The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen)

by Cassandra Boyson

Phillip colored. “I am afraid I was the bestower of that wound.”

  The prophet turned from his chore to eye the lad. “Well, out with it. I know very well it cannot have been done purposely.”

  Phillip shrugged. “These legs… I never seemed to have grown into them.” When the prophet waited for further explanation, he finally added, “I kicked her while dismounting Peggity.”

  “Dear me! And how did the poor lass respond?”

  He thought a moment. “Well… like a gentleman, I suppose. I cannot imagine any woman I know would have taken it as well. Fainted more like.”

  The prophet turned to him with some of the usual glimmer in his eyes. “She does have real grit, doesn’t she? Could tell right off. Spirited, she is.”

  “Aye, she is at that. If you’d spoken with her a little more, you’d know how difficult it might prove to keep her around. She’s interested in a position at Valdren Castle. I made a promise to get it for her if she declines your offer and I don’t dare break it. Poor thing hasn’t a bit of trust for her fellow man and I don’t intend to make it worse.”

  Huffing, the prophet ceased his work and took a seat, proceeding to gaze meditatively into the fire. “Why do you think that is?” he asked pensively.

  Phillip peered over at the prophet, knowing full well the man was not truly in need of his opinion. Likely, he understood a good deal more than even he had managed to gather on their journey. Still, he knew he was expected to answer.

  “Well, the girl’s been alone since she was twelve, hasn’t any family. As she didn’t care for my prying, I had to keep the majority of my questions to myself. But I did gather she has had a rough time. Doesn’t even have a home—just wanders like a common vagabond, though she is certainly not common, as I am certain you discerned.”

  “No,” the prophet agreed with the shake of his head. “She is not at all common.”

  - T H R E E -

  A Nearly Involuntary Apprenticeship

  UPON AWAKING THE following morning, Wynn could not at first recall where she was. In exchange for the acute alertness she usually arose with, she was overcome by the vague impression she had at last come to a place of safety. Altogether certain it must be a dream that she was tucked into a snug bed, it was out of the question she should open her eyes only to discover herself upon a tree branch or bed of earth. Even so, the sun gleamed unpityingly over her lazing form and the startling song of a contented bird summoning the morning sounded closely, urging her to face whatever reality held.

  Brushing her unruly hair from her face, it was as if Wynn had entered a new world. She had never been in so homey a place. Noticing the coverlet that had enveloped her through the night, she vaguely recalled the dream of gentle, unseen hands urging her into bed. Obviously, she had been walking in her sleep. Question was, had she actually been invited to stay? But she must have, for how had she located this room if the prophet had not revealed it to her? Yes, she began to recall a little of her final, conscious moments.

  Unfortunately, now Wynn had stayed in such a fine place, she would be expected to pay for her food and bed and, truth be told, she currently had no coinage to her name. This being the case, she considered her options. The window. It opened, but upon throwing a leg over the sill, she reflected. She’d never taken anything for free. For everything there was a price. What did she have of value she might leave? Her cloak: it was of fine material, given her by a fine lady to keep off the cold when she was thirteen. The realization turned her stomach. For whatever reason, she’d grown attached to it. It was a part of her. Still, it was all she had to pay for what she’d accepted. Laying it across the bed, Wynn made ready to exit through the window once more when she realized her possessions had been abandoned in the main room. Most of her belongings could easily be replaced but leaving the sword she so valued was not an option. She had worked too long to procure it.

  It was not that Wynn was incapable of defending herself without the blade, for there had been many years she’d been forced to fight for her freedom with nothing but desperate determination. Her size certainly had not been an aid. In truth, she had often been caught by those who sold children as servants or used them as beggars, but she had always found a means of escape. It was later she had begun to carry a knife and then finally the sword.

