Introducing the Witcher

by Andrzej Sapkowski

  Essi is not Yennefer.

  And that is why I cannot. I cannot find that little sacrifice inside myself.

  ‘Please, Essi, don’t cry.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she said, moving very slowly away from him. ‘I won’t. I understand. It cannot be any other way.’

  They said nothing, sitting beside each other on the palliasse stuffed with bean stalks. Evening was approaching.

  ‘Geralt,’ she suddenly said, and her voice trembled. ‘But perhaps . . . Perhaps it would be like it was with that shell, with that curious gift? Perhaps we could find a pearl? Later? When some time has passed?’

  ‘I can see that pearl,’ he said with effort, ‘set in silver, in a little silver flower with intricate petals. I see it around your neck, on a delicate silver chain, worn like I wear my medallion. That will be your talisman, Essi. A talisman, which will protect you from all evil.’

  ‘My talisman,’ she repeated, lowering her head. ‘My pearl, which I shall set in silver, and from which I shall never part. My jewel, which I was given instead of . . . Can a talisman like that bring me luck?’

  ‘Yes, Essi. Be sure of it.’

  ‘Can I stay here a little longer? With you?’

  ‘You may.’

  Twilight was approaching and dusk falling, and they were sitting on a palliasse stuffed with bean stalks, in the garret, where there was no furniture, where there was only a wooden tub and an unlit candle on the floor, in a puddle of hardened wax.

  They sat in utter silence for a very long time. And then Dandelion came. They heard him approaching, strumming his lute and humming to himself. Dandelion entered, saw them and did not say anything, not a word. Essi also said nothing, stood up and went out without looking at them.

  Dandelion did not say a word. But the Witcher saw in his eyes the words that remained unsaid.

  VIII

  ‘An intelligent race,’ Agloval repeated pensively, resting an elbow on the armrest, and his fist on his chin. ‘An underwater civilisation. Fishlike people living on the seabed. Steps leading to the depths. Geralt, you take me for a bloody gullible duke.’

  Little Eye, standing beside Dandelion, snarled angrily. Dandelion shook his head in disbelief. Geralt was not in the least bothered.

  ‘It makes no difference to me,’ he said quietly, ‘if you believe me or not. It is, however, my duty to warn you. Any boat that sails towards the Dragons Fangs, or people who appear there when the tide is out, are in danger. Mortal danger. If you want to find out if it’s true, if you want to risk it, that’s your business. I’m simply warning you.’

  ‘Ha,’ the steward Zelest, who was sitting in a window seat behind Agloval, suddenly said. ‘If they are monsters the like of elves or other goblins, we don’t need to worry. We feared it was something worse, or, God save us, something magical. From what the Witcher says, they are some kind of sea drowners or other sea monsters. There are ways of dealing with drowners. I heard tell that one sorcerer gave some drowners short shrift in Lake Mokva. He poured a small barrel of magical philtre into the water and did for the fuckers. Didn’t leave a trace.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Drouhard said, who up to then had been silent. ‘There wasn’t a trace. Nor a trace of bream, pike, crayfish or mussels. Even the waterweed on the lake floor rotted away and the alders on the bank withered.’

  ‘Capital,’ Agloval said derisively. ‘Thank you for that excellent suggestion, Zelest. Do you have any more?’

  ‘Aye, fair enough,’ the steward said, blushing. ‘The wizard overdid it a mite with his wand, waved it about a jot too much. But we ought to manage without wizards too, Your Grace. The Witcher says that one can fight those monsters and also kill ’em. That’s war, sire. Like the old days. Nothing new there, eh? Werelynxes lived in the mountains, and where are they now? Wild elves and eerie wives still roam the forests, but there’ll soon be an end to that. We’ll secure what is ours. As our granddaddies . . .’

  ‘And only my grandchildren will see the pearls?’ The duke grimaced. ‘It is too long to wait, Zelest.’

  ‘Well, it won’t be that bad. Seems to me it’s like this: two boats of archers to each boat of divers. We’ll soon learn those monsters some sense. Learn them some fear. Am I right, Witcher, sir?’

  Geralt looked coldly at him, but did not respond.

  Agloval turned his head away, showing his noble profile, and bit his lip. Then he looked at the Witcher, narrowing his eyes and frowning.

