Chapter 14 (plus stage directions)

(In which Elizabeth and Grim escape the town, and we learn more about Eliza and her adventures through the majesty of puppet-shows!)

Fourteenth

Elizabeth had no way of knowing if the likeness was accurate...if the Silas that walked Edge in the current day bore any resemblance to this image, or if the ravages of time had caused divergence between the carved face and the one that he now wore. But she had to suspect that the statue had at least at one time been realistic. There were too many similarities to the child’s face in the pictures for the visage to be entirely of the artist's imagination.

The almond-shaped eyes were an adult version of those in the photographs at home, the ones inherited from their mother. The set of his jaw and the shape of his mouth were their father's, hinting at a firm, strong personality.  A short-clipped beard adorned the statue’s chin, and his hair was plastered to his head as though wet from rain.

From behind, the extended arm had appeared benevolent, but when viewed from the front it seemed threatening, as though the hand itself was a weapon about to be deployed. Though the smallest of the figures, Silas's appeared the most imposing, exuding a will as imperious and commanding as a monarch. Or a tyrant.

"That's..."

"Yes."

Hearing Grim’s confirmation cemented the reality. This was what the boy had become. She still couldn't wrap her mind around the time differential, how someone who had been five years her junior could now be the man whose likeness stood frozen in front of her. But here it was...the man she might have to kill if she ever wanted to get home.

Grim shook her from her reverie. "Elizabeth, we do not have the time for this. We need to get as far away as possible." He tugged on her sleeve. "Now, Elizabeth."

Grim was right...but she couldn't tear her eyes away. Even if Silas was a stranger, he was a link to her home. He had come from the same womb, had eaten the same breakfasts, and been read the same books. He had somehow traveled to this land with her...and she had left him behind. And she couldn't remember any of it. And this was what he had become. This stern, daunting figure had become a despot. Because she had left.

She finally yielded to Grim's insistence. "It is not far to the Grand Road. But the later we get there, the less busy it will be, and the more we will stand out."

The road out of town was clear. Lights set atop tall poles blinked on as the darkness deepened, illuminating the road by some automatic mechanism. The foot traffic going opposite their direction--people coming home from the festival—-increased, the revelers walking in twos and threes, voices emboldened with drink.

The road sloped in a gradual decline, flattening when it reached an arched bridge constructed over a canal. As they traversed the bridge, a flat barge loaded with crates of goods passed beneath them. Two figures drove it, one on a bicycle/waterwheel contraption providing the boat’s power, the other steering with a long pole. The pedaling man gave a conversational greeting, consonants lost in the whoosh-whoosh of the wheel breaking through the water. Elizabeth raised her arm in response, reminded of long-distance truckers making the bulk of their travel overnight to avoid traffic, sleeping in the day. There had always seemed to be a hint of romance about it, the dark of the unknown stretching silently before you. She hoped the two men were going to be safe tonight. She hoped they were happy with their lives.

They passed the canal, stopping at a larger road running East-West. By the light of the tall lampposts, she saw wheeled carriages pass, the majority traveling westward. They varied from no larger than a bicycle to just smaller than a house, and in quality from slipshod to extravagant. Interspersed between there were lone riders on horses and small groups of people traveling on foot. Some of them walked or rode in silence, but from within a few of the carriages Elizabeth could hear conversation, and occasional bawdy singing.

Grim stopped a few yards from where the town road opened into the larger one. He gestured to the highway. "The Grand Road. Once the greatest feat of engineering in Edge. It traversed over and through mountains and across wide, spired bridges. Even underwater in some parts, if the old stories are to be believed. It fostered the spread of goods and produce and livestock and let information travel more freely than at any other time in Edge’s history. But, with the fracturing of the land..."

He trailed off, running his hand through his hair. "In some parts, it is still passable for many leagues. But if you want to cross the whole of Edge, you will be going across the terrain. Not nearly as fast, not half as safe.

"But, if you are a fugitive," he tipped his head, to indicate himself as well as her, "it may be best to not stay on the roads all that long, anyway. That would be the first place the constabulary will look."

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I think we should go to the festival. We will be less conspicuous in a crowd. There will be many vendors there, and, if we are very lucky, one of them may be selling wares from Central. If the goods are newly migrated, then the vendor should be able to give us the name of the agent who found them. That agent may be a Guide--one who knows of a wild gate--or someone who could lead us to one. If we can convince them."

"That's a lot of if's."

"We have been fortunate thus far. Let us see if that luck will hold."

His definition for the word 'fortunate' included two more dead bodies than she would have allowed. But, she had to admit, she had no better ideas. The minotaur had said it would be a few hours on foot. How far would that be? Eight miles? Twelve? She didn't relish walking that far in the dark, but at least the way was illuminated. They headed east.

They did not see anyone, on foot or on horseback, going in the same direction. When she mentioned her concern to Grim, he drew his hood over his head and motioned her to do the same. Then he hailed a passing couple on horseback. "Excuse me, kind travelers," he said, putting a forced friendliness into his words. "What news from the festival?"

The riders reined their horses, but did not stop. The female of the pair answered, in a haughtier tone than her shabby clothes would justify. "Waste of time, my friend. Backwater entertainments for backwater people." She spit onto the ground with impressive force. Elizabeth expected to see a divot cut into the dirt where the expectoration landed. "At any rate, it's over. Tonight was the last night."

