The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen)

by Cassandra Boyson

  She turned with a raised brow. How had he managed that?

  “And why not?”

  “They won’t believe you—will think you’ve got bats in your brain... not unlike that eccentric prophet back home, eh?”

  Wynn folded her arms. “That prophet is my dear friend.”

  “Mine, too—one of the best. You see, I like eccentrics. They’re my favorite sort.”

  Studying him, Wynn began to be certain he was no ordinary dwarfish man. It was time she had an explanation. “Are you a phantom of this wood? Are you the reason it was given its name?”

  Gong appeared to be thinking this over as he tapped a finger upon his chin. “Hmmm...” He offered her an impish smile, revealing he’d known the answer right off. “I think you might find more intriguing specimens in the midst of these trees…” He disappeared once more, yet she heard a prickling whisper in her ear, “but none so fun.”

  She leaped about in search of him, but he was nowhere in sight. Sitting upon the ground, she stole a moment to recover. What in the world had that been about? What was he? An elf? A forest nymph? Perhaps even a daemon sprite? Nay, he had been too good-natured, too likable.

  He had been right, however. She would tell no one what she had seen. She’d been teased for imagining things as a child. She might even have convinced herself it was the case now if it had not been so beyond her usual imagination. He had seemed all the while to know something that she did not and had enjoyed it. He was not the sort of person she would ordinarily have cared much for. But there was something so affable, even familiar, in his countenance. With his exit, she felt a hollowness in the atmosphere.

  Looking about, she recalled the “more intriguing specimens” he had alluded to. That meant, if he had not been teasing her, there truly was something within the wood. With a wave of goosebumps, she fled.

  After racing around the following bend, she found herself approaching the only manor for miles around, located a small distance from the Nierwood village. But the closer she drew, the more she hoped to find some other manor nearby, perhaps half the size and not nearly so pristine.

  The moment Wynn came to stand before the open gates, she wished with every fiber of her being she had accepted Phillip’s offer of escort to his home. But she had insisted she could find her way well enough. He had further added that his mother had offered to send their carriage for her, but she had merely laughed over the idea. He had appeared to understand. Indeed, he did not seem the sort who relished the spoils of riches and status. He was a simple man and she now understood he would have made entering these grounds a far less discomfiting situation.

  Towering beyond the gates was a stone manor with row after row of glistening windows trimmed in white. The lawn surrounding was manicured to perfection adorned with lines of flowering shrubberies. A fountain on either side of the property depicted exquisite figures spitting water from their mouths. She would have found this humorous if she was not expected to cross the barrier and take supper with the family who lived there.

  Wynn did not belong in this place and she knew it. She had grown in a one room shack where rats roamed freely and never a finger had cleaned it a single day of her life. In fact, she had been the only person in her small household to work herself to the bone to provide for her drunken parents. They had never asked it of her, but as a girl of seven, she had learned work was a dear friend to the desperately hungry. Even at that tender age, she had strived to see their needs met above her own. Never once had they been grateful, or if they had, they’d not shown it. Instead, she’d been berated with verbal abuse. She’s reached twelve years when they’d passed on and their friends had blamed her, claiming it was due to the spirits she had so faithfully provided. Thusly, she fled the thankless village, never to return.

  She grew lightheaded at the thought of entering the gates after having relived these memories. Swiftly, she turned to retreat when she was blindsided by a lovely young woman in a bright yellow dress and springy curls who took her hands into her own.

  “You have no idea how thrilled we are to have you!” she exclaimed. “Mother says it is a great honor you agreed to share dinner with us before any of the other families. I personally couldn’t wait to meet the woman who fights like a man, whom Phillip has told me so much about.” She pulled her into a quick embrace. “We are near the same age, you and I, and I believe we shall make very good friends.”

  Wynn was speechless before such perfect self-assurance—a great contrast to Phillip’s demeanor. “Shall we?” she asked, not knowing what else to say.

  “Indeed,” she replied with a beaming grin.

