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Harry closes his eyes, standing into the wind and letting it whip around him. His hair has gotten longer but with it tied up under a wool sash it’s not gotten too tangled.
The sun is just disappearing over the hills, throwing the valley into a twilight slumber punctuated by a deep dark blue of the sky and the emergence of only the brightest and bravest of stars. It’s chilly, and the cloak draped around Harry’s shoulders weighs him down, even as it warms him. He buries his nose in the fabric and breathes deep before opening his eyes and gazing at the furthest patches of countryside that he can make out, hoping to spot a lone shape, the missing member of his flock.
No luck.
With a sigh, makes motions urging his flock forward, trudging down through the muddier parts of the valley where his sheep haven’t grazed the grass down to the earth, so each step could be a surprise bit of marsh. His leather boots only offer so much protection.
There’s something incredibly magical about twilight, Harry’s always thought. He’s never met a deity himself, not even a member of the fae, but if he did, he thinks the inbetween time would be when it happens. Tonight he tries to remind himself of that, that he loves twilight, and that the music of the crickets and the babbel of the distant brook are music to his ears.
It doesn’t work. He’s cold and tired and wants to rest his aching feet. He’s just come from the village today, exchanging the wool he’s sheared for bread and cheese, along with the new wool sash woven into his hair. In a few more months the youngest will be ready to be shorn, but he aims on moving further up north. There’s been rumors invaders coming from the south, and Harry’s heard good things about the North. More magic happens up there, he hears. The thought interests him.
The one problem is that he’s now heading west.
While Harry’s flock numbers nearly thirty, they’re mostly ewes with only a few studs, and a handful of lambs. All but one of them are sheep.
That one is a little ginger goat named Oli who’s a menace purely because of his stupidity.
Harry’s had a tin bell hung around his neck in the hopes that he’ll be able to catch when the goat wanders off, but so far has had no success. After having to make the bell about half the size it was when he bartered for it because Oli simply fell forward under the weight of it, the dinging of it can be drowned out easily in the ruckus that his flock make as they complain about going from place to place.
If it weren’t for the fact that Oli had belonged to his sister, he would have left the animal to starve long ago. Having to constantly traipse all over the world after him has done Harry no favours except to give him sore feet and complaining sheep.
He thinks there’s the chance he can hear Oli’s bell in the distance, but the wind could be messing with his senses. The goat certainly isn’t going to reappear if he just stands around though, so he continues onward through the valley.
The sun has long set and the stars have come out in full force, spilling across the skies, by the time Harry’s sure he’s following the sound of Oli’s bell, and not a phantom instrument. They’re going uphill now, and the sheep are doing so under duress (when are they not?), and Harry desperately hopes that Oli will be visible just over the horizon. It’s a fleeting hope, the further he goes.
Just as he’s beginning to give up the idea of finding Oli for the idea of finding a shepherd’s dwelling for the night, he makes his way over a final hill and finds, sprawled out before him, a place where magic seems to seep from the earth to the skies.
It’s the dead of night so Harry and his sheep are alone as they stand and gaze at the Temple before them. Harry recognizes it from the stories that travelers tell when they pass through villages, but he had already been further west than ever before, and hadn’t realised it was so close. The temple before him is huge, with two rings of upright stones towering above him and vines growing around, over and between the stones, turning them into structures almost like living versions of the thatched round houses that make up the villages.
He feels like he’s standing at the foot of something important, and is almost surprised that no one keeps up the temple at night. But then again, maybe that’s when the deities come. And deities shouldn’t be disturbed.
Then Harry hears Oli’s bell - louder than he’s heard it so far. Hoping no deity is going to be offended by him traipsing all over their property, Harry hurries forward. His sheep stay outside, content to give their hooves a rest.
He passes through the first circle of stones, ivy swaying overhead. The wildflowers at his feet bounce in the wind, clearly not having been exposed to any flocks like his own that have an affinity for colourful greenery.
When he passes through the inner circle, it feels like something in the air snaps and the earth itself shivers. Harry freezes, worried he’s alerted something or someone on having encroached on their home.
He hears Oli’s bell clink-clank again.
It’s darker here in the inner circle, vines and ivy creating a canopy overhead that blocks out the stars. Harry blinks a few times, his eyes adjusting, until he realises that Oli is right in front of him, tail quivering.
He’s not wearing the bell.
Harry hears the clink again and his heart leaps to his throat. Is someone else here?
“Hello?” he asks. He’s timid but his voice comes out loud and strong in the empty, silent space.
“Hello,” a voice answers back. It’s high and strong and sweet. Harry can see someone standing at the back of the inner circle, their shadowy form barely visible.
