THE EXILE OF ABRA-KHAN Story: Richard Raleigh • Art: Ted Naifeh SCRIPT/BREAKDOWNS Issue #1 PAGE 1 Late summer. We're looking from above, from inside the foliage of a tree, past dark assassin silhouettes in extreme foreground, at a monk and a young novice who are walking down a wooded path. MENDICANT: . . . and when they had bound him in chains and displayed him in a cage for all the people to see, the Holy One said to his captors -- "You may kill me. You may part my head from my body, but just I am but a vessel for the teachings of the Holy Ones before me, so my teachings will live on in all who have heard them -- even you, my persecutors, even you who do not believe." And there was a roar in the crowd and much uneasiness among the Emperor's ministers. NOVICE: And did they execute him, Master?
Transcript
THE EXILE OF ABRA-KHAN
Story: Richard Raleigh • Art: Ted Naifeh
SCRIPT/BREAKDOWNS Issue #1
PAGE 1
Late summer. We're looking from above, from inside the foliage of a tree, past dark assassin silhouettes in extreme foreground, at a monk and a young novice who are walking down a wooded path.
MENDICANT: . . . and when they had bound him in chains and displayed him in a cage for all the people to see, the Holy One said to his captors -- "You may kill me. You may part my head from my body, but just I am but a vessel for the teachings of the Holy Ones before me, so my teachings will live on in all who have heard them -- even you, my persecutors, even you who do not believe." And there was a roar in the crowd and much uneasiness among the Emperor's ministers.
NOVICE: And did they execute him, Master?
THE EXILE - 2
TITLE:
THE EXILE
of Abra-Khan Part 1
Weave a Circle ‘Round Him Thrice
CREDITS: Story: Richard Raleigh
Art: Ted Naifeh Colors: Martin Thomas Letters: John Babcock
PAGE 2
2.1 The Novice, still looking up at his master, does not see anything, but the look in the Mendicant’s eye shows that he has noticed something.
NOVICE: Master?
2.2 Close on the Mendicant, alarmed.
MENDICANT: Shadakan!
2.3 We pull back for a medium-long shot. It seems the monk and the novice will be helpless -- they’re surrounded by eight black-clad Shadakan assassins . . .
NOVICE: Master!
MENDICANT: Get behind me, boy!
2.4 Much to our surprise, the monk and the novice both draw swords from beneath their robes.
MENDICANT: Protect my back, boy! And calm your mind! They can read your fear!
2.5-2.6 Single panel composition, divided in two to show the Mendicant moving through the Shadakan. The monks are putting up a fierce fight. They
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kill one of the assassins, but it is clear they are outnumbered and will not last long. (NOTE: Shadakan never speak -- they communicate telepathically. They can hear the mental noise of their victims' fear. When they die, they die without a sound.) PAGE 3
3.1 The fight continues. The two are pinned against a tree, the Novice mortally wounded by a sword thrust. The Mendicant is standing forward of the Novice in a defensive posture, but it looks hopeless now. The Shadakan are about to finish them off.
NOVICE
(wounded): Ahhh!
MENDICANT: They executed him, but the Holy One lives in us. It is our duty now to stay alive and spread his word.
3.2-3.3 INSETS - The Novice bending over, clutching his wound as the blood leaks through his fingers. His sword is falling from his other hand.
NOVICE (3.2): Uh. . .
NOVICE 3.3:
Ahhhh. . .
3.4 Angle on the Shadakan, looking sinister, about to apply the finishing touches.
EXILE
(off panel): Shadakan! Let them pass, Shadakan.
3.5 A stranger in the middle distance, half hidden in the shadows of the trees. We can barely make him out, but we see how large he is, and that he is well-armed: he carries a long staff, a sword, and a bow with a quiver of arrows.
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EXILE:
Or your quarrel is with us! 3.6 Looking past the Shadakan in the extreme foreground, at the two. The Novice is behind his master. The Mendicant doesn’t realize the boy is mortally wounded.
NOVICE: Have they come to save us, Master?
MENDICANT
(without looking back): Shhhh. . . He is only one man. And he is too far yet to intervene. Keep up your guard, boy. We may die before he can reach us.
3.7-3.8 INSETS -- Dead-looking Shadakan eyes, contrasted with the equally dead eyes of the stranger. They’re staring each other down, and the Shadakan’s eyes look alarmed (he’s reading a very strange mind).
EXILE (3.8):
We said let them pass, Shadakan.
PAGE 4
4.1-4.2 INSETS - Extreme close on Shadakan eyes exchanging meaningful glances. They’re making a decision. They look somewhat confused. 4.3 In foreground, the Shadakan start their attack on the Mendicant and the Novice. Two of them rush forward, swords raised.
NOVICE: Master. . .
MENDICANT: Holy One give us time. . .
4.4 Close two shot of Mendicant and the Novice. The Novice looks hopeless, still bent over, bleeding. Mendicant looks grim.
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NOVICE: Uhhh. . .
MENDICANT: Mask your intent, boy, and they will pause before they strike.
4.5 Medium close on The Exile, calmly nocking an arrow on his long bow, drawing it back to aim. 4.6 Medium close, head-and-shoulder shots of two Shadakan, an arrow ripping through one’s neck and into the other’s chest. Spurting blood.
SFX: Various death noises from the Shadakan.
4.7 INSET - The strangers eyes. PAGE 5 5.1 An arrow sprouts through another Shadakan’s back. We see the stranger in extreme background, nocking another arrow.
SFX: Flying arrow
Death noise
5.2 Long shot. The remaining assassins now charge the stranger, who is nocking his final arrow. 5.3 Medium close. We’re looking past a Shadakan in extreme foreground who has an arrow sprouting through his back. The stranger is lowering his bow, and the other Shadakan are almost upon him.
SFX: Arrow
Death noise
5.4 Wide panel. The Shadakan attack from two sides. 5.5 Dramatic composition a la Frazetta - The Exile kills the Shadakan the way a bear might swat away a pack of wolves.
SFX: Choking death noise
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Death noise
PAGE 6
6.1 The Mendicant approaches the stranger, helping the Novice walk.
MENDICANT: I know not how to thank you, stranger.
EXILE: An enemy of our enemy is our friend for a time.
MENDICANT: Then let the time be long, I pray. What brings you this way on such untraveled roads?
6.2 Finally, we see the stranger up close, and we cannot help but wonder what sort of deformity he is hiding -- he wears a voluminous cloak around his body, and his face is wrapped in bandages.
EXILE:
Perhaps we share the same destination as well as a common enemy.
6.3 INSET - Close on The Exile’s stitched left hand (with six fingers) disappearing into his cloak. 6.4 Close two shot on the Novice and the Mendicant.
