Cahir, after the talk, disappeared into the bushes and did not come back. Milva and Dandelion were looking for something to eat. Inside the boat they had found under the seats a copper saucepan and a basket of vegetables. They made a trap out of wicker found in the boat and waded around the shore with sticks beating the seaweed, trying to propel the fish into the trap. The poet was feeling better already and walked with his head bandaged heroically, proud as a peacock.
The Witcher was thoughtful and angry.
Dandelion and Milva pulled the wicker trap from the water and started to curse, because instead of carp, they had caught little fish among the weeds.
The Witcher stood.
‘Come here you two! Leave the casket and come here. I have something to say.’
‘Go home,’ he began bluntly when they came over wet and reeking of fish. ‘To the north, towards Mahakam. I will continue alone.’
‘What?’
‘Our paths diverge, Dandelion. Enough of these games. Go home and write songs. Milva will lead you through the woods … What is it?’
‘Nothing.’ Milva brushed her hair from her shoulders. ‘Nothing. Speak, witcher. I want to know what else you have to say.’
‘I have nothing else to say. I’m going south, to the other side of the Yaruga. Through Nilfgaardian territory. It is dangerous and a long way. And I cannot wait. So I’m going alone.’
‘Having disposed of cumbersome baggage,’ Dandelion nodded.’ The ball and chain hindering your march. In other words, me.’
‘And me,’ Milva added, looking away.
‘Listen,’ said Geralt, much calmer now. ‘This is a personal matter. It does not concern you. I do not want to risk your necks for something that only concerns me.’
‘This concerns only you,’ Dandelion repeated slowly. ‘Nobody is needed or desired. Our company bothers you and slows down the march. You do not expect help from anyone and have no intentions of worrying about anyone. In addition, you like solitude. Have I forgotten to mention something?’
‘Yes,’ Geralt said angrily. ‘You forgot to replace your empty head with one that contains a brain. If that arrow had gone to the right, you idiot, crows would now be eating your eyes. You’re a poet; you have imagination, try to imagine that image. I repeat, go back north, I’m going to other way. Alone.’
‘I’m going,’ Milva rose resiliently. ‘Do you think that would ask you? To the devil with you, Witcher. Come on, Dandelion, let’s go find some food. I’m hungry and listening to this drivel has made me feel sick.’
Geralt turned his head. He watched a green-eyed cormorant drying it’s wings on a tree branch covered in guano. Suddenly he smelt the sharp scent of herbs and sword furiously.
‘You abuse my patience, Regis.’
The vampire, who appeared from out of nowhere, was unmoved and came and sat next to the witcher.
‘I have to change the poet’s dressings.’ He said calmly.
‘Then go to him. But stay away from me.’
Regis sighed, with no intention of leaving.
‘I heard you conversation just now with Dandelion and the archer.’ He said without mockery in his voice. ‘I must admit you have a real talent with winning people over. While the whole world stands against you, you pass up your allies and companions who are willing to help.’
‘The world stands on its head. A vampire is teaching me how to deal with people. What do you know about people, Regis? The only thing you know is the taste of blood. Damn it, why did I have to start talking to you?’
‘The world stands on its head,’ confessed the vampire, quite seriously. ‘You’ve started. So you may therefore want to listen to my advice?’
‘No. I do not. I do not need your advice.’
‘True, I’d almost forgotten. You do not need advice, you do not need allies or companions. The objective of your journey is after all a personal and private objective, the nature of which requires you to complete it alone, personally. The risks, danger, troubles and struggles with doubt should only affect you and no one else. Because they are, in the end, elements of your penance, your redemption, of the guilt that you are trying to alleviate. A certain, as they say, baptism of fire. Through the fire, that burns, but also purifies. Solo, alone. Because if you accept someone’s support, their help, then they take upon themselves a bit of the baptism of fire, that pain, that penance and it would lessen it for you. So you deprive them of participating in that part of the atonement that is exclusively your atonement. It is only you who has to pay off this debt and you do not want to pay this debt at the same time with other creditors. Do I understand the logic?’
‘You’re presence irritates me vampire. Leave me alone with my atonement. And with my debts.’
