‘Ciri !’
‘No!’ The girl turned rigid and squeezed her eyelids shut. ‘No, no, I don’t want to! Don’t touch me!’
Ciri’s face suddenly changed, hardened; her voice became metallic, cold and hostile, resounding with threatening, cruel mockery.
‘You have come all this way with her, Triss Merigold? All the way here? You have come too far, Fourteenth One. I warned you.’
‘Who are you?’ Triss shuddered but she kept her voice under control.
‘You will know when the time comes.’
‘I will know now!’
The magician raised her arms, extended them abruptly, putting all her strength into a Spell of Identification. The magic curtain burst but behind it was a second . . . A third . . . A fourth . . .
Triss sank to her knees with a groan. But reality continued to burst, more doors opened, a long, endless row leading to nowhere. To emptiness.
‘You are wrong, Fourteenth One,’ the metallic, inhuman voice sneered. ‘You’ve mistaken the stars reflected on the surface of the lake at night for the heavens.’
‘Do not touch—Do not touch that child!’
‘She is not a child.’
Ciri’s lips moved but Triss saw that the girl’s eyes were dead, glazed and vacant.
‘She is not a child,’ the voice repeated. ‘She is the Flame, the White Flame which will set light to the world. She is the Elder Blood, Hen Ichaer. The blood of elves. The seed which will not sprout but burst into flame. The blood which will be defiled . . . When Tedd Deireádh arrives, the Time of End. Va’esse deireádh aep eigean!’
‘Are you foretelling death?’ shouted Triss. ‘Is that all you can do, foretell death? For everyone? Them, her . . . Me?’
‘You? You are already dead, Fourteenth One. Everything in you has already died.’
‘By the power of the spheres,’ moaned the magician, activating what little remained of her strength and drawing her hand through the air, ‘I throw a spell on you by water, fire, earth and air. I conjure you in thought, in dream and in death, by all that was, by what is and by what will be. I cast my spell on you. Who are you? Speak!’
Ciri turned her head away. The vision of the staircase leading down into the depths of the abyss disappeared, dissolved, and in its place appeared a grey, leaden sea, foaming, crests of waves breaking. And the seagull’s cries burst through the silence once more.
‘Fly,’ said the voice, through the girl’s lips. ‘It is time. Go back to where you came from, Fourteenth of the Hill. Fly on the wings of a gull and listen to the cry of other seagulls. Listen carefully!’
‘I conjure you—’
‘You cannot. Fly, seagull!’
And suddenly the wet salty air was there again, roaring with the gale, and there was the flight, a flight with no beginning and no end. Seagulls cried wildly, cried and commanded.
Triss?
Ciri ?
Forget about him! Don’t torture him! Forget! Forget, Triss! Forget!
Triss! Triss! Trisss!
‘Triss!’
She opened her eyes, tossed her head on the pillow and moved her numb hands.
‘Geralt?’
‘I’m here. How are you feeling?’
She cast her eyes around. She was in her chamber, lying on the bed. On the best bed in the whole of Kaer Morhen.
‘What is happening to Ciri?’
‘She is asleep.’
‘How long—’
‘Too long,’ he interrupted. He covered her with the duvet and put his arms around her. As he leaned over the wolf’s head medallion swayed just above her face. ‘What you did was not the best of ideas, Triss.’
‘Everything is all right.’ She trembled in his embrace. That’s not true, she thought. Nothing’s all right. She turned her face so that the medallion didn’t touch her. There were many theories about the properties of witcher amulets and none advised magicians to touch them during the Equinox.
‘Did . . . Did we say anything during the trance?’
‘You, nothing. You were unconscious throughout. Ciri . . . just before she woke up . . . said: “Va’esse deireádh aep eigean”.’
‘She knows the Elder Speech?’
‘Not enough to say a whole sentence.’
‘A sentence which means: “Something is ending”.’ The magician wiped her face with her hand. ‘Geralt, this is a serious matter. The girl is an exceptionally powerful medium. I don’t know what or who she is contacting, but I think there are no limits to her connection. Something wants to take possession of her. Something which is too powerful for me. I am afraid for her. Another trance could end in mental illness. I have no control over it, don’t know how to, can’t . . . If it proved necessary, I would not be able to block or suppress her powers; I would even not be capable, if there were no other option, of permanently extinguishing them. You have to get help from another magician. A more gifted one. More experienced. You know who I’m talking about.’
