The following is a short story pulled from a vast narrative in which the main character of this little tale, Arthur, must rediscover an ancient secret in the heart of a forgotten continent. His travels through this enchanted land bring him into contact with a network of thieves, who's trust he must gain. He befriends Peleg, an old hand in the 'Dalek Underground' as the thieves are called. After many adventures together, Peleg is old and dying, and in this scene has one final secret for Arthur...
After some time, the others had left, and Peleg was alone in his chamber. I had been waiting for the ancient man to awaken for hours, and peeking in, saw that he had been roused from sleep. The physician was muttering in low tones to an apprentice of his in the hall as I walked past them, and I gathered from their expressions that these were his final moments. I stepped into the little room, and on seeing me, the old man raised his head as much as he could, and muttered something I couldn’t make out. The former bandit seemed in some pain, and for a few moments, his breathing was hard, and heavy. Thinking to cheer him, and perhaps ease the discomfort, I began to speak. “You can’t die yet old man, we have to make the summer’s journey back to Thien to turn you in! I didn’t come all this way to bring you in dead…” I laughed at my own jest, and held back the tears, this was not the time for weeping. “If you’re going to die on me, at least let us go someplace to do it properly! What do ya say, one more journey? A final search to end our travels?” There followed a pause as Peleg’s breathing came in chuckles, still pained, but lighter than before. At long last Peleg smiled, a small curve of his lips, and the weight fell in a short moment from that face on which formerly it seemed the storms of a dozen lifetimes had left their mark. “There is a place,” he began, “a place far from here, in another land I think, though I cannot now remember if ever these old bones travelled there, perhaps only in a dream. Towards the end of a difficult journey between two great cities of that land, I had quite lost my way. When I was sure that I had long missed the turning from the road that led towards that second city, I spied, on a hill quite apart from the road, but not so far that a man with eyes such as I had in youth could not quite easily pick it out from the silhouette of the horizon against a late afternoon sun, a little temple. With nowhere better to turn, and fearful that I could not make the city by nightfall, I made my way towards it. When I finally got there, for it was a low but quite wide hill, it seemed I had crossed from one world into another. The grass there was a green such as I have never seen before then or till now, and there were a dozen hummingbirds delighting themselves in the nectar of flowers that must have been spun from colored silk by the gods themselves. I wondered who the deity of that place was, that they should delight in such lovely things. There was the softest breeze playing on the grass, and a great tree grew up beside the building, an Oak I think, but oh,” and with a mild groan, and momentary pause, it seemed a tear slipped from his left eye, he continued, “it has been so long the memory has left me. I sat with my back against the tree, thinking the place empty, and thought what I should do, and how I might find my way again. I was nearly asleep, perhaps I was, but anyway I was nearly asleep when the voice of an old man caught me in a surprise. His was the gentlest voice I have ever heard, unsurprising I suppose for the priest of such a place must have been quite a delightful person to be all the time amongst those flowers, with that grass beneath his feet. “You look lost?” He began, as he shuffled into the sight of my weary eyes. “You were wise not to keep wandering, better to be lost here, than found any other place…” he spoke in that mysterious way, saying two things always, but both true I think, and I have never forgotten his first words to me. He led me inside, where I expected to see the likeness of some graceful deity, or tapestries as they have here. But instead there was only white and pink marble, where tall windows let in shafts of light to play on the floor and walls, and a skylight above illuminated the top of a raised altar towards the back wall of that little place. The priest shuffled inside, the tapping of his walking stick made a pleasant noise against the polished stone of the floor, that I remember, yes! The god of that place, if I have any memory left, was a very old one, but his name had been forgotten. Nobody knew what he looked like, I suppose that is why there were no carvings or statues as in other temples. The priest, who had a long name I cannot remember, simply walked behind the altar, and placed on it, from a little wooden chest, a loaf of bread, and a jar of wine. He smiled at me, and after closing his eyes, he raised the jar and the loaf upwards, where they caught the shaft of light from that window in the ceiling. He spoke a few words in a language I didn’t know, and after replacing the bread and wine, broke the bread, and shared it with me. He had the strangest warmth on his face, of which I cannot now recall the features, except that it warmed my heart to see it, and hear him speak. More things happened there, but that is all I remember. If I were to be granted but a little longer to live on this earth, and to have again the strength to make one more journey, I should like very much to see that place again, and rest beneath the tree, listening to the kind words of that priest, who I should be very surprised not to find still living there a hundred or a thousand years from now.” With the last syllable, Peleg’s breath caught, and I rushed to cup his head in my hands, but the thing was over by the time I had done so. It seemed a strange thing too afterwards, that a life as wild and expansive as his, should leave so frail and unremarkable a husk behind it.
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