The Sword of Destiny (14 page)

"According to you, that affords you some rights?"

"Only one. The right to draw conclusions."

"A ha," the magician said slowly, "Fine. Well. She made love with me this morning. You have the right to draw your own conclusions. I know I already did."

The silence lasted a long time. Geralt desperately sought an answer. He couldn't find one.

"Enough chatter," he said finally, rising, angry with himself because it sounded abrupt and stupid. "I'm going."

"Then go to hell," said Istredd, just as abruptly, without looking up.

When she entered, he was lying on the bed fully clothed with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He looked at her.

Yennefer slowly closed the door behind her. She was beautiful.

So beautiful, he thought. Everything about her is beautiful. And dangerous. The colours she wears; the contrast of black and white. Beauty and terror. Her natural, raven curls. Her high cheekbones, accentuated by the crease that forms when she smiles - if she deigns to smile -her lips, wonderfully small and pale beneath her lipstick. Her eyebrows, wonderfully irregular when she washes away the kohl at the end of the day. Her nose, wonderfully long. Her small hands, wonderfully nervous, restless and adept. Her figure, fine and slim, emphasised by the tightness of her belt. Her slender legs, as they move beneath her black skirt. Beautiful.

Without a word she sat down at the table and rested her chin on her hands.

"Well, come on, let's get started," she said, "This lengthy, dramatic silence is too banal for me. Let's get on with it. Get off the bed and stop gazing at the ceiling looking all offended. The situation is already quite silly and there's no reason to make it even sillier. Get up, I say."

He got up willingly and, without hesitation, sat down astride the chair opposite her. She didn't look away from him, as might be expected.

"As I said, let's fix this and fix it quickly. To avoid making the situation even more uncomfortable, I will quickly answer a few questions without you having to ask them. Yes, it's true that in choosing to ride with you to Aedd Gynvael, I knew that I was going to see Istredd and knew that, having met up with him, I would sleep with him. I didn't realise that it

would become public knowledge and that you would end up bragging to each other about it. I now know how you feel, and for that I'm sorry. But no, I do not feel guilty."

He was silent.

Yennefer shook her head, her black, shimmering curls cascaded onto her shoulders.

"Geralt, say something."

"He..." Geralt cleared his throat. "He calls you Yenna."

"Yes," she looked away. "And I call him Val. That's his name. Istredd is a nickname. I have know him for years, Geralt. He is very dear to me. Don't look at me like that. You are also very dear to me. And therein lies the whole problem."

"Are you thinking about accepting his proposal?"

"Just so you know, I'm thinking about it. As I told you, we've known each other for years. Since... many years. We share interests, goals and ambitions. We understand each other without words. He can support me, and who knows, there may come a day when I need support. And above all... he... he loves me. I think."

"I won't stand in your way, Yen."

Her head jerked up and her violet eyes shone with pale fire.

"In my way? Don't you understand anything, you idiot? If you were in my way, just a hindrance, I could be rid of you in the blink of an eye; teleport you to the end of Cape Bremervoor or create a tornado to transport to the country of Hanna. With a little effort, I could turn you into a piece of quartz and put you in my garden, in the flowerbed with the peonies. I could brain-wash you so that you'd forget who I am and what my name is. This would be the ideal solution, because then I could simply say: 'It was fun, bye.' I could walk away quietly, just like you did when you ran away from my house in Vengerberg."

"Don't shout, Yen, there's no need to be so aggressive. And don't bring up Vengerberg again, we agreed not to talk about it anymore. I'm not angry with you, Yen, and I'm not blaming you. I know that you can't be held to common mores. And it hurts... it kills me, the thought that I'll lose... this cellular memory. Atavistic remnants of feeling in a mutant devoid of emotion..."

"I can't stand it when you talk like that!" she burst out. "I hate it when you use that word. Never use it in my presence again. Never!"

"Does it change facts? In the end, I'm still a mutant."

"It's not a fact. Do not say that word in my presence."

The black kestrel, standing on the deer's horns, flapped its wings and scratched with its claws. Geralt looked at the bird, at its yellow, unmoving eyes. Yennefer again rested her chin on her hands.

"Yen."

"I'm listening, Geralt."

