The shepherd calls out, and his sheep know his voice.
Gen and Jovin followed the path down from the col, moving deeper into the green country. The snow began to draw away and brown earth was once again apparent under their feet. Shades of yellow-green danced into their view, the opening act for the glorious fields that would spring upon them and invigorate their tired eyes once they stepped into the valley.
It felt surreal - to once again have colours abound around them. They’d just gotten used to their non-white coats and scarves being the only sight for sore eyes. This here was the beginning of a feast. They took it all in.
Whether this place was truly more magnificent than the lush meadows of Fredin’s home or they’d simply forgotten how greenery looked like after weeks in the mountains, the beauty of the East Lands was undeniable.
They hadn’t known what to expect. Though Mount Hallow and Tirips were situated in the Far East, the East Lands were also reputed for the Galvigon, and chiefly so. And wherever the warlords are mentioned, an inevitably dismal picture comes to mind. Anti-hope - the force that negates all things good, that was how some would describe them. There was such bitterness, understandably.
Yet, in deriding irony, they had chosen their camp to be on the foothills of Mount Hallow - the beacon of hope in all the Lands. Perhaps it was tactical and strategic - to occupy and therefore deny the only path to freedom.
As they went further down into the valley, they began to see brown huts dot the slopes. Far apart, yet unmistakable that they were a settlers’ community. The path led them to a well on the periphery of the settlement. And at the well was a woman; her beige-coloured frock swishing at her ankles as she worked at retrieving water with a wooden bucket.
The springwater running down from Malaban was South-bound. Quite unfortunately, groundwater from the well (the only one in the vicinity) was the solitary option for the settlers of the green country.
The boys approached the woman at the well with weary footsteps.
“Excuse me, is this Baumanneur?” Gen asked, in a voice quite unlike himself. The frigid temperatures had distressed his throat.
“Oh, hello, yes. Just a little farther down that slope,” she said, pointing behind her after placing the bucket on the ground and wiping her hands on the apron around her waist.
“Where are you travellers from?” She continued. It seemed she was about to head back too.
“We came from the West Lands; from Meadori, across the mountain range.”
The woman looked at them with a funny expression - frowning and smiling with her lips pursed at the same time.
“Nah, no one can cross mighty Malaban during these winter months. It’s too dangerous, too foolish to risk the journey. Trade always stops when winter comes…,” she replied, dismissing their answer. Then her friendly tone and disposition changed, quite perceptibly, and she looked away from them.
“We’re not traders, you see. We’re on an important quest; we cannot wait for the turn of the season,” Gen explained.
As she turned to once again look at them, there was sorrow in her eyes. She studied their faces, red and marred by cuts, their dishevelled appearance and worn clothing. Their hair had grown quite a fair bit, and stubble had darkened their jaw and chin. She wrestled but accepted at length that they must have spent weeks in the mountains.
“That’s impossible,” she said in disbelief and what could be wonder.
Walking up to Gen, she let out a shaky breath and hovered a trembling hand over his cheek. She glanced over at Jovin too, eyes sheening with unshed tears.
It wasn’t uncomfortable as it was unusual. Finally, Gen broke the silence. “All I can say is you glimpse the brightest lights when it’s the darkest.”
That was enough to cause her to retreat sheepishly. Turning her backs to them, she discreetly dried her eyes and quickly recovered from her sentimental show of emotion. When she spoke again, her voice was steady and practiced.
“Come with me. My husband is out tending to our flock. But it would please him greatly to be a host to Westlanders. I’m Jelika, by the way.”
Gen looked to Jovin and they reached a wordless consensus to follow. They introduced themselves thereafter.
Jelika then went and picked up the filled wooden bucket with as much grace as expected of a woman practised in the art of housekeeping. When she reached behind the well to pick up a second one hidden from view, Jovin offered to help her carry it. Gen smiled, finding it endearing that his once aloof friend had warmed up to those around him. The friends they’d met on the journey so far had shaped them for the better; kindness and love were no longer foreign concepts.
Down the green slopes they went following Jelika’s lead. They passed many a fenced pastureland where there were scattered flocks of grazing sheep. More wooden huts came into view and men in cloaks of earthy tones were seen shepherding the flock in peculiar ways. The sheep were bleating and scampering pitifully as their masters struck them with crooks and shouted brutally at them. The men were also yelling at each other across the fences with words and actions too odious for the ears and eyes. Gen shuddered and looked away, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
“Oh, don’t mind them. That’s the way we Baumanneur folk do life. Been like that since the early settlers...that is, except Atlel. He’s different. And I think I’ve changed because of him too.”
