Awakening

by Hayden Pearton

  *

  With every step, the rain seemed to pound harder, as if it was finally settling an age old grudge with the insolent earth. After a while, hail joined the fray, adding golf ball sized blocks of ice to the assault. Unseen, thunder roared, signalling the beginning of the lighting charge at the defenceless earth. This battle of the elements went completely unnoticed by the frozen travellers, whose only thoughts were preoccupied on how to stay warm. Each had a different approach, with Barsch focusing on wrapping every inch of his patched cloak around his body; while Kingston made due with holding his folded solar staff close to his chest, the raindrops producing a small sizzle whenever they struck the electrified pole. Alza had gone for the simplest option, merely creating a bubble of air around her diminutive frame, which kept out rain and cold alike. When Barsch had tried to step inside, she had sent him a look that caused his feet to automatically carry him away. The only one to welcome the cold was Maloch, as he found that his processors were functioning at maximum capacity for the first time in years.

  Beneath them, the reddened, dust covered ground had been turned to sludge by the downpour, making every movement a fight to stay upright. The mud clung to every stitch of clothing and inch of exposed skin, weighing them down and making progress arduous. In a word, it was miserable. The pelting rain and stinging hail did nothing to improve the mood, and the atmosphere continued to darken as they walked.

  If that had been all, Barsch would have been able to cope with the rotten weather, but unfortunately, there was more. It seemed like they had somehow gotten lost, as every turn led them to the edge of a massive canyon, which would appear without warning thanks to Maloch’s faltering headlamps. The curtain of rain made finding their way even more difficult, and Barsch could have sworn that they walked in a circle for at least an hour. Maloch directions were of little help, a fact that Barsch attributed to a broken compass or just a poor sense of direction.

  After nearly two hours of wandering, they found a grove of large, barren trees. Huddling under the boughs brought little shelter, so they were forced to crouch beside the exposed roots and ask Maloch to lean over them. The makeshift tent offered almost no sanctuary from the cold or the endless rain, but it was something. For an instant, in a sudden break in the downpour, Barsch could have sworn he heard the roar of a nearby raging river, but the returning rain drowned out all other sounds. When they were all seated, Barsch caught his first glimpse of the faces of his companions.

  Alza seemed to have grown even more distant and uncaring since leaving Wareven, and her wet hair and drenched dress told Barsch that she had failed to maintain the shield of air for very long. As for Kingston, Barsch thought he had never seen him looking so... old. The darkness created by the clouded sky had lengthened the lines on his weathered face, and his wrinkles seem to have multiplied since Barsch had seen him last. Even his eyes, which always had a glint of mirth in even the worst of situation, were cold and solemn. He seemed to have grown shorter as well, an effect created by his low posture and hunched back.

  It was a shock to Barsch, who had never truly seen Kingston as frail. Maloch on the other hand wore an expression of worry, which showed through his slumped posture and dimmed eyes. Barsch knew that the re-mech was blaming himself for their current predicament, though he could not come up with words of comfort despite his efforts.

  After a few depressing minutes, it was Kingston who spoke up, “Well... it looks like we might have to camp out here until the storm passes.”

  No one needed to say anything, as their displeasure was as clear as day. Noting everyone’s sullen glances, he continued, “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be over soon. Now, we’ll need to find some branches in order to build a lean-to. Barsch, can you-

  Wondering why Kingston had stopped in mid-discussion, Barsch turned to see what the old man had been looking at. At first, he could not make out anything in the heavy deluge, and it took several seconds for his eyes to adjust until he could make out a strange shape in the distance.

  Roughly a hundred feet away, appearing intermittently, was a glowing ball of light. Unless his eyesight was worse than he had thought, it was growing and shrinking in a nonsensical manner. When it had first appeared, the soft light had been a vibrant gold, but with every reappearance it changed colour; from lime green to neon pink, before finally settling on bright red. Barsch turned back to Kingston, intent on asking what they should do, but stopped when he saw the wide smile on the hermit’s face. Without a sound, the elderly traveller stood and started walking towards the changing light. In response, the luminescent entity began to draw closer, growing larger as it did so. At seventy paces, it was the size of an apple; at thirty, it was larger than Barsch’s head.

  When Kingston and the creature finally met, it had taken on a blinding silver hue, though he did not seem to mind the intense light. As they came back to the grove, realisation hit Barsch like a brick wall.

  “It’s the creature from the dream, the one the Avatars created! Um… I think they called it.... Spectre?”

  “Spectre?” Barsch asked, feeling foolish as he did so. The ball of light could not possibly understand or answer him.

  And yet, it did. Turning to him, it swelled to double its previous size, turning bluish-green in the process. It repeated this greeting for both Maloch -turning yellow- and Alza -violet tinged with crimson- though the latter did not seem to even notice the spectral phenomenon.

