The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen)

by Cassandra Boyson

  “That door back again?” Terrance muttered, peering disappointedly into the empty cauldron before the fireplace. “Well, I wish her better luck than it brought the last time.”

  The prophet opened it. “Do you think you could find her, Phillip?” he asked, tone melancholy.

  At the sound of the prophet’s voice, Phillip leaped to his feet to discover what lay beyond. Bizarrely, a sort of thick, semitransparent substance blanketed the doorway, beyond which lay a scarcely identifiable forest.

  “If you need me to,” Phillip replied, though the thought of leaping into whatever that was made him ill. “What is it?”

  “The veil of a dozen sorcerers,” replied the prophet. “That forest, wherever it is, is shrouded in it.”

  Before either Phillip or the prophet could stop him, Terrance sauntered up and poked at it with a single finger. At once, it rolled like a mild ocean wave. In the next moment, it drew his hand into its mass.

  “Er, should I not have done that?” asked the little man as he worked at extracting the hand. “This can’t kill me or anything, right?” It continued reeling him. “Gentlemen?”

  Just before his head was pulled in, the prophet tapped him on the nose. “Enjoy your swim, Terrance. Phillip will be along shortly.”

  With that, the dwarf was swept away. The two who remained watched as it carried him into the unknown forest. The elder man appeared entertained while the younger stood in horror. Phillip turned to him in disbelief that he should expect him to dive into the ghastly thing that had just kidnapped their friend.

  The prophet raised a brow. “This is not a place in which she should be on her own, my boy.” With that, he shoved him.

  Phillip had not only been unprepared to enter but had not realized he would be unable to breathe. Furthermore, the sensation of moving through the mysterious mass was disturbing. He began to fight his way back to the cabin when a hand reached in for him. In the next moment, he was toppling onto the ground.

  “Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Terrance muttered as he dusted himself off. “Could have been worse. Where would you say we are?”

  Phillip glanced up at him but said nothing. He observed their surroundings. “Well, this is just great…”

  “Have you something against one of the most dazzling forests you’ve ever beheld?”

  But the forest did not appear dazzling to Phillip. It was dark and cold. He could only assume Terrance was under the spell from which he and Wynn had formerly suffered when they’d been there last, or something like it. Whatever it was had likely been broken off him forever when he’d entered the witch’s home. “I do if it is the Wood Beguiling.”

  Terrance raised his brows and peered about. “You mean it’s real? I attempted to locate it after Wynn had claimed she’d met the sorceress of my mother’s stories, but I found no trace.”

  “I suppose that is because one may only find it if Maera wishes.”

  The dwarf froze. “Does that mean she lured us here?”

  Phillip shook his head. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be here at all. The prophet mentioned it was ‘shrouded’ or something. We weren’t supposed to get through that barrier at the door.” He looked to where it had vanished and found that same barrier continued as far as the eye could see.

  “Then, how did we?”

  Phillip attempted to press through the shroud to no avail. “The cabin must have weakened it in that place. The only way we’re getting out of here is if and when the door appears for us.”

  “So, I am forced to remain in this accursed place where that woman might actually have cursed me resides?”

  Phillip raised his brows. Everyone knew his mother’s story was nonsense. “We need to find Wynn. Can you track her?”

  “Aaah, that’s right. You can’t track. I’d forgotten how hopeless you were in our boyhood. Nothing like Brodrick, though I suppose you were a good many years younger than he.”

  Phillip both relished and detested mentions of his brother, especially when it was positive and even if it was used as something of an insult. But the only thought in his mind just then was Wynn. “Never mind your boyhood memories. Track her.”

  Terrance stole a moment to scrutinize Phillip’s face and appeared as if he would have liked to say something but turned with a devilish smirk to do as told. Phillip was grateful for his discretion, as he was certain he had read his mind. However, it was unlike Terrance not to speak every thought that entered his mind, so it was only a few moments before he broke the silence.

