It was one thing for him to state this. It was another to see it come to pass. She sighed once more.
“Now then,” he said enthusiastically, “let us try something, shall we?”
She looked up at him with wide eyes. “What—now? You haven’t taught me anything!”
He laughed. “I have taught you everything. The rest is up to you. Now, come with me.” He crawled over to the edge of the roof until he had come to peek over its side.
With a huff, she followed.
“See those pumpkins down there? I’d like you to water them.”
She blinked. “Um… all right.”
“I want you to do it from here.”
“You mean…?”
He nodded.
She closed her eyes, mind racing. This was absurd. Regular people did not water pumpkins with their thoughts. And she was ordinary… or so she had felt before coming to live in the cabin where she was suddenly seeing visions and popping to and fro through vanishing doors.
Focus Wynn, she reprimanded. In her mind, she painted a picture of water falling upon the pumpkins. Nothing. She then focused herself on the pumpkins’ thirst. Nothing. She continued on this track, but all the while doubted her ability to accomplish what was asked. It was a distraction she could not seem to get past. She opened her eyes.
“This is ridiculous.”
“You can do it and you will,” he replied sternly. “Now water my pumpkin patch.”
She leaned over the roof and tried holding her hand outward, closing her eyes tightly and picturing raindrops falling upon the pumpkins. Suddenly, with a great burst, she heard the sound of water splattering upon them. Opening her eyes, she watched as rain fell from midair. Grasping at the back of her neck, she turned to him.
“P-prophet… did I… I mean, do you see? Have I really done it?”
He shook his head. “No,” he replied laughingly. “I just wanted to see how you’d feel if you had.”
She gasped, nearly moving to slap him. Instead, she found herself slowly chuckling. “You have got to be the worst prophet the Great One has ever had.”
“Well, I think we both know I’m the daftest.”
“Undoubtedly,” she replied, reaching her hand out to splash some of the rain at him.
Abruptly, his expression transformed from delighted to horrified. “Oh, my dear! Have you not learned by now I cannot come in contact with water? I… I melt… I’m melting.” He began to phase from her vision.
Grasping at her throat, she could not think what to do. In the next moment, he was gone.
“What…?” Part of her had thought he was jesting. He simply could not be serious. “P-prophet?” she muttered breathlessly.
“Down here, dear one,” he called from the pumpkin patch.
Looking over, she discovered him standing beneath the rain.
“Ack!” she hollered. “You horrid, monstrous, old man!” Reaching for the nearest acorn, she hurled it at him, then transported to her room.
* * *
Thereafter, Wynn lent much of her thought-life to the Great One. She knew she was destined to do as the prophet did, so worked to focus on the one from whom the power came. In fact, the day arrived when he dared her to offer her entire life to the Great One. She was confounded by this at first, for she had understood that to be the case when she’d uttered her yes-cry that second evening in the cabin, but it seemed there was yet more.
His next instruction was this, “Forgive, Wynn.”
She looked up at him as if he was unbalanced. “Hm?”
He peered into her eyes in the penetrating way he often did. “How can you be adequately focused if part of your soul is tangled with rage and unforgiveness? Whatever pain or hatred you have in your heart, any animosity, past or present, you must look at that and you must forgive those who have wounded you.”
At his words, a flood of memories flooded her mind, sending tears to prick at the corners of her eyes. “But why? My anger is what has kept me alive all this time! It makes me strong.”
“It does not. It makes your heart hard and it must be soft if you desire to become all that you are meant. It keeps a wall up between yourself and the Great One and it opens a door for daemon sprites to influence and harm you.
“You have often had daemons come and whisper into your spirit that I have not always informed you of. But do not fear, for I sent them away with speed. I do not allow wicked sprites into my home, nor do I allow them to harm or hinder the little girl I love. But you must close those spiritual doors, Wynnie. The Great One is to be your strength now.”
She knew he spoke true, but she also recalled the things that pained her and her heart hardened against them until it was rigid. “I cannot,” she muttered, near tears.
“If you feel you might cry, let it out. It will help. But, it is not even by your own power that I ask you to forgive. If you decide in your heart you desire it, you may request the Great One’s aid and he will help you in his time.”
She closed her eyes in the quiet of the moments that followed and recalled every hurtful memory. She peered into each of them and did as he bid. Tears streamed down her face, at first with pain and then, slowly, with relief. She felt a much-needed release as the Great One touched her heart with his unique power and restored it after all the years it had been tattered and broken. When at last she opened her eyes, they were gleaming no longer yellow, but a brilliant, glittering gold.
- E I G H T E E N -
Surprises, Surprises
“HELLO, MY LADY WYNNIFRED,” Terrance greeted upon the path to Sir Colten’s manor. “Fancy meeting you on this road once again.”
She stole a long glance at the horse he led. “How on Kaern did you get your hands on a magnificent steed such as that?”
He chuckled. “It’s not mine. I was asked to keep an eye on it these last few days before delivering it to Phillip’s place.”
“Oh? I’m headed there as well.”
