The sisters giggled.
“Well, that’s not quite the thanks I expected, but it will do,” Elizabeth said with a grin.
“No, indeed, she is too taken with herself to speak,” Joselyn chortled.
Wynn glanced away, blushing deeply. It was only that she had never in her life imagined she could appear this way.
“Nay,” Meg scolded her sister. “She was merely surprised. Is that not so, Wynn, dear?”
She nodded gratefully.
Bending to whisper in her ear, Meg added, “I told you we would make good friends.”
Wynn found she liked Meg best of the three after all. They were all affable, untroubled young women, but the other two were critical and insensitive. It was clear Meg felt things very deeply. And she dearly loved her brother. Wynn could not help liking her for it. She could not say just why she felt such loyalty to him. Perhaps it was that he was the kindest, humblest person she’d ever met, next to the prophet. Moreover, she could not help feeling a kind of ownership of him and did not like hearing him disparaged. Indeed, she doubted she would ever allow herself to entertain another derogatory thought about him again.
Another hour was spent on selecting a gown to suit both her stature and complexion. Once she was clothed in a golden gown and a delicate marble comb was slid into her mound of hair, she simply would not be moved on the wearing of jewelry. It was too much. The eldest worked to budge her on this, but Meg rescued her once more by pointing out that she already appeared even more beautiful than Elizabeth and though the elder sister did not respond to this directly, she no longer insisted.
“Shoes!” Meg cried as they were made ready to vacate the room. She lifted Wynn’s skirt to peek at her feet. “Oh, dear, not a one of us has feet as tiny as that. For heavens, you must be half elf.”
Wynn blushed, never liking her smallness to be pointed out. It had been a hassle for too long and her parents had ridiculed her for it. Yet, she understood it was not unkindly meant from this girl.
“Oh, she doesn’t need any,” Elizabeth said, moving for the door. “That dress is long enough.”
Meg tossed Wynn a helpless glance but smiled encouragingly. “She’s right. No one will see them.”
Before Wynn followed them out, she stole one last look at herself. Her heart pounded. Somehow, it had not occurred to her all this was being done for the dinner and could not help feeling a counterfeit lady.
Her anxiety was intensified as they started down the stairs—the sisters floating gracefully downward while she worked not to trip over her skirts. It was at that moment, Joselyn whispered, “We’ll see if Phillip cannot keep his eyes off you!”
What a thought! She had not allowed them to do this in an effort to get him to notice her. She’d much rather proceed through the evening overlooked.
Soon, they entered the substantial dining hall. Spotting Phillip speaking with his father, she realized he, above all in the room, knew her for what she truly was. He had known her even before she’d agreed to remain with the prophet. She felt false, exposed and came very near to whisking herself back up the stairs to upset her hair and throw on her own clothes. But it was then his mother stepped forward, taking her hands into her own.
“Goodness, my dear Wynn, I almost did not know it to be you but for the hue of your hair. You are utterly stunning.”
Tears pricked at the corners of Wynn’s eyes and she could not decide if they were inspired of the kindness of the compliment or her misery over the uncomfortable situation.
“My dear Phillip!” Lady Colten called.
Wynn froze.
“Colten, stop monopolizing the boy! I need him!”
“Yes, Phillip,” Meg called with pride in their work, “you must come and meet our lovely guest.”
He turned in Wynn’s direction with little interest, as if he was being bothered with another of his sisters’ silly friends. But when his eyes found hers, his expression transformed from indifference to bewilderment.
“Wynn?” he muttered. “Sorry, you look almost nothing like yourself.”
He appeared as if he both admired and disliked the new facade. Thankfully, this reaction put her at ease. The fact he seemed nearly disappointed she did not look herself was more compliment than if he’d preferred her that way.
“Yes… it is very different,” she mumbled, not wanting his sisters to think her discourteous after all their work.
