"Outwitted (Part Fourteen)" an original work of fiction for 365days...

This is today's offering (day 169) for @mydivathings' #365daysofwriting challenge (click here to see her current post)

Today's picture prompt (below) is a Photo by Velizar Ivanov on Unsplash

The figure was dressed in white, from head to toe in a long robe, with a hood or scarf covering the head. From here, on the other side of the busy market square even if the face was showing, it was unlikely I would have been able to see any details. But I would regognise her anywhere, just from the way she moved.

Mathilde.

She was not supposed to be here, of course. According to the last communication we’d had from Piggs - a rolled tube of paper, sealed with wax, put into Pewds’ hands by a rider who arrived on a sorry looking mare, just as we were about to board the ship - Mathilde was back home. She was supposed to be holed up in Grevyl’s family estate, up on the North coast. I knew she had sailed back from the Desert Lands, just a few weeks ago - she had paid for her voyage using the power. There was only two explanations for her being here now. Either she had been traveling on the same boat as us (with or without the captain’s knowledge), or she had used the power to transport herself here. I knew she had mastered the power for travel - at least for short distances - she had proven that the day my father came home, the day he had his accident that was to lead to his death. I had been desperate to replicate this art, but all my efforts had ended in failiure. The manuscripts we had so far managed to locate made reference to it, and some even had tantalising hints of how it might be done, but none of them had the information I needed to perfect it. Pewds, I had come to realise, was better suited to book based research than he was to experimentation.

At first I had let Pewds take the lead, after all he was the professor, he was an adult: surely he knew what he was doing. It hadn’t taken long for me to realise that, for all his impressive use of technical language, when it came to practical work he was more clueless than I. Perhaps, that was an overly harsh assessment. He simply lacked the confidence in the skills he did have. I possessed a most valuable, and dangerous tool: the fearlessness of youth. I felt invincible - I had a great faith in myself, and genuinely believed that nothing could harm me - so I was willing to take more risks than Pewds. These risks often paid off, leading to discovery and, therefore more questions needing further experimentation.

With hindsight - knowing what I do now - it was a miracle I didn’t, not only, kill us both, but also take half the city with us too. The power is a dangerous beast, and those who can’t control it risk it getting loose and eating everything in its path.

I remember once, determined to crack the transportation element of the power I accidentally created some kind of vortex in Pewds’ lock up. I was convinced that this was it. All I had to do was to step into the pulsating hole in front of me and I would be transported to where ever I wished. Pewds was more cautious and shouted at me not to do it, whilst he frantically leafed through notes and scrolls to see if he could find a description of the strange phenomenon. I was annoyed by his fear, by his lack of belief in me, and I was just about to leap inside, when Pewds pushed me to one side. I fell and hit my head on the table. I leapt to my feet, ready to fight the old man, but he stood his ground and ignored me even as I shouted in his face. He picked a small coin from the desk and threw it into the vortex. There was a large explosion, that knocked us both to the floor, shaking the whole building. Debris flew through the air, embedding chucks of who-knew-what into the furniture and walls. I escaped unharmed, but Pewds still bore a scar, three inches long, on the side of his face. Many of our precious documents, and artifacts were damaged or destroyed by my foolishness. I learned a lesson. And, for a while at least, I exercised caution.

The incident increased my anger, however. Anger towards myself, for not making more progress. Anger towards Pewds for not being the teacher that Grevyl was. And anger towards my sister for having such a teacher.

Standing in the market square I felt the anger grow inside me, once more. My sister had come to the Desert Lands weeks before we had. Was she searching for the same artifacts that we were looking for? Had she beaten me too it? Perhaps not, I thought. Perhaps she was following me in the hope that I would find them and then she could snatch them from me. Was she alone? I wondered. I tried to act as if I had not seen her, going from stall to stall. After a few minutes, when I was certain I was hidden from her sight by a stand selling large rugs, I ducked out of sight. If the stall holders thought it was odd - or suspicious - for a young foreign boy to be hiding amongst their stalls, they showed no sign.

After a few minutes I caught sight of a white robe passing by my hiding place. I risked a peek. Mathilde was frantically looking around the market. Her head was still covered, but when she turned I caught a brief flash of her face. She was older, more beautiful - a woman now - but it was indeed my sister.

The hunter has become the prey, I thought, a smile upon my lips.

Careful, to keep a reasonable distance between us, I followed her out of the market square. She was still searching for me. I wondered why she did not used her power to locate me - of course I know why that would not have worked now - and foolishly thought that perhaps she was not as powerful as I had thought.

I followed her out of the town - the opposite side to that in which Pewds and I were staying - and up a dirt track, ducking back out of sight from time to time, when she stopped, or turned. A mile, or so, outside of the town I could see a collection of buildings surrounded by a large wall. I followed my sister towards it. When she reached it, she turned right and walked along it for several minutes before suddenly disappearing. I immediately suspected she had used the power, but I could not feel any of the usual tremblings, or see any of the shimmering dust, in the air that I know associated with its use. Nearing the spot I had last seen Mathilde, I saw there was a small gate in the wall.

I approached the gate with caution, half expecting Mathilde to jump out and shout “boo!” as she would have done, in the garden of the Big House, only a few short years before. But there was no sign of her. I pushed the gate, and was surprised to find it swung open at my touch. I stepped through it.

It was as if I had stepped into another country. Within the walls there was no sign of the desert. No sand, no dryness. Here the earth was bursting with lush greenery, trees, bushes, grass. It reminded me very much of our garden in the Big House. How could such a place exist in this land of sun and sand?

My sister was not in sight. I followed the cut grass path, that winded its way through the garden. I was suddenly aware I could hear the sound of someone singing, and what sounded like splashing from the other side of a large shrub. Carefully, I pushed my way through the leaves and looked beyond it.

I discovered a lake - not unlike our lake at home, but much smaller - on the other side of the bush. The white cloak was left, neatly folded, by the waterside. In the water my sister floated, naked, on her back. She was singing - not in any language I could recognise at the time - and as each word left her mouth I could see the small cloud that floated a few feet above her head pulsate and grow bigger. I watched in awe as the powerful cloud grew bigger, thicker and began to crackle and sparkle, as my sister’s song built in volume and intensity. And then there was a large flash, so bright I had to cover my eyes, and a large a thunder crack of sound.

When, at last I peeked through my fingers the cloud - and my sister - had vanished.
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Next part: @felt.buzz/outwitted-part-fifteen-an-original-work-of-fiction-for-the-365daysofwriting-challenge

"Outwitted (Part Fourteen)" an original work of fiction for 365daysofwriting challenge