Chapter Four - The Wayward Cowherd

  If you had asked Atalanta what her virtues were, piety would not be amongst them. Her strength, her tenacity, her willingness to lend an ear to those who needed help, those were her virtues. She wasn't Mercian, with their royal-led religious ceremonies, nor was she a potent mage who called upon them for their mightiest spells. She could frankly barely even remember the names of the Ecliptic Pantheon, and even that was just for their link to the days of the week.

  So that begged the question of why, as the sun peeked over the horizon, bathing the world in a pale amber glow, she found herself entering Ulssia's grand temple. It wasn't her first time in the temple - she had her superstitions just as anyone else did - but it was her first time in years.

  Perhaps calling it a grand temple was something of a misnomer - just as most places in Ulssia, it was a rather humble location. It was four stories tall - layered, with overlapping sloped roofs connecting them. The land of the temple was bound by a stone wall, with any ground not taken up by brick pavement being decorated with an assortment of flowers. The local Hegumen had tried teaching her what each flower was, and their symbolic importance, at some point. Unfortunately, it had largely gone in one ear and out the other.

  The inside of the temple was organised floor by floor. It opened up into a great hall, with a depression in the centre where a great hearth roared for any weary travellers to dry off or warm up. At the back of the hall illuminated by a wide, circular window that faced the dawn, were six large statues organised into three rows, each with ears that came to a sharp point.

  At the back, a woman with long flowing hair, a look of serenity upon her face. She wore thick robes and carried a long staff in her hands, a thick rod that stood as tall as the statue itself.

  Infront of her, a pair of figures. A man and a woman holding hands. The man was dressed in thick, old-fashioned battle-armour. A shield held in his free hand had the image of a blazing star upon it. The woman, meanwhile, was dressed in more practical clothes. Leathers and furs. She held a silver bow in her free hand that curved like a crescent moon.

  The final tier had three figures - separated. One of them, a veiled woman in an extravagant dress, stood on the right - her back facing the centre of the trio. She was posed as if regarding the tome in her hands. Opposite her, a young woman with plaited hair, dressed in golden armour. A greatsword hung off of her back, arms crossed. Between them, a young-looking boy stood, wearing the same robes as the woman in the back, with his arms outstretched as if welcoming each visitor the temple received.

  She didn't feel very welcome, though. The temple was filled with an unsettling quiet. If wasn't like being out in the wilds, where the chatter of songbirds filled the air. No, the quiet here was deep. Oppressive. As if her speaking up even a little would be an affront to the gods that called this temple their home.

  She had to get out of here before something happened. Before a local priest or a nun saw her and tried preaching at her. The last thing she needed was an impromptu sermon.

  What she came here for wasn't those statues at the back of the hall - perhaps she would've prayed to Adrianna, the Goddess of Tenacity, marked by her greatsword - but Atalanta had plenty of that as it was. No, her target was at the side of the room. Where shrines to local, everyday gods were situated. A small statuette and some incense was all the shrines offered, but it was better than nothing.

  She scanned the room, certain that the shrine she was looking for was on the northern side. The God of Smithies, The Goddess of Mercantilism, The God of Beginnings... those all seemed quite. Human. She must've been wrong. She turned to the south, eyes going from East to West. The local river goddess, the god of storms, and the deity that Atalanta was looking for. The cloven-hoofed goddess of nature trails and travellers, Dahlia.

  She approached the statuette and bowed before it. It was about three foot tall, carved out of stone. Far from the splendour of Ecliptic Gods in the back, but perfect for Atalanta. Unlike the statues in the back, though, Dahlia's statue was much less detailed. The detailing on her hair was enough to tell what it was meant to be - thick and curled, with curled ram horns framing her face - but it didn't match the craftsmanship seen elsewhere. The statue portrayed her in simple wear - a simple robe and cloak, with a crook planted in the ground and held in her right hand. At her feet, a dog. Stood in a protective pose, guarding her statue master from any number of dangers.

  "Lady Dahlia..." how, exactly, did this go again? Atalanta thought for a moment - was it prayer, then incense, or incense then prayer? She opened up the box of incense sticks placed at the foot of the statue and grabbed two.

  "I am to go on a long journey. Further from home than I have ever been." She retrieved the igniter from the box. A small metal rod with a button that, when activated, would release a flame for a short period of time.

