He nodded. “Even so, I might have visited them in my old age when I came upon their time again, but the Great One bid me not to until, not so long ago, he allowed me to return at last that I could meet my descendants.” He smiled at his two grown grandchildren with great admiration. “Most importantly, he wished me to witness all Iviana has done for this world to bring healing after I was torn from it.”
“I’m sure everyone was overjoyed to find you alive,” Wynn said, looking to those around the table.
They exclaimed their hearty concurrence.
He smirked as he said, “Problem was, they’d thought me slain that night I faced Aradia. It was difficult to convince them I was who I claimed.”
“But why should they have assumed that?”
“When a Realm Leader of the Greater Archipelagos passes, it is physically felt in the hearts of all its people and it seems they experienced that sorrowful sensation when I ceased to exist in their time. Though I was not killed, they felt the loss of their leader.”
Wynn nodded her understanding… though, in truth, it was added to the list of things she was finding difficult to grasp. How utterly complex his life had been. It began to make sense that hers had become more hectic since coming to live with him. Though, ironically, he had always been her place of peace.
Finding it challenging to truly conceive of all he had revealed, she would have liked to ask so much more but recognized he wished to be removed from the memories that plagued him. She easily read upon his face that, though this tale was a marvel to her, it was tender to the one who had lived it—who had lost his wife and children so many, many years in his past, not to mention countless friends.
Squeezing his hand, she murmured, “Thank you for sharing this with me.”
“It was part of the reason I brought you here,” he admitted. “I wished to be honest with you about who I was.”
She nearly laughed. “You thought I would think less of you, didn’t you? Hardly.” Indeed, she was rather more impressed. In fact, it was easier to accept the idea of his being the powerful individual he was said to be.
Iviana smiled. “He blames himself for mistakes anyone might have made.”
“Pfft, as do you!” Nimua cried. “She still blames herself for what would have happened to the Greater Archipelagos had she not saved it… and it never even occurred!”
“Well, what did happen?” Wynn pressed.
The entire table lit up and Wynn and the prophet remained for quite some time while each person entered their outlook on the tale of how Iviana had channeled a giant wave of water from the Great One’s Paradise that swept over all surrounding and changed their world forever. By the time the story was finished, Wynn utterly esteemed this granddaughter of the prophet. And to think Necoli had said she reminded him of her.
“Well,” the prophet began at last. “I’m afraid we must be going.”
“Oh, you awful scoundrel!” Iviana cried. “I’d make you promise to return soon, but I’m always forgetting your time is not your own. Well, I suppose my lot is identical, so I ought to be sympathetic.”
“I am grateful, my dear girl,” he replied. “I will return as soon as I am able and I thank you all for making Wynn welcome. I will be interceding for every dear soul at this table until we meet again.”
As he stood, all in the room followed suit. Wynn was smiling as she overheard him confronting the man called Darist about their dragon race when Iviana asked her for a private word. She agreed and was led out of doors before a perfect view of the planet’s spectacular honey-scented ocean.
With emotion, Iviana began, “I wanted to thank you for telling us what you saw concerning Lyric. You were right, as I said before, and Flynn may have been killed if not for you.”
Wynn was more than surprised to be thanked for something she had said on what she referenced as her “day of shame.” “It was no trouble. I’m only just learning how to do that kind of stuff, so I simply said what I saw.”
The woman smiled and then found herself laughing. “Oh, I am so sorry, but you poor girl! How we doubted you and here you’ve turned out to be Latos’ apprentice.”
“Why do you call him that?” Wynn asked tentatively. “And not ‘grandfather’ or something of the kind?”
She hesitated. “I suppose it is because I have met with him but twice before this day. And I had only heard of him as something of a legend before that. It is difficult to see him as my grandfather, though he is the dearest man who ever lived from what I can tell.”
Wynn pitied her. In the time Wynn had come to live with him, she’d very easily thought of him as a grandfather. She knew if Iviana was anything like herself, she would enjoy spending the time with him she herself was afforded.
“But why do you not come to visit the cabin?” she asked.
“I am afraid, like you, I have a commissioning of my own and it keeps me rather busy. Today was a scheduled event for all of us old friends and family to get together and remember old times. Your prophet was invited, of course, but we had not dared to hope he would actually appear.”
The utter astonishment that he had appeared made Wynn realize these people were awed by the prophet and she sympathized for them in this as well. To her, he was a dear, eccentric old man. To them, he was Latos, former leader of the realm, who vanished into time itself and returned to them ages later.
“At any rate,” Iviana said, “I wished to thank you and to… extend my friendship. I know we sort of got off on the wrong foot and we were all terribly rude to you when last we met—"
“Rude to me? Why, you especially were quite understanding. It was I who spoke without knowing what I was doing—"
“No, I know you are learning and if ever there does come a time when you need advice or merely the ear of someone who understands things that others may not… I am here.” She ended with a warm smile.
Yes, Wynn felt she could like this woman very well. “Thank you. You are very kind.”
