The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen)

by Cassandra Boyson

  “Wynn has been affected by the curse of a witch. You must help her, quickly!”

  - E I G H T –

  A High-Class Occasion

  ONCE THE PROPHET was at Wynn’s side, it was not long before she was put to rights again, though she could not tell just why. It seemed from the moment the old man had laid his hand over hers, all the fuzziness and aching melted away.

  Upon entering the cabin, she and Phillip shared their tale, but though the prophet was concerned, he did not appear entirely surprised.

  “It was Maera,” he supplied, “of the Wood Beguiling. She ensorcelled you onto the incorrect path. Though, truthfully, I cannot fathom how her magic can have entered the Enchanted Wood. Nay, I do not believe it could. She must have ensnared you beforehand, only making you believe you’d entered our forest.”

  She was intrigued to find that part of Terrance’s tall tale had proved true after all. This Maera person actually existed, along with her beguiling wood. “H-how did she do it?” she asked, both outraged and frightened. That this should have happened without either of them realizing made her feel dreadfully vulnerable. She had hated hearing Phillip’s description of how she had acted. Indeed, she recalled her pity for Maera and how she’d admired her strength for pressing on though she was ill.

  “Well… she is a witch, though she used to call herself an enchantress, years and years ago. She is terribly old, you see. Not as old as I… but old enough to be called quite old.”

  “Yes, her face was young and fair,” Phillip put in, “but her hair and what I could see of her skin was aged.” He was sitting perhaps too near Wynn than was comfortable for her. Yet, she could not blame him. It would have been difficult for her to watch someone else under the manipulation of an enchantment and be powerless to free them. Though, she could not imagine that she would have been at such a loss. Wynn was so brash, she would have caused some commotion to free him—perhaps slapped him again.

  The prophet nodded. “They gain their power through converts—people they entice into using witchcraft, or in the least can convince to use small charms. If the converts haven’t been as frequent, any witchcraft a sorcerer uses will spend a great deal of strength. Maera likely did not possess enough power to keep more than her face appearing youthful. I’m certain she will have lost much after sending you home, but apparently she believed it would be worth her while. After all, to convert you, Wynn, future prophet of the land, would likely garner her enough power to keep herself comely for decades.”

  She shivered. “I’d rather she remain an old hag.”

  The prophet smiled with glimmering eyes. “A fine choice.”

  “Why didn’t she put both of us under her spell at once?” Phillip inquired. “She seemed almost afraid of me… though I cannot imagine why.”

  “Oh, I don’t suppose she had the power to do so. It sounds as if you exchanged the enchantment a time or two. But in the end, the one she really desired was Wynn. Thankfully, Wynn is still a down-to-earth sort of girl even when ensorcelled. As for fearing you, Phillip, everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. There must be something she sensed in you that made her ill at ease.”

  Phillip appeared doubtful. “I wouldn’t mind knowing what that could have been.”

  “What did you mean when you said she used to call herself an enchantress?” Wynn asked. She wanted to get as much out of the prophet as she could before he went into one of his batty humors again.

  “She and so many others of her kind—sorcerers, enchantresses, warlocks, necromancers, whatever title you prefer—used to live freely in our society, revered by many and accepted into some of the finest homes. But after a time, the truth of their wicked hearts became common knowledge and there were many who sought to destroy their kind. Indeed, some rather powerful people—many of whom I myself mentored—rose up against them, destroying a great number. Therefore, they went into hiding, seemingly becoming merely old recluses living in both castles and cottages but keeping all away.

  “However, after enough time had passed, they plotted to transform people’s perception of them. Instead of grand and powerful sorcerers, they became ‘humble’ green witches and wizards, leading simple lives and ‘aiding’ those they could with their craft. Some even go under the guise of mere fortunetellers or magicians who perform at parties for entertainment. In this way, they’ve become accepted into society once more, appearing as innocent helpers of mankind, none imagining they were the sorcerers of old.

  “At any rate, there are still a very few prosperous, old families who surreptitiously accept them into their homes that the sorcerers may aid them in their endeavors. It is all a very sad business, for the aftereffects of meeting with one who uses witchcraft, let alone inviting them to dabble in one’s life, are varying. One might not notice the change or, in contrast, one might open doors to things none would ever desire to trifle with. Either way, one is affected—whether or not they realize. The daemon sprites inadvertently bidden into one’s life after such an encounter may appear in fluctuating ways, but they never waste their opportunity.”

  Wynn shivered, thinking how she had been in the home of a witch—indeed, had eaten her revolting cake—and had not even known it.

  “Oh, dear,” she muttered. “I ate her blasted cake… It’s what sent us homethere was sorcery in it.”

  The prophet nodded. “Then you accepted something from her, which may very well have been her true aim in the first place. You must renounce it and loose it from your souls in the name of the invincible son of the Great One—the both of you.”

  Wynn nodded, but found herself hesitating. “But… how do I do that? I am only your apprentice—not a prophet—and you’ve taught me nothing of value thus far.”

