The Road With No Return

by Andrzej Sapkowski

  Visenna didn’t answer. She didn’t look at the bound man. Her gaze rested on Korin.

  “Aha!” the sorcerer yelled. “You don’t even deny it! That means all the world. Back then, only the Elders knew of it, and greenhorns like you were made believe that the Circle’s only goal was to fight evil. That does not surprise me: the world is changing, the people are beginning to understand that they can live without magic and magicians. Before you know it, you will be out of work, will have to live off what you have stolen until then. Nothing matters to you, only profit. That is why you will unbind me this moment. You will not kill me or have me killed, for that would mean further losses for the Circle. And the Circle would not forgive you for that, that much is obvious.”

  “It is not”, Visenna said coldly, arms crossed in front of her chest. “You see, Fregenal, greenhorns like me don’t pay too much attention to material wealth. What do I care if the Circle makes a profit or has losses, or if it even stops to exist. I can very well live on curing a heifer’s flatulence. Or impotence in old geezers like you. But that is unimportant. What is important is that you want to live and therefore wag your tongue. Everybody wants to live. That is why you will now give me the binding spell. Immediately. Then you will help me find the koshchey, and destroy it. And if not… Well, then I suppose I will take a walk in the woods. Afterwards I can tell the Circle that I did not notice the angry peasants.”

  The sorcerer ground his teeth. “You’ve always been cynical. Even back then in Mayena. Especially in your relationships with men. You were fourteen, but there was a lot of talk of your…”

  “Stop, Fregenal”, the druid interrupted. “What you are saying does not impress me in the least. Not him, either. He is not my lover. Say that you agree. And be done with the blabbering. You do agree, after all!”

  Fregenal screwed up his eyes, averted his gaze. “Of course”, he croaked. “Do you take me for a fool? Everybody wants to live.”

  VIII

  Fregenal stopped, wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. “Behind those rocks begins a ravine. The old maps mark it as Duran-Orit, the gorge of mice. That’s the gate to the Klamat. We need to leave the horses here. On horseback there’d be no chance to get close to it unnoticed.”

  “Nicholas”, Visenna said while dismounting. “Wait until the evening, no longer. If I don’t return, do not enter the pass, under no circumstances. Return home. Do you understand, Nicholas?”

  The smith nodded. There were only four villagers still with him. The rest of the company had melted away on the road like snow in May.

  “I understand, Milady”, he murmured and squinted at Fregenal. “Still I’m surprised that you trust this bastard. I think the peasants were right. Should have torn off his head. Just look at those pig eyes, Milady, that traitorous mug.”

  Visenna didn’t answer. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she looked toward the mountain, at the entrance of the ravine.

  “Take the lead, Fregenal”, Korin ordered and tightened his belt.

  They set off.

  After half an hour of marching they saw the first cart, pushed over, shattered. Then another – with a broken wheel. Skeletons of horses. The skeleton of a human. Another. A third. A fourth. A pile. A pile of broken, crunched bones.

  “You whoreson”, Korin said quietly, his eyes on a skull in whose eye sockets were growing the stalks of large nettles. “Those are merchants, right? I don’t know what’s keeping me from…”

  “We have an agreement”, Fregenal interrupted him hastily. “An agreement. I told you everything, Visenna. I’m helping you. I’m leading you. We have an agreement!”

  Korin spat. Visenna looked at him, pale, then turned toward the sorcerer.

  “We have an agreement”, she confirmed. “You will help us find and destroy it, then you will take off. Your death will not bring back those who lie here.”

  “Destroy, destroy… Visenna, I’m warning you again, and I repeat: stun it, paralyze it, you know the spells. But don’t destroy it. It is worth a fortune. You can always…”

  “Stop, Fregenal. We have already talked about this. Lead us.”

  They walked on, careful to avoid the skeletons.

  “Visenna”, Fregenal panted after a while. “Are you aware of the risk? This is no joke. You know the mirror effect can go this way or the other. If the inversion doesn’t work, we’re done for. I’ve seen what it’s capable of.”

