Geralt hesitated. He thought he smelled the scent of lilac and gooseberries.
‘I think so,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I do have to. I’m sorry, Chireadan—’
‘Don’t apologise. I know what you feel.’
‘I doubt it. Because I don’t know myself.’
The elf smiled. The smile had little to do with joy. ‘That’s just it, Geralt. Precisely it.’
Krepp pulled himself upright and took a deep breath. ‘Ready,’ he said, pointing with pride at the barely visible outline on the wall. ‘But the portal is unsteady and won’t stay there for long. And there’s no way to be sure it won’t break. Before you step through, sir, examine your conscience. I can give you a blessing, but in order to forgive you your sins—’
‘—there’s no time,’ Geralt finished the sentence for him. ‘I know, Mr Krepp. There’s never enough time for it. Leave the chamber, all of you. If the portal explodes it’ll burst your eardrums. ’
‘I’ll stay,’ said Krepp, when the door had closed behind Dandilion and the elf. He waved his hands in the air, creating a pulsating aura around himself. ‘I’ll spread some protection, just in case. And if the portal does burst . . . I’ll try and pull you out, witcher. What are eardrums to me? They grow back.’
Geralt looked at him more kindly.
The priest smiled. ‘You’re a brave man,’ he said. ‘You want to save her, don’t you? But bravery isn’t going to be of much use to you. Djinns are vengeful beings. The sorceress is lost. And if you go there, you’ll be lost, too. Examine your conscience.’
‘I have.’ Geralt stood in front of the faintly glowing portal. ‘Mr Krepp, sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘That exorcism which made you so angry . . . What do the words mean?’
‘Indeed, what a moment for quips and jokes—’
‘Please, Mr Krepp, sir.’
‘Oh, well,’ said the priest, hiding behind the mayor’s heavy oak table. ‘It’s your last wish, so I’ll tell you. It means . . . Hmm . . . Hmm . . . essentially . . . get out of here and go fuck yourself!’
Geralt entered the nothingness, where cold stifled the laughter which was shaking him.
VIII
The portal, roaring and whirling like a hurricane, spat him out with a force that bruised his lungs. The witcher collapsed on the floor, panting and catching his breath with difficulty.
The floor shook. At first he thought he was trembling after his journey through the splitting hell of the portal, but he rapidly realised his mistake. The whole house was vibrating, trembling and creaking.
He looked around. He was not in the small room where he had last seen Yennefer and Dandilion but in the large communal hall of Errdil’s renovated tavern.
He saw her. She was kneeling between tables, bent over the magical sphere. The sphere was aflame with a strong, milky light, so bright, enough to shine red through her fingers. The light from the sphere illuminated a scene, flickering and swaying, but clear. Geralt saw the small room with a star and pentagram traced on the floor, blazing with white heat. He saw many-coloured, creaking, fiery lines shooting from the pentagram and disappearing up over the roof towards the furious roar of the captured djinn.
Yennefer saw him, jumped up and raised her hand.
‘No!’ he shouted, ‘don’t do this! I want to help you!’
‘Help?’ She snorted. ‘You?’
‘Me.’
‘In spite of what I did to you?’
‘In spite of it.’
‘Interesting. But not important. I don’t need your help. Get out of here.’
‘No.’
‘Get out of here!’ she yelled, grimacing ominously. ‘It’s getting dangerous! The whole thing’s getting out of control, do you understand? I can’t master him. I don’t get it, but the scoundrel isn’t weakening at all! I caught him once he’d fulfilled the troubadour’s third wish and I should have him in the sphere by now. But he’s not getting any weaker! Dammit, it looks as if he’s getting stronger! But I’m still going to get the better of him, I’ll break—’
‘You won’t break him, Yennefer. He’ll kill you.’
‘It’s not so easy to kill me—’
She broke off. The whole roof of the tavern suddenly flared up. The vision projected by the sphere dissolved in the brightness. A huge fiery rectangle appeared on the ceiling. The sorceress cursed as she lifted her hands, and sparks gushed from her fingers.
‘Run, Geralt!’
‘What’s happening, Yennefer?’
