EPISODE 94 – MAINE MOEPIRT ARTHUR

 

 

PIP

This episode is dedicated to Stefan Hartinger, who will be slowly liquefied when a mysterious beam from outer space strikes him. Meanwhile, a suspiciously pointy-eared individual with a bowl haircut will mutter incomprehensible technobabble about his cellular matrix destabilising. Stefan will, of course, re-emerge unharmed as a counsellor on a lonely Martian outpost.

 

Thank you so much Stefan, and thank you to all our patrons. If you’d like to become a patron from just 5 dollars a month, support our work and get bonus content, you can go to ameliapodcast.com for more info.

 

But for now, enjoy the show.

 

PROLOGUE

 

A FIELD IN SCOTLAND. THE SOUND OF THE SEA NEARBY. HUMMING

 

(ITTHOBAL IS BEHEADING CHICKENS. THE CHICKENS WADDLE OBEDIENTLY TO THE BLOCK, AND HE BRINGS HIS AXE DOWN WITH A THWACK. THE HEADLESS CHICKENS CONTINUE TO SCAMPER AROUND BEFORE COLLAPSING TO THE FLOOR)

 

MAINE

(A DISTANT SCREAM)

ITTHOBAL

(STOPS CHOPPING. A GRUNT OF SURPRISE)

MAINE

(IN THE DISTANCE: RUNS AROUND IN A WILD PANIC, SCREAMING AND FLAPPING HIS ARMS)

ITTHOBAL

(SHOUTS INTO THE DISTANCE) Who is there?

 

(WE HEAR ITTHOBAL'S FOOTSTEPS SQUELCH ACROSS THE FIELD AS HE WALKS TOWARDS THE UNKNOWN INTRUDER)

 

MAINE

(MUMBLES PRAYERS UNDER HIS BREATH)

ITTHOBAL

(ANNOYED) Who is that?

(MAINE
(KEEPS PRAYING, PANICKED)

ITTHOBAL

(ANNOYED) Who are you?

MAINE

(CONTINUES PRAYING)

ITTHOBAL

Who are you?!

 

(PANICKED MAINE)

 

Answer me, stranger! What brings you to my field, flapping and screeching in such an undignified manner, interrupting the solemnity of chicken day?

MAINE

Chicken day?

ITTHOBAL

Indeed.

MAINE

Forgive me. I saw a headless bird running towards me and panicked.

ITTHOBAL

Yes. It is chicken day.

MAINE

So you said.

ITTHOBAL

You have never seen a headless chicken?

MAINE

I thought it was an omen.

ITTHOBAL

(CURIOUS) An omen... You are a druid?

MAINE

I am. 

ITTHOBAL

And what is your name young druid?

MAINE

Maine Móepirt Arthur Son of Athramail.

ITTHOBAL

Maine Móepirt. That means "beyond description", does it not?

MAINE

It does. I am very unique!

ITTHOBAL

Oooh… And Athramail means "Like his father”.

MAINE

(PROUD) Yes.

ITTHOBAL

So you are beyond description, but like your father?

MAINE

Yes.

ITTHOBAL

That sounds like a description to me.

MAINE

No, no, my father was also beyond description.

ITTHOBAL

What was he like?

MAINE

Eh...

ITTHOBAL

Of course.

MAINE
Yes, quite.

ITTHOBAL

How do you like chicken soup Maine?

MAINE

Well, I mean, I have eaten nothing but berries and hazelnuts for many days. I would swap my staff for a bowl of hot chicken soup!

ITTHOBAL

Ah. That will not be necessary.

MAINE

You are kind, but I would like to give you something in return for your hospitality...

ITTHOBAL

I will take payment in the form of a story.

MAINE

Oh... Well! I know some great stories...

ITTHOBAL

I want your story.

MAINE

You… want… My story?

ITTHOBAL

Only those propelled by an urgent story cross moors, marshes and mountains to find me.

MAINE

Who are you?

 

BEAT.

 

(IN AWE) Are... are you...?

ITTHOBAL

Nobody comes here by mistake.

MAINE

You are the... the... The Phoenix?

ITTHOBAL

You can call me Itthobal.

MAINE

So the tales I have heard are true?

ITTHOBAL

What have you heard?

MAINE

That you are a gifted healer who has traveled the world and traversed the ages. That your powers of magic and hex derive from the east. They say that even the mighty Mebd trembles before your power and wisdom.

ITTHOBAL

Do you know how to pluck a chicken? 

MAINE

(SPLUTTERS) Um...?

ITTHOBAL

Follow me. You will help me with the birds, and while we pluck, we can become better acquainted.

MAINE
While we….

ITTHOBAL
...pluck.
MAINE
Oh. Right…

 

THEME TUNE

 

INTRO

The Amelia Project. Created by Philip Thorne and Oystein Ulsberg Brager, with music and sound direction by Fredrik Baden and sound design by Adam Raymonda.
Maine Móepirt Arthur, son of Athramail. 717 BC.

