The Time of Contempt

by Andrzej Sapkowski

  ‘Why only on the dark?’

  ‘These buildings are in ruins. Moisture, erosion, strong winds, salt air, all of it affects the walls terribly. Fixing them would cost a fortune, so we use illusions. Prestige, you know.’

  ‘Not quite.’

  The wizard raised his hand and the terrace disappeared. They were standing in front of an abyss, on a precipice which at the bottom were bristling teeth of rock bathed in foam. They were on a narrow belt of dark tiles arranged as a trapezoid between the porch of Arethusa and the pillars that supported the roof.

  Geralt maintained his balance without effort. If he were a human, not a witcher, he would not have managed to keep it. But even he was surprised. His sudden movement did not escape the attention of the wizard, nor the look on his face. The wind buffeted the narrow catwalk, and carried the sound of waves from the abyss below.

  ‘Not afraid of death.’ Vilgefortz said with a smile. ‘But you are afraid for her.’

  * * *

  The rag doll looked at him with its button eyes.

  ‘He mocked you.’ Yennefer murmured, hugging the witcher. ‘There was no danger, surely he had you both wrapped in a levitation field. He wouldn’t have risked it… What happened next?’

  ‘We went to another wing of Arethusa. He led me into a large chamber, it was probably one of the teachers offices, maybe even the head. We sat at a table on which stood an hourglass. The sand was falling. I sensed the smell of perfume , I knew Lydia had been in the room before us…’

  ‘And Vilgefortz?’

  ‘He asked questions.’

  * * *

  ‘Why did you not become a wizard, Geralt? Did the Arts never attract you? Be honest.’

  ‘I will. Yes they appealed to me.’

  ‘So why not follow the voice of inclination?’

  ‘I felt that it would be more reasonable to go with the voice of reason.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Years of work in the witcher’s profession have taught me to measure the strength of intentions. You know, Vilgefortz I once knew a dwarf, who dreamed of becoming an elf. What do you think would have happened if he had followed the voice of inclination?’

  ‘Was that supposed to be a comparison? A parallel? If so, it is completely inaccurate. A dwarf could never be an elf. Because his mother was never an elf.’

  Geralt was silent for a long time.

  ‘Well, yes,’ he said finally. ‘I could have guessed that. You’ve been digging around a bit in my resume. Can you tell me, for what purpose?’

  ‘Maybe,’ smiled the wizard slightly. ‘I dream of a painting in the Gallery of Glory? The two of us, at the table, and a brass plate inscription reading: “Vilgefortz of Roggeveen’s pact with Geralt of Rivia.”’

  ‘That would be an allegory,’ said the witcher. ‘With the title: “Knowledge trumps ignorance.” I would prefer a more realistic picture, bearing the title: “Vilgefortz explains to Geralt what’s going on.”’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you forgotten? The painting that I dream of, hangs in the Gallery of Glory, they will look at it in future generations, and they will know perfectly well what is going on, what the event shows in the painting. Painted on the canvas, Vilgefortz and Geralt agree and forge a pact which as a result Geralt, not following the voice of inclination, but a true calling, finally enters the ranks of Sorcerers, putting behind his present life which is lacking in meaning and devoid of a future.’

  ‘And to think,’ said the witcher after a long moment of silence. ‘I had believed that nothing could surprise me anymore. Believe me Vilgefortz, I will remember this banquet and its magical comedy of events for a long time. Surely it is worth a picture. With the Title: ‘Geralt leaves the island of Thanedd, bursting with laughter.’’

  ‘I do not understand,’ the wizard bowed slightly, ‘I am lost in thy flowery speeches and densely woven fancy words.’

  ‘The cause of your misunderstanding is clear to me. We are too different to understand. You are a powerful wizard of the Chapter, who has attained oneness with nature. While I am a wanderer, a witcher, a mutant, who travels the world and kills monsters for money…’

  ‘The flamboyance,’ interrupted the wizard ‘has been replaced by banalities.’

  ‘We’re too different.’ Geralt did not let himself be interrupted. ‘A small fact that my mother was, incidentally, a sorceress, cannot erase this difference. But just out of curiosity, who was your mother?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ Vilgefortz said calmly.