NOVICE: Master . . . his hand . . .
MENDICANT: Shhh. . .
6.5 Pulling back to a medium two shot. The Mendicant is struggling with the boy’s weight.
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MENDICANT: I must ask your help again, my friend. May I call you friend?
6.6 Close on The Exile. Contrast this panel with the one above. He should look more mysterious and threatening here, in odd contrast to the sensitivity in his eyes.
EXILE: Do. Best to be on good terms in the dark. Stranger means enemy in many tongues we speak, and night fast approaches. Let us move on before the jackals come out to feast on this Shadakan meat.
PAGE 7
7.1 Night. We’re looking down at a small campsite. The Mendicant and The Exile are seated around a fire, the Novice stretched on the ground. In extreme foreground, a huge white owl alights on a tree.
OWL: WHOOOOOOOO!
SFX (wings):
WSSSS WSSSS WSSSS
NOVICE: Ahh! Master . . . save me . . .
7.2 Reverse angle. We’re looking at the Mendicant and the Exile in the foreground now, illuminated by the camp fire. The white owl is visible in the shadows of the tree in the background.
OWL:
WHOOOOOOOO!
SFX
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(wolves in night): AROOOOOOOOO!
EXILE
(whisper): By our reckoning, he’ll not last the night.
MENDICANT: It is the owl he fears. Some believe it is the courier of souls bound for Hell.
EXILE: There are far worse fates than Hell. And more fearsome couriers than the owl.
6.3 The dying Novice in extreme foreground. He’s nearly unconscious, groaning in pain. We see the Mendicant and the Exile above him in the firelight.
MENDICANT: I was telling him the story of one of our Holy Ones. I fear it brought this misfortune upon us.
EXILE: He likes stories?
MENDICANT: Yes.
NOVICE: Unnnn. . .
EXILE: Then let us tell one. It will pass the time, and perhaps it will help him to sleep.
MENDICANT: We are honored.
7.4 He begins his narration, and we flash back with him to watch the story unfold.
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EXILE:
Our tale begins with a grief beyond imagining. . . Paint for us, in your mind’s eye, a gray sky breaking with the first heavy downpour of spring.
7.5 INSET - Extreme close on the Exile’s eyes, brimming with tears.
EXILE: Now follow those cold, pure droplets down . . .
PAGE 8 SPLASH PAGE
In a town square, under a pouring spring rain, we see the dead bodies of several young girls laid out on muddy reed mats in foreground. Parents are in the background wailing. The girls, who had been out gathering flowers in the woods, were raped and murdered by marauding bandits. One of them still has flowers woven in her hair. In the background, we see some of the prominent characters: Kayaman, the elder, wearing his elder’s headdress; Alba, his beautiful daughter; Hallas, the strong-willed young man. The rest of the peasants are fairly nondescript. Everyone is looking down at the dead girls except Kayaman, who is looking up into the sky, and Hallas, who is looking at Alba.
CAP: . . .down into a town square, muddy from the tread of many feet. You cannot see the earth mingling with dried blood, melting back again from black to red in the pouring rain. You cannot feel the texture of the straw mats that cover the bodies of the dead maidens. Six of them. Out to gather spring flowers in the woods when the bandits came upon them.
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You cannot imagine the violence done to them. You cannot feel their anguish. Their bodies were tattered and bloody as their clothes -- pieces taken as souvenirs, torn, frayed. As you know, there is no law in the land, and Abra-Khan is a poor town, like so many others, quietly struggling in the ruins of the fallen Empire, healing its wounds from a memory of The Great War. Its best men were lost to the Mad Emperor’s failed campaigns. Abra-Khan is a town of the meek, the cowardly, the humble -- it is a town of peasants. But now, for the first time, these peasants’ anger overwhelmed their fatalism. . .
PAGE 9
9.1 Medium close on Kayaman. A solemn expression. We see a couple of unhappy people in the background.
CAP: . . . and even Kayaman, their headman, could not calm their rage.
KAYAMAN:
We survived the Thousand Year War, we have outlived the Mad Emperor. We have endured, people, and yet will we endure. . .
9.2 Medium close on Hallas, angry, rebellious, handsome. He’s the golden boy of Abra-Khan -- their last manly man, as it were. When he speaks out, the people around him are shocked, yet supportive.
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HALLAS: No, Kayaman! No more! We’re sick with it! A kidnapping here, a disappearance there, and now six dead at once -- when will it be enough? I say this is enough!
9.3-9.5 INSETS - Three close up shots of Alba, as she watches Hallas argue with her father.
9.6 Medium long shot, angled down at the scene. Hallas and Kayaman arguing as Alba and townspeople look on (Kayaman is holding Alba protectively). The bodies of the dead girls visible on the ground.
KAYAMAN:
We are a humble people, young Hallas. God gives us neither the power nor the authority for retribution.
HALLAS: Who needs God’s authority? Did God grant them the authority to do this? And power? We can buy power! I know we’ve hoarded our gold for some great emergency. What greater emergency than this? We’ve suffered flood and drought better! What could be more urgent now? Seed grain for a crop to feed no one? Look - the future mothers of Abra-Khan are dead! Dowry money for these brides-never-to-be? Look, I say!
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9.7 Wide shot. Hallas now has the townspeople behind him, on his side. Kayaman, in foreground, is losing Alba to them. The bodies of the dead girls visible in periphery. It’s still raining.
CAP: And the people looked, for they heard the fierce logic of youth outweigh for once the tired aphorisms of antiquity. And now, even with their downtrodden hearts, they chose Hallas over their headman. They would send the youth out into the world with their precious gold to buy the power of retribution. . . . . . and neither Kayaman’s objections - nor his warnings of divine punishment - were of any avail.
KAYAMAN: Alba. . .
ALBA: This time you’re wrong, father. I’m with them.
PAGE 10
10.1 INSET - Hallas in foreground waving goodbye as he leaves for the city. In background, the villagers, Alba in front, have come to see him off. Hallas is wearing a scarf given to him by Alba; he carries a heavy shoulder bag full of gold and his provisions.
CAP: Hallas had proved himself a man. But now, to live up to his word, he had to prove himself a hero as well. . .
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10.2 Panoramic shot of the landscape. Sunrise in the background, beyond the hills. In the distance, we see the shining towers of the great city. In foreground, Hallas stands, looking rather apprehensive and tired.
CAP: . . . for he secretly loved Kayaman’s daughter, Alba, and he sought more to win her heart than the hearts of his people.
10.3 Hallas enters the city gates. The typical scene here: the burly guards manning the gate, the steel teeth of the portcullis visible above, a string of merchants lined up to go in and out, the bustle of city commerce visible inside.
