He did not appear to have wondered about this. Instead, he continued with, “Do you have a home of your own somewhere?”
She could see he was worked to conceal his compassion but was failing miserably. It filled her with some small portion of rage, but she found herself replying even so. “I could not have one for a long time—couldn’t settle down where anyone would find me. I did not yet know how to defend myself.” She questioned her reasons for freely offering this stranger so much information but could not help finding it soothing to do so. “Eventually, I had a shack out east, but it proved to be an invitation for robbers when I could not be there to guard it. You learn to give up having a place of your own, you know?”
He nodded, but her gut told her he did not know. She suddenly felt she had gone too far, offered too much, and was ready to put an end to this. Indeed, she found herself relenting to an instinct that made her feel she could trust this kind, awkward man, but it was against her better judgement. It was time for some prying questions of her own.
"Do you have children?" she inquired.
His face flushed and he quickly shook his head to reply, "I am not married."
She guessed him to be much older than herself, if that thick beard upon his thin, hollowed face intimated anything. But he was so terribly gawky. In the short time she’d been with him, he had very often appeared to be tripping over his own feet. It was as if maturity had reached him terribly late in life. But from what she had gathered, he was merely a very thin, clumsy sort of fellow—fairly sheepish and easily embarrassed. In all, she had very little patience for him.
“Getting a little late in life, isn’t it?” she pressed, working to suppress any hint of her taunting.
His eyes appeared all the more startled and he merely shrugged. But indeed, he had to be something like forty and most men in the kingdom of Kierelia were married well before that age. Still, he was a terribly blundering fellow, seeming to find it difficult even to speak most of the time. It was very likely he had been too shy ever to woo a woman.
“You still live at home with your mother and father, I gather?” she probed.
Seeming to pick up on what she was about, he closed up. But seeing him this way gave her no enjoyment, so she let the conversation close in silence.
At last, he tossed his empty satchel into the saddlebag and she threw her apple core behind her in turn as she waited for him to mount. Instead, he hesitated.
“So... you’ve really never heard of the prophet of these parts?” he inquired.
Her interest was immediately captured. She did not in the least believe she could be this mysterious prophet’s apprentice, but she was curious to know if the man could relay her future to her. “I haven’t been in the region long,” she answered. “Tell me, what does this prophet do exactly? I mean, does he make his living from the fortunetelling?”
He shook his head. “He doesn’t exactly tell fortunes. He reveals what he is shown by the one true god, the Great One. Moreover, he performs marvelous acts by the Great One’s power that bring delight and healing. But he does not charge those who come to him. He grows what he eats mostly but is given food and things from those who have been blessed and insist on repaying him in some way.”
She was a little dazed. This Phillip had seemed a down-to-earth fellow, but he was beginning to sound a little… off. She had heard something of this Great One but did not believe he allowed others to use his power. “What kinds of ‘marvelous acts’ do you speak of?”
Either he could read from her face she doubted his story or he was suddenly aware of the late hour, for he feebly closed the conversation with, “Well, perhaps you’ll see when you meet him. We really ought to be going.”
* * *
They arrived in the Enchanted Wood as the final rays of the day faded into remembrance. Upon entering the legendary forest, Wynn watched for signs of things she’d heard of in any wood rumored to be “enchanted.” And while their path was made without any truly peculiar occurrence, she could not be certain she did not sense keen eyes upon her all the while, sending the hairs on the back of her neck on end. Now and then, she caught glimmers or shadows of entities unrecognizable but knew if she dwelt on them her body would surely grow stiff. There was no way she was going to reveal her anxiety to Phillip. Besides, she was not really fearful per se—only... cautious. All in all, it was safe to conclude the wood was not entirely ordinary but supposed that was to be expected from any forest that housed a wizard... or whatever he was.
Previously, she had ventured into forests where witches, fortunetellers and the like dwelled. Those woods had certainly been haunted with unnatural beings that had often sent her running in terror. It was the very reason she had been anxious to enter this one. Even so, she had been promised no sprites. She clung to the hope Phillip had not fibbed and the things nearly seen were a product of her occasionally overactive imagination.
“There is no need to fear,” Phillip said with kind assurance.
At first offended he would assume she was frightened, she realized her body had grown tense after all and her fingers gripped the fabric of his tunic.
“I’m fine,” she spat through gritted teeth, releasing her hold. Even so, her voice grew higher just at the end, exposing her true feeling. But this was absurd. Surely, she had come too far these last years to be frightened of yet another seemingly sprite-infested wood. But these kinds of forests had always proved her weakness. She simply could not abide them.
At last, her eyes fell upon the ivy-covered cabin and she was put at ease by the great gaps between the trees through which a generous supply of moonlight flooded. Further brightening the scene, firelight glowed warmly through the windows. This place was not dark and foreboding like other magical person’s dwellings but appeared a true home. In fact, the little homestead could easily pass as the household of an ordinary person.
“I’m dismounting first,” she insisted, rubbing her jaw. Curse her height. If she had not been so short, he might have wounded her shoulder instead.
“You can go on in,” he said, securing his horse to a tree. “It is a chilly evening and he’ll surely be waiting.”