  The witcher fell silent immediately.

  ‘The Druid Circle in Kovir,’ the wizard took a moment ‘found me in the gutter in Lan Exeter. They took me in and educated me. As a druid, of course. You know what a druid is? They are tramps, that walk through the world and kneel before the sacred oaks.’

  The witcher stayed silent.

  ‘And then,’ continued Vilgefortz ‘during some druidic rituals my talents surfaced. Talents that clearly and without a doubt allowed them to determine my origins. I was conceived, of course, by accident, by two people, of whom at least one of them was a sorcerer.’

  Geralt was silent.

  ‘The druid who discovered my humble abilities, of course, had fortuitously met a sorcerer.’ Vilgefortz calmly went on. ‘And he generously offered me an education and development and the prospect of joining the Brotherhood of Sorcerers.’

  ‘And you,’ said the witcher hollowly ‘accepted the offer.’

  ‘No.’ Vilgefortz voice became increasingly cold and unpleasant. ‘I rejected it in a less than polite, even rude way. I unloaded all of my rage on him. I wanted him to feel guilty, him and all his magical brotherhood. Guilty, for the gutter in Lan Exeter, guilty for one or two rogue sorcerers. The sorcerer, it was clear, neither understood nor was he bothered by what I said then. He shrugged and walked away, thus marking himself like all of his brethren, insensitive, arrogant, bastards worthy of the highest contempt.’

  Geralt remained silent.

  ‘I was sick of the druids already.’ continued Vilgefortz sincerely. ‘So I left the sacred oak trees and went out into the world. I did many things. So I am ashamed of still to this day. I finally became a soldier for hire. My life unfolded as you can imagine, as a stereotype. A victorious soldier, a beaten soldier, a marauder, robber, rapist, murderer, and finally a fleeing fugitive to the end of the world from the noose. I ran away to the end of the world. And there, at the end of the world I met a woman. A Sorceress.’

  ‘Be careful’ the witcher whispered, his eyes narrowing. ‘Be careful Vilgefortz that the search for similarities does not take you to far.’

  ‘The similarities have already been completed.’ The wizard did not drop his gaze. ‘Since I did not know how to handle the feelings I harboured towards the woman. Neither did I understand her feelings as she tried to help me. I left. Because she was promiscuous, arrogant, angry, numb and cold. Because she was impossible to dominate and her dominance was humiliating. I left because I knew she cared about me just because of my intelligence, personality and this fascinating mystery blurred the fact that I was not a sorcerer and only a sorcerer favour was more than a night. I left because… Because she was like my mother. Suddenly I realized that what I felt for her was not love but a feeling far more complicated, powerful but difficult to identify: a mixture of fear, anger, rage, remorse and the need for atonement, guilt, loss and damage, a perverse need for suffering and punishment. What I felt for this woman was hate.’

  Geralt was silent. Vilgefortz looked away.

  ‘I left,’ he continued after a moment. ‘because I could not live with the emptiness, which has enveloped me. I suddenly realized that this is not the lack of the woman that was causing the void, but the lack of what I was feeling. A paradox right? I think I’ll stop, you can guess the rest. I became a sorcerer. Out of hatred. And only then did I realize how stupid it was. I mistook reflected on the surface of a pond with the sky with stars
at night time.’

  ‘As you noticed the parallels between us were not quite parallel.’ Geralt muttered. ‘Despite appearances, we have little in common, Vilgefortz. What did you want to prove by telling me your story? That the path to magic mastery, thought twisted and difficult, is open to all? Even for, sorry for the parallels, bastards and foundlings, vagrants or witchers…’

  ‘No’ interrupted the wizard. ‘I did not intend to argue that this route is available to all, because it is obvious and long since proven. It does not require either any evidence the fact that for some people there is simply no other way.’

  ‘And so,’ smiled the witcher. ‘I have no way out? Do I have to sign the aforementioned agreement that I will become the subject of paintings and become a sorcerer? Just because of genetics? Wow. I know a little theory of heredity. My father, I learned with a little effort, was a vagabond, ignorant, mercenary adventurer. I have the advantage of paternal genes, not only maternal. The fact that I have a beard seems to confirm this.’