  Wynn had been trained to use the weapon by an almost kindly knight who had been both taciturn and logical. Being a soldier of the king, the man had intervened on her behalf when he’d found her in some danger from a party of thieves. Though disinclined to care for her himself after the incident, he’d offered to teach her self-defense by swordplay. Wynn had met him daily until she had proven herself worthy of the art. Having mastered it, she was sent on her way with the instruction she must find a means to purchase her own blade. This had been a dispiriting blow, for she had privately hoped the knight planned to make a gift of the one she’d been practicing with. Nevertheless, she’d labored, economized and hoarded every coin until she had at last obtained one of average quality. It was not an impressive weapon by any means, but it was durable enough and had become her dearest companion.

  Moving from the window, Wynn scrutinized the bedchamber. This room was far tidier than the cabin’s main room. In fact, there did not appear even to be a trace of dust. Yet, she had noticed it coating all the unique things in the front room the evening before. Why should he take such special care with this one? At the thought, the window flew open again, a sweet breeze rushing to fill the room. Thinking she must have neglected to refasten it, Wynn did so now.

  The bed, she realized, was very old but very fine—perhaps too fine for the building that housed it. It was set before a large, curtained window partially covered with ivy where a small bird’s nest was cradled within its vines. This was evidently the home of the bird who had awoken her moments before.

  To the left of the window and bed was a large chest of drawers that, upon further examination, was mostly empty aside from a few timeworn papers and a variety of feathers consisting of a number of rare green and pinkish ones along with a single lengthy plume in a hue utterly unknown to her—this one struck her as something of value. She thought about taking it not because of the money it might obtain, but because she hated to leave such an intriguing trifle in a musty, old drawer as though it were waste. Nevertheless, she had never been a thief and was not about to become one over a feather. Soundlessly closing the drawers, she made her way over to the desk positioned to the right of the bed. Upon its surface was a pile of fine, blank pages along with quill and ink and a variety of worn books.

  The chair before the desk was only a small wooden stool that did not appear as if it would be comfortable for very long, but against the opposite wall was a rare cushioned chair covered in ornately stitched cloth. Wynn contemplated trying it, for she had never seen one up close before. But after having grown far too tranquil the evening before, she denied herself. It was a new day and she must be vigilant.

  Before departing from the room, Wynn turned to look it over just once more. It would be pleasing to have a place like this to call her own. In fact, she longed for it. Absently, she picked up the rumpled coverlet on the bed and folded it. This was not something she was accustomed to, but it felt appropriate.

  Urging the door open a crack, the young woman listened for sounds of life in the house. There were none, but she moved silently as she made her way down the hall and into the main room. At first disconcerted that her things were not where she had left them, she soon found them carefully set upon the desk. Rifling through her bag to be certain nothing had been taken (though she doubted this prophet needed anything of hers), her peripheral was caught by the sight of an alluring breakfast arranged on the little table of the night before.

  The scent of spiced, freshly prepared porridge immediately apprehended her senses. Warm breakfast was her weakness and there was a large bowl of it, along with a pitcher of cream and a small vessel of shimmering amber honey calling her. Again, there was a variety of fruit sca
ttered around this, but lastly, though far from least, was a small platter of glistening log-shaped sausages.

  With the addition of a sweet breeze wafting through an open window and the blue blanket lain across the wooden chair, Wynn nearly took a seat and helped herself to the meal despite the consequences. But it was foolish to assume that just because the supper of the evening before had been for her, this meal was as well. It was more likely the prophet’s own meal. Then again… if he was not there to enjoy it himself, might it be meant for her after all? However tempting, she reconciled there was yet another apple in her satchel. She would not starve as she escaped the Enchanted Wood. Stepping onto the path outside, she silently thanked the house for all it had supplied. It had been the closest thing to luxury and kindness she had ever experienced.

  Interrupting her thoughts, the voice of the prophet called from somewhere above. Swiftly, she turned full circle in search of him. At last, she discovered him standing inexplicably upon the roof with a small burlap sack in hand.

