With a flourish of his arms, the young king stepped off the stage and to his own table, which sat right at the front of the crowd. A woman in a colorful red robe replaced the monarch onstage, beaming at everyone with a rather flawless set of teeth.
“We will be starting the play shortly,” she announced. “Thank you for your patience.”
The woman began walking off stage when Tera felt a hand on her polymer shoulder. Turning, she saw the wrinkled face of Orram, who was growing more and more familiar by the hour.
“The king would like to invite you to join his table,” the adviser said. “You can follow me there if you like.”
He started to make his way away from them, weaving between the gathered people and the tables. Tera and Ethan, unsure of where else they’d sit, followed the old man.
King Hum watched Tera and Ethan as they approached his table, but they stopped short when they saw who was seated beside him. Reverend Nidus, still adorning his ominous hood, smirked at the other two foreigners.
“Ah, Ms. Alvarez and Mr. Myler,” King Hum greeted them. “I’m glad you accepted my invitation.”
“As am I,” the cult leader said. Even though his ocular receptors were just glowing lights, Ethan couldn’t help but feel like he saw something sinister within them.
Tera and Ethan stood awkwardly away from the table, a look of surprise on their faces. King Hum followed their gaze to Reverend Nidus, and a look of annoyance crossed his features.
“This feast is for all our guests, as I said,” Hum said. “Nidus will be joining us. I hope that won’t be an issue.” He looked between his three guests.
“Not at all,” Tera said after a tense moment. She took a seat at the table on the other side of Hum from the cult leader. Ethan joined her.
“Excellent,” the young king said, his face lighting up as they got comfortable on the bench. “Despite any differences between us, we are civilized beings and can endure each other’s company for the sake of a good meal.” With an embarrassed look, he turned between Nidus and Tera. “I’m sorry; I don’t know what people like you eat or drink.”
“We don’t, your grace,” Nidus replied. “But I am still gracious for the offer.”
“I’ll eat!” Ethan said, reaching for a plate in the middle of the table. The others laughed — even the cult leader.
The woman in the red robes came back out onto the stage.
“Your attention, please!” she cried. The crowd quieted to a low murmur. “Without further ado, we present A Shell Without A Snail!”
She stepped to the side of the stage, but not quite off, and took a seat on a stool waiting onstage for her. A young man came out into the center of the platform, carrying with him a strange looking basket. The thing was painted with beautiful patterns, all symmetric and mesmerizing. The actor himself was painted in a strange, sickly yellow color. He wore a small cap with what looked like long eye stalks — or at least, objects made to look like eye stalks. A timid expression showed through the young actor’s poor makeup job. He stood still, all eyes upon him, waiting for his cue.
“Enter our snail,” the red-robed woman narrated.
The actor lifted the painted basket for everyone to see clearly. “This is my brand new shell,” he said — or rather, shouted. “It brings me pride you cannot imagine. I thank God for the day he created it, and for the day he led me to it. I must show it off to my friends.”
“Snail’s shell was beautiful, indeed,” the narrator said, beaming out at the crowd from her stool. “So he went to show it off to his friend, Lizard.”
Another costumed actor stepped onto the stage and walked up to the other. His beard was coated in a dull green layer of makeup, and he dragged what looked like a stuffed stocking behind him. Ethan guessed it was supposed to be a tail, but it required some imagination to picture it as so.
“Hello, Snail,” the Lizard actor said. His voice was much stronger and more confident than his counterpart’s.
“Greetings, Lizard,” Snail replied. Then he lifted the painted basket — his shell — up for the other actor to see. “Behold my new shell!”
Lizard acted stunned by the pure beauty of the thing, gasping and bringing a hand up to his painted cheek. “My scales! I’ve never seen something so lovely!” he exclaimed.
“It was a gift from God,” Snail said.
“Then you have been blessed,” Lizard replied, and both turned to face the audience. After a brief pause, the Lizard actor went off stage and was replaced by a woman wearing a robe of feathers.
“Then he showed it to his friend, Crow,” the narrator said, as if there had been no pause in her previous narration.
“Behold my new shell!” Snail said to the feathered woman, a bit louder than necessary.
The woman playing Crow complimented him the same way Lizard had, and the process was repeated with Snail’s friend Horse. Ethan and Tera had difficulty focusing on the play as the same scene repeated, but the monotony was broken when all the other actors cleared the stage, leaving Snail alone in the center.
“That night, Snail was caught in a terrible storm,” the narrator said. As she did, stagehands from around the platform started to throw what looked like rice over the actor in a poor attempt to mimic rain. Someone pounded a gong, which Tera guessed was supposed to be thunder. Snail flailed around in an attempt to convey terror and panic.
“The storm was terrible, so Snail retreated into his shell,” the woman