  ‘You didn’t complete your task, Geralt,’ he said. ‘You fouled things up again. You had good intentions, I can’t deny that. But I don’t pay for good intentions. I pay for results. For the effect. And the effect, excuse the expression, is shitty. So you earn shit.’

  ‘Marvellous, Your Grace,’ Dandelion jibed. ‘Pity you weren’t with us at the Dragons Fangs. The Witcher and I might have given you the opportunity for an encounter with one of those from the sea, sword in hand. Perhaps then you would understand what this is about, and stop bickering about payment—’

  ‘Like a fishwife,’ Little Eye interjected.

  ‘I am not accustomed to bickering, bargaining or discussing,’ Agloval said calmly. ‘I said I shall not pay you a penny, Geralt. The agreement ran: remove the danger, remove the threat, enable the fishing of pearls without any risk to people. But you? You come and tell me about an intelligent race from the seabed. You advise me to stay away from the place which brings me profit. What did you do? You reputedly killed . . . How many?’

  ‘It matters not how many,’ Geralt said, blanching slightly. ‘At least, not to you, Agloval.’

  ‘Precisely. Particularly since there is no proof. If you had at least brought the right hands of those fish-toads, who knows, perhaps I would have splashed out on the normal fee my forester takes for a pair of wolf’s ears.’

  ‘Well,’ the Witcher said coldly. ‘I’m left with no choice but to say farewell.’

  ‘You are mistaken,’ the duke said. ‘Something does remain. Permanent work for quite decent coin and lodgings. The position and ticket of skipper of my armed guard, which from now on will accompany the divers. It does not have to be forever, but only until your reputed intelligent race gains enough good sense to keep well away from my boats, to avoid them like the plague. What do you say?’

  ‘No thank you, I decline,’ the Witcher grimaced. ‘A job like that doesn’t suit me. I consider waging war against other races idiocy. Perhaps it’s excellent sport for bored and jaded dukes. But not for me.’

  ‘Oh, how proud,’ Agloval smiled. ‘How haughty. You reject offers in a way some kings wouldn’t be ashamed of. You give up decent money with the air of a wealthy man after a lavish dinner. Geralt? Did you have lunch today? No? And tomorrow? And the day after? I see little chance, Witcher, very little. It’s difficult for you to find work normally and now, with your arm in a sling—’

  ‘How dare you!’ Little Eye cried shrilly. ‘How dare you speak like that to him, Agloval! The arm he now carries in a sling was cut carrying out your mission! How can you be so base—’

  ‘Stop it,’ Geralt said. ‘Stop, Essi. There’s no point.’

  ‘Not true,’ she said angrily. ‘There is a point. Someone has to tell it straight to this self-appointed duke, who took advantage of the fact that no one was challenging him for the title deed to rule this scrap of rocky coastline, and who now thinks he has the right to insult other people.’

  Agloval flushed and tightened his lips, but said nothing and did not move.

  ‘Yes, Agloval,’ Essi continued, clenching her shaking hands into fists. ‘The opportunity to insult other people amuses and pleases you. You delight in the contempt you can show the Witcher, who is prepared to risk his neck for your money. You should know the Witcher mocks your contempt and slights, that they do not make the faintest impression on him. He doesn’t even notice them. No, the Witcher does not even feel what your servants and subjects, Zelest and Drouhard, feel, and they feel shame, deep, burning shame. The Witcher doesn’t fee
l what Dandelion and I feel, and we feel revulsion. Do you know why that is, Agloval? I’ll tell you. The Witcher knows he is superior. He is worthier than you. And that gives him his strength.’

  Essi fell silent and lowered her head, but not quickly enough for Geralt not to see the tear which sparkled in the corner of her gorgeous eye. The girl touched the little flower with silver petals hanging around her neck, the flower in the centre of which nestled a large, sky blue pearl. The little flower had intricate, plaited petals, executed in masterly fashion. Drouhard, the Witcher thought, had come up trumps. The craftsman he had recommended did a good job. And had not taken a penny from them. Drouhard had paid for everything.