He smirked in private understanding, clumsily pulled out the chair his mother pointed to and she was free to take her seat, hoping to fade into the background for the remainder of the evening. But when her eyes fell upon the place settings, she realized she’d arrived ill-prepared. What was one to do with all that tableware? Something of her dismay must have appeared in her expression, for Meg cleared her throat and winked, intimating she would help her along. Yes, Wynn far preferred the youngest sister.
The remainder of the meal continued without disturbance and Wynn found she enjoyed the food immensely. Though, in the end, it was nothing to the prophet’s cooking. Of course, it was not a just comparison when he had spices from exotic worlds.
At some point, she noted that as often as the family praised or complimented her for some reason or other, Phillip was ridiculed by all but Meg. It was difficult to watch as he sank lower in his seat. He had clearly attempted to brush off the first few jabs, but it was understandable he should find it harder to ignore. Wynn had to wonder if their behavior was made worse by her presence. Else, how could he stand ever to eat with these people? Truly, it seemed as if this was being done because of her—as if they were working to excuse his ineptness. Conversely, other comments were made that caused her to wonder if they were working to make her think well of him. It was all quite bewildering to sit through. Why should they care what she thought of their son? She was merely a wanderer while he was in a class far above hers. Sitting at that fine table, the differences in their upbringing were abundantly clear.
At last, the concluding blunder was uttered by Sir Colten. “It is a pity you cannot give Phillip a portion of the talent he claims you possess with a sword, Miss Wynn. It might make something of a man of him yet.”
Silence followed and Wynn sensed Phillip grow numb at last. It was evident he’d been enduring remarks like these for years. She only wished she was in the place of one of his sisters and had the right to speak up for him at that moment.
“Well, I was going to suggest we all spend an hour or so in the evening room,” began Lady Colten in a tone that struggled to ease the discomfort in the room, “but it appears we’ve spent too much time before the table. Wynn, might I call for the carriage to see you home?”
She shook her head. “I can easily leave as I came.”
It was clear she did not like the sound of that but was in no mood to dispute. “Phillip, I suppose you ought to escort her. It is quite late, after all.”
“Was already planning on it,” he replied, pulling out Wynn’s chair. To her, he added, “I’d like to change. I’ll meet you at the door.”
It relieved her to hear this, for she’d feared she would have to wear her borrowed attire home. Gladly, she brushed out her locks, change clothes and was soon exiting the manor to relish the crisp evening air.
Phillip startled her as he stepped from the shadows. “Sorry,” he muttered, doing a double take. “When did you get here? You missed dinner.”
She was terribly perplexed before she understood the jest. Freely, she laughed, releasing the tension of the evening.
* * *
“The way she carried it all off,” Phillip said to Wynn and the prophet as they sat around the fireplace munching on dragon-fire cookies. “You’d have thought she’d been attending fine occasions the whole of her life instead of attacking innocent bystanders with her sword.”
“I do not attack innocents—"
“He is only joking,” defended the prophet.
“But truly,” continued Phillip, “how did you know what tableware to use with each
course? I thought I’d have to coach you through it.”
She smirked and thought about concealing the truth before mumbling, “Meg helped.”
“Aw, good old Meggie,” he said with pride.
“I really like her,” Wynn confided.
“As do I. She liked you a great deal as well, I could tell. In fact,” he said, turning to the prophet, “I do believe my family likes her better than they do me, they doted on her so.”
Wynn was grateful he could state this lightheartedly, for she did not feel at all comfortable about it herself. He was too generous.
“Well, I am not surprised she did so well,” said the prophet. “Wynn is capable of a great deal more than she knows. At any rate, I’ve places to be this evening and it is clear she is due for bed the way her eyelids keep drooping.”
“That’s fine with me,” Phillip said with a yawn. “I’m ready to curl up by this fire.”
“Do you plan to sleep on the floor?” Wynn asked. “But you live so near...”
“Oh, Phillip often stays over,” the prophet explained. Drawing her aside, he added, “He does so when he’s needing a reprieve from the manor.”