  “If I recall correctly, you’ve never had much talent with ladies, have you, Phillip?”

  Phillip rolled his eyes. This was most assuredly true, but he would never desire the sort of “talent” Terrance possessed for flattering and manipulating them, wooing a whole number at once. “You know full well what my capabilities are.”

  “But Wynn is no ordinary lady, I suppose?”

  Phillip clenched his teeth. “Indeed,” he replied in a closing tone.

  “I’d woo her myself if I had any hope in the world she’d go for it.”

  Phillip drew up beside him and knew not what to do with himself. That Terrance would dare speak so flippantly about a young woman who was their friend was inexcusable. “You’ll try nothing of the kind,” he replied menacingly.

  Terrance’s momentary astonishment relaxed into another smirk. “I thought as much... Wouldn’t have guessed it before, mind you.”

  With every fiber of Phillip’s being, he worked not to reply, but could not keep from saying, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Terrance stole a glance at him. “Even if you don’t, it doesn’t make it any less true.”

  “Ooph!” a small figure grunted as Phillip collided with it.

  All he needed to see was blazing red hair before relief flooded him. “Wynn?”

  “Phillip?” she said, ignoring the hands offered her as she picked herself up off the ground. “What are you doing here?” She appeared equally grateful and peeved.

  “I’m here too,” Terrance put in.

  “The prophet sent me after you,” Phillip defended. “Said it wasn’t safe for you to be alone.”

  “So, he sent you of all people?” she questioned.

  He was taken aback. He knew she was referring to his ineptness, but she had not mentioned it for some time and he’d hoped it was beginning to go unnoticed in her eyes.

  “Lucky me,” she mumbled, righting her clothing. “What are we doing here anyway?”

  He shrugged.

  “Well, didn’t you bother to ask the prophet?”

  He hesitated and looked to Terrance, who retreated a few paces.

  “I didn’t exactly get the chance,” Phillip admitted.

  “Great,” she murmured, looking around them.

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  Her glare shot back to him. “Well, you didn’t have to come here. I’m sure the prophet would have understood.”

  “My, I am not at all accustomed to being present for an argument for which I am not the cause,” Terrance said, obviously uncomfortable with the lack of attention he was receiving. Or perhaps, very against his usual nature, he was working to ease the tension.

  But Phillip had frozen at her final words. “Understood what…? That I’m a coward?”

  She appeared frozen as well.

  “I’m not exactly a coward you know,” he said. “I’m just useless and I know it.”

  “Well, maybe you wouldn’t be if you didn’t ‘know it,’” she snapped.

  “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Does to me.”

  “Well, I think we both know I’m the idiot here, so I’ll just defer to your wisdom.”

  “Oh, stop it!” she cried, squatting to the ground to hug her arms around her knees. Silence commenced, broken only by her heated breathing. Quietly and full of vulnerable emotion, she said, “I don’t think you’re a coward or an idiot… at least not anymore.”

  He kne
w not how to respond. All traces of his anger had vanished when she’d cried out.

  “You’re wrong about my not taking responsibility for what happened with Joselyn,” she continued. “I searched all night until I knew not where else to go. I hate myself for what could have happened to her. Had she not been safe, I would have left everything, left the southern region, for I couldn’t have faced you again.”

  Oh, what a fool he could be. She was wrong. He was an idiot. Of course Wynn was sorry for what had happened. And, in truth, she wasn’t to blame. “It was Joselyn who made the choice to run off without telling us,” he returned.

  “Joselyn did what?” murmured Terrance, who received a heated glare from both of them.

  “But because of me,” she continued, “she thought it was the will of the Great One. How dare I have tried to speak so on his behalf?”

  Phillip shook his head and knelt down beside her. “You never said it was his will she slip away like that.”

  She peered up at him, blinking back tears. “You aren’t blaming me anymore?”

  “I never should have. I was tired and angry and wrong.” He held out his hand where she placed it as he helped her to her feet again.

