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# 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.

THE GRACE, EXT, DAY

HAYWARD’s car pulls up in the dirt of the Grace. It's empty.

The door opens, and he half-falls, half stumbles out onto the ground.

HAYWARD:

(Yelling, semi-coherently)

Paige? Paige? Elgin? Dan? I made it…made it back.

We gotta…we gotta get on the road. They’re coming for us!

Paige? They’re coming for us! Paige?

He staggers through the deserted camp - and realises what's happened.

HAYWARD:

(With absolute relief)

You’ve left. Thank gods, you’ve already left.

​

​

RADIO TOWER (THE GRACE), INT, DAY

​

HAYWARD comes staggering in - and promptly collapses into the chair in front of the radio.

​

He takes a hard, ragged breath - and then turns it on.

​

HAYWARD:

(Into the handset)

Paige? Paige, can you hear me?

​

​

POLLUTED LANDS, EXT, DAY

​

-and as the Woundtree disciples trudge further and higher into the hills, PAIGE hears HAYWARD's voice crackling from one of the sleds.

​

She dashes over to the sled, flings the canvas off, and grabs the handset. She can hear him breathing heavily through the radio.

​

PAIGE:

(Horrified)

Oh, my gods. Hayward?

(Urgently)

Hayward, they’re coming after us, we can’t turn back.

Just hide. Find a place to hide and…and I’ll make my way back to you once it’s safe-

There’s gas masks in the cache, just lock yourself in the storeroom and wait for me, I promise I’ll come back-

HAYWARD:

(On the radio)

No. Keep going, Paige. Don’t come back.

I just wanted to say goodbye.

PAIGE:

(Babbling, furious at herself)

Hayward, I’m so fucking sorry, we should have waited, we should have waited for you - we left too early, we left too early-

HAYWARD:

(On the radio)

You didn’t leave too early, Paige, and I didn’t get here too late.

Life’s full of dropped connections and missed chances, and this? This isn’t one of them. I didn’t get here too late.

I got here right on time, exactly when I needed to - because now I get to see you walk away.

Best feeling in the world, seeing you walk away.

PAIGE:

(Sobbing)

I’m not leaving! Hayward, just wait, please, we can come back for you-

HAYWARD:

(Feebly)

Did you, ah, figure out my riddle? “What’s the opposite of a sacrifice?”

(Actually groaning with pain)

It’s a groaner, this one. It’ll…it’ll really make you groan.

It’s a gift.

It’s a gift that’s given and asks nothing in return. A joy with no conditions.

My time with you, that was a gift. Hearing your voice again now when I never thought I would - that’s another gift.

Watching you walk away like this, that’s the greatest gift I could ever ask for, because I get to die knowing you got further than me.

So please, Paige. Keep on walking.

Walk on until you’re lost to me.

ELGIN comes running back down from further along the column.

​

ELGIN:

Paige! They're bringing in the helicopters!

(Urgently)

We need to go, Paige-

PAIGE:

(Shaking her off)

Tell them to get moving, then! What are they standing around for? Why are they waiting?

ELGIN:

They won’t go, Paige. Not without you.

(Gently)

Sister. You need to come with us.

HAYWARD:

You’ve got to go, Paige. You’re out of time.

Let me have my gift. Please. Let me watch you walk away.

PAIGE knows she has to go. She’s choking with emotion.

PAIGE:

(Into the radio)

You…you were a gift to me, too, Hayward. I don’t think you’ll ever understand how much.

​

We won’t forget you. I won’t forget you. I won’t be able to let go of you. I’ll be empty and broken alone but-

HAYWARD:

You'll leave me far behind.

​

PAIGE:

I don’t want to say goodbye. I- Hayward, I don’t know if I have the words, to-

HAYWARD:

I’ll keep my eyes on you, Paige, until you’re fled from me.

And once you’re fled, I’ll keep dreaming of you walking on to someplace better.

