'How old were you when you became a wizard?'
'When I passed the preliminary exams? Thirteen.'
'Ha! Just like I am now! And how… How old were you when… No, I won't ask about that-'
'Sixteen.'
'Aha…' Ciri blushed faintly and pretended to be suddenly interested in a strangely formed cloud hovering over the temple towers. 'And how old were you… when you met Geralt?'
'Older, ugly one. A bit older.'
'You still keep on calling me ugly one! You know how I don't like it. Why do you do it?'
'Because I'm malicious. Wizards are always malicious.'
'But I don't want to… don't want to be ugly. I want to be pretty. Really pretty, like you, Lady Yennefer. Can I, through magic, be as pretty as you one day?'
'You… Fortunately you don't have to… You don't need magic for it. You don't know how lucky you are.'
'But I want to be really pretty!'
'You are really pretty. A really pretty ugly one. My pretty little ugly one…'
'Oh, Lady Yennefer!'
'Ciri, you're going to bruise my thigh.'
'Lady Yennefer?'
'Yes.'
'What are you looking at like that?'
'At that tree. That linden tree.'
'And what's so interesting about it?'
'Nothing. I'm simply feasting my eyes on it. I'm happy that… I can see it.'
'I don't understand.'
'Good.'
Silence. No words. Humid.
'Lady Yennefer!'
What now?'
'There's a spider crawling towards your leg! Look how hideous it is!'
'A spider's a spider.'
'Kill it!'
'I can't be bothered to bend over.'
'Then kill it with magic!'
'On the grounds of Melitele's Temple? So that Nenneke can throw us out head first? No, thank you. And now be quiet. I want to think.'
'And what are you thinking about so seriously? Hmm. All right, I'm not going to say anything now.'
'I'm beside myself with joy. I was worried you were going to ask me another one of your unequal grand questions.'
'Why not? I like your unequal grand answers!'
'You're getting impudent, ugly one.'
'I'm a wizard. Wizards are malicious and impudent.'
No words. Silence. Stillness in the air. Close humidity as if before a storm. And silence, this time broken by the distant croaking of ravens and crows.
'There are more and more of them.' Ciri looked upwards. 'They're flying and flying… Like in autumn… Hideous birds… The priestesses say that it's a bad sign… An omen, or something. What is an omen, Lady Yennefer?'
'Look it up in Dhu Dwimmermorc. There's a whole chapter on the subject.'
Silence.
'Lady Yennefer…'
'Oh, hell. What is it now?'
'It's been so long, why isn't Geralt… Why isn't he coming?'
'He's forgotten about you, no doubt, ugly one. He's found himself a prettier girl.'
'Oh, no! I know he hasn't forgotten! He couldn't have! I know that, I know that for certain, Lady Yennefer!'
'It's good you know. You're a lucky ugly one.'
'I didn't like you,' she repeated.
Yennefer did not look at her as she stood at the window with her back turned, staring at the hills looming black in the east. Above the hills, the sky was dark with flocks of ravens and crows.
In a minute she's going to ask why I didn't like her, thought Ciri. No, she's too clever to ask such a question. She'll dryly draw my attention to my grammar and ask when I started using the past tense. And I'll tell her. I'll be just as dry as she is, I'll parody her tone of voice, let her know that I, too, can pretend to be cold, unfeeling and indifferent, ashamed of my feelings and emotions. I'll tell her everything. I want to, I have to tell her everything. I want her to know everything before we leave Melitele's Temple. Before we part to finally meet the one I miss. The one she misses. The one who no doubt misses us both. I want to tell her that…
I'll tell her. It's enough for her to ask.
The magician turned from the window and smiled. She did not ask anything.
They left the following day, early in the morning. Both wore men's travelling clothes, cloaks, hats and hoods which hid their hair. Both were armed.
Only Nenneke saw them off. She spoke quietly and at length with Yennefer, then they both – the magician and the priestess -shook each other's hand, hard, like men. Ciri, holding the reins of her dapple-grey mare, wanted to say goodbye in the same way, but Nenneke did not allow it. She embraced her, hugged her and gave her a kiss. There were tears in her eyes. In Ciri's, too.
'Well,' said the priestess finally, wiping her eye with the sleeve of her robe, 'now go. May the Great Melitele protect you on your way, my dears. But the goddess has a great many things on her mind, so look after yourselves too. Take care of her, Yennefer. Keep her safe, like the apple of your eye.'
'I hope' – the magician smiled faintly – 'that I'll manage to keep her safer.'
Across the sky, towards Pontar Valley, flew flocks of crows, croaking loudly. Nenneke did not look at them.
'Take care,' she repeated. 'Bad times are approaching. It might turn out to be true, what Ithlinne aep Aevenien knew, what she predicted. The Time of the Sword and Axe is approaching. The
Time of Contempt and the Wolf's Blizzard. Take care of her, Yennefer. Don't let anyone harm her.'
'I'll be back, Mother,' said Ciri, leaping into her saddle. Til be back for sure! Soon!'
She did not know how very wrong she was.
Andrzej Sapkowski
Andrzej Sapkowski was born in 1948 in Poland. He studied economy and business, but the success of his fantasy cycle about the sorcerer Geralt de Rivia turned him into a bestselling writer. He is now one of Poland's most famous and successful authors.
