Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 06]

by The Lady of the Lake (fan translation) (epub)

  Yennefer numbly stared at the ceiling.

  'I will take care of you, girl I think you are worth it. I'll work with you here. It will not be easy. I have to straighten the spine and flatten the hump. But I also have to treat those hands. When you cut your veins, you severed tendons. And the hands of a sorceress are a very important instrument, Yennefer.'

  Moister on her lips. Water.

  'You'll live,' said Tissaia factually, seriously, even severe. 'Your time is yet to come. But when it arrives, you'll remember this day.'

  Yennefer eagerly suck moisture from a stick wrapped in a wet dressing.

  'I'll take care of you,' echoed Tissaia de Vries, touching her hair gently. 'And now … We're here alone, without witnesses. Not one is looking at us, and I'm not going to say anything to anyone. Cry, girl. Pour it all out. Make it your last cry. Starting now you will never cry. There is nothing more pathetic than a sorceress in tears.'

  * * *

  She came too, coughing and spitting blood. Someone had dragged her across the ground, it was Triss, she was met by the smell of her perfume. Close to them, on the pavement, shod hooves rang, with a vibrated clang. Yennefer saw a rider in full armour, with a white shield with a red chevron, from the height of his saddle he was whipping the crowd. Stones hurled by the mob bounced harmlessly off on the armour and helmet. The horse neighed and kicked out.

  Yennefer felt that instead of an upper lip, she had a big potato. At least one front tooth was chipped or knocked out and it hurt to talk.

  'Triss …' she stammered. 'Teleport us out of here!'

  'No, Yennefer,' Triss's voice was very quiet and very cold.

  'They'll kill us …'

  'No, Yennefer. I will not run away. I will not hide under the skirts of the Lodge. And even though it I am ready to faint with fear, like at Sodden, I will get over it!'

  Near the entrance of the alley, on the ledge of a wall covered with moss, had formed a large pile of manure, debris and trash. It was a colossal heap. A splendid hill.

  The crowd had finally managed to knock the knight from his horse. He was dragged to the ground with a terrible crash and the mob crawled over him like lice.

  Triss grabbed Yennefer and dragged her towards the pile of rubbish and raised her hands. She shouted a spell with such rage, that the crowd fell silent for a moment.

  'They will kill us,' Yennefer spat blood.

  'Help me, Yennefer, 'Triss stopped for a moment. 'help me. Let's cast Alzur's Thunder …'

  That will kill five, thought Yennefer. Then the rest will tear us apart. But okay, Triss. I will not run away. You will not see me run.

  She joined in the enchantment. And they shouted in duet.

  The people stared at them blankly, staring, but quickly recovered. They again began throwing stones at the sorceresses. Triss felt one whizz pass her head, but did not flinch.

  It won't work, thought Yennefer. The spell will not work. We cannot conjure up something as complicated as Alzur's Thunder. It was said that Alzur had a voice like a bell and superior diction. And we are babbling and crying the words and melody …

  She was ready to stop the chant and use her remaining strength to concentrate on some other spell, something to teleport them, or to distract the charging mob - if only for a second - with something unpleasant. But it turned out it was not necessary.

  The sky darkened suddenly with clouds over the city. The shadows spread quickly. And a cold wind rose.

  'Oh,' said Yennefer. 'It seems that you did it …'

  * * *

  'Merigold's Hailstorm,' said Nimue. 'Basically, the name is used illegally, since the magic has never been registered, and no one has been able to repeat it. The reason is simple - Triss had an injured mouth and spoke slurred and distorted. Some also claim that fear affected her language.'

  'I do not believe it,' Condwiramurs pursed her lips. 'In the annals there is no shortage of other examples of courage and heroism from Venerable Triss, some even call her chronically fearless. But I wanted to ask you about something else. On version of the legend has it that Triss was not alone on Rivia Hill. That Yennefer was also there with her.'

  Nimue looked at the watercolour depicting a black mountain, steep and sharp as a knife, against dark blue clouds. At the top of the hill could be seen a slender silhouette of a woman with outstretched arms and red hair.

  Through the fog that covered the surface of the water came the rhythmic clatter of the Fisher King's oars.

