The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen)

by Cassandra Boyson

  The mysterious humanoid-creature gestured to the sky. There, she beheld a constellation that appeared something like a conch shell. The being conveyed into her mind she must follow the constellation’s point to discover a gift awaiting her. It was then she awoke.

  “Wynn…” he began, “that doesn’t sound like an ordinary dream—more like one of your visions.”

  She shook her head. “I’m always having nonsensical dreams like that. Probably has something to do with the prophet’s cooking… or a smack to the head now and then.”

  “Well… are you certain they’re only dreams?”

  “I hope so, considering I cannot remember a one of them.”

  “But you recall this one. Besides, I think I know that constellation.”

  “It exists? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Isn’t that more proof this dream was more than just that?”

  “I agree most heartily,” the prophet interjected from his desk.

  The two jumped in their seats.

  “Prophet!” Phillip shouted. “Where in the world were you?”

  The man looked back at him with wide eyes. “Nowhere.”

  “Oh, Prophet,” Wynn muttered in exasperation.

  The man grinned. “You mustn’t scold me, Wynnie. What I mean to say is, I was not in this world at all. I was paying a visit—and not to the Greater Archipelagos before you ask yet again, Miss Wynnie.”

  She sat back in her chair, possibly moping.

  “Well, I needed you!” Phillip chastised. “She was unconscious and you weren’t here to help.”

  The prophet rose and walked over to Wynn, studying her. He then returned to his chair. “Now, what are we going to do about this vision?”

  Phillip sat back in his own chair and did a little moping as well. After all he’d been through, how could the prophet not show more concern? Still, he was grateful the healer had not spotted any perplexities.

  “How should I know?” Wynn asked. “I’m the one who thinks it was but a dream.”

  Leaning forward, the prophet planted his elbows upon his knees. “I think you should follow it—the constellation.”

  “But I’ve no idea where it leads.”

  “My dear girl,” he reproved, “who does not desire a gift from an elysian emissary? I, for one, have never received the like.” He appeared to be doing a little moping of his own now.

  “I could go with you, Wynn,” Phillip offered. “I am well acquainted with the constellation. And if the journey is long, I know the best inns.”

  She huffed. “But my head…”

  “I healed you when I walked over there,” the prophet replied without amusement.

  “Oh,” Phillip murmured. Of course, the prophet would have cared for her the moment he was able.

  “Very well, you two,” she relented. “But if nothing comes of it, I’m going to be terribly cross.”

  * * *

  That evening, they assembled supplies, saddled horses and set off under the evening sky. The first hours were spent mostly in silence. When Phillip’s mare began to weary, they stopped for a light snack and continued onward. It wasn’t until the following set of hours had passed and his mare required another reprieve that they realized Wynn’s gelding had not yet slowed. Rather, he was eager. In fact, it was the gelding’s pace that was tiring poor Peggity. Each time they rested, he appeared antsy, looking to the mare as if wondering why she was not as impatient as he to journey onward.

  “Your horse…” Phillip began.

  “I know,” she replied. “He doesn’t tire.”

  “I wonder how fast he could go unrestrained.”

  “I’d hate to try it just now. Haven’t ridden in a while.”

  “You know… I’ve never in my life seen a horse with that combination of lines and coloring.”

  “Nor I. Where did you say the prophet purchased him?”

  “I didn’t. Neither did he.”

  They looked to one another with small smiles.

  Finally, she asked, “You don’t suppose this horse… could be from another world?”

  “Would certainly be worth asking.”

  She turned to the animal who was picking at the grass around them. Instantly, he met her gaze, holding it. Her breath caught. Yes, there was something about that animal. Seeing she would not obey his summon to continue on, the horse turned to the bush behind him. From it, he stole a small berry and appeared to be testing whether he liked it. When he continued pecking contentedly, it was clear he had discovered a favorite.

  “What a silly fellow he is!” Wynn cried. “Have you ever seen a horse with the patience to pick berries from a needled bush? What shrub is that?”

  “Juniper, I think.”

  Chuckling at the animal, she stood to pat its shoulder. “This is the first time I’ve seen him really interested in anything foodwise. We’ll have to plant some outside the cabin.” Stuffing some of the berries into her saddlebag, she said, “I suppose we should move on. I don’t want to squander any more of this night sky. It’s driving me mad not knowing how long we might be away.”

  “You worried about the prophet?” he asked with a smirk.

  She raised a brow. “He’s not immortal, you know.”

  “No… but practically.”

  She appeared ready to move on, but he halted her with, “Wynn…”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been wondering… was the birthday celebration… was it the right thing to do? I mean, did it make you… uncomfortable?” He had noted a difference in her since that day. Not only had she been quite emotional over the ordeal, but there had been that horrific fall down the stairwell. She’d taken enough interest in the remainder of the party but had been somewhat distant since that day.

  She appeared wounded by the question. “Do you… regret throwing it?”

  “Not in the slightest. I was just wondering about you.”

  “Well, for your information…” she began with crossed arms, “it might have been the best day I have ever spent.”

