“At any rate,” Maera continued. “I do believe we have but weeks to months before the birth of our whole scheme comes to a crown and Lord Valdren will be well and truly ruined—taken out by his own."
“Oh, I cannot wait to have our revenge on that blasted lord,” the bubble lady squealed. “The way he waltzed into our territory which we had governed for years and denounced us, stealing away our wild people whom we had managed for as long as I have been a sorceress…”
“Well, preserve that hatred, Glaidelyn,” Maera interjected. “We will have regained power over the southern vicinity soon enough.”
Abruptly, Phillip slipped from the rock upon with he’d stood, fiercely shaking the branch to which he clung.
“Hussssh,” said the snake woman. “Sssomeone is about.”
Phillip looked to Wynn with wide eyes…
Leaping from their hiding place, she ran, hearing the lads follow suit.
The almost seemingly charming sorcerers began to utter sounds she had only heard from wild beasts and nightmares. There were howls, shrieks and screams, growling, cackling and guttural battle cries.
But what she heard next sent her feet soaring.
“I can see them! It is the apprentice!”
“We can’t let them get away after what they’ve heard,” Maera called above the rest. “After them, my comrades!”
“This way!” Wynn shouted, veering to the left. But as suddenly as she had turned to check on Phillip and Terrance, she found herself tumbling into the cabin.
The prophet peered around the corner from where, by the aroma, he was preparing their supper.
She turned to the open door. Where were they? They had been right behind her, she was certain. “Phillip!” she screamed into the darkness.
Nothing.
Dashing back through, she ignored the prophet’s call. Darting around the last bend, she found Terrance attempting to pull Phillip along on a wounded leg.
Wynn wasted no time in joining them, placing her own arm around Phillip. But when the nightmarish calls of their pursuers sounded too close for comfort, she screamed for the prophet’s aid.
In an instant, he was beside them and in a swift, wondrous swoop, he stole Phillip up into his arms as a damsel and dashed him into the cabin. Without effort from a one of them, the door threw itself shut where it instantly vanished.
Wynn and Terrance stole a few moments to gain their breath.
“I’m glad you were there, Terrance,” she admitted. “For Phillip.” What might have happened to him had the small man not been there?
“I’m not,” he replied. “You ever tried to support someone over twice your size? Never felt less masculine in my life. But, for heavens, the prophet…”
He drew around the corner where she followed. Now they were in the safety of the cabin, it was with humor she recalled the picture of Phillip in the prophet’s arms. But was no less unbelievable.
Phillip stood upon both legs as though testing the previously wounded one. “Thanks,” he mumbled to the prophet as he strode over to what was frying in the fireplace.
“Did you just heal him?” Wynn queried, amazed he could have done so before she’d even rounded the corner.
Phillip stole a bite of what looked like nearly caramelized sausage with fermented cabbage and turned to her with wide eyes. “Don’t you have any idea who you’re living with?” he managed past the mouthful.
She blushed. “Of course I do,” she retorted, pulling the desk chair over to the fire. With great concern, she turned to the prophet. “We’ve things to tell you.”
“Yes, we have,” Terrance put in, “but I’m still waiting for an explanation as to how the prophet was able to convey that lug of a Phillip around.”
Wynn shook her head. “Prophet, we saw the Secret Circle of—"
The prophet nodded. “The SCSS.”
“Er… yes, but they’re plotting something and it involves the ruin of Lord Valdren so they can regain control of the southern region.”
He sighed with a note of sorrow, sprinkled a golden spice over the sizzling meal and took a seat upon the ground. Phillip attempted to give up his seat, but he would not have it.
“I have feared this for some time,” the prophet said. “For whatever reason, I have seen less of what I ought of late, as if my… my vision of the things to come is dimming.”
Wynn was uncertain how to take this until she noted sudden anguish cross Phillip’s face. But with no more explanation as to what that might mean, the prophet continued, “You see, they once had a great hold over this vicinity, for its people were unschooled and were intrigued by their craft. But when Lord Valdren arrived, he transformed the south and denounced the sorcerers, so they lost their grip.”
“Now, they want it back,” Terrance began thoughtfully, “and to do so, they will kill two birds with one stone.”
“Revenge on Lord Valdren and regaining the territory,” Phillip added.
“But they said they intended to do so by some chosen instrument they’d been cursing for decades,” Wynn said. “They made mention of another who had been too pure, so they’d chosen someone who was weaker and more malleable. To whom might they have been referring?”
The prophet’s brow furrowed and his mind appeared to be racing. He then huffed and dished out food to those who had not taken any. “I cannot say just now. Perhaps I will see later. I have known something was coming. In fact, I’ve already sent what warning I could to Lord Valdren.”
“The letter from yesterday?” Wynn asked.
He nodded. “I have advised him as far as I am able. The rest is in both his hands and the hands of the Great One.”
“What kinds of lives do you people lead?” Terrance questioned, staring up at them as they consumed their bounty.
They merely looked to him with quizzical brows.
“I mean, you act as if all this—magic doors, a circle of witches, plots against Lord Valdren and seeing the future—is normal.”
