Sword of Destiny - Something More
A star shone, twinkling in the dark. Blinding. The amulet around the witcher's neck
began to tingle. Geralt instinctively dilated his pupils to pierce the darkness without difficulty.
The woman was not a peasant. The country girls were not wearing black velvet
cloaks. The country girls were pushed or dragged by the men into the bushes, crying out,
giggling, wriggling and trembling like freshly-caught fish. None of them gave the impression
that they were in control of the situation: this woman was taking a companion into the dark,
a man with blond hair and his shirt half open.
The country girls never wore a velvet ribbon around their necks or an obsidian star
encrusted with diamonds.
“Yennefer.”
Her violet eyes burned in a pale , triangular face.
“Geralt...”
She released the hand of the blond angel whose torso gleamed with sweat like a copper plate.
The boy hesitated, staggered, fell to his knees, turned his head, looked around,
protested. Then he rose slowly, considering them with a look that was at once skeptical and
embarrassed, and walked off toward the fires. The sorceress didn't even look at him.
She stared intently at the witcher. Her hand trembled on the edge of her cloak.
“It's good to see you again,” he said without emotion.
He felt then that the tension between them had fallen.
“Same,” she replied, smiling. It seemed that the smile contained something forced, but
he wasn't sure. “This is a pleasant surprise, I agree. What are you doing here, Geralt? Oh!
Pardon me, excuse my indiscretion. Of course you are here for the same thing I am. This is
the feast of Belleteyn. The difference being that you have caught me, one might say,
in the act.”
“I've disturbed you.”
“I'll live,” she joked. “The night will go on. If I like, I can seduce another.”
“A pity that I don't know how,” he managed to say, feigning indifference. “A girl saw
my eyes in the light and ran away.”
“In the morning,” she replied, smiling in an even more artificial way, “when they
really go mad, they won't pay so much attention. You'll find another, you'll see...”
“Yen...”
The rest of the sentence caught in his throat.
They looked at each other for a long time, a very long time. The red glow of the fire
danced over their faces. Yennefer sighed suddenly, veiling her eyes under their lashes.
“Geralt, no. Don't start...”
“It's Belleteyn,” he interrupted, “did you forget?”
She approached slowly, put a hand on his shoulder and pressed gently against him,
curling herself gently against his chest.
He stroked the raven-black hair that fell in curls like snakes.
“Believe me,” she murmured, lifting her face, “I wouldn't hesitate for a moment if it
was only a question of... but there's no sense in it. Everything would begin again and end
as it did before. There's no sense in us...”
“Must everything make sense? It's Belleteyn.”
“Belleteyn?” She turned her face. “What difference does that make? Something drew
us to these fires and these celebrating people. We intended to dance, to let loose, to get a little
drunk and vigorously enjoy freedom from good manners here, in honor of the renewal of the
cycle of nature. And what? We trip over each other after... how much time has passed?
After... a year?”
“One year, two months and eighteen days.”
“I'm touched. Do you do that on purpose?”
“Yes, Yen...”
“Geralt,” she interrupted, leaning back suddenly and shaking her head,
“let me be clear: it's impossible.”
He confirmed with a nod of his head that this was clear.
Yennefer pushed her cloak back from her shoulders. She wore a thin white blouse and
a black skirt held by a belt of silver links.
“I don't want to start again,” she repeated. “And the idea of doing with you... what I intended
to do with the handsome blond... under the same rules... that idea, Geralt, I find demeaning.
Degrading for you and for me. Understand?”
He nodded again. She looked at him, through her lowered lashes.
“You aren't going?”
“No.”
She remained silent for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
“You're offended?”
“No.”
“Come, let's sit down somewhere, away from the chaos. Talk a little. You see,
I'm glad that we met. It's the truth. Let's sit a moment. Agreed?”
“All right, Yen.”
They left in the dark, away from the bonfire, toward the dark edge of the forest,
careful to avoid the embracing couples. To find a quiet place, they had to walk for a while.
They stopped on a dry hill flanked by a juniper bush as slender as a cypress.
