Transcript - Season 3, Chapter 16 (Part Two)

THE GRAND AQUIFER, INT, DAY

SISTER CULL and CARPENTER’s feet splash as they descend past streaming and dripping water. The Aquifer is continuing to flood.

Everyone has fled. CARPENTER is increasingly pitying, and amused, by the state of the Parish that she’s come back to.

CARPENTER:

Got a few plumbing problems here, it seems like.

SISTER CULL:

(Shoving her forward)
Keep moving! 

(Calling out, desperately)

…Sibling Rane? Sibling Rane?

Brothers? Sisters? Is anyone there?

​

Please! Answer me! 

​

She runs down the stairs - nobody there either. A rock tumbles down into the flooded lower stairewell with a heavy splash.

SISTER CULL:

(Calling out)

High Prophet Faulkner? Sibling Rane?

(Muttering under her breath)

The - the - the faithless cowards. They’ve fled for the hills.

They’ve all gone. They’ve abandoned us.

(Trying again)

Sibling Rane?

CARPENTER, grunting in pain, descends the steps after her. 

​

Very faintly, we can hear the voice of FAULKNER somewhere in the distance. He sounds excitable, even hysterical.

CARPENTER:

Someone’s alive down here.

(SISTER CULL:)

High Prophet Faulkner, is that you?

Is everything all right?

Silence. FAULKNER's voice has fallen quiet.

​

SISTER CULL makes a tactical decision.

​

SISTER CULL:

(Nudging CARPENTER forward)

Here. This is the Dreaming Chamber.

Just.. take the steps down. 

High Prophet Faulkner will see you now. He will...pass the Trawler-man’s judgment upon you.

CARPENTER:

(Wryly)

You’re not coming down with me?

SISTER CULL:

(Already retreating)

No. No, no, no, I need to secure the perimeter-

CARPENTER grabs CULL before she can turn and run.

CARPENTER:

If you’re fleeing for the hills, Sister - then do me the courtesy of uncuffing me. Please.

SISTER CULL hesitates - and then uncuffs CARPENTER.

CARPENTER:

Good luck.

SISTER CULL:

(A little wretchedly)

Yeah. You too.

SISTER CULL turns and flees.

​
 

DREAMING CHAMBER, INT, DAY

CARPENTER pushes the door to the dreaming chamber open.

​

Below, we can hear the sound of clapping.

​

FAULKNER is holding court to the empty room. Throughout this scene, he'll fluctuate between the childlike comfort of his delusions and his inability to face up to what he's done.

FAULKNER:

(Lightly, on the verge of hysteria)

Katabasians, if we - if we could have a little quiet now! Applause is a fine thing but it can over-extend itself, if you understand me! 

​

To order, to order, please.

The question that lies before us today, as you know, is a matter of longstanding historical dispute.

The dualists held that the Trawler-man, having two heads, has two minds - both of them essentially opposed in nature, unable to come to terms, forever vying.

The monists state that both mouths are solely aspects of the Father’s entire nature, just as it is the river that both takes and offers - a whole and perfect thing existing in a state of unified paradox.

Of course, centuries ago, sects of the Parish would have fought to the death over trivial disagreements such as these, but we, being kindlier, being more civilised, can settle this with words.

Let’s get this right. Once and for all, let’s just - put it to bed.

(To the empty chamber)

Come on! What do we think? Katabasian Rane, hm? Sister Thurrocks? Dad, you’re coming at this fresh, we’d appreciate your insight.

Two faces, two minds? Or two faces, one mind? Come on, now, people are relying on us to get this right.

Well?

CARPENTER slowly and painfully comes down the staircase behind him.

CARPENTER:

Two minds, four stomach compartments, is the way they used to tell it in the seminary.

He’s basically a cow.

FAULKNER turns around. Silence.

​

Then he chuckles. He doesn't appear to recognise her - and in fact steps forward to grab her in a bearhug.

