The Last Wish: Introducing The Witcher

by Andrzej Sapkowski

  “That's what they're called in legends,” interrupted the witcher. “Because as far as I know—”

  “Don't interrupt,” Krepp cut him short. “The fact that you don't know much was evident in your tale, witcher. So be quiet and listen to what those wiser than you have to say. Going back to the genies, there are four sorts, just as there are four Planes. Djinns are air creatures; marides are associated with the principle of water; afreet are Fire genies and d'ao, the genies of Earth—”

  “You've run away with yourself, Krepp,” Neville butted in. “This isn't a temple school; don't lecture us. Briefly, what does Yennefer want with this genie?”

  “A genie like this, mayor, is a living reservoir of magical energy. A sorcerer who has a genie at their beck and call can direct that energy in the form of spells. They don't have to draw the Force from Nature; the genie does it for them. The power of such an enchanter is enormous, close to omnipotence—”

  “Somehow I’ve never heard of a wizard who can do everything,” contradicted Neville. “On the contrary, the power of most of them is clearly exaggerated. They can't do this, they can't—”

  “The enchanter Stammelford,” interrupted the priest, once more taking on the tone and poise of an academic lecturer, “once moved a mountain because it obstructed the view from his tower. Nobody has managed to do the like, before or since. Because Stammelford, so they say, had the services of a d'ao, an Earth genie. There are records of deeds accomplished by other magicians on a similar scale. Enormous waves and catastrophic rains are certainly the work of marides. Fiery columns, fires and explosions the work of afreets—”

  “Whirlwinds, hurricanes, flights above the earth,” muttered Geralt, “Geoffrey Monck.”

  “Exactly. I see you do know something after all.” Krepp glanced at him more kindly. “Word has it old Monck had a way of forcing a djinn to serve him. There were rumors that he had more than one. He was said to keep them in bottles and make use of them when need arose. Three wishes from each genie, then it's free and escapes into its own dimension.”

  “The one at the river didn't fulfill anything,” said Geralt emphatically. “He immediately threw himself at Dandilion's throat.”

  “Genies”—Krepp turned up his nose—“are spiteful and deceitful beings. They don't like being packed into bottles and ordered to move mountains. They do everything they possibly can to make it impossible for you to express your wishes and then they fulfill them in a way which is hard to control and foresee, sometimes literally, so you have to be careful what you say. To subjugate a genie, you need a will of iron, nerves of steel, a strong Force and considerable abilities. From what you say, it looks like your abilities, witcher, were too modest.”

  “Too modest to subjugate the cad,” agreed Geralt. “But I did chase him away; he bolted so fast the air howled. And that's also something. Yennefer, it's true, ridiculed my exorcism—”

  “What was the exorcism? Repeat it.”

  Geralt repeated it, word for word.

  “What?!” The priest first turned pale, then red and finally blue. “How dare you! Are you making fun of me?”

  “Forgive me,” stuttered Geralt. “To be honest, I don't know…what the words mean.”

  “So don't repeat what you don't know! I’ve no idea where you could have heard such filth!”

  “Enough of that.” The mayor waved it all aside. “We're wasting time. Right. We now know what the sorceress wants the genie for. But you said, Krepp, that it's bad. What's bad? Let her catch him and go to hell, what do I care? I think—”

  No one ever found out what Neville was thinking, even if it wasn't a boast. A luminous rectangle appeared on the wall next to the tapestry of Prophet Lebiodus, something flashed and Dandilion landed in the middle of the town hall.

  “Innocent!” yelled the poet in a clear, melodious tenor, sitting on the floor and looking around, his eyes vague. “Innocent! The witcher is innocent! I wish you to believe it!”

  “Dandilion!” Geralt shouted, holding Krepp back, who was clearly getting ready to perform an exorcism or a curse. “Where have you…here…Dandilion!”

  “Geralt!” The bard jumped up.

  “Dandilion!”

  “Who's this?” Neville growled. “Dammit, if you don't put an end to your spells, there's no guarantee what I’ll do. I’ve said that spells are forbidden in Rinde! First you have to put in a written application, then pay a tax and stamp duty…Eh? Isn't it that singer, the witch's hostage?”

