by Ross Turner
The Kingdom of Tamarack
Book One
By Ross Turner
©Ross Turner
Prologue
The rain fell continuously for hours on end, ceasing finally as the sun disappeared and darkness engulfed the Vale. Though the sun had blared above only hours before, now the scene was bleak and uninviting. The skies had opened and saturated the rolling grasslands to the north, and day had faded away into night. Clouds hung heavily and slowly drifted southwards, covering the landscape like a hideous blanket.
Known to Lands’ folk as the Vale of Shadows, each night the narrow pass was carefully avoided, owing to more than just its sinister atmosphere. These constant shadows were not a result of chance, but rather something much more unsettling for the island’s population.
Steep-sided mountains, jagged cliffs and overhanging rock faces bordered the Vale, forming Land’s Central Mountain Range - The Rikenbris; the going was never easy for travellers and locals knew better than to stray too close. Generally the usual causes of death in places such as this were landslides or breakaway rock, and victims were few and far between as not many people chose to travel through the mountains. In the Vale of Shadows however, things were somewhat different, somewhat less natural. The Vale wasn’t the problem; it was the demons that resided there.
A thick mist shrouded the area and served to ward off anyone foolish enough to consider exploring. The air was like ice and a harsh breeze whipped methodically through the rocky pass, adding to the deceptive chill of the night.
A girl of seventeen stood amidst the oppressive haze. Accompanied by her father, they waited together, motionless and silent.
The girl’s name was Isabel. Her life had so far been spent in education, honing her demonic skill and power. Her father had been her guide, her mentor, always pushing her to do more, to reach her potential; he would offer advice and encouragement, but never interrupted her when she pursued an idea. Much of the demonic simply could not be taught, but rather discovered, and then practiced independently, a process taking many years.
Patience is a virtue.
Though the Vale was clearly a dangerous place, Isabel’s being there was necessary and purposeful. She was to test her mind, her soul, her will, and her skills to their very limits, looking to exceed and, if successful, develop those boundaries. To some they are absolutes, but to others they are but mere initial barriers, desperate to be pushed, begging to be broken. But then of course, such a challenge would never be without its risks.
Seventeen and outrageously attractive, the boys of her hometown Aproklis found Isabel utterly stunning, devoting much of their time to occupying hers. But they achieved little more than to irritate her, disrupting her education. Mastering her demonic abilities required a level of extreme concentration. The will must be focused. Distracting young men with little in the way of intelligence are nothing more than a hindrance.
Isabel’s hair was a rich chestnut brown; slightly curled, it reached just below her shoulders and with an energetic bounce seemed to catch each ray of light with a bold shimmer. Her eyes matched her hair colour and had a definite spark to them, though they seemed too deep to imagine. In short, she was beautiful.
It was her flawless features and figure that kept throngs of trying male admirers trailing after her. She often left them lost for words, though the more courageous amongst them frequently tried a little harder. She had lost count of the ridiculous number of moonlit skies and radiant sunsets her followers dutifully and poetically compared her to, on an almost daily basis.
Though her father was fully aware of these empty-headed attempts, he trusted his daughter, and was content in the knowledge that she focused on the more important matters at hand. She knew better than to waste her time fluttering her eyelids and breaking hearts for sport.
Isabel’s father, though handsome in years gone by, felt the weight of his years more now with each passing day. Sadly this showed quite clearly and, as they have a habit of doing, his years were creeping up on him in haste. His silvery-white hair was not cut short but fell down to his ears in an unkempt fashion. He had never really paid too much attention to his appearance; he much preferred to concentrate on honing his own demonic abilities, having always known that a great responsibility had been placed upon him and that he needed to be ready.
Isabel had inherited a similar trait in terms of recognising her responsibilities, though as of yet she may not have fully understood them, she was able to bestow time for both necessities. She always ensured that she paid careful attention to her body and looked after herself. After all, nobody stays young forever.
Her father’s face in particular showed his years, but his mind was as alert as it had ever been, only now wiser and more experienced. This was evident also in his eyes, so similar to Isabel’s the resemblance was uncanny. His too had a definite spark about them, a certain glint they both shared, almost a physical representation of their unique bond.
Quite suddenly, the temperature in the Vale dropped another few degrees. Isabel shuddered, but more from apprehension than from the actual cold. Amidst the murky darkness looming silhouettes began materialising, surrounding the two companions. Some were larger than others and displayed hideous distinguishing features, clearly identifiable even in the inky shadows.
Isabel couldn’t help but be drawn to one such monstrosity directly ahead of her. The terrifying silhouette had an enormous set of jaws, undoubtedly overflowing with hundreds of razor-sharp teeth. Her imagination kicked into overdrive and inched through her composure, stealthily stealing away her calm. Her heart fluttered. Her breaths became shorter and menacingly sharp. Glancing round she could see more and more, some even creeping up from the ground itself, separating themselves slowly from the dirt and rocks. The sight absorbed her.