FAULKNER:

(Enthusiastic)

A fresh candidate come seeking a place on my council? Welcome, welcome.

I’m glad to see you, sibling, very glad. I have so many missing posts yet to fill. 

I keep crying out for promising children of the faith, with the hope of securing our future, and yet - my people just seem to keep on leaving without saying goodbye.

CARPENTER just stares at FAULKNER. This isn't the confrontation she expected.

CARPENTER:

(Flatly)

Do they keep on leaving?

FAULKNER:

(Happily)

Pity in your voice. A kindly candidate. Points in your favour. 

Oh, it’s all right, I’m accustomed to sudden departures.

My father left me quite without warning, when I was young. My brothers, too, both of ‘em, I’ve seen them around but they never worked to stay in touch. My sister left me behind, long ago. Nobody’s fault, we just parted ways.

(With a little growing sadness)

People in my life keep on leaving to serve a cause I can’t understand. They’re not interested in walking this path with me.

But that’s OK, that’s the nature of things, is it not? 

(Sermonising to himself)

Every great change is a greater betrayal, every act of meaningful progress a meaningful abandonment, every new beginning a conflagration of who you were and who you loved - and so when someone turns their back on us, we must not be sour, we must love them for fleeing from our touch, we must not call after them-

(Almost proudly)

I forgive them for running from me. All of them. 

I will not punish them for their disloyalty, and I will not curse their names, and when this is written about, I will understand them and sympathise with them - for as you may have heard, I am a generous man and not only a prophet-

CARPENTER:

Do you recognise me, Faulkner?

A long silence. 

​

And then FAULKNER looks at her.

FAULKNER:

(Hoarse and lucid)

Of course I recognise you. You’re Carpenter’s ghost.

Silence.

CARPENTER:

(Accepting the characterisation)

Yes, I am.

FAULKNER:

(Suddenly hollow)

And that…that must mean that I’m being punished, aren’t I? 

This is all my punishment.

CARPENTER:

It certainly looks that way from here.

​

FAULKNER turns away from her.

FAULKNER:

(Beginning to babble wretchedly)

They do say that there’s punishment, don’t they? In the Garden Below. A great torment, for betrayers and liars. Those who turn against the siblings of their faith, the very worst of us, living on in shame. Anathema, remembered to be hated.
 

And as these wretched souls are cursed in life, so in the Garden they shall be visited by angels reforged into the forms of the people they’ve hurt, the people they’ve betrayed. They’re twisted and broken and humiliated and this is a fate that they will not escape, not until rivers rise and the drowning of the world above, not even then…

He stops.

FAULKNER:

(With quiet, broken wonder, and with love)

But if this is my punishment…

…then why am I smiling?

Why am I smiling, if you’re the one they’ve sent to make me suffer?

Why is there such an unbearable joy, Carpenter, in seeing your face and hearing your voice again?

Silence.

​

CARPENTER:

(Struggling to remain hateful, but just about managing it)

If it’s any consolation, Faulkner - I shouldn’t be smiling either. I should be choking you out. 

I ought to drown you down here.

FAULKNER:

(With sudden shame and pleading)

I know. I do…I do know.

I - you have to understand, Carpenter, I didn’t want them to do it.

I didn’t want any of this for myself. I tried to tell them, they didn’t understand.

My pop, he was the one, he told me, be rid of the prophet. Be rid of the great man. Become something better.  That’s what I wanted for myself.

But I couldn’t shake him off. They wouldn’t let me shake him off. They kept me here. They caged me. They…they stole the Wither Mark from me with hungering eyes and pleading voices. Screaming my name like baby birds, starving in their nests.

And then they drowned Glottage, and they praised me - they praised me, Carpenter! - as if I was the one who’d done it, and when they saw me falter they abandoned me in turn.

They used me, and then they abandoned me, they - they invented their own Faulkner, and they forced me to be him.

CARPENTER:

(Drily)

So they’re to blame, are they?

FAULKNER stares bleakly back at her.

