As Darkness Falls - Act I, Scene 1

*This is a novel, but it's formatted like a play. The italics is the narration by a storyteller of sorts. He sets the scene, describes the emotion of the characters, and relays action, just as the author does in a novel. Dialogue is precursored by a boldface name. If you have any questions, please ask them in the comments below. 

As Darkness Falls

Act I - Echoes

Scene 1 - Fallen Kings

Truth, Roger, Amethyst, Blacksmith, Stable Master

Our hero awakens in a tent. He is lying in a makeshift bed, and covered by a single, thin blanket.

Roger Damien is an average man. He is not particularly tall or particularly short. He is not particularly muscular, or particularly skinny, or even particularly smart. He is a stranger that you would pass on the street, someone that one would simply ignore as you go on your way.

But one should never judge a book by its cover.

Roger Damien is a very interesting man, and you'd have to look for longer than two seconds to see it, starting with his eyes. Roger's eyes are an off-putting pale blue color, the type that makes you wonder if those eyes are not real. His hair is jet black. His demeanor is tight-lipped, as if the man is trying to hide a vital secret, or is bordering on the fringes of losing control.

And maybe he is. 

Roger has not had an easy life. No, he has had a very hard life, and it's visible especially on his face. There are bags under his eyes and his face is starting to sag, ever so slightly, as the industrious life that Roger leads begins to take a toll on his body.

Roger does not know that his life is about to change. He can sense it, like the tightness of a spring, but he does not wholly understand it.

But Roger is not concerned with this. The bed that he has awoken in is not the same bed that he fell asleep in the night before. These are not the same sheets that he shares with his wife, and this is not the same room in the same house - his house - at 559 Caimin Lane.

Confusion turns to panic. He instinctively knows that everything here is not alright. He's afraid for his son, and he wants desperately to know where his wife has gone. Roger shoots out of his bed, still in his red and blue plaid pajamas, and boldly pushes past the tent's flaps and into the outside world.

~

[Enter Roger Damien]

~

The tent that Roger has emerged from is on a hill overlooking a massive encampment. Brown tents dot the landscape before him, ending only at the edges of the nearby forest. But Roger is not concerned with this.

The sky above him is unlike anything he's ever seen. There is no sun, nor is there a moon in the sky, and the sky itself is a deep shade of crimson red. Black clouds float across that sky, slowly and forebodingly.

But Roger is not concerned with this.

Immediately before him is a pot, or rather, what seems to be a cauldron, bubbling softly, and smelling encouragingly of honey and biscuits. The pot is attended by a small, middle-aged woman. Behind her stands two children, who are sword fighting with sticks and shouting indiscriminately. A calm has settled across the camp, as the men, women, and children go about their business.

But Roger is not concerned with this.

And soon, things will not be so calm.

~

Roger: Where am I?! Where is my family? How did I end up here? What is this place? Who are you people? 

~

The woman stares at Roger, wordlessly. Roger isn't sure if she does not understand what he is saying, or if she's just not responding. He starts racking his brain for some shred of the Spanish that he learned in high school, when he sees an authoritative man approaching from the background.

~

[Enter Truth]

~

Truth: You ask so very many questions, but not the one that truly matters.

~

Truth is an enigmatic soul. He looks mostly human, except for his eyes, which have no pupils. They are an omniscient shade of white, milky and absolute, and at the same time, a bit unnerving . Truth himself is a very old man. He has a pure white beard, long, white hair, and a godly aura to him. He does not beat around the bush. He deeply despises dishonesty, and speaks with a slow and steady monotone cadence.

~

Roger: And what exactly should I be asking?

Truth: You should be asking why you are here.

~

Roger is thoroughly annoyed, but he senses that some progress is being made, and so decides to play this strange man's game.

~

Roger: Okay. Then why am I here?

Truth: I cannot answer that.

Roger: Then why did you ask me to ask the question?

