Early morning. The pond. Sebastian and Nixie sit on the ground, exhausted. The carcasses of Cato and Haven lie nearby, as does the magic knife. Blood is everywhere, including around Sebastian’s mouth.
Sebastian. I hate to kill.
It’s rather messy.
Nixie. And babies are too cute to enjoy.
Sebastian. But the other one was harder.
He would not give up that baby!
Nixie. Contemptuous fool!
I personally watched him
He saw a woman terrified and shamed
He offered no hand to help her
And he condemned her nonetheless.
It seemed as though
His aesthetic sensibilities
Trumped what ethics he may have had.
Sebastian. Hail, tongue of fire and squire of light who rot—
Hail, fiery savior of the earth, now slain—
We sacrifice you, for your courage brought
A mingling of the sacred and profane.
But it was not for you, O Titan low,
To undertake to right the earthly lie.
Your plans and aspirations tumble so
And fall around the mountain where you die.
Yet gazing forward, you took up this light,
And, doing so, gave up the ghost in kind,
Forgetting that the gods forbid such sight
And honor those who crawl and gaze behind.
Prometheus is left in endless dim,
And fire consumes the world that is not him!
I had better fetch my bonny bairn.
Would you like to come?
It might be fun to taunt
Such an opponent as this self-made sorcerer!
Nixie. I think I’d rather sit and worship
At this green, green shrine of beauty.
Sebastian flits away into the trees. As he does, Pascal steps out from behind a tree.
Nixie. Oh! God!
I see you finally!
How come you here
To let me sense your presence?
Pascal. I was praying in the glen,
And I heard the screaming…
I see I come upon you too late.
Nixie. Tell me, is it true?
Is it true that your purity allows you
Intimate knowledge of the ancient religion?
Pascal. I must report this crime!
This bloody terror!
Nixie. Oh, stay—
Stay with me and share your perfection!
Let me emulate your wholesomeness!
Pascal. You horrify me—
Come no closer!
You sold a boy who loved you into death—
You killed an innocent man
And smeared the blood of a baby
Over the clean earth!
You extinguished the soul of an innocent,
Denying him eternal ecstasy!
Pascal picks up the knife.
Pascal. Look, if you come any closer
I shall be forced to defend myself.
Nixie. I have no fear of death.
I cannot die, but will live forever.
Let me come to you.
Pascal. Would you really like to spend eternity
Covered in ever-bleeding wounds?
I know you, water-temptress.
Flee and leave this desecration.
Pascal threatens Nixie with the knife.
Nixie. The knife! Rest is lost!
And no respect, no respect,
For I have only shame.
I fail; I am eternally covered in filth.
Nixie backs away into the forest. Pascal, now alone, washes the knife in the pond.
Pascal. I am glad, knife, to have you back.
You were always sharper
Than a secret repeated.
Pascal removes his hood and applies false hair and make-up to reveal that he is actually Samir.
Samir. I suppose I ought to release the elf king,
Now that he has served his purpose.
But why release such a capable slave?
All I must do is say his name—
I must only whisper—
Only say—
I CANNOT REMEMBER HIS NAME!
How strange!
At any rate, it doesn’t matter.
I have only to go back to his daughter,
The girl Lilith.
Convincing her to tell was easy and fun.
He continues to tidy up the site, throwing the bodies into the pond. As he works, Marta approaches from offstage.
Marta. Samir?
Samir. Oh, princess!
Marta. I see you’ve killed our baby.
Samir. Oh, was it ours?
Marta. Yes… I’ve named it Haven.
Samir. Next time something like this happens,
You had better tell me
So I can take care of things.
But all’s well that ends well.
Marta. I’ve run away from home.
Samir. Did you enjoy yourself?
Marta. I did not.
Samir. Well, everyone has to sow her wild oats.
But of course you did not enjoy yourself—
I own you, and you need me.
Marta. Yes, I know.
Samir. Well, you may as well come home with me then.
Marta. What will become of the kingdom?
Samir. I will take care of it for you.
I have taken care of everything.
Remember?
I am responsible.
Marta. Yes.
You are my Orestes.
You bear our responsibility.
I bear our guilt.
Samir. However you like to think of it
Is fine with me.
Marta. I wish, oh, I wish
That an end would come!
An end to guilt
And responsibility!
Samir. Woe to you who long
For the day of the Lord!
Why do you long for the day of the Lord?
That day will be darkness, not light.
It will be as though a man fled from a lion
Only to meet a bear,
As though he entered his house
And rested his hand on the wall
Only to have a snake bite him.
Will not the day of the Lord be darkness, not light—
Pitch-dark, without a ray of brightness?