[UPDATED - rewritten and new plot content added]
James Anderson, The Never-Open Desert Diner: Chapter 2, The Deal
"In all those stories about people who sold their souls to the devil, I never quite understood why the devil was the bad guy, or why it was okay to screw him out of his soul. They got what they wanted: fame, money, love, whatever-though usually it turned out not to be what they really wanted or expected. Was that the devil's fault? I never thought so. Like John Wayne said, "Life's tough. It's even tougher when you're stupid."
The two faces looking at him from the stilled boughs of Yennefer's tree were unfamiliar to Geralt and yet, he knew beyond any doubt who - or rather what - they were. It was the eyes that gave them away. The only feature they had that wasn't oddly unexceptional or easily forgettable. What made them stand out, Geralt couldn't rightly say, but the memory of them was cold and sharp; impossible to handle without getting cut. It was O'Dimm's eyes that haunted his dreams, and now he saw them from Yennefer's tree. What the hell were they doing here?!
The man and the woman smiled at him with a knowing look as he drew his conclusions. They were dressed is well-made but practical clothes that set them apart from both peasants and the nobility. The man wore a deep red tunic that hung loosely off his shoulders, clinging to his body only where a belt pulled it close, pouches and bottles hanging from it. His trousers were a rich brown and his hair a shade lighter, cut short much like Lambert's. The woman was dressed in a navy dress, a popular colour among some of Toussaint's smaller communities (such as the one he's recently taken a contract from), with a bag slung across her chest. Dark brown hair touched her covered shoulders. They carried themselves with an air of pride and confidence that wouldn't have been out of place among a cohort of Magicians parading at a banquet as they dropped down from the tree and approached the two mourners.
"Though your guess rings true, Master Geralt, please do allow us to formally introduce ourselves," said the man. He sounded as familiar as his face looked, meaning that there was something in the way he spoke that bought forth a surfeit of painful memories that took the Witcher back to happier yesteryears. "I am Bodas O'Gurye, also known to some as the Man of Crystal." O'Gurye took a deep and elaborate bow, one hand upon his chest as he bent forwards, the other held out extended at his side.
"And I," said the woman to his right, "am Dika Un Wake, otherwise called the Woman of Silver." Just as the man before her had, Un Wake bowed upon introducing herself and stood with her hands behind her back while the tree cast shadows across her face. She was smiling pleasantly at Geralt, or so it would seem at first glance. Should one look for longer and peer more carefully at her face, they would catch what the Witcher saw immediately. Her smile did not reach her eyes, not even a little bit. They were utterly cold. "You may call me," she continued after a slight pause in which neither he nor Ciri said a word, "Mistress Mirror if you'd prefer. I believe you are familiar with our family name."
Geralt knew he must be dreaming. There couldn't be more of...him, and it was even less likely that they would want to help. Besides, a couple of months after Thanedd, between the nightmares, he'd had dreams in which Yennefer was still with him. He'd find a solution within one of the dusty tomes he'd been pouring over for the last few days, a way to bring her home. Joy would flutter within his chest and then, he'd wake up, as he would now. O'Dimm was trying to play him for a fool. Baiting him. He wanted to see how desperate he was, to know if he'd jump upon even the weakest glimmers of hope if they presented themselves to him. It was damned infuriating because Geralt was giving him exactly what he wanted.
As they stood under Yennefer's tree, their feet upon her ashes, Geralt would listen to what they had to say. He knew he'd wake up, dreams crushed, but he hadn't anything to lose - not anymore. "Explain," growled the Witcher. Master and Mistress Mirror inclined their heads courteously, unperturbed by the significance of their proclamation.
"No." Ciri's murmur, though coming quietly unbidden from her lips, split apart the silence that had briefly settled upon the hill in the absence of the wind and the humming in the tree. Geralt could hear the unshed tears in the quiver of her voice. "Don't explain. Don't say anything - just leave."
Another spell of silence. The Mirrors watched the young woman closely in a manner that resembled the unspoken words exchanged between Mages when privacy was needed but wasn't anywhere to be found. Then, O'Gurye spoke from behind his smile.
"If that is what her highnesses desires than our biding it shall be. But, we do not believe you have spoken truthfully. You do not honestly wish for your Mother to remain apart from you. To rest longer still beside our brother."
