A curious, decayed webbing drew her gaze upward. It appeared as a dome sprouted from the outskirts of the fighting that extended itself to cling to a shimmering, nearly transparent veil overhead. That veil, she recalled, must be the barrier that concealed the spirit realm. It had seemed an impossible concept to fathom when the prophet had explained it, but it became clear now she saw it for herself. Yet, this vine which hung from it did not belong. She searched the fringes of the frenzy for its source. Forming a wide ring around the mayhem were the members of the Secret Circle of Southern Sorcerers, uttering incantations to affect and bolster the atmosphere, as well as conjuring this disturbing dome.
Now she saw all, she was alone with no idea of what was to be done. What was the use of a prophet if she had no way of explaining what she witnessed to those who were distracted by the throes of battle and would think her mad? These thoughts left her feeling helpless, alone and desperately needy for her prophet-friend’s wisdom. Had he known what she would face, would he have left her on her own in this world?
A deep, penetrating voice as flame or ocean called out to her. Turning about, she found one of her Guardians in the midst of feverish combat with a number of daemons attempting to reach her. But even as he fought, he gestured to her neck. Peering down, she squealed and leaped about. A loathsome sprite clung to her, its claws digging deep into her flesh as it whispered lies to inspire self-doubt. But when she attempted to swat it off, her hand merely passed through it. It existed in a plain she could perceive but not physically reach.
Outraged by the foul thing, a portion of her old fury experienced in battles past returned. The true warrior whom she’d thought tamed climbed out of hiding. Pulling the crimson sword from its scabbard, she recalled from whom it had come and realized its capability. Carefully, she moved to slice through the sniveling creature, but it fled the moment the weapon gleamed in her hand.
“III seeee yoouu, little prophet,” Maera sang from across the field.
Wynn turned, hands clenched into fists. “How dare you, Maera!” she roared, striding toward the woman who appeared rather becoming in her spidery gray gown. Her face was not so youthful as she might have liked and her veins yet bulged, but she had fine, full hair… as well as eyeballs. This meant she had succeeded in gaining some convert in one form or another.
“How dare I what?” cooed the smiling face. “Look around you, girl! You think this is us? Was it I who just pierced that man's leg, or that woman’s shoulder? Nay, I stand here speaking to you.”
Wynn drew before her. “The daemon sprites…you brought them.”
“Some of them, yes.” She nodded. "Others, these people brought with them.”
Wynn ground her teeth. “After you released them.”
The sorceress smirked. “True... but do you not see? We release daemonkind to impact... to inspire. They cannot force these people to do as they do. They whisper truths, lies, ideas... Mankind is then given a choice: to receive it or not, to act upon these notions… or not. The chaos you see here, is all caused by the everyday man—these men and women with their wild, unruly roots and generational maledictions. Yes, I grant you, we took advantage of their weaknesses, each of them in kind. But they ultimately made the choice. It is the way of things.”
“All right, I understand you!” Wynn shouted, losing patience. “My, how you relish the sound of your own voice.”
The sorceress froze a moment, then threw back her head in girlish laughter. "I can see why he liked you, the old prophet. You speak precisely as you see things. Well, answer me this... how do you plan to stop this… this mess, I think you would call it? Do you think you can control the actions and decisions of these people—something even your god will not do, if indeed he can?"
Wynn had to admit she made something of a point. In the physical realm, the people had made their choice. But it was by the spiritual realm they had been affected. That was something, as she had seen modeled in the prophet, she could disturb... something she could touch as well as see. She had not fully grasped how to affect the spiritual realm with mere words, but she knew full well how to use a sword. And hers had been born of that sphere. Raising a brow at the witch, she turned from her.
Her Guardians warred around her, alongside the Guardians of those upon the field in the midst of the tumult. But there were other creatures of Paradise, many of whom she recognized from her cabin, who stood eagerly at attention as if awaiting a summon to battle. This, she supposed, was something she could manage. Uncertain of how it ought to be done, she threw up her sword and called, “For the Great One!”
