*
In a different space and time, though some would say that such things were joined irrevocably, an old man sat and stared at where his young charge had been. He knew that shock had taken hold of his senses, rooting him to the spot, otherwise he would most probably have dove in himself. Besides the shock, Maloch’s clenched hand held him at bay. The thunderous downpour served to drown out his anguished screams, until rational thought finally gained enough courage to return. He managed to convince his grieving brain that Barsch and Alza had survived worse, beating every odd and destroying every certainty, and that if anyone could make it, it was they. Even knowing this, he could not shake off the feeling of loss, as though someone had just cut off a limb and he could still feel its phantom presence.
“No! They're alive! They have to be... I can't fail again... I will save him... I will earn my redemption...” Despite his affirmation of his intentions, Kingston was no closer to saving his lost friend. Turning towards his solitary companion, he searched for a way past the rapids. He knew that he could do nothing about Barsch's situation until he found a way to reach him.
Immediately, a problem presented itself. The bank they had reached was devoid of a path into the canyon, and the land only ran a scant few feet before re-joining the raging river. He knew that any chance to catch up to Barsch lay in a river route, but the churning currents and submerged rocks impeded his progress. It would be useless to find Barsch if he incapacitated himself in the progress. The only choice left to him was to somehow forge across the river and search for a path on the opposite bank. However, the only way to cross the river was via the now defunct raft, which was a less than optimal method of traversing the waters that had already claimed two bodies. Dismissing the image of Barsch and Alza drifting downriver with unseeing eyes, Kingston made for the raft.
With Maloch's titanic strength, he soon had the barely floating wood bobbing gently on the still raging water. After that, it was relatively easy to set sail, provided the bindings could withstand another pounding. Clambering aboard, the duo slowly made their way across the rapids, carefully avoiding the fast-flowing currents that would carry them towards the rocks further downstream. Mercifully, they encountered no problems on their voyage across the river, and were soon anchored on the far side. The opposite bank turned out to be a mirror of the one they had just come from, with one key difference: a path forward. Nestled in the canyon wall was a small fissure, no more than eight feet high and four feet wide, which led deeper into the canyon. With Maloch's powerful head-lamps lighting their way, they proceeded forward.
Maloch was forced to hunch over, after his head brushed the first low-hanging rock. The path was small and cramped, instantly bringing back Kingston’s claustrophobia, which he had thought gone forever. Although he was uncomfortable, Kingston uttered not one word of complaint, for he knew that neither Barsch nor Alza would do so in the same situation. His only course of action was to press forward and remain calm. After a time, he forgot about his discomfort, and allowed his mind to drift into happier times.
A few minutes of happiness later, he was snapped back to reality to Maloch's cool, metallic hand on his shoulder.
“We have reached a split in the path. How do you wish to proceed?”
Looking up from his reverie, Kingston saw what Maloch was referring to. They had reached a small clearing, a product of rain water seeping down through the fissure and pooling over millennia, before draining away. Ahead, lying at equal distances from one another, were two furrows in the rock-face. Down one, Kingston caught a glimpse of a sloping path ending in light. Down the other, he could discern nothing, for no light could escape into the world. Although he was tempted to take the path of light, Kingston knew that a wrong choice could cost them hours, or even days. And that might be longer than Barsch or Alza had, assuming they were alive. “No! I can't think like that! They have to be alive.... they have to....”
Then, appearing from the path of shadows, came a light like no other. It bobbed and weaved through the air, openly flaunting it's defiance of gravity. It spun and flipped, as it gently swam towards the despairing old hermit. It was of all colours and none, freely changing from love-struck pink to sombre grey. When it first appeared, it was the size of a pinprick, though immeasurable in brightness. As it drew near, it swelled in size, before settling into a somewhat water-melon sized ball of pulsing yet dull light. It's hue had gone through the entire known colour range, before deciding on a pale gold with accents of earthly brown and grassy green. It was, to Kingston’s great relief, the guiding light known as Spectre.