And you will. You’ll find what you were looking for, and I know that because I dreamt it.

(Distorted)

Now we can be free-

​

The radio goes dead.

PAIGE:

Hayward? Hayward?

He doesn't answer.

PAIGE remains there, choking with emotion.

​

​

RADIO TOWER (THE GRACE), INT, DAY

​

The connection has dropped on HAYWARD's end as well - but he's far more alarmed by the sound of approaching helicopter rotors.

​

HAYWARD:

(Weakly and with horror)

Oh, no.

​

​

HELICOPTER, INT, DAY

​

High above, a HELICOPTER PILOT swoops over the Woundtree's camp.

​

HELICOPTER PILOT #1:

(Matter-of-fact, as if reporting into a radio while flying)

Glottage High Command, this is Falcon.

We’re just coming in over the Woundtree camp now. Looks…deserted from up here.

We might be too late-

(Spotting the retreating column)

No, hold on, I’ve got sight of ‘em. Heading west into the hills, about a mile out.

Glottage High Command. Do we have permission to fire?

​

​

RADIO TOWER ROOFTOP (THE GRACE), INT, DAY

​

HAYWARD staggers out onto the rooftop, staring in horror at the circling helicopters.

​

HAYWARD:

(Weakly to himself)

Oh, no. No, no. You’re not getting her.

(Coming up with a plan)

We need…we need branches. Black branches, lifting into the sky.

​

If he becomes a saint, he can save her.

​

And so he begins to jump up and down, waving, frantically trying to get the helicopters' attention-

​

HAYWARD:

Hey! Hey! Down here!

(Screaming)

Shoot me! Shoot me! You want revenge?

​

​

CARSON'S HOUSE, INT, DAY

​

We can hear the chatter of the HELICOPTER PILOTS over CARSON's radio. VAL is still in the dead man's house.

​

HELICOPTER PILOT #2:

Just coming over the ridge now. Visibility is poor, but I think I've got eyes on 'em.

​

HELICOPTER PILOT #1:

Glottage High Command, repeat. Do we have permission to fire?

(Giving up on getting an answer)

Fuck it. Targets sighted. Get ready to fire.

​

HELICOPTER PILOT #3:

Roger that-

​

The same music from VAL's memories of her childhood is playing over the speakers. It's serene here.

​

VAL quietly, painfully, turns the gas on.

​

Then she crosses to the phone, picks it up, and dials a number.

​

It rings. And rings. And someone picks up.

VAL:

Glottage Meteorological Society?

Yes. I live up by the border.

(Lying one last time)

The winds are changing. They’re blowing strong, from west to east.

​​

Make sure everyone knows.

​

​

RADIO TOWER ROOFTOP (THE GRACE), INT, DAY

​

HAYWARD continues to jump up and down, completely ignored.

​

HAYWARD:

(Yelling furiously)

I flooded Glottage! I set a bunch of fucking prawns loose in the subway! I’m the instrument of your destruction, I’m the one you want! It’s me! Me! Me!

I will die today, fuckers! SHOOT ME!

​

-and as if in answer, one HELICOPTER roars close by overhead and lets out a rattle of machine-gun fire.

​

The windows behind HAYWARD shatter. He gasps - but every single bullet misses.

​

He screams out in frustration.

​

HAYWARD:

(Shrieking)

Come on, take me, you stupid fucking tree! You’re hungry, aren’t you?

Take me! Come on, where are you?

Around him, the wind-chimes begin to sound. The winds are rising.

-and then all at once, VAL’s prophecy comes true. The god-winds rush violently out over the GRACE, from west to east.

HAYWARD gasps as the HELICOPTERS are blown backwards, a faint mayday cry going out from one of them as they retreat-

​

-and then the wind roars over him in turn.

​

​

CARSON'S HOUSE, INT, DAY

​

VAL collapses into a chair, breathing hard.; she's utterly spent The gas is still hissing behind her; the music is still playing.

