Iviana nodded. “You were right. I was to be married soon… though I did not know it at the time. It certainly took us long enough.”
Wynn smiled, satisfied to learn she had seen rightly after all.
“You gain it through marriage?” Phillip interjected. “Seems… a lot to ask someone.”
Iviana nodded and with eyes still upon him said, “You could marry someone yourself, Wynn, if they were willing to join you.”
She shrugged. “That’s the last thing on my mind just now.”
Phillip twitched.
“I see,” Iviana replied with a smirk.
Wynn finished the contents of her cup. “I feel so much better now I’ve seen you,” she said. “You’ve taken it so well, I feel I shall, too.”
Iviana smiled with understanding and Wynn recognized there was more emotion behind her show of certainty than she let on.
But she spoke assuredly as she said, “Well, if ever either of you have need of a friend, you have one in me.”
With a nod, Wynn stood to her feet, feeling the time for their going had come. As Iviana had known about the prophet, she’d very likely already informed her brother. Their purpose in coming had been resolved before they’d ever arrived. Still, it had been a reassuring visit.
“Wait a moment,” Iviana demanded. “Might I see your sword?”
Wynn peered down at the crimson hilt of her blade within its sheath. She did not wonder at her wishing to see it, especially as the woman carried one of her own. “Certainly.” She drew it out, placing it into her hands.
“How very peculiar…” Iviana murmured as she surveyed it.
This was not quite the reaction Wynn had expected. The woman appeared more bemused than impressed. “What is it?”
Iviana shook her head, as if trying to work out precisely what perplexed her. “You see, it doesn’t necessarily look familiar… but it feels it. Indeed, the shape is altogether too recognizable.” Thoughtfully, she pulled out her own and held them side by side. “Just as I thought… they are the same in every respect but color.”
“Really?” Wynn stepped forward. The likelihood of their having similar blades was quite slim considering how she had obtained hers.
Unexpectedly, Iviana, touched the blades together and a great white light consumed everything around them. Wynn felt she would scream with the brightness—worse even than the light that had blinded her when the sword had originally been placed in her possession—and reached out for Phillip’s hand to make her human again. After what felt like a lifetime, Iviana separated the swords and the light vanished.
“What in the world…?” Wynn squealed.
Iviana grinned. “They are the same blade.”
“You mean two blades forged identically?” Phillip asked.
“No, I mean it is the exact same… at two different points in its lifespan.”
“But how can that be?” Wynn questioned.
Iviana shook her head. “That I cannot say.” Looking at her own, she said, “The woman who raised me told me a strange figure appeared at her doorway and delivered this blade to me when I was but a babe.”
Wynn raised her brows. “I don’t suppose this stranger shared his name?”
Iviana nodded. “I remember it well—it was the strangest I have ever heard.”
“Viijelyk?” Wynn supplied.
She looked up. “Why, yes. How could you know it?”
“He was the one who made it mine—said it had been his until it was stolen by a mortal. Then, for reasons I cannot imagine, it was destined to be gifted to me.”
“A strange tale,” Iviana said. Glancing between the blades, she added, “I cannot say why the hue has changed, but mine is older. It was—is—yours first.”
“He told me it would not be mine forever…” Wynn said thoughtfully, “but how should my blade make it into your infant hands?”
“My dear friend, Era, can leap through time. And I believe the Great One’s homeland is in a realm outside of time. It is not so impossible as one might think.”
Phillip shook his head. “Had the swords not reacted so, I don’t know that I could believe it.”
“You believe a man can come back to visit his granddaughter after death, yet this troubles you?” Iviana asked a little laughingly.
He thought a moment, then shrugged. “I always believed the prophet could do anything.”
“Well, what do we do now?” Wynn asked. “About the blades, I mean.” She was rather enthralled by the ordeal and could not take her eyes off of the rather plainer looking one in Iviana’s hand.
