Part 45 "The Fire"

PART 45: THE FIRE
Transcripts made & edited by jack

CWs: discussions of child death, drowning, rioting, and murder

(BEGIN Part 45.)

 

(A bubbling stream, the sound of insects. Birds chirping. Footsteps. A grunt of exertion, water slurping. Arthur spits and makes noises of disgust.)

 

JOHN: What’s wrong?

 

ARTHUR (disgusted): Tastes foul. Something may have died upstream.

 

JOHN: Damn it. 

 

(Arthur grunts and sighs.) 

 

YORICK: We have lost sight of the road.

 

JOHN: We know.

 

ARTHUR: We’ll find it again. We know the direction.

 

JOHN: Didn’t you say you could lead us back, anyway?

 

YORICK: Yes, of course! 

 

ARTHUR: I… I need to take a moment. 

 

JOHN: Take as long as you need. (Arthur exhales.) You’ve been going for hours. Much of it was more difficult terrain than the road.

 

YORICK: The sun will not be up much longer.

 

JOHN: It’s fine. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Hm. (Thoughtfully.) What I wouldn’t give to see these trees.

 

(‘Faroe’s Goodbye’ begins.)

 

JOHN: Hm.

 

ARTHUR: Mind you, I suppose I said that in New York about the buildings, didn’t I? (He chuckles.)

 

JOHN: Do you… remember? England.

 

ARTHUR: Bits and pieces. But it’s not just about how they would look. I think it’s almost… it’s almost the knowing of being here. I-I don’t know, it’s… difficult to explain. Having a home. 

 

JOHN: I… can only imagine.

 

ARTHUR: Oh, sorry, I-I didn’t mean to –

 

JOHN: No. I have a home. I suppose. It’s just… it holds no sentimental value to me. At least, not right now. Who knows if it ever will again? Mind you, that would imply I ever had sentimentality. 

 

ARTHUR: Perhaps you did. I don’t know. Is that a human emotion? Who knows? 

 

YORICK: It is not. (Arthur scoffs.)

 

JOHN (sarcastically): Thanks, Yorick. 

 

ARTHUR: Yellow… Yellow was sent back to the Dreamlands… by Kayne, wasn’t he?

 

JOHN: I don’t know. I believe so. When he sent Larson there.

 

ARTHUR (vindictively): Larson. 

 

JOHN: And… Noel. 

 

ARTHUR (worriedly): Noel. L-Look, we can’t… we don’t know what happened to him.

 

JOHN: I know, I know.

 

ARTHUR: And moreover, if we fail this task, none of that matters. Whether he’s alive or dead, Kayne will make one of those a certainty if we don’t find the Blackstone. 

 

JOHN (scoffing): Kayne. 

 

ARTHUR: Yeah. 

 

JOHN: Why didn’t he show up? With the witch? When I called to him?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know.

 

JOHN: He did before, but… but this time…

 

ARTHUR: He… I don’t know. This… Look, this whole thing, sending us here to retrieve the stone he can’t touch or see, o-o-or what…

 

JOHN: We don’t know.

 

ARTHUR: I have to assume that either he doesn’t care right now, or… 

 

JOHN: Or he can’t be here. 

 

ARTHUR: For whatever reason, this time period, this place… it’s a blind spot for him. Given that he’s dumped us out here, I have to – I have to feel like that’s the case.

 

JOHN: He managed to send us here. 

 

ARTHUR: Yeah. I don’t know. (He sighs. Wings fluttering, and the hooting of an owl.) Alexander. 

 

(The trees rustle.)

 

JOHN: Hm. (The owl squawks.) He seems to like you.

 

ARTHUR: I think he likes us. (He makes a contented noise.) Feel that breeze. 

 

YORICK: Lovely! 

 

JOHN: The sun is a brilliant shade of orange. (‘Noel’s Theme’ begins.) It’s behind the trees, now, directly before us. It feels so close, like it’s… touching the forest, outlining the trunks in fiery copper. It feels almost… painterly. The composition of nature without people. Without streets. No rumbling motors, just… peace. 

 

ARTHUR (happily): Hm.

 

JOHN: Huh.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: In the river, there’s a… I’m not sure. Straight ahead. (Arthur grunts in exertion and sloshes in the river.) Here, here! (Splashing.) It’s a weaved basket. It was in the river.

 

YORICK: To catch fish!

 

ARTHUR: To catch fish?

 

JOHN: Why? 

 

ARTHUR: There must be –

 

JOHN: Here! Another! (More splashing.) This one is at the side of the stream, just up a little bit. Here. Another one, but this one is… larger. The hole… 

 

ARTHUR: There must be people nearby. To leave these unattended. Look around, do you see anything? (The sound of running water. Splashing.)