​

There's a box of matches on the side. She shakes it experimentally, then takes one out.

VAL:

(Speaking it into reality, one last time)

And before she died...

...she remembered who she was.

The music stops.

VAL lights the match.

We hear the rising roar of an explosion-

RADIO TOWER ROOFTOP (THE GRACE), EXT, DAY

​

-which becomes the raging god-winds, circling around HAYWARD.

​

He laughs, and laughs, in relief and exhaustion - and then topples down into the dirt.

​

HAYWARD:

(Giddy, chuckling mildly)

Huh.

Didn’t work out…at all how I planned it.

Suppose it’s not really a miracle if it goes the way you expected.

(Unable to stand)

I’ll wait for you here, Carpenter. I’ll wait for you to catch up with me, and then I can tell you how it all went down.

How she got away from us.

You’ll laugh, I think. When you hear it.

He's breathing hard. The last of his strength is leaving him.

​​

HAYWARD:

(Feebly, to the sky)

All right, Woundtree…Many Below…you had your chance and you didn’t come through. Time for someone else to have a shot at the title.

What about Carpenter’s thing? Cairn Maiden?

(Muttering to himself, trying to remember the words)

This is the place. This…this is the place. Something about the place, and it’s always been the place, forever will be the place?

(Unimpressed)

Lot of repetition. Bit austere. Not for me, I think. What else is there?

​​

He breathes hard and long, thinking.

HAYWARD:

(To the god-winds)

Open for bids. I’m not fussy. Turn me into something that’ll make me laugh. Choose a shape, any shape.

Make me the swaying grass in the cool winds, make me sky and make me stone.

Anyone? No?

​

Silence. Nothing answers him.

​

HAYWARD:

Never really cared for any of you all that much, if I’m honest. You never made life much easier for me.

​

Silence.

​

HAYWARD:

(With dying satisfaction, and one final shrug)

Fuck it. This one’s not…for any of you.

​

This one’s for me.

He gasps, shudders - and then he dies.

​

​

POLLUTED LANDS, EXT, DAY

​

The Woundtree's people struggle on through the god-winds, ELGIN at their head.

​

ELGIN:

(Yelling out)

The Widow's coming! Let's move, let's move!

​

-and then, suddenly, the column halts. Because the winds have stopped.

​

VAL's final lie has opened up a plain of silence and emptiness before them. An empty, godless land.

​

ELGIN gasps in absolute awe and shock at the sight. Nobody seems willing to move.

​

-and then PAIGE comes striding up through them.

​

PAIGE isn't surprised. She knows this is what the MAIDEN predicted.

​

PAIGE:

(Confidently)

Dan! Lead them on!

(Patting ELGIN supportively on the shoulder)

Come on, let's go, let's go!

​

She strides on into the silence.

​

After a moment's hesitation, the Woundtree's people follow her - walking on, into the miracle of nothing.

​

​

THE GRAND AQUIFER, INT, DAY

​

The flooding is getting worse down here. We can hear streaming water now, flowing through the stairwells.

​

​

DREAMING CHAMBER, INT, DAY

​

-and FAULKNER strides back and forth, still muttering deludedly and pacing to himself.

​

We can hear the low rumble of the water continuing to rise, splashing around his feet.

FAULKNER:

(Spitefully babbling to himself)

Mercy! Mercy! They’d show me mercy, she’d offer me a place when she knows I have duties here, I have responsibilities to my people-

I ought to be the one showing her mercy, for turning away from me-

​

It occurs to him that this is actually a better way of telling the story.

​

FAULKNER:

Perhaps I did show her mercy.

Perhaps the High Prophet Faulkner, it will be written, saw his treacherous sister upon her knees, and he forgave her, yea, he forgave her and he showed her mercy, saying to her,

“Sister, you will always have a place amongst us. My people may hate you, they may seek to kill you, but I will speak for you, I will protect you from their wrath, for I am…I am magnanimous.”