  The prophet laughed. “I do admire your candor. It is assuredly one of your finest qualities. But to answer your question, you have merely to state it and it will be done.”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “That can’t be her already,” Phillip muttered anxiously, rising to answer as if he were ready to take a stand.

  Wynn did not have time to inquire what his meaning before the knocking became angry pounding until it was thrown open.

  “Terrance!” the prophet called upon seeing his young friend. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “No, sir!” the dwarf shouted. “But your apprentice certainly is!”

  The prophet shimmied over to him before he could take another step near. “Wait a moment there, my boy. Just what is your quarrel with her?”

  “For one thing, your darling little apprentice bullied me, prophet.” He waited for this to sink in before adding, “For another, she lost me the prettiest little thing in Nierwood!” Looking past the prophet to Wynn, he shouted, “What is your problem with me anyway? I haven’t been anything but agreeable to you and this is how you repay me?”

  She froze with a glimmer of hope at his words. “What precisely do you mean?”

  “I mean you convinced that cute little trick, Gwen, to give me the boot! Thinks she’s too good for me now! I could get just about any girl in town and she’s too good for me!”

  Grasping the situation, the prophet exchanged glances with her, then turned back to Terrance. “Why don’t you enjoy a fine meal with us and we’ll have this whole thing out afterward.”

  The younger man hesitated only a moment before relenting. Before long, the four were sat silently consuming their suppers. Even so, the dwarf did not waste a moment once they had finished.

  “What are you going to do about her, prophet? Do you know she came into the taphouse today? And just as easily as if she’d done it every day of her life.”

  The prophet cleared his throat and said cordially, “This matter is over young Gwen, is it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Terrance… how old are you, my boy?”

  He wavered. “Very nearly twenty-three. Why?”

  “How old is Gwen?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Fourteen? S
ixteen? I never asked.”

  The prophet rose and fetched his guest a plate of honey cake. Holding it out to him, he said, “I don’t think you have any business cavorting with a fifteen-year-old girl at your age.”

  “Well, she doesn’t look fifteen,” was his defense. “Nor does she act it. She’s mature for her years.”

  “But the fact is... that she is… fifteen.”

  Wynn liked the prophet when he was firm. She thought she might get kidnapped by forests more often if this temperament was the result.

  Terrance shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “So? I go about with plenty of women her age. They don’t seem to mind.”

  Wynn could take no more of this. “Terrance, what are your intentions toward all those girls? Do you plan to marry them? Do you plan to betroth yourself to even one of them? Or do you intend to take what you can and then shatter their maiden hearts?”

  Terrance scowled at her a long while. But for whatever reason, his angered appeared to subside. “I don’t take much from them, if that’s what you mean. I like attention. And I don’t plan ever to marry until I’m good and ready. And I’m not. Do you really expect me to give up flirtations ‘til then?”

  “Why not?” she dared.

  He was speechless a moment, then announced, “Well, I won’t have it.”

  “Fine.” She folded her arms over her chest. “But I’ll not give up speaking to every girl I see you with under a certain age.”

  “Oh, won’t you? And just what age is my limit, might I inquire?”

  “I’ll decide when I see them.”

  He glowered a moment before breaking into a softening chuckle. “My, you’re a ferocious little lady. I suppose you’ll have to be my girl then.”

  “Not on your life,” she replied through gritted teeth.

  He returned with a lighthearted grin and Wynn was satisfied he had been jesting.

  To the prophet, he said, “Well… I suppose I’ll be seeing you,” before quietly letting himself out.

  Wynn was surprised to find him his outrage to swiftly extinguished, but promptly made ready to defend some of his accusations against her. However, the prophet stopped her.

  “Very well done, Wynnie…” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “Well done.” He then made his way over to the desk to continue his evening writing.

  The apprentice sat back in her chair, more pleased by his words than she could ever communicate. He had thought she’d done well. Not to mention, he did not seem to doubt her character at all. It was the sweetest thing that had ever been done for her.

  Besides that, Gwen was safe. She had heeded her guidance after all and she was satisfied. Perhaps helping others was not so abysmal after all.

  * * *

  The following day, Wynn prepared herself for the evening meal she would share with Phillip’s family. She had accepted the invitation qualm but now found herself wrestling anxiety. Never in her life had she been invited as a proper guest into someone’s home, other than the prophet’s. But he was the prophet… an unconventional, elderly man with some odd habits and the kindest heart in the world. These people were strangers of status. She was uncertain precisely what gave them their standing, whether family name, connections to the royal family or merely riches, but it mattered little. She had never consorted with any of these before. Of course, there was Phillip, but like the prophet, he was different from others. Besides, he did not carry himself as if he thought himself anything grand. He was a kind, meek, helpful sort of fellow—not haughty or proud in the slightest. But she had no way of knowing what the remainder of his family would be like.

  Additionally, she was fearful of traversing the Enchanted Wood on her own—far more than she had been before entering that blasted beguiling one. But now she loathed any sort of peculiarly named forest with renewed fervor. However, she did not reveal her misgivings to the prophet. Rather, she threw her cloak over freshly cleaned garments and made ready to bid him farewell when the memory of Phillip standing on a golden battlefield returned to her.