“Well, fancy that. How fortunate I am to have been afforded a stroll with the redheaded viper of the wood on this very fine afternoon.” He sniffed the air. “Smells like a special day, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
“What takes you to the manor?”
“I’m not entirely certain. Meg sent a note requesting I pay a visit today. Said she had something significant to tell me.”
“Mmm, perhaps she’s procured you a rich gentleman to wed. Ooh, perhaps it’s me… though my lack of funds would exclude me from that list.”
“That and the fact I wouldn’t marry you for anything,” she replied lightly.
“And why not? Too short for you, am I? Like you can talk.”
“Not at all. You’re too… ‘Terrance’ for me.”
“Touché.”
She glanced back at the horse again. “That is a peculiar breed, is it not?”
He shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about horses. He’s a stunner, though.”
She stopped him and took the animal by the reins to have a better look. Horses were her weakness. Peering into its eyes, she found him peering back into hers as if learning her soul. She blinked. “I have seen horses…. But never like this. He’s rare, I think.”
He shrugged and stole back the reins to continue on.
Glancing back, she studied its lines and unique coloring: dark gray in body with a black and white mane. She had never seen its like. “Who did you say you’d been keeping it for?”
“I didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“Say.”
“Oh.” Well, if he meant to keep his secret, it was no skin off her nose.
Attempting to put her curiosity at bay, she drew her attention to Terrance’s hand fiddling with something in his pocket. “What have you got there?”
He startled, then slowly drew it from his pocket to hold out to her. “Here.”
Taking it into her hands, she found it was the whittled figurine of a deer. “Why, this is lovely, Terrance.
Did you make it?”
He nodded. “I’ve got more than my looks, you know.”
Chuckling, she held it out to him. “Well, you’ve some talent, I must say.”
“Keep it.”
“Why?”
“It was for you, anyway.”
She scrunched her brows together. “Why?”
“Here’s the manor.”
To her surprise, the entirety of Phillip’s family was waiting upon the steps before the entry. The assemblage waved merrily and Meg ran to meet her at the gate. Taking her arm, Meg started forward. “It was so good of you to come right away! We’ve news, you see.”
“Oh… what news?” She could not imagine what kind of news the entire family had to share with her… let alone the prophet, whom she now recognized was among their number.
“I’ll tell you in a minute,” she replied with a mysterious smile. “First, we must get up to the house.”
Upon reaching the steps, Wynn was swarmed with hugs from every member of the family, at last ending with the prophet. Linking his arm through her free one, he and Meg, along with Phillip and the rest of the family, led her into the house.
“Prophet,” Wynn murmured as they moved down the hall and toward the dining area. “What is going on? Has something happened?”
“Indeed,” he replied simply.
Stepping into the dining hall, her eyes were met with a glowing room, every candle ablaze. Upon the large dining table was a sizable layered cake in the brightest of pinks with a single giant candle lit at the top. Surrounding this was a pile of packages adorned with ribbon.
Speechlessly, Wynn was led to the far end of the hall and made to watch as everyone entered to cry, “Happy birthday to you, dear apprentice!”
She blushed deeply and felt tears threaten her. “H-how? How did you know it was my birthday? I had not even realized…”
The prophet tapped the top of his head. “This mind knows things it oughtn’t.”
She was then made to sit down before the table as a package was placed into her hands.
“You must open mine first!” Meg cried, running about her to wrap arms around her shoulders. “Oh, go on,” she insisted.
Wynn glanced up at those around her—all gathered for her. She hardly knew what to think or do, so she did as told.
“Oh,” she gasped as a fine leather scabbard was revealed, burned with an elaborate design. “Oh, Meg, this is… so… I think it may be too much. I can’t…”
“Of course, it isn’t!” Meg cried. “You are Wynn of our wood, a girl of fine character and sympathetic heart. You deserve it!”
She wasn’t certain that was altogether true, nor was she certain Meg could know that in the short time they’d been friends, though she had by that time dined with them above four times. Still, she had never owned anything of such quality in her life except the string of black gems Elizabeth had previously gifted her. Seeing Elizabeth was now placing a parcel of her own into her lap, she dearly hoped this was not another gift such as that.
Unlacing the emerald ribbon, a gown of the deepest green velvet lay in her lap. “Oh, Elizabeth… how exquisite...” She held it up to herself. “I cannot imagine where I could wear it, but I will enjoy looking at it.”
“Don’t be silly,” Elizabeth replied. “You must wear it today for your celebration meal.”
“Here,” Joselyn said, laying another package in her lap. Wynn caught the smallest of shining smiles in her eyes as they made contact. It was the first sign of anything resembling friendship she’d shown since the unfortunate ordeal concerning Sir Rupert.
“Oh, these are lovely,” Wynn cried as a pair of silver shoes were revealed.
“I thought they would be pretty with the gown,” Joselyn replied with scarcely concealed delight.
Wynn nodded. “They’re fit for a lady far lovelier than me,” she muttered, to which all in the room hushed and corrected her.
