Baptism of Fire

by Andrzej Sapkowski

  He was silent for a while.

  ‘I met a certain... vampire. It could have been – and probably was – something serious. I stopped losing control. But not for long. She left me and I began to drink even more. Disappointment and grief, as you know, is a great alibi. I was looking for justification for my behavior, and it was the perfect excuse. Everyone seemed to understand. Even I thought I understood. And I matched the theory to practice. Am I boring you? I won’t be much longer. I began at last to do things intolerable, totally unacceptable such as no vampire does. I started to fly while intoxicated. One night the boys sent me to a village after blood and I passed a girl who had gone to the well for water and struck a wall and was knocked unconscious... The peasants almost killed me, luckily they did not know how. They pierced me with stakes, cut off my head, sprinkled holy water on me and buried me. Can you imagine how I felt when I woke up?’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Milva said looking at an arrow. Everyone looked at her strangely. The Archer cleared her throat and turned her head. Regis smiled slightly.

  ‘I am finishing,’ he said. ‘In the grave I had enough time to reflect on things...’

  ‘Enough?’ Geralt asked. ‘How much?’

  Regis looked at him.

  ‘Professional curiosity? Approximately fifty years. When I had regenerated, I decided to get myself together. It was not easy but I managed too. Since then, I do not drink.’

  ‘Nothing?’ Dandelion said with curiosity, ‘Nothing? Never? But if...’

  ‘Dandelion,’ Geralt raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘Control yourself. And think, in silence.’

  ‘Sorry,’ grunted the poet.

  ‘Don’t apologize,’ the vampire said in a conciliatory tone, ‘And you Geralt, don’t rebuke him. I understand the curiosity. I or it is better to say, me and my myth, embody all the human fears. It is difficult to ask a man to cut through his fears. Fear plays a part in the human psyche that is no less important than other emotional states. A psyche devoid of fear is a cripple psyche.’

  ‘Imagine,’ Dandelion said, recovering his composure, ‘that I woke up without fear. Would I be a cripple?’

  Geralt for a moment thought that Regis would show his teeth and cure Dandelion of his putative disability, but he was wrong. The vampire had no inclination for theatrical gestures.

  ‘I have spoken of fears rooted in the consciousness and the subconscious,’ he said quietly. ‘Do not be bothered by the metaphor, but the crow is not afraid of the coat and hat hanging on a stick, when it settles on it in apprehension. But when the wind stirs the fear, the crow will react by fleeing.’

  ‘The behavior of the crow explains the struggle for life.’ Cahir pointed out from the darkness.

  ‘The crow is smart,’ Milva snorted. ‘It is not afraid of a straw man, but real men, because men throw stones and shoot arrows.’

  ‘Self-preservation,’ said Geralt, ‘is inherent in all living things, crows and people. Thank you for the explanation, Regis, we accept them completely. But don’t go digging into the depths of the human subconscious. Milva is right. The reasons why people panic at the sight of a vampire, are not irrational, but the result of a desire to survive.’

  ‘We hear the words of a specialist,’ the vampire said bowing slightly in his direction. ‘A professional, with a professional’s pride, who will not take money to fight with imaginary fears. The self-respecting Witcher is only hired to fight the evil that is real and a direct threat. A professional who will explain to us why a vampire is a greater evil than a dragon or a wolf. At the end of the day, the latter also have fangs.’

  ‘Maybe it is because the latter two use their fangs out of hunger and self-defense, never for the sake of fun when they want to breaking the ice with friends or overcoming shyness towards the opposite sex?’

  ‘People do not know about it,’ Regis stopped him, ‘you have known for a long time and the rest of the company only just found out. The remaining majority are deeply convinced that vampires do not play with, but feed on blood, only the blood of humans. Blood is a life giving fluid; its loss is associated with the weakening of the body and vitality. Consider the following – a creature who sheds our blood is our mortal enemy. A creature that feeds on our blood to live is monster that is doubly evil. It increases its own vitality at the expense of our own and if their species flourish, we will die. Finally, such a creature is disgusting, because even though we know the value of life-giving blood, it is repugnant to us. Would any of you drink blood? I doubt it. And some people become dizzy and faint just at the sight of blood. In some communities for a few days a month, women are considered unclear and isolated...’