The sorceress unclasped her brooch and spread her cloak over the ground after
shaking it out. He sat next to her. He longed to take her shoulders, but it would only annoy
her. Yennefer rebuttoned her wide-open blouse, with Geralt watching attentively. She sighed,
holding herself against him. Geralt knew that Yennefer had to make a great effort to read
thoughts, but that she instinctively sensed the intentions of others.
They were silent.
“Oh, by the plague!” she cried suddenly, breaking free of his embrace.
The sorceress lifted her arms and recited an incantation. Over their heads rose bubbles
of red and green that burst high in the air and formed feathery red flowers. Laughter and cries
of joy reached them from the fires.
“Belleteyn,” she said bitterly. “The night of May... The cycle repeats itself. They have
fun, if they can...”
There were other sorcerers in the area. Three orange flashes rang out in the distance;
on the other side, at the foot of the forest, a geyser of rainbow-colored meteors twirled into
the sky and exploded. The dancers near the fire cried out in admiration. Feeling tense, Geralt
caressed Yennefer's curls and inhaled the scent of lilac and gooseberry they gave off.
If I want her too much, he thought, she will sense it; it might upset her. I'll ask her quietly
if it's all right.
“It's nothing new to me,” she said. Something trembled nonetheless in her voice.
“Nothing worth mentioning.”
“Don't do that to me, Yen. Don't read my mind. It bothers me.”
“Forgive me. It's instinctive. And you, Geralt, what's new?”
“Nothing, nothing worth mentioning.”
They remained silent.
“Belleteyn!” she cried suddenly. Geralt felt the shoulders pressed against his chest
rise and fall. “They have fun. They celebrate the eternal cycle of nature. And us? What do we
do? We, the relics, those condemned to death, to extermination and oblivion. Nature is
reborn, the cycle repeats itself. But not us, Geralt. We can't perpetuate ourselves. We are
denied that possibility. We have inherited the gift to do extraordinary things with nature,
sometimes against it, but we have been deprived in return of what is most simple and natural.
What does it matter that we live longer than humans? There is no spring after the winter; we
are not reborn, our end carries us with it. But something draws us to the fires, even though
our presence is a cruel joke, a sacrilege against this festival.”
She fell silent. He didn't like to see her fall into such darkness. He knew too well the
reason for it. It's starting to gnaw at her again, he thought. There had been a time when it
seemed that she had forgotten or accepted her fate. He moved his shoulders, rocking her like
a child. She did not resist. Geralt wasn't surprised; he knew that she needed it.
“You know, Geralt,” she said, suddenly calm, “it's your silence that I've missed the most.”
He pressed his lips to her hair, her ears. I want you, Yen, he thought, I want you,
you know that. You know it well, Yen.
“I know,” she murmured.
“Yen...”
“Only for now,” she replied, watching him with wide-open eyes. “Only on this night
that will soon disappear. That will be our Belleteyn. We will part in the morning. I beg you,
don't count on anything more. I can't... I couldn't. Forgive me. If I hurt you, kiss me and
let me go.”
“If I kiss you, I'm not leaving.”
“That's what I thought.”
She bowed her head. Geralt kissed her parted lips. Cautiously: first the upper lip, then
the lower. His hands tangled in her curls, touched her ears, the gems in the lobes, her neck.
Returning his kiss, Yennefer drew herself to him; her nimble fingers had no trouble defeating
the clasps of his jacket.
She slid back on the cloak arranged over the moss. Geralt kissed her breasts. He felt
the nipples harden and rise up under the fine fabric of her blouse. Yennefer was breathing
raggedly.
“Yen...”
“Don't say anything, please.”
The touch of her bare skin, sweet and cold, electrified his palm and his fingers.
Geralt's back shuddered under Yennefer's nails. Shouting, singing, whistling reached them
all the while from the fires, in a distant whirlwind of sparks and purple smoke. Embraces,
caresses. Him, her. Chills. And impatience. He touched the slender thighs closed around his
hips that shook like a leaf.
Belleteyn!
Breaths and sighs began their ballet; lightning flashed before their eyes; the scent of
lilac and gooseberry enveloped them. The King and the Queen of May, was it the expression
of a sacrilegious joke? Of oblivion?
