*
The first sensation Barsch felt after waking was the rhythmic drumming of the rain. The second was a slender, cold hand tightly entwined with his own. With a start, he sat up, the strange dream already fading from his mind. For a brief instant, Barsch fancied that if he crawled over to the water, he would find himself staring back at a creature with snow-white hair and violet eyes.
With a shake of his head, he angrily thought, “I am Barsch! And only Barsch...” His identity affirmed for the moment, he glanced down at the hand clenched in his. Following the hand down to a wrist, and then an arm, before finally settling on a face, Barsch was pleased to see that it belonged to Alza. The fact that she was unconscious seemed inconsequential compared to the fact that she was here, with him. For the first time, he glanced around, intent on finding out where here was.
Here turned out to be a small, bucket shaped inlet, lined with river plants and long reeds. Barsch could still hear the rushing of the rapids, but they were muted, and out of sight. He turned his gaze upriver, to the branching stream that had carried him to this place. Although the water looked peaceful, he somehow knew in his mind that they could not go back that way. Downriver, the stream suddenly ended at the base of a large boulder, though it looked as though there was a path beneath it. He had already discounted the river as a means of getting back to Kingston, simply because he could imagine how many forks and branches were to be found throughout the canyon, and the raft could have been swept to any of them.
With the river out of the equation, he turned to look at the canyon wall behind him. After a few seconds of searching, he found what he was looking for. The path had been worn down over the years by rain and wind, but it was still useable. It snaked away from the inlet, and ran along the river for a hundred paces before veering away into the canyon-side. A sudden pressure made him glance down at his hand, where Alza still held it tight. She was still unconscious, but her rising and falling chest meant that she was still alive. The gash on her head had luckily stopped bleeding. Taking a length of cloth from one of his many pockets, he tied it around the wound, as Kingston had showed him. Her sleeping face seemed so innocent, so calm, that Barsch wondered for a moment if he had indeed saved Alza, and not some other woman.
Working some feeling back into his legs with his free hand, he made to stand. Alza’s hand came up with his, and he was momentarily torn between savouring the feeling of her close presence and getting to his feet. The thought of her waking up to find him holding her hand decided it. Gently, he untangled their hands, and finally stood up.
As soon as his spine had straightened, he was assaulted by a dual wave of nausea and pain. Every scratch and bruise gained from the rapids stung and burned. With great effort, he managed to block out the pain, though he knew that when it returned it would be much worse than before. The pain temporarily taken care of, Barsch set to work on finding a way back to Kingston.
His first challenge was waking Alza, as he knew that he would be unable to navigate through the canyon while carrying her. After that, he had to find out where he was and in what direction west lay. His course of action laid out, he set to work on rousing his sleeping companion.
His first attempt was a dismal failure.
He had tried calling out, “Alza... wake up,” in the softest voice imaginable, over and over. When this did not work, he sighed and chided himself for his meekness. “For goodness sake, I’m trying to wake her, not put her even further under.”
Gathering up his courage, he tried again, this time his words louder and accompanied by a gentle shaking of the shoulders. Slowly, like a flower bud opening unto the light of daybreak, Alza left the world of dreams. Her eyes fluttered open, their violet irises already viewing the world with disdain. A hand rose to shield her angelic face from the pestering raindrops. If she was surprised to see him there, she did not show it. Her steady eyes had already taken in her new surroundings and dismissed them just as suddenly.
“Welcome back...” Barsch immediately scolded himself for the flippancy of his words, but Alza appeared not to notice. She rose to her feet, without sparing him a second glance, and began checking herself for injuries. Her searching hand touched the bandage wrapped around her head, and for an instant Barsch feared that she would tear it off. However, her hand fell back to her side, cloth untouched. Then, without waiting for his company, she set off down the dusty path. Frowning, he momentarily believed that she was going to leave him behind, so he quickly ran to catch up. Mercifully, she said nothing when he appeared beside her, matching her pace. At the very least, she did not object to his company, but nor did she seem to welcome it.
The path soon curved inwards, away from the riverside, though Barsch could still hear the flowing water if he strained his ears. The path then began to cut through a solid canyon wall, the fault just big enough for them to squeeze through. To his left and right, the cliffs rose more than a hundred feet, the sky but a thin, grey line. Not for the first time, Barsch wondered what had happened to Kingston and Maloch. The last he had seen of them, they had been wedged onto the bank, but anything could have changed as he slept.
Thinking of Kingston flowed into thinking about Lanista. The black blade had been tied down tightly to the raft when he had made his heroic leap. It was a strange feeling to be without the sword that had become as much a part of his as an arm or a leg. However, at the same time, he was a little glad that the onerous weight was gone, and despite the fact that Lanista weighed next to nothing, it still felt as though he had been relieved of a great burden.