From Ciri's reaction, a distant onlooker might have guessed that some manner of profane utterance had been made at her or her family's expense. Such a response, therefore, to those beyond the context, would not have appeared as unpredictable as it did to the man standing beside her. Geralt was taken aback by the abrupt curling of her fingers and whitening of her knuckles.
"Stop it! Stop lying to us! She's dead. Dead! Let us mourn in peace! Go, and take your hope with you. We'll not fall for it" she screamed.
Ciri was standing a hairs width away from their unexpected, and unwanted, guests. Her chest was rising and falling erratically and she was baring her teeth at the Mirrors who made no reaction, continuing to beam at her with their empty smiles. Geralt wondered if they saw it too, or heard it in her voice. The sadness underlying her blaze of fury; a trait she shared with Yennefer. Though Ciri was far easier to read than the Sorceress had ever been. She was a book he'd taken years to study, the sort that was intriguing and full of dark and dangerous secrets that you knew should be left buried in the pages, but which you were drawn to like an insect to the fire which burns it. When he finally found it easier to read, the book had snapped shut on his fingers and remained sealed despite his attempts to peer again at the story it told.
"You have our word, Lady Ciri" O'Guyre's honeyed voice drew Geralt from his thoughts "that no lie has ever passed our lips. We are tradesmen, our words are our bonds and trust a key currency in our trade. While her soul rests near beside it, the bewitching Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg has not passed beyond the veil of death. She is not dead, and she is not lost. We can bring her back - we can give her life."
Ciri opened and closed her mouth. Her body was shaking and the worst of the tremors were in her hands. "Ciri," Geralt called gently. Over her shoulder she looked at him, her eyes narrowed and glistening. Having caught her attention, he gestured for her to follow and walked towards the other side of the hill, away from Yennefer's grave. There were a few seconds until Ciri's footsteps joined his. The Witcher waited from her just outside the Mirror's earshot, or outside a human's anyhow. He expected that moving away had done nothing to hinder their eavesdropping, but it was worth a try.
"You need to calm down, Ciri," said Geralt flatly. Crossing his arms, he watched her reaction closely and tried to ignore the eyes of the Mirrors upon him from beneath the tree. For a moment her eyes flickered open. Ciri appeared to search his face cautiously, her green eyes showing faint signs of confusion - or perhaps disbelief.
"What do you care how I treat them?" she asked, the casual tone of her voiced betrayed by her narrowing eyes.
"Because I don't want them to go," he admitted.
There was a time when Geralt could have said with almost complete certainty how Ciri would have reacted in a given situation. Many of the traits she didn't share with Yennefer, she had from him or from the others Witchers; Lambert, Eskel, Vesemir and Coen. But that time had long passed. Geralt was ashamed to acknowledge the distance that had come between them after Thanedd. Yennefer would have been mad at him for it, she deserved to be. He hadn't been acting as much as a mentor and Ciri had been taking better care of him than he had of her, or of himself. It was hard not to push her away. Maybe she'd end up dead too.
Geralt waited for Ciri's reaction while a number of scenarios played inside his head, more than he'd go through before a hunt. This was a situation far harder (and more dangerous) than most of the contracts he'd taken over the past few years. The silence was uncomfortable, the type that settled upon a place where no silence should be. It was painfully obvious and made him feel desperate and hopeless. He struggled for something to say while the silence drew all the words from his mind, leaving his tongue to wag noiselessly. Ciri found her voice first.
"You really believe them?"
Geralt thought for a moment. "I want to," he replied.
Ciri nodded slowly, her eyes dropping from his face. She dragged her toes through the grass, the blades bending and straightening as she thought. Geralt saw her fingering the necklace Yennefer had given her a few days before she'd died. It suited her perfectly and Ciri wore it as frequently as the Sorceress had worn her special pendant.
"I'll listen, Geralt," she said quietly, in almost a whisper "if that's what you want. But know that I do so without any hope." The Witcher inclined his head. It was understandable.
Un Wake and O'Gurye stood exactly where they'd left them, cutting their conversation short as he and Ciri rejoined them. Geralt marvelled at the strangeness of the situation, that he was preparing to talk about Yennefer's soul while at the foot of her grave. There was some dark humour in it that Lambert would doubtlessly appreciate. Geralt wasn't too certain which parts of this story were the hardest to believe. That Yennefer wasn't dead, or that there was more than one person with O'Dimm's boundless power (and probably his cruelty too). There was also the fact that he was willing to lend the Mirrors his ear considering all he knew about O'Dimm.