She nodded indifferently, working to cover her anxiety about approaching the cabin without him. She had trained herself to rely on no one. This situation should be no different... even in these woods that seemed full of things unseen where a powerful man awaited her.
Upon reaching the threshold, the common wooden door was flung open and its frame filled with the form of an elderly man. She released a startled gasp shortly followed by the clamping of her hand over her lips, as if to cover the sound that had escaped them.
The man wordlessly studied her eyes a long while, demanding her gaze with his own. At last, an over-sized grin beamed forth as he nodded vigorously. Gripping her shoulders, he shook her lightly, declaring, “He has brought you to me at last, ha-ha! After all these years! Well, it is delightful to see you, young woman.” Releasing her so abruptly she nearly fell backward, he waddled aside and held the door wide. “Come iiiin, come in!” he sang as if she had earned an unexpected stay at a castle. “Make yourself welcome in this house for it is thrilled to find you safely within its walls.”
The cabin swallowed her whole as she took a step. It truly had the feeling of life about it as he had unconsciously intimated. Was it not almost breathing around her, heaving in and out ever so slightly? But again, this must be her adolescent imagination treading where it ought not.
The warmth of the fire hastened to receive her. It was not often she had entered private homes since she’d been on her own, but on the rare occasion, it’d been necessary to keep up her guard. In this house, with the aroma of food dancing on air and the fireplace warming her chilled body, she was… comfortable. Every wall she usually held worked tirelessly to drop, but she refused to let them go entirely.
She was struck by the impractical fullness of the room. She’d have called it an out and out mess if it was not also beautiful in its
modest way. Trinkets upon trinkets, maps, cloths, half melted candles and book-lined shelves met her enraptured eyes. Then there were the great mounds of scribbled parchment draping off the desk in the corner. She had no idea what half the array was nor from where it came, but it was both overwhelming and alluring at once.
“Please, have a seat by the fire and warm yourself,” the old man urged excitedly, tossing some of the more precarious pieces of ornamentation over his shoulder to clear a safe path for her, moving as if it was a dance, so full of unguarded gusto was he. “It is a cool night, is it not? And you must surely be in need of a pleasant meal. I’ve got one waiting for you before that chair just there.”
She made her way through the curious chaos and took a seat as directed, longingly looking over the little table piled high with a modest banquet. Is all this really for me? she wondered, then chastised herself for the notion. Of course this was to be shared between the three of them. Though she felt hungrier than she could stand when placed before such an array, she determined not to be greedy.
Unexpectedly, a thick blue blanket was draped over her shoulders. She turned to find the old prophet placing it there with an earnest smile... perhaps too earnest. Even so, she quickly turned away, for the prick of tears nipping at the corners of her eyes instantly made her detest the weakness that yet lingered. She did not cry nor did she feel any emotion that would stir her to do so. What was happening to her?
Brushing the sensation aside, she watched as the prophet waddled on what must have been weary legs and took a seat in the chair across from her. He proceeded to pull his legs up under him in a crisscross fashion. Despite herself, she could not help worrying whether this was a wise position for such an old man, let alone a usual characteristic. In fact, despite his unruly white hair and deep wrinkles, he appeared something of a child before her, with wide, shining eyes and an animated grin. He was not at all what she had expected.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked with that same eagerness. “Have you got enough to eat there? Oh, I see you’ve not touched it. Please, have a little, if you will. I wasn’t certain how hungry you’d be, but I wanted to make you feel at home. And what better than to fill you to brimming? Oh, don’t you worry; I’ve eaten and Phillip’s got a plate over on the desk back there, so help yourself to as much as you like and do not cease until you’ve begun to feel queasy.”
She recast her eyes to the tray piled with a generous array of fruit, toasted bread and dried meat, along with a large bowl of hearty stew prepared with sausage, tomatoes, beans and herbs. Beside this was a small bowl crowded with an array of berries drizzled with honey, accompanied by a healthy slice of clove and hazelnut pie and a tall mug of warm, creamy milk.
“Oh,” she gasped blissfully, quite against her will. It was not like her to respond so candidly, but nothing like this had ever happened to her. Never before had she been so warmly welcomed into such a fine home, nor been comforted with a blanket and presented with nourishment such as this. And all this was for her, a stranger? She could not quite bring herself to believe it was not a fanciful illusion.
In the very back of her mind, she wondered just what this mildly batty prophet wanted from her that he would trouble himself so, but she wholly ignored herself for the present, taking hold of a thick piece of toasted bread and topping it with a slice of the thinly sliced meat. She unreservedly dipped this into the stew and partook of the first morsel of her bounty. What an indulgent, mouthwatering bite it was, with that crisp, chewy bread soaked in syrupy broth. It was so luxuriantly seasoned with unfamiliar spices that she did not even notice when Phillip entered.
* * *
“Phillip, my boy!” proclaimed the prophet. “There’s a large plate for you on the desk. I was sorry to have you leave before I had fed you yesterday, but I had not realized you’d not eaten until it was too late.”
“Well, it smells just as grand this evening,” he replied. “I admit I’m hungry as a horse.”
