FINALLY!! I have written the second chapter to my Inkheart Fanfic! I'm just sorry it took so long. The problem was trying to strike the right chord, ya know?
Anyway, I'm sorry also about the length of it; I can't write short things! So just read, enjoy, and then criticize, or whatever.
What Orpheus read had not been enough to bring Dustfinger back to life. But things unseen were stirring in the realm of the White Women. The effect of Orpheus' words was still felt; what he had read remained true even now. Something was on the brink of happening. All that it needed was a nudge; a few words read by the tongue of one who could give them life and breath, awakening the power already in them.
Nobody knew this, not Meggie nor her family, not Orpheus the great writer, not Farid, not Fenoglio.
The only one who suspected it was Basta, and he would do everything in his power to keep it from happening.
In his heart, Basta regarded written words with dread—partly because he could not know their meaning, but mostly because he had seen first-hand the power they possessed. This time, however, it was Basta who wanted words written, words for himself, to protect him from the power they held, and also words for Dustfinger, to keep him from ever returning. Should Dustfinger return, he, Basta, would surely find himself again in the shadowlands.
For Basta knew that he had taken the place of Dustfinger when he came back to the land of the living. All that the writer or the reader needed to do was to send Basta back in exchange for Dustfinger, so that the delicate balance of life and death would not be upset.
For several days, he watched the Bluejay and those with him as they packed their things and prepared to set out. Through the dense forest they trod, in the dead of night, with nothing to light their way but the boy Farid's tiny flames.
They were journeying to a cave several hours away where, the Black Prince had told them, they would hopefully be safe from Basta. When he heard this, Basta had chuckled to himself. No one could ever be safe from him.
--
From the small mouth of a cave, Mo, dressed in green trousers, a brown tunic that was belted around his middle with a leather band, and a dark-blue cloak, surveyed the skies, which were growing paler with dawn. The light exposed for the first time the cave's surroundings: dense brush, bushes that grew waist high, and rocks, flat gray in color. There were few trees about, the cave being located up on the side of a cliff-like formation. It had been a difficult climb to its mouth.
The mouth of the cave opened up onto a flat shelf, much like a platform, on which grew the brush and bushes that hid the entrance quite well. Inside, the cave was spacious, high-ceilinged, extending back from the entrance a full ten meters. From wall to wall, it was much narrower, but wide enough for four grown men to lay end-to-end on the ground.
They had brought with them a few lanterns. These, placed on various shelves and alcoves in the walls, lit the cave, albeit dimly, casting long, flickering shadows on the wall. Their light could not be visible from outside.
Mo and Fenoglio had tried to convince Roxane to accompany them, but, as everyone had guessed beforehand, she refused, stating that her place was with her children, now more than ever before. Roxane claimed that they would go to a secret place, which she had prepared for such times as these. A couple of the Black Prince's men had gone with her for protection.
Mo was weary from the long night journey, as was everybody else. But more than that, throughout the journey he had felt that someone was following them; yet he heard nothing, saw nothing.
Farid, he knew, sensed it too. 'I swear, the boy can smell danger,' he thought as he ducked into the cave, looking on the tired boy with admiration. Farid was slumped against the cave wall, his eyes closed in a fitful sleep, the kind brought on by sorrow and fear. Beside him, also leaning against the cave wall, were several supply sacks full of food and clothing; one of them serving as a pillow for Farid's head.
Farid wore the brown trousers that had replaced his jeans some time ago, and a green tunic over his T-shirt, the one Dustfinger had bought him in the other world; the one Farid would never take off.
Meggie, clad in a plain, long-sleeved brown dress, lay curled up on the opposite side of the cave, beside her mother, sleeping lightly. It looked like the slightest noise would wake her. Her bare feet were tucked up in the skirt of her dress for warmth. Her gray cloak, which reached just to her knees, Meggie had closed tightly around herself, her hood pulled over her head, shadowing her face. It almost made Meggie blend into the rock behind her.
Resa, uncloaked and in a green dress with long, flowing sleeves, was sleeping beside Meggie, whose head leaned against her shoulder. Her dark-blonde hair had been tied back loosely, along with Meggie's, to keep from getting tangled in the long tree branches during the night journey.
Further back in the cave, Orpheus lay on his back, snoring. He alone of anyone was able to sleep soundly in any situation. The large, white shirt he wore was unbelted, and his brown trousers were a bit too small for him. He wore boots, which were covered in mud.
Mo cast him a rather disdainful glance, then turned to Fenoglio. "You may as well rest also; I can take the first watch."
Fenoglio shook his head, pulling the sleeves of his baggy, brown shirt over his hands. "No, you need your rest, I can handle the first watch myself." Mo was about to protest, but Fenoglio stopped him. In a low, somber tone, he said, "I don't sleep anymore anyway."