  “Dandilion,” repeated Geralt, holding the poet by the shoulders. “How did you get here?”

  “I don't know,” admitted the bard with a foolish, worried expression. “To be honest, I’m rather unaware of what happened to me. I don't remember much and may the plague take me if I know what of that is real and what's a nightmare. But I do remember quite a pretty, black-haired female with fiery eyes—”

  “What are you telling me about black-haired women for?” Neville interrupted angrily. “Get to the point, squire, to the point. You yelled that the witcher is innocent. How am I to understand that? That Laurelnose thrashed his own arse with his hands? Because if the witcher's innocent, it couldn't have been otherwise. Unless it was a mass hallucination.”

  “I don't know anything about any arses or hallucinations,” said Dandilion proudly. “Or anything about laurel noses: I repeat, that the last thing I remember was an elegant woman dressed in tastefully coordinated black and white. She threw me into a shiny hole, a magic portal for sure. But first she gave me a clear and precise errand. As soon as I’d arrived, I was immediately to say, I quote: ‘My wish is for you to believe the witcher is not guilty for what occurred. That, and no other, is my wish.’ Word for word. Indeed, I tried to ask what all this was, what it was all about, and why. The black-haired woman didn't let me get a word in edgeways. She scolded me most inelegantly, grasped me by the neck and threw me into the portal. That's all. And now…” Dandilion pulled himself up, brushed his doublet, adjusted his collar and fancy—if dirty—ruffles. “…perhaps, gentlemen, you'd like to tell me the name of the best tavern in town and where it can be found.”

  “There are no bad taverns in my town,” said Neville slowly. “But before you see them for yourself, you'll inspect the best dungeon in this town very thoroughly. You and your companions. Let me remind you that you're still not free, you scoundrels! Look at them! One tells incredible stories while the other leaps out of the wall and shouts about innocence. I wish, he yells, you to believe me. He has the audacity to wish—”

  “My gods!” The priest suddenly grasped his bald crown. “Now I understand! The wish! The last wish!”

  “What's happened to you, Krepp?” The mayor frowned. “Are you ill?”

  “The last wish!” repeated the priest. “She made the bard express the last, the third wish. And Yennefer set a magical trap and, no doubt, captured the genie before he managed to escape into his own dimension! Mr. Neville, we must—”

  It thundered outside. So strongly that the walls shook.

  “Dammit,” muttered the mayor, going up to the window. “That was close. As long as it doesn't hit a house. All I need now is a fire—Oh gods! Just look! Just look at this! Krepp! What is it?”

  All of them, to a man, rushed to the window.

  “Mother of mine!” yelled Dandilion, grabbing his throat. “It's him! It's that son of a bitch who strangled me!”

  “The djinn!” shouted Krepp. “The Air genie!”

  “Above Errdil's tavern!” shouted Chireadan, “above his roof!”

  “She's caught him!” The priest leaned out so far he almost fell. “Can you see the magical light? The sorceress has caught the genie!”

  Geralt watched in silence.

  Once, years ago, when a little snot-faced brat following his studies in Kaer Morhen, the Witchers’ Settlement, he and a friend, Eskel, had captured a huge forest bumblebee and tied it to a jug with a thread. They were in fits of laughter watching the antics of the tied bumblebee, unti
l Vesemir, their tutor, caught them at it and tanned their hides with a leather strap.

  The djinn, circling above the roof of Errdil's tavern, behaved exactly like that bumblebee. He flew up and fell, he sprang up and dived, he buzzed furiously in a circle. Because the djinn, exactly like the bumblebee in Kaer Morhen, was tied down. Twisted threads of blindingly bright light of various colors were tightly wrapped around him and ended at the roof. But the djinn had more options than the bumblebee, which couldn't knock down surrounding roofs, rip thatches to shreds, destroy chimneys, and shatter towers and garrets. The djinn could. And did.

  “It's destroying the town,” wailed Neville. “That monster's destroying my town!”