  ‘I think among the barbarians,’ Cahir interrupted, ‘And fainting at the sight of blood, is probably only among you Nordlings.’

  ‘We have strayed,’ the Witcher raised his head, ‘we are deviating from the straight path into the thicket of dubious philosophy. Do you think, Regis that people would react differently if they knew that you were treating them, not as prey, but as a pub? Where do you see irrational fears? Vampire suck blood from humans, that fact cannot be undermined. Humans who are treated by vampires like demijohns of vodka, lose strength. A man, so to speak, drained also loses vitality. And generally dies. Sorry, but the fear of death cannot be packaged into the same sack as losing blood. Menstrual or other.’

  ‘You talk so cleverly in circles that my head is spinning.’ Milva snorted. ‘And yet with all this wisdom you still revolve around to what is under a woman’s skirt. Fucking philosophers.’

  ‘Let us leave for a moment the symbolism of blood,’ said Regis. ‘Because the myths actually have some justification in facts. Let’s focus on myths, grounded in fact that they don’t have, and yet are widespread. After all, everyone knows that being bitten by a vampire, if you survive, makes you become a vampire. True?’

  ‘True,’ Dandelion said. ‘There was a ballad...’

  ‘Do you know basic arithmetic?’

  ‘I studied all seven of the liberal arts. And I received a degree summa cum laude.’

  ‘In your world, after the Conjunction of the Spheres there were about two thousand two hundred higher vampires. The total abstainers, such as I am now, far outweigh the number of those who drink to excess – as I once did. So on average every vampire drinks at every full moon, because the full moon to us is a celebration, which we used to drink... Let’s bring this to a human calendar and accept that there are twelve full moons in the year that leaves us with a theoretical figure of fourteen thousand people bitten each year. Since the Conjunction, again counting by your reckoning of time, it has been about fifteen hundred years. From the result of simple multiplication it shows that at present there should theoretically exist in your world twenty-one million six hundred vampires. However the increase in vampires would have to increase geometric rather than arithmetic...’

  ‘Enough,’ Dandelion sighed. ‘I have no abacus, but I can imagine the number. Or rather, I cannot imagine. This means that the contagion of vampirism is nonsense and fantasy.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Regis bowed. ‘Moving onto the next myth, which states – the vampire is a human being who died, but not quite. In the grave it does not rot, nor turn to dust. It lies in the grave fresh and ruddy, ready climb out and go out biting. Where does this myth come from, if not from your subconscious and irrational aversion to the venerable dead? You remember your dead and honor their memory, you dream of immortality, in your myths and legends every now and again someone is raised from the dead. But if you late venerable grandfather suddenly left his tomb and asked you for a beer, a panic would arise. And no wonder. The body, in which life has ceased to exist, is subjected to decay, rotting and smells. The immortal spirit, an indispensable element of you myths, abandons the stinking carrion in disgust and flies away. It is clean and you can safely worship it. But imagine a disgusting spirit that doesn’t fly away, does not leave the corpse. It is disgusting and unnatural! The living dead are for you disgusting anomalies.
Some moron even coined the term “undead” which we so eagerly bestow.’

  ‘People,’ Geralt smiled slightly, ‘as a race are primitive and superstitious. It is difficult for them to understand and properly term a being that rises, even though their head had been cut off and had been buried underground for fifty years.’

  ‘They cannot?’ the mockery did not affect the vampire. ‘People can regenerate hair, skin, nails, but they are unable to accept the fact that there are races that are in this respect far superior. This inability does not stem from being primitive. On the contrary, it comes from the self-centeredness and conviction of their own perfection. Something that is more perfect than you must be a disgusting aberration. And disgusting aberrations shall be handed down as myths. For sociological purposes.’

  ‘I understand shit all of this,’ Milva said calmly, brushing aside hair from her forehead with the shaft of an arrow. ‘But what I do understand is that you talk about fairy tales and fables, even some that I know. Even though I’m just a silly girl from the forest. But what amazes me most about you Regis, is that you don’t have any fear of the sun. In fairy tales when a vampire is hit by the sun light they turn to ashes. Is this also just a fable?’

