Chapter 1
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Eoin of Shearford
On a planet named Gaius, near a continent named Homos, there is an island. It is a relatively small island, sparsely inhabited. Being to the north of the continent, its winters are long and harsh, and very little can grow on its mountainous land.
Then why might anyone want to live there?
There are, in truth, many reasons. Some, like that this remote place is half the world away from any proper civilization - they like not to be bothered. Others moved this far away from the rest of Homos in order to run from their problems - be they criminal or betrothed. But there is a small group that moved here for an entirely honest reason.
It was true, the island, Caorah, lacked much that might attract folk, but it did have one thing. Sheep. Caorah was known across the continent for their lamb, mutton, and most importantly, wool.
Kings and queens would have their winter wardrobe stuffed with garments made from the exceptionally soft and warm material.
Caorah sheep had been taken to the mainland, in an attempt to industrialise the production of this wondrous wool that seemed to shrug away snow like quicksilver, but it had never worked. The rams would turn sterile and the sheep become sickly if ever they left the island.
This was a bane to enterprising Merchants but a gift to Shepherds. With only a small flock they could live quite comfortably. Because of this, a community sprung up on Caorah, centred around sheep. Blacksmiths made shears, Weavers worked wool, Butchers cut mutton, Tanners cured lamb leather, and their Lords were Shepherds.
Over several generations, larger farms had grown, profiting off the bleating bounty of Caorah, slowly buying out the smaller holdings. But one or two still held on.
Sean and Siân were such farmers. They had been married for a decade, and with a couple dozen ewes and a ram they thought themselves well off.
For years, Sean’s family had owned a little plot of land, halfway up a hill, near the village of Shearford, along the river Shear. And for years, they had escaped the machinations of the other Shepherds of Caorah because they were on the other side of the Wooly Mountains.
That was not to say they had not received offers. Mr Ewing, who called himself a Shepherd but whose family had not touched a sheep in three generations, owned six farms - totalling twelve dozen ewes and a dozen or so rams.
The Ewings had sent a messenger every ten years to the farm near Shearford, asking if they were ready to sell. Though that was all they received. Unlike the closer steadings, they weren’t harassed, undercut, or robbed - they were simply too far out of the way to bother with.
Ten years ago, the couple had laughed away the Ewings’ messenger. Why would they, a young couple in their early twenties, with their spry body’s and a future full of children, ever want to sell their family’s way of life?
That was then, now… Ten years had passed, joints began to ache, just a tad, and that future hadn’t come to pass. Although Sean had brothers, they moved with their families off the island many years ago, and since he and Siân couldn’t have kids it looked like there was no other choice but to sell the farm.
On the morning the messenger arrived, Siân was sick. she thought it odd as nothing had managed to ever upset her stomach but she dismissed it - “everyone threw up sometimes” Sean assured, in his usual tone deaf manner.
When they sat across the table from the Ewings’ man and asked to negotiate, he was surprised. The trip over the mountains had become more of a right of passage for Ewing’s staff - he never expected anything to come of it.
As the young man tore apart his knapsack, trying to find the parchment, Siân spotted a strip of lamp jerky and snatched it up without thinking. Both Sean and the messenger were stunned. Siân had never liked the preserved meat, always thinking it too salty, but at that moment there was nothing she wanted more.
The young man, eager to make a deal and rise in the Ewing household, laughed off the incident. Sean asked if there was something wrong with his wife’s stomach but she didn’t respond - she felt too tired to think straight.
Talks began, and though she sat at the table and heard the offers and counter offers, Siân was trapped in the lethargy of disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. She was unable. For years they had hoped…
Just as her husband raised a quill she snatched his wrist, spilling ink on the table.
“What was–” Sean began, but stopped when he saw the mixture of shock, delight, fear, and disbelief swimming across his wife's face - dancing like oil on water.
“I’m pregnant!” Siân exclaimed with a manic grin.
The couple’s dream had come true, a miracle had occurred and they were pregnant. The young servant of the Ewings was sent away, dejected by his loss but understanding of it.
For the next few months, the pair were all in a panic. Although they had made a childs room when they married, once they knew that would never happen, it was filled with items that had no other home. A great ugly rug that had been given by an aunt, an old set of chisels inherited from Siân’s father who was a joiner, a rusty scythe, and more, much more.
Sean, with the help of some friends from the village, built a shed to hold it all. When the junk was moved, they found, underneath, there was still a crib - made by Siân’s father, dusty from neglect.
Corners were blunted, fresh paint was applied, dust was swept away, and by the time lambing season rolled around, the pair had about tired themselves out. A midwife had come from across The Woolies and had been waiting in their farm house for only a day before Siân went into labour.
