Revelations

A procession is led through the crowd with an honour guard of Thorns, and to my amazement an escort of armed men. Sleek swords and axes swing off belts, tested plates of metal cover limbs and deer antlers protrude from leather helmets. Smiles and food are handed to the tribe, seasoned meats, seeded breads and pouches of wine. The crowd's initial suspicion soon dies at the offering of peace and the call for celebration, the Voice shouts for cheers and opens his arms in welcome.

A single figure breaks through the centre of the pack, long brown hair and finely trimmed beard frame the face of a charismatic man. His bright white robes glide over the forest floor as he takes the tribe's leader into a deep hug.

He steps away and addresses the village. “My people, my tribe! Through bitter trials and trek, I fought to be here. Surviving the wicked ways of Silva due to my brave disciples, the Brightroot Band” - the wannabe Jesus commends his men who hoorah themselves loudly - “and through sheer perseverance knowing Mother has called, my followers await. Your Shepherd has answered that call!” He claims to giddy applause, the hope of a prosperous future returns to the Satyrs.

My situation can’t be more dire, cast out but not forgotten and now surrounded by even more armed threats. I seek a gap in the milling flow of fur, finding none. I look back to my friends and catch Piia’s eyes, her cheery expression drops as she’s reminded of her old pal, her soon-to-be-executed failure of a messiah.

‘Help me’, I mouth to her.

She turns to Toomas and Alek, Yadon appearing from the mix of tribesmen to join them in quiet conversation.

“Proof!”

“We demand evidence!”

Members of the crowd scream, not so convinced with this new man claiming to be their prophet.

The Voice calls for silence. “Of course! We have dealt with fraudsters and shall never again be fooled. Our holy Goddess seeks only the true leader for our kind.”

Jesus lifts his arms to the air, his pure white robes drape down as he turns slowly to gather all eyes on him, hushing the village into silence with dramatic build up.

“Mother spoke to me! Demanding I complete a trial to become the Shepherd!” He reaches inside his garment and produces a gleaming object that shimmers in the sunlight.

The villagers gasp as I realise what he holds.

“A Ferrum Seed!” Jesus yells holding the golden seed in the air for all to witness.

A leaf fall of silence follows before an uproar commences.

“He’s finally come!”

“Thank you Mother!”

“Our true Shepherd!” They call out, smothering me with dread and guilt.

I did lie to them, I am nothing but a lost man who hoped to be something special, but deep down I knew I was scared of being left in the woods alone. I crawl in on myself, hoping no one sees my tears.

The Voice gets to his knees and bows before their new spiritual leader, offering no resistance to this change in power. The village follows, all dropping to the dirt and leaf litter floor, bowing their heads.

“Pack your valuables, gather supplies for the long walk. We seek new pastures at once!” He commands them.

Most scramble back to their homes with excitement, these nomadic people have done this for generations, the process practised and smooth. A few stay behind, pointing to my place on the packed floor, calling for blood.

I creep a look and see angry faces, my apparent betrayal and lack of punishment not forgotten to a handful of passionate Satyrs, Boi included.

Jesus only now notices me, unfazed by my presence and calls for his Brightroots. The Voice whispers in his ear as they approach me, the hungry mob lurking just behind.

“A swift execution for this Chaos spawn, hang him.” The Voice condemns me.

I’m grabbed by Thorns, yanked by my hair off the ground.

Oh Mother, I’m rutted. How can I get away? My Riptail cuts the air as one of the Brightroot men tests its balance.

A young Thorn stares at Jesus with mesmerised wander, distracted.

Leaning forward, I reach for his sword. Flat metal cracks my head as the Captain bares down on me, my head swims with a faltering concussion, my legs give but the Thorns hold me aloft.

“See, he’s a fiend! We should toss him down into the hole with that Daemon creature of his. It’ll be munching him before the next moon.” The Voice gleefully leers at me.

My old friends call out from the surrounding guards, pushing through.

“Exile! He should be exiled!” They all call out.

“No, he will be strung up like the rodent he is.”

“Seth is young and foolish, he truly believed he was the Shepherd. The details matched the Luna prophecy, why sentence him to death for trying to save us, even if he were wrong.” Piia states with hope in her eyes. Toomas and Yadon nod behind her in agreement, Alek is nowhere to be seen. What a doe.

“He is a criminal!” The Voice points out as the Captain yells in agreement.

Jesus remains passive as the others argue my fate, the holy man watches me with curiosity, sizing my gear and features, what does he see in me? Another man or a threat to his new tribe?

He raises a hand and silences the Satyr’s heated debate.

“To believe you’re one of significance is simply the dream of many, we should not hold this young man accountable for wanting more. That being said, his actions against Mother’s people are undeniably unjust, he will be banished. Never to return or make contact with the tribe.” He decides with uncontested judgment.

He looks down on me with kindness, they’ve found a noble leader who will take care of them, far better than I ever could.

“My hippo, Cane. He is a part of my flock, my family.” I beg.

“My men shall release him when we deem it safe to do so, this I promise to another Shepherd. He will return to you in time.”

I nod, not wanting to push my Uke with the lingering tension, the Voice remains silent with smouldering anger, Piia with sad joy.

I will never see her again.

“Goodbye Seth.” She says.

Brightroots step forward, taking command of me from the Thorns.

“I’m sorry for what I said, please look after Artur.” He should be with his kind, family and Honey will help him through the darkness of the Depth’s trauma.

“We will Seth.” Toomas states.

Our goodbye is cut short as the Brightroots nudge me on, emotions and affection left unsaid with the listening ears and sudden departure.

They turn and leave to help break camp with the rest of their people, a pit forms in me as I step forward looking away from them.

I feel little shame as tears accompany my march out of the village. My escort of four say nothing as we wade through ferns into the deep woods, the chatter of Volts in the branches and the scrape of leather sheaths on plated thighs fills the void.

Should I have fought for Cane’s immediate release? I need him to survive, not just from predators but also from the loneliness that will soon overtake me.

Looking back over my shoulder, the Brightroots assume I mean to turn around and dash back, they tighten in around me. One puts a hand on my Riptail at his hip, and a wicked smile strikes back at me.

“Ere’s gud enough.” A moustached man states.

A sharp kick hits the back of my knees, throwing me to the ground.

The rasps of the drawn blade starts my heart, sweat and dread leak from me.

One turns to a tree and pisses against the trunk, another takes off their helm, revealing greasy hair, and tosses it away.

“Wait! I’ll leave, I’ll never come back.” I plead once again on my knees.

“Orda’s balls, are ya thick. We can’t hav ya millin around.”

“But your leader said to let me go.” I look up at cruel faces, no more joyous smiles, only brutal men.

“The Voice ya mean, twas his idea. Won’t risk his payday after so long.”

“Bloody slag da git and lets go.” The moustache man calls out with impatience.

“The Shepherd I mean, he promised.” I say.

“Barry! Our leader!” They laugh with genuine amusement.

“That alley performer tricked even you. Spent too much time wit da slaves.”

Slavers.

The realisation hits me, the Captain returning in time to call me out before the new Shepherd arrived. He must have given him the Ferrum seed that he took from Artur in the Depths. It was all an act, to diminish my claim and seize the prophecy in one swoop.

“Mother help me.” I cry out in desperation.

“You should pray to a real God for help, not that green farce.” He lifts the blade over my neck.

He’s right.

I throw my hands up and truly beg. “Please, let me have my final words.”

“Make it quick, got cattle to herd.”

In quick succession, I shoot out the words.

“Benevolent Order, bless me with your presence and empower me with the Spirit of the weak that I offer you now.”