On the Plains of Venusia

*Brief violence and some minor gruesome details*

The thunk of a hatchet into dry wood was the loudest sound Astor wanted to make in the wilderness tonight. He hesitated making a fire in the first place, but it was frigid out here and he needed to eat.

A rabbit he caught earlier in the day hung from a makeshift spit. One side of the stick rested in a crevice on a large boulder. The other side sat tied to the wooden pole holding up the sun-bleached canvas he called a tent. Astor hoped the boulder and tent would provide enough cover from prying eyes. The small fire’s heat reflecting off the boulder’s surface was a minor touch of genius on his part too.

While he turned the rabbit with patience, he gazed into the night sky and noticed some clarity for once. Clouds often dominated the day and nighttime skies, a welcome sight if they were to bring viable rain. Like broken promises, these wispy phantoms rarely delivered. If they did, you better hope to find shelter, for the tears they shed brought searing pain to your skin.

Through a gap into the higher heavens, Astor saw a blue twinkling light. It shined brighter and was larger than the white pinpricks called stars. The people of Venusia revered her and some even worshipped her as they did the Sun. He considered himself blessed to have caught a glimpse tonight—their celestial sister, Terrai.

Gristle dripped onto his snakeskin boots and the smell of carbon told him the rabbit was ready to eat. It was a meager meal, but he had grown used to living off the land. Astor wiped his mouth on his checkered sleeve and set his black leather hat on the hatchet handle. The sound of approaching hooves clomping the brittle ground put him on high alert. He put his right hand across his body to the long dagger sheathed on his hip.

“You must be in your wrong mind trying to sneak up on Astor Widowmaker way out here!” he announced.

Firelight blinds when it is the sole source of light, so he shifted his eyes towards the sky to readjust to the darkness. The hooves slowed to a silence and there was not even a snicker in reply.

“If you were trying to be subtle, you shouldn’t’ve brought the horse!”

Once Astor had his bearings, he caught the unwelcome visitors in his peripheral. The horse was pale like the clouds above them and he noticed the rider had not bothered dismounting. Instead, his head tilted down to his chest and long, brown hair concealed his face. A gray, unkempt beard was the only feature Astor could make out on him.

“Now you’re being disrespectful and I do not suffer disrespect.”

In one smooth motion, Astor jolted from his seat and threw his dagger at the intruder with great force. A sickening thud let him know he had hit his target. Both the man and the horse fell to the ground in a heap after a brief wobble.

Astor approached them with caution and noticed the rider’s clothes looked tattered. Upon closer inspection, a boot was also missing. They were both riddled with small burns, skin sloughing off their bodies. The sky must have wept nearby, so Astor panicked. He retrieved his dagger before kicking dust on the fire. After diving into his tent, he hoped the storm would pass over without further incident.

\\\

It took another day’s journey on foot before Astor came upon the mountain he hoped to find. The town he left was in complete disarray. Locals had succumbed to the chaos with thievery, murder, and other depravities we turn to when our world turns sideways.

When the rains first turned sour, most believed it was only for a season. Seasons turned to years, and life as they knew it was forever altered. Cabin fever ran rampant from the constant containment, and their homes turned into prisons. When people could go outside for any length of time, it was madness to take what they needed to survive.

Survival is how Astor came by his nickname. Though most thought of him as a cold-blooded killer, he only made widows of those who dared attack him first. In the beginning, there was still some civility in combat. Duels were a common tool used to settle scores and Astor was always faster. Then, lawlessness festered and most men forgot how to be honorable. Astor grew sick of always looking over his shoulder after that, so he left town and set out on his own.

He had heard rumors of groups from other towns seeking to start a new life underground. These sounded like people who still had some wits about them. Folks who were trying to seek real solutions to a problem that showed no signs of going away. Astor decided he wanted to be a part of the solution for once. His goal was to work towards a better future for himself and the people of Venusia at large.

On approaching the mountain, he noticed several large rocks lined up from way out. They appeared to lead to some sort of opening in its face—sedimentary breadcrumbs left to guide him. Astor followed the path to the mouth of the mountain. Boulders became sconces on the wall starting at the entrance and leading the way inside. It seemed work was already well underway and a sense of anticipation rose in him. If nothing else, he was glad to have finally found refuge.

There was an earthen basin near the entrance holding what smelled like oil. Astor smiled and cut a piece of fabric from his old tent before wrapping it around the end of his tent pole. He rolled up the rest of the canvas to take with him, then dipped his torch in the oil and lit it from a sconce on the wall. He glanced outside to see heavy rain begin pouring down and knew there was no going back now.

