The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen) Read online

  T H E

  P R O P H E T ’ S A P P R E N T I C E

  C h r o n i c l e s o f t h e C h o s e n

  C A S S A N D R A B O Y S O N

  Copyright © 2018 Cassandra Boyson

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Kingdom House Press

  www.cassandraboyson.com

  dedicated to

  the prophet-friend in my life,

  Victoria Boyson

  OTHER BOOKS BY

  CASSANDRA BOYSON

  The Seeker’s Trilogy:

  Seeker’s Call

  Seeker’s Quest

  Seeker’s Revolution

  CONTENTS

  PART ONE: The Engaging of an Apprentice

  1

  Cabin in the Woods

  2

  The Enchanted Wood

  3

  A Nearly Involuntary Apprenticeship

  4

  Home at Last

  5

  The Man Who Does Not Sleep

  6

  The Saving of a Damsel

  7

  The Wood Beguiling

  8

  A High-Class Occasion

  9

  An Insulting Occasion

  10

  The Giving of Council in Another Realm

  11

  Of Prophets and Castles

  12

  The Pains of Friendship

  13

  The Thirteenth Throne

  14

  A Familiar Meeting

  PART TWO: The Training of an Apprentice

  15

  The Greater Archipelagos

  16

  Cellar of Peculiarities

  17

  The Time for Training

  18

  Surprises, Surprises

  19

  An Unexpected Journey

  20

  The Crimson Blade

  21

  A Parting of Ways

  PART THREE: The Making of a Prophet

  22

  Dearest Phillip

  23

  Dragons and Swords and Things

  24

  Creatures Unseen

  25

  The Shaven Lad

  26

  Tournament of Champions

  27

  The Great One

  28

  The Plot Unfurls

  29

  Veil Between Realms

  30

  A Proposal of Sorts

  P A R T O N E

  ―

  The Engaging

  of an Apprentice

  - O N E -

  Cabin in the Woods

  A GREAT WHILE AGO, in a wood long forgotten, was a cabin of cedar logs nestled deep within the Enchanted Wood on the outskirts of Kierelia of Kaern. Vines of ivy covered the small dwelling, transforming the otherwise ordinary house into a twisted mass of green. Despite this inadvertent concealment, those lost within the forest most often found themselves before its doorstep, led unknowingly by creatures unseen.

  A garden to the right filled these lost ones with hope, for it flourished with food pleasant to any famished soul. Peeking through the window, the traveler would likely discover the elderly tenant in loose garb and long white hair leaning over his writing. If one were to venture to the door, they would be heartily welcomed within and offered a filling meal along with a bed in which to rest, followed by a guide home.

  It was one of his regular visitors who stood before the cabin with the reins of a horse in his hand. The tall fellow looked over the homestead with the corner of his mouth turned up. Having visited the prophet many times in his life, much of his character had been formed within that cabin. Thus, this haven in the woods meant a great deal to him.

  After trussing his horse’s reins to the branch of a nearby tree, the young man moved to knock upon the solid wooden door. Instead, he found his foot caught beneath the root of a tree and went tumbling through the threshold.

  “That you, Phillip?” called the kindly prophet.

  Pulling himself up, Phillip rubbed at the spot on his forehead that had just been intimately introduced to the wooden floorboards. Of course the prophet knew it was me, he thought, for he was about the clumsiest, most useless soul that ever lived. Phillip always blundered about in this fashion. His mother often said he was too tall and his appendages too long for his own good and she hadn’t a clue from where he’d gotten such ungainly attributes—assuredly not her side of the family.

  “Aye, tis I,” he mumbled with irritation at his own inelegance.

  The old man peeked around the corner long enough to offer him a large grin. “Well, come in, my lad, and quickly!”

  Phillip stepped into the small main room adorned with hanging herbs, baskets of fruit and veg and various parchments and maps pinned to walls. In addition, there was a great number of odd decorative items and contraptions, all of which had come from not only the far reaches of the planet Kaern but other worlds.

  The adornments varied from bejeweled ornaments to globes of other planets as well as paintings of scenes Phillip could only dream of, let alone fully fathom. There were tasseled flags with the emblems of distant kingdoms, bottles of otherworldly elements and spices—many of which he had tried himself, though few had been to his taste. Carafes were filled to brimming with substances of various hues that produced a variety of effects such as healing from the Bashtiian influenza, sending one into a coma-like sleep and leaping so weightlessly, it was as if one were flying. Then, there were a number of lighted candelabras, birdcages with no birds, a collection of hourglasses and several earthen vessels.

  The contraptions were even more varying in origin and purpose. An assortment of what the prophet described as small flying devices hung from strings while an elongated device he called a telescope was pointed out an open window. Then, of course, there was the clock that informed one of the time. This, Phillip had always found disconcerting, for he did not believe lifeless items should be more aware of time than he was.