  'If anyone was there with Triss,' said the Lady of the Lake, 'they did not survive the vision of the artist.'

  * * *

  'It seems that you did it,' said Yennefer. 'Watch out, Triss!'

  From the black clouds over the city of Rivia fell a barrage of icy hailstones the size of hens eggs. They beat down so hard they broke rooftops. They fell so densely that they covered the streets and squares in a thick layer of ice. The crowd swayed, people fell, covering their heads, hiding under one another and fleeing and falling on the slippery ground, rolling about and crowding the archways under ledges. Not everyone managed to escape, some remained lying on the ice like dead fish, which was heavily dyed with blood.

  Hail rattled on the magical shield that Yennefer was able to throw up at the last minute above both sorceresses and threatened to break through. She did not try any other spells. She knew what had been done, could not be stopped, an elemental force had been accidently unleashed and had to reach its climax. Which it would soon reach.

  That was the hope, at least.

  Lightning flashed and thunder boomed until the surrounding houses were shaken to their foundation. All beat all around with a devastating effect. The sky began to brighten. From a cleft in the clouds appeared sunlight. Triss made a strange cry or sob from her throat.

  Hail sparkled in the sun like diamonds. They were still falling, but the biggest downpour had abated, Yennefer could tell by the pounding on the magical shield, then the hail stopped. Suddenly, as if cut off. Guards stormed into the street, the shoes of their horses scraped on the ice. The rabble screamed and fled, whipped by whips and beaten with the flats of swords.

  'Bravo, Triss,' croaked Yennefer. 'I don't know what that was … But it was effective.'

  'There was something to defend,' croaked Triss Merigold - heroine of the hill.

  'There always is. We better run, Triss. Because it is probably not over yet.'

  * * *

  That was the end. The sorceresses hail that they had launched at the city had cooled the hot heads. So much so that the army dared to intervene and restore order. Until then the soldiers had been afraid. They knew what they were threatened with in case of an attack by the feverish crowd with a thirst for death and who fears nothing. However, the explosion of the elements tamed the many-headed beast and the army charged and did the rest.

  The hail was a terrible disaster for the city. And so, men who had moments ago tried to kill a dwarf by smashing his head against a wall, now sobbing, looked at what remained of his house.

  In Rivia all was quiet. If it had not been for the two hundred massacred corpses and some burning houses, you might have thought that nothing had happened.

  In the Elms district, next to Loc Eskalott, over which burned a rainbow in the sky, and the weeping willows reflected in the clear mirror of the water, the birds sang again and the grass smelled wet. Everything looked idyllic.

  Even the witcher who lay in a pool of blood in which Ciri knelt.

  * * *

  Geralt lay senseless, white as chalk. He lay motionless, but when they reached him, he began to cough, and to spit blood. He began to shake and to tremble so violently that Ciri could not hold him. Yennefer knelt beside him. Triss saw her hands shaking. Suddenly she felt very weak and her vision blurred. Someone grabbed her, preventing her from falling on the ground. She recognised Dandelion.

  'It won't work,' said Ciri's voice, radiating despair. 'Your magic cannot cure him, Yennefer.'

  'We arrived …' Yennefer could bar
ely move her lips. 'We're too late.'

  'Your magic won't work, 'Ciri repeated as if she had not heard. 'Is this what it is worth, all of your magic?'

  You're right, Ciri, Triss thought, feeling something catch in her throat. We can produce hail, but we cannot ward off death. Although apparently the latter is easier.

  'We sent for physician,' said a dwarf standing next to Dandelion, in a husky voice,. 'but he has not appeared …'

  'it is too late for a doctor,' Triss said, surprising herself that her voice sounded so calm. 'He is dying.'

  Geralt continued to stir, coughing blood, then becoming very tense and froze. Dandelion, still holding Triss, sighed in despair, the dwarf cursed. Yennefer moaned, her face changing suddenly, contracted and ugly.

  'There is nothing more pathetic,' said Ciri sternly, 'than a sorceress in tears. You taught me that. But now you're pathetic Yennefer. You and your magic, which is useless.'

  Yennefer did not reply. She could barely hold Geralt's head in both of her hands, while repeating a spell. In her hands, the witcher's cheeks and forehead crackled with blue sparks.