Grim executed a short, formal bow. "Thank you, my lady. Sir," he nodded to her silent companion's backside, as the two continued down the road. "Well, nothing for that, I suppose."

"'A day late and a dollar short,' my dad would say." Elizabeth looked down the length of the road. "Well, we still have to get out of town. If we want to catch a ride, our chances will be much better traveling west than east. What do you think is down the road that way? Another town?"

"Yes, but not so close. The hills become more mountainous, but there is a mining town at the base of one of the greater peaks. It had fallen on harder times when I was last there, but there may still be lodging and a chance to outfit ourselves for a long journey on foot. If we put the mountains between us and Foursmith, I would think we should be safe from the authorities."

"Do you think there would be a wild gate at that town?"

He looked at her, mild frustration playing across his face. "I do not know, Elizabeth. It is not like a well; you cannot be sure each settlement will have one. The gates occur where and when the gods want them to." He inhaled sharply, pushing harder onto his walking stick. "I think we need to speak of the splitting of our goals."

"What do you mean?"

"I went to Central to find some means of defeating Silas. I found you."

She could see where this was going, and it made her stomach somersault. "Yes, and we came here together."

"But my goal remains unchanged. And if your plan is to find your way back home, then our interests are at odds. Time I would spend trying to search for a gate would be better spent in opposition to The Pretender."

He sighed. "I do not think you appreciate how difficult a search you are in for. I tried myself to locate a wild gate in the years before I found Priest. After wasting years chasing false leads, I finally found one: the gate opened onto an island surrounded on all sides by so much water that I could see no other land in any direction. The second gate I found opened over a populated area, but so high in the air that if I had not been able to reverse direction so quickly, I would surely have plummeted to my death.”

Grim scratched the back of his head. "And, there may be something else to consider, something I did not anticipate until I found you. Knowing that you are so much younger than Eliza when she was last seen in Edge, I have no guarantee that a wild gate would deliver you to a time that you desire, either.

“I wish you well in your quest to get home. But once we pass the mountains, I must leave you on your own. I cannot spend more years on a search that has already cost me so much time. Trying to find a weapon from Central has been tried and has failed. I must turn to other plans."

Elizabeth considered this. She had pinned all her hopes on finding a way home, on the idea that a passage would be a matter of finding the right person in the right town, equivalent to finding a rumored restaurant in the city with her mother: eventually you ask the right question, and someone knows someone who has been there. But she had assumed Grim would be with her, as a guide.

Her disappointment transitioned to anger. "You know, Grim, I am here because of you."

His jaw clenched. "I did not force you to pass into Edge. That was your choice."

"Yeah," she felt her face grow flushed, "but if you hadn't come to my house, then the birds wouldn't have attacked me. That shadow-giant thing wouldn't have come and chased me down. My hand would not be a collection of goddamned kitchen knives. You are responsible for this. You do not get to walk away."

Her voice had risen, and curious passersby decelerated to watch. Some things are consistent across worlds: everyone slows for a peek at a car wreck. "Elizabeth, please," Grim hissed. "There may be black guard in some of these--"

"Now, now then, everything alright here?" A new voice, gruff but amiable, broke in from darkness from behind them. Elizabeth turned, with the sickening surety that it was someone official, some police officer already on the lookout for murderous strangers.

But the voice belonged to a fat man steering a gaily-painted carriage, all yellows and reds arranged in sunbursts and moons and stars. Words written in English characters stretched over the carriage's broad sideboard, in letters whose font reminded Elizabeth of an optimistic Ouija board in the way that they arched across it. She silently read: "Portland Manteau's Longshadow Acting and Puppet Troupe."

"We're...we're fine," she smiled and widened her eyes, hoping to give off an air of vapidity. She had known needlessly dramatic girls, and hoped to mimic one of them, hiding from this stranger how truly upset she was at this moment. "Doing fine," she added.

"Fine as you might be, no need for you to be wearin' out your shoes at this time of night, not when there's room on our caravan. Unless you were one of the patrons who booed our last show, then to hell with you!" The man gave a resonant guffaw that carried out into the darkness.

Elizabeth waited for the earthquake to leave the man. "We planned on heading to the festival tonight for tomorrow," she started, cautiously, "but we--"

"You got the days confused!" he interrupted. "Happens to us more often'n we'd care to admit, my lass. Wind up givin' a show just for what we can collect in a passed hat because the festival happened the night or the week before." He began laughing again, but a pounding from within the cart cut it off.

A shrill voice, muffled from within the wooden walls, nonetheless pierced through. "Port! Let 'em on if they're comin', otherwise kick those nags into a trot! I don't want to be riding all night and all day tomorra'!"

He pounded back with the side of a meaty fist, "Dammit, Katrina! I'm tryin' to make a good impression here! Potential audiences!" He lowered his voice, "She thinks she's in charge, just because she's in charge. Worst mistake I ever made. My name on the wagon, hers on the deed. Welp, where ya headed?"

Elizabeth pointed dumbly down the road. "Next town?" She wished she hadn't made it sound like a question.

"Ah, that would be the town of Eisen. We're going right past there. Might be a coupla days of lazy travelin', though." A second brightly painted carriage pulled up behind them, then a third. "Well, now we've got the whole train waitin' on the two of you. Are ye' in or out?"