It's Belleteyn, the night of May!
A piercing groan from Yen or from Geralt; black curls covering their eyes and mouths,
trembling fingers entwined in their tightly-grasped hands. A cry; black lashes, damp; a groan.
Then silence. An eternity of silence.
Belleteyn... The fires on the horizon...
“Yen?”
“Oh... Geralt.”
“Yen, are you crying?”
“No!”
“Yen...”
“I had promised myself... I had...”
“Don't say anything. It doesn't matter. Aren't you cold?”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
“Warmer.”
The sky cleared at a dizzying speed. The black wall of the forest regained its contours:
the jagged line of the ridge of trees emerged from the indistinct darkness.
Behind her, the azure announcement of dawn poured over the horizon, extinguishing the stars.
It got colder.
Geralt held Yennefer tighter. He covered her with his coat.
“Geralt?”
“Hmm...”
“The day will break.”
“I know.”
“Have I hurt you?”
“A little.”
“Will it start all over?”
“Nothing ever stopped.”
“Please... I feel good with you...”
“Don't say anything. Everything's fine.”
The smell of smoke was rising from the heather. The smell of lilac and gooseberries.
“Geralt?”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember when we met the Great Mountain Kestrel? And the golden
dragon? What was his name?”
“Three Kestrels. I remember.”
“He told us...”
“I remember, Yen.”
She kissed the back of his neck, pinning his head and tickling him with her hair.
“We were made for each other,” she murmured. “Perhaps even destined for each
other. But none of this can happen. It's a shame. We will have to separate when the day
breaks. It can't be otherwise. We have to separate so as not to hurt each other:
destined for each other, made for each other, but the one who created us should have thought
of something more. Forgive me. I had to tell you.”
“I know.”
“Making love makes no sense.”
“You're mistaken.”
“Go back to Cintra, Geralt.”
“What?”
“Go to Cintra. Go, and this time don't give up. Don't repeat the mistake from last time...”
“How do you know?”
“I know everything about you. Have you forgotten? Go to Cintra, go as fast as
possible. A dark time approaches. Very dark. You must get there in time...”
“Yen...”
“No, don't say anything, please.”
It was more and more fresh and more and more clear.
“Don't go now. Wait for the dawn.”
“We'll wait.”
began to tingle. Geralt instinctively dilated his pupils to pierce the darkness without difficulty.
The woman was not a peasant. The country girls were not wearing black velvet
cloaks. The country girls were pushed or dragged by the men into the bushes, crying out,
giggling, wriggling and trembling like freshly-caught fish. None of them gave the impression
that they were in control of the situation: this woman was taking a companion into the dark,
a man with blond hair and his shirt half open.
The country girls never wore a velvet ribbon around their necks or an obsidian star
encrusted with diamonds.
“Yennefer.”
Her violet eyes burned in a pale , triangular face.
“Geralt...”
She released the hand of the blond angel whose torso gleamed with sweat like a copper plate.
The boy hesitated, staggered, fell to his knees, turned his head, looked around,
protested. Then he rose slowly, considering them with a look that was at once skeptical and
embarrassed, and walked off toward the fires. The sorceress didn't even look at him.
She stared intently at the witcher. Her hand trembled on the edge of her cloak.
“It's good to see you again,” he said without emotion.
He felt then that the tension between them had fallen.
“Same,” she replied, smiling. It seemed that the smile contained something forced, but
he wasn't sure. “This is a pleasant surprise, I agree. What are you doing here, Geralt? Oh!
Pardon me, excuse my indiscretion. Of course you are here for the same thing I am. This is
the feast of Belleteyn. The difference being that you have caught me, one might say,
in the act.”
“I've disturbed you.”
“I'll live,” she joked. “The night will go on. If I like, I can seduce another.”
“A pity that I don't know how,” he managed to say, feigning indifference. “A girl saw
my eyes in the light and ran away.”
“In the morning,” she replied, smiling in an even more artificial way, “when they
really go mad, they won't pay so much attention. You'll find another, you'll see...”
“Yen...”
The rest of the sentence caught in his throat.