Truth: I did not ask you to ask the question. I only proposed that you should seek its answer.

~

Roger and Truth stare at one another for a long moment. Roger does not like this man, and his stare is tinged with malevolence. Truth, however, stands impassively, peering at Roger with a blank gaze.

A small crowd begins to form around the two men as people from neighboring tents come to see what all of the commotion is about.

The two boys that were sword fighting earlier are now standing mostly still, giggling and whispering into one another's ear, hoping that the two men - Roger, clad in his plaid pajamas, and Truth, their paragon of virtue, dressed in his simple grey tunic - would soon fight, not so much to reach a resolution but simply because it would be quite funny.

~

Truth: You are making a scene, friend. Let us return to the tent. There, we may confer further.

~

Roger nods in agreement, and leads the way back to the tent, with Truth directly behind. The woman from before follows behind Truth, holding two clay cups of the honey and biscuit fragrance "stuff" from the cauldron.

Truth gestures for Roger to sit on the earthen floor of the tent. Roger is hesitant, but looks down at the floor and is pleased to see that it's merely grass.

Maybe the sky here is red, but the ground is one thing here that's pretty much normal. Silently, Roger congratulates himself on a single small victory.

As the two men sit, the woman from earlier places two cups before the two men, filled almost to the brim with an opaque white tea. It is the liquid from the cauldron, and as Roger lifts it to his lips, he finds that it tastes much the way it smells: delicious.

Across from him, this old man is staring intensely into his cup, motionless, absorbing the smell and energies of the tea and musing on something remarkable. Both men sit silent for a while, until thoughts of his wife and son make Roger impatient.

He breaks the silence.

~

Roger: Who are you?

Truth: The man asks who. I am Truth, the leader of this camp.

Roger: And this camp - where is it?

Truth: The man asks where. There is no easy answer for that question. I know very little of the place from which you come, only that it is very different, and that it is called Earth. I do not know where that is from here, only that it is not here. And I do not know how to get there from here, only that it certainly will not be easy. I can only say this: I do not know where you are, except that it is here, and that answer is of very little use to you.

Roger: Well, what am I doing here?

Truth: The man asks what. To this there is only one possibility. You have been brought here by King Regor, as a means to a vile end.

Roger: How do I get home?

Truth: The man asks how. I am not the keeper of the answer to this question. The man who brought you here, however, is.

Roger: Okay. Where is King Regor?

~

Truth frowns at Roger.

~

Truth: This is the wrong question: where, instead of how. King Regor is not a very easy man to talk to. He would sooner have you executed than to let you within a foot of his persons. And if he has brought you here, it is unlikely that he seeks your friendship.

Roger: That's not going to work for me.

Truth: Too bad...

Roger: I need to to get back to my family. Is there anything that I can do?

~

Truth smiles.

~

Truth: The man asks how. You will not like the answer. To return to the ones you seek, you must embark on a journey. It will be harder than anything you've ever done, and it will test you unlike you have ever been tested.

~

Roger is unfazed. He is used to struggling for the things he wants.

~

Roger: Tell me what I have to do.

Truth: You will have to find Regor, and get him to send you back home.

Roger: That's it?

Truth: All journeys seems short when you do not yet see the path ahead. On this journey, you will have to embark across a foreign land, through miles of dangerous terrain, past hordes of unfriendly creatures. You will have to feed yourself when there is no food. You will have to shelter yourself when there is no shelter. You will have to remain hopeful when there is no hope. And you will have to fight. I will send you out with my only daughter, for without her help, you will surely die. You may also have a bow and a quiver from the supplies of this camp.

~

To most, being given a bow and arrow as their sole weapon on a dangerous journey would be downright inhumane. But in high school, while others played football or basketball or soccer or golf, Roger had been the captain of the archery team. Archery, in fact, is a favorite pastime of Roger's.