“For now, you take good care of it for me,” Iviana said with a smile. “Oh, and if ever you come to discover how it changed… or changes from red to silver… let me know.”
* * *
Leaping from the dragon’s back, Wynn entered the cabin with a gasp, but it was inspired neither by her flight nor the jump. It was to find someone seated at the prophet’s desk. For the smallest of moments, she had expected to find the old prophet there, but it was only Terrance.
Phillip came through next. “Whew! That was—"
“We’ve company.”
He froze, seeming to realize the same thing she did as his eyes fell on the visitor.
They must tell Terrance.
“You two been on some adventure through that cantankerous door then?” he asked.
They nodded.
He appeared entertained by them, as if he knew something they did not, then said, “Well, now that’s settled, why don’t we move on to the ever-essential matter of a noon meal?”
“I’m afraid… we’re left… with my cooking,” Wynn said slowly.
“Oh.” Terrance appeared to be rethinking his plans. “But the prophet promised leg of lamb when last I saw him.”
“Terrance…” Wynn pursed her lips together, took a step toward him, then, “The prophet is gone.”
“Well, clearly that’s why we’re abandoned to your cooking, my lady Wynnifred. But the prophet promised me last week and it is unlike him to break such an appealing pledge.”
She shook her head, mind racing for what to say.
“Terrance…” Phillip stepped forward with a gentle tone. “The prophet… has passed on to Paradise.”
The dwarf stiffened. “Passed on as in… not merely visiting?”
They nodded.
He sat back. “But… he’s the prophet… He doesn’t die. That’s what they always say. ‘He lives on and on, generation to generation.’”
Wynn shrugged and looked to the floor, clinging to the words Iviana had spoken to keep the guilt at bay.
“No man can dwell within a human body forever,” Phillip replied. “It was his time and he was glad of it.”
Terrance made no reply and refused to meet their gazes as he bored the ground with his eyes. When at last he looked up at them, the red strain in his eyes revealed the grief behind them. Wynn was not surprised. She knew how lovable the prophet was when one got to know him as Terrance had. It was as if the three of them—Wynn, Phillip and Terrance—had lost a father. Surprisingly, it made her feel closer to him, washing much of her old dislike of him into the past. In fact, for the first time, she was seeing him through the prophet’s eyes and she understood why he had always taken so much time for the small man.
“One thing I will say,” Terrance began, gulping down emotion, “is the prophet, nameless as he seemed to be, was the… well, he was the kindliest, most merciful man I ever knew existed in this land of ours… and I thank… I thank the Great One I was afforded the chance to know him as I did.”
Wynn nodded, stifling tears. “He loved you, Terrance.”
He nodded in turn and appeared as if his flood of emotion was on the verge of bursting. Still, with a strained voice, he said, “Well… in honor of that great, wonderful, peculiar man, I hereby vow never to chase after women Wynn does not approve of—that is, if she will not have me for herself.”
This had become a running joke amongst the g
roup. But he was utterly sincere this time… about the former part, at least. At the sound of Phillip’s quiet, involuntary snicker, Wynn closed her eyes and stole a large breath, releasing it with a plea for patience. “That is… a mighty fine vow, Terrance.”
“I will prepare a meal for us,” Phillip offered. When Wynn raised surprised brows at him, he added, “I was raised by kitchen staff.”
“You’ve been holding out on us,” she replied. “That is, if your cooking is any more edible than mine.”
“It is,” Terrance put in. “Tasted it myself. He’s nearly as good a cook as the prophet... was.”
“Well…” Wynn began, “the news will have to be revealed soon. I wonder if I should speak with Lord Valdren… let him announce it to the land.”
“Announce Phillip can cook?” Terrance queried with the hint of an ornery smirk.
Wynn and Phillip looked to him in surprise before allowing themselves a good laugh.
The three spent a long while in fellowship, taking delight in recalling their fondest memories of the man who had meant so much to them. But at last, when a villager arrived at the door inquiring after the prophet, Wynn knew the moment had come to visit Lord Valdren.