  "I am filled with nerves and excitement in equal measure." She lit one stick of incense, the scent of dew filling the air. She placed it within its holder on the left of the statuette, preventing the spread of any fire.

  "I know it will not be easy. And I know it is not my place to ask. A true hero... she should be self-sufficient, right? Yet, I must ask you all the same..." she lit the second stick but kept it in her hands for a moment.

  "Please, grant me safe passage through the wilds, that I may reach my destination in peace." She placed the stick of incense in the second holder, on the statue's right side.

  For a moment, the world went silent. Atalanta wondered if the goddess had even heard her prayers. Then the door of the temple opened.

  "H-Hello?" She whipped her head around to see who it was. A man, dressed in simple travelling attire, leaning against a piece of lumber that had been turned into a makeshift walking stick. He was full of mud and blood, like he'd been thrown face first into a bramble patch. She glanced around - expecting a priest to see to the man - but there weren't any present.

  She approached, holding her right hand up to get his attention.

  "Hey. You okay?" She knew he wasn't. He looked like death itself had paid him a visit. Still, best to approach the conversation delicately at first. His eyes widened and he dropped to his knees.

  "Praise Melchior himself, for he has sent me a fire-haired angel." That. Wasn't what she asked. Wasn't what she was. She scoffed, shaking her head. Her, a divine messenger? As if.

  "Up you come. Back on your feet, buddy." Given he didn't take her hand, she went for a less friendly method of getting him back up, grabbing the scruff of his shirt and dragging him back up to his feet. He wobbled, like he'd had too much to drink, and threatened to collapse again.

  She clapped a hand on his shoulder and guided him towards the central hearth. With the way he fell onto the bench, anyone would think that Atalanta had thrown him down.

  "Sit. Stay. I'll get you something to drink."

  "My- my thanks to you, miss." He murmured. She just raised her right hand to signify he had been heard as she left the building. The temple did have a magical means of drawing water from its well, but that was restricted to the clergy, and whilst water was never ideal, she wasn't spending any of the money she didn't have on this fool.

  ---

  "Oh my, it certainly sounds like you have had quite the journey." By the time Atalanta returned to the temple with a bucket of water, someone was properly tending to its uninvited guest. An elderly gentleman, dressed in fine blue and white robes, his hair as white as a cloud on a mostly clear day.

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  "Oh, here she- it's her!" The traveller sat bolt up-right as Atalanta approached. He had a goblet in his hand, filled with golden cider. That was her trip to the well wasted, then. Wonderful. She placed her bucket down next to the bench and bowed.

  "Hegumen Blair. It's an honour."

  "Atalanta?" The Hegumen's eyes twinkled ever so slightly, a small smile playing upon his lips. He was everything a disciple of Melchior needed to be. Patient, kind, understanding. He was also a sentimental old goat. "It has been far too long. How many winters..."

  "Five, sir. It's been five winters since I was here last."

  "And what a fine young lady those years have seen you become. Come, sit. Our friend here was just telling us how he arrived in our little town." Blair's mouth curled up into a kind smile, and Atalanta couldn't help but smile back at him. As oppressive as the temple felt, that wasn't due to Blair's influence.

  She perched herself down on the next bench along from the Hegumen and the traveller, her chin nestled in her palm and her feet crossed over each other.

  "Where was I... ah! Right! Lord Faean. He'd hired my partner and me to transport some cargo and help transport his cattle. Makes it cheaper on him, he says, keeping them off his land in the summertime. We'd made it down to Count Silverhart's ga- er, manor. Dropped off our cargo, picked up some more, and started coming back.

  Then, er, bandits got to us. Yeah, a mean bunch, hiding in these here woods. They got Darryl, broke our cart's axel, and left me stranded out here, without a scrap of silver to my name. It was only by the grace of the gods that I survived, it is."

  The Hegumen furrowed his brow as the cowherd spoke but allowed him to finish what he was saying. To complete his story.

  "You keep fine company, clearly, and you could have chosen no finer place to seek refuge. I do not mean to be proud, but Ulssian carpentry is like no other. Brother Matthias will be able to fix your cart for you. Although with bandits in these woods..."

  Blair looked over to Atalanta with a telling smile. The look he had when he was plotting something.

  "No doubt this is a sign from Lady Dahlia, Atalanta. Could you escort the brother to the cart, and help recover it? It must be the will of the gods that this man found you."

