Awakening

by Hayden Pearton

  *

  With that grim warning hanging over their heads, they entered the forest of ç'aether. The reflections given off by the pulsing crystals did little to help with navigating the crystalline maze. In an instant, there were a hundred Barschs, Alzas, Kingstons and Malochs, each wearing a look of mirrored puzzlement. As they ventured further into the maze, the cold progressively became worse, until it felt as though the air itself had frozen.

  Indeed, parts of it had, though the unstable nature of atomic collisions and the unpredictable outcomes meant that whenever ice crystals formed in the air, they were quickly torn apart by the physics that had created them. If not for the unbearable cold, it would have made for an almost poetic spectacle, as the shards of ice materialized, refracted the light from an infinite amount of sources -creating a breath-taking light-show- before breaking apart in mid-air mere seconds later. Supernatural exhibitions aside, it wasn't long before the entranced group were lost within the bowels of the reflective maze.

  Aside from the mind-numbing cold and the photogenic displays, there was little else to experience in the twisting halls of crystal, so it came as a surprise when Barsch spotted someone moving down a crystalline hallway. Although the figure disappeared before he could be sure, the man looked like the one from his dream. Despite the fear from his dream and Kingston's stern warning, Barsch felt his body yearn to chase after the phantom. He could only watch helplessly as his treacherous feet changed his direction and his mutinous muscles propelled him into a flat-out run. Only Maloch, who by chance happened to turn his gaze in the same direction, noticed Barsch's sudden departure. With no time to alert Kingston or Alza, who were both several feet ahead, he took off after his escaping master.

  Mere seconds later, Kingston realised what had happened. He quickly spun around and called out, “ Barsch! Maloch! Where are you!” but there was no response. Alza showed no visible distress, but a keen eye could detect a change in her stance, like a lion getting ready to pounce. Kingston began to frantically dart back and forth, peering down crystal hallways and searching the ground for any trace of his lost companions. He could feel the panic begin to mount in his frail heart, and the sense of loss that always accompanied it.

  He knew it was foolish, and that Barsch and Maloch had probably just taken a wrong turn and would momentarily see their mistake and turn back, but that did not stop the anxiety from churning. He felt sick, as memories of loss flooded into his guilt-ridden mind. They were an eternal reminder of what he had failed to protect, and the faces of those who had placed their trust in him and had never lived to regret it never fully faded.

  Suddenly, a bright flash of light lit the morning sky, as a bolt of lightning came crashing down nearby. The intense light was reflected in every mirrored crystal, bathing the area in a harsh luminescence that blinded the unwary. After a few moments of agony, Kingston's vision returned, though it was still painful to open his eyes fully. Braving more pain, he looked to the sky, noting that not a single storm cloud drifted overhead. Alza, in possession of reflexes that would put a martial artist to shame, slowly opened her eyes. With her perfect vision, she thought that she had briefly seen a figure in the sky, before the lightning fell.

  “We meet once again, reject. Have you given up on life yet? Or do I need to still destroy what hope you have left?”

  The voice had come from a side-passage, though it was as clear as if the speaker had been right beside her. Kingston appeared not to have heard, as he was still searching the sky for the clouds that were not there.

  Once again, the voice rang out, in its mocking tone, “How does it feel to be so helpless in the face of your inevitable demise?”

  There was no hesitation as Alza took off down the passage, leaving Kingston to scream in frustration as he lost yet another companion. He was left alone in the middle of a forest of crystals, whose very essence was born from death itself.

  “Fine! Just ignore everything I said and run off on your own! See if I care!”

  Even as the words left his lips he regretted them. However, he did not have long to dwell on this before a voice called out to him.

  “So, once more you are alone. Perhaps this is how it is meant to be.”

  The response had come from somewhere, but Kingston's quick search told him that there was no-one there. The voice had sounded familiar, but he could not put a name to it. He took a hesitant step forward and called out, “Who's there? Show yourself!”

  For a moment, Kingston wondered whether he had finally gone mad, and if this entire adventure had been nothing but a insane dream, but he knew that his imagination was not good enough to create what appeared. From the surface of the nearest crystal, a shape began to emerge. At first, he thought it to be his reflection, but it was too young, too fresh. The emerging shape began to gain clarity, it's features coalescing into a nostalgic face. He now knew why the voice had sounded so familiar. It was his own, though it was younger, and lighter, before the decades of weariness and guilt had done their work. The shape had now fully formed, and stood before him, a vision of his past brought to life by the power of the crystals.

  The man standing there, wearing a grim grin, was an identical copy of himself, though robbed of many years of hardship. His hair was still dark, and his eyes still bright. He was wearing an army outfit, though Kingston had long forgotten which nation it belonged to. At his hip, the treasured knife hung, it's sheathed blade still unaware of the bitter-sweet taste of blood. The uniform was clean and pressed, not out of pride, but of habit. He stood straight, his back broad and strong. It would be many years until the weight of the trauma gave him a slouch.

  “What are you?” Kingston asked the figure.

  “As you can see, I am you,” was the curt reply.

  “I know who you are, I'm asking what you are?”

  The figure took a step forward, just as another ice crystal formed in its abdomen. It passed straight through him and shattered, it's brief life only serving to show that the figure was not truly there. He was a hybrid, a combination of a hallucination and a reflection, brought to life by the strange properties of the crystals. He could do no more harm to Kingston than the air, and he had about as much solidity. In order to convince himself of this fact, Kingston outstretched a single hand and placed it on the younger version of himself, just above the non-existent heart. Instead of passing through the illusion, as he had expected, his hand met an icy cold resistance. Hurriedly he removed his hand, and spent a moment trying to work some heat back into it.

  The figure, or ‘Lad’ as Kingston had already named him in his head, watched the entire exchange with a bemused expression. Bending down, he withdrew his phantom knife -causing Kingston to tense slightly- and plunged it into the frozen earth. The short blade went in easily but, when he pulled it out, there was not a single mark to be found.

  “You see, I may not be real to this world, but I am real to you,” he explained.

  Kingston understood, but took a step back anyway, while warily eyeing Lad’s still unsheathed blade. His younger self noticed the motion, as well as the stare. Without a word, he quietly pocketed the knife. Standing up, he began to walk away. When Kingston failed to follow, he called out, “What's wrong? Afraid to face your past?”

  “Why are you here? Why are you doing this?”

  Lad stopped and turned, a quizzical look in his eyes. “What are you talking about? I'm you, remember? I wouldn't be here if you didn't need me to be.” Seeing Kingston’s persisting hesitation he added, “Don't worry, I won't hurt you. Trust me.”

  Against his better judgement, and going against his desire to search for his missing friends, Kingston picked up his things and followed the retreating back of his younger self.