(Slowing down, as he realises it)

And she was the one…

She was the one who turned her back on him, out of…

…deluded pride, and a refusal to see, at the very end, what truly lay before her.

That nothing lay before her.

He stops, as he realises just how much this applies to him. His head clears.

We hear his breathing calm. He takes a step forward - and dips his hand in the water of the dreaming pool.

And then he speaks; to his own reflection, to the Trawler-man.

FAULKNER:

(Soft and broken)

Are you there, river? Can you hear me?

Perhaps. We live our lives in the poisoned fields of perhaps.

I did dream once, that I could see you clearly and undeniably.

It was upon the first pilgrimage - that comes back to me now. Upon the road with Carpenter and with Paige, neither one of them believing in you, both of them kind.

I dreamt of a drowned land, a finished work, a place and time where there was nothing left for a god to do but stroll, and tend to his garden.

I saw you there. Tall and bowed, shrouded and smiling. Obscure and obvious all at once.

Two faces, a prince’s face, a knowing expression behind that smile, and the eyes they were…

…they were…

I try and picture it now, and all I can see is my own reflection. I don’t know if you ever truly had a face at all.

I woke in fright. What terrible secret lay behind that smile?

I dreamt once, upon the pier at Marcel’s Crossing, that I was not alone.

Because I sat and I wept at the power of the weapon in my hands and my own frailty, as I saw it, in not being able to use it-

-and I felt a presence beside me, golden warmth and golden light in the darkness, a comfort and a grace that felt holy-

And then I saw that it wasn’t the face of a god, but my sister’s face, that was looking down at me.

(With growing coldness and anger)

I’m looking at you fully now, Father in the Water. Stripped of illusion.

I know you, and you are collared, and you are tamed, and you are whimpering behind your smile.

You always were. A dumb animal, a beast, just smart enough to perform for treats of flesh, just brave enough to snarl and snap for our attention. All to go on feeding.

If there is any consolation left to me, any final comfort, it is in this:

I will be their enemy, and their mockery, in history’s verses. The fool who split the faith. The monster who drowned a city. They will not make me their pet, as you shall become their pet.

This is my first and last true prophecy, river. You shall die alone, and full of terror.

There will be more concrete dams to come, more motorised fishing boats, more bridges and nets and lobster-pots, more pollutants dumped into the seething currents. They will package you, they will drain you, they will choke you with smog and they will break your body upon their churning wheel.

They will wed you to a fish-god or an undersea-cable god or whatever vapid partner they so please, and you will accept the union, just to go on feeding.

You will take on new shapes, awkward contortions and ill-fitting names according to their whim, and when you lash out it will be pitiful, and fleeting, and they will be accommodating - they will make space for it.

(With whispered, final hate)

And even when the river has dried up, they will continue to make use of you. Not a god of the currents, not a god of the White Gull, a dribbling deity of leaky taps and sweat, a god of piss and sewage-water, and you will bear your new names and your new shapes, weeping -

Yea, you will accept even that humiliation, just to go on feeding.

Your currents are pliant. Your purpose is malleable.

They have made you something that cannot be free, and my satisfaction, river, my last comfort, will be knowing that your dying screams will go unheard - and that if they are heard, they, in turn, are just product to be used to your master's liking.

Silence. The water does not answer.

FAULKNER:

(Very soft and sorrowful)

But what about me, though?

Do I really have to die with you down here? Have I truly reached the end of my use?

Is it really such a bad thing, to be nothing, to be humbled and humiliated, so long as you go on living, and you can still stretch out your hand to find the people who love you…

…people who can forgive you?

And if they can forgive you…you can still change. It’s never too late to change.

(Excitedly, beginning to babble)

That’s who I could be.

(With growing excitement)

Yes. Yes. This isn’t my ending. It was never my ending, and all of it was in my hands.