FAULKNER:

(Weakly)

Not all.

I did it. I’m to blame, I accept that, I can look it fully in the face,

(Desperately trying to avoid looking it in the face)

But, but think about it from another angle, Carpenter. What you have to understand is that all of these choices might -  might actually have been necessary, you - you just need to see the bigger picture.

If I hadn’t given them the Wither Mark when they asked for it, they’d have given up on me, and our resistance would have collapsed. It would - it would have all been for nothing.

If I’d let Mason live - or, or if I’d been blamed for his death, instead of my sister, if I’d been hunted down like a dog for it - the faith would have perished. Legalised, tamed, broken to the will of our enemy.

(Trying to get her to agree with him)

And that’s not what you’d have wanted, is it, Carpenter? No matter if you’ve turned your back on us, you wouldn’t want to see your parents’ legacy, your grandmother’s legacy, withered away in the flames. I had a responsibility to you.

(Answering for her)

No, that’s not what you wanted. Not for us to come to nothing
(Finding another angle of self-justification)

And what have I done that is so bad, truly, compared to the Legislatures? Compared to the great faiths?

Why should I be a monster, for drowning Glottage Why should they make me an obscene thing? Hm?

(Getting a hold of himself)

So…so perhaps in time, interpreted from the correct angle, this will all be seen not as an atrocity, and not as a failure, but as a hard and necessary choice that was made for the right reasons.

And that could still be a consolation, couldn’t it? That even if you are hated now, spurned by the shallow, near-sighted, short-lived people…

…even then, if you are only great,  you may yet be loved, and mourned, and celebrated. They will make sense of all of this, in time.

​

CARPENTER:

(Acidly)

I thought you didn’t want to be a great man any longer, Faulkner.

FAULKNER flinches.

FAULKNER:

(Checking himself)

Of course not. I told you. I’m not him. 

(With sudden, flinching paranoia)

Never was. But they’re watching the doors.

CARPENTER:

Who’s watching the doors?

FAULKNER:

(With sudden, savage, whispering fury)

The faithful, the children, the, the squawking, shrieking followers. Baby birds, rising to peck out their father’s eyes. Not out of hate, but only because they can’t stop hungering.

(Anguished)

They won’t stop. They keep dressing me up in the robes, they keep on pressuring me and pressuring me to speak, but only the words they want me to speak, they keep steering me on like a puppet, and if I could only steal away from them, if I could only be free from them, if they only weren’t watching the doors and blocking my path, I - I’d leave, I’d vanish.

CARPENTER grabs FAULKNER by the lapels. He struggles away.

​

CARPENTER:

There’s nobody here, Faulkner-

FAULKNER:

(Hissing, frantically)

No! No, no no! They’re watching. A  great tide of voices, and when I step out, you’ll see, they’ll cry my name and my titles like they’re expecting something from me, something I never had it in me to give them, because I am not great, no, no, I was never great, not like the ones who came before-

FAULKNER stops.

​

He gets a grip on himself.

FAULKNER:

I can see that man out in front of me, that false image, and he’s, he’s fading from me. His back is turned and I will not follow. I renounce him, and all of his ambitions.

I’ll leave now. I’ll - I’ll go and I’ll find a peaceful place, down by the water. I’ll plant a garden there, and beautiful things will grow, and no matter how small a life that is, no matter how meaningless and inconsequential, I’d be happy.

​

I could bear the weight.

CARPENTER just watches him. Her pity for him is vying with her fury.

CARPENTER:

And how about what you did to me? 

Can you bear that weight, Faulkner? 

FAULKNER:

(Faintly, hollow)

I let you die. I made you flee. 

CARPENTER:

Yes.

FAULKNER:

(Punishing himself)

I ruined your name. I wrote you into our faith’s histories as the very worst of us.

CARPENTER:

That, too, for all it’s worth.

FAULKNER:

And then I handed the WIther Mark over to them, because I could not bear their eyes upon me.

CARPENTER:

You did.

