[The rolling of wooden wheels. The creaking of the wagons. The sounds of Night. The Recorder ramps up.]

 

NARRATION:
Ahhh… Good to be back on the road. In the dark. Feels like home. People who live in the Light don’t get it, they just think of the Night as where the monsters live. And sure, there are some of those. Plenty of those in the Light, too, of course. But there’s a… stillness? Here. Not that it’s all frozen, or something like that, there’s life out here. But there’s a sort of quiet- but a quiet of the soul. Can never explain it to people who don’t know the life. Kind of like it that way. Like I’ve got a secret. The dark is a good place for secrets, after all.

 

There’s frost on the trees, glitters in the lamplights. Looks kind of like eyes reflecting back at you in the dark, which is spooky. But it’s alright. It’s only eyes some of the time. Gah it feels good to be back out here. Always does. Especially after Prosperous. Everything’s so much simpler out here. You know where you stand: if you see something that isn’t trees or the road, ready the guns. You try that in a town, well, they’re not such a fan of that. We’re a few sleeps from the town of Quarryfield. Guess why it’s called that. A whole town of quarry-workers, digging down and out for all the stone that towns that want for stone want. I’m not an expert on such things but, from what I’ve seen, the stone that comes out of Quarryfield isn’t actually very high quality. Heard someone say they should rename the town to Sandpit because by the time the stuff makes it to neighbouring towns it’s all broken up into bits. But beggars can’t be choosers, and for those in the area who want stone, Quarryfield is the best option. I think most places just do without, but enough people are buying to make the Quarry-workers a profit. There’s a river going through the town, so at least Quarryfielders can be somewhat self-sufficient.

 

I do think about that, sometimes. The way that the places that the Light shines will determine where people live. Plenty of places I’ve seen people living, they wouldn’t be there without the Light. Well, obviously, what I mean is… if they had the option to live anywhere, the place they wound up isn’t where they’d choose. Take Quarryfield. The people here, they’re here for the Light, not the stone. The place just turned out to be a quarry because the people needed something to trade for the things they don’t have. There’s harsher examples, too. People who live in The Three Sisters would probably rather the best coal wasn’t up in the mountains, were in some nice warm valley or something where they could grow their own food. But the Light shines where it does, and if it shines on an ore-rich place and that place happens to be a frozen hell… Well, most people don’t choose to live there, but some will. The people of Quarryfield, however many generations back, found a spot in the wilderness where the Light shone, and so they settled there and made do with what the land gave them: some piss-poor stone deposits. Some people would rather sit in one place and make do than keep on the road and see what’s around the next corner. Can’t judge them for that, even if I can’t relate. Some of us like the surprises.

 

The journey has been easy enough. The cold isn’t too harsh yet, the roads are as we expect them to be, people are in good enough spirits. We have empty wagons ready to collect stone- such as it is- and plenty more filled with goods for the people of Quarryfield and beyond. We have passengers, too. People, livestock, and the dearly departed bound for the Brightrest. Ah, kind of said the dead ones aren’t people there. Well, that’s in the Chronicle forever. Hope Old Bess is taking better care of them than me. Melody’s been spending a lot of time with her. It’s good, obviously, she’s learning a lot, she’s respecting her elders and so on. Maybe she’ll take over Old Bess’s wagon when she passes- Light Forbid, obviously. Good to see her finding a place in the Caravan, even if it’s… no. It’s good, never mind. She has a connection with the herbalist, that’s fine. She understands her, somehow. That’s good. 

 

[The scene fades across to Old Bess’s caravan. The herbalist is giving Melody a lesson]

 

Bess:
Have you got all the ingredients measured out, child?

 

Melody:
Yes! I’ve triple-checked. What next?

 

Bess

Next, pull that rope just there. The one that goes up to the ceiling. Give it a good tug.

 

Melody:
Okay… Oof! 

 

[With a creaking, a hatch opens in the ceiling of the caravan. The sounds of the night grow louder.]

 

Melody:
Oh! The roof’s opened up!

 

Bess:
Yes. I had Herschel install that a while ago. Helps with ventilation while I’m working with odorous materials. Does let in a bit of a draft, though. My bones are already aching.

 

Melody:
Well we should probably hurry, then!
 

Bess:
No, no! Never hurry a thing like this! Let’s light the flame, next. I- oh, perhaps you should do it, my hands shake a little. 

 

Melody:
Okay, I’ve got it. 

 

Bess:
Very good. Now, there are many ways, that many different people will recommend. Every one of them will have at least someone saying it is the best, as is the way of things.

 

Melody:
Uhuh.

 

Bess:
This method I’m showing you here is, of course, the best. The ratios of ingredients, the timing, the methods. I’ve done a great many things in my life, Melody, and this still may be the thing I am most proud of. 

 

Melody:
Can we try some of the other methods, too? 

 

Bess:
Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be fair of me not to. I’d be robbing you of the chance to find your own favourite- although you’ll be wrong if it’s any other than mine, of course!

 

Melody:
[Laughing] Of course- oh! The water’s almost boiled.