  “Oh…” she gasped involuntarily, for he did appear a very old man and she could not imagine his purpose in lingering upon a rooftop, let alone the means by which he’d gotten there without a ladder in sight.

  The prophet chuckled merrily at her dismay, explaining, “I’ve a feeder for the birds or whatever critters care for it. I’m just filling it.”

  Wynn nodded her understanding while attempting to determine how she might aid him from his perch.

  He disregarded her concern and continued filling the feeder. “Did you enjoy the breakfast I set out for you?” he asked with some semblance of pride in his offering. Then, a sudden alarm came over him. “I do hope it was still warm.”

  Wynn was uncertain how she should respond or if it was wiser to retreat as planned. She offered a partial truth. “I wasn’t certain it was for me.”

  He relaxed. “Of course it’s for you! You don’t think I could eat all that, do you? That meal is meant for a young person and as you can see, I am not as young as… well, as I once was. Now, march yourself back in and have at it, won’t you? And don’t you think about leaving before I’ve had a chance to speak with you. Your destiny lies in this house and I urge you not to run from it. It simply will not do, you know.”

  Wynn gazed up at him, weighing what he’d said. In truth, it did not matter. What she truly desired was to return to the main room and consume that porridge.

  “Sir,” she began instead. “It is only that I’ve nothing with which to pay you.”

  “Pay me?” he cried with sudden alarm. His form phased from sight.

  Wynn stood, blinking. Had that actually happened?

  “How silly of you,” he spoke from beside her. “I do not expect anything of the kind. I only wish you would eat until you are good and full and worry not about payment. This isn’t an inn, after all.”

  Wynn gaped at him, searching for words. How had he done such a thing—disappeared and then reappeared beside her? What sort of man was this? Well, he was a prophet. But she had yet to learn precisely what that meant and she would not unless she remained to speak with him.

  “Well?” he urged. “Go on then, dear one. Go have your fill.”

  With these words, she observed there was something rather grandfatherly about him—at least what she imagined a grandfather would be like, despite his… peculiarities.

  “Fine,” she replied.

  * * *

  A knock sounded at the door, accompanied by humming. Having consumed all her stomach would allow, Wynn sat alone before the fireplace, empty because it was too warm a morning to have lit. Though the girl had long finished her meal, she was determined to remain until the prophet was ready to speak with her. After free food and a comfortable night’s rest, the least she could do was learn what he wanted.

  Louder still, the first knock was followed by a second, sending her to her feet as she contemplated whether it was appropriate to answer. She felt foolish greeting someone at the door of a stranger’s home, but who else was there to do it? Would it not be discourteous to leave them standing in wait? If they should peer through the windows and discover her disregarding their plea, they were sure to be insulted. At last, with an irritable shake of her head, she marched toward the door.

  “Oh, good, you’re here!” cried an older woman in a lavender dress with long gray hair trailing down her back and a bundle of wood under her arm. “I’ve brought firewood to exchange for honey.”

  Wynn could not help noticing the woman appeared rather unconcerned with whether or not she received the honey or whether the wood was taken from her. She merely resumed her humming as she gazed up toward the treetops, as if her dreaming was more important than anything she might be in the midst of doing.

  When Wynn did not move, the woman took notice and held up her bundle as verification, but Wynn could not help questioning why the prophet would have wood delivered to him when he lived in the middle of a forest.

  “I would like to help you, but–”

  “Look just there.” The preoccupied woman pointed to the windowsill where a jar of honey waited. “I can see it waiting for me. Would you mind just fetching it?”

  Wynn hesitated. What if the woman was telling a falsehood, endeavoring to fool her into giving up the prophet’s honey? Conversely, she could not imagine why anyone would steal honey. But as she examined the woman’s eyes, she found them perfectly clear, if a little distracted.

  The lady took notice of Wynn again and seized her eyes with her own. “He’s coming for me, you know.”

  “Er… who?” Was this woman in danger?