Phillip merely laughed. “How often do you visit the prophet, Terrance? Every few days? Oh, that’s only… more than anyone but me. And you have no idea of the house you are in?”
Wynn said nothing. It made her feel a blind fool that she did not know the prophet as Phillip intimated she and Terrance ought. And perhaps she was, but she could not seem to help it.
“What about those things Maera said,” Terrance continued, “about what she did to the last woman who caught that-that-that Deviant’s fancy… Did that not sound strangely familiar to anyone else?”
The prophet laughed but uncharacteristically said nothing as he tossed a slice of sausage into his mouth.
The dwarf stood, scraping the untouched food from his plate back into the skillet. “I’m off. I’m going to have a conversation with my mother.”
So, that was it then, Wynn realized as he slammed the door. He had truly believed his mother’s story a fairytale and now it began to sound as if it was true. Even so, she could not be so certain Deviant hadn’t looked at another woman in all the time that had passed. Then again, perhaps Meara simply hadn’t noticed.
- F O U R T E E N –
A Familiar Meeting
“HOO-HOO!” a distant owl called as Wynn made her way to Phillip’s manor. After the situation that had transpired with Joselyn, she had been shocked to find herself, not only welcome for another evening meal, but actually desired. As it happened, neither Phillip nor his sister had shared the details of that day with anyone.
“Hoo-hoo!” the owl sounded again. For whatever reason, that call sent shivers through her body. As it was not truly evening yet, nor dark in the slightest, she couldn’t imagine why an owl should be hooting at that hour. Still, she continued on, attempting to disregard the whisperings she imagined followed her as she went.
“There she goes, there she goes, there she goes,” they murmured. “Does she see? Does she see? Does she see?” Another bout of hooting and the voices whispered on, “He calls, he calls, he calls!”<
br />
She covered her ears and worked to block out the mutterings, though she knew they were not real. In fact, she was growing concerned, for she had been beginning to hear things like this for some time. This time, she assured herself it was a trick of the wind combined with her own ridiculous fears.
“Who? Who?” the owl cried once more, much closer than before.
The sun was blocked out and the forest around her grew dark. In a flurry of flapping wings and windblown leaves, she fell to her knees and covered her face until the mild tumult had settled and the sun shone through the trees once more.
“Who?” called the large, gloriously oversized bird before her—not an owl at all for what she could tell. It stood taller than she by a few heads and possessed golden-yellow feathers over its head and body. Its wings, however, were pure ebony and stretched long and gracefully until they rested at its sides.
Drawing to her feet, Wynn was dazed by the stunning creature. As she gazed into its sun-yellow eyes—the very shade of her own—she began to view it not as a mere “it” but an intelligent being.
“Do you know me?” the giant bird asked in a rumbling voice that pulsated through her.
She gasped, bounding backward. Certainly, she had recognized it for an intelligent being… but not an articulate one. Then again, this was the Enchanted Wood. She urged herself to think over its—his—question. Certain she had never seen him before in her life, she shook her head.
“Pity. We might have had such fun.”
“Oh?”
He made a motion she was fairly certain was a nod. After that, he did not move, merely searching her face as if anticipating something from her.
“Er… do you have a name?” she asked. She could no longer endure his silent gawking.
“Chime.”
“You mean your name is—"
“Chime,” he replied. “Things that ring and all that…”
“What?”
“Ponder it.”
She raised her brows, unable to imagine what he was on about… Then again, when one was face to face with an enormous communicative bird, it was difficult to think lucidly. “Well…” she began, uncertain what to say. “I am—”
“Wynn.”
“Oh…” Then this meeting with a magnificent fowl was not likely to have been an accident. If he knew her… or of her, he had wished to meet with her. She could only hope it was not with ill intent.
He nodded again. “Now… do you know me?” He looked upon her with intensity… perhaps even something like admiration.
She hesitated. “Yes and no…?”
He appeared to raise a brow.
“Yes… but no,” she struggled. The meeting felt familiar, but this was an oversized fowl before her; she had never seen its like. “I don’t know,” she finished.
With that, the ebony wings were extended and the feathered creature rose above her, blocking the light a few moments before disappearing.
“W-wait a moment!” she called, feeling suddenly, miserably alone.
“Talking to yourself, are you?” Terrance called as he approached from behind her.
She startled and looked once more to the empty sky. “Nay, I was speaking with…” she hesitated, breathless as the vision of the majestic creature replayed in her mind. “…with Chime.”
“Ooooh, good ol’ Chime.”
She turned in astonishment. “You know him?”
“I do not, but I thought it wiser to play along with the notion wee Wynn had herself a friend.”
Well, that about knocked the wind from her moment of awe. “How’s the lady situation been for you?” she bit back, reminding how difficult it had been for him to find a woman who would give him a care of late.
Unsatisfactorily, he ignored the jab. “Where are you off to?” he inquired.
“Not that it is any of your business, but I am dining with Phillip’s family.”
“Well, I say it is my business since I’m dining with them as well.”
“You are?”
“Indeed. I am a friend of Phillip’s. Phillip’s friends are invited to the manor.”