 

 

ITTHOBAL AND MAINE ARRIVE AT THE CHOPPING BLOCK.

 

ITTHOBAL

Since you will be dining with me tonight, we will slaughter one more bird.

 

(HE CALLS ONE OF THE BIRDS IN A LANGUAGE THAT RESEMBLES TURKISH. HE CLUCKS HIS TONGUE)

 

MAINE

Why is it not running away? Why is it... putting its head on the block willingly?

ITTHOBAL

I always hex my chicken before the slaughter.

MAINE

I... I see.

 

(ITTHOBAL BRINGS HIS AXE DOWN WITH A THWACK. HE THROWS THE BIRD TO MAINE)

 

ITTHOBAL

Catch.

 

(MAINE CATCHES THE BIRD)

 

Let us sit on the rock and pluck.

 

(ITTHOBAL SITS. MAINE HESITATES)

 

What is wrong?

MAINE

You are sitting on basalt. 

ITTHOBAL

If you wish, we can place bracken upon it for comfort.

MAINE

No... I never sit on basalt.

ITTHOBAL

Why ever not?

MAINE

I have chosen a solitary life. I enjoy the solemn company of the stars, the pensive presence of the sea, the warm and rowdy friendship of fire. However, I do not wish to exclude the possibility that one day I may wish to raise a family.

ITTHOBAL

What are you talking about?

MAINE

Do you not have a spotted dolerite on which I could sit?

ITTHOBAL

A spotted dolerite? What distinguishes it from basalt?

MAINE

(AS THOUGH THIS IS OBVIOUS) The spotted dolerite imbues fertility. Basalt robs it.

ITTHOBAL

You think sitting on this stone will make you infertile?

MAINE

Well of course! Mebd says-

ITTHOBAL

Maine, trust me. You can sit on that rock.

MAINE

(UNCERTAIN) Alright.

ITHHOBAL
That’s it… bend your knees… sit down… There you are! You did it! Congratulations!
MAINE
It’s fine…

 

(MAINE PERCHES GINGERLY ON THE ROCK. ITTHOBAL STARTS PLUCKING. MAINE IS UNEASY)

 

ITTHOBAL

What is it now?

MAINE

Must I pluck the bird?

ITTHOBAL

What does this "Mebd" say will happen when finger and feather touch? That your hair will detach itself from your scalp? That your skin will break out in purple pockmarks? Do druids not eat chicken?

MAINE

Yes... no... yes... It is just- I cannot be near birds. Not now. Or death. Dead birds... (GASPS) I am a dead bird!

ITTHOBAL

You are a very strange man instead.

MAINE

I can pluck dandelions instead?

ITTHOBAL

Dandelions?

MAINE

To make dandelion water! Have you ever tasted it?

ITTHOBAL

I have not.

MAINE

It is the most delicious and energizing beverage. 

ITTHOBAL

Then I will pluck feathers and you will pluck dandelions. And while our hands are busy, you will tell me your tale.
MAINE
Yes, yes, right. (CALMS)

 

(MAINE PICKS DANDELIONS WHILE ITTHOBAL PLUCKS THE CHICKENS)

 

MAINE

Do you know the great stone circle of the South?

ITTHOBAL

I have heard tales, but alas, I have never set eyes upon it myself.

MAINE

It is a splendid sight. I grew up on the edge of the forest, in the shadow of those great grey stones. Every night I would gaze at their majestic silhouette, and in the morning I would wake to see them bathed in sunlight. Honey gold, dusty grey, inky black, over the course of a day, the stones would transform before my eyes. Those stones, reassuring, magical, terrifying, were a part of my childhood. I would invent stories about them. I would dream about them. On some nights, I could not tell if I was awake or dreaming. These were the nights the stones came alive. 

ITTHOBAL

(INTRIGUED RATHER THAN DISBELIEVING) The stones spoke to you?

MAINE

They sang. A deep and sombre chant, carried by the wind across the plain, beautiful, sad, unearthly, ancient.

On other nights they screamed. Chilling cries of pain and despair. I closed my ears, but could still feel the distress emanating from the stones. On such nights, flickering flames danced across the henge.

As a child, I did not know what I was seeing, and my parents would not enlighten me. So I invented tales of dragons and angels, magicians and demons, to explain the extraordinary sights and sounds.

I soon realized I could hold a captive audience. Telling stories, eliciting gasps, shrieks, sobs and laughter gave me immense pleasure. So I decided to become a bard, traveling far and wide, telling old tales and collecting new ones.

I traveled on foot, by boat, by horse, by donkey, telling funny stories, sad stories, scary stories, ridiculous stories. There is always time for a story.

Then one day, I felt a tug... Something was pulling, pulling, pulling...

