The Sword of Destiny (26 page)

"What do you think about the monster that killed the fishermen? Do you have any suspicions?"

"It could be a kraken."

"No, a kraken would have destroyed the boat that was recovered intact and covered in blood." Little-Eye grew pale and swallowed. "Don't think that's idle speculation. I was raised next to the sea... I saw more than one creature."

"A giant squid could throw people over the side..."

"Then there would be no blood. Geralt, it's neither squid nor orca nor turtle-dragon, because our monster neither destroyed nor overturned the boat. Maybe you're making a mistake in looking for the culprit in the sea."

The witcher considered this.

"I begin to admire you, Essi," he said. The poet blushed. "You're right. This could be an attack from the sky: an ornithodragon, a griffon, a wyvern, a dermoptera or a diploures giant. Maybe even a..."

"Excuse me," Essi interrupted. "Look who's coming."

Agloval only skirted the shore. His clothes were drenched. His anger seemed to intensify when he saw them.

Essi bowed discreetly, while Geralt inclined his head and tapped his chest with his fist. Agloval spat.

"I waited on the rocks for three hours, almost since the sun rose," he growled. "She hasn't shown. Three hours to wait like an idiot on wave-swept rocks."

"I see... I'm sorry," muttered the witcher.

"Sorry?" the duke exploded. "Sorry? But everything is your fault. You're the one who bungled the job. You're the one who ruined everything."

"What did I ruin? I only acted as the translator..."

"To hell with all this!" he interrupted nervously, putting himself in profile. It was a very royal profile, meriting inclusion on a well-beaten currency. "I would be better off if I hadn't resorted to your services. This may sound strange, but when we had no translator, we understood one another better, Sh'eenaz and me, if you know what I mean. Now... you know what they say in town? It's whispered that the fishermen died because I lost my temper with the siren. That it was revenge."

"Absurd," the witcher commented icily.

"How do I know it's absurd?" the duke burst out. "What do I know, except for what you told me? Do I know what she is capable of? What monsters can hear her there, in the depths? Prove to me, please, that it's absurd. Bring me the head of the monster that slaughtered the fishermen. Get to work instead of flirting on the beach..."

"To work?" Geralt exploded. "But how? Should I cross the sea riding on a barrel? Your Zelest threatened the sailors with the worst tortures and the gallows... There's nothing I can do: no-one wants to take me. Zelest himself is not exactly eager. How..."

"What's that to me: how?" Agloval yelled, cutting him off. "It's your business! Weren't the witchers created so that normal people do not have to wonder how to get rid of monsters? I hired your services and I demand that you obey me. Otherwise, go to hell before I drive you with a stick to the very borders of my domain!"

"Calm yourself, my lord Duke," said Little-Eye in a low voice despite her nervous pallor and the trembling of her hands. "And stop threatening Geralt, please. Dandelion and I are honored to count among our friends the king Ethain Cidaris, one of our fans, an enthusiastic amateur artist. The king Ethain is an enlightened sovereign who considers our ballads not only from the perspective of music and rhyme, but also as a chronicle of humanity. Would you, my lord duke, like to appear in this chronicle? I can help you."

Agloval looked at her for a moment with a cold and indifferent expression.

"The fishermen who died had wives and children," he finally said in a voice that was much more measured and calm. "The others will return to the sea when hunger tightens their bellies. The pearl divers, oyster- and lobstermen, fishermen, all of them. They will return to the sea sooner or later, but will they come back safe and sound? What do you think, Geralt? And you, Miss Daven? Your ballad will undoubtedly be interesting: idling on the beach, the witcher watches the children crying over blood-covered boats."

Essi paled even more. She pushed back her circlet, blew on the band as she prepared to retort, but the witcher took her hand before she could open her mouth.

"Enough," he said. "In this outpouring of words, only one thing is really important: you hired my services, Agloval, and I accepted the mission. I will fulfill it if it is feasible."

"I look forward to it," the duke responded in a whisper. "Goodbye. My regards, Miss Daven."

