The original story Alta comic is based off of

Chapter 1

How miserable is it that I know the exact sound of a body collapsing to its death. There’s the muffled slapping of the limbs hitting the ground, then the crack of skull on stone. This, accompanied by the clanging of their pickaxe slipping from their lifeless hands. I glance over my shoulder. She is old. No surprise there. Her eyes are gray and still, and drool pours from the side of her mouth onto the dusty path. I wonder if she had a family.

“You all done, Lil?” Max says, startling me.

I shake my head and return my attention to the mountainside we’re mining. “Not quite.”

No one cares. Not a single of the hundred pairs of eyes in the area even paid her a glance. And why should they? Why should any of these damn people care about that woman? They don’t know her, so I guess she’s not a human like them. And, of course, it’d only make you a fool to waste any energy on another.

Anger surges through me, and I channel it into the next swing of my pickaxe. The impact reverberates through my bandaged hands sending a spike of pain up through my arms. A piece of gray stone crumbles to the rocky ground.

The effort instantly makes me dizzy, and my vision blurs as I stumble into the mountainside. Damn it all. Barely holding myself up, I take several deep breaths to try and steady my knees, the jagged rocks jabbing into my resting face. Gods, I am an idiot. I just watched a woman die from exhaustion and immediately overexert myself. Ugh.

It takes a few moments, but my head finally stops spinning, and I collect enough strength to stand on my own.

Down the long, rocky trail people continue to swing their picks. The sounds of metal on stone echo from the side, below, and even from more trails above, dozens of them all spread out over the gray mountainside. The motionless body of the woman lies a few miners down to my left, still none of them acknowledging her. I am certain her body will rot there.

“Wow, nice piece,” Max says, leaning on his pick like a walking stick as he catches his breath. He brushes his sweaty, gray hair from his eyes and points down at the rock I just dislodged. “You collectin’ for Lucy today, too?”

I dry my own forehead on my sleeve and pick up the fist-sized rock. My food for the day. It should be enough with the rest. “No one else is going to,” I mutter, my hands about as stiff as the stone I’m holding. Careful not to get the blood from my stinging blisters on the rock, I toss it into my sack with the few dozen others.

Max chuckles, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you do that. Well, at least you’re fast. How does a little woman like you mine faster than me, anyways?” I glance at the sack near his feet. It’s still only half full.

“Luck,” I say, which I guess is the truth. It’s not muscle, that's for sure. I’m, well, puny.

“Luck, huh? From the Goddess? Now how can I get me some of that?”

I don’t respond, and instead look up into the fading blue sky above Max and beyond the countless gray mountains. Her face, like always, is sitting up in the clouds. She really means nothing to me. Not her golden hair dancing in the wind, nor her glassy eyes mirroring the color of the sky around her. The giant, ram-like horns protrude from her skull, and the lifeless expression on her eerily beautiful face actually make me laugh, sometimes. She looks ridiculous, like a doll staring at nothing. A doll. The comparison makes sense considering what the great Goddess Krystia actually provides us. She watches over us, protects us, and brings us prosperity. Or so everyone says. But if you ask me, she doesn’t do a single damn thing.

“Lil?” Max says, catching me staring too long at her.

It’s better to not state my real opinion of her. And better to not say I think Max is a fool for believing in something like that in the first place. No one, nothing, watches over nor protects us. Did the great Krystia just protect that woman? Of course not. Here, no one is going to help you but yourself. Certainly not the Goddess.

I take a deep breath, pushing down the urge to say something I might regret. “I’m just tired.”

“Ain’t we all,” he breathes, taking up his pick once more. “Well, tell your dad ‘hi’ for me. Hope he’s doing better.”

I grit my teeth as I pull the strap of my sack over my shoulder. Just shut up, Max. Don’t act like you care about anyone but yourself. That’s what I want to say, and it takes a physical effort not to. But, there’s just no point. I’d rather just get mad at everything by myself. It at least seems to give me little bursts of energy... even if it occasionally ends in me almost passing out.

The dozens of my mined rocks clack as they dig into my back and legs. “Thanks. I will,” I say, the words feeling stiff on my tongue. As I try to reposition my sack, I notice one of the straps is tearing. Crap. Hopefully it holds out till the village. If I don’t get these damn rocks there by sunset my family won’t be eating tonight. With my dad’s condition I can’t afford for that to happen.

As I turn to leave, a strained grunting sound comes from behind me. “Can anyone help?” a desperate woman’s voice calls over the area. “Anyone? Please!”

I don’t want to look back. She sounds young; I don’t think it’s the collapsed woman. Don’t look back. Don’t look back. It’s foolish to waste effort on others. Time and energy aren’t things I can afford to spare. Not today of all days.

