*
With a stifled cry and a sudden jerk, Barsch awoke to the world. The nightmare was still fresh in his mind, and he felt that if he closed his eyes once more, he would return to that terrible glade. Instead, he let his eyes wander around the small room he now found himself in, hoping to find some confirmation that he was truly awake. He had been placed by unknown hands into a large, comfortable bed, which lay in the centre of what looked like a study.
Books of every shape and colour had been dropped carelessly around the bed, while more still could be found in the many bookshelves lining the room. A desk -most likely made of oak or pine- lay to his right, covered in yet more books and discarded papers. Just beyond it was a single open window, through which the morning rays of the sun streamed in like a golden river. It was a far cry from the cold, featureless pod which had been his only home for the last few centuries. It was warm, well-lit, and above all, it was a sure sign that someone else had survived the end of the world.
“Good morning m’boy! Hope you slept well?”
It took Barsch a moment to realise that the voice had not come from inside his own head, and had instead originated from the doorway. Before Barsch turned to see the speaker, he took a moment to take in his voice, which was soft, but full of warmth. If this turned out to be yet another layer to his dream, he at least wanted to savour this happiness for a moment or two.
His mind ready for disappointment, and his heart full of hope, Barsch turned his gaze towards the wooden doorway. There, outlined by a corona of morning light, stood an old man.
For a moment, Barsch just stared at the man, taking in every detail and analysing it. The first and most striking feature were his piercing green eyes, which reminded Barsch of the deep, dark forests of old. Next was the great expanse of white hair which covered up most of his face and neck, which matched the tangled mane which encircled his crown, save for a large bald spot at its peak. His skin was tanned and leathery, the result of decades spent under a harsh sun. A pair of oak-rimmed reading glasses hanging from a silver chain and a heavily scratched, gold wedding ring was the only adornments Barsch could see.
The man was wearing a badly frayed brown overcoat, which had been mended with dozens of coloured squares of fabric, making it hard to tell where the repairs ended and the original coat began. A dark green shirt, matching the colour of his eyes, and a pair of faded grey pants rounded out the old man’s attire; aside from a barely mentionable pair of brown boots. Barsch’s first thought was that, viewed from afar, the man was likely to appear as a giant, moss-covered mound. His second thought, after he chided himself on his childishness, was that such an outfit was perfect for traversing a forest unseen.
“Confused?” the old man asked, in a concerned tone. Barsch, still needing more time to find his voice, merely nodded in reply.
“I can imagine. Well, you don’t have to be afraid, I’m a friend, and you can ask me anything!”
Barsch nodded once more, giving his brain enough time to formulate his first question. “Who are you?” he asked, wanting to know the name of his saviour.
“Ah! Of course, how silly of me not to introduce myself! My name is Kingston, and this is my humble abode,” the old man replied, gesturing to the rest of the study.
“Nice to meet you, mister-”
“Just Kingston, lad, if you please…”
Clearing his throat, Barsch tried again, “Nice to meet you, Kingston. I’m Barsch, Barsch La Tergan.”
“And it is a pleasure to meet you too, Barsch.”
It was at this point that Barsch noticed something very strange about this situation: his pain and fatigue from running to the grove was missing. Not suppressed by the shock of Kingston’s existence, or repressed by a still asleep body, but missing. Even with a whole night’s sleep, his body should still have borne at least some evidence of his exhausting actions.
“Kingston?” he asked, afraid to ask the question that had been in his mind since he first awoke.
“Yes m’boy?”
“How long have I been asleep?”
The moment the words touched Kingston, he changed. His warm smile immediately lost some of its width, and his bright eyes darkened. After a long pause, Barsch’s saviour sighed and said, “Twenty years… plus the two days since I found you in the forest.”
The words hit Barsch like a sack of bricks, driving him back into the soft mattress. The fact that he had been asleep for the last two days barely even registered, when compared to the knowledge that he had been in cryo-stasis for more than two decades.
“But… but, the scientists said that the cryo-sleep would last for more than five centuries! How can I have already awoken?” Barsch stammered, trying to keep his wits from leaving him.
However, a small part of him, one wholly separate from the nervous wreck lying in the stranger’s bed, had already begun to put the pieces together. The reason why the world was still so polluted, why none of the scientists promises had come true, and why no one else was awake… was all because he had been awoken centuries too soon.
“Your guess is as good as mine, m’boy. All I know is that when I went to gather new plants, I found the last thing I ever expected to see again: people.” Barsch searched Kingston’s face for any trace of a lie, but either the old man had an unbeatable poker face or he was telling the truth.
A sudden bout of coughing ended Barsch’s turn at asking questions, and brought a new expression to Kingston’s face: fear.
“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have made you talk so much. Some Caretaker I turned out to be... You must be starving, right?” Kingston said, in an apologetic tone.
A sudden loud rumble from the direction of Barsch’s stomach was all the answer Kingston needed. “Wait here, I’ll fetch you something to eat.” And then he was gone, just as suddenly as he had arrived.
A minute later, Barsch heard the distinct sound of metal striking metal, along with the rare aroma of rosemary and nutmeg, which flowed through the open door and wrapped itself around his famished frame. With his caretaker gone, Barsch took the opportunity to peel back the heavy bedcover and get to his feet. Again, he was surprised by how limber his body felt, in spite of the rigorous exercise he had subjected it to. After a few small stretches and a fruitless search for injuries, Barsch began to explore his new surroundings.
Bending down, he gave a quick glance at the tattered books strewn about the bedside. Some were normal story books, like “The Legend of Geondal”; “Marvellous Tales of Grandeur and Mystery, Part VII”; “Novalith Saint” and “Lasienda and The Star of the North”, while some held more contemporary titles, such as “Famous Blades: A Retrospective Look at World Defining Weapons” and “Quantum Physics: The Key to Our Salvation?” Moving on, Barsch tiptoed over to the open window, hoping to get a better idea of his location.
The first thing that Barsch noticed was the absence of the smell of decay. The second thing was the massive storm cloud stretching across the horizon. The third thing, and by far the most troubling, was the colour of the cloud: acid green. Lowering his gaze, Barsch saw that he was in but one room of a large, wood-walled cottage. Ringing the thatch-roofed structure was a chest high wooden fence, with what looked like red and yellow wires running above the steel-bolted posts. A small generator, located by the front door, gave power to the wires, electrifying them and turning the fence into a formidable barrier.
Taking up the space between the fence and the cottage were several rows of ploughed earth, each containing a different herb or vegetable. Aside each plough was a long, curved sheet of metal, which looked as though it could be swung over the plants to protect them from birds and acidic rainfall if the need arose. All in all, it was a sanctuary, and in Barsch’s current condition, it was exactly what he had needed.
Closing his eyes, Barsch said a quick prayer of thanks to any gods who happened to be lingering nearby, before returning to the bed. Peering through the open doorway, Barsch espied a short hallway, with a closed doo
r on each side. At the other end lay the kitchen, where he could hear Kingston cooking his breakfast. Instead of waiting for the old man to finish, Barsch left the study and crossed the hallway, intent on helping out.
Awakening Page 9