“Am I robbing you of your usual bed?” she asked of Phillip, turning back to him. “I can just as easily sleep out here.”
“Not at all. I’ve fallen asleep beside this fire more times than I can count. Besides, the bedroom is yours now—no longer a guest room.”
“But you are hardly a guest here,” she replied. She had begun to realize just how close Phillip and the prophet were. They were dearer than family. She had also noticed how much more self-assured Phillip was when the prophet was around.
Phillip shrugged. “Guest or not…” He unfolded the blue blanket and draped it over his frame. “…I’m not taking your room.”
- T E N -
The Giving of Council in Another Realm
WYNN AWOKE WITH a start. A ceaseless whispering had been sounding in her ears, but it had been like pressing through curtain after heavy curtain before she’d finally reached consciousness. Upon opening her eyes, she promptly sat up. This was not where she ought to be. Rather, she was lying on the floor of a dark, empty space, surrounded in every direction with deep black. The only light seemed to be coming from her own person, illuminating the stone floor beneath her.
Footfall upon stone echoed through the expanse. She attempted to determine from which direction it was came before a form slowly appeared, illuminated as it drew near her light.
It was Maera.
The sorceress was so altered, Wynn scarcely recognized her. Rather than the comely face previously worn, she was vastly aged—far more than was natural. Threaded veins ran over her skin in vivid color, the membrane too delicate to conceal them. Patches of hair peeled from her scalp, while her eyes… were two dark voids. But what instantly sent petrified chills through Wynn were the oily creatures perched upon her head and shoulders, clinging to arms and legs. These, she was certain, were what daemon sprites looked like.
“You’ve awoken,” said Maera in her smooth, deep voice. “It certainly took you long enough.”
Wynn froze. How long had she been there? “Where am I? How did you get me here?”
“Do not fret, young one,” the woman cooed. “You are merely within the threshold of my home.”
With that, walls formed around Wynn and she saw, indeed, they were inside the filthy mansion within the Wood Beguiling. But knowing where she was provided very little comfort.
Rising to her feet with hands clenched, she came to the point. “What is it you want of me?”
Maera clucked, shaking her head. “Do not take that tone with me. I have no intention of harming you. Rather, I have a proposition. You see, I am one of a number of gifted individuals who make up a society called The Secret Circle of Southern Sorcerers. You, young one, are presently bidden to join us. Furthermore, I add that you are the youngest person we have ever seen fit to summon in all our years.”
Wynn scoffed. “I am not going to convert just so you can look appealing again.”
The witch merely chuckled, a surprisingly pleasant sound. “You believe that is all I care about? That my goal is to look pretty? My dear, I am far beyond such things.”
Wynn doubted this since Maera had still been attempting to preserve her face when last they’d met.
“As the individual destined to replace the prophet,” Maera continued, “you have most assuredly been bestowed with great ability. It is that power which makes you welcome among us.” Stepping forward, her formerly repellant face grew almost appealing with earnestness. “I could teach you things that old prophet’s never dreamed of, Wynn. Are you not weary of lazing around in a stuffy, old cabin? I could house you in castles; you’d be welcome in some of the most revered circles. I will show you corners of the world that amaze and excite.” Maera stepped aside and gestured to the passage suddenly lit up. “These doors, all of them, lead to various locations all over the world. You have merely to step through them to experience wonders you have not imagined.”
Wynn raised a brow. This argument was far less effective than the witch could understand. “As a matter of fact, I love that dear little cabin.”
Maera stood silently a moment, gaping into her eyes. Suddenly, she surged forward, clutching her by the shoulders. When she spoke, it was with a voice not her own. “Join us or you shall die by our hand.”
“Never!” Wynn screamed back into her face.
The daemons within and upon the sorceress began creeping from the witch toward Wynn’s own flesh, grasping for it as if desiring to abandon the ancient woman in favor of this fresh vessel.