This trait had not been lost on his son, who very quickly took a liking to the bow that Roger would use on their weekly hunting trips. But instead of the bow that Roger used, he had bought his son a small toy crossbow, a blue one with yellow stripes and tiny little orange darts just barely capable of killing a fly. But it still makes him feel special to see that his son enjoyed what he enjoyed with equal fervor, and reminiscing on this only hardens Roger's resolve. He jumps to his feet, ready to get this done.

It's only now that Truth's penultimate statement hits Roger.

~

Roger: Daughter? 

~

The woman that had given the men the tea - she had been standing in one corner of the tent entire time - now steps forward.

~

[Enter Amethyst]

~

Amethyst: That would be me.

~

This woman is glaring daggers into Roger right now, and, perhaps, if it weren't for that fact, he may have described her as faintly beautiful. Amethyst is small, with dirty blonde hair, tied in a simple bun. She wears a simple, brown, medieval looking gown. Her eyes are pale yellow, speckled black, and there is a fiery spark in those eyes.

Her tone shifts as she directs her words at Truth. It sounds immature and whiny; she is pleading to her father. 

~

Amethyst: But Father, what about my children? What about you? What about my responsibilities here at the camp? You would jeopardize all of this to palliate this unfortunate man's fate?

~

Roger does not know what "palliate" means, but he senses more hostility coming from the daughter's direction.

~

Truth: I understand your concern, Amethyst, and it is valid. But you do not understand this man the way I understand him, and you do not know Regor the way I do. The greatest hope this land has of deliverance from Regor's reign stands before us ready to fight - to die, if necessary. He has with him the resolve, but not the aptitude, and if he goes forth into the wilderness without this ingredient, he will die.

Amethyst: But why must I be the one to help him? I would be far more useful here.

Truth: There are two battles that must be fought: one here, to further the cause of our survival, and another with this man, to win the war that we wage against King Regor. And if the issue here is trust, Amethyst, then remember that trust is as a seed. Before a seed can grow, it must be planted.

~

Roger has taken a backseat to this exchange, barely comprehending it. But this particular metaphor is one that he'd heard before. Here, he is ripped from passivity.

~

Roger: I'm with her on this. You shouldn't risk her life and her children's well-being, just for me. I'd feel awful if something happened to her.

Truth: That is exactly why I trust you to keep her safe. You would protect her as you would protect your own son. And on your journey you two will not be alone. Others will band with you to assist you on your quest. You are stronger than you think, Roger Damien, and Amethyst can hold her own. Together you two will be a force to be reckoned with, and, over time, you will be unstoppable. Have faith in yourselves, and in my words, and both of you will see your families again.

~

Amethyst is not convinced, and they continue to argue. Roger, however, has stopped paying attention. Someone else has entered the tent.

~

[Enter Blacksmith]

~

This man is the textbook picture of a blacksmith. He is short, stubby and fat, but his arms bulge with muscle. His hair is in locks, extending almost to his shoulders, but at the apex of his head stands a glaring bald spot. In his sooty hands he holds a rather ornate bow. It's not made of gold or anything, but it's a far cry from the monolith of plastic and strings that Roger normally uses.

It's simple, sleek, and elegant. Instead of the classic "D" shape, this bow is curved at the ends and just around the middle. A light colored mahogany wood peeks out from behind a dark metal covering that parts only at the center of the bow. Here lies the grip, red like fire and sporting a similar colored string behind it, thin but clearly powerful, and passively vibrating with some sort of energy. Roger can feel his mouth almost start to water, and he staggers towards the Blacksmith, opening and closing his hands as if some ravenous beast had awakened within them, seeking a meal and seeing only the bow presented before it.

The Blacksmith looks Roger up and down, seemingly unfazed by the disheveled man standing before him in nothing but thin plaid pajamas. He looks past him, clears his throat and speaks.

~

The Blacksmith: Where is the foreigner?

~

Although it's not particularly loud, the Blacksmith's voice is designed to be heard. The tent seems to resonate with the power of his voice. Roger steps in front of the Blacksmith, silently providing an answer to his question.

