‘And what was her reply?’
‘She'd think about it. So I gave her time to think. I know it's not an easy decision for her.’
‘Why are you telling me this, Istredd? What's your reasoning, other than a commendable but rare sense of nobility amongst those of your profession? What's the point of this honesty?’
‘Practicality,’ sighed the magician, ‘because, as you well know, it is you who prevents Yennefer from making a decision. So I'm asking you to leave voluntarily. Disappear from her life and stop getting in our way. In short, go to hell. It would be best if you leave quietly and without saying goodbye, which, as she has informed me, is what you usually do.’
‘Truly,’ Geralt forced a smile, ‘Your honesty amazes me more and more. I expected many things, but not this. Didn't it occur to you that it might be better that, instead of asking, you could have hit me with a ball of lightning and reduced me to a pile of carbon. Then there would be nothing standing in your way, just a sooty smudge on the wall. That method would have been easier and safer. Because, as you know, a request can be denied but not a ball of lightning.’
‘I didn't take into account the possibility that you might refuse.’
‘Why? Isn't this strange request nothing more than a warning in advance of a ball of lightning or some other spell? Maybe you're going to back up your request with more persuasive arguments? A sum that's likely to sate the appetite of a greedy witcher? How much is it worth, to clear me from the path that leads to your happiness?’
The sorcerer stopped tapping the skull, placing the palm of his hand on top of it and squeezing. Geralt watched his knuckles go white.
‘It wasn't my intention to insult you with such an offer,’ he said. ‘Far from it. But… if… Geralt, I'm a magician, and not a bad one. I don't want to brag about my powers, but many of your wishes, if you want to make them, I should be able to fulfil. Some of them with ease.’
He made a casual gesture with his hand, as if shooing a mosquito. The air above the table suddenly swarmed with fabulously coloured apollo butterflies.
‘My wish, Istredd,’ growled the witcher, waving the insects away from his face, ‘Is that you stop getting between Yennefer and I. I'm not interested in any offer you have to make. You should have made your proposal to Yennefer while she was with you. Formerly. Because that was in the past. Now it's the present and she is with me. Am I supposed to leave just to make your life easier? I refuse. Not only will I not help you, I will do everything in my modest power to hinder you. As you can see, I'm no less honest than you.’
‘You have no right to refuse. None at all.’
‘What do you take me for, Istredd?’
The magician looked him straight in the eyes, leaning across the table.
‘For a fleeting affair. A momentary infatuation, at best, a whim, one adventure among the hundreds Yenna has had, because Yenna loves to play with emotions: she is impulsive and unpredictable in her caprices. Now, having exchanged a few words with you, I've rejected the possibility that she's just using you as a plaything. But believe me, this is so often the case.’
‘You have not understood my question.’
‘You're wrong. I understood. But I have deliberately referred only to Yenna's emotions. Because you're a witcher and can experience no emotion whatsoever. You don't want to grant my request because you feel that she needs you, you think… Geralt, you're with her just because she wants it and you'll be with her for as long as she wants. And what you feel is just a reflection of her emotions, the interest she shows in you. By all the demons in hell, Geralt, you're not a child, you know what you are. You're a mutant. Don't get me wrong, I don't say this to denigrate or insult you. I'm just stating a fact. You're a mutant, and a main feature of your mutation is that you're completely insensible to emotion. That's the way you're created so that you can do your job. Do you understand? You cannot feel anything. All that you regard as emotion is nothing more than cellular memory, somatic, if you know what that word means.’
‘Suppose that I do.’
‘All the better. Listen then. I'm asking you something that I could only ask of a witcher, not a human. I can be honest with a witcher, but I could not afford such truthfulness with a human. Geralt, I want to give Yenna understanding and stability, affection and happiness. Can you, hand on heart, say the same? No, you cannot. For you, these words are meaningless. You chase after Yenna, happy as a child for the occasional kindness shown to you. Like a feral cat, used to having stones pitched at it, pleased that you have finally found someone who is not afraid to pet him. Do you know what I mean? Oh, I know you understand, you're not stupid, that's clear. You see for yourself why you have no right to reject my kind offer.’