CAP: With the weight of Abra-Khan’s gold on his shoulders, he made his way into the City he knew only in legend and dream. He believed he could buy warriors. He believed with the courage of youth . . .
10.4 Hallas in extreme foreground, stretched out on the ground in some back alley, unconscious and bleeding. Beyond him, the three mercenaries are dividing the gold.
CAP: . . . but before the day had passed, with Abra-Khan behind far him, he felt the sudden terror of being one man, alone, in the vast, unknown world. He was the best of Abra-Khan, but in the City, that was little more than nothing. . . . . . and mercenaries need not earn what they can simply take.
10.6 INSET - Close on Hallas.
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HALLAS: Unnnnnggh. . . The gold . . .
PAGE 11
11.1 Close on Hallas, looking quite dejected. He’s clutching his throat and looking up into the sky.
HALLAS: How can I face my people with this shame? Oh, God, strike me dead! I deserve to die!
11.2 Close on Hallas. He’s drawn his long knife, and he looks down at the blade, crying.
11.3 Hallas puts the point of his knife against his chest and begins to push, with an anguished expression on his face.
HALLAS: Oh, God, this will hurt, Alba. I’ll never see you again. You’ll marry some sniveling wretch and bear his children while crows eat my corpse. And will you even remember me? Will you? Uhhhh! Uhhh! >SOB<
11.4 Looking down at Hallas, on his knees, weeping at his lack of courage, his failure to kill himself.
HALLAS: I’m just a coward! Just like the rest of you! Just like your gutless senile old father! Alba!
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11.5 Hallas in foreground, sitting like a child now with his knife between his outstretched legs. He’s moping and weeping. Behind him, a passing swordsman notices him. (This is Swanstar. He looks like a middle-aged samuri.)
SWANSTAR: Eh?
HALLAS: It’s all because of you, Alba! You teasing bitch! >SOB< You made me throw my life away to prove myself! For your smile! For nothing! Damn you! Bitch! >SOB< Bitch! I hope you rot in the same Hell as me!
11.6 Medium two shot. Hallas on his knees, clutching Swanstar’s robe, begging him for death. Swanstar looks down with both curiousity and contempt.
HALLAS: Please, sir, have mercy on me! I’m too much a coward even to take my own life. Will you kill me? Here - the last of my money! You can take my clothes! Kill me, I beg you!
11.7 INSET - Swanstar drawing his sword.
SFX: Sword sliding out
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PAGE 12 12.1 Swanstar looms over Hallas, drawing his sword. Hallas still kneels in foreground, his back to us.
SWANSTAR: Women be the death of us all, boy. One quick swipe between the chin and the shoulder, and you embrace the sweet oblivion of death, eh?
HALLAS: Oh, sir, I thank you. But will it hurt? Will I suffer much?
SWANSTAR: Ah, it’s the most excruciating pain. It burns like the fires of Hell.
HALLAS: It burns? Is there some way --
12.2 Swanstar raises his sword in background, his expression disgusted. He’s getting ready to strike. In foreground, Hallas, with sudden change of mind, leaps away.
SWANSTAR: Dog! I’ll salt the stump of your neck!
HALLAS: NOOOOOO!!!
12.3 INSET - Close up of the flat of Swanstar’s blade smacking against Hallas’ ass.
SFX: SMAK!!
12.4 Looking down past Swanstar, sword still drawn, standing over Hallas prostrate form. (Maybe he should be rubbing his ass here.) Hallas looks incredulous.
HALLAS: Ahhhhh. . . . >pant pant< You didn’t kill me? I’m still alive?
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SWANSTAR: Life is a gift that even the gods envy, boy. I’ll not waste even a wretched one like yours.
12.5 INSET - Close on Swanstar. Our first good look at his wise, lined features. He’s a warrior who’s seen more than his share of battle, and his eyes show an unexpected compassion.
SWANSTAR: Now what’s your sad little story, eh?
12.6 Medium shot. Hallas leads Swanstar to find the men who robbed him of the gold.
SWANSTAR: And be a man about it or I’ll paddle you the way you truly deserve!
CAP:
So Hallas recounted his tearful tale and the old warrior, Swanstar, listened first with sympathy, then with amusement. . . . . . for nothing touches an old warrior’s heart like a tale mixed of tragedy and farce.
PAGE 13
SPLASH PAGE Swanstar standing in middle ground, sword poised and dripping with blood. (This can be set inside an alehouse, in which case the bodies could be draped over tables and chairs, etc. -- or set outside, in which case we would need some interesting background details. In both cases, blood everywhere.) All around Swanstar, in various poses, are the dead mercenaries who once conned Hallas. Pouch of gold in foreground, coins spilling from it. Hallas is sitting with his back against a low wall, looking stunned. In extreme foreground, we see one of the mercenaries (something distinctive about him that will make him recognizable later) still barely alive.
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CAP: Swanstar was man of honor come upon meager times. He had survived the campaigns of the Mad Emperor. He had seen the sun set on many a field of battle redder than the horizon. He was a man who had lived well by the sword, and the handful of young mercenaries was little more than a brief obstruction of his swift justice. They recovered all but a single gold piece -- what the mercenaries had spent to fill their bellies and drain their loins.
HALLAS: Sir, there's one still alive. May I . . . may I kill him?
SWANSTAR: Still a breath in him, eh? Then let him live and be the teller of this cautionary tale. Come, boy. We need to find a few real wariors to earn this gold.
HALLAS: Real warriors . . . .
MERC: Uhhhhh. . . .
PAGE 14
14.1 Angle on the archer, Hysaal, sitting in a workshop checking the true of an arrow he has just feathered. We should be looking down the arrowshaft, past Hysaal, to see Swanstar and Hallas in the background, standing just inside the doorway. The rest of the workshop is cluttered with various things -- it could be a blacksmith's shop in whish Hysaal is doing some work for himself: a forge or a
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fireplace would be appropriate, but the necessary features are: feathers that Hysaal uses for his arrows, some unfinished arrowshafts leaning against a wall, arrowheads of steel, and a couple of unstrung bows. Hysaal himself can have shoulderlength hair. He's tall and lean (to look good with a bow), and rather thoughtful. In some ways he could be a younger version of Swanstar.
CAP: And so Swanstar gathered them together from their various haunts: Hysaal, master archer. . .
SWANSTAR: There is work for us to discuss, Hysaal.
HYSAAL: Later, Swanstar. Over drinks at the alehouse.