"You promised to answer my questions. Questions that I don't even need to ask. There is one very important one. One that I've never asked. The one I'm afraid to ask. Answer it."

"I cannot, Geralt," she said, firmly.

"I don't believe you, Yen. I know you too well."

"You can never truly know a sorceress."

"Answer my question, Yen."

"The answer is: I don't know. But what kind of answer is that?"

Silence. The murmur of the hubbub from the street died down.

The fiery glow of the setting sun pierced the slits of the shutters and cast slanting rays of light across the room.

"Aedd Gynvael," muttered the witcher. "A shard of ice... I felt it. I knew this city... was my enemy. Malignant."

"Aedd Gynvael," she repeated slowly. "The sleigh of the elven queen. Why, Geralt?"

"I'm following you, Yen, because the reins of my sleigh became entangled with the runners of yours. And the blizzard rages around me. And the frost. And the cold."

"The warmth in you would melt the shard of ice with which I struck you," she murmured. "So the spell would vanish and you would see me as I really am."

"Lash your white horses, Yen, and make them fly north to where the thaw never comes. So that the ice will never melt. I want to us to soon be together in your castle of ice."

"The castle doesn't exist." Yennefer's lips trembled and twisted. "It is a symbol. And we drive ourselves towards an unobtainable dream. Because I, the Queen of the Elves, 1 long for warmth. That is my secret. So every year I take my sleigh out to the city, into the swirling snow, and every year someone, struck by my spell, tangles the reins of his sleigh with the runners of mine. Every year. Every year, someone new. Never ending. Because while the warmth I desire destroys the spell, it also destroys the magic and the charm. My chosen one, once star-struck by ice, suddenly becomes an ordinary nobody. And I, icy spell thawing before their eyes, become no better than the others... mere mortals."

"And from that pristine whiteness, spring emerges," he said "And Aedd Gynvael appears, an ugly city with a beautiful name. Aedd Gynvael and its pile of trash, a huge stinking heap of garbage that I have to enter because I'm paid to do so, because I was created to deal with the filth that fills others with fear and disgust. I have been deprived of the ability to feel, so I was not able to feel the horror of that disgusting squalor, so I would not retreat nor flee before it, full of dread. Yes, I have been deprived of emotion. But not completely. Whoever did it, botched the job."

He fell silent. The black kestrel rustled its feathers, opening and closing its wings.

"Geralt."

"I'm listening."

"Now you will answer my question. The question that I've never asked. That which I was afraid to ask... I'm also not going to ask it today, but please answer it. Because... because I really wish to hear your reply. It's the one thing, the one word you have never said. Say it, Geralt. Please."

"I cannot."

"Why is that?"

"Don't you know?" He smiled sadly. "My answer would be just a word. A word that doesn't express feelings, a word that doesn't express emotions, because I am devoid of them. A word that would only be a sound, like the sound a cold and empty skull makes when it's struck."

She looked at him in silence. Her eyes, wide open, took on a deep violet colour.

"No, Geralt," she said. "That's not true. Or only partly true. You are not deprived of feelings. Now I see. Now I know that..."

She fell silent.

"Stop, Yen. You've already decided. Do not lie. I know you. I see it in your eyes."

She looked away. He knew.

"Yen," he whispered.

"Give me your hand," she said.

She took his hand in hers; he immediately felt a tingling and the throbbing of blood in the veins of his forearm. Yennefer whispered a spell in a calm, measured voice, but he saw drops of sweat appear on her pale forehead from the effort and her pupils dilate with the pain.

Releasing his arm, she stretched out her hands and raised them in a gesture of gentle caress -stroking an invisible shape, slowly, up and down. Between her fingers, the air began to grow more dense and opaque, curling and wavering like smoke.

He was gazing in awe. The magic of creation, seen as the pinnacle of magician's achievements, had always fascinated him, much more than illusion and magical transformation. Yes, Istredd was right, he thought, in comparison with such magic, my Signs look ridiculous.

Between Yennefer's hands that trembled with the effort, slowly materialised the form of a coal-black bird. The sorceress' fingers gently caressed the slightly ruffled feathers, flat head and curved beak. Yet another movement, hypnotic, fluid and delicate, and the black kestrel, lowering its head, croaked loudly. Its twin, still sitting motionlessly in the corner, responded with a squawk.