  The will of the gods? She glanced back to the cloven-hoofed statue. Did the satyress goddess really believe this to be the best for her? She could only hope so. The gods could be all so fickle, after all.

  "Of course. But on one condition. You, cowherd. Lord Faean lives to the north, doesn't he? I don't work for free, not even for a goddess, but some transport? That's payment for me enough." And perhaps if she was able to spin a yarn great enough for Lord Faean, she could have a strong noble connection going forward.

  "Y-Yes! Anything. That cart and them cows are me livelihood.”

  Post-Chapter Extra: Dahlia, Goddess of Travels

  "Gather round, children, and listen well." The temple's hegumen sat in the middle of a ring of the children of Ulssia. Next to him, a young girl - no older than seven or eight - sat with crossed legs. Her eyes gazed up at him, framed by her blazing red hair, with curiosity and excitement. Atop her head, a pair of triangular blue ears, and draped on the floor behind her, a long, slender tail that matched her ears’ hue. She had much more enthusiasm than any of the local children possessed, he couldn’t have turned her away even if he thought it would have brought unity to his classroom.

  "For today, I tell you a story about a great shepherdess, and the great lengths she went to to protect her flock."

  ---

  This is a story that spans back to a time before the nations of Mercia and Bora. Before any one great civilisation had risen up. No, they all were divided up into individual cities. All vying for attention on the grand stage of the world.

  Without the emperor’s knights to watch over it, the world was dangerous. Great winged beasts tormented the skies, bandits haunted the roads, and all manners of claws and teeth made the dark, dank forests their home.

  That meant not that people were unkind to each other - lord Melchior's teachings ran deep even then. The spirit of hospitality may even have been greater in those trying times. A wary, wandering traveller would always have been grateful to those offering a helping hand.

  In this time of great danger and kindness, however, there was one woman who stood out amongst each of them. A young shepherdess, by the name of Dahlia. She, borne in the valley. No matter what danger threatened her and her flock, she did not back down. Neither wolf nor falcon were a match for her sling. She had travelled the whole continent, from the sunny south-western shores to the frozen north-east. There was nowhere beyond her range.

  The god of the forge, Blackfinger'd Harlan, sought the hand of Marianne, most elegant and beautiful of the gods and goddess of weaving. However, he needed a wedding gift. Something befitting the beauty of the woman of his dreams. He toiled and toiled for days, making the most beautiful jewellery the world has ever seen, but each advance he made was spurned.

  "It was all about you", Marianne had said. Harlan had shown how impressive he was, himself, but offered nothing for the consideration of how their union would benefit them both.

  So, Harlan had an idea. A gift perfect for his beautiful Marianne. He sought out Silver-haired Titania, offering her a trade deal. Arrows that could bring night in an instant, in exchange for five of her finest ewes. After much haggling, including some fine jewels for Titania's collection, the moon goddess relented.

  Her sheep, you see, were special. Grazing upon moonlit grass, it is said that any finery produced with the wool of the sheep would shine like the very moon itself. The only problem is that her sheep resided at the very top of the Silessian Mountains, and Marianne had found herself growing quite fond of the people of what would become Mercia. If the sheep left their home, they would be an immediate target. Any beast that could smell them would have an insatiable hunger for the moon-raised mutton.

  ---

  "Oh! So they got Dahlia to take the sheep!" The red head spoke up with a grin, evidently proud of herself for linking the two halves of the story together. Though it didn't go over well with the other children. They all groaned and rolled their eyes at her interruption. She looked at the floor with a frown, her only comfort being a hand ruffling the hair atop of her head.

  "Right, I was getting there. But... very good, little one."

  ---

  Indeed, there was but one that was brave enough to take the long journey south-east. Blackfinger'd Harlan appeared to young Dahlia in the fields one day, whilst tending to her flock, informing her of her divine mission.

  She knew it would not be easy, but she was not perturbed by the challenge. No, she knew better than to refuse the wills of the gods. From the moment she collected her quarry, Dahlia had the eyes of three gods upon her.

  Harlan, ensuring his delivery was successful. Titania, ensuring the safety of her beloved livestock. Even Marianne, who had caught wind of the exchange.

  It wasn’t the longest journey that Dahlia had ever taken - that tale is for another time, I’m afraid, but it was certainly the most arduous. Not on the first day, however. Titania had kept the land around her meadows clear of monsters, and no man was foolish enough to stand against the will of the moon. On the second day, however, as Dahlia left the Silessian mountains behind her and descended into the forests below… disaster began to strike her flock.