Jelika led them to one of the bigger huts, down a small path that diverted from the main one and invited them to wait at the living area while she went to get Atlel from the field.
The wool-covered wooden crates made a heavenly seat. Though honestly, anything was better than the startling sham of snow-covered ice, soft to sight but hard on their backs.
“Talking to your sheep like they’re your children again?” Jelika called out, smiling fully, leaning against the post on one side of the sheep gate.
“Yes, until we have our own…,” came the light-hearted reply. Atlel turned around from where he was sitting in the grass, surrounded by his sheep, a little lamb nestled in his lap. Even as he spoke, he continued caressing the little one’s head lovingly.
Jelika looked away, if only to grin and blush. When she assumed her poise once again, she got straight to the point, “We have visitors.”
When Atlel walked through the door, head bowed to accommodate the suddenly miniscule wooden frame, Gen had to admit he was intimidated. Atlel was a big man, both in size and presence. His burly appearance - broad shoulders and imposing stature, coupled with a thick beard and long wiry hair - immediately made him a force to be reckoned with.
“Gen, Jovin, this is my husband Atlel,” Jelika introduced.
Atlel gave them a friendly nod and made his way to the kitchen to clean up. The bottom portion of his tan-coloured woollen cloak was loosely flecked with grass and the blades fell all over the floor as he trudged through the house, floorboards creaking under his weight.
Jelika followed close behind and when they were in the small area sectioned off to be the kitchen, she whispered hushedly to Atlel, back turned to Gen and Jovin. The boys were left to wonder.
Then, a look of surprise crossed Atlel’s face and he looked over Jelika’s shoulder at them.
Before Gen could jump to conclusions as to what was transpiring, Jelika turned around and explained.
“Apologies for my conduct earlier at the well. My younger brothers crossed the range in winter some years ago...and never returned...”
The boys realised they must have reminded her of her brothers. Their very survival; overcoming the odds and returning from the mountain range brought both pain and hope.
Gen stepped forward, “Can I... give you a hug?”
That broke Jelika, and she fell into his arms, hugging him tight. There, she sobbed and released all the grief and longing she’d been keeping to herself for years past.
It was a closure she never knew she needed.
Then when Jelika scurried back to the kitchen to prepare a warm meal for their guests, Atlel came up to Gen and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. His voice, though gruff, was surprisingly kindly and it put Gen at ease almost immediately.
All of a sudden, a little boy (he looked to be about eight years old) ran up the steps and into the house crying and shouting, “Uncle! Uncle!”
Atlel walked swiftly up to him and crouched down, holding the little boy by his shoulders.
“What happened, Damiel?”
The little boy sobbed uncontrollably, rubbing at his eyes with his fists, and muttered something incomprehensible.
Then came a series of blistering rebukes from outside, growing louder and increasingly merciless. Gen and Jovin winced at the oh-so-cutting words, not at all excited to be meeting the owner of the voice. What could the kid have done to warrant this?
“Get over here!” the man stepped through the door and pointed an accusatory finger at the boy. Damiel ran and hid behind Atlel as he stood up.
“Calm down, Bartel. It was just two sheep. We can and will get them back,” Atlel spoke, and his Eastern accent became apparent.
As the raging man continued spewing all sorts of heated words, ranting about how much of a loss he had incurred, Gen and Jovin began to understand. The man - Bartel, was Atlel’s older brother. For the immense temper he had, he was barely half as big as Atlel. Damiel was his son, and Atlel’s nephew. They lived next door, and this happened frequently. Little Damiel would anger his Pa and run over to seek respite at his uncle’s. But from what Gen reasoned, Mr Bartel had the tendency for overreacting, quite clearly. This time the little boy had accidentally left the sheep gate open and two sheep escaped. And it didn’t take much to explain why the sheep saw the opportunity and ran - the way their masters treated them was brutal.
Throughout the whole conversation, Bartel never once mentioned that he would go after the lost sheep. In fact, the first thing he did when he realised they’d gone missing was cause a big ruckus. Now, he went on and on about wasted time and resources. Atlel, on the other hand, repeatedly assured him that he would personally bring the sheep back.
As Bartel left, resigned and still angry, Atlel turned to Damiel, crouching down again. “Your Pa told you to always check the gate before leaving, didn’t he? You were careless this time. Go back and apologise to him, and tell him you’ll be extra careful next time, alright? Don’t worry about the sheep. I will bring them back. Promise.”
