Chapter X: No Salvation
In which sacrifices are made...
An hour later, Barsch, Alza, Kingston and Maloch were struggling to climb down the steep path leading from the plateau to the ground below. The path was narrow and clustered with decaying roots and fetid weeds, which seemed to reach out to ensnare all passer-byes. Twice, when his thoughts were elsewhere, Barsch almost fell, the tenacious plants wrapped firmly around his slender ankle. Kingston, who was used to travelling through harsh and unpredictable environments, encountered very little trouble. Alza gave the path a once-over, and then never looked at it again, though her nimble feet never so much as brushed a ensnaring plant. Maloch, of course, paid very little heed to what was beneath him, and his gargantuan feet crushed all flora that had the misfortune of being in his way.
Alza took the time to reflect on her recent actions. She had intended to leave Barsch, Maloch and the hermit and go forward on her own, but something had drawn her back. As she strode confidently along the treacherous path, she tried to come up with a reason for what she had done, and what she had failed to do.
“Perhaps it was fear?” she thought, nimbly stepping around another creeper without noticing, “Was I afraid that I would be more vulnerable on my own? No. I know no fear. Compassion then? Did I feel responsible for their well-being? No. Their lives are their own, whatever fate befalls them does not concern me. Perhaps it was simply the most logical course to follow? Yes. I stand a better chance of reaching the madman in a group, which provides me with food and safety, than if I made my own way. That was all there was to it. It had nothing to do with compassion…” For the briefest instant her gaze alighted on Barsch’s broad back, as she simultaneously stumbled over a vine for the first time.
He looked back at the sound, curiosity and compassion exchanging places on his youthful features. “Are you okay back there, Alza?” he asked, radiating pure, honest concern.
She opened her mouth to silence him with a cold retort, but found that her voice had failed her. Instead, she meekly answered, “I’m fine…” which earned her another curious look from the boy in front of her. Mercifully she was saved from further questions by a well-placed plant, which caused Barsch to almost fall over. His embarrassment drove him forward, thankfully eliminating the conversation.
Another hour went by, and the sun's lower edge began to brush against the horizon. An hour of slipping and sliding down the unpredictable path had finally yielded an end, and the ground soon levelled out. Although the lip of the canyon lay just a few hundred feet above their sweating foreheads, the landscape unfolding before them seemed to be from another world entirely. Dead, cracked trees littered the landscape, alongside thorn-veiled bushes and more moss than they knew what to do with. It was a wasteland of war and desperation, as it's numerous missile craters and crumbling ‘KEEP OUT’ signs made abundantly clear. In addition to the dilapidated land, the air had a heavy feeling, a kind of damp yet cold humidity that sunk into the bones and chilled the soul. A pervasive, acidic scent rounded off the cacophony of devastation, which Barsch thought smelt rather like an open grave. In the distance, covered by wreaths of off-colour plants and purple flowers, the abandoned city cowered. From what Barsch could see; very few buildings remained standing, and those that did looked as if a harsh breeze could topple them without effort. The streets were more vegetation than concrete, and the only light came from the strange violet crystals that had encircled the city.
As for the crystals: Barsch had never seen anything like them, though he had heard of them, in another life. When he was but a child, he had overheard his father and another man discussing these forests of crystalline towers, which gave off a sickly light of their own. The other man had advised caution, and had stated that any who touched the crystals would go insane and die, and even those who kept their distance would experience horrifying visions. Barsch had not heard the rest, as at that moment his father had discovered his hiding place and hurriedly shooed him out of the building. Although he knew that he should probably heed the man's words of caution, Barsch could not help but feel excited, as he looked forward to discovering the truth of the strange structures.
After a half-hour of walking through the rotting flora, Kingston advised a halt to their travels, and began searching for an adequate camp site. Barsch suggested a nearby grove of trees, but upon investigation, they were discovered to be filled with venomous Nightblighters. These small creatures looked like a cross between a scorpion, spider and centipede, and for good reason. They had been created in an age long forgotten, -historically as revenge against a harsh professor- a young student had spliced together the aforementioned arthropods and created a nightmare. They looked like long, segmented scorpions, with spider-like limbs and four crimson eyes. They were known to lie in wait and spin webs coated in a fast-acting neurotoxin, which would paralyse whoever had the misfortune of encountering it. Before the Great Sleep, the united governments of the world had assigned teams to root out nests and destroy them, though they had obviously reproduced and spread since humanity had slept. During the day, they were harmless, and could be found sleeping in their burrows, but during the night they became vicious predators.
After backing away very slowly from the nest, Kingston agreed to continue travelling until they were well beyond the range of the creeping death-bugs. He eventually stopped beside a large crater which, by the looks of it, had been formed by a particularly violent artillery strike. In the centre, a small lake had been created by decades of intermittent rainfall. Upon seeing the water, Barsch had almost rushed down the crater, but was stopped by a stern hand from Kingston and Maloch. At first he had not understood their apprehension, but after taking a second look at the liquid, he understood. The water bore the unmistakable sheen of pollution, a greasy, mauve coloured filth that bore death and illness. Instead, they made camp on the western edge, and watched as the fiery ball in the sky became a field of soft lights.
Awakening Page 132