The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen)

by Cassandra Boyson

  “The sword is hers, Mikian.”

  She spun to discover a puzzling figure who looked something like a man, but his form was faint and semitransparent. She squinted to view him better but found it did no good. Still, she thought he might be the being who had beckoned her to this place.

  “Truly?” Mikian replied breathlessly. “I have safeguarded that blasted blade all this time… and it is only for this humble young woman here, who looks nothing like so grand a person as I’ve been expecting? Why, I wouldn’t stand for it except… well, I suppose it’s really none of my affair. I’m free to go… at long last.”

  “Who is he talking to?” Phillip mouthed.

  She gestured to the figure, but his eyes appeared to glide past him.

  Mikian took the blade in all its majesty and carelessly held it out for her to take hold of. Instantly, the rosy hue of the room shifted as the color in the walls drained away, leaving only clear crystal in its stead.

  But Mikian appeared to care little for this. “Have your weapon then. I want no more of it! I’ve a life to return to, though family and friends have long passed. Still… there must be business for me in this world somewhere.”

  She noted the great effort it took to convince himself of this. “Were you guarding it against your will?”

  “Aye,” he replied, “but it was by my own blunder and is my own business.” He thrust the blade at her.

  Bright ruby light pierced the room as hilt hit hand, blinding her. Surely, the sword she carried had always been an extension of herself, but this one felt as if it was her... so destined for her use that it was like a missing piece now returned. Yet, all at once, it was none of this at all—it was a piece of someone else...

  Chills ran through her as she found herself in a setting of smoke and sulfur. Turning about, her eyes could just make out the form of another young woman as she declared, "By the blood of him who gave himself...” This was all Wynn heard before she was thrust into a fit of coughing, her lungs burning with smoke. Glancing up, she watched as the ruby blade was birthed from the stranger-girl’s mouth, as if formed of her very words, where it flew into the hand of the very emissary who had directed Wynn to the cavern. With that, she was transported back to the cavern.

  She stood a moment, panting down at the blade.

  “Where did you go?” Phillip queried. “I thought that tremendous light had stolen you away from me!”

  Mikian sat hunched back on his knees, stricken. Blinking once, his expression grew nonchalant and he sprang to his feet. “That happens with everyone,” he said.

  Phillip stepped forward and took the blade into his own hands. Nothing happened.

  “All right… so it happens with no one,” Mikian admitted. “Well… it seems you are truly worthy, tiny one.” With that, he began gathering up the folds of his hair.

  She rolled her eyes but, finding the mysterious creature who had declared the sword hers vanished, she realized this Mikian was all she had to gain answers. Turning to Phillip, she raised her brows.

  He widened his eyes as if uncertain what she expected of him, then cleared his throat. “Er… honorable sir, I do wonder if you would be interested in sharing your story.”

  The man eyed him. “Very well…” He took a seat upon the bed of hair. “Long ago, I prided myself on my adept ability to thieve.”

  The young people glanced to one another.

  “I know what you’re thinking. But, truly, I was famed for it—and that is not something easily won. In any case… one fair day, a destitute king commissioned me to traverse a curious passage at the top of Kierelia’s highest mountain. It was rumored the channel led to a place very near the heavens… or perhaps it was that very land often called Paradise, so breathtaking was it. There, I was to find anything of worth and return with it. Well, when I came upon this mystical blade that appeared as if formed of ruby... I thought to myself, ‘Mikian, that fair instrument might just make a king of you.’ So… I took it.

  “I was caught, of course. Its owner, the one who appeared earlier and a knight of the Great One, carved this cavern into the cliff and confined me here, naming me keeper of the blade. To detain me, he cast an invisible barrier on the mouth of the tunnel, promising its removal upon the day the chosen vessel arrived to claim it.

  “Thenceforward, I have neither eaten nor slept since, sustained by the power of a god I do not care to know. And all that time, I awaited this ‘chosen one’ for whom the blade was destined. In the end, it turns out to be you. Well… what a waste.”

  Wynn watched as he began again to gather up his tangles. She wished he was the sort of man from whom one might garner further details. As it was, he was attempting to abandon them, though slowly for observable reasons. She considered offering him the use of her steel sword to trim the masses away, but, in truth, she could not know how long it had been since his hair had been cleansed and she did not relish touching either of her blades to it.

  Even so, she would not allow him to leave without offering up just one last question. “Have you learned nothing, sir, in all this time? Have you not learned a little something about the mercy of the Great One?”

  He dropped his woolly mass. “Mercy? Meh! I have been shown no mercy!”

  “Was it not a mercy to give you so many years with which to reform yourself instead of sending you into death to spend eternity in the Nethers?”

  He flashed enraged eyes upon her, but slowly he seemed to catch himself as what she had suggested took root somewhere inside his fuzzy brain. “Well, now… I confess I have never thought of it just that way.” He looked on her with new deference. “I suppose, if I had done as you propose… I might have been freed long ago...” His eyes bored into hers, though she was certain he saw nothing of her. Rather, he surveyed the wasted years he’d awaited the appointed hour. At long last, he blinked. She thought he might be about to utter something stirring, but with a shrug, he started again on his hair.