“I was in your shoes once, delving into matters I could scarcely wrap my mind around. I know very well what you are going through. Everything is new, frightening, exciting…”
Wynn nodded, but found herself agreeing only partially. There were the issues of the cabin being slightly alive and the door that sent her on less than enjoyable adventures. And then, of course, there was the Secret Circle of Southern Sorcerers… and her visions. But other than all that, life had been fairly ordinary. Then again, perhaps she had only become all too accustomed to it.
- S I X T E E N -
Cellar of Peculiarities
“SO, DO I CALL YOU Latos now?” Wynn asked once she and the prophet had transported safely back to Kierelia, though not within the comfort of their beloved cabin.
He allowed a moment of silence before, “Latos… is no longer me. We are so far apart in time, so different. I… don’t like to remember him. Even ancient men have their regrets, but the Great One works his miracles.”
“I see.” She searched for an avenue to draw his mind from the past. “Well… where are we now?” Wind washed around her as she turned about. Her stomach dropped. “Surely not…” she whispered.
He glanced at her sidelong.
“This is a d-despicable place,” she protested, “full of criminals and delinquents.”
“Aye… but if it is where the Great One is, it is where we must be.”
Her mind raced. “Why don’t you go along… while I wait here.”
“My dear Wynnie,” he said, stepping directly before her. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”
She sighed shakily, understanding he was fully aware. He merely desired her to speak it aloud. “It is where I grew up. I swore I’d never return.”
He squinted as he studied her, then tenderly spoke, “If it is where the Great One wants us… should we not go, no matter how uncomfortable it may be?”
She swallowed. “I suppose the Great One told you he specifically wished me to go?”
He nodded.
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Releasing a breath, she relented. “Very well.”
He started forward. But when they reached what was popularly considered the threshold of the town, he froze, his walking rake held in midair.
She searched his face. Contrary to the norm, it was fixated and penetrating. “What are we—?”
He placed the rake upon the ground.
A pulse shot forth through the town. Clouds toiled and gathered overhead, darkening. Finally, they released their might in a great strike of lightning not far from where the two stood.
Wynn leaped involuntarily and searched the prophet’s face for fear. Finding none, she drew close behind him, letting his courage shield her from the next three strikes. Every one missed.
“Why can’t it hit us?” she squealed.
“We are protected.”
With his words, the clouds receded and the sky grew clear once more.
With a relieved sigh, she followed him into the hamlet. It was unaltered except for a single building now missing: the inn. The shops were as she had left them and the villagers glared at the newcomers as was customary. But contrary to convention, those they passed began to follow them. She considered whether it was with ill intent but perceived it was curiosity which drove them. They had sensed an atmospheric shift when the prophet’s rake had pierced the ground. They wished to know who had brought it. Moreover, many might have witnessed the lightning strikes and likely believed she and the prophet had caused them with some kind of sorcery.
“Not that one, not that one, not that one,” the prophet muttered as they passed shop after shop.
“What are we looking for?” she inquired just as a grotesque cry was heard from a man who had stepped into the prophet’s shadow. She released a startled squeal and turned to watch in disbelief as what appeared like a daemon sprite shot out of him like a firework, flying high into the sky, likely to drop somewhere outside the town. The sprite had been forced from the man and she knew precisely who was responsible. Somehow, even the prophet’s shadow possessed the power he carried.
“Not that one, not that one...”
“Which do you—"
“This one,” he murmured with the glee of a child.
“House of Oddities?” she questioned. “I think they sell incantations here.” Additionally, they vended rare antiquities and the like, but she recalled how often she’d been offered a charm pouch for the curse of her red hair, “the very color of the Dark One’s eyes,” they’d always said.
The prophet nodded to her prior comment but entered in any case. “Ah, my dear shopkeeper!” He raised his rake to the small fellow behind the counter. Gesturing to the front window he inquired, “Are these all the charms and spell-bags you have on hand?”
“Aye, just in fresh this morning,” the keeper replied proudly.
The prophet strode toward the display and bent near to study them. Wynn watched as he subtly pointed the rake in the direction of the charms… and winked at them. “Oh, dear…” he murmured. “Is this supposed to happen?”
The shopkeeper drew around the counter to discover what the trouble was. “What on the planet Kaern!” He turned to Wynn. “Fetch water, quick!”
Wynn peered around him to find the whole lot of pouches ablaze. The prophet winked at her and turned away. With his movement, they were instantly transformed into piles of ashes.
“Oy, how’s this happened?!” the shopkeeper shouted as the prophet strode through an open doorframe at the side of the shop.
She soon found it connected to the confectionary shop, serving up the finest chocolates and sugary delicacies Jaefra had to offer. The store was lavishly decorated in red and burgundy and the ringleted blonde working the shop greeted them affably.
“I have the great fortune of being able to present everyone who enters the shop today with a single treat of their choosing, free of charge,” she cooed.
“No, thank you,” the prophet replied cheerily, crossing the room to peer at a long piece of floor-runner.
