Lady of the Lake

by Andrzej Sapkowski

  Everything in this world seems beautiful, but to strangers it means death, she silently repeated Eredin’s words.

  The river widened and islands and channels began to appear. She allowed the boat to sail on luck, along with the current. But she began to be afraid. What happens If I make a mistake or flow the wrong branch?

  While she thought, she heard a whinny from Kelpie and hear an intense mental signal from the unicorn.

  ‘There you are, Little horse!’

  We must hurry, Star Eyes. Follow me.

  ‘To my world?’

  First I have to show you something. I was ordered to by the elders.

  They rode firstly through the forest steppe, then through densely chopped ravines and gorges. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. The storm was getting closer and the wind raged.

  The unicorn led Ciri to one of the gorges.

  It is here.

  ‘What is here?’

  Go down and see.

  She obeyed. The ground was uneven and she stumbled. There was a click and something rolled under her feet. There was a flash and Ciri gasped. She was in the middle of a sea of bones.

  They had been a landslide probably because of the intensity of the downpours. And it had revealed what it had been hiding. A graveyard. A large mass grave. A huge pile of bones.

  Tibiae, pelvis, ribs, femurs. Skulls.

  Ciri picked one up.

  Again the lightning flashed and she screamed. She knew whose bones were lying here. The skull which had been cleaved by a sharp blade had canines.

  Now you know. Now you understand. They did this, the Aen Elle, the King of the Alders, the Fox and Sparrowhawk. This world was not originally their world. They made it theirs when they conquered it. When they opened the Ard Gaeth. With our help, because we had been used and abused and now they are trying to use and abuse you.

  Ciri threw the skull.

  ‘Rogues,’ she cried into the night. ‘Murderers!’

  Thunder rumbled. Ihuarraquax snorted, loudly, warningly. She understood. With a single jump she was in the saddle and spurred Kelpie to a gallop.

  Following in their footsteps were pursuers.

  This is not the first time this has happened, she thought, feeling the wind in her face as she galloped. Not the first time. This wild ride in the dark, in the middle of the night, chased by ghosts, specters and apparitions.

  ‘Forward, Kelpie!’

  In the glow of the lightning, Ciri could see through her watering eyes willows and alders along the trails. But these were not trees. They were hunched monsters coming at her from both sides, with their twisted and gnarled limbs, rotten laughter coming from a black mouth cavity. Kelpie neighed shrilly and ran so fast it looked like her hooves did not touch the ground.

  Ciri laid flat on the back of her neck. Not only to reduce air resistance, but also in order to avoid the alder branches that wanted to knock her off or pull her from the saddle. The branches whipped and beat her, catching at her clothing and hair. The twisted trunks shook and the cavities snickered.

  Kelpie neighed wildly. The unicorn responded. He was a bright white spot in the dark, showing her the way.

  Ride, Star Eyes! Ride as fast as possible!

  It became more and more difficult to dodge the alder’s branches. Very soon they blocked the way.

  Behind them they heard shouting. It was the voices of their pursuers.

  Ihuarraquax neighed. Ciri received his signal. Understood the importance. She adhered herself to Kelpie’s neck. She did not need to encourage her, the frightened mare ran at a breakneck gallop. And other signal from the unicorn roughly broke into Ciri’s mind. A council or rather an order.

  Jump, Star Eyes. You have to jump. To another place, another time.

  Ciri did not understand, but struggled too. She made every effort to understand. She concentrated. Concentrated while whispers and blood pounded in her ears…

  Lightning flashed. And then, suddenly it was dark, soft, black darkness, without a single beam of light.

  Her head ached and there was a buzzing in her ears.

  She felt a cool breeze on her face. Drops of rain. The smell of pine. Kelpie snorted and puffed. She was wet and hot. Ciri could see Ihuarraquax. He stood shaking his head and his horn. Pawing at the ground with his hooves.

  ‘Little horse?’

  I’m here, Star Eyes.

  The sky was full of stars. Full of constellations. The Dragon. Lady Winter. The Seven Goats. And low on the horizon – the Eye.