 

Bess:
Turn off the heat! The water mustn’t boil, or the whole thing will be ruined.

 

Melody:
It heated so quickly!

 

Bess:
Well, you know I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve. Ah, you’d best handle this part. My old wrists. Just pour steadily. Gently. We want a nice consistent stream of water, or the entire process could go awry!

 

Melody:
Okay… I’m a little nervous…

 

Bess:

You’re doing wonderfully, sweet girl. Keep going, we’re almost there… And… Put the lid on the pot!

 

Melody:
Done! Did we do it? 

 

Bess:
I should think so, yes. Well done, girl! In a couple of minutes you’ll be drinking the finest cup of tea anyone on the Road has had the privilege of tasting.

 

Melody:
I can’t wait to try it! 

Bess:
Patience, now. We must let the leaves steep- the best things come with time and age. Ah, on that note- we ought to close the roof hatch, now. Tea can only warm us so much.

 

Melody:
How do I close it? Do I pull the string again?

 

Bess:
No, that’s just to open it. To close it you’ll have to hop on the table and do it by hand.

 

Melody:
Oh! Uh. Okay… [Melody climbs onto the table] You know, I kind of thought you were going to show me how to make a… potion, or something. [She shuts the hatch and climbs back down] Not “the perfect cup of tea”. 

 

Bess:
Oh, but a cup of tea can be the most potent potion of all! Warms the body, enlivens the spirit, sharpens the mind! But it can also soothe, calm, ease the mind, aid rest. It all depends on the tea and how it is prepared.

 

Melody:
Oh. Maybe my Dad could use some tea. I don’t think he’s been sleeping well lately

 

Bess:
Indeed! Many of the poor souls who come to me for curatives simply need a good cup of tea, but of course that’s not what they want to hear so I… dress it up a little. 

 

Melody:
You lie?

 

Bess:
Oh, no, never. I just… Tell them something like what they want to hear. That can be even better than a cup of tea for some people.

 

Melody:
Oh. I… see.

 

Bess:
Sometimes a lie is what someone needs to hear. It will make sense when you’re a little older.

 

Melody:
You just said you never lie!

Bess:
Oh, that was a lie.

 

[Both laugh]

 

Melody:
I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t enjoy my lessons back home very much, but you’re much better at teaching than Miss Lenore was.

 

Bess:
I don’t imagine I’m teaching much of the same curriculum as Miss Lenore, either.

Melody:
Well, no. She was very… Ordered. Everything was so rigid and structured- and she’d probably have fainted if she saw the state of your wagon. Uh. No offence.

 

Bess:
It sounds to me like I wouldn’t much care for her opinion, child, so none taken. I’m glad you’re enjoying our little lessons. It’s been a few years since I’ve had any young ones in the Caravan to teach, and many more since I was able to teach them anything.

 

Melody:
Who else have you taught? My dad?

 

Bess:
Oh, none of your father’s generation have ever listened to me. I couldn’t imagine trying with some of them, that Herschel seems like a nice enough boy but I wouldn’t trust him to brew a cup of tea without getting distracted. Ah! Speaking of which… time to pour!

 

[The tea is poured. A gentle sip.]

 

Melody:
Mmmm!

 

Bess:
Did I lie?

 

Melody:
Absolutely not.

 

NARRATION:

I was walking alongside the Caravan a few hours ago now, checking in with folks, making sure we’re all alright. The usual sort of thing I’ve always done, except now I’m Chronicler people treat it like something it’s not. Maybe they’re just scared they’ll come across badly in the Chronicle if I don’t like them. Anyway, things were looking fine. We’ve got a solid bunch here. Was going to go check in on Melody when the Professor came to bother me. 

 

[Transition to outdoors. The wagons trundle along. Night sounds. Footsteps.]

 

Magritte:
Arlo! How goes it?

 

Arlo:
How goes what? The Caravan?

 

Magritte:
I suppose. 

 

Arlo:
It’s… fine. Did you need something, Magritte?

 

Magritte:
Well, I was hoping we might stop the Caravan for a time.

 

Arlo:
Why? Has something happened?

 

Magritte:
What? No, no- all’s well, I assure you. I was just hoping to take some samples from the flora in this area?

 

Arlo:
What? Picking flowers, you mean?

 

Magritte:
Well, likely some flowers, yes, if any grow here. But also fungi, herbs, animal droppings if I’m lucky!

 

Arlo:
Oh. Well. We’re only a little ways away from the next rest stop, you can pick your… things in a few hours.

 

Magritte:
No- no, I don’t want to take samples at the rest site, that would entirely defeat the purpose. I intend to take samples from an area not typically trafficked, you see. Unaffected by human influence.

 

Arlo:
You want the Caravan to stop in the middle of nowhere, in the Night, so you can pick up random bits and pieces off the ground?

 

Magritte:
Well… Yes?

 

Arlo:
[Sigh] Magritte- Professor- You are more than welcome to make your way up the line and ask everyone- one by one- if they’d care to stop the Caravan here so you can pick up Darkling scat. By all means.