‘I have as much right to refuse,’ drawled Geralt, ‘as you do to ask, therefore our rights cancel each other out and we're back to our starting point, the point being this: Yen, apparently not bothered by my mutations and their consequences, is now with me. You made her a proposal, as is your right. She said that she'll think about it? That's her right. You have the impression that I'm making it difficult for her to decide? Why she hesitates? That I'm the cause of this hesitation? That's also my right. If she hesitates, then it's presumably not without reason. Maybe it's something I give to her, even if it's something there is no word for in the vocabulary of witchers.’
‘Listen…’
‘No. You listen to me. She was once with you, you say? Who knows, perhaps it's not I, but you who is the fleeting infatuation, the caprice, the impulsive fling that's so typical of her. Istredd, I can't even rule out whether or not she only perceives you as a plaything. That, Sir Wizard, cannot be excluded solely on the basis of this conversation. It seems to me that, in this case, the plaything is the one who speaks with more grandiloquence.’
Istredd did not even flinch. Geralt admired his composure. However, the prolonged silence seemed to indicate that the blow had hit the target.
‘You're playing with words,’ said the magician, at last. ‘You revel in them. You use words to replace the normal human feelings you don't possess. Your words do not express feelings, only sounds, like those produced when you knock upon a skull. Because you are as empty as this skull. You have no right to…’
‘Enough,’ Geralt interrupted sharply, perhaps too sharply. ‘Stop denying that I have rights, I'm sick of it, do you hear? I said that our rights are equal. No, damn it, mine are greater.’
‘Really?’ The magician paled slightly, to Geralt's great pleasure. ‘Why is that?’
The witcher thought for a moment and decided to finish it.
‘Because,’ he burst out, ‘Last night she made love with me and not you.’
Istredd picked up the skull, stroking it. His hand, to Geralt's annoyance, was not even shaking.
‘According to you, that affords you some rights?’
‘Only one. The right to draw conclusions.’
‘A ha,’ the magician said slowly, ‘Fine. Well. She made love with me this morning. You have the right to draw your own conclusions. I know I already did.’
The silence lasted a long time. Geralt desperately sought an answer. He couldn't find one.
‘Enough chatter,’ he said finally, rising, angry with himself because it sounded abrupt and stupid. ‘I'm going.’
‘Then go to hell,’ said Istredd, just as abruptly, without looking up.
V
When she entered, he was lying on the bed fully clothed with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He looked at her.
Yennefer slowly closed the door behind her. She was beautiful.
So beautiful, he thought. Everything about her is beautiful. And dangerous. The colours she wears; the contrast of black and white. Beauty and terror. Her natural, raven curls. Her high cheekbones, accentuated by the crease that forms when she smiles - if she deigns to smile - her lips, wonderfully small and pale beneath her lipstick. Her eyebrows, wonderfully irregular when she washes away the kohl at the end of the day. H
er nose, wonderfully long. Her small hands, wonderfully nervous, restless and adept. Her figure, fine and slim, emphasised by the tightness of her belt. Her slender legs, as they move beneath her black skirt. Beautiful.
Without a word she sat down at the table and rested her chin on her hands.
‘Well, come on, let's get started,’ she said, ‘This lengthy, dramatic silence is too banal for me. Let's get on with it. Get off the bed and stop gazing at the ceiling looking all offended. The situation is already quite silly and there's no reason to make it even sillier. Get up, I say.’
He got up willingly and, without hesitation, sat down astride the chair opposite her. She didn't look away from him, as might be expected.