But she needs help.

I can’t stop myself from spinning around. Maybe I can help her. The Gods know no one else is going to.

A little ways down the path a different woman is kneeling over the one that collapsed earlier. Her face is very close to the ground, biting at the bag around the collapsed woman’s shoulder. She’s tugging at it with her teeth. “Anyone,” she cries through gritted teeth.

My heart aches as her empty sleeves flop uselessly at her sides. She is one of the Armless. Damn it.

The woman repositions along the ground carefully. She isn’t too old, thirty maybe, and her head is shaved. Again she bites down at the bag, trying to yank it to freedom. I drop my own sack at my side and rush over to her.

“Hold on,” I call, dragging my feet up the sloped path.

She turns and looks at me, breathing heavily. I gingerly kneel at the woman’s side, my legs stiff. It takes a bit of effort, but I manage to wrench the sack off the collapsed woman’s shoulders, her lifeless body a lot heavier than it looks. Her mined rocks are scattered along the ground around her, so I scoop them up as well.

I turn back to the Armless woman, holding up the sack. “How do you want this?” I ask.

She goes to speak, then starts crying. Only a couple sobs escape her though, and she quickly sniffles out her emotion. “Just over my shoulder,” she says, leaning in toward me and lowering her head.

I carefully place the sack on her. “That wasn’t so hard,” I say. “Why didn’t you just lift it over your head?” I smile, then glance down at her empty sleeves. “Oh, right.”

She frowns at me for a moment, her eyes wide. She looks like she’s going to cry again. Damn it, I’m an idiot. That joke was so insensitive.

We stare for what feels like an entirety, my insides cringing, until finally a grin cracks on her face. She laughs. First a giggle, then she bends over cracking up. Awkwardly I join her, more out of relief than finding it funny anymore.

She finally recomposes herself. “Arms would certainly help,” she agrees.

I glance behind me, down at the barren desert at the end of the mountain trail. Our little gray village is right at the end. “Are you going to be alright?” I ask, turning back to her. I watch her expression closely.

She gives a small smile. A forced smile. “Yes, thank you.”

I put my hand on her shoulder and lean in close, keeping my voice low. “If you need help, my house is at the furthest northeast corner of the village. My hands are full mining, but you know...”

She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. You have been far too kind already.”

“Not really,” I say, removing my hand. “Keep your head up.”

She smiles and nods as I turn to leave. My throat tightens. A fake smile is so much sadder than a frown.

I return to my sack and muster it over my shoulder. We both know she will probably be dead soon. Almost all the Armless are at this point. There can’t be more than a dozen left in the whole village. Finding another miner to make a carrying agreement with her at this point is…

I try to shake the thought from my head. Wasting my energy on things I can’t control is just going to drive me insane. As my dad always scolds me: ‘you can’t help everyone’. No shit. But if everybody could help someone, I wouldn’t have to, and that’s what’s so frustrating.

I sigh. It doesn’t even matter. I’m tired of thinking. All that matters is getting down this damn mountain.

Maybe for the last time.

The path down the mountain isn't long, but it's hell. It seriously makes me appreciate the blisters and shoulder-tearing action of the mining. Every step on the trail, if you can even call it that, is a potential ankle-breaker. Or in the case of my neighbor, a leg-breaker. At points it slopes so steep it's pretty much just a cliff. And the sun never lets me forget there isn’t a single spot of shade the entire way down. Even as it starts to set the heat is dizzying.

Below the mountain trails ahead, beyond our village, lies nothing but wasteland stretching to the horizon. Cracked dirt and stone with not a single spec of color upon it. Endless brown land stripped of all the value it once held. It’s amazing how something so open— so vast— can feel so oppressive. Like a prison without bars.

Everyone knows to venture the wastes means death. Bodies of those who tried to leave were found dead just days later. There is nothing out there to keep you alive, especially when you’re already on the cusp of starvation. She makes sure to keep us just like that: fed enough to work, yet too hungry to do anything else. Certainly not venture the seemingly endless desert surrounding us.

And yet I am going to go anyways.

I have to. Lives aren’t meant to be lived like this, and I can see it in the faces of those around me. They all have soulless eyes who have given up on life and happiness. I can already feel it happening to myself. Not just my body, but my will is breaking as well. That's why I have to go, a risk my life for the chance at a better one. Maybe, by some miracle, if I leave this place I could return to these people, and my family, with some kind of hope. A chance at more.

Who knows? Maybe it really is hopeless out there, and death will be awaiting me like the others who have tried. But I have to. I’ve made up my mind.

Tonight I will find out if the Goddess is truly watching over me.