 

Magritte:
But- but, can’t you just call for a stop?

 

Arlo:
Professor, even if I could make such a command, if you were to ask everyone yourself I would be one of the people to say no.

 

Magritte:

Oh. I see. Very well. I shall… make do with what I find along the Road. Thank you for your time, Arlo.

 

[Magritte begins to walk off forlornly] 

 

Arlo:

Ugh, for f- Hold on, Professor. Give me a moment. Herschel? Where are you?

 

Herschel:

[A little ways off] What’s up?

 

Arlo:
Load up a pair of rifles and bring them here, will you?

 

Herschel:
On it. All’s well? 

 

Arlo:
Yes, just taking the Professor out for a stroll off the beaten track.

 

Herschel:
What kind of half-arsed boondoggle is he-

 

Arlo:
He’s standing next to me, Hersch.

 

Magritte:
Ahem.

 

Herschel:
…loading the guns now, boss.

 

Magritte:
You’re coming with me, then?

 

Arlo:
Let’s just pretend I’ve taken a sudden interest in your work and move on.

 

Magritte:
And the rifles?

 

Arlo:
What about them?

 

Magritte:
What is their purpose?

 

Arlo:
…What do you think?

 

Magritte:
I hope you don’t intend for me to fire a weapon?

 

Arlo:
That depends, do you intend to survive out there?

 

Magritte:

I am well aware of the danger that the Night can pose, however I am also aware of the damage that hot gunpowder can do to one’s hands, and as one whose hands are required for delicate tasks such as-

 

Arlo:
Oh for- look, just hold it and pass it to me if I ask, how about that?

 

Magritte:
Very well.

 

Arlo:
Good. Some ground rules. We don’t go more than fifty paces from the Caravan. We don’t ever lose sight of the Caravan’s lanterns. We don’t take back anything alive to the Caravan. If I tell you to drop everything and run, I mean run. Also, do not drop the gun. Lastly, I reserve the right to add more rules as we go. Got it?

 

Magritte:
I- fine. Yes, this all sounds reasonable. 

 

Arlo:
Alright. 

 

Herschel:
Here we go. And a torch, for sir.

 

Arlo:
Ta.

 

Magritte:
Must we take a flaming torch, rather than a lantern? It seems a little-

 

Arlo:
If something nasty is coming at you out there, do you want to be holding a lantern or a big flaming stick you can swing in its face?

 

Magritte:
…yet again, I defer to your expertise.

 

Herschel:
Enjoy yourselves out there, lovebirds.

 

Arlo:
Try not to run the whole Caravan off a cliff while I’m gone.

 

Herschel:
Don’t give me any ideas.

 

Arlo:
Let’s go, Professor.

 

Magritte:
Yes, let’s. [Quieter] Before I lose my nerve…

 

[The pair walk out into the Night. Twigs and detritus crunch under their shoes. An awkward science persists for a moment.]

 

Arlo:
So. You’re a… Sciencer.

 

Magritte:
[Distracted] I… a what?

Arlo:
A Sciencer. You do science.

 

Magritte:
A Scientist. And… I suppose “Doing science” is one way to put it. 

 

Arlo:
How would you put it?

 

Magritte:
Well, I’m something of a multidisciplinarian.

 

Arlo:
Oh. Okay. 

 

Magritte:
It means my interest lies not just in one form of science, but many. Moreover, it lies in the unity of all science. Where the various disciplines align, or perhaps do not.

 

Arlo:
Right. Okay. [A pause just long enough for Magritte to become reabsorbed in his work] Were you always a Sciencer- Scientist, sorry.

 

Magritte:
Eh? Oh, uh. Not as such? It’s not really something you’re born into, more a… mindset, that one develops. A focus. In my youth, I prenticed with my father, a Surgeon. Then I went to University, in order to learn more about the intricacies of my medical practice, and discovered that I cared more for… matters of theory, than practice. Learning the reasons why one might grow sick, and the nature of sickness itself. And from there, into more… elemental, or perhaps theoretical matters. 

 

Arlo:
I see. So this… Multi-disciple way, you’ve just kind of fallen into that?

 

Magritte:

Hm, I would say my focus has narrowed- or perhaps broadened, eh? [He pauses. It’s a joke, but Arlo doesn’t realise] Ahem. Did you… “fall into” your role as Caravan Leader?

Arlo:
I’m not the leader. Just the Chronicler.

 

Magritte:
Oh. I apologise for the confusion, I just… I understood you were replacing Zoran.

 

Arlo:
Yes, as Chronicler. Doesn’t mean I’m the leader.

 

Magritte:
Well then who is the leader of your Caravan?

 

Arlo:
Isn’t one. We don’t often have cause for one, and when a situation calls for it we discuss it as one and come to an agreement.

 

Magritte:
I see! A democracy, then. Although, I must confess, it seemed to me that your Caravan did answer rather directly to Zoran’s instructions. 

 

Arlo:
Zoran has a different notion about how things should run than I do. A Caravan isn’t supposed to have a leader, and the Chronicler isn’t supposed to lead. My role is to keep an honest accounting of the Road as the Caravan finds it. 

