“Well, what are all these… things doing here?” She gestured about the room.
“What things?”
Her eyes grew wide. ‘The… the beasts, for heavens!”
Consequently, the musicians halted and the entirety of the room turned to her. Thankfully, they did not seem offended by her terminology as she had instantly feared. Rather, they appeared both astonished and elated.
The prophet looked about. “Oooh, yes…” With a large grin, he said proudly, “So, you’ve finally noticed, have you?”
“Finally?” she croaked. “Do you mean…”
“They’ve been here all along, yes. This is a sort of haven for them, you see, between assignments. Some do remain with us on a continuous basis, assigned for protection, etc. But most simply stop in when able and move on as they must.”
“Well… where are they from?”
“Paradise! Angels, many of them. Others move to and fro, searching for those whose hearts are fully committed to the Great One. Of course, some of them are–”
“But why did I not see them before?” she nearly squealed. Looking about, she was grateful to find they had taken up their activities once more. “Can Phillip and Terrance see them?”
“Oh, no, only you and me. You see, spirit-beings are concealed by a veil or barrier between the physical and spiritual realms. But this shroud may be peered through by those of us with the transcendent eye. I suspect your gift wasn’t altogether strong enough until now. You’ve had a lot to learn and have endured great transformation in a short time. But you truly never saw them before tonight? I thought certainly you would have noticed at least a few by now.”
She nearly laughed and wept at once at the cavalier attitude with which he approached a subject which made her feel terribly intruded upon. “Well, I might have... I thought I was imagining things. Even when I was certain I’d seen indications, heard things, I put it down to fairies or sprites.”
“Yes, many do. Thus, the name of the wood.”
Now things were coming together. The fact Phillip and the small fellow, Gong, had been hesitant to promise there was nothing in the wood to worry over should have been enough. In fact, she was surprised she had met Gong and Chime, yet none of these others. They must be different somehow. “So, these… individuals… are in the woods as well?”
“Oh, yes, scattered all about. It is you and I who make the forest a haven, you know. We keep the spiritual realm of this vicinity clean and comfortable for them.”
“As opposed to?”
“Well, places where they might have to enter into warfare. Wouldn’t you prefer to rest where the spirit of the Great One was present and welcome as opposed to somewhere evil sprites dwell freely?”
She nodded, almost chuckling. He made it sound so simple, but it was utterly novel to her. He seemed to sense this as he drew her to one of the chairs before the fire, taking his own. But the music was too loud, overwhelming her senses with a tune that was not merely music. It made one feel things… unfathomable sensations she could not rightly put a finger on.
“It will take some getting used to from what I remember,” the prophet said, “but just go on as you have. Wouldn’t hurt to smile at them once in a while, of course. But let them rest. You’ll find some following you about, but don’t let it alarm you. They’re all quite invested in your welfare. Many like you a great deal and have been waiting for your spiritual eye to mature.”
“The first night I stayed here…” she began, “I thought I dreamed I was guided to bed...”
“Yes, I suppose you were. Some of them are quite nurturing. No doubt they’ve been caring for you without your knowledge. Many intercede for you without ceasing. The goldies frolicking about are exceedingly fond of you, so I hear.”
She clutched the armrests of her chair. Though this knowledge was touching to some extent, the facts did little to settle her. How had she been walking about all this time without bumping into them? Of course… they’d been walking through her… and her through them. What had they thought of her waltzing about, living life thinking she was alone—having private conversations and speaking her mind so freely?
Well, she doubted she would ever grow accustomed. Her heart was wounded. She’d believed it was just her and the prophet. Meanwhile, all these unusual housemates had been present. Grinding her teeth to rein in the absurd tears likely born of her overwrought senses, she held her tongue. She wished she felt comfortable speaking her mind, but this was not the time. The prophet had not meant to hurt her, after all. If he’d told her from the beginning who was about, she would not have believed him. Still, as she’d grown to trust him, he might have told her. But watching him merrily observe the musicians revealed he had had no idea how she might feel at the discovery.
She caught herself grinning over his expression. He was an utterly dear man, really. He could probably chop off her hair in the night and she would pardon him almost instantly. Standing to her feet, she bent to lay a kiss on his forehead. “I had better retreat to my room for the evening,” she informed. “I think it may help.”
With an affectionate smile, he patted her hand and bid his dear girl a good night.
* * *
Upon waking, Wynn immediately sat up in search of the supernatural creatures. As it happened, they seemed to have understood her need for privacy and had not entered her room that night, though she was certain they’d been there in past. There were the evenings they had escorted her to her room as well as other times when she had heard words spoken that she had not understood at the time—namely, from where the words had come. Now she was aware, she could not help feeling her privacy violated. Of course, the cabin had been home to many of them before she had ever come to stay. Still, it would have been nice to know there were invisible entities lurking about, filling the woods she had so feared.
Yet, having now beheld them, she understood there was no reason to feel apprehensive. In fact, she ought to be at ease now she knew she was literally never alone. As for her previous trepidation of daemon sprites within the Enchanted Wood, it appeared to be well guarded from them.