The young boy nodded and Atlel ruffled his hair tenderly before sending him back.
He then stood up and informed Jelika that he was heading out to the fields to look for the lost sheep. As he stepped out the door, Jovin bounded after him.
“...I’ll go help,” he told Gen without missing a beat. Gen smiled. His friend probably wanted to scout around the area; force of habit.
Now left standing alone in the middle of the living room, Gen bounced on his feet awkwardly until he decided to help out in the kitchen.
“Hey, Jelika...you need any help? Jovin went with Atlel to find the lost sheep.”
“Oh it’s alright. We can’t have our guests making their own meal,” Jelika laughed and carried on stirring in ingredients in a large pot of soup. The smell of the simmering onions, tomatoes and potatoes made Gen’s mouth water and reminded him of Loggerstone. Well, not exactly the town and its people but more specifically their loving host, Will. He decided to just stay put and watch Jelika as she cooked, if that was okay.
“So...has this runaway sheep situation happened to you and Atlel before?” Gen asked tentatively, unsure if he was being overly distracting and intrusive.
“There were a few times we realised we had left the gate open. But each time we counted our sheep, we found none were missing. It’s assuring to know that even if we forget to lock the gate - being too tired after a busy day and all, our sheep are obedient enough that they won’t stray away. Atlel and I joke that it’s because they already know they have the best home and there is nothing better out there. Also, they will hardly go anywhere on their own unless they hear Atlel’s voice calling.
You and Jovin are from Meadori?” Jelika asked, shuffling about from counter to counter in the tiny space.
“Derri. I’m from Derri. Not sure if you’ve heard of us, we’re pretty disconnected from the outside world. Jovin...he doesn’t have a home. He roams around.”
“Oh, so you both aren’t related?”
“We met on the way here.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“I have-or had, a younger sister. I’m not sure what happened to her and my family, my people…”
This time, Jelika stopped busying herself with the food preparations and actually turned around.
Gen began telling her all about the darkness and their quest so far.
Jovin followed Atlel closely into the outskirts of the settlement. From flat, vast fields, the area sloped into little, undulating hills and the grass became taller, coarser, and wild. The wayfarer was back to being agile and masterful with the land and treaded easily alongside the big man.
There was a comforting silence between the two, for they were men of few words.
“You know the land well,” Atlel broke the silence after a long time.
“The land’s my home.”
Atlel may not have understood completely what Jovin meant, but he hummed in response. Another interval of silence save for swishing grass.
“You and Gen crossed Malaban in such extreme conditions. Why is that? I’m sure the people back in Meadori would have advised you otherwise,” Atlel asked, still looking straight ahead as he moved.
“We’re going to Tirips.”
“Ah, the river flowing from the mountain in the far East. Heard that it's magical, that it grants immortality.”
“Not magic. It’s the miracle we all need,” Jovin replied, remembering what Gen had said about the multiplying bread. Magic wasn’t going to save them; salvation would be nothing short of a miracle, “There is a darkness coming this way.”
“Then I wish you both all the best, sincerely.”
As they walked on, they heard indistinct bleating beyond some shrubs.
“Be very gentle with them; they are like little children. Do not scare them with threats of violence and punishment,” Atlel cautioned, holding a hand out.
Very carefully they approached the shrub and saw behind it one young sheep picking at the wild and unyielding grass.
“Come here, little one,” Atlel called out, circling the sheep, hand poised for a gentle touch rather than a fist of rage. The sheep backed away from the unfamiliar presence but did not run away.
Atlel produced some blades of grass from his cloak pocket and handed a few to Jovin, “These are the tender blades from my field. Give it to the little one.”
Jovin held the feed in his hand, waving it in front of the sheep. He was sure he looked silly and unpractised. But he was patient, and before long he was crouching down, stroking the head of the sheep as it ate from his hand. Atlel smiled, pleased.
Then in the distance came more bleating - this time loud and distressed. Atlel leaped ahead, pushing through thorny shrubs with urgency while Jovin and the sheep followed behind. The sheep was quick to trust, for it had met with gentleness and believed.
There was another young sheep with one of its legs stuck in some jagged rocks. It was panicked and scared, scampering against the slippery grass to no avail when it saw them approaching.
“Shhh, don’t move little one, you’ll hurt yourself. Let me help you,” Atlel coaxed, moving closer gingerly. When the sheep sensed that he meant no harm, it stopped struggling and stayed still as Atlel carefully (but easily because he was strong) lifted the rocks.