 

Magritte:
Interesting! I had some acquaintances at University who would have lengthy discussions of similar matters of Philosophy- I suspect they would call you something of an… Anarchist? It was never my area of interest, really.

 

Arlo:
Have to take your word for it. Don’t know what half the words you say mean, half the time.

 

Magritte:
Well, Philosophy relates to matters of the, ah, ephemeral, the hypothetical and metaphysical.

 

Arlo:
Oh, like with your combining disciplines to make new Science?

 

Magritte:

No. No, not at all. My work may not be immediately practical, but it is most certainly science and not philosophy.

 

Arlo:
Sorry, I didn’t realise.

 

Magritte:
You might as well compare it to the nonsense that Hedge Witch peddles!

Arlo:
You mean Bess?

 

Magritte:
Yes. Half the people I’ve met since I left Lumenas have taken me for her sort. Random herbs and smokes and poultices. Mystical-sounding made up names for plants and so on. I wonder if even she realises she’s a fraud, or if her remedies have addled her own mind too.

 

Arlo:
Bess has been with this Caravan since well before I was born, and has helped more people than you’ve even met. She’s saved my life with her “nonsense”, Professor. 

 

Magritte:
I-

 

Arlo:

If you’ve come here in the name of your Science, perhaps you ought to be a little more open-minded about what you find here.

 

Magritte:

…I take your point. My apologies. You are right, I have come here to learn after all.

 

Arlo:

Yes, to that point- what does bring you to the Night?  It’s been a while now since we left Lumenas, what is there out here that you can’t find in the city?

 

Magritte:
Well, precisely. We don’t know.

 

Arlo:
Eh?

 

Magritte:
There are many things that one can study perfectly well in the Light, in my home of Lumenas or elsewhere. However, there are many things which exist only here- in the Night. Darklings, for example! Before I joined you all on the Road I had thought that Darklings were a… well, a single type of creature, rather than just the name we give to the stranger beings that might be found out here. Those who have yet to be formally categorised, or perhaps fit into no category but “odd”. 

 

Arlo:
True enough. So you’ve come to fill some gaps.

 

Magritte:

I suppose so. Certainly, that will happen as a result of my research.

 

Arlo:
…Is that not your goal?

 

Magritte:
Not as such.

 

[Another pause. Magritte bends down and snips a sample of some herb with a pair of secateurs.]

 

Arlo:
So what is your goal?

 

Magritte:
What?

Arlo:
What is your goal? Why did you join us on the Road? We’ve brought herbs and such to people in Lumenas, to towns all over. Bess can find most anything. Why not just put an order in.

 

Magritte:
Well, because I don’t know what I’m looking for yet.

 

Arlo:
Eh?

 

Magritte:
Much of what we scientists know of the world, and thus the conclusions we reach, is based upon our understanding of the Light. Or rather, of the way things are in the Light. But that is hardly a representative sample of things, is it? Our world is divided in two, and far from evenly, and yet much of our understanding is limited to that which we can prove true in the Light. Therefore our science can never be holistic, not until we know just as much of Night as we do Light. There is a secret to the Night that I aim to uncover. I just don’t know what it is, yet.

 

Arlo:
Well. I won’t pretend I understand all that, but I respect that you’ve actually come out here. I don’t know Scientists, but seeing as how you’re the first I’ve met I’d say you’re probably among the braver ones.

 

Magritte:
You are… kind, to say so. Most of my peers called me foolish. “The natural laws hold true, irrespective of location and illumination” and so on. If location means so little, then why is Lumenas and every town like it surrounded by darkness? There must be a reason, and only when that reason is known can we truly begin to understand our world.

 

Arlo:
Sounds true enough. Why you, though? You don’t strike me as an outdoorsman.

 

Magritte:
Well, quite. I’ve no love for the Night. Frankly it terrifies me. However, my understanding is that bravery is not being without fear, but rather feeling fear and persevering nonetheless.

Arlo:
I think that’s one of those things people are supposed to say about you, rather than a thing you say about yourself.

 

Magritte:
Hmph. And what about you?

 

Arlo:
Hm? What about me?

 

Magritte:
What brought you to a life… out here?

 

Arlo:
I was born on the Road.

 

Magritte:
…Oh. I didn’t… I see.

 

Arlo:
You didn’t realise people could just live out here, right?

 

Magritte:
I’m not sure I know what you mean.

 

Arlo:
As you like. I was born out here, Professor, same as most of the folks working that Caravan over there, same as most folks working Caravans the world over. There are people born to the Light who choose the life, no doubt. But for most it’s something they’re born into. 

 

Magritte:
I suppose it’s not really something I’d considered before. It makes sense, of course.

 

Arlo:
Hm. Well, yes. Another reason it’s good that a Sciencer’s come out here to visit, I suppose. If that’s just one example of a gap in your understanding of the Night.

 

Magritte:
I… suppose so. Do you ever think about seeing what it’s like? To live in the Light?

 

Arlo:

I live in the Light whenever we visit a town or city. Plenty enough to know the life is for me.

