The day had nearly settled to dusk. Andryk had interrogated every villager he could, and the information he had managed to collect thus far was meager. But from what he could tell, there was no monster. It was becoming more and more likely that the disappearances were the result of some curse. Just his luck—Andryk knew fuck all about curses and how to reverse them. Best to consult that old dob Codren later.

While waiting for the mage to return, Andryk wandered back to his horse and began rummaging through his bags. Perhaps there was help to be found in one of the notebooks the grandmaster had written about various forms of magic. Undevar had been quite insistent that he take them before heading out; he'd looked Andryk dead in the eye as he pressed them into the young witcher's hands, saying, "Don't argue. Just take them."

Rummaging through the yellowed pages, Andryk skimmed boredly over the words. Magic was absolutely dull. And these words—"Conjunction of Spheres," "Chaos"—what did they even mean?

Andryk shut the book. He became instantly aware of an approaching presence and looked up to see a tiny figure slowly hobbling towards him. It was that tiny rat of a dog that he'd encountered earlier, no doubt here for another morsel. Andryk felt a tinge of annoyance, but it was quickly washed away when he saw the dog's scraggly tail wagging as best it could. The witcher crouched down and offered an extended hand as the dog drew near. Immediately, she rested her chin in Andryk's hand and let out a content huff of air, her tail still swinging.

"Ye gettin' along fine? Gotta place fer the night?" The summer nights were usually warm, but Andryk couldn't help but wonder how that sparse, patchy coat held up against the cool air. The dog stared back with her wide brown eyes. Her dry nose blew warm air onto the witcher's bare palm. She was a sweet thing, but she was hideous. Her skin sunk into her thin, angular frame. There was a bulbous wart on her maw right next to her nostril. A long stretch of dry, scaly skin on her neck was covered in clusters of dried blood, no doubt the result of incessant scratching.

Andryk rubbed her chin. The dog's eyes became hooded and content. "That's it. Who's a bonnie lil'lass?" he murmured to her. He straightened up to retrieve the small, smoked body of some sort of game fowl he'd hunted a few days ago. When the bird was set in front of the dog, she dropped down onto the ground and held it down with a paw while she delicately pulled away strips of flesh. Andryk returned to his rations bag. It was starting to grow empty. He generally didn't like the idea of using up precious crowns on food, but now he was willing if it meant the little one wouldn't have to go without.

"Have you any new information?" Andryk nearly jumped out of his skin at Codren's sudden inquiry. How the old codger managed to evade even his witcher senses was beyond him. The dog lifted her head at the mage's sudden appearance, a string of meat hanging from her mouth. With a roll of her tongue, she pulled the meat in. She sprung up and, with the bird carcass tightly in her jaws, retreated into the darkness.

Whirling around, Andryk confronted Codren. "Quit slinkin' around like some soft-footed fox! Yer fixin' te send this lad te an early grave like that!"

"Nonsense, I'm sure you heard me coming from a mile away," the mage replied nonchalantly, scratching the edge of his eyebrow with a finger. "Well, Andryk? The night is well upon us. Untie your horse and we can discuss our findings in my tower."

Andryk looked over the cottage rooftops and spotted the slanting tower in the distance, a grimace on his face. It was amazing how the tower seemed to perfectly resemble the stature of is owner. He didn't exactly cherish the idea of going into that rickety-looking thing, especially since the mage's tower was likely to be filled with magic… things. But Codren was already heading towards it, oblivious to the witcher's discomfort. Grudgingly, Andryk followed with his horse's reins in his hand.

For a while, neither spoke. Silence was not something Andryk liked to be acquainted with. And besides, he was curious as to why this continental was in Skellige. "What's a soft-hide like ye doin' on the isles anyway?" he asked.

"Soft-hide? That's a new one," Codren mumbled. "I can't imagine what welcome Niyette and Theila received here."

"Theila?" Andryk repeated the familiar name. "Ye know her?"

"Well of course! I was there when the first traces of her gift began to show as a young child. She was a brilliant student, absolutely brilliant. And when it was her turn, she became a mentor as phenomenal as her own mistress. The academy was sad to see her go when she made the decision to…" The old mage droned on and on, and Andryk yawned. He humored himself by making a mental note that if he ever found himself with a bit of insomnia, he could very well call upon Codren and prompt one of his dull anecdotes.

