Remember that.
Never forget that. One more time, from the beginning. Spell and gesture. No, no, this time without copying me. You're going to do it by yourself. So, use your memory!'
'Aine verseos… Aine aen aenye… Oooouuuuch!'
'No! Too fast!'
Magic, like a spiked iron arrow, lodged in her. Wounded her deeply. Hurt. Hurt with the strange sort of pain oddly associated with bliss.
To relax, they once again ran around the park. Yennefer persuaded Nenneke to take Ciri's sword out of storage and so enabled the girl to practise her steps, dodges and attacks – in secret, of course, to prevent the other priestesses and novices seeing her. But magic was omnipresent. Ciri learned how – using simple spells and focusing her will – to relax her muscles, combat cramps, control adrenalin, how to master her aural labyrinth and its nerve, how to slow or speed her pulse and how to cope without oxygen for short periods.
The lady magician knew a surprising amount about a witcher's sword and 'dance'. She knew a great deal about the secrets of Kaer Morhen; there was no doubt she had visited the Keep. She knew Vesemir and Eskel. Although not Lambert and Coen.
Yennefer used to visit Kaer Morhen. Ciri guessed why – when they spoke of the Keep – the eyes of the enchantress grew warm, lost their angry gleam and their cold, indifferent, wise depth. If the words had befitted Yennefer's person, Ciri would have called her dreamy, lost in memories.
Ciri could guess the reason.
There was a subject which the girl instinctively and carefully avoided. But one day, she got carried away and spoke out. About Triss Merigold. Yennefer, as if casually, as if indifferently, asking as if banal, sparing questions, dragged the rest from her. Her eyes were hard and impenetrable.
Ciri could guess the reason. And, amazingly, she no longer felt annoyed.
Magic was calming.
'The so-called Sign of Aard, Ciri, is a very simple spell belonging to the family of psychokinetic magic which is based on thrusting energy in the required direction. The force of the thrust depends on how the will of the person throwing it is focused and on the expelled force. It can be considerable. The witchers adapted the spell, making use of the fact that it does not require knowledge of a magical formula – concentration and the gesture are enough. That's why they called it a Sign. Where they got the name from, I don't know, maybe from the Elder Speech -the word 'ard', as you know, means 'mountain', 'upper' or 'the highest'. If that is truly the case then the name is very misleading because it's hard to find an easier psychokinetic spell. We, obviously, aren't going to waste time and energy on something as primitive as the witchers' Sign. We are going to practise real psychokinesis. We'll practise on… Ah, on that basket lying under the apple tree. Concentrate.'
'Ready.'
'You focus yourself quickly. Let me remind you: control the flow of the force. You can only emit as much as you draw. If you release even a tiny bit more, you do so at the cost of your constitution. An effort like that could render you unconscious and, in extreme circumstances, could even kill you. If, on the other hand, you release everything you draw, you forfeit all possibility of repeating it, and you will have to draw it again and, as you know, it's not easy to do and it is painful.'
'Ooooh, I know!'
You mustn't slacken your concentration and allow the energy to tear itself away from you of its own accord. My Mistress used to say that emitting the force must be like blowing a raspberry in a ballroom; do it gently, sparingly, and with control. And in such a way that you don't let those around you to know it was you. Understood?'
'Understood!'
'Straighten yourself up. Stop giggling. Let me remind you that spells are a serious matter. They are cast with grace and pride.
The motions are executed fluently but with restraint. With dignity. You do not pull faces, grimace or stick your tongue out. You are handling a force of nature, show Nature some respect.'
'All right, Lady Yennefer.'
'Careful, this time I'm not screening you. You are an independent spell-caster. This is your debut, ugly one. You saw that demi-john of wine in the chest of drawers? If your debut is successful, your mistress will drink it tonight.'
'By herself?'
'Novices are only allowed to drink wine once they are qualified apprentices. You have to wait. You're smart, so that just means another ten years or so, not more. Right, let's start. Arrange your fingers. And the left hand? Don't wave it around! Let it hang loose or rest it on your hip. Fingers'. Good. Right, release.'
'Aaaah…'
'I didn't ask you to make funny noises. Emit the energy. In silence.'
'Haa, ha! It jumped! The basket jumped! Did you see?'
'It barely twitched. Ciri, sparingly does not mean weakly. Psychokinesis is used with a specific goal in mind. Even witchers use the Sign of Aard to throw their opponent off his feet. The energy you emitted would not knock their hat off their head! Once more, a little stronger. Go for it!'
'Ha! It certainly flew! It was all right that time, wasn't it, Lady Yennefer?'
'Hmmm… You'll run to the kitchen afterwards and pinch a bit of cheese to go with our wine… That was almost right. Almost. Stronger still, ugly one, don't be frightened. Lift the basket from the ground and throw it hard against the wall of that shack, make feathers fly. Don't slouch! Head up! Gracefully, but with pride! Be bold, be bold! Oh, bloody hell!'
'Oh, dear… I'm sorry, Lady Yennefer… I probably… probably used a bit too much…'
'A little bit. Don't worry. Come here. Come on, little one.'
'And… and the shack?'
'These things happen. There's no need to take it to heart. Your
debut, on the whole, should be viewed as a success. And the shack? It wasn't too pretty. I don't think anyone will miss its presence in the landscape. Hold on, ladies! Calm down, calm down, why this uproar and commotion, nothing has happened! Easy, Nenneke! Really, nothing has happened. The planks just need to be cleared away. They'll make good firewood!'
During the warm, still afternoons the air grew thick with the scent of flowers and grass; pulsating with peace and silence, broken by the buzz of bees and enormous beetles. On afternoons like this Yennefer carried Nenneke's wicker chair out into the garden and sat in it, stretching her legs out in front of her. Sometimes she studied books, sometimes read letters which she received by means of strange couriers, usually birds. At times she simply sat gazing into the distance. With one hand, and lost in thought, she ruffled her black, shiny locks, with the other she stroked Ciri's head as she sat on the grass, snuggled up to the magician's warm, firm thigh.
'Lady Yennefer?'
'I'm here, ugly one.'
'Tell me, can one do anything with magic?'
'No.'
'But you can do a great deal, am I right?'
'You are.' The enchantress closed her eyes for a moment and touched her eyelids with her fingers. 'A great deal.'
'Something really great… Something terrible! Very terrible?'
'Sometimes even more so than one would have liked.'
'Hmm… And could I… When will I be able to do something like that?'
'I don't know. Maybe never. Would that you don't have to.'
Silence. No words. Heat. The scent of flowers and herbs.
'Lady Yennefer?'
'What now, ugly one?'
