Chapter 513: Something Else
[TL: Asuka]
[PR: Ash]
The center of Sodden was a place draped in a blanket of fog, and a young witcher was standing within it, staring at the base of the Hill of the Eight. He was covered in layers of golden and black light, while a beautiful, fluorescent circle sat under his feet.
He stared around the fog, searching for the ethereal grey ribbon floating in the air. He turned his sights to the side of the hill and noticed a bush of blooming yellow flowers, then his medallion started to buzz.
The witcher made a sign, and a crimson rune appeared in his palm. His mana conjured up a ball of flame, and the fireball hurtled out of his palm, arcing across the air and tearing apart the fog that was blurring his sight.
Shrill screams pierced the air, shattering it like glass. The humanoid creature within the fog was forced out of hiding from the impact of the explosion, and it fell facefirst to the ground.
The monster had a hunched back, but its limbs were slender and long, and it resembled a misshapen, disfigured pregnant woman late in her gestation period. The flames slithered up its skin like a viper, burning it, yet the monster was blinking in and out of reality, threatening to disappear at any moment.
Roy fired a bolt, and the creature fell to the ground, a blotch of red spurting from its head. The impact crushed half its skull, and its brains drenched the grass beneath. The creature fell headfirst, and it never got back up again.
‘Foglet killed. EXP +130. Level 12 Witcher (8850/12500).’
Roy approached the mangled corpse and started cutting it up. His pets poked their heads out, looking around curiously. At the same time, the fog that was covering the hill went away, revealing a small hill surrounded by lush greenery. It was a lot less impressive than the hill in the stories.
“You got faster, Roy.” Geralt approached the young witcher, leading his faithful mare.
“You gotta work hard, Geralt. Don’t lag behind too much.” Roy whipped out a blue mutagen from the monster’s corpse, wiped the mucus off it, and tucked it into his inventory space. “Try to get the slot for the next second mutation.”
“Can I go through the mutation too, witchers?” Yurga, who was driving the carriage, simpered.
“You’re not even a witcher, and you’re too old to even learn new tricks. For people your age, only one in one hundred can come out alive. You’re welcome to try.” Roy smiled warmly, and the merchant cringed.
“Forget it. Should we check out the obelisk for the martyrs on the hill?”
“Of course.”
“What about the carriage?”
“Gryphon and Ebony will keep an eye on it. All the potential hazards nearby have been cleared, so there shouldn’t be much trouble.” Gryphon the Cat held Ebony by the nape of its neck and climbed up to the coach’s seat, then it waved the three humans goodbye.
One week had gone by since their departure from Mayena, and Yurga was used to the pets’ extraordinary intellect. He thought it was all thanks to the witchers’ training. The three of them climbed up the mountain and got to the top in ten minutes. A breeze blew across the plateau, the grass and flowers swaying in the wind.
An obelisk sat in the center of the hill’s peak. It was made of granite and weighed ten tons. The obelisk looked like a small tower with a sharp, pointy top much like a pyramid’s. The base was wide enough that it would require a few men to even surround it.
The moment Roy laid eyes on the obelisk, he knew his earlier guess was wrong. This construct was not made by the people of Sodden to keep the martyrs in memoriam. They didn’t have that kind of ability, and they were seeking shelter after the war took their homes. Far too busy to even make an obelisk.
Which meant it must have been the sorcerers who made the obelisk, or at least they magically transported the obelisk here. Under the obelisk were eight graves with marble gravestones, and vibrant flowers slept nearby. Rhododendrons, forget-me-nots, and more.
Geralt scanned the first few names engraved on the obelisk. Lawdbor, Gorazd, Axel… Reminiscence twinkled in his eyes, but his gaze looked sad.
“You know them?” Roy heaved a sigh of relief. There were six fewer deaths than he remembered. Coral and Triss’ names were not found here. Obviously, history had changed thanks to him. He called out the first name on the obelisk. “Lawdbor? Who’s that?”
“Used to be a gambler and a sore loser.” Geralt shook his head, amusement flaring in his eyes, then it was replaced by a solemn look. “There was this one time where I played dice with him back in Vizima. He was so scared of losing, he used magic to control me and cheated his way to victory.”
“Ah, so even sorcerers cheat? They’re even worse than us merchants.” Yurga puffed his chest out and spoke in disdain. It wasn’t every day he got to take the high ground against sorcerers.
“I ran into Gorazd two years ago. A madman, he was. You know what he wanted to do?” Geralt paused for a moment and forced a smile. “Said he’d give me a hundred crowns if I would let him check my eyes. If I was willing to go further, he’d give me a thousand just to cut my eye open for a check.”