14.2 We're now looking past Swanstar, Hallas, and Hysaal in foreground at Thieu, the Conan-style barbarian. Theiu is in bed, naked, with a half-dressed alehouse wench in each arm; he's been interrupted in the middle of proving his virility. (He's a good-natured and rather simply guy.) In foreground, Hallas looks both shocked and pruriently interested in the scene. Swanstar is all business. Hysaal is completely uninterested.
CAP: Thieu the berserker. . .
SWANSTAR: Meet us at the alehouse, Thieu, when you money and vitality are spent.
THIEU: Join us! I’ll call another wench! Heh heh.
14.3 The interior of a crowded alehouse. Chang and Yushin are at a table, arm wrestling, the crowd around them taking bets. Hysaal and Swanstar talk seriously to the two at the table, while in the background, Thieu is getting Hallas to down a huge mug of ale. Chang is lean and bearded while Yushin is somewhat stoud but fast-looking (like a Mongolian). They're obviously close comrades, possibly lovers.
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CAP:
Blackbeard Chang of the many unarmed ways; and Yushin, master of staff and spear.
CHANG:
All right, Swanstar, count us in. But witness this! The winner gets both shares, eh? I’d hate to see Yushin waste his gold on cattle to trade for wives.
14.4 Panoramic shot. The city in the background on the hill, a winding road leading down towards us. It's evening, with the sun low on the horizon, and the warriors are riding down towards us in a loose procession: Hallas in front, followed by Swanstar, Thieu (in a rigged saddle that allows him to nap while he's riding), Yushin and Chang (rising close together), and finally, Hysaal, attentively bringing up the rear.
CAP: We were old friends from past campaigns, both lost and won, and we knew that between us we could more than match arms with any band of roving outlaws.
DIFFERENT CAP: We, you say?
CAP: Ah, we get ahead of ourselves, for that is before our time. They bought horses, then, and they rode to Abra-Khan like saviors, a beaming Hallas at our front like the figurehead of an earthbound ship.
PAGE 15
15.1 Looking up past the procession of warriors riding into town. Above and behind them we see the branches of the god tree festooned with ribbons and decorations. It's like a combination Maypole and Christmas tree.
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CAP:
And when they came to Abra-Khan, it was like spring come again. The people had bedecked the god tree in its most festive colors: it was a rainbow released from its heavenly bonds and coiled 'round the tree of paradise. The warriors had never seen the like, for during the campaigns even the victorious armies had returned to a people whose gaiety was long since spent.
15.2 Wide shot. A night-time party scene with villagers and warriors dancing around a bonfire. Lots of food and drink. Thieu with a woman on each arm, Chang and Yushin dancing with each other, Swanstar sitting with Hysaal. Alba and Hallas are also dancing with each other, but Alba is looking towards Hysaal -- their eyes meet. (Probably impossible to show all this in one big panel, but get the general sense of it. Other insets if necessary.)
CAP: Three days of celebration: free-flowing wine, sweet delicacies, dancing, and neglected duties.
15.3 INSET - Kayaman in his house, looking down into a book by lamplight.
CAP: For Kayaman these were days of brooding, of sensing ill omens in his divinations. But the townspeople called him merely jealous, and he began to doubt himself for the first time in his long, long life.
15.4 INSET- Close on Alba. Hysaal visible in background, Hallas in extreme foreground. She's figuratively caught between the two men.
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CAP: And Alba blossomed. She drew the gaze of all the men, though she paid the hero's share of attention to Hallas.
PAGE 16 16.1 The warriors prepare and train townspeople for battle. This should be a slightly comic scene, with a rag-tag group of peasants in the background, trying to stand in a military formation, looking stupid carrying their farm tools as if they were spears. Swanstar, on horseback, looks over the group. Thieu and others are working among the ranks. In the extreme foreground, we see Alba watching the men. Hallas is in the formation somewhere, but Hysaal is at the fringe, near Swanstar. He is the only one looking in Alba’s direction, meeting her eyes. Somewhere in the background, where only a very attentive reader will notice, a bandit is watching from the treeline.
CAP: For a time, all was well. And the festive mood carried into the days of preparation and training. Having no army, we sought to create one of farmers. . . . . .and having no weapons, we sought to make them of hoes and rakes. Who would not say we were dreaming?
SWANSTAR (on horseback):
Scout beyond the east woods, Hysaal. I’ll see to the west.
CHANG: Formation! Formation! An arm’s length apart!
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16.2 Another angle on the formation from last panel. A peasant in foreground waves a rake that has a spearpoint attached to it. He’s pointing and shouting an alarm. Show the god tree in background and some of the town homes in the distance, looking rather peaceful and organized. Yushin is standing between the shouting peasant and the others, squinting towards us.
CAP: And who would not warn a dreamer that wishes often come deceitfully true?
YUSHIN:
Swanstar! To the south!
PEASANT: There! It’s one of them!
16.3 Close on the excited peasants, running forward, raising their rakes and hoes. Hallas is all the way in the foreground, shouting the loudest.
PEASANT: Get him!
PEASANT: Get him!
HALLAS: It is time for revenge, my brothers! Follow me!
16.4 Hallas in extreme foreground, Swanstar in background, his horse rearing up. Beyond them, peasants are running towards the woods.
CAP: Ah, they were eager to test their new power, to feel for once the exhilaration of confidence coursing through their peasant blood. . .
SWANSTAR:
Hallas! Call them back! It’s likely to be a decoy!
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HALLAS: I can lead them now, Swanstar! Let us have our revenge! Follow me, brothers!
16.5 Close on Swanstar on horseback. In foreground, peasants running past him.
SWANSTAR: Hysaal! Yushin! Take your men and prepare a line of defense!
PEASANT: Hunt down that sniveling rat!
PAGE 17
17.1 INSET - The decoy bandit runs towards the treeline in foreground. Behind him, gaining, are the peasants. They are throwing various weapons at him.
PEASANTS: Ha! Take that!
17.2 INSET - Bandit in foreground, panting for breath as he crashes through the underbrush. Behind him, we see the peasants following, now on his heels. A spear zooms by, towards the viewer.
PEASANT: Catch him before he’s in the woods! Aim higher!
BANDIT: >Pant pant pant<
17.3 Splash page. Just past some underbrush, we’ve suddenly run into a clearing full of bandits on horseback. This is no small band of deserters as the townspeople expected -- its a veritable army led by Raemon, the most feared of bandit lords.
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In extreme foreground, Hallas and another peasant are standing, dumbfounded. The deco bandit has collapsed onto his knees. A spear is sticking in the ground at his side. Among the mounted bandits, we see Raemon, their leader, looking both regal and arrogant. In other circumstances he might have been a handsome prince or a young warlord, but he’s done well for himself in these chaotic times. He has long, dark hair that comes down past his shoulders. At his side is the one-handed survivor of Swanstar’s attack at the alehouse, still nursing his stump.