‘I do.’ He turned his head away, clenched his lips.
‘Don’t resist. Don’t defend yourself. I can guess why you turned to me rather than her. Overcome your pride, crush your rancour and obstinacy. There is no point to it, you’ll torture yourself to death. And you are risking Ciri’s health and life in the process. Another trance is liable to be more dangerous to her than the Trial of Grasses. Ask Yennefer for help, Geralt.’
‘And you, Triss?’
‘What about me?’ She swallowed with difficulty. ‘I’m not important. I let you down. I let you down . . . in everything. I was . . . I was your mistake. Nothing more.’
‘Mistakes,’ he said with effort, ‘are also important to me. I don’t cross them out of my life, or memory. And I never blame others for them. You are important to me, Triss, and always will be. You never let me down. Never. Believe me.’
She remained silent a long while.
‘I will stay until spring,’ she said finally, struggling against her shaking voice. ‘I will stay with Ciri . . . I will watch over her. Day and night. I will be with her day and night. And when spring is here . . . when spring is here we will take her to Melitele’s Temple in Ellander. The thing that wants to possess her might not be able to reach her in the temple. And then you will ask Yennefer for help.’
‘All right, Triss. Thank you.’
‘Geralt?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ciri said something else, didn’t she? Something only you heard. Tell me what it was.’
‘No,’ he protested and his voice quivered. ‘No, Triss.’
‘Please.’
‘She wasn’t speaking to me.’
‘I know. She was speaking to me. Tell me, please.’
‘After coming to . . . When I picked her up . . . She whispered: “Forget about him. Don’t torture him.”’
‘I won’t,’ she said quietly. ‘But I can’t forget. Forgive me.’
‘I am the one who ought to be asking for forgiveness. And not only asking you.’
‘You love her that much,’ she stated, not asking.
‘That much,’ he admitted in a whisper after a long moment of silence.
‘Geralt.’
‘Yes, Triss?’
‘Stay with me tonight.’
‘Triss . . .’
‘Only stay.’
‘All right.’
Not long after Midinváerne the snow stopped falling. The frost came.
Triss stayed with Ciri day and night. She watched over her. She surrounded her with care, visible and invisible.
The girl woke up shouting almost every night. She was delirious, holding her cheek and crying with pain. The magician calmed her with spells and elixirs, put her to sleep, cuddling and rocking her in her arms. And then she herself would be unable to sleep for a long time, thinking about what Ciri had said in her sleep and after she came to. And she felt a mounting fear. Va’esse deireádh aep eigean . . . Something is ending . . .
That is how it was for ten days and
nights. And finally it passed. It ended, disappeared without a trace. Ciri calmed, she slept peacefully with no nightmares, and no dreams.
But Triss kept a constant watch. She did not leave the girl for a moment. She surrounded her with care. Visible and invisible.
‘Faster, Ciri! Lunge, attack, dodge! Half-pirouette, thrust, dodge! Balance! Balance with your left arm or you’ll fall from the comb! And you’ll hurt your . . . womanly attributes!’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Aren’t you tired? We’ll take a break, if you like.’
‘No, Lambert! I can go on. I’m not that weak, you know. Shall I try jumping over every other post?’
‘Don’t you dare! You might fall and then Merigold will tear my—my head off.’
‘I won’t fall!’
‘I’ve told you once and I’m not going to say it again. Don’t show off! Steady on your legs! And breathe, Ciri, breathe! You’re panting like a dying mammoth!’
‘That’s not true!’
‘Don’t squeal. Practise! Attack, dodge! Parry! Half-piroutte! Parry, full pirouette! Steadier on the posts, damn it! Don’t wobble! Lunge, thrust! Faster! Half-pirouette! Jump and cut! That’s it! Very good!’
‘Really? Was that really very good, Lambert?’
‘Who said so?’