The Blacksmith, however, is annoyed, looking past Roger, further into the interior of the tent for someone else - anyone else - foreign enough to be the foreigner that he seeks. The Blacksmith is in denial. The man that stands before him is a novice, a fool, an imbecile, not the legendary warrior prophesied to save his lands.

~

The Blacksmith: I have come with this bow, and armor, and arrows, for the foreigner.Where is the foreigner?

~

Truth re-appears from behind Roger.

~

Truth: He may not look like much, but this here is the man that you seek.

~

Roger isn't sure, but he faintly hears a groan of disappointment from the Blacksmith. The Blacksmith nonetheless sticks his hand outside the tent and gestures to a younger, slightly less grungy-looking person, who walks into the tent lugging a quiver of arrows in one hand and a duffel bag in the other. The Blacksmith turns away from his apprentice, taking deliberate and heavy steps back towards Roger. He holds the bow out to him, and Roger latches onto it. But the Blacksmith has not released the bow. His grip is strong and, even though he is smaller than him, the Blacksmith towers above Roger as he scrutinizes and dissects the man before him.

~

The Blacksmith: The object that you hold in your hands is not a play thing. It is a weapon of war, meant to wage war, to kill and to maim, to be respected at its best, and to be feared at its worse. Before I impart this gift to you, I need you to understand this, lest I risk unleashing further terror upon this world.

Truth: To distrust this man is to distrust me. Trust in me. Trust in this man.

~

The Blacksmith stands there for a moment looking between Truth and Roger, then takes a deep breath and relinquishes the bow. He turns to his apprentice and grunts something, and he huffs over to Roger, dropping the bag and a quiver of arrows at his feet.

Truth: For the journey ahead, you will need a weapon, and you will need something a bit more protective than your pajamas. And so now we leave, so that you may change, and compose yourself for the long road ahead. You have lost a lot, Roger Damien, and you will lose a whole lot more before the battle is won. Prepare yourself.

~

[Exit all except Roger]

~

Roger's heart is racing. On the floor before him sits an affirmation of the coming age. Truth's words have only confirmed the obvious: that his wife and his son and his whole wide world are very, very, far away from here. And Roger knows that, if he dons the gear on the floor before him, that that world - his world - will slip further from his grasp. He has never been one to venture into the unknown - to go away from his world of laws, reason, and relative safety - and now he is about to charge into an alien and perilous world. This is not the man that Roger is. But to survive, this is the man that Roger is going to have to become, one that is courageous and bold and unhesitating, uninhibited by the modern world and unleashed from the chains of domesticity.

Roger accepts it, gulping it down like a tonic, and he looks down at his clothes. He makes the affirmation aloud.

~

Roger: Pajamas are for sleeping in. Now, I wake up.

~

Roger steps out of the tent fifteen minutes later, with the crimson bow slung over his shoulder and its quiver on his back, wearing the new clothes that the Blacksmith brought for him.

It's a tunic, made of a thick, white cloth and fortified around the torso, wrist, and legs by even thicker leather armor, greaves and arm guards, polished, and a rich shade of tan brown. Pockets and pouches populate a belt wrapped around his waist, and extend down the side of the legs.

The contrast between Roger and this realm is substantial; he gleams like an angel, illuminated by some unseen light. The bow in his hands however stands out even more, Gothic and grisly, foregrounding Roger's grandiose, almost celestial air. As Roger takes newborn steps into this whole new world, he falls into line beside Truth, who stands godlike alongside Roger's glory, beaming proudly at the man beside him.

