THEME MUSIC

  tranquil lullaby

  A sliver of sunlight leaks through the ajar bedroom door, illuminating a small bunk, and glinting upon the iron crucifix which hangs upon the wall over the headboard. Beneath a heap of olive-green woollen blankets, a boy sleeps restlessly.

  Somewhere far off, a church-bell tolls.

  Bong...bong...bong...

  With a strangled cry, the boy sits upright, gasping for air.

  SORIN

  Tat?! Tat?!

  His night-shirt is damp. Hair is plastered to his cheeks and neck. He wipes the sweat from his forehead as he catches his breath.

  Heavy footsteps sound in the corridor. The door creaks open. A shadow fills the room, but is quickly banished by a warm, flickering light.

  Bogdan Nicolescu, a stout, black-bearded man, shields a candle in the palm of his hand. As he strides past the bed, coils of smoke trail in the air. He places the candle on the nightstand, stooping low to scrutinise the flame.

  Sorin is ready to burst, but knows better than to speak before father is ready.

  Mother can be heard making breakfast in the kitchen: dishes a-clinking; the tut-tut-tut of chopping on the board; the whoosh of the oven as its door opens wide. Outside the house, Doru, the family’s pet raven-shepherd barks playfully. Sparrows chitter their break-of-dawn song as they flit through the yard.

  Satisfied with the candle, father returns to the foot of the bed. The timber frame groans as he sits.

  BOGDAN

  Good morning, son. Our lord and saviour bless you.

  He makes the sign of the cross, underlining the gesture with a contemplative scratch at his beard.

  Sorin takes a deep breath. He looks into father’s wise, hazel eyes.

  SORIN

  Tat?! Oh, tat?! I’m certain it was real!

  BOGDAN

  I see, son. Why don’t you tell me?

  SORIN

  No, tat?. I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t!

  He points to the ceiling.

  SORIN

  I heard them up there. They were on the roof, wanting to get in!

  He points to the ground.

  SORIN

  And under the floorboards, digging up through the earth.

  Digging and scratching! Scraping and clawing!

  I heard them, tat?! I heard them!

  He peers into the shadows above the ceiling beams, and draws the blankets close, as though the creatures might still be there.

  SORIN

  They whispered to me, tat?. They whispered my name!

  A shaggy, black dog trots into the room and sniffs about the bed. He nuzzles and licks Sorin’s right hand, coating it in warm saliva and a clump of brown and white feathers. In the chill morning air, the warm spittle turns cold.

  SORIN

  Ow! Stop it, Doru!

  He brushes off the feathers stuck to his palm.

  Doru grumbles, but obeys. Instead, he catches the edge of the blanket between his teeth and tugs.

  SORIN

  Wait, Doru. Stop! I’ll get up soon. Let me speak with tat?.

  Doru releases the blanket. He turns to Bogdan for support, but father only nods in affirmation. Doru lets out a dejected snort and saunters from the room with his nose in the air.

  Father turns back to Sorin.

  SORIN

  Tat?, what if they come again? What should I do?

  He regards father with anticipation.

  BOGDAN

  Well, lad. I promise you this much: no harm will come to you inside this house.

  SORIN

  But tat?. How can you be certain?

  Before the words are out of his mouth, he knows he’s made a mistake. He hangs his head, awaiting correction, but it’s worse than he thought.

  Father closes his eyes for what seems an eternity.

  Through the blanket, Sorin nudges his foot against father's knee until his eyes finally open, glaring.

  SORIN

  I’m sorry, tat?. Forgive me.

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  If I could be brave like Fi—I mean, like my brother—I would accept your promise.

  And I do, tat?. I do. I’m telling myself to. I promise I am.

  Father grasps Sorin’s foot through the covers. His eyes soften. He gives Sorin’s leg a gentle shake.

  BOGDAN

  Never mind, son. Doubt and trust have naught to do with bravery.

  You’ll learn soon enough.

  At this, Sorin’s face lights up.

  SORIN

  You’re talking about woodsman’s training, aren’t you, tat?? I’m ready.

  Ready to begin. Truly I am. I’ll make you and mam? proud.

  And Fi—he catches himself again—brother, tat?.

  I’ll make brother proud too.

  Father reaches out with his enormous, calloused hand and ruffles Sorin’s head.

  BOGDAN

  I believe you, son. But I didn’t come to talk about training or courage. I came to wake you from slumber. Don’t say you’ve forgotten.

  Sorin’s eyes fly open almost as wide as his mouth.

  SORIN

  Oh, tat?! How could I? What time is it? Are we late?

  Father shakes his head and grins a yellow-toothed smile.

  BOGDAN

  I wouldn’t allow it. Not on your birthday.

  And a most important birthday at that!

  The dawn bell has rung. We’re not due at church until eleventh-hour mass.

  Now, dress yourself. Mama’s preparing breakfast. You’ll have time to visit your brother before we head into town.

  Father gets up and makes his way to the door, but before he leaves, he turns back and whispers.

  BOGDAN

  You’re a Nicolescu, son.

  I'll tell you a secret.

  Bravery can’t be taught. It’s either there, or it isn’t.

  Sorin pondered the thought for a moment.

  SORIN

  But, tata. What if...

  He can’t say the words.

  Father waggles his index finger as though to stop the thought in its tracks. Somehow, it works! Father winks and nods towards the bed.

  BOGDAN

  Happy birthday, son.

  That’s when Sorin sees it: a small, lacquered box resting on the covers between his feet. A birthday present!

  But wait. It’s much too small to be a sword or spear, or a woodsman's axe. Whatever can it be?

  Sorin looks back to the doorway, but father is already gone.