Sword of Destiny by Andrzej Sapkowski
‘When I heard,’ she murmured, breaking the silence, ‘that Dandelion dragged you back covered in blood, I left the house like a madwoman; I was in shock, I ran blindly. And then… you know what I thought? That it was magic; that you had secretly cast a spell; that you had charmed me with unfair means; your sign, your w0lf's-head medallion, your evil eye. That's what I thought, but I didn't stop running, because I knew then that I accepted… that I surrendered to the influence of your power. But the reality proved to be even worse. You didn't cast anything of the sort, Geralt; you didn't use any spell to seduce me. Why? Why haven't you bewitched me?’
The witcher was silent.
‘If it was nothing but magic,’ she continued, ‘the situation would be simple and easy to resolve. I would submit, happily, to your power. But then… then I… I don't know what is happening to me…’
By the devil, he thought, if, when she is with me, Yennefer feels exactly what I'm feeling now, I sympathize with her plight. I'll never be surprised by her reactions; I'll never hate them… never.
I expected of Yennefer – as is expected of me now – that the impossible be achieved: something even more impossible than the liaison between Agloval and Sh'eenaz. Yennefer had the deep conviction that a little dedication was not enough; and that our situation called for a sacrifice over and over again, without any guarantee that it would be enough. No, I will no longer blame Yennefer for being unable and unwilling to give me a little bit of attention. I know now that the smallest trace is as heavy as gold.
‘Geralt,’ moaned Little-Eye, laying her head on his shoulder. ‘I am so ashamed of my powerlessness: a sort of supernatural fever, preventing me from breathing freely…’
Geralt continued to hold his silence.
‘I always thought that it was a sublime and wonderful state of mind; dignified even in disappointment. But love is only vegetative, Geralt, horribly and banally vegetative. It's the state of someone who succumbs to illness, who takes poison. Because, like the one who is poisoned, the lover is desperate to get any antidote. At all. Even humiliation.’
‘Essi, I beg you.’
‘I feel humiliated by the object of my desires, and shamefully condemned to suffer in silence. I am ashamed to have embarrassed you, but I could not do otherwise. Helpless before the fate that afflicts me, it is as if I am sick; completely subject to an external grace. Diseases have always horrified me; they cause feebleness, confusion and loneliness. The disease is that we may go into remission.’
Geralt did not open his mouth.
‘I should,’ she moaned again, ‘be grateful that you don't try to take advantage of the situation. But this is not the case. I am ashamed of that too. I hate your silence and your eyes dilated with fear. I hate you… for your silence, your sincerity, your… Her too, I hate her, the sorceress; I would gladly settle things with her using my knife… I hate her. Order me to leave, Geralt, because I can't bring myself to do that on my own, and yet that is what I want: to leave, go to the town, go to the hostel. I want revenge on you for the shame I feel, my humiliation… I'll take the first opportunity…’
Damn, he thought, hearing her voice sink like a ball of rags tumbling down a staircase. She will start to cry, for sure. Then what, plague take it, what will I do?
Essi's hunched shoulders trembled like a leaf. The girl turned her head to weep without sobbing in a strangely silent and peaceful way.
I feel nothing at all, he thought with terror. Not the slightest emotion. If I hold her in my arms now, it will be a premeditated gesture, calculated, without spontaneity. I'm going to embrace her, not because I have any desire to, but because I feel that it's necessary. I don't feel any emotion.
When he embraced her shoulders, she stopped crying and dried her tears, shaking her head sharply. She turned so that he would not see her face and then her head fell heavily onto Geralt's chest.
A little dedication, he thought, it would only take a little… It would calm her down: an embrace, a kiss, a hug… She wants nothing more… And even if it is not enough, what's the difference? A little dedication and attention: she is beautiful and worthy of that much… If she wants more… It will calm her down. Making love gently, peacefully, in silence. But me… It's all the same to me, because Essi smells of verbena, not of lilac and gooseberry; she doesn't have cold and electrifying skin; Essi's hair is not a black tornado of shiny curls; Essi's eyes are beautiful, sweet, hot and blue, but they are no deep purple, cold and dispassionate. Essi will fall asleep afterward, will turn her face and part her lips; Essi will not smile in triumph. Because Essi…
Essi is not Yennefer.
That's why I can't grant her even a little dedication.
‘Please, Essi, don't cry.’
‘Yes…’ She moved away from him very slowly. ‘Yes… I understand. It can't be helped.’
They sat in silence, seated beside one another on the bench of hay. Night was falling.
‘Geralt,’ she said suddenly, in a voice that trembled. ‘Perhaps… as with this shell, this strange gift… we could find a pearl in our relationship? Later? After a while?’
‘I see this pearl,’ he finally said with effort, ‘set in silver, a flower of finely-chiseled silver petals. I see it hanging around your neck on a chain, worn as I wear this medallion. It will be your talisman, Essi. A talisman that will protect you from every kind of evil.’
‘My talisman,’ she repeated, lowering her head. ‘A pearl trapped in silver just as I will never be free, myself. My jewel, my substitute. Can a talisman like that bring good luck?’