“I’m sorry,” Harry says, grabbing onto one of Oli’s horns and trying to tug him back toward him. “I’d lost my goat. I didn’t mean to intrude on your, um, home—”
The figure steps forward and the bell clanks. As they walk into a patch of starlight Harry realises that it’s tied around their neck. “I have no home,” they say. “This is only a place we can use to rest. It is no more mine than it is yours.”
“Ah,” says Harry, jolting as Oli tries to buck out of his hold. “Still, I’d better leave. I don’t want to disturb you.”
With having to wrestle the goat, Harry’s barely made it out of the inner circle before the figure catches up with him. As they emerge into a lighter area, Harry’s eyes grow wide. It’s a man - with silver hair that curls up a little at the ends, and goat horns that sprout at his temples. The pupils of his eyes are horizontal, and striking compared to the blue of his irises. He’s wearing a white piece of fabric draped over his shoulder and tied at the waist, yet doesn’t seem cold in the chill of the night air.He cocks his head at Harry, and the tin bell around his neck clanks again.
“Please don’t leave,” the man says. “Your kid was kind enough to share with me, I’d like to return the favour.”
“You mean the bell?” Harry asks, standing upright. “Why would my goat share a bell with you?”
The man looks down, touching the tin bell almost reverently. “He told me it is because it calls an important one to him, and that I needed an important one as well.” He looks up and blinks at Harry, his eyes mesmerising. “Are you the important one?”
“I’m certainly the one who makes sure he’s fed,” Harry says after a beat. “And I’ve rescued him from the river at least twice since the last full moon.”
“Ah yes,” the man says, looking down at the goat. “I had noticed he is… not bright.”
“He’s an idiot,” Harry agrees.
The man nods. “Yes,” he says. “One of the least intelligent that I have met, I am surprised he was able to find me.”
“He was looking for you?” Harry asks, eyebrows shooting up.
“He was,” the man says. “All goats do, eventually. At least, all the ones on this island. They will come to me and I will bless them and they will return home.”
“So you are a deity,” Harry breathes. The man clearly looked the part, but even a curse can look like a deity in the wrong light.
“You could say that,” the man muses. “But now this little one has given me a bell. None of them have given me anything before. I believe he knows more than he lets on.”
“He’s an idiot,” Harry clarifies. “He tried to fight a badger.”
“One can have knowledge without wisdom,” the man says, smiling. “This bell led you to him, and I believe he wishes it to do the same to me. Please, will you dwell here tonight?”
Harry glances back to his flock outside. “I cannot be apart from my sheep,” he says. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to stay with a deity. It sounds forbidden, or at least like a bad idea.
This deity, though, seems tranquil and kind so far. He’s not heard of many like this, who don’t start with proclamations and challenges of strength.
“Your sheep may join us,” the man says. “They will be safe with me.”
“What can I call you?” Harry asks.
“I have many names,” the man says. “The shortest of which is Louis, given to me from the people of the South.” He blinks slowly, one hand over the bell. “You are one of the Beaker People that has come to this land. Your kid has told me your name is Harry?”
Harry nods. “Will you curse us for staying in the temple?”
“The only curse I would ever leave upon you,” Louis - deity of goats - says, stepping forward, “Is the knowledge that I am alone when another is not with me. This is true of all immortal protectors. I wish to not be alone for one night at least, and so I ask you to join me. I will protect you just as I protect your kid.”
“Alright,” Harry says. “If you are really okay with filling your inner sanctuary with sheep, I will stay the night with you.”
He herds his flock in, through the two circles of stones, and watches until they are all settled for the night. Oli, a head shorter than most of the sheep, is visible only for the way his horns stick up above the rest.
Harry stands at the entrance, because that’s where shepherds sleep to keep their flock from wandering off and to keep others from entering.
Louis comes to stand with him, his bell clinking.
“Sleep,” he says. “Nothing will harm them here.”
Harry nods. He can feel the tiredness in his bones from following Oli all over the land today. “Will you?”
“Eventually.”
—
It is a strange thing, being granted the gift of immortality when least expecting it. This is especially strange for a young lonely shepherd, one of the Beaker People, who had known nothing but the life of a nomad. To watch civilizations rise and fall in front of his eyes is by far the worst part about it, but the best is that through it all there is someone experiencing it all with him.
There is only one deity of goats, but he does not walk alone. On cloudless nights in quiet valleys one can sometimes hear the clinking of a tin bell echoing through the air, and if one is really lucky, they could also spot two figures making their way through the countryside, hand in hand with an ancient creature that once resembled a goat beside them.