The New Cathedral (Shaka)

Shaka had left the woman at the gates. She was... something. He wasn't quite sure what to think of his run-in with her. He had met all sorts of different people along the Lost Coast Road before - merchants and caravan workers, pilgrims, simple folk seeking to homestead, or travelling to visit family. Thieves and bandits. A circus, that one time. He'd even met clergy of every faith he knew, from lands he had never heard of before, as they travelled and took up residence at Windsong Abbey in the north.

He had never met a Varisian, or a woman for that matter, quite like Anjella.

And to be honest, Shaka didn't really feel the need to meet her or anyone like her ever again. She had all the worst qualities of someone from the city - looking down their nose at anything they thought wasn't modern enough. Sandpoint's welcoming spirit might have been quaint, but it was also earnest. The town was barely forty years old but had swollen in great strides as people had found their homes here. Erastil had certainly blessed Sandpoint with fair harvests and strong ties of friendship.

Shaka also didn't like the fact that despite his decision not to like her, somehow she could still push something in him to make him chuckle. She was too like his sister, maybe. Irika was still in their home village, managing the farm on the slopes of the Fogscar Mountains, and had always had a knack for both getting Shaka into trouble, and making him alright with it.

The speeches of the town leaders had been well done - Mayor Deverin, who he had only met once before, could have been a little more serious to his liking, but the Sheriff and the thespian Drokus, and Father Zantus, had all performed admirably. And now, with the speeches over and the crowd boiling over into the frivolities of a festival day, Shaka was waiting patiently at the steps of the new Cathedral.

It had been almost two full years since the last time Shaka had allowed his patrols of the northern section of the Lost Coast Road to bring him as far south as Sandpoint, and much had been accomplished on the grand new building. It had three wings, each braced by soaring decorative arches on the outside and topped by soft domes; simple gargoyles and angels mounted near the roof overhang. The front entryway had broad, shallow stone steps leading up to a pair of big, iron-studded oak doors that currently stood wide open, allowing members of the crowd to enter and peruse the interior at will.

It was all a bit much for Shaka, even having been trained at Windsong Abbey - the Abbey was a marvel of engineering, it's hollow walls acting like a pipe organ and funnelling the winds of the northern coast into beautiful song, but it was meant as a holy place of meditation, reflection and collegiality between clergy of all the faiths. The Sandpoint Cathedral was a working church, and for the worship of Erastil... Well, it could be worse. But a timber longhall would suit the Staglord just fine.

Still, Shaka waited, hands clenched behind his back as he watched the milling crowd. Merchant stalls were set up around the perimeter of the town square, selling everything from sweet treats to knives, rare spices to homespun crafts. The centre, where the crowd had initially gathered, was filling with a variety of games, while sitting areas to either side of the Cathedral entryway on the lawns were littered with tables and chairs where folks could drink, gamble and spin tales of their travels and fables. Further down the side streets, more merchants and games were echoing with laughter.

Good, thought Shaka, nodding as he watched locals and foreigners alike merging and bonding together. This is how things should be.

Father Zantus shook hands with the couple he had been speaking with, and lacking anyone else waiting for him, turned back towards the Cathedral entrance and immediately set his eyes on Shaka. With a determined look, the tan Varisian man stalked towards Shaka and raised a finger, wagging it deliberately. "If I didn't know any better, Shaka Shale, I would say you and I have a reckoning coming."

"That we do," Shaka said, then let his big lips pull into a grin and he clasped Zantus's forearm in his big hand, while the older man shook Shaka's with both of his own. "It's good to see you, Abstalar."

"You as well, my friend. You as well. How fares the Abbey?"

Shaka shrugged. "It still stands, as far as I know. I haven't been back since the winter. Lady Krail passed, last Abadius. That's the only change I can think of."

"Ah, yes. I had heard about old Krail, Pharasma bless and judge her well," Zantus nodded. "But what of you, neh? Any news of change for you, my friend? You have marched those roads for five years, perhaps it's time for something new for you."

Shaka sighed and shook his head. "Five years, and little good it's done. Still there are bandits, and other things, plaguing the road and the people who rely on it the most."