He returned to present day just as Codren's voice became somber and quiet. "Then there was that controversy with the witcher school," he murmured, as if talking to himself.

"What was that?" Andryk prompted.

"Oh, no, nothing," the mage dismissed. "Just a batch of sour rumors. Theila became very involved with Skellige and chose to remain on the isles, which, of course, baffled us all. The place was dreadful—oh," Codren said quickly. "I didn't mean to say… well, different. Different is what I meant to say. What a silly slip of the tongue."

Andryk let out a grunt, but said nothing else.

"I heard word that she began working closely with a witcher in Ard Skellig. Nothing too unusual, of course. Still, I cannot help but wonder. The last letter she sent me was quite peculiar. In it, she told me that she had important matters with the grandmaster of your Bear guild."

I knew she was the grandmaster's hen, Andryk thought.

"Ah, here we are!" Codren said as they drew closer to the tower. It looked much, much worse up close. It was like every piece of stone and wood was on the verge of falling apart, meekly held together by invisible strings. Andryk looked around as Codren busied himself with unlocking the wooden door with a simple key. "Pretty lax security," he noted. "Ye not worried someone might be curious te see how much coin a sorcerer's got?"

The lock clicked as Codren turned the key. "Certainly not. We've passed through about a dozen protective spells, all rather lethal. I wouldn't quite recommend approaching this tower without my invitation, good witcher." Codren pushed the door open and stepped in.

Andryk hesitated outside. "Where do I tie up the horse?" he asked.

"Do you expect it to wander?"

"It's a horse."

"Just bring it in with you," the mage said with a wave of his hand, and then disappeared entirely into the tower. Andryk frowned at the absurdity. He followed Codren in, his horse just barely able to fit through the door. "Yer not squeamish 'bout a little mud tracked in?"

"It'll take but a second to clean up." Right. Magic.

Andryk's bright eyes flitted around as he took in his outlandish surroundings. On the left, next to a messy bookcase, was a round table. It was just large enough to hold a tea set. The teapot whined and its spout spewed steam like a kettle, and a spoon swirled round in a teacup on its own. Beside the table, an entire wall and corner of the room was covered in grass and shrubbery as though a small plot of forest had been stuffed into the tower. Tree branches even grew from the walls. Turning his head, Andryk looked towards the source of a faint dripping noise. A series of glass flasks and interconnecting tubes—some sort of bizarre alchemy instrument—held colored liquids. Drip by drip, the liquids passed through the tubes, sometimes defying gravity by going up through loops. Each time they passed a loop, the drops changed color.

Blinking, Andryk tore his eyes away from the instrument and looked down to see a tortoiseshell cat staring up at him. The cat regarded him with indifferent eyes for another second, and then casually slipped between his legs and disappeared into the foliage in the corner.

Opening his mouth, Andryk blurted out, "What the hell is wrong with this place?"

"My thoughts exactly whenever I leave the tower and head out into that dreary world outside," Codren's voice replied, faint. The mage was nowhere to be seen. However, his voice seemed to come from the top of a flight of carpeted stairs. "Make yourself at home, witcher. I shall be right down with you once I find this blasted thing."

Still holding onto the reins of his horse, Andryk cautiously made his way to the small, round table with the tea set. He inspected the cup for a moment, and then gave the stirring spoon a curious poke. Immediately, the spoon flew up, throwing out droplets of tea, and whapped him across the knuckles. Andryk let out a stifled cry as he quickly withdrew his hand and glared at the spoon, which had resumed its stirring. "What the fuck?" He looked over at the horse. It had started grazing at the grass. Yanking the reins up, Andryk scolded, "Don't eat that! It's not right!"

He heard the scuffling of feet, and then Codren's voice. "Oh no, that's perfectly natural," the mage assured as he appeared with a tattered brown book. Andryk heard him mutter something incoherent, and then Codren tapped the little table with the end of his staff. The table quickly stretched out into a rectangle, leaving plenty of space for the book that was set down. Andryk stared at the table with a disapproving frown. He badly wanted to run out of the tower and return to a world where things made sense.

"I recall that you asked me why I had come to Skellige," Codren began. Andryk watched as Codren opened the book and began flipping through its worn pages. "I deliberately avoided that question while we were still in the village. I couldn't answer in front of the villagers—too many ears, and many of them untrustworthy, I suspect."

"Ye think there's somethin' rotten about them?"

"The reason I've come here," Codren explained, "is because I've been tracking a string of cases. Care to hazard a guess about what I've discovered?"