I’ll become someone else, and better things…better things will start to grow.

I will be forgiven, I will change, and the next chapter is yet to come!

(Yelling out)

Carpenter! Carpenter, wait!

He runs out into the corridor.

THE GRAND AQUIFER, INT, DAY

​

The GRAND AQUIFER is sinking - or, perhaps, the river is rising. Floodwater is rushing in on all sides.

FAULKNER:

(Yelling out)

Carpenter! Wait! I’m coming!

I - ach-

He slips on the sodden step, plunges into the water of the lower stairwell, and begins to wade.

​

He thinks he can see CARPENTER, out ahead of him. Perhaps he can.

​

FAULKNER:

(Yelling out - joyous, pleading and desperate in equal measure)

Carpenter! Is that you?

I knew you’d wait for me!

Don’t - don’t turn your back on me! I’m coming with you!

Sister, wait for me! Sister, come back! I love you and I’m coming with you!

​

Sister, I’m leaving him behind! I’m going to be free of him at last!

​

I’ll work hard, I’ll take my punishment, I’ll be the clown! I’ll bear the weight, I’ll wear my shame and my sorrow with pride! I’ll take the blame, for everything that’s happened!

I’ll wear whatever shape you choose for me, I’ll never need to be anything else, because you’ll be there beside me!

You were my choice! Not him!

​

You were right! It’s not too late to change, it’s never too late!

Slow down! Sister!

He hurries on, swimming - gasping and choking on the rushing water.

FAULKNER:

(Yelling out)

Where - where are you going? Can’t you hear me?

Sister! Help me! Sister!

(Struggling and gasping in the water)

Sister, please!

Sister! I love you! Where are you going?

Don’t turn your back on me! Don’t you dare- don’t you dare-

(Gasping and resurfacing)

Sister! Sister! I need you!

(Coughing and sinking)

SISTER, PLEASE! COME BACK! PLEASE HELP ME!

SISTER! MARCO! MARCO!

CAN YOU HEAR ME? SISTER!

(Screaming at the Trawler-man)

Let me go! Let me go!

Let me go! LET ME GO! I-

Sister, please, please-

​

MARCO!

​

MARCO!

SISTER!

His voice grows smaller, and smaller, until it vanishes in the raging currents.

​

​

RIVER, EXT, DAY

CARPENTER is walking down through the hills, by the White Gull river - making for the Grace. We hear her slow, grunting footsteps.

CARPENTER:

(Narrating)

Getting harder than ever to walk now, as I make my way down through the rubble and the scree, legs always threatening to slip out from under me.

It’s harder than ever to remember when it was easy. Hard to understand how I kept telling myself that I’d reached my limit when - as it turns out - things can always get worse.

Side hurts. Leg hurts. Head hurts. Might be easier to tot up the absences at this point.

I know I promised Hayward. I know I did.

But I know they can do without me, too. They can go a long way, the pair of them, so long as they have each other.

So there’s no sense rushing. No sense raging at what we can’t control.

If I make it back to them, I’ll make it back. And if I can’t, I’ll dream of them walking on.

At my side, the river is wild, crimson with fury and coloured with thick red sandstone silt, tearing gory chunks free from the hills.

Perhaps it’s angry. Perhaps the endless months of bombing and war have inflamed its natural course. Perhaps this is only what rivers do, sometimes, and there’s no mystery to be solved.

I don’t think I’m imagining things.

There’s a denseness to the air out here, an oiliness, like something struggling to come to life. Whispering voices, hungry pleas, savage and furious threats in a language I cannot comprehend.

Ignoring them, now - that, at least, comes easier than it did. Ignore them and keep walking on.

In time I come to a narrow cascade, and a high cliff, a place where the river turns southwards and down, down over a twenty-foot promontory, descending in white polluted froth and raging noise out into the fields and valleys and cities that stretch out beyond into the ghastly violet mist.

