As was usual after a war, a lot of the messages were for missing family members. Quite a few of the messages were along the lines of – “Come back, all is forgiven,” there were listings for erotic massage and related services in surrounding villages and towns and lots of news and advertising.
Hung here and there were love letters next to denunciations, both signed and anonymous. They found there tablets containing philosophical considerations – either incomprehensible, absurd, obscene or disgusting.
‘Hey,’ Dandelion called. ‘The castle of Rastburg needs a witcher. They offer great rewards. Comfortable accommodation and delicious meals are provided. Any interest, Geralt?’
‘Not at all.’
Ciri found the message she had been looking for.
She announced to the witcher what he had long been expecting.
* * *
‘I’m going to Vengerberg, Geralt,’ she repeated. ‘Don’t give me that look. You know that I have an obligation. Yennefer is calling me. She is waiting there.’
‘I know.’
‘And you are going to Rivia, to your secret meeting …’
‘It’s a surprise,’ he interrupted. ‘It isn’t a secret.’
‘Okay, a surprise. I meanwhile, will go to Vengerberg and solve everything, I’ll pick up Yennefer and in six days we will see you in Rivia. I asked you not to give me that look. We do not have to say goodbye like it is forever. It will only be six days. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye, Ciri.’
‘In Rivia, in six days,’ she insisted once again, turning Kelpie about.
She kicked her into a gallop and was quickly out of sight. Geralt felt as if icy claws were clawing at his stomach.
‘Six days,’ Dandelion repeated thoughtfully. ‘From here to Vengerberg and then back to Rivia … That will total about two hundred and fifty miles … That’s impossible, Geratl. Of course, with that magical mare, she can travel three times faster than us. But even a magical mare must need to rest. And Ciri’s mysterious issue must be resolved. Come on, its impossible …’
‘For Ciri,’ the witcher cut him off, ‘nothing is impossible.’
‘But …’
‘She is no longer the girl you knew,’ Geralt did not let him finish.
Dandelion was silent for a long time.
‘I have a strange feeling …’
‘Be quiet. Don’t say anything. I’m begging you.’
* * *
May ended. They were approaching the new moon, the moon was just a sliver. They rode towards the mountains visible on the horizon.
* * *
It was a typical post-war landscape. Among the fields rose graves and burial mounds, in the lush spring grass were white skulls and skeletons. On the branches of trees hung corpses and along the road, waiting for the beggars to weaken, sat wolves.
Grass did not grow on the vast stretches of blackness, where past fires had burned.
Yet many of the villages and settlements, where only ruins had remained, had started to rebuild. Around them was the sounds of axes and hammers hammering and saws cutting. Near the ruins were women, working the scorched earth with their hoes. Some stumbling, dragged ploughs behind them, the straps cutting into their shoulders.
'I have a vague feeling, said Dandelion, 'that something is not as it should be. There's something missing … Do you have the same feeling, Geralt?'
'Huh?'
'Something here is not normal.'
'Nothing here is normal, Dandelion. Nothing.'
* * *
It was a hot night, black, with no wind, lit by only distant flashes of lightning and upset by the rumour of thunder. Geralt and Dandelion camped and watched the horizon to the west glow red with fires. It was not long until the breeze picked up and brought the smell of smoke. And snippets of sound.
They heard women crying and the wailing of children and the sound of their murderers howling.
Dandelion did not say anything, but kept throwing glances at the witcher. But the witcher did not move, did not even turn his head. His face was like stone.
In the morning they went on their way. Rising above the forest was a wisp of smoke, which they did not look at.
Later that day they encountered a column of settlers.
* * *
The column moved in a long, slow march. They carried small bundles. They were completely silent. Men, boys, women, children. They did not utter a cry or a word of complaint. Not a cry or groan of despair. Their cries and despair were mirrored in their eyes. The empty eyes of aggrieved people. Deprived, battered and expelled.
'Who are these people?’ Dandelion said, not paying attention to the eyes of the officer who watched over the displaced people. ‘Why are they forced to leave?’