 

JOHN: The forest floor is somewhat… trampled. Well enough to form what looks like a dirt path. It leads up towards the hills, a short way, however… it disappears beyond some trees. 

 

ARTHUR: Hm.

 

JOHN (eagerly): We should look!

 

ARTHUR: I suppose so.

 

JOHN: No?

 

ARTHUR: I… we stayed off the road to avoid people again.

 

JOHN: We stayed away from the road for a few reasons.

 

ARTHUR: Right, right. I just… 

 

JOHN (emphatically): She’s dead. (An ominous piano melody begins.) Believe me. We’ll not be able to avoid the things in this world that wish to harm us. You and I walk a path fraught with devils in many a skin. We can’t allow fear to halt our progress. 

 

ARTHUR: You’re right. Especially with the mundane. This is only signs of life, no different than the windmill. Could be a lone hunter cabin, o-or a small family. We have no ill intentions. We’ll be honest and perhaps form –

 

YORICK (excitedly): It could be a whole village!

 

ARTHUR: Yes. (A whimsical tune begins.) You know, first, actually… (The rustling of fabric.)

 

YORICK: Master?

 

ARTHUR: Sorry, Yorick!

 

YORICK: The bag you took from the hag’s den! (More fabric rustling. Yorick’s voice grows muffled.)

 

ARTHUR: You present a rather troublesome image for us. 

 

JOHN: Hm.

 

ARTHUR: I don’t want people to see me carrying a rotting skull. It may send the wrong impression. I’m sure you understand.

 

YORICK (muffled): Of course.

 

ARTHUR: Just until we pass through.

 

JOHN (wistfully): Or longer. (Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: This way?

 

JOHN: Yes, here. (Arthur begins to walk. A quick piano melody begins. Insects buzz.) This is a well-traveled path to the stream. It must be used for a multitude of things.

 

ARTHUR: Washing, maybe. Although I suppose those baskets were for fishing.

 

JOHN: Arthur, the light is almost gone. 

 

ARTHUR: Okay.

 

JOHN: We won’t be able to travel through the woods at night. The canopy is too dense for moonlight. Besides, we’d run the risk of moving further from the road.

 

ARTHUR: Right.

 

JOHN: Wait, wait. I see. (The footsteps stop.) The trees part up ahead. I see a small… number of buildings.

 

ARTHUR (quietly): Okay. Okay. 

 

JOHN: Do you know what you’re going to say?

 

ARTHUR: Less than more. Let’s just… go. Guide me. (Footsteps.) 

 

JOHN: There are three wood buildings with walls, and a fourth without. A large fire pit sits in the center of these buildings. They all look inwardly toward it. A massive tree sits off to the left, and it seems as though the buildings were… positioned around it, almost. The fire looks… cold. The buildings… empty. There’s no livestock, though there is a pen for… something. The fence is still intact. 

 

I don’t see anyone. 

 

ARTHUR (whispering): Three buildings or four?

 

JOHN: The fourth is just a… I don’t know. There’s a… stone floor, and a large disk similar to that of the windmill, and I… can’t see from here, but it looks like it could be a workshop or kitchen. This was a village.

 

YORICK (muffled): As I thought! (John huffs.) 

 

ARTHUR (whispering): They still could be here. Stay quiet. Where is the, ah…

 

JOHN: The first building is to your right. (Footsteps.) Here! Here. 

 

(Arthur steps on wood.)

 

ARTHUR (echoing): Hello? 

 

JOHN: It’s a small… building. Wooden sticks for walls, laid horizontally… mud rubbed against the sticks for warmth. A simple straw bed on the floor… a pot in the corner and baskets piled in another. I think… (He sighs.) The light outside has all but died, Arthur. It’s difficult to see. 

 

ARTHUR: Damn. Okay. (He heads outside.)

 

JOHN: I think they’re gone. 

 

ARTHUR: The fire is cold.

 

JOHN: Yes. And for some time. Arthur, the sun is nearly set. We need to make camp before all the light is gone. Otherwise, we’ll be struggling to build a fire for warmth.

 

ARTHUR: Agreed. 

 

JOHN: There… is wood here. 

 

ARTHUR: There’s wood here?

 

JOHN: Cut, in a pile next to the fire. It’ll be easy enough to start. Look, if this place is abandoned… the layout provides cover from the wind as well as shelter for us. If it should rain… it would be safer, and wiser, to sleep here. Perhaps in one of the houses, even.

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know if I want to be in one of those buildings. Feels a bit like trespassing.

