Disclaimer: these characters belong to Cornelia Funke, not me
Dustfinger left Roxanne's early the next morning. She was still the only one who knew he was back. How glad he was to be home with the fairies and their shimmering wings and the fire elves with their burning honey. But most of all, he had missed the boy, though he would never admit such a thing in front of Roxanne. He kissed her one last time and went off in search of Farid.
Roxanne said he'd been working as a servant to Orpheus in hopes of bringing him back. Dustfinger had to laugh when he heard this. He knew how much the boy hated the moon faced man. Farid must have really wanted him back in order to have Orpheus been read here.
Dustfinger shook his head and strolled down the narrow roads. Roxanne had heard that Orpheus had been living on the outskirts of Ombra. That wasn't far from here at all. He ran his finger over his pale scars, thinking of the expression on Farid's face when he'd see him. And the martens, where were they? Still with Farid, no doubt, he answered himself.
He continued walking along the ground kicking his feet through any puddles that came along. He took in a deep breath. Home for good this time. Dustfinger heard footsteps and instinctively ducked among the trees. At least I no longer have to worry about Basta.
The steps grew louder, and Dustfinger soon realized who it was. He could smell the bear. Swiftly, he emerged from the tall pines. The Prince looked the same as ever with his curly black hair and skin just as dark. He had a gash on his arm that had been poorly bandaged, but other than that he seemed well. The Prince turned toward him. He didn't look happy, at first he seemed afraid. Slowly, a broad smile crept onto his dark face. "Well, well, well," he said slowly. "Looks as though someone's cheated death yet again." The Prince looked at him inquisitively. "That is, if I'm not seeing things."
Dustfinger grinned. "No," he told the man, "it's really me this time. Alive and as scarred as ever." He hugged the Prince and looked at the bear. The creature has its furry head cocked to the side and couldn't have possibly looked more confused. The two men cracked up.
"So," asked the Prince, "what happened? The white women became bored with you already?" He smirked. Then his face grew grave. "You know what, don't tell me. This world is too complicated as it is. I'd rather not know." He sighed. "Who've you seen so far?"
Dustfinger pushed his hair out of his face. "Only Roxanne. I was there last night. Have you seen Farid? I've been told he's with Orpheus."
The prince nodded. "Yes, in hopes of him writing you back, or however he worded it. But I'll tell you this: I don't like that Orpheus man. There's something about him that I just can't put my finger on. Anyway, yes, Farid has been working as a servant for him for the past month or so. The boy's having a really rough time because of your death. He cries himself to sleep nearly every night. But he's crazy about the Blue Jay's daughter, so I suppose that helps him a bit." The Prince nodded. "He'll be thrilled that you're back, that's for sure."
Dustfinger felt a pang of guilt. Farid must be really upset. He'd hardly ever seen the boy shed a tear, never mind cry himself to sleep.
"Yes. And he'll be thrilled to finally escape that Orpheus. The man is absolutely cruel to your son. He found out how terrified of the dark he is, and now he makes Farid run errands for him long after the sun goes down. I don't know if the boy's more afraid of those ghosts he talks about, or the fact that if he disobeys, Orpheus won't bring you back."
Dustfinger felt a sudden urge to wring Orpheus's plump neck. He also was about to tell the Prince that Farid was not his son, but decided against it. He asked the Prince where to find them.
"It's close. Just over those two hills and down the road a bit. It's the little house with hunter green shudders and a wheel barrow in front. You can get there through the woods though, at about the same distance. I know you'd rather not explain yourself to every person along the way."
Dustfinger nodded and thanked him then made his way off into the woods. "And try not to disappear this time," the Prince called after him as he trotted away with the bear at his side.
"Trust me," shouted Dustfinger, "I have no intentions." He ducked under a low hanging tree branch and started off towards the house.
The forest was always one of Dustfinger's favorite places to be. The tree's that towered above him like guardians, the dewy grass beneath his boots, the many creatures that occupied this wood and loved it almost as much as he did. Yes, all this had always appealed to Dustfinger. Back in the other world, where he'd been stuck for a long ten years, the woods was always the place he would escape to when he was nearly mad with homesickness. Of course, there were none of the dragonfly winged fairies that he loved so much, nor the water nymphs, but it had always helped him get away from the loud and fast city.
He was interrupted from his thoughts by the scuttling of a rabbit nearby. Dustfinger turned around, only to realize that it wasn't a rabbit at all. Sitting at his feet was a small grey marten with tiny horns and a few stray feathers sticking to his muzzle. Gwin.
At first the marten just looked at him, but then it started chattering wildly, and running around his legs. "What's gotten into you?" asked Dustfinger as he picked up his old pet. The marten immediately sank his teeth into Dustfinger's hand, so hard, he involuntarily dropped the creature. It scampered ahead about ten feet, then stopped and turned around towards its master. "You want me to follow you, is that it?" asked Dustfinger, moving nimbly through the trees.
Dustfinger ended up following Gwin in the opposite direction he was headed, but he didn't mind. The marten was obviously trying very hard to show him something.
It was then that he heard it. A scream as clear as a boy's voice. He instantly thought of Farid and took off running in the direction of the sound. He ducked under trees and dodged stumps, but he was moving so fast that his foot caught on a root and sent him stumbling down a steep slope. He fell all the way to the bottom, and pulled himself to his feet. When he looked up, he nearly fell back down again in horror.
Before him was Farid, face down, sobbing into the damp grass. He was beaten half to death, black and blue all over, with several broken bones. He was cut up pretty badly too, with someone's knife no doubt. His thin back was bleeding through his tunic. The boy screamed again. Dustfinger stumbled over to him and sank to his knees. The boy's hands were tied together and trembling, whether it was from the pain or fear, Dustfinger not know. He took out his knife and cut the ropes around Farid's wrists.