The Witcher looked upon their guests, studying them with equal measure. "We're listening, but speak clear and plainly - if you can. I've no time for riddles and veiled words."
They bowed deeply. "As you command," chimed Un Wake. "Let us return to the heart of the matter, from which we shall spin our tale. Yennefer is not dead. While it is true that her body, her mortal vessel, died upon Thanedd's marbled floor, the light of her soul did not fade with her final breath. As my dear brother" she gestured towards O'Gurye "said, the Lady's soul has not passed into the beyond. Where it resides we cannot describe to you both simply and precisely, the former we shall fulfil. The Realm of Glass - that is where Lady Yennefer lives on.
"It is a place of torment and eternity, a prison between the land of mortality and that which lies in the beyond. There, all of O'Dimm's acquired souls rest once they have died as you understand the term, kept from passing into the beyond which beckons all lost souls. Trapped in the Realm of Glass, between the two places most souls will only ever know, it is within our power to guide her soul back to you. To tether it again to her mortal vessel. Should that be your desire. And do not fret" said Mistress Mirror, accompanying her words with a raised palm meant to halt the sounds forming at the tip of their tongues. "The body you burned was not Yennefer's, it was not real. Her actual vessel is, and has been not long after she left with O'Dimm, within our care."
Geralt nodded, aware that Un Wake was looking at him in a manner that demanded some form of response. It was a lot to take in, not because it was complicated to understand. Rather, because it was too good to be true. Good news always took longer for his mind to process. From the little that he could remember about the Isle, Ciri had taken him and Yennefer to after Rivia, Geralt knew he'd spent his early days there worrying. Waiting for something to go wrong and, while it didn't for a long time, his dream had eventually come crashing down. He'd expected the same to happen here too, in Corvo Bianco and again it had. What swift blow would shatter his hopes now, Geralt wondered. And what would become of him when it did? Did he have any further to fall...?
Slowly the Witcher strode over to the tree upon the hill. He traced the lyrics woven into it bark with his eyes, Priscilla's song, and remembered the longing and loneliness it had evoked in him when first he heard it in Novigrad. It had made his stay there that bit more painful, knowing that she was waiting for him across the sea but that he could not rush to her side and begin accounting for their lost time. When Yennefer had moved to the south with him, Geralt had thought he'd never have to feel the misery of being without her. That, despite going their separate ways from time to time, they'd always return to each other whatever happened.
Then came O'Dimm, a whatever that he'd not taken into consideration. The whatever that could, and had, kept them apart. He pushed them too, taking Yennefer further away into the darkness as Geralt remembered less about the woman she was, seeing only the fate he'd condemned her too. The guilt and despair helped make him whole. If anything ill came of talking with the Mirrors, he'd take it. It was nothing less than he deserved.
"Yen...can we see her?" asked Geralt, placing a hand upon the tree. His medallion hummed and vibrated lightly against his chest while he traced his fingers lightly over some of the words. The Witcher knew nothing about how the tree had been made or enchanted, how it worked, but he could feel the wealth of magic within it as it worked to keep the flowers bright and in bloom and to make them heavy with the scent of lilac and gooseberries. Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt spotted O'Gurye walking up beside him.
"That depends, Master Witcher, upon whether we can come to an arrangement of sorts." Geralt sighed. There it was, he thought, an appearance of the family trade. What would they be after for this chance? For her resurrection. The impossible, no doubt. Perhaps the moon, or a scale from a two-thousand-year-old golden dragon born under a full moon. Maybe they'd want ancient books written in elvish blood from before the conjunction of spheres or the hearts of thirty virgin princesses, each cut on the eve of their 18th year. "No, nothing quite like that," said O'Gurye through his grin. "It is your service which I wish to acquire and Cirilla's too. You see, O'Dimm has wronged us both Master Witcher, and we cannot abide that. Unlikely as it might appear, we share a common desire, to watch the Man of Glass shatter.
"When he appeared to you in Thanedd and took the soul of Lady Yennefer, our brother O'Dimm broke many of the rules sacred to our family. Sanctions that we created because the laws of mother nature are nothing to us. Our power is great but it cannot be limitless, the universe needs equilibrium and so we made laws to ensure that it would be maintained while we did our trade. The rules he broke I am not a liberty to say, but this I can tell you. You earned your freedom from O'Dimm when you solved his riddle and thus he had no right to take revenge against you directly or by way of proxy. Our brother did not take your fiance's soul, he stole it. It is this lack of true ownership which will allow us to restore her...when the conditions have been met."
