Awakening

by Hayden Pearton

  *

  With effort, Alza shook herself awake, the last remnants of her dream already fading from her mind. She was not wholly surprised to find Barsch kneeling over her prone figure, concern and worry plastered across his innocent features. She was only slightly less surprised to find that they were still on the raft, though from what she could see, it had not weathered the fall without damage. Ignoring Barsch’s steadying hand, she slowly got to her feet. Her first glance was at the raft, her second at her surroundings. Kingston and Maloch were sitting cross-legged at the far end of the raft, the old man’s face gaunt, the re-mech’s unreadable. They appeared to have fallen into an underground river of some sort, judging by the lack of light and the domed ceiling. Maloch’s eyes were their only way of knowing where they were going, and Kingston’s solar staff provided what little light it could.

  “How long was I out for?”

  It was Barsch who answered, saying, “About an hour. I can’t really remember, but I think you hit your head on a rock when we were going down the waterfall. We’ve been trying to wake you for the last forty minutes.”

  Alza shook her head, trying to recall the fall. She could only remember Maloch losing his grip, and then the feeling of vertigo as the raft had started its free-fall. For some reason, it seemed to have taken place in another world, a long time ago. Another worrying fact was that whenever she closed her eyes, she saw strange images. Some were easy to understand, such as the attack of the cóyotl, and the appearance of spectre, whilst others were a bit more puzzling; like a bridge made of floating rocks and a girl travelling in a bubble of air.

  Discarding the images as nothing more than the after-effects of her concussion, she continued to study her new environment. The cave they found themselves was actually quite large, she saw, once she had regained her night vision. The ceiling was at least ten feet from the river, and a bank of five feet ran parallel on either side. She had also been wrong about Kingston and Maloch being the only sources of light, as closer inspection of the cave walls revealed hundreds of glow-worms. They seemed to twinkle like stars as the light from the solar staff briefly caught their polished carapaces. Altogether it created the effect of being underneath the night sky, though Alza knew that many hours of daylight separated them from moonrise.

  The quick flowing river took them through massive caverns and dark tunnels, unconcerned with where they desired to go. They passed between stark white stalagmites and still dripping stalactites, their ivory features never seen by man. Everywhere they went, the light of the glow-worms followed, an ever changing field of stars. Their tumulus ordeal over, every passenger started to visibly relax. Kingston even leant back on the hard, wooden floor of the raft and pretended to sleep.

  Barsch turned his gaze to Alza, but she did not return his glance, her alien eyes hidden from view. For a moment, he felt a deep desire to reach out to her, and comfort her lonesome figure. Logic stopped him, as he knew in his heart that he would only receive a cold look and a frown for his efforts. He thought back to the first time he had met Yumiere, how she had laughed at his lame attempts at humour and had accompanied him on even the smallest excursion. Alza, by comparison, was a closed book, her emotions and thoughts unreadable. It seemed as though his fight with the cóyotl had been a hundred times easier than trying to talk to a single girl.

  Suddenly, a new source of light streamed into the cave, it’s waves and particles warm and natural. A second later, Barsch saw the reason for this sudden intrusion into the world of darkness: an exit. Formed by raging water and soft limestone over millennia, the opening was barely big enough for them to fit through, raft and all. Before Barsch could utter a warning cry, they were through. Harsh daylight assaulted his night-adjusted eyes, and the crashing rain refroze his recently dried skin. Several rays of light had burst through the lessening storm while they had been underground, a portent of the end of the storm.

  Drawing his eyes down and away from the patched sky, he scanned the landscape around the raft. They had emerged from a hole in a canyon wall, and were now heading downriver, towards the main stream. The water had carved a sinuous line through the canyon and towering walls of reddened earth rose up on either side of the river. A small bank ran along the side of the river, no more than five feet across, its trail dotted with plants and bushes. A large shape to his left caught his eye, and he turned to look at one of the strangest things he had ever seen.

  The striations in the canyon wall ran parallel to one another, from top to bottom, though something had broken the pattern about mid-way up. At first Barsch had thought that it was a strangely shaped, white rock, with holes and strange bumps marring its surface. As they were brought nearer to the thing in the wall by the ever present current, he immediately revised his opinion. The bones of something were sticking half out of the wall, obviously excavated by years of erosion.