“Funny, I wouldn’t call you a friend of Phillip’s.”
“Well, you are very nearly right. I was more a friend of his elder brother’s before he disappeared. In fact, I was a fairly close friend of the family in those days. Phillip and I seem to fall in together even in the lack of him. Family doesn’t much care to have me around—don’t like to remember Brodrick, you know—but they cannot uninvite me once he has welcomed me.
She questioned just why Phillip had to have invited him on the very evening she was to be there. She liked his family for the most part and did not relish her time with them being intruded on by this interloper. Still, it meant their attention would be partially divided from her and that was not an entirely negative aspect.
“Wynn!” a merry voice called from down the path. Meg’s golden curls shined brightly as Phillip strode beside her.
“Hello!” Wynn called, picking up speed. “What are the two of you doing out here?”
Meg explained, “We had nothing better to do so thought we would keep you company on your walk.” She linked her arm through Wynn’s and they started toward the manor. “Have you heard the news?”
Wynn shook her head and looked to Phillip.
Despondently, he shrugged.
“There is to be a tournament!” Meg exclaimed. “A Champion’s Tournament.”
“Oh, how interesting,” Wynn replied, doing her best to sound intrigued though she cared little for such events. “Who is hosting?”
“Lord Valdren, of course. Though, they say it was the prophet’s meddling that did it. It seems he warned Lord Valdren that ‘something is coming’ and he ought to find himself a champion. Therefore, we have ourselves a tournament. But how funny of the prophet to offer so little information. Then again, perhaps there are details Lord Valdren does not care to share with the public.”
Wynn, Phillip and Terrance looked to one another. They, of course, had an idea of what this was about. It concerned Wynn that the prophet still knew so little.
“Phillip,” Terrance began, “why do you look so especially forlorn about all this?”
“He must enter,” Meg explained with pity for her brother.
“Must?” Wynn questioned.
Phillip nodded. “For the honor of my family.”
Her brows furrowed. She pitied him. Never had she seen him pull his sword from its sheath, though he carried it nearly everywhere. But Terrance had often spoken of how clumsily he handled it.
“That is a real shame,” Terrance said. “Pity Brodrick had to run off like that.”
Wynn was surprised none of the group thought it offensive or painful that he should say so, but it seemed these three spoke about Phillip’s lack of ability quite openly. But she was tired of hearing about this oh-so-talented and valiant Brodrick who like a coward refused to return home to his family and take his rightful place—the place Phillip so clearly did not desire. No matter how warmly the others thought of the man, she could safely say she did not care for him at all.
“Trouble is,” Phillip began, “with my lack of ability, I will only end up shaming my family in any case.”
“I will train you,” Wynn stated decisively, ignoring the small voice insisting she would likely fail where every one of his tutors had.
Phillip and Meg gawked at her with as much surprise as she felt.
“Truly, Wynn, you mustn’t bother,” Terrance assured. “It is a hopeless case.”
Scowling, she looked to Phillip. “Do you agree?” she demanded.
He shook his head. “I do not know why you offer this except that you have no idea what you’d be getting into. You have far better uses for your time. I would very certainly disappoint.”
She shook her head in turn. “I don’t want to hear it. You have said yourself I am a master with the blade and probably better than any of your tutors. If anyone can teach you, it is me. Besi
des, I can yell at you where they could not. For we are good friends, are we not?”
To her surprise, he softened and appeared to be mulling this over. “All I can agree to is that we might try it. When it comes time for you to give up on me, you must be honest. I give my word I will not take offense.”
“I can at least give you a fighting chance that you may escape total humiliation. But I must say I am offended you believe I would give up.”
Perhaps a little bashfully, he smirked. “I did not really believe you would.”
“Very well,” she replied with a grin. “I am commissioned.”
By the time they reached the gates, Meg pulled Wynn back as Terrance prattled on about the tournament with Phillip.
“I wanted to say how kind it is of you to train him,” she said warmly.
“Nonsense. I think there’s more to him than meets the eye. It took me a while to see it, but… well, we had an argument the other day and it proved he has a little fight in him. That’s all anyone needs to become a decent swordsman—that and intelligence, which he has in abundance.”
Meg grew excited by this. “I agree with you, no matter what others say... his tutors, my sisters, our father. Besides the prophet, I think you are the first true friend he has had since our brother ran away. He speaks of you all the time.”
“Oh, dear.”
“No, he speaks most highly.”
Wynn was stunned to hear this. “What does he say?”
“You should have heard how he went on about your skills with the sword after he brought you to the prophet that first evening. He went over your entire skirmish with those men in great detail. You were a legend in our home before we even learned you were the apprentice, for Phillip kept it secret until you had officially agreed. He told me later you were unsure you would remain. He was especially delighted you did.”
Wynn found herself blushing, though not altogether certain why. “Well, that is very kind.”
It was not long before she found herself poked and prodded by the sisters once more. She had been loath to allow it, for she was quite certain after a sidelong look from their mother that it was she who truly wished her dressed well for a meal at their table. Whether or not this was so, the ladies had been so eager, she had given in.
The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen) Page 18