The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen)

by Cassandra Boyson

  When Phillip arrived with an invitation from his parents for her to sup with his family the following evening, the prophet urged him to escort her to Nierwood that very day to help with some errands he wished them to perform.

  “She could use a respite,” Wynn heard him whisper as she angrily tossed some irregular item aside. And she did not correct him; he was right. She needed out of the place before she found herself throwing all of his things through that vanishing door and into whatever land it happened to reveal next. Of course, she would need it to appear first, but it mattered little. She would will the cabin into opening it.

  Yet, she was made anxious by the idea of venturing into the village, for she knew they must travel through the Enchanted Wood. Thus far, she had not wandered from the cabin, believing the haven the only influence protecting her from the malevolent fairies and sprites within the forest. But realizing how childish this was, she forced herself to tackle the idiocy of her qualms.

  As the weather remained stubbornly chilly, Wynn threw on her cloak and accepted a hefty basket from the prophet as he led them to the door with hurried instructions as to where they must visit. He explained that Nierwood was a marketing hamlet under the dominion of Valdren Castle, named long ago for its near proximity to the Enchanted Wood. Valdren Castle itself housed Lord Valdren, cousin of the Kierelian king. He had been awarded supremacy over the southernmost vicinity for his lifelong heroism in battle. It was, therefore, his duty to defend the southern border from the kingdom beyond, which, in years past, had been guilty of violence in the villages formerly unprotected. Meager as the domain was, it had developed into one of the most alluring situations for Kierelian knights for that very reason. As Kierelia was under no current threat of war, it was difficult for them to obtain occupation. And, as scouting and guarding of the border was a continuous requirement, this was their solution. As a result, Valdren Castle had erected additions in order to accommodate them, resulting in its becoming the second largest fortress in the kingdom. Naturally, the knights—along with those who visited in their company—broadened the traffic of the village markets. Therefore, the formerly modest southern settlements were transformed into thriving trade destinations.

  Wynn was perfectly at ease as she bade the prophet a pleasant afternoon and made her way down the property’s small walk. But as the path disintegrated and the cabin was removed from sight, she grew alert, watching for signs of supernatural creatures meaning to harm her.

  “You still believe you’ll going to be haunted by daemon sprites?” Phillip asked.

  Wynn swiftly turned to discover whether he was making jest of her or simply inquiring. It was clearly the latter. In fact, he appeared truly concerned over her discomfort.

  “Perhaps,” she admitted with a mortified smirk.

  Even so, it was an uneventful excursion aside from the inexplicable sound of laughter at one point and, now and then, faint melodious intonations. Another time, she was certain she’d heard someone utter, “There she goes now.” But upon turning, there was naught but a glimmering golden substance shining where no sunlight illuminated. Phillip assured he neither heard nor noticed any of this, though he did not disbelieve her.

  “I hate to stoke the fire of your forebodings,” he said, “but it is very likely you will hear or see things I do not, you being the student of the prophet. Even so, I assure you there is nothing in this wood that will harm you.”

  “That is to say… there is something in the wood, right?”

  He smirked but refused to look at her and said nothing. That was answer enough.

  Upon entering the small town, Wynn was astonished by the number of people stuffed into the narrow dirt streets. The prophet certainly had not been exaggerating the rapid growth of the southern villages, if a mere village it could be called. It was more like a hectic capital city, even if there were but six roads in total, when one excluded lanes and alleyways. Despite the density of the muddled crowd, she observed the people were not discourteous as one might find in a larger town. Rather, they greeted one another with pleasant country manners.

  Phillip explained this had not always been the case. There had been a time before Lord Valdren’s arrival when it had been a wild region, overly affected with witches who easily influenced an unschooled people. But when Lord Valdren had been appointed head over the province, all had changed. In fact, the lord had publicly discredited those who practiced witchcraft, so the sorcerers who remained found themselves with very little influence.

  The two made their first stops with ease and Wynn found she enjoyed being out among the pleasantry. It was a satisfying respite from the currently irksome cabin. However, it was not long before she began to feel the eyes of those they passed taking notice of her and whispering to others around them.

  “Phillip…” Wynn murmured, “are people staring at me?”

  He looked up with a grin. “They are. Word of your identity must have spread and there’s no hiding with that brilliant mass of red on your head.”

  “Well, who am I then—queen of Kierelia?”

  Laughing, he took a jar of preserved fruit from the basket. “You won’t like the owner of this place. I’ll just run inside and say hello for you.”

  “And you know me well enough to know who I’d like, do you?” she asked with a brow raised.

  He raised his own, accompanied by a small grin. “He’d likely comment about your unsuitable attire…”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your weapon,” he explained. “Doesn’t think women should carry them.”

  “Guess you know me better than I thought.”

  With that, Phillip carried the jar inside, but in another moment, he returned looking displeased, and took up another from the basket. “Dropped the last,” he said quickly before re-entering the shop.

  Wynn chuckled. She had never met a man who made so many blunders. Then again, she had never met one so tall and gawky. Poor fellow didn’t stand a chance.