Essi did not bow, only nodded. Hunched over the stones, with his clothing drenched, Agloval left in the direction of the port. Geralt realized then that he still held the poet's hand and that she was not trying to get free. He let go. Regaining her normal colors, Essi turned her face to him.

"It doesn't take much for you to agree to take risks," she said. "A few words on the subject of women and children were enough. And yet we still talk about the insensitivity of witchers, Geralt. Agloval doesn't care about children, women, or the elderly. All that matters to him is that fishing and pearl-diving resumes, because every day off is synonymous with a loss of profit for him. He only has to use starving children as bait for you to agree to risk your life..."

"Essi," he interrupted. "I'm a witcher. Risking my life is my job. Children have nothing to do with it."

"Stop pretending."

"Why should I?"

"If you were really the cold professional you pretend to be, you would have tried to bargain. You didn't even mention money. But enough on that subject. What now?"

"Let's keep walking."

"Gladly. Geralt?"

"Yes..."

"I told you that I was raised by the sea. I can steer a boat..."

"Forget it."

"Why?"

"Forget it," he repeated firmly.

"You could tell me more politely."

"I could, but you would think... ah, devil only knows why. I'm nothing but an insensitive witcher. I risk my life, no-one else's."

Essi clenched her teeth and gave her head a shake. The wind ruffled the wind once more. Her face was covered for a moment by a tangle of golden locks.

"I only wanted to help."

"I know. Thank you."

"Geralt?"

"Yes..."

"What if there's some truth to the rumors concerning Agloval? You know that sirens aren't always friendly. There have been cases..."

"I can't believe that..."

"Sea witches," continued Little-Eye, deep in concentration. "Naiads, tritons, sea nymphs. Who knows what they're capable of. Sh'eenaz had a motive."

"I don't believe it," he interrupted neatly.

"You don't believe it or you don't want to believe it?"

Geralt didn't respond.

"And you try to pass yourself off as a cold professional?" she asked with a strange smile. "As someone whose purpose is driven by the sword? If you want, I'll tell you who you really are."

"I know who I really am."

"You are sensitive," she said softly, "worried to the very depths of your soul. Your stony face and your glacial voice don't fool me. Your sensitivity puts you in fear of raising your sword against an opponent who has a moral advantage over you..."

"No, Essi," he said slowly. "Don't look to me for the subject of a moving ballad: that of the internally conflicted witcher. I might like that to be the case, but it isn't. My code and my training resolve every moral dilemma. In that, I am well prepared."

"Don't say such things!" Essi burst out. "I don't understand why you try to..."

"Essi," he interrupted again, "I don't want you to imagine things about me. I'm not a knight errant."

"You aren't a cold and ruthless killer either."

"No," he answered calmly. "I'm not, contrary to what some people think. It is not my sensitivity and the quality of my character that make me more than that, but the pride, the egotism, and the arrogance of a professional convinced of his valor. Of someone instilled with the belief that the code and cold routine are superior to emotion and prevent him from committing errors, from getting lost in the Manichean maze of Good and Evil, Order and Chaos. No, Essi, the sensitivity is on your part. It's characteristic of your profession, isn't it? You think that the siren appears sympathetic, but you worry that with her pride wounded, she could attack the pearl divers in a desperate act of revenge. At first, you look for justification, extenuating circumstances... You tremble at the idea of a witcher hired by the duke to assassinate a beautiful siren, only because you have succumbed to your emotions. The witcher is deprived of such contradictions, Essi, and and of emotions. If it turns out that the siren is to blame, the witcher will not kill her, because his code forbids it. The code resolves all my dilemmas."

Little-Eye lifted her head suddenly and looked at him.

"All your dilemmas?" she asked in a whisper.

She knows about Yennefer, he thought. She knows everything. Dandelion, damned loudmouth...

They looked at one another.

What is hidden in your azure-blue eyes, Essi? Curiosity? Fascination with the 'other?' What are the other sides of your talent, Little-Eye?

"Excuse me," she said. "The question was stupid and naive. It suggested that I believe what you say. Let's go back. The wind cuts me to the marrow of my bones. Looks like the sea is rising."

"I see. You know, Essi, it's interesting..."

"What's interesting?"