‘You did! A moment ago!’
‘Slip of the tongue. Attack! Half-pirouette! Dodge! And again! Ciri, where was the parry? How many times do I have to tell you? After you dodge you always parry, deliver a blow with the blade to protect your head and shoulders! Always!’
‘Even when I’m only fighting one opponent?’
‘You never know what you’re fighting. You never know what’s happening behind you. You always have to cover yourself. Foot and sword work! It’s got to be a reflex. Reflex, understand? You mustn’t forget that. You forget it in a real fight and you’re finished. Again! At last! That’s it! See how such a parry lands? You can take any strike from it. You can cut backwards from it, if you have to. Right, show me a pirouette and a thrust backwards.’
‘Haaa!’
‘Very good. You see the point now? Has it got through to you?’
‘I’m not stupid!’
‘You’re a girl. Girls don’t have brains.’
‘Lambert! If Triss heard that!’
‘If ifs and ands were pots and pans. All right, that’s enough. Come down. We’ll take a break.’
‘I’m not tired!’
‘But I am. I said, a break. Come down from the comb.’
‘Turning a somersault?’
‘What do you think? Like a hen off its roost? Go on, jump. Don’t be afraid, I’m here for you.’
‘Haaaa!’
‘Nice. Very good – for a girl. You can take off the blindfold now.’
‘Triss, maybe that’s enough for today? What do you think? Maybe we could take the sleigh and ride down the hill? The sun’s shining, the snow’s sparkling so much it hurts the eyes! The weather’s beautiful !’
‘Don’t lean out or you’ll fall from the window.’
‘Let’s go sleighing, Triss!’
‘Suggest that again in Elder Speech and we’ll end the lesson there. Move away from the window, come back to the table . . . Ciri, how many times do I have to ask you? Stop waving that sword about and put it away.’
‘It’s my new sword! It’s real, a witcher’s sword! Made of steel which fell from heaven! Really! Geralt said so and he never lies, you know that!’
‘Oh, yes. I know that.’
‘I’ve got to get used to this sword. Uncle Vesemir had it adjusted just right for my weight, height and arm-length. I’ve got to get my hand and wrist accustomed to it!’
‘Accustom yourself to your heart’s content, but outside. Not here! Well, I’m listening. You wanted to suggest we get the sleigh out. In Elder Speech. So – suggest it.’
‘Hmmm . . . What’s “sleigh”?’
‘Sledd as a noun. Aesledde as a verb.’
‘Aha . . . Vaien aesledde, ell’ea?’
‘Don’t end a question that way, it’s impolite. You form questions using intonation.’
‘But the children from the Islands—’
‘You’re not learning the local Skellige jargon but classical Elder Speech.’
‘And why am I learning the Speech, tell me?’
‘So that you know it. It’s fitting to learn things you don’t know. Anyone who doesn’t know other languages is handicapped.’
‘But people only speak the common tongue anyway!’
‘True. But some speak more than just it. I warrant, Ciri, that it is better to count yourself amongst those few than amongst everyone. So, I’m listening. A full sentence: “The weather today is beautiful, so let’s get the sleigh.”’
‘Elaine . . . Hmmm . . . Elaine tedd a’taeghane, a va’en aesledde?’
‘Very good.’
‘Ha! So let’s get the sleigh.’
‘We will. But let me finish applying my make-up.’
‘And who are you putting make-up on for, exactly?’
‘Myself. A woman accentuates her beauty for her own self-esteem. ’
‘Hmmm . . . Do you know what? I feel pretty poorly too. Don’t laugh, Triss!’
‘Come here. Sit on my knee. Put the sword away, I’ve already asked you! Thank you. Now take that large brush and powder your face. Not so much, girl, not so much! Look in the mirror. See how pretty you are?’
‘I can’t see any difference. I’ll do my eyes, all right? What are you laughing at? You always paint your eyes. I want to too.’
‘Fine. Here you are, put some shadow on your eyelids with this. Ciri, don’t close both your eyes or you won’t see anything – you’re smudging your whole face. Take a tiny bit and only skim over the eyelids. Skim, I said! Let me, I’ll just spread it a little. Close your eyes. Now open them.’