  “Hehehe,” laughed the priest. “She's found her match, it seems! It's an exceptionally strong djinn! I really don't know who's caught whom, the witch him or he the witch! Ha, it'll end with the djinn grinding her to dust. Very good! Justice will be done!”

  “I shit on justice!” yelled the mayor, not caring if there were any voters under the window. “Look what's happening there, Krepp! Panic, ruin! You didn't tell me that, you bald idiot! You played the wise guy, gabbled on, but not a word about what's most important! Why didn't you tell me that that demon…Witcher! Do something! Do you hear, innocent sorcerer? Do something about that demon! I forgive you all your offences, but—”

  “There's nothing can be done here, Mr. Neville,” snorted Krepp. “You didn't listen to what I was saying, that's all. You never listen to me. This, I repeat, is an exceptionally strong djinn. If it wasn't for that, the sorceress would have hold of him already. Her spell is soon going to weaken, and then the djinn is going to crush her and escape. And we'll have some peace.”

  “And in the meantime, the town will go to ruins?”

  “We've got to wait,” repeated the priest, “but not idly. Give out the orders, mayor. Tell the people to evacuate the surrounding houses and get ready to extinguish fires. What's happening there now is nothing compared to the hell that's going to break loose when the genie has finished with the witch.”

  Geralt raised his head, caught Chireadan's eye and looked away.

  “Mr. Krepp,” he suddenly decided, “I need your help. It's about the portal through which Dandilion appeared here. The portal still links the town hall to—”

  “There's not even a trace of the portal anymore,” the priest said Coldly, pointing to the wall. “Can't you see?”

  “A portal leaves a trace, even when invisible. A spell can stabilize such a trace. I’ll follow it.”

  “You must be mad. Even if a passage like that doesn't tear you to pieces, what do you expect to gain by it? Do you want to find yourself in the middle of a cyclone?”

  “I asked if you can cast a spell which could stabilize the trace.”

  “Spell?” The priest proudly raised his head. “I’m not a godless sorcerer! I don't cast spells! My power comes from faith and prayer!”

  “Can you or can't you?”

  “I can.”

  “Then get on with it, because time's pressing on.”

  “Geralt,” said Dandilion, “you've gone stark raving mad! Keep away from that bloody strangler!”

  “Silence, please,” said Krepp, “and gravity. I’m praying.”

  “To hell with your prayers!” Neville hollered. “I’m off to gather the people. We've got to do something and not stand here gabbling! Gods, what a day! What a bloody day!”

  The witcher felt Chireadan touch his shoulder. He turned. The elf looked him in the eyes, then lowered his own.

  “You're going there because you have to, aren't you?”

  Geralt hesitated. He thought he smelled the scent of lilac and gooseberries.

  “I think so,” he said reluctantly. “I do have to. I’m sorry, Chireadan—”

  “Don't apologize. I know what you feel.”

  “I doubt it. Because I don't know myself.”

  The elf smiled. The smile had little to do with joy. “That's just it, Geralt. Precisely it.”

  Krepp pulled himself upright and took a deep breath. “Ready,” he said, pointing with pride at the barely visible outline on the wall. “But the portal is unsteady and won't stay there for long. And there's no way to be sure it won't break. Before you step through, sir, examine your conscience. I can give you a blessing, but in order to forgive you your sins—”

  “—there's no time,” Geralt finished the sentence for him. “I know, Mr. Krepp. There's never enough time for it. Leave the chamber, all of you. If the portal explodes, it'll burst your eardrums.”

  “I’ll stay,” said Krepp, when the door had closed behind Dandilion and the elf. He waved his hands in the air, creating a pulsating aura around himself. “I’ll spread some protection, just in case. And if the portal does burst…I’ll try and pull you out, witcher. What are eardrums to me? They grow back.”

  Geralt looked at him more kindly.

  The priest smiled. “You're a brave man,” he said. “You want to save her, don't you? But bravery isn't going to be of much use to you. Djinns are vengeful beings. The sorceress is lost. And if you go there, you'll be lost, too. Examine your conscience.”

  “I have.” Geralt stood in front of the faintly glowing portal. “Mr. Krepp, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “That exorcism which made you so angry…What do the words mean?”

