Nicodemus
It was right around 10 years old that I knew something was different about me. Not in a destined for greatness kind of way, but a everybody's better off when I am alone kind of way. Between my my dangerously impulsive curiosity and obsession for books, the other children were happier when I didn't ruin their games of sticks and stones. That was the age that the trivial began to become intolerable.
Someone like me, a poor kid of a stable hand and skullery maid growing up in Calimport, didn't exactly have have easy access to books. Everyone in town knew of the old witch that lived in the hills just outside of town. She kept to herself, only came into town when she needed supplies. The townspeople usually left her alone, other than the occasional stare and mutterings under their breath. The day I watched her buy several books from a merchant, I decided to follow her home. I spent enough time avoiding the other children in town to learn how to follow the witch without making too much noise.
When she came to a small, but bright wooden cabin with pink and yellow flowers growing on the roof, she stopped and took a breath. She seemed to stoop less and the expression of caution on her face melted way. The air seemed to radiate with a hypnotic, but purposeful calm. I nearly forgot why I had come all this way; however, I had a plan, and my plan was simple. I would borrow a few books, and once I had read them over, return them. Nobody could miss a few dusty old books. I was no thief, but I didn't see the harm.
I watched through the surprisingly clean window as she placed the books on the shelf. I thought I caught a quick smirk before she turned and walked out the back of her cabin. Sprinting into the front door, I grabbed the first 2 books I could lay my hands on, spun around and hit dirt as hard as I could. The trees and shrubs whirred past as I ran. The town was a blur while I scrambled home, never looking back. I leapt into my room and threw the books on the bed.
Just staring at them lying on the ratty blanket covering my bed, I marveled at how the two books I had taken, "Mazfroth's Mighty Digressions" and "The Way of Lost Power." One was a slim green volume with simple white lettering, while the other was a leather bound, elegantly decorated collection. Although I didn't understand most of what I was reading, it wasn't long before I had thoroughly read both books several times. When I made my way my way back to the witch's cabin, replacing the books and grabbing more was easier than I had anticipated. I swiped the next two, recreated my previous sprint home, and again returned the books once they were read.
For the next 15 years, I read.
Great myths and legends, magical tomes, ancient philosophies. I was on my own quest, but there was no dragon or maiden, no treasure. Only an escape from this world that made less sense of me every day. The next few years were spent like this. My days, when I could escape the monotonous duties and responsibilities, were a jumble of frantic rummaging, near escape, and satiated curiosity.
Usually, not long after I would arrive at the cabin, the old woman, who was not an actual witch but just preferred to be alone like me, would smirk, then get up and head out to the back for firewood. The last time I went to the cabin, the old woman got up and paused, like before. This time, however, instead of a knowing smirk to herself, she looked in my direction. Directly staring at my hiding spot behind a mass of bushes, she sighed.
Before I could find out the reason, she went out back, like usual, and I proceeded to search for books. I quickly grabbed the 3rd tome in a series of books I had been reading on Goblin languages. I noticed a new addition to the bookshelf. I usually avoided taking new books, since taking recent additions to her collection could give away the game.
And yet, how could I not take this red, leather-bound book with the mysterious symbols and "M's Book of Knowing" embossed on the cover. It seemed to radiate a strange warmth, and I had convinced myself that the old woman was blissfully unaware of our harmless arrangement. As I grabbed the two books and began my sprint home, my vision suddenly seemed to improve. I ran faster than I ever had before and was less exhausted. My mind seemed clearer and I was able to remember books I had read years ago with little effort. I devoured the Goblin Language book in half the time it took me to read the previous volumes.
When I turned to open the "M's Book of Knowing" and read the first few lines, I knew it was too late: "Possession of this book constitutes ownership, and the owner of the book has agreed. Our pact, unbreakable except by loss of this book, grants Mesphisto rights to all knowledge gained by owner upon the owners death. The owners life shall end immediately when the book is taken by another."
Immediately, without question, I knew the book was telling the truth. I continued reading: " As Mephisto's thrall, you will gather deep knowledge and vast power. You are ageless and death will not come easily. But know for certain, you are merely a container, an empty vessel to be filled for storage, a silo for Mephisto to feed on. The mysteries of the universe will lay bare, but you must never forget they do not belong to you. You belong to Mephisto."
Over the next few days I read the book cover to cover many times. In part to find a loophole, despite knowing in the most primal parts of my brain that it was futile. An yet, as I read, I felt my power growing. Each time I learned something new, my power grew, and something else. I became less human and more indifferent the world outside of my mind. This was the first step in my journey to becoming the shell that Mephisto will leave discarded.
The curiosity that once drove me now became insatiable, like a man begging for water moments before dying of thirst. I could think of nothing else. Despite knowing that everything I learned pushed me closer to oblivion, I kept reading. It didn't occur to me for several days what I had done to the old woman. I briefly entertained the idea that she could help me, until I remembered the line: " The owners life shall end when this book is taken by another."
When I returned to her cabin, the smoking rubble was all that was left. My horror and guilty conscience were soon overcome by my new thirst, and I began rummaging through the cinders, but nothing was left. I sat next to the ash, smoke, and half-burnt pieces of furniture, feeling sorry for myself.
I knew then that I could not stay in Calimport. Even such a large city with glittering sea ports and marble statues would soon bore me, possibly to death. Although my life was no longer my own, my new skills could be put to use.
It is often said that ignorance is bliss, but knowledge is power. Perhaps my quest for the latter will result in an eternity of the former. The more I learn, the more meaningless my knowledge will be, like the reaper that does not reward for her labor, but is cast aside as soon as they can are too old to reap her lord's the grain. Perhaps this is just how the world works. Or maybe not. Maybe I can can gain enough knowledge to turn the tables on Mephisto. Deception and knowledge are his favorite tools, and as his thrall, they are mine.
That day I set out to learn, to gather more power, to gain enough skill in hopes of escaping Mephisto's pact. For the last 7 years, I have cared about nothing else, going from rumor to rumor, book to book, to learn. I was making my way to a town where I had read of a man who was able to escape from his pact when everything went black.
