Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 05]

by The Tower of the Swallow (fan translation) (epub)

  * * *

  ‘Take the Brisingamen from the Goddess' neck?’ Repeated Sigrdrifa, the disbelief in her voice battling holy outrage. ‘No, Yennefer. That is simply impossible. It does not even matter that I would not dare… Even if I would dare, the Brisingamen cannot be removed. The necklace has no clasp. It is connected with the statue.’

  Yennefer remained silent for a long moment, measuring the priestess with a calm eye. ‘If I had known,’ she said coldly, ‘I would have left immediately with the Earl for Ard Skellig. No, no, I think the time I spent talking to you was by no means wasted. But I have very little of it. Truly, very little. I confess, your kindness and warmth misled me a little…’

  ‘I wish you well,’ Sigrdrifa interrupted her indifferently. ‘Also, I approve of your plans, with all my heart. I knew Ciri. I loved that child, her fate moved me. I admire you for the determination with which you rush to help the child. I will fulfil your every wish. But not the Brisingamen, Yennefer. Not the Brisingamen. Please, do not ask.’

  ‘Sigrdrifa, to come to Ciri's rescue I have to quickly acquire some knowledge. Some information. Without it, I am powerless. Knowledge and information that I can only get in the way of telecommunications. In order to communicate over long distances, I need to construct, with the help of magic, a magic artefact. A megascope.’

  ‘A device such as your famous crystal ball?’

  ‘Much more complicated. A crystal ball allows telecommunications only with a different ball that has been attuned to it. A dwarf at the local bank even has a crystal ball – to communicate with the ball in the vault. A megascope offers somewhat greater opportunities… But why theorize? Without the diamond it does not matter anyway. Well, I'll say goodbye…’

  ‘Not so fast.’

  Sigrdrifa got up, walked through the nave, and stopped in front of the altar and the statue of Modron Freyja. ‘The Goddess,’ she said, ‘is also the patron of psychics. Of clairvoyant women. Of telepaths. This is symbolized by the sacred animals: the cat who watches and listens in secret, and the falcon, who looks down from high above. It is symbolized by the jewel of the Goddess: the Brisingamen, the collar of clairvoyance. Why build any seeing and listening devices, Yennefer? Is not it easier to turn to the Goddess for help?’

  Yennefer restrained herself from cursing at the last moment. After all, this was a place of worship.

  ‘It is almost time for the evening prayer,’ continued Sigrdrifa. ‘Together with the other priestesses, I will dedicate my time to meditation. I'm going to ask the Goddess to help Ciri. For Ciri was here in this temple many a time and has many a time seen the Brisingamen on the neck of the Great Mother. Sacrifice another hour or two of your valuable time, Yennefer. Stay here with us for the time of prayer. Support me while I pray. With your thoughts and your presence.’

  ‘Sigrdrifa…’

  ‘Please. Do it for me. And for Ciri.’

  * * *

  The jewelled Brisingamen. On the neck of the Goddess.

  She stifled a yawn. At least if there were any songs, any petitions, any mysteries… some mystical folklore… it would be less boring, sleep would not impose itself in this way. But they just kneel there and put their heads down. Motionless, Silent.

  But yes, they can use the Power if they want to, sometimes no worse than we sorceresses. It is still a mystery how they do it. No preparation, no training, no studies… Only prayer and meditation. Divination? A kind of self-hypnosis? That's what Tissaia de Vries claimed… They unconsciously enter a trance and gain energy and the ability to manipulate it, much like we do with our spells. They convert that energy and see this as a gift and the grace of God. That belief gives them strength.

  Why are we sorceresses never successful in the same way?

  Should I try it? Make use of the atmosphere and the aura of this place? I might even be put in a trance… I needed only to look at that diamond… the Brisingamen… To concentrate on how brilliantly it would play its part in my megascope…

  Brisingamen… It sparkles like the morning star, there in the dark, the smoke of incense and smoky candles…

  ‘Yennefer.’

  She lifted her head suddenly.

  It was dark in the temple. It smelled strongly of smoke.

  ‘Did I fall asleep? Forgive me…’

  ‘There is nothing to forgive. Come with me.’