“Then you’ll help empty that kettle for me, won’t you? Say, you’ve really done it, Phillip. You brought her to me! Not that I doubted you, but I am exceedingly grateful it is done.”
Phillip looked over his plate and stole a large bite of meat before glancing to Wynn. What he found was an astonishing sight. Her walls were down and she had been replaced by a serene figure, who, in her eagerness, looked something like a little child. It pleased him. By the way she ate of her tray, it was clear she did not frequently eat well and he was glad she was now in a place where she would be well taken care of—that was if she chose to remain.
Seeing Wynn’s unconscious openness along with her smallness was a great contrast to how she had previously presented herself when she was fully mindful of her surroundings and not engrossed in a mound of fragrant food. He recalled how she had stalked about like a man twice her size with the confidence of one twice her age. He could not help admiring that self-assurance. But he easily sensed there was more pain and sentiment within her than she cared to reveal.
Spooning heaps of stew into his famished body, Phillip abruptly recalled the one detail that had not suited the prophet’s description of his apprentice. He now wondered if he should have questioned it further. Though he did not truly doubt she was the one, it seemed worth mentioning.
“Might I speak with you in private?” he muttered to the prophet.
Hearing this, Wynn at last realized Phillip had joined them. “I can go,” she offered, noting they wished to speak privately.
The prophet threw up his hands before she could move. “No, no! You stay and enjoy yourself. Phillip and I will just step into another room.”
When the two were safely out of hearing, Phillip stated what was on his mind. “I don’t suppose you noticed her eyes aren’t the correct color? She has every other attribute, but I thought I’d better make you aware. Besides that, I think you might be surprised by what you find in her. She’s not your typical female. In fact, she fights like a warrior.”
“She’s exactly the right girl, Phillip. You have done well. What of it if she can fight? How can that stop her from being what she is meant? In fact, it may be essential to her destiny. And in any case, her eyes are perfectly green, my boy, whatever you may think you’ve seen.” Patting Phillip’s back, he added, “Now let us return and keep the girl company, shall we?”
Phillip deliberated as the prophet exited the room. He wondered just how old his wise prophet-friend was... and whether the man’s sight had declined along the way. For, that young woman’s eyes were most assuredly yellow.
* * *
When the prophet returned to Wynn, she had very nearly finished her meal, much to the surprise and delight of its provider. He had not realized she would be so very hungry and wondered what sort of life she’d led that she should be so thin yet possess the capability of stuffing herself so thoroughly. She must have been ravenous and he made note of it. He would make certain she was well fed henceforth.
Watching her wolf down the food, he felt certain he would like her. There was a strength of spirit he admired, but he knew it was working desperately to conceal the fragility within. He liked that too. It was clear there was a very dear girl imprisoned beneath that irritable mass of red hair and he looked forward to knowing her.
* * *
Once Wynn had finished gulping down the last of her milk, she turned her attention to the elderly man. Now her stomach was full, she was prepared to get to the bottom of why she had been brought there. Nevertheless, she was, of a sudden, overwhelmingly drowsy. She had not slept well of late and her stomach had not been so satiated in a long while. Realizing she might easily pass out in her chair, she did not relish an evening spent in the cold Enchanted Wood. In fact, she doubted she would rest at all, always expecting some creature or other to come for her. Regrettably, this had not occurred to her when she had agreed to accompany Phillip.
“Now then,” she began, forcing her eyes wide. “What is it you want with me, old man?” She ended with a yawn tha
t put a little twinkle in the prophet’s eye, something she could not begin to fathom.
“Let us not get into that tonight,” he replied. “You’re obviously nearing sleep and ought to be in bed. We may just as easily speak our business on the morrow.”
Wynn realized her eyes had closed and mercilessly peeled them open. “I do not intend to remain for the night,” she said lamely. Even as the girl spoke, she felt a calming presence enfolding her in such a way, she could not imagine leaving the homey cabin for a chilly night in an eerie wood.
Before she knew it, she had trailed after the prophet as he beckoned her down a small corridor and pointed her toward a door where she might rest safely until the morning. Her stomach excessively full and her body and spirit exceedingly fatigued from all the years she had not had such treatment, the girl essentially sleepwalked herself through the doorway. There, she was guided by dream-like beings and made to lay down upon a sizable, well-cushioned bed.
Curling comfortably up into herself, she abstractedly perceived a tender, nearly feminine voice comment how utterly exhausted she must be, the poor thing. And truly, the moment Wynn’s head hit the feathery cushions, she was compelled into slumber. A bountiful, oversized coverlet was arranged over her frame, releasing her wearied spirit into satisfying unconsciousness.
* * *
Meanwhile, Phillip polished off his plate as the prophet cleared Wynn’s dishes. The older man had sobered into one of his contemplative moods, a sign he was prepared for deep discussion. This meant it would end a late evening, but Phillip did not mind. Indeed, any excuse to keep him from his home and with his closest friend was welcome.
“Didn’t you feed the poor girl?” the prophet inquired of him, nearly chastising. “And I didn’t like to mention the swelling on her chin before, but it appeared quite fresh.”
The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen) Page 3