 

JOHN: Even sleeping by the fire here –

 

ARTHUR: No, listen. I can’t say that I disagree with you. About using what’s in front of us. We could head back down to the river and camp there, away from… whatever all this is, but… who knows what lurks in these woods? 

 

JOHN: Yes.

 

ARTHUR: But we also don’t know what happened to these people. For all we know, they’re… simply out hunting. They may not appreciate that their firewood is being used when they return.

 

JOHN: Here or there, it doesn’t matter, but we have to decide! I don’t want to be searching for wood with your lighter.

 

ARTHUR: Of course, me neither. Yes, look, let’s just stay here, then. (Footsteps.) But, by the firepit.

 

JOHN: You really don’t want to stay in one of the houses?

 

ARTHUR: I… (He exhales.) I can’t explain it, I… the house felt… off. (An ominous melody begins.)

 

JOHN: Off?

 

ARTHUR: Cold, in a way. Colder than it should be.

 

JOHN: Okay. (Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: Do you remember how you saw an aura around Marie’s home? A-And…

 

JOHN: Yes. Yes, of course. 

 

ARTHUR: Well, I can’t explain it. But being in that small home felt… it felt like something was running its cold fingers along my skin. Briefly, but. 

 

JOHN: Well, then. We’ll sleep out here. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes, okay. Let’s get this fire going. (Footsteps. The clacking of wood.) Hm. 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: Oh, nothing. Just… some of the wood is slightly damp. Should be okay, though. We’ll put it on once it gets going. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: Why are you… you’re stacking the firewood in a… point. (Arthur chuckles.)

 

ARTHUR (happily): A tipi style. It’s… It’s what I was taught. 

 

JOHN: Huh. In the, uh… uh… Boys’ Brigade? (‘Noel’s Theme’ begins.) 

 

ARTHUR (surprised): How – yes! Good memory. Jesus. When did I t –

 

JOHN: In the Dreamlands.

 

ARTHUR (realizing): Right, right. Right. (John chuckles.) 

 

JOHN: When we first arrived.

 

ARTHUR: Wow. Wow, that feels like a lifetime ago. 

 

JOHN: It does. 

 

ARTHUR: You remembered that? Despite spending so much time in the… 

 

JOHN: I suppose it stuck with me.

 

ARTHUR (warmly): Or you’re just a good friend. (Footsteps. More wood clacking.) But yes, that’s one of the ways I was taught. There’s also… the log cabin, and…

 

JOHN (not understanding): Log cabin?

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, you – you kind of build a log cabin type structure, lay sticks back and forth, it… I always preferred this method. 

 

JOHN: How… old were you? When you were in the Boys’ Brigade?

 

ARTHUR: Around twelve. It was quite… you know, there… there were some strong positives about it.

 

JOHN: You didn’t mention.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, well. I joined at a difficult time in my life. The obedience, reverence, discipline… a-all of those things they instill that were meant to be… true Christian manliness, which is…

 

JOHN: Huh.

 

ARTHUR: Yes, but. There were some strong positives. Some real moments of hope instilled in a child who felt… hopeless. (‘Mistakes Were Made’ begins.) 

 

JOHN: Such as?

 

ARTHUR: Well. Friendship. 

 

JOHN: Friendship?

 

ARTHUR: I think… I think I probably made my first real friend there. Real friend. 

 

JOHN: Who?

 

ARTHUR: I-I… (He exhales.) 

 

JOHN: Arthur?

 

ARTHUR (quickly): I-It doesn’t matter. (Footsteps.) You know, they would use these imitation drill rifles at camp for us. Boys. Playing war. (He chuckles.)

 

JOHN: Are you okay?

 

ARTHUR: Yes, I-I-I just, I haven’t thought about it much. Especially not in a long time. (Wood clacking. Arthur grunts in exertion.) There! That should do it.

 

JOHN: It looks quite nice. I’m impressed. And on feel alone.

 

ARTHUR: Oh, it isn’t that hard, but… (He grunts in exertion.) But we do need some tinder. Kindling. Something I can slide into the base to catch fire easily.

 

JOHN: Hm.

 

ARTHUR: Preferably something that would burn strong and long enough to catch the…

 

JOHN: Such as?

 

ARTHUR: Well. With enough of it, I guess it doesn’t matter, but something… dry. (Footsteps.) Lots of air. Strips of birch bark, dry grass. 

 

JOHN: Maybe the animal pen.

 

ARTHUR (agreeing): Right. Yeah. 

 

JOHN: It may have some hay, or… 

 

ARTHUR: Uh?

 

JOHN: The left.

 

ARTHUR: Ah. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: It’s quite dark now. (Arthur grunts in exertion.) Here, here! There’s a short fence made of sticks. It’s just above knee height. There’s hay on the ground, and… 

 

(Something rustles in the distance.)