At first, I did not know what was happening. Then I understood. It was the stones calling! Beckoning! I was not done with them. I had to return to their mysteries. So I began the long journey homewards. 

And that is when I met The Druids of the Circle.

The Druids of the Circle are the custodians of the henge, and the sights and sounds I had witnessed as a boy, were their rituals, held to mark the movements of the sun and moon.

This, I learned, was the significance of the stone circle: to map and measure the passing of time.

ITTHOBAL

A timekeeper! How extraordinary! 

MAINE

Those rocks whose contours I knew so well became even more magical to me. Could they really track the celestial bodies? Was it really possible to map the passing of time? My mind was set. I wanted to become a Druid of the Circle! But to do so, I would have to speak to high priestess Mebd.

ITTHOBAL

Mebd. (LAUGHS)

MAINE

Why do you laugh?

ITTHOBAL

It means "mead woman" does it not? 

MAINE

Yes. Or "She who intoxicates." If you set eyes on her you would understand.

ITTHOBAL

Oh?

MAINE

Looking into Mebd's eyes is like looking into the sun. Her terrifying beauty robs men of two-thirds of their valor. We druids never look directly at her face.

ITTHOBAL

Ah... yes... I have heard of this druid queen! Courageous, creative and insatiable.

MAINE

Courageous, yes. I have seen her wrestle a stag to the ground, grabbing its antlers and forcing it to its knees. 

Creative, yes. When her son refused to fight, she covered him in rabbit hide, attached long ears to his scalp, tied his legs together and made him hop around the plain before cutting his throat.

ITTHOBAL

(SOMETHING BETWEEN A GASP AND A CHUCKLE)

MAINE

When a junior druid was caught trying to steal her amulet, she stripped him naked, attached a tail to his arse, threw him to the pigs, and watched him wallow in the mud, shriveling under the glare of her unbearable beauty.

Insatiable, yes. Do ou know, it takes seven men to satisfy her, and none survive.

ITTHOBAL

She kills them?

MAINE

Yes. Or they kill each other in fits of unhinged jealousy, it’s unclear.

ITTHOBAL

Tell me about your encounter with Mebd.

MAINE

She asked me to tell her a story.

ITTHOBAL

Oh... What story did you tell?

MAINE

Considering her love of creative deaths, I told her the story of Cúchulainn and his demise by cheese.

ITTHOBAL

(CHUCKLES) Cheese?

MAINE

While Cúchulainn was bathing, his daughter, hiding behind a tree, aimed a sling at the back of his head, and shot him with a pellet of cheese.

ITTHOBAL

It must have been a hard piece of cheese! Did Mebd like the story?

MAINE

She cried!

ITTHOBAL

Cried? I did not imagine her to be so sensitive!

MAINE

With laughter! I mean, it is a very funny story. I was given it by a fisherman on the island of Inchcleraun.

ITTHOBAL

Maybe one day you can tell it to me in more detail. But for now, let us progress with your story.  

MAINE

"You have proven that you are a talented teller of stories" said Mebd. "But are you also a good listener of stories?"

I told Mebd that the only way to be a good teller was to be a good listener. As a traveling bard I had teased tales from the lips of priests, peasants, lovers, drunks, philosophers, kings, queens, criminals and warriors. Some gave their stories willingly, others needed to be prized out. But everyone has a story to tell, and with the right combination of drink, charm, flattery, cheek and persistence, I had learned how to collect a story from anyone.

This was exactly what Mebd wanted to hear. "Then you shall be our Poet of the Pyre" she exclaimed.

And just like that, without trial or apprenticeship, she had entrusted me with a grave responsibility that would place me at the heart of the rituals of the stone circle.

I felt a rush of excitement and terror. I remembered the cries I had heard as a boy, screams of anguish as the stones flickered in firelight.

ITTHOBAL

I think I know the ritual to which you refer...

MAINE

A colossus of straw and wood is erected in the center of the circle, behind the alter stone, arms and legs as thick as oak trees, upon its broad shoulders, a sacrificial chamber concealed in its wicker head. 

ITTHOBAL

The wicker man. A horrific tradition.

MAINE

Horrific, yes. But how can we ensure the sun continues to rise if we do not make a sacrifice?

ITTHOBAL

What was your role in this circle?

MAINE

I sat with the chosen one for their final moments and listened.

ITTHOBAL

Inside the wicker man?

MAINE

Yes. Inside the wicker man's head, while the druids gathered below with their torches.

ITTHOBAL

What did the chosen ones tell you?

MAINE

Their story.

 

BEAT.

 

After their bodies had turned to ash, swept away by the wind, I was the one who kept their memories alive.

ITTHOBAL

By carving them into the stones?

MAINE

(SHOCKED) Oh no! Nononono! We druids never keep records! I worked their stories into songs and poems, to be sang and recited on chilly nights around the fire while roasting chestnuts and drinking mead.