  ‘Certainly.’ The wizard grinned. ‘The hourglass has dropped almost all its sand and I Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, master of magic, a member of the Chapter, Am still conversing with an ignorant mercenary the son of an ignorant, mercenary and vagabond. We talk about matters and issues, as we all know, are common topics of discussion and comments at the fires of ignorant mercenaries. Such things as genetics, for example. Where did you hear that word, my mercenary? From the school in the Ellander temple where they spell and write twenty-four runes? What made you decide to the read books where you can find these and other similar words? Where you honed your eloquence and rhetoric? And what where you doing? Trying to converse with vampires? My genetic vagabond, that Tissaia de Vries smiles at. My witcher, mercenary that fascinates Filippa Eilhart, so that both of her hands tremble. At the mention of, makes Triss Merigold blush. Not to mention Yennefer of Vengerberg.’

  ‘Perhaps it is a good thing that they do not remember. There is so little sand left in the hourglass that you could almost count the grains. Do not paint any more pictures for me, Vilgefortz. Say what is going on. Tell me in simple words. Imagine sitting by the fire, two vagabonds, roasting a suckling pig, which they had just stolen, and unsuccessfully trying to get drunk from birch juice. It is a simple question. Answer. Vagabond to vagabond.’

  ‘What is this simple question?’

  ‘What pact do you propose? What arrangement have we entered into? Why do you want me in your boat, Vilgefortz? What cauldron, in which it seems to me, begins to boil? What’s in the air here, apart from the chandeliers?’

  ‘Hmm.’ The wizard thought, or at least pretended to. ‘The question is not simple, but I will try to answer. But not vagabond to vagabond. As a mercenary to mercenary like I was.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Then listen, comrade mercenary. Prepare for a good fucking. A terrible slaughter of life and death, no quarter will be given. Some will win; the others will be eaten by the crows. I counsel you, comrade, join with those who have the greater chance. Join with us. Join with the others, and I’ll spit on you, because they have no chance, and you will die with them. No comrade, don’t show me your grin here, I know what you mean. You want to say that you are neutral. That you and those you care about will just wait it out hiding in your mountain, Kaer Morhen. That is a bad idea, comrade. Everything you love is with us. If you do not join, you’ll lose it all. And then the emptiness, nothingness and hatred will swallow you. Then the time of contempt, which is coming will destroy you. So be sensible and stand on the right side, when the time comes to choose. And the choice will come. You can believe me.’

  ‘Incredible,’ the witcher’s took on a sinister smile, ‘how bothered you all are by my neutrality. To what extent it makes me the object of proposals for pacts and agreements, offers of cooperation, instructions about the need to make choices and stand on the right side. Let’s end this conversation Vilgefortz. You lose this time. In this game, I am not an equal partner. I see no possibility that we are both in the same picture in the Gallery of Glory. Especially in the battles.’

  The sorcerer was silent.

  ‘Arrange’ continued Geralt, ‘your chessboard, the king, the queen, the elephant and the tower, do not worry about me because on this chessboard I have as much importance as the dust that covers it. This is not my game. You say that I have to choose? I assure you you’re wrong. I will not choose. I will adapt to whatever happens. I will adapt to what others choose, I’ve always done this.’

  ‘You’re a fatalist.’

  ‘I am. Although it is still a word you should not know. Again, this is not my game.’

  ‘Really?’ Vilgefortz leaned across the table. ‘In this game witcher, on the board is already a black horse, for good or bad you are joined by bonds of destiny. You know who I’m talking about, right? You do not want to lose her? Know there is only one way to do it so as not to lose.’

  The witcher’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘What is it you want from the child?’

  ‘There is only one way you can find that out.’

  ‘I warn you. I will not let you hurt…’

  ‘there is only one way you can do that. I have proposed such a way, Geralt of Rivia. Think about my proposal. You have all night. Think when you look to the sky. To the stars. Do not mistake them for those reflected on the surface of a pond. The hourglass has run out.’

  * * *

  ‘I fear for Ciri, Yen.’