FAULKNER:

(Hollow)

Sister Thurrocks and Sibling Rane.

Katabasian Mason. Greve and Roemont. All the people in Glottage. So many people who believed in me and so many people who never knew my name.

It was me. No-one else. The rod was in my grasp. I could feel the weight of it.

I did it anyway. For the sake of my great talent, and my future success.

​

CARPENTER:

(Calmly and coldly)

There’ll be a reckoning for what you’ve done, Faulkner. There has to be.

And the cost will be far greater than you can know.

You wouldn’t be able to bear the weight, if you understood the harm you’ve done. You couldn’t look it in the eyes and go on living.

There’s no way past it, and there’s no way around. You won’t get free.

FAULKNER:

(With growing feverishness)

I’ll make it right..

I’ll volunteer. I’ll dedicate myself, surrender myself, accept any punishment they give me. If that means dying, I’ll die at their hands, and I’ll apologise for it, and I will not let them make a martyr of me, although I am well-loved by all of my children-

I’ll make it all better.

CARPENTER:

I don’t know if you can.

(Feeling the weight of her injuries)

I - ach!

She takes a breath - then stoops, and sits on the edge of the dreaming pool.

FAULKNER, compulsively, rushes to help her.

FAULKNER:

(With a rush of compassion)

You’re hurt, Sister. You’re hurt. 

What did they do to you?

CARPENTER:

(Breathing hard)

Nothing. Something in my side.

(Giving up on explaining it)

I…I crashed my ride, getting here.

FAULKNER:

You crashed a car?

CARPENTER:

(Weakly, amusedly)

Yeah, I crashed a car.

FAULKNER:

Is there pain?

CARPENTER:

Yep, quite a lot of pain.

FAULKNER:

Did you tell them?

CARPENTER:

(Tightly)

No. I wanted to see you. 

FAULKNER:

(With rising anger, hyperventilating with worry)

They should have taken you to the infirmary, they should have made you better. 

(Beginning to babble)

-this, this will be remembered, they need to fix you, they need to make you better, and I’ll, I’ll watch over your bed, I’ll be there, Carpenter. I’ll pray, I’ll pray and pray for as long as I need to, and, and-

​

CARPENTER grabs him by the hand and pulls him down.

CARPENTER:

Stop, Faulkner. Just...stop.

Sit with me.

They sit there together, breathing hard and ragged in unison.

Their breaths slow.

CARPENTER:

(Softly, just talking about nothing to keep FAULKNER calm)

You know, in the Silt Verses, everyone dies with great elan. 

Everyone who matters, I suppose. 

Everyone who’s important gets their moment. Everyone who’s not - the sacrifices, the nameless - they’re passed over between the words. But then there’s only so much space and only so much time to get your point across.

The great prophets and thinkers, the High Katabasians, they get to climb to the top of the mountain. They get to make a final speech. They get to sum themselves up, make sense of what they’ve been.

I quite liked that part of it, growing up. It’s not a bad lie, to imagine that your life culminates, instead of tailing off. That clarity, and not fog, is waiting for us at the end. That we’ll find the words, instead of falling silent.

And of course everyone imagines that they’re the ones who matter, so of course we’ll all get that time.

Em, when we were out in the marshlands and he wasn’t too old to play with me yet, he’d want to play at being a prophet. He’d climb to the top of an anthill or an old boat-wreck and he’d declare unto me some pithy final statement about how courageous or wise he’d been, how much he’d achieved in his long life, and then he’d fall to the ground as the last tide swept over his body, and then it’d be my task, as the younger sibling, to be his last audience and the recipient of his legacy.

I’d have to run around the marshland, shouting to the empty sky and the wading-birds, “This is High Katabasian Em’s final message to the world! Hearken to the final words of High Katabasian Em!” Telling tales of him.

My brother would lie there, soaking and still, as I played his messenger for what felt like hours, until all four corners of the world had heard of his glory and the game could come to its natural end.