Andryk shrugged. "How te creep out strangers with yer weird, hocus-pocus shite?"

"Weird? I see you've a disdain for efficiency, dear witcher," Codren replied. "Now, pay attention. I believe I am hot on the trail of the practicing of dark rituals."

"Evil worshipping?"

"That's what I suspect. A cult—followers of the baleful deity Svalblod."

Andryk scoffed. "If I were a god with a name that bleedin' stupid, I'd go bad too."

Codren had learned to ignore Andryk's snide remarks. He stopped at a page with an intricate symbol drawn on it—Svalblod's mark. "The worshipping of this deity is strictly forbidden," Codren explained. "Their practices include heinous sacrifices, brutal even by Skelligan standards. When the king passed the decree that banned the worship of Svalblod, all members of the cult were captured and persecuted. Supposedly."

So the mage suspected an ancient cult. That could explain the disappearances—victims being snatched up for ritualistic sacrifices. But how exactly did black magic tie in? "What kind o'rituals are we talkin' about?"

"I'm not sure. I've never seen any solid evidence of this cult, much less their rituals."

"Ye fuckin' with me? Ye been chasin' a fairytale all this way?"

"I think I've finally got it this time. My talk with the woman today confirmed it." At this point, Andryk was fully intent on leaving. This codger was wasting his time. "She told me people disappeared infrequently, but enough times for people to start noticing a pattern. And whenever someone vanished, a horrible smell would linger in the air for several days. It might have to do with—where are you going?" Andryk had grabbed his horse and was headed for the door.

"I've sat in this madbox long enough. Sittin' here and gettin' an earful o'yer ramblin' isn't doin' shite."

"Bloody Skelligans," he heard the mage mutter angrily. "Got about as much patience as brain matter." Shouting to Andryk, he said, "At least leave your horse here as you investigate! It's not safe out there for animals!"

Andryk slowed, and then stopped in his tracks as he thought of the stray dog. "Meanin' what?"

"Animals disappear first," Codren said. "Then, if there are none left, people."

Andryk turned back to the mage, a demand for an explanation on his tongue. But he quickly changed his mind. He left his horse behind as he raced out of the tower and back into the village. Night had settled a thick stillness over the quiet houses. In the tall grass, the trilling of nocturnal insects floated through the air. Andryk veered off the path and searched any narrow alleyway or dark corner he could find, trying to find the small, bony shape. He never did.

Instead, he found the small, crushed remains of a bird carcass. Andryk crouched down to inspect it. Something large—a man's foot—had stepped on it. The witcher's eyes swept over the ground next to the bits of bone. Deep lines in the dirt implied that a four-legged creature had been dragged, but struggled. As Andryk followed the messy tracks, he spotted dark dots staining the ground. Human blood. The little lass fought back with her teeth. But what followed the blood were more footprints. Her abductors hauled her up and carried her in a way where she wouldn't be able to resist.

But the men had left a clear trail for the witcher to follow. It led him to one of the homes. Approaching slowly, Andryk surveyed the house. It looked completely ordinary—nothing about it stuck out and nothing implied any funny business. Earlier that day, when he had been asking around, no one had answered in this house.

Andryk crept up to the door and tilted an ear towards it. He thought the heard the faint murmur of voices, but they were far too muffled to be coming from within the house. As he reached forward to try the door, a sharp, repulsive smell hit him. The witcher turned away as though he had been struck, letting out a rattled breathe of air as he tried to relief himself from the awful stench.

A horrible smell… just as Codren had described. Andryk recomposed himself and, fighting the urge to vomit, breathed the stink in to find its source. It had none. It was as if the smell had covered the entire village like a thick fog. But the footprints had led here.

Andryk turned the knob and found the door locked. No problem. With a little convincing, the defeated door swung open. Andryk stepped over the wooden splinters and glanced around inside the house, one hand gripping the sword hilt over his shoulder. It was dark and empty. The distant whispering was still there, though there was not a soul in sight.

Then, a louder voice. "What are you doing here?"

The witcher flinched and drew his sword in a single, swift movement. "Stop it!" he hissed at the mage that had appeared in the doorway. "Why don't ye stay in that kooky lil'tower o'yers and stop followin' me!"

"I detected the stench. It's just as that woman told me." It was hard thing to miss. "Now what are you doing? This is trespassing!"