He leaned down, and said in a conspiratorial stage whisper, "You may be expected to sit through some rehearsals and give honest feedback, in exchange for which we will feed you. It's not the greatest deal, but..." He shrugged his shoulders.

She started to glance at Grim, then, without consulting him, held her hand up to the carriage-driver, which he grabbed and pulled on with a practiced, easy motion. "What about you, Chatty? You comin' along for the ride, too? Or is the idea of a night spent walkin' the road alone just too invitin’?"

Grim shot Elizabeth an inscrutable look, then held his hand up as well. The driver shifted to allow them room to sit next to each other.

 "Now, just in case the two of you are highwaymen, let me start by sayin' there's not much in any of these carriages worth stealin'. Also, you're outnumbered and, unless one of you is a Weaver in disguise, outgunned. Got some right burly men on our crew, and my wife is scarier than any two of 'em put together." Indignant pounding sounded from the other side of the wood. He yelled through the barrier. "Oh, now, 'Trina darlin', you know I'm just kiddin'." He turned back to Grim and Elizabeth. "She knows I'm just kiddin'."

Portland Manteau, unsurprisingly, turned out to be a tireless conversationalist, though to call his incessant chatter 'conversation' was perhaps too generous. He gave monologues, and had Elizabeth wanted to get a word in edgewise, she might not have been able to do so. At first, she tried to appear attentive, adding 'uh-huh's, 'you bet's and noncommittal grunts when Port reloaded with breath. But then she realized that he was running on autopilot, and would likely deliver the same speeches to the horses were she and Grim not there. She settled back and let his words wash over her, achieving a restful sort of half-sleep, then descending into full unconsciousness.

*****

    Elizabeth woke with a start, a moment of panic where she didn't know where she was or what was happening around her. She was alone on the bench of the carriage, lying down beneath an unfamiliar red cloak that smelled not unpleasantly of horse. She reached down to find the shoulder bag at her feet, lumpy with their possessions. A second wave of anxiety gripped her as she thought of her hand, but the glove had remained in place.

The morning light peeked around the walls of the carriage. The caravan had stopped in a field deep with verdant grasses and pale purple flowers. A low raspberry noise sounded nearby; she sat up to see the horses unhitched and grazing, both the pair that had pulled this carriage and several more. A broad-shouldered man walked among them, brushing their manes as he patted them, speaking in calm, unintelligible words.

He raised a hand to her, fingers held together and thumb drawn across his palm, striking her as somehow formal given the situation. She mimicked his greeting with her right hand, rubbing the sleep-crumbs from her eyes with the back of her left. Her mouth felt dry and sticky.

She slid from under the cloak and left it on the bench. In the daylight she could see the carriage's bench was carved with words of an unfamiliar language, their grooves worked deep with a dark oil that made the wood shine. The crevices were free from any road-dust, as though it been polished daily for years.

Stepping down into the long grass, dew soaking her socks and jeans, she walked toward the man. The details of his appearance were lost in the sunlight streaming from behind him, so she could only make out his outline. "Morning!" she cried, a bit louder than she meant to. "Are you with Portland?"

"Sure am," he replied, continuing with the brushing of the mane of a tall, black mare. Closer, Elizabeth could see he was five or ten years older than she, but his smooth cheeks seemed ageless, the face of a man who would be boyish well into old age. Black curls peeked out from under a cowboy-style hat, and his nose had a prizefighter's crookedness. His skin glinted oddly in the morning sun, though she couldn't say how it specifically differed from others' skin. But the tan color looked painted-on, applied rather than acquired.

"I'm Elizabeth." She offered her hand, which he took with a gentle squeeze and then released. He, too, wore gloves, leather ones that seemed unnecessary in the mild weather. They stopped at the wrist, and the forearm that poked out was thick and scarred, looking more like a tree limb than flesh.

"Flynn. Though everyone calls me Flint. Call me either." His voice was more cultured than his appearance suggested. "Are you and your friend joining our caravan? Are you actors?"

She laughed. "I think we're an audience. I'm certainly no actress. My friend isn't, either." She wasn't one hundred percent sure about Grim, but his wooden face was not one made for the stage.

Flint smiled and nodded. "We could use a friendly audience. That last town did not seem happy with us. I think they took their Lion too seriously...they did not seem to enjoy him being made a fool." He gave the mare a friendly stroke across the nose, then walked to the next one. "Port should have done some research on the crowd before choosing a tale. A happy audience will fill the hat. An angry one may not always throw rotten food, but they won't pay well for the show, either."

"Doesn't targeting your audience undermine your artistic integrity?"

"Ho-ho!" His laugh went up a note at the end, as though she had scored a point off him. "A critic! Maybe not the audience that Port knew he was getting when he took you aboard. Young lady," he tipped his head down at her, as though peering at her over imaginary glasses, "you may find your own integrity to be weakened when it has been battered by hunger. The pursuit of artistic merit is for those whose plates are consistently full."

Elizabeth couldn't help smiling. Flint may look like a lout, but he seemed intelligent and good-natured enough. She suspected Portland wouldn't traffic with anyone who was too serious. "Is anyone else around? Have you seen Grim? Ah, that's the man I'm traveling with."