I take my seat there, heavily, upon the precipice, and I begin building a cairn of pebbles, neatly piling them up on top of each other, so that Faulkner knows to follow if he comes this way again.

And then, because I’m tired, I decide that I’ll wait for him.

Just for a few minutes, and then I’ll get up and press on.

We listen to the silence, and CARPENTER’s heavy, ragged breathing, for a while. Rain falls, and then dies away.

CARPENTER:

(Narrating)

He arrives just before dusk.

One last offering for me from the water. One final trick.

My brother is following me downriver, just as I asked him to.

White robes stained in crimson silt.

His body drifts in the floodwater, knocking against the rocks, circling back into the currents. Continuing on.

I wade into the shallows, and I haul him out before he reaches the falls.

We hear CARPENTER pulling FAULKNER’s body out.

We hear her groaning, her heavy, pained exertions - and once he’s out, she howls. She screams in grief.

Silence, before we hear her speak again.

CARPENTER:

(Narrating, rough but calm)

My brother has the face of a drowned man - which is also the face of terror, which is also the face of change.

He could be any one of the river’s victims. He could be a face from my childhood - or his.

Inhuman hues of blue and white and purple. Swollen asphyxiated cheeks. The blood vessels in his wide eyes popped and flooded. Crabs and river-lice swarming over his swollen skin.

Caught forever in his very worst moment.

I do the best I can to make that better.

I work the scuttling things free from his tangled blonde hair and let them loose to dance in the mud. I wash the thick red silt from his face.

I take care to close his eyes and work the muscles of his jaw loose so the rictus grin is no longer quite so evident.

I slip him free of his thick, trailing white, robes, the ones that likely dragged him down. I toss the crown of kelp away into the water.

I don’t whisper the Cairn Maiden’s prayers as I work, because they don’t belong to him.

I don’t speak a word aloud, as I repair the worst of the damage - because the silence between the words? That can still belong to the pair of us.

I honestly don’t know if he deserves any of this. Not with everything he’s done.

But no matter how it starts, no matter how it all turns out for us - it can still end with love. Can’t it?

It can end with love, and it can end with kindness. Even as the jaws are closing.

When the work is done, and Faulkner’s no longer looking like one who died alone and frightened, I almost don’t know what to do with him.

My nana used to say that there were the people of the land, and the people of the water, and there was no common ground to be found between either of us.

I don’t know where my brother belongs. Whether he’d consider it an insult to be buried on the land, having spent his life devoted to the water. Whether he’d rather be on firm soil, far from the floodplains and the White Gull and the Trawler-man - a place where I have no hope of dragging him.

We talked a lot, him and me, but always about the wrong things.

But if there’s any comfort at all - and there may well be none - it’s that the currents bear all of us on, and even the river may not know where we’ll wash up.

We hear the sounds of Carpenter dragging Faulkner’s body into the river, with pained grunts of exertion.

CARPENTER:

So I wade out into the very centre of the torrent, the water rushing about my feet as if it still longs to drag me down with him, bearing my brother before me-

-and then I let him go.

I let him go, and he leaves me behind.

Rushing over the edge of the torrent in a triumphant fury. Resurfacing again, in the dark plunge pool below, smaller and smaller, borne downriver.

I keep on watching him, that tiny sodden shape; even as he’s lost to me in the gathering night.

I keep on watching for a long time after that.

If he wants to be buried in silt, he’ll be buried in silt. And if he wants to wash up somewhere green and cool, a quiet final sanctuary in forest soil, he’ll find that, too.

If he wants to make it all of the way out to the implacable vastness of the sea, and be forgotten there…

…well, the river is vast, and no dam can block every channel, and ours is a world of miracles.

​

​

RIVERSIDE, EXT, NIGHT

We hear Carpenter climbing back up, her footsteps slow and dragging, still in a huge amount of pain.