O'Gurye paused, letting his words hang in the still air of the lonely graveyard. Geralt was still watching the tree, its bark as familiar as the scars upon his coarse skin. Many long hours he'd spent up here. It was one of the places where he felt closest to Yennefer, the tree almost like a shrine to her, not that he was a religious man. There was no place for it in the Kaer Morhen curriculum. Geralt let his hand drop from the tree and turned to the merchant. He was afraid of the price the man would name. There was too much he was willing to bargain and O'Gurye knew he was eager to buy.
"What's your price?" the Witcher asked solemnly.
"It's more of an arrangement, actually," answered Un Wake. She was kneeling in front of Yennefer's gravestone with a number of blossoms and flowers in hand. She'd placed a dozen around the base of the stone and completed the circle as he watched her. Geralt saw Ciri eyeing her with a venomous look which eased only slightly when the woman backed away from Yennefer's stone. "Gaunter O'Dimm must be held accountable for his actions and though a hearing he shall have, the verdict is already set in stone. He'll bother no mortal until the end of time when we've processed him, we take care of our troublemakers Master Witcher, rest assured of that. However, though his punishment we can administer, neither O'Gurye or I nor any Mirror can bring him to justice. Our brother has played the rules well, hiding behind them so that we cannot size him. We are all prohibited from entering his Realm of Glass, which he where he hides, and we cannot return Yennefers soul until his hearing has passed. But we too know the rules of our trade, while you grieved we prepared, and that's where you mortals come in. We shall send you, or rather your souls, to fetch us O'Dimm. Be our proxies and you can help us bring Yennefer back.
"Before you pursue any questions, Lady Ciri, let me assure you there is no hidden price," said Mistress Mirror, a bushy eyebrow raised at the other woman and a hint of amusement playing in her otherwise dead eyes. Ciri scoffed and deepened her scowl. Geralt caught her eye and shook his head gently. He didn't want a fight. "Getting to Master Mirror will be the sole price, and a necessary step for us to return Yennefer. It will be no easy task, the perils that await in his Realm are unknown to all but the souls that reside there, your mother included. But O'Dimm chose the Witcher because he is rather capable of achieving the impossible, a trait that you too have acquired Lady Ciri. The obstacles you'll face will test you in ways you couldn't comprehend, and while we can protect and guarantee your lives, your sanity is out of our hands." As she finished talking, O'Gurye reached into one of his satchels and pulled out a glass ball. There was smoke moving inside it. He threw it to his sister who caught it with one hand and balanced it on the tips of her fingers. "Master Witcher, Zireael, do we have a deal?"
The glass ball fell to the floor as Un Wake tipped her hand forwards. It rolled towards Geralt and Ciri, stopping abruptly after a few seconds. Geralt saw cracks forming across the glass and heard it shatter, releasing a burst of light that blinded him. Someone started to scream. Blinking the stars from his eyes, Geralt looked upon the figure lying where once the ball had been. Their entire person looked to be made of glass, uncannily lifelike, with coloured smoke filling the inside. Yennefer was curled up in a tight ball with her arms wrapped around her, blood soaking the sleeves of her dress as her hands dug into the soft flesh on her shoulder. She was deathly pale, contrasting intensely with the mess of raven curls spilling across her face. Though lying at his feet, Yennefer's scream sounded distant and unending, unhalted by an intake of breath.
"Yen..." Geralt knelt beside her and reached out to take her hand. His flesh passed through her body, sending several wisps of smoke into the air. "Yen," he called again. She didn't react.
"Mother... Mother, we're here. Mother, please say something." Yennefer didn't respond to Ciri's voice or touch either. She was still alone; trapped; helpless.
Geralt looked at Ciri, and she nodded. "We agree," he said.
"Splendid," Un Wake chortled. Stooping over, she held out her hand to the Witcher. He eyed it for a second, and then they shook. Unlike before, with O'Dimm, no pain or mark that followed the agreement, but Geralt still knew that there was no going back now. "As a gesture of goodwill and a sign of our new-founded alliance, take these few seconds with Yennefer. Use them wisely." Releasing his hand Un Wake bought hers together, her clap booming in his hears.
Yennefer's screams became sharper and louder and then stopped abruptly, replaced by heavy, laboured breathing choked with tears. Her body became more solid but maintained a slightly translucent quality, as though someone had held a piece of paper up to the sun and seen the faint outline of their hand on the other side. Geralt could smell the fresh blood running down her arms and between her legs. She was shaking uncontrollably, and crying openly and plentifully. Her body emanated an unnatural cold that made his hairs stand on end. Yennefer looked as fragile as glass.