He never let me play the prophet, but when you’re small and stupid it can still feel like a blessing, to be the beneficiary of your elders’ commands. You can still feel grateful, to be shaped by what came before you, without aching to be rid of it.

And as much as he set the terms, he was entrapped by me in turn, a vessel to my will - lying there still and shivering, as he waited for me to finish the game he’d started.

(Shifting a little painfully)

I should tell Paige that story, if I get to see her again. I think she’d understand what I meant.

And it’s a little like an apology, isn’t it? Explaining yourself.

FAULKNER stirs. 

FAULKNER:

...Paige?

CARPENTER:

Yes, Paige.

FAULKNER:

Our Paige?

CARPENTER:

Our Paige, yes.

She’s a prophet now, too, Faulkner. We’re up to our ears in prophets out here.

She’s got a gathering in the hills, not far from here. We were trying to get back to her when you found us.

FAULKNER:

(Almost in shock)

…a prophet of what?

CARPENTER:

Oh, I don’t know. A prophet of her people, maybe? Good people. 

The god doesn’t matter, the god’s just her way of telling the story. 

(Faintly)

Anyway, she’s done a damn sight better with the role than you have. Sorry to be harsh.

FAULKNER:

(Worried and preoccupied)

It…it won’t end well.

You should warn her, Carpenter. It won’t end well. 

CARPENTER:

Never does. Never can.

(Unexpectedly)

Might end better if you and I are there to see it, though.

FAULKNER doesn’t respond to the offer.

CARPENTER:

I can’t…I can’t promise you anything. 

They’ll hate you, Faulkner, for the things you’ve done, because Paige’s people are the ones taking the blame for it.

They might want to put you on trial. They’ll probably want to kill you, and I’m not sure how confidently I can tell you that you wouldn’t deserve it.

(Quietly, after a moment)

But I’ll speak for you, Faulkner, if you come with us.

Even at the end of the world. Even amongst the bodies you’ve piled up. Yeah, I’ll speak for you.

Silence.

FAULKNER:

(Uncomprehending)

Why?

CARPENTER:

(Quietly, as if she’s realising it herself)

Because you matter to me. Even though I’d be happier if you didn’t.

Because we’re entangled, you and I, in the ruin of one another. Hopelessly and helplessly entangled. 

Neither one of us is getting out intact, and we’ve torn each other to pieces already in the trying, but we owe one another, Faulkner, a firm and kindly grip between bloodied hands. Both of us deserve that.

FAULKNER:

(Testing it out)

Come with you.

CARPENTER:

Yes.

FAULKNER:

(As if working it out in his head)

And they’ll hate me, these people. 

They’ll want to punish me for - for everything that happened.

CARPENTER:

They’ll see you. Hate will come first, as part of that.

​

FAULKNER gets to his feet. He walks. He thinks.

​

Can he see himself in the story she's proposing? Can he bring himself to accept his final role?

FAULKNER:

(Slowly)

So…

OK. Yeah. Yeah. That’s how it’ll go.

(With rising spite and pride)

I’ll come with you. In chains. Because you are magnanimous, and I am not.

I’ll leave my palace, and my loving followers, and everything here that we’ve worked so hard to achieve - and I’ll get down on my knees before your new family, and I’ll beg, and beg. Prostrate myself. 

(Airily)

“I, Faulkner of the Parish of Tide and Flesh, alone of all the children of the world, have sinned. My hubris, my clumsy failings, that’s what’s to blame for your pain, that’s the answer that makes sense of your suffering. It was not you - no, not you, you’ve done no wrong, you saintly creatures, I was the only one who hurt you!"

And Paige! Oh, Paige! She’ll sit atop her own burnished throne, in her own white robes and her own crown of kelp, and she’ll pass judgment upon me-

CARPENTER:

(Getting annoyed)

She doesn’t have a throne, or a crown. She doesn’t have any of those things.