That night was long and hard, a winter storm had swept across the island and only added to Sean’s frayed nerves as he paced outside the bedroom.
Eventually the door opened, and he was let in to finally see his newborn son. The question of name was not a question at all - the pair had long wanted children and had discussed it at length. Since it was a boy, this new soul would be called - Eoin.
That new soul was no ordinary soul however. It was my soul, or rather it was a soul that a part of me inhabited. The other parts of me were within everything that has and will ever exist, and a cat.
I watched from above, through feline eyes, as the other me - unaware of who we are - began to cry in the loving arms of a sheep farming couple. I sighed, that other part of myself had simply done this to prove a point to some mortal - I couldn’t understand it. Which was odd because our minds were one and the same - the only difference was this part had been confined within a cat.
Did the vessel we were in affect the way we thought? My cat-self wondered, and with that thought in mind, I set to watch the new child - Eoin of Shearford.
Over the next dozen years, nothing much happened. The life of a Caorah Shepherd was hard but simple. Eoin grew up with two loving parents and, for all intents and purposes, was a completely normal child. He was very observant and would often imitate what he saw - though without a thought for the consequences.
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When he was ten, he had seen his father cut out a lamb from its mothers womb when the ewe had caught The Rot and would surely die. So, two years later, when Eoin found a gimmer lying on her side in the field with obvious signs of The Rot, he didn’t hesitate.
Instead of calling for his Ma or Pa, he went straight into the imobile ewe with his pocket knife. In seconds, the young ram she was carrying was out - whole and in one piece. Except, there was a problem. The infant sheep was small, far too small, and could barely breathe. Panicking over the dying baby in his arms, Eoin finally called out.
His father was soon on the scene and, although he was surprised by his son, he was proud of his decisive action. That said, the ewe had passed on and Sean thought the ram wouldn’t be far behind. Being a farmer, he told this to his son straight.
The boy didn’t accept it however and, through tears, vowed to do anything in his power to save the young life.
He took the baby into their house, and sat with him by the fire - breathing air into its lungs when he thought the creature couldn’t do so itself. His mother had thought of getting him to stop, the ram wouldn’t survive the night but she let him keep trying as she couldn’t bring herself to stop him.
In fact, when young Eoin did fall asleep, and could no longer support the lamb, his mother, Siân, took his place. She even made sure it had plenty of sheeps’ milk. For three days and nights Eoin sat by the fire and helped that baby ram as it teetered on the edge, between life and death.
On the fourth day, Eoin awoke to a nuzzling. The wee lamb had gotten to its shaky feet and was bumping into the boy, bleating for milk.
It was yet another miracle, so, when the young man asked to keep the ram as a pet, his parents did not object. With their permission, he named the lamb Fluffy - but the creature gave him a look of grave disapproval and rammed into his shin. With his fathers help, a better name was found - Reithe.
Four more years passed and the sixteen year old boy and his ram became the best of friends. They went everywhere together, around the field, up the hill, across the gap, and into Shearford. Reithe quickly became known to the village as an oddly studious but loveable ball of wool.
The pair would often listen to the stories of travelers as they came through, Eoin would bombard them with questions and Reithe would listen to the answers. Together, they would both learn all they could.
✯
Eoin awoke, as he did every morning, in a straw filled cot wrapped in sheep’s skins. He groaned as a winter wind brushed against his face, his mother opened the door and called:
“Time to get up.”
She shut the door and seemed content to let Eoin take his time rousing and he was content to shrink away under the covers and take as much time as he could.
Reithe was not so patient. He slept on the floor beside Eoin, long since having outgrown the bed. He was also woken by their mother’s call.
Eoin tumbled out of the nice warm and onto the nasty cold. A sheep skin rug broke his fall but that did nothing for the horn shaped mark that had been rammed onto his backside.
“Reithe you bustard!” Eoin howled, rubbing his rear and clambering to his feet.
“Language,” his mother called from the main room.
“Sorry Ma,” Eoin grumbled, staring daggers at the innocent looking ram as he got dressed.
On top of his linen undergarments, he wore: green woolen trousers, grey woolen socks, leather shoes, a belt made of lamb’s leather - lined with sheep’s skin, a long-sleeved blue cotton tunic, and a knee length sheepskin coat, wrapped overtop to stave off the chill.
When Eoin was finally ready, Reithe herded him out of their room and into their house's main chamber. The building was a simple construction, made from stone with wooden floors. There was only one story and three rooms. His parents' bedroom, Eoin and Reithe’s bedroom, and the mainroom.
In this main room, there was a great big fireplace and the makings of a kitchen to one side. Directly in front, were a few wingback sheepskin chairs. Being on an island renowned for its sheep, sheepskins were all over the walls and floors, acting as insolation.