 

BEAT.

 

Can I tell you a secret?

ITTHOBAL

I am an excellent secret-keeper.

MAINE

I do not like the ritual. I know we must pay tribute to the sun, I know we will be reborn as a soaring eagle, a rushing river or a golden field of wheat, but-   whenever the wicker man is hoisted, I... I feel sick. Mebd says I have a weak disposition.

ITTHOBAL

I think you have a moral disposition.

MAINE

Every time the pyre was lit, I averted my eyes and pulled my hood over my head. But the screams still rang in my ears long after the wicker man had burned to the ground.

ITTHOBAL

How often do the burnings happen?

MAINE

The big ones are held in midsummer and midwinter, when the sun stands still in the sky. For this, druids come traveling from faraway lands. Smaller burnings are held for crop shortages or irregularities in the weather, but these are attended only by our clan. In a good year with bountiful harvests, there were very few burnings.

ITTHOBAL

And did you learn more about the stones and their connection to the sky?

MAINE

The Keeper of the Calendar was a man named Dubhtach, an ancient druid with failing eyesight and weak legs. I offered to aid him in his many tasks, and he accepted with relief and gratitude. As we worked, scratching moss from the bluestones, scrubbing blood from the alter stone or washing soot from the sarsens, Dubhtach explained to me the workings of the timepiece.

Twelve mighty sarsens at the center of the circle, thirty bluestones around it. The sarsens represent seasons, the bluestones represent days. Each cycle consists of three hundred and sixty five sunrises and sunsets.

Twice every cycle, when the sun has reached its highest peak or lowest trough, it is framed by the mighty trilithon. The stones form a portal through which the first rays of the day can shine.

Druids have flocked to the circle for centuries to witness this meeting of magic and the mundane, this melding of sky and stones, this union of heaven and earth, this encounter between man and the divine!

ITTHOBAL

It must be an awe-inspiring sight.

MAINE

Yes...

 

BEAT.

 

Only it was off.

ITTHOBAL

What?

MAINE

The sun.

ITTHOBAL

What about it?

MAINE

It wasn't perfectly framed.

ITTHOBAL

It was not?

MAINE

No.

ITTHOBAL

Huh.

MAINE

It was several notches off.

ITTHOBAL

But you said-

MAINE

I was describing what was supposed to happen, what old Dubhtach had described to me. But when I witnessed my first solstice, instead of awe and wonder, I felt a niggling irritation. Try as I might, I just couldn't enjoy it. 

ITTHOBAL

The sun was off??

MAINE

Yes. Or rather the trilithon. Sun and trilithon didn't align. Not perfectly.

ITTHOBAL

You are saying the great celestial calendar is... wrong??

MAINE

Yes.

ITTHOBAL

But how can that be? You told me it has been a place of pilgrimage and worship for generations!

MAINE

Oh, I do not doubt the druids of old placed the stones on the sun's axis and saw a perfect alignment, but over the years...

ITTHOBAL

You are saying someone moved the boulders? 

MAINE

Unlikely.

ITTHOBAL

Then...

MAINE

It is the sun that has moved.

ITTHOBAL

What?

MAINE

I am sure of it.

ITTHOBAL

How?

MAINE

I conducted an experiment.

ITTHOBAL

What kind of experiment?

MAINE

At first I tried to convince myself that I was wrong, that I had been standing in the wrong spot, that my eyes could not be trusted. I could not wait for the next solstice to put my doubts to rest. 

But instead, the next solstice only intensified them! There was simply no denying it! The sun was not in the trilithon's center!

ITTHOBAL

And what did your mentor say?

MAINE

Dubhtach? His weary eyes could hardly tell the difference between limestone and sandstone.

ITTHOBAL

What about the druids who had traveled from faraway lands to witness the rising sun?

MAINE

Nobody said a word! I mean, maybe they were distracted by the mead, the singing, the dancing, Mebd's beauty.

ITTHOBAL

And the wicker man...

MAINE

(SHUDDERS) Yes.

ITTHOBAL

You still have not told me about your experiment. I am intrigued...

MAINE

When the sun reached its peak, the heel stone would cast a long shadow into the heart of the henge. I scratched a mark into one of the bluestones to mark where the shadow fell. The following cycle I made a new mark. Looking at my markings after several cycles, there could be no denying it. The sun was moving further and further off center! There must be a mistake in the way we counted a cycle! Soon the sun would no longer be framed by the trilithon at all! Something had to be done! The time piece had to be reset!

 

BEAT.

 

So that is what I did.

ITTHOBAL

You did what?

MAINE

I recalibrated the henge. Or at least I tried...

ITTHOBAL

How?!

MAINE

Based on my bluestone scratchings, I estimated that the trilithon had to be moved by two and a half paces.

ITTHOBAL

Before you go any further... please tell me you sought permission?