‘As you wish,’ Regis stood. ‘Sit, think. But I’ll give you advice anyway. The need for atonement, a baptism of fire, guilt, these are things to which you can claim an exclusive right. Life is different from banking; it allows debts to be repaid by the debt of others.’
‘Go, please.’
‘As you wish.’
The vampire left and joined Dandelion and Milva. While changing the bandages, the trio discussed what there was to eat. Milva looked in to wicker basket at the small fish.
‘There is no need to meditate,’ she said. ‘We can stuff these little fish onto sticks and roast them over a fire.’
‘No.’ Dandelion said shaking his bandaged head. ‘Not a good idea. The fish are too small, there aren’t enough of them. I suggest we prepare them in a soup.’
‘Fish soup?’
‘Sure. We have a bunch of these little things, we have salt.’ Dandelion counted them off on his fingers to further illustrate his point. ‘We have found onions, carrots, parsley and celery, and the cauldron. After summing all this up, we get soup.’
‘We could use some spices.’
‘Oh,’ Regis smiled reaching into his bag. ‘This will not be a problem. I have basil, paprika, pepper, bay leaves, sage…’
‘Enough, enough,’ Dandelion stopped him. ‘Just no mandrake in the soup it isn’t required. To work. You clean the fish, Milva.’
‘You clean them! Do you think just because there is a female in the company, she will toil in the kitchen! I will bring water and start a fire. And you can clean these loaches yourself.’
‘These are not loaches,’ Regis said. ‘They are chub, roach and bream.’
‘Ha,’ Dandelion could not resist. ‘I see you know about fish.’
‘I know many things,’ the vampire acknowledged modestly. ‘I have studied here and there.’
‘If you are such an expert,’ Milva again blew on the fire, and then got up. ‘You can expertly clean these fish. I’ll go a fetch some water.’
‘Can you carry a full cauldron? Geralt, help her.’
‘I can handle it,’ Milva growled irritably. ‘I can do without his help. He deals with personal issues, I wouldn’t dare disturb him!’
Geralt turned his head, pretending not to hear. Dandelion and the vampire had efficiently cleaned the fish.
‘This will be a thin soup,’ Dandelion said, hanging the cauldron over the fire. ‘We could use some bigger fish.’
‘Would this serve?’ Cahir appeared from among the reeds, holding a three pound pike still waving its tail and its gills opening and closing.
‘Aha! What a beauty! Where did you get it Nilfgaardian?’
‘I’m not Nilfgaardian. I come from Vicovaro and my name is Cahir…’
‘Okay, okay, I know. I asked, where did you get the pike?’
‘I have made a fishing rod. I used frogs as bait. I cast it from the bank and the pike took it immediately.’
‘Everyone’s an expert.’ Dandelion shook his bandaged head. ‘It’s a pity no one suggested steaks, he probably would have caught a cow. But let’s give thanks for what we have. Regis, put all the small fish into the cauldron, with their heads and tails. The pike, however, will need to be prepared well. Can you, Nilf… Cahir?’
‘I can.’
‘Let’s get to work. Damn it, Geralt, how long are you going to sit there pretending to be offended? Peel the vegetables!’
The Witcher got up obediently and moved closer, but sat conspicuously far from Cahir. Before he could complain that he didn’t have a knife, the Nilfgaardian – or the Vicorvarian, gave him his own, drawing a second one from his boot. The Witcher accepted, mumbling his thanks.
Working together went smoothly. The cauldron, full of little fish and vegetables started to boil. The vampire stirred it with a spoon that Milva had carved from wood. Once Cahir had cleaned and divided the pike, Dandelion through the tail and head into the cauldron and stirred thoroughly.
‘Yum, yum, it smells good. When everything is cooked lets strain the remains.’
‘Unless you use your socks,’ Milva raised her eyebrows, while carving another spoon, ‘we don’t have a strainer.’
‘My dear, Milva,’ Regis smiled. ‘Of course we can! What we do not have, we can easily replace with what we have. It is simply a matter of initiative and positive thinking.’
‘To the devil with your learned chatter, vampire.’
‘We can strain it threw my chainmail,’ Cahir said. ‘What remains in the armor we can then discard.’