Maera ripped away from her, revealing her shock. Apparently, she did not relish their willingness to desert her. Even so, she was laughing in the next instant. “You had your chance, apprentice. You shall be named an enemy of our cause unto eternity. I warn you now… you will not remain safely tucked away in your wood much longer. We have developed plans that were set into motion before you were born.”
With that, the floor crumbled to pieces and Wynn was sent plummeting through stories of earth and rock until, with a jolt, she awoke in her bed, gasping for breath. Gripping her quilt for all the protection it was worth, she considered the nightmare. She had to face it: it had not been a mere dream. The sorceress had attempted to turn her. Though Maera had claimed Wynn would be their enemy forever, her gut told her this Secret Southern… Sorcerers Circle… or whatever it was… had not yet finished with her. Yes, Maera had lost her temper, but there had been a desperation that suggested her cohorts fully expected her to convert Wynn. And if she was not mistaken, there would be consequences for the woman.
Rising from her bed, she threw on a simple brown frock borrowed from one of the trunks in the attic. It possessed a small hole or two, but she felt changing clothes would help wash away the effects of the dream-meeting. The song of the bird outside did wonders as well and by the time she had exited the bedroom, she was feeling fresh and lively. But she soon found herself wincing at an unexpected voice in the main room: Terrance. Ack! She thought. Another nightmare. Was there no mercy in this world?
“Wynnifred!” called the dwarf as she entered. “Why, you look something like a proper girl in that frock, doesn’t she, Phillip?”
She was prepared to make some quick retort when her eyes fell upon an entirely welcome sight: a heaping tray of sausage logs, brown beans in sauce, freshly mashed egg and toasted mulberry bread. Eagerly, she filled her plate and dug in.
“I have never in all my days seen a woman eat like that right before me,” said Terrance. “Usually too self-conscious, you know. Don’t want to look a pig. But you… you have no shame whatever.”
“I like food,” she replied through her mouthful.
Phillip chuckled.
“Oh, Wynn,” the prophet murmured as he scribbled away at his desk.
Setting her plate down, she made her way over, curious about what he was writing, only to find he was not writ
ing at all… He was doodling.
“Yes?” she said with a smirk.
He jerked in his seat, startled to find her so near. “Er, oh, uh… the door.”
She turned to look out. “I don’t see anyone.”
He pointed to the back one.
“No…” With stomach turning, her joy over the breakfast dimmed. “Not that again...”
He passed her his drawing. “Don’t you care for adventures, Wynnie?”
“Uh, no… not after the last one through that thing. I got sliced three times because Phillip couldn’t perform a miracle… and they would have killed us had we not leaped off the terrace.”
The prophet furrowed his brows at Phillip. “That wasn’t very considerate of you, my boy.”
Wynn laughed until she realized he was perfectly serious. “Oh… can Phillip perform miracles?” She had certainly missed this.
“Well, not that he has done as yet,” explained the prophet. Turning to Phillip, he continued, “But you really ought to have for Wynn’s sake. I don’t like her getting hurt.”
Phillip and Wynn looked to one another, exchanging the slightest of smiles.
Wynn finally looked down at the drawing in her hand to find it was of a strange, almost grotesque creature with eyes upon its chest and no mouth.
“Oh,” she muttered. “Lovely…”
The prophet beamed. “I thought you’d like it.”
Terrance cleared his throat as he peered down the corridor. “Since when was a door put in here?”
“A moment ago,” the prophet replied.
The dwarfish man looked to Wynn for an answer, but she only shrugged.
Looking to the door herself, she said, “If no one is knocking… must I really go?”
The prophet peered at her with a raised brow. “Someone does not have to come looking in order for you to be needed. You never know where that door might lead… nor will you always understand why. Just the same, it is your duty to obey its summon.”
She huffed. “What if this is worse than the last time?”
“What a poor attitude to take!” he cried. “Where is the spirited girl I met that first evening, hm? She was a charming young woman and would not have turned her nose up at a beckoning door.”
The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen) Page 13