‘He’s located me . . .’ She groaned, flushing red with effort. ‘He wants to get at me. He’s creating his own portal to get in. He can’t break loose but he’ll get in by the portal. I can’t—I can’t stop him!’
‘Yennefer—’
‘Don’t distract me! I’ve got to concentrate . . . Geralt, you’ve got to get out of here. I’ll open my portal, a way for you to escape. Be careful, it’ll be a random portal, I haven’t got time or strength for any other . . . I don’t know where you’ll end up . . . but you’ll be safe . . . Get ready—’
A huge portal on the ceiling suddenly flared blindingly, expanded and grew deformed. Out of the nothingness appeared the shapeless mouth already known to the witcher, snapping its drooping lips and howling loudly enough to pierce his ears. Yennefer jumped, waved her arms and shouted an incantation. A net of light shot from her palm and fell on the djinn. It gave a roar and sprouted long paws which shot towards the sorceress’s throat like attacking cobras. Yennefer didn’t back away.
Geralt threw himself towards her, pushed her aside and sheltered her. The djinn, tangled in the magical light, sprang from the portal like a cork from a bottle and threw himself at them, opening his jaws. The witcher clenched his teeth and hit him with the Sign without any apparent effect. But the genie didn’t attack. He hung in the air just below the ceiling, swelled to an impressive size, goggled at Geralt with his pale eyes and roared. There was something in that roar, something like a command, an order. He didn’t understand what it was.
‘This way!’ shouted Yennefer, indicating the portal which she had conjured up on the wall by the stairs. In comparison to the one created by the genie, the sorceress’s portal looked feeble, extremely inferior. ‘This way, Geralt! Run for it!’
‘Only with you!’
Yennefer, sweeping the air with her hands, was shouting incantations and the many-coloured fetters showered sparks and creaked. The djinn whirled like the bumble-bee, pulling the bonds tight, then loosening them. Slowly but surely he was drawing closer to the sorceress. Yennefer did not back away.
The witcher leapt to her, deftly tripped her up, grabbed her by the waist with one hand and dug the other into her hair at the nape. Yennefer cursed nastily and thumped him in the neck with her elbow. He didn’t let go of her. The penetrating smell of ozone, created by the curses, didn’t kill the smell of lilac and gooseberries. Geralt stilled the sorceress’s kicking legs and jumped, raising her straight up to the opalescently flickering nothingness of the lesser portal.
The portal which led into the unknown.
They flew out in a tight embrace, fell onto a marble floor and slid across it, knocking over an enormous candlestick and a table from which crystal goblets, platters of fruit and a huge bowl of crushed ice, seaweed and oysters showered down with a crash. Screams and squeals came from around the room.
They were lying in the very centre of a ballroom, bright with candelabra. Richly-clad gentlemen and ladies, sparkling with jewels, had stopped dancing and were watching them in stunned silence. The musicians in the gallery finished their piece in a cacophony which grated on the ears.
‘You moron!’ Yennefer yelled, trying to scratch out his eyes. ‘You bloody idiot! You stopped me! I nearly had him!’
‘You had shit-all!’ he shouted back, furious. ‘I saved your life, you stupid witch!’
She hissed like a furious cat, her palms showered sparks.
Geralt, turning his face away, caught her
by both wrists and they rolled among the oysters, seaweed and crushed ice.
‘Do you have an invitation?’ A portly man with the golden chain of a chamberlain on his chest was looking at them with a haughty expression.
‘Screw yourself!’ screamed Yennefer, still trying to scratch Geralt’s eyes out.
‘It’s a scandal,’ the chamberlain said emphatically. ‘Verily, you’re exaggerating with this teleportation. I’m going to complain to the Council of Wizards. I’ll demand—’
No one ever heard what the chamberlain would demand. Yennefer wrenched herself free, slapped the witcher in the ear with her open palm, kicked him forcefully in the shin and jumped into the fading portal in the wall.
Geralt threw himself after her, catching her hair and belt with a practised move.
Yennefer, also having gained practise, landed him a blow with her elbow.
The sudden move split her dress at the armpit, revealing a shapely breast. An oyster flew from her torn dress.
They both fell into the nothingness of the portal. Geralt could still hear the chamberlain’s voice.