‘As I said, let's fix this and fix it quickly. To avoid making the situation even more uncomfortable, I will quickly answer a few questions without you having to ask them. Yes, it's true that in choosing to ride with you to Aedd Gynvael, I knew that I was going to see Istredd and knew that, having met up with him, I would sleep with him. I didn't realise that it would become public knowledge and that you would end up bragging to each other about it. I now know how you feel, and for that I'm sorry. But no, I do not feel guilty.’
He was silent.
Yennefer shook her head, her black, shimmering curls cascaded onto her shoulders.
‘Geralt, say something.’
‘He…’ Geralt cleared his throat. ‘He calls you Yenna.’
‘Yes,’ she looked away. ‘And I call him Val. That's his name. Istredd is a nickname. I have know him for years, Geralt. He is very dear to me. Don't look at me like that. You are also very dear to me. And therein lies the whole problem.’
‘Are you thinking about accepting his proposal?’
‘Just so you know, I'm thinking about it. As I told you, we've known each other for years. Since… many years. We share interests, goals and ambitions. We understand each other without words. He can support me, and who knows, there may come a day when I need support. And above all… he… he loves me. I think.’
‘I won't stand in your way, Yen.’
Her head jerked up and her violet eyes shone with pale fire.
‘In my way? Don't you understand anything, you idiot? If you were in my way, just a hindrance, I could be rid of you in the blink of an eye; teleport you to the end of Cape Bremervoor or create a tornado to transport to the country of Hanna. With a little effort, I could turn you into a piece of quartz and put you in my garden, in the flowerbed with the peonies. I could brain-wash you so that you'd forget who I am and what my name is. This would be the ideal solution, because then I could simply say: 'It was fun, bye.' I could walk away quietly, just like you did when you ran away from my house in Vengerberg.’
‘Don't shout, Yen, there's no need to be so aggressive. And don't bring up Vengerberg again, we agreed not to talk about it anymore. I'm not angry with you, Yen, and I'm not blaming you. I know that you can't be held to common mores. And it hurts… it kills me, the thought that I'll lose… this cellular memory. Atavistic remnants of feeling in a mutant devoid of emotion…’
‘I can't stand it when you talk like that!’ she burst out. ‘I hate it when you use that word. Never use it in my presence again. Never!’
‘Does it change facts? In the end, I'm still a mutant.’
‘It's not a fact. Do not say that word in my presence.’
The black kestrel, standing on the deer's horns, flapped its wings and scratched with its claws. Geralt looked at the bird, at its yellow, unmoving eyes. Yennefer again rested her chin on her hands.
‘Yen.’
‘I'm listening, Geralt.’
‘You promised to answer my questions. Questions that I don't even need to ask. There is one very important one. One that I've never asked. The one I'm afraid to ask. Answer it.’
‘I cannot, Geralt,’ she said, firmly.
‘I don't believe you, Yen. I know you too well.’
‘You can never truly know a sorceress.’
‘Answer my question, Yen.’
‘The answer is: I don't know. But what kind of answer is that?’
Silence. The murmur of the hubbub from the street died down.
The fiery glow of the setting sun pierced the slits of the shutters and cast slanting rays of light across the room.
‘Aedd Gynvael,’ muttered the witcher. ‘A shard of ice… I felt it. I knew this city… was my enemy. Malignant.’
‘Aedd Gynvael,’ she repeated slowly. ‘The sleigh of the elven queen. Why, Geralt?’
‘I'm following you, Yen, because the reins of my sleigh became entangled with the runners of yours. And the blizzard rages around me. And the frost. And the cold.’
‘The warmth in you would melt the shard of ice with which I struck you,’ she murmured. ‘So the spell would vanish and you would see me as I really am.’
‘Lash your white horses, Yen, and make them fly north to where the thaw never comes. So that the ice will never melt. I want to us to soon be together in your castle of ice.’