~

[Enter Truth]

~

Truth: When the innocent see you coming, they will rejoice and say, "There is the man that will save our land!" When the predatory hear those cries, they will run, and retreat into the shadows, recoiling in the face of justice. And you, Roger Damien, you will descend into these shadows, and expel the evil that infests this world.Things were not always like this. This land was beautiful and prosperous once. The people were radiant and carefree. The animals were not wild and ferocious, and they frolicked and played on civil soil. That was before Regor came out of nowhere, bringing his dark army, sweeping across the land, conquering that which was once free. And evil is corruptive. Slowly it has seeped into the land, its denizens, the animals, and even the air. The sky turned crimson red, and grows darker, day by dreadful day. This is the world that you now know, and it can only be made better if you will it so.

~

Roger feels a small pang of sadness at Truth's words. The emotion that accompany them is powerful and sincere; Roger can almost see the beauty of the way things were, the pain of the road to make things better, and the joy of a world once more made whole. He is resolute, and with a voice foreign to him, he says to Truth:

~

Roger: I'm ready.

Truth: Good. Amethyst is making the preparations as we speak. She should be finished by the time that we get there.

~

The duo turn and begin walking down the hill, into the center of the camp.

Roger wasn't paying attention before, when he was panicking, and it's only now that he realizes that the camp bears the semblance of a metropolis.

This is the main street. Traffic converges here from all corners of the camp; farmers with horse-drawn carriages filled with strange crops, and artisans and their apprentices scurry here and there, carrying this and that, to and fro, in and out of the trailside tents. At the front of such tents stand bakers, selling bread and sweet rolls and pastries, or fishermen, selling smoked and foreign fish. Millers stand alongside them, selling bushels of grain, and butchers, selling bloody chunks of meat, and weavers selling balls of yarn and strips of cloth, and even cleaners, taking and returning articles of clothing to a line of people.

In one of these lines stands the Blacksmith's apprentice, smiling in Roger's direction. Roger waves back, and turns to talk with Truth.

~

Roger: This place is amazing. What is it?

Truth: After the conclusion of Regor's War, many of the innocent people needed new homes, lives and even families. We started as a small group, nomadic, traveling from place to place, trying to escape from Regor's armies and struggling with the corrupted animals of the realm. Slowly we grew larger, as we passed by town after town ravaged by Regor's armies. And as we grew larger, moving became less and less favorable. We stopped here, at a place furthest from Regor's influence, where the land is most lively, and where the feral animals of the new world do not roam. Our intent was once merely to survive, but now it is to thrive. Here, there is no war. Here, there is no famine. Here, there is no poverty. Here, we have only each other, and we have formed a strong community around this sole certainty. That is what this is.

~

A group of children run past, laughing and chasing one another. The sound is all too familiar, and Roger feels another nostalgic pang of grief. Roger doesn't like Amethyst very much, but the appeal of empathy is irresistible.

~

Roger: I don't think you should send Amethyst along with me. It's wrong. A parent should never be separated from their children, and as much as I'd appreciate the help, I think it would be better if she stayed. 

Truth: That decision has weighed greatly on my mind, and it will haunt me until she returns. She is my child as well; I understand how she must feel, being separated from her child, for I feel it as well, even more powerfully than you or she can fathom. But I also have concern for all others in this realm. This is not about me. This is not about her. This isn't even about you. The strong must sacrifice for the sake of the weak. And when we fight, sweat, cry, and bleed, it is for them. It is a belief that I must uphold by any and all means necessary, for if I do not, then I truly am a fallen king. 

~

Roger sees anger in Truth's eyes. It produces an effect of suffocating finality, and silence envelops the two men as they walk down the central path of the camp. Rather than trying to start another conversation, Roger allows himself to be absorbed into the small city around him.

He can almost taste the bread and the pastries, and his mouth waters at the smell of cooked fish. There is a hypnotic monotony to the world around him, the kind that arises when a stream of people move nonstop from one place to another, along traveled paths and across mapped lands. The untrained eye would mistake this for chaos, but there is a strict order to the commotion, and a nameless intelligence to it all, as if a single man directs all.