  That left something for him to chew on. Though he could see she meant every word, there had been a shudder just at the end. There was a hitch. He studied her, wishing he was capable of reading minds. “Did I offend you... or perhaps my family said something to hurt you?”

  She unfolded her arms. “Of course you didn’t Phillip. You are the kindest.”

  He squinted. “My family...?”

  It was a moment before she replied, “Your family has always been more than generous with me.”

  Again, the hesitation, but before he could inquire further, she cut him off, “For heavens, Phillip, you read faces as if you read minds! If there is something I wish to share, I will share it when I’m ready.”

  Hm. That had not been a denial, though it was an end to his efforts. It bothered him that she kept something from him. He felt more connection to her than he felt with anyone but the prophet. Though he was uncertain as to how or when this had become the case, he supposed it was a combination of the fact that she lived in his best friend’s home and the various adventures the two had endured together. Not to mention, he had never fought with anyone but his sisters in his life and had not realized one could remain friends with someone whom they’d been so angry with, let alone come out of it feeling closer to them than before. He was further surprised at how often he found himself thinking about her and the things that concerned her even when he was not in her company.

  “If you don’t mind…” she began tentatively. “There… is something I’ve been longing to ask you.”

  With a smirk, he replied, “You may ask, but I may just keep my secrets too.”

  “Very well, I won’t ask.”

  “Oh, go ahead. You’ve captured my curiosity.”

  She eyed him a moment before, “I have had to hear about your brother Brodrick from nearly everyone but you… Why don’t you ever speak of him?”

  He raised his brows. Once again, he was moved with both anger and delight a
t mention of his brother. But he felt the former winning over this evening. “He came to see me the night he left,” he admitted thoughtfully, grinding his teeth a little.

  “But Meg said he left without a word to anyone.”

  “I know. I promised I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

  “But you’re telling me.”

  “He broke his word. Promised he’d come back. It’s nearing a decade since he ran away. Would you still be anticipating his return?”

  “No…” she admitted softly. “I wouldn’t.” Her eyes were filled with sorrow for him. “Why did he come to see you?”

  Releasing a sigh, he leaned back on his hands. “He told me what he was going to do—where he was going. He warned there would be much expected of me for a time, but he would return and all would be well.”

  “I don’t understand why he had to go anywhere. Why not just elope in Nierwood?”

  “Yes, that was something I asked him. It seems the maid he’d fallen for had been to see our prophet, who had informed her she would discover her true lineage in the kingdom of Bashtii, just beyond the sea. So, she and Brodrick were to marry, discover what truth lay in Bashtii and he would return to win back my parent’s approval.”

  “Hm...” she murmured, growing quiet. She did not seem to know what to say. “Well,” she continued, looking him in the eyes, “I’m sorry he let you down.”

  “As am I. He was my hero. Well… he was everyone’s hero. He could do anything.”

  “Except keep a promise.”

  He laughed, a surprising feeling at that moment. “Except that.” He was uncertain why he had chosen to divulge the secret to her, but it felt good to have broken his promise to Brodrick, to have it off his chest and to have turned on him in this small way... even if it did not matter anymore.

  “The way you handle a sword...” he began thoughtfully, “it reminds me of him. You were the first person I’d ever seen who could fight as he did. Though, of course, he was twice your size. Yet, he did not have your speed. I am not certain which of you would triumph in a skirmish.”

  “Me,” she replied.

  He chuckled. “Probably.”

  “Well… I suppose we should really be going now,” she said, slowly rising.

  “Why? You afraid I’m going to make you divulge a secret?”

  She attempted to conceal her grin as she threw the reins over her gelding’s head. “Maybe.”

  “Well, perhaps I will,” he replied, leaping onto Peggity’s back.

  As they continued on, he assumed the conversation ended until she pulled back to ride with him.

  “My parents were drunks,” she divulged.

  “I know.”

  “How?”

  “The prophet told me. I hope that’s all right.”

  “Certainly… but now I have to think of another secret.”

  He smiled privately, glad she had taken seriously his jest about making her share a confidence. It was like winning a prize.

  “I used to talk to trees…” she offered.

  He rolled his eyes. “Hardly a secret. You still do that.”

  “Really?” she replied with genuine surprise. “I hadn’t realized.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s a charming trait… if one doesn’t mind a little lunacy.”

  She grinned largely. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind it, being friends with the prophet all these years.”

  “That may be truer than you know.”

  She smiled absently, then appeared thoughtful for some time, chewing at her lower lip as if reliving an anguishing scene. He worked to think of some way to distract her from wherever her memories had taken her when she spoke suddenly, “I… I thought I’d killed my parents…” She turned to him. “Did he tell you that?”

  He shook his head. The delight he’d experienced at finding her willing to share something with him dimmed considerably.

  “I was the one who provided them with the ale that eventually killed them,” she confessed.

  Phillip’s stomach turned. Poor, sweet Wynn. How he wished he could have been there for her when she was a child.

  “For a long time…” she continued, “I questioned whether I might have done it purposefully.”

  He gasped. “How could you think such a thing of yourself?”