\\\

Caverns have no sense of rhyme or reason in the paths they create, so Astor did his best to make thoughtful guesses. As he got deeper into the belly of the mountain, he heard sounds of stalactites dripping into far-off pools and the faint noise of distant voices.

Astor did his best to follow the sounds but took his attention off where his feet were walking. He slipped over the edge of a dark precipice and the torch fell from his hand. It seemed to descend for eternity. His hands both shot out on instinct and grasped for anything he could. They found purchase on jagged limestone.

He could feel the wall begin to shift under his weight and he cried out for help. While scrambling to find some footholds, the rock gave way and Astor began to free fall. His thoughts turned to sorrow as he realized his journey was coming to an end before it ever started. As he began to flail in desperation, he felt a vice grasp his forearm.

“Whoa there, my friend! We almost lost ya to the pit!” Astor’s newfound savior said as he pulled him to safety. “It’s a good thing for you we thought to post scouts out here in the dark. You would have been a goner!”

Astor stood up and caught his breath, thankful for the continued ability to draw air into his lungs. He waited for his heart to settle a bit before responding, “Thank you, sir! I’m more surefooted than that and not usually prone to distraction. The enormity of this place plays tricks on your hearing.”

“Ain’t that the truth? Come on, I’ll take you to base camp and introduce you to the clan. There are about thirty of us now and we have begun to make good headway. My name is James Thorn by the way.”

“Astor Widow—I mean Wellyn,” he took James’ hand hoping he did not catch on to his near slip-up. He wanted to make a new name for himself down here, forge a new path far from his old ways. James was gracious in ignoring it.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Wellyn. Follow me.”

“What do y’all do for food and water all the way down here?” Astor asked while keeping a sharp eye on both their feet.

“That’s been a tricky one for sure, at least the food anyway. As people showed up, they brought down what they had on them and we built up a bit of a back stock. That didn’t last very long though, so we started eating the weakest of the clan.”

James looked back at Astor’s trepidation and snorted. “I’m messing with ya cowboy! We send folks up to gather supplies as needed. Recently, those have been more dangerous missions than mining. As for the water, there are underground aquifers. Also, the rock surrounding us filters the bad rain into something somewhat potable, albeit bitter.”

Astor nodded and tried shaking the unease he felt since almost careening to his death. The poor taste in joking had not helped him recover, as he had seen it happen in his town a few times and worse. He knew James meant well, trying to break the ice and all, so he made an effort to let it go.

They took a sharp right, then followed a narrow path leading down the edge of a towering wall. It wound around a large cavern like a massive spiral staircase. When they neared the bottom, Astor noticed faint outlines of gathered people. Each of them had their hands set on different tasks.

“Attention everyone!” James called out to the masses, his voice bellowing off the chamber’s walls. “Please welcome Astor Wellyn to the clan. I basically resurrected him just now and he’s eternally grateful.”

One by one, they stopped what they were working on and came to greet him. Most of them were warm and offered smiles with big hugs. Others either waved from afar or shook his hand, keeping it more professional. An older woman named Helen offered to show him around.

“So, you heard the prophecy and came to help the cause huh?”

“What prophecy? I came here because it made more sense to take some action than to wait around for the rains to fall clean again. Life up there has become virtually unlivable anyway.”

“Ah yes, logic. We use that too, but it helps to have something to believe in, to look forward to, you know?” she looked Astor straight in the eyes. Hers were a beautiful green that shone even in the dim light. She swept white curls away from her olive-colored brow.

“I’m not sure where the prophecy came from, but they say there are people on blessed Terrai who will one day come to save us. You have noticed how it shines blue like our oceans once did, right? Anyway, some of us here believe it and use it as motivation to preserve our people. We pray for more to join our worthy cause down here. People like you.” Helen took Astor’s hands in her own then. They were rougher than he expected, but he guessed it came from hard work.

Astor smiled at her politely and thanked her for the tour. James rejoined them with some basic supplies for minor comforts. Items to help with sleeping and utensils for water and food. He walked Astor over to a compound fashioned from several canvases and showed him where to make his bed.

“She tell you about the prophecy?” James chuckled.

“Yeah, she did. Sweet lady, though a bit misguided.”

“A strong one too! I don’t believe in the prophecy myself, but whatever keeps these folks working.” James handed him a pickax and a skin of water. “You up to start helping us dig the new frontier?”

Astor took the tools of his new trade with renewed expectations. He knew the road ahead would be long and arduous, but when he heard the clink of metal striking stone nearby, it emboldened his heart. Instead of making widows, he would now be making history.