Yurga cringed a little like he was stung by a bee. Sweat drenched his face, and horror crept into his eyes. “Are they mad? Are all sorcerers like that? They’d perform autopsies on live humans?”
“That’s what a long life gets you. Twists your heart and mind a little.” Roy shook his head, thinking it was a shame. “What a pity. You should’ve told me about him. If I’d known about that guy, I’d have inducted him into the brotherhood. He could have done all the experiments he wanted on mutations. At least he was willing to follow the rules. He was willing to pay and even asked for your consent.”
“I get the feeling you’re going a bit too far, Roy. You have Lytta, Kalkstein, Triss, and Evelyn on your side now. Isn’t that enough?”
“The first witcher brotherhood had a dozen sorcerers working with them back in their prime. Top sorcerers.” Roy shook his head. “We’re just starting out. We still have a long way to go.”
Geralt shook his head. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought Roy was a dictatorial maniac who was trying to create a new world order. Unbeknownst to Geralt, what Roy was aiming for was something much bigger than the world.
“So, friendly neighborhood witcher Geralt, do you know the other names of those who died?” Yurga asked, his eyes filled with anticipation. The stories of these sorcerers would work wonders should he want to regale the other merchants or his family with wondrous tales. Or he could use them to negotiate for some favors.
Geralt fell into silence, a hint of fear flashing on his face. He scanned the first few names and turned away awkwardly, fear and worry flitting in his eyes. He was too scared to check out all the names, lest he find the one name he didn’t want to.
Roy hatched a plan. A small smile tugged on his lips, and he sighed. “You shouldn’t have gotten in that fight with her, Geralt.”
“What do you mean?” Geralt forced himself to ask that question. He wobbled a little and tensed up, clenching his fists.
“I was going to have you introduce me to Yennefer of Vengerberg sometime. You know, the woman you have a complex past with, but you wouldn’t stop changing the topic, said you guys are over and would never talk again. Well, too late even if you want to talk to her now.” Roy paused for a moment and grabbed a bouquet of purple bellflowers out of thin air. “Take this, Geralt. And say a proper goodbye this time.”
The White Wolf held his breath, and a strangled gasp escaped his throat. His eyes were filled with terror, his hands and lips trembling, and he went a shade whiter. The witcher hunched over, life flying out of his body. The light went out of his eyes, and his face slumped.
“Hey, don’t scare me, mate.” Roy quickly grabbed Geralt’s shoulders and pinched his sagging cheeks, then he put on an awkward smile. “Just kidding. Yennefer’s not on the list. They’re all nameless sorcerers. Isn’t that right, Yurga?”
“I have no idea about the name you just said, Roy.”
The sorrow on Geralt’s face was wiped out, taken over by fury. He quickly made a sign and slammed Aard into Roy’s chest.
The impact sent Roy tumbling down, and he rolled, howling in pain. The young witcher rolled into the path of grass and fell down the hill, his screams cutting through the air.
Yurga looked at the furious White Wolf carefully and gulped. “He will be fine, won’t he, Geralt?”
Geralt shook his head in disdain. He survived two months of disappearance after Cintra’s fall and came back stronger. Not even a higher vampire could kill him. This little roll won’t even leave a mark on his skin. The fury disappeared as quickly as it came. Geralt eased up, and a smile curled his lips. Knowing that the most important person of his life was still alive perked him up.
A gentle voice spoke from behind. “So, calmed down now?”
Geralt and Yurga shivered and turned around. Roy stood about five yards away, his face covered in dust and soil, and he smiled apologetically at Geralt. He lost his left shoe, revealing his foot to the ground underneath. The young witcher probably lost the shoe on his way down the hill.
Yurga rubbed his eyes and turned his sights to the slope, then he whirled around. How did he come back so fast?
“I can always roll down the hill again if that’s what it takes for you to calm down, Geralt.”
Geralt massaged his temples. Roy’s changed a little. Is he in his rebellious phase? Well, he is at that age. Must be the reason. “Don’t joke with me about Yennefer, Roy.”
“No next time,” Roy swore, raising his hand. But then he said, “She might’ve survived the battle, but she did not leave unscathed.”
Geralt cocked his eyebrow. He wouldn’t fall for Roy’s tricks this time.
Since Geralt wasn’t taking the bait, Roy continued, “You know Yennefer. She has her own ambition. She must’ve joined this battle, and she did not walk away unhurt. Coral and Triss were supposed to join this battle. According to my prophecy, they were supposed to die on this very hill, but thanks to my guidance, they escaped their demise and came out unscathed.”
