Another knock at the door and Wynn tossed aside the biscuit she’d been enjoying, then threw open the door prepared to turn away whoever stood beyond it.
Her strain melted at sight of Phillip.
“Oh, it’s you!” she cried. “Why couldn’t you have arrived hours ago?” Pulling him in by the arm, she quickly looked about the forest for signs of new arrivals and then slammed the door closed to lean against. “I could have used your help today. I do hope it is not always like this.”
Receiving no response from Phillip, Wynn peered up at his lanky frame and realized he was nearly three heads taller than her. Additionally, he was looking at her as if genuinely surprised to see her.
“You’ve decided to stay,” he murmured at last, clearly delighted.
“I have,” she admitted with a smile. “I must thank you for getting me here.”
Phillip appeared as if he knew not what to say, merely placing his hands into his pockets. After pulling something from the left one, he began to fiddle with it. Suddenly, he looked down at what he held.
“Oh,” he said. “I nearly forgot. My mother sent this as a gift for you.”
Holding it out to her, the plug that had been on the glass bottle toppled off and the remnants of the gift went splashing upon its receiver. Immediately, a pungently sweet fragrance filled the air, sending the two into fits of coughing.
“Oh, Phillip, you clumsy oaf!” Wynn cried as she worked to brush off the liquid swiftly soaking into her clothes. “What is this stuff? And here I’ve nothing to change into!”
Stalking over to the cupboards across the room, she rummaged for something to clean herself with, but Phillip beat her to it, supplying cloth and a vessel of water.
“I—I’m terribly sorry,” he muttered. “It was a vial of fragrance from my mother.”
“Well, why should your mother want to give me perfume?”
“You’re the prophet’s apprentice. The prophet is deeply revered in these parts, almost like a distant royal. You’ve just joined the royal family, so to speak. That’s also why you’ve been plagued with visitors, I’d gather. They’re all coming to get a glimpse of the red-haired apprentice and to have something to gossip about when they return to their villages. Of course, there are the usuals… but nothing like what it sounds you’ve been dealing with. You have been the name on every tongue in these parts.”
Wynn’s temper flared. “Don’t they have anything better to speak of?”
“You don’t like people talking about you?”
“If I’m to be spoken of it ought to be for some merited reason like saving orphans from a burning building or something. Not because I have come to live with the prophet.”
Phillip quirked a brow. “I don’t think you realize what you’ve stepped into.”
Wynn would have liked to ask him just what that meant, but yet another knock sounded through the cabin.
“Not this again!” she declared, marching toward the door. “I shall put an end to it once and for all.” But upon opening it, there was no one in sight.
Another knock wailed out.
“Seems like it’s coming from the back of the house,” said Phillip with a concerned brow.
“What in the world…?” she murmured as she made her way to the bedroom. If someone was within, she was seriously going to have to make her boundaries clear: no more showing up without due cause and no climbing in through the windows. But she found it empty. Closing the door behind her, she turned to find another door directly across. Yet on her tour of the cabin that morning, she had seen nothing of it.
“Uuh, Phillip… has this door always been here?”
He was at her side in moments. “No...” he replied in a low voice as he inspecting the doorframe. “I practically grew up in this house and I have no idea when this door could have been installed...”
It was peculiar how naturally it fit into the wall as if it had been there since the cabin’s beginning. Yet, Phillip claimed he had never seen it before.
Knocking became pounding as whoever was beyond grew impatient.
“This is silly,” Wynn muttered. “It is only a door. Obviously... we open it.”
* * *
Wishing to take a moment to process what this could mean, Phillip reached to stop her from answering. But she was there before him and soon the door was ajar to a man of middle age, wearing clothing utterly unfamiliar.
“What took so long?” demanded the man. But rather than awaiting an answer, he added, “Come along,” and departed.