 

ARTHUR: And?

 

JOHN (uncertainly): I-I… I-I thought… 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: I thought I saw… someone. In the woods. They were just… standing there. Watching us. 

 

(A short pause.)

 

ARTHUR (whispering): Are they still here? 

 

JOHN: There’s nothing there. P-Perhaps… it was a play of the last light. 

 

ARTHUR: Perhaps. 

 

JOHN: The hay is scattered along the ground.

 

ARTHUR: Right, right.

 

JOHN: Here. Yes. (Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: This should be enough. (He makes noises of exertion. Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: The fire is here. Here. Here. 

 

ARTHUR: Okay. Okay. (The bag rustles. The lighter ignites.)

 

JOHN: Ah. (Fire starts to burn.)

 

ARTHUR: Catching?

 

JOHN: Very nicely.

 

ARTHUR: We’ll add a little bit at a time. When the thicker pieces begin to catch, I’ll add some of the larger logs, and…

 

JOHN: The damp ones? (The fire crackles louder.) 

 

ARTHUR: Yes, well, the dampest ones I put here, to dry out from the warmth of the fire. 

 

JOHN: Huh. 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: Nothing, it’s… I suppose I… (‘Conversations About Memory’ begin.) I forget, at times, that… 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: The timid little voice that you had when we first met, the… bewildered Englishman who stammered over every other word, I… (John chuckles.) I guess I have to remark on how different things feel now. (Arthur chuckles.)

 

ARTHUR (teasing): Listen, if you woke up how I did, with a – (He laughs.) 

 

JOHN: No, of course. I just… it’s funny. To think back to that. 

 

ARTHUR: Eh. (More serious.) In some ways. I suppose.

 

JOHN (more somber): Right, right. Of course, I… I only mean to say…

 

ARTHUR: No, look. Look, you’re right. I… I mean… ever since leaving New York, things that have happened… I don’t know, l-looking back, all of it… all of it feels more… 

 

JOHN (quietly): Meaningless?

 

ARTHUR: Almost. I-It’s just… knowing that Kayne is capable of… knowing that I’m just one of many… knowing that if we fail, everything and everyone is at stake… I don’t know, it puts our petty problems… our missteps, even our misdeeds into… well, it puts them all into a new light. 

 

JOHN: Is… that why…? 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: Is that why you forgave me so quickly?

 

ARTHUR: No, no. Maybe. I don’t know. 

 

JOHN: You sound almost… apathetic. 

 

ARTHUR: Perhaps. Kayne… has revealed such truths, a-and special or not, I… I still feel a little lost in a sea of many. 

 

JOHN: Directionless? 

 

ARTHUR: We have a direction. It’s just… (He scoffs.) Well, how many times, do you think Kayne has spoken to us in that way? T-To John and Arthur? 

 

JOHN: What do you mean?

 

ARTHUR: Do you think we’re the first he’s sent back here? To try this? (An ominous piano melody begins.) 

 

JOHN: I…

 

ARTHUR: This is what I mean! We don’t know. We don’t know how many Arthurs and how many Johns camped in this spot. How many times we’ve… I’ve… died to the witch. 

 

JOHN: So… 

 

ARTHUR: So… I guess a bit of ‘what’s the point’, maybe? I mean… trying to find the meaning in all of this. Trying to find the… the point, I-I…

 

JOHN: So… what? 

 

ARTHUR: So what? (Questioningly.) So what? 

 

JOHN: So… (Passionately.) So fuck meaning. 

 

ARTHUR: Fuck meaning?

 

JOHN: Or… find your own meaning! Remember what you said? No matter how vast the darkness…

 

ARTHUR: We must supply our own light.

 

JOHN (intently): Find meaning. We find the light. We found it a hundred times, over and over. And over, and we’ll keep finding it. 

 

ARTHUR: Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. You’re right. I’m the captain of my soul.

 

JOHN: Exactly! That’s the fucking truth, Arthur. So what if versions of us have been here before? They weren’t us. 

 

ARTHUR: No, they weren’t.

 

JOHN: So what if they failed? 

 

ARTHUR: We won’t.

 

JOHN (confidently): That’s right! We won’t.

 

ARTHUR: You’re right. You’re so fucking right. (He chuckles.) You know what, it’s almost moments like this, by the firelight, that we tend to… let our minds flounder.

 

JOHN: How human.

 

ARTHUR (laughing): You know, it really is, though! Camping, something primal about the act of sitting near the firelight. It feels… I don’t know. Perennial.