  “Well…” Her eyes shown with vulnerability. “I hated them so… and loved them. It was complicated.”

  “I know you’ve got a temper… and you’re an expert with a sword, but… I don’t think you realize what a soft-heart you truly are. I cannot imagine you ever really hating anyone. I think… I think you probably desired to loathe them. But whether or not you did, there’s no way you wished them harm. You slaved to keep food in their bellies, so the prophet told me. That came from a place of tenderness.”

  She smiled ever so softly. “I know. I recently learned it was a daemon sprite who took their lives… And you’re right, I was a tender-hearted girl.”

  He hesitated a moment before, “I think you probably still are.”

  She appeared to contemplate this. “I suppose you’re right again, though I worked so hard not to be.”

  He held her gaze for some time, considering how to respond. It was then they heard the roar of ocean waves crashing against the cliffside before them.

  “I knew it…” she moaned. “We’ve reached a dead end. The dream meant nothing.”

  He leaped from his mare to kneel at the edge of the cliff. Though the height made him dizzy, he was unwilling to give up so easily. He knew, if she did not, that something had purposefully led them to this place.

  “Aha!” he called, peering down the run of the cliff. “There is a path!”

  She met him at the edge. “It doesn’t look like it leads to anything… not to mention it runs along the side of a cliff, Phillip. The tide could rise over it. Wouldn’t be safe to take the horses along.”

  “So, we’ll tie Peggity to Juniper. The prophet promised he’d never run away.”

  “Did you just name my horse?”

  “Ha, I had not realized.”

  “Well… I like it,” she admitted, leaping from the gelding. “And your plan will do. I cannot imagine we’ll be apart from them long in any case.”

  As they traversed the precarious path, great fingers of the sea splashed over their vulnerable forms, sending cold shivers through them. At last, their eyes fell upon the dark mouth of a tunnel. Wynn tossed a dubious glance his way as she peered into it, but with a shrug, she entered.

  Though the mouth was lit by moonlight, darkness soon overwhelmed them. Yet, just as they were forced to follow the jagged walls with not but the feel of their hands, a dim light wavered in the distance. Phillip wondered if Wynn was filled with as much expectancy as he. Certainly, she must now understand her vision had been just that.

  The breaths of the two were stolen as ruby crystal walls sparkled all around, sending an overwhelming pink cast through the cave they entered. But almost more astonishing were the heaps of brittle hair carpeting the entire expanse of the floor, all streaming from the head and face of a man at the far corner. Phillip watched Wynn scruple over stepping into the woolly mess as she attempted to make sense of the stranger who was not yet aware of their presence. In an effort to encourage her, Phillip made ready to take the first step when she released a gasp.

  - T W E N T Y -

  The Crimson Blade

  WYNN STOOD AWESTRUCK. In the center of the cavern, surrounded by ill-kept piles of hair, was a chiseled altar of stone. Upon it rested a supremely elegant sword, appearing as crimson as the crystal walls surrounding. It sent her heart hammering like the dashing hooves of a stallion. She had never dreamed such an exquisite blade existed. Spellbound, she was summoned thither, her hand reaching for its gleaming hilt.

  Phillip grabbed her arm and pointed. They had garnered the stranger’s attention.

  “Er… greetings, sir,” she spoke with a wince. She’d sounded like a child. This was not the moment to appear less than what s
he was.

  Silence commenced as the two awaited the cavern man’s reply.

  “Greetings, little one,” he retorted in a gruff voice, clearly unused for some while. Parting the curtained lengths of his hair with his hands, he proceeded to study them. It was not difficult to perceive his disapproval. “Well…?” he urged.

  “Oh, uh…” she stepped forward with the clearing of her throat. But what was she to say? “I… believe I was sent here to fetch this fairest of weapons.” There, she had confessed it. She’d spoken what her heart so dearly yearned was the purpose of her vision.

  “Is that so?” he replied sardonically, proceeding to harvest a sizable portion of golden wax from his ear. After a fixated examination, he smeared it across his trailing beard, returning an indifferent gaze to the young people.

  She was taken aback. Who was this repugnant fellow that he should look at her as so insignificant? “I dreamed of this place…” she replied with nearly concealed defiance. “I believe I am meant to have that sword as a gift from an elysian emissary.”

  He raised his brows, gaze unnerving.

  She humbled. “May I have it… then?”

  In a low voice, he replied, “I… have guarded this sword for hundreds of years… and you believe you have but to inquire and it shall be yours?”

  This was unexpected. It had seemed so simple in the dream. She would appear and be given something. Perhaps she was mistaken about what the gift was to be. “In all honesty… I am not certain.”

  He looked her over once more before breaking into deep, unreserved laughter that echoed feverishly through the cavern. Ceasing, he turned to her with great solemnity. “Get out of this place before I strip you of your life, wee lass. I have done so many times before and rather relish the thought of doing it once more.”

  She reeled. This was not at all what she had come to expect as she’d begun to realize her dream had been more than a dream. For heavens, the man was a brute—one whom she herself would not mind putting in his place if she must. But just as her hand began to twitch for the blade she carried, a new voice sounded behind her.