They looked at each other for a long time, a very long time. The red glow of the fire
danced over their faces. Yennefer sighed suddenly, veiling her eyes under their lashes.
“Geralt, no. Don't start...”
“It's Belleteyn,” he interrupted, “did you forget?”
She approached slowly, put a hand on his shoulder and pressed gently against him,
curling herself gently against his chest.
He stroked the raven-black hair that fell in curls like snakes.
“Believe me,” she murmured, lifting her face, “I wouldn't hesitate for a moment if it
was only a question of... but there's no sense in it. Everything would begin again and end
as it did before. There's no sense in us...”
“Must everything make sense? It's Belleteyn.”
“Belleteyn?” She turned her face. “What difference does that make? Something drew
us to these fires and these celebrating people. We intended to dance, to let loose, to get a little
drunk and vigorously enjoy freedom from good manners here, in honor of the renewal of the
cycle of nature. And what? We trip over each other after... how much time has passed?
After... a year?”
“One year, two months and eighteen days.”
“I'm touched. Do you do that on purpose?”
“Yes, Yen...”
“Geralt,” she interrupted, leaning back suddenly and shaking her head,
“let me be clear: it's impossible.”
He confirmed with a nod of his head that this was clear.
Yennefer pushed her cloak back from her shoulders. She wore a thin white blouse and
a black skirt held by a belt of silver links.
“I don't want to start again,” she repeated. “And the idea of doing with you... what I intended
to do with the handsome blond... under the same rules... that idea, Geralt, I find demeaning.
Degrading for you and for me. Understand?”
He nodded again. She looked at him, through her lowered lashes.
“You aren't going?”
“No.”
She remained silent for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
“You're offended?”
“No.”
“Come, let's sit down somewhere, away from the chaos. Talk a little. You see,
I'm glad that we met. It's the truth. Let's sit a moment. Agreed?”
“All right, Yen.”
They left in the dark, away from the bonfire, toward the dark edge of the forest,
careful to avoid the embracing couples. To find a quiet place, they had to walk for a while.
They stopped on a dry hill flanked by a juniper bush as slender as a cypress.
The sorceress unclasped her brooch and spread her cloak over the ground after
shaking it out. He sat next to her. He longed to take her shoulders, but it would only annoy
her. Yennefer rebuttoned her wide-open blouse, with Geralt watching attentively. She sighed,
holding herself against him. Geralt knew that Yennefer had to make a great effort to read
thoughts, but that she instinctively sensed the intentions of others.
They were silent.
“Oh, by the plague!” she cried suddenly, breaking free of his embrace.
The sorceress lifted her arms and recited an incantation. Over their heads rose bubbles
of red and green that burst high in the air and formed feathery red flowers. Laughter and cries
of joy reached them from the fires.
“Belleteyn,” she said bitterly. “The night of May... The cycle repeats itself. They have
fun, if they can...”
There were other sorcerers in the area. Three orange flashes rang out in the distance;
on the other side, at the foot of the forest, a geyser of rainbow-colored meteors twirled into
the sky and exploded. The dancers near the fire cried out in admiration. Feeling tense, Geralt
caressed Yennefer's curls and inhaled the scent of lilac and gooseberry they gave off.
If I want her too much, he thought, she will sense it; it might upset her. I'll ask her quietly
if it's all right.
“It's nothing new to me,” she said. Something trembled nonetheless in her voice.
“Nothing worth mentioning.”
“Don't do that to me, Yen. Don't read my mind. It bothers me.”
“Forgive me. It's instinctive. And you, Geralt, what's new?”
“Nothing, nothing worth mentioning.”
They remained silent.
“Belleteyn!” she cried suddenly. Geralt felt the shoulders pressed against his chest
rise and fall. “They have fun. They celebrate the eternal cycle of nature. And us? What do we
do? We, the relics, those condemned to death, to extermination and oblivion. Nature is
reborn, the cycle repeats itself. But not us, Geralt. We can't perpetuate ourselves. We are
denied that possibility. We have inherited the gift to do extraordinary things with nature,
sometimes against it, but we have been deprived in return of what is most simple and natural.