Geralt crossed his arms, watching Roy continue his show.
“The northern brotherhood of sorcerers has taken part in this bid for power between the south and the north. From now on, they’ll be more involved in the fields of war and politics. From what I know, Yennefer is going to be one of the two administrators of the brotherhood and the youngest council member. Whether she likes it or not, she can never escape this long war. The dangers she will have to face run deeper than you can imagine. One wrong step, and she is done for.”
Geralt’s breathing got heavier.
Roy said, “Compared to her, Coral’s having it easy. All she has to do is work on her research all day, every day. Working with us witchers is a good path to go forward.”
Realization struck Geralt, and he was partly amused by Roy’s suggestion, and he was partly annoyed. “All that just to convince me to lure Yennefer into joining us?”
“Luring? Why, you’re not luring her. You’re just concerned about her.”
“No one can change Yennefer’s mind, Roy. Not even me. Besides, we cut off contact a long time ago.”
“Please, don’t tell me you still believe that. Ask yourself, do you still love her? You’re the man, so make the first move.” Roy said imperiously, “Stop acting like a young couple in love who won’t even communicate their problems. Write a letter. Ask her if she’s fine. Tell her how you feel about the separation, then talk about Ciri. Tell her you’ve found her, but you have no idea how to deal with the girl. Tell her you need her help. She’ll be very interested in it, I promise.”
“First, Ciri’s whereabouts are still unknown. Second, even if we find her, the orphanage has enough people to handle her,” Geralt argued, but he was obviously tempted by the prospect.
“You know how much Yennefer wants a child.” Roy stared into Geralt’s eyes. “She can’t conceive, but the bond created by Destiny is every bit as close and powerful as the bond between real parents and children. Think about it, Geralt. Take all the time you need.”
***
A freckled, pudgy boy was charging down the clear stream, flailing his arms around like a boar playing with water. The radiant sun shone upon his brown, neatly-cut hair, granting it a lustrous sheen. He pointed at a sharp-nosed boy who was as thin as a bamboo, shouting, “You’ll be the drowner, while I’ll be the witcher!”
“No way!” The thin boy swung his stick and hit the pudgy boy’s chest, and the pudgy boy tumbled into the water. “Witchers aren’t fat and clumsy. You’re the drowner in this case.”
Splashes broke out across the stream as the brothers started tussling and rolling around, though they were all staring at the riverbank.
A scrawny girl with grey hair sat beside the pebbles, swirling her feet in the streamwater. There was a dazed and vacant look in her eyes.
“Play with us, Falka!”
“Nadbor, Sulik, you got it all wrong! Witchers aren’t as dumb as you guys are!” Falka picked up two sticks and crossed them before her chest like they were swords. She charged into the water, swinging her wooden sticks around, beating the ‘drowners’ until they ran around howling in pain.
The children were eventually drenched, and they went home, huffing and puffing. Falka was covered in sweat and streamwater, but at least she looked a bit happier, and a silvery chuckle rang across the path.
Sulik and Nadbor would turn around to steal a few glimpses of the girl. She was beautiful, her skin was fair and glowed a healthy pink, and her eyes were radiantly emerald. The girl was still young, yet she had beauty far more exquisite than anyone could imagine. She was like a princess, someone leagues ahead of the country girls.
The boys were at the age where they were interested in girls. The first time they saw Falka, they took a liking to her. They did everything they could and spent almost one month just to pull her out of the pit of sadness. It wasn’t much, but at least she would smile sometimes now. And the boys would die for her smile.
“You sure know how to wield swords, Falka.” Sulik looked a little embarrassed. “Did you really practice with a witcher before? How’d you know they have two swords?”
The mention of witcher reminded the girl of a sad memory. Her face fell, and she clasped her hands together. “I’ve seen witchers and gone on adventures with them. Killed a giant centipede in a forest too. It was a monster called yghern.”
The brothers were agape. The kids then saw a circular fence slowly coming into view, and a woman in a yellow floral dress sat within the yard, washing clothes. The foam from the soap drenched her hair and sleeves, radiant sunshine raining down on her gentle, kindly face.
“And I rode on a griffin before. It’s a beast bigger than a buffalo and more dangerous than a lion.”
Nadbor asked, “Falka, I heard witchers would sometimes steal children. Are you one of those children who got taken?”
Falka nodded. With a sob, she berated herself, “I should’ve left with them, but I ran away. That was stupid. I put myself in danger. Geralt said there was a connection between us, but he hasn’t even shown up after so long.”