"They're here. I know it," Andryk insisted, looking around. "I'm hearin' voices from somewhere."

"Perhaps from the depths of your own mind?" Codren quietly suggested in a snarky voice. "I hear nothing but the crickets outside."

"That's 'cause ye've got ears as dull as that walkin' stick," Andryk grumbled back as he walked over to a wooden desk in the corner of the room. His eyes traced the scrape marks that ran over the wood. He grabbed the edge of the desk and dragged it away from the corner with a harsh yank. Nearly invisible seams ran through the wood planks, outlining the edges of a trapdoor. Andryk crouched down and found the groove with which to open the door. As soon as the trapdoor opened a crack, he received a blow to the face of concentrated stench. Dropping the door back, the witcher rested his arm on his knee and turned his head to the side.

"What's wrong?" Codren asked, hurrying over.

Andryk gave a firm shake of his head. "It's like the king o'mucky knickers lives down there."

"I suppose it's times like these when having a keen nose poses a disadvantage," Codren mused. "Andryk, we are at the cusp of discovering the existence of an ancient cult! Hurry up and open the door!"

"When did this turn into some kind o'archeological trip fer ye?" Andryk let out a sharp huff to steel his resolve, and then flung the trapdoor open. He heard the voices become louder, though their words were still muddled. "Whatever's down there isn't gonna be too glad te see us," he warned Codren. "Best te keep behind me and watch yerself." With the sword gripped tightly, the dropped down into the dark space. He heard the mage drop down behind him and began quietly creeping down the tunnel. It only took a few steps for the voices to become clearer. Andryk realized why he hadn't been able to understand them—they'd been chanting in some strange tongue.

"What're they sayin'?" Andryk whispered to Codren. They were near enough for the mage to hear the voices.

Codren paused to listen to the strange chanting. "Unto him we deliver flesh," the mage translated. After another moment of listening, he continued, "To devour, to twist."

"Lovely," Andryk mumbled as he began to move forward again. The tunnel finally yawned wide into an empty cavern. Torches along the wall did little to lift the darkness and sent long shadows flickering on the floor and walls. As Andryk peeked around the mouth of the tunnel, he spotted a large relief carved into the wall. It was the same symbol that Codren had shown from his book.

"Looks like it was yer mad worshippers after all," the witcher muttered over his shoulder. He tiptoed into the chamber and realized that it wasn't as empty as he had thought. Underneath the deity symbol was a stone alter that was about as long as a human body. And that was exactly what lay on top of it. Well, what used to be one. Andryk walked up to the alter to examine the corpse. It was horribly disfigured, literally twisted in the most gut-wrenching ways as described in the chanting. The body's chin and lower lip were stretched down and fused with the skin on the chest so that the lower teeth were exposed. The top of the skull had swollen immensely so that the eyes bulged from the head. One of the eyes had been squeezed out from the socket and dangled by a cord above the ear. One of the arms had bloated into rotting bags of flesh, and extra, underdeveloped fingers sprouted from the puffy wrist. The corpse's original fingers had elongated with knobby joints. The fingernails had grown into black, curved talons. Andryk glanced over the rest of the body. No inch had been spared from the abhorrent disfigurations.

"Andryk," he heard Codren hiss. The witcher glanced over at him. The mage indicated towards something. He directed his eyes towards that something and spotted several figures in the dark end of the cave: a handful of men and women standing silently as they watched him. He then realized that the chanting had stopped.

"Cozy lil'place ye got here," Andryk greeted as he flexed his fingers over the sword hilt. "I'm actually into freaky, radge shite me-self. How do I join?"

The cultists said nothing. Andryk heard a faint rumbling coming from beside him. As he turned his head, that rumbling quickly escalated into a guttural wail. An engorged arm flew up and swiped a deep cut along the side of his face. The witcher let out a startled cry and leapt backward, sword raised. The mutilated sacrifice pushed itself upright and emerged from the altar. He heard the similar dragging of flesh and spotted movement around the edges of the cavern. Other sacrifices, discarded around the chamber, began to rise. The cultists began to grow aggravated.

"Heads up," Andryk warned to Codren, his eyes trained on the shambling flesh. It stumbled towards him. Andryk sidestepped, his blade lagging behind to drag across the sacrifice's flesh. Deep purple, tubular intestines spilled out and curled on the floor.

"Deal with those fiendish things, Andryk. I'll handle the cult members," was Codren's reply.