CAP: . . . and in their eagerness -- our carelessness -- they were like the young hunter who stalks the bear cub and forgets, in his joy. . . . . . that the bear’s mother always lurks nearby.
BANDIT:
>Pant pant pant<
RAEMON (arm raised):
So you were right, my friend. Abra-Khan has declared war upon my poor vassals. That gives us no choice but to defend ourselves, and the best defense is to. . .
HALLAS: >Pant pant< Oh, my god. . . .
RAEMON: . . . ATTACK!
PAGE 18-19 2-PAGE SPLASH Double-page tableaux of battle. Inset panels showing specific details if necessary. Include: Hallas standing stunned in the middle of everything. Swanstar on horseback (background), wielding his long sword double-handed and lopping off a head. Hysaal in the distance, shooting an arrow into a bandit horseman. Yushin spiking a horseman. Chang leaping up and tackling a rider. Thieu with two men dangling from him. Raemon lancing a peasant. (Check
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some Delacroix compositions for this one.)
CAP: Among us we had seen battles of a hundred legions falling like grass, flattened under rains of wood and steel; battles where the green youths of morning, nurtured by blood, grew into the wizened veterans of nightfall; battles where the stuttering shriek of horses and the plaintive wails of dying men drove our fellow soldiers mad at night. But those were wars. . . . This was five wolves among a flock of sheep at slaughter.
All our lives we are told parables about the meek: that they shall endure, that they shall inherit this earth, that they shall be twice blessed. But the meek have nothing. They are twice damned, for if they dare resist their tormentors they are punished once for being weak and yet again for their defiance. The meek have their own separate hell. But a host of them may have found themselves in the wrong hell that day, for they were farmers who died believing themselves warriors. . .
PAGE 20
20.1 In middle ground, the village god tree in stark contrast to our first festive view of it -- villagers are hanging from it like gruesome ornaments. We’re looking past the hanging bodies of villagers in foreground, at bandits in the background desecrating the corpses of the dead warriors. (Between this panel and the next three insets, be sure to show some indication of all five warriors.)
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CAP:
. . . and some of them may yet await us when we, too, finally join them.
20.2-20.4 INSETS - Close ups of warriors being mutilated: scalped, ears cut off, decapitated head held up for view. 20.5 Alba in foreground crying with her hands over her face (maybe a reference to Munch's "The Scream" here). Behind her, Raemon is blocking her way with a spear. In background, Hallas is tied, spread eagle, on a huge wheel. There’s a fire behind and beneath him, and the flames are burning him as bandits gathered around him contribute to his torture with spear thrusts and cruel cuts from their knives. The one-handed mercenary who escaped Swanstar is sticking Hallas with a spear.
1-HAND BANDIT: Not too close, brothers. I want him alive for a long, long time.
HALLAS: Aaaaah! Alba! Albaaaaaa!
RAEMON: Come, girl, give yourself to me and I’ll spare his life.
HALLAS: No, Alba! NOOOOOOO!
ALBA:
>sob sob< Hallas. . .
PAGE 21
21.1 Raemon motions to the row of town elders who are bound and kneeling on the ground (Kayaman is one of them, prominent in his headdress). Alba behind him, her hands still covering her face.
HALLAS (off panel):
Alba! AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!
RAEMON
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(off panel): Come, girl, I am a king. Give yourself to me, and I will spare the lives of your town elders. See how they sit there, pleading to you with their eyes? Those are your grandfathers, Alba. Uncover your face and look at them.
OLD MAN: Please, Alba. . . .
KAYAMAN: No, Alba. . . .
21.2 INSET - Close on Raemon giving the command.
RAEMON: Pull the blind one to his feet. Kill the others.
21.3 Close on two bloody heads rolling on the ground at the knees of the old men. Sword blade visible behind the heads.
SFX: Head chopping sounds
CAP: What choice did she have, you may ask -- a young girl, just barely a woman, torn like a lamb is torn between the dog and the wolf. How could her actions then have been of her own will? She was merely a part of Raemon’s charade. . . . . . in which he had cast poor Alba as the maiden who must test her virtue. Nor could he help himself, for if
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you could see her, you would see the clear winter sky her eyes, the late summer sun in her hair, the birds of spring in her voice. . . But in her heart the sadness of autumn, though she is called Alba, for the dawn.
21.4 Alba on her knees in front of Raemon, pleading for Kayaman’s life. Kayaman in background.
CAP: Raemon knew she was her father’s flower.
RAEMON: Be wise, Alba. After all, what did the other old men mean to you? But now it’s your father’s life that hangs on your decision.
ALBA: Please, pleeeaaase! Not my father! I’ll do anything you want of me. >sob<
21.5 As Kayaman speaks in the background, Raemon grabs Alba’s face and plants an obscene kiss.
KAYAMAN:
She is my daughter, Raemon! She’ll not demean herself to keep us from the promised land.
RAEMON: Give yourself to me, Alba. . .
ALBA: Fath--mmmfff. . .
21.6 Raemon stabs Kayaman in the throat. Alba reaches out, helplessly.
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KAYAMAN: Alba! N--nnggh!
RAEMON: Shut up, old man!
ALBA: No! Noooo!
PAGE 22 22.1-22.3 SINGLE PANEL SPLIT IN THREE Alba is holding her dying father in her arms (He’s bleeding profusely from the neck wound, although Alba has her hand around it -- it looks almost as if she’s choking him). Raemon has Alba by one hand, pulling her away. In the background: various bandits performing atrocities, the headless bodies of the town elders still kneeling. One of the bandits in background is a captain, and he’s waiting for orders.
ALBA: You bastard! You promised to spare him! You promised!
RAEMON: Save your breath for your father, Alba. There’s a spark still left in his eye. There! See how he’s more tortured at the vision of what I’ll do to you than he is afraid of death? Tell him a sweet lie or two before he expires, and if he believes them, he may see pearly gates and not flames.
KAYAMAN (SFX):
Dying noises
RAEMON: Quick! Speak to him before he’s gone . . .
22.4 Raemon shoves Alba violently away from him in an act of dramatic
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disgust.
RAEMON: You sold your virtue too late, you arrogant slut! Let your sweetheart and five elders die, but you’ll spend your maidenhead for your father’s life? Is that virtue? I say you’re more sullied than the foulest whore! Talk him to hell! Tell him how I’ll split you like a wishbone and throw you to the dogs!
ALBA: Aaaaah!
PAGE 23 23.1 Alba on the ground, reaching for her father. Kayaman is on his back, his left leg twisted, his right shoe pathetically fallen off his foot. His headdress is broken, and blood pours from his throat.