MAINE

(FLOUNDERS) I tried. But Dubhtach is old and complacent. So I decided I should go to Mebd herself. Only she was far away, visiting a clan across the sea. She would only be back for the solstice... by which time it would be too late.

ITTHOBAL

Too late?

MAINE

This time, I reckoned, the sun's alignment would be so awry, that no amount of music and mead could distract from it. The mighty trilithon would be left empty, the sun rising beside it. What an embarrassment! News would soon spread to every clan in the land that The Druids of the Circle had lost their mastery of time, that our stones had lost their ancient power. What a tragedy that would be, and how easily avoided, by... by...

ITTHOBAL

By moving the trilithon two and a half paces.

MAINE

(WEAKLY) Yes.

ITTHOBAL

So you went ahead without Mebd's permission?

MAINE

(WEAKLY) Yes.

ITTHOBAL

How did you move the stones?

MAINE

With the hoisting mechanism for the wicker man. We had been planning to heave it upright, but I convinced my fellow druids that our energies would be better spent hauling stones.

So we attached the ropes around the trilithon and heaved and hauled and heaved and hauled and heaved and hauled and heaved and heaved and hauled and-

CRASH!!!

ITTHOBAL

(QUIETLY) Oh no.

MAINE

The great sarsen to which our rope was fixed toppled, knocking against the next sarsen, which knocked against the next, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next. It all went so quickly... Druids dodging stones and screaming... By the time I looked up... the entire inner circle had collapsed.

ITTHOBAL

Oh Maine!

MAINE

(MISERABLE) I just wanted to help.

ITTHOBAL

Did anyone get hurt?

MAINE

Miraculously no. But the others were furious.

ITTHOBAL

I can imagine.

MAINE

They tied me to the alter stone.

ITTHOBAL

Oh...

MAINE

They were terrified of Mebd's return and wanted to make sure I would take the brunt of her rage. I lay there, strapped to the stone, gazing heavenwards, for three long days and nights, shivering, sweating, rehearsing what I would say when Mebd arrived.

On the fourth day I woke to an unearthly scream. Mebd was many miles away, but she had seen the toppled stones on the horizon and her rage sped across the plain. I was hit by a blast of white hot fury.

She reached the alter stone and my mind went blank. "The sun... The trilithon... I made scratchings in the bluestones to chart the axis of the- "

"You desecrated the bluestones and dismantled the circle?!"

"I was trying to help" I stammered.

"Maine Móepirt Arthur, son of Athramail. I shall transform you, so all can see you for who you really are. Your appearance shall reveal the pathetic truth of your essence. Your shadow of stupidity shall be exposed by honest light. I shall make you a bird, a bird but unable to fly. You shall be dressed in black feathers, but you shall be slimy to the touch, like a snail. In that manner you shall waddle around the plain for all to see and laugh at."

ITTHOBAL

A slimy bird that cannot fly?

MAINE

I have had nightmares about becoming this gross bird. But that was not all. "Then you shall burn in the wicker man, and the story you leave behind will be a cautionary tale for future generations. They will mock your stupidity and spit on your memory."

ITTHOBAL

How did you escape your fate as a slimy flightless bird, burnt on the pyre?

MAINE

I lay on the stone slab, waiting for my execution the following day, screaming at the stars, and then I heard something or someone creeping through the night towards me. Dubhtach!

"You have been foolish Maine Móepirt" he said, "But I do not believe you should die. You are a young man, you have a kind soul, you have time to atone for what you have done. Go live your life." And with that, he cut the ropes and I was free. 

I ran across the plain, through the forest, over the river, towards the majestic mountains and lakes of the North. But how do you hide from a woman whose power extends to every crag, creek and crevice? Who controls every clan in the land and who has armies of wolves prowling the forests and eagles soaring the skies to do her bidding? Where could I go?

Then I remembered a story I had heard during my travels, a hushed story of an ancient healer from Phoenicia. A similar story was whispered among the druids, late at night, after many a mead, when tongues were loose and spirits limber. He lived in the forests of the North, they said, and Mebd was frightened of him.  

I clutched onto this myth as my only hope. If a magician more powerful than Mebd really did exist, I could be safe from her in his presence.

So I continued north, vowing not to stop until earth meets sea, hoping against hope that I might find you.

BEAT.

And here you are.

ITTHOBAL

And here I am.

 

(PAUSE)

 

Thank you Maine.

MAINE

For what?

ITTHOBAL

Your story. I hope you have found me a worthy listener.

MAINE

Is it true that you are more powerful than Mebd?

ITTHOBAL

(LAUGHS) Well, unlike your druid queen, I do not have the beasts of the forest and birds of prey at my command.

MAINE

(DISAPPOINTED) Oh.

ITTHOBAL

The myths you have heard cast me in a very flattering light. As myths are wont to do.

MAINE

(DISAPPOINTED) I see.