What does it matter that we live longer than humans? There is no spring after the winter; we
are not reborn, our end carries us with it. But something draws us to the fires, even though
our presence is a cruel joke, a sacrilege against this festival.”
She fell silent. He didn't like to see her fall into such darkness. He knew too well the
reason for it. It's starting to gnaw at her again, he thought. There had been a time when it
seemed that she had forgotten or accepted her fate. He moved his shoulders, rocking her like
a child. She did not resist. Geralt wasn't surprised; he knew that she needed it.
“You know, Geralt,” she said, suddenly calm, “it's your silence that I've missed the most.”
He pressed his lips to her hair, her ears. I want you, Yen, he thought, I want you,
you know that. You know it well, Yen.
“I know,” she murmured.
“Yen...”
“Only for now,” she replied, watching him with wide-open eyes. “Only on this night
that will soon disappear. That will be our Belleteyn. We will part in the morning. I beg you,
don't count on anything more. I can't... I couldn't. Forgive me. If I hurt you, kiss me and
let me go.”
“If I kiss you, I'm not leaving.”
“That's what I thought.”
She bowed her head. Geralt kissed her parted lips. Cautiously: first the upper lip, then
the lower. His hands tangled in her curls, touched her ears, the gems in the lobes, her neck.
Returning his kiss, Yennefer drew herself to him; her nimble fingers had no trouble defeating
the clasps of his jacket.
She slid back on the cloak arranged over the moss. Geralt kissed her breasts. He felt
the nipples harden and rise up under the fine fabric of her blouse. Yennefer was breathing
raggedly.
“Yen...”
“Don't say anything, please.”
The touch of her bare skin, sweet and cold, electrified his palm and his fingers.
Geralt's back shuddered under Yennefer's nails. Shouting, singing, whistling reached them
all the while from the fires, in a distant whirlwind of sparks and purple smoke. Embraces,
caresses. Him, her. Chills. And impatience. He touched the slender thighs closed around his
hips that shook like a leaf.
Belleteyn!
Breaths and sighs began their ballet; lightning flashed before their eyes; the scent of
lilac and gooseberry enveloped them. The King and the Queen of May, was it the expression
of a sacrilegious joke? Of oblivion?
It's Belleteyn, the night of May!
A piercing groan from Yen or from Geralt; black curls covering their eyes and mouths,
trembling fingers entwined in their tightly-grasped hands. A cry; black lashes, damp; a groan.
Then silence. An eternity of silence.
Belleteyn... The fires on the horizon...
“Yen?”
“Oh... Geralt.”
“Yen, are you crying?”
“No!”
“Yen...”
“I had promised myself... I had...”
“Don't say anything. It doesn't matter. Aren't you cold?”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
“Warmer.”
The sky cleared at a dizzying speed. The black wall of the forest regained its contours:
the jagged line of the ridge of trees emerged from the indistinct darkness.
Behind her, the azure announcement of dawn poured over the horizon, extinguishing the stars.
It got colder.
Geralt held Yennefer tighter. He covered her with his coat.
“Geralt?”
“Hmm...”
“The day will break.”
“I know.”
“Have I hurt you?”
“A little.”
“Will it start all over?”
“Nothing ever stopped.”
“Please... I feel good with you...”
“Don't say anything. Everything's fine.”
The smell of smoke was rising from the heather. The smell of lilac and gooseberries.
“Geralt?”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember when we met the Great Mountain Kestrel? And the golden
dragon? What was his name?”
“Three Kestrels. I remember.”
“He told us...”
“I remember, Yen.”
She kissed the back of his neck, pinning his head and tickling him with her hair.
“We were made for each other,” she murmured. “Perhaps even destined for each
other. But none of this can happen. It's a shame. We will have to separate when the day
breaks. It can't be otherwise. We have to separate so as not to hurt each other:
destined for each other, made for each other, but the one who created us should have thought
of something more. Forgive me. I had to tell you.”
“I know.”
“Making love makes no sense.”
“You're mistaken.”
“Go back to Cintra, Geralt.”
“What?”
“Go to Cintra. Go, and this time don't give up. Don't repeat the mistake from last time...”