  ‘So, Your Grace,’ Little Eye continued, raising her head, ‘don’t make a fool of yourself by offering the Witcher the role of a mercenary in an army you plan to field against the ocean. Don’t expose yourself to ridicule, for your suggestion could only prompt mirth. Don’t you understand yet? You can pay the Witcher for carrying out a task, you can hire him to protect people from evil, to remove the danger that threatens them. But you cannot buy the Witcher, you cannot use him to your own ends. Because the Witcher – even wounded and hungry – is better than you. Has more worth. That is why he scorns your meagre offer. Do you understand?’

  ‘No, Miss Daven,’ Agloval said coldly. ‘I do not understand. On the contrary, I understand less and less. And the fundamental thing I indeed do not understand is why I have not yet ordered your entire trio hanged, after having you thrashed with a scourge and scorched with red-hot irons. You, Miss Daven, are endeavouring to give the impression of somebody who knows everything. Tell me, then, why I do not do that.’

  ‘As you please,’ the poet shot back at once. ‘You do not do that, Agloval, because somewhere, deep inside, glimmers in you a little spark of decency, a scrap of honour, not yet stifled by the vainglory of a nouveau riche and petty trader. Inside, Agloval. At the bottom of your heart. A heart which, after all, is capable of loving a mermaid.’

  Agloval went as white as a sheet and gripped the armrests of his chair. Bravo, the Witcher thought, bravo, Essi, wonderful. He was proud of her. But at the same time he felt sorrow, tremendous sorrow.

  ‘Go away,’ Agloval said softly. ‘Go away. Wherever you wish. Leave me in peace.’

  ‘Farewell, duke,’ Essi said. ‘And on parting accept some good advice. Advice which the Witcher ought to be giving you; but I don’t want him to stoop to giving you advice. So I’ll do it for him.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘The ocean is immense, Agloval. No one has explored what lies beyond the horizon, if anything is there at all. The ocean is bigger than any wilderness, deep into which you have driven the elves. It is less accessible than any mountains or ravines where you have massacred werelynxes. And on the floor of the ocean dwells a race which uses weapons and knows the arcana of metalworking. Beware, Agloval. If archers begin to sail with the pearl divers, you will begin a war with something you don’t understand. What you mean to disturb may turn out to be a hornets’ nest. I advise you, leave them the sea, for the sea is not for you. You don’t know and will never know whither lead those steps, which go down to the bottom of the Dragons Fangs.’

  ‘You are mistaken, Miss Daven,’ Agloval said calmly. ‘We shall learn whither lead those steps. Further, we shall descend those steps. We shall find out what is on that side of the ocean, if there is anything there at all. And we shall draw from the ocean everything we can. And if not we, then our grandsons will do it, or our grandsons’ grandsons. It is just a matter of time. Yes, we shall do it, though the ocean will run red with blood. And you know it, Essi, O wise Essi, who writes the chronicles of humanity in your ballads. Life is not a ballad, O poor, little gorgeous-eyed poet, lost among her fine words. Life is a battle. And we were taught that struggle by these witchers, whose worth is greater than ours. It was they who showed us the way, who paved the way for us. They strewed the path with the corpses of those who stood in the way of humans, and defended that world from us. We, Essi, are only continuing that battle. It is we, not your ballads, who create the chronicles of humanity. And we no longer need witchers, and now nothing will stop us. Nothing.’

  Essi blanched, blew her lock away and tossed her head.

  ‘Nothing, Agloval?’

  ‘Nothing, Essi.’

  The poet smiled.

  A sudden noise, shouts and stamping, came from the anterooms. Pages and guards rushed into the chamber. They knelt or bowed by the door in two rows. Sh’eenaz stood in the doorway.

  Her willow-green hair was elaborately coiffured, pinned up with a marvellous circlet encrusted with coral and pearls. She was in a gown the colour of seawater, with frills as white as foam. The gown had a plunging neckline, so that the mermaid’s charms, though partly concealed and decorated with a necklace of nephrite and lapis lazuli, still earned the highest admiration.

  ‘Sh’eenaz . . .’ Agloval groaned, dropping to his knees. ‘My . . . Sh’eenaz . . .’

  The mermaid slowly came closer and her gait was soft and graceful, as fluid as an approaching wave.

  She stopped in front of the duke, flashed her delicate, white, little teeth in a smile, then quickly gathered her gown in her small hands and lifted it, quite high, high enough for everyone to be able to judge the quality of the marine sorceress, the sea witch. Geralt swallowed. There was no doubt: the sea witch knew what shapely legs were and how to make them.

