SCENE 3 – The Children of Men
The scuttling goes on throughout the large cathedral chamber. The whispers of the air answer Ser Rodrik's jests for a battle. Clare inches her fingers, being prepared to draw. She hears the frightened breaths and whimpering of the cathedral's servants, tempting her on to breathe and fear as they do.
Ser Rodrik's longsword trembles in his hands. While brought up to fare against many situations that need a strong heart, he could almost taste the stink of the Yoma upon him, its breaths tinging the hairs of his neck. Many a time he heard the stories about the Yoma from neighbouring places, and nearly all of them wind up with even the bravest of men turned into torn, bite-ridden bodies. He isn't sure whether it is that thought that scares him so, or this protector here who stands here without her weapon drawn, calm.
Her heart is beginning to beat fast and hard inside her. The sword on her back seems to drop ever so downward..
No.
Instead, Clare listens on to where the scuttling noises come from. For now, it is just the moving air of the place that brushes by her ears and hair.. and faint whispers of voices, from high up all over. Young voices – the whispers of children.
Clare focuses intently on the voices.
"..they're going to.."
"..heard us.."
"..scared.."
Some sobs.
She recalls their wondering faces amongst the cold stares of the villagers, and she remembers to relax. Looking up, she sees alongside the glazed windows and beaming outside light, the balconies leading to a darkness unknown.
Ser Rodrik looks on to Clare, eyes widening.
"It is the children."
"Children?! Children? Our children?" Ser Rodrik goes. He does not hear so far as Clare does. "You are truly daft.. our children, in here!? They should be tending in their homes.. My children.. That Yoma is out there! It breathes our air, lives our lives, likens our trust and eats our flesh – that's what it does. That's all it does! It'll reach down their throats, and tear their little beating hearts out! How could you say that.." He rasps out in breaths, on the verge of crying out. His eyes glimmer with fear, red and wet with worrying tears. If it took his children away..
The hooded servants have their heads bowed down in silent prayer to their patron saint. The bearded man alongside dreads the day when his own daughter would be too, taken away into an unforgivable fate, and has his head down too.
It will do worse.
Then a young face protrudes from up above from a balcony, tear-laden, who looks down to the others, and to Clare. Her tear-laden eyes cry out, for she begins to truly grasp the horrors of the menace her father has just barely let her on about.
"Daddy..?"
Ser Rodrik hears her gentle, familiar voice.
"Emilia?" He turns to where his daughter's voice calls from – up there on high. Her slightly form stands atop the cathedral balcony. "Emilia!" He sheaths his longsword, walking over there. "Ohh.. ohhh.. thank God, you're.. alive.. alive- What in the blazes are you doing outside home!?" His words thunder.
"Daddy.." Emilia meekly goes, "I'm.." Her word transitions to choking gasps. "I'm.. so sorry.. I just.. I wanted to.. want- wanted to have a look upon.."
And although her last words remain unsaid, Ser Rodrik and the others still understand. Her words somewhat flatter Clare. It's reminiscent of Clare herself as a young girl, when she would look to Teresa with the same fascination and lull.
Another girl joins by Emilia's side, who holds Emilia's hand in comfort. "Same for me," she goes. Then a boy from the darkness, and so on, until the whole band of the children come to stand by Emilia's side, proud and confident they are.
Clare looks on to them, but with caution; either one could hold host to the masquerading monster, sadly. Rodrik looks to Clare and sees her worry. He grasps the unfortunate implication, and looks back upon the children on the balcony with gloom.
A beat.
"Emilia.. all.." Rodrik goes. "I want you to come down here, and meet with Clare."
Eagerly, they do – they disappear away from the balcony, footsteps within the walls, and come running out through the doorway from another inner chamber.
"Clare here.. shall be having a little look upon each one of you," Rodrik goes. "It won't take long."
He sighs.
"What will you do?" a boy asks. His voice cracks on, on the verge of becoming a man.
A beat.
"I will check you," Clare goes.
At first, they blink – thinking it must be a ploy by the grown-ups, however unusual, to have them checked for the usual illnesses. How strange is it, to have this unearthly woman come all the way so she could play doctor with them. She is the one to fight away the Yoma, the beast who thrives in the form of men and
Slowly and surely, they understand. With new looks of suspicion replacing once-familiarity of each other, the children go out and away from each other, shaken and utterly afraid of the terrifying thought.
"No- no!" Ser Rodrik goes. "No. STOP!"
His command thunders through the open chamber, and through the hearts of the children. They stop, dead still. He knows they know, and it pains him to bear seeing the close friends turn to such savage fear like this.
