- Sorry, can I just... Excuse me. Passport! No further must you travel on your quest. You come to me for passage into rest. - Hey, that's mine. Hold a moment! Thank you, ha! I thank you so much! Sure thing, Ben. You can leave your bags here, though. Oh, I can? Oh, yes, yes. Ha ha, yes. Yes! - Hello? There room? - Can I...
- Come in. Plenty of space. Nice pack. - We've been to hell and back. - Well, not yet. You can take it off. You know you're going to stay a while. I'm Rachael. You're new? - Ye
ah, Owen. Since Erebu West. Is he coming back? I don't want to take his seat. - No, he doesn't need his things. Finn's not riding to The End of the Line. - Well, he's in for a surprise. All sources say we go straight there. - You know your stuff. - I've been around. So, where's Finn think he's going? - You really want to know. - Got to turn every stone. - Where's that lead you? - Right now? Here, to you, I guess. - You think The End of the Line
will give you what you want? - What else is there?
- You know the land outside? Not much difference from town to town. - End of the Line's the same. There's no water. It's cracked with
thirst, arid and endless. The only guarantee's the
monotony of the next day. But have you ever heard of Araboth? In the crescent valley of the Herman Sea? - Sea? - Water! Yes, mountain springs, too. Flowing through meadows of yarrow, laughing against poplar and spruce, green. Dew, frosty morning grass, sun so bright the bark is bleach, and within city walls, rest.
None concerned with petty matters or wounded pride or better or worse family. Brother and sister and
mother and husband and lover, all of us coming together without need. So I can know you, and you can know me, without shame, or fear, or past. Owen, eyelids fluttering shut in the warmth of the afternoon, gracing the hills that crown
the high city of Araboth. Can you see? Hey! This is mine. And those certainly don't belong to you. You just can't go through
other people's lives. Under normal circ
umstances, I would agree with you, my friend. But it just so happens that the
former owner of said luggage no longer wants it. So... You're the next conversion. - I wish you'd stop calling it that. I only speak from the writing on
the windows, which I know to be true. - As every savior should. Dash of imagination, pinch of fancy speak. I know hoo-ha, my lad. Everything one needs
to bewitch this train. I, unfortunately, have
neither vision nor vagina, which, of course, puts me at
a considerable d
isadvantage. But no matter. I prefer to deal with what I can see. Concrete reality does draw its crowd. Oh, ho ho, Well, all hail the meat-heads. Assets, to improve your life aboard the Sheol Express, my friend. No Turin Shroud, I'm afraid. Just plain old spices, scents, smokes, pleasures to ease your passage, collected from the
fortunes they leave behind. Diggory Venn, no relation
to the reddleman. I'm in number eight. Please, do consider this your
open invitation to stop by. Well, I'm off. Sir
. My queen. She likes it in the ass. Diggory Venn is a very bad man. You'll stay away from him? Goddamn filet Mignon. Don't spill. - Smells delicious. Not after five goddamn years. It's the same every evening. Same goddamn meat, same
goddamn vegetables... same goddamn marinade. All I can do to liven up
their manna and quail. Go ahead. - Mm! The first bite's always the sweetest. I never tire of watching the fresh celebrate that virgin taste. In their naivete, there is hope. For some, the taste of
that lost beverage still lingers on their lips. Early on, I'd worked to
change wine into water, if you can believe it,
like some sort of... bloody Christ foil. Of all the pleasures I once knew, I miss water the most. But we shall have to sate
ourselves on the vintage. You shan't set the joy from
filet Mignon, I'm afraid. You've not enough time. You came to us rather late, Owen. End of the Line's just around the corner. Yeah. But do you know anything about Araboth? - She finally got into your he
ad, did she? - It seems if she's wrong,
and if you check out early... - You would spend the rest of forever wandering the waste between
here and The End of the Line. - It defeats the point
of this whole journey. - Right you are, my boy. Then you're in for the long haul? Good. For a minute there, I thought
you were jumping ship. Your girl... - She's not my girl. - Forgive me. Right. Our female visionary
shepherds a fine flock, and so long as they stay
on their side of the train, I've no problem.