  A duo of young women, likely Phillip’s other two sisters, came rushing out from the front entry to meet them.

  “Oooh!” squealed a girl with hair similar to her sister’s. “Meg said she would best us in the greeting of you, though we swore she would not. I’m Joselyn, by the way. I’m eighteen—only three years older than Meg—so you must not let her make claims that because she is so near your age she may keep you to herself. Did she try it?”

  Wynn was uncertain how to respond. “Er, well, I am seventeen.”

  “So, you see, we have equal rights to her, Meggie.”

  “Ladies, I do believe Wynn has the right to choose who she wishes to befriend—despite age.” This was from the final young woman who appeared the eldest of the three. Unlike her sisters, she had long auburn hair and was dressed in a flowing deep blue gown. She was clearly the most composed. But though she spoke warmly, there was a haughtiness about her as she raised a brow at her and smiled conspiratorially. “You must forgive us,” she said with a smile. “We have been pressing our brother to invite you from the very evening he brought you to the prophet. And what an honor for him to have been the one to do so. Surely, he is twice as respected than he was before, though I cannot say just how much that was. He is so unusual, you know.”

  Wynn did know, but she found herself feeling defensive of him, for she sensed this was not considered a positive attribute to this girl. Certainly, he was an uncoordinated man, but his humility was something of a treasure. Still, these were his sisters, so she supposed if anyone had the right to say what he was or wasn’t, it was them.

  “Oh, come, come!” Meg cried, taking her by the hand and pulling her up the ornate steps toward the imposing entrance. “Mother and Father will be dying to meet you.”

  “Oh, er… where is Phillip?” Wynn muttered, heart pounding as they drew nearer the large doors.

  “He couldn’t be here to meet you, I’m afraid,” Meg supplied. “My father required him for some errand or other. Phillip was quite displeased about it, for he wished to be the one to make you welcome. But he will be here in time for evening meal, do not you worry.” She spoke the last as if she had gifted Wynn some token of hope, but Wynn did not believe it was for the purpose she had in mind. Rather, if she was not mistaken, Meg seemed to have an idea that Wynn might be interested in Phillip as more than a friend. This was, of course, an utterly ludicrous notion, for he had to be at least a decade older than she was and she was not like the gentry who married old men for wealth, no matter how likable they were.

  “Here she is!” cried Joselyn as they entered the expansive hall, her voice echoing through the house.

  Wynn was rushed into what appeared to be the receiving room. It was elegantly adorned, to be certain, but it was clear whoever had decorated it possessed fairly singular taste. Indeed, that had been clear from the brightly ornamented entrance, through the house and into that very room where, in the center stood Phillip’s mother and father dressed with both sophistication and distinctiveness that alluded to the decorative panache of the property (including the spitting fountain statues). More than ever, she felt herself the common wanderer in her shabby tunic and trousers, but neither parent appeared to notice as they moved to greet her with convivial smiles.

  “My, you are as striking as I had heard,” spoke Phillip’s mother with a voice smooth as honey.

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nbsp; Wynn found it difficult to believe the description of “striking” was meant as a compliment. She had not even bothered to pull a comb through her hair in the last week. Indeed, she did not have one and usually pulled her fingers through the worst of it.

  “What stunning yellow eyes you have,” the woman continued, “like the sun, I should think. Well, never you mind me, we are so very pleased and delighted to entertain the prophet’s ward this evening. I do hope you will make yourself at home and if there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to let us know.” Leaning in, she whispered, “We intend to spoil you to the very extent of our capabilities.”

  Phillip’s father stepped forward and bowed ever so slightly to which Wynn mustered something that might have resembled a curtsy had she been wearing a skirt. When she’d been attempting to organize the prophet’s loft, she had unearthed a number of old gowns in one of the trunks and now wished she’d thought to wear one. Unfortunately, dressing well had not been something she’d been brought up to do.

  “I am Sir Colten and I must echo my lovely wife when I say we are ever so pleased to have you with us.” His voice was low and unanimated, yet somehow perfectly cordial. He did not have the openness of his family, but he was something of a force unto himself and required few words to make an impact.