"You know, my friend," Zantus leaned in and whispered, "Perhaps it's your presence that stops the need for better patrols. It may be a cold thing to say, but when the travelling Justices hear you are still hunting bandits, they think there is no need to send up patrols from Magnimar."

"They wouldn't," Shaka scoffed, then reconsidered. There was a reason he sneered at the word politics.

"They would, and you know it, my friend," Zantus said.

"I- That is something for me to think about," Shaka said. "For now, why don't you show me your new Cathedral? A grand monument, rival to any chapel in Magnimar, yes?"

"I wouldn't go so far," Zantus smiled. "But yes, a monument. You should see the cathedrals in Magnimar though my friend, the Spire of Desna is a true sight to behold. But you're right, come. Let me give you a tour."

Shaka followed his old friend up the steps and into the cool interior of the new church. The main building was one large, cavernous space. The central portion, where the entryway opened up, was lined with a series of niches with small shrines to various Empyreal Lords favoured by the Varisians, along with several small shrines that looked fit for the worship of traditional Shoanti elders. This space was brief, however, and gave way to the true centre of the building - it's vaulted ceiling easily twenty-five feet above or more and topped by a circular skylight open to the bright air. That light fell down in a beam onto a circle of grass in the centre of the otherwise stone-floored building, where an ancient circle of standing stones rested where they had for millenia. The old shrine at the centre stood in the light of the sun, or at night the light of the moon. It was said that those stones had been used for untold generations by the Varisian folk to pass on worship to both Desna, the lady of Dreams, and to the Empyreal Lords up in the heavens. Out of respect it had not only been left standing, but made the central focus of the new cathedral.

Each wing of the grand building was split in two down the centre, and each side held rows of pews and ended with altars to the primary gods followed in the town, and backed by beautiful stained glass windows donated by the Glassworks around which Sandpoint seemed to have been built.

"You know, my friend, that I have done all that I can for this shrine," Zantus said, as he led Shaka down a row of pews in middle wing. "But we simply do not have an acolyte or clergyman of Erastil here at the Cathedral. And we have _many _who would certainly appreciate someone to tend to the Stag Lord's flock. Farmers, trappers and hunters, even-"

Shaka placed a hand lightly on Zantus's shoulder. "I get it, Father. I get it."

"Right, well, as long as you know you could do some good here," Zantus grinned. "Here it is, the best I could muster from my recollections of the lessons at Windsong."

"It is... enough," Shaka said, eyeing the display with something akin to pride, though not quite. Erastil's places of worship were meant to be used, and useful. Functional, like the people who relied on him. Despite Zantus's efforts, this was more like a play at worship, rather than taking worship to task. The Shrine itself was centred around a simple stone altar sat before a wooden carving half again the height of an average human man. The freestanding wooden statue was of Old Deadeye himself, stag headed with carefully carved antlers, carrying a longbow and gazing down at the altar before him. Several brass serving bowls and other instruments were to hand for performing rituals, and they seemed to be used but well maintained.

"Perhaps-" Zantus said, cutting himself off with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Perhaps," Shaka sighed. “I will consider considering what you say.”

It had been the same the last time he had visited two years ago. Then, Zantus had still had a full head of hair instead of the widow's peak that now adorned his head, and he had been running himself ragged attempting to provide service to almost every faith represented in town. His studies at Windsong Abbey years before had prepared the Varisian priest him somewhat, but the man had still been reading deep into the night of the various primer texts of the pantheon of faiths, just so he could perform the correct ceremonies the next morning. He'd only had two acolytes, one down from Windsong and another up from Magnimar, at the time to help him. He'd practically begged Shaka to stay on, but there had been word of a gang moving north intending to pray upon the merchants moving by caravan up to Riddleport.

The hunt had seemed so important at the time...

"Perhaps," Shaka nodded again.

Zantus smirked, and patted his large friend's arm. "Come," he said. "We've prepared a special event, and it's coming on noon by now. You can help me move the cart into place."

Thankfully, the cart had been surprisingly light and Shaka had been able to wheel it out himself with just a bit of directing from Zantus. The rustling and shifting from within the covered tarp had sounded like a wild animal of some sort to Shaka, but he hadn't asked questions. Zantus had a flair for the dramatic at times, and loved his surprises.

