The Zanaltra High Order, Prophecy Reading Room was in an uproar.
"A scythe?" His screech, ripped along their nerves like fingernails down a chalkboard. Farredein, the Zanaltra High Order supervisor made sure everyone was aware of his intense disgruntlement.
"Who's responsible for this?" Farredein's knitted, frosty brows bespoke of his confusion; his obtrusive nostrils flared dangerously while his beady slate eyes, as hard as steel, glared intently at the three-dimensional image floating directly in front of him, demanding its existence. "Someone had better tell me where, in all the Arlentora prophecies, is it written that the White Swan gets her hand on a Scythe?! This is the last thing Zanaltra needs. "
Holding their breath, all pairs of eyes in the reading room, immediately looked everywhere else, the glowing opalescent floor being the most popular, as the High Order Reader looked around the room. No one was willing to be the recipient of his focus.
The tension in the room would blunt a knife.
"It was Dave, wasn't it?" Relieved sighs, could just be heard, as he hollered "Get me Dave!" No-one wanted to even hear Farredein's voice reach above a whisper. And he was well past that point, now.
"Davellion is taking care of ..." Stannavan, one of the more experienced Zanaltra readers, cleared his throat, "...business, with the Keeper." He sighed, his habitual stroking of his lengthy corkscrew beard inferred his trepidation, knowing full well what was coming. Timing was everything. Any change to the Zanaltra predictions, or their proposed dates, would cause massive delays in the High Order's readings. Not always giving them long enough to properly adjust other events, to correct the changes.
Stannavan recalled the panic that day, when King Lyon almost missed finding the waterfall cave and Conny, altogether. That was too close for his liking. An early death was just not acceptable on his watch.
It was bad enough having to constantly amend readings due to the Lower Level Zanaltra Council members incompetency, but today ... well, this was worse. Far worse. He had been dreading this scene, since he'd witnessed the turn of events, earlier that day. The White Swan prophecy was supposed to be under their control; her Lifeforce theirs to oversee. The original Zanaltra High Order Patriarch had designed it all so.
And yet this slip of a girl had somehow broken all protocol and created her own destiny.
Who knows what domino effect this would have on Arlentora. Not to mention the uproar of the Zanaltra Council Officials. He just knew the Readers would never hear the end of this.
Stannavan rubbed his tired eyes. His heart felt heavy. The White Swan had become a favorite of his as he had personally overseen her changes in accordance with the prophecy.
His thin shoulders slumped forward.
Stannavan knew it was just a matter of time before the order would be given. The Council would take back control. They always did. The prophecy of the White Swan would be no more.
His wiry frame straightened.
Unless he helped her.
**********
"May this Sovereign Cross be incarcerated in the abode of the dead, for all I care. Princess Larayna should be here, fighting Deathbrones!" Ennar, flapping his wings, couldn't contain his fury any longer, at Lara's absence.
YOU ARE READING
Wings of Grace
Fantasy'A life for a life'- Who said finding true love was going to be easy for nineteen-year old, Lara Wakesfield? All it took was being pushed off a cliff, transported to another world, kidnapped and engaged in a life threatening sword-fight. But that w...