‘Yes, Essi. Be sure of it.’
‘Can I keep sitting with you?’
‘You can.’
Sunset was approaching. Darkness was falling little by little. They stayed together, positioned next to each other on a mattress filled with straw in an attic room, devoid of furniture, with only an unlit candle stuck in a cold puddle of wax.
They sat in silence for a long time. Then Dandelion returned. They heard his footsteps, the strains of his lute and his humming. In the room, Dandelion noticed their presence without saying a word. Essi didn't say anything either. She stood and walked out without looking at them.
Dandelion made no comment, but the witcher saw in his eyes the words he didn't say.
VIII
‘An intelligent race,’ repeated Agloval, lost in thought, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair and his chin on his fists. ‘An underwater civilization. Ichtyoide creatures living at the bottom of the sea. A staircase leading into the depths. Geralt, do you take me for the most naïve of dukes?’
Little-Eye, standing next to Dandelion, snorted angrily. Dandelion shook his head nervously. Geralt was a statue.
‘It's all the same to me whether you believe me or not. My duty is to warn you. The boats sailing in the area and the people who approach the Dragon's Teeth at low tide are in mortal danger. If you want to verify my statements; if you want to take that risk: it's your business. I'm only giving you fair warning.’
‘Ah!’ Zelest intervened suddenly. The steward was sitting behind Agloval in a windowed alcove. ‘If these are monsters like elves or goblins, then they're not dangerous. My fear is of the greater monster: sorcery. From what the witcher said, they are like ghosts of the watery depths. We can overcome ghosts. A story recently reached my ears about a magician who killed the ghosts of Lake Mokva in the blink of an eye. He threw a barrel of magic potion into the water: the ghosts were done for. Not a trace left.’
‘That's right,’ interrupted Drouhard, who until then had remained silent. ‘It didn't leave a trace… But the bream, pike, crayfish and mussels suffered the same fate; just like the weeds at the bottom; even the nearby alders dried up.’
‘Marvelous,’ Agloval commented drily. ‘Thank you for that brilliant idea, Zelest. Do you have any others?’
‘That's right… That's right…’ the steward continued, growing a deep red. ‘The magician overdid it a bit, he went a little too far. But I will succeed
‘And only my grandchildren will see the color of pearls once more?’ interrupted the duke with a grimace. ‘We don't have time, Zelest.’
‘It will be easy. I say: for each boat of fishermen, two boats of archers. The monsters will see reason, learn fear. Isn't that right, master witcher?’
Geralt looked at him coldly without responding.
Agloval exposed his most noble profile, turning his head and biting his lips, then turned his gaze on the witcher, blinking and frowning.
‘You have not completed your mission, Geralt…’ he said. ‘You have once again wasted the opportunity to do well. It is true that you have shown some good will, I don't deny that. But I am not paying you for good will; it's the result I pay for. It is the effectiveness that interests me, witcher, and your effectiveness is in fact, pardon the term, pathetic.’
‘Well said, my dear duke!’ Dandelion cut in mockingly. ‘It's just a pity that you weren't with us at the Dragon's Teeth. We, the witcher and myself, would have granted you the opportunity to meet one of the creatures surging from the sea with sword in hand. Then you would understand what the situation is and stop dithering about the payment you owe…’
‘Like a fish-merchant,’ said Little-Eye.
‘I'm not in the habit of dithering, bargaining or arguing,’ Agloval replied calmly. ‘I said that I will not give you a cent, Geralt. Our contract was in effect: remove the threat, eliminate the danger, make pearl diving safe. And what do you do? You tell me a romantic story about an intelligent race living at the bottom of the sea. You advise me to stay as far as possible from the place where my resources are gathered. What have you really done? You will have killed… how many, by the way?’
‘Their number is not important,’ Geralt responded, paling slightly. ‘For you at least, Agloval.’
‘Precisely, and there is not even any evidence. If at least you had brought me the right hand of one of these fish-frogs, perhaps I would have given you the usual compensation for my ranger when he brings me a few pairs of wolf ears.’
‘Well,’ the witcher said coldly, ‘there is nothing left for me to do but bid you farewell.’
‘You are mistaken,’ said the duke. ‘I propose a full-time job with an honest salary: captain of the armored guard that will now protect the fishermen. This is not a position for life; you can leave once this intelligent race knows to stay away from my people. What do you think?’
‘Thank you, but I'm not interested,’ the witcher replied with a grimace. ‘Such work doesn't suit me. I believe that waging war against another race is idiotic. It may perhaps be an ideal activity for a bored and idle duke, but not for me.’
‘Oh, but that's grand!’ Agloval cried with a laugh. ‘That's just sublime! You reject my offer of a job fit for a king! You renounce, with the air of a rich man after a feast, a very handsome sum of money. Geralt, have you eaten anything today? No? And tomorrow? And the day after? Your options are dwindling, witcher. It is difficult to make a living under ordinary circumstances, let alone with an arm in a sling…’
‘How dare you!’ Little-Eye yelled. ‘How dare you speak to him in that tone, Agloval? The arm he carries in a sling was injured during a mission that you yourself ordered! How can you behave in such a petty way?’