  A moment later, another realisation hit the recovering Barsch, dragging his mind back to the words that had first introduced the strange creature.

  “Terra and Ion called it a guiding light, I think. So maybe it can show us where to go?”

  Seemingly reading his mind, Spectre rose above the group and started weaving back and forth through the air. It had an air of impatience about it when it started moving off in one direction, before hurrying back to the reticent party.

  “I think it wants us to follow it?” asked Barsch, silently daring anyone to call him foolish.

  “I agree, it does seem to be here for a purpose, doesn’t it?” replied Kingston, without pausing for thought.

  While they had been talking, Spectre had disappeared further into the trees, prompting Barsch and Kingston to quickly gather their things and follow. With unquestioning loyalty, Maloch was the next to give chase, followed soon after by a disinterested Alza. It soon became apparent that Spectre was more than a little mischievous, as the whimsical light darted playfully through the trees and suddenly changed direction without warning.

  It reminded Barsch of a dog he had once owned -Charlotte- who would gain great enjoyment out of being chased around. When Barsch had finally caught up to her, she would give him a look of unbridled happiness and then roll over, presenting her stomach for a long awaited petting session.

  For a moment, Barsch felt a pang of pain flare up in his heart, as he thought of all of the things taken by the pollution, things that would never come back. Shaking himself out of his bittersweet recollection, he gazed around at his new surroundings.

  They were still within the dead forest, though it had thinned out quite a bit since entering. To his left, he could see a fast flowing, boulder-strewn river. It was about fifteen feet wide and roughly six deep, with rapids as far as the eye could see. Leaving the group, he followed the river downstream, until it disappeared into a large hole in the earth. If he squinted through the turbulent water, he thought he could make out the canyon floor several feet below. When he re-joined the others, he explained what he had seen.

  After processing the information, Kingston stated, “It sounds like it runs right through the canyon. This could be our best shot of getting out of here,” noting Barsch’s quizzical gaze, he continued, “When I was a soldier, we were taught how to ride the rapids using nothing more than a branch and a prayer! Now, if I’m right, we can follow the river west and out of the plateau.”

  Barsch gave the hermit a long stare, noting the age spots on his hands and the we
b of lines around his eyes. “A branch? Um, Kingston, not to be rude or anything, but... um, you’re not really as young as you were back then. I’m worried you might get hurt.”

  “Don’t be silly m’boy, I don’t expect you to ride a branch! Look around, we’re surrounded by things we can use to make a raft!”

  As advised, Barsch looked around the area, taking note of several creepers that would serve as ropes and branches to fashion into paddles. From what little he knew of trees, Barsch thought that the wood looked strong and buoyant, but floating down those rapids on a wooden raft filled his mind with unhappy thoughts.

  “It seems like lately my life has become nothing more than a series of increasingly dangerous thoughts. Like: of course the cable will hold our weight; don’t be silly! M’boy, there’s no way the bridge will collapse! And, my personal favourite: there’s no way this old thing will break down! When this is all over, I think I’ll find a nice, quiet... very quiet… part of the planet and settle down. And whenever someone asks me to join them on a fool proof plan or once in a lifetime adventure, I’ll shut the door and go and read a nice, non-lethal book or something.”

  “Barsch! Stop daydreaming and come help us fell this lumber!” called Kingston from the treeline, calling from the treeline. He had already striped off his heavy coat and was going around and tapping each tree with the solar staff. Every so often, he would turn to Maloch and say, “This one,” after which Maloch would come along and uproot it. After conversing with Kingston, Barsch understood the basic plan. Kingston would oversee the gathering of the trunks; Maloch would rip them from the earth; Barsch would cut them into the correct size; and Alza would tie them together with the creepers.

  His job lined out, he set to work on carving up the timber. As he reached for Lanista, his hand stopped of its own accord. He knew why. Subconsciously, he knew that he would associate Lanista’s roar with that dreadful night; the night when his bloodlust had almost overwhelmed his sanity. Gritting his teeth, he forced his hand to close around the cold hilt, whilst trying to keep Kingston’s words in his head. His fingers were shaking when he went to pull the ripcord, but in the end his will was stronger than his flesh.

  With a roar that was all too familiar, Lanista sprang to life, its churning teeth ready to sink into anything. However, today’s meal was wood, not blood, and Barsch swore that he could feel the disappointment in the black blade. Planting one foot on the dead wood to steady himself, he began cutting through the first log. As it had been made to shear rock and destroy steel, the trunk gave almost no resistance to Lanista’s passage.

  They soon fell into a rhythmic pattern, as each tree was felled, carved and leashed to the rest in minutes, and the sound of organised chaos filled the air. They were so focused on their tasks, they even forgot about the freezing rain and intermittent hail.