  Outside, the sky flashed with flickering lights that were changing like a kaleidoscope. Northern Lights? Yennefer rubbed her eyes in surprise. Aurora Borealis? In August?

  ‘How much will you sacrifice Yennefer?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you willing to sacrifice yourself? Your priceless magic?’

  ‘Sigrdrifa,’ she said angrily. ‘Do not try these hackneyed tricks with me. I'm ninety-four years old. But please, do not treat that as a confession. I trust you just to let you know that you cannot treat me like a child.’

  ‘You have not answered my question.’

  ‘And I will not. Because I do not agree with this mysticism. I fell asleep at your service. I got bored. Because I do not believe in your goddess.’

  Sigrdrifa turned around, and Yennefer involuntarily took a very deep breath.

  ‘Your disbelief is not too flattering for me’, said the woman, whose eyes were full of liquid gold. ‘But does your disbelief do anything?’

  The only action Yennefer could take was to exhale.

  ‘A time will come,’ said the golden-eyed woman, ‘when no one, absolutely no one except children will believe in witches. I say this to be deliberately malicious. As revenge. Let's go.’

  ‘No…’ Yennefer was finally able to break through the passive inhalation and exhalation. ‘No! I will not go anywhere. Enough! This is an enchantment or hypnosis. An illusion! A trance! I have trained defence mechanisms… I can let everything be scattered with only a saying, oh yes! Damn…’

  The golden-eyed woman approached. The diamond on her necklace flared like the morning star.

  ‘Your language gradually ceases to serve mutual understanding,’ she said. ‘It is art for art's sake, all the more incomprehensible, the deeper and wiser you try to be. Really, you would do better to say nothing but ‘ah-ah’ and ‘gu-gu’. Come on.’

  ‘It's an illusion, a trance… I will not go anywhere!’

  ‘I will not force you. That would be shameful. You're an intelligent, proud girl. Have character.’

  A plain. A sea of grass. Heath. A rock that rises from the heather like the back of a lurking predator.

  ‘You have asked for my jewel, Yennefer. I cannot give it to you, not without making sure of certain things beforehand. I want to see what's inside you. That's why I brought you here, to this place, which has been a place of knowledge and power from time immemorial. Your priceless magic is supposed to be everywhere. All you have to do is reach out for it. Are you afraid to stretch for it?’

  Yennefer could not bring any sound out of her constricted throat.

  ‘The power to change the world cannot be named,’ said the woman, ‘Yet you recognize chaos, art, and science? Curses, blessings, and progress? But coincidentally not faith? Love? Sacrifice?

  Are you listening? The rooster Kambi crows. The wave hits the shore, the bow wave of Naglfar. Hemdall will sound his horn on the rainbow Bifrost for those who would face the enemy. It is the white cold, the storm winds, and blowing snow… The ground shakes from the violent movements of the snake…

  The wolf swallows the sun. The moon is black. There is only cold and darkness. Hatred, revenge, and blood…

  Whose side will you choose, Yennefer? Will you be at the eastern or the western edge of Bifrost? Will you be with Hemdall or against him?

  The rooster Kambi crows.

  Make up your mind Yennefer. Make your choice. For one once gave you life so that you could make your choice at the right moment.

  Light or dark?’

  ‘Good and evil, light and dark, order and chaos? These are just symbols, but in reality there is no s
uch polarity! Light and darkness are in each, a little of this and a little of that. This conversation is pointless. Pointless. I'm not going to convert to mysticism. For you or for the wolf that devours the sun, Sigrdrifa. For me, this is an eclipse. And so it should remain.’

  ‘Remain? How?’

  She felt the earth slip away under her feet, felt the monstrous force twist her arms and break the joints in her shoulders and elbows, felt the vortex as the Strappado-Torture stretched. She screamed in pain, writhing, opening her eyes. No, this was no dream. This could be no dream. She was on a tree, hanging crucified on the branches of a huge ash tree. Above her, high up, a hawk circled, and on the ground in the darkness she heard a hissing snake, the rustle of her rubbing against other joints.

