Shards of dreams

Written for Turathionen

The dreams were stabbing at the underside of Farid's eyelids as he slept, the vision of fire swirling around him the unconscious heat burning. He thought he heard a voice drift on the wind, as though it were calling to him, begging him for some unknown thing. There was no choice but to get out of bed, lying still was doing nothing to help the thoughts running through his head. Farid pulled the blanket from his bed; wrapping it around himself he sat on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest.

Farid stroked the palms of his hand, thinking for a moment that he could feel the warmth of dragon breath on his skin. It was a dream of course; the fire that had graced his palms once upon a time was gone, just like Dustfinger. Farid tried not to cry. It was hard to think about him, how it had felt when he left. He wanted him to stay; he had followed him wanting him to stay believing that so far from their homes that neither of them was going to be alone again. He rested his head on his knees thinking about Dustfinger trapped in between the pages of inkheart.

It was then in the dark that Farid knew, it had been a year. A whole year, since he had felt the warmth of Dustfinger against the palms of his hands. He smiled a little to himself, he would have like to think that in the year it would have got easier, that the pain wouldn't be so prominent, but it was still as bad as it had been, the knife of watching as Dustfinger fade away still burned a searing scar into his chest.

It was too much.

Farid knew where Mo kept the last manuscript, it would have been impossible to obtain for any lesser thief but Farid was confident that he knew his trade well enough to be able to obtain it without any great difficulty.

Mo and Resa slept like the dead, curled up in one another, Farid didn't doubt for a moment that they remembered it had been one year since they were reunited and they had been celebrating accordingly. He tried to hide the feeling that he had got the short end of that deal; they toasted with their cocktail of love a loss he deeply mourned.

The key hung around Mo's neck with Resa's hand resting atop it, Farid smiled, he hadn't thought that getting the key would be so easy. He lifted a few tendrils of her blonde hair with one hand and gently slipped his fingers beneath Mo's neck to undo the sliver clasp of the chain as he pulled it away from Mo's chest.

Light footed he stalked back down the hall to the library room. He didn't have the gift so he knew there would be no bringing Dustfinger back to this world, but if he could see him in the page it would be like he was there again. Besides he knew he wouldn't want to come back, he had worked so hard to go home to his family that to pull him back would only hurt him. And to hurt Dustfinger was the last thing that Farid wanted. He just wanted to stroke the name Dustfinger on the page and remind himself the heat of Dragons breath.

The safe was easy to break, even though Farid had stumbled with the modern mechanism he had broken in with simplicity. The book was wrapped in a sheet of leather that Farid quickly untied; the pages were stained with the age of existing. It took him all the self control he had not to press his lips to the cover, to kiss Dust fingers world. He peeled open the first page, and then the next, turning each with reverence as he scoured for Dustfingers name. It was there, shining with firelight. Farid pressed the book to his chest holding it close.

He had gone back to his room, the lamps lit to give a warm glowing light to read by. He hugged the book close wrapped in blankets as though it were Dustfingers arms. As his eyes moved down the page he felt a prickle in the nape of his neck as the words on the page seemed to be whispered over his shoulder, Dustfinger twirled his flaming baton trapped in the paper world and the room seemed to come alive. The heat rose from the page almost burning Farids skin, he didn't cry out he didn't want to attract the attention but he struggled to keep his eyes on the page, the warmth emanating as though he had opened a book pathway to the sun itself.

The window blew open as light shone through the curtains, a light bulb flicked on in the dead black of night. Farid stood letting the book fall from his hands, he shielded his eyes as he walked towards the now open window; the light almost blinding.

Gone was the London Street he had grown to call home, instead as far as the eye could see wheat moved in the wind, dancing. Farid crawled out of the window a gentle drop of a few feet put him flat on the wheat field floor.

It stole his breath from his lungs.

As the wheat moved away in the slow moving circles the blond figure of Dustfinger danced to his own tune an orchestra of flame surrounding him. Farid ran, stumbling over his own feet in his haste he launched himself at Dustfinger, he cheek nestled into the perfect bare chest. He felt the hands that made fire run into him hair as they held him ever tighter.

'I knew you would come. I knew.'

Dustfingers voice seemed lost into the wind as he whispered in Farids ear. They embraced falling to their knees Farid couldn't let go. He didn't want whatever magic that held him to end. Dustfinger pulled his head roughly to look at him, the wind changed and the clouds over head grew dark. Something was wrong.

'They must bring me back, Farid. The silver tongue and the witch, they must bring me back!'

Farid tried to speak, only for Dustfinger to clasp his hand over his mouth.

'Please Farid, make them bring me back.'