 

Magritte:
Just visiting isn’t quite the same, surely-

 

Arlo:

You hope to make your science based only on a visit. People live here, Professor. In the Night, on the Road. They thrive here, just as much as they can in the towns or even your very impressive city of Lumenas. 

 

[A tense, ugly silence.]

Magritte:
I apologise for any offence I’ve caused, Arlo. Sincerely. I’ve been told I have a… poor bedside manner.

 

Arlo:
It’s fine. I’ve been told similar. How’s your… harvesting going?

 

Magritte:

Well enough. I’ve found several samples I don’t strictly recognise, so I suppose that’s what I didn’t know I was looking for.

 

Arlo:

Good. Here, hold the torch for a minute, will you? Just stepping behind a tree for a moment.

 

Magritte:
Yes, fine- ah, why?

 

Arlo:

…You want me to explain why I’m stepping behind a tree.

 

Magritte:
Oh! Oh, quite, yes. Go on. 

 

[Arlo walks a few paces away. The sound of fabric rustling. Then… something else. A distant whisper? Scratching sounds, far too close. Arlo pauses]

 

Arlo:
What…

 

[The wind picks up. It sounds wrong, somehow. Footsteps.]

 

Arlo:
Professor? That you?

 

OUTSIDER:

[Faintly] No.

 

[Arlo curses and rushes back toward Magritte]

 

Arlo:
Give me the torch. We’re heading back to the Caravan. Now.

 

Magritte:
What? Oh, I was just hoping to find a few more-

 

Arlo:
There’s something out there. A… Wraith, or something. We need to get back to the light.

 

Magritte:
Oh my. Yes, let’s-

 

Arlo:
Point the gun someplace else, Light preserve me- just move!

 

Magritte:
Apologies! I’ve just never- oh my. 

 

[They run back to the Caravan]

 

Herschel:
Who goes there?

 

Arlo:
You know it’s us, Herschel. Here, take the rifles. Professor, you’d best get back to your wagon for now.

 

Magritte:
Yes, I do think that would be best. Ah- thank you for your assistance, Arlo. It is-

 

Arlo:
Yeah, just- go.

 

[Magritte leaves]

 

Herschel:
Everything alright? The way you two were hustling, I thought something was chasing you. 

 

Arlo:
I… Uh, there was… No, I just got sick of watching the professor pick up animal scat. Told him there was a Darkling coming, lit a fire under his arse.

 

Herschel:
Ha! Nice one. I was thinking while you were gone, maybe I’d start delivering my own “leavings” to him, act like I was doing him a favour.

 

Arlo:
Might be taking it a bit far there, Hersh.

 

Herschel:
Ah, you’re no fun. Here, I can take the torch too.

 

Arlo:
No! Ah, no, it’s fine. I’ll keep it. 

 

Herschel:
Alright, if you want. 

 

NARRATION:
I don’t know what I heard. But I’d heard it before, in the forest where Melody found the hanged man. And maybe… at night, in the dark of the wagon. I could swear something’s watching me. But there’s nothing there when I light a match. All our lives, folk on the Road get told to respect the Night. We’re not made to fear it as the townfolk do, just to respect it. Understand it. One of the first things we’re taught is never to venture into the Night without a lantern or torch.. I always thought it was to help us find our way. But perhaps… I’m starting to think that perhaps it’s also to prevent other things from finding us.

 

The Caravan is halted now. We’ve made it to one of our regular rest spots along the Road: a patch of Light at the side of the Road, no more than one hundred paces across. Not large enough to be worth settling permanently, but perfect for some weary travellers to have an easy rest,A little oasis of Light out here. As much as I do love the Night, as much as we all do here… it is nice, sometimes, to be able to let our guards down for a minute. No need for a picket line and lanterns, a chance to just relax and be human together without having to look over our shoulders- for a Darkling or for a Reeve coming to spread some Bullshit. As usual, we’ll be having a little… I don’t know what you’d call it, “celebration” seems too grand a word. A festival, but just for us? Heh. A family meal, maybe. People in towns, cities, they have these festivals they do, spread out, based on seasons and so on. Winter’s Turn, Summer’s Peak. Some of them will honour old heroes, or their Gods, or whatever they please. We don’t have anything like that, really. It’s hard to the point of pointless to keep track of the days like that out here. But we have our little… acknowledgements, when we reach a rest stop we’ve visited before. Always out on the Road, not in town. They’re for us, and the Night, and the Road. Maybe it’s odd that we celebrate the Night when we reach a patch of Light, but I’m not too proud to admit that it’s easier. And I am, as I’m recording this, late for the festivities. So now I’m going to leave this wagon, and join the people I care for most in this world around a big fire, eat some good food, and listen to Sacha tell a story. And everything else… everything out there in the shadows… can wait. 

 

[The door opens. Arlo steps out into the small but vibrant gathering of the Caravan’s denizens. Music, laughter, the crackling fire. Arlo walks to the fireside, where Melody calls out to him.]

 

Melody:
Dad! Dad! Over here!