‘Nilfgaardians,’ replied a young lieutenant from his saddle, no older than eighteen. ‘Nilfgaardian settlers. They settled on our land like cockroaches. And we are sweeping them away like cockroaches as agreed in the peace treaty of Cintra.’
He spat and looked disdainfully at the troubadour and the witcher.
‘And if it was up to me, I’d not let these bugs live.’
‘And if it was up to me,’ said a sergeant with a grey moustache, regarding his youthful companion with disrespect, ‘I’d let them work in peace on their farms and lands. I would never expel a good farmer from this country. I would love to see agriculture prosper. So we will not go hungry.’
‘You’re a real blockhead, Sergeant,’ the young Lieutenant scolded. ‘They are of Nilfgaard! These people do not know our language, our culture or have our blood. For the small joy of having agriculture we would be taking a snake to our breast. We would have traitors ready to attack from behind. Or do you think this peace with the Black Ones will last forever. No, no, they go back to where they came from… Eh, soldier! There on goes with a cart! Grab him, quickly!’
The order was carried out eagerly. With the help of fists, heels and sticks.
Dandelion coughed.
The young officer measured they suspiciously.
‘You are not from Nilfgaard?’
‘Gods forbid,’ swallowed the troubadour.
Many of the women and children passing in front of them moved like puppets, with empty eyes, swollen faces and bruised bare legs showing through torn skirts. Some had to be supported as they walked. Dandelion looked at Geralt’s face and began to panic.
‘It’s time to be on our way,’ he muttered. ‘Farewell, gentlemen.’
The young officer did not even turn his head, intrigued by monitoring the refugees.
The column meandered slowly to the south. From somewhere behind them they heard a high, desperate scream from a female.
‘Geralt, no,’ Dandelion whispered. ‘Do not interfere, stay out of it…’
The witcher turned and looked at the poet as if he did not know him.
‘Meddle in it?’ he shrugged. ‘Save someone? Give my life for noble principles and ideals? No, Dandelion, not anymore.’
* * *
On a restless night, illuminated by lightning, the witcher again awakened from a dream. This time he was not sure if it was one hideous nightmare or if it was a series of nightmares.
Again, over the remains of the fire a light arose, pulsating and frightening the horses. Again, inside that light appeared a castle, with columns and a table at which sat women.
Two other women were there, standing calmly. One black and white and the other black and grey.
Yennefer and Ciri.
The witcher moaned in his sleep.
* * *
Yennefer was right when she did not allow her to wear male clothing. Ciri would have felt foolish dressed as a boy among these elegant ladies. She was glad that she gave in to the combination of black and grey, it flattered her and she could fell the approval when they saw the puffy sleeves and clinched waist and the small brooch in the shape of a rose.
‘Come closer please.’
Ciri shivered slightly. It was not just the sound of the
voice. Yennefer, as it turned out, was right about her neckline. Ciri had insisted thought, and now she had the impression that she could feel a draft on her breast all the way down to her navel, and was covered in goose bumps.
‘Closer still,’ said the dark-haired and dark-eyed woman whom Ciri remembered from the island of Thanedd. And though Yennefer had taught her all the names of the women she would meet in this castle, Ciri immediately though of her as Lady Owl.
‘We welcome you,’ Lady Owl said. ‘To the Lodge in Montecalvo, Ciri.’
Ciri bowed as instructed by Yennefer, politely, but without lowering her eyes modestly like a maiden.
It was answered with a sincere smile from Triss Merigold and a nod and a friendly look from Margarita Laux-Antille. The looks from the other women where hard as augers. As the blade of a piercing spear.
‘Sit down,’ Lady owl nodded towards a seat. ‘No, not you, Yennefer! Only her. You, Yennefer, are not an invited guest, but are summoned to be tried and punished as a wrongdoer. You’ll stand for as long as it takes the Lodge to decide your fate.’
In a twinkling of an eye, Ciri ended protocol.
‘In that case, I will stand also,’ she said in a loud voice. ‘I have not come as a guest. I too, was summoned to decide my fate. That’s the first thing. The second thing is that Yennefer’s fate is linked with mine. We are inextricably linked and that cannot be changed… With all due respect.’
