and then down at the ocean, now at least thirty metres below them, with evident concern. That was not the most prominent of their thoughts however, they looked at each other and realised.

  The déjà vu was uncanny, and they almost expected an imaginary tear in their realm to open up beside them, just as had been the case when it had indeed been Isabel bending the boundaries between the possible and the impossible, long ago.