  Visenna stopped. “No excuses”, she said. “Who do you take me for? The inversion will work if…”

  “If you didn’t scam us”, Korin added, his voice toneless with anger. “And if you did… You say you saw what your monster is capable of. But do you know what I am capable of? I know a blow that leaves a man with nothing but an ear, a cheek and half his jaw. One can survive, but never again, let’s say, play the flute.”

  “Visenna, calm down that murderer”, Fregenal stuttered, having blanched significantly. “Explain to him that I could not lie to you, that you would have noticed…”

  “Don’t talk so much, Fregenal. Lead us.”

  A little further down the path they spied the next cart. And the next skeletons. Carelessly scattered, tangled ribcages glistening white in the grass, shins sticking from the debris, skulls grinning eerily. Korin was silent, his sweaty hand tightly gripping the sword’s handle.

  “Watch out”, Fregenal panted. “We’re close. Walk silently.”

  “At what distance does it react? Fregenal, I’m talking to you.”

  “I’ll give you a sign.”

  They continued, glanced over the walls of the ravine, which where steep, covered in creeping, crippled shrubbery, streaked with gaps and rock failures.

  “Visenna? Do you sense it yet?”

  “Yes. But indistinctly. How far is it, Fregenal?”

  “I will give you a sign. It’s too bad I can’t help you. Without my staff and ring I can do nothing. I’m powerless. Except for…”

  “Except for what?”

  “This!”

  With a speed of which one would not have considered him capable, the obese man grabbed an edged boulder and struck it against the back of Visenna’s head. Without a sigh the druid tumbled to the ground, face forward. Korin swung his sword, but the magician was incredibly agile. He dropped onto all fours to evade the blade, rolled up to his feet and smashed the rock he had not dropped against his knee. Korin howled, fell; the pain momentarily took his breath away, and then a wave of nausea worked its way up from his gut to his throat. Fregenal jumped up like a cat, prepared for another blow.

  The colorful bird dropped like a bullet, brushed across the wizard’s face. Fregenal jumped back, threw up his hands and dropped the stone. Korin, leaning on his elbow, hit with the sword, but missed the obese man by a hair’s breadth; the latter turned around and ran toward the pass, screamed and laughed. Korin tried to get up and catch up with him, but the attempt made his vision go black. He fell back down and sent a torrent of disgusting curses after the sorcerer.

  Fregenal looked back from a safe distance, stopped. “You wayward witch!” he yelled. “You red-headed piece of filth! You wanted to outsmart Fregenal? Graciously give me my life? You thought I would watch calmly while you killed it?”

  Korin, still on the ground, rubbed his knee to calm the pulsating pain. Visenna lay motionless.

  “It comes!” Fregenal screamed. “Look! Rejoice in this view, for any moment my koshchey will blow the eyes from your skulls! It comes already!”

  Korin looked around. From behind a scattering of rocks, a good one hundred steps away, towered the clunky, bent joints of a spider’s legs. Moments later, a body, six meters in diameter, pushed itself rumbling over the rocky pile, flat as a plate, rust colored, rough, covered in prickly growths. Three pairs of legs stepped forward measuredly, carried the plate-shaped body through the debris. The fourth, frontal pair of limbs, disproportionally long, were armed with mighty pincers, which carried rows of pointy spikes and horns.

 
This is a dream, Korin thought. A nightmare. Wake up. Scream and wake up. Scream. Scream. Scream.

  He forgot about the painful knee and ran over to Visenna, pulled at her slack shoulder. The druid’s hair was drenched in blood which already ran down her neck.

  “Visenna…”, he pressed through a throat constricted with fear. “Visenna…”

  Fregenal erupted with crazy laughter, which reverberated off the walls of the ravine. The laughter downed out the steps of Nicholas, who was hurrying over, ax in hand. Fregenal only noticed him when it was already too late. The ax struck his back, a little above the hip, and entered up to the shaft. The wizard fell to the ground with a cry of pain, so that the ax was torn from the smith’s hand. Nicholas set his foot on his back, removed the ax, struck again. Fregenal’s head tumbled across the debris and came to a halt, its forehead resting against one of the skulls which lay under the wheels of the shattered cart.