ITTHOBAL

But I think the same may be true of your queen. Myths are great disguisers.   

MAINE

Whatever happens, will you keep my story safe? The way I told it to you... not the way Mebd will tell it...

ITTHOBAL

Yes. You have my word.

pause.

You know, you and I have much in common.

MAINE

We do?

ITTHOBAL

Like you, I collect stories. Sometimes they are my own, most often they are gifts from other people. Your story will have a special place in my collection.

MAINE

I am honored.

beat.

I suppose it is only fitting, having collected so many stories from those facing a fiery end, that I offered up my own story to you.

ITTHOBAL

But it is not your final story.

MAINE

Stories are never final.

ITTHOBAL

What do you mean?

MAINE

I mean that stories, good stories, defy death. They transform from yarn to poem to song, passed from the lips of parents to children, evolving from generation to generation. Stories transcend death.

ITTHOBAL

Yes. This was your job. Preserving the memories of those who died on the pyre and giving them a new life through stories. The body burns, the story survives. I am sure you did this very well.

MAINE

I did my best.

ITTHOBAL

But this is not my job.

MAINE

What do you mean?

ITTHOBAL

I intend to create a new story for you from flesh and blood.

MAINE

What?

ITTHOBAL

My job is not to preserve your story, but to change it.  

MAINE

It is not possible to change the past!

ITTHOBAL

But it is possible to change the future!

MAINE

How?

ITTHOBAL

Through skill, confidence and imagination.

MAINE

I don't understand.

ITTHOBAL

I see every ending as a new beginning. The story of Maine Móepirt Arthur Son of Athramail has come to an end. Mebd and The Druids of the Circle will not rest until they have found you.

MAINE

I know!

ITTHOBAL

But Dubhtach was right. You are a young man, you have the potential to live many lives...

MAINE

What are you saying?

ITTHOBAL

That while you must lay Maine Móepirt Arthur to rest, it is time for a new story to begin.

Beat.

If that is what you want.

MAINE

I don't understand. How would this be achieved?

ITTHOBAL

We would start with your face.

MAINE

My face?

ITTHOBAL

Deepening the dimples, thickening the eyebrows, lengthening the earlobes.

MAINE

You want to change my face?!

ITTHOBAL

Yes.

MAINE

You can do that?

ITTHOBAL

Yes.

MAINE

(IMPRESSED) What magic do you propose? The magic of fire? The magic of water? The magic of earth? The magic of wind?

ITTHOBAL

The magic of the knife.

With a swish ITTHOBAL produceS a large knife from under his cloak.

MAINE

(SCREAMS)

ITTHOBAL

Do not be alarmed. 

MAINE

This is not magic!

ITTHOBAL

Correct.

MAINE

It is butchery!

ITTHOBAL

(SHEATES KNIFE) I have traveled the world and gathered the most advanced instruments devised by man. Bronze lancets, Sumerian knives and bone saws. I have studied the natural world and it has revealed its extraordinary remedies to me. The soothing effect of oak sap, the numbing properties of snail spittle (MAINE GOES “EW”), the restorative qualities of clover roots. My studies have brought me to deserts, mountaintops, islands, dark undiscovered lands in the south and west, and indeed, this very field. Its combination of forest air and invigorating sea winds provides a fertile environment for the most unusual plants. My skill with the blade paired with my knowledge of ointments, means I can carve, mold, heal and nurture, and give you a new face.

MAINE

How long will this transformation take?

ITTHOBAL

Many days.

MAINE

We do not have many days! Mebd is looking for me now!

ITTHOBAL

Do we have another choice?

MAINE

(FIDGETS)

ITTHOBAL

But I will only do this on one condition.

MAINE

What is that?

ITTHOBAL

The condition that you are excited by this!

MAINE

Excited?

ITTHOBAL

Yes! By the possibilities of a new face!

MAINE

Well... If it can hide me from Mebd-

ITTHOBAL

Oh, but it is so much more than that!

MAINE

It is?

Beat.

ITTHOBAL

Tell me. Why do you love stories?

MAINE

Stories?

(THINKS)

They let us step outside of ourselves. They let us experience life from a new perspective. They allow us to inhabit a character's thoughts and feelings. 

ITTHOBAL

Yes, stories allow us to escape into someone else...

MAINE

More than escape! Seeing the world through someone else's eyes allows us to learn, grow, empathize...

ITTHOBAL

Beautifully said.

MAINE

But what has that got to do with my new face?

ITTHOBAL

Everything!

MAINE

Um...

ITTHOBAL

You will be seeing the world through the eyes of someone else - quite literally!

MAINE

That's not what I meant!

ITTHOBAL

Don't you see? I am offering you a chance to be whoever you want! You can create your own story. And you will not be a passive observer, you will inhabit it.

MAINE

But I will be stuck in this story... I... I will never be returning to my true self. 

