The cromlech trembled perceptibly. Ciri heard a dull, distant noise and a rumble coming from within the earth. The heather undulated, flattened by the gale which suddenly gusted across the hill. The sky abruptly turned dark, covered with clouds scudding
across it at incredible speed. The girl felt drops of rain on her face. She narrowed her eyes against the flash of lightning which suddenly flared across the horizon. She automatically huddled up to the enchantress, against her black hair smelling of lilac and gooseberries.
'The earth which we tread. The fire which does not go out within it. The water from which all life is born and without which life is not possible. The air we breathe. It is enough to stretch out one's hand to master them, to subjugate them. Magic is everywhere. It is in air, in water, in earth and in fire. And it is behind the door which the Conjunction of the Spheres has closed on us. From there, from behind the closed door, magic sometimes extends its hand to us. For us. You know that, don't you? You have already felt the touch of that magic, the touch of the hand from behind that door. That touch filled you with fear. Such a touch fills everyone with fear. Because there is Chaos and Order, Good and Evil in all of us. But it is possible and necessary to control it. This has to be learnt. And you will learn it, Ciri. That is why I brought you here, to this stone which, from time immemorial, has stood at the crossing of veins of power pulsating with force. Touch it.'
The boulder shook, vibrated, and with it the entire hill vibrated and shook.
'Magic is extending its hand towards you, Ciri. To you, strange girl, Surprise, Child of the Elder Blood, the Blood of Elves. Strange girl, woven into Movement and Change, into Annihilation and Rebirth. Destined and destiny. Magic extends its hand towards you from behind the closed door, towards you, a tiny grain of sand in the workings of the Clock of Fate. Chaos extends its talons towards you, still uncertain if you will be its tool or an obstacle in its design. That which Chaos shows you in your dreams is this very uncertainty. Chaos is afraid of you, Child of Destiny. But it wants you to be the one who feels fear.'
There was a flash of lightning and a long rumble of thunder. Ciri trembled with cold and dread.
'Chaos cannot show you what it really is. So it is showing you the future, showing you what is going to happen. It wants you to be afraid of the coming days, so that fear of what is going to
happen to you and those closest to you will start to guide you, take you over completely. That is why Chaos is sending you those dreams. Now, you are going to show me what you see in your dreams. And you are going to be frightened. And then you will forget and master your fear. Look at my star, Ciri. Don't take your eyes from it!'
A flash. A rumble of thunder.
'Speak! I command you!'
Blood. Yennefer's lips, cut and crushed, move silently, flow with blood. White rocks flitter past, seen from a gallop. A horse neighs. A leap. Valley, abyss. Screaming. Flight, an endless flight. Abyss…
In the depth of the abyss, smoke. Stairs leading down.
Va'esse deireadh aep eigean… Something is coming to an end… What?
Elaine blath, Feainnewedd… Child of the Elder Blood? Yennefer's voice seems to come from somewhere afar, is dull, awakens echoes amidst the stone walls dripping with damp. Elaine blath-
'Speak!'
The violet eyes shine, burn in the emaciated, shrivelled face, blackened with suffering, veiled with a tempest of dishevelled, dirty black hair. Darkness. Damp. Stench. The excruciating cold of stone walls. The cold of iron on wrists, on ankles…
Abyss. Smoke. Stairs leading down. Stairs down which she must go. Must because… Because something is coming to an end. Because Tedd Deireadh, the Time of End, the Time of the Wolf's Blizzard is approaching. The Time of the White Chill and White Light…
The Lion Cub must die! For reasons of state!
'Let's go,' says Geralt. 'Down the stairs. We must. It must be so. There is no other way. Only the stairs. Down!'
His lips are not moving. They are blue. Blood, blood everywhere… The whole stairs in blood… Mustn't slip… Because the witcher trips just once… The flash of a blade. Screams. Death. Down. Down the stairs.
Smoke. Fire. Frantic galloping, hooves thundering. Flames all around. 'Hold on! Hold on, Lion Cub of Cintra!'
The black horse neighs, rears. 'Hold on!'
The black horse dances. In the slit of the helmet adorned with the wings of a bird of prey shine and burn merciless eyes.
A broad sword, reflecting the glow of the fire, falls with a hiss. Dodge, Ciri! Feign! Pirouette, parry! Dodge! Dodge! Too sloooowwww!
The blow blinds her with its flash, shakes her whole body, the pain paralyses her for a moment, dulls, deadens, and then suddenly explodes with a terrible strength, sinks its cruel, sharp fangs into her cheek, yanks, penetrates right through, radiates into the neck, the shoulders, chest, lungs…
'Ciri!'
She felt the coarse, unpleasant, still coolness of stone on her back and head. She did not remember sitting down. Yennefer was kneeling next to her. Gently, but decisively, she straightened her lingers, pulled her hand away from her cheek. The cheek throbbed, pulsated with pain.
'Mama…' groaned Ciri. 'Mama… How it hurts! Mama…'
The magician touched her face. Her hand was as cold as ice. The pain stopped instantly.
'I saw…' the girl whispered, closing her eyes, 'the things I saw in the dreams… A black knight… Geralt… And also… You… I saw you, Lady Yennefer!'
'I know.'
' I saw you… I saw how-'
'Never more. You will never see that again. You won't dream about it any more. I will give you the force to push those nightmares away. That is why I have brought you here, Ciri – to show you that force. Tomorrow, I am going to start giving it to you.'
Long, arduous days followed, days of intensive study and exhausting work. Yennefer was firm, frequently stern, sometimes masterfully formidable. But she was never boring. Previously, Ciri could barely keep her eyes open in the Temple school and would
sometimes even doze off during a lesson, lulled by the monotonous, gentle voice of Nenneke, Iola the First, Hrosvitha or some other teacher. With Yennefer, it was impossible. And not only because of the timbre of the lady magician's voice and the short, sharply accentuated sentences she used. The most important element was the subject of her studies. The study of magic. Fascinating, exciting and absorbing study.
Ciri spent most of the day with Yennefer. She returned to the dormitory late at night, collapsed into bed like a log and fell asleep immediately. The novices complained that she snored very loudly and tried to wake her. In vain.
Ciri slept deeply.
With no dreams.
'Oh, gods.' Yennefer sighed in resignation and, ruffling her black hair with both hands, lowered her head. 'But it's so simple! If you can't master this move, what will happen with the harder ones?'
Ciri turned away, mumbled something in a raspy voice and massaged her stiff hand. The magician sighed once more.
'Take another look at the etching. See how your fingers should be spread. Pay attention to the explanatory arrows and runes describing how the move should be performed.'
'I've already looked at the drawing a thousand times! I understand the runes! Vort, caelme. Ys, veloe. Away from oneself, slowly. Down, quickly. The hand… like this?'
'And the little finger?'
'It's impossible to position it like that without bending the ring finger at the same time!'
'Give me your hand.'
'Ouuuch!'
'Not so loud, Ciri, otherwise Nenneke will come running again, thinking that I'm skinning you alive or frying you in oil. Don't change the position of your fingers. And now perform the gesture. Turn, turn the wrist! Good. Now shake the hand, relax the fingers. And repeat. No, no! Do you know what you did? If you were to
cast a real spell like that, you'd be wearing your hand in splints for a month! Are your hands made of
