*
Following Maloch's instructions, they were soon scouring the area for a variety of plants and roots. Surprisingly, the task took no more than an hour, and they were soon back at the collapsed rock-face as Maloch went to work. After a scant few minutes, he was done, and a bevy of tools lay before him. Ropes made of vines; wooden picks and stone cams were all present, which was an impressive feat given that they were in the middle of a desolate canyon miles from the nearest abandoned equipment store. After a quick briefing of how the tools worked, Barsch and Kingston approached the canyon wall.
The first few feet were easy thanks to the presence of several low-hanging roots, which Barsch and Kingston used as natural handholds. However, after ten feet they were climbing over smooth, bare rock. Barsch had never had vertigo, but as he climbed higher and higher with nothing but empty air beneath him he started to see why some of his former friends had had issues with heights. To Maloch's commendation, the tools worked remarkably well, and the ropes and picks performed their roles without problem. Maloch, far too heavy for ropes made of vines and wooden picks, instead used his titanic strength and multi-use, traction-designed hands to scale the canyon-wall unaided. He most likely would have overtaken his slower, only human cohorts, but his logic cores told him to stay at the rear, in case something went wrong.
Aside from one or two minor slip-ups, the climb went remarkably well, until the sun moved into position directly facing the exposed climbers. Within minutes, they were consumed by an unbearable heat, which destroyed what remained of their already drained energy. Barsch could only wipe away the beads of sweat with his free hand and try to push on. Every movement brought his pack -and Lanista- crashing into his back, which served to further exacerbate his anger and frustration. However, he was helped in a small but significant way by his age, as his youth afforded him a measure of strength and endurance not ordinarily available; the absence of which was immediately apparent few feet above him.
Kingston was breathing heavily by the time they neared the top of the canyon. His knees trembled with every step, and his clenched hands shook with the effort of holding on to the rope. The sun was beating down on his tired frame, and he was rapidly losing the strength to hold on. With fear in his voice, he called out to Barsch and tried to say something, but something made him pause mid-breath.
Barsch followed his gaze up in surprise, and was formulating a question when he saw it: a solitary, insignificant stone had come loose during the climb. It was barely bigger than his head, and on any other day would have elicited no comment, but on that day it became the most important thing in the world. Kingston had just seen it, and Barsch watched helplessly as it fell from its rocky perch. It bounced from ledge to ledge, any of which could have stopped it's disastrous path, but Fate guided it in its free-fall.
“Kingston, watch out!” he screamed, somehow knowing what would happen next.
It was too late, as Barsch knew it would be. The stone from the gods impacted Kingston's anchoring pick with the force of destiny, ripping it from the canyon wall and flinging it to the abyss below. For a moment, Barsch hoped that the old man would somehow find a purchase in the rock and save himself, but his scrabbling fingers found no hold in the smooth rock. The old man was suddenly the highest priority on gravity's to do list, which It hurried to cross off. He fell, with nothing below but a swift and sudden end. Barsch could only marvel at how unlucky they were before his sub-conscious took over and uttered a scream of pain and loss.
It was, however, a tad bit too early, as Kingston defied both logic and physics in his non-existent fall. For an instant, Barsch thought that the old hermit had learnt how to fly in the millisecond before he was supposed to fall, but then he noticed something just beyond his field of vision. Turning his head he saw it, and immediately tears of joy rose unbidden. It was a glimmering, silver bracelet, which in turn was connected to a porcelain hand and a set of slender fingers. The fingers suddenly clenched, and Barsch got the impression that they were holding onto an invisible rope. Which, in turn, was tethering Kingston to the sky. Slowly the old man rose towards the canyon lip, dragged from death by the one he had wanted to leave behind.
It was a fight between gravity and will, and the owner of the physics defying fingers had long since proven which was stronger.
Barsch was not psychic, but he had sense enough to know what would happen next. His suspicions were confirmed when a familiar face appeared over the lip of the cliff a moment later. Her eyes had taken on their now usual glow, and a corona of light extended down from her shoulder to her wrist.
“Hurry up, I haven't got all day,” she said, each word strained.
As Kingston drew near him, Barsch reached out and grabbed hold of the old man’s arm, hauling him up the last few feet. He followed behind with the speed of the eager, and was soon sprawled out on the reassuringly solid roof of the canyon. Maloch arrived soon after, swinging himself up in a way that seemed almost natural.
“What happened to making your own way?” asked Barsch, once he had recovered his breath.
He could not see Alza’s face from where he lay, although he could not decide if that was a good or bad thing. After a short pause she answered, “I may have been… hasty… in my judgement. However, if your foolishness endangers me or my mission again, I will take my leave of you.”
“Noted…” replied Barsch, weakly. What else could he say?
A few seconds later a hand reached down to help him up. It was not pale and ringed by a silver bangle, as he had hoped. Instead it was weathered and covered in age spots, although the strength with which it hauled him to his feat was a reminder that appearances could lie. When he had finally recovered, he took his first look at their new surroundings. They were at the very edge of the canyon, with a short plateau ahead of them. Behind, the canyon stretched out for miles in all directions.
In the distance was a desolate wasteland, pockmarked by craters and the burnt out husks of buildings. At the centre of the wasteland, a city was clearly visible. It was abandoned, that much was sure. Compared to Carçus, it was a ruin, populated by death and destruction. At its centre, and in some of the outlying suburbs, were strange forests of dull, violet crystals, which seemed to suck in the light around them.
Barsch, not taking his eyes off the strange structures, asked, “What... what are they?”
Kingston looked to the crystals with despair in his eyes, and said, “They… they are what killed humanity...”
Meanwhile, in the ruins of the abandoned city, a beast caught a scent it had not held for many years: fresh meat.
Awakening Page 131