When he realized someone was there, Farid instantly tensed and put his hands over his face. "No, please!" he screamed desperately, as if expecting to be beaten. Dustfinger's heart broke in two, the same way it had when he'd held Farid in his arms, dead, what seemed like so long ago.
"No, it's okay, it's me," he whispered and gently rolled the boy over on his cut back. Farid nervously removed his brown hands from his face, still sobbing loudly. Dustfinger gasped, completely horrified. The boy's face had been slashed, in nearly the same fashion as his own. Three swollen, deep gashes that seeped dark red blood out all over his terrified face.
Farid looked up at him, and through all the blood and tears, he managed to smile, for a split second, but then his face twisted with agony and he screamed, pulling his knees to his chest. Dustfinger gently put his hand on his forehead. He was burning up. Dustfinger took his hand off, wiping the blood on the grass. "Farid, who did this to you?" he asked, wanting to go after his attacker. But the boy was sobbing too hard to talk. Dustfinger felt tears in his own eyes, but wiped them away quickly. That won't help you, Dustfinger! he told himself angrily.
Dustfinger reached inside the new backpack Roxanne had given to him last night. He pulled out a few of the supplies he had stocked it with; fairy dust, bandages, a cloth, and a water jug. He trickled the water onto Farid's face, in hopes washing away the blood, but it kept pouring out of the cuts. Dustfinger, cursing quietly, bunched up the cloth and pressed to the one of the wounds. Farid protested, turning his head away. "No, hold that there," he told the boy firmly. Reluctantly, he obeyed.
Awhile after, Farid finally caught his breath. Dustfinger had put the shimmering powder in each of the boy's cuts, and it seemed to soothe him little. He still definitely had a broken ankle, and possibly a few broken ribs. Those would mend fine with the help of the Barn Owl. But Farid's face? No. It was bad condition, and Dustfinger had all the sympathy in the world for him.
Dustfinger clearly remembered that day when he was going to meet Roxanne and those three men appeared before he could defend himself. Basta sliced his face while the two others pinned him against the ground. He couldn't remember whether the pain or the fear was worse. But still, Basta was long gone, so who was it that attacked Farid?
The boy was sleeping now, but not peacefully by any means. His hands kept jumping to his face, and he would touch the bandages nervously. Dustfinger sat by him and thought of what to do now. Perhaps he could get the boy to Roxanne's, though he knew she still suspected that Farid was his son with another woman. That might not roll over well. In the end, he decided to bring him to the Barn Owl, and then with the fairies deep into the Wayless Wood.
Gwin scampered over to the boy and jumped onto his chest. Farid yelled out, waking immediately. His eyes filled with tears and he pushed Gwin off his smashed rib cage. Dustfinger watched his memories come flooding back to him. Farid looked up at him. "You're back." His voice quivered involuntarily.
Dustfinger smiled. "Yes, I am," he said. He shoved Gwin into his backpack. The marten started growling angrily.
Farid sat up, leaning against a tree. "How?" he breathed. There were tears streaming down his face. He was in so much pain that he wanted to scream and punch out blindly. But barely even had the strength to talk.
"First," said Dustfinger, "tell me who did this to you." He wanted to get to this man, make him pay. He couldn't bear to see the boy like this. It caused his own heart too much pain.
Farid wiped his eyes. "Cheeseface." His voice was scarcely more than a whisper.
Dustfinger's green eyes widened. "Orpheus? That bloody bastard!" Dustfinger jabbed his knife into the ground with anger.
Farid's lips trembled. "It was awful. He was drunk, extremely drunk. I begged him to write you back, and he became mad, throwing things at me. So I ran. As fast as I did that night when he read you into this world without me. But, this time he followed after me. He caught up to me, and well, the rest is obvious. The man beat me. It was like back with the thieves in my old world. They would beat me often. But they never used knives, like Cheeseface did." Farid lied back down on the ground. It hurt too much to sit up. "Okay, I told you, now you tell me how you got here," demanded Farid.
Dustfinger had to smile. Same old Farid. "The White Women set me free," he said, though his voice was shaking slightly from anger with Orpheus.
Farid looked confused. "Why'd they do that?" he questioned.
"They said my son needed me." As usual his face gave nothing away.
"Who?" asked the boy, still not understanding.
"You!" laughed Dustfinger, rolling his eyes.
"Oh." The boy blushed deep red, and laughed, looking happier than Dustfinger had ever seen him. But like all aspects of life, nothing good ever lasts. Only mere seconds later, Farid turned over on his side, and shrieked. The pain was worsening, becoming nearly unbearable. He pulled his knees to his chest, sobbing, and couldn't even find the strength to respond to Dustfinger's worried shouts.
Farid awoke to the muffled sounds of cartwheels tumbling slowly over coarse gravel. He must have passed out, for he hadn't an inkling of where he was. He felt cold; the evening was coming, tossing the dusk's first winds about the cool nippy air. Or maybe it was just his fever. Farid opened his heavy eyelids, finding that he was in the middle of a sturdy wooden cart filled with a thick layer of prickly russet hay. It really was evening, for it had grown dark, making Farid's heart beat faster. He heard the faint whispering voices of the spirits that always crept their way into his head, whenever the day's golden light left him. But he was thankful when he heard other voices; ones more familiar.
There was definitely the Prince's voice, his tone full of worry. Why could that be? Farid asked himself as he sat up. Instantly, his memories rushed back into his mind, as swift as water extinguishes the beauty of fire. He felt a sharp pain coming from…well, he couldn't exactly be sure, it was present in so many places. That's why, he replied to him self, gasping. He leaned himself against a bale of hay, struggling to sit up.
-more to come!!!!!!