That same methodical breeze caught her by surprise and she shivered again, this time from the chill of the icy wind seeping through her skin and into her very bones.
Stood calm and collected, her father whispered through the blackness, his words were hushed but carried a clear sense of urgency. Composing herself and taking deep breaths, her resolve strengthening, Isabel concentrated, gathering her strength and her will. A rush of energy raced through her body, through every bone, every joint, and every vein, leaving a tingling at her fingertips. Carefully and intently, she focused that energy, collecting it with her will.
A lone traveller crossing through the range had been warned about the recent increase in disappearances around the Vale, and had been advised with insistence to steer clear of it. There were many travellers like him on the island - when Demon-Lord Depozi turned berserk and cursed His people, all direction was lost. Some, like Isabel’s father, looked into the demonic. Some lost their paths completely and turned to crime; others just left their homes and went out in search of something new.
Borin was one such ‘adventurer’. He considered himself brave and courageous. Though it is rare, stupidity can sometimes be mistaken for those attributes. Consequently, Borin attempted many things that most would refuse to even consider. These travellers didn’t have a specific purpose, but rather they were searching for one. Quite often however, having lost the blessing of guidance, the task of proving that they had backbone soon came to solely steer their decisions. This was one of those acts of stupidity.
Eyeing the valley from a distance, he could see that soon there would be almost no light at all. There were few stars visible in the sky and the moon was hidden behind a fortification of cloud. A biting breeze whipped off the rocks and bombarded the lonely traveller, carrying with it a putrid scent from the d
arkness of the Vale. He could hear an assortment of strange noises too, though he stood some distance away, the sound carried far on the wind through the blackness of the night. Some sounds were fierce and ugly, whilst others were calm and quiet, even close to sounding human.
But even with his keen ear he wasn’t able to distinguish perfectly between the noises he heard, distorted by the newly settling mist they all merged and overlapped - though at one point he was convinced he could hear a girl’s voice. Throwing common sense aside in a heartbeat, he based his subsequent actions on sheer bravado.
“If a girl can go into a valley, then there’s absolutely no reason why I can’t.” He spoke aloud for reassurance, though he was unsure how well it worked.
He strode forward with false confidence, his chin held high and his chest puffed out. His hand rested unconsciously on the hilt of the dagger protruding from his belt and with every step he was further and further swallowed by the darkness. And it was cold, extremely cold. His teeth chattered and his body shook in frenzy, despite his best efforts to control it. He was sure it hadn’t been this cold before he’d entered the Vale. Maybe it was the wind…or his nerves getting the better of him. It must have been the wind.
He kept walking, though his bold stride diminished noticeably with every step, soon resembling little more than a tentative shuffle. The murmurs grew louder, clearer, crisper. Some grew harsher. Some rasped, while others reduced to barely a whisper. Now they were all around him, as if he was amongst them, yet he had passed no one, and seen not even a flicker of movement.
Perhaps the sounds were carrying a greater distance than he’d first thought through the blackened valley, reflecting from his stone surroundings, or perhaps he was just losing his nerve.
There was still that same feminine voice mixed in amongst the clutter of noises, but even though it was closer, he still couldn’t understand it. He stood for several minutes straining his hearing in an attempt to decipher it, but to no avail. He ground his teeth in frustration.
There were many things in this world he didn’t understand, sorcery for example, an art he was almost convinced had died long ago, though he’d heard rumours of the power of sorcerers from Rilako. But as far as he was aware, there was only one language in Tamarack, even across the four islands. After reasoning his arguments and talking himself round in circles for a few minutes, he decided that since no one could travel between the four islands, there was really no way of knowing whether sorcery was possible, or whether other languages had developed.
But then, if no one could cross between islands, where had the rumours come from?
He stopped abruptly in his tracks. Ahead through the hazy darkness he could see two figures - two people. He edged closer and their outlines became clearer. A girl! And an old man! He hadn’t really expected to find anyone.
They were stood motionless, as if frozen together in time. The old man was talking to the girl, but not loud enough for Borin to hear. It was the girl’s voice he’d been hearing, and now it was much clearer, though it still remained alien. She looked very young, not even twenty. And she was concentrating; her expression was a determined one, cast in hard stone. His keen eyes picked up a surprising amount even in the murky fog and with a twinge of resentment he also noticed they weren’t shivering the way he was.
With a startled gasp Borin snatched his attention from the two mysterious companions and glared in horror at his feet as he felt the temperature drop suddenly again and catch his breath.
His feet were frozen. He couldn’t feel them, or anything below the knee for that matter. The strange numbing sensation crept upwards through the bones and muscles in his legs. It edged horribly through his skin, branching out, searching for more. His face contorted into an expression of desperation as he struggled to move, frantically wriggling everything he could still feel to try and break free from the ice. But by now his thighs were numb and all around him the ground was frozen, in a single icy circle, widening by the second. He was trapped.