"You shall stand orderly, and stand.. safe away from each other," Rodrik goes. "Up along the walls here. Hup!"
And they do.
"Not to worry.." the bearded man goes. "Not to worry.. I tell you. There are 500 of us here, and this Yoma thing is but one. It holds unlikely that either one of you are the beast in secret. You have watched over each other have you not? Over the times, you have bonded so close with one another. Do not let this thought tear your friendships apart to madness, I beg you!" He looks on to his daughter, standing at the end of the line of other frightened children.
They shiver on.
Clare walks over to start with the first child of this line, a young boy, not past a decade. The others look onto her with increasing intensity. His brown eyes so supple in youth, so frightened. Kneeling down to his height, she reaches her hand out to the boy's temple, and feels him.
The boy squirms, shocked by her icy touch. "It's cold!"
Everyone watches on.
And once that was that, Clare gives the boy a tender kiss on the forehead, and her reassuring smile for good measure.
On and on. Dread and tension are two scents of Chaos that saturates the air so. As Clare continues on, the hooded servants come to take the looked-at children by their side, and give great thankful blessings of St. Hélène to each.
Then it comes to a boy of auburn hair and blue eyes in the middle. Ser Rodrik pours sweat, nearing tears. His son Bran has now come to be judged. His moist-laden fingers are cocked, hesitantly ready for his longsword.
Bran closes his eyes as Clare lays out a touch to his temple. Rodrik holds in air.
Then Clare gives him a kiss like on the others, and lets him go to the group of watched children.
Next is Emilia, who pants heavily.
She checks her. She lets her go free.
Ser Rodrik breaks down into sobs; overjoyed that his two loves breathe well. He runs over to Bran and Emilia – giving them both a very appreciative hug and kisses like never before. It incenses the other children, still awaiting for Clare.
Clare moves on.
"Hello.." the young boy timidly goes. A slight uncanny feeling sparks within her mind as she goes to approach him, making her shiver as if the air has frozen.
"Hello," Clare goes, kneeling down. The boy noticeably is more frightened than all the others. She reaches out for his temple.
"Are you ever- afraid?" he asks her. Her cold fingers feel his warm skin.
He is who he is.
Clare takes away her touch. She pauses for a moment – the thought never occurred to her. She searches her feelings deep down, into her memories..
"It's okay to be afraid."
A beat.
The boy begins to stutter out something – but his words don't seem to come out. "I'm.. I.. I.. bad.. dreams.." he goes, quivering. "I'm afraid.. if you could.. could you.. make them go away."
A beat.
"What do you dream?" Clare asks of the boy.
The others watch on.
The boy's breathing becomes increasingly panicky; his mouth stutters, making attempts to form words. No words will come.
So Clare gives him grace; she leans forward to give a pecking kiss on his forehead – her warm breath her gift to him. "There."
And he smiles.
On and on Clare goes to check.
And lastly, she comes to a girl with curling blond hair that droops down her shoulders. The girl is trembling, scared for her life. There was nothing wrong with the rest of her friends, but that would only mean the odds have increased against her. She has a bad feeling the Yoma is festering inside her body as the stories were told. What happens if the silver-eyed woman felt something wrong within her? Her heart is pounding so ravagely inside her.. maybe it is the Yoma's heart that is pounding inside her.. and maybe it is that the Yoma has somehow taken over without her knowing it.
"I don't wanna be the Yoma.."
The bearded man cannot take any more of this; he just snaps. He rushes over, and goes to kneel by the girl's side – hugging and clutching onto her with all his might.
Something within Clare cracks upon this sight. But she kneels down anyway in front of the girl and the bearded man. Daughter and father.
"Dany.. everything's going to be all right." He locks eyes with her – he believes it is her with all his heart. The man turns to Clare.
A beat.
He nods to Clare.
"Everything's going.."
Clare reaches out to Dany's temple.
"..to be.."
Dany shivers to the cold touch. The moisture drips down the bearded man's brow, as he shuts his eyes, dreading Clare's verdict. He feels his pounding heart against his own chest, and Dany's delicate heartbeats on his – seeing moments with Dany flash by before his mind.
A beat.
And through the blankness of shut eyelids, he feels Clare giving him a tap. He opens them, to find Dany, sweet Dany, alive in his arms.
"She is all right," Clare goes.
The man's face melts into a sigh. He cradles Dany in his arms; father and daughter hold each other tight in loving embrace. He hugs her, and a great sob wells up deep inside, from a spring he had thought long dry. He hugs her fiercely as the sobs come.
Clare rises, and then turns to Ser Rodrik and the servants.
"Summon everyone."