FAULKNER:

(Ignoring her)

 And if I am very lucky she will demonstrate just how wonderfully merciful she is, the great prophet you could bring yourself to believe in, while you never believed in me-

CARPENTER:

I’ll speak for you, I said-

FAULKNER:

(Raging at the ending that lies before him)

And if I should live, I’ll labour to make amends.

I’ll play the jester in the court of another god, the pariah, shunned and scoffed at, kicked and cursed, unacceptable and  irredeemable. Dancing at the heels of the real people, clad in sackcloth and nettle-wreath. Waiting, and waiting, to be told by someone else that I’ve worked through my punishment, that I’ve done enough, that my captors are merciful and good and kind and so my labours may cease-

And then at the end - at the end of my very life, perhaps, after I have mopped and scraped and endured the long decades of humiliation and exclusion, when I have proven myself and proven myself just enough so that the memory of the harm I’ve committed and the shame I’ve brought down upon myself can fade, just a little-

-then, when I am old and broken, that’s when you’ll invite me in, with all of your mercy and your pity, for one last meal at the table and there’ll just be enough meat left in the pot for me to get the final portion.

And you’ll let me sit with you, only once, as if I’m your equal. 

(Softly and sorrowfully)

Or more likely, for you and I both know that hope is a twisting noose, I’ll wait, and wait, and I’ll wither alone in the cold, in constant dreaming hope of that great mercy which shall never come-

-not for me, not for the undeserving.

(With rising anger)

Do you think me deluded, Carpenter?

Is that really the best you have to offer me? 

CARPENTER:

It’d be a better ending than this.

​

And FAULKNER now, comes forward to grab CARPENTER.

FAULKNER:

(With sudden savagery)

But this is not how it ends, Carpenter. This is not how it ends! You don’t get to tell me when it’s ending!

This is the second act, the curtain fall before the interval, it’s a low moment, no more than that. 

And in the Verses, every great man has their low moment or else the triumph could not be triumphant. This is only one final, terrible trial of faith and courage, before everything becomes clear.

If there is one truth to our lives, it is that there is no great change without greater suffering, and I have suffered. 

Haven’t I? And so change will come. It has to. 

A bright golden dawn will break tomorrow, the muddy waters will run clear, and my children will return to me, and their voices will be transfigured, they will sound beautiful and harmonious and they will do as they are told and this time - this time! - it will all go exactly as it’s meant to.

There’s no other reasonable interpretation. Is there? Hm? What do you think?

CARPENTER:

(Softly)

I think we’re all crawling grubs dreaming of butterflies’ wings, Faulkner. Told a fine tale by the birds above us.

And while we’re dreaming, they all come down to feed.

FAULKNER lets go of her.

FAULKNER:

(Scoffing)

Scoffing!

You’ve always been a scoffer. That’s all you’ve ever had to offer me, that’s all you are, you limited thing, you bound and broken carcass.

Do you remember that first day, Carpenter, upon the river? Hm? When I found the sacrifice that led us to Bellwethers, that led us to the Wither Mark, that led me to glory?

That was a sign. That was the first sign that I was fated to greatness, it was the first step upon the path that led us here, and yet you scoff, without even thinking.

You never once apologised for that, even though now you can plainly see you were wrong; you can see that there was a plan in store for me, and a wondrous purpose, a purpose you always lacked.

(Wretchedly)

I…I hate you. You understand that? I hate you because I know you, better than anyone else has known you - I can see beneath the mask you wear that you hate me too, and that’s why you’ve only ever sought to undermine me-

I- I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!

CARPENTER:

I hate you too, Faulkner. I truly do.

And I love you, too. In spite of everything.

That’s what it means to have a sibling, isn’t it? You learn new ways to love and to hate someone.

Always on the very precipice of understanding one another-

FAULKNER staggers angrily away from her.

FAULKNER:

(Raging)

No. No, no, no. Get off me!