 

Arlo:
I see you, girl. It’s not such a crowd that I can’t spot you in it. What have you got there?

 

Melody:

Mmm! Mister Worthy said it was a tradition that we all eat spiced mutton skewers every time the caravan stops here. It’s good!

 

Arlo:
“Tradition”, eh? I think maybe Mister Worthy just tends to have some mutton just about on the turn around this part of the journey.

 

Melody:
Oh don’t be a spoiler, it’s fun! I’m glad the Caravan has some fun that isn’t just… performing for people in towns. 

 

Arlo:
Oh?

Melody:
Well, you’re all very… different, when you’re in towns. You’re… I guess you’re putting on a face for the people there, giving them what they want, trying to never cause a fuss. It’s much more serious when we’re out on the Road.

 

Arlo:
Well, the Road can be dangerous.

 

Melody:
Hrm. Well, anyway. It’s nice that you can have fun, too, away from people you’re trying to keep happy. 

 

Arlo:
Well, that’s true enough. Get yourself settled, now. Sacha’s going to tell a tale.

 

[Sure enough, people are quieting down. All’s silent but for the crackling of the fire, and even that fades as Sacha spins their tale.]

 

Sacha:
Once, there was only Light. Endless, bright, wondrous. And within that light there were two siblings: Solanthe, and Riador. Born of the Light, they were its children, the reason for which the Light existed: to witness its splendour, to bask in its glory. For untold aeons, the siblings lived in blissful harmony, simply existing, exploring the pure and unbroken wonder of the Light. They loved each other. They loved the Light. The Light loved them. 

 

But such things as pure Light, and pure love, cannot last forever. And so it was jealousy that broke the love between the siblings Solanthe and Riador, the first blessed by the Light. Some will tell you, in all good faith, that it was Riador who betrayed Solanthe: that Riador became jealous of their sibling, of how the Light granted beauty upon Solanthe in ways that Riador lacked. Some say that the Light spoke directly to Solanthe, in ways that Riador could not hear. Some say that Riador simply wanted the light all to themself, and could not abide sharing it even with one they loved so much.

You have heard all these tales and more, my friends. But you have not heard the truth. Not ‘til now. For the truth is that it was jealousy that destroyed the siblings; but it was Solanthe, not Riador, who held that bitter thing within their heart.

 

[The crowd gasps dramatically]

 

Melody:
What?

 

Arlo:
Shh!

 

Sacha:
Over time, Solanthe began to notice that Riador paid less and less attention to their sibling. This took some time, as Solanthe was themself distracted by the beauty and splendour of the Light that surrounded the pair. But eventually, they noticed that Riador often had their back turned to Solanthe, as if hiding something. When Solanthe called out to Riador, Riador would always swiftly turn, and smile, and ask what Solanthe wanted. As if nothing at all had changed. But something had changed. And soon, Solanthe noticed that Riador always had one hand behind their back, where Solanthe could not see it. Solanthe’s frustration and suspicion grew more and more, and eventually they could take it no more. And so, while Riador slept, eyes briefly closed to the splendour and beauty of the Light, Solanthe crept up on them and checked what it was that Riador had hidden in their shadow.

 

A perfect black sphere of Darkness. The first thing of its kind that Solanthe had ever seen. Solanthe gazed upon it, enthralled and horrified in equal measure to find that it had been made from Solanthe’s own shadow. And that is when Riador awoke, and found their sibling standing over them, with Riador’s great secret held in their hands. The siblings fought terribly: Solanthe argued that the Darkness that Riador had created was the antithesis of Light, the nemesis of the wondrous thing that had created and nurtured them; Riador, on the other hand, said that the Light would not have allowed the creation of the Darkness if the Light did not want Darkness to exist! And besides, Riador had crafted the Darkness with their own shadow, and how could shadow exist without Light? In a way, the Darkness had been created from the Light itself.

 

The pair fought, and fought, the first fight to ever occur in that world of purity, of Light. Solanthe felt betrayed by their sibling. They felt that the Light itself had been betrayed. Riador, likewise, felt betrayed by Solanthe, for their fury and distrust at something that Riador did not believe was wrong at all. Despite this conflict, though, the siblings still loved one another. Indeed, they might well have been reconciled, were it not for what Solanthe did next. Seeking to bring an end to this fight, to the blasphemy they believed Riador had committed, they took the Darkness in one hand, and a blade of purest Light in the other, and with that Light they pierced the Darkness. The struck at the sphere of Darkness over and over, perforating it in one hundred places or more, even as Riador begged them, pleaded with them to stop. And then, the deed done, Solanthe cast the ruined Darkness away, hurling it with all their might far into the distance, where Riador could find it no more. Solanthe thought they were doing Riador a favour, it is true. But this act of cruellest mercy doomed them both. 