Borin’s eyes widened and all the energy seemed to drain from him, even from his very soul. He saw movement, something forming in the ground in front of him, literally taking shape from the solid earth. The ice was moving, melting, twisting into a frozen shape. It warped until a large hand was clearly visible, sticking up from the ground for a few seconds before distorting itself further. It had no markings; it was just black, still covered with a thin layer of frost still covering the ground from which it had emerged.
It began to rise, preceding a monstrous arm from the frozen ground. The hand had six enormous claws, one for each finger and a thumb. The skin changed as it ascended. Strange blotches and patterns oozed over the hand and arm as it rose. The scene was horrific, yet deadly silent.
Was he was imagining the whole thing? He envisaged a nightmarish phantom rising from underground to claim him, an un-dead fiend with nothing but horror on its mind. The ground was simply a blanket, temporarily covering the frightening truth that lay beneath.
“Depozi have mercy.” He muttered into the darkness. But silence remained and prevailed, along with a torturous knowledge of the vast emptiness all around him. The darkness was the devil; evil, cruel and unforgiving.
Without warning, he felt a now all-too familiar numbness creeping up his spine. He tried craning his neck desperately, only to realise the frost had engulfed his entire back; he couldn’t move. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed more movement. More ghastly beings were rising from the ground in copious numbers, some already mobile, closing in around him.
Everything was silent.
Something gripped him from behind. It was huge and grasped Borin’s trunk with a single hand. He felt a searing pain as the beast’s claws ripped through his flesh and muscle, slipping with ease into his ribcage. The creature squeezed more tightly and blood oozed from his body, trickling freely down to the ground, but he was unable to scream. It raised Borin from the ground, breaking the ice’s menacing seal effortlessly. Lifted to the creature’s eye-level, he gawped at its savage teeth, its disfigured face, and its piercing green and bloodshot eyes.
Blood now poured from his chest and he slipped quickly into unconsciousness as the searing pain overwhelmed him.
Then the girl appeared, closely followed by the old man. She looked exhausted, yet stood with the same steadfast resolve and unwavering concentration.
She began muttering in that same strange tongue, quietly as first, but it wasn’t long before she was roaring at the demon gripping Borin’s limp body. Though loud, her voice was strangely soft, and each word carried a certain determined edge.
She released the energy she’d been building within her will. The sides of the valley rippled as the invisible force cascaded down towards the beast, bearing down upon it like thunder. By now the lifeless body that had been Borin hung limp. The creature tossed it aside and turned to face Isabel, arrogantly unprepared for what was to come.
Though enormous and bloodthirsty, it was no match. The force of her will smashed into the beast, obliterating all the strength of its mind and soul. But Isabel had instilled incredible force in the strike, perhaps even an unnecessary amount - not just enough to shatter the demon’s mental barriers, but enough even to physically annihilate her adversary. Such is the nature of anger. The monster was cleanly ripped in two, but that was just from the impact alone. The sheer energy from Isabel’s soul, controlled by her mind, had a rather more devastating effect.
The explosion made very little sound, though it was by no means meagre. Intestines, blood and organs sprayed in all directions. A ring of oozing, red and yellow liquids stained the Vale for a hundred yards in every direction.
Borin’s motionless body lay in the centre of that enormous pool of blood, with larger pieces of the demon’s internals strewn around the immediate area.
The rocks once again echoed sound far through the night. This time however, it was the creature’s final distant screams that carried through the Vale, fading into oblivion in the dar
kness all around them.
1
Isabel looked across at her father. He smiled warmly as she cradled the miniature wooden chest he’d given her. It was faultlessly handcrafted and intricate engravings resembling vines ran smoothly along the curved lid and met in the centre, slightly above the small metal clasp at its front.
Her father’s expression was one of love and compassion; the bond they shared was something quite rare and, in troubled times like these, such a thing was a blessing. Any father would have been proud to raise such a daughter: attractive, responsible, and strong-minded.
“You know of the evil in Tamarack, and you know what it’s capable of. I believe this will help you, probably in the not so distant future.” His words were calm and his manner strangely prophesising. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time now.”
Smiling now even more softly than before, he held the chest and Isabel moved her hand to the clasp at its front. She released the catch with surprising ease and slowly lifted the lid.
Her eyes fell upon the amulet and she realised she’d been holding her breath. With a deep sigh she exhaled, releasing, with a not quite so heavy heart, all the anxiety she’d built up waiting for this moment, though she hadn’t known why she’d been so apprehensive. Her father had not told her he’d been waiting for something, but somehow, unconsciously, she too had known. Yet, as hard as she tried to understand how the knowledge had come to her, she could not fathom it.
The old man seemed to sense her thoughts. He too had, without even realising, come to possess the knowledge of this amulet, as if the thought had just appeared in his unconscious mind.
“It’s very important.” Her father said quite seriously now. “The fellow I acquired this from made that quite clear. He assured me that it is almost time.”