  The head -at least, it looked like a head- was larger than that of any creature Barsch had ever seen. It’s perfectly preserved serrated teeth were longer than his forearm, and as thick around as his wrist. Barsch had only ever seen bones like that once before; on what had remained of an unfortunate lizard he had found with his father, though every part seemed to have been massively scaled up. Below the gargantuan head, a single arm was visible, though it looked tiny in comparison to the rest of the giant.

  The miniature claws and talons would have been ineffective on a creature so large, and Barsch theorized that it had relied on those massive jaws and blade-like teeth for hunting. He did not know if his theory was correct, or if the gigantic beast was hiding other weapons from his perceptive eyes, as the rest of the bones were entombed in the hard clay. However, before he had had time to study the thing further, or even rouse Kingston, the river had taken it from sight. With a sigh of loss, Barsch turned and faced forward once more.

  From that moment on, Barsch kept a wary eye out for any other fossils. He did indeed see a great many more; from spiralled shells covered in bony spikes to bird like bodies; but he never again saw a beast as fearsome as the first. It was peaceful in a way, with the slowing rain creating a steady beat as each droplet hit the flowing stream, and the low hum made by the light breeze channelling through the twisting canyon. Barsch felt as though he could stay there forever, as every pent up fear and worry seemed to just melt away into the serenity.

  In the distance, yet at the same time close at hand -the echoing walls made it hard to tell- there was a soft yet deep rumble that brought a worried frown to his lips, but the peace quickly wiped it away. Even Alza seemed to relax, though with her it was always hard to tell. Telling himself that Maloch would warn them if any danger approached, Barsch allowed his mind to drift. Absentmindedly, he began to sing snatches of a tune his father had once sung to him, in a world that no longer existed.

  “When the wind rustles the willows, I will plant the seed of life. When the sun scorches the land, I will water the seed of destiny. When the blood-stained leaves fall to the earth, I will guard the seed of fate. When the frozen brooks crack and thaw, I will reap the seed of hope.”

  Barsch paused, trying to remember the second verse. With difficulty, the memory flowed back to him. He had always liked the first more. “Till every man and woman sings the song of peace, my blade will sing the blood song. Till every child laments for the fallen, my staff will cleave a path through the darkness. Till every elder draws his last breath, my axe will rend the death dealers. Till every soul repents for the great sin, my bow will fell the blighted.”

  The third verse came even slower than the second, as Barsch tried to recall his father’s words. He had only ever heard them once, and even then only to please his desperate parent. His voice low, almost in a whisper, he finished the strange song, “The land will rot; the seas boil. The skies grow empty; all voices fall silent. We suffer and suffer for our treachery against Gaia’s womb, yet we make no attempt to ease her pain. Run and hide, little ignorant human, until your frozen coffins become your end. You are the disease
, I am the cure. I will cleanse this world of your filth, and the world will know peace forever...”

  The last verse had always sounded like a rant to Barsch’s ears, no matter how many times he replayed it in his head. It always sounded so angry, so full of contempt for humanity. Not for the first time, Barsch wondered if the last verse even belonged to the rest at all. In his head, the words sounded suspiciously close to those of the Avatars, though he could simply not imagine Terra uttering such malicious remarks.

  Barsch had been so wrapped up in puzzling out the true meaning of the lyrics, he had completely failed to notice a change in the environment. Along with an increased rumble in the background of his hearing, he could feel that the river had become more turbulent since he had last paid it any attention. Looking up from his seat, he could see the worry etched on Kingston’s aged countenance. After unsteadily rising from his prone position, he asked in a wavering voice, “What’s happening?”

  The old man did not even glance down, instead, he muttered a single word, “Rapids.”

  Barsch followed the hermit’s gaze and his breath caught in his throat. Stretched out for at least a mile, along one of the straighter parts of the canyon, lay a minefield of jagged rocks and swirling currents. Spray leapt whenever water met stone, and countless obstacles dotted the treacherous stretch. As if reading the mood, the rain returned to its former intensity, almost as if it had to make up for lost time. Barsch did not even feel the pelting raindrops, so focused was he on the chaotic strip before him. For an instant, he thought of trying to turn back, perhaps paddle toward the far bank, but their small raft had long since been held by the twisting currents.