  She observed his departure as he tripped over all he was unable to carry. Once he was no longer in view, she directed her gaze to the ethereal weapon in her hand, recalling the enigmatic being who had made it hers. So, he had been from Paradise. That was most intriguing. And the blade… it was not of her realm.

  “Well, I thank you, whoever you were” she murmured.

  “It was mine originally,” the voice from before spoke abruptly.

  She turned about, searching for him, but found nothing. “The sword, you mean?” she asked, half expecting no reply.

  Phillip looked to her as if trying to determine whether she was speaking to him. Clearly, he could not hear the voice.

  “Yes,” the being replied. “It is as fine a weapon as you may ever expect to encounter. It has seen many a glorious battle and will aim true, unfailingly.”

  She did not need to see his face to know he’d been the one with the girl in her queer, smoky vision. “Who are you?”

  “I am Viijelyk, high warrior of the Great One.” There was the slightest moment of silence before, “This ordeal here is… not the sort of thing I usually participate in.”

  “Oh,” was all the reply she could think of. It was a little uncanny speaking not only to a creature she could not see, but to he who knew the Great One personally, was in fact a “high warrior.”

  “Well, I... I thank you for this exquisite blade,” she ended, admiring it in her hand.

  “It will not be yours forever, I’m afraid. You must use it well while you are able.”

  She could not help thinking how irregular it was to offer one a gift with the promise it was not hers to keep. Just the same, she was gratified to be afforded the opportunity merely to see it… let alone use it for a time.

  “I thank you in any case,” she insisted.

  He made no reply.

  “Sooo… you talk to yourself now?” Phillip asked with a glimmer of humor.

  “No, you dunce, there was someone here… someone you could not see or hear, I gather. He said he was a high warrio
r of the Great One.”

  “That is a meeting I dearly wish I could have witnessed.”

  She nodded. “I scarcely saw him at first and not at all at the last. It felt odd… like another set of eyes within myself found his form. But then, if they existed at all, they closed themselves up again.”

  “Hm… that is something to ask the prophet about. What do you say we stop for food in that last village we passed and then see if we can’t get poor Peggity to see us directly home?”

  “Pity we didn’t both ride upon Juniper.”

  He smirked. “I see you do not recall the last time we rode two to a saddle.”

  Laughing freely, she replied, “I had forgotten. I shan’t again. That is a story for Meg.”

  - T W E N T Y – O N E -

  A Parting of Ways

  “THIS IS WHERE WE PART, I suppose,” Phillip said after the sun had set upon the Enchanted Wood. They had fixed a slow pace on the return journey so as not to wear poor Peggity.

  “You aren’t staying at the cabin tonight?” Wynn asked disappointedly. “I thought you and that fireplace were getting on nicely.”

  He sighed. “I am needed at home early tomorrow morning, so it is best I stay there through the evening.”

  “I see. Well… thank you for coming along with me.” She held out the remarkable crimson blade. “I would not have this if not for you. I’d never have gone all that way on my own.”

  “Well, it was most assuredly worth it. That may be your finest birthday present.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I could select one as finest. I was given too many that meant something to me, especially from you and the prophet. This saddle is remarkably comfortable, by the way.”

  “I am glad of it.”

  With that, they went their separate ways. It was nearly the dead of night, but the moon shone brightly through the tree branches, easing her usual terror of the forest. Yet, even without the comfort of the moon, she would have been too distracted by the elegant gift that had been bestowed her to be concerned with her surroundings. She was filled with eagerness to reveal it to the prophet.

  Stepping into the cabin’s clearing, she halted Juniper at the unfamiliar sound of music and looked to the face of the cabin. What she beheld made her involuntarily release her priceless treasure. There, standing on either side of the door, were two terrifically towering specimens, appearing nearly human but for their heads that reached far above the treetops. Her immediate response was to race back for Phillip, but she was too concerned for the prophet’s safety to waste such time. Besides, what could he do?

  Swiftly, she leaped from her steed, reached for the sword and lifted it toward them. “Who might you be?!” she called with every bit of courage she could muster.

  To her astonishment, one of the giants bent low and offered a winning smile. The magnificence in that expression startled her. “Do not fear,” the giant spoke in a booming, melodic voice that reverberated through her core. He then raised his lengthy arm and gestured for her to enter the cabin.

  She was uncertain what to do. Though there was a small part of her that screamed not to trust this large being, there had been something in that smile that had won her. It was as if she’d been ensorcelled into trusting him—to place all her trust in him, in fact. His stance proclaimed protection.

  Looking to the other, the fierce yet feminine creature appeared utterly unperturbed by her presence. It was apparent she was far more concerned with guarding over the cabin. But to what purpose? Had the home become a sort of prison, perhaps? One in which the prophet was currently ensnared? If so, she had just been welcomed to join him in his fate. Well, let them plot what they might. She would enter the cabin, all right, but she would find a way to best them and rescue her dearest friend. With a curt nod to the giants, she marched defiantly into the cabin.