Unfortunately, these truths were not as effective in soothing her as they ought to have been. She did not personally know these celestial beings, their habits nor their way of thinking. How was she to be certain a creature of Paradise did not mean her harm? Yet, deep down, she knew this was not so.
Throwing off her coverlet, she marched over to the door to face the phantoms who used her home as a haven. But upon throwing it open, there was nothing and no one to be seen. Entering the main room, only the prophet was within. She stood speechless. Had she dreamed it? Had she chased them away? For reasons she could not grasp, the thought made her lonesome.
“Where have they gone, prophet?” she asked quietly, recalling the merriment in the room the evening before.
The old man looked up tiredly from his chair. “Who, dear?”
“All the... the things, the giants and goldies and what not.”
He blinked. “Why... they are all around you.”
She searched for anything she may have missed to no avail.
He sighed but smiled lovingly. “You no longer see them?”
She shook her head. This would not do. Knowing they were there was one thing, but no longer being able to perceive them was another. She wanted to be aware of who or what was around her. Besides, her curious side had planned to spend the day examining them.
“I can only gather your fear has shielded your spirit-eye from seeing them.” He appeared somewhat concerned but shrugged. “Your vision will return in time, to be sure.”
“But I don’t like not being able to see them.”
He raised a brow. “Well, that is your affair, not mine. You will work through it in your own time.”
She squinted as he stood with some effort and began preparations for their morning bounty. He did not seem himself. As it was his favorite meal of the day, he was always chirpiest at breakfast. But this morning… did he look older?
>
“Are you all right?” she inquired, laying a hand on his arm.
“Of course I am, Wynnie. Only a bit worn.”
“Must be due for one of your seasonal naps?”
“Perhaps.”
But she feared it was more than this. It was more likely he was secretly disappointed she could no longer see the creatures. Moreover, she had not gained much traction in her training. He had taught her the basics but said he could not move on until she had managed to do something with it—heal, grow a plant, clear clouds… anything. But all this seemed utterly impossible and faraway.
This setback was giving her a pounding headache. In an effort to overcome it and work through her racing thoughts, she bid the prophet eat his breakfast without her and opened the door where she was she as surprised by a weeping woman with a lifeless infant in her arms.
“Prophet, come at once!” Wynn cried. Stepping forward, she peered into the woman’s eyes. Was the child actually dead or only nearing?
“Oh, please,” the mother blubbered, her breath catching after each word. “My little Tamsen is ill… I think he must be dying. Please, oh, please can you aid him?”
Wynn’s heart went out to her, her own eyes beginning to tear as she felt the woman’s terror at the thought of losing her child. But knowing what the prophet was capable of, she looked to him.
The prophet’s face was unusually solemn as he stepped forward, pulled the blanket back from the babe’s chest and laid his hand upon it.
After some time, he stepped back, emotionless. “Wynn,” he said in his lowest tone, gesturing for her to step up.
She looked to him with eyes wide, heart pounding in her ears. Surely, he would not ask her…
“It is in his lungs,” he said. “Let us see what you can do for him.”
She blinked up at him. He had never put her on the spot for something this grave before. Surely, it was of the utmost importance to ease the child rather than leave it waiting in misery. She could not understand why he did not handle it himself.
“All right,” she whispered hoarsely, hesitantly laying her hand upon his tiny chest. Feeling that lagging little heartbeat beneath her fingertips, her emotions heightened—fear and compassion battling for first. Closing her eyes, she worked to singly focus on his healing, battling the fearful doubts that plagued her with every pitiful beat of his heart. Nothing seemed to be happening. She felt nothing, the prophet said nothing and there was no change.
She opened her eyes and gazed upon the babe fighting for breath. He was so very pale and miserable. It was too much. She looked to the prophet with the shake of her head, to which the mother began to sob once more.
The prophet stepped forward and took the child from the mother, placing the delicate body into Wynn’s shaking arms as she looked up at him with frantic eyes.
“Prophet, I cannot do this,” she whispered to him.
“With your whole heart and mind, Wynn,” he commanded.
Cradling the infant close to her body, she closed her eyes again and focused on the child’s need, working to channel the Great One’s power. Fear wrapped her tightly in its clutches. This baby was dying in her arms, his mother wailed beyond, and she could not think what to do. This continued longer than she could bear. She loathed the sounds poor Tamsen made as he struggled for life.
At last, she forcibly placed the baby into the prophet’s arms and pierced him pleadingly with her eyes.
A flash of what might possibly have been anxiety crossed his own. Turning face to the heavens, he spoke as a man who had nowhere else to turn, “My Great Friend… little Tamsen is in your hands. He is not my burden, but yours. Heal him or take him as be your will.”
Immediately, the infant’s fight for breath ceased… and he began to wail with vigor that only the Great One could have supplied. Elatedly, his mother tore him from the prophet’s arms, pressing him against her body.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, you two wonderful souls!” she cried, her former tears of sadness transforming to ones of joy. “I do not know how I shall ever repay you for what has been restored to me.”
The prophet shook his head, giving all praise to the Great One, and sent her on her way.