  Triss know how much energy was required for that spell. She also knew that the spell would not help. She was even more confident that the spell would prove powerless for someone who was sterile. It was too late. The spell only exhausted Yennefer. Triss was surprised that the black-haired sorceress was able to withstand for so long.

  Then she ceased to be surprised because Yennefer stopped in the middle of the magic formula and fell on the pavement next to the witcher.

  One of the dwarves swore again, the other bowed his head in silence. triss Merigold still being propped up sniffed loudly.

  Suddenly it got very cold. The surface of the lake boiled like a witch's cauldron and was enveloped in mist. The fog grew rapidly, it swirled over the water and stood on the waves., covering them in a think white milk, that stifled and sounds and made shapes and figures vanish.

  'I,' Ciri said slowly, still kneeling on the bloody ground, 'I once gave up my power. If I didn't, I could save him now. I could cure him. I know it. But it is too late, I can't do anything. It is like I killed him myself.'

  The silence was broken by Kelpie's whinny. Then by Dandelion's muffled gasp.

  They were all stunned.

  * * *

  A white unicorn appeared out of the mist, running light, agile and silent, lifting his beautiful head. This was not just anything unusual, they all knew the legend, and the passage about the fact that unicorns run lights, agile and silently. What was strange was that the unicorn was running on the surface of the lake, and did not even wrinkle the water.

  Dandelion gasped, this time in awe. Triss felt overwhelmed by her emotions. Euphoria.

  The unicorn's hooves rang on the stones of the waterfront. He shook his mane and horn and melodically neighed.

  'Ihuarraquax,' Ciri spoke to him. 'I was hoping you'd come.'

  The unicorn came closer, neighing again and digging his hooves into the hard cobblestones. He lowered his head, the horn which sprang from his head suddenly blazed with light, with a sheen that dispelled the fog.

  Ciri touched the horn.

  Triss gasped loudly when she saw the girl's eyes filled with white heat and her head enveloped in a halo. Ciri did not hear her, did not hear anyone. With one hand she touched the unicorn's horn, with the other she touched the witcher. From her fingers drifted a ribbon of flickering light.

  No one could say how long it lasted. It was unreal.

  Like a dream.

  * * *

  The unicorn snorted, pawed at the ground several times and move his head as if pointing at something. Triss looked. Under a canopy of overhanging willow branches she could discern a dark outline in the mist. A boat sailing on the water.

  The unicorn once more shook its horn and began to disappear in the white fog.

  'Kelpie,' Ciri said. 'Go with him.'

  Kelpie snorted. She shook her head. Then obediently walked behind the unicorn. Her shoes made an echoing sound on the cobblestones. Then the sound abruptly stopped, as if the mare had taken flight, disappeared or dematerialised.

  The boat was on the shore, a few moments after the fog dissolved, Triss saw it clearly. It was a tatty old barge, formless as a trough in a barn.

  'Help me,' Ciri said, firmly and decisively.

  At first no one knew what the girl wanted help with. The poet was the first to understand. Perhaps because he knew the legend that he frequently lectured on and sang its verses. In his arms he picked up Yennefer. He marvelled at how small and light she was. He would have sworn that someone helped him lift her. He would have sworn that he felt Cahir's arms helping. That he caught a glimpse of Milva's braid. He would have sworn that when he took the sorceress to the boat, he saw Angouleme's little had holding it steady.

  The dwarves picked up the witcher, Triss helped them, holding his head. Yarpen Zigrin blinked for a second, because he saw the two Dahlberg brothers. Zoltan Chivay would have sworn that Caleb Stratton help him lift the witcher into the boat. Triss Merigold was sure that she could smell the perfume of Lytta Neyd called Coral and in a haze of yellow-green her eyes saw Coen of Kaer Morhen.

  These tricks were brought to their minds by the dense fog around Loc Eskalott.

  'Ready, Ciri,' the sorceress said dully. 'You boat is waiting.'

  Ciri brushed the hair from her forehead and sniffed.

  'Apologise to the ladies at Montecalvo, Triss,' she said. 'But it can be no other way. I cannot stay if Geralt and Yennefer leave. I simple cannot. They must understand.'