  “Indeed, what a moment for quips and jokes—”

  “Please, Mr. Krepp, sir.”

  “Oh, well,” said the priest, hiding behind the mayor's heavy oak table. “It's your last wish, so I’ll tell you. It means…Hmm…Hmm…essentially…get out of here and go fuck yourself!”

  Geralt entered the nothingness, where cold stifled the laughter which was shaking him.

  VIII

  The portal, roaring and whirling like a hurricane, spat him out with a force that bruised his lungs. The witcher collapsed on the floor, panting and catching his breath with difficulty.

  The floor shook. At first he thought he was trembling after his journey through the splitting hell of the portal, but he rapidly realized his mistake. The whole house was vibrating, trembling and creaking.

  He looked around. He was not in the small room where he had last seen Yennefer and Dandilion but in the large communal hall of Errdil's renovated tavern.

  He saw her. She was kneeling between tables, bent over the magical sphere. The sphere was aflame with a strong, milky light, so bright, enough to shine red through her fingers. The light from the sphere illuminated a scene, flickering and swaying, but clear. Geralt saw the small room with a star and pentagram traced on the floor, blazing with white heat. He saw many-colored, creaking, fiery lines shooting from the pentagram and disappearing up over the roof toward the furious roar of the captured djinn.

  Yennefer saw him, jumped up and raised her hand.

  “No!” he shouted, “don't do this! I want to help you!”

  “Help?” She snorted. “You?”

  “Me.”

  “In spite of what I did to you?”

  “In spite of it.”

  “Interesting. But not important. I don't need your help. Get out of here.”

  “No.”

  “Get out of here!” she yelled, grimacing ominously. “It's getting dangerous! The whole thing's getting out of control; do you understand? I can't master him. I don't get it, but the scoundrel isn't weakening at all! I caught him once he'd fulfilled the troubadour's third wish and I should have him in the sphere by now. But he's not getting any weaker! Dammit, it looks as if he's getting stronger! But I’m still going to get the better of him. I’ll break—”

  “You won't break him, Yennefer. He'll kill you.”

  “It's not so easy to kill me—”

  She broke off. The whole roof of the tavern suddenly flared up. The vision projected by the sphere dissolved in the brightness. A huge fiery rectangle appeared on the ceiling. The sorceress cursed as she lifted her hands, and sparks gushed from her fingers.

  �
�Run, Geralt!”

  “What's happening, Yennefer?”

  “He's located me…” She groaned, flushing red with effort. “He wants to get at me. He's creating his own portal to get in. He can't break loose but he'll get in by the portal. I can't—I can't stop him!”

  “Yennefer—”

  “Don't distract me! I’ve got to concentrate…Geralt, you've got to get out of here. I’ll open my portal, a way for you to escape. Be careful; it'll be a random portal. I haven't got time or strength for any other…I don't know where you'll end up…but you'll be safe…Get ready—”

  A huge portal on the ceiling suddenly flared blindingly, expanded and grew deformed. Out of the nothingness appeared the shapeless mouth already known to the witcher, snapping its drooping lips and howling loudly enough to pierce his ears. Yennefer jumped, waved her arms and shouted an incantation. A net of light shot from her palm and fell on the djinn. It gave a roar and sprouted long paws which shot toward the sorceress's throat like attacking cobras. Yennefer didn't back away.

  Geralt threw himself toward her, pushed her aside and sheltered her. The djinn, tangled in the magical light, sprang from the portal like a cork from a bottle and threw himself at them, opening his jaws. The witcher clenched his teeth and hit him with the Sign without any apparent effect. But the genie didn't attack. He hung in the air just below the ceiling, swelled to an impressive size, goggled at Geralt with his pale eyes and roared. There was something in that roar, something like a command, an order. He didn't understand what it was.

  “This way!” shouted Yennefer, indicating the portal which she had conjured up oh the wall by the stairs. In comparison to the one created by the genie, the sorceress's portal looked feeble, extremely inferior. “This way, Geralt! Run for it!”

  “Only with you!”