‘Make sure you wash it first,’ Milva said. ‘Otherwise, I won’t eat this soup.’
The filtration went smoothly.
‘Now throw away the slops, Cahir,’ Dandelion ordered. ‘It smells good, yum, yum. There is no need for more wood, Geralt! What are you doing with that spoon? I doesn’t need more stirring!’
‘Don’t shout. I didn’t know.’
‘Ignorance,’ Regis smiled. ‘Is not an excuse for thoughtless actions. When one doesn’t know or is in doubt, it is good to seek advice…’
‘Shut up, Vampire!’ Geralt stood up and turned his back. Dandelion snorted.
‘Look at him, you’ve offended him again.’
‘Listen to him,’ Milva said, her lip curling, ‘he’s such a charlatan. If he doesn’t know what to do he just talks and sulks. Have you noticed that yet?’
‘Long ago.’ Cahir said quietly.
‘Add pepper.’ Dandelion said licking the spoon and chewing. ‘And salt. Ah, now it is ready. Take it off the fire. Damn, that’s hot! I don’t have gloves…’
‘I have.’ Cahir said.
‘And I,’ Regis said, grabbing the cauldron in his hands, ‘do not need them.’
‘Good,’ the poet wiped the spoon on his pants. ‘Come on, company, sit down. Bon appetite! Geralt, are you waiting for a special invitation? Heralds and a fanfare?’
Everyone sat around the pot that was placed on the sand and for a long time the only sounds were the loud sips interrupted by blowing on spoons. After eating half of the soup they carefully stared catching pieces of pike, and finally drained the cauldron to the bottom.
‘I say,’ gasped Milva. ‘That it was a silly thing to have soup, Dandelion.’
‘Certainly,’ Regis agreed. ‘What do you say, Geralt?’
‘I say – thank you.’ The Witcher stood up with effort, rubbed his knee, which began to bite back with pain. ‘Is that enough? Or do you need a fanfare?’
‘It is always like that with him,’ the troubadour waved his hand. ‘Ignore him. He was just lucky, I was with him when he was quarrelling with Yennefer, a pale beauty with raven hair.’
‘Be more discreet,’ the vampire reminded him. ‘And do not forget, he has problems.’
‘Problems,’ Cahir stifled a belch, ‘must be addressed.’
‘True,’ Dandelion said. ‘But how?’
Milva snorted and stretched out to make herself more comfortable on the warm sand.
‘The vampire is a scholar. He should be able to come up with something.’
‘The key is not knowledge, but the ability to weigh all the pros and cons,’ Regis said calmly. ‘And when one considers the situation, we reach the conclusion that we are dealing with a problem that is unsolvable. This entire project is devoid of opportunities for success. The probability of finding Ciri is zero.’
‘Oh yes,’ Milva ridiculed ‘Isn’t this only a matter of initiative and positive thinking, as with the strainer. If we don’t have something, then we will replace it with something else. So I thought.’
‘Until recently,’ the vampire continued, ‘we thought Ciri was in Nilfgaard. Getting there and rescuing her or stealing her seemed an impossible task. Now, after Cahir’s revelations, we don’t even know where Ciri is. It is difficult to speak of initiative when you have no idea what direction to go.’
‘What shall we do then?’ Milva pouted. ‘The Witcher insists we move south…’
‘For him,’ Regis smiled, ‘the cardinal points have no meaning. He does not care which way we move, so long as he is not sitting doing nothing. This is the purpose of a witcher. The world is full of evil, so they go where their eyes lead them, and annihilate any evil along the way, in this way they serve Order. The rest will follow. In other words, movement is everything, the goal is nothing.’
‘That’s silly,’ said Milva. ‘His goal is Ciri. Is she not important to him?’
‘I joke,’ admitted the vampire, watching Geralt with his back still turned. ‘Without much tact. Sorry. Your right, dear Milva. Our goal is Ciri. And we don’t know where she is, it makes sense to learn that and conveniently manage our activities. The Child Surprise, I notice is bursting with magic and other supernatural predestination. And I know someone who is very familiar with these issues who can certainly help us.’