Phillip and Wynn were left staring at the vacant scenery, both foreign and familiar. The grass was more vibrant than it should have been and there were flowering bushes Phillip knew were not found within the Enchanted Wood, let alone behind the cabin.
“Is this the prophet’s property?” Wynn asked doubtfully.
He shook his head.
The strange man returned to call impatiently, “Are you coming? It is a matter of life and death, I tell you!”
The two looked to one another and Wynn shrugged before stepping through. It took Phillip a moment to gather courage before taking a deep breath and following suit. Immediately, he noted the ground was unusually springy and the grass soft but hardy. This was terribly disconcerting, for it was clear they were not within the wood of his childhood.
“Wait for me!” he called to Wynn. Racing through the house, he threw open the front door and found the yard just as it always was. Hastily, he raced around the house and not only was there no door, but the ground and shrubs were exactly as they ought to be.
“Curious…”
Fearing the mysterious door would vanish before he could return to Wynn, Phillip raced back through the house to find everything as he had left it—the door ajar and Wynn waving for him to hurry as the stranger stood bickering with her.
“Apologies,” Phillip muttered.
Huffing, the man started forward with speed.
As they followed, the thick trees that had formerly blocked a wider view opened up to a remarkable scene. The sky above was pleasant lavender dotted with tufts of bluish cloud. But it was a new crop of trees that captured the interest, for they were semi-transparent and floating above the ground, held fast by roots nestled into the earth.
Phillip watched Wynn draw near one in order to place a hand to it. The tree, in turn, moved ever so slightly under her touch.
She turned to him with eyes wide. “Did you see that? Do you see this?” She gestured to their surroundings. “What has happened? Where are we?”
The wonderment she wore grew ashen as she squinted at something beyond his shoulder. Turning, Phillip easily discovered what alarmed her. The cabin was gone. His stomach dropped.
“What is going on?” she pressed almost accusingly. “What are we to do?”
These were valid questions.
“This can only be the Great One’s doing,” Phillip said with more confidence than he felt. “He will see us through.”
With the raising of her brows, Wynn seemed to doubt his words, but then her eyes cleared and she nodded. Obviously, something had happened to change her thinking over the last day they had been apart. He doubted she would have accepted this so easily before coming to the prophet’s cabin.
“Then we must move forward,” she said, throwing on her air of confidence once more. “Look, our guide is far ahead of us now. We must chase after him if we are to keep from getting lost.”
“Or scolded again.”
The redhead replied with a smirk and the nod of her head and soon they were racing up and down smooth hills, passing yet more of the peculiar trees as well as wildflowers in lavender and bird’s egg blue. Before long, they had entered a community made up of soaring white pillars. Seeing children at play around a number of these, Phillip conjectured they were homes. Though not very homey in appearance, they were exquisite, some soaring as high as the clouds. From one of the higher windows, a child could be seen waving down to his friends below and Phillip could not help
considering the safety of such shelters, but perhaps these children were different from those of his land.
Exchanging bewildered glances with Wynn, he sensed they were thinking along the same line. They were decidedly not within the Kierelian kingdom. That realization should have been obvious upon sight of the hovering trees, but it was difficult to accept. In fact, it was all he could do to try to force the thought from his mind. After all, he was not the adventuring sort. Even so, it helped that this place—wherever it was and with all its eccentricities—was stunning.
At last, they caught up with their guide who continued to gesture for them to hurry. But Phillip had to ask himself: Why in the world had this man even appeared at their door in search of help? Why should he come to them for aid in whatever life and death trouble there was? Oh, for heavens, he thought. The man must have been expecting the prophet to appear from beyond the door. Then again, he had not missed a beat upon finding others there in his stead. This was a terribly bewildering business and he thanked the Great One he had not been chosen for apprentice. If this was what it was like, he would remain perfectly content in his home, the very home he usually worked to escape.