"Oh sure. That's fair," Andryk mumbled sarcastically to himself as his eyes darted quickly around the cavern to get a count on the sacrifices. There were four others slowly converging onto him. The one beside him quickly whirled around and swung its claws. Andryk strafed back from its reach, but couldn't avoid the splatter of blood that gushed from the sacrifice's gaping wound.

With the back of his hand, Andryk brushed the dark blood from his lips and beard. When the wounded sacrifice came at him again, the witcher charged forward himself and slammed into the creature. As it stumbled back, Andryk brought the broadsword up. The blade entered from underneath the armpit, cut upwards diagonally across the chest, and came free at the opposite shoulder. The slanted torso and lower body fell apart and hit the ground at the same time.

Andryk heard another sacrifice coming up behind him. He hauled his sword up in an upward arc, turned, and brought it down. The sword found contact with the sacrifice's bulbous shoulder, the weight and momentum lodging the blade all the way down to its belly. Under the force of the blow, the sacrifice was forced down onto its crooked knees. It let out a haunting groan.

He made quick work of the other mutants. Finally, the last one collapsed at the witcher's feet, the top half of its head hitting the ground with a sickening splat. Andryk, breathing heavily, looked to Codren. The cult members were dead—some had charred black skin; others were nothing but piles of ash. The mage himself was at the far end of the cave, at the foot of a large bear statue. It was the first time Andryk had noticed the statue, now that he didn't have hostile piles of nightmarish flesh to pay attention to.

"Andryk," he heard the mage say, his voice solemn. "There's another one here."

He hurried to the bear statue. At its base, Andryk spotted a small figure lying there. He already knew what it was before he got there. Stopping in front of the small figure, Andryk returned his sword to its sheath and crouched down. He heard the weak, ragged breaths and watched the body rise up and down rapidly. Reaching out, Andryk gently stroked the clumpy fur. "It'll be okay, lil'lass," he assured quietly. To Codren, he asked, "Is there anything ye can do?"

"The curse's mutations are mild, and fairly new," Codren diagnosed. "Let's take it back to my tower, and then I'll see what I can do."

Gently, Andryk lifted her up and carried her out. As they returned to the mouth of the tunnel, Andryk turned back to the cavern and spat on the ground in the direction of Svalblod's symbol. "Piece o'shite," he said bitterly.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Codren asked.

"What's he goin' te do? Give me a name that sounds as dumb as his?"

Codren had managed to reverse some, but not all, of the dark god's mutations. What was left did not seem to hinder the dog at all. As Andryk dragged the boat onto shore, the other two witchers watched as the dog sat contently, her tongue dangling out of her mouth. One side of her face had swollen, causing one eye to bulb out. That eye was completely black. On the other side of her face, a few of the teeth on the upper side of her jaw had elongated, poking out from beneath her lips. Her coat, now much more healthy, contained bald patches where the skin bubbled up in scaly boils. From the back of one of her hind legs, a tiny, underdeveloped fifth limb poked out.

When the boat was completely out of the water, Andryk patted his thigh and gave a shrill whistle. "Come on, Aegis. Out ye get." The dog rose and hopped out onto the sand. Her bare, rat-like tail wagged happily as Andryk gave her uneven head a ruffle. "Good lass! That's a good dog!"

"That's not a dog," Oslan mumbled to Kozin. "That's nature playing a prank." Kozin smirked.

"Oi, shut yer arse!" Andryk snapped. "Ye got no idea what the poor thing's gone through!"

"All right, simmer down," Oslan said. "Sorry. It was just a little… shocking to see."

When they walked beyond the stony walls of the school, Aegis received a similar reception from the rest of the witchers. Many, upon first seeing the dog, had thought she was a nekker. Even Undevar looked down at her with raised eyebrows, the first words out of his mouth being, "What's wrong with it?"

It didn't matter, though. Andryk knew her story. There was nothing wrong with her. In fact, she looked much better than when he'd first seen her. She was healthier. Happier. That's what mattered.

That night, when the rest of the guild had quieted down, Andryk sat on the sill of a large, open window. A tankard was in his hand. Aegis hopped up onto the sill beside him. He offered her the tankard, to which she gave a curious sniff and lied down. She rested her chin on his lap, her eyes drooping when the witcher massaged her head. Hanging down from the sill, her naked tail wagged.

Addendum: If you were eating during this chapter... I'm not sorry.