  Her moment of amusement was disturbed by a woman who approached with ten children.

  “Please, might I have a word from the Great One?”

  Wynn blinked, uncertain what she meant. But soon the woman was followed by a couple and then another couple, all requesting some word or blessing from her.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t—" she tried.

  “Can you tell me what I should do about my mother?”

  “Won’t you see to this sore hip?”

  “What shall I say to my husband?”

  Before Wynn knew it, she was overrun with people, all hustling her for some peculiar favor or another until she was overwhelmed by the crowd.

  “I’m afraid I must go,” she managed as she attempted to press her way from the gathering and into the shop, but upon grazing the woman with the ten children, her vision was seized by a sudden picture of the stranger holding a set of twins. Abruptly, the vision released her and she was left merely blinking into the woman’s face.

  Another man brushed against her and she saw him stealing from the prophet’s garden and then another was seen to be kneeling before a grave. Someone else wore a long white veil while another was working in a castle. On and on, she was seized in flashes as each person inadvertently made contact with her until the visions flashed so swiftly, she could not keep up. She knew she must separate herself from the assemblage but could not see the physical realm around her in order to do so. Yet, the throng continued to draw nearer, pressing their appeals—some more desperate than others.

  Wynn felt her basket drop and made ready to kneel in blinded search of it when a firm grasp on her wrist wrenched her from the crowd. It was then she saw Phillip standing on a golden field in the midst of battle with something sinister looming beyond. It signified his death, she was certain. Next thing she knew, she was standing in a deserted alley with him staring down at her with concern.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  "I'm… I’m fine, I think,” she replied, taking a deep breath. “Ju
st, don't touch me..."

  Releasing her wrist, it was apparent her words had wounded him.

  “No! It’s just… I keep seeing these things when people make contact with me.”

  “Oh.” His face smoothed. “They’re visions… things that have been and are to come. You are the prophet’s apprentice after all. It was bound to occur at some point.”

  “Well, I don't like it... I thought he would have to train me or something first.”

  “I suppose he’ll teach you how to interpret what you see, but he can't train you to have a vision. It just kind of happens.”

  “How do you know? Do you have them?"

  “Nay, but I have learned much about such things from the prophet.”

  “Those images were jolting.”

  “Hm, I've never heard him describe it like that.”

  Great, she thought. I’m already doing it wrong.

  “Well, let’s finish off the rest of these errands so you can speak to him about it,” he said in a soothingly. “I won’t leave you alone again. Knowing these people as I do, I will encourage them not to drown you.”

  “I think we’re already done...” she admitted. “I dropped the basket in that crowd.”

  “Oh. Wait here and I’ll see if I can fetch any of it back.”

  With a sigh, Wynn stepped back to lean against the wall. Instead, she found herself tripping into a bulky figure behind her. With that, she was seized with a vision of an arrogant-faced man in a dungeon. Abruptly, she was yanked from the picture by a ruthless shove.

  Scarcely able to catch herself, she shouted with fresh anger, “You are going to prison!”

  “What did you just say?” spoke a vindictive voice.

  Wynn turned to find a well-dressed gentleman. Noting his fury, she regretted the slip. Even so, she did not see how a man dressed as he could be so ungentlemanly as to thrust her away as he had.

  “You, sir, could stand to learn some manners.”

  “And perhaps you should learn to watch where you’re going, little girl, or I might just have to teach you a thing or two. I’d really hate to mar that comely face.” There was a strained severity in his voice that suggested he was, indeed, capable of great cruelty. Wynn had never expected anyone to treat her as a lady, but this man was too much. His words incited her need for justice.

  “I’d like to see you try it,” she retorted, pulling her blade from its sheath.

  Instead of drawing his own, he threw back his head in laughter. “Do you have any idea who I am? What I could do to you? You won’t likely see the light of day again when I’m through with you.”

  Wynn opened her mouth for a swift retort, but her sword arm was suddenly apprehended and the weapon removed from her hand.

  “My deepest and humblest apologies,” Phillip soothed the gentleman, concealing the sword behind his back as if hoping it would be forgotten. “The girl has just been through an ordeal and I am afraid she is not herself.”

  She rolled her eyes. On the contrary, she was very much herself.

  Phillip took hold of her arm, spiriting her away from the dreadful man and maneuvering her through a series of alleyways. "That was Lord Valdren’s youngest son, Sir Rupert,” Phillip explained as they went. “He is a brutal man. You cannot afford to make an enemy of him.”

  “I think I just did.”

  Looking back, she found Sir Rupert working to catch up with them. He must have decided this wasn’t his day for mercy. Seeing their best chance at losing him, she wrenched Phillip through the back door of a shop, past the upset staff, through the busy front end and out the other door. They then raced down a few more streets until they were in the most crowded part of the village.

  “He followed us,” she explained when they had caught their breath.

  “I gathered as much. Do you always make friends so quickly?”

  She smirked. “Enemies come easily enough. In fact, I’ve never had a friend in my life.”

  He raised his brows but said nothing.