  ‘It worked,’ she sighed. ‘We have succeeded, Little horse. This is my world!’

  His tone was so clear that Ciri understood everything.

  No, Star Eyes. We escaped from them. But this is still not the right place, or the right time. You still have a long way to go.

  ‘Don’t leave me alone.’

  I will not leave. I owe you a debt. And I will repay it. Until the end.

  The wind picked up and the clouds were swept to the west and gradually enveloped the constellations. The Dragon disappeared and after the Lady Winter and the Seven Goats. The brightest and longest glowing was the Eye. Ultimately, however, it also was covered. On the horizon lightning flashed briefly followed by the sound of thunder. The wind picked up dust. The storm was once again catching up.

  The unicorn whinnied and sent another mental signal.

  We must not waste time. Our only hope is a quick getaway. To the right place and the right time. Hurry, Star Eyes.

  I am the Lady of the Worlds. I am of the Elder Blood. The blood of Lara Dorren, daughter of Shiadhal.

  Ihuarraquax neighed again, prompting her to hurry. Kelpie replied. Ciri pulled on her gloves.

  ‘I’m ready.’

  There was a roar in her ears. A flash. Then darkness.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The majority of historians tend to award the process, conviction and execution of Joachim de Wett to the violent, cruel and tyrannical nature of Emperor Emhyr. Especially some works, whose authors have a fondness for literature about revenge and personal reckoning. The time has come to tell the truth, a truth that for a thorough researcher is obvious. The Duke de Wett commanded the Verden Operations Group to which the word “ineffective” is extraordinarily delicate. Although having been arrayed against forces with at least twice their numbers, separated from the offensive in the north, he directed all of their activities to fighting the Verden guerrillas. The Verden Operations Group committed unheard of atrocities against civilians. The results were easy to foresee and inexcusable – in the winter the insurgent forces were calculated at about five hundred armed men, by the spring it was almost the entire country. King Ervyll, an imperial ally, was murdered and the uprising was led by his son, Prince Kistrin, a northerner sympathizer. Flanked by the pirate’s ships of Skellige, in front from the Nordlings of Cidaris and from behind by the rebellion, de Wett engaged in chaotic battles, suffering defeat after defeat. Thus the offensive for the Center Army Group was delayed. Instead of Verden being bound to the west flank of the armies “Center” to enable Menno Coehoorn’s forces quick action, they in fact slowed down their campaign. So there was a delay and disruption of the offensive strategic plan. The Northerner immediately took advantage of the situation and went on the counterattack, undoing the siege around Mayena and Maribor, destroying the chances of a rapid reoccupation of these important strengths.

  The inefficiency and stupidity of de Wett also had a psychological importance. The myth of the invincibility of Nilfgaard vanished. The army of the northerners began to receive hundreds of volunteers…

  Restif de Montholon

  The Northern Wars: Myths, Lies and Propaganda

  Jarre, needless to say, was disappointed. The education he received at the temple and his own outgoing personality had led him to have faith in human goodness, kindness and selflessness. Now there was not much left of that faith.

  He had slept for two night in the open on the remains of haystacks, and now it looked like he’d be
spending his third night the same way. In each of the villages that he had sought shelter or a crust of bread, the gates had been closed up tight and the only responses he received were a deep silence of insults and threats. No matter how he explained who he was and where and what purpose he was travelling.

  He was very, very disappointed by people.

  It soon grew dark. The boy walked quickly and briskly along a path though some fields. He looked around for a haystack, resigned and dejected at the prospect of having to stay another night out in the open. In fact, March had been unusually warm, but at night it was very cold. And he was afraid.

  Jarre looked to the sky, which, like every night for almost a week, you could see a golden and red comet that swept across the sky from west to east, dragging behind it a line of fire. He thought about what could cause such a herald, a phenomenon mentioned in many prophecies.

  He took up the march. It was getting darker. The path led down a corridor of thick bushes that became dark terrifying shapes in the shadows of twilight. From below the bushes where darkness reigned blew the cold nasty smell of weeds in a state of putrefaction and something more. Something very bad.

