The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen)

by Cassandra Boyson

  In the next moment, the girl flew to her knees before Wynn and took her by the hands, peering up with great emotion. “Do you really think so? Do you truly believe I have my own heart alone to consult and not those of… others?”

  Wynn raised her brows. “That I cannot say.”

  Joselyn dropped Wynn’s hands and stared down at her own where they lay in her lap. “I am so torn for what to do.” She peered up with tear-filled eyes. “I love him, Wynn. Haven’t you some vision or something that may reveal what I am to do?”

  So, that was it. Yet, Wynn could not understand why this girl had not gone to the prophet for such a matter. It felt terribly out of her depth. Still, the least she could do was try. “May I see your hands again?” she asked.

  The girl nodded, swatting tears away.

  With the closing of her eyes, Wynn had only to wait a moment before she saw Joselyn making her way toward a chapel with flowers in her hair, clothed in a simple white gown. “Hm…”

  “What is it? Did you see something?”

  “I believe I saw you on your wedding day.”

  “Oh! Then the Great One must be telling me I am to marry him after all!”

  Wynn hesitated. “Yes… yes, I think that must be it.”

  Joselyn sprang to her feet, raising Wynn to hers as she threw her arms around her. Pulling away, she cried, “Oh, you are a true sister already!”

  “Am I?” Wynn asked with a warm, terribly confused half-smile. She had not realized conveying a vision to someone made them so close.

  “Of course, you silly girl! Oh, I must go! I haven’t much time!”

  “Time for what?”

  “To get word to him, you sweet, lovely creature. My, I had not realized one could look so pretty in an olive gown such as that.” She scrunched up her nose. “But you wear it as if you were a fairy queen!” With that, she embraced her once more before racing for the door.

  * * *

  Hours later, Phillip arrived on horseback with hair utterly disheveled. “Meggie told me Joselyn came to visit this morning,” he said upon stalking into the room. “Can you tell me what it was about?”

  “Come and sit down, Phillip,” Wynn urged, not liking to see him in such a fretful state. “What is this about?”

  “Thank you, no. I do not have time to pass the time of day.” Releasing a long breath, he continued, “I’m sorry. It is only that I was meant to accompany Joselyn to a party this afternoon, and though I waited for her until the time of the party’s beginning, she never arrived to meet me. I searched the whole of the house but found no trace of her. I knew not what to do but to wait a little longer. When the party should have ended, I grew anxious, as you can imagine, so I asked my sisters if they knew anything of her whereabouts. That is what has brought me here.” He looked to her with expectation.

  Uncertain how to respond, she presumed Joselyn had run off to marry the man she loved. But she had not realized the young lady would do so without making her family aware. “Well…” she began, uncertain if it was in the “prophet’s code of conduct” to divulge knowledge shared in confidence. “She asked me what to do about this man she wished to wed. I saw a vision of her in a white gown outside a chapel, so… I told her she was to marry.” As his anxiety morphed into horror, she quickly added, “But I promise you, I had no idea she would do so without your parents’ approval.”

  “Wynn…” he whispered, voice hoarse. “The man she loves is Sir Rupert.”

  She gasped, instantly ill. “I do not understand. Why would she ever care to marry that brute?”

  “How should I know?” It was clear he knew not what to think or do. It was clearer still he was working not to reveal how angry he was with her. “I have seen him make a woman feel special a time or two… watched as it happened. But I never expected he would go after one of my own sisters. Of course, she had been proclaiming for years she would marry him one day. My parents had always laughingly told her how unhappy she would be if she did… but I never thought anything would come of her girlish fancy until she confided in Meggie that the two had been exchanging letters these last months and been speaking at social gatherings, that he was alluding to marriage. Horrified, Meggie shared Jos’ secrets with my parents, who only two evenings ago forbade her from speaking with him ever again.” Running a hand through his mess of hair, he said, “I must go… I must find her before it is too late.”

  She clasped her hands together, stomach turning over and over. “But she left some time ago. They may already be wed by now.”

  “You think he really intends to marry her? He is already promised to another.”

  Her stomach dropped. “Oh, poor, poor Joselyn…” she murmured, going for her cloak. “I will help you search. Have you any idea where she might be.”

  “Not the faintest,” he replied. “I will try Evesburrow and the East Village, if you will visit Nierwood and wherever else you can think to look.” In an instant, he was gone, his horse soon galloping into the trees.

  “Oh, prophet, prophet, what have I done!” Wynn cried when she realized he’d been standing behind her during the exchange.

  “Do not fret yet, my Wynnie. I will send the Great One on before you. All will be well.”

  Even so, after she had spent the remainder of the evening and half the night searching in vain, she returned without hope. She was aware she looked an utter wreck when the prophet, upon seeing her, rushed her into a chair and attempted to feed her. But she would take nothing.

  “Have you heard from Phillip?” she asked with the faintest glimmer of hope.

  “He stopped by a little while ago…” he said with some hesitation, “but only to inquire if we had any word.”