"The Shade? He goes by Grim? Shades always have the best names." He chuckled, as though wishing the circumstances of his birth had been different. "He and Portland went off for breakfast with the rest of the troupe, down that way."

He nodded in the direction of the rest of the caravan, six or eight carriages arranged in a semicircle a hundred yards further down the field. A thin ribbon of smoke rose within the gathering. "Are you hungry? You must be. There should be plenty. Katrina always makes too much when it's her turn to cook." He gave the mare one last brush and an affectionate pat, and then motioned for Elizabeth to follow him toward the caravan.

The field was surprisingly noiseless, given the number of people who had gathered there; Elizabeth thought there had to be at least fifty of them scattered among the carts. Most ate in quiet groups of two or three, some sitting on blankets spread out on the grass, others on platforms folded down from the carriages. Others were engaged in tying or untying items from the roofs of the wagons, or read from leather-bound books or sheaths of paper. A few were practicing an elaborate sword-fight. One woman was repairing the wooden head of a large puppet.

Elizabeth found Grim standing with Portland, next to a cooking fire. A middle-aged, bespectacled woman spooned a creamy concoction out of a large witches' cauldron into smaller, handled bowls. Flint led her through the crowd toward them, murmuring greetings and apologies as he sidestepped troupe members.

The woman didn't wait for them to reach the cookfire before she hailed them, her high cackling voice a knife through the silence of the crowd. "You must be Elizabeth! Grim was just telling us all about you." She dropped the ladle into the pot with careless gusto and thrust her hand out in greeting when Elizabeth drew close enough. "Katrina Manteau, my dear. You can call me Kat," she said. Katrina stepped back and squinted, examining Elizabeth's face and clothes. "Your friend was telling the truth. You're from Central, all right. Can always tell. Something about the eyes. 'Course, the clothes are a dead giveaway, too."

Kat handed Elizabeth a steaming bowl. "Take it by the handle, dear, the bottom's quite hot." She reached into a deep pocket on her apron and produced a small spoon with a hooked handle. "These two--," she indicated her husband and Grim, "--have already eaten their fill, so no need to stand on ceremony. They would've left you alone to sleep away the morning, no thought of a young woman waking up alone and scared. I sent Flint out to give you a greeting when you woke. There's tea if you drink it."

Elizabeth spooned a sample of the soupy liquid to her face, blowing it cool before tasting it. Spicier than she liked her breakfasts, but she was not in a place to complain. She smiled at Kat in gratitude. But she was troubled by what the woman had said about her being from Central, that Grim had already revealed this to her. She had to get Grim alone; they needed to talk. Had he told about her hand, or her killing the minotaur? Did they know she was on the run?

Kat gave her a comforting look. "You're not the only one here who wasn't Edgeborn, my dear. It makes no difference to us. Grim said you migrated recently, so you may not be well acquainted with our fair lands. But Strangers we do encounter from time to time, and I've learned that just like Edge folk, some of your kind are good and some are bad. They're not all Silas, and they're not all Eliza."

She pointed a dripping ladle at a group of three men, one of whom was a beanpole of an elderly black man with white hair like two clouds arranged on the sides of his head. "See that grizzled goat there? That's Linus, one of our puppet-makers and stagehands. Born in Central, wandered here as a small child, still in his didies. No difference 'tween him and a true Edgeborn.

“And Marywell--" Her utensil swung to a plump girl in her mid-twenties. "We found her just after she migrated from...Ungland, I think? She was singing dirges in a public house when we liberated her into our crew. Sings like an angel, that one. And who knows about half of the others, so tight-lipped about their origins. Odds are long we even know their real names."

It didn't sound as if they knew about her hand, or her relationship to Silas, or the murder in Foursmith. And it did feel a little comforting; if they knew she was from Central, she wouldn't have to pretend she knew everything about Edge, and she could feel free to ask all sorts of questions Grim had so far failed to answer. Questions about how to get home. Questions about Silas.

Kat started to say something else, but Portland interrupted her. "You've given the girl her breakfast, Kat, now it's time for her and the Shade to pay their debts." He turned to Elizabeth and Grim. "One of the wagons broke a wheel, and we had to send a rider back to Foursmith for a replacement. So, seeing as we're stuck here for the duration, figured we might as well put our temporary audience to work. Players!"

A few of the diners stood and walked toward one of the open carriages, its sideboard folded down to form a stage. A few others shouldered the adjacent wagon closer, unhinging hooks and locks to connect the two, then lowering a matching platform to connect to the existing stage to double the workspace.

Flint, who had remained by Elizabeth's side during Kat's introduction, gave a jaunty wave and walked to the stage, meeting up on the way with a slim, dark-eyed girl, upon whom Elizabeth found it difficult to make her eyes draw into full focus. Flint and the girl ascended to the platform, drawing sheaths of paper from their pockets.

Portland and Kat gently ushered Elizabeth to a blanket spread out at a spot ten feet from the stage, where she and Grim sat down. "Now, future meals are not dependent on your responses," Kat explained, "but please be honest. And kind. But mostly honest. I don't need patrons blowing smoke up my skirt, I need to know how this show can be improved. Here's some paper." She handed each of them a few sheets that had been crumpled and flattened, covered with typewritten letters on one side and blank on the other. "And an inkroot." She rummaged in her apron pocket and gave them each a twig-pencil. “So you can take notes." Kat's glasses had slipped down her nose. She tilted her head forward to look over the tops of their rims. "You should take notes."