 

Riador spent one hundred days searching for the Darkness, becoming more ragged and mad with every minute that passed without it. Just as Riador and Solanthe were children of the Light, so too was the Darkness Riador’s child, and Riador was lost without it. Solanthe followed along, for a time, waiting for Riador to give up on this pointless quest so they could return to the carefree ways of before. But Riador did not give up, and eventually Solanthe gave up on following in their tracks, believing that in time Riador would come back to sanity and return to them. Instead, Riador searched, and searched, and searched, until all sanity and hope and life had been burned out of their heart, and the Light could sustain their search no more. Some long time later, Solanthe found what remained of Riador: bleached to white by the relentless, loving Light, Solanthe’s sibling was dead, and for the first time since time began Solanthe was alone in the Light. They did not hesitate long. They said a short, sincere, loving apology to their brother. Then Solanthe raised the blade of purest Light, the same blade with which they had ruined Riador’s perfect Darkness, and cut their throat. And so the realm of Light was abandoned by its children, stained forever with betrayal, and blood, and death.

 

But all life was not gone from the world. For the Darkness that Riador had crafted still lay where it had landed, full of holes through which the loving Light of the world could creep in. And within that sphere of black, where Light and Darkness mingled, something new was born. A world of Night, where the descendants of the siblings Solanthe and Riador live on, dwelling in the pinpricks of light that Solanthe’s mistake granted them, travelling through the oceans of purest Darkness that Riador had so lovingly crafted. Flawed, but beautiful as a cracked crystal glass, and full of hope and love like a glass can fill with wine. 

 

[The applause is immediate; the crowd has heard this story before.]

 

Sacha:
Thank you, thank you. Someone get me a bloody beer!

 

Arlo:
What do you think?

 

Melody:
Sacha’s very good at telling stories!

 

Arlo:
They better be, or they’d have to find another line of work.

 

Melody:
That’s not how the story goes, though.

 

Arlo:
Oh?

 

Melody:
It was Riador who got jealous of Solanthe. Because the Light blessed Solanthe with hair that shone brighter even than the Light, but Riador had black hair that didn’t shine at all.

 

Arlo:
Is that so.

 

Melody:
Yes! And the Darkness was made of Riador’s black hair, not the shadow. And Solanthe-

 

Arlo:
It sounds like Riador was the bad guy in your version.

 

Melody:
Well… Are they not?

Arlo:
Well, maybe in some versions of the story. The one you heard growing up. But that’s not the one Sacha felt like telling today.

 

Melody:
But which one is true?

Arlo:
I don’t know. Maybe both are, maybe neither. Probably some mixture of the two versions is closer to the truth than either one on their own. That’s usually how it goes.

 

Melody:
Oh…

 

Arlo:
Did you like Sacha’s version?

Melody:
It was okay… but why haven’t I heard it before? 

 

Arlo:
Well, it’s like you said before. Caravaners tend to be a bit different in towns than on the Road. We show a different side of ourselves, one that people raised in the Light will prefer. 

 

Melody:

And you think town people might not like that version of the story?

 

Arlo:
I think Sacha and their troupe have done a lot of versions of the tale of Solanthe and Riador over the years. It’s one of those classic tales everyone knows, so it makes sense to mix it up. But there are definitely some details that townfolk prefer. They get protective of Solanthe, because Solanthe is typically associated with the Light like they are.

 

Melody:
Is Sacha worried that people would get upset that the story makes Solanthe look bad? Because Solanthe is… associated with Light? 

 

Arlo:
I don’t know if “worried” is the word. More like… Sacha is a performer. And they know what their audience wants. 

 

Melody:
Right. That makes sense.

 

Arlo:
I wouldn’t say that Sacha’s version makes Solanthe look bad, though. Or like the villain of the story. 

 

Melody:
But Solanthe got jealous, and stabbed the Darkness because of jealousy. 

 

Arlo:
Well, yes. That’s true. But Riador kept the Darkness from Solanthe. Hid it. Isn’t that a kind of jealousy, to want to keep this wonderful unique thing all to themself?

 

Melody:
What’s wrong with wanting to have something for yourself?

 

Arlo:
Ah, that’s the Caravaner in me. Sharing is very important to us, you’ve seen that.

 

Melody:
Right. That’s fair. Riador should have shown Solanthe the Darkness, maybe.

 

Arlo:
And I bet that, in the version of the story you grew up with, Riador doesn’t get much credit for creating our world, do they?

 

Melody:
No, in the way I’ve heard it Solanthe gives their life to bring Light to the Darkness, and Riador doesn’t want that to happen. 

 

Arlo:
Mm. So the version you’ve heard, in your town in the Light, says the Light is better than the Dark, but this version has them more… in balance. You can’t have one without the other. I think that’s a better story.

 

Melody:
It is nice, actually. When you put it like that.

 

Arlo:
I’m glad. 

 

Melody:
It’s a shame people in towns don’t get to hear this version, really.

 

Arlo:
You should tell Sacha that. They’d love to hear your opinion, really. 

 

Melody:
Okay, I will!

Arlo:

[Whispering theatrically]
Just… maybe wait til they’ve sobered up.

 

Melody:
[Giggles] Okay.