  In addition to the stark, bone crushing boulders, numerous fallen branches littered the stretch, acting as wooden barricades which guided the unwary towards the churning waters. In more than one place, the riverbank had suddenly dropped several feet, creating countless miniature waterfalls that were no less deadly than their proper sized cousins. Barsch watched as a solitary stick floated towards one of the aforementioned falls, dragged onwards by the same force that held them in check. The stick met the frothy water and disappeared almost instantaneously. The stick never emerged from the freezing water.

  “What can we do? Should we try for the paddles?” Barsch asked. He did not receive a reply. “Kingston!” he shouted, trying to be heard above the harmonized roar of the water above and the water below.

  With a shudder, the reticent veteran turned to Barsch and with a sickly smile on his face, said, “There’s nothing we can do but pray m’boy... pray that Fate will smile upon us...”

  Barsch thought about the old man’s words, and came to the conclusion that while Fate may indeed have been watching, he seriously doubted the smile on His face was for their sake. With Kingston out of action, it was up to Barsch to devise a plan. The nearing rapids limited the amount of time he had, but he tried to do the best with what he had. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he called out to the stationary re-mech. “Maloch, can you row us to the bank?”

  The re-mech glanced at the churning water looming less than a hundred feet away, and seemed to make a few calculations in his electronic head. Less than a second later, he responded with, “If we are lucky, and if the current does not suddenly change, I might be able to make it.”

  With their heading taken care off, Barsch turned to Kingston next. Taking him by the shoulders, he softly said, “Kingston. I need you to listen to me. I need everyone’s help to get us out of this. Can you row for me?”

  The hermit sat there for a few precious seconds, before meekly nodding and straightening up. With two rowing, they had a better chance than none, but Barsch still wanted the aid of one more. Alza was exactly where he had left her, staring forward with her back towards him. He searched his mind for a word with which to describe her, before settling on, “guarded.”

  Firming his resolve, he gently leant forward and tried to lay a hand on her shoulder. She turned her head moments before his fingers brushed past her silky hair. Her violet eyes pierced his resolve like hot lead through butter. For a long moment, they stood stock still, neither saying a word. The growing roar of the rapids broke the tense atmosphere, whilst simultaneously bringing Barsch back to his senses.

  “Alza, I...” Stopping himself, he tried again, “Alza, we need your help.” She continued to stare impassively, letting nothing of her thoughts show. “Do you think you could... you know... use that power of yours to... um... move the raft?”

  Barsch did not know what he had expected her to do; though her giving him her customary cold glance was high on the list. Instead, she looked back at the turbulent river, then back at his pleading face, before nodding once. Barsch raised a hand to his brow and was not wholly surprised to find a trickle of sweat. It was hard dealing with a woman who could fling you across a room with hardly a thought, then suddenly turn around and feed you diced apple, before changing back once again.

  It was almost as if there were two Alza’s; one unconcerned with the world and wielding an unimaginable power; the other a normal, shy girl trying to deal with a difficult situation. Whoever the real Alza was, Barsch doubted he would ever really understand her, though a part of him found enjoyment in trying.

  While Barsch had been musing on the nuances of strange girls, Alza had risen to her feet. She seemed no more unsteady than she had been on solid ground, and she rode the swells and furrows as if she had spent her entire life at sea. Her glowing eyes and flailing hair told of her intentions, though the effect was far more subtle than before. Slowly, the waterlogged craft began to turn towards the safety of the bank, as if an underwater creature was pulling them from beneath the murky surface. Kingston and Maloch could do nothing but hold on to their oars and stare at the raft’s miraculous change of direction.

  Barsch peered past Alza’s standing form, searching for the tell-tale sign of the first submerged rock. Relying on vision was useless in the downpour that had taken the area, so he was forced to rely on his sense of hearing. He listened for where the raindrops hit more softly, which would indicate something lying in the depths. Another precious second later, and his straining ears caught the sound that was only a millisecond softer than the thousands of others. If he had been in a normal state of mind, Barsch would have pondered his almost supernatural hearing ability, but at the time, he put it down to luck and adrenaline.

