Nightsky
Disclaimer: Inkheart belongs to Cornelia Funke. I don´t claim any propertyrights, nor do I make money from this fanfiction.
Dustfinger sat in a dark forest at nightfall. The last pale rays of the sun bewitched the leaves and the tree trunks with a golden hem. The trees were big; they grew tall into the sky. From a pale blue over gold, pink and blood-red eventually the sky changed to a dark shade of violet, where only at the horizon a streak of red peeked above the edge.
Dustfinger sighed and leant back against an old oak. This tree was old, he felt that. For nearly one thousand years had it its roots here, from a seed to a little tree and now to this majestic treeking with a crown of leaves. Just for one moment it seemed as if the bark was more, as if there were a face. Two dark eyes in the wood, but...Dustfinger blinked and as he opened his eyes again it was just a tree. A normal tree.
Damned be this homesickness! It tore him apart.He sank to the ground, took off his backpack and released Gwinn. The horned marten scanned quickly the air and disappeared rustling into the thicket, probably to go hunting. For a second Dustfinger´s gaze followed him, then he faced the sky.
The violet was becoming a darkblue; he thought he could see the distant glittering of the stars already. He preferred night over day. Better than the day, who showed him in all his malicious ways the bright, sharp colors of this new world, worse than all nightmares. At daytime he felt the cold even more, the sunlight did not warm him up as it used to. Like before, when he...
This world was cold and cruel, crowded with aborminations made of glas and metal. Crowded with dead things, stinking machines which crushed nature, which suffocated earth under grey stone and chopped down the trees.It made him sick only to think of it.
Living at night was easier. "The night makes all cats seem grey" was a saying here. It did not seem as bad at night. The night drew he world smoother, robbed it of its sharp roughness.
At night there were less people on the street, there was less noise. Almost a peaceful quiet at night. But the sky comforted him most. The stars seemed more distant than in his home, but they were the same ones. And the moon, it still was the disc of bright silvershine in the starry ceiling.
It didn´t matter how many worlds there may be, they all shared the same sky, the same stars and the moon. A common sky, a wide horizon for them all...
Who knows what this world really is? If I am only a character from a book...what about all the books from my world? Are these figures as real as I am? Am I real? Am I made from ink and paper, or from flesh and blood? What about these people here? What about Silvertongue? Could it be that he himself is just a character from a book? Is he real? What if he isn´t? What if the author of his book is just a book-character like me, like us, like them? What is real? Does it matter?
Dustfinger skook his head lightly, smiling bitterly. Close to him an ownl called. "Shoohoo" did it sound like. A plumy flapping could be heard, just faint. Slowly Dustfinger closed his eyes. Not far away from him a little river splashed, the wind flew rustling through the treetops and behind Dustfinger a small animal crawled over the ground.
Dustfinger took a deep breath. It did not reek of the wrong world here, almost could he imagine to be at home. He stroked over the grass. It still felt odd to the touch. How he missed the fairies...
He rose to start a fire. Soon a small fire crackled in the wood, but whose shine did was too big to draw unwanted attention. The skinny wood snapped, like a torn piece of fog rose the smoke in the air. Small bright starsparks danced into the gloomy nightsky, struggled to reach night herself. The flames blazed, licked at the wood and danced a bewitching dance. Dustfinger, lost in thoughts, looked into the flames.
Fire here was different, more aggressive, like a caged animal. If did not pay attention it would escape and turn everything in its way to ashes. But he would watch it closely.
At home, fire was a playful thing that would neever caused harm intentionally. Or it was like a proud lion, majestic and mighty, honorful with a living mane of gold and paws from ember. Everything, but never cruel and uncaring like this fire. At home, fire was in his veins like blood, flowed through his heart. They were bound by eternal bonds of crimsonflames and scarletshine. Of goldsparks and fogsmoke.
Dustfinger took off his coat, he didn´t want any obstacle between him and the fire itself. He outstretched his hand, used to a demanding gesture, but than was painfully reminded, and hesitated. Careful he let the fire stroke his hand. It was warm, so warm. He raised his hand to his face and felt the fleeting warmth. He brushed across his scars.
Damn Basta! Unconciously he moved closer to the fire. Cursed Capricorn!
Dam...no, he couldn´t hate Silvertongue. He had tried, how had he tried! With all means had he tried to turn his pain, his sorrow to hate, to hate for the one who did that to him. But he couldn´t. Silvertongue and his telling eyes, his open face. At that night all he could see in his eyes was sorrow and loss. Dustfinger had begged Silvertongue to read him back, but Silvertongue had replied that this was not possible, that it was not in his powers, that he was unable to do that. A part of Dustfinger had screamed and raged, why he couldn´t do it, he could it before! There was guilt in Silvertongue´s eyes. He got innocently guilty. Of course had he not wanted it, but that couldn´t change the fact that Dustfinger was here. Captured in this world that was not his own and would never be it.
Soon after Dustfinger had fled, away from Silvertongue. Far away form the house with the many books, away from ink, from Silvertongue whose sorrow only got deeper when he looked at Dustfinger.
How Dustfinger wished this to be a dream, summoned by a cheeky leprechaun, a nasty fairy or even a malevolent wizard, if he could ever awaken. If none of this was real, none of it...
In his world there were monsters, terryfying trolls, man-eating giants, devilish witches, but right now he had given his right arm to catch a glimpse of the most gruesome beast from his world. A thousand times more than to see this aborminations from metal, un-things made of glass and beasts amde of stone and more. Their screaming, hissing, snarling, roaring and growling scared him.
He was not made for this world. Just now did he realize how close he was to the flames that it nearly hurt him. How much wished he wouldjust to fade away into this sea of flames, to become glimming ash, a flame or a mere spark which was lost to the wind. Everything was better than this.
Gwinn had come back from his hunting. He had rolled himself into a ball next Dustfinger and sleeped. Dustfinger looked directly into the flames. A tear drop stolen, slipped down his cheek. He shouldn´t look so intensly into the fire. The flames...
Pitchblack was the nightsky, inkblack. Dustfinger closed his eyes again. Among all those sounds of the forest, so close to the fire, this heavenly peace under the silvery moonlight...almost he could imagine to be at home.
Author: I pity the poor Dustfinger soo much, it maeks me sad to see him suffer. Although I wish him only the best, I fear that his future will only contain even more suffering. I haven´t read Inkspell yet, but I don´t believe in an happy ending for him.
This fic was a translation of "Nachthimmel". Angelforsaken requested it, and here it is. I tried to stick close to the original text, but failed several times I changed single words/or expressions to make it sound better/more understandable.Some expressions were not suited for translating, but I did my best. If you know better expressions/have some advise for me/spotted mistakes/can help me to make it better, please tell me.
Just to have it said, the books name´s in German are Tintenherz (translated Inkheart) and Tintenblut (Inkblood). The name of the second book in English however is Inkspell, if I´m correct. I might mix this up, so please bear with me.
And Mo´s German name is Zauberzunge (translated Magictongue), the English book says his name is Silvertongue (Silberzunge).
And Dustfinger´s name is Staubfinger (a real word-to-word translation, but "finger" in German can mean one or more fingers (comparably to the state of "news" I think, singular or plural.) In my opinion it is meant in plural (Dustfingers). But that is just me.
And I encountered some difficulties when it comes to the "gender" of things. In english all inanimate objects are "it". But in german, they can be "he" "she" or "it".
For example an oak is a "she", a tree a "he", human a "he", person a "she". I tried to use the correct form when describing things, but I´m not sure I did it correctly.
And the saying "The night makes all cats grey" is from Germany, it means that night makes many things alike, erases the differences and makes them equal.