“Morning Ma,” Eoin greeted groggily, rubbing at his eyes.
“Morning dear, your father’s already up and eaten, do your chores and I’ll give you some breakfast, then you should go and give him a hand.”
“Yes Ma,” Eoin agreed without debate. He opened the front door and pushed aside the young ewe who only seemed to like eating the grass that grew right in front of the entrance.
Maybe it likes the heat from the fire? Eoin wondered as he trudged past, the ankle deep snow crunching underfoot. Reithe trotted along behind, uninterested in the other sheep who seemed content to stare off blankly and keep chewing. He sniffed in derision as they passed.
First were the chickens, their coop was a foot off the ground and filled with clucking hens, just waiting to be let out. The sun was already two fingers into the sky and they were getting impatient.
Eoin opened the hatch and a half dozen chickens came bursting out, flapping unhappily in his face and nearly knocking the young man over. Thankfully, Reithe was right behind him and was able to stop him from tumbling.
“Thanks,” Eoin said, reluctantly patting his friend on the head. The ram preened at the attention it was getting. Eoin sighed.
While the chickens clucked off to strut around the garden, Eoin poured out the snow that had filled the trough and emptied a sack of grain into it. The hens, which had left him so eagerly came scurrying back at the sound of food. The lad watched them with a satisfied smirk on his face.
Reaching a hand into the nest, he gathered up the eggs and walked back to the house. Seeing that his hands were full, Reithe coaxed the rather docile sheep - who had moved back in front of the door - out of the way and jumped up to unlatch it with his horns.
“Thanks Reithe,” Eoin said, more genuine than before.
He placed the eggs in their holders and received a kiss on the head from his mother that he did his best to squirm out of, but to no avail. Leaving once more, and moving the still chewing ewe who had yet again trotted right in front of the front-door, Eoin returned to his chores.
Next was the barn. The cow wanted her hay and needed to be milked. The pig had last night’s leftovers and Reithe wanted a scratch behind the ear before it was all over.
Going back inside, after moving the recurring sheep out of the way once more, Eoin sat at the dining table. He felt more awake than before, thanks to the cold air, but that just made him even more hungry.
He didn’t have to wait long to eat as a bowl of porridge was placed before him.
“Made with cow's milk, honey, and apple, just the way you like it,” his mother said, ruffling her son’s curly blond hair before retreating to the sink to wash up.
Eoin scooped up a spoonful, moaned in delight, then opened his eyes and squinted at his mother’s back.
“What’s the occasion Ma?” Eoin asked. Despite the sweetness of the honey, he couldn’t get the sour taste out of his mouth.
“Sharp as ever,” his mother said over her shoulder with a chuckle. Continuing to scrub away, she answered, “Pa is checking the sheep's hooves for The Rot today, he’s been rounding up the flock since sunrise.”
Eoin groaned and consoled himself with another mouthful of the delicious breakfast. Reithe made a sound that might have been a laugh if sheep could make such sounds, only lifting his head for a moment before returning to his own bowl of oats.
“It won’t be like last time,” his mother said, holding out a wooden mug to Eoin. He took it and tried to drink from it but nothing was inside.
Turning the cup upside down and tapping its bottom, he asked, “What’s this? It’s empty.”
“It’s not for drinking out of,” his mother said, with a grin.
“Then what is it for?” Eoin asked, confused.
Reithe took the opportunity to surface from his bowl once more and let out another weezing “Baa” of a laugh.
“Well, we don’t want what happened last time happening again,” his mother said leadingly. Eoin thought for a moment, remembered the sheep that had kicked him when he was checking its back hoofs, and stuffed the cup down his pants as a red flush overtook his cheeks.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” his mother chided, wrapping his knuckles lightly with her wooden spoon. Eoin nodded in apology as he scarfed down the rest of his porridge and got up to leave. Reithe was already waiting by the door, no matter how fast he ate, Eoin could never inhale food like his ram.
Just before he was able to reach for the handle, intent on leaving to help his father, his mother called out:
“Put a scarf on,” in that serious tone all mothers possess.
“But I’ve warmed up now Ma,” Eoin complained.
“Eoin,” his mother replied sternly.
“But Ma, I’m already wearing my winter coat.”
“Eoin.”
“But Ma…”
“Eoin,” Eoin’s mother said, and won the argument.
Relenting, Eoin replied, “fine,” before turning, head hung low, facing towards the door.
“Eoin,” his mother said, this time more softly. “Come here.” At her behest, the young Shepherd walked into his mothers open arms and gave her a hug.
Once that was over with, he went, once more, to the door. Pulling the scarf from a hook beside it, and making a show of wrapping it tight, he opened the door with a flourish. Eoin tripped over a sheep and landed flat on his face in the snow.