Mo did not need to look into the old man's eyes to understand his meaning. He simply nodded, then walked into the cave, his leather boots making hardly a sound against the rocky floor, and leaned back against the stone wall beside Resa. In his hand, Mo held a sword, one of the several weapons the Black Prince had supplied for them.
He had taken off the bow and the quiver of arrows, the arrows that were fitted with blue jay feathers. It made him glance down at the scar on his arm; the long, blue sleeve of his shirt, which he wore beneath his tunic, was rolled up to expose the harsh-looking marks in his flesh. Again, Mo thought about his role as the Bluejay. However reluctantly he had accepted it, the role was his. Already it was changing him.
Mo felt as though he saw the world through two different pairs of eyes—his own, and those of the Bluejay. He wondered if the two sides would forever be in conflict with one another.
Was it he, Mo, who lay next to his wife, ready to spring up to protect if necessary, or the Bluejay? He felt the hardness close over his heart like a hard shell once more. The hardness concerned him. What did it mean? Was he becoming heartless and cold, unfeeling, like those he was fighting against?
He glanced down at Resa. 'No; it is not heartless to want to protect those one loves,' something in him whispered. The thought was reassuring to him. Holding Resa close, he too closed his eyes and gave way to slumber.
Mo did not wake when, several minutes later, Meggie stood slowly and tiptoed out of the cave, snatching up her book bag, which never left her side, as she did so and slipping its strap over her shoulder so it hung at her side. Nor did he awaken when she cried out mutedly from outside, or when Fenoglio stumbled into the cave and collapsed, lying crumpled on the ground at the entrance, silenced by pain.
But into his dreams, there crept a foreboding, dark and cold, foretelling of destruction. "Bluejay," it whispered to him, its voice like a biting wind, ripping through him. "Death is close by, dear Bluejay."
Even before he reached consciousness, Mo felt an evil presence intrude upon the place. He was drawing his sword and leaping to his feet before he even knew that he was awake. Mo's eyes, which had flown open on their own, now cleared.
Before him stood Basta, a rag wrapped around his head sloppily where Mo had kicked him days before. His clothes were rumpled and dirty—his black pants ripped, his boots muddied, his white shirt stained with dirt.
Behind him stood two men whom Mo was sure he had seen before; most likely in the Adderhead's castle.
Basta was grinning maliciously. "Good morning, Bluejay," his voice ran out. "It's a delight to see you again."
"It really is the Bluejay," whispered one of the men, a short, stocky man with a black beard and black eyes, shaggy-haired and cruel-seeming, "look at the scar on his arm!"
"See how he stands, too?" the other murmured, taller than the first, and burly; beardless, with short, brown hair and a hard, mean face. "And look at his eyes—so cold they are. It must be him!"
The noise rose Farid out of his sleep. When he saw Basta standing there, he jumped up with a cry of fury. Flames shot up about Farid's feet and, with an animal roar, rushed toward where Basta stood, his knife, Farid now saw, pressed against Meggie's throat.
Just shy of engulfing Basta in a deadly inferno, the flames extinguished themselves.
In an angry growl, Basta said menacingly, "Don't do that again, or—," he indicated the white-faced, tight-lipped Meggie, her eyes wide with fear, as she helplessly stood just to the side of and behind Basta, her thin arms held tightly to her sides by Basta's two accomplices.
"What do you want?" Mo asked slowly, in a low voice. He had dropped his sword on the floor before Basta in surrender. From the expression on Basta's ever-readable face, Mo could see that he knew he had the upper hand, and was enjoying it immensely.
"Words, Bluejay," Basta stated smugly. "I want you to write me words." He signaled one of the men with his hand. Obediently, the man let go of Meggie, then, retreating several paces, un-strapped from his side a bow, which he fitted with an arrow and aimed at Meggie. The other man then let go of Meggie's arm and backed away so that the arrow would not strike him if it were shot. "Write me words, or your girl dies."
"No!" Farid cried out, anguish in his voice. He took a step toward Basta, then halted in despair. He turned tear-filled eyes on Mo. "Please," he begged, "do it." Farid already had lost Dustfinger; he could not bear to lose the only other person in the world whose life was dear to him.
But Mo had already decided that he would do as Basta said. "I will." Farid's shoulders slumped in tense relief.
"Scribbler," Basta called out, and for the first time everyone noticed Fenoglio, crumpled at the cave's entrance. "Go and wake the man who calls himself Orpheus. Hurry!" he added when Fenoglio's effort to rise came to nothing.
"I will do it," Resa, standing pale-faced behind Mo, offered. He had not seen her rise, but now she cautiously walked over to where Orpheus lay, still snoring, and shook him.
"What is it?" he demanded crankily; then his eyes lit on Basta.
