Elizabeth Gilbert – The Realm of Glass: Chapter 14, Leap of Faith
"Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark. If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be... a prudent insurance policy."
Ciri could barely see through her tears, she could barely breathe through them. She was a mess, streaks running down her face and her eyes red and puffy. But she didn't care, it was a trivial thing.
She was still pressed against Geralt's chest, even after she knew that her mother was gone. It didn't feel safe to back away. Neither of them said anything for a long while. Whispers whirled around her but she paid them no heed. She didn't want to think about what had just happened, she wanted it to be nothing but a bad memory or even a dream. She didn't want it to be… Real.
She had been haunted by thoughts and nightmares about how her Mother fared in the 'afterlife', but her imagination could never have conjured up an image so vile. She'd witnessed it, and yet it was still somehow beyond her comprehension. Ciri remembered the last time she and Geralt had been together on this hill.
She sobbed. "Geralt…I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I said, before. I'm sorry I-"
"It's okay Ciri."
She felt her skin begin to tingle as a wave of magic brushed past her. Ciri carefully moved her head to take a peek at the outside world. Philippa had moved closer to the tree and was putting out the fire, her face completely deadpan, and Iskierka was using his wings to blow away the ash, twigs and dead flowers. When the flames had finally been quelled, Ciri felt a pang of sorrow.
The tree was completely ruined. It was barren; nothing graced its branches and the bark was scorched and blackened. Withered and burnt violet blossoms and leaves, twigs and ash littered the ground. Her mother's resting place reeked of death. Tears welled in her eyes again.
Ciri pulled away from Geralt and went over to the solitary gravestone. She knelt beside it and wiped away the dirt and cinders with her hands, tears splashing onto it. She didn't register the hand on her shoulder but caught a glimpse of auburn hair out of the corner of her eye. Wiping tears from her cheeks, Triss held out her hands and muttered a spell. Beads of sweat rolled down her brow as the air thickened. When she'd finished, the Sorceress placed the conjured violet beside the gravestone. Then, she pulled Ciri into her arms and they sobbed some more – together.
They weren't the only ones. On top of that hill around the shrine was a mass of grim faces. Several people were being carried back to the house after they'd fainted or wretched up everything in their stomachs. Geralt was standing by the grave, his eyes closed; Lambert and Dandelion were unusually silent; Eskel was looking at the ground; the Duchess was as white as a sheet, clutching Syanna tightly; Zoltan and Hjalmar had their hands over their mouths; Istredd was shaking, hands clenched into fists and Regis looked… angry.
When Ciri looked up, Philippa was still by the tree, expressionless. She saw her hands trace the pattern of blood now staining the bark, then it came to rest on the small hole where the nail had been. When she withdrew it, the gap had vanished. Philippa seemed to hesitate.
She took a small step back and held her arms out to her sides. She spoke an incantation. Green mist started to flow from her hands and rose up into the air, moving in swirls around the dead tree. The withered branches shed their blackened bark like a snake, a new layer taking their place. Buds appeared over its limbs, opening up into splendid leaves and blossoms.
The overpowering scent of lilac and gooseberries settled in the air around them. Yennefer's tree was reborn.
Philippa placed a hand against the trunk. Sweat glistened over her bare arms and face; she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Ciri saw blood trickling down her nose and Philippa turned her back. Stiffly, Ciri got up from her knees and walked over. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to Philippa, who accepted it.
"Thank you," said Ciri. The Enchantress inclined her head, holding the cloth to her nose. She wasn't looking at Ciri but at the patch of blood on the ground where Yennefer had collapsed. Her hands were shaking.
Ciri felt a gentle prod in the small of her back and turned around. The dragon pressed its head against her stomach and Ciri took it in her arms, running her hands over his smooth scales. Iskierka seemed to be whimpering slightly. "Such pain…" he murmured in her head.
"It will be okay. Mother's strong, she shan't be broken." Because she never has been before, she thought. No matter how many times Yennefer's blood had been spilled and her fingers broken for the sake of another - Yennefer never gave in. Even if Ciri had at times wished she would.
He could see it all in his mind's eye; he'd captured it like a picture book. Geralt kept watching it over and over. He could still hear her cries ringing in his ears. He could still smell her fresh blood. He could still see her burnt flesh…He could still read his crime on her skin. Geralt couldn't bring himself to turn away from her. All he wanted to do was think about her strength, to see her as the others did. But he couldn't, his eyes were too well trained and his mind knew better…For the first time in his life, he hated how he saw through her…
"Geralt, come back to us friend."