  Jarre stopped. He tried to convince himself that what was crawling on his back and shoulders was not fear, but cold. It had no effect.

  Ahead a low bridge linked the banks of a canal, black and shiny as freshly poured tar, the banks were covered with reeds, willows and deformed ash. In places the bridge had rotten planks, and large holes gaped in the bridge, the railing was broken and the rails were immersed in water. Around the bridge, willows grew densely. Although it was still far from real night, in the distant meadow behind the canal glowed the ragged bits of mist which clung to the grass, and among the willows darkness reigned. Through the darkness Jarre caught a blurry glimpse of the ruins of a building, probably a mill or a shack.

  I have to cross the bridge, thought the young man. Nothing can be done. Although I can feel that something lurks on the other side, I have go to the other side of the canal. I have to cross the canal, as did the legendary leader, or was he a hero? Who I read about in the worn manuscripts at the temple of Melitele. Cross the canal and then… How was it? The cards will be laid out? No, I will cast the dice! Behind me is the past, before me is spread my future…

  He walked to the bridge and immediately saw that his premonition had not failed. Before he saw them, he heard them.

  ‘Well,’ growled one of those who now stood in his way. Did I not say? A little patience, and we have already encountered somebody.’

  ‘You were right, Okultich,’ replied the other. ‘You could set yourself up as a clairvoyant. Well, lonesome wanderer, relinquish to us everything you have, will you be good or do we have to help?’

  ‘But I have nothing!’ screamed Jarre with all the force in his lungs, hoping that someone would hear and come to his aid. ‘I am just a poor traveler! I do not have a penny on me! What can I give you? This stick? My clothing?’

  ‘That too,’ replied the other with a lisp, something in his voice caused Jarre to shudder. ‘So you know, poor traveler, we expected better loot. Or at least to have fun with a girl from

  the village. But soon it will be night and now nobody will come. But where there is no fish, crab must suffice. Take him, guys!’

  ‘I warn you,’ shouted Jarre. ‘I have a knife!’

  Indeed he did. He took it with him from the temple’s kitchen before he fled and hid it in his bag. But he did not reach for it. He was paralyzed by the knowledge that it would be an absurd gesture and no one would help.

  ‘I have a knife!’

  ‘Well, well!’ sneered the man with the lisp, approaching. ‘He has a knife. Who would have thought!’

  Jarre could not flee. Fear had made his legs become two stakes nailed to the ground. Adrenaline had tied him by the neck like a noose.

  ‘Hey!’ suddenly cried a third voice, youthful and somehow familiar. ‘I think I know him! Yes, yes, I know him! Jarre? Do you recognize me? It’s Melfi. Do you remember me, Jarre?’

  ‘I… remember,’ Jarre struggled with all of his strength against a powerful, ugly and so far completely unknown to him feeling. Only when he felt pain in his side, from hitting the planks on the bride, did he realize the sensation. The feeling of the loss of consciousness.

  ‘What a surprise!’ repeated Melfi. ‘Such a coincidence to meet a native from Ellander. And a friend. Isn’t it, Jarre?’

  Jarre swallowed the mouthful of bacon, which the strange company had given to him, along with some roasted turnips. He did not answer, just nodded his head in the direction of all six surrounding the campfire.

  ‘What direction are you headed, Jarre?’

  ‘To Vizima.’

  ‘Ha! We are also headed to Vizima! What a coincidence! What do you say to that, Milton? You remember Milton, Jarre?’

  Jarre did not remember. He was not even sure if he had seen him before. Furthermore, Melfi, too, was exaggerating a bit calling him a friend. He was the son of the Cooper in Ellander. They had both attended the minor seminary in the temple, Melfi had regularly and severely beat Jarre and called him a bastard conceived of nettles, without a mother or father. It lasted about a year, after which the Cooper had taken his son from school and confirmed that the boy was only intended for barrels. That was Melfi – instead of devoting the sweat of his brow to learning the secrets of reading and writing, he devoted his sweat and blood in his father’s workshop, sanding staves. And when he finished his studies, Jarre, with a recommendation of the temple found a job as the assistant town clerk, and the journeyman cooper bowed deeply to him and assured him of their friendship.

