"Outwitted (Part 10)" an original fictional series for #365daysofwr...

This is today's offering (day 160) for @mydivathings' #365daysofwriting challenge (click here to see her current post)

Today's picture prompt (below) is a Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

From where he was standing, Grevyl could not see under the purple covered chair. If he stayed where he was, or moved closer to the door, he would not find the bundle. I approached him and he backed off, his stick ready to strike should I be stupid enough to try to attack him. I have made many bad decisions in my life, but I use those mistakes to learn valuable lessons. I would not try to fight this old man again. Not until I was certain I could win.

“How have you been Grevyl?” I asked, aware that I was making him uneasy. I knew he could sense the power inside me - as weak as I was, I was still a threat.

“I should have killed you, when I had the chance, boy,” he hissed. “But even I underestimated how badly the power would corrupt you.” He gestured at my body, thin and wasted. “Of course, if Mathilde had listened to me,” he said. “And left you be, for just a few more weeks, I wouldn’t have to worry about killing you. It would have done the job for me. It’s almost finished devouring you, another month and you will be dust.”

I smiled. So, Mathilde had arranged for me to find Grevyl. She had instructed him to lead me to her, acting against the old man's advice. Perhaps she cared for me, yet.

Perhaps, I could find a way to exploit that weakness.

“Ah, Grevyl,” I said, my smile still stretched upon my face. “Why have you always hated me so?”

His expression did not change.

“I never hated you, boy,” he said. “Distrusted what was inside you, certainly. Feared you, maybe. But hated you?” he spat on the floor. “No, I never hated you. You are the one with the hate inside you. And it has corrupted everything you have ever touched.”

I nodded. The old man was probably right. After the death of my father, hate had been the motivating force that had guided my every action.

My mother never fully recovered from her illness. Although she could walk short distances, she was unsteady and in pain, she left her room rarely. Her incapacity gave me a certain amount of freedom to pursue what I was interested in.

I became obsessed with studying the cloud-like substance I still kept in jars in my room. The tutors, my mother employed to teach me, were, on the whole, useless. Few of them lasted long. I made sure of that.

Epes was my fifth tutor, in as many months. He was young, stupid and showed no interest in learning or tutoring. The best thing about Epes was, unlike the others, he was was happy to leave me to my own devices. He spent most of the day asleep under the big oak tree, near the lake, after spending long evenings - and much of his pay - in the taverns in the village. He was delighted when I suggested we take a trip to the city. I wanted to visit my father’s library, but, once he had left me there, I told him, he was free to spend his time how he wished.

I was treated like royalty when I arrived at the library. My father was a great man, I was told, by the head librarian, a sad smile on his face. “He will be missed. If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.” I thanked him. I knew exactly what I wanted, and headed up to where my sister and I had first encountered Grevyl.

The section, to which he had taken my sister - whilst I had sat looking at books on monsters - was not accessible to the public. A short man, with white hair that stuck up in all directions, and a frown that creased his face, like screwed up paper, barred my way. But my father’s name was like a magic key: it seemed it could unlock all the areas of the library, andI soon found myself in a small room, with shelves full of books and manuscripts.

The short man introduced himself as Pewds, and once I told him what interested me, the frown dropped from his face. He pulled a ladder across the floor, and climbed it quickly, returning with a large book, bound in black leather. He left me with the book and went in search of others, and soon I had a pile of five or six books, and several old scrolls, tied with ribbon.

He left me to my studies and then, several hours later, he asked if I had brought any lunch. I shook my head, and his face crumpled into a smile. “Then you shall share mine,” he said. Locking the room behind him, he led me down the stairs and through a door, I had not seen before. I stepped into a courtyard, full of trees, plants and herbs. Above my head hanging from a rope, were lanterns giving off a gentle orange glow. Pewds nudged me and pointed to them.

“My work,” he said, proudly. “I used the power to create a dust that capture the light from the sun, and then releases it slowly.” I stared at the little glass bulbs, watching the swirling flashing particles. It was truly beautiful. I told Pewds, this and his smile broadened.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

We sat at a table, beneath the string of lanterns, and whilst Pewds pulled a loaf of bread and a large hunk of dry cheese from his bag, he asked me about my interest in the art of the power. “Your father did not approve,” he said. “He saw its usefulness, of course. But he was never comfortable with it.”

I helped myself to a piece of bread and began to tell Pewds about my sister, and Grevyl. As I spoke, it became quickly apparent to me - from the expression on Pewds’ face, everytime I mentioned Grevyl’s name that we had something else in common.

Pewds hated Grevyl almost as much as I did.

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Part 11 can be found here: @felt.buzz/outwitted-part-eleven-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-365daysofwriting-challenge

"Outwitted (Part 10)" an original fictional series for #365daysofwriting