Flint stood frozen, as though held static in a paused frame. Linus had retreated to the deepest part of the stage, behind several piles of fabric, while the dark-eyed girl waited to one side. With her stood another woman, tall and slender and with a glove on her left hand that shimmered in the morning light.

Portland appeared near the stage and, in a booming narrator's voice free from his usual country twang, called across the field, "The Longshadow Acting and Puppet Troupe is proud to present, an original adaptation of the classic tale, written by the esteemed and lovely Katrina Manteau, wife of the illustrious--"

"Get on with it, you old windbag!" Katrina's voice split the air.

"Ahem." Port appeared playfully offended. "As I was saying...proud to present, for the first time anywhere..."

Eliza and the Beast of Isadore

traditional folk tale

adapted for the stage/puppet stage by Katrina Manteau

NARRATOR: The tales of Eliza the Knife-Fingered, Jonathan Evenfall and Penumbra Shadeborne's travels through the Obscure Sea are well known to even the youngest who live in Edge. The islands they found and explored, the rights they wronged, the adventures they shared are the basis for songs and books and stories the likes of which had never before been told. But none are as tragic, as heart-wrenching as the final island they encountered, that of Isadore, with its vicious Beast and its burning need for vengeance.

[Curtain opens on main stage. Deserted beach at night. The background is mountain peaks with ocean in the far distance; atop one of them is a stone fortress. The puppet-stage is in darkness]

[ELIZA enters STAGE LEFT dressed in a standard grey cloak, with orange shirt and blue pants, all torn and damaged. Her shortbow is intact, and her sling is attached to her belt.]

NARRATOR: The hearts of the trio are heavy, for this was just after they had lost their friends Mallory Whitesong and Naia of Lonsberry to a battle with deserters from The Army of The Damned. Their supplies are low, their spirits lower, and their ship has just been battered near to splinters by a fierce sea storm.

ELIZA: Gods, I feared we'd not get out of that storm alive. The Feather'd Arrow will not sail again today. How much repair will it require before it is seaworthy again, Jonathan?

[JONATHAN EVENFALL and PENUMBRA SHADEBORNE enter STAGE LEFT. JOHNATHAN wears leather armor, PENUMBRA wears shade-black cloak and clothing. Both appear as bedraggled as ELIZA.]

JONATHAN: The mast is cracked at the base, Eliza. We'll need to fell a strong tree to replace it. This strange isle may be our home for many days. [Points to castle in distance.] Should we try to find shelter with the lord of that keep? This storm does not appear to be done with us, and a warm fire could do much to dry out my bones.

PENUMBRA: I think we should stay here. We were blown so far off course, who knows what controls this land? The Triumvirate drew heavily from this island chain in their war against The Watchmaker and your brother, Eliza. Our hosts may not be friendly to those who sided against the Gods. At least let us scout carefully before we declare ourselves.

JONATHAN: And risk being caught and hanged as spies? Our ship will be detected as soon as day breaks, if it has not already. My father and my house have no enemies in these islands. Let the name of Evenfall be the key that opens the doors of the stronghold.

PENUMBRA: You insult me, Evenfall. Any Shade could enter and leave that fortress and even the ghosts within shall be none the wiser. But if we walk in with our banners blazing, even those of your father and his vanished lands, we may be walking into our doom.

ELIZA: Enough, both of you. Penumbra, Jonathan does not doubt your abilities. But we are guests here, with nothing to hide; we should behave as such. We will approach the front door and announce our presence. If the hosts do not want us here, we will request time only to make our repairs. No sane sovereign would refuse such a request.

[The three walk further STAGE CENTER RIGHT. The mountain/fortress in the background disappears, and a door descends at STAGE RIGHT. JONATHAN approaches the door and knocks.]

JONATHAN: (calling through cupped hands) Keeper of this fortress! I am Jonathan of Evenfall, Son of Elisha, Son of Sylvan, Keeper of the Sunken Lands. My companions and I shipwrecked on your shore. We beg your hospitality, or at least your blessing to camp on this island until we can make the repairs necessary to leave! [A beat.] Keeper of this fortress! We mean no harm or insult! But if you do not answer us, we will assume permission to remain on your island until we are able to restore our ship!

ELIZA: (stage whisper) Penumbra, do your sharp eyes see any movement in the windows above?

PENUMBRA: I do not. But the fields were well tilled. There have been people here, and recently.

ISADORE: (stentorian voice, from behind door) Jonathan of Evenfall, son of Elisha, son of Sylvan. Your name is known to this house. Who have you brought with you to my doorstep?

ELIZA: [stepping forward] He travels with Eliza of the Wheatsea.

PENUMBRA: [drawing cloak tight around her] And with Penumbra of the Shades.

ISADORE: [deep laughter] Oh, Eliza "of the Wheatsea", is it, now? No longer "Eliza the knife-fingered"? I have heard of people abandoning their titles and lands, but never of one abandoning their titles and hands.

ELIZA: (over ISADORE's laughter) Regardless of title, I am Eliza of Edge, she of the five knives. But who are you, keeper of this castle? And may we have your leave to remain on your island?

