Beneath The Stars
The stars are a lie.Splinters of agony punished every movement.
How can a world of pain harbour such beauty?In vain he hoped each breath would be his last. He held each one as long as he could bear, but each fight was a losing battle.
How cruel to never behold one without the other.The roaring was ceaseless. It ebbed and flowed in harmony with his pain, malevolent spirits dancing in the wind. His pain felt like fire but the roar was stronger still, a torrent wearing down the mountains themselves.
Perhaps they are the same.He rolled onto his back, and was rewarded with another blast of agony. Thankfully it subsided, and he was able to breathe more easily. His thoughts shied from one another, shimmering like fish in a stream.
As the sharpest edges of agony receded, he tried to focus. The rough ground was cold and moist. The bass notes of the roar resonated through the rocks and deep into his bones.
I've never seen a sky so calm and clear.The stars were confined to a band in the dark, everything below was lost in gloom. He had seen a sky like that before. He clung to that memory, using it to order his thoughts.
He had explored a slot canyon years ago, a narrow corridor that cut deep into the rock. Light was scarce except at midday, when sunlight plunged into the depths of the canyon and revealed the majesty hidden below. The walls flowed with mesmerising curves and rich layers of colour half hidden in shadow.
He had spent a night in the canyon, at a point where the floor was only a couple of dozen feet from the surface. A sliver of the night sky was visible through the gap, a thin strip of glittering fabric ripped out and sewn on a cloak of black. The stars above him now had the same sudden, rough edge, the same darkness enclosed the light.
But I cannot recognise a single constellation.He could see nothing of the world beneath those stars. He clenched his fists, earning another flash of pain. He maneuvered onto his hands and knees, his breath rasping through gritted teeth, and started to explore. Better to feel a bit of pain than to lie on your back and wait to die.
In one direction was a sheer rock face. He would have no chance climbing it until he gathered his strength. Besides, he had to wait until dawn to see whether the ascent would be possible. Climbing blind would be suicide.
The opposite direction lead to water. He clung to the rocks and reached out, but could not touch the other side. He dipped his hand into the water, which dragged it sideways with surprising strength. A river, not a stream. That direction offered no hope of an exit.
He moved upstream, restricted to a narrow strip of rock between the river and the cliff. He found a dead end. The roar was louder here, almost deafening. Defeated, he returned to the wider section of rock which offered him less precarious shelter. He stared at the unmoving stars, and drifted into a deep sleep born of exhaustion.
How is it possible to know nothing of the heavens?He awoke in a violent fit of shivers. Once it passed, he rubbed his bruised arms and legs and glared at the sky. The stars calmly returned his gaze. The canyon was still shrouded with shadows. He must have slept through an entire day, although oddly he was not hungry.
The sleep had been welcome—he could move more easily, and the stars were clearer. In places he could see faint shadows outlining the undulating cliff face above him. Still not bright enough to climb safely. That left one avenue to explore.
He inched downstream, one hand touching the wall and the other sweeping the floor ahead. The roar faded as he progressed, losing its intensity and giving him space to think.
The noise had been too strong, too deep to be caused by rapids. He could only think of one possibility: a waterfall. That would explain his injuries, but why had he been on the river in the first place? Nothing made any sense. He didn't remember being in a boat, or even being near to any rivers. Certainly none that travelled through chasms like this.
He was chilled to the bone, battered and bruised, and had no possessions other than the soaked rags that clung to his body. He had no idea how he got here, and no idea where 'here' was. The only thing he knew was that the stars above him were
wrong.
Could those be the stars of the underworld?He didn't believe in such things. Couldn't. They never made sense. Most religions insisted something existed after life, but none agreed what that was. An eternal dance in the halls of the mothers? A call to battle against the evil that preyed on the weak? Ecstasy for the chosen few, with the rest left drifting in formless despair? No mention of a dark river under an unfamiliar sky.
Besides, he didn't remember dying. That, he would have remembered. The last thing he remembered clearly was dinner.
He had travelled far to the south, to study the tribes that dotted the lush valleys of the continent's interior. They honoured him with an invitation to view the rituals that marked the summer solstice, something outsiders rarely witnessed. The thought still sent shivers down his spine. Human sacrifice was not something he had ever expected to watch.
The night before the solstice, he had been summoned to dine with the high priest. The priest had explained that through sacrifice, the power of the world of the dead could be drawn into life and captured, allowing them to twist the fabric of the world and work miracles. The food had been exquisite, and the wine intoxicating. He didn't remember leaving the table.
He glanced upwards again, and froze in shock.
Stars don't move so quickly through the sky.The constellations had shifted. Patches of stars that had been directly above him moments ago were now far behind. He shuffled back and forth along the ledge, eyes locked on the heavens. Sparks of light shifted in and out of view as he moved, as if they were scattered on the slopes of strange mountains in the sky.
They aren't stars at all.Abandoning all caution, he groped towards a curved section of the cliff and began to climb. Rough edges bit into him, payment for the purchase they gave that allowed him to work his way upwards. The curve of the wall helped, but with numb hands he didn't dare climb far. He didn't need to.
What had seemed like distant stars were noticeably closer every time he glanced up. Some had been hidden by an outcrop, and were mere feet away from him now.
They moved around slightly, and some were clustered close enough together to reveal their true nature. Strings of glistening droplets hung near each blob of light, which throbbed at the end of a muscular worm. Unlucky insects that stuck to the strings were reeled in and consumed.
No longer able to trust his grip, he returned to the safety of the rock floor, but couldn't bear to remain still.
I'm in a cave.He could remember a blur of motion and sound punctuated by brief moments of clarity. Light on glittering metal, chimes in the wind. Rustling fabric and confident footsteps. Incense and fire. Darkness and the sensation of falling.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his hands clung to the rock face.
The convulsions passed as his training took over. Observe. Analyse. Draw conclusions.
Scholars agreed that sacrifices were drugged into a state of panic and killed in a manner that caused utter terror. They speculated that the tribesmen believed this strengthened the connection to the world of the dead, increasing the power they could gain from the death. Some sacrifices supposedly involved throwing the victim straight into the world of the dead itself, to be swallowed up by the dark.
The world of the dead didn't—couldn't—exist.
They must have thrown him into an underground river, which brought him to this cave. The cave must lead outside—the worms above ate insects that navigated by starlight. Their strings would tangle in the faintest breeze, so the exit must be distant. The ledge clearly didn't lead outside, and he doubted he could find a way out by climbing.
The remaining option made his heart race.
The river had to surface somewhere upstream for them to throw him in, and it would return to the surface again downstream. He was a fair swimmer, but rivers could be harsh—ones running through narrow channels were often deadly. Surrendering to the cold and the dark was a far more certain death.
Waiting will only make it worse.He threw himself into the abyss.