  “Prophet… after all the nonsense with that witch, I forgot something strange which occurred earlier yesterday. I saw a series of what Phillip told me were visions.”

  He turned from feeding the army of ants that were climbing in through the window. “Already? You only just got here.”

  “You mean you knew this would happen?”

  He shook his head. “Not necessarily. That is, I knew we’d get there someday. How was it?”

  “Awful. I was surrounded by all these people wanting me to be like you and every time I was touched by them, I saw something about their life… their futures, I think. So caught up was I that I could not escape them.”

  “My, my, my…” He tapped his chin. “I have never heard the like of it.”

  “Truly?”

  He nodded. “You must be very sensitive to the spiritual realm.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, to see things in the unseen realm as well as things the spirit of the Great One may share with you.”

  She raised her brows. “I have no idea what any of that meant.”

  “Oh. Well, we’ll get there…”

  “That’s what you keep saying.”

  “It’s true.”

  She huffed but recalled why she had breached the subject. “I had a vision of Phillip.”

  The prophet appeared to note her sober tone as he came to stand beside her. “And?”

  “He was standing on a field in the midst of battle and there was… something.”

  “Something?”

  “Something dark, ominous… was headed straight for him and those surrounding.”

  “A dragon?”

  “Mmm… I think not.”

  “Hm.” He appeared concerned and trapped in his mind for a small while as she awaited his return. At last, he said very slowly, “Well… some visions are literal while others are symbolic. You must learn to tell the difference.”

  “I have no idea—"

  “I know. We’ll—”

  “Get there,” she ended.

  He smiled. “You’d best be going.”

  Obediently, she made her way through the Enchanted Wood in better time than most. This was the first occasion she had traveled it alone. The ridiculous thing was, she had spent years wandering through forests alone—had lived in them. Yet, there had always been something about a wood that was meant to be haunted that left her uncharacteristically uneasy.

  In truth, it was the constant rustling within the shrubs that made it impossible to let her guard down. Of course, it would be but foxes or rabbits, but after some time, it seemed there must be more rustling than was typical. Still, she was, in her truest nature, a down-to-earth young woman, so she continued on, working to keep her imagination in hand.

  When she had drawn very near to where she’d been told the manor would be, she caught a greater rustling than she had heard all the while. She stopped in her tracks. This time, it could not be a mere hare, for it was within the treetops. Moreover, it had been too great a sound to have come from a bird or squirrel.

  Again, the noise sounded and she withdrew her sword. Common sense asserted she would not find some peculiar creature within the tree. Nay, if she found anything or anyone, it would be a thief awaiting vulnerable passersby.

  “Reveal yourself!” she demanded.

  Silence.

  Wynn marched directly up to the tree. “I said show yourself!”

  The crunching renewed as whoever or whatever was above moved down the branch they were perched upon. At last, a child dressed in a suit of pale green sat balancing a small harp upon his knee as he peeked down at her with a cheerful face.

  Gasping with both relief and irritation, she re-sheathed her weapon. But as she garnered a better view of the figure she had assumed a child, it became clear he did not possess the countenance of one. Though his face was smooth as a youth, it spoke of years upon years lived. He was quite small, like Terrance, yet rather thin a
nd sprightly… unlike Terrance. In all, she could not quite place him.

  “Hello there!” he called, scooching to the end of his sturdy branch.

  Wynn twitched at the sudden movement, not knowing what to expect from this strange individual.

  He chuckled at her. “What are you so afraid of?”

  She studied the fellow, his hair auburn and topped with a crown of moss. Indeed, she could not place him, nor could she discover the reason she was not offended by his being entertained by her anxiety.

  “Well…” she began, “this is said to be an enchanted forest. There are… things… you know?”

  “You fear me then?” asked the small woodland man. He no longer appeared entertained. Rather, nearly saddened.

  “No,” she replied. “It is only… I fear woods in which strange activities are said to take place. That is all.”

  “And why should that be?” he asked easily. “You are one of the bravest girls I have ever known. It is silly of you to fear a little forest.”

  She scrunched her brows together. “You do not know me at all.”

  “Says you,” he replied with a wink.

  Though Wynn could not say why, she was beginning to like him.

  “But truly,” he said with that mischievous grin, “I think you must be more formidable than you realize. There is something about you, you see.”

  She merely smiled, questioning why this strange figure should say such a thing about a girl he knew nothing of. But she found his words had an irregular effect. She felt… mightier.

  The thin fellow smiled back. “I like passing the time of day with you, Wynnifred. I don’t suppose you’d mind my dropping in on you again?”

  She froze. “You know my name?”

  Dropping from his branch as weightlessly as a robin, he bowed before her. “I am Gong.”

  “Gong?”

  “As in the singing kind…” He played a merry couple of notes from his harp. “Not the ringing.” With that, he disappeared. “I wouldn’t tell anyone you saw me, you know,” he said from behind her.