  She sank in her chair, utterly worn and numb. “I searched everywhere I could think, asked directions to nearby villages. I checked with every inn, chapel, tavern and even half the private homes I passed… but I found no trace of them. Of course, it is difficult when one cannot mention actual names.”

  “My dear, you have worn yourself into a tizzy. You ought to have returned hours ago.”

  She ignored him. All through the night, she had driven herself on out of loathing for herself. How she regretted having begun to see herself as something like the prophet with her visions and giving advice where she had no business. To have influenced Phillip’s sister after he had been such a kind friend to her, and his family having made her so welcome.

  A sudden bout of tears sprang to her eyes. She dug her fingernails into her palms, chewed her lower lip, glared into the rafters, but to no avail. After the first tear escaped, the rest were unquenchable.

  “Oh, my dear, dear girl,” the prophet soothed. Pulling his chair beside hers, he patted her hands. “You must not despair. Until we hear some word, we have no right to give up hope.”

  But she could not cease her weeping. She shook with sorrow and frustration and appeared a broken little girl, she knew, but she could not stop. Every guise, every wall she had ever worn, disintegrated in those moments. She was broken open and vulnerable. She had failed and she would very likely lose everything she had gained since coming to the cabin: friendships, apprenticeship… home.

  “Do you—do you think the Great One will still want me?” she asked in a broken tenor.

  “Want you?” the prophet repeated. “My girl, I have spoken with him face to face myself and I assure you he adores you.”

  She looked up at him and sniffed, though it did little good; her nose was stuffed through. “Really?” She had not realized he knew the Great One that personally.

  “Yes, really. In fact, he loves you even more than I do and I think we both know how I feel about you.”

  “But I have done this thoughtless thing, used his name to give someone permission to do something he never intended. How can he want me for your apprentice after this?”

  “I’m afraid you dwell under a misconception, dearest. The Great One’s approval does not cease when we make mistakes. In fact, mankind is expected to make th
em… that is why it has been covered by the death and new life of his son, the Anointed One. You recall my telling you about him, don’t you—how the Anointed One died an innocent death, taking upon himself the failures of mankind, so that we would not be separated from the Great One?”

  “I thought you were just telling one of your stories.”

  “Have you not learned by now, no matter how farfetched the things I say may sound, everything I speak is true?”

  “But I don’t understand why the son of a god would do that.”

  “To tell you the truth,” he leaned in with a whisper, “neither do I.” His eyes sparkled with mirth and she found herself smiling in return. But the moment that little portion of lightness reached her, she recalled the danger she had led Joselyn to and her stomach twisted again. She hid her face in her hands.

  “I think…” the prophet began tentatively, “you are the sort of person who very easily blames herself for other’s mistakes… that you have a history of it.”

  Her heart clenched with these words and she shook her head as fresh tears burned her face. He knelt before her then and took her hands into his own, looking her full in the eyes with his clear blue ones.

  “This is not entirely your fault, my girl. You did not instruct her to spirit away without a word to her family.” Swallowing, he added in a soft, feeling voice, “As for what happened to your parents… that was not your fault either.”

  Her heart squeezed painfully as she peered back into his eyes.

  “And…” he began again, “you did not deserve their treatment of you. You were—are—a remarkable little woman… with strength and stamina beyond your years.”

  Tears beginning to slow, she wondered how he could know these things. How could he speak directly to the issues at the very center of her being? Of course… he was the prophet. This was what he did.

  “But…” she sat up, thinking through her conversation with Joselyn, “why did I have that vision of her in the gown?”

  “Yes, I’ve thought of that. Trouble is, you never saw the face of the groom, did you?”

  “I didn’t. Oh, why didn’t I mention that?”

  “Why, because you had not thought of it, my dear.”

  * * *

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Wynn immediately awoke in her chair and would have raced to answer had the prophet not already been there. She heard him thank whoever had arrived as he closed the door and turned to face her, sealed letter in hand. Opening it, he read silently.

  “What is it, prophet? Is it from Phillip?”

  He nodded. “Joselyn is safe. She returned home early last night of her own accord while he’d been out searching for her. It seems Sir Rupert never bothered to arrive at their agreed meeting place. I do believe that is the first time I’ve heard of the lad’s insensitivity working to one’s benefit.”

  Releasing a relieved sigh, she sat back in her chair. “Thank the Great One.” She felt light as a feather. The world was a glowing, enchanted place now she had not destroyed someone’s life.

  “Phillip apologizes for not having written sooner, but he had not returned until very early this morning. He also thanks us for our discretion.”

  “As if I’d ever want to share this story,” she muttered, leaping to her feet to begin preparations for breakfast.

  “What are you about, young woman? You ought to be getting into bed. You only just fell asleep as the first rays of morning shone through the trees.”

  “Oh, I will, but I’m hungry as a mule and so exultant I want to prepare you something for a change.”

  After a filling meal of burned toast, crisp eggs and another batch of genuinely well-done porridge, she finished off the morning curled up in bed. It was nearing the noon meal when she awoke, so she dressed before proceeding into the main room. Finding the prophet absent, she volunteered herself to fix that meal as well by taking up the water bucket and strolling to the well.