  Limping, stumbling over stones, Korin pulled Visenna after himself; she was limp and soft. Nicholas jumped toward them, grabbed the girl, effortlessly threw her over his shoulder and started running. Even without the burden Korin was not able to follow. He looked back over his shoulder. The koshchey was coming closer, crunching its joints; the extended pincers ran through the shaggy grass, stirred rocks.

  “Nicholas!” Korin yelled desperately.

  The smith looked back, set Visenna down, ran over to Korin, supported him, together they ran. The koshchey gained speed, raised its spiky pincers.

  “We won’t make it”, Nicholas panted after throwing a glance back. “We won’t get away form it…”

  They reached Visenna lying prone.

  “She’s bleeding to death”, Nicholas groaned.

  Korin gathered himself. He tore the pouch from Visenna’s belt, shook out its contents and grabbed, without paying any attention to the other items, the russet mineral covered in runes, brushed away the strawberry blond, blood-soaked hair, pressed the hematite against the wound. The blood immediately stopped flowing.

  “Korin!” Nicholas yelled.

  The koshchey was close. It stretched out its front legs, the jagged pincers opened. Nicholas saw the eyes rotating on stalks and the crunching, sickle-shaped jaw below them. Creeping forward, the koshchey hissed rhythmically: “Tsss, tsss, tsss…”

  “Korin!”

  Korin didn’t react, whispered something without taking the hematite off the wound. Nicholas jumped at him, grabbed his arm, dragged him from Visenna, took the druid in his arms. They ran. The koshchey, not stopping the hissing for even a moment, raised the pincers, scraped his chitinous belly across the rock and hurried after them. Nicholas realized that they didn’t stand a chance.

  From the pass, a rider in a leather vest dashed toward them at breakneck speed, broadsword raised high above the head in the chainmail helmet. In the hairy face, small eyes sparkled, pointed teeth flashed.

  With a battle cry, Kehl lunged at the koshchey. But before he had even reached the monster, the terrible pincers closed, grabbed the horse with spiky pliers. The bobolak fell from the saddle, tumbled to the ground.

  Without any visible effort, the koshchey raised the horse with its pincers and stabbed it with the pointy thorn protruding from the front of its body. The sickle-shaped jaws snapped shut, the blood of the horse splattered onto the stones, steaming guts exploded from the slashed stomach onto the ground.

  Nicholas jumped, picked up the bobolak, but the latter pushed him back, tore up his sword, screamed lough enough to drown out the horse’s dying cries and swooped down on the koshchey. With apelike agility, he slipped under the bony, thickened joints of one of the front limbs and stabbed at a stalk-mounted eye with all his might. The koshchey hissed, dropped the horse, threw its pincers to the side, hitting Kehl with the pointy spikes, tore him off the ground, hurtled him off to the side. Kehl crashed onto the stones, dropped the sword. The koshchey made a semi-turn, extended its pincers and grabbed him. The bobolak’s small figure was suspended in mid-air.

  Nicholas screamed angrily, reached the monster in two long steps, struck out and hit the chitin shell with his ax. Korin let go of Visenna and without thinking twice joined from the other side, used both hands to stab his sword into a gap between the shell and a leg. He braced his chest against the handle and rammed it in up to the crossguard. Nicholas groaned and hit again, the shell ruptured, a stinking green liquid bubbled up. The koshchey hissed again, let go of the bobolak, raised its pincers. Korin braced himself against the ground, tugged at the sword – in vain.

  “Nicholas!” he yelled. “Back!”

  Both turned to flee, smartly in different directions. The koshchey hesitated, scraped its belly across the rock and hurried toward Visenna, who tried to get onto all fours, her head lolling forward. A little above her hovered the colorful bird, batted its wings and screamed, screamed, screamed…

  The koshchey was close.

  Both, Nicholas and Korin, jumped for her at the same time, stood in the monster’s way.

  “Visenna!”

  “Milady!”

  Without stopping, the koshchey spread its pincers.

  “Out of the way!” Visenna yelled from her knees and raised her hands. “Korin! Out of the way!”

  Both scrambled off, to the walls of the ravine.