  As on any ordinary evening, the prophet wrote busily at his desk. But to her utter bewilderment, it appeared he was throwing a party. It was a celebration of another kind altogether. All about the main room was an extraordinary exhibition of various… ‘creatures’ was the only word she could think to describe them. Some were small, others sizable, many wore armor, but nearly all glowed with something inhuman.

  Greeting her ears was a strange tune from a set of specimens made up of sparkling gemstones. Each gem appeared to resonate melodies as the creatures moved their fingers over them to generate an exciting, elysian tune. The resonance was both exquisite and chilling at once, nearly making her dance along with the pair of small, giggling ladies who jigged about. Her eyes grew wide as the flesh of the petite dancers glistened with thick gold dust that was cast about as they pranced. It was then it struck her from where the golden dust that was so often speckled over various parts of the cabin had come.

  She gasped, not with fear, but wonder as she spied an entity shrouded head to toe with feathers in a variety of glorious hues—most of which she could not put a name to. Even so, she found she recognized the plumes, for they were similar to the ones always scattered about the cabin: the ones she had frequently found herself sweeping up. Hesitantly, she stepped toward the being and it stood at attention, as if permitting her inspection. It was mesmerizing to witness the feathers continual flow as of liquid.

  As a small gathering of other specimens moved past, she realized this was not the only plumed entity, for some had feathery wings, others hair. Some even wore an unconventional armor made from them, though she could not imagine how it would succeed in its purpose.

  “Prophet…” she called faintly, goosebumps coursing over her arms as she roamed the room. It was not an entirely fearsome bunch. Rather, they appeared as if they were partaking of an enjoyable evening. Still, she required an explanation.

  Raucous laughter drew her attention to a group of a part animal, part human variety who were gathered in the far corner… arm wrestling. The creatures behind each contestant cheered over the results of the round. These entities were, in their obscurity, magnificent. She found herself ambling that way as if observing a festival act.

  Suddenly, a being that was but a single, massive eyeball cut her off as it whizzed by, seeming to take in everything at once, including her. She turned to watch after it and was once again stunned by the spectacle. There were those who appeared to be made of glass. Another was pure, inexhaustible light, as if a bolt of lightning had been molded into the form of a living, moving individual. But there was something in that light that sent her to the floor as it merely grazed past her. She remained there for some time before feeling able to stand again, so weighty was the sensation it left her with.

  She had no idea what the prophet was about, welcoming all these beasts into their home. He must have brought them over from some other world, perhaps through the vanishing door. Yet, he had told her it was meant solely for her.

  “Prophet!” she called more vehemently. But he only waved a hand at her as he continued, intent on his work.

  Catching the eye of an auburn-haired half woman, half doe specimen, the peculiar creature did a doubletake when she realized she had her attention.

  “You can… see me?” she asked in a low voice.

  Wynn nodded in bewilderment. “Am I not supposed to?”

  The stunning doe-woman took gentle hold of her arm and drew her over to the table where the arm-wrestling was taking place.

  “She can see us, comrades. She can see us at last!”

  At last…? Wynn questioned, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Those words depicted a picture of their having been about when she’d not seen them. The concept unnerved her as her mind went to the feathers always strewn about. It must be so… but how?

  After those around the table uttered their heartfelt salutations, they began speaking among themselves at a rate so swift, she could not make out what was said, could not even break in with her own queries. Before long, she turned from them, searching for some creature she might be comfortable speaking with.

  One, taking no
te of her disorientation, stepped forward to inquire if she was well… But as she noted it possessed no mouth, the realization it had posed its question into her mind nearly undid her. Growing woozy, she spotted the water bucket on the opposite side of the room and started for it. But upon nearly reached it, she detected a fiery form with stern expression moving directly for her. Though she backed up to provide room, it continued onward until it had reached her. In the end, it passed through her form.

  She reeled, inadvertently knocking into the prophet’s collection of spices. With a crash, a single glass bottle met its end, successfully drawing the attention of the room as it shattered into a cloud of green powder.

  “Hachoo!” she sounded, caught in the haze. “Hachoo! HACHOO!” Her throat growing sore, she could not stop her sneezing and her body was suddenly weaker than moments before.

  Directly, two furry creatures swept up the mess into their coats until every trace had disappeared.

  “Oh, no, Wynnie!” the prophet cried just before the last had disappeared. “You could be sniffling for weeks with that stuff.”

  “Well, why do you keep it among your spices then?” she shouted between sneezes, eyes watering profusely.

  “These are not my spices. It is my bottle collection. The spices are merely kept within it. You’ve just dropped a substance that infects one with a dreadful cold.”

  “It gives one a cold? Surely you mean cures it?” It was not like him to keep an illness in his home. Then again, she had not thought she would ever walk into the cabin and find it occupied by a menagerie.

  He shook his head. “Gives it.”

  “But why would you have it in your home?”

  “Because it is very interesting, don’t you think?” Briefly grazing her forehead, he offered an innocent smirk. With that, the illness fled her.