  In all, the main room was a cluttered muddle of what may have been the most eccentric collection of houseware in the land. But lastly and far less unusual was the set of fine, old wooden chairs before a crackling fireplace on the far wall where a pot of something deliciously savory smelling stewed. This was Phillip’s favorite spot in all the world.

  The prophet stood upon his desk that was now covered with stacks upon stacks of scribbled pages penned in his own hand. However, it was the peculiar movements of the old man that captured the young one’s attention, for his arms appeared to be sewing in midair.

  “My dear prophet, whatever are you doing?”

  “I am assisting this lady spider in the design of her web,” the prophet replied chirpily.

  Phillip placed hands on his hips. “And… just how are you doing that?”

  “Oh, it is not as difficult as one might think. How can one know what he is or is not capable of unless one attempts it?”

  Phillip was perfectly accustomed to such behavior, so found himself only mildly bewildered. “And all these new pages?” he inquired, lifting one.

  The old man appeared terribly confused until he heard the sound of them shuffling beneath his feet. “Ah, yes. I’ve been in another world this morning and have just finished getting it all in writing. After all the years I’ve lived, there just isn’t enough room in this head of mine to chance forgetting anything significant. I must get it down before it is quite gone, you know. But do have a seat, Phillip, before the fire there and make yourself at ease.”

  Already having seated himself, Phillip stole a peek at what f
illed the cabin with the delightful aroma, hoping he would be encouraged to remain for the meal. Giving it a covetous stir, he said, “You do remember you summoned me this time, don’t you? I was told you had a task for me.” Indeed, most every time the prophet summoned him for some important commissioning, the man very usually forgot what it was for. But Phillip was more than familiar with his irregular ways, for he had heard time and again of how very many years the prophet had lived and how very difficult it was for a man his age to keep his thoughts in order. In fact, he had forgotten the purpose of many of the contraptions that filled the house. Therefore, they remained a mere part of the peculiar décor.

  The prophet’s tone was uncharacteristically serious as he replied, “I recall very well, my lad. I have been able to think of nothing else since I had that message sent to you.”

  Phillip released the ladle, inadvertently knocking it to the floor as he turned to the prophet with interest. Retrieving it, he said, “This must be very significant. I cannot recall the last time you sent for me and remembered what it was for.”

  At last, the prophet slid down from his desk, scattering parchment across the room, and took a seat in the vacant chair beside him. Looking him over, he recollected all the years he’d known the lad, though he could not say just how many they had been. The little boy who’d wandered into his garden so long ago was a young man now and not so young as the elder often thought he was. Yes, he’d grown quite rapidly of late. This indicated the prophet himself was that much older. For an utterly unnatural number of years he had lived and he knew full well he would not live forever—not in that world nor in the confines of his current form.

  Yes, the younger man before him had grown tall and lanky and wore a thick beard behind which he contrived to hide. Not many men of his age wore one, so it could not be labeled a statement of fashion. Through the years, the prophet had watched him grow from a wild, carefree but affectionate boy into a sheepish, insecure man. This was after his brother had gone missing years back. Since then, the boy, who had been ignored by his noble parents the whole of his life, had suddenly been expected to take his elder brother's place in the well-to-do household. As he had not begun such schooling and training from a younger age, he had since found himself drowning in the expectations of his family. Even so, the prophet knew well what a treasure he was.

  Coming to himself, the prophet said merrily, “Now then, what were we speaking of? Your mother and father? They are well?”

  “Er, yes… they are. However, we were speaking of the reason you summoned me.”

  The prophet grew serious once more. “Yes, of course. I’ve been communing with the Great One all this fine day.”

  “Are you ever not?”

  “Of course not. When he moves, I move. What he says, I say... but you know that. What I mean is, I have been in Paradise, the ultimate world I told you about—the Great One’s home.”

  With eagerness, Phillip sat forward in his chair, resting his unusually elongated arms on his knobby knees.

  “The Great One has finally revealed the one I may train to take my place—the one to whom I will pass my mantle.”

  A grin spread across Phillip’s face. “I am glad of it. It has been ever present in your mind for some time.”

  “I know you understand how important it is that I speak with this person and begin working with them as soon as possible.”

  Phillip froze. “You’re not trying to say it is to be me, are you? I could never fill your shoes. What a mess I’d make of it! Nay, I must assume you wish me to fetch him?”

  “It is not that you could not ‘fill my shoes,’ as you put it. I believe you really could if it was your calling, but it is not. No, you are correct in that I wish you to find her. If you hurry–”

  “Her?”

  The prophet grew still as his brows furrowed and a storm brewed over his head. “Yes, ‘her.’ I saw a ‘her.’ Do not tell me you are one of those who are of the opinion that women should not–”

  Phillip swiftly shook his head, knowing there would be a long lecture in store if he did not act quickly. “Of course not. It’s just... well, you’re a man, so I assumed.”