 

JOHN: Mm. The firelight hides the small amount of light in the sky. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Yes. It becomes difficult to see anything else when the flame before you is so bright. (Brightly.) But I am glad we get to camp together, though! As friends do.

 

JOHN: Me too. (Arthur chuckles.) 

 

ARTHUR: In Boys’ Brigade, I-I joined after… my parents. Obviously. So I was… it was difficult. But there was someone that… (Distant footsteps.) That I truly hadn’t thought of, in many years… at first, they were –

 

JOHN (warning): Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: Hm?

 

JOHN: There’s someone standing opposite us. He’s approached from the darkness of the wood. He’s standing. Eyes transfixed on the firelight. 

 

UNKNOWN MAN (whispering): May I… join you? 

 

ARTHUR: Yes. Yes. Please. H-Have a seat.

 

JOHN: Arthur, the man is wearing a dark cloak of some sort. (Footsteps.) It obscures his face, for the most part, though his eyes are bright in the firelight. (A sigh of exertion from the man. Dirt shifts.) He’s sitting opposite us on the far side of the fire, cross-legged. He’s staring into the embers. 

 

ARTHUR: I-Is this your… village? 

 

UNKNOWN MAN: No. This is not my… village.

 

ARTHUR: Oh. H-How, how did you – 

 

UNKNOWN MAN: I saw your light. In the wood. From the dark. (A slow piano melody begins.) I was drawn to it. It seemed… so inviting. 

 

ARTHUR: What is your name?

 

UNKNOWN MAN: My name is… Malam. 

 

JOHN (confused): Malam? (Fabric shifts.)

 

ARTHUR: A palindrome.

 

MALAM: Yes. Very good. 

 

ARTHUR: Huh.

 

JOHN: His eyes are unmoving, but he’s brought the hood of his cloak back. He has a dark complexion, flecks of white in his otherwise black hair, giving the appearance of a somewhat… older man. He has a thin, graying beard and his eyes seem… to be two different colors. Though it’s difficult to see in the orange hue of the firelight.

 

ARTHUR: I didn’t see anyone in the village, I, uh… I hope we’re not, um… we may be joined by them, shortly.

 

MALAM: I do not believe so. 

 

ARTHUR: You don’t?

 

JOHN: His eyes break from the fire for the first time. He’s looking around the village. He has two parallel scars running along the right side of his face. And his right ear is gone. 

 

ARTHUR: Do you know what… happened to – ?

 

MALAM: Were you drawn to the light as well?

 

ARTHUR: Me? N-No. No, I… I started the fire.

 

MALAM: You?

 

JOHN: He almost looks surprised. His eyes have landed on you for the first time.

 

MALAM (alert): You started this fire?

 

ARTHUR: Yes, of course.

 

MALAM: Why?

 

ARTHUR (confused): For… warmth? 

 

MALAM: Warmth. 

 

JOHN: He’s holding his hands out to the flame. They’re worn, bruised, almost. The nails on one of his hands look as though they’ve been torn off!  

 

MALAM: I forget the need for it.

 

ARTHUR: I couldn’t sleep without a fire. It’s far too cold.

 

MALAM: It is… it is. But still. I would not. 

 

ARTHUR: You would not what? Start a fire? 

 

MALAM: No. 

 

ARTHUR: Why?

 

MALAM: For fear of what it may invite. (An ominous strum.)

 

ARTHUR: What could it… invite? 

 

MALAM: In these woods… there are… things. Some of which I… would not wish to share a fire with. 

 

ARTHUR: Is this… a warning? 

 

MALAM: Do you wish me to leave?

 

ARTHUR: No. No, i-it’s just… you speak ill of beings that live in these woods, but. You are one, a-and –

 

MALAM: No. No, I was merely passing through.

 

ARTHUR: So where is your destination, then?

 

MALAM: For now… I have none. Tomorrow… we’ll see.

 

ARTHUR: You have no destination? 

 

MALAM: I have many, but they change. I go where I am needed. 

 

ARTHUR: And where were you needed? 

 

MALAM: I was needed here. 

 

ARTHUR: Here?

 

MALAM: Yes.

 

ARTHUR: In the village? (A short pause.) When?

 

MALAM: Only a short while ago. 

 

ARTHUR: I don’t understand. I-It –

 

MALAM: Could you put another log on the fire? Please. 

 

ARTHUR: O-Of course. 

 

JOHN: The wood is still stacked to the left of the pit. He’s staring at his hands again. (Arthur’s grunt of exertion. Wood clattering.)

 

MALAM: Thank you. (Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: So you were needed here. By whom?

 

MALAM: A man. (The sound of skin rubbing against skin.) 

 

ARTHUR: A man. Why did he need you?