ITTHOBAL

Your true self? It will be your true self. You with a different name. And clothes. And face. Possibly even voice.

MAINE

Are you sure it will still be me?

ITTHOBAL

Only by stepping outside yourself do you see who you really are.

MAINE

I... I...

ITTHOBAL

So the question is: Are you hungry for new experiences, are you thirsty for adventure, are you ready to bid Maine Móepirt Arthur farewell, and embark on a new story?

pause.

MAINE

I will need a new name...

ITTHOBAL

Yes.

MAINE

Habits, interests, beliefs...

ITTHOBAL

There will be plenty of time for all that.

MAINE

Yes... yes... yes...

ITTHOBAL

Yes?

MAINE

Yes.

ITTHOBAL

Yes?

MAINE

Yes!

ITTHOBAL

You are excited?

MAINE

I am excited!

ITTHOBAL

So am I!

MAINE

You are?

ITTHOBAL

Yes! So far, I have only ever performed these procedures upon myself.

MAINE

(YIKES) Oh... I... I see...

ITTHOBAL

Are you nervous?

MAINE

A little.

ITTHOBAL

So am-

MAINE

You are nervous too?!

ITTHOBAL

(UNCERTAINLY) I am confident. Very confident.

MAINE

Good.

ITTHOBAL

Good.

MAINE

Good.

 

BEAT.

 

ITTHOBAL

The chickens are plucked!

MAINE

And I have enough dandelions for a tasty beverage!

ITTHOBAL

I will put the birds in the pot. You will need water from the well? There is one over by the forest.

MAINE

I see it.

ITTHOBAL

I look forward to tasting your drink!

MAINE

I look forward to chicken soup!

ITTHOBAL

We shall have a fine feast.

MAINE

A feast indeed! And we can raise a goblet to my new life!

 

(MAINE SETS OFF)

 

ITTHOBAL

Your new life…!

(CALLING AFTER MAINE) Oh and Maine! While we dine, we can compare our collections!

MAINE

(STOPS AND TURNS) Our collections?

ITTHOBAL

I was thinking we could swap stories.

MAINE

I would like that very much!

 

(maine continues on his way)

 

(WE FOLLOW ITTHOBAL AS HE BRINGS THE CHICKENS INTO HIS CAVE, AND PLOPS THEM INTO A BUBBLING POT. HE IS HUMMING HAPPILY TO HIMSELF)

 

ITTHOBAL

(QUOTING MAINE) "A gifted healer who has traveled the world and traversed the ages. Well, that would be me! His powers of magic and hex derive from the east. They say that even the mighty Mebd trembles before his power and wisdom." (CHUCKLES)

the sound of eagles overhead.

 

(MUTTERING TO HIMSELF) Eagles... 

 

AS THE POT IS BUBBLING, ITTHOBAL GATHERS BOWLS AND GOBLETS.

 

What story should I tell him... The story of the Phoenix? No... not that one... Not yet…

 

HE STEPS BACK OUT OF THE CAVE.

 

(CALLS) I have goblets! I am eager to taste your dandelion water!

 

(PAUSE)

 

Maine?

 

(ONLY EAGLES ANSWER…)

 

(SHOUTS) Maine??

 

(ITTHOBAL RUNS ACROSS THE FIELD)

 

Maine! Maine! Maine!

 

(HE STOPS AT THE WELL, PANTING. HE TURNS TO THE FOREST AND ROARS:)

 

Maine!!!

 

(SCENE CHANGE:)

 

MAINE IS IN THE HEAD OF THE WICKER MAN. DOWN BELOW WE CAN HEAR THE DRUIDS WITH THEIR FLAMING TORCHES. THEY ARE SINGING.

 

MAINE

(MUMBLES CELTIC PRAYERS, AS AT THE BEGINNING, BUT THIS TIME WITH GREAT URGENCY AND EARNESTNESS THE WICKER MAN IS LIT. WE HEAR THE CRACKLE OF FIRE AS THE FLAMES WORK THEIR WAY UP THE WICKER LEGS. THE SINGING INTENSIFIES.)

Please don’t make it so painful… I cannot bear it… Oh they are starting it…

 

Protect me, protect me-

 

A SUDDEN SHUFFLING AND ITTHOBAL APPEARS.

 

ITTHOBAL

Maine Moepirt Arthur.

 

(MAINE SPINS AROUND AND SOBS)

 

MAINE

Itthobal?!

ITTHOBAL

Hello.

MAINE

What... what are you doing here?

ITTHOBAL

Keeping my word.

MAINE

And... why are you covered in black feathers?!

ITTHOBAL

I might ask you the same question.

MAINE

Why do you think?

ITTHOBAL

Do we not look silly?

MAINE

Yes, but! Itthobal! This is no time for jests! They have lit the wicker man! The flames are racing towards us! What are you doing here?