“The burden of power,” Barsch had heard it called, and it meant that those imbued with power were required to carry both the benefits and the risks of having such power. A struggling streak of sunburst suddenly broke through the heavy clouds, before alighting on Alza’s slender frame. “She knows the burden of power better than anyone... to have so much, yet at the same time, to have nothing at all.”
Soon, the fault in the wall opened up onto a dried-up riverbed. The canyon before them was identical in every way -save for one- to the one they had just come from. Where water had once flowed, green and red plants had sprung up. Their leaves and stems had a hardy look, as if they expected the river to return at any moment, and were ready for it. The lack of water aside, the sameness of the canyon meant that Barsch still had no way of knowing where he was, nor could he remember any method to find out which direction was which. He could wait for the storm to pass, and then use the sun as a natural compass, but he had no way of knowing when the rain would stop, if it ever did.
Alza did not seem to share his worries, and for a brief moment, he wondered if she would even notice if he suddenly disappeared. Shaking his head, he tried to tell himself that they had travelled far together, and that she had saved them more than once, but the words seemed empty and hollow in his head.
“I wonder what she’ll do, after all of this is over. If it ever ends. I mean, I have Kingston and Dad, and Maloch can always go back to the other re-mech, but she has nothing. What if she never remembers who she is? What if she has to spend the rest of her life alone, not knowing if she has a family, or a place to call home.”
Barsch tried to imagine Alza laughing with her family, their smiles honest and genuine, everyone happy to have reclaimed her. He tried to imagine her re-uniting with her friends, or perhaps her lover -the thought brought a grimace to his lips- and becoming truly happy. However, picturing Alza as a cheerful, normal girl was a hard task, and the image failed to settle. Though he tried, the picture in his mind kept sliding back to a vision of her, standing alone in the darkness, without a single light to guide her path.
“Well... If that’s how it is, then I’ll stay with her, even if she doesn’t want me. I will be her light...”
A small rumbling sound brought Barsch out of his chivalrous thoughts, and with a start he realised that it had come from his abdomen. He thought back to when he had last had a suitable meal, and he muttered a silent curse when he realise
d that all of their food was still on the raft. Alza seemed to have felt a pang of hunger as well, for she suddenly stopped and stared up at the sky. Barsch opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, when she whispered, “Keep silent and get down.”
It was a soft voice, but he found that her words had bypassed his brain and gone straight to his limbs. He was on his stomach, face down in the silt, before he knew what had happened. She knelt beside him, yet her eyes were focusing on something further down the canyon. Slowly, Barsch raised his head. There, perhaps fifty feet away, lay three scrawny hares, hiding from the rain beneath a low outcrop. They had their backs towards Barsch and Alza, and the rain would have hidden both their scent and steps. Barsch made to stand, but a single glance from Alza stopped him in his tracks.
She turned back to their quarry and extended a hand, as if she could suddenly reach out and grab them. Her shining eyes and animated hair gave him a split-second forewarning, and with a cry he threw himself flat against the ground. He waited there, arms cradling his head, as seconds turned into minutes. As far as he could see, nothing had happened. Cautiously, he raised his head, ready to throw it down again if he so much as felt the wind change.
Alza was in the exact same position as when he had seen her last, though a mask of puzzlement had slid over her normally calm features. Raising his head higher, he peered towards the unaware prey. They too were as he had seen them last, huddling together for the warmth of companionship. Suddenly, the wind did indeed change, and a trace of their scent was carried towards them. The rabbits looked up, and Barsch swore that he could see their fear, before they bounded away. Barsch turned to offer his condolences, but Alza was preoccupied with her non-functioning abilities. She kept muttering, “Why didn’t it...” over and over again.
With Alza out of action, Barsch took it upon himself to find food. Luckily, the silt that lined the riverbed made for excellent plant growth. Within thirty or so minutes of searching, Barsch returned to Alza with fruit and vegetables piled high in his arms. There were several that looked familiar; such as wild potatoes and turnips; and several more that he was not even sure were edible. During his absence Alza had regained her composure, and waited for Barsch at a small shelf in the canyon wall.
At the base of the wall, where the water had not seeped through, Barsch found a cluster of flammable grass and twigs. Gathering the fire-fuel, he placed it in a small heap, sheltered from the dampening rain by the rock shelf. He considered asking Alza to light the fire, as he knew she had done before, but he clamped down on that line of thought. If she had been shaken by the non-appearance of her... power... she did not show it, but Barsch knew better than to ask her about it.