“How do you know?”
“I know everything about you. Have you forgotten? Go to Cintra, go as fast as
possible. A dark time approaches. Very dark. You must get there in time...”
“Yen...”
“No, don't say anything, please.”
It was more and more fresh and more and more clear.
“Don't go now. Wait for the dawn.”
“We'll wait.”
Time of Contempt - Chapter Three
‘I fear for Ciri, Yen.’
‘You shouldn’t.’
‘But...’
‘Trust me.’ She hugged him. ‘Trust me, please. Don’t worry about Vilgefortz. He is a player.
He wanted to approach you, to provoke. He partially succeeded in this. But it doesn’t
matter. Ciri is under my care, and Aretuza is secure, She will be able to develop her abilities
here, and not be disturbed. By anyone. As for being a sorceress, forget it.
She has other talents. And is destined for other things. Believe me.’
‘I believe you.’
‘That’s significan’t progress. And do not worry about Vilgefortz. Tomorrow will explain
many things and solve many problems.’
Tomorrow, he thought. She’s hiding something from me. And I’m afraid to ask. Codringher
was right. I’m tangled in a nasty cabal. But now I have no way out. I’ll have to wait for what
tomorrow brings that apparently will explain everything. I have to trust her. I know
something will happen. I will wait. And I will adapt to the situation.
He looked at the writing desk.
‘Yen?’
‘I’m here.’
‘When you studied in Aretuza... when sleeping in rooms like this... did you have a doll
without which you could not sleep?’
‘No,’ Yennefer stirred violently. ‘I did not have a doll. Don’t ask me that, Geralt. Please
don’t ask me.’
‘Aretuza.’ He whispered, looking around. ‘Aretuza on the island of Thanedd. Her home.
For so many years... When she comes out from here, she’ll be a mature woman...’
‘Stop. Don’t think about it and don’t talk about it. Instead...’
‘What, Yen?’
‘Make love to me.’
He embraced her. Touched. Found. Yennefer, in an incredible way was hard and soft at the
same time, she sighed loudly. The words they said were broken, sighs and aspirations which
disappeared in a hurry, ceased to have meaning and dispersed. So silent, focused on finding
themselves on the search for truth. They were looking a long time, carefully and lovingly,
fearing the sacrilege of haste, the lightness and neglect. They looked hard, intense and
passionate. They looked carefully, fearing the sacrilege of the absence of finesse.
They found each other, they overcame fear and a moment later, they found the truth, which
exploded under their eyelids, awesome, blindingly obvious, a groan tore at his mouth which
was clenched in determination. He then shuddered and time froze, everything disappeared,
and only became a functioning sense of touch.
An eternity passed, reality returned, and for the second time he shuddered and began to
move slowly, awkwardly, like a big loaded wagon. Geralt looked out the window. The moon
was in the sky but what happened a moment ago should have thrown it to the ground.
‘Wow,’ said Yennefer after a time, wiping tears from her cheeks with a slow movement.
They lay motionless between the disordered sheets, among tremors, between the warmth
and the expiring happiness, among the silence that swirled around the indistinct darkness
pregnant with the smell of the night and the voices of the cicadas. Geralt knew that in such
moments as these sorceress telepathic abilities were heightened and very strong, he thought
so intensely about issues and beautiful things. The brightness of the rising sun. In the dawn
mist hanging over a mountain lake. In crystalline waterfalls filled with jumping salmon,
as bright as if made of molten silver. The warm drops of rain hitting the leaves of a rose bush
in full bloom.
He thought of her. Yennefer smiled, listening to his thoughts. The smile trembled on her
cheeks with the silver by the moon shadow on her eyelashes.
‘A house?’ Yennefer asked suddenly. ‘What house? Do you have a house? Do you wish to
build a house? Ah... sorry. I should not...’
He was silent. He was angry with himself. Thinking about her had inadvertently allowed
her to read the thoughts he harboured about it.
‘A beautiful dream.’ Yennefer lightly stroked his arm. ‘A house. A house built with your
own hands and in the house you and me. You would raise horses and sheep, I would take care
of the garden, food and Cardaria would weigh the wool that we would take to the market.