CARPENTER:

By the time I get back up onto the cliffside, the little stone cairn has toppled onto its side.

A single pebble remains, hung in defiance of gravity, softly spinning in odd concentric circles.

Something has happened out here. The waters of the torrent beneath my feet aren’t keeping their shape any longer; they twist and knot, turning in on themselves like the solid threads of some vast crimson tapestry.

The scree is rolling downhill beneath my feet; occasionally, as if at a whim, it turns and begins to bounce back up.

The god-winds have drifted further east.

The Peninsula’s hungry past is coming down out of the hills, looking for something to devour.

And as I stand there beside the altered currents and beneath an altered sky, I look out over the ruined landscape - cratered and bombed and erupted on all sides, pock-marked with vast circular scars - I can just make out the shape of one enormous willow tree, alone and half-uprooted, by the banks of the White Gull.

Its great tangled fronds are standing up on end like hairs on the arm of a frightened man, as if offering one final hallelujah before the darkness falls.

As if stretching up to grasp something that will forever be just out of reach.

With one last heavy groan, she takes a seat on the riverbank.

And she gazes out over the landscape.

CARPENTER:

(Aloud, to the CAIRN MAIDEN)

This is the place, then. The floating willow beside the twisting water. Just like you said.

Not the place I’d have chosen, but it’s still beautiful.

You can find the beauty in almost anything, once you stop struggling.

All right.

Here goes.

A long, lingering silence.

We hear CARPENTER’s breaths slowly get rougher, and rougher, slowing down-

-and then we’re alone in the silence, listening to the running water.

Long seconds pass.

-and then-

CARPENTER:

Expect you thought that was pretty funny.

She gets back up to her feet, weary but still very much alive.

CARPENTER:

(Exhausted)

All right, you old devil. I’ll see you back around here another time soon, I suppose.

Don’t keep me waiting too long.

I’ll head north. See if I can catch up with Hayward and Paige.

See if they’ve got away from me.

If they have got away from me, I-

(Giving up weakly)

-oh, I don’t know. Raise a toast to the pair of them.

Maybe I’ll get that haircut. Find a few stray cats to feed. Plenty of dead to bury.

The rest I can probably figure out as it comes.

She begins to trudge on, aching and in pain.

As she walks, the old words of NANA GLASS’s final songs make their way to her lips.

They make her chuckle.

CARPENTER:

(Softly declaiming to the sky)

I’ll forget what I was.

When the tide comes home.

I’ll forget what I did,

When the tide comes home.

There’ll be…there’ll be no more need

For hurt, word or deed

For counsel or creed

For…for sorrow or…

(Chuckling; she can’t remember it)

How did the damn thing end again? How did it, uh-

She begins to laugh, tiredly and brokenly-

-and then a loud gunshot rings out from the hills below. One last trick.

CARPENTER gasps and staggers back. We don't know where or if she's hit.

​

She turns, begins to run deeper into the river - and dives into the water just as another gunshot rings out.

Silence.

And then we hear bootsteps, approaching fast.

TAINSLEY stands over the riverbank, gazing down.

TAINSLEY:

(Softly, to himself, not quite believing it)

I did it. I…I did it.

(Trying to convince himself that he feels happy)

Exactly the right moment. And exactly the right place. Just like she said.

(His voice weakening)

….So why…

…why don’t I…

The SERGEANT comes running up behind TAINSLEY.

SERGEANT:

Good shot, Tainsley!

(Chuckling nervously)

That was one of the Woundtree’s renegades, I reckon. Must have been!

(Lying through his teeth)

She was armed, of course. We don’t want any talk of soldiers shooting civilians.

TAINSLEY, staring into the depths of the water, does not respond.

SERGEANT:

There’ll be a medal for you, Tainsley.

(Brightly continuing to invent a story)

Medals for all of us, perhaps, because, ah, her accomplices, seeing their leader fall, fled into the hills.

