فصل هجدهم

18

The Second Task

This time Ofelia did not wake from Fairy wings buzzing in the dark. For a moment the sound piercing her dreams made her wonder whether the forest had come into her room. But when she sat up, the Faun was standing at the foot of her bed, his limbs creaking like the branches of an old tree in the wind.

“You didn’t carry out the next task yet,” he growled.

He once again looked different. Stronger. Younger . . . reminding Ofelia of a very annoyed lion this time, with his catlike eyes, his perfectly rounded ears, and his long pale-yellow hair, which looked more and more like a mane. Lion, goat, man, he was all of it and none. He was . . . the Faun.

“I couldn’t!” Ofelia defended herself. “My mother is sick! Very sick!” “That’s no excuse for negligence!” the Faun snarled, his hands writing his anger into the night. “Well . . . ,” he added after a pause. “I’ll forgive you for now. And I brought something that will help your mother.” The pale lumpy root he held up was bigger than his fist and it looked to Ofelia as if it were spreading twisted arms and legs. Like a baby frozen in mid-birth scream.

“This is a mandrake root,” the Faun explained, handing the strange thing to Ofelia. “A plant that dreamt of being human. Put it under your mother’s bed in a fresh bowl of milk, and feed it each morning with two drops of blood.” Ofelia disliked the scent of the root as much as its strangely human shape. It resembled a baby born with nothing but a mouth. And without hands and feet.

“Now! No more delays. No time to waste!” The Faun clapped his hands. “The full moon will be upon us. Ah yes.” He removed his wooden satchel. “I almost forgot! You’ll need my pets to guide you.” Ofelia heard the Fairy chattering inside as he put the satchel on her blanket.

“Yes. You’re going to a very dangerous place.” The Faun lifted a warning finger, the lines on his forehead swirling like whirls in a bottomless river. “Far more dangerous than the last one. So be careful!” For a moment he sounded sincerely worried about her.

“The thing that slumbers in that place—” He shook his horned head and frowned with disgust. “It is not human, although it may look like it. It’s very old and full of cunning and cruelty—and a great hunger.” He plucked a big hourglass out of the air and dropped it on Ofelia’s bed.

“Here. You’ll need this, too. You’ll see a sumptuous banquet, but don’t eat or drink anything. Nothing!” This time both hands drew a warning sign into the night. “Absolutely nothing!” Ofelia looked at the objects on her blanket: the mandrake root, the satchel, the hourglass. Three gifts . . . just like the heroes in her fairy tales often received. These gifts always proved to be very helpful—unless one lost them or used them the wrong way.

“Ab-so-lute-ly nothing!” the Faun repeated, his clawed fingers piercing the night. “Your life will depend on it.” And before Ofelia could ask him to tell her more, he was gone.