From Lady Colten, she received an ornate hairpin and another exquisite crystal vial of perfume. Wynn and Phillip exchanged wry glances, recalling their previous run-in with the fragrance. Still, she offered her sincere gratitude.
Sir Colten pulled a beautifully bound book from behind his back which he promised would be intriguing and Terrance reminded her of the wooden deer he’d given her on the road.
“Aah,” she said with understanding.
That then left the prophet and Phillip who each took one of her hands and helped her to her feet.
“Where are we going?” she questioned with some dismay. All she had received had been more than enough as it was. She had hardly reined in the tears as it was. If there was another surprise, she was certain to reveal her inner turmoil.
“Patience,” Phillip replied as they escorted her back through the manor.
But with growing impatience, she pressed, “What is going on?” Instantly, she halted as her eyes fell upon what was standing in the center of the courtyard. “What… is that for?” she squeaked.
When no one said anything, Phillip took her by the hand and led her to the ravishing gelding Terrance had been led through the forest. “He is yours,” he said, “from the prophet.”
Wynn gazed into the face of the gelding, who met her eyes with his gentle expression that spoke volumes of admiration for anyone who gave him attention. Tenderly, she touched her fingers to his soft muzzle. When he stepped closer and lipped at a stray curl at her temple, she broke down. To her utter dismay, she wept. Attempts to conceal it were made by planting her head into the gelding’s neck, but the feel of that soft, warm fur against her cheek made her gasp for breath, revealing her sobs.
“Aw… Wynn,” Phillip muttered with sympathetic helplessness.
“I’m fine,” she replied, waving a hand at him as she worked to compose herself. Now that first onset of tears was released, she could gain control.
It was simply that, from the first time her eyes had fallen upon a horse, she had longed to have one of her own. Through the years, she’d stealthily admired the animals tethered outside inns and those she passed on the road. Her heart had yearned to ride one until she’d finally discovered a runaway. Stubbornly, she had taught herself and formed a bond with the animal, only to have it discovered and claimed by its true owner—a brutish knight. The incident had nearly broken her heart which had opened for the first time in years. She felt that part of her heart open once more for the affable creature before her.
Phillip handed her a kerchief.
She smiled and thanked him as she worked to right herself. “Oh, where is that prophet?” she asked through stuffed-up nose.
“I am here,” he spoke from behind her.
She considered him, then whispered into the ear of her new gelding, “A moment, please.” Turning to the prophet, she encompassed him in a teary embrace. “You’re a terrible, wonderful old man, you know.”
“Oh, I know it,” he replied into her hair, caressing her untamed locks. “But you’re rather terribly wonderful yourself, you know.”
She pulled back to put a finger to his face. “Don’t you dare,” she muttered, “don’t you dare make me cry any more than I already have.”
“Well, the riding equipment is Phillip’s gift,” he defended by casting some of the blame to another. “Genuine leather of the finest quality, so he told me.”
She turned to the lad with a meek smile and pulled him into a hug of his own.
At last, she returned to her horse, petting, kissing and embracing the sweet-natured steed while the others talked among themselves. They made plans to fence in a wide stretch of land surrounding the cabin, but the prophet put them at ease, promising he had obtained a horse that would not run away. This was met with a deal of uncertainty, but in the end, they could say nothing, for he was the prophet.
At last, she was pulled from the animal and led into the house by Phillip’s sisters. “Come, Wynn,” Elizabeth urged, “we must have you dressed in your fine new things.” Turning to her sisters, she added, “I’ll h
ave her down quick as I can, if you don’t mind. I’d like a word in private.” The two were distraught but conceded just the same.
“This is your first birthday celebration, isn’t it?” Elizabeth asked as they climbed the large case of stairs.
“Is it so obvious?” she inquired self-consciously.
“Well, most people don’t cry on their birthday unless they’ve been terribly disappointed. And you didn’t exactly appear dissatisfied.”
Wynn laughed. “Not at all. You are all such wonderful people.”
The older girl smiled and opened the door for her to enter the boudoir. “I’m glad you think so.” Sitting Wynn down to look into the matter of her hair, she said, “You haven’t exactly run a comb through this today, have you?”
She blushed. “I didn’t get a chance. When Meg sent the note, I thought it might be urgent.”
“Well, it was! Think of how long we might have waited for you to comb through this gorgeous mane of crimson.”
Wynn smiled meekly. “I cannot believe you’ve all done this for me.”
“Well, to tell you through the truth, the prophet originally planned to have the gathering in your home, but my mother took over. And lucky thing she did too, for now you’ve enough cake to last the rest of the season if you ration it right.”
The apprentice chuckled, wondering how she warranted a cake large enough for a grand assembly.
“And that garish pink,” Elizabeth continued. “My mother doesn’t exactly do things in halves. I cannot imagine it is exactly in your taste.”
Wynn shook her. “Cake in any form is my taste.”
“Well, you are the prophet’s apprentice after all and meant for great things.” She began twirling Wynn’s hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck.
“Oh, I don’t know…”
“Of course, you are or you wouldn’t have been chosen. I wonder… what kinds of things can you do?”
The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen) Page 23