The Goat King

By Mahiba Bhuiyan

Once upon a time… 

There was a goat. A small, Nigerian Dwarf goat. This goat was a very important goat. 

This goat was the King Goat, and the goat ruled over all of the other goats. 

This goat was promptly kidnapped, sold, and then killed by a butcher. 

The goat was small, but it comfortably fed a family of four.  

See, this goat was a very important goat. Thus, his spirit remained in the realm of the living. He was a merciful and generous goat, so he understood the need for humans to feed. But he quite missed his life as a king. 

So the goat’s spirit roamed the lands. With no way to keep track of time, he simply wandered, taking in new sights. 

One day, he found a river. This river was completely dark, as if the night sky had been absorbed by this river. 

The goat had merely wandered, floating above the ground, but he tried to drink, though he had no thirst. 

He leaned down to take in a swallow, and then, miraculously, he did! 

As the goat swallowed gulp after gulp, he began to think. 

What happened to his goat subjects? Are they fed? Living correct? Is there a new king? It didn’t occur to him to be concerned about such matters before. 

He hoped his goat kingdom was left unharmed from the kidnapper. Humans must feed, this was a well known fact, but goats must live.

Goats are important. 

The goat drank his fill, only to realize there was nothing left in the river. 

What had happened! Oh what had he done… 

An entire river! Just gone. 

And what a beauty this river was, and now no other goat, no other animal, would ever be able to taste such a magnificent river. 

The goat king fell into despair and heartbreak, wailing for the unfortunate. The guilt was overwhelming. 

Once he stopped his self-pity, he got up, determined to make this right. 

When he was just a kid, his mother had told him about a goddess. The Cow Goddess. 

The Cow Goddess was a divine being who’s milk turned into water. 

A millenia ago, the Goats had faced a drought that was so terrible, many turned to dust due to the lack of moisture in their bodies. 

The Queen Goat had prayed and begged the skies and heavens for mercy, for just a moment of respite. 

She prayed night and day for two years, and when the Goat population dwindled down to half of what it once was, something finally listened. 

Rain had fallen, and all of the lakes, ponds, and rivers filled to the brim. The Goats were overjoyed, but they were also confused. Who had blessed them? 

The Cow Goddess was the one to do so.

A few hundred years before the drought, in the Land of the Cattle, a war had broken out between the Cows and the Bulls. The Cows had won, but the cost was their loss in faith in kindness and peace. The Cow Goddess tried her best to restore it, but the Cows had rejected her, and she resigned herself to an immortal life of solitary. 

The goat remembers his mother mentioning something about a Goat Hero, one who sacrificed a great deal to find The Cow Goddess. He went high and low, searched the plains and the seas, until he found a mountain. He had lost his left horn and an eye in the journey to find her. 

Luckily for this goat, he was already dead! So he had nothing to lose. 

And so he began his journey to find The Cow Goddess. 

The Goat, now not so much a King, found the trip quite enjoyable. Following the side of the empty river, he traveled north, up to the mountains where The Cow Goddess once resided. 

There was a possibility that The Cow Goddess might not be there once he reaches, as it has been quite some time. However, it was a start, and the goat was nothing if not determined. And he was dead, so he has forever to accomplish his tasks. 

He walked and walked, from sunset to sunrise, not stopping for even a moment. He had no thirst, he had no hunger, and he had no need for sleep. He didn’t need to touch the ground when he walked. And he went straight through the trees that blocked his path. So, it truly was a curious thing; he managed to drink up an entire river when he shouldn’t have been able to touch anything.

Perhaps the river was magic, surely that could be the most logical reason. And he had been a logical king during his reign. The color of the river was incredibly dark, yet it had been more luscious and delectable than the honey his sister had stolen from a hive a few years prior. She came out with scars from battling the bees, but the spoils of that war was more than worth it. 

Someone or something could have made the water in that river magic. A witch or wizard of some sort. Hopefully The Cow Goddess can return its magical properties once refilling it. Then, the witch or wizard won’t be too upset. 

Finally! The goat reached a wall of rock. He could easily go through the wall, as he is incorporeal, but something within him told him not to. He already floats instead of his hooves touching the ground, maybe he could float even higher to go over the wall? 

The goat looked up, his eyes widening in shock. The wall of rock was huge! Taller than the sun and bigger than the sky, stretching as if it starts from one end of the earth to the other. 

This wall was no wall, it was a mountain. The mountain. He had made it to The Cow Goddess’ domain! 

It was just so enormous, how would he get to the top? 