"Two kestrels," Geralt said quietly. "Two black kestrels, created via magic. I guess you need both."

"You guess correctly," she said with difficulty. "I need both. I was wrong to think that one would suffice. I was very wrong, Geralt... which irritates me being the proud Queen of Winter, convinced of her own omnipotence. There are some things... you cannot obtain, even through magic. And some gifts you can't accept unless you are able to give something in return... something equally valuable. Otherwise, such a gift will slip through your fingers, like a shard of ice melting in a closed fist. There will remain only regret, a sense of loss and guilt..."

"Yen..."

"I am a sorceress, Geralt. The power I possess over matter is a gift. A gift I reciprocate. I paid for it... with everything I had. There's nothing left."

She fell silent. The sorceress wiped her brow with a trembling hand.

"I was wrong," she repeated. "But I'll fix my mistake. Emotions and feelings..." she touched the black kestrel's head. The bird ruffled its feathers, opening its mute curved beak. "Emotions, whims and lies, fascinations and games. Feelings and the lack thereof... gifts that should not be accepted... lies and truth. What is right? To deny a lie? Or to state a fact? And if the fact is a lie, then what is truth? Who is so full of feelings that it tears them apart and who is a cold and empty shell of a skull? Who? What is right, Geralt? What is the truth?"

"I don't know, Yen. You tell me."

"No," she said and lowered her eyes. It was the first time. He had never seen her do this before. Never.

"No," she repeated. "I cannot, Geralt. I cannot tell you. It will be this bird, born from the touch of your hand, that will tell you. Bird, what is the truth?"

"The truth," declared the kestrel, "is a shard of ice."

VI

Although it seemed to him that he wandered the alleys aimlessly and with no destination in mind, he suddenly found himself near the south wall, at the excavation, amongst a network of trenches that wound chaotically and exposed parts of the ancient foundations, intersecting at the ruins of a stone wall.

Istredd was there. With rolled up shirt sleeves and tall boots, he shouted something to the servants who were using hoes to dig the wall of a trench striped with layers of different colours of earth, clay and charcoal. On some planks arranged to the side lay blackened bones, broken pieces of pots and other objects; unrecognisable, corroded and covered with rust.

The magician noticed him immediately. After he gave some muttered command to those digging, he jumped out of the trench and walked towards Geralt, wiping his hands on his trousers.

"What do you want?" he asked abruptly.

The witcher, standing motionless before him, did not reply. The men, pretending to work, watched them closely, whispering amongst themselves.

"Hatred shines in your eyes," Istredd frowned. "What do you want, I ask you? Have you made a decision? Where is Yenna? I hope..."

"Don't hold out too much hope, Istredd."

"Oh," said the magician. "What's this I hear in your voice? Do I understand you correctly?"

"What is it that you understand?"

Istredd placed his hands on his hips and glared defiantly at the witcher.

"Let's not deceive each other," he said. "You hate me and I hate you, too. You insulted me with what you said about Yennefer... you know what. I insulted you in a similar way. You offend me and I offend you. Let's settle this like men. I see no other solution. That's why you came here, right?"

"Yes," Geralt said, rubbing his forehead. "You're right, Istredd. That's why I'm here. Without a doubt."

"Perfect. It cannot go on. Only today I learned that, for a few years, Yennefer has been back and forth between us like a rag ball. First she's with me, then she's with you. She'll run away from me to look for you and vice versa. The others that came in between don't count. Only the two of us matter. This can't go on. Out of the two of us, there must be only one."

"Yes," Geralt said, without removing his hand from his forehead. "Yes... you're right."

"In our arrogance," continued the magician, "we thought that Yenna wouldn't hesitate to choose the better of us. As for who was the better, neither of us had any doubt. We came to

the point where, like a pair of urchins, we bragged about the regard she has shown us and, like inexperienced boys, we even divulged the nature of that regard and what it meant. I imagine that, like myself, you've been thinking about it and have realised just how wrong we were. Yenna doesn't want to choose between us, even if we were to accept that choice. Well, we'll have to decide for her. I'm not going to share Yenna with anyone, and the fact that you've come here says the same about you. We know this all too well. As long as there are two of us, neither of us can be sure of her feelings. There must be only one. You understand, right?"