 

JOHN: The man turns his hands over and over again, studying them, as if he hasn’t seen them in years.

 

MALAM: A man… who arrived in this village… from the direction you came. (A melancholy piano begins.) He came with hope in his heart, and fear. And purpose. 

 

ARTHUR: And he… needed you?

 

MALAM: Not at first. No. 

 

ARTHUR: What happened, that he needed you? 

 

MALAM: I have not felt a fire like this in a long time. It is not warm, but it is… welcoming. You welcomed me. I did not expect that. 

 

ARTHUR: What do you mean, ‘you expected me’?

 

MALAM: No. 

 

ARTHUR: But my… me saying that you could join me…

 

MALAM: I did not expect it. You are not like those that were here. 

 

ARTHUR: What happened here? (A short pause.) Malam.

 

MALAM: A man kills a child. Does he deserve to die? 

 

ARTHUR: Does he… (‘Faroe’s Lullaby’ begins.)

 

JOHN: Arthur. Arthur, I-I… 

 

ARTHUR: No. No, he doesn’t.

 

MALAM: Why?

 

ARTHUR: There is no… I-I don’t know enough. I couldn’t condemn a man to death simply because he committed a-an atrocity.

 

MALAM: He continues to live, yet… you call it an atrocity.

 

ARTHUR: It is! Of course it is! (Breathing shakily.) But… accidents happen, it –

 

MALAM: You assume it was an accident.

 

ARTHUR: Wasn’t it? (A suspenseful note.)

 

MALAM: Intention is what matters to you.

 

ARTHUR: Intention is the difference between first and second degree murder, it –

 

JOHN: He stares at you. (Arthur exhales.) His expression unchanged.

 

MALAM: The man’s intention changes the nature of his punishment.

 

ARTHUR: I-It must. It’s what society is based around. R-rule of law –

 

MALAM: So… if an accident, the man is innocent through the rule of law?

 

ARTHUR (vehemently): Not innocent! No. (‘Faroe’s Goodbye’ begins.) Never innocent. 

 

MALAM: And what if he sees himself as wrong?

 

ARTHUR: What is this? What are you –

 

MALAM: What if he blames himself? If he believes himself guilty?

 

ARTHUR (more aggressive): Stop it.

 

MALAM: If he decides he deserves to die!

 

ARTHUR: Enough of this! 

 

MALAM: What if the child, herself, believes he deserves to die?

 

(Dirt shifts.)

 

ARTHUR: Who are you?

 

MALAM: The stranger came through the river. He arrived soaking wet, frantic, his eyes wet with tears. The village was quick to comfort him, despite their desire for solitude in these woods. It wasn’t until they had fed and clothed him… that they found the little boy downstream. Rage was all that burned in the parents’ eyes, and the village became riotous. They drowned out the voice of the stranger, who claimed he had tried to save the young boy from drowning.

 

ARTHUR: Why didn’t the stranger say anything when he arrived, if –

 

MALAM: That is not my purpose.

 

JOHN: Not his purpose?

 

MALAM: The village became fervent, uncontrollable to the point where not a soul stood with the stranger. (Echoes of distant screaming.) Even the children wanted his blood, and so, they spilt it… to the hilt.

 

JOHN (taken aback): Jesus. 

 

MALAM: Their obligation fulfilled, the stranger decimated, the village could finally grieve, though not in peace. There is no peace in such violence. I have come to know this well. 

 

JOHN: His eyes have finally returned to the firelight. To his hands. 

 

ARTHUR: I don’t understand. You said… he needed you. But you were not a villager. You said no one stood with him.

 

MALAM: Did he deserve to die?

 

ARTHUR: No, I already told you, I –

 

MALAM: And what if it were your child?

 

ARTHUR: I-I can’t say, I-I –

 

MALAM: You can’t? Or won’t? 

 

ARTHUR: I – !

 

JOHN: Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR (emphatically): I will never condone an act that is so wholly monstrous. I cannot say… with any truth… that I would not completely and utterly… despise the man who took my daughter. (‘Faroe’s Goodbye’ begins to play. More distraught.) That I would… forever wish… (Shaky breath.) Him pain… and suffering… (Through tears.) And an immeasurable guilt that he carries with him… to the end of time. But. But! In this case, if… if I knew it were an accident… he… he would not deserve death. 

 

I would have wanted him dead… but he would not have deserved it. That is the question you asked. And that is my answer. (He sniffs.)

 

MALAM: The stranger did try to save the boy. 

 

ARTHUR: Well, I cannot blame the parents.

 

MALAM: The stranger did. 

 

ARTHUR: So you… you are the stranger? 

 

MALAM: No. He is dead. 