How…er…how many renegades did you spot, Tainsley?

TAINSLEY:

(Sullenly)

Body’s not coming up.

​

The SERGEANT stares down into the murky water.

SERGEANT:

(Reassuringly)

There’s sure kills, and then there’s sure enough.

And that’s sure enough - for a medal, and a good story.

TAINSLEY continues to stare down at the water.

TAINSLEY:

(Hollow)

It’s not like she said it would be.

It…it doesn’t satisfy.

SERGEANT:

(Firmly and kindly)

We’ll change things so it does.

(Clapping him on the shoulder)

Come on. Time to head home.

The SERGEANT turns and walks away. After a few moments staring down at the water, Tainsley sighs, shoulders his own rifle, and follows.

We’re left with the sounds of the rushing torrent, CARPENTER's final resting place-

​

-or is it? Because for a moment, we dip beneath the surface of the White Gull, and we might convince ourselves that we can hear the slow, painful movements of someone swimming softly away through crimson waters.

Dead, and not dead yet.

​

​

​

THE PENINSULA, EXT

Soft music begins to rise to play us out. We begin to move, from location to location, crossing the country where we've spent three seasons. Saying goodbye to it all.

​

The woods downriver. An elk screams out in terror, and charges away through the trees, pursued by howling dogs-

A busy highway. An enlistment ad still barks out its propaganda.

The Grand Aquifer, the empty caves dripping with water. FAULKNER's triumphal speech to his people, outliving him, is still playing over the speakers-

The edge of the polluted lands, with the BORDER PA still barking out its warning-

-and then we're back in the GRACE, with the familiar sound of jangling wind chimes.

RADIO TOWER (THE GRACE), INT, DAY

-and the radio turns on.

​

We hear PAIGE's voice, one final broadcast, as if from a very great distance away - carrying from their location deep in the heart of the polluted lands.

​

PAIGE:

(Narrating, gently and with finality

This is not - I hope - how it ends.

But it is the last you’ll ever see of us.

A thin, winnowing trail of pilgrims, frail and small against the endless landscape, stumbling and tripping as we make our way higher and higher into the mountains.

​

We look absurd and hopeless out here, in our stolen gas masks and suits, dragging sleds packed with stolen supplies.

We keep getting smaller, and smaller. And soon we’ll be lost to you.

I’m there at the very back, the first to be left behind - because there’s something dark and hungry inside me that must not be allowed to live on beyond me.

If we get far enough, there’ll be a time when I get to watch them walk away.

A time when the god that’s inside me tears an upwards path through organs, bone and skin, sinking its black roots into the poisoned ground.

It will hurt, when I become what I become.

But my feet will be planted in the ground, and my face will be turned and smiling through broken teeth towards the ones who come after me.

For now we walk on together, tripping over one another, every footstep its own kind of failure.

​

We walk on, with a rough and tarnished hope, and a tangled, ruined love.

We hope that against all odds, we will find more than just another lonely ending in the darkness.

We hope that those who come after us will make it further than we could.

We hope you find the missives that have been left for you. We hope you can make sense of them.

We hope you find them flawed, inadequate, yearning.

We hope someday you’ll find a way to follow us.

​

Silence.

​

PAIGE:

(Slowly, calmly, with feeling)

These were The Silt Verses.

​

HAYWARD:

These were The Silt Verses.

​

FAULKNER:

These were The Silt Verses.

​

CARPENTER:

These were The Silt Verses. And I name our disciples thus. Méabh de Brún.

​

PAIGE:

Lucille Valentine.

​

HAYWARD:

Jimmie Yamaguchi.

​

FAULKNER:

B. Narr.

​

MUNA:

This was a podcast created by Jon Ware and Muna Hussen.

​

JON:

Thank you for listening.

​

The radio cuts out.

​

Thank you for everything, in fact. It's been wonderful.

​

​

END OF SHOW.

​

​

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