He felt a pair of sharp, bony hands holding his shoulders in a vice-like grip. The slight pain niggling at him was distracting and intensifying in severity. The images in his mind were becoming disjointed and blurred as Regis talked to him without pause. Gradually, the terrifying reality manifested into a memory. He opened his eyes.
His pupils adjusted to the midday light. Regis was looking at him, closely. "You need to concentrate, Geralt," he said sternly. The vampire's eyes were cold and there was no hint of joviality or optimism in his voice. Geralt had never seen this side of him before. "This is only the beginning. Don't let O'Dimm win, Yennefer didn't and she's counting on you - remember that."
The Witcher titled his head back and took a deep breath. His life had fallen apart without Yennefer and yet, he was the one still here. His soul and body one, and his friends and family beside him. So what excuse did he have? He'd fallen apart and in doing so, O'Dimm had won.
Witchers were solitary creatures. They weren't made to lead armies or to inspire the masses. Witchers were professionals bred for one thing – killing monsters. That was what Geralt believed until he'd met Yennefer, until he transformed into something so much more than just that. She'd helped make a man out of the monster destiny had told him to be.
Amidst everything that had happened, he'd forgotten about that person. At first, he didn't care; he had watched as it slipped away and he became a shell of what he used to be. But now, that wasn't good enough for him… Because it wasn't good enough for Yennefer. That man she helped him realise he could be – that was who she needed.
"Thank you," he said, looking back at his friend. Regis didn't say anything - another peculiarity - but nodded.
When his shoulders had been released, Geralt stepped away from the multitude. He gazed at the newly blossomed tree. He wanted to take it as a sign; that whenever the tree was in blossom, Yennefer's soul was within his reach. That the woman he knew was still there, that she was not yet completely lost. He wasn't religious and didn't believe in such things, but for once – he wanted to.
He pulled out a chain from beneath his shirt and armour. His fingers brushed the soft wedding band, feeling its inscription. "Yen did not yield to O'Dimm, so neither will we." His voice echoed, compelling the crowd to silence. People stopped at once; mages, monarchs, warriors and friends listened attentively. Slowly, he turned around, the warm silver ring still in his fingers. "For two years she has suffered unimaginable pain and torment without the mercy of death, and yet, she still fights. She fights for us, for our sanity. O'Dimm might have her soul but he cannot control her spirit. Yen did not beg for it to stop, she did not grovel and submit. She fought back, she was strong – for us."
The way she'd smiled at him, moments like those were treasures beyond quantification. Sincerity; that was the beauty of each and every smile that Yennefer gifted him and somehow, just then, he'd seen it again. The way she'd looked at him, the smile filling her eyes with unspoken words and promises...Geralt feared he would never see it again. He had condemned her soul, but her love had never wavered as he thought it would, as part of him had hoped it would. His undeserving soul had been lucky - his Yen was still in there.
"Yen fought when she had nothing to gain and everything to lose. She tormented the man who causes her suffering because she wanted to prove that he won't win. She won't let fear control her, and neither will we." Several heads in the crowd were nodding as he spoke. People were rolling their shoulders and Geralt was having to raise his volume as armour and weapons clanked together. He tried not to pay them too much attention - he just focused on the ring. "I know I'm asking a lot of you - to risk your life for one person when we can't even tell you what is coming. But this is about more than just Yen; this is about good and evil. We've been given a chance to take down the closest thing I've seen to a god. O'Dimm is all powerful and we are his puppets. I don't know how many lives he has ruined, but it ends now."
He paused as there was a roar of the crowd. Gauntlets and chest plates, weapons and shields smashed together. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ciri smiling. He didn't know why, but she looked happier than she had in two years. "We're not just fighting for Yen, but because of her. She proves that Master Mirror is not perfect and all seeing; he brought her to this tree to break her and to break us but she didn't yield. He was wrong and because of that, he bled like no immortal can. It won't be easy, but this is a chance we need to take. So, anyone willing, get to your positions."
"To arms!"
The crowd scattered, dispersing across the estate and shouting as they went. Even though the Mages were walking calmly towards their stations, Geralt heard his medallion hum. Eskel and Lambert held back and said goodbye to Ciri and Geralt and promising that Corvo Bianco was in good hands. When Lambert chased after Keira, Eskel didn't follow. He approached Triss and they embraced, sharing a few hushed words.