You’re not - you’re not my sister. If you were my sister, you’d believe in me. You’d have been there for me. You wouldn’t have let any of this happen, you-

(Seizing upon an explanation)

You’re my self-doubt, my nagging sceptical inner voices, manifest in flesh. That’s what you are. You’re my anchor to the world I need to leave behind.

You’re here to test me, that’s your only purpose-

CARPENTER:

(Warning)

I told you once, Faulkner - I won’t be your allegory.

FAULKNER:

(Babbling)

And yet here you are, come to tempt me upon the threshold, even when you are dead, dead, dead!

I’m wise to what you truly are. I can see the eyes beneath your eyes, the song beneath your stammerings.

This is a trial. That’s why you were sent to me, that’s the only reason-

CARPENTER:

(Quietly and firmly)

Faulkner.

I don’t have time. 

I’m not dying down here with you, in the dark. So please - listen to me. One last time.

Follow the White Gull downriver through the hills.

There’ll be a turning point east by the height of the cascade, where the rocks and scree turn to trees and living things.

I’ll leave a trail for you to follow, a pile of stones - so you know it’s the place to turn.

Break away from the river, keep walking east, and come after us. I’ll be walking slow, so you’ve got time to catch me.

There’ll be a place for you, Faulkner. No matter how hard it gets, no matter what they do to you, there’ll be a place for you, and it’ll be beside me.

That’s my offering. That’s all I have to give.

Silence.

CARPENTER:

(Heavily)

Well, all right.

She gives up; she turns to go.

-and then FAULKNER calls her back.

FAULKNER:

(With quiet, rising menace)

Carpenter.

If this is a trial, you standing here before me now, then it must be the final trial.

You understand that, don’t you?

Perhaps I’ve only been brought here, to my lowest point, alone and abandoned, and you’ve been brought here in turn, that I might demonstrate one last act of true faith, one final act of commitment.

​

Perhaps, to become who I truly need to be, he requires me first to be rid of the shadow that trails after me.

Perhaps he only wishes me to prove - once and for all - that I have the courage to finally let you go.

​

CARPENTER just stares at him. She can't break him free of the story.

CARPENTER:

(Softly)

Yeah. Perhaps that’s it.

Do you?

She waits. FAULKNER does not make a move towards her.

CARPENTER just scoffs, quietly and sadly, to herself.

CARPENTER:

Goodbye, Faulkner.

She turns and walks away, stiffly and in pain.

FAULKNER stutters - and then tries to regain his confidence, bellowing boastfully after her. But even he knows that the words aren't helping him.

FAULKNER:

Wait….wait….
(Frantically crowing)
And - and with a single word that rang out like thunder through the hills, the High Prophet Faulkner turned the hateful spectre back upon its heel!

“Begone, shade,” he cried, “you hold no power over me and you are naught to me now! I reject you, now and henceforth!”

And the Trawler-man saw that his faithful servant had passed beyond frailty and weakness! 

This was when the waters parted, and at last…

…at last he understood!

​

RADIO TOWER (THE GRACE), INT, DAY

​

We fade in to the howling wind and the jangle of wind chimes.

​

In the Grace's radio tower, a broadcast is playing - with yet another denunciation of Paige's people.

​

RADIO PSYCHIATRIST:

(On the radio)

What I do want to talk about is the aberrant psychology of the renegade.

So, most false-faith cultists commit atrocities from a position of what we might call ‘misapplied sociability.’

(Giving an example)

Say you were raised in the service of a god of fire. So you feel like the world would be a much better place if more things were on fire.

We can have a civil disagreement about whether that’s a good idea or not, but ultimately I understand that the fire cultist is coming at things from a positive mindset, from, from a position of love and a desire to share that love as widely as possible.

These Woundtree cultists, though, approach life from a negative mindset. They want to take faith, and love, and sacrifice, away from other people. We’re talking about an essentially anti-social worldview, perhaps even psychopathic tendenc-

​

PAIGE enters, quietly, looking around the room. She takes her seat in the chair before the radio and then turns it off.