"I have a job for you," Basta stated as Orpheus stumbled over, Resa's hand on his arm. "I want you to read over the Bluejay's shoulder as he writes and make sure that the words he puts down are the ones I say. If you don't—well, you will, as long as you value your life." He fondled his blade meaningfully.
Orpheus paled, then nodded his head vigorously. "Yes, yes, yes." He gathered up a quill pen and inkwell and several sheets of parchment, then strode shakily over to Mo, who glared coldly at him. Orpheus avoided his eyes as he handed the things to Mo.
For a table, a large boulder that leaned against the cave wall was used. Mo sat at the table, quill pen poised over paper. He sat on a makeshift seat, constructed of sacks and extra clothing, and tried not to glare at Basta.
Rage rose in Mo like a bird that fluttered and battered against his insides, shrieking to be let loose. When he saw Basta, hatred clouded his vision, pounding in his head. The hard shell closed tightly over his heart like a claw. The only thing that restrained him was the sight of his little girl, a mere arrow's flight away from death.
"Tell me what to write," he growled. Behind him, he could hear Orpheus fidgeting nervously, trying to keep his eyes on Mo's paper, which was still blank. Resa and Farid stood against the wall just before his table, along with Fenoglio, who looked to be in pain. Resa had a hand on Farid's shoulder, both to reassure and comfort him and to restrain him.
"Write exactly what I say," said Basta threateningly, then began: "'Basta foresaw that a day would come when words might be used against him.'"
In spite of her position as hostage, Meggie had to bite her lip to keep from smiling; the sound of Basta talking about himself in the third person was so amusing.
"'Cleverly, he sought a way to avert that power from him. From that day, no words, whether for good or for ill, would have any effect on Basta—not words written, not words read. Never again could words be used against him as a weapon.'"
A nasty gleam came into Basta's eyes as he paused dramatically.
"He has written it down to the word thus far," Orpheus intoned nervously.
"Good," Basta murmured, then grinned before he resumed. "'As for Dustfinger, still in the Shadowlands…'"
At these words, everyone jerked suddenly to attention, horror on faces. Orpheus looked up in alarm.
In the small commotion among Dustfinger's friends, no one noticed Meggie quietly slip her notebook and a pen from her book bag. She knew that Basta was aiming to prevent Dustfinger from every returning; not only to save himself, but to further his revenge.
Stealthily, she opened the book and began to write, holding it against her legs, concealed beneath her cloak. Meggie wrote without looking at the paper. She did not need to; the words almost seemed to write themselves. Her finger served as a guide to keep her lines of writing straight.
Basta went on. "'Dustfinger was doomed to remain in the White Women's realm for all time, never to return to those he loved, to the land of the living. The balance could not be upset…'"
Meggie was writing furiously, trying to move as little as possible so that no one would notice. At the same time, she tried to get Farid's attention, but she had to be incredibly discreet and subtle.
She stared at Farid, whose eyes were on Basta. Meggie's eyes bored into him. 'Farid,' she thought at him, 'Farid, look at me!'
Farid felt eyes on him, and turned his head. Meggie was staring at him urgently; he could see in her eyes that she was trying to communicate with him. He nodded to show that she had his attention.
Meggie glanced quickly at the arrow aimed at her head, then back at Farid, meaning in her eyes. She could tell that Farid did not understand. She glanced at it again, this time focusing on the string, pulled back, ready to launch the deadly arrow. With a single finger, she discreetly drew in the air a picture of the string, bent back in readiness, at the same time mouthing the word, "String."
Farid nodded, and mouthed back the word, "String." Meggie's eyes lit up as she nodded slowly.
Then she drew the string again, and mouthed the word, "Fire." She watched Farid's eyes. He did not understand. She drew the bent bowstring in the air once more, more slowly, then with two fingers, imitated a pair of scissors cutting the string, severing it near the middle, where the arrow was notched. Again, she mouthed the word, "Fire," holding up her thumb and index finger, meaning a tiny flame.
Realization crept into Farid's eyes, and he nodded. He understood perfectly now.
Basta had finished dictating.
"Please," Orpheus begged, "please, leave Dustfinger out of this—don't let him read it aloud!"
"Shut up!" Basta barked. "One more word out of you, and I will bring about your death quicker than you can blink."
Orpheus shut his mouth despairingly.
"And now, Bluejay," Basta said slowly and with relish, "read."
Mo nodded. He stood, turning slowly toward Basta, paper in his hand. Everyone could feel the words in the air as Mo read, all eyes on his lips. All eyes, except for those of Meggie and Farid.
"Now!" Meggie whispered.
Instantly, a tiny flame sprung up on the bowstring, right above the place where it bent at the arrow. The fiery tongue licked at it, severing it neatly, and then died out.
The bowman, who had been pulling back on arrow and string, suddenly felt his hand pulling back on nothing. It surprised him, like someone who picks up a large bag, expecting it to be extremely heavy, only to find that it is full of feathers.