ISADORE: (darkly) Oh, yes. You have my leave to remain.

[The door bursts open, and the puppet of the large yellow dragon, its mouth gaping, emerges and surrounds the three adventurers. Lights fade to black.]

[Lights come up on ELIZA, JONATHAN, and PENUMBRA in shackles. A metal glove clasps and chains ELIZA’s left hand. PENUMBRA lies on the ground, a strip of cloth tied around her wounded head. All are without their cloaks and weapons. JOHNATHAN pounds on the wall of their cell.]

JONATHAN: Beast! Release us!

ELIZA: It is no use, Jonathan. You have been at that door for hours.

JONATHAN: Why would he imprison us? Why not just kill us and be done with it? You saw how strong he was...he threw Penumbra as if she were made of twigs. He could have done that to either or both of us as well.

[The cell door opens. ISADORE’s head pokes through the door.]

ISADORE: I struck the Shade to keep her from escaping through the shadows of this house. But the three of you remain alive because I want you alive. Because to kill you quickly would rob me of sport. Of revenge.

ELIZA: Revenge? For what misdeed? We have never set foot on your island before this very night, how could we have wronged you?

ISADORE: It was not you, oh five knives of the Wheatsea, but your brother and that blasted Watchmaker! My brother and I responded to The Triumvirate's call to war against the usurpers, and were transformed from our natural shapes of men into fierce beasts, to ravage the heathen armies that threatened our Gods. My brother was captured by the many-times-cursed Silas of Central, and when my brother begged for his life, your brother put him to one of his Mercy Riddles.

ELIZA: (to JONATHAN) Oh, those accursed riddles! 'Twould be kinder if he would just kill his prisoners!

ISADORE: My brother failed the riddle and died beneath Silas' sword, his dragon head turning to human as it was cleaved from his great body. Our island received that head, returned to us as a warning for getting involved in the wars of mainland Edge. But now, Eliza, providence has caused the blood of my brother's killer to fall into my clutches. And your brother and the Watchmaker remain busy with their battles and their stalemate with The Triumvirate, and will be unable to save you!

JONATHAN: You fiend. We have wanted no part in their war! That is why we left the mainland to wander the islands of the Obscure Sea! We have no quarrel with the Gods, nor do we wish to rule Edge. Killing us would solve nothing.

ISADORE: That, son of the Drowned Land, is far from truth. Killing you would cause my enemy to feel my pain. Killing you would gain me favor with the Gods, and mayhap they would see fit to release me from this beast's visage. They may even travel to the very land of the dead itself to bid for my brother's release!

ELIZA: (to JONATHAN, stage whisper) He has gone mad. The Gods have never done such a thing. What is dead is dead.

JONATHAN: (to ELIZA) I fear we shall soon find out. We are at the mercy of this insane beast.

ELIZA: (to JONATHAN) There may yet be hope. (to ISADORE). Beast! Before you release the life from our bodies, do us the honor of giving the name of our would-be killer!

ISADORE: (laughing) Oh, it's my name you want, do you? Little good it will do you, doomed girl. I am the Beast of Isadore, he who was once called Evan the Bright.

ELIZA: Evan the Bright is a name not unknown in mainland Edge. It was said that of all the island leaders, he was the most honorable.

ISADORE: That was true once, before your foul brother and the Watchmaker twisted my thoughts to those of vengeance.

ELIZA: Then, by any honor that once you possessed, I invoke the Oath of Parallel Revenge.

JONATHAN: Do not do this, Eliza!

ELIZA: My heart, I fear this is the only way.

ISADORE: So, you wish to die the way my brother died? With a clean beheading?

ELIZA: I do. But only if I fail your riddles.

ISADORE: (roaring) That is not within the rules of Parallel Revenge!

JONATHAN: [stands up] She has invoked it rightly, within the rights of all prisoners who will be killed for vengeance. Do you wish to petition your Gods, to see if they agree? I am confident they will side with the riddles. They do so love to watch such sport. Would you risk their wrath and ignore the Oath, the one you surely swore when you became leader of this island?

ISADORE: Very well. There will be challenges three that I will set to you, Eliza of the five knives. Fail the first, and I will kill your Shade friend. Fail the second, and your love will die. Fail the third, and your own head will decorate my wall, and I will use your dismembered hand as a toothpick. Solve any of them and you and your surviving friends will go free. And do not forget your own responsibility in this Oath: you swear not to attempt to harm me or any of my people while in my service. None of you shall try to escape, nor seek help, nor inform anyone of your quest. If I hear that you have attempted to gain aid of Silas or the Watchmaker, all your lives are forfeit.

ELIZA: It is so agreed.

JONATHAN: It is so agreed. I swear to my part of the Oath.

PENUMBRA: (waking) I as well. Though the Shades are exempt from the Oaths of the Gods, I will abide by my friends' agreement.

ISADORE: Then your first task is this: retrieve the egg of the Queen Roc on the nearby Mount Edam and return it whole to this stronghold.

PENUMBRA: The egg of such a fearsome beast? The favored totem of The Eagle itself? I will steal into the shadows of the crevices of the mountain and be back before sundown. [PENUMBRA steps back into the shadow. A beat. PENUMBRA returns to the light, disheartened.]  I...I cannot move through the darkness. [Holds her hands out palm-up, then draws them back within her cloak] I cannot even call the darkened shapes to me.

