*
An hour later, Barsch was regretting his earlier praise for the mountain’s warmth. As they climbed higher, the path became steeper and more arduous. Soon, Barsch was sweating from every pore he possessed, while Alza and Kingston strolled along as if they were walking on flat land. Despite Kingston’s physical condition, he had mastered a tempo that would both allow him to keep up with the group and conserve his energy for later. Meanwhile, Alza’s tempo was fast paced, and she quickly gained a hundred foot lead, despite her physical limitations. Thus, as they scaled the highlands, Barsch slowly fell behind, and had to ask several times for a rest. When this happened, Kingston would slow his relentless tempo and allow Barsch to catch up, but Alza would merely drop back a few feet.
Several more hours passed in this manner, with Alza galloping ahead and Barsch falling behind. Overhead, the clear skies was slowly being replaced by a ceiling of grey and black, as the mountain trapped and distorted the local airflow. Only Kingston seemed to notice the encroaching weather, but he made no mention of it.
Six hours after they had left the outcrop, they stopped at a small hollow in the mountain for lunch. The snowline was still far away, but already the warm breeze had replaced by a bone-chilling cold. Barsch set about preparing the food: the last of the fish and some of Kingston’s homemade bread; while Alza made the fire and Kingston scouted out the route.
When the old hermit returned, a scowl had appeared on his weathered face. When Barsch asked for the source of his bad mood, the old man merely pointed to the sky. As Barsch lifted his gaze skyward, he saw the reason for Kingston’s unease. The small group of clouds seen that morning had blossomed into a solid ceiling of black which stretched across the afternoon sky.
“Storm?” asked Barsch, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, although it’s still relatively small. It could break tonight, or in five minutes time, or never…”
Kingston once more looked at the tumulus sky, and Barsch could see that he was weighing his options. In reality, there were only three: stay where they were and hope for the best, descend down the mountain… or climb straight into the storm, and pray for a cave or crevice to provide shelter.
“Kingston, what do you want to do?” Barsch enquired, after ten minutes of contemplative silence.
After a short bout of coughing, Kingston gave his reply, although it was not the one Barsch had expected.
“We go up,” the old man said, with a mixture of determination and regret in his tone.
“Why?”
“We can’t climb back down, not if the storm hits before we reach safety. Climbing down a mountain is never easy. During a rainstorm, it’s almost impossible. Besides, this area is far too exposed for my liking. Closer to the summit there’s a greater chance of finding a cave to wait out the storm.”
Barsch knew that the decision to continue onwards had not been an easy one, but he could not agree with the old hermit. Alza and he might be able to manage it, but with Kingston’s failing health…
“Don’t worry, m’boy, I still have what it takes. I survived on my own for decades and I’ll be damned if a little bit of rain and an overgrown hill could stop me now.”
“But-
“We need to move on. Before the storm worsens.”
Barsch knew that there was nothing more to be said. He had no choice but to pack up his things and follow Kingston out of the hollow. Overhead, the sky continued to darken, heralding the fierce storm that could destroy them.
Awakening Page 38