Truth and Roger do not stray from the main thoroughfare. The camp is a circle, and they take a straight path to its edge. The closer they get to the perimeter, the more rural the camp becomes. Tents become increasingly sparse and separated by vast plains, where crops are being farmed, or where animals graze. The scene should be serene, but the crimson sky warps the landscape into something disturbing and unnatural.

When Truth stops at where Roger presumes is the destination, it's a large plot of land, next to which is a tent and a series of fenced compartments holding a couple dozen horses.

~

[Enter Blacksmith, Amethyst and Stable Master]

~

The two men walk into the largest of the tents. It's someone's home. At the center of the home is a small table, currently seating three: Amethyst, the Blacksmith from earlier, and another man, unfamiliar to Roger but on friendly terms with Truth.

~

Truth: Greetings, Ericson. Phillip.

The Blacksmith: And the hero has arrived!

~

Roger has to consciously resist the urge to look behind him, for this "hero" that the Blacksmith speaks of. And as the Blacksmith walks toward him, Roger simply stands in place, watching this small but brutish man take his hand and shake.

~

Truth: Why are you here?

~

The Blacksmith is unfazed by Truth's directness.

~

The Blacksmith: Jus' delivering some horseshoes. That apprentice of mine was busy, so I decided I'd go for a quick walk in the countryside.

Truth: Are you leaving?

~

The Blacksmith shoots a strange look at Amethyst, who still sits motionless, with her back turned at the table.

~

The Blacksmith: Yup. This 'as been fun and all, but duty calls.

~

The Stable Master, the one called "Ericson", is a short brown haired man, wearing a well-used apron and rubber brown galoshes. His face is chubby and soft, and his eyes are gray - gray like an overcast sky - and they thinly conceal a gentle and lonely interior.

~

Stable Master: Do come again sometime!

~

The Blacksmith gives an ambiguous wave over his shoulder, before leaving the tent.

~

[Exit Blacksmith]

~

Truth and Roger sit at the table, filling in the last two seats.

Roger's gaze passes over Amethyst, who sits silent, eyes puffy and red, holding dearly to a small porcelain cup of tea. Her dirty blonde hair is now tied in a purely functional ponytail extending just past her shoulders. Her yellow eyes are bordered bloodshot and red. Now she's wearing tight leather armor, black, punctuated by a yellow stripe that runs down the side of the legs and arms. At her chest sits the deflated cloth of a neckerchief, not yet raised to conceal her face.

From a distance, Amethyst seems to be a mother in mourning, but Roger doesn't believe it. Her eyes betray her. The woman sitting beside him is dangerous and unpredictable, fueled by undying rage, ready at any moment to snap.

~

Stable Master: Tea?

Truth: No, thank you.

Roger: Not thirsty.

Stable Master: Fair enough. The horses that you asked for are ready when you are.

~

Roger looks from Truth to Amethyst, and back to Truth.

~

Roger: Are we ready?

Amethyst: Yes. Let's go.

~

Amethyst shoots out of her seat, leaving the cup behind, and walking out of the tent. The Stable Master puts his own cup down, rushing out of the tent behind Amethyst. Roger and Truth, obviously in the same boat, give each other a knowing look, and then walk out of the tent.

Amethyst is knelt by the fence closest to the main tent, in front of one of the children from when Roger had first emerged from the tent. He's still holding his wooden stick in his hand, ready to smite some dragon someplace, or save some princess somewhere. But now the child is in tears, sobbing softly, his lower lip pushed out and quivering as his mother whispers to him of things that he wished that were not so; things more terrifying than any dragon and more daunting than any fabrication of the child's imagination.

The Stable Master walks into the scene, escorting two horses by rope. It's only after Roger manages to tear his eyes from the mother consoling her only child that he realizes that the Stable Master is whispering to his horses, in much the same way that Amethyst is.

In that moment, Roger sympathizes with the man, stranded so far from people and forced to find companionship amongst horses. It's one of the injustices of the world, Roger thinks, that this poor man doesn't work in a candy store, or at an amusement park, committing the warmth of his heart to something more meaningful than horses, and being granted something more impactful in return than a neigh or a whinny.