​

PAIGE:

(Narrating, softly and sorrowfully)

We’re leaving so much behind.

Unwashed clothes and worn radios. Craft projects, indoor climbers, and band posters.

There’s comfort, and there’s beauty, and there’s love, in everything we have to abandon, if we want to be free.

​

In the town square, we’ve dug three graves for our friends who went on pilgrimage and never came back. I hope nobody ever finds them.

In my old house, I’ve scrawled a message in chalk across the living room wall. 

‘Dennis Duplass helped.’

(Her voice cracking)

Hayward. Dad. Carpenter. I'm leaving all of you behind.

I wish I didn’t have to.

​

Behind her, the door opens as ELGIN enters. PAIGE, overcome with emotion, swivels in her chair and pretends to be examining one of the books they're leaving behind.

​

PAIGE:

(Aloud, dropping the book on the side)

I do feel guilty, you know. 

There’s a lot of material we’re having to leave behind. All of the supplementary essays, the expanded manifesto. People worked hard on this.

ELGIN:

(Gently but firmly)

First draft’s all about passion. Second draft’s all about compromise.

With that in mind, I like our first draft best.

​

PAIGE sighs softly to herself - then gets to her feet.

​

PAIGE:

We’re low on time. We should help with the baggage train. Set a watch in case the government comes roaring up the road.

ELGIN:

(Honestly)

No need.

The baggage train’s ready. 

A lot of the families who are staying behind - they said they’d wait, to help us prepare for the pilgrimage west.

(Confessing something rather more serious)

And...we've set the watch. The government’s already on the highway. A couple of jeeps, a small camp. Think they’re waiting for more troops to come. No signs of movement yet.

I’ve timed it, don’t worry-

PAIGE:

(Annoyed)

What? Gods above, Elgin - why didn’t you tell me any of that? 

​

ELGIN:

I wanted you to have a moment’s peace.

And I wanted you to know, when you looked back at today, that we waited for him, for as long as we possibly could.

PAIGE stares at her. She’s genuinely touched.

PAIGE:

Do you do anything for yourself, Elgin?

ELGIN:

(Almost surprised by the question)

All of this has been for me. You know that, Paige, don’t you?

PAIGE stares at ELGIN - then steps forward and grabs her in a hug.

​

PAIGE:

Thank you - sister.

​

They hold for a moment - then release.

​

And then, silently, PAIGE and ELGIN walk out together into the wind - leaving their home behind.

​

​

CAR, INT, DAY

​

HAYWARD, gasping in pain, changes gears - as he drives his car on, speeding back towards the GRACE.

​

Outside, in the winds, the BORDER PA repeats its familiar message as the car roars past the broken fence-

​

BORDER PA:

You are coming to the end of the inhabited lands. Stray and starving gods dwell beyond this point. Turn back. Turn back-

​

​

THE POLLUTED LANDS, EXT, DAY

We hear the tramp, tramp, tramp of the Woundtree column, heading west into the hills, dragging heavy sleds behind them. The winds roar and howl all around.

We hear PAIGE’s tired breathing as she climbs, with ELGIN beside her.

PAIGE:

(Narrating)

A ragged column of bodies, clad in radiation suits, inhuman and strange beneath our masks.

Climbing into the old hills, past broken clay statues of forgotten gods; abandoned vehicles, swollen with rust and change.

It’s slow progress, dragging the baggage sleds with us, navigating past the rocks where there’s no road to follow.

But we take turns, to keep the weight from becoming too much.

In time we make it to the top of the ridge.

​

From up here, you can see the tiny black blot of the Grace, our abandoned home, down in the valley; the greater ruins of the town that stood before it, teetering on all sides.

Far to the east of us, the wrecked farmlands, cratered by the endless bombings. Shattered concrete highways, and a visible, growing cluster of tiny vehicles. The Legislatures’ forces are gathering.

(With satisfaction)

Let them. We’ll be gone where they can’t follow.

​

She turns, and begins to climb on.