Margarita Laux-Antille smile and looked her in the eyes. The simple yet elegant, Assire var Anahid, a Nilfgaardian with a slightly aquiline nose, nodded and tapped her fingers gently on the table’s surface.
‘Philippa,’ said a woman with a silver fox boa around her neck. ‘I think that in this respect we should not go to extremes. At this point it is not necessary. This is the round table of the Lodge, and all who sit at it are equals – even when one of us is on trial. I think that we can agree…’
She did not finish, she glanced at all the sorceresses. One by one, they all nodded their heads in agreement – Margarita, Triss, Assire, Sabrina Glevissig, Keira Metz and both elves. Only the second Nilfgaardian, the dark-haired Fringilla Vigo did not give an affirmative nod, she was pale as death as she stared at Yennefer.
‘So be it,’ Philippa Eilhart waved her hand. ‘Sit, both of you. But know that I am against it. But the unity of the Lodge and its interests are most important. The Lodge is everything, the rest is nothing. I hope you understand, Ciri?’
‘Perfectly,’ Ciri said, not looking away from her gaze. ‘Especially since I am supposed to be the nothing.’
The beautiful queen of the elves, Francesca Findabair laughed.
‘Congratulations, Yennefer,’ she said in her hypnotically deep and melodious voice. ‘I noticed you left your mark. This is gold. I recognise the school.’
‘It’s easy to recognise,’ Yennefer looked around with fiery eyes, ‘because it is the school of Tissaia de Vries.’
‘Tissaia de Vries is dead,’ Lady Owl said calmly. ‘We mourn her, and gladly. Her death, however, was a turning point. Now is a new time and big changes are coming. You, Ciri, you were once Princess Cirilla of Cintra, but fate has now given you a different role. Surely you already know what it is.’
‘I know,’ said Ciri, not listening to the warning hiss from Yennefer. ‘Vilgefortz explained it to me! He was going to stick a glass tube between my legs. If this is to be the fate that awaits me, then thank you very much.’
Philippa’s dark eyes blazed with frosty fury. But it was Sile de Tansarville that spoke next to Ciri.
‘You still have a lot to learn, girl,’ she said, covering her neck with her silver fox boa. ‘Many of the things you have seen and heard you will need to unlearn. Alone or with assistance. You have acquired a lot of bad habits, no doubt because of the evil you have experienced in this world. But this is childish stubbornness, and now you can’t see that when someone only has your best interests at heart. You lash out around you with your claws like a wild kitten, so you have given us no choice. We will take you by the neck and treat you like a child, without a second thought. Because we are older, wiser and we know everything about what was, what is and we know a lot about what will be. We will take you by the neck like a child, so one day when you are a wise cat, you will sit here at this table, among us. One of us. No! Not a word! Do not dare open your mouth while Sile de Tansarville speaks.’
The sorceress from Kovir voice was sharp and penetrating as a knife scratching on iron, and hung over the table. Ciri was not the only one to shrink and draw he head down between her shoulders but other magicians of the Lodge as well, with maybe the exception of Philippa, Francesca and Assire. And Yennefer.
‘You are right,’ said Sile, adjusting the boa around her neck again, ‘you were called to Montecalvo to meet your fate. But you were not right when you complained that you are nothing. You are everything, you are the world’s future. At this point in time, you cannot even understand, because you are just a kitten, a child who sees everyone as Vilgefortz or Emhyr var Emries. At this point, it is not worth explaining that you are wrong. This is all for your sake and for the sake of the world. There will time for such explanations later. For now, you do not want to hear the voice of reason, and you riposte every argument with a child’s stubbornness. So now you’ll be taken by the neck. I’m done. Philippa, declare the girl’s fate.’
‘You are coming with me,’ Lady Owl said, breaking the heavy silence, ‘and Sile to Kovir, to Pont Vanis, the summer capital of the kingdom. As you are no longer Cirilla of Cintra, during the course of the audience you will be presented as an adept of magic, being protected by us. At that audience you will meet a very wise king, Esterad Thyssen. You will meet his wife, the Queen Zuleyka, a person of singular nobility and goodness. You will also meet their son and heir, Prince Tancred.’