JONATHAN: Your head is still addled from the beast's blow.

ISADORE: Regardless, these tasks are for Eliza alone. You two are to remain as hostages, in case she decides that Strangers are not bound by Oaths.

ELIZA: Strangers are not barbarians. We keep our promises as you do. And I swear that if I am alive when this game ends, I will wear your skin as a cloak trophy, Beast. Now clear the doorway and remove this glove, foul thing. I have to hunt.

[Curtain falls. NARRATOR steps forward]

NARRATOR: The peak of Mount Edam, the tallest of this large island, was so high as to be shrouded in clouds, to be cloaked in snow, to pierce the very sky with its pinnacle.

[LIGHTS onto puppet stage set with mountain peak. A bird nest, as large as ELIZA, is at the top, with a large silver egg prominently displayed. PUPPET ELIZA ascends the mountain]

NARRATOR: It took Eliza two days to ascend to the summit, using her sharp fingers to scrape handholds into the iron face of the mountain. When she finally reached the nest, she found the egg unguarded. But, when she attempted to abscond with it, the Queen Roc returned-- [The puppet of QUEEN ROC descends.]--and Eliza had to subdue it. [A battle ensues between PUPPET ELIZA and QUEEN ROC]. Eliza struck a deep wound into the giant raptor's breast before escaping with the egg. [PUPPET ELIZA leaps down mountain. LIGHTS OUT on the puppet stage.]

[The curtain rises on Cell set on main stage.]

NARRATOR: Eliza returned to the stronghold, keeping her Oath not to escape, nor to seek help. She took great care with the egg on her trip home, fearing that if it were to break that Penumbra's life would be declared forfeit.

[ELIZA enters the cell, where JONATHAN and PENUMBRA await. ELIZA and JONATHAN embrace.]

JONATHAN: My heart! You did it! You have returned with the egg of the Queen Roc!

ELIZA: Yes, but with a heavy heart. I may have struck that noble creature a mortal wound when she was only trying to defend her nest.

PENUMBRA: We will return to the nest and see that she is healed, when we are released from this prison.

[ISADORE enters the cell]

ISADORE: Oh, but you shall not be released from this prison.

ELIZA: You swore the Oath, Beast. I have returned with the Egg of the Queen Roc.

ISADORE: What, that thing? That is but the Roc's meal, an egg of the lesser avian, the Ziz. A prize, to be sure, but not what I asked of you. Foolish girl, the Roc carries its eggs inside its body. Everyone knows this. [He roars.] And now, for your failure, I will exact my prize. [He advances on PENUMBRA.]

ELIZA/JONATHAN: No!

[ISADORE lunges over PENUMBRA, hiding her body from the audience. When ISADORE leans back, he holds PENUMBRA's severed head within his teeth. ISADORE spits the head out at ELIZA's feet]

ISADORE: See now the price of your failure!

JONATHAN: [steps to ISADORE] You fiend! I will steal the eyes from your head!

ISADORE: Please, Evenfall. Attack me. I would love to hear your screams as the Gods strike you down for breaking your Oath.

ELIZA: You will pay for that, Beast.

ISADORE: Your threats mean nothing, girl. Save your fire for your next task. Maybe you won't perform so pathetically when it is your husband's life on the line.

[JONATHAN and ELIZA clutch each other]

JONATHAN: (whispered) This is the way he means to torture you, Eliza. His words will seem to be one thing but really be another. He means not to let any of us live.

ELIZA: (whispered) I will not let that happen, Jonathan.

ISADORE: Saying your goodbyes, little ones? Admitting failure before the second task is even named?

ELIZA: [steps between JONATHAN and ISADORE] Just name the task, Beast.

ISADORE: Bring me the Heart of the Ice-worm.

JONATHAN: The Ice-worm? That lives beneath the Icy Wastes? How is she to get that far North?

ISADORE: There is a ship at your disposal in the harbor at the base of the castle and a crew to man it. You have two weeks to return, or your Jonathan's life is mine.

JONATHAN: Eliza, the worm's skin is hard enough to plow through the ice. Even your hand may not be enough to penetrate it. 

ISADORE: Enough talk. The ship will leave in moments. You had best run, girl.

[ELIZA sprints off STAGE RIGHT as the curtain closes.]

NARRATOR: Isadore was as good as his word. The ship was outfitted for a three-week voyage, though Eliza had to instruct the crew where she wanted them to go.

[LIGHTS on puppet stage displaying the shore of the Icy Wastes with ship moored to coast. PUPPET ELIZA observes the ICE-WORM as it dives and emerges through the ice]

NARRATOR: The ship arrived at the shores of the Icy Wastes within three days, and Eliza spent another three observing the behavior of the ice-worms, looking for a way to breach the steely exterior. Each night she would return to sleep in the warmth of the ship. The only time she saw the worm surface was to hunt one of the wolves or bears or seals atop the ice, striking its prey with a snakelike motion of its long body, swallowing even the large mammals whole.