  “Well, I think I’m perfectly ready to head back home,” Wynn informed, turning in that direction.

  He nodded with a bright smile. “You’ve made impression enough for one day, I should say.”

  But as Wynn’s gaze fell into a nearby tavern, her attention was stolen by a scene that rather displeased her. It was a girl, perhaps a year or two younger than she, sitting under the arm of Terrance, the insolent dwarf who had begged a meal of her at the prophet’s cabin. Without realizing, her legs began that way.

  “I thought we didn’t want any more trouble?” Phillip reminded as he followed after her.

  “How many years is that Terrance fellow over there?” she inquired when they entered. “I assume you know him, as he visits the prophet.”

  “Twenty-three or twenty-four, I think.”

  “And the girl sitting with him?”

  Phillip appeared to grasp what she was about. In a low voice, he said, “Fifteen… She’s friends with my little sister.”

  Before Wynn could inquire anything more, they were hailed by the very devil she had come to tackle, who appeared more than pleased to find her there.

  “I didn’t realize the apprentice was allowed spirits!” the dwarf declared. “I might just enlist in the Great One’s cult myself if pubbing’s allowed. Pull up a chair beside me, love, and we’ll have a nice, long chat about it.”

  Wynn responded with a scornful glare and sat beside the young woman under his arm. “I’m not here for anything but a plate of food.” She nodded to the tender who took her order.

  “Now, you don’t seem any kindlier than you did the last time we met,” Terrance moaned. “Suppose I order you a pint of Hal’s special ale? That’d loosen even you up.”

  Quietly, Wynn stood, withdrew her sword and delicately poked its tip between his shoulder blades. “Why don’t you take a stroll, friend?” she suggested.

  “Wynn?” he half squealed. “You don’t have to drink if you don’t care to, but I’m not going to submit to a little—”

  She pressed the tip a little less delicately and whispered into his ear. “Hop to it.”

  He froze as if weighing his options and then threw up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Keep your trousers on—I’ll go.” The girl beside him moved to follow, but Wynn held up a hand. “You’ll stay here with me, won’t you?” she asked softly.

  The girl shot a glance to Terrance, but replied, “Surely.” Apparently, she wasn’t going to refuse the prophet’s apprentice.

  “So, just when am I allowed to return to my favorite pub, my lady Wynnifred?” Terrance called from the door for all to hear.

  She easily turned her back to him and took her seat again. “What is your name?” she inquired, accepting a steaming plate from the proprietor which she placed before the girl.

  “Gwen,” she answered, obviously delighted the apprentice cared to know her name.

  Wynn was caught off guard. “That was my mother’s name. I always liked it.”

  “So do I,” Gwen replied. “Er, is this food for me?”

  Wynn nodded. “If you care for it.”

  Eagerly, she started into the food.

  Wynn was glad she’d ordered it, having already learned from the prophet that a pleasant meal went a long way when one planned to speak of something possibly contentious.

  “What are you doing in this taphouse anyway?” Wynn asked. “It doesn’t look like many people your age come to spend time here—just a lot of dodgy men.”

  “I suppose,” Gwen replied. “But this is where Terrance likes to spend his time.”

  “And you like Terrance of all people? What could you possibly see in him. He’s so…”

  “Dreamy,” Gwen supplied with a sigh.

  Wynn nearly choked on her water. “How is that... that...” She reined herself in. “…man… dreamy?”

  Gwen shrugged. “All the girls think so. He’s charming and clever—not to mention that daring scar over his left brow he got from d
efending the life of Sir Rupert when he was younger.”

  Wynn raised a brow. Of course, Terrance was in cahoots with that brute. “I am surprised to hear he is friends with the son of a lord.”

  “Oh, he isn’t anymore. They got on when they were boys, they say. Anyway, Terrance really knows how to talk to a girl, you know?”

  “Not really.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Don’t you like him?”

  Wynn thought on that a moment. She did not necessarily care to speak ill of the man—only to caution this girl away from him. “Does he like you, Gwen?”

  “He loves me… better than any of the other girls.” She spoke this as if she could scarcely suppress her excitement.

  “But... don’t you think he’s a little old for you?”

  “I’m fifteen,” she stated proudly.

  Wynn’s stomach lurked. “Look… I know we don’t know one another very well, but please stay away from him. He couldn’t do any good for a girl like you or for any self-respecting one for that matter. His intentions won’t be the same as a man with morals. Even those aren’t always to be trusted.”

  The girl blinked at her, dumbfounded. “Are you trying to say I should desert him? I’d be the laughing stock of the village. Everyone counts me so lucky to have captured his notice.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Well… not the busybody old women... or my parents. But all my friends say so.”

  Wynn sat a moment, contemplating how to proceed. “I know I’m not much older than you, but… I feel there must be so much more to life than catching the attention of men. And one day, you could find someone so much nicer than him.”

  Gwen’s eyes widened. “Who could be better than Terrance?”

  Wynn privately rolled hers. “There’s bound to be somebody.”

  Abruptly, the girl peered into her face, tears welling. “You’re trying to get him for yourself, aren’t you?”