  “Well,” Terrance began, “now all that is taken care of, would anyone mind helping me ascertain what we’re doing in this godforsaken forest?”

  Wynn pulled out her sword to point at him. “Don’t you dare speak a word of what you heard about Joselyn to another soul, do you hear me? Else I will personally make more than certain you regret it for the rest of your days.”

  He raised his arms. “No need to bully me again, Miss Wynnifred. I’d never do anything to hurt Jossy.”

  * * *

  It felt hours before the three spotted glowing flames some way off. Wynn had begun to feel certain they were walking in an exasperatingly large circle. Without a path to guide them, everything looked the same. Too, there was that eerie silence and the thickness of the air that left one ill, making it difficult to think clearly.

  “Someone is there,” she whispered as she drew to a sudden halt.

  “Well, we expected as much, did we not?” Terrance asked. “I mean, most fires do not start themselves.”

  “I meant… many someones. We must tread lightly.”

  They continued at a hurried pace, but the closer they drew, the more shivers ran through her. Maera, the very one who had kidnapped her sleeping spirit, would be present, for this was her wood.

  The three peered out from behind a large tree. Wynn nearly gasped when she viewed the myriad of eccentricities. Surrounding the purple-hued fire were twelve uniquely ornate chairs upon which were seated a variety of distinctive individuals.

  “The dozen,” Phillip whispered under his breath.

  “What?” Wynn hissed.

  “The prophet said this place was shrouded by the veil of a dozen sorcerers.”

  The Secret Circle of Southern Sorcerers, she deduced, wishing she had chosen to share her dream with the prophet after all.

  "Maera, I simply cannot understand how you’ve let yourself go like this,” said a woman sat upon a sparkling crystal chair as beautiful as her artificial appearance. Dressed in an exaggeratedly full gown of pastel pinks and blues, a swirling, pointed horn protruded from her forehead.

  “Maera?” Terrance gasped from behind their tree as Phillip slapped a hand over the dwarf’s mouth.

  “You used to be the most powerful of us all,” the woman continued. “It is disgraceful."

  "You try housing beside that prophet's dratted wood and see how many visitors you get,” Maera snapped in her smooth voice. “Besides, I was holding out for grander game as you are all aware.”

  Wynn had an eerie feeling she was referring to her.

  "’Was,’ meaning you failed," a man uttered nonchalantly from his golden leafed throne. Dressed in a fine emerald jacket, the remainder of his clothing along with his eerily glowing eyes were in various shades of green.

  Wynn found most of the sorcerers at least mildly attractive, likely due to enchantment, but their ideas of beauty were all quite different from the norms of Kierelian society.

  Another sorceress with hair of multicolored thread drew the circle’s attention. “Perhaps you ought to have taken your cues from Arcadias, after all,” she said to Maera, gesturing to the unicorn woman.

  “You mean prancing about like an insipid doll?” Maera queried. “You will never catch me doing anything of the sort.”

  “No, no, no,” Arcadias condescended, “though, of course, I thank you for the compliment, Maera. However, I delight people. I attract them with elegance, grace and good nature. I am certain it has very little to do with the way I look.”

  “You do present yourself with elegance,” complimented the possibly too handsome man in green, “but I’m afraid you must not discount your delicate beauty.”

  “Yes, Deviant, I suppose you would know a thing or two about attracting converts with a charming smile,” she responded with a sickeningly sweet smile of her own.

  "Watch it,” Maera snapped. “Don’t forget what I did to the last woman who caught Deviant’s eye."

  "Mmm, yes…” Deviant began in an appeasing tone. “I cannot thank you enough for pulling me out of that one. Imagine what I might not have become had I fallen for an ordinary woman and not been shown the light of your enlightened ways.”

  Terrance glanced to Wynn with wide eyes. She knew precisely what he was thinking. The “ordinary woman” was in reference to his mother.