‘Oooo!’
‘See the difference? A tiny bit of shadow won’t do any harm, even to such beautiful eyes as yours. The elves knew what they were doing when they invented eye shadow.’
‘Elves?’
‘You didn’t know? Make-up is an elvish invention. We’ve learned a lot of useful things from the Elder People. And we’ve given bloody little back in return. Now take the pencil and draw a thin line across your upper lids, just above the lashes. Ciri, what are you doing?’
‘Don’t laugh! My eyelid’s trembling! That’s why!’
‘Part your lips a little and it’ll stop trembling. See?’
‘Ooooh!’
‘Come on, now we’ll go and stun the witchers with our beauty. It’s hard to find a prettier sight. And then we’ll take the sleigh and smudge our make-up in the deep snowdrifts.’
‘And we’ll make ourselves up again!’
‘No. We’ll tell Lambert to warm the bathroom and we’ll take a bath.’
‘Again? Lambert says we’re using up too much fuel with our baths.’
‘Lambert cáen me a’báeth aep arse.’
‘What? I didn’t understand . . .’
‘With time you’ll master the idioms, too. We’ve still got a lot of time for studying before spring. But now . . . Va’en aesledde, me elaine luned!’
*
‘Here, on this engraving . . . No, damn it, not on that one . . . On this one. This is, as you already know, a ghoul. Tell us, Ciri, what you’ve learned about ghouls . . . Hey, look at me! What the devil have you got on your eyelids?’
‘Greater self-esteem!’
‘What? Never mind, I’m listening.’
‘Hmm . . . The ghoul, Uncle Vesemir, is a corpse-devouring monster. It can be seen in cemeteries, in the vicinity of barrows, anywhere the dead are buried. At nec—necropolia. On battle-grounds, on fields of battle . . .’
‘So it’s only a danger to the dead, is that right?’
‘No, not only. A ghoul may also attack the living if it’s hungry or falls into a fury. If, for example, there’s a battle . . . A lot of people killed
. . .’
‘What’s the matter, Ciri?’
‘Nothing . . .’
‘Ciri, listen. Forget about that. That will never return.’
‘I saw . . . In Sodden and in Transriver . . . Entire fields . . . They were lying there, being eaten by wolves and wild dogs. Birds were picking at them . . . I guess there were ghouls there too . . .’
‘That’s why you’re learning about ghouls now, Ciri. When you know about something it stops being a nightmare. When you know how to fight something, it stops being so threatening. So how do you fight a ghoul, Ciri?’
‘With a silver sword. The ghoul is sensitive to silver.’
‘And to what else?’
‘Bright light. And fire.’
‘So you can fight it with light and fire?’
‘You can, but it’s dangerous. A witcher doesn’t use light or fire because it makes it harder to see. Every light creates a shadow and shadows make it harder to get your bearings. One must always fight in darkness, by moon or starlight.’
‘Quite right. You’ve remembered it well, clever girl. And now look here, at this engraving.’
‘Eeeueeeuuueee—’
‘Oh well, true enough, it is not a beautiful cu—creature. It’s a graveir. A graveir is a type of ghoul. It looks very much like a ghoul but is considerably larger. He can also be told apart, as you can see, by these three bony combs on his skull. The rest is the same as any other corpse-eater. Take note of the short, blunt claws, adapted for digging up graves, and churning the earth. Strong teeth for shattering bones and a long, narrow tongue used to lick the decaying marrow from them. Such stinking marrow is a delicacy for the graveir . . . What’s the matter?’
‘Nnnnothing.’
‘You’re completely pale. And green. You don’t eat enough. Did you eat breakfast?’
‘Yeeees. I diiiidddddd.’
‘What was I . . . Aha. I almost forgot. Remember, because this is important. Graveirs, like ghouls and other monsters in this category, do not have their own ecological niche. They are relicts from the age of the interpenetration of spheres. Killing them does not upset the order and interconnections of nature which prevail in our present sphere. In this sphere these monsters are foreign and there is no place for them. Do you understand, Ciri?’
The Saga of the Witcher Page 10