‘Music! Play on! Nothing has happened. Please take no notice of that pitiful incident!’
The witcher was convinced that with every successive journey through the portal, the risk of misfortune was multiplying and he wasn’t mistaken. They hit the target, Errdil’s tavern, but they materialised just under the ceiling. They fell, shattering the stair balustrade and, with a deafening crash, landed on the table. The table had the right not to withstand the blow, and it didn’t.
Yennefer found herself under the table. He was sure she had lost consciousness. He was mistaken.
She punched him in the eye and fired a volley of insults straight at him which would do credit to a dwarven undertaker – and they were renowned for their foul language. The curses were accompanied by furious, chaotic blows dealt blindly, randomly.
Geralt grabbed her by the hands and, to avoid being hit by her forehead, thrust his face into the sorceress’s cleavage which smelled of lilac, gooseberries and oysters.
‘Let me go!’ she screamed, kicking like a pony. ‘You idiot! Let go! The fetters are going to break any moment now. I’ve got to strengthen them or the djinn will escape!’
He didn’t answer, although he wanted to. He grasped her even more tightly, trying to pin her down to the floor. Yennefer swore horribly, struggled, and with all her strength, kicked him in the crotch with her knee. Before he could catch his breath she broke free and screamed an incantation. He felt a terrible force drag him from the ground and hurl him across the hall until, with a violence that near-stunned him, he slammed against a carved two-doored chest of drawers and shattered it completely.
IX
‘What’s happening there?!’ Dandilion, clinging to the wall, strained his neck, trying to see through the downpour. ‘Tell me what’s happening there, dammit!’
‘They’re fighting!’ yelled an urchin, springing away from the tavern window as if he’d burnt himself. His tattered friends also escaped, slapping the mud with their bare heels. ‘The sorcerer and the witch are fighting!’
‘Fighting?’ Neville was surprised. ‘They’re fighting, and that shitty demon is ruining my town! Look, he’s knocked another chimney down. And damaged the brick-kiln! Hey, you get over there, quick! Gods, we’re lucky it’s raining or there’d be a fire like nobody’s business!’
‘This won’t last much longer,’ Krepp said gloomily. ‘The magical light is weakening, the bonds will break at any moment. Mr Neville! Order the people to move back! All hell’s going to break loose over there at any minute! There’ll be only splinters left of that house! Mr Errdil, what are you laughing at? It’s your house. What makes you so amused?’
‘I had that wreck insured for a massive sum!’
‘Does the policy cover magical and supernatural events?’
‘Of course.’
‘That’s wise, Mr Elf. Very wise. Congratulations. Hey, you people, get to some shelter! Don’t get any closer, if you value your lives!’
A deafening crash came from within Errdil’s house, and lightning flashed. The small crowd retreated, hiding behind the pillars.
‘Why did Geralt go there?’ groaned Dandilion. ‘What the hell for? Why did he insist on saving that witch? Why, dammit? Chireadan, do you understand?’
The elf smiled sadly. ‘Yes, I do, Dandilion,’ he said. ‘I do.’
X
Geralt leapt away from another blazing orange shaft which shot from the sorceress’s fingers. She was clearly tired, the shafts were weak and slow, and he avoided them with no great difficulty.
‘Yennefer!’ he shouted. ‘Calm down! Will you listen!? You won’t be able—’
He didn’t finish. Thin red bolts of lightning spurted from the sorceress’s hands, reaching him in many places and wrapping him up thoroughly. His clothes hissed and started to smoulder.
‘I won’t be able to?’ she said through her teeth, standing over him. ‘You’ll soon see what I’m capable of. It will suffice for you to lie there for a while and not get in my way.’
‘Get this off me!’ he roared, struggling in the blazing spider’s web. ‘I’m burning, dammit!’
‘Lie there and don’t move,’ she advised, panting heavily. ‘It only burns when you move . . . I can’t spare you any more time, witcher. We had a romp, but enough’s enough. I’ve got to take care of the djinn; he’s ready to run away—’
‘Run away?’ Geralt screamed. ‘It’s you who should run away! That djinn . . . Yennefer, listen to me carefully. I’ve got to tell you the truth.’