 

NARRATION:
[Arlo’s tone is loose, a little slurred. He’s drunk.] It was a good show. A good celebration. I’m glad that Melody got to see us as ourselves, rather than just who we are when we pass through town. I wonder… I wonder if maybe, if her mother was still around, I might have given her that chance. Taken her for a trip with us, maybe all the way around the Road then drop her off back home. No idea if her mother would have let her, or if Melody’d even have wanted to… Or if I’d have ever thought to do it. A different path. It’s nice that she gets to see how I… how we live. The real us, the real me, instead of just the me that drops by when the Caravan is in town, brings her a gift or something. I know she enjoys it, I just… It’s hard knowing that, no matter what happens, she’ll always wish she was back home with her Mum. Because that would mean her Mum was still alive. Ah, I’ve had a few drinks, I’m getting all maudlin here. What’s important is that, for now, she’s happy. She’s out there, dancing around the fire with Sacha and Herschel and they care about her, and they’re keeping her safe. I should be out there too, but I just… Had to step away for a minute. It’s the lack of sleep, mostly. Hard to get to sleep when the darkness keeps… whispering. Has been since Prosperous. Can’t make out words. Just… a presence. I kind of thought, or hoped, that I was just imagining it. Right up until I heard it in the Night, with Magritte. He didn’t hear it. I only heard it when I stepped away from the torchlight. It’s the light it’s afraid of, or at least that’s keeping it away.  The lanterns on the outside of the wagon stay lit, but when I go to sleep I put out the candles. Dark on the inside, but the light keeps whatever it is that’s following me at bay so I can barely hear it. But it’s there… It’s always there, except when we’re in the Light. Can’t hear it now, even though the candles are out…

 

 Ah… fuck it. 

 

[Arlo stops the recording and gets out of the wagon. The sounds of celebration grow louder, then softer as Arlo walks away from the group]

Herschel:
Arlo? You alright?

 

Arlo:
Yeah, just stretching my legs. Keep an eye on Melody for me, would you?

 

Herschel:
Do my best.

 

Arlo:
Ta. [Muttering to himself] Okay, c’mon you stupid bastard, don’t lose your nerve now. Just a few steps into the Night, just enough to see… Just enough to… hear. 

 

[A whispering on the breeze.]

 

Arlo:
Are you there?
[The whispering ebbs… then grows louder… but never reaches comprehensibility]

 

Arlo:
Show yourself! Get it over with!

 

Melody:
Dad?

 

[The whispering stops instantly. Arlo’s footsteps crunch on the ground as he spins, surprised]

 

Arlo:
Melody! What… what are you doing here?

Melody:
I saw you get out of the wagon, I was going to ask if you were done Chronicling so I could go to bed. But then you walked off into the Night so I followed to see what you were doing.

 

Arlo:
Oh. I- I told Herschel to keep an eye on you, he should have-

 

Melody:
Dad, Herschel’s drunk. 

 

Arlo:
Oh. Right.

 

Melody:
Are you drunk?

 

Arlo:
I mean- I had a few drinks, but… That’s no way to talk to your father, come on sweetie.

 

Melody:
…What are you doing out here, Dad?

Arlo:
I was just stretching my legs. Relieving myself.

 

Melody:
I heard you shouting. Is everything okay?

 

Arlo:
That was, uh, that was probably just someone at the bonfire, don’t-

 

Melody:
I’m not dumb, dad. 

 

Arlo:

Right. Sorry, you’re not. I was just… I haven’t been sleeping well. You’ve probably noticed. Came out here to clear my head a little.
 

Melody:
Really?

Arlo:
Yeah. Come on, let’s get back in the Light. You wanted to go to bed, yeah? I think that sounds like a good idea right about now.

 

Melody:
Okay…

 

[The pair walk back past the bonfire and the revellers, back into their Wagon. They shut the door behind them, and lie down on their bedrolls to sleep. A pause.]

 

Arlo:
Kiddo, do you think…

Melody:
Yeah?

 

Arlo:
Would you mind if I kept a candle lit?

Melody:
Why?

Arlo:
I think it might… help me sleep.

 

Melody:
Oh. Okay, sure. 

 

Arlo:
Thanks. Appreciate it.

 

Melody:
Oh! That reminds me, actually! Here! [She rustles in a pocket] Old Bess gave me some of her tea blend! She said this one will help you sleep- I mentioned you’d been having some trouble sleeping.

 

Arlo:
Did you now. 

 

Melody:
Yeah. I had a different blend, and it was really nice! Would you like me to put a pot on the fire outside so we can brew some? 

 

Arlo:
A bonfire’s not for brewing tea on, Mel. You’d set yourself alight trying to get it back out again.

 

Melody:
Oh… You’re right…

 

Arlo:

But, ah, here, come on. Let’s go light a smaller cooking fire, some tea sounds like a fine idea.

 

Melody:
Okay! I’ll grab the pot!

 

[Melody opens the door to the wagon and jumps out. Arlo pauses… then reaches out and shuts the door behind her. He sits for a moment in the dark.]

 

Arlo:
Are you there? Whatever you are?

[Nothing. After a moment, Arlo swears, gets up, and leaves the wagon.]