*
For once, Barsch woke without so much as a murmur, his throat too parched to usher a single sound. For a minute, he lay there, trying to remember who and what he was. He glanced down, wondering if he would see the now hated sword at his bedside. Thankfully, Kingston had anticipated his distress, and had removed the wicked thing from sight. As the last vestiges of the nightmare slipped away from memory, Barsch felt a sudden urge to see Alza.
However, when he attempted to sit up, a hammer of pain pounded him down. It seemed like every part of his body was in agony, all at once. Gingerly raising up his arm, he noted the well-wrapped bandages that covered every exposed bit of skin. With a shudder, he remembered the fight, as well as Lanista’s endless roar mixing in with the howls of the dying cóyotl, till they became a unified clamour that hurt his brain. With effort, he managed to block the screams from his mind, gaining a small nugget of peace in the process. After finishing his mental cleansing, he set to work trying to figure out where and when he was.
Judging by the rows upon rows of framework beds and medical machines, he was in the town clinic. Through a nearby window, he could see that the storm outside had not abated in the slightest, though with the weather he had seen recently, he could not be sure how long it had been raging. A sudden movement tore his attention away from the thunderous downpour to the other side of the clinic. Walking with a cloth covered tray and her trademark apathetic scowl, Alza was a paradox of normality and fantasy. Upon seeing him, she slowly made her way towards his bed. If there was any sympathy in those violet eyes, Barsch could not find it. What he could see were the tell-tale signs of irritation and weariness, a dangerous combination.
In a matter of fact voice, she said, “Here, Kingston asked me to give this to you if you woke up.”
Placing the tray on the bedside table, she pulled away the covering to reveal a feast of fruit and meat. When Barsch had been living with his father, it would have been considered scraps, but to his starved stomach, it was the most tantalizing thing he had ever seen. His first target was a preserved apple, its skin a healthy red and its scent intoxicating. His first attempt at holding the fruit was an unmitigated failure, as was his second, and third, and so on.
Eventually Alza grew frustrated with his slow progress, and grabbed the crimson orb from his bandaged hands. With a soft sigh, she drew a small knife from a hidden pocket and set to work on carving up the apple. She worked with a skill that seemed to have been honed over several years, and within seconds the scarlet sphere had been transformed into a multitude of bite sized slices.
When Barsch tried to pick up these smaller pieces, he once again met with failure, until Alza once more took his food away. With a look that told of her intense desire to be somewhere else, she picked up a slice and unceremoniously placed it in his mouth. He sat there for several seconds, his astonishment at her actions causing him to forget to chew. When he finally remembered, his haste caused him to cough and splutter, earning him a disapproving look from his indifferent nurse. This went on for several more minutes, until the majority of the apple was inside Barsch. The awkward silence that occurred afterwards seemed to last for an eternity, and was only broken by Kingston’s sudden appearance.
Immediately, Alza stood up and pushed the tray into the surprised hermit’s hands, whilst giving him a look that brooked no argument. With her duty done, she left the clinic, not once looking back at the confused youth.
“How are you doing, m’boy?” he asked in a soft tone. Noticing Barsch’s expression he added, “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Barsch nodded, speechless, until he remembered the old man’s words from that horrid night. Calming himself, he said, “I’m sorry Kingston, I… I let the rage get the best of me. Out there, when I was fighting those... those things, I lost myself in the violence. Whenever blood was shed, be it mine or theirs, I was happy! Happy at the carnage, happy for the death I was causing...”
Slowly, Kingston sat down on the end of the bed and, in a soothing manner, he said, “Barsch, what you did out there, what you say you became... very few men can do. You say that you lost yourself to the rage, but what I saw was a man fighting to protect everything he cared for, and a boy who cried for his enemies. Most people, when they become like that, they don’t know how to return to normal, but you did! So, what you did, wasn’t wrong. As long as you control it, that rage will become your greatest weapon.”
Kingston looked deeply into Barsch’s eyes, and saw that the boy did not believe him. In truth, he did not have to. Barsch simply needed to hear the words. In time he would come to understand them.
Eventually, Barsch nodded, saying, “Thank you Kingston, for… for everything. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
Kingston looked at the youth who had fought with everything he had had to save a dying hermit and a girl who would never thank him. In the safety of his own mind, he offered up thanks to the man who had raised such a child. Out loud he said, “Hah! Repay me? Boy, if anyone needs to do any repaying, it is I to you! How many times have you saved me, and stood by my side when others would have abandoned me? I owe you a debt that I will never be able to fully repay, so please think no more of repaying me.”
Barsch did not answer. He couldn’t.
For the next several minutes, Kingston set to work on helping Barsch eat the rest of his breakfast. As he ate, they talked of random, nonsensical things, such as whether or not Kingston’s garden would survive without his care and if they could find a chess set in Wareven. Finally, the tray was bare, and Barsch’s rumbling stomach was full. With a steadying hand, Barsch got to his feet and walked around the clinic.
With use, his legs became strong and sturdy, until he could finally stand on his own without fear of falling over. Walking over to the window, Barsch peered out into the rain, trying to see the remains of the battle. Astonishingly, he had only been asleep for a few hours after his ordeal, a fact that Kingston attributed to good medicine and an even better youthful vigour. An odd figure standing out in the rain caught his attention, and he squinted harder, trying to make out the muddled form. Suddenly, the object turned towards him, revealing itself to be a newly awoken Maloch.
Barsch let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding. Four for four. They had all made it, somehow.
Awakening Page 120