Instead, he selected two sticks from the heap and laid them at adjacent angles, with a small amount of kindling at one side. He began to rub them together in a way that Kingston had showed him. For several minutes, nothing happened, and Barsch began to doubt the old man’s advice. However, as soon as the doubt formed, it was dispelled by the thin wisp of smoke coming from the heap. After transferring the tiny flame to the larger bundle of wood and heather, he blew gently to enlarge the struggling spark. Once the fire had grown big enough for his liking, he set to work on cooking the food. To do so, he took three smooth stone slabs, about a foot in length, and laid them in the shape of a door frame. On the top edge, he placed what vegetables he thought edible, which allowed the flame below to heat up the stone and cook the flora.
Minutes later, a pleasant aroma began to waft towards Barsch’s starved stomach, causing it to give another loud rumble. He could feel the embarrassment redden his face, but Alza took no notice. It was infuriating in a way, to be with someone who did not respond to anything, as if she was an emotionless doll. “Something frightened her though, back there with the rabbits.” Shaking the image of her worried face from his mind, he began to heap the cooked food onto another stone slab. For all her aloofness, she did not refuse the food, though he noticed that she ate far less than he. When he was done, he sat back with a contented smile on his face. Abruptly, he began to speak, in tones meant for storytelling.
“This place reminds me of something that happened a long time ago, when I was barely old enough to call myself a child.” Alza did not seem to be listening, but he continued anyway.
“My father and I were hiking in a canyon very similar to this one, and because it was my birthday I had been allowed to choose the route. This was back when the pollution was not as bad, and people were still able to walk in the open without getting sick. Anyway, there I was, full of confidence and youthful vigour. It was that confidence that led me to pick the hardest trail in the area. It called for expert climbing and forging abilities, but my father always struggled with saying no to me. I guess he just couldn’t do it without remembering her...”
For a split second his mind was elsewhere, in a place filled with painful memories. A heartbeat later he was back, no sign of his sadness showing on his face. “I digress. So there we were, child and father, hiking where we should not have been.”
Alza had turned away from him after the meal, but he fancied that she had turned a little way towards him. “At first, everything was fine. The trail was hard, not mercilessly so, but hard nonetheless. Still, in my arrogance, I boasted that perhaps the so called expert climbers were frauds and cowards, to caution against taking the trail. However, as we made our way through the canyon, the weather began to turn. It started out as a single grey cloud in the sky, but soon multiplied into a full blown storm.”
It was no fancy now, as he could see her head cocked nonchalantly to one side, as if she was listening to the wind, but Barsch knew better. Pausing for dramatic effect, he continued, “Naturally, my father wanted to turn back immediately, but my pride held me there. I was determined to conquer the trail, storm or no storm. Even today, I wish he had had the strength to stop me...”
Another glance into the past, another painful reminder. “So, moving as quickly as we could, we made our way to the final stretch of the course, which turned out to be a dried out riverbed, a lot like this one. With rain beating us down and thunder roaring overhead, we ran to the high-ground that signified the end of the path. We almost made it too… if I hadn’t tripped on some brambles, we very well might have survived unscathed. Unfortunately, my luck has never been that good, so at that exact moment, with the end in sight and my feet tangled, the torrent became a deluge. From the far side of the canyon came a flood, seemingly out of nowhere, which bore down on us faster than a man could run.”
Alza had almost turned her face towards his, though she still tried to appear disinterested. “I think, if my dad had left me there, I wouldn’t have blamed him. Heck, I would probably have done exactly that in the circumstances. Maybe it was his fatherly instinct kicking in; maybe he simply couldn’t stand to lose another of his family. So, he picked me up, brambles and all, and ran for the high ground. Even though I was young, I knew he would never make it in time. The water was already as high as his knees by the time he reached the canyon wall, too late to start climbing.”
Barsch’s voice had grown softer, as if he was struggling to say what came next. “Just when I thought we were goners, he saw a ledge, about seven feet above the water. I still don’t know how he did it, but he lifted me up and told me to hang on, while his feet were swept out beneath him. I can still remember his face, as the water took him... he was smiling... he was still trying to keep me calm, even as the water took him.”
Barsch’s voice was almost a whisper as he said, “I hung there until it felt my arms would break, until the waters receded. By some miracle, he was still there, bloodied and unconscious, but still there. I dragged him for a mile before another hiker found us. He still has a scar running down the length of his arm, a cruel reminder of that day. From that point on, I decided that I would never abandon anyone in need, no matter how much it hurt me. If I ever did, I knew that I would never be able to face my father again...” The cautionary tale ended in silence. It
lasted until Alza hastily cleared her throat and turned her back towards Barsch. He did not know if he had seen pity; or blame, in those violet eyes, but at least he knew that she was not completely heartless.