With a mighty roar, they answered and with fresh vigor, they raced into the scene. These glorious creatures appeared in an array of sunlight, fire and fog, releasing mighty elements into the atmosphere. To her surprise, the tiny, winged creatures of the wood danced overhead, playing a magnificent tune that sent energy and power into the creatures of Paradise below. Not only did any trace of fear flee her, but she felt a kindred spirit with these fellows in arms. She was far from alone.
Gripping the treasured sword, she selected one of the largest daemons as target and charged. The vile sprite turned to her, first with surprise, then humor and lastly astonishment as her ethereal blade met its flesh. She turned the blade in its body and just as the creature would have reached her with its talons, it vanished in a haze of black smoke. In amazement, she stood back a moment, then promptly shook herself and moved on to continue slashing at every daemon she passed. She did not stop to see what damage was done. She was merely satisfied to find the sword reached them in their realm as no other physical weapon in the hands of a human could.
Finding this method more than effective, she continued the exercise, despite bewildered glances received from the people who fought around her. Surprisingly, none thought to harm her. Or if they did, the daemons who instructed them to do so were slain by the Guardians who followed. But soon, the enemy’s spiritual reinforcements arrived. It was vital she rid the field of them before they had a chance to affect the humans.
She froze as lightning struck beside her, sending the hairs on her neck on end. Certainly, she had been hearing the rumblings of thunder for some time but had been too distracted to take heed. Now, her attention was ripped from the turmoil as another terrifying sound reached her ears, ferocious and roaring.
Turning on her heals, she peered into the sky beyond the battle to witness the gradual formation of a twister. Formed of more than clouds, it sparked with flamboyant fury. Maera stood upon the field before it and with the gestures of her hands, wind and rage were extricated from the dense atmosphere to be laced into its composition. That very rage, born of the combatants’ actions below, had been gleaned into the sorcerers’ rotting dome. With these elements, the vortex was formed, greedily grasping for ground.
This… presented a whole new stratum of evils.
Immediately, Wynn attempted to call the peoples’ attention to the danger, but they would have none of her. Some even attempted to attack her, but they swiftly regretted this course as she rid them of their weapons with her gifted movements. Infuriated, she pressed through the fray, knocking out any who came for her until she was at Phillip’s side. Taking hold of his sleeve, she worked to draw his attention to the oncoming maelstrom.
“You must get Lord Valdren away!” she shouted.
He turned to her as if she was mad. “Do not you think that is our aim?!”
Adrenaline kept him going, but she knew wounding others was not in his nature. She felt for him but was filled with pride that he had no spirit for killing and satisfied he continued on in any case. But she shrugged off these thoughts and pointed into the distance. “The tornado, it is meant for us!”
He glanced to where she gestured, but it was clear he had no idea of what she spoke.
“Do not you see it?”
He searched once more, drawing his brows together. “You see something we cannot!”
She worked to comprehend this. Why couldn’t he see it
? Was it not of a physical nature? What was its objective? She could only imagine. After all, twisters were horrific enough in the natural. Whether physical or spiritual, it could only prove devastating.
“We were wrong!” Phillip shouted.
But she could not grasp his meaning and soon he was battling another duo of attackers. As swiftly as he was able, he returned to her with, “The tournament was a sham and we got the wrong champion. You are the prophet now. You must do something!”
She turned from him and was caught by the sight of a figure in a dark cloak: Elizabeth… coming for her. The young sorceress had witnessed what her blade could do and meant to stop her. But she had no time to face-off with the girl when this windstorm had to be dealt with. She must get to it before Phillip’s sister got to her.
Racing forward, she slashed at every daemon she could reach the talon of her blade into. But with a jolt, she was ripped back. Elizabeth clutched her hair. In moments, she forced Wynn to the ground. The older girl’s eyes glowed down through the darkness beneath the hood. Wynn fumbled for the tiny daemon compressing her throat, manipulated by the hand of the sister. Only her sword might have saved her then, but she had released it in the fall. With darkening vision, her mind raced for an answer. Great One, she cried in her mind as her eyes pleaded with the girl.