  Wolves howled all around her. The deep growls of bears having smelt the mutton reached the ears of their flock. The sheep grew unruly, desperately trying to stray away from the danger that they knew their shepherdess was leading them into. Her trusty hound, however, remained steadfast. Rounding up the sheep and keeping their formation tight. And when a pack of wolves did approach? Dahlia would take a round stone from her pack, load it into her sling, and wham. Straight between the alpha’s eyes. The rest of them would scatter after that. Indeed. Day two likewise passed without tragedy, but not without peril.

  On the third day of her long, arduous trek, she had cleared the forest that had caused her so much harm… and instead had broken into a wide-open meadow. Rolling hills passed for miles before her. It was her usual haunt. Nice and easy. Or so she believed. For the canopy of the forest had been protecting her from the skies above. A hound can howl and bark and scare off terrestrial threats? But from above? She didn’t even see the first falcon coming until it was too late. One of her sheep panicked and bleated as great talons sunk into its flank, being swept up into the air and carried off to only the gods knew where.

  She was extra vigilant, the rest of that day. She did not know that the falcon had followed her since the day before. The meadow wasn’t its usual range. And yet… She had failed her flock all the same. She kept her wits about her, a stone in her sling ready at a moment’s notice. The rest of the day, fortunately, was peaceful. Just three more day’s travel and she would reach her destination.

  The fourth day was rainy. Thick black clouds had gathered over night. Freezing and cutting, as hardy as Dahlia was, she could not remain in these conditions lest she be unable to reach her destination herself. Fortunately, she found a barn. A farm that someone had established. A kind soul willing to take her in. She was fed, bathed, and allowed to warm herself by a fire. All whilst her sheep rested in the safety of their wooden home. Or so she believed. Nothing came free, not even in the days of purest hospitality. Her lunch, notably flavoursome, had come from one of her flock. The farmer had deemed it only fair - payment for refuge. She huffed and left the farm, preferring to brave the weather than waste another day and lose another precious ewe.

  On the fifth day… a personal tragedy struck her. Her beloved hound, Honey, as named for her amber fur, fell ill. The rain had seeped into her fur. She was cold. Tired. Walking was a labour for her. Honey was not a young dog, and Dahlia knew that her time would come eventually, but she was not ready to say farewell just yet. She hoisted her hound up onto her shoulders and marched onward. With just three ewes left, she couldn’t afford any more losses.

  She marched on and on. Through wind and rain, she trudged through fields and over hills. She refused to let her dog die on her. She refused to lose any more livestock. And yet fate had other ideas. As her destination came into view, she marched straight into an ambush. Arrows whizzed through the air. One clipped her arm. Another hit one of her sheep. A third hit her calf. Yet she didn’t slow. She couldn’t slow. She pushed on and on. Adding the weight of the injured ewe to her shoulders alongside her beloved honey. Until, at the gates of the town of her salvation, she collapsed. Down. Her quest unsuccessful. Or so she believed.

  For her great courage, for completing a quest that may have been impossible for a less hardy shepherdess, she was rewarded. Lady Marianne herself came to the gates of the town. Took her in and healed both Dahlia and her beloved dog. In doing so, in agreement with Titania and Harlan, she raised Dahlia above what she once was. No more was she but a regular shepherdess, no, she was the patron of all of those with great journeys ahead of them. She and her beloved dog roam the heavens even now, looking down upon all, through winter and summer, bestowing her blessings where she needs to.

  ---

  “So, little ones. What do you think you can learn from this?” The Hegumen posed the question to the group of children, only the redhead began to seriously consider it, a finger curling around her chin and her brow furrowing, as if imitating the thinking face of someone far older than her. He chuckled, and then she spoke.

  “Uhm… good deeds get rewarded in the end?”

  “That is certainly one way to look at it. Indeed - it was Dahlia’s virtues that saw her rewarded with her eventual divinity, wasn’t it? But my personal favourite lesson to be had from the story is how you can tackle work. You kids will understand as you grow older, worry not, but… jobs that seem simple on the outside will often have knots within them, unseen from when you start on them. If you persevere, however, and find a solution… it will reward you in ways you never thought possible. Do keep that in mind, dear children.”