  “Mother,” Joselyn began, “I wonder if we might take Wynn to our quarters? We are thinking of making a doll of her.” Winking at Wynn, she added, “Indeed, we have been thinking of nothing else since we heard of her coming.”

  Wynn was uncertain what this meant, but she was certain anything was preferable to standing under the gazes of Phillip’s parents. They had not been unkind by any means, only so very decorous.

  “Of course,” beamed Lady Colten. “You have plenty of time, for we must wait upon Phillip’s return.” She cast a slight frown in Sir Colten’s direction.

  - N I N E -

  An Insulting Occasion

  WYNN WAS TAKEN captive by the sisters once more, rushed up a grand case of stairs, down a few corridors and into a sizeable boudoir. This room was designed as lavishly and unusually as the rest of the manor. Placing her upon a cushioned chair before a mirrored vanity, Meg and Joselyn began analyzing her hair.

  “I simply had to get hold of this,” Joselyn said, “the very moment I heard of it.”

  Meg nodded eagerly. “It was described as the most striking shade of crimson one’s eyes would ever fall upon.”

  “And it really is.”

  The eldest sister—Elizabeth, Wynn had heard one of the others say—was lounged across a settee. “As you see, you’ve no say in the matter, dear Wynn. If one has truly red hair, unlike mine, one must allow anyone to fool with it who wishes.”

  Concealing her grin, Wynn stiffened as the girls began detangling her unkempt locks.

  “So, what’s it like living with the prophet?” Meg inquired. “Do you witness wonders all the time? Is it true he spins grain into gold when short on coin?”

  “Of course, it isn’t, Meggie,” scolded Joselyn. “He doesn’t care for anything as garish as money.”

  “Yes, but he might spin it for other people…” defended Meg, “the poor.”

  Wynn had never witnessed the prophet do anything of the kind, of course, and she wondered who had devised such an outlandish tale. If anyone were to become acquainted with how he truly spent his time, it would be a wretched disappointment. Namely, he cooked, wrote and spoke to the spiders and ants who too often invaded the pantry. She’d not been there long, but he certainly had not been altogether impressive. Nevertheless, there were those long periods of time he spent away from the cabin and she never had wriggled from him just what he was about.

  At last, her hair was smoothed and she discovered it longer than she’d realized. It was also possible to manipulate a shine from it—something she had never witnessed before. Soon, they were prodding it this way and that until her curls had returned, but they were not at all the ones she knew. For, they fell fluffy and gleaming.

  “What do you say, Elizabeth,” Joselyn began, “something down or pulled back?”

  Elizabeth sighed. “Give it here,” she commanded, gliding over and taking hold of the comb.

  “So, Wynn,” Meg began, now utterly free to chat, “have you made friends in the short time you’ve been here or are we the fortunate first?”

  “Oh… well, I suppose the prophet is my friend,” she answered, “and perhaps Phillip could be called one.”

  “You poor dear!” Joselyn cried. “Thank the Great One you have come to us. I cannot imagine being abandoned to Phillip’s company for days on end.”

  Elizabeth giggled at this, but Wynn noted Meg did not. In fact, she grew uncharacteristically silent.

  “He is a good enough sort of fellow,” continued Joselyn, “but his discourse is not at all clever.”

  “Nor his wit,” agreed Elizabeth.

  “Nor the way he falls off his horse,” Joselyn mocked.

  “That gait he never seemed to grow out of…” Elizabeth added with a laugh.

  “He is a hopeless little boy,” continued Joselyn. “Mother and Father have had a time of it, attempting to find him a lady who will consent to wedding him.”

  Meg made a jerking motion with her head. Wynn might not have witnessed it had she not been seated before a mirror. The three continued to share some secret communication.

  “Then again…” began Elizabeth in a contrasting tone, “he is a nice enough sort of fellow, is he not, Wynn?”