‘Ha,’ exclaimed Dandelion. ‘Who is it? Where do he find them? Far away?’
‘Closer than the Nilfgaard capital. Strictly speaking, quite close. In Angren. On this side of the Yaruga. I speak of the circle of Druids, who are located in the forests of Caed Dhu.’
‘Let us set off without delay!’
‘Did any of you,’ Geralt finally spoke, upset ‘not consider it appropriate to ask me my opinion?’
‘You?’ Dandelion turned around. ‘But you have no idea what to do. Even the soup that you ate, you owe to us. If not for us, you’d be hungry. And us too, if we waited for you to act. This soup was the work of cooperation. The of the actions of a group working on a common goal. Do you understand, friend?’
‘How is he to understand?’ Milva frowned. ‘He prefers solitude. The Lone Wolf! We can see that he is not a hunter who knows the forests. Wolves never hunt alone! Never! The lone wolf is a silly tale told by town folk. But he does not understand?’
‘I understand, I understand,’ Regis smiled according to his custom, with pursed lips.
‘He just looks so silly,’ Dandelion confirmed. ‘But in time he will finally use his brain. He may even draw a valid conclusion. That the only activity that a man does alone is masturbation.’
Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach remained tactfully silent.
‘Let the plague take you all,’ the Witcher said finally waving a spoon indignantly. ‘May the devil take you, you idiots cooperating in your groups united by a common goal, which none of you understand. And let the devil take me also.’
This time they all followed the example of Cahir, and kept tactfully silent. Dandelion, Maria Barring, called Milva and Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy.
‘I’ve found a company!’ Geralt continued shaking his head. ‘Comrades in arms! A team of heroes! There is nothing to do but laugh. One who makes verses with a lute. A foul-mouthed female half wild, half dryad. A four hundred year old vampire. And a fucking Nilfgaardian who insists that he is not Nilfgaardian.’
‘And leading them is a Witcher, sick with remorse, helplessness and an inability to make decisions.’ Regis finished calmly. ‘Indeed, I propose that we travel incognito, to avoid arousing sensation.’
‘And laughter.’ Milva added.
"The queen said: ‘Don't plead for mercy, but beg those whom you harmed with your sorcery. You had the courage to commit evil deeds, be brave now, when justice is
near. It is not in my power to pardon your sins.’ The witch sniggered like a cat in response, her wicked eyes glimmered. ‘My doom is near,’ she shouted, ‘but yours is not far either, my queen. At the hour of your terrible death you will remember Lara Dorren and her curse. And know that the curse will touch all your descendants over the next ten generations.’ Yet, realizing that the queen was fearless at heart, the evil elven witch stopped swearing and threatening with curses, and began whining like a bitch, begging for mercy and help …"
The tale of Lara Dorren, as told by humans.
" …but even pleas and invocations didn't soften the stone hearts of the dh'oine, the cruel and merciless humans. And when Lara grabbed the carriage door, begging for mercy — not for herself, but for her child — the queen ordered a thug to swing his sword, cutting her fingers off. The winter cold set in that night, and on a hill amidst woods, Lara drew her last breath while giving birth to her daughter, whom she protected with what warmth was left in her body. And even though night, winter and blizzard were all around, springtime suddenly came to the hill and feainnewedd flowers bloomed. To this day those flowers are found in only two places: the valley of Dol Blathanna and on the hill where Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal died."
The tale of Lara Dorren, as told by elves.
CHAPTER SIX
‘I asked you,’ Ciri growled angrily, lying on her back, ‘not to touch me.’
Mistle withdrew her hand which was tickling the back of Ciri’s neck, stretched out beside her, folded her hands under her shaved head and stared at the sky.
‘You have been acting strange lately, Hawk.’
‘I just don’t want to be touched, that’s all.’
‘It was just a game.’
‘I know,’ Ciri pursed her lips, ‘it’s just a game. All this was to you was a game. But I no longer enjoy this game. Just stop it!’
Mistle lay on her back again and was silent a long time, staring at the white clouds slowly stretching their way through the sky. High above the forest a hawk circled.
Andrzej Sapkowski - [Witcher 04] Page 24