  Without notice, Spectre had quietly slipped away, but they knew it would be back if they lost their way again. After an hour, the raft had started to take shape; a fact which brought a broad smile to Kingston’s soaked face. It was a meagre thing, built not for comfort but for function. After a few last minute checks and tightened knots, they were ready to test it in the water.

  Carefully held by Maloch -lest all of their hard work be swept away- it was gently lowered to the fast moving stream. Barsch was leaning forward, anxiously awaiting the buoyancy results.

  With a word from Kingston, Maloch let go of the vessel and stepped back. For a moment, it disappeared under the roiling surf, but it soon popped back out and held its level. As soon as it reappeared, Kingston gave out a hearty laugh, and then, celebrations over, it was back to work. Although the raft floated, they could not steer it, and it was not yet sturdy enough to cross the more turbulent rapids.

  To put his mind off the monotonous job of carving up the paddles, Barsch allowed his memories to wash over him. He found that when he tried to think back to events before the Great Sleep, a sharp pain would spear his heart, as a mixture of longing and homesickness washed over him in a saddening wave. Instead, he preferred to dwell on his memories from after his awakening.

  It seemed as though those peaceful days in Kingston’s hut had been an age ago. That hut had been a solid anchor in a storm of panic and uncertainty. Even the day when Alza had finally woken -and all of the chaos she had brought- were still remembered fondly. Before meeting Terra, it had all seemed like a carefree adventure, but Barsch knew that he had been merely innocent to the true, uncaring nature of the world. He had seen the impact war had had on the world, and had witnessed the brutality of nature.

  Barsch knew that no matter how their quest ended, he would never return to being that innocent youth that had first stepped into his pod. The whirling blade in his hands suddenly snapped him back to the present, its ever-hungry teeth cutting nothing but air. With a sigh, he shut down the savage weapon and stood back to appreciate his work.

  The paddles were five feet long and two inches in diameter, made of birch with their ends carved into vaguely paddle shaped figures. Satisfied with his amateur carpentry skills, he glanced over to see how the rest of the group had done. He was surprised to find that they had completed their tasks as well, and had already modified the raft with extra support.

  Bundling up the paddles, he quickly made his way to the stationary raft. The others were already aboard, patiently awaiting his arrival. After tying down all of their belongings, Maloch let go of the branch which had held them in place. With no time for doubts, they set off.

  Immediately, the raft was caught in an inescapable vice grip, as the current took hold of the vessel. Starting slow, the raft quickly began picking up speed, until the trees lining the bank flew past as green and brown blurs. Within seconds, the furious waters had brought them to the dark opening in the cracked ground, its unlit maw looking like an entrance to the underworld. At the speed they were going, Barsch knew that any attempt to change direction would be pointless. There was nothing to be done but wait and pray the hole would have an exit somewhere.

  As they neared the opening, Barsch fancied he could hear the faint rushing of water hitting rock. Closer to the cave mouth, he was no longer unsure. He was sitting at the forefront of the raft, with Kingston to his left and Alza to his right. Maloch was seated at the back, ready to reach out and anchor them to the shore if need be. Due to his position, Barsch was the first to see what lay beyond the opening, and what he saw filled him with dread.

  Ten feet into the cave, the river ended in a massive, churning waterfall. He could not be sure of how far it fell for, and he had no desire to find out. Turning to Maloch, he called out in a strangled cry, “Waterfall ahead! Maloch, stop the raft!”

  “As you wish.”

  The re-mech asked no questions, nor did he wait for Kingston’s confirmation.

  With the strength of a giant of legend, Maloch reached out with a four fingered hand and grasped the nearby trunk of a young sapling. Almost immediately, its light brown body began to bend under the immense strain. However, it held, bringing the raft to a shuddering stop mere inches away from the gaping hole.

  Barsch could see the cataract clearly now, and he was fervently glad that they had stopped when they did. It was at least twenty feet high and jagged rocks broke through the wall of water in a dozen places. Far below, the pounding torrent had thrown up a veil of spray, obscuring the canyon floor from view. It would have been a rough ride if Maloch had not stopped them in time.

  As if merely thinking about how lucky they had been had brought Fate’s malevolent attention, a cracking sound from behind Barsch brought back his worst fears. Turning quickly, dread already painted on his rain-drenched face, he stared at the re-mech. In one look, he took in the entire frozen tableau: Alza, eyes wide in surprise, arms outstretched to grab hold of the broken trunk; Kingston, realizing the seriousness of the situation, diving to the floor; and Maloch, metal hand still holding what remained of the torn sapling. As time resumed its merry march, Barsch heard one last thing before t
hey were swept over the edge of the cascading flow.

  “Forgive me-