The Forgotten Prophecy

Chapter 61

'You have one chance,' Peter pointed a finger at the old man. 'If I see you do anything foolish, I will make sure you pay for what you've done.'

The elf silently nodded and sat down beside her on the floor of the small temple. Through the huge arches of the building entered the sound of the raging waterfall crashing down the mountains, like it was reminding them of its presence.

Long shadows were cast all around them. The sun hadn't found its rightful place in the sky yet and the most daring of the night stars still shined. The fire that had threatened to destroy the city was long put out by the elves, but the biggest part of the city was gutted beyond repair.

The poignant scene of the destroyed settlement saddened Matthew. Families emptily stared at whatever remained of their homes and healers were rushing to check on the wounded that never ceased to roll in. Matthew sighed in defeat and slumped down on the floor across the other two. He couldn't shake off the feeling that they had failed once more.

With that sense of disappointment, he turned his attention to the others who were talking in hushed tones. They were sitting side by side, holding hands, while small candles had been placed around them in a circle.

He saw the elf raise his left hand and all the candles were lit at once. From the wick of those candles glowed a warm and flickering light that would guide Peter through her mission. That day, they would build the perfect bridge between the world of the awake and the world of dreams.

'You have to make sure they are not extinguished,' the elf informed him with simple directness. 'If they are all blown out...it won't be a good thing.'

'Okay.' Matthew glanced at Peter who was already looking at him. He gave her a worried smile and nodded. Sometimes words were not needed for her to understand; they had reached a point where only a glance was enough. She nodded back and shut her eyes like the elf had instructed her, entering a realm where he couldn't follow.

. . . . .

In the quiet solitude of the temple Matthew kept watch of them. Many a time he would light a candle that rebelled against its brothers, or just observe Peter. He couldn't help but think about their time in the woods, the way she fitted perfectly in his arms.

He wished they would have more moments like that, when war and death were too far away to worry about. When her hands were enough to mend the broken pieces of his soul. But that wasn't the time or the place for that. People depended on them, and they couldn't, they wouldn't let them down.

He looked at her peaceful face and patiently waited for her to come back to him, hoping she was doing okay. The minutes trickled by and still the two of them remained still, eyes closed, and hands clasped together. Although he was starting to get nervous, he knew that whatever he was going through couldn't compare to her challenging task, so he swallowed his raging emotions and stayed silent.

As he was calmly listening to the waterfall's booming sound, the sun's rays suddenly reflected upon him and Matthew shielded his face from the blinding light, scrunching up his face. When he opened his eyes again, Peter had already regained consciousness and was blinking rapidly in means to adjust to the bright light. Matthew immediately went to reach out and check if she was alright, but she cut him to it.

'I'm okay,' she lifted a hand up. 'How long have I been out?'

The old elf next to her was tiredly rubbing the nape of his neck.

'Not too long,' he reassured her.

It was still early in the morning; the sun had just made its appearance amongst the mountains.