ALBA: Father, please! You can’t die now. We need you!
KAYAMAN: Aaaahh-baaah. . . Aaaaaahhhh. . .
ALBA: I need you! Please, you can’t leave me like this. . . You said you’d always protect me! Protect me! Save me from him, father, help me or. . . . . . I’ll take my life to join you on the other side.
23.2 Angle on Raemon. He’s prominently in foreground, his captain behind
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him. Beyond them, Alba is now kneeling over her father’s obviously dead body.
ALBA: Father! Oh, father. . . >sob sob<
CAPTAIN: What is your command, Lord Raemon?
RAEMON: Tie her up before you bring her to me. She’s a serious girl, and she may try to make good her promise. Loot the village. Do what you will with the women and children, but leave not a single man alive -- not a patriarch, not an infant. And this blighted town -- burn it to the ground to give them an early taste of hell. If we ride this way again, I want to see no sign of this place -- no single stone on another stone. If someone asks, “Where is Abra-Khan?” I want people to say. . .
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PAGE 24-25 double-page splash w/insets INSETS 1-4: This is a sequence zooming out from an extreme close-up of Alba’s eyes at an odd angle. Tears are running down her face, but upward, towards her forehead. As we zoom out we see that she has her hands tied behind her back and she’s been slung over the front of Raemon’s saddle. She’s watching the carnage in her town as Raemon rides out. SPLASH: We’re looking from above, past the branches of the god tree, in extreme foreground, at the carnage done to Abra-Khan by Raemon’s bandit army. Our view is obstructed in many places by thick smoke from the numerous fires. Figures are hanging in the trees, women clutching their feet and wailing. A few bodies have been cut down, and women cry over them. In the center of the town we see a pile of dead male children. Old men are fallen all around. Every house is in flames, and there are random mop-up killings in various places. Near the pile of dead boys and babies, a circle of bandits is raping a woman as her mother watches helplessly. In the distance, we see the stragling line of Raemon’s men leaving the town, Raemon and others on horseback leading the way. Alba is visible, slung over Raemon’s horse.
CAP: . . . “Abra-Khan -- that is the town that heaven punished for its pride. That is the place where all you will hear are the wailing ghosts of the damned. Keep away from Abra-Khan.”
All of us died that day. Abra-Khan died that day. How ironic that what will never die is the memory of that slaughter. . .
PAGE 26 SPLASH This is a closer view of the pile of male bodies in the middle of the town. In foreground are the figures of two women, each holding the body of a dead son. The kneeling woman’s son is an adult, the standing woman is holding the body of her child. All around the pile of dead males, the woman of Abra-Khan (ranging from old women to little girls) are gathered to mourn and find the bodies of their loved ones. In the background, the houses are no more than piles of smoldering embers now.
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The smoke almost totally obscures the silhouette of the god tree on the hill. In the distant smoke, just a hint of a figure -- Owlfeather is coming down the trail into Abra-Khan.
CAP:
. . . what will echo on is the sound of women’s wailing, the interrupted infant’s cry, the muffled thunder of hooves, the crackle of flaming wood, the quiet creek of bodies swinging in the hot wind from the smoldering town.
WOMAN: AIIIEEEEE! AIIIEEEEE!
LITTLE GIRL: Mama? Papa?
WOMAN 2: AAAAAAAAHH!
CAP: The ones who lived that day were in a hell far worse than the dead.
PAGE 27
27.1 The women, old and young, are wailing and mourning. Behind them, in the distant smoke, Owlfeather’s form is approaching. Obscured setting sun and the god tree in background.
SFX: AIIEEEEEEEE!
WOMAN 2: The gods have abandoned us! We are being punished for our pride! For defiling the god tree !
WOMAN 3: Look how it’s defiled now by our own dead! Where is my son? Have you seen my son?
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27.2 The women are turning to look at the approaching stranger. One of them -- an old woman -- points her out as the sorceress whom Kayaman had banished years ago.
OWLFEATHER: I have seen your son. He is with his ancestors.
WOMAN 3: How dare you say that! Who are you?
WOMAN 2: I know that voice! It’s the necromancer! She’s come for the dead!
WOMAN: She’s come to take their souls! Gods protect us!
27.3 Medium shot of Owlfeather, obscured in smoke.
OWLFEATHER: Was it the great bard who said it?
(singing): When Sorrow comes She comes not single. Brings she tears The more to mingle.
27.4 Medium close as Owlfeather becomes more visible. She’s carrying a strange staff -- a cross between a cadeuces and a mojo stick.
OWLFEATHER: I have already seen the spirits of your sons, your fathers, your husbands. It is they who called me here.
27.5 Close on Owlfeather. She’s raising her staff and her hand.
OWLFEATHER:
They are angry and full of
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remorse. They want vengeance. You do them dishonor by weeping over them like the pathetic women you are.
PAGE 28 28.1 Owlfeather in foreground, in trance, arms upraised. Behind her, the women are watching, rapt with attention.
WOMAN 3: It’s pride and vengeance that brought us this! You lie! We ran you out of Abra-Khan sixteen summers ago and now you’ve come back for your own revenge!
OWLFEATHER (in spirit voice):
Oh, Abra-Khan, I have sorely failed thee. Had I but raised the voice of reason to a higher pitch, you would have listened, but now it has come to this. Woe undo thee, Abra-Khan. Woe unto the prideful and the vengeful. Woe unto the desecrators of the old ways!
WOMAN: . . . that’s Kayaman’s voice!
28.2 Owlfeather points down towards the battleground and the ruins of the town. Bodies everywhere, distance obscured in smoke.
OWLFEATHER (in spirit voice):
Oh, Abra-Khan, look upon us. We have died protecting you. We have failed you in life. Let us not now fail you in
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death.
CAP: Those words took an odd turn then. Did we truly speak them? We cannot know, for that is while we still slept upon the field. But the necromancer, Owlfeather, spoke words that made the women look upon the dead and cease their weeping.
28.3 Medium shot of the women gathering together the various body parts. In foreground, two women are carrying/dragging the body of XXXX; they’re finding it too heavy. Behind them, we see a woman with a sack of parts slung over her shoulder, another carrying a leg, another carrying an arm.
CAP: And how can the dead serve the living but through a necromancer’s dark arts?
Perhaps she spoke to them in the pleading voices of their loved ones. Perhaps she entranced them with some ancient spell. Those are her secrets -- we do not know them. She made the women descend into the carnage and select the best of the fallen bodies.
28.4 Zooming in on the two women who have been struggling with the heavy body of XXXX. They’re leaning over it, cutting with their knives.