“It’s alright, Falka. Even without the witchers, I’ll protect you.” Sulik thumped his chest, his eyes filled with anticipation and trepidation. “You’ll be our sister now, but in time, you’ll be… um…”
“Yurga!” The woman’s surprised gasp snapped the children out of their conversation. Goldencheeks staggered out of the yard and pounced at the carriage, crying.
Yurga smiled at the witcher and leapt out of the carriage, walking toward the wife he had been longing to meet. “I’m back, Goldencheeks. I’m back!”
“Yurga!” Goldencheeks was in the middle of doing the laundry, and she smelled like soap. She leaned into her husband’s embrace, resting her head on his chest as she took in his warmth. After a prolonged period of separation, the couple moved around the yard together, refusing to be apart.
“Who is he?” From the other side of the yard, Falka noticed the pudgy man that was coming toward them, and her heart skipped a beat. For some reason, she was getting nervous, but the man looked friendly enough.
“Oh, that’s Father. Father’s back. Quick, let’s ask him for some presents.” The boys took Falka and darted toward their father.
***
“Thank the gods you’re back. I lost sleep just waiting for you. Here, touch my heart. It’s almost jumping out of my chest. By the gods… Hold on, who are those people? They have swords. And the one on the left is really handsome.”
“I’ll tell you later. And don’t fall for someone other than your husband. Where are the kids? I’d like to see them. How are they doing?”
“They’re doing great. At the riverside, but they should be back by now. All three of them.”
“Three of them?” The merchant looked horrified, like he was betrayed, and he was starting to imagine how his wife cheated on him.
“It’s not what you think. A druid led a girl to our home. She lost her family because of the battle at Sodden, so I took her in. She’s industrious. Willing to feed the chickens and water the flowers. She’s beautiful too. Looks like a princess when she dresses up, but she’s always so sad. Yurga, are you angry because I made this decision without asking?”
“No, I… By the gods.” Yurga smacked the back of his head and whirled around to look at the witchers. They heard the conversation and were coming over slowly, looking nervous and a bit excited.
“That’s it. That’s the thing I have but I do not know I possess. The third child. That’s the Unexpected Child. And it’s a girl! But now I have to give her away! Oh, why couldn’t it be a boy?” the merchant screamed in distress.
“Father!” The boys jumped into Yurga’s arms.
“You little rascals. Did you get fatter, Nadbor? Open your mouth, Sulik. Hm, teeth are fine. Picky eater, aren’t you? Your brother’s double your size at least.” Yurga then looked kindly upon the girl in a drenched grey dress. Her eyes were the shade of lively green, and she had the looks of a doll.
He gave her an encouraging smile. “And what might your name be?”
“I … I…” Falka was starting to stammer. Her heart was racing, and she stared at the pair of witchers coming over. The man in the lead had white hair, a pair of swords, and eyes that spoke of a long history. He was the only thing she had her eyes on. The world itself seemed to disappear.
The witcher and his Unexpected Child locked gazes.
“Geralt!”
“Ciri!” Geralt gasped, and he darted to the child.
Yurga and his family were dumbfounded. They had never seen someone move as fast as the wind, but Geralt showed them the impossible.
The father and child bound by Destiny finally met in the yard of a humble merchant. Geralt went down on his knees, and the girl wrapped her arms around his neck, her hair tumbling down his shoulder.
Yurga mused, and he held his family in a tight embrace.
Roy watched on with a smile.
“You’re finally here, Geralt.” Ciri sobbed. “I knew you’d find me. It’s been months. They say Grandfather and Grandmother are dead. Suha’s dead now, and Cintra’s fallen. You’re the only one left.”
And me, Roy added quietly, but he didn’t pipe up.
“This is the Law of Surprise. Just like what you told me. I’m your destiny, aren’t I? Just like how you’re mine. We’ll be together forever, won’t we? Tell me!”
“You’re not just my destiny.” Geralt whirled, looking at his smiling companion, then he looked at Yurga and his family, who were giving them encouraging looks. He then looked to the sky, where he could almost see a haughty woman with black, curly hair and a beauty mark at the corner of her lips.
The whispers she told him during Belleteyn so many years ago rang in his mind. Should a witcher and sorceress wish to build a long term relationship, a granted wish by a djinn alone was not enough to guarantee success. They needed something else.
An Unexpected Child was that something to tie the witcher and the sorceress together forever. Finally, Geralt looked at Ciri. She was that something they needed to tie their bond together. “Time to go home.”
End of Arc
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