Wynn screamed as purple flame raged over her. But with its appearance, the sprite dwindled into a pile of ashes down her front. Sitting up, she ascertained the fire had not affected her. She rose to behold Juniper rise up on hind legs, whinnying with fervor. Landing, he offered her a nod, then started into the battle, kicking about and breathing violent flame upon the daemons. In wonderment, she watched, astounded by her evidently other-worldly steed… until she realized Elizabeth, though stunned, was not finished with her. But looking beyond her, Wynn spied Phillip racing for the young sorceress, whose identity he could not know.
“Go!” he called. “I’ve got this!”
Though it made her stomach ache that he unknowingly raced for his own sister, she ran. If she did not stop the maelstrom growing larger by the moment, they would all perish. But try as she might to race on, she turned back in time to find him wrenching Elizabeth back by the end of her cloak. The girl dropped to the ground and he raised his blade.
“No, Phillip!” Wynn screamed.
Weapon in midair, he looked to her in bewilderment.
“Remove the hood!” she shouted.
With the tip of his sword, he pulled the covering away from Elizabeth. Physically, he reeled at the sight of her, eyes large, wounded and confused. He glanced to Wynn, but his eyes returned almost involuntarily to Elizabeth. At last, he murmured something, his face appearing as it had when he’d discovered his brother at the conclusion of the tournament: full of grace. To Wynn’s amazement, the girl appeared softened by his words.
In a tumult of dust and cloud, the vortex struck ground. Directly, it started forward. Confident Phillip had a handle on the situation, she turned from them, mind racing for what could be done. She had hoped to distract Maera in an effort to prevent its completion. Now, it pursued them. She had no way of impeding it. She had but to warn the people, to urge them to run from something they could not see... They would not listen. All the while, they slaughtered one another. She must reveal what truly transpired around them… but how?
Noting the way dust flew as the maelstrom ravaged the land, she understood it was a physical whirlwind. Upon keener scrutiny, she noted for the first time the luminous gossamer threads sparking throughout. Following these lines to their source, it was evident Maera had appropriated fibers from the spiritual veil into her configuration. This was why the people could not see the storm for what it was. The sorcerers were hijacking the power of the barrier to conceal their creation.
Her mind raced as she scrutinized the shroud itself. If she could just reach it…
Of course.
With a leap, she ascended until it was before her, but her hand passed through it. It was a spiritual veil; her physical body could not reach it. Yet, this inkling was all she had. She must penetrate it.
Juniper whinnied below. In his mouth was her blade. She dropped beside him, accepting it with gratitude. Ascending once more, she examined the shroud more closely. It had been knitted by the Great One. Was it correct to rent it? Was it even possible? Would he approve? Well… he was the Great One; he could stop her if he chose. She raised her weapon... and pierced the shroud.
With a thunderous burst, the energy released from the opening thrust her backward. Soundly, she landed, the air knocked from her chest. Struggling for breath, she watched as it continued to tear. Both light and shadow burst forth, a contrast of brilliance and darkness, illuminating the spirit-beings below. Almost immediately, physical combat ceased, substituted by horrified shrieks.
“Yes,” she whispered. They could see it all now: the creatures of Paradise and of the Nethers battling around them, the daemon sprites clinging to their bodies. They perceived what had been manipulating them. It made little sense and they were horrorstricken, but they had stopped. That was all she desired. That… and to draw their attention to the cyclone.
“Rrrrrrrraaaaah!” Maera’s animalistic howl filled the expanse as she raced for the one who exposed their dealings. With the rapid movement of her hands, she sent a monstrous phantom upon a man near Wynn.
“You!” he shouted to the young prophet. “Your witchcraft has brought about this turmoil.”
As he raised his weapon, she rolled. But it was futile to attempt escape after the impact of her fall. In an instant, the dagger came down, but it was not her flesh it struck.
