Cornelia Funke - Inkheart

The old man closed his eyes. "Merciful heaven!" he murmured.

Outside, it was still dark. The moon hung in the sky in front of their window, with a cloud drifting past it like a tattered dress.

"I'll tell you tomorrow, " said Fenoglio. "That's a promise. "

"No! Tell me now. "

He looked at her thoughtfully. "It's not a story for this hour of night. You'll have bad dreams afterward. "

"Tell me!" Meggie repeated.

Fenoglio sighed. "Oh dear. I know that look from my grandchildren, " he said. "Very well, then. " He helped her up to her bunk, put Mo's sweater under her head, and pulled the blanket up to her chin. "I'll tell it to you the way I wrote it in Inkheart , " he said quietly. "I know that passage almost by heart. I was very proud of it at the time. " He cleared his throat before he began, whispering the words into the night. "But one being was feared even more than Capricorn's men. He was known as the Shadow, and he appeared only when Capricorn called him. Sometimes he was red as fire, sometimes as gray as the ashes into which fire turns all that it devours. He leaped from the ground like flame flickering up from wood. His touch and even his breath brought death. He rose up at his master's feet, soundless and faceless, scenting the air like a dog on the trail, waiting to be shown his victim. " Fenoglio swept a hand over his forehead and looked at the window. It was some time before he went on, as if he were recalling the words to mind from long ago. "They say, " he continued at last, "that Capricorn had the Shadow made from his victims' ashes by a troll, or the dwarves who know all that fire and smoke can do. No one was certain, for it was said that Capricorn had those who had brought the Shadow to life killed afterward. But everyone knew one thing: The Shadow was immortal and invulnerable and as pitiless as his master. "

Fenoglio fell silent. And Meggie, her heart beating fast, gazed out at the night.

"Yes, Meggie, " Fenoglio said at last in a low voice. "I think Capricorn wants you to bring him the Shadow. And God have mercy on us if you succeed. There are many monsters in this world, most of them human and all of them mortal. I wouldn't like to have an immortal monster on my conscience, a monster spreading fear and terror here for all time. Your father had an idea when he came to see me – I've already mentioned it to you, and it may be our only chance, but I just don't know how it will work yet. I must think hard. We don't have much time, and you ought to get some sleep now. When did you say this is to happen – the day after tomorrow?"

Meggie nodded. "As soon as dusk falls, " she whispered.

Fenoglio passed a weary hand over his face. "Don't worry about the woman, " he said. "You may not want to hear this, but I don't think she can possibly be your mother, much as you may wish she were. How could she have come here?"

"It was Darius!" Meggie buried her face in Mo's sweater. "The stupid man who can't read aloud well enough. Capricorn said so: He read her back out of Inkheart and she lost her voice coming out of the book. She's back, I'm sure she is, and Mo doesn't know! He thinks she's still stuck in the story. "

"Well, if you're right, then I wish she really were still there, " muttered Fenoglio, pulling the blanket up over her shoulders again with a sigh. "I still think you're wrong, but believe what you like! And now go to sleep. "

But of course Meggie couldn't sleep. She lay there with her face to the wall, listening to her own heart. Worry and joy mingled there like two colors running into each other. Whenever she closed her eyes she saw the nets and the two faces there among the cords, Dustfinger's and the other face, blurred as an old photograph. Hard as she tried to see it more clearly, it always faded again.

Dawn was breaking outside by the time she finally fell asleep, but the nightmares hadn't finished with her yet. They grew especially fast in the gray time between night and day, spinning an eternity out of seconds. One-eyed ogres and giant spiders stole into Meggie's sleep, hounds of hell, witches who ate children, all the bugbears she had ever met in stories. They crept out of the box that Mo had made her and jumped from the pages of her favorite books. Even the monsters came out of the picture books that Mo had given her before she knew the alphabet. They danced through Meggie's dream, brightly colored and shaggy, their wide mouths smiling, baring their pointed little teeth. There was the Cheshire Cat she had always been so afraid of, and here came the Wild Things that Mo liked so much he had hung a picture of them in his work shop. How huge their teeth were! Dustfinger would be crunched between those fangs like a cracker. But just as one of them was stretching out his claws, the one with eyes as big as saucers, a new figure came out of the gray void, hissing like a flame, ashen-gray and faceless, seized the Wild Thing, and tore it into scraps of paper.

"Meggie!"

The monsters vanished, and the sun was shining on Meggie's face. Fenoglio was standing beside her bed. "You were dreaming."

Meggie sat up. The old man's face looked as if he hadn't closed his eyes all night and he had several new wrinkles. "Where's my father, Fenoglio?" she asked. "Oh, why doesn't he come?"

Farid stared at the dark until his eyes hurt, but Dustfinger did not return. Sometimes Farid thought he saw his scarred face among the low-growing branches. Sometimes he thought he heard his almost silent footsteps on the dead leaves, but he was always wrong. Farid was used to listening to the sounds of the night. He had spent endless hours doing so back in his other life, when the world around him was not green but brown and yellow. His eyes had often let him down, but he had always been able to rely on his ears.

All the same, Farid listened in vain that night, the longest night of his life. Dustfinger didn't come back. When day began to dawn above the hills Farid went to the two captives, gave them water, a little of the dry bread they still had left, and a few olives.

"Come on, Farid, untie us!" said Silvertongue as Farid put the bread in his mouth. "Dustfinger should have been back by now, you know he should have. "

Farid said nothing. He loved to hear Silvertongue's voice. It had lured him out of his old, wretched life, but it seemed that Dustfinger didn't like it anymore, he didn't know why – and Dustfinger had told him to keep watch on the prisoners. He had said nothing about untying them.

"Look, you're a clever lad, " said the woman, "so use your head for a moment, will you? Are you going to sit here until Capricorn's men come and find us? What a sight we'll be: a boy watching two captives who can't lift a finger to help him. They'll fall over laughing. "

What was she called again? Eli-nor. Farid had difficulty remembering the name. It was awkward as a pebble on his tongue, and sounded like the name of an enchantress from a far distant land. He thought her unnatural; she looked at him as a man might look, without timidity or fear, and her voice could be very loud and as angry as a lion's roar.

"We have to get down to the village, Farid!" said Silver tongue. "We must find out what's happened to Dustfinger – and where my daughter is. "