BrokeHeart and Robbing follow the Wild Hermit on a narrow trail along a steep cliff overlooking the river far below. Night is falling.
Robbing: Hermit, should we not find a place to camp before it gets dark?
BrokeHeart: [laughing merrily] Nervous, brother?
R. [looking at the rocks below] Hey, I don’t have a magical curse keeping me alive until I win the heart of my lady love!
B. I doubt I do either, after you broke the curse by repenting of slaying me. Regardless, you didn’t need to come. You could have returned to the freedom the mirror of my curse had prevented you from enjoying.
Robbing says nothing for a long time, as they continue inching along the trail in the failing light. Finally he speaks.
R. I… I cannot. My heart will only be truly free when we have paid our debt to the Emperor-beyond-the-sea, and I myself see him restore all that I wrongfully stole from you.
BrokeHeart says nothing, but claps his brother warmly on the shoulder. At that instant, the Hermit stops in his tracks. The brothers immediately halt lest they bump into him.
B. Wha…
The Hermit silences them with a swift gesture. They wait, watching as the holy man strains his ears, seeming even to sniff the air in pursuit of some unknown quarry. Finally he turns and grins.
H. We have arrived. All has been made ready. Come.
He marches off with a step so joyful he might have been skipping. The others follow along more carefully.
R. [whispers] Do you have any idea what he was looking for, or listening to?
B. [shaking his head] No, I… wait! Is that a column of smoke I see ahead?
The Valley
At the next bend the ravine unfolds into a gentle river valley. Sure enough, smoke is rising from the chimney of a cozy cottage on stilts athwart the stream. Large flat rocks provide solid but slippery access from both banks.
R. Are we to dare that crossing by starlight?
The Hermit’s eyes gleam, and he lets out an odd, piercing whistle. There is a brief pause, then a splash. A narrow canoe appears on the far side, then expertly wends its way through the rocks toward them. As it nears the shore, the hermit rushes to embrace the white-haired woman who paddles it.
H. Mother! It is so good to see you again.
M. Don’t you “mother” me! You should have been here an hour ago, Willy. Your poor guests must be starving.
She makes as if to whack her son with a paddle, though her warm smile belies her caustic words. The hermit turns to them with a goofy grin.
H. Gentlemen, my mother the seer.
The brothers begin to bow and introduce themselves, but she hushes them instantly.
M. Don’t be fools! I already know who you are — probably better than you do. Willy, do me the favor of carting those two to the house, then return to pick me up.
“Don’t be fools! I already know who you are — probably better than you do.”
Mother
Such is her commanding manner that all three men jump to obey without a second thought. “Willy” deposits them quickly on the small dock behind the house before hurrying back.
The Cottage
The three men sit silently as “Mother” piles heaping scoops of meat and vegetables onto their plate. Their earlier attempts to ask questions were abruptly hushed. Apparently mealtime is some sort of sacred ritual here. Perhaps seers are full of exactly the right amount of knowledge, and dare not ask or answer questions lest the balance be disrupted.
Perhaps seers are full of exactly the right amount of knowledge, and dare not ask or answer questions lest the balance be disrupted.
As it turns out, their confidence may have been warranted. BrokeHeart and Robbing seem to have been given different but equally satisfying portions, which when consumed leave them feeling replete but not stuffed.
The silence is entirely one-sided, however. The Hermit — Willy? — is subject to an endless stream of invective from his mother. Rather than suffering in silence, this abuse inexplicably makes his goofy grin even broader, as if they were sharing some sort of private joke.
After the meal is finished, the brothers clean their plates and mutely follow the Hermit outside. There, the seer makes them lie on beds of rosemary with pillows of milkweed and blankets of deerskin. They are arranged in a triangle around a campfire, into which she hurls strange incense that gives off purple smoke and a pungent but not unpleasant aroma.
Softly, she begins chanting in an unknown language, harsh and guttural yet somehow soothing. Like a volcano singing a lullaby. The three men drift off into the shadowland between sleeping and waking, in the time between times…
The Vision
I walk a garden path I am beside myself Alone yet not alone
The path ends An enormous chasm stretches before me Far in the distance I see the golden lights of home Mortal or eternal, I know not which
I break down and weep To have come so far To be in sight of my heart Yet still impossibly out of reach
I pound the earth in frustration The earth… starts to rumble As if in reply
I jump back Terrified of falling into the chasm Yet from its depths arises One like a son of man
I: Are you… the Emperor-beyond-the-sea?
One: Not quite. I am His Son. For no man can see Him and live.
I. Um, can we talk somewhere else? This ledge seems a bit unstable.
O. [laughing deeply] Fear not! No man can see Me and die. For I AM His Son.
Torn between fear and awe, I can find no words. I settle for prostrating myself before Him. Trying to ignore the quaking in the ground. That mirrors that of my own flesh.
He laughs again.
O. Well spoken!
I. But I said no words?
O. Exactly! Is that not the boon you sought?
He laughs again.
One: Well spoken!
I: But I said no words?
One: Exactly! Is that not the boon you sought?
I try to focus. Distracted by the ever-increasing thunder of the ever-more-fragile ground. What did I seek? A gift to woo my beloved? Recovering the warmth of my family? Payment for my debt to the Emperor?
I look up at the One.
He smiles.
O. Yes. That is the answer to all your heart never knew it needed to ask. Worship without words.
I. I… I don’t understand.
O. Exactly. Just take my hand.
I stare at Him in disbelief. He is standing in thin air. In the middle of a chasm. A dozen yards from the edge. Stretching His arm out to me.
I. But… that’s impossible!
He winks. He laughs. He looks me in the eye. He knows.
I close my eyes Reach forward I begin to take a step Even as the ground crumbles before me…
The Awakening
We wake up.
Wild Willy is sitting on a rock Staring into the dawn
Robbing and BrokeHeart find themselves lying on solid rock Cold and unyielding No fire, blankets or pillows
R. What happened? Where are we?
B. Where is thy mother, Wild Hermit?
He turns A ghost of his goofy grin Still on his face But now tinged with sorrow
W. She was never here.
B. What manner of jest is this? Did we not take supper with her, and sleep by the warmth of her fire?
The Hermit nods.
W. Yes. But not here. Not in this world. In the place between places. Which can only be found in the time between times.
R. What are you saying? Is your mother some manner of fey spirit?
The Hermit cocks his head, as if genuinely wondering at the question.
W. I would not have put it that way, but perhaps she is. She has always been fey, touched by the second sight. And now…
He sighs loudly, glancing around the barren rock.
W. Now… she is but a spirit. She passed away many years ago.
B. Then how…
W. I know not how. I only know that when I was at my lowest and most desperate ebb of faith, she appeared to me and granted me an audience with the Son of the Emperor. And ever since then, it has been my greatest joy to find and lead similar lost souls. Both for their sake and mine, to revisit my childhood home that was.
“I only know that when I was at my lowest and most desperate ebb of faith, she appeared to me and granted me an audience with the Son of the Emperor.”
Willy, the Wild Hermit
He stands up Takes one last soulful look around Then is suddenly all business again
W. Up! Thank you for returning me to the warmth of my family. Now it is time I do the same for you!
Radically Happy 
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