While watching this hunting behavior, Eliza had an idea. [PUPPET ELIZA runs across the ice, jumping and stomping and yelling in a wolf-howl.] The worm's outer shell was impenetrable, but perhaps its innards were vulnerable. [The ICE-WORM breaks through the ice behind ELIZA. It rears up and strikes down, swallowing her whole. Then the ICE-WORM rises.] If she could avoid its teeth--[The ICE-WORM begins to shake and sway. It yells in pain.]--And whatever foul fluids it used to digest its meals--[The ICE WORM bangs its long neck against the ice.]--Then she might have a chance.

[The ICE-WORM flops a final time. PUPPET ELIZA surfaces, hand first, from the mid-segment of the worm. Her other hand holds a mass of pulsating flesh. The curtain closes.]

NARRATOR: Eliza had survived the innards of the Ice-Worm, and returned to the ship with her fleshy souvenir. The journey back was slow, as the ship became mired in a winter squall, as though the North Wind itself was set against Eliza's quest. But the vessel arrived at Isadore's stronghold on the fourteenth day.

[The curtain opens on the cell. PENUMBRA's body has been removed. JONATHAN and ISADORE are in the cell when ELIZA enters, holding the flesh of the ice-worm.]

ELIZA: Jonathan! I have done it! I return with the heart of the ice worm. Beast, unshackle him!

ISADORE: Gladly. Just show me the heart.

ELIZA: [holds out the flesh] I ripped it from the beast myself.

JONATHAN: Are you blind, Beast? Do not try to cheat on our bargain.

ISADORE: Oh, you poor fools...the Heart of the Ice Worm is the name of a gigantic diamond owned by the Steward of an Island two days' journey west of here. The actual worm has no true heart, hence the ironic name of the icy jewel. Everyone knows this. What you are holding is one of the worm's many brains. Impressive, to be sure, but not your task. And now...[ISADORE spreads his jaws wide. He descends on JONATHAN]

ELIZA: No! You cannot! [ELIZA launches herself at ISADORE. She bounces harmlessly off of his body and lands on the floor. ISADORE rears back. He lays the head of JONATHAN at ELIZA's feet.]

ISADORE: I will ignore your pathetic attempt at an attack, girl. You have but one chance left to save your own life.

[ELIZA, crying, lifts the head. She kisses the brow, then returns the head to JONATHAN's body, placing it in the hollow between his arm and his torso.]

ELIZA: (tearful) What is my final task, Beast?

ISADORE: [draws up to full height] Travel around the world. Bring back proof that you have done so, to my satisfaction. You have one month, at which time you will be Oath-bound to return to my island and face your fate.

[ELIZA looks up from JONATHAN's body. She faces the audience. A small smile plays on her face.]

ELIZA: Beast, I am born of Central but have lived these many years in Edge. Which world should I choose? I need to know where to start.

ISADORE: Your task is impossible, girl. I do not see that it matters in which world you fail. I leave it up to you to choose.

ELIZA: [turns to ISADORE; smiling broadly] Then I choose this one! [She points to JONATHAN's fallen body.] This man was my love, my heart's blood. He truly was my world. [ELIZA walks a circle around JONATHAN.] Everyone knows this.

ISADORE: (frustrated) But...but...that is not what I meant! [Growls in anger.]

ELIZA: You allowed me to choose which world, but you did not specify that I need limit myself to Edge or Central. You are beaten, Beast. I will take the corpses of my friends to my ship and leave when I am able. I suggest you start fortifying your defenses. The combined might of Evenfall and The Watchmaker will soon be at your door. The Shades might already be gathering in the shadows of your castle.

ISADORE: I will not suffer this insolence! You did not win our wager!

[ISADORE's jaws open wide. He moves toward ELIZA. She stabs him once in each eye. He howls in pain.]

ELIZA: [steps back, dodging ISADORE's flailing] You have been blinded, but I stand unharmed, unsmited by the Gods. It appears their judgment is in my favor. [ELIZA dodges another blind attack. She slashes at ISADORE's back.] It was your need for vengeance that brought this upon you, Beast. If you had not trapped us, if you had not killed my companions, you would still have your sight. If you could see past your own need for revenge, none of this would have happened.

[ELIZA sidesteps another attack, moves DOWNSTAGE]

(to audience) 'Twas love of vengeance that caused all this trouble. Yet, not two moments ago, I vowed my own retribution on this poor soul, he who lost his own brother to mine, and remains trapped in this foul form at the whim of the unhearing Gods. Am I to be no better than that? What lessons have I learned this accursed day?

(to ISADORE) I have changed my mind, Evan of Isadore. I will not make the mistake that you did. Cease your blind attacks and I will agree to walk away and never return, leaving you to lick your wounds. There has been enough death in this cell.

ISADORE: Coward, are you? You will not leave this fortress alive, girl! And if you do, I will send my army to hound you to the ends of Edge!

ELIZA: Very well. [ISADORE roars and strikes. ELIZA reaches into his open mouth and stabs upward, piercing his brain.]

[ELIZA steps to JONATHAN's body]

ELIZA: I will hollow your body, Beast, and wear you like a disguise out of this castle, past your guards. I will spirit my love's body back to mainland Edge in your own ship. I will curse this island by the Gods of Edge and Central, as a testament to the foolishness that vengeance makes proud men do.

[Curtain falls]

NARRATOR: And so did Eliza the Knife-Fingered return to the mainland alone, having watched all her companions die on their adventures, and joined Silas and The Watchmaker in their war against The Triumvirate. But that, dear audience, is a tale for another time.