  After doing a simple distance calculation in his head, he approximated the distance to the bank. Fifteen feet to the rapids, twelve to the solid soil. It had become a race against time and nature: Alza’s powers versus the might of the river. To Alza’s credit, she was putting up a fair fight, and it was showing. She was down on one knee, twin rivulets of blood streaming down her face in place of tears. Pain and frustration were evident on her face, and for an instant Barsch contemplated that he had only ever seen her change her expression when she was in distress. Still, she fought on, gradually gaining ground.

  The raft began to creak warningly under the strain, as water and girl fought for possession. The rapids were close enough for Barsch to pick out every smear of greenish moss on every smooth stone. Those stones would batter and break his body if he went in without protection. It was agonizing how close the bank had come, yet it was still just out of reach, even from Maloch’s titanic arms.

  In a sudden moment of clarity, Barsch saw the entire scene all at once, and the first thought that came to mind was a giant piece of rubber which had been stretched out to its limits. Sooner or later, the rubber would snap back, and chaos would follow in its wake. No sooner had he thought it, it happened. With a soft sigh, Alza fell backwards into the churning water, her energy spent and her mind gone. At the same moment, as if she had been the one holding them back, the raft touched the hard soil of the bank.

  In slow motion, Barsch turned back towards the old man and the re-mech. As if he could read his mind, Kingston’s mouth had already formed into a familiar shape. With one last rueful smile, Barsch turned
and leapt into the frigid waters. He could hear the hermit’s final cry moments before the shock of the impact knocked the breath from his body.

  “NO!” screamed Kingston, unheard.

  As helpless as a ragdoll, Barsch was thrown from boulder to boulder, each imparting its mark on his fragile body. The cold had numbed his senses somewhat, yet he still felt the pain from every impact shooting up his spine before dispersing through his body. Through half-closed eyes, he could barely tell up from down, as the current did with him what it willed. Mercifully his burning eyes spied a familiar figure hanging motionless before him. With what little strength he had left, he kicked his legs and stretched out his arms towards the unconscious girl.

  A bloody gash on her pale forehead worried him slightly, but then his arms enclosed her light body and all thoughts were driven from his mind. In the turmoil, she was the only constant, her weight a presence that he would not lose, even if it killed him. From somewhere deep inside, he found a wellspring of strength, which allowed him to break through the distant surface. Almost immediately, water rushed into his gasping mouth, and he spent several seconds choking and spluttering. In less time than it took him to tie up his laces, he and Alza had been carried out of view from the raft. He knew that whatever was holding him up was fading fast, so he began searching for a suitable replacement. There, five feet downstream, lay a large, wedged log. If he could only catch hold of it, he could save them both.

  Drawing even further on the mysterious source of energy, he kicked towards the downed trunk. In seconds, it was before him, mercifully devoid of slippery moss. With a determination that belonged to a man much older than he, he reached up and shouldered the log with all his might. It budged not an inch, but he did not notice. With one final kick that signalled the last of his borrowed energy, he knocked the buoyant branch free.

  Vision darkening, heartbeat pounding, eyes watering, he laid a free hand on the smooth wood. Using the momentum given to him by the raging river, he slung Alza over the floating timber. As soon as she was secure, he made to join her, and found that his arms and legs had become deadweight. If there had been enough energy left for it, he would have cried. With one last glance at Alza, he allowed the water to reclaim its lost sacrifice. Before he had sunk a foot, he felt something tugging at the back of his coat. Letting the current turn him around, he searched for the mystery sensation.

  Once more, it came, though this time the force of the tug raised him skywards. In a shower of spray and vapour, he broke through the surface. By miracle or by design, he landed squarely across the log. His listless hand had landed atop Alza’s, and a deep relief filled him when he felt her pulse resonate with his own. His body, having decided that enough was enough, began shutting down. His last sight before slipping into unconsciousness was of a woman, clothed in water, disappearing back into the swell.