CAP: They harvested the battlefield as if it were an orchard, gathering the remains of men.
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What they took was most whole, most beautiful, for they were women who had tended their orchards well. . . . . . pruning trees of dead limbs, grafting the finest branches to the finest trunks -- and what are men, after all, but a fruit of the earth once removed?
PAGE 29
29.1 Looking up, past a pile of body parts, at Olwfeather and three of the town women. [Ted: To save yourself time later, you might simply want to keep the various body parts in their appropriate outfits.]
OWLFEATHER (in spirit voice):
This is what what remains of us. This is what we have become. This is what we will be born from, anew. Assemble us, O, people of Abra-Khan. Gather us from the dust and breathe thy wrath into our lungs. Fill us with your sorrow and your anger. Let us be the vessel of thy anguish. Let us be the vehicle of thy vengeance!
29.2 Women chop the damaged body parts into neat pieces. This panel and the next one should give the sense of medieval workshops.
CAP: Guided by our voice, the women began their labor, and all the while, the necromancer spoke her dark ritual.
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OWLFEATHER: O fallen warriors, I invoke thee in thy various aspects -- I call together thy plexus, thy ribs, thy torso, thy belly. I call thy hips, thy loins. I invoke thee -- thy arms, thy elbows, thy forearms, thy wrists. I summon the power of thy hands, nimbleness of thy digits. I invoke thy thighs, thy knees, thy calves -- thy ankles thy feet, thy toes. I invoke thee, o warriors. I invoke thy veins, thy arteries, thy glands.
29.3 Women, sitting cross-legged on the ground, stitch together the new body of the Exile. This scene should look vaguely like a quilting bee.
OWLFEATHER: I invoke thee from thy elements -- thy saliva, thy spittle, thy sweat, thy tears, thy phlegm, thy blood, thy urine, thy lymph, thy bile, thy acid. I invoke thy fat, thy muscle, thy bone, thy marrow. I invoke thy liver, thy kidneys, thy lungs, thy entrails. O, warriors, I invoke thy heart and thy brain. The naming of flesh is done.
29.4 The completed body of the Exile laid out on a table, a block of wood under his head. Owlfeather examines him while town women look on.
OWLFEATHER: Now I call upon thy thoughts, thy memories, thy dreams, thy anger.
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I invoke thy love, thy lust, thy desire, thy compassion. I invoke thy reason and thy passion. I invoke thy fears and thy hopes, thy knowledge and thy intuition. O, fallen warriors, I bring thy many spirits to inhabit this single body.
PAGE 30
30.1 Close on Owlfeather holding the Exile’s body, examining it’s face and head. In background, the women watch -- one of them is wearing a hood, and her face is partially obscured.
OWLFEATHER: I invoke thee from thy parts into wholeness, from sleep into waking, from death into life.
There, it is done. We have but to bury him in the womb of the earth to await his rebirth. Ah, warrior, if only the mind we had for thee matched the quality of thy limbs.
WOMAN: You mean he’ll be stupid? After our toil, we wouldn’t want him as our village idiot!
30.2 INSET - Close on Owlfeather, looking concerned and somewhat disappointed.
OWLFEATHER: While he is dead the capacities of his brain will unfortunately diminish, though his native abilities will come back in time.
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I wish we had a strong mind to give him. For he will be ruled by the vindictive passions of his slain parts when first he is born. We must hope for the best.
30.3 Medium close on a the woman in the hood, holding a sack in her hands.
WOMAN 3: Do not fret, Owlfeather. I have here precisely the thing you need.
30.4 Close of the woman’s hands pulling something out of the sack. We see the top of a head emerging, but we can’t tell whose it is.
WOMAN 3: I had meant to save this for my own devices, for my own bit of revenge, but now I cede it to you.
30.5 The woman holds up the head of Kayaman.
WOMAN 3: Take the head of Kayaman! May you use the twisted remains of his wisdom, and may you all rot in the nine hells!
PAGE 31 The resulting patchwork creature has the legs of the kick-boxer, one arm from the master swordsman, an eye from the archer, one arm of the staff master, and the torso of the berserker. 31.1 The Exile’s body splayed out like DaVinci’s diagram of the ideal man. Eight women are carrying him by the limbs, and with straps they’ve run under his body. Behind him walks Owlfeather. In the distant background, silhouetted against the range of mountains, women are in the field burying the dead from the massacre.
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CAP: They say the dead rise from their bodies, dangling from the talons of spirit ravens sent to carry them to the great hall. They say the dead rise like mist and dissolve into the ether. Or do they fly through a black tunnel until they reach the pure, blinding light at its terminus? We do not know if we rose from our remains. Our parts in their new configuration were carried in grim silence by a mob of weary old women.
31.2 A square overlapping a circle. There are torches stuck in the earth at each intersection, and they’re burning, smoke wafting off towards the right of the panel. There’s a fresh grave in the center, and Owlfeather is standing at the head of it, holding up a branch from the god tree. Women are outside the hexagram, each one of them on the ground, kowtowing towards the center.
CAP: And so we were given a new mind, and they carried us to our temporary resting place. They buried us in the earthen womb that was to give us birth again. And the necromancer spoke the forbidden words of power that swayed the elements to her will.
[Ted: I don’t like the looks of this panel -- I wanted it to suggest the geometry around the Exile’s body, to resonate with the DaVinci diagram, but it looks too symmetrical. Maybe it would be better to show the moment just before this, looking down from a slight angle at the women all kneeling around the open grave, shoving the earth into it. Owlfeather could be standing where she is, holding the god tree branch and spraying chicken blood or something similar.]
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PAGE 32
32.1 Long shot of the configuration made of sticks. Dark night with crescent moon in background.
CAP: How long a time passed? And how did the vermin and worms of the earth know not to devour our flesh? It was dark and silent at first, but then, so gradually that we did not notice, more subtlely than the false dawn creeps from darkness to light... ...we began to hear the faint murmur of sound, to feel the faintest tingling of sensation.
32.2 Zooming in for a view of the tops of the sticks.
CAP: At first the sound was the sound of rain, the hiss of the surf, the pulse of our mother. But then it began to take form, to become voices that spoke the names we had heard the necromancer invoke at our burial. Night stretched into night, but ever so quietly we began to sense an illumination. And as the nights grew ever shorter, when the cold light of the moon shone upon our patch of earth. . .
32.3 Zooming in. Looking downward past the sticks, we see the earth beginning to move.
CAP:
. . . upon that single shortest night of the year, when the clouds roiled in as if from nowhere and sluiced the tears of
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heaven upon us, we felt the stirring of some animate force in our flesh.