At last it was free. But as it moved to prance about, its injured leg gave way, causing it to fall over. As it lay there crying pitifully, Atlel went and picked it up in his arms.
“Let’s go home.”
Jovin and Atlel brought the sheep back to Bartel’s place. The one that Jovin fed followed him obediently all along the way, occasionally nipping at his coat.
Bartel was quarelling with his neighbour when they arrived.
“It’s about time! Where are the ungrateful brats?!” He shouted when he saw Atlel and Jovin turning down the path. Atlel brought the injured sheep to his brother while Jovin led the other one back into the pen.
“This little one’s injured, you may want to give it special care.”
“You crazy?! I’m not going to waste any more time on this good-for-nothing! Take it if you please!” bellowed Bartel, storming off with a flick of his hand.
Atlel sighed, then looked down at the little sheep cradled in his arms, “Looks like you’re part of my flock now, and probably for the best.” His little one responded, bleating with joy.
Meeting Jovin down by the road, the two lads headed back.
After bandaging the injured sheep’s leg with a wooden splint and setting it down to rest, they returned to the house for dinner.
Gen was just helping Jelika set the table when Jovin and Atlel stepped through the door.
“Back just in time. How did it all go?” Jelika asked.
“Long story short - because I’m starving, our flock’s increased by one.”
As they ate with their hosts, Gen and Jovin filled them in on any gaps of their journey so far. They had separately shared their experiences with Jelika and Atlel and now it all came together into one coherent story over the dinner table.
“The multiplying bread - I just can’t wrap my head around that. How did that happen, like before your very eyes…!” Jelika exclaimed, scooping Jovin another bowl of stew, “And the mountain, moving at your command!”
“I could try to describe it but words just won’t do justice to what we experienced. Miracles simply have to be lived, not told,” Gen said, the miraculous encounters replaying in his mind. One of his hands felt around his coat pocket and found the mustard seed. He rolled it between his fingers, having a mind to show it to his friends. But for some reason he decided otherwise and let it slide back to the bottom, “All it takes is a little faith.”
When they were done with dinner, Jelika led them to the guestroom for an early night. They certainly deserved it; they’d been up and about since they left Malaban and stepped into Baumanneur.
“This is my brothers’ room. I’ve kept it the same, hoping they can come home to it one day,” she said, creaking open the door. There she stood staring longingly into the dimly-lit space for a few moments.
“You boys can stay as long as you want,” she said in a hushed, warm kind of way - her voice like a safe blanket falling over their shoulders.
When Jelika left, softly closing the door behind her, Gen and Jovin looked around the modest-looking room. There were few personal items save for a lounging coat and two pairs of boots. The two beds took up the bout of the space; the woolen blankets covering them looked like clouds that could swallow them whole and right now they’d more than gladly sink into them.
Shrugging off their coats and boots, they fell back into the beds and made themselves comfortable. Jovin took the bed nearer to the window. They sat in silence for some time in the warm glow of the oil lamp between their beds and the cold glimmer of pale moonlight through the open window. The faraway bleating of sheep coated the atmosphere with humbling serenity.
Gen reached for his canvas bag by the floor and rummaged through it till his fingers closed around the wooden figurine.
As he settled back against the fluffy pillow, he twirled the wooden tiger around in his hands, inspecting it fondly. The paint was chipped, the surface scarred, but it was a piece of home, of family.
“What’s that?” came Jovin’s voice out of the blue - low and mellow in the echoing of the deep valley.
“My Pa made this. Gave it to me for my birthday when I was three.
Then Leia wanted one too and Pa made her a rabbit.”
“My Pa left me this,” Jovin said, reaching into his shirt and pulling out a pendant. And for the first time, Gen noticed the string around his neck.
“A key?” Gen furrowed his brows, watching the piece of black metal glisten in the moonlight as Jovin turned it from side to side.
“Pa never said anything more about it. But it has to be a link to my family history. I must have come from somewhere…One day I’ll find my place in this world,” he said, then caught the key in his hand abruptly and returned it among the folds of his shirt.
“This sure is a nice place to stay…,” said Jovin as a passing thought, sliding down further into the covers and placing his hands under his head. There he lay looking out the window.
“You know I can’t stay…” Gen began, though he admitted the thought was tempting, “...but if that’s what you want, I’ll see you on my way back.”