  Wynn was eager to reply, for she had not relished the way they’d spoken of their own brother, but Joselyn cut her off with, “And he isn’t an altogether unfortunate looking boy if you can get past—"

  “—his mild tongue,” interrupted Elizabeth, working to cover whatever criticism her sister had been on the verge of uttering. Again, they eyed one another, then looked to Wynn. Apparently, this effort to keep from ridiculing their brother proved a difficult task.

  “Well, Phillip is my dear friend,” Meg said at last. “Sometimes, I think he is the only one who understands me at all. He is extraordinarily proficient at reading people.”

  The elder sisters nodded their silent agreement.

  “Truly, it is not his fault,” Elizabeth said as if she simply had to speak what was on her mind, “that he is so lacking in self-assurance. It is our older brother’s.”

  Wynn turned in surprise. “I didn’t realize you had another brother.”

  The younger two looked to the eldest as if stunned she had mentioned him.

  “We aren’t supposed to speak of him—Brodrick, that is,” explained Elizabeth. “You see, he is the oldest of us all and had been well groomed. All our parents’ expectations fell to him as heir. And he was really very clever and self-possessed—handled everything with ease and proficiency—glorying in it.”

  “Meanwhile, Phillip,” Meg said, taking over, “being the younger son, had been almost wholly disregarded by them as they raised Brodrick up. Still, Phillip grew a cheery, carefree boy as a result and did not at all resent being brought up by the servants.”

  “Phillip was a very beautiful little boy, so they say,” put in Joselyn.

  “Yes, but then he shot up like a beanstalk,” said Elizabeth, “and never did grow into it, poor lad.”

  “He was teased about it when he was younger,” Meg added sadly. “Thus, he grew out of that captivating openness.”

  “But then,” Elizabeth said with a raised brow, “Brodrick ran away.”

  The younger sisters fell silent.

  “Ran away with a kitchen maid,” she continued. “He had attempted to go about it the right way, but Father could not bear the thought of her becoming the next lady of the estates. He forbad it. Regrettably, Brodrick simply abandoned us, never to be heard from again.”

  “So, everything was suddenly thrust upon Phillip,” Meg said with feeling. “Every expectation they had for Brodrick—all his giftings and abilities—was suddenly expected of him.”
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br />   “Poor boy had been utterly untutored,” explained Joselyn in a half sad, half scornful tenor, “so when he was propelled into all those lessons at once and expected to soar to the heights of Brodrick, he simply could not keep up.”

  “And really,” said Elizabeth, “he simply isn’t equipped for the things Brodrick was. They were very different people.”

  Joselyn nodded. “It all sort of culminated into producing the nearly inept fellow he is today. Mother and Father have determined to bear the disappointment silently.”

  “Well…” Meg began thoughtfully, “and Phillip always held out hope Brodrick would return, for he had been the only one to show Phillip any kind of attention in the early days. Though there was quite a difference in age, I think Brodrick saw his lighthearted younger brother as a breath of fresh air—something apart from all his duties. Though he had been better prepared and more gifted in the obvious respects, he had not really relished all those expectations placed upon him either. Anyway, I think it sort of broke Phillip’s heart when Brodrick left without a word to him, so he always believed it must be because he planned to return shortly after he and the maid had settled. I personally believe that was the real reason Phillip never really threw himself into his studies. He did not suppose it would matter once Brodrick returned.”

  “Well I think he had to believe that because he couldn’t face not being able to live up to Mother and Father’s expectations,” Joselyn retorted. She was, from what Wynn could tell, the least feeling of the three, though she tried not to be.

  “Who knows?” said Elizabeth with a sigh. “But just look at this masterpiece, ladies.”

  The younger two crowded into the mirror to view Wynn’s reflection. She herself glanced into it for the first time, so consumed with Phillip’s story had she been.

  “Oh,” she murmured. The redhead looking back at her was an utter stranger… a sophisticated lady of the world—perhaps even pretty. “How peculiar…” she whispered, stroking one of the springy tendrils that had been piled upon her head.