  ‘As most do,’ confirmed Regis,’ you believe that a vampire is only dangerous at night, and when the first rays of the sun touch him he turns to ash. The basis of this myth, which was probably already being told by your ancestors around the camp fires, lies in the sun, or rather, your love for the heat and the daily rhythm that daytime activities require. For you the night is cold, dark, evil, menacing and full of dangers; however the sunrise means a new victory in the struggle for survival, a new day, the continuation of existence. Sunlight brings clarity and warmth, the sun’s rays give life and must bring destruction to your monstrous enemies. Vampires crumble to ash, trolls are turned to stone, the werewolf loses its wolf form and the goblin runs to its cave covering its eyes. The nocturnal beasts return to their lairs and stop threatening you. Until sunset, the world belongs to you. I repeat and emphasize – the myth was created by the ancient camp fires. Today it is indeed a mere myth, because in your homes you have heating and light – you’ve mastered the night. We, higher vampires, have also wandered away from our traditional crypts. We have mastered the day. The analogy is complete. Are you satisfied with the explanation, Milva?’

  ‘Not much,’ The Archer retrieved another arrow. ‘But I think I understand. I am learning. Sociology, myths, werewolves. They teach this in schools with a cane. With you it is more delightful. My head hurts, but at least my ass doesn’t.’

  ‘One thing is not in doubt and is easy to see’ said Dandelion. ‘The rays of the sun do not turn you to ash, Regis, the sun’s heat affects you about as much as that horseshoe. The one you pulled from the fire with your bare hand. Going back to your analogy, however, for us humans, the day will always be the natural time of activity and the night the natural time to sleep. This is our physical makeup, for example, in the day we see better than at night. The exception is Geralt, who see just as well in both of them, but he is a mutant. For vampires is it also a case of mutation?’

  ‘You could say that,’ accepted Regis. ‘Although I believe that mutation spread over a sufficiently long period ceases being a mutation and becomes evolution. But what you said about the physical structure is relevant. Adapting to the sunlight for us was an unpleasant necessity. To survive we had to become similar in that respect to people. Mimicry, I would say. It did have is consequences. We used the metaphor – I’m going to bed sick.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There are grounds to think that sunlight is deadly in the long run. There are theories that in about five thousand years, counting modestly, this world will only be inhabited by nocturnal creatures.’

  ‘I’m glad, that I will not live to see it,’ Cahir sighed, and then yawned heavily. ‘I don’t know about you, but these conversations about daily activities remind me that I need to sleep.’

  ‘Me too,’ the Witcher stretched. ‘The murderous sun will be rising in a few hours. But before then we need sleep... Regis, in the context of school and learning, dispel yet another myth about vampires. Because I bet that you still have some.’

  ‘Yes,’ the vampire nodded. ‘Just one. Last but equally important. It is a myth which you have dictated your sexual phobias.’

  Cahir snorted softly.

  ‘I have left this myth until the end,’ Regis measured him with his eyes, ‘and I myself, would tactfully not have touched on it had Geralt not challenged me, so I won’t spare you. In Humans the strongest cause of anxiety is sexual. The virgin fainting in the embrace of the bloodsucking vampire, or the youngster exposed to the insolent mouth of the vampire, wandering over their naked body. As you can imagine. Oral rape. The vampire paralyzes its victim with fear and forces her to perform oral sex. Or rather a hideous parody of oral sex. And as this sex excludes procreation, it is detestable.’

  ‘Speak for yourself.’ The Witcher muttered.

  ‘An act that does not lead to procreation but to pleasure and death,’ continued Regis. ‘You have made into an evil myth. Many men and women secretly want something similar, and yet are reluctant to provide their partner with anything but the generally accepted sexual stereotype. So we do it for you in this vampire mythology and thus it grows into a fascinating symbol of evil.’

  ‘Did I not tell you?’ Milva cried at the same moment that Regis had finished explaining to Dandelion. ‘It’s always the same! They begin with wisdom and always end up between a girl’s legs!’

  The cries of the cranes gradually disappeared into the distance.