 

ARTHUR: Then who are you? How did the stranger need you? 

 

MALAM: When a child… dies… I am awakened. Drawn to their light. 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: Awakened. How? What did you do to this village? 

 

MALAM: Enacted… a vengeance. 

 

JOHN: Vengeance? For what? For the stranger?

 

ARTHUR: I… I… I don’t –

 

MALAM: A child’s death is a powerful thing. I hear their call and see their light in the darkness. When they leave this world, it stirs me from my slumber. I hear their whispers when they linger. 

 

ARTHUR: What did the boy tell you?

 

MALAM: To avenge the man who tried to save him. 

 

ARTHUR: What are you?

 

MALAM: I have told you. I am a servant for the children. The village is no more. I have fulfilled the young boy’s wish and the man’s request. 

 

JOHN: Why is he here now?

 

ARTHUR: So why are you here? Why did you join me by my fire? 

 

MALAM: I was drawn to the light. I did not know you lit it. It looked so… inviting. 

 

ARTHUR: Who did you think lit it? (A short pause.) Malam. Malam, who do you think lit this fire?

 

MALAM: A child. (An ominous melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR: What child? 

 

MALAM: The death of a child is an immeasurable sorrow that one carries through life. It is a scar that will neither disappear nor heal. It is a piece of you that is lost forever. 

 

ARTHUR (tersely): What. Child.

 

MALAM: Do you know why?

 

JOHN: Why? 

 

MALAM: Children… are hope. They are everything we put out into this world. They are what remains when we die, what lingers when we are forgotten. They are our betters, our futures, our learned mistakes. They are… hope. 

 

ARTHUR (begging): Please. Tell me.

 

MALAM: I do not know if you had that hope when your daughter was alive, but I see now… that you have found it. The spark of hope, that meaning. Here. In your journey towards our day of wrath. 

 

ARTHUR (whispering): H-H-How…? F-Faroe?

 

MALAM: It is her light within this fire I sensed. (Arthur breathes shakily.) Her laugh on the wind that I hear. She cannot speak it, but I can feel her. 

 

ARTHUR (awed): She…! 

 

MALAM: She is the spark within every firelight you birth. The embers in every torch you carry. (Arthur gasps for breath.) She is with you. (ARTHUR: F-F-F –) She is what gives you light. 

 

JOHN: Arthur…

 

ARTHUR (tremblingly): Can you… Can she… Can she hear – hear me? Can, can I…?

 

MALAM: That is not my purpose.

 

ARTHUR: No… No… (He breathes hard.)

 

MALAM: But. You allowed me to join your fire. And you honor your daughter by knowing you no longer deserve to die. You reinforce her belief in you. For these… truths… I offer you a gift. 

 

ARTHUR (sniffing): A gift?

 

MALAM: One of two I can grant. A truth… or an item. I can only offer one. 

 

ARTHUR: A truth. I think. An item is only useful… if I know how to use it. And there’s so much I don’t know about this place, about this time… about our goal… I need to know more. 

 

MALAM: Very well. (Dirt shifts.)

 

JOHN: He’s closed his eyes, as if praying quietly. 

 

MALAM (whispering): I call upon the children…

 

JOHN: His hands are flat against the ground on either side of him. 

 

MALAM (whispering): Seek the truth and I wish to… (He becomes unintelligible.)

 

JOHN: I can’t hear what he’s saying…

 

MALAM (whispering): You who are of the… (He becomes unintelligible. Dirt shifts.)

 

JOHN: He’s scooping the dirt from the ground, and… he’s pouring it into the fire. (A whoosh of flame. Unintelligible whispers in the background. The wind blows.) He’s listening, intently, with his eyes closed. Careening his head slightly, as if to listen more closely. 

 

(A whoosh of flame.)

 

MALAM: The children of this forest… they see you. (Arthur gasps.) The truth they offer, however, does not speak of your quest. Nor this place or time, but rather… a shadow that follows you. (An ominous piano melody begins.) They know little of your goal… or of how to achieve it… but they know what pursues you. I know of it as well. 

 

ARTHUR: What? What pursues us?

 

JOHN: Kayne?

 

MALAM: It is known, in this land… as ‘Mother Darkness’. 

 

JOHN: She…?

 

MALAM: She is following you. 

 

ARTHUR (whispering): Yes. (Shakily.) She is…

 

MALAM: Mother Darkness is her name, but only one of many. 

 

ARTHUR: Many?

 

MALAM: One of her… faces. The Witch. The Shroud. The Dimming Light. It is said that she… has been around since life first appeared.

 

ARTHUR: Here? In England? O-Or…?