Amethyst and her child hug for a good long while - for an eternity, it seems - until Truth comes and gently rests his hand on Amethyst's shoulder. She bristles, stands, and glares at Truth with forceful intensity, until her gaze softens, and her arms open, enveloping her father.

~

Amethyst: Farewell.

Truth: Return safely, my child.

~

They release. Truth walks over to the child, protectively holding the child's shoulders. Without looking back, Amethyst walks to the Stable Master and his horse. Roger follows her, not wanting to be the one to interrupt the Stable Master's reverie.

The Stable Master looks up and sees them approaching.

~

Stable Master: Allow me to introduce you.

~

The Stable Master gestures to one of the horses, black with gray spots.

~

Stable Master: This one is Fury. And this one…

~

He gestures to the other horse, white with gray and brown spots.

~

Stable Master: … is Persephone.

Amethyst: I'll take that one.

~

Amethyst climbs atop Persephone, impatiently waiting for Roger to mount his horse.

It's not that Roger doesn't know how to ride his horse. Most people wouldn't. He had been taught already - although he couldn't remember when exactly - and the lesson had stuck. Roger is intelligent enough to be a bit worried about getting anywhere near a horse named "Fury." Encouraged by the Stable Master's expectant gaze, however, he places his foot into the stirrup, and climbs on top.

The Stable Master smiles proudly.

~

Stable Master: Marvelous!

Amethyst: Did you pack the materials that I brought?

Stable Master: Of course.

~

There is a long silence, as everyone looks at one another, wanting to say something but not knowing what to say. Roger breaks the silence.

~

Roger: I guess this is goodbye, then.

~

Then ensues another long silence, one respected - or maybe feared - by even the Stable Master. Truth speaks.

~

Truth: So it is.

~

Amethyst's child begins to cry again, quietly, just enough to make things more uncomfortable. Amethyst looks to say something as well, but realizes that she cannot do so without breaking into tears herself.

~

Truth: We should get going.

~

Under the cold exterior lies a tumultuous interior. Truth does not want Amethyst to leave, but knows that she must. Still, his unhesitatingly rational approach to situations doesn't do much for him here. It doesn't make it hurt less. It doesn't stop the child's crying.

It doesn't make anything better.

But Truth stands by it. He takes the child with him as he leaves, deliberately blocking the child from looking back to make things easier on Amethyst, and together they begin the long walk home.

~

[Exit Roger, Amethyst, and the Stable Master]

~

The walk is made even longer by the child, asking "why," and "when" and "how." All of the right questions, but at the wrong time. Truth knows that ignorance is bliss, and so he dutifully deflects the child's questions with vague answers and monosyllabic responses to keep the child as much in the dark as he can.

They reach the inner sanctum of the camp, once again on the bustling thoroughfare of the marketplace. One of the older women - her name is Tabitha, and she's a family friend of Truth and Amethyst - walks to Truth, graciously taking the child off of his hands, and leaving Truth in blissful solitude.

Alone with his thoughts, Truth walks to his tent, and sits down, cross legged, in the center.

Now, the old man sobs, silently so that no one will hear him. Grief weighs on his chest as tear after tear slides down his face, delicately hitting the soil beneath him.

Make no mistake. He does not cry because of self-pity or regret. Those are illnesses of the past, meaningless and easily curable, with the proper self-guidance. What pains this man is an illness of the future; the illness of a man who sees cataclysm miles down the road, but must watch as those he loves careen down that very road, incognizant of the end that awaits them. But destiny is not something to be trifled with. It is something to be feared, something to accommodate, something that Truth does not wish to fight, not because of the danger that it presents to his own safety, but because of the danger that it presents to those around him. Truth cries because he is handcuffed between a rock and a hard place, between destiny and paternal instinct, as he watches his daughter march valiantly into a dark and dreadful future.