  "Yes, yes, yes,” another woman began, dressed in cloudy, foamlike bubbles from head to toe. “But it is a miracle you can work your craft at all at this point, Maera. A true testament to your power.” This was spoken with passive-aggressive scorn. Maera appeared ready to use the last of her power to ruffle the woman’s bubbles when another spoke out.

  “Can we not get down to business?” asked the low voice of a much younger woman. “I must return before I am found missing.”

  The three hiding behind the tree looked to one another. Wynn was certain she had heard the voice before but could not place it. She peered closer but gained no further view of the speaker other than a rather ordinary though exquisite gown of Kierelian fashion covered with a large hooded cloak that concealed her face. Her chair was fairly ordinary as well, appearing merely cushioned and covered in a reddish-brown material.

  “Yes, of course, my dear protégé,” Maera cooed. “Leave it to the youngest of us all to see we get to the objective of this meeting.”

  “Though, of course, we hold out hope for a convert younger still,” said the foam lady upon her bubble throne.

  “Ah, yesss, the young apprenticccce,” said a low-voiced woman garbed in snakeskin upon her serpentine throne. “The very one you failed to seduccce to our caussse, Maaaaera.”

  Maera wriggled in her seat. It was apparent she was unaccustomed to being spoken to in this manner. At one time, she’d likely been a powerful leader and if not for past accomplishments, might have lost her position.

  “Think of what we could do with such a vessel in our number,” Arcadias said dreamily.

  “And to have our thirteenth throne filled at last,” said the witch of the threaded hair.

  At her words, a steel throne, sparking with lightning, appeared among them. Wynn’s body nearly convulsed when she saw it. She felt akin to it. Beyond any doubt, it was meant for her, made from the materials of a sword and sparking with her fiery spirit.

  “It has transformed,” Deviant said, sitting forward in his seat. “I had not realized it was already prepared for her.”

  “I commanded it to be ready,” the youngest explained. “It falls to me to approach her.”

  Arcadias nodded with an almost proud smile. “You will succeed. I have foreseen it.”

  “I know I will. Only leave it to me.”

  Wynn noticed Maera appeared neither thrilled nor convinced and she could only hope the witch did not intend on meeting with her again. It was not that
Wynn wished to be wooed by any of these sorcerers. But for some reason, she could not bear the thought of ever facing Maera again.

  "Now then,” said a supercilious man with hair that twisted into a large gray curl at the top of his head. “Is everything in place for our revenge and removal of Lord Valdren?”

  Wynn twitched and looked to Phillip with wide eyes. Perhaps if she had not so recently met the lord and learned what a rare individual he was, she would not feel so very sick as she did at that moment.

  “Everything is as it has been for the last two and a half decades,” said another of the assemblage. “I am not at all certain why we have to keep having these meetings.”

  “Because we are so very close, my friends,” Maera said eagerly. “I can feel it. The breaking point is near.”

  “Yes, our chosen instrument seems to have come along quite nicely through the years. Of course, we all loathe to recall the trouble with our first selection…”

  The snake-like lady appeared disgusted. “Too blasssted pure, for my liking, I alwaysss sssaid.”

  “But the second was weak and pliable,” Maera said, as if working to draw attention from what must have been another of her failings.

  “Yes, our curses have been hard at work and he has acquiesced accordingly,” Deviant put in, slicking his hair back.

  “How much longer do we think?” Arcadias asked.

  “Yes, I do not know how much longer I can keep up my charade,” said the youngest. “I fervently await our coming supremacy when I may reveal myself to the world as the witch I have become.”

  “Sorceress, dear,” Maera corrected. “We may use the correct term when among our own kind. We must only pretend to be humble green- witches and the like for a small time longer.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Arcadias put in. “I am an enchantress."

  “Yes, yes, we all know how your angel of light act has been working for you,” Maera replied. “We none of us understand why you persist on wearing that unicorn horn on your head, but we know you have done miraculously well in any case.”

  Arcadias stroked her horn with pride. “I like it,” she said contentedly.