32.4 Extreme close-up of the Exile’s left hand clawing upwards through the dirt.
CAP:
The tingle of sensation became the tentative gropings of motion, and our fingers trembled with life.
- END OF ISSUE #1 -
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THE EXILE of Abra-Khan
SCRIPT/plot
Issue #2 PAGE 33 The creature that rises out of the grave during the thunderstorm is the color of dead flesh. It reeks of puss and decay, and it's brain does not yet function properly. (Shades of Wrightson's Frankenstein.)
CAP: Our story is like the story af any other man. We were born. We lived. We died.
CAP: But we were re-awakened from the Twilight Land, before the long sleep of death came over us.
CAP: We woke in unfamiliar surroundings, in a dark and multivocal chaos, and we believed ourselves to be mad, in one of the nine dreaded Hells of the damned.
CAP: Our voice did not emerge into single strains until we learned that the tangle of sound was but a monstrous knot of six strands. . .
CAP: . . . six single fibers which we began to weave together, weft
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and warp, on a loom of our own design, into the tapestry that is us.
CAP: We are The Exile of Abra-Khan.
PAGE 34 When the creature comes down into the town, the people realize they have made a horrible mistake. He is deranged with anger and pain. The pacifist brain of Kayaman, the part that rules the mind, has some vestiges of control by now, but the hatred stored in the bodily memories of the various parts overwhelms him. He attacks the people he sees. PAGE 35 The creature fights and kills a few of the townspeople, frightening the rest of them into their houses. He stands in the street and rants at them. PAGE 36 Finally, in a fit of guilt and self-loathing, the creature skewers itself through the heart and collapses. It is not clear whether or not it is dead. PAGE 37 The townspeople shun the body, but Owlfeather takes it once again, carting it up to her cave in the hills. She will not give up because she has her own vendetta to fulfill. PAGE 36 Up in the caves, Owlfeather stitches the fresh heart of a bull into the creature's chest. This one is more powerful than the human heart it destroyed in its suicide attempt. PAGE 37 The creature comes to life once again. This time it is calmer, and more thoughtful. It had not been dead at all, just disabled. Owlfeather tells him that he would have remained alive until he decomposed. PAGE 38 Owlfeather explains the nature of his new "life" to the creature. He is a pastiche
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of body parts, each with its own set of bioenergetic memories that struggles to dominate what is in his brain. He cannot truly be killed now unless the entire body is destroyed together. He also has a perverse sort of regenerative quality: if he is ever dismembered, he can simply stitch another body part onto himself as a replacement. He is an exile from both the world of the living and the world of the dead. PAGE 39 Learning the gruesome nature of its existence, the creature, still ruled by the mind of a wise man, wants more than ever to die. Now Owlfeather gives him a bit of news -- his daughter is alive, kidnapped by the bandit leader. Perhaps he will want to rescue her before he kills himself again? She says she will help him. She can shapeshift into the form of her totemic animal, an owl, and she will follow him through his quest. PAGE 40 The Exile leaves the town, beginning his quest to find the bandit leader at his fortress. PAGE 41 We cut back to the present, to the campfire scene: the Exile and the monk watch over the young novice as he dies. PAGE 42 Did the Exile ever find the bandit leader? the novice asks. Yes, says the Exile. He found him, and he avenged the deaths of his people. The novice smiles. He dies still smiling, the white owl reflected in his eyes. PAGE 43 Let me see your face, says the monk. The Exile shows his stitched face, and the monk nods. He, too, is an exile, he confesses. He is known as "The Mendicant." He was banished from his order for following heretical teachings. He would like to join forces. A man with the karma of six should to work out needs a spiritual advisor, he says jokingly. The Exile accepts the monk's offer. PAGE 44 In the morning, they bury the novice and start on their way to Raemon's fortress. It is not far.
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PAGE 45 Within view of the fortress, the two run across the frontier guards. They kill the guards and learn something about the layout of the fortress. (See Piranesi prison designs.) PAGE 46 They continue across the blasted, dead landscape towards the fortress. It's a dark and imposing structure, like Tolkien's towers of Mordor or "The Dark Fortress." The Mendicant relates that there are rumors that the entire landscape is cursed. The bandits only come here between raids. There are no local people to worry about, no place for spies to hide. PAGE 47-48 There is no way into the fortress in daylight without detection. They wait until nightfall. Owlfeather takes on human shape -- a young woman, much to the Exile's surprise. An odd romantic interlude before she changes back into the owl and leads them to the fortress. PAGE 49 The three infiltrate the fortress from below, swimming through the moat and entering into the dungeon. PAGE 50-51 In the dungeon, they kill a couple of inattentive and slovenly guards. They open the cells of prisoners and hostages, who then take up arms and fight for them. The Exile expects to find his daughter among them, but he learns she is with the bandit leader up in his chambers. PAGE 52 The Mendicant leads a battle to distract the bandits. Meanwhile, the Exile makes his way up the tower to Raemon's chambers. He fights guards along the way. PAGE 53 The Exile breaks into Raemon's chambers. He finds Alba there, dressed like the bandit leader's mistress. He is stunned by her transformation from the innocent girl he expected to find. While he is distracted, Raemon attacks him, running him through with his sword.
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PAGE 54-55 To Raemon's amazement, the Exile does not die. They fight, and the Exile explains who he is. Raemon becomes more and more terrified. His personal bodyguards intervene, but are killed in short order. PAGE 56-57 Finally, Raemon is groveling and begging for his life. He even tries to talk the Exile into joining forces. But the Exile is relentless. He kills Raemon, striking six symbolic blows, one for each of the dead men who inhabits his body. Owlfeather watches from a perch on the window ledge. PAGE 58 Now the Exile finally speaks to his daughter. He tells her he has come to take her back to the town, but even as he says this, he realizes it is no longer possible. Alba has changed. She has heard of the wonders of the world, and seen things she could not have imagined in her former life. She knows the townspeople will never welcome her back because she has been permanently tainted by her association with the bandits. She wants to explore the world, and she asks the Exile to come with her. She embraces him, causing him to feel a violent surge of conflicting emotions. (The feelings of the Archer and Kayaman are particularly contradictory.) The Mendicant appears, interrupting the uncomfortable moment. PAGE 59 The Exile explains that he cannot be with his daughter. In private, he asks the Mendicant to go with her and be her guardian for a while. Perhaps he will follow in their trail to look after his daughter, but for now, they must part ways. PAGE 64 They come to a fork in the road. The Exile stabs a dagger into the trunk of an ancient tree that grows there. If its blade should ever rust, he will know that Kayaman's daughter is in trouble, he says. He will come back to check it periodically. They part ways. The Mendicant goes with Alba, and the Exile goes with Owlfeather to wander in the world.