  “Henenaa fireaaoth kerelanth!” the sorceress yelled sonorously and extended her arms toward the koshchey. Nicholas noticed something invisible moving from her toward the creature. The grass was depressed, small stones hurtled to the side as if under weight of a huge sphere, which rolled in at increasing speed. From Visenna’s palms shot a blinding, jagged streak of light, hit the koshchey, spread across the shell like a net of tongues of fire. The air tore with a deafening boom. The koshchey exploded, burst in a green fountain of bodily fluids, a cloud of chitin, legs, guts; it all gushed upwards, rained down, pattered onto the rocks, rustled the undergrowth. Nicholas dropped onto one knee, raised his hands above his head.

  It was silent. Where the monster had been only moments before, a black, smoking, round crater expanded, splattered with green fluid, covered in repulsive shreds hard to recognize.

  Korin wiped the green spots off his face and helped Visenna up. Visenna shivered.

  Nicholas leaned over Kehl. The bobolak’s eyes were open. The thick vest of horse leather was torn to shreds; underneath was visible what little remained of shoulder and flank. The smith wanted to say something, but was not able to. Korin joined him, supporting Visenna. The bobolak turned his head toward them. Korin regarded his shoulder and swallowed with effort.

  “It’s you, prince”, Kehl said softly, but calmly. “You were right… I’m nothing without my weapons. And without my arm? Shitty, huh?”

  The bobolak’s calm was more disconcerting to Korin than the sight of crushed bones jutting from the horrible wounds. To think the creature was even alive; it was unimaginable.

  “Visenna”, Korin whispered and looked at the sorceress pleadingly.

  “There is nothing I can do, Korin”, Visenna said, her voice breaking. “His metabolism is completely different from that of a human… Nicholas… Don’t touch him…”

  “You came back, bobolak”, Nicholas whispered. “Why?”

  “Because my metabolism is completely different… from that of a human”, Kehl said, his voice laced with pride, and much effort. A rivulet of blood flowed from his mouth and tainted the ashen fur. He turned his head, looked Visenna in the eyes.

  “Well, red-headed witch! Your prophecy was right, but you will need to fulfill it yourself.”

  “No!” Visenna moaned.

  “Yes”, Kehl said. “You must. Help me. It’s time.”

  “Visenna”, Korin sighed, horrified. “Don’t tell me you want to…”

  “Go away!” the druid screamed and stifled a sob. “Go away, both of you!”

  Nicholas averted his gaze and pulled Korin by the arm. Korin followed him. He only saw Visenna kneeling at the bobolak’s side, softly stroking his foreh
ead, touching his temples. Kehl twitched, began to shiver, tense and froze, motionless.

  Visenna cried.

  IX

  The colorful bird on Visenna’s shoulder cocked its slender head, fixed the sorceress with round, lifeless eyes. The horse trotted along the broken country road, the sky was cobalt blue and clear.

  “Tuuit tuiit trk”, said the colorful bird.

  “Possibly”, Visenna agreed. “But it is not about that. You do not understand. I do not blame anyone. It saddens me that I learned about the whole affair from Fregenal, not from you. It does. But I have known you for years, I know you’re not very talkative. I think if I had asked you directly, you would have answered.”

  “Trk, tuuuit?”

  “Of course. For a while. But you know how it is with us. One big secret, everything is secret. It all comes down to criteria. I don’t refuse to be paid for a healing if somebody offers the money and I know he can afford it. I know that the price for certain services can be quite high. And for good reason, everything is becoming more and more expensive, you have to take care of yourself. It is not about that.”

  “Twwiiit.” The bird stepped from one tiny foot onto the other. “Korriiin.”

  “You’re a clever one.” Visenna smiled sourly, stretched her head toward the bird so it could softly touch her cheek with its beak. “That is what worries me. I saw how he looked at me. Not just a witch, he thought surely, but also a swindler, greedy and calculating.”

  “Tuwiit trk trk trk tuuuiiit?”

  Visenna turned her head. “Well, it is not that bad”, she murmured and blinked. “I am, as you know, no little girl, I don’t lose my head that easily. Though I have to admit… For too long I have wandered aimlessly, alone… But that is none of your business. Hold your beak.”

  The bird was silent, ruffled its plumage. They came ever closer to the forest; the road vanished in the thicket under the portal of treetops.