The Witcher felt something tugging at his shirt. He looked around as Ciri's arms wrapped around his neck. "I've missed you, Geralt; it's good to have you back."
Geralt waited with Ciri atop the hill for a while. From there, they could see their plan being set in motion. Archers climbed to the top of their rickety towers, shielding their eyes from the sun. The Magicians activated their wards and prepared their spells, Dorregaray, Keira, Rita and Fringilla joining the soldiers in their towers. Hjalmar and his warriors were fanned out around the estate with a Troll making up their ranks. Mercenaries guarded the gate and Toussaint's knights stood by the house. Lambert and Eskel kept their eyes on the horizon, honing their senses and leading their men. Regis and Shani ensured that their tables and tools were clean and their medical supplies on hand. The dragon perched on top of the house, ready to lay down its life. Nenneke, Anna and Syanna watched over Yennefer's body closely.
When all was in place, Ciri and Geralt joined the other proxies - Dandelion, Istredd, Philippa and Triss - as they descended towards the house. The two other Mirrors were still there. Mistress Mirror was eating a chunk of cheese and bread, one arm folded under the other as she leant against the wall while her brother watched the men and women fall into place.
"Why didn't you stop him?" Istredd demanded, getting right up in Master Mirror's face.
The merchant gave him a sympathetic, patronizing smile. "Because we couldn't, and that's all you need to know. I doubt your small human mind would be able to comprehend even the simplest of our laws, poor thing."
"Now that our brother and your mage have finished making fools of themselves," said Un Wake, brushing her hands together, "are you ready, Geralt of Rivia, for this once-in-a-lifetime chance?"
These past four weeks had felt like a dream, one he didn't want to end even while he longed to see how it finished. What happened if he woke up screaming? He wasn't sure he'd have the strength to get up if she was not there beside him. He sighed. There would be no going back now; what was done, was done.
Fate had given him this chance. All that remained was for him to make the most of it.
Geralt took another look at the estate, and he nodded. "Let's get this over with."
Four weeks and two years had passed since the death of Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg, the Mistress of Corvo Bianco, the legendary raven-haired Sorceress from the North, the Mother of Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon and the lover of Geralt of Rivia. She died at the hands of a mysterious entity known as Gaunter O'Dimm, the Man of Glass or Master Mirror. Little was known about this figure, who he was, what he was and where he had come from, save only his demonic nature and his craft; harvesting the souls of all the unfortunate mortals with whom he had struck a binding deal. It was such a deal that brought about the demise of Lady Yennefer when the devil incarnate came for the Witcher's soul and left with hers willingly offered in her beloved's place. Where her soul was residing, no one knew; all that was certain was the eternity of suffering that awaited her. Then, even that truth was cast under the spotlight.
1279 Velen, in Corvo Bianco, the estate owned by Master Geralt and his late fiancé Lady Yennefer, a force gathered from all corners of the world. Their purpose, to rescue a kidnapped and tormented soul from the clutches of hell itself and to oppose Gaunter O'Dimm, the embodiment of evil.
Fortifications had been built around the estate and a wooden barricade enclosed it. The wine cellars were transformed into an infirmary for the victims of the battle and quarters for the weary. The new houses were cleared of their owners who left wishes of good luck and fortune in their stead. Mages, archers, swordsmen, cut-throats, knights, Witchers, royalty, and Priestesses stood united against the upcoming battle. Their purpose – to protect the travellers at all cost. Wards were erected around the master bedroom, guarding the sleeping Princess within as her rescuers embarked on a journey to rescue her. Six people laid down their mortal vessels and held out their souls.
With a final kiss of farewell, Sir Geralt of Rivia lied down on the floor beside his beloved. He closed his eyes. He did not know how far his soul would travel to save her.
Lao Tzu: Chapter 15, Crossing the Void
"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."
Hello, thank you for reading the chapter, hope you enjoyed it. At last, the time has come… Next chapter we will have our first glance at the Realm of Glass, O'Dimm's home. Better be ready because next week is when things start to get serious. Finally, the good part everyone was waiting for! xD
Just a warning about my schedule. I can't 100% guarantee that over Easter I'll be able to post every week because I have a lot of coursework I need to do and which I can't start until the break because we haven't covered the relevant content. I will try, but the problem with coursework is that it completely destroys your will to write anything…
Thank you to my two amazing betas DaisyofGalaxy and DabblesinCrayon. Thank you for reading my fic, and if you would be kind enough to like, share, and/or comment that would be greatly appreciated.