 

MALAM: The world entire. Some see her as a god… while others… a blight upon this world. A disease. An infection that spreads across the land, sent from the stars. (Arthur gasps.) She is far more powerful than I. But like me… feels a pull to the children. Unlike myself, she seeks them before their demise and twists their minds, creating disciples. She infects them, raising them as her own. Bestowing her… ‘gifts’ upon them. At least while she wears this face. 

 

ARTHUR: Gifts?

 

MALAM: Her disciples are given tremendous power through their connection to her. Sharing a greater consciousness… 

 

JOHN: Sharing a mind.

 

ARTHUR: Mother Darkness sees…

 

MALAM: What her disciples see. 

 

JOHN (quietly): Fuck. 

 

MALAM: And more. A piece of her lay within each disciple… their physical forms interconnected. (Arthur sighs.)

 

ARTHUR: But she has a physical form, right? 

 

MALAM: Yes. And though more than human… she shares many of the same needs. She must constantly feed. So much so, her disciples often propagate flesh for themselves, and her. 

 

ARTHUR: Flesh? 

 

JOHN (realizing): The maggots.

 

ARTHUR: Any flesh?

 

MALAM: Any living creature. 

 

(A somber piano melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR (shakily): Okay. Okay. Alright, w-well. Then… so how? 

 

MALAM: How?

 

ARTHUR: Well, how-how do I stop her?

 

MALAM: She cannot be killed by normal weapons. And even if you did manage to destroy Mother Darkness, it would only bring about her true form. 

 

ARTHUR: Her true form? (The crashing of branches. In fear.) God!

 

JOHN: Jesus. 

 

ARTHUR: Damn it. (An owl hoots.)

 

MALAM: An owl. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes, yes, u-uh… (An owl screeches.) A friend, actually. 

 

MALAM: Ah.

 

ARTHUR: We ran into him when we first arrived. Sorry. You were saying?

 

MALAM: I have told you your truth. 

 

JOHN: There must be more.

 

ARTHUR (pleading): Please. Please, there must be more. (An owl screeches.) Can her true form be killed? At all? Y-You said not by normal weapons, but… but is it any weapon?

 

(Malam makes a noise of exertion.)

 

JOHN: He’s… standing up.

 

ARTHUR: Do you have such an item? Not a normal weapon! (An owl screeches.) Malam. 

 

JOHN: He stands before the fire. (Arthur exhales.)

 

MALAM: Thank you for allowing me to join your fire. (‘Noel’s Theme’ begins.)

 

ARTHUR: You’re welcome. And thank you… not just for this information, but. For letting me know… (Footsteps.) That my daughter is with me. (He sniffs.) 

 

JOHN: He nods, solemnly. (Footsteps. An owl hoots.) He’s turning around to leave. (An owl screeches.) He’s stopped! 

 

MALAM: It is not a matter of ‘if’ she will find you, but ‘when’. (Ominous tones.) Mother Darkness is not like other such beings. She has not slept, nor is waiting in some deep tomb for the stars to come right. She is active now, and has always been. 

 

ARTHUR: How do we escape her? 

 

MALAM: I do not know. 

 

ARTHUR: I see.

 

JOHN: His eyes fall upon us one last time… the different colors now clear with the orange of the firelight at more of a distance. (Footsteps.)

 

MALAM: Be careful of him. He is not what he seems. 

 

ARTHUR: He?

 

JOHN (scathingly): Yorick.

 

MALAM: Farewell.

 

ARTHUR: Farewell. (Footsteps. An owl screeches.)

 

JOHN: He’s gone. Disappeared into the darkness from whence he came. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Yorick is not what he seems.

 

JOHN: He’s not to be trusted.

 

ARTHUR: Should I take him out of the…?

 

JOHN: No, no. Leave him in the bag for the night. The quiet is nice. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes. It is. (An emotional melody begins.)

 

JOHN: Are you… okay? Are you smiling?

 

ARTHUR (tearfully): She’s with us, John. She never left. 

 

JOHN: Yes. 

 

ARTHUR (sniffing): Well. Anyway. 

 

JOHN: It’s quite the campfire.

 

ARTHUR (amused): Quite. 

 

JOHN: Different than those nights in the Boys’ Brigade, I imagine.

 

ARTHUR (laughing): Drastically. (He chuckles.) Mm. I suppose we should… head to bed, here.

 

JOHN: Just! A little longer? I’d like to watch the firelight die. 

 

ARTHUR: Okay. (A long pause.) William. By the way.

 

JOHN: William? 

 

ARTHUR: That was his name. (Dirt shifts.) My first… real friend. 

 

JOHN (thoughtfully): William. Hm. 

 

(A click, followed by static.)

 

(END Part 45.)