From the orens that we would be given from the sale of the wool and various fruits of the
earth we would by everything we need, say a little copper kettle and an iron rake. Every so
often we would visit Ciri with her husband and their three children, sometimes Triss
Merigold would come and to be with us for a few days. We could grow old with dignity.
And if I get bored at night you would play the bagpipes made with your own hands.
Playing the bagpipes, as everyone knows is the best remedy for the blues.’
The witcher was silent. The sorceress coughed softly.
‘Sorry,’ he said at last. He raised himself on his elbow, leaned over and kissed her.
She moved to rapidly embrace him. In silence.
‘Say something.’
‘I do not want to lose you, Yen’
‘After all I have.’
‘This night is over.’
‘Everything ends.’
No, he thought. I do not want it to be so. I’m tired. Too tired to accept the prospect
of principals, after which you have to start all over again. I wish...
‘Do not talk.’ With a quick movement Yennefer laid a finger on his lips. ‘Do not tell me
what you want or what you crave. Because I might not be able to fulfil your wishes and that
would cause me pain.’
‘And what do you want, Yen? What do you dream?
‘Only about things that can be achieved.’
‘What about me?’
‘I already have you.’
He was silent for a long time. And waited for the moment she broke the silence.
‘Geralt?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Make love to me, please.’
At first, they filled each other, both were full of fantasy and imagination, ideas, discoveries
and new desires. As usual, it soon proved that it was both too much and too little.
They understood at once and again proved their love.
When Geralt came to, the moon was still in place. Cicadas chirped loudly as if they would
also like to fight fear and unrest on the basis of madness and passion. From a nearby window
on the left wing of Aretuza someone hungry for sleep screamed and fumed bitterly,
demanding silence. From the window across someone, apparently gifted with an artistic soul,
enthusiastically applauded and shouted congratulations.
‘Oh, Yen...’ Whispered the witcher in shame.
‘I had a reason...’ she kissed him and them nestled her cheek into the pillow. ‘I had a reason
to scream, so I screamed. That should not be suppressed, it is unhealthy and unnatural.
Hold me, if you can.’
‘You shouldn’t.’
‘But...’
‘Trust me.’ She hugged him. ‘Trust me, please. Don’t worry about Vilgefortz. He is a player.
He wanted to approach you, to provoke. He partially succeeded in this. But it doesn’t
matter. Ciri is under my care, and Aretuza is secure, She will be able to develop her abilities
here, and not be disturbed. By anyone. As for being a sorceress, forget it.
She has other talents. And is destined for other things. Believe me.’
‘I believe you.’
‘That’s significan’t progress. And do not worry about Vilgefortz. Tomorrow will explain
many things and solve many problems.’
Tomorrow, he thought. She’s hiding something from me. And I’m afraid to ask. Codringher
was right. I’m tangled in a nasty cabal. But now I have no way out. I’ll have to wait for what
tomorrow brings that apparently will explain everything. I have to trust her. I know
something will happen. I will wait. And I will adapt to the situation.
He looked at the writing desk.
‘Yen?’
‘I’m here.’
‘When you studied in Aretuza... when sleeping in rooms like this... did you have a doll
without which you could not sleep?’
‘No,’ Yennefer stirred violently. ‘I did not have a doll. Don’t ask me that, Geralt. Please
don’t ask me.’
‘Aretuza.’ He whispered, looking around. ‘Aretuza on the island of Thanedd. Her home.
For so many years... When she comes out from here, she’ll be a mature woman...’
‘Stop. Don’t think about it and don’t talk about it. Instead...’
‘What, Yen?’
‘Make love to me.’
He embraced her. Touched. Found. Yennefer, in an incredible way was hard and soft at the
same time, she sighed loudly. The words they said were broken, sighs and aspirations which
disappeared in a hurry, ceased to have meaning and dispersed. So silent, focused on finding
themselves on the search for truth. They were looking a long time, carefully and lovingly,
fearing the sacrilege of haste, the lightness and neglect. They looked hard, intense and
passionate. They looked carefully, fearing the sacrilege of the absence of finesse.