ITTHOBAL

You came to me because you believed I could protect you from Mebd.

MAINE

It is too late for that!

ITTHOBAL

I promised you a new face.

MAINE

Itthobal!

ITHOBAL

And we never got to swap stories...

 

(THE FIRE GETS LOUDER. IT HAS REACHED THE WICKER MAN'S TORSO)

 

MAINE

Itthobal, you must get out of here before the flames reach us! 

ITTHOBAL

No, you must get out.

MAINE

I deserve this.

ITTHOBAL

What?

MAINE

I deserve this punishment!

ITTHOBAL

You do not believe that.

MAINE

I brought this upon myself. My foolishness-

ITTHOBAL

I admit, you were a little foolish.

MAINE

- which is why I am covered in feathers, trapped here, but you-

ITTHOBAL

But you also showed that you really care.

MAINE

- you do not deserve to burn like this! (SUDDEN REALISATION) Has... has anybody taken your story?

ITTHOBAL

No.

MAINE

You cannot die without leaving your story!

ITTHOBAL

I very much wanted to tell it to you.

MAINE

Itthobal, please! You must leave!

ITTHOBAL

No you must leave.

 

(ITTHOBAL STARTS THROWING STRAW AND TWIGS ONTO MAINE)

 

MAINE

Hey... hey... What are you doing?!

ITTHOBAL

Covering you with straw.

MAINE

What?!

ITTHOBAL unloads armfuls of straw over maine.

ITTHOBAL

There... there...

MAINE

(SPITTING OUT STRAW) What is this? Why are you doing this? It scratches... it... (GASPS)

ITTHOBAL

What?

MAINE

Are you working for Mebd?

ITTHOBAL

What?! No!

MAINE

Well then I don't understand.

ITTHOBAL

You will jump.

MAINE

Jump?

ITTHOBAL

But we must wait until the flames have reached the wicker man's head.

MAINE

When the flames have reached the head it will be too late!

ITTHOBAL

The head will collapse, you jump, and your fall will look like tumbling wicker.

MAINE

They will notice! They will see me!

ITTHOBAL

They will not.

MAINE

Of course they will! They are all staring at the wicker head!

ITTHOBAL

Yes! And they will be distracted from your fall, by me!

MAINE

What will you do?

ITTHOBAL

Wave and scream in the flames.

MAINE

What?!

ITTHOBAL

I am taking your place Maine.

 

(ATTACHES A LAST BUNCH OF STRAW AROUND MAINE)

 

There you are! I believe you are ready.

 

(THE FIRE HAS REACHED THE SHOULDERS)

 

MAINE

Itthobal! Itthobal! Why are you doing this? This is crazy!

ITTHOBAL

Oh, one more thing! Take this vial.

MAINE

What is in it?

ITTHOBAL

Let us call it an ointment.

MAINE

What kind of ointment?

ITTHOBAL

It is a steep drop. You are likely to have burns and you may hit the stones...

MAINE

What about you?!

ITTHOBAL

Once you hit the ground, head for the forest. Once you are out of sight, drink! It will soothe the bruises, cool the burns, give you strength. You will make a full recovery.

MAINE

But what about you?! You will burn!!

ITTHOBAL

Yes.

 

(THE FIRE HAS REACHED THE HEAD)

 

The time has come.

MAINE

We are both going to die!

ITTHOBAL

(SHOUTS OVER THE FLAMES) Maine! Jump! Jump!

MAINE

But-

ITTHOBAL

Jump!

MAINE

I-

ITTHOBAL

JUMP!!

MAINE

Alright!

 

(MAINE JUMPS. SCREAMS)

 

(ITTHOBAL BURNS. SCREAMS. THE WICKERMAN COLLAPSES)

 

MUSIC.

 

Stay tuned for the epilogue, but first the credits.

 

The Amelia Project is a production of Imploding Fictions.

 

This episode featured Alan Burgon as The Interviewer and Hemi Yeroham as Kozlowski.

 

It was written and edited by Philip Thorne with story editing by Oystein Brager, it was directed by Philip Thorne and Oystein Brager, sound design by Adam Raymonda and additional sound design and music by Fredrik Baden, graphic design by Anders Pedersen and production assistance by Maty Parzival.

 

It was recorded at RedP Studio in Vienna with the assistance of Paul Kraner, Oliver Illes and Arpad Hadnagy.

 

If you’re hearing this, it means you’re listening on the public feed. This episode actually already came out a month ago, without ads for our patreon supporters. If you don’t want to wait a month for the next episode, if you don’t want your stories interrupted by ads, and if you want to support our work, consider becoming a patron from just five dollars. We really appreciate every single contribution, and in addition to early ad free access there’s a big library of audio and video bonus content waiting for you. Go to ameliapodcast.com and click on support the show for more info.

 

Thank you to all our current patrons, and a shoutout to our super patrons, that’s

 

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