As the sun rose to its zenith, Zantus mounted the small platform stage and held up his hands to get the attention of the crowd. When that didn't work, he fumbled in his belt pouch and pulled out what looked like a rock. Carefully picking a spot, he called for the only man nearby to move aside and then threw it. When the rock hit the ground there was a brief, dull flash of magic and an echoing boom thundered out. So, that's how he did it, Shaka nodded. Thunderstones weren't necessarily rare, but also weren't really all that useful as more than a prank usually.

"My friends," Zantus called out, raising his hands again. "My dear friends. As we approach noon, I would like to tell you the reason for our festivities - not of this year, but every year. You see, my friends, the Swallowtail Festival dates back to an age forgotten. At that time, Desna had found herself embattled by the servants of darkness. The vile demon-goddess Lamashtu, Mistress of Monsters-" The crowd hissed at the name, and Shaka hissed good naturedly along with them. "Yes, that bringer of doom, she had entered into battle with the Desna, the great Sphere of Songs. Following one of these fights, an Avatar of our blessed Dreamer was struck and fell down unto the world. As she fell, seeking a place to rest, she found a bright soul and alighted down into the arms of a child. And not just any child, but a young, blind orphan girl with little more to her name than the shirt on her back."

"Despite her lack of wealth, or goods, or family, despite not even knowing that she cared for a goddess, this little girl took it upon herself to care for Desna's injured form. She fed and brought water to the goddess, and wrapped her wounds in bandages purchased with her beggar coin, and she sang to the goddess as she rested. That night, as the stars rose in the sky and Desna recovered, she whispered her thanks to the little, blind orphan girl, and asked if she would like to explore the world with her. The little girl giggled, and said it was her dream to see the wonders of the world, and the stars, and all there was. And so Desna took her up, and transformed her small, frail body into the great, winged form of an immortal butterfly so that they might fly through the heavens and explore together."

At this apex of the story, Zantus motioned to Shaka and he heaved on the canvas tarp covering the wagon. The sound was like the thrumming drum of a herd of dear rushing down a hill - purple and white and silver wings battered in a torrent as what seemed like a thousand swallowtail butterflies poured out of the top of the cart. Each was easily the size of a grown man's hand, some reaching even the size of Shaka's, and though the story and the festival was not for his own Staglord, Shaka was overtaken by the sight and watched with a warm smile at the small wonder.

The crowd gasped in delight as the butterflies swarmed out into the sky above the town square, then spread out like snow and began to descend, swooping this way and that. Laughter and cries filled the air as the butterflies alighted here and there, touching on a forehead or shoulder, dancing among children.

"Thus do we celebrate," Zantus cried over the commotion. "We celebrate the Dreamer's kindness, and the kindness of even the least of us. We set our eyes to the wonders of the world, both large and small. And now, thanks to the generous Taverns of Sandpoint, I would like to offer you all a free lunch!"

More cries of happiness went up as the swarm of butterflies continued to disperse, and folks began to move towards three large stalls around the square. The Rusty Dragon, the White Deer Inn and the Hagfish all seemed to be putting on a spread, handing out portions on wooden discs cut from logs. The air filled with mercurial and mouth watering scents as the three tavern owners all cracked open pots and pans filled with steaming food.

"Well? How did I do?" Zantus asked, grinning broadly as he stepped down from the platform.

"It was beautiful, my friend," Shaka nodded. "I don't think I could manage to tell a parable of Erastil quite so eloquently."

"Oh, nonsense," Zantus laughed. "You have the speaking voice of a mountain, and the gravitas of an old bull who has seen his share of the world. No one could ignore it, if you stopped long enough to teach."

It's been a long time since I did that, Shaka thought. I wouldn't know where to begin.

"Come, come," Zantus tugged on his arm. "I understand Miss Ameiko has prepared a curry-spiced salmon, and paired it with a winterdrop mead. Or the White Deer is serving up peppercorn venison, if you're needing something heftier."

"It all smells wonderful," Shaka said, thinking of his last meal of roast squirrel the night before.

"Then we'll sample them each one! It's a festival, after all. Let us feast!"

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