  ‘Let’s go to Vizima,’ said Melfi. ‘To the army. All of us here, as one group. Those there are Milton and Ograbek, sons of serfs, but have been removed from their obligations, you know…’

  ‘I know,’ Jarre looked at the two young, blond villagers who were as alike as brothers. ‘They conscript one out of ten fiefs. And you Melfi?’

  ‘With me,’ sighed the cooper, ‘mind you, this happened – the first time the army came to recruit my father paid them off . But the second time, we had to draw straws… well you know…’

  ‘I know,’ Jarre nodded again. ‘The draw to enlist was decreed by the city council on Ellander, the decreed is dated January sixteenth. It was inevitable against the threat of Nilfgaard…’

  ‘Listen, Pike, to how he speaks,’ said on husky, broad-shouldered lad, who first shouted at Jarre on the bridge. ‘Like some kind of sage.’

  ‘Wise ass. Fucking know it all,’ contributed another of the companions, whose round face was pasted with a stupid grin.

  ‘Shut up, Klaproth,’ snarled Pike, the oldest boy in the group, who already boasted narrow droopy moustache. ‘If he is a sage, the a man should listen to what he says. It doesn’t hurt to learn something. Learning has never hurt anyone. Well, almost never. And almost anyone.’

  ‘What is true is true,’ announced Melfi. ‘Jarre, is in fact not stupid. He is a scholar and he learned to read and write in Ellander at the temple of Melitele and takes care of their library.’

  ‘I wonder,’ Pike looked at Jarre thought the smoke from the fire, his eyes glistened like an actual pike in the light of the torch at the bow of a fishing boat, ‘what a scholar is doing on the road on the way to Vizima?’

  ‘Like you,’ said Jarre. “I’m going to join the army.’

  ‘Why would some kind of fucking know it all go and join the army? Sanctuaries do not have to supply recruits And every fool knows how to rescue the service and claim to his scribe. What is it then, Sir Officer?’

  ‘I’m going to enlist as a volunteer,’ said Jarre. ‘I want to enlist out of choice, not mandatory conscription. Partly for personal reasons, but mainly from a sense of patriotic duty.’

  The group burst into loud, thundering laughter.

  ‘Look, guys,’ said Pike after he caught his breath, ‘you can find a double temperament in some people seated in contra
dictions. Two natures. Here is a youngster; he would seem to be well educated and experienced and in addition surely not a born fool. You ought to know what happens in war – someone attacks someone else and kills them. And he, like you has joined by their own volition and person reasons and patriotic obligations but joins the losing side.’

  Nobody said anything. Neither did Jarre.

  ‘Such feelings of patriotic obligations,’ said Pike, ‘reliably reveal those who are weak in the head. But you also spoke about personal reasons. I’m dangerously curious, what are these personal motivations?’

  ‘They are personal,’ said Jarre, ‘and I’m not going to be talking about them. I’d rather you speak of your own reasons.’

  ‘Pay close attention to what I say,’ Pike said after a moment of silence. ‘you are not talking to some kind of yokel. But do not worry scribe… I will forgive you this time. I’ll even answer. Yes, I’m going into the army and also as a volunteer.’

  ‘How weak in the head should someone be to join with the losers?’ Jarre was surprised at his sudden audacity. ‘And on the way, stripping travelers on bridges?’

  ‘Ha,’ Melfi burst out with laughter, ‘he still cannot forgive the trap by the stream. Jarre, it was just for fun! We were just joking, right, Pike?’

  ‘Sure,’ Pike yawned. ‘It was just an innocent prank. Life is sad, like a cow being led to the slaughter. People will do anything for fun, don’t you think, scribe?’

  ‘I think. In principle.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Pike did not take his shining eyes off of him. ‘Otherwise you would have had to make the trip to Vizima alone.’

  Jarre was silent. Pike stretched.

  ‘I’ve said what I wanted to say. Well, guys, the fun is at an end, it is time to hit the sack. We have until tomorrow evening to get to Vizima, we hike at daybreak.’