Having been too distracted by the distant scenery, Phillip found himself tripping over a small form. Realizing it was a little girl, he worked not to land upon her and in so doing found himself falling over the bridge, into a shallow river. Overlooking his own predicament, he called to the child to inquire if she was all right. Instead, he found himself blushing as Wynn turned to him with an expression of great amusement. But he stopped short as he ran his hand through the water. It was utterly transparent, thick and almost sticky in consistency. Yet, when he stood, it merely glided off him, not at all tacky, leaving his clothes nearly dry. Though his flesh and hair were another story, it was as if this abnormal river resisted his clothing.
“Come along, Phillip,” Wynn called as she continued on.
Phillip was fairly certain he heard her giggling at him under her breath. Obviously, she had not noticed the strangeness of the stream. Brushing back his hair with his hands, he realized what had caused both her and the girl to chortle over him: The bizarrely textured water had slicked his hair in every direction and it took some doing to put it to rights.
At last, they came upon a towering castle, grander and more elaborate than the other buildings and chiseled with an intricate design. It was adorned with lengths of sheer fabric draped across each window while the towers were swathed in some kind of climbing vine not dissimilar to roses. Yet, their scent was more intense and enchanting, richer than any bud he’d encountered.
The stranger waved them through the grandest of entrances—far larger than any at Valdren Castle—reaching far above their heads. Wynn stopped and cast him an anxious look. He knew precisely what she was thinking. What had they gotten themselves into? Of course, it had been Wynn who’d decided they would follow the stranger through the door… but it had been Phillip who’d sensed they were entering a faraway place. For whatever reason, he had not mentioned this to her. Though, she had discovered as much by that time.
Following the stranger through various passages and stairwells, they finally came to a sizable terrace so high within the castle that clouds gently floated around them. There were a number of people there—almost more than they had seen in the entire community, dressed in, for what he could gather, fairly extravagant clothing.
On the far side of the terrace was something of an open walled tent, with long poles supporting a vibrant violet and gold cloth that worked as sunshade for the woman who lay upon an opulent divan. As she sat cradling her arm as if it pained her, Phillip noted she was quite a stunning person—possibly about Wynn’s age—with long, pristinely white blonde hair and dressed in delicate attire. But as they drew closer, he found her features were perhaps so flawless, they were not altogether comely—not like Wynn’s distinctive, almost elfin attributes.
At last, they stood before the tent and the man who had brought them stepped to the side with the words, “My centry, I bring you… the nomads.” With a graceful bow, he gestured to Wynn and Phillip, then disappeared into the crowd.
A man with a grand, feathery headpiece stepped forward and the company bowed low. Phillip wondered if he and Wynn ought to follow suit, but she shook her head ever so slightly. Seeing as how none seemed to think their demeanor improper, he was put at ease.
“I must thank you for appearing so swiftly,” the imposing man spoke in a voice so deep it was nearly inaudible. “Here lies my daughter, our centress. Do with her what you can.”
Phillip’s stomach dropped, but Wynn stepped toward the man. “Precisely what is it you expect us to do?” she inquired with poise.
The grand man’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “You must heal my daughter, the centress of our great dominion of Wysteria.”
Wynn allowed a moment of silence before, “How and why would you expect us to do that?”
Further silence commenced through the assemblage and the man took a step nearer her, towering even higher above her small frame. “You,” he began, “and he…” He gestured to Phillip who suddenly felt the need to join Wynn where she stood. “…passed through the door. You are the Healers. You must and will heal our centress.”
Wynn cast Phillip a panicky glance. As Phillip understood it, the prophet must have passed through the door some time before and shown what he could do. Now, these people believed anyone who passed through the door was capable of the same. Seeing Wynn was at a loss for words for the first time since he had known her, it fell to him to fill the silence.
“Sir, that is… your highness? Your majesty…” His tongue felt limp in his mouth, but he must continue. “You misunderstand. We… are not Healers. In fact, we do not entirely understand how we stepped into your dominion. I’m afraid… w-we are unable to aid the centress.”