“Thank you, for this kindness. I will not squander it,” this was said in a soft, reverent voice, with eyes on the gently bobbing creature. Turning his gaze to the roads not yet taken, he said, “Please… take us to where we need to be.”
Spectre, apparently understanding his words, immediately started towards the path of light. Gathering up his belongings, Kingston followed in haste, with Maloch bringing up the rear. The chosen path soon began to slop upwards, and before long was widening into a low cave. The cave roof was mercifully high, so Maloch could finally walk tall. The cave was filled with smooth rocks, polished by decades of constant water-drops falling from the saturated limestone above. This smoothness reflected back Spectre's light a hundredfold, bathing the area in golden light. As they travelled onwards, through the shimmering cavern, a now-familiar noise reappeared: the sound of raindrops hitting rock. Kingston knew that if he could hear the rain, they must be close to the surface.
After a few more minutes, they were forced to stop, as several hours of sidling through fissures and clambering over boulders had sapped Kingston’s strength. As they sat there, the echoed rainfall and luminescent walls created a peaceful tableau which was at complete odds with how Kingston felt.
Sometime later, once Kingston’s strength had returned, the strange duo set out. The cave had narrowed once more, and had grown into a labyrinth of twisting stone passageways. Kingston could not tell right from left, nor up from down. The sounds of flowing water replaced the drip-drip of the slowing rain, causing Kingston to speculate that they had passed beneath the river. An errant hole in the ceiling provided a glimpse of the sky, whilst allowing moonlight to stream down and light the path. Spectre's light and the moonlight soon melded together, till the erratic guide was a radiant silver sphere which weaved through the con-fuddling tunnels. They walked on for a while longer, before the tunnel began to slope upwards once more. The rain returned in full force, reverberating through the caves. Eventually, Spectre's soft lunar light was washed out by the real heavenly body, as the group emerged from the labyrinth.
They had come out beneath an overhang, which was thankfully some feet above them. In the distance, mixed in the eternal pitter-patter of the rain, Kingston could discern the gentle sounds of the river. Near the entrance, a small pinprick of light fought against the night, struggling to bring warmth to the cold world. Simultaneously, Kingston felt tears stream down his weary face, as his body unconsciously moved towards the unnatural flame.
Unnoticed, Spectre disappeared from view, leaving behind a bright pink after-image that quickly faded from view. With a cracked voice, Kingston began to mumble incoherently, whilst hoping that the flame was not the creation of his tortured conscious. As he neared the fire, his muttering died down. In its place his tears doubled in ferocity, thoroughly wetting his unkempt beard and staining his patch-work coat.
Barsch had awoken as the first word punctured the silence of the overhang, and Alza had awoken at the second. They stood, sleep still heavy on their eyes, as Kingston collapsed into a tearful, yet smiling lump of clothes and flesh. After the tears stopped, he stood, and embraced them both, despite Alza's protests.
While still swept up in his embrace he took a moment to check them for injuries. Miraculously they were relatively unharmed, although for some reason Alza wore a bandage around her head. It had come loose as she had slept, and now showed glimpses of smooth, undam
aged skin. As for Barsch, he bore a few bruises and scratches, but they were already healing, a fact which Kingston should have made note of. He did not, however, as his mind was concentrated on never letting the two youngsters go. When Barsch began to protest, he eased his grip, fearful that the moment he did the boy would tempt Fate once more.
Slowly, he released them, and lowered himself to the warm floor. Edging closer to the fire, he smiled at the two of them, knowing in his heart that they were already years older than when he had first met them. With the soft smile still contorting his features, he slipped into the sleep reserved for the old and the weary. His gentle snores reminded Barsch that he too was in desperate need of rest, and he lay down beside the warming flame. He too fell asleep with a smile on his face and one pale hand on the hermit's fatherly shoulder. Alza, after freeing herself from the uncomfortable hug, had retreated to the entrance and took up position. When she fell asleep, there would be no smile nor smirk across her graceful features. Maloch, forgotten in the excitement, silently powered down for the night, as the rain finally ended and silence reigned once more.
Awakening Page 127