He looked up and was surprised to find the sun staring back at him. It was a strange effect, as the golden ball of light broke through clouds and rain both to shine on his melancholic expression. Still sitting, he gathered up some of the tinder that had gone unused, and stuffed them into a spare pocket. Dousing the fire with a handful of red sand, he stood to leave. Alza was already on her feet. As they passed the overhang where the hares had taken shelter, Barsch knelt down and placed an uneaten turnip by the entrance. It was a silent apology for what had happened earlier. “And now I’m apologizing to the wildlife...what’s next? Perhaps I’ll start hugging trees and giving up meat? This place is changing me...”
The already distant sound of the river faded away completely as they followed the canyon path. With the sun finally in sight, Barsch could work out their destination. Whether on purpose or by sheer luck, they were heading due west, though that could change at any moment with the way the trail twisted and turned. The canyon was eventually bisected by others, any of which might be sheltering their friends. It would have taken them an age to search them all, so Barsch resolved to head forward -keeping his stride- hoping they would know to continue west.
The landscape continued to unravel before him, canyon begetting canyon. Sometimes he would glimpse a sliver of the river down one of the branches, and sometimes there would be only darkness. The only constant was the rain, which had returned while they walked. It turned the red earth to sticking mud, and gave the dried riverbed a semblance of activity. If anything, Alza was acting even more distantly than before, walking a good ten paces ahead, never once turning to see if he still followed. The monotony of the walk allowed his mind to drift, though he thought of nothing in particular. Seconds soon turned into minutes, which quickly became hours. Before he knew what had happened, the sky was darkening and the faded light was diving towards the horizon. The drooping sun created more shadows, as if the towering canyon walls had needed help in that regard.
As the last rays of sunlight struggled through the heavy curtain of rain, Barsch and Alza reached an impasse. The canyon wall had been growing narrow as of late, before finally tapering off. Although the way forward was gone, hope was not lost, as Barsch could see two identical passages, one on either side of him, which veered away through the rock. Taking one meant forsaking the other, and possibly forsaking Kingston and Maloch. Barsch could not even rely on his ‘go west’ plan, as the holes were angled north and south respectively. Time was running out, as the sun continued to fall into darkness. Somehow, he knew that if night fell, he would never find the others. With haste, he went from one opening to the other, looking for a distinguishing mark that would tell him that that path was the right one. He stared till his eyes hurt, trying to peer down the twisting passages, but only shadows stared back.
The light continued to dim, until he decided to trust his own luck to pick the correct trail. The memory of his father being swept away by the flood, and his ‘luck’ from that day caused him to falter, but he could see no other alternative. Closing his eyes, he tried to reach out with his mind, as if his sub-conscious somehow knew which path to take. When nothing happened, he angrily opened his eyes. His only other choice was to ask Alza, but she did not look like she was in the mood to talk, as she stood in deepening shadows. Finally, with a curse for his own luck, he turned to enter the southern passage. Ignoring the feeling that something was wrong, he started down the path, but an even stranger sensation stopped him. Turning, he peered down the northern passage. When he had looked before, it had been pitch black, but now it was lit with a small light. The light seemed to grow and fade in intensity randomly, and its colour changed continuously. With a smile on his face, he faced towards the lighted hole and entered. He felt Alza follow him moments later, which widened the smile on his face.
The passage continued to twist and turn as they went deeper, but the light -which seemed to always dart away before he rounded the bend- insured they did not lose their way. If Barsch had been claustrophobic, the tunnel would have been anathema to him, as he stooped to avoid brushing his head against the low roof. He was also hounded on both sides, as the walls grew uncomfortably close on more than one occasion. Thankfully -low ceiling and crowded walls taken into consideration- the passage was short, and they emerged after no more than ten minutes walking.
By the rising light of the moon, he could make out a large overhang nearby, more than fifteen feet above the ground. A moonbeam alighted on the river meandering beside the stone shelf, its currents gentler than when he had seen it last. With care, they made their way across the dark landscape, the overhang their only goal. It was a large landmark, and even if Kingston did not see it, it would at least grant them shelter from the unending rain. In seconds, they were beneath the ceiling of rock, though Barsch could not see what held it up. From what he could see, the overhang stretched back into the canyon wall, at least a hundred paces by his count. Without waiting for him, Alza had taken a seat near the entrance, her eyes trained on the smooth waters lying fifty feet away. Following her example, Barsch sat beside her and began to gather what he would need to make another fire. Alza said not a word, her violet eyes gleaming mysteriously in the moonlight. All they could do was wait, and pray that they had chosen the right path…
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