  The next day, the Witcher recalled, in a much improved mood we set out on the trail. And then, quite unexpectedly the war caught us again.

  They travel through deep forests and uninhabitable regions without strategic importance, unattractive to invaders. Although Nilfgaard was near, separated only by the Yaruga River, they did not anticipate meeting enemy forces. The greater was their surprise.

  The war here, appeared less spectacular than in Brugge and Sodden, where at night the horizon glowed with fire and during the day black plumes of smoke covered the sky. Here in Angren, it was not so spectacular. It was worse. Suddenly they saw a flock of crows, croaking and wildly circling above the forest and they soon came upon the corpses. Although stripped of their clothes it was impossible to identify the bodies which bore clear signs of very violent deaths. These people had been killed in battle. And not only that. Most of the corpses were lying in the bushes, but some were gruesomely mutilated, hung by the arms or legs on tree branches, or their charred forms had been fixed to stakes. All of them stank. All of Angren suddenly began to smell with the stench of foul and hideous barbarity.

  It did not take long until they had to hide in the thickets and brush because to the right and left, ahead and behind the earth resounded with the beating hooves of cavalry horses, and more and more troops passed their hiding place, raising clouds of dust.

  ‘Again,’ Dandelion shook his head. ‘Again, we do not know who is fighting whom and why. Again, we do not know who is behind us and who is ahead of us, or who is in the direction we are going. Who is on the offensive, and who is in retreat. Let the plague take it all! I don’t remember if I told you this already, but I say that war is always reminiscent of a brothel on fire…’

  ‘You’ve told us,’ interrupted Geralt, ‘a few hundred times.’

  ‘Why are they fighting here?’ the Poet spat. ‘Over the junipers and strawberries? Because this country does not have anything else!’

  ‘Among the dead lying in the bushes,’ said Milva, ‘were elves. Scoia’tael commandos travel through here, they have always done so. The trails here lead from Dol Blathanna and the Blue Mountains and stretch through to Temeria. Someone is trying to block the trails, I think.’

  ‘It is not impossible,’ Regis admitted, ‘that the Temerian army is hunting for Squirrels here. But I think there are too many soldiers aro
und here. I suspect that the Nilfgaardians have finally crossed the Yaruga.’

  ‘That’s what I suspect,’ the Witcher grimaced slightly, looking at Cahir’s stony face. ‘The corpses we saw this morning, showed signs of the Nilfgaardian method of warfare.’

  ‘Some others are no better.’ Milva growled, coming to the young Nilfgaardians defense. ‘And do not look askance at Cahir, for both of you share the same fate. To him, death if he falls under the feet of the Black ones, and you have recently just escaped a Temerian noose. It is therefore vain to dwell on which army is in front of us or behind, it doesn’t matter what colors they wear. They are now all our enemies.’

  ‘You are right.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Dandelion said the next day while they were in the bushes waiting for more riders to pass. ‘The army gallops through the woods and the earth rumbles, but down there near the Yaruga I can hear axes. Woodcutters cut down the forest as if nothing has happened. Do you hear?’

  ‘This may not be woodcutters,’ Cahir pondered. ‘May be it is also the army? Some sappers?’

  ‘No it’s woodcutters,’ Regis said. ‘Clearly, nothing can stop the exploitation of Angren’s gold.’

  ‘What gold?’

  ‘Look at the trees,’ the vampire once again assumed the tone of the superior all-knowing sage of the uneducated children. A tone that he used quite often, which annoyed Geralt.

  ‘These trees,’ Regis repeated, ‘cedars, oaks and Angren pines. They are extremely valuable material. On the banks you can see the woodcutter’s camps; from there the logs are transported downstream. Everywhere they are felling trees and axes clatter day and night. The war, which we see and hear, starts to make sense. Nilfgaard, as you know, has conquered the mouth of the Yaruga, Cintra, Verden and Upper Sodden. At this time, it is also likely Brugge and part of Lower Sodden. This means that that wood is being floated down from Angren to the imperial sawmills and shipyards. The Northern Kingdoms are trying to stop the transport, on the other hand the Nilfgaardians are interested in ensuring the logging and transport continues undisturbed. ‘