The man's hand kept traveling back through the air until it hit him in the mouth. He nearly fell backward.
The threat gone, Meggie now moved freely. Mo had nearly reached the part about Dustfinger. "Mo, stop!"
Startled, Mo looked up at her. In his hands, the paper with Basta's evil words burst into flame. Mo dropped it. By the time it hit the floor, it was no more than ashes.
In the shocked silence, Meggie began to read aloud: "'Dustfinger had not returned to the world of the living; the law of life and death forbade it from happening. In his stead returned a villain, bent on keeping Dustfinger ever from coming back.'"
"Get her!" shouted Basta to his men. Immediately, they lunged at her, reaching for the book.
Thinking quickly, Meggie closed the book and hurled it to her father. He caught it in mid-air. "Read!" Meggie ordered. Mo needed no prompting, opening to the first page, where she had written the words. Her lettering was a bit difficult to decipher, it not being entirely neat because of the circumstances under which they were written, but they were legible.
Mo read slowly and carefully. "'But the love that Dustfinger's friends had for him was drawing him ever from the shadowlands, calling him nearer, calling him back to life. But the chains of Law still held him.'"
Basta and his men, turning from Meggie, now dashed madly for Mo, knives drawn. Imitating Meggie, Mo tossed the book to Orpheus, who had retreated from the fray.
Following suit, he too began to read. "'The man Basta could no longer be exchanged for Dustfinger, whose sacrifice had saved the life of the one who was as a son to him, for the balance would ever be upset. Yet there was another law, greater than the law of life and death. It was the law of Greater Love.'"
Again, the reading was stopped by Basta and his accomplices. Orpheus threw the book to Meggie, who darted to Mo's side. Confused, the villains stopped, not sure of what to do, as Orpheus ran, quickly for his size, to join Meggie and Mo. The three were joined by Resa and Fenoglio. And about them there sprung up a wall of flame, protecting them.
Farid whispered the fire-words, causing the flame to hiss and snarl, advancing slowly toward Basta. He could see Basta's face, sallow behind the colorful wall of flame, until the flames rose to hide it. "Shh," Farid whispered, and the fire became a quiet but roiling wall, soundless and powerful, hot enough to melt iron.
Mo had opened to the place where Orpheus had had to stop. He held the book so that everyone could see the words on the pages, written in a flowing but difficult script.
The power of one reader is a great one. But today, that power would be threefold, for in one voice, Mo, Meggie, and Orpheus read aloud the words written for love and for Dustfinger.
"'The law of life and death bowed before the power of Love. For it was Dustfinger's love that brought back life and pushed death to its knees. And now it was love that freed him. The chains that bound him in the White Women's realm now broke. For only on the basis of love can one return from that world to the world of life and not upset the balance.'"
The voices of Fenoglio and Resa now joined in. Although they did not add any power to the words, their voices added strength.
"'Dustfinger at last was allowed to truly return to his home. For the sake of love, for which entire worlds move, the White Women again opened the door for Dustfinger to live once more. In the secret place, Dustfinger's soul and body united once more, and he opened his eyes unto the world he had left. Dustfinger was finally home.'"
Silence ensued; a waiting silence. Mo placed the book in Meggie's hands, then turned to Farid. From the ground nearby, he picked up his sword.
The hardness closed over Mo's heart; the rage that had been fluttering inside him now broke out, but in a cool, frighteningly controlled way. His face was transformed by an intense anger and hatred, concentrated at his enemies beyond the protective fire.
"Put out your flames, Farid," he ordered calmly. Obediently, Farid did so. The wall of flame dissolved into nothing, and the Bluejay stepped forward, sword raised in his hand, ready to deal with Basta and his cohorts. But the place where they had stood was deserted. They had escaped.
The Bluejay ran to the cave's mouth. Basta was gone. 'The coward,' he thought, cursing silently. He would have pursued and put an end to them, but for the voice that called him back. It was gentle, loving, and it penetrated the hard shell of anger about his heart.
"Mo." It was Resa. She stood behind him.
It was not now with the eyes of the Bluejay that Mo turned to see Resa. He lowered the sword, then dropped it on the ground. Resa was staring at him, fright and confusion in her eyes, the same that Mo felt in his heart.
Pain came into Mo's eyes as he looked at her. "Resa," he breathed, and walked slowly toward her, then took her in his arms.
Resa could feel him shaking.
"Mo?" Meggie began when the long embrace terminated, "Do you think the words worked? Do you think Dustfinger could really be back this time?" Doubt was beginning to cloud her voice.
Mo didn't answer for a long time. At last, he turned to look her in the eye, and said in a quiet tone, "I don't know." There were many things Mo did not know right now. He sighed. "That question will have to answer itself."