‘Stop,’ interrupted Geralt. ‘Stop, Essi. There's no point.’
‘Wrong,’ she replied with anger. ‘There is a point. Someone must finally tell the truth to the duke who owes his title to the fact that no-one wanted, aside from him, to reign over this tiny rock in the sea, and who thinks he is in any position to humiliate others.’
Agloval clenched his teeth, reddening, but remained silent.
‘Yes, Agloval,’ continued Essi, ‘you take pleasure in belittling your fellows; you love to look down on someone like the witcher who was ready to die for your money. But you should know that the witcher doesn't care about your scorn and your insults; that they don't make any impression on him at all; that he does not even take them into consideration. The witcher doesn't even feel what your servants and subjects, Zelest and Drouhard, must feel: a deep and gnawing shame. The witcher doesn't feel what we, Dandelion and myself, feel in your sight: disgust. Do you know, Agloval, why that is? I'll tell you: because the witcher knows that he's better than you, that he is worth a thousand of you. That is what gives him his strength.’
Essi stopped. She looked down quickly so that Geralt would not have time to notice the tears beading at the corner of her beautiful eye. The girl brought her hand to the flower of silver petals at her neck, in the center of which was set an azure-blue pearl. The latticed petals of the mysterious flower had been carved by a master jeweler worthy of the title. The witcher was pleased with the quality of the craftsman hired by Drouhard, who had paid for everything without requiring reimbursement.
‘Therefore, my lord duke,’ Little-Eye said, lifting her head, ‘do not insult the witcher by offering a position as a mercenary in the army that you want to raise against the ocean. Do not embarrass yourself by presenting a proposition that can only provoke laughter. Have you figured it out yet? You can hire the services of a witcher for a particular mission, to protect people from harm or threat; but you cannot buy a witcher and use him for your own purposes. Because a witcher, even injured and hungry, will always be better than you. That is why he spurns your miserable job. Do you understand?’
‘No, Miss Daven,’ Agloval replied coldly. ‘I don't understand. On the contrary, I understand less and less. The first thing that I don't understand is why I have not yet ordered that all three you be drawn and quartered, or certainly beaten and branded with a red-hot iron. You, Miss Daven, you try to convince us that you know everything, but then tell me why I should spare you?’
‘But of course, right away,’ the poet responded tit for tat. ‘It is because deep down, Agloval, in your heart, there is still a spark of dignity, a remaining trace of honor that the arrogance of the nouveau riche miscreant has not snuffed out. Deep down, Agloval: in the deepest place in your heart you are still capable of loving a mermaid.’
Agloval, white as a sheet, wiped his sweaty hands on the arms of his chair. Bravo, thought the witcher, bravo, Essi. You are brilliant. But he also felt tired, terribly tired.
‘Get out,’ Agloval ordered dully. ‘Be on your way. Go where you like. Leave me alone.’
‘Farewell, duke,’ said Essi. ‘Before I go, accept one more piece of advice, something that the witcher should tell you, but I don't want him to forget. I will do so in his place.’
‘I'm listening.’
‘The ocean is vast, Agloval. No-one yet knows what the horizon hides, if it does hide something. The ocean is larger than the largest of the wild forests from which you drove the elves. It is more difficult to cross than any mountain or valley where you massacred the dwarves. At the bottom of the ocean lives a race outfitted with cuirasses, one that knows the secrets of forging metal. Be careful, Agloval. If the archers begin to accompany the fishermen, you will start a war against an enemy that you do not know. What you start could turn out to be a nest of hornets. I advise you, therefore, to give the sea to them, because the sea is not for you. You do not know and you will never know where the steps lead that descend into the depths from the Dragon's Teeth.’
‘You are mistaken, Miss Essi,’ Agloval said quietly. ‘We know where the staircase leads. Even better: we will follow them, these Steps. We will discover what can be found on the other side of the ocean, if there is anything to be found. And we will take from this ocean all that we are able to take. If we are not capable, our children or our children's children will be. It is a matter of time. That is our undertaking, if w
Essi paled and puffed on her circlet, violently shaking her head.
‘Nothing at all, Agloval?’
‘Nothing, Essi.’
The poet smiled.
A sudden commotion filled the antechamber: the sound of footsteps and shouts. Paiges and guards burst into the room. They knelt and bowed, forming a hedge.
Sh'eenaz appeared in the doorway, wearing a sea-blue dress adorned with frills white as foam. A dizzying decolletage revealed the siren's charms, partially hidden and adorned by a collar of nephrite and lapis-lazuli worthy of admiration. Her celadon-green hair curled artfully and was retained by a tiara of coral and magnificent pearls.
‘Sh'eenaz…’ stammered Agloval, falling to his knees. ‘My… Sh'eenaz…’
The siren entered slowly with a stride that was light and graceful, as fluid as a wave. She stopped in front of the duke and, with a smile that displayed all her little white teeth, seized the dress in her small hands and lifted it high enough that everyone could see for himself the quality of work performed by the sea-witch. Geralt swallowed. The witch knew what nice legs were, obviously, and how to fashion them.