"I could have sworn that the rocks where Agloval met the siren were larger and closer to the shore. I don't see them anymore."

"The tide is rising," Essi said. "The water will reach the cliff soon."

"It will rise up the cliff?"

"Yes. The water rises and falls here by more than ten cubits, because the inlet and the estuary are influenced by tidal echoes. That's what the sailors call the phenomenon."

Geralt looked toward the cape and the Dragon's Teeth battered by the foaming waves.

"Essi," he asked, "when does the tide start to recede?"

"Why?"

"Because... That's it, I understand. Yes, you're right. The tie goes out along the line of an underwater plateau."

"The line of what?"

"A sort of plateau formed by the sea floor that emerges like a peak..."

"And the Dragon's Teeth.."

"... are located exactly on the ridge line."

"And will be accessible by wading..."

"How much time will I have?"

"I don't know." Little-Eye's face wrinkled. "You could ask the people here, but I don't think it's the best idea. Look: there are rocks between the shore and the Teeth. The whole bay is riddled with gaps and fjords. At low tide, they form ravines and basins filled with water. I don't know if..."

A splashing sound reached them from the side of the rocks that were barely still visible, and then came a loud modulated cry.

"White-haired one!" called the siren, floating gracefully on the crest of the waves and elegantly lashing the water with her tail.

"Sh'eenaz," replied Geralt, lifting his hand in greeting.

The mermaid swam up to the rocks. She held herself upright in the deep sea foam, drawing her hair back with both hands and presenting in this position all the charms of her chest. Geralt cast an eye toward Essi whose face was slightly flushed. The girl had an expression of regret and embarrassment and looked down at her own charms, forming a ridge under her dress.

"Where is my beloved?" sang Sh'eenaz, coming closer. "He should be here."

"He came, waited for three hours and then left."

"Left?" the siren trilled in surprise. "He didn't wait for me? He could not endure three lousy little hours of waiting? That's what I thought: not an ounce of self-sacrifice! What a monster! And you, what are you doing here, white-haired one? You came to take a walk with your lover? You make a lovely couple. Too bad your legs spoil the sight."

"This isn't my lover. We hardly know each other."

"Is that so?" Sh'eena said, surprised. "That's a pity. You really do make a beautiful couple. Who is she?"

"My name is Essi Daven, I am a poet," sang Little-Eye, modulating her voice in a melodious and expressive air next to which Geralt's inflections sounded like a croak. "I am pleased to meet you, Sh'eenaz."

The young siren struck her hands flat on the water, laughing loudly.

"How beautiful!" she cried. "You know our language! Really, you humans amaze me. We are not so different after all."

The witcher was no less surprised than the siren, though he could have guessed that the girl, more educated than he, would know the Old Tongue, the language of elves that sirens, sea witches, and naiads used in their melodies. He also noticed that the complexity of the melodies that were so difficult for him presented Little-Eye with no major difficulty.

"Sh'eenaz," he said. "Some things do separate us, even if blood flows through us both! Who... Who killed the pearl divers near the two stones? Tell me!"

The siren dived, disturbing the water before reappearing at the surface. Her pretty face suddenly contorted into a terrible grimace:

"Don't tempt fate!" she cried in a shrill voice. "Don't go near the Steps! Not you! Don't enter into conflict with them! Not you!"

"What? Why not us?"

"Not you!" repeated the siren, falling back against the waves.

Water rose up from the splash. They saw her tail once more, her narrow fin spread to strike against the surface of the waves. The siren disappeared into the depths.

Little-Eye smoothed her wind-blown hair. She remained motionless, lost in thought.

"I didn't know," said Geralt, clearing his throat, "that you knew the Old Tongue so well, Essi."

"You couldn't know," she replied with bitterness in her voice. "You hardly know me, isn't that right?"

VI

"Geralt..." Dandelion said, looking around and sniffing the air like a hunting dog. "What is that stench, do you smell it?"

"No, not really..." said the witcher, sniffing. "I've been to smellier places. It's only the smell of the sea."

The bard turned his head to spit between the rocks. The water foamed and churned in the gaps between the stones, revealing sandy ravines washed by the waves.