*
“Barsch, can you hear me lad?”
Barsch heard the words, but he could not tell if they were from reality or the dream. He lay there, body numb and mind on fire for what seemed like hours. Dimly he was aware of someone moving nearby, but when he tried to open his eyes to check, he found that he could not. Abandoning his sight for a time, he instead focused on his mind. He tried to think back to who he was, and what he had been doing. His name, Barsch La Tergan, came easily enough, but his parent’s names eluded him. Why could he not move? Why could he not remember?
Slowly, he allowed information to filter in from his dormant senses. Vision was obviously out of the picture, so he focused on what he could hear and feel. Immediately, a smell he had not experienced in years assaulted his nascent senses. He had only smelt in once before, after a fire had broken out in one of the towns, killing thirteen adults and four children.
It was the smell of burnt flesh, and it now filled his world. Trying to block it out, he stretched out his fingers, finding them to be wrapped in heavy bandages. There was pain, but it felt dulled, as if it were an old wound that only hurt when it rained. Licking his lips, he detected the faint taste of metal, along with a strangely bitter aftertaste that he could not quite place.
Finally, it was time to open his eyes, this time with a little more success. Blinking from a sudden burst of sunlight, he spent several minutes trying to re-adjust his vision. Eventually, the blurry world around him began to coalesce into something more defined. He was in his bed in Kingston’s study, kept in place by several layers of thick bandages that covered his chest and arms. As he observed the wrappings, the events of his journey suddenly came back to him.
The pool, the Bile Seeker, the malevolent Station intercom… everything that had happened hit him all at once, bringing a fresh bout of pain to his body with it. The last thing he could remember was the heart attack brought on by the pollution, and then collapsing in front of Kingston’s hut.
“What happened?” he groaned, largely to himself.
“You almost bloody died, that’s what happened,” replied a friendly voice from the doorway. Kingston was standing there, looking more tired than Barsch had ever seen him. He looked like he had been crying, but Barsch was not about to comment on it.
“My head feels like it’s on fire,” he mumbled, lifting his bandaged arm to try and block out the harsh sunlight.
“That’s because it was,” said Kingston, coming closer. He was carrying a wooden tray bearing a cloth-covered porcelain bowl.
“I must say m’boy, you scared the living daylights out of me! Next time you’re going to make such a grand entry, call first…” The old hermit’s tone was light, but Barsch could sense real fear behind the joke.
“Butternut soup, it will make you heal faster,” Kingston said, gently placing the tray on Barsch’s bandaged stomach. With help from Kingston, Barsch was able to sit up and attempt to eat it. It took a few tries to get his bandaged fingers to hold the spoon, but eventually he found a way. His first thought was that the soup tasted a little different to how it had before, but his second was that a meal was a meal, and that he had no right to complain.
“How did you find me?” Barsch asked, after finishing the strange tasting soup.
“By luck, mostly,” replied the hermit, settling down on the edge of the bed, “I just so happened to be looking out of my window when you stumbled by, talking to yourself and behaving strangely.”
“I was having a heart attack…” Barsch interjected, feeling a bit insulted.
“Well I didn’t know that at the time. So there I was, about to come and greet you, when you suddenly collapse, zapping yourself on my electric fence in the process. It’s a good thing I was standing right by the generator, or things could have been much worse…”
“I remember now. It hurt so much… I thought I was dying…” The pain had been so intense, but at that moment, it seemed like a thing of the distant past.
“You almost did. But, as it turns out, falling on that fence may have been the wisest thing you’ve ever done,” said Kingston, with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.
“I don’t understand, how could that have been a good thing?”
“Ah! Didn’t they teach you anything in school?”
“I was home-schooled…” Barsch said, defensively.
“Well then, your father should be ashamed. The most common treatment for a heart attack is a direct application of electricity to the chest. Of course, normally it’s a much lower voltage, and it’s done using a specialised machine, but we live with what we have. Basically, the shock from the fence was just enough to reset your heart to its proper rhythm, so, in fact, it was…”
“A good thing? I get it now, thanks.”
“Yeah…” Kingston took advantage of the lull in the conversation to check Barsch’s wounds. As he unwrapped his handiwork, he tried to prepare Barsch for what was to come.
“Now, don’t panic m’boy. There was a lot of damage and burnt skin, but I tried to minimize the nerve damage. You’re going to have a hell of a scar, but you’re breathing shouldn’t be too affected, and hey, at least you’re still alive…”
It was a kind gesture, but Barsch could tell that it was going to be bad. An image from his dream suddenly popped into his mind: the burnt man, with his blackened skin and endless scream.
“I’m ready,” he lied, as he watched Kingston slowly peel away the last layer.
“By the great gods above…” Kingston swore, looking with amazement at the flawless skin before him. Not a single mark, not even a scratch remained on Barsch’s chest. Mumbling something incoherent and probably blasphemous, he quickly removed the bandages on Barsch’s arms as well. They too were unnecessary, for the skin below looked almost brand new.
“It’s not possible…” Kingston stammered, fear and confusion building in his eyes.
“Maybe you saw wrong? Maybe it was just soot on the skin?” Barsch offered, knowing full-well that Kingston’s eyes would not make such a grand mistake.
“Yes… yes! That must be it! It was getting dark, after all, and your clothing is quite black… I must have just mistaken it for burns, and then forgotten to check the skin below!”
Barsch could tell that Kingston believed his words almost as little as Barsch did, but the old man had grabbed hold of a semi-reasonable explanation, and nothing would make him let go. With Kingston’s help, he rose from the bed, feeling only a slight tingling in his extremities when he tried to stand. It truly was a miraculous recovery, and Barsch wanted to find out how he had done it as soon as possible.
Another flashback of his dream gave him an unsettling idea. Could it possibly have been… Her? Had the girl with violet eyes done something to him? Could she have healed him in the night? But no, she had been asleep ever since Kingston had found them. It simply wasn’t possible, not by normal standards… But then again, she was anything but normal…
Awakening Page 26