Entering the corridor, she said, “Cabin, I must ask you for a door to wherever Lord Valdren is… and might we dispense with a jaunt through the castle this time?”
It appeared. She could only hope it had acquiesced to her request in full as she moved to open it. She stopped short. If this happened to lead to a private room, she ought to knock before entering. Though knocking upon her own back door, vanishing or not, felt a little ludicrous, she did so.
A moment passed before, “Enter.”
She grew suddenly anxious. It was rather uncomfortable entering a lord’s study without the excuse of the prophet having sent her. Even so, she knew he would be interested in what she would share. Turning the knob, she found him standing before his desk as he looked over a sheet of parchment.
Swiftly, she closed the door behind her and watched as it transformed into a castle door.
“Ah! If it isn’t our prophet’s apprentice,” he said lightly as he glanced up from his reading. “Has he more information about the danger to come, I wonder?”
She shook her head and gripped her hands together. “I bring news of another nature.”
Lord Valdren set his paper down and offered his full attention. By his expression, she was certain he sensed what she would say. As she unfolded the irregular story of the prophet’s passing, his face was unchanging but for the clenching of his jaw as he attempted to rein in emotion.
Unexpectedly, the door was opened and a man Wynn well recognized entered. Lord Valdren’s young son, Sir Rupert, did not seem to realize who she was as he began to ask something of his father, but as his eyes fell upon her, he grew venomous.
“You!” He started for her.
“Get out, Rupert!” Lord Valdren shouted through the rawness of emotion.
The younger man eyed her a moment but swiftly obeyed the command. Even so, she was quite certain he planned to wait outside for her. She only hoped her door would appear in the same place when she finished.
“Forgive me,” Lord Valdren said. “I’ve no patience for my son’s antics just now.”
She well understood, though she was uncertain by his choice of the term “antics” that he fully understood what his son was.
“It is just that…” he continued, “I had not realized the man could die.” He looked to her with a small smile. “Call me naïve, but I grew up thinking him immortal. There were so many stories.”
She returned his smile. “I think he nearly was, truth be told.”
“So, you… are to take his place.”
She nodded with a gulp. It was understandable he doubted her capability, though he worked to conceal it.
“Well, I wish you luck,” he said. “I… will make the formal announcement of his death and send word to King Curiel. The whole of the kingdom must know of his passing.”
She nodded as if she understood, but she’d always found it difficult to accept he was the great prophet of all Kierelia—well-known among princes and paupers alike. To her, he was her dear, old friend. Even so, she thanked Lord Valdren for his kind wishes and bowed, turning to the door. Mercifully, the vanishing one awaited her.
- T W E N T Y – F O U R -
Creatures Unseen
AS DAWNING RAYS OF the sun gleamed through the spirals of ivy outside Wynn’s window, she was slowly cajoled to consciousness by a set of serene, feminine voices within her room.
“Look, I think she’s stirring,” one of the voices murmured.
Wynn turned over to view the speaker, then sat up.
“Oh, she is awake,” the other said.
“Do… you think she can see us?” whispered the first as she squinted at Wynn in search of some indication.
The other sat forward and peered closely. “Er—can you see us, prophet?”
Wynn stared open-mouthed at the two gloriously exquisite, ethereal creatures seated on invisible chairs before her. They were dressed in long, flowing gowns in a hue between white and silver with dainty beadwork. But their hair outshined the gowns, for it appeared to be made of long, pluming feathers, combed into silky trains down their backs—one with brown, the other golden.
The second smiled warmly. “We do not mean to intrude, dear one. We are only manning the room as usual.”
Wynn dropped her legs to the floor, attempting to shake the sand from her brain. “Are you my guardian angels then?”
“Not necessarily…” the first answered, “but in a way, yes. That is, we are your Carers. We work to keep the house tranquil and well maintained... spiritually."
“Sometimes physically,” said the other, likely hinting at the prophet’s messes.