Wynn was on her way to join him and inquire precisely what they were doing there if not to consume sweeties when her eyes fell upon the caramel pecan squares she had always longed to sample as a child. Now was her chance. But as she reached for the largest piece, the prophet swatted her hand away.
“We are not here for sampling.”
She soured and crossed her arms. “Then what are we here for? You’ll remember, I was not the one who wished to visit this town and destroy storeowners’ merchandise.”
“All in good time, Wynnie” he said with a grin, pointing to the floor.
She raised her brows and unfolded her arms as she followed him to the other end of the shop where he peeled away the rug.
What is he up to now? she wondered, looking back at the blonde who was beginning to appear concerned.
“I’m finding a way in,” he replied, handing her the carpet. “Peel! Peel!” he whispered.
The blonde was starting toward them, but Wynn did as told, revealing a trap door.
The prophet nodded. “Just as I suspected.”
“You mustn’t go down there!” the shop girl cried.
“Why ever not, my dear?” he asked as he kicked at the door.
“There are…” She bent very near to whisper, “peculiarities.”
Wynn raised a brow. “Is it a storage cellar or something?”
She shook her head, flying back as the prophet threw open the door, exposing a case of stairs.
“Come along, Wynnie,” he called as he started down.
She looked to the girl whose eyes were bulging as she shook her head, then peered at the prophet as he waddled down the steep stairs. Sighing, she started after him.
“Prophet,” she whispered. “What are we doing here?”
“Staking our claim… er, the Great One’s.” He knocked upon a bolted door at the end of the passage.
A small sliding window crashed open and a man with ratted hair and a bulging eye requested an entry word. He smirked, certain they did not have it.
But the prophet tarried a moment, changing weight between feet.
A word flashed through Wynn’s vision.
Slowly, he turned to her and raised his brows. “Well?”
She could not say how he knew she had seen anything but couldn’t imagine it was the password.
“Out with it!” demanded the bulgy-eyed man.
“Dominion?” she muttered.
The eye bulged larger, nearly popping out, then settled. “Very well,” he grumbled, slamming the window shut.
She heard a heavy bolt unlatch before the door was opened to a table beside which sat two figures. It was then she understood what the shop girl had meant by “peculiarities,” for the two who sat playing a game of chess were dreadfully irregular indeed.
“If you cannot check my king in your next go, I select the assignment for the Willigan girl,” grumbled the voice of the creature to the left whose head resembled both a pig and a man at once.
“Check,” said the other. This one also possessed the face of a man but for his two front teeth that were long and oversized, reminding her of a horse. She then realized he possessed the ears of a donkey.
As the prophet took a step inside, Wynn glanced at him sidelong. What kind of business could he possibly have with these… things?
He cleared his throat.
“You’re trespassing,” Pig-face muttered, not bothering to glance their way. “This is our hamlet. We were contracted it fair and square by the former town leader.” He turned to other with, “That’s not a legal move and you know it.”
With a shudder, Wynn wondered how long these creatures had been lording over the town, for they had not had a village leader in all the time she’d lived there. That signified they’d been ruling over the villagers for longer than she liked to imagine.
“My bishop to your queen gets me the schoolhouse assignment,” Donkey-man said with a wide grin that showed off his teeth in full glory. “Oy, have I plans for it!�
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The two sniggered, the most horrific ruckus Wynn had ever heard in her life.
“Not anymore,” the prophet replied easily. “Your appointment in this town has been canceled.”
The two at the table looked to one another before standing to their feet… if that was what they could be called; they appeared more like hooves… with claws.
“Says who?” the donkey inquired as he picked something out of his large teeth.
“Says I…” the prophet replied stolidly, “and the one who stands with me.”
To Wynn’s horror, they turned to her.
“Say…” the pig spoke, “I remember that face. Wee Wynnifred, isn’t it?”
Donkey slapped his knees with another horrendous chortle. “That’s right. I killed her parents with that last jug of ale she brought ‘em. I’d waited a long time to make my move too. Had to make it look like it was the kid’s fault so she’d grow hard. Myyyy darkness, she took long enough! I’d been working on that assignment since she was born. Certainly was a pathetic little softy.”
Her lip trembled as she was mentally transported to that place, the place of the little girl trying to keep her drunken parents fed. Then being blamed by the townspeople for their inevitable death by the ale they’d always demanded of her. “What…” She swallowed. “What do you mean?”
The prophet took her hand and squeezed it tenderly. “You were framed, my girl, by these daemon sprites.”
With this understanding came a bolt like lightning to her heart. It was not painful. It was closure. The whole town had attributed her parents’ deaths to her. Even she had blamed herself, hated herself because it had been such a relief when they’d gone. Her every burden—the two who, instead of caring for her, had used, manipulated and bullied her—was gone and she was free. She’d fled the nasty little village, but that burden of always wondering if perhaps somewhere deep down she’d provided the ale for that very purpose had gone with her. Now a grown woman, she saw herself as a child and knew that innocent heart could never have plotted anything of the sort. She’d merely done as she was told.
The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen) Page 21