The thought of going ahead alone was daunting to say the least. Countless times Jovin had come to his aid and it was safe to say he wouldn’t have gotten this far without his loyal friend. But Jovin never had a home where he could feel safe and genuinely rest without worry about having to fend for himself. If this was the place, and if Jelika and Atlel feel like the closest thing to family he could have, then Gen wouldn’t force him to leave and go with him.
“Nah, you know I don’t really mean that. You know me - I’m not a settler. I enjoy moving around. This...homely life is not for me,” Jovin replied. In the darkness, now that the oil lamp had dimmed significantly, Gen couldn’t really see his face. It was difficult to discern any emotion from the tone of his voice too. That was Jovin - unreadable and skilled at throwing others off his scent.
He wished he wasn’t so selfish but Gen heaved a sigh of relief at Jovin’s response - whether or not it was true to his heart. He tried to reason; the draw of stability in contrast to the only way of life his friend knew - a deep, nebulous yearning at odds with a harsh reality...to stay would require courage, and perhaps Jovin wasn’t ready for that step of faith. But Gen promised himself that in another time and place, when the darkness had been vanquished and the land returned to a greater peace, he would make sure Jovin got the stability he longed for and deserved.
There was a code of sorts between them, that they would have each others’ backs till the end of time. A code developed from the beginning of their friendship, undiscussed yet thoroughly known to both.
And under that code they slept, backs turned to each other.
The next morning, Jovin awoke early and went into the field with Atlel. Gen was stooped over a wooden bucket, washing his face with the well water by the porch when he saw them heading out in the distance.
“Those two seemed to have formed a bond after their little adventure yesterday,” Jelika commented lightheartedly, walking out the front door carrying a basket of laundry. Gen smiled, then offered to help Jelika with the chores, just as the day before.
As Atlel opened the sheep gate and the two stepped into the pen, a young sheep bounded straight for Jovin and settled itself right by his leg.
“Bartel sent her over late last night. She remembers you,” Atlel grinned, going ahead to gather the rest of his flock, “Why don’t you name her?” he said, turning back.
Jovin stood still as ever, unsure what to make of Atlel’s words. There was a certain level of intimacy and responsibility assumed in the act of naming, and that was something quite very foreign to him. But as he looked down at the little one snuggled against his boot, he began to feel, and smile.
“Miracle. Her name’s Miracle,” he said, crouching down to caress Miracle’s head. She was a physical reminder of their journey so far, and all the wonders he had experienced, “Do all your sheep have names too?”
“Yes. That’s Kara, Jovie, Hope, Fallon…” Atlel introduced, pointing to each one in his flock. Jovin was amazed by how he could identify them by name when they all looked pretty similar at a glance. From all that he’d heard and observed about Atlel, Jovin knew it was because he had invested time and care for his flock. They belonged to him, not in a transactional way but in a personal way, and so he knew each one by name.
“And this one’s Dawn,” said Atlel, voice becoming soft as a feather as he picked up one of the young sheep. There was a wooden splint bandaged to one of her legs. Dawn; a new beginning.
Gen and Jovin stayed at Baumanneur with Atlel and Jelika until they both unanimously agreed it was time to carry on. Two days before they were set to leave, Jelika sat them down on the front porch and helped them trim their overgrown hair. The boys also shaved their faces and the refreshing of their outward appearance paralleled that of their spirit within.
As they gathered all their belongings and stepped out of Atlel’s home into the green valley, Jelika stood by the porch, moved to tears.
“Come back safely, please.”
Gen and Jovin nodded, giving her their assurance.
Atlel then walked with them for a distance to show them the way out of the valley. With the cluster of wooden huts far behind, Atlel directed them southward towards another village, West Brook.
“Find the miracle waters of Tirips, and return to your family,” Atlel said as a goodbye, patting each of the boys on the shoulder.
“Miracle will be waiting for you; she might be a full-grown sheep by that time. The little ones grow up fast.”
Face claim for Atlel: Aaron Taylor-Johnson
Bonus drawing of Jovin and Miracle :)
Author's note: This chapter came together so warm and nicely! All credit to God for giving me so many bits of inspiration that tied everything together and gave it biblical meaning (I did not plan this at all from the start)!!
As for the names of Atlel's sheep, I referenced them from this Christian content creator on IG who did a series on baby names and their meanings (Kara - beloved; dear one, Jovie - joyful, Fallon - leader)
Also, Jelika and Atlel have Sokovian accents in my head (all because I associate ATJ with Pietro Maximoff). Sooo, let's just assume that's the Eastern accent mentioned.
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