  The prophet’s demeanor summarily contrasted as he smiled warmly at his young friend. “We must never assume anything when it comes to the Great One,” he sing-songed. This was something he had been muttering all his life.

  Phillip nodded. “All right, so it’s a ‘her’—er, a female—a woman?”

  “A woman, but a young one. Her name is Wynn. She will be fighting for her life at dawn tomorrow within the cliffs near Valdren Castle. If you hurry, you may just be able to meet her there. But be certain you find the right girl. You will know her by her fiery green eyes and emerald green cloak.”

  “And her name is Wynn,” Phillip repeated as he promptly stood to depart. It was necessary he leave immediately if he was to locate her by dawn. The cliffs were vast and many vagabonds and criminals worked within them. If she was to be fighting for her life, he must be there before danger found her. “Are you certain she’ll be willing to come with me?” he asked as he opened the door. Dealing with the opposite gender had never been his strong suit. Indeed, this errand was rather atypical to what was usually asked of him, but he did not have time to delve into how unqualified he felt for the task.

  “She must come with you, Phillip,” insisted the prophet with solemnity. “She is the one the Great One has chosen. Use any means necessary to get her here.”

  Throwing himself upon his horse, Phillip nodded with more confidence than he felt. “Green cloak, green eyes, named Wynn,” he repeated. “And, uh... any means necessary.” Hesitating, he added, “Pray for me, will you?”

  The prophet gave the horse a hardy pat on the hind. “I’ve already begun!”

  * * *

  Having traveled through the night with neither food nor rest, it was very nearly dawn by the time Phillip caught sight of Valdren Castle and the cliffs that lay beyond. His horse huffed and kicked about, desiring the repose she’d more than earned, but Phillip knew dawn often came too swiftly for those attempting to outrace it. That view in mind, he urged her into action and started into the valley before the cliffs.

  As far as he understood, there was a very important young lady in impending peril and he dearly hoped to find this girl before the danger ever reached her. If he was too late, he was uncertain what he could do for her. Yes, he carried a sword, for he had been trained of late to use one, but his instructors had all but given up on him. Phillip was, in the word he most often used to describe himself, useless. Even so, he would do all he could if it came to it.

  Regrettably, he was unable to reach the cliffs before sunrise and he was not at all certain where he should begin his search. The ravines that had become passages for the less than moral portion of the region were his best chance, but there were numerous caves and footpaths amid the mountainous precipices where a maiden might conceal herself. Even so, he could quickly traverse the largest ravine upon his mount. He only wished he had had more time before the appointed hour. It was his own fault, of course. Though his mare was built for speed, he could feel her holding back for his sake, as he was not much of a horseman.

  Racing as swiftly as his tired mare would carry him, he realized the girl might at that very moment have met with the foretold danger. If only he had pressed for further details, his heart might not be pounding quite so fiercely. But even as he thought this, his horse had drawn near a sharp bend from where he heard the unmistakable cries of a young woman. Stomach lurching, he leaped from the steed, took her by the reins, and crept around the bend. Peering carefully, his eyes fell upon a sight that at first alerted him and then revealed he did not have the correct woman after all. But that did not mean he would not attempt to offer her what aid he could.

  Who he’d found instead was a petite girl with wild crimson hair and intense eyes successfully besting a group of four men on her own. Her sword gleamed as she cut through the air at her forward atta
cker and tripped the man who had come up behind her. It was apparent she was handling them with ease as she shouted, “Have you idiots had enough yet? For heavens, it isn’t likely I’ll tire soon!” At this, she managed to knock the man in front from his feet and coolly turn to the sword-less men behind her.

  Though Phillip knew there was little he could do for her, he felt it his duty to offer aid.

  “Er, shall I assist?” he called.

  Her head jerked toward him as if prepared for yet another foe until his offer sunk in. Unfortunately, the moment her eyes relaxed, the forward assailant stole his moment and sent her tumbling to the ground. But as swiftly as he had moved, she was on her feet with tenacious vigor. She would not be bested.

  In a spare moment, she cast Phillip a dubious glance, not concealing her annoyance. “I don’t need any help from the likes of one dressed so sweetly as you!” she shouted. “Why don’t you take your fair horse and vacate these cliffs while you can?”

  Seeing he had already proved nothing but a hindrance, that was precisely what he meant to do the moment he found the young woman for whom he searched. But even as he strode back to his mare and made ready to mount, he could not tear his eyes from the skirmish, entranced by the redhead’s skill. Each movement succeeded in offering some pain to her enemy, keeping them well at bay. Certainly, she was small, but she moved with swiftness and adeptness he had seen but once before.

  It was not until her attackers had fled—having received one too many blows each—he noticed the hue of the cloak she lifted from the ground: a stunning green. This caught him off guard. He could not conceive of how this feisty warrior of a swordswoman could possibly be the one who would replace his peace-loving prophet. As he stood staring with mouth agape, she turned to him with a solid glare and the flash of her blade.