The goat worries, wondering if he could ever make it up that high, when suddenly, he hears chirping. 

He had seen many birds during his travels, but none ever took notice of him. Being dead has some drawbacks, the biggest one: loneliness. His quest was a noble one, and those who nobly go on quests can’t complain. Especially when the reason for his questing was his own fault. 

The chirping was heard again, this time even closer. The goat looks around, hoping to find the source, and maybe even talk to them.

The goat hears a chirp once more, this time below him, and he looks down to see a small blue bird that was barely the size of his horn. 

The bird looks up at the goat and tilts her tiny head, as if asking him a question. 

The bird noticed him? Someone noticed him! 

The goat stilled, almost afraid to move, as if the bird would vanish and he would be left alone once more. The bird blinked slowly, mocking the goat and his strange ways. Feeling sheepish, the goat shifts his gaze to the side. 

The bird lets out a single chirp — not bright or loud, but purposeful. She hops once, then twice, and takes flight, her tiny wings fluttering. And without another glance, she begins her ascent, tracing a soft path toward the side of the towering mountain. 

He followed. His previous fear of not being able to make it up vanished, the only thought he had was to do whatever it took to not lose his new friend. 

The blue bird ascended in loops, painting pictures in the air that only she could see, graceful as a falling petal. 

They went higher and higher, and despite never experiencing such a thing, he felt no fear. 

As the two drew closer to the top, he began to feel the air shift, warming as if to welcome his presence. 

The mist thickened, shimmering as if it was becoming light instead of fog. It clung not like moisture, but memory — gentle and familiar. The Goat King passed through it as if walking through an old dream, one he could not quite recall but longed to remember.

The bird chirped, signaling their approach to the destination and stopped on a ledge. 

The goat was confused, not by the ledge, but by which he could not see. 

There were no gates, no thrones, no divine symbols etched into the stone of the mountain. The shimmering mist had all but disappeared, and all there was left was stillness and sky and the moon. 

The bird merely pecked at the ground and waited. 

The goat was a king in his life, when he gets frustrated, he does not yell out and does not resort to violence. He took in a deep breath and sat down next to the bird. The goat had nothing but time, so his time could not be wasted. 

The goat sat in silence next to his bird friend. The kind of silence that does not just settle around, but within. 

And he sat, and sat, and sat. The blue bird stayed throughout, not once leaving the goats’ side. She settled closer to him, resting on his fur. 

The goat didn’t utter a single complaint, as there was nothing to complain about. He set out on a journey to find a Goddess that could refill a river, and he would go on his way to do so as soon as he was done sitting in silence. 

So, the goat waited. 

He waited until the moon shifted ever so slightly in the sky, until the stillness settled deep into his bones. And in that waiting, something stirred; not in the sky, not in the bird, not in the mountain, but in the goat himself. 

The longer he stayed, the more he began to notice what wasn’t obvious at first. The stone beneath him was warm, and it pulsed faintly, like a heart. The air carried no scent, and yet it tasted faintly of grass after rain. Somewhere deep in the

mountain, he could hear the sound of hooves. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, echoing through the stone like memory. 

He lowered his head to the ground. 

There was no crown upon it, but there was reverence. He could not see the Cow Goddess, but he knew she had been here. Had perhaps always been here. The silence was not absence. It was fullness. 

The goat closed his eyes. 

The goat did not move. He listened to the hum The Cow Goddess sent forth. The bird lifted her head. 

A wind came, not from the sky, but from within the rock. A warm breeze, scented of sweet hay and golden light. It curled around the goat, and with it came a shift in the world — the kind that turns moments into legends. 

From the heart of the mountain, something responded. 

Not in words, not in visions, but in knowing. The goat had come with sorrow and intention, and the mountain, ancient and wise, had heard him. 

There was no voice. No great sign. 

But below, far beneath the ledge, water began to rise. First a trickle, then a stream. The river the goat had emptied — it stirred. 

And then, it flowed. 

Not the same, no. Its color was softer now, no longer dark like night, but bright like morning. 

The goat did not smile, but he did not weep either. He simply breathed, grateful that the years he spent were of use.

The bird chirped once, then took off — her wings slicing through the sky with purpose. 

The Goat King rose to his hooves. He looked over the ledge, down the vast slope of the mountain, to where green would surely return. 

He turned. 

And descended. 

He was a King when he was alive and now he will be a King at rest. 

This goat was important. 

Mahiba Bhuiyan is a teen from the United States. When she isn’t writing, she likes to watch shows, read, and go biking. You can find her on Instagram @mahi.mb08