  It was a glowing afternoon, a steady breeze whistling through her scarlet locks. Birds sang and bees hummed, but it was the voices of the two men she liked best in the world walking through the trees nearby that warmed her heart.

  Swiftly, she dipped the bucket into the well to begin preparations, but upon hearing her name, she lifted the bucket and hauled it with her behind the tree beyond which they spoke.

  “Phillip, we’ve discussed this once before and I’ve told you not to worry. Really, you are considering this matter over her eyes too earnestly. She wasn’t selected for their color, you know.”

  “It isn’t that I doubt her. I doubt myself in the fetching of her. What if it was a trap set by the Dark One that I might find the wrong girl? I know you insist her eyes are green, but I have heard her speak of their being yellow myself.”

  The prophet stopped him. “You were confident enough when you brought her here, Phillip. What has brought on this new-found doubt?”

  “Well…” He hesitated. “This whole business with Joselyn… it was because of Wynn that she decided it was the will of the Great One to go through with it. I cannot fathom an apprentice of yours should be making such errors with people’s lives. I mean, mercifully Jos came through all right—”

  “Phillip,” the prophet growled, “you are being unfair. No apprentice of mine could ever be perfect. She made a mistake, as any other human. That is all. It is the nature of every person on the face of any planet.”

  “But you do not make mistakes of that kind and it is your shoes she is to fill.”

  “Again, I say that is unfair and unjust. You’ve known me as an overly experienced old man. I have already come through my fires and failings—and my transgressions were more numerable than you could estimate. Wynn has only just begun her journey.”

  “Yes, but… do you not think she begins it… I don’t know, roughly? She is a broken person. Do you really think someone with their own issues is whole enough to aid others with theirs?”

  With a wounded gasp, Wynn inadvertently released the water bucket, leaving her with no choice but to reveal her hiding place.

  “What is so wrong with my eyes, Phillip, that I cannot be his apprentice?” she questioned angrily. “If only you knew how it was the evening I agreed to it, you would know I must be the right girl, though I doubt it most of the time myself. The only reason I am able to convince myself of it is recalling how it was the night I said yes.”

  Phillip’s face had grown white the instant she showed herself. “I-I… I am sorry, Wynn. I do not doubt you. I just…”

  “Do not speak it, Phillip,” the prophet commanded, his expression fiercer than Wynn could have thought possible. “You do not understand the damage such words can do—to Wynn and to her faith in herself and what she will become. I do not care what either of you think. Her eyes are greener than any I’ve seen in my life. The Great One could not care less whether they were red, blue or purple. She is the one.” With that, he marched in the direction of the cabin.

  Silence stretched between Wynn and Phillip as neither knew what to say—one lamenting his overactive tongue, the other regretting having opened her heart to friendship. Every last word she had heard him utter had been a needle to the heart. She had not realized how vulnerable she’d made herself to him.

  At last, he took a step forward. “I’m so sorry I—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she snapped. “I’m not surprised by your qualms.” Turning from him, she marched herself into the cabin much as the prophet had.

  But once inside, she found the prophet not within. She folded her arms as she threw herself into a chair. When Phillip entered, he, too, appeared bewildered by the prophet’s absence and did not seem to know what to do with himself. At last, he took a seat at the desk and crossed his arms as well.

  She understood he was nearly as angry as she, though for what reason, she could not imagine. It was not his faults that had been laid out upon the table, though he had many. After all, what kind of grown man could hardly keep himself atop a
horse?

  As his face grew red with some silent notion, her patience diminished.

  “Just what is your trouble?” she called to him.

  He peered at her as if he would dearly like to respond but only sat silently.

  “Well?” she pressed.

  “Well…” he began in quieted anger, “it was not I who nearly ruined my sister’s reputation, so I do not see why I should be made to feel badly. It is you who refuses to take responsibility for your actions.”

  She seethed and for the first time in her life knew not how to retort. Standing to her feet, she paced. How could he think she did not blame herself—hate herself in fact? Did he not know her at all? His sisters prided him on his ability to read people, yet he did not seem to know up from down with her. And the way he had spoken of her brokenness as easily as if it was common knowledge… and behind her back. It left her speechless. She had to get out before she resorted to physical combat.

  In a double take, she glanced down the corridor: the vanishing door. For the first time, its appearance was desirable. She thrust herself through it.

  - T H I R T E E N -

  The Thirteenth Throne

  PHILLIP WATCHED HER go but was so caught up in his own musings, it was some time before he recalled what that door was for. Well, he was glad she had gone before he had said something he’d regret. Yet, even as he thought this, he felt pangs of remorse. Rarely had he spoken in anger and though little had been said in this instance, he wished he had not done it to her of all people. He sensed her brokenness and bemoaned having spoken so freely about it with the prophet. One was to be understanding and full of grace for someone who had endured what he could only imagine she had.

  “Where is Wynn?” the prophet inquired upon entering with Terrance at his side.

  Phillip pointed to the door.

  The prophet raised a brow. “Why is it still here then?”

  It took Phillip a moment to process his meaning before he recalled it should ordinarily have vanished after she’d passed through.