“Now, introductions! I am Laleidiannan.” This was from the brown-plumed lady.
“And I am Fancii,” said the golden-haired.
“Of course, we know who you are, Miss Wynn.”
Wynn only nodded, suddenly full of elation she was actually seeing, hearing and speaking with them after hers fears of having lost the other-worldly creatures forever. She had thought herself unworthy of their company and incapable of living as the prophet had… but here they were. These, at least, had not abandoned her.
All at once, she leaped forward to embrace them, overcome with gratitude they had not abandoned her because she was not the former prophet. But upon reaching them, she found herself tumbling into the wall beyond.
“Oh, so sorry, dear one,” Fancii said. “We do not typically appear in a physical state on your plane. This is done in an effort to avoid your bumping into us when your eyes do not perceive us.”
Sprawled across the floor, Wynn chuckled at herself and drew to a stand. It was then she noticed another set of beings across the room, a far irregular duo in comparison to these Carers. “Oh,” she murmured, startled by their girth and intensity.
These entities were a force in themselves, a whirlwind of power and energy, always moving, it seemed, as if wind continuously blew about them. Furthermore, they were ablaze like the rays of the sun with impressive battle array that glowed of itself. In a way, they reminded her of Viijelyk. He had called himself a high warrior of the Great One, but he’d been plainly dressed, at the time at least. These two were clearly warriors as well, but their attire conveyed a level of potency she had never witnessed.
Their expressions were indisputably fierce. They took notice of her but did not move to speak. Instead, they stood vigilantly alert in a stance that suggested their unceasing preparedness for any threat. She sensed their deep concern for her, but it was very different from that of the Carers.
It was Laleidiannan who explained their presence. “These…” she spoke in a momentous tenor, “are your Guardians.”
The Guardians made little movement to acknowledge the introduction, but she sensed it meant much to them. Yet, their vigilance was unwavering. Her
eyes fell to their armor, a dark silver adorned with intricate etchings. She perceived these engravings did not appear for mere ornamentation.
“You note the inscriptions,” Laleidiannan spoke. “They have a deeper meaning, indeed. It is the story of your life from its very beginning, when your great, great, great grandmother received her promise, until the very day of your mortal body’s end.”
Wynn spun to face them. “My great, great, great-grandmother’s promise? What does it have to do with me?”
“She was a close friend of the Great One, but her children had turned their backs on both him and their parents. So, she interceded on behalf of her descendants that they would return to him. In response, the Great One appeared to her and promised one day her descendants would be used for his purposes as none other had. You, Wynn, are the first to enter into that promise, as she knew you would from your very early childhood. She has been watching from a portal in Paradise.”
Wynn’s breathing grew labored as emotion stirred. She’d had no idea anyone in her family might ever have cared for her. "But… how could she have known it would be me?"
"Your heart. It reminded her of her own… though stronger."
She recalled the days and nights working for and serving her selfish, ungrateful parents, wishing there was a soul in existence who cared for her, and now she learned someone had seen her labor. And her grandmother had thought her heart worthy of the fulfillment of that divine promise—had believed in her.
“You’ve spoken with her?” she inquired breathlessly.
Laleidiannan nodded. “Many times. She watched as you accepted your destiny, for every one of your ancestors between her time and yours had denied it.”
“You mean… they were all meant to have become the next Kierelian prophet?”
“Not necessarily,” she replied laughingly, “but they were each meant for great things. However, every mortal is given a choice at various points in their lives: to race toward their purpose… or from it. Your family, as it happens, fought it with every fiber of their beings until you came along. You, dear one, were a blessed enigma.”
Wynn could not fathom what had made her different, what had made her willing to accept her calling… to try to become the prophet of Kierelia. Looking over her Carers, she wondered if they understood her doubt this would ever be the case… that she would ever become anything like the prophet. Yet, it struck her… If the creatures—other than her Carers and Guardians—had remained, she was already doing something right.
The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen) Page 30