“Noooo!” she shrieked, crawling out from under Phillip’s slain body. She searched his face for signs of life. Finding none, she examined how the steel had twisted into his heart. He had passed almost instantly. He had died to shield her.
Another cry sounded, this time from Elizabeth as she flung out her hands, casting Maera across the field where the woman landed with force. The sister raced to her brother and threw herself upon him, sobbing over his body, muttering regrets.
Clutching Phillip’s hand, Wynn gaped down at him with stricken eyes. It could not be. It had been too swift, too impossible. No. No, no, no. First the prophet and now… Phillip… the only ones who loved her, whom she loved, all the family she had. To lose sweet, darling, caring, utterly endearing in every way Phillip… How could she bear it? How was she yet existing when her heart seethed so venomously?
Terrance placed an arm around her. He spoke, but she could not absorb his words. He worked to soothe her, but also to warn, to draw her attention to something. Gradually, he reached her...
“I know how you loved him, Wynn. I know it. This is so wrong. But it’s coming and no one’s moving. It’s too large and we have but our feet to escape.”
She peered up through wet lashes. A ring had formed around Phillip’s body, staring down at their beloved champion. Beyond were the people who observed the approaching vortex which she could no longer hear above the thrashing of her heart.
How could the Great One have given her so much and then ripped away the most significant and priceless of gifts? Yet, she knew it had not been his doing. As Maera had said, it was man. And beyond man, it was daemonkind. Dropping Phillip’s limp hand, she stood. Fire glistened in her strained eyes as she found the form of Maera reeling in her storm like a malicious fisherman. Finding Wynn’s eyes on her, she appeared frightened.
She had reason to be.
Startlingly, melodious laughter sounded over the plain. Squinting into the monstrous storm, Wynn perceived a spirit of another kind soaring about. But rather than aiding their enemy, the phantom laughed into its ferocity as if it was an insignificant demonstration of fabricated might. In glorified, dancing color, the very spirit of the Great One revealed himself. At sight of the magnificent one whom she had met but the day before, all she had felt and understood in that encounter awoke in full, raging through her in furious uproar.
/> The winds pulled at her, but she found incomprehensible strength in that laughter. Yet, she could not fathom why he should be laughing with all these people dead upon the field—her Phillip included. Her mind raced. The Great One was not malicious. He was kind. This laughter signified there was a means to bring all this misery to a close. That was nearly all she desired: for this havoc to be over and for her heart to stop burning.
“In the name of the creator of all…” she began intently, voice hoarse with fury and pain.
“No!” Maera screamed. “After her, my comrades! Stop her! She is but a girl!”
“Nay!” Wynn bellowed. “I speak to your circle, depart!”
Instantly, they vanished.
It was just Wynn and Maera… and the seething vortex. “Now,” she began with a brow raised in her enemy’s direction. Raising the ruby sword, she pointed its tip toward the sorceress and shouted above the maelstrom ready to consume them in the next moment if she did not—
“In the name of the Great One… I cancel the existence of every curse ever cast from the conjurer of this vortex, along with its originator…”
With the blinding pulse of her blade, the spectacle… froze. Instantaneously and almost gracefully, it curled in on itself, reeling in its maker despite her screams. Together, they snuffed out of sight.
Not sparing a moment, Wynn returned to Phillip’s side. Elizabeth had disappeared; she knew not where until she recalled what she’d commanded of the sorcerers. She was uncertain precisely what her words had accomplished and only hoped she hadn’t just cast Phillip’s sister into the arms of the Nethers.
With a reminder of the words the Great One had spoken to her the day prior, she knelt beside him, the dagger that had struck him now removed. Tenderly, she brushed his sweat-matted hair aside. Before she had collapsed from the touch of the Great One, he had gifted her with the power of the very life he held in his hands. He had made her promise not to waste it. Pressing her own hands upon his temples, she let her spirit guide her words.
The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen) Page 37