Inkspell Read Online Free PDF

their roots, not much taller than the thistles and nettles.
    But where was the boy?
    Dustfinger looked around, searching for him, calling his name again and again. “Farid!” It was a name that had become almost as familiar to him as his own over these last few months. But there was no reply. Only his own voice echoing back from the trees.
    So that was it. The boy had been left behind. What would he do now, all alone? Well, thought Dustfinger as he looked around in vain one last time, what do you think? He’ll manage better in that world than you ever did. The noise, the speed, the crowds of people, he likes all that. And you’ve taught him enough of your craft, he can play with fire almost as well as you. Yes, the boy will manage very well. But for a moment the joy of his homecoming wilted in Dustfinger’s heart like one of the flowers at his feet, and the morning light that had welcomed him only a moment ago now seemed wan and lifeless. The other world had cheated him again: Yes, it had let him go after all those years, but it had kept the only beings there to whom he had given his heart. .
    Well, and what does that teach you? he thought, kneeling in the dewy grass. Better keep your heart to yourself, Dustfinger. He picked up a leaf that glowed red as fire on the dark moss. There hadn’t been any leaves like that in the other world, had there? So what was the matter with him?
    Angry with himself, he straightened up again. Listen, Dustfinger, you’re back! he told himself 19
     
    firmly. Back! Forget the boy –yes, you’ve lost him, but you have your own world back instead, a whole world. You’re back, can you finally believe it?
    If only it wasn’t so difficult. It was far easier to believe in unhappiness than in happiness. He would have to touch every flower, feel every tree, crumble the earth in his fingers and feel the first gnat-bite on his skin before he really believed it.
    But yes, he was back. He really was back. At last. And suddenly happiness went to his head like a glass of strong wine. Even the thought of Farid couldn’t cloud it anymore. His ten-year nightmare was over. How light he felt, light as one of the leaves raining down from the trees like gold!
    He was happy.
    Remember, Dustfinger? This is what it feels like. Happiness.
    Sure enough, Orpheus had read him to the very place he had described. There was the pool, shimmering among gray and white stones, surrounded by flowering oleander, and only a little way from the bank stood the plane tree where the fire-elves nested. Their nests seemed to cluster more densely around the trunk than he remembered. A less practiced eye might have taken them for bees’ nests, but they were smaller and rather paler, almost as pale as the bark peeling from the tall trunk to which they clung.
    Dustfinger looked around, once again breathing the air he had missed so much these last ten years. Scents he had almost forgotten mingled with those that could be found in the other world, too. And you could find trees like the ones around the pool there, too, although smaller and much younger. Branches of eucalyptus and alder reached out over the water as if to cool their leaves. Dustfinger cautiously made his way through the trees until he reached the bank. A tortoise made off at a leisurely pace when his shadow fell on its shell. The tongue of a toad, sitting on a stone, shot out and swallowed a fire-elf. Swarms of them were whirring about over the water, with their high-pitched buzzing that always sounded so angry.
    It was time to raid their nests.
    Dustfinger kneeled down on one of the damp stones. Something rustled behind him, and for a moment he caught himself looking for Farid’s dark hair and Gwin’s head with its little horns, but it was only a lizard pushing its way out of the leaves and crawling up onto one of the stones to bask in the autumn sunlight. “Idiot!” he muttered, leaning forward. “Forget the boy – and as for the marten, he won’t miss you.