Awakening
Page 37
*
That morning, the cold sun shone on three bodies, lying curled up on a rocky outcrop. Of the three, only the one wrapped in a green traveling blanket showed any sign of waking. For the first time in a long, long while, Kingston had not dreamt, which meant that his sleeping mind had not been assailed by its usual treatment of guilt and regret. Therefore, his morning routine of meditation and calming exercises had not been needed, leaving him with an excess of mental energy. Physically, he was still weak, and every tenth breath was replaced by a short cough.
After clearing away what little of the campfire remained, Kingston busied himself with a variety of miscellaneous tasks, waiting for the dozing duo to awaken. Finally, after half an hour of inaction and with the sun already well above the horizon, Kingston took matters into his own hands.
"Barsch m'boy, it's time to get up," he softly called, placing a wrinkled hand on the youth's shoulder. When Barsch failed to wake, he tried again, louder.
A small spur of fear was already creeping into his mind by his third attempt. “Had something gone wrong in the night? Had Barsch's pollution exposure during his trip to Genesis been worse than I thought?” These thoughts were joined by dozens more of the same ilk, building up into a tidal wave of fear that threatened to come crashing down on his frail psyche.
And them, seconds before he started CPR, Barsch's eyes snapped open, and Kingston could have sworn that they looking at something beyond him; beyond anything reality had to offer. And then, releasing a breath he had not realized he was holding, Kingston let out a sigh of relief.
"Kingston?" whispered a voice from somewhere near. Barsch was understandably confused, since his first sight had been that of an old hermit about to perform CPR on him.
"Sorry m'boy, just a little misunderstanding. How are you feeling?" Kingston stood up as he spoke, trying to inject some normality into the awkward situation.
"I'm fine, a bit light-headed, but nothing to be worried over."
Had the boy seen the concern in his face? Or had he guessed what had happened? Kingston would never know, nor did he care to.
"Ah, that’s good. So, did you have any good dreams?” Kingston asked, hoping that the standard morning question would ease the tension somewhat.
However, his query had the opposite effect, and Barsch’s face contorted as he struggled to remember his dream. He could recall only fragments, tiny slivers of memory that refused to coalesce. There had been an immense darkness and words that had not been his own… and maybe… a crystal throne?
But even as he thought back the images started to fade, losing what little definition they had. Only the great void remained clear in his mind, but dreaming about darkness was hardly alarming, or interesting for that matter. Strangely, when he pictured that infinite emptiness in his mind, an unusual feeling descended down upon him. He felt comforted, at peace even, and for a brief moment he wondered if this was how a mother’s embrace would feel. But he would never know that feeling, and the ghosts of the past could do little for him now.
“Sorry Kingston, I can’t remember anything… you know how it is,” even as he spoke, he felt a pang of guilt for lying to Kingston.
“I understand. It’s perfectly… normal.” Kingston, for the first time since he had knelt beside Barsch, looked over to where Alza had lain. Looking back at him was a pair of violet eyes, which could only belong to their mysterious companion.
“Good morning, Alza, did you sleep well?” Barsch’s words came as a surprise, but Alza answered without delay.
“My body has rested. We should leave this place and continue our journey.” Barsch had been expecting something similar, but it still would have been nice for her to answer with more emotion. He had somewhat gotten used to her level, almost monotone voice, but he did wish for some variety now and again.
“Surprisingly, I agree with her. It’s already well past dawn, and I want us to be high up in the mountains by dusk.” Kingston’s face told Barsch that the old hermit truly did not like agreeing with Alza, but his strange dislike for her would have to be a problem for the future. In the present, Barsch quickly rose and carried out his morning routine, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Less than half an hour later, they had eaten a light breakfast of leftover fish and had packed up the campsite. The sky was almost completely void of clouds, with only a few wisps of grey hanging over the mountains above them. Despite the thick caps of snow covering the peaks, the air was still humid, and gentle warmth permeated the environment. Barsch did not care if this was due to side effects from the global pollution or merely a geographical quirk, he was just glad to be warm.