“I don’t know what I did wrong…” Wynn muttered, eyes refusing to meet the prophet’s in her shame. “I don’t think I can do this.”
Taking hold of her shoulders, he said, “You can, Wynn, and you must.”
The urgency with which he spoke mystified her, but she only answered, “Yes… I will keep trying.”
And keep trying she did, for every visitor who arrived at the cabin that day, the prophet left to her. If they required advice or a prophetic word, he observed as she worked, stepping in as needed to offer direction as she attempted to interpret the more confusing things she saw. After many instances, he informed her of the symbolism found in some of her visions. Pointing to a stack of pages on the far corner of his desk, he told of how they contained the representative significance of nearly every object, color or scent.
Of course, there were visitors who came merely for a friendly chat. These were the ones Wynn usually handled and she did so with ease. But it was those who appeared for healing or who were in need of a miracle that filled her with growing trepidation, for the prophet made her attempt to help every one of them. Yet, each time she was put on the spot, she failed to perform what was needed. A new leg, the replacement of a lost item, the healing of an illness—failure. In fact, the more she failed, the more certain she became she would be unsuccessful with the next. It made for an extremely miserable day.
She could not understand why he pushed her so, for he had never done so previously. Each time, he urged her more forcibly, even sternly. But upon every failure, he swooped in and provided what was needed… though not without more effort than he usually put forth. Why did he not instantly aid those who were in such terrible pain as he always did? But as she came to observe him more closely, she found he did not perform the miracles with his usual ease … This filled her with further anxiety.
Finally, after restoring a woman’s sight, the two were alone.
“I do not understand why you cannot do this!” he shouted.
She was taken aback. She’d never seen him like this. “Are… are you angry with me?”
With surprise, he turned to her. “Not at all. But, you see… if I am struggling… you should not be…”
“What are you talking about?”
With the shake of his head, he took up his rake, opened the door and ambled out to the garden.
She scrutinized him through the window. What had he meant? Why should she be capable of performing wonders because he struggled? The thought filled her with dread she had not felt since the day Joselyn had meant to run away with Sir Rupert.
Quite suddenly, she watched him pause and look to the sky as if fresh information had dawned on him. At last, he dropped his rake and returned to the main room.
“Prophet?”
He stirred the meal within the fireplace. “Yes, my sweetest girl?”
“Have… you discovered what the matter is?”
“I have.”
She felt strongly he did not wish her to ask any more about it. Perhaps the following day, when her mind was refreshed, she would approach him. For now, he was handing her a plate of pork smothered in thick brown sauce and she was utterly ravenous after the pressures of the day.
All through the meal, he hardly touched his food, only staring into the flames with eyes alight, mind clearly racing. Now and then, she caught him looking up at her with more love in his eyes than she had ever seen in anyone’s—the kind of love she had always dreamed of as a child that had been denied her.
Still… she could not help feeling he was disappointed in her. First, for no longer being able to see the creatures and then, for her failures all that day. He was such a caring man; how would she ever know if he was beginning to lose faith in her? What if Phillip had been right, that her eyes should have been that piercin
g green and she was not the chosen one?
She could repress it in no longer. “Prophet?”
“Hm?”
“Have I disappointed you?”
His attention snapped from the flames and he met her vulnerable eyes with sincerity. “Of course not.”
Though soothed, she could not help observing he had not responded in his typical manner. He was distracted.
“I can’t...” She swallowed. “I cannot help feeling you may be doubting me... doubting I am the one who is supposed to—”
“That is the furthest thing from my thoughts just now,” he said quietly.
“Then, for heavens, what are you thinking about?”
He dropped into the back of his chair. “Look about you once in a while, Wynnie! Don’t you see Paradise breaking in all around?”
She hesitated, momentarily stunned. “Yes, I—I begin to see it, but...”
“You must try harder. Paradise has an enemy and if we cannot begin to recognize the signs of heaven reaching out to us, more will be lost.”
“What do you mean by that, ‘more will be lost?’”
With a sigh, he closed his eyes, appearing wearier than she’d ever seen him. He held a hand to his head and muttered, “Humanity was once a pure... innocent thing, you know.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t seem like it now… does it?”
“That is what I mean.”
Finally, she understood. More will be lost. “More. Is that... people?”
He nodded. “Yes… or humanity as a whole. Where one soul is saved, how many more are lost, waiting to be led into the arms of Paradise? That is why we do what we do.”
“I thought we did it to make people happy?”
“Of course we do it to bring humanity joy... but for all eternity or it is worth absolutely nothing. We do it in the name of the Great One that all might be...” He paused a moment to exhale, “saved.” Closing his eyes, he stole a shuddering breath.
She leaped from her chair and knelt beside him. “Prophet, what is the matter?”
Opening his eyes, he gazed into hers, his own more aglow than she’d ever seen them. “I am so much more than all right, dearest.” He touched his hand to her cheek and smiled warmly. Abruptly, he stood, breath short, and rifled through the drawers in his desk. Removing a large book, he offered it to her.
The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen) Page 27