  'They must.'

  'Goodbye, Triss Merigold. Take care, Dandelion. Take care all.'

  'Ciri,' Triss whispered. 'Little sister … Let me sail with you …'

  'You do not know what you ask, Triss.'

  'Will I ever see you …'

  'Definitely,' she interrupted.

  She climbed aboard the boat, which rocked and immediately began to move away from the shore. It disappeared into the fog. Those on the shore did not hear the slightest splash and there was no movement in the water. It was as if it had disappeared, like a ghost.

  For a brief moment they saw the small silhouette of Ciri, they saw her sitting at the bottom of the boat as it accelerated swiftly.

  And then there was only fog.

  She lied, thought Triss. I will never see her again. i won't see her, because … Vaesse deireadh aep eigean. Something ends.

  'Something ends,' said Dandelion.

  'Something begins,' Yarpen Zigrin finished.

  From somewhere on the other side of the lake a cock crowed loudly.

  The fog began to rapidly lift.

  * * *

  Geralt opened his eyes irritated by the play of light and shadow through his closed eyelids. He saw above him leaves, a kaleidoscope of leaves glistening in the sun. He also saw branches full of apples.

  He felt the delicate touch of fingers on his temple and his cheek. Fingers he knew. He loved her so much that it hurt. His stomach, chest and ribs aches, and a corset of tight bandages convinced him completely that the pitchfork in the city of Rivia had not been a nightmare.

  'Lay quietly, my love,' said Yennefer. 'Lay quietly. Do not move.'

  'Where are we, Yen?'

  'Does it matter? We are together. you and me.'

  The birds sang. It smelled of herbs, rosemary flowers and apples.

  'Where is Ciri?'

  'She is gone.'

  She shifted and gently freed her arm from under his head, and lay beside him on the grass so that she could look into his eyes. She looked eagerly, as if she would memorise his image, as if to save it for the future, for all eternity. He also looked at her as nostalgia gripped his throat.

  'We were in a boat with Ciri,' Geralt recalled. 'On a lake. the on a river with a strong current. Among the fog.'

  He fingers found his hand and squeezed hard.

  'Lay still, my love. Lay still. I'm with you. It does not matter what ha
ppened, it does not matter where we were. Now I'm with you. I will never leave you. Never.'

  'I love you, Yen.'

  'I know.'

  'Nevertheless,' he sighed. 'I'd like to know where we are.'

  'Me too,' Yennefer said, quietly, after a while.

  * * *

  'And that,' Galahad asked, 'is the end of the story?'

  'Certainly not,' said Ciri, rubbing one foot against the other, trying to get rid f the sand sticking to her feet. 'You want it to end? I do not!'

  'So what happened next?'

  'The normal,' she snorted. 'They got married.'

  'Tell me.'

  'What's to tell? The celebrate with a big wedding. They invited everyone - Dandelion, Mother Nenneke, Iola and Eurneid, Yarpen Zigrin, Vesemir, Eskel … Coen, Milva, Angouleme … And Mistle. I was there too, and we were drinking wine and mead. And they, Yennefer and Geralt, built a house and the live there happily ever after. Like in a fairytale. Do you understand?'

  'Why are you crying, Lady of the Lake?'

  'I'm not crying, the tears in my eyes are from the wind!'

  There was a long silence and they watched the sun go down over the mountain peaks.

  'Upon my soul,' Galahad said after a while. 'It was a unheard of story. Strange is the world from which you came, Lady Ciri.'

  She sniffed loudly.

  'Yes,' continued Galahad, clearing his throat a few times, somewhat depressed by the silence. 'But here in our lands, adventure occurs, worthy of wonder. Take for example what happen with Lord Gawain and the Green Knight … Or my uncle Bors and Tristan … Listen then, Lady Ciri. Lord Bors and Lord Tristan were riding to the west, towards Tintagel. Their path led them through a wild and threatening forest. They continued to ride and keep a careful watch. Then there appeared a white deer and next to it a lady, dressed all in black, as black as anything you have seen in your nightmares. And that lady was beautiful, more beautiful than any lady in the world, well not Lady Guinevere … The knights saw the lady standing next to the deer and waved and she told them this …'