  “My love, the sweet lover of my soul! He’ll come for me, he will, my shining knight, riding upon a steed of snow!”

  Her eyes were so large and full of emotion Wynn nearly believed her. Still, this stranger was touched in the head. She proceeded to run her hand through her long gray hair as if she were a beautiful princess.

  “I am a princess,” the woman said absently, as if responding to Wynn’s thought. “I am a daughter of the king.”

  Wynn could only offer something of a baffled half smile and a slight nod. Swiftly, she went for the honey, no longer concerned with whether it was meant for the woman, and pressed it into her arms.

  The stranger replied with a dreamy, congenial smile, laid the stack of wood on the stoop and went merrily on her way, swaying to and fro while twirling and humming a romantic tune. As Wynn watched after her, she was almost certain she observed a delicate cloud of golden dust raining down upon the lady, glowing in the light of the sun. Peering down at her own hands, she found a speck or two of the gleaming particles. Her eyes widened, but in an effort to ground herself, she merely shrugged. Still, the girl moved swiftly indoors, threw the door closed and bolted it behind her. This certainly was a queer vicinity… Perhaps she did not want that position at Valdren Castle after all.

  Taking her former seat, Wynn determined to continue waiting upon the prophet. She had searched outside but found no trace of him. It was rather aggravating that he had vanished without a word. Not only that, but she had no way of knowing when he would return. Still, she had eaten his food and enjoyed the best evening’s sleep she’d ever experienced, so she was obligated to remain patiently, though patience had never been a strong suit.

  It was nearing noon when another knock woke her from an involuntary nap. Answering the call of the door once more, Wynn found herself looking down at the form of a small man. A dwarf, he was, but a handsome one if ever she’d seen one.

  “You’re the prophet’s apprentice?” he declared. “Why you’re only an elfin thing of a girl!”

  Offended at the remark, she looked him over in turn. “You’re not a very astounding man yourself, are you? Besides, I am not this prophet’s apprentice.”

  Visibly insulted in kind, the stranger responded with his most daunting glower but found it had no effect. Humbling, he said, “Well, and maybe I didn’t greet you with the best of my manners, did I, girly? Let me begin once more
.” He proceeded to bestow her with a wobbly, unpracticed bow. “I have come to enjoy my midday meal with the prophet and to make the acquaintance of his new apprentice…” Rising from the “gallant” position, he added with a grin, “Though you be not her as I had heard.”

  Wynn offered no response but to block the doorway.

  The small stranger frowned a moment, then swiftly exchanged this for an agreeable smile. “My, you are a comely redheaded thing when you’re angry, aren’t you?”

  Wynn stepped into the cabin and began to slam the door when the dwarf planted his foot in the opening. “Wait, wait!” he cried. “I am sorry if I have offended. That usually works on young women, but I see you must not be as fledgling as you appear. On my word, I truly do have business here.”

  Leaving the door where it was, Wynn folded her arms. “What is your business then?”

  “Well… it’s not exactly business, I suppose,” he explained almost meekly. “I share a meal with the prophet every few days. He claims the food’s good for my soul and will keep me out of trouble for the time it takes to eat it, at least.”

  Unmoved, she replied, “The prophet isn’t in.”

  “Isn’t he?” he asked in dismay. “Well, I had certainly gotten my hopes up for a nice meal and some polite conversation. The crowd I go with doesn’t make for very good chitchat, you know. Sometimes I like a little decency. Mind you, only a little now and then. You won’t be seeing me proclaiming the name of the Great One or anything.”

  Once he had finished, Wynn stood and silently waited him out. There wasn’t much more she could say to him. The prophet simply was not at home.

  “Er, couldn’t I come in for a bite?”

  “There isn’t any lunch,” she replied stolidly. Wynn truly did not care for men who pointed out her smallness nor those who thought they could sweet talk her.

  “Isn’t there? Well… couldn’t you fix something? I really am perilously hungry or I wouldn’t ask.”