But of late, she's been a bit too... prolific. Every convert's a lost customer. It's bad for business. - But, is it true? - Araboth? Her land of milk and honey? Oh, for God's sakes,
Owen, its' a bloody high. She was an addict, you know. Don't believe me? Look for the scars. Still, if there's truth... - Ah, there it is. The conditional. Are you prepared to stake your future on an addict's madness? - She said that The End of the Line is the same as everywhere else. - So let's take her words
for gr
anted, shall we, hm? Maybe she's right. There is that impossible possibility. But what matters is that
The End of the Line exists. It is a guarantee. Every man who boards this
train can rest assured he'll take his treasures
with him into his new life at The End of the Line. But in her Araboth, assuming
for a moment it's real, which it's not, you must deny yourself this most basic material satisfaction as some sort of twisted proof of your uncompromising devotion. Your backpack. Have you acquired
any treasures? - Every man has. - Unfortunate. Because in her little rainbow world, there's no room for anybody else's stuff. God damn me before I waste
my life foregoing the beauty right here in front of my eyes. I'll take this. I am very happy here. Ah! As expected. 8:00 o'clock, with its chocolate sin. Come in. Exquisite, another flawless incarnation. - Excuse me. Can you describe to me where we're going? Seeing as how I can't tell for myself on account of your windows. - Mum's the word. Do
you have a moment? You aren't even worth the dust. You, by yourself, unmoved by others loyal. What right have you to
question where we go? - Is there another stop
before The End of the Line? I mean, Araboth ring a bell? - It's a barren platform,
boasting one lone lamp, glinting dim on empty desert dunes, washing sea and sand was long ago, relic of a broken system's prime. We took supplies there, many years ago. Then our technology forbade us pass. Directly through, without refueling stops. - I n
eed a hammer. - What the hell do you
need a hammer for now? An axe, something I can beat things with. I'll trade. - I used a hammer. I told you, outside's
the same as Erebu West, as End of the Line, as
everywhere except Araboth. - Conductor says Araboth's just a deserted refueling platform. What's this? - Proof. The author's been to Araboth. I uncovered his words. North of Well Deep, the remnants of a great
bridge scar the sylvan hills. Now, in its stead, a caravel moving men to test the Herman
Sea. There's history on this one. The great bridge once connected
the Flygian dock to the mainland, but it was destroyed
during the first two wars. Two cars back, third panel. Says Araboth is a city of the sea, so, from what I gather, it's
along the coast now. Glaciers, streams, lakes... Do bless us, there are three
different poems about the currents. It took me eight months to
read and understand them all, but I did it. Boards went down every night,
as many as I could handle. But in the morning
, they're back up. The conductor doesn't want anyone to know. You don't believe me. - I'd like to. But you're the only one's
ever mentioned Araboth. - They're not my words! Come with me. I do this from time to time. - Yes, but... - Oh, oh, the Herman Sea! Oh! When I start to doubt the
truth, I come up here. I just look. God, this is more than
I hoped to show you. This is it. I've never seen it before. We must be close. Water. - I thought Araboth was along the coast. Rachael? It wasn't there. It
will be. I'm so tired. - Sleep with me. What do you want? - I don't know. People come, people go. Is there any permanence in this? Or just intervals of temporary states? Each state connected, a link in a chain, but separate. - Don't think. - Are you scared? Just tired. They're her words. - The sea's outside. - With her city on the hill, I'm sure. - I thought there's be more. Signs, at least, of... More water, light, green. I'm sure it's all there... In her head. Thankfully, a sick heart
mends be
st when it's warm. Come. Bourbon awaits in number eight. You should count your blessings, my boy. Rachel's lost to herself. I'm sorry, but she's not
the best piece of ass. Like all of us, she's replaceable. But you have my word,
at The End of the Line, there'll be plenty of
broads for our peckers, no shortage of treasures to chase. What say you? Together, we'll induct an age of pleasure heretofore unknown at The End of the Line. You can't know. - I have to. - Forever's a bitch. - So's this life.
- To hell with you. - If I find it. Rachael. Rachael! The great bridge. - No. This isn't it. No green, no other water. Just the sea. Look, there's nothing along the coast. No city. Owen, it would be there. - But what... There are people looking
to make for Araboth, to reveal the writing on the windows. I know what it looks
like, and this isn't it. Come back with me. - That led somewhere, Rachael. What if we just can't
see it all right now? What if you're wrong? What if you're wrong? Listen to m
e. If you stay here, you're lost. This isn't Araboth, this isn't
even The End of the Line. Come back with me. Please. - Stay. - All right. Bye, Owen.
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