Ciri was beginning to understand and rolled her eyes. Lady Owl did not miss that detail.
‘Yes,’ she confirmed. ‘First of all you must impress prince Tancred. because you are going to become his lover and give him a child.’
‘If you were still Cirilla of Cintra,’ Philippa continued after a long pause, ‘still the daughter of Pavetta and granddaughter of Calanthe, you would become Prince Tancred’s legal wife. You’d be the princess and later the queen of Poviss and Kovir. Unfortunately, and I tell you with genuine regret, fate has deprived you of everything. Including your future. You will only be his mistress. His favourite.’
‘In name,’ interjected Sile, ‘and formally. In practice, we will in fact, endeavour to ensure that you are beside Tancred with the status of princess and later eventually queen. Naturally, we will need your help. Tancred has to want to have you by his side. Day and night. We will show you how to stimulate that desire, but it is up to your to bear the fruit of our teachings.’
‘All this is not important, at the end of the day,’ said Lady Owl. ‘The important thing is that you get pregnant to Tancred as soon as possible.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ muttered Ciri.
‘Yours and Tancred’s child,’ Philippa watched here with dark eyes, ‘will ensure the future and status of this Lodge. Take note that it will be a great thing. You will be a part of it, because right after the birth you will sit with us at this table. We will teach you. You are one of us, even if you do not want to admit it yet.’
‘On the island of Thanedd,’ ciri overcame the tightness in her throat, ‘you said I was a mindless tool, even a monster, Lady Owl and now you say that I am one of you.’
‘There is not that much difference,’ the Daisy of the valley said in a ringing voice. ‘We, me luned, are all monsters. Each in our own way. Is that not right, Lady Owl?’
Philippa shrugged.
‘That ugly scar on your face,’ Sile said indifferently, ‘we will magically remove or disguise. You will be a beautiful and mysterious woman, and I guarantee that Tancred Thyssen will go crazy for you. We will have to invent some personal details. Cirilla is a nice name and not so rare, so you c
an keep it. But you still need a last name. I would not be against it, if you used mine.’
‘Or mine,’ Lady Owl said covering the smile on the corner of her lips. ‘Cirilla Eilhart also sounds nice.’
‘That name,’ the hall rang with the silvery voice of the elven queen, ‘is pretty in any combination. And each of us here would love to have a daughter like you, Zireael, Swallow with the eyes of a hawk. You are the body and the blood of Lara Dorren. Each of us would give everything, even this Lodge and the fate of the kingdoms around the world, to have such a daughter. However, it is impossible. We know that it is impossible. So we envy Yennefer.’
‘Thank you, Lady Philippa,’ Ciri said after a few moments, squeezing the head of the sphinxes in her hands. ‘I also feel honoured with the proposal to take the surname de Tansarville. However, it seems to me that my new last name is the only thing that I can choose for myself, I thank the two mistresses. But I want to be called Cirilla of Vengerberg, daughter of Yennefer.’
‘Ha!’ a sorceress flashed her teeth, who Ciri guessed to be Sabrina Glevissig of Kaedwen. ‘Tancred Thyssen will be a fool if he does not marry her. If he instead choose another princess, he would be a fool and blind, not to recognise the diamond among the glass beads Yenna, I envy you. And you know how sincere I can be with my envy.’
Yennefer thanked her with a gesture. Without a shadow of a smile.
‘So,’ Philippa said, ‘all is taken care of.’
‘No,’ said Ciri.
Francesca Findabair snorted quietly. Sile de Tansarville raised her head and her expression hardened.
‘I have to think about it,’ Ciri said. ‘Meditate. Put my thoughts in order. Calmly. And when I’m done I will come back here, to Montecalvo, and come before this Lodge and discuss what has been decided.’
Sile moved her lips, as if she had noticed a bad taste in her mouth and wanted to sit it out immediately. But she remained silent.
Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 06] Page 48