  ‘You shouldn’t.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Trust me.’ She hugged him. ‘Trust me, please. Don’t worry about Vilgefortz. He is a player. He wanted to approach you, to provoke. He partially succeeded in this. But it doesn’t matter. Ciri is under my care, and Arethusa is secure, She will be able to develop her abilities here, and not be disturbed. By anyone. As for being a sorceress, forget it. She has other talents. And is destined for other things. Believe me.’

  ‘I believe you.’

  ‘That’s significant progress. And do not worry about Vilgefortz. Tomorrow will explain many things and solve many problems.’

  Tomorrow, he thought. She’s hiding something from me. And I’m afraid to ask. Codringher was right. I’m tangled in a nasty cabal. But now I have no way out. I’ll have to wait for what tomorrow brings that apparently will explain everything. I have to trust her. I know something will happen. I will wait. And I will adapt to the situation.

  He looked at the writing desk.

  ‘Yen?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘When you studied in Arethusa… when sleeping in rooms like this… did you have a doll without which you could not sleep?’

  ‘No,’ Yennefer stirred violently. ‘I did not have a doll. Don’t ask me that, Geralt. Please don’t ask me.’

  ‘Arethusa.’ He whispered, looking around. ‘Arethusa on the island of Thanedd. Her home. For so many years… When she comes out from here, she’ll be a mature woman…’

  ‘Stop. Don’t think about it and don’t talk about it. Instead…’

  ‘What, Yen?’

  ‘Make love to me.’

  He embraced her. Touched. Found. Yennefer, in an incredible way was hard and soft at the same time, she sighed loudly. The words they said were broken, sighs and aspirations which disappeared in a hurry, ceased to have meaning and dispersed. So silent, focused on finding themselves on the search for truth. They were looking a long time, carefully and lovingly, fearing the sacrilege of haste, the lightness and neglect. They looked hard, intense and passionate. They looked carefully, fearing the sacrilege of the absence of finesse.

  They found each other, they overcame fear and a moment later, they found the truth, which exploded under their eyelids, awesome, blindingly obvious, a groan tore at his mouth which was clenched in determination. He then shuddered and time froze, everything disappeared, and only became a functioning sense of touch.

  An eternity passed, reality returned, and for the second time he shuddered and began to move slo
wly, awkwardly, like a big loaded wagon. Geralt looked out the window. The moon was in the sky but what happened a moment ago should have thrown it to the ground.

  ‘Wow,’ said Yennefer after a time, wiping tears from her cheeks with a slow movement.

  They lay motionless between the disordered sheets, among tremors, between the warmth and the expiring happiness, among the silence that swirled around the indistinct darkness pregnant with the smell of the night and the voices of the cicadas. Geralt knew that in such moments as these sorceress telepathic abilities were heightened and very strong, he thought so intensely about on issues and beautiful things. The brightness of the rising sun. In the dawn mist hanging over a mountain lake. In crystalline waterfalls filled with jumping salmon, as bright as if made of molten silver. The warm drops of rain hitting the leaves of a rose bush in full bloom.

  He thought of her. Yennefer smiled, listening to his thoughts. The smile trembled on her cheeks with the silver by the moon shadow on her eyelashes.

  * * *

  ‘A house?’ Yennefer asked suddenly. ‘What house? Do you have a house? Do you wish to build a house? Ah… sorry. I should not…’

  He was silent. He was angry with himself. Thinking to her had inadvertently allowed her to read the thoughts he had harboured about it.

  ‘A beautiful dream.’ Yennefer lightly stroked his arm. ‘A house. A house built with your own hands and in the house you and me. You would raise horses and sheep, I would take care of the garden, food and Cardaria would weigh the wool that we would take to the market. From the orens that we would be given from the sale of the wool and various fruits of the earth we would buy everything we need, say a little copper kettle and an iron rake. Every so often we would visit Ciri with her husband and their three children, sometimes Triss Merigold would come and to be with us for a few days. We could grow old with dignity. And if I get bored at night you would play the bagpipes made with your own hands. Playing the bagpipes, as everyone knows is the best remedy for the blues.’