They found each other, they overcame fear and a moment later, they found the truth, which
exploded under their eyelids, awesome, blindingly obvious, a groan tore at his mouth which
was clenched in determination. He then shuddered and time froze, everything disappeared,
and only became a functioning sense of touch.
An eternity passed, reality returned, and for the second time he shuddered and began to
move slowly, awkwardly, like a big loaded wagon. Geralt looked out the window. The moon
was in the sky but what happened a moment ago should have thrown it to the ground.
‘Wow,’ said Yennefer after a time, wiping tears from her cheeks with a slow movement.
They lay motionless between the disordered sheets, among tremors, between the warmth
and the expiring happiness, among the silence that swirled around the indistinct darkness
pregnant with the smell of the night and the voices of the cicadas. Geralt knew that in such
moments as these sorceress telepathic abilities were heightened and very strong, he thought
so intensely about issues and beautiful things. The brightness of the rising sun. In the dawn
mist hanging over a mountain lake. In crystalline waterfalls filled with jumping salmon,
as bright as if made of molten silver. The warm drops of rain hitting the leaves of a rose bush
in full bloom.
He thought of her. Yennefer smiled, listening to his thoughts. The smile trembled on her
cheeks with the silver by the moon shadow on her eyelashes.
‘A house?’ Yennefer asked suddenly. ‘What house? Do you have a house? Do you wish to
build a house? Ah... sorry. I should not...’
He was silent. He was angry with himself. Thinking about her had inadvertently allowed
her to read the thoughts he harboured about it.
‘A beautiful dream.’ Yennefer lightly stroked his arm. ‘A house. A house built with your
own hands and in the house you and me. You would raise horses and sheep, I would take care
of the garden, food and Cardaria would weigh the wool that we would take to the market.
From the orens that we would be given from the sale of the wool and various fruits of the
earth we would by everything we need, say a little copper kettle and an iron rake. Every so
often we would visit Ciri with her husband and their three children, sometimes Triss
Merigold would come and to be with us for a few days. We could grow old with dignity.
And if I get bored at night you would play the bagpipes made with your own hands.
Playing the bagpipes, as everyone knows is the best remedy for the blues.’
The witcher was silent. The sorceress coughed softly.
‘Sorry,’ he said at last. He raised himself on his elbow, leaned over and kissed her.
She moved to rapidly embrace him. In silence.
‘Say something.’
‘I do not want to lose you, Yen’
‘After all I have.’
‘This night is over.’
‘Everything ends.’
No, he thought. I do not want it to be so. I’m tired. Too tired to accept the prospect
of principals, after which you have to start all over again. I wish...
‘Do not talk.’ With a quick movement Yennefer laid a finger on his lips. ‘Do not tell me
what you want or what you crave. Because I might not be able to fulfil your wishes and that
would cause me pain.’
‘And what do you want, Yen? What do you dream?
‘Only about things that can be achieved.’
‘What about me?’
‘I already have you.’
He was silent for a long time. And waited for the moment she broke the silence.
‘Geralt?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Make love to me, please.’
At first, they filled each other, both were full of fantasy and imagination, ideas, discoveries
and new desires. As usual, it soon proved that it was both too much and too little.
They understood at once and again proved their love.
When Geralt came to, the moon was still in place. Cicadas chirped loudly as if they would
also like to fight fear and unrest on the basis of madness and passion. From a nearby window
on the left wing of Aretuza someone hungry for sleep screamed and fumed bitterly,
demanding silence. From the window across someone, apparently gifted with an artistic soul,
enthusiastically applauded and shouted congratulations.
‘Oh, Yen...’ Whispered the witcher in shame.
‘I had a reason...’ she kissed him and them nestled her cheek into the pillow. ‘I had a reason
to scream, so I screamed. That should not be suppressed, it is unhealthy and unnatural.
Hold me, if you can.’
Now after reading these two I can't say it's selfish, even if I wanted to. Of course she is thinking about herself as well,
but mainly about Geralt and them two as a pair. They're simply too damaged to shape a relationship, but Geralt keeps dreaming about it regardless, which makes it much worse for Yennefer as she dreams about it from the very beggining.
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