  ‘Ha!’ Dandelion cried. ‘My ballad . . . It is just like in my ballad . . . She has gained legs for him, but has lost her voice!’

  ‘I have lost nothing,’ Sh’eenaz said melodiously in the purest Common Speech. ‘For the moment. I am as good as new after the operation.’

  ‘You speak our tongue?’

  ‘What, mayn’t I? How are you, White Hair? Oh, and your beloved one, Essi Daven, if I recall, is here. Do you know her better or still barely?’

  ‘Sh’eenaz . . .’ Agloval groaned heartrendingly, moving towards her on his knees. ‘My love! My beloved . . . my only . . . And so, at last. At last, Sh’eenaz!’

  With a graceful movement the mermaid proffered her hand to be kissed.

  ‘Indeed. Because I love you too, you loon. And what kind of love would it be if the one who loves were not capable of a little sacrifice?’

  IX

  They left Bremervoord early on a cool morning, among fog which dulled the intensity of the red sun rolling out from below the horizon. They rode as a threesome, as they had agreed. They did not talk about it, they were making no plans – they simply wanted to be together. For some time.

  They left the rocky headland, bade farewell to the precipitous, jagged cliffs above the beaches, the fantastic limestone formations carved out by the sea and gales. But as they rode into the green, flower-strewn valley of Dol Adalatte, they still had the scent of the sea in their nostrils, and in their ears the roar of breakers and the piercing, urgent cries of seagulls.

  Dandelion talked ceaselessly, hopping from one subject to another and virtually not finishing any. He talked about the Land of Barsa, where a stupid custom required girls to guard their chastity until marriage; about the iron birds of the island of Inis Porhoet; about living water and dead water; about the taste and curious properties of the sapphire wine called ‘cill’; and about the royal quadruplets of Ebbing – dreadful, exasperating brats called Putzi, Gritzi, Mitzi and Juan Pablo Vassermiller. He talked about new trends in poetry promoted by his rivals, which were, in Dandelion’s opinion, phantoms simulating the movements of the living.

  Geralt remained silent. Essi also said nothing or replied in monosyllables. The Witcher felt her gaze on him. He avoided her eyes.

  They crossed the River Adalatte on the ferry, having to pull the ropes themselves, since the ferryman happened to be in a pathetic drunken state of deathly white, rigid-trembling, gazing-into-the-abyss pallor, unable to let go of the pillar in his porch, which he was clinging to with both hands, and answering every question they
asked him with a single word, which sounded like ‘voorg’.

  The Witcher had taken a liking to the country on the far side of the Adalatte; the riverside villages were mainly surrounded by palisades, which portended a certain likelihood of finding work.

  Little Eye walked over to him while they were watering the horses in the early afternoon, taking advantage of the fact that Dandelion had wandered off. The Witcher was not quick enough. She surprised him.

  ‘Geralt,’ she said softly. ‘I can’t . . . I can’t bear this. I don’t have the strength.’

  He tried to avoid the necessity of looking her in the eye, but she would not let him. She stood in front of him, toying with the sky blue pearl set in a small, silver flower hanging around her neck. She stood like that and he wished again that it was the fish-eyed creature with its sword hidden beneath the water in front of him.

  ‘Geralt . . . We have to do something about this, don’t we?’

  She waited for his answer. For some words. For a little sacrifice. But the Witcher had nothing he could sacrifice and he knew it. He did not want to lie. And he truly did not have it in him, because he could not find the courage to cause her pain.

  The situation was saved by the sudden appearance of Dandelion, dependable Dandelion. Dandelion with his dependable tact.

  ‘Of course!’ he yelled and heaved into the water the stick he had been using to part the rushes and the huge, riverside nettles. ‘And of course you have to do something about it, it’s high time! I have no wish to watch what is going on between you any longer! What do you expect from him, Poppet? The impossible? And you, Geralt, what are you hoping for? That Little Eye will read your thoughts like . . . like the other one? And she will settle for that, and you will conveniently stay quiet, not having to explain, declare or deny anything? And not have to reveal yourself? How much time, how many facts do you both need, to understand? And when you’ll want to recall it in a few years, in your memories? I mean we have to part tomorrow, dammit!