"Yen," he whispered softly. The Sorceress whimpered unexpectedly and drew her head and knees closer together, shrinking herself further. Geralt reached for her hand, holding her clammy fingers for the briefest second as she recoiled violently and moaned, clutching her stomach with one hand.
"Mother, can you hear us?" asked Ciri in a muted tone.
Yennefer didn't react at all this time, ignoring them both completely. She didn't believe they were real, Geralt knew it somehow. He needed her to look at him, perhaps then she'd understand that it was them and not O'Dimm watching over her. He made a quick grab for her wrists before turning the Sorceress onto her back and pinning her to the floor, expecting her to struggle; she didn't. Not at all, Yennefer only moaned pitifully. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot when he looked into them, wet with the tears streaming down her bruised face. The look upon her face was one he'd only ever seen within his nightmares; she was terrified.
"Yen, it's Geralt. I'm here, I'm here Yen." He let go of her wrists and raised a hand to her face, catching a tear with his fingers and bushing it away. Lightly he pressed his palm and fingers against her cheek and though she still flinched, inhaling sharply, she eased back against his touch. "I'm coming for you, I promise. I'm bringing you home."
"We both are," Ciri murmured. Yennefer's eyes snapped to her face and she gasped.
"No…" she croaked. Yennefer screwed up her eyes and pressed her lips together and her stomach muscles clenched and her body shivered. "Not safe…you can't…please..."
"I promised I wouldn't leave you Yen, we're-"
"Begone!"
Geralt felt someone grab him by the collar of his shirt and throw him backwards. Landing hard on his back, the wind knocked from his lungs, Geralt coughed and spluttered. Though his muscles protested the Witcher hurridly sprang to his feet. Yennefer cried in anguish as O'Dimm reached down and seized her hair, pulling her onto her feet. Her legs buckled almost instantly. Still holding a fistful of her raven's locks, he pulled Yennefer's arm behind her back and twisted it. Blood dripped from her dry lips as she bit down on them, swallowing another cry, but she couldn't stop her eyes from watering.
"Did you hear that my dear little soul, your fiance and daughter are coming to save you," Master Mirror hummed into her ear, twisting her head. Geralt saw her claw the back of the hand holding her head, the result of which was O'Dimm twisting her arm further, incapacitating her with the pain it caused. "Please don't make this any harder my dear, or you - Witcher." The step Geralt had taken towards Gaunter he took back, moving to where he had fallen. O'Dimm smiled at him and loosened his hold on Yennefer's arm. "We'll be sure to put on a good show for you when you arrive. Come, dear Yenna, let us practice. We must be sure to test how many different ways you can stream before the visit." Looking pointedly at Geralt, the man of Glass started stepping away, half carrying Yennefer with him and her legs wobbled and shook. She started to fade, becoming more transparent with each step.
"I love you," Geralt called after her. The Sorceress gave him a weak smile and vanished.
"Though time is something we have in abundance, I dare say you'd rather get to your beloved as soon as possible. So come, there is still much to discuss and business such as this should not be conducted in the open air," said O'Gurye and, clapping his hands in unison with his sister, the world began to move again. The two merchants started off down the hill and towards the main house.
"Wait," the Witcher shouted. "Where is she? Yen, her body."
"You needn't look very far, Master Witcher, she rests exactly where she should. In your home."
Haruki Murakami, Chapter 3: Memories
"Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who's in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It's like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven't seen in a long time."
Hey there guys, hope you enjoyed the latest chapter, sorry for all the exposition, I hope everything here makes sense.
I'm slowly beginning to weave my own ideas about the mysterious Gaunter O'Dimm, one of those ideas being that he is very much not alone in the universe. Considering all the many worlds out there, I always thought that there would be more than one Mirror, that they might each have certain, designated worlds to control and that because of this they must have some sort of order. If you have any questions about my interpretation or don't understand something feel free to ask. Also,FYI, Bodas O'Gurye is an acronym for Bóg, which is polish for God, and Dika Un Wake is an acronym for Duw, which is welsh for God.
There will be a nice bit of fluff next chapter and the next couple of chapters are all looking to be rather slow as well, but enjoy this calm pace because shit will hit the fan later on.
See you in two weeks!