  Something moved beside her. Next to her arm was a stretched and anguished squirrel.

  ‘Are you ready now?’ Asked the squirrel. ‘Are you willing to sacrifice? What are you willing to sacrifice?’

  ‘I have nothing!’ The pain blinded and paralyzed her. ‘And even if I had anything I do not believe in the meaning of such sacrifice! I do not want to suffer for millions! I do not want to suffer at all! For anybody!’

  ‘No one wants to suffer. But that is the fate of each. And some suffer more. Not necessarily of their own volition. It's not about to enduring the suffering. It's about how you endure it.’

  * * *

  Jana! Janchen!

  Take this hunchbacked monster away from me! I do not want to see it!

  This is your daughter, just like mine.

  Really? The children I have fathered are normal.

  How dare you insinuate… to…

  There were sorceresses in your elven family. You aborted your first pregnancy. It follows that your elf blood and womb are spoiled, woman. Why do you bring this monster into the world?

  This unfortunate child… This was the will of the gods! This is your daughter, just like mine! What should I do? Strangle her? Tie off the umbilical cord? What do want from me? To go into the forest and leave her there? What do you want from me, by the gods?

  Dad! Mama!

  Go away, you monster.

  How dare you? How dare you to hit the child? Stop? Where are you going? Where? To her, yes? To her!

  Indeed, woman. I am a man, I can appease my desire where I want, when I want. This is my birthright. And you make me sick. You and the fruit of your correspondingly degenerate belly. Do not wait for dinner. I will not come back tonight.

  Mama…

  Why are you crying?

  Why did you hit me and push me away? I was good…

  Mama! Dear Mama!

  * * *

  ‘Are you able to forgive?’

  ‘I have long since forgiven.’

  ‘After you avenged only too well.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you sorry?’

  ‘No.’

  * * *

  Pain, terrible pain that ate away her hands and fingers.

  ‘Yes, I'm guilty! Did you hear that? Confession and repentance? Did you hear how Yennefer of Vengerberg repented and humbled herself? No, I do not do this favour for you. I confess my sins and I expect the punishment. But I will not beg you for mercy!’

  The pain reached the limits of what can a person could endure.

  ‘You reminded me of the betrayed, the duped, the exploited, you reminded me of he who died by his own hand, by my hand… The fact that I once laid hands on myself? I obviously had reasons! And I have no regrets! And even if I could turn back time… I have no regrets.’

  The hawk perched on her shoulder. The Tower of the Swallow. The Tower of the Swallow. Hasten to the Tower of the Swallow. Daughter.

  * * *

  The rooster Kambi crows.

  * * *

  Ciri on a black mare, her gray hair blowing in the gallop. Blood flows and gushes from her face, a bright, vivid red. The black mare rises like a bird glides smoothly over the beams of the arch. Ciri sways in the saddle, but does not fall…

  Ciri in the middle of the night, amidst a wilderness of rock and sand, with raised hands, from her hands shoots out a glowing sphere… A unicorn, pawing in the gravel with his hoof… Many unicorns… Fire… Fire…

  Geralt on a bridge. In a fight. In a fire. The flames reflected on his sword blade.

  Fringilla Vigo, her green eyes wide open with lust, her dark, close-cropped head on an open book, on the frontispiece… You can see a fragment of the title: Reflections on the Inevitable Death of…

  Geralt's eyes reflected in the eyes of Fringilla.

  An abyss. Smoke. A flight of stairs that leads down. A flight of stairs that you have to take. Something ends. Tedd Deireádh comes, the time of the end…

  Darkness. Moisture. Intensely cold stone walls. The coldness of the iron on the wrists, the ankles. The pain that pulsates in tortured hands, tears at bruised fingers…

  Ciri holds her hand. A long, dark corridor, stone columns, statues perhaps… Darkness. A whisper as quiet as the whisper of the wind.

  Doors. An infinite number of doors with huge, heavy wings open silently in front of them. And in the end, in the impenetrable darkness, a door that does not open automatically. You may not open it.

  If you are afraid, turn back.

  That door mustn’t be opened. You know that.

  I do.

  But you're still leading me there. If you are afraid, turn back. You still have time to turn back. It's still not too late.