XI
The djinn gave a tug at the fetters, traced a circle, tightened the lines holding it, and swept the little tower off Beau Berrant’s house.
‘What a roar he’s got!’ Dandilion frowned, instinctively clasping his throat. ‘What a terrible roar! It looks as if he’s bloody furious!’
‘That’s because he is,’ said Krepp. Chireadan glanced at him.
‘What?’
‘He’s furious,’ repeated Krepp. ‘And I’m not surprised. I’d be furious too if I had to fulfil, to the letter, the first wish accidentally expressed by the witcher—’
‘How’s that?’ shouted Dandilion. ‘Geralt? Wish?’
‘He’s the one who held the seal which imprisoned the djinn. The djinn’s fulfilling his wishes. That’s why the witch can’t master it. But the witcher mustn’t tell her, even if he’s caught on to it by now. He shouldn’t tell her.’
‘Dammit,’ muttered Chireadan. ‘I’m beginning to understand. The warder in the dungeon burst . . .’
‘That was the witcher’s second wish. He’s still got one left. The last one. But, gods help us, he shouldn’t reveal that to Yennefer!’
XII
She stood motionless, leaning over him, paying no attention to the djinn struggling at its bonds above the tavern roof. The building shook, lime and splinters poured from the ceiling, furniture crept along the floor, shuddering spasmodically.
‘So that’s how it is,’ she hissed. ‘Congratulations. You deceived me. Not Dandilion, but you. That’s why the djinn’s fighting so hard! But I haven’t lost yet, Geralt. You underestimate me, and you underestimate my power. I’ve still got the djinn and you in my hand. You’ve still got one last wish, haven’t you? So make it. You’ll free the djinn and then I’ll bottle it.’
‘You haven’t got enough strength left, Yennefer.’
‘You underestimate my strength. The wish, Geralt!’
‘No, Yennefer. I can’t . . . The djinn might fulfil it, but it won’t spare you. It’ll kill you when it’s free. It’ll take its revenge on you . . . You won’t manage to catch it and you won’t manage to defend yourself against it. You’re weakened, you can barely stand. You’ll die, Yennefer.’
‘That’s my risk!’ she shouted, enraged. ‘What’s it to you what happens to me? Think rather what the djinn can give you! You’ve still got one wish! You can ask what you like! Make
use of it! Use it, witcher! You can have anything! Anything!’
XIII
‘Are they both going to die?’ wailed Dandilion. ‘How come? Krepp, why? After all, the witcher—Why, by all perfidious and unexpected plagues, isn’t he escaping? Why? What’s keeping him? Why doesn’t he leave that bloody witch to her fate and run away? It’s senseless!’
‘Absolutely senseless,’ repeated Chireadan bitterly. ‘Absolutely.’
‘It’s suicide. And plain idiocy!’
‘It’s his job, after all,’ interrupted Neville. ‘The witcher’s saving my town. May the gods be my witness – if he defeats the witch and chases the demon away, I’ll reward him handsomely . . .’
Dandilion snatched the hat decorated with a heron’s feather from his head, spat into it, threw it in the mud and trampled on it, spitting out words in various languages as he did.
‘But he’s . . .’ he groaned suddenly, ‘still got one wish in reserve! He could save both her and himself! Mr Krepp!’
‘It’s not that simple,’ the priest pondered. ‘But if . . . If he expressed the right wish . . . If he somehow tied his fate to the fate . . . No, I don’t think it would occur to him. And it’s probably better that it doesn’t.’
XIV
‘The wish, Geralt! Hurry up! What do you desire? Immortality? Riches? Fame? Power? Might? Privileges? Hurry, we haven’t any time!’ He was silent. ‘Humanity,’ she said suddenly, smiling nastily. ‘I’ve guessed, haven’t I? That’s what you want, that’s what you dream of! Of release, of the freedom to be who you want, not who you have to be. The djinn will fulfil that wish, Geralt. Just say it.’
He stayed silent.
She stood over him in the flickering radiance of the wizard’s sphere, in the glow of magic, amidst the flashes of rays restraining the djinn, streaming hair and eyes blazing violet, erect, slender, dark, terrible . . .
Introducing the Witcher Page 28