A dozen men with long spears stepped from the shadows to stand behind the centry… who Phillip could only conjecture was something like a king.
“You refuse… to heal my daughter?” asked the centry-king in hushed fury, nearly shaking with rage.
Wynn’s brows rose up and Phillip noted her hand easing toward her sword. He would have been doing the same if he thought it would do any good.
“Of course not,” Wynn replied in a tone that revealed she was beginning to feel the gravity of the situation just as Phillip was. “We are merely incapable.”
The centry stared down at her long and hard until Phillip grew dizzy with tension. But then, the large man turned to him with the same glare… sending him into slight vertigo. At last, the man quirked his head and the men with spears were suddenly upon Wynn.
Phillip attempted to rush to her defense, but he was tossed back, blocked by the other guards. He could hear Wynn shouting in her struggle, but no matter what he tried, he could not get through. At last, the soldiers stepped away to reveal Wynn securely held by two of the soldiers. Two more were pointing spears at her.
Noting the red marks across her face and the finger marks on her arms, Phillip understood they were in true danger. If Wynn could not best them, they were incredibly trained. Though frightened, he was incensed with more rage than he had felt in his life at the state she was in. But it gave him the courage he needed.
“Why are you doing this?” he demanded of the king. “Release her so we may speak sensibly!”
“How can I,” the large man returned, “when you refuse to help my daughter? To liberate the red-haired nomad, you must do as I command.”
Phillip longed to shout back how nonsensically this situation was being handled, but he knew he must buy what moments he could to think. He was not capable of healing, of course. Indeed, if either of them was, it would be Wynn. This was her journey after all.
“It is not I who can provide the healing. If either of us is able, it may be her. If you will free her, we may see what can be done.”
Wynn widened her yellow eyes at him as the centry stole a moment to consider his wor
ds.
“I think not,” he replied at last. “It was a man who performed the healing the last time. She is only a girl and being as she is so overly perfumed, it proves she if of tainted morality.”
Phillip cursed his prior clumsiness. “You are mistaken,” he said with patient anger. “I do not have the power. This is the former Healer’s student. She may be able to help you.”
“Student?” remarked the centry. “We do not desire a novice.”
With the quirk of his head, a shallow cut was slashed across Wynn’s upper arm. She shrieked and worked to free herself from the guard’s grasp, but it was no use. Though skilled with a blade, she was not strong enough to escape their grasp. Phillip bolted for her, hoping to catch them by surprise, but two more were on him before he had taken three steps.
“Heal her, nomad, or she will receive another,” the centry roared over him.
Phillip watched as blood dripped from the slash on Wynn’s arm. This must end.
“Very well,” he replied. Slowly, he stepped up to the young woman. “What ails you, centress?”
“Her arm,” barked the centry.
The centress merely looked to Phillip with a mixture of helplessness, pity and fright. Obviously, she was not allowed to speak to a lowly nomad nor even to speak up for herself. It was clear she was ashamed of what they were forced to endure.
Phillip took a step nearer and bent to examine the arm she held. It was broken.
Turning to the centry, he shouted, “This is not life or death!”
“It is life or death when it involves the centress!” bellowed her father. “Her life.” He pointed to Wynn.
Phillip felt woozy. He did not fare well under pressure. Still, he had to do something or they would harm Wynn again… possibly kill her. What sort of society was this?
Swallowing almost audibly, the young man laid gentle hands upon the wounded arm. Closing his eyes, he interchanged between thinking and praying. How was he to do this? He was only Phillip. Unexpectedly, he recalled having visited the Kierelian king with his father when he was a boy. There, he had watched as King Curiel’s leg was set back into place by a palace healer after a terrible fall. Therefore, Phillip understood that a bone once broken might be reset. Problem was, he had no actual idea of how this might be done. Still, he must try. He could feel Wynn’s eyes boring into his back.
The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen) Page 7