  And you?

  For me it is too late.

  The rooster Kambi crows.

  Tedd Deireádh has come.

  The Aurora Borealis.

  Light.

  * * *

  ‘Yennefer. Wake up.’

  She threw up her head. She looked at her hands. She had both. Salvation.

  ‘Sigrdrifa? I fell asleep…’

  ‘Come’

  ‘Where?’ She whispered. ‘Where to this time?’

  ‘What? I do not understand. You have to see. Something has happened… Something strange. None of us knows why or how this can be explained. But I can guess. The grace… You may have fallen to the grace of the goddess, Yennefer.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Sigrdrifa?’

  ‘Look.’

  She looked up. And sighed loudly.

  Brisingamen, the sacred jewel of Modron Freyja no longer hung on the neck of the goddess. It lay at her feet.

  * * *

  ‘Do I hear you right?’ Crach an Craite asked again. ‘You are going to establish your magical workshop on Hindarsfjall? The priestesses gave the sacred diamond to you? You can use it in your infernal machine?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, well, Yennefer, have you converted then? What happened there on the island?’

  ‘It doesn't matter. I'm returning to the temple, and that's final.’

  ‘And the financial resources for which you have asked? Will they still be needed?’

  ‘Probably, yes.’

  ‘Seneschal Guthlaf will fulfil your every relevant arrangement. But, Yennefer, give these orders quickly. Hurry. I have received new messages.’

  ‘Damn, I was afraid of that. Do they know where I am?’

  ‘No, they do not know yet. But I have been warned that you could show up on the Skellige Islands and was told to jail you immediately if you do. I am also supposed to take war prisoners and extort information from them, any crumb of information that concerns you. Or your stay in Nilfgaard and the provinces. Yennefer, hurry. If they track you down and find you here in Skellige, I would find myself in somewhat of a difficult situation.’

  ‘I am doing everything in my power to hurry. Also, to make sure that you will not be compromised. Do not worry.’

  Crach bared his teeth. ‘I said, ‘somewhat’. I'm not afraid of them. Neither the kings nor the magicians. They cannot hurt me, because they need me. And the assistance I have provided to you has been committed under my oath of allegiance. Yes, yes, you heard right. Formally, I�
�m still a vassal of the crown of Cintra. Cirilla and has a formal claim to that crown. As the representative of Cirilla, as her only guardian, you have a formal right to order me and to demand obedience and service.’

  ‘Casuistic quibble.’

  ‘Sure.’ He laughed. ‘I myself will call it such loudly, if after all it turns out that Emhyr var Emreis has forced the girl to marry him. Even if Ciri is ruled out by any legal manoeuvrings of the throne and someone else takes her place, such as that idiot Vissegerd. Then I will immediately renounce my oath of obedience and fealty.’

  ‘What if’ – Yennefer narrowed her eyes -’it turns out that despite everything Ciri is dead?’

  ‘She's alive,’ said Crach firmly. ‘I know she is safe.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You would not believe me.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘The blood of the queens of Cintra,’ began Crach in a thoughtful tone, ‘is strangely connected with the sea. If a woman of this blood dies, the sea falls into true madness. It is said that Ard Skellig mourns Riannon's daughters. Because the storms are so strong that the west waves permeate the island, waves attacking cracks and caves until they suddenly seep from the rock salt rivulets on the east side. And the whole island shakes. The common people say ‘Ard Skellig sobs. Again someone has died. The blood of Riannon has died. The elder blood’.’

  Yennefer was silent.

  * * *

  ‘This is no fairy tale,’ continued Crach. ‘I’ve seen it myself, with my own eyes. Three times. After the death of Adalia the Seer, after the death of Calanthe… And after the death Pavetta, the mother of Ciri.’

  ‘Pavetta’ remarked Yennefer, ‘was killed during a storm, so one can hardly say that…’

  ‘Pavetta’ interrupted Crach, still thoughtfully, ‘was not killed during a storm. The assault began after her death. The sea, as usual, responded to the death of someone of Cinterein blood. I have examined this matter for a sufficiently long time. And I am certain.’