‘The castle doesn't exist.’ Yennefer's lips trembled and twisted. ‘It is a symbol. And we drive ourselves towards an unobtainable dream. Because I, the Queen of the Elves, l long for warmth. That is my secret. So every year I take my sleigh out to the city, into the swirling snow, and every year someone, struck by my spell, tangles the reins of his sleigh with the runners of mine. Every year. Every year, someone new. Never ending. Because while the warmth I desire destroys the spell, it also destroys the magic and the charm. My chosen one, once star-struck by ice, suddenly becomes an ordinary nobody. And I, icy spell thawing before their eyes, become no better than the others… mere mortals.’
‘And from that pristine whiteness, spring emerges,’ he said ‘And Aedd Gynvael appears, an ugly city with a beautiful name. Aedd Gynvael and its pile of trash, a huge stinking heap of garbage that I have to enter because I'm paid to do so, because I was created to deal with the filth that fills others with fear and disgust. I have been deprived of the ability to feel, so I was not able to feel the horror of that disgusting squalor, so I would not retreat nor flee before it, full of dread. Yes, I have been deprived of emotion. But not completely. Whoever did it, botched the job.’
He fell silent. The black kestrel rustled its feathers, opening and closing its wings.
‘Geralt.’
‘I'm listening.’
‘Now you will answer my question. The question that I've never asked. That which I was afraid to ask… I'm also not going to ask it today, but please answer it. Because… because I really wish to hear your reply. It's the one thing, the one word you have never said. Say it, Geralt. Please.’
‘I cannot.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Don't you know?’ He smiled sadly. ‘My answer would be just a word. A word that doesn't express feelings, a word that doesn't express emotions, because I am devoid of them. A word that would only be a sound, like the sound a cold and empty skull makes when it's struck.’
She looked at him in silence. Her eyes, wide open, took on a deep violet colour.
‘No, Geralt,’ she said. ‘That's not true. Or only partly true. You are not deprived of feelings. Now I see. Now I know that…’
She fell silent.
‘Stop, Yen. You've already decided. Do not lie. I know you. I see it in your eyes.’
She looked away. He knew.
‘Yen,’ he whispered.
‘Give me your hand,’ she said.
She took his hand in hers; he immediately felt a tingling and the throbbing of blood in the veins of his forearm. Yennefer whispered a spell in a calm, measured voice, but he saw drops of sweat appear on her pale forehead from the effort and her pupils dilate with the pain.
Releasing his arm, she stretched out her hands and raised them in a gesture of gentle caress - stroking an invisible shape, slowly, up and down. Between her fingers, the air began to grow more dense and opaque, curling and wavering like smoke.
He was gazing in awe. T
he magic of creation, seen as the pinnacle of magician's achievements, had always fascinated him, much more than illusion and magical transformation. Yes, Istredd was right, he thought, in comparison with such magic, my Signs look ridiculous.
Between Yennefer's hands that trembled with the effort, slowly materialised the form of a coal-black bird. The sorceress' fingers gently caressed the slightly ruffled feathers, flat head and curved beak. Yet another movement, hypnotic, fluid and delicate, and the black kestrel, lowering its head, croaked loudly. Its twin, still sitting motionlessly in the corner, responded with a squawk.
‘Two kestrels,’ Geralt said quietly. ‘Two black kestrels, created via magic. I guess you need both.’
‘You guess correctly,’ she said with difficulty. ‘I need both. I was wrong to think that one would suffice. I was very wrong, Geralt… which irritates me being the proud Queen of Winter, convinced of her own omnipotence. There are some things… you cannot obtain, even through magic. And some gifts you can't accept unless you are able to give something in return… something equally valuable. Otherwise, such a gift will slip through your fingers, like a shard of ice melting in a closed fist. There will remain only regret, a sense of loss and guilt…’
‘Yen…’
‘I am a sorceress, Geralt. The power I possess over matter is a gift. A gift I reciprocate. I paid for it… with everything I had. There's nothing left.’
The Sword of Destiny Page 12
