John Marsden - Tomorrow, When the War Began: Chapter 26, Darkness Descending
"Some people wake up drowsy. Some people wake up energized. I wake up dead."
Thin columns of lightly perfumed smoke drifted lazily towards the ceiling from the dozen candles which filled the room with a pleasing orange hue that defended the mind against the depressing lack of sunlight or colour. The room held an unmistakable air of mystery and intrigue, for every detail lent itself to the wonderfully bizarre; from the boxes of dried rose petals to the pickled remains of presently unrecognisable living things. Shadows pranced on the anachronistic stone walls and wooden pillars that made up the perimeter of Corvo Bianco's unofficial subterraneous laboratory.
Much of Regis' time in the past few days had been dedicated to that little room of Yennefer's, for with little else to do around the estate that could distract their anxious minds and restless hands, to medicine making and study had some of the physicians and priestesses turned. They were uncomfortable, you see, for never before had they participated in war upon a silent stage where there would enter at any time an unknown number of undetermined players whose parts could not be determined for in no script were these characters contained. A disturbing serenity had settled upon Corvo Bianco and its presence had rendered many of the great minds congregated there paranoid and agitated, for it seemed to them that if the enemy was biding his time, then he must perceive that the tides of war will act in his favour.
In preparation for what was coming, though that was an uncertainty as deeply troubling and as an unanswerable as when it may come, Regis found that his apprehension was quelled and thus he found himself within the laboratory, pouring over ancient Witcher tomes and with a mortar and pestle in hand. He suspected that it was what drew the others there too, but it was hard to say with certainty because people feared that to speak of the disturbing serenity would be to tear it asunder and release upon them O'Dimm's boundless wrath.
Tonight, however, for a strange hour it was in which tomorrow had come under the darkness of yesterday's evening, when Regis again found himself in search of something to do, there was only Shani to keep him company. He'd come to know the woman well and regarded her as a fine medic and a rare friend, for all the hours they had spent conversing in Yennefer's laboratory. Into another tale they dove that night that is tomorrow's morning, and Regis listened attentively to the details she shared as she spoke at length about Geralt's last encounter with Master Mirror.
"After that," Shani continued," we went to speak with Professor Premethine Shakeslock, the man Olgierd hired to learn more about O'Dimm in the hopes of breaking the pact. That was how Geralt learnt that he could challenge him by betting his soul on a game of wits, but that was all the information we got from him. A bookcase toppled while they were talking, Geralt caught it but the Professor slipped on a bottle and fell out of the protective circle; he died in an instant. I guess O'Dimm doesn't take kindly to having the air of mystery and possibility that encircles him disturbed."
"It's rather ironic, don't you think? That O'Dimm desires to know all he can about the lives and minds of the mortals he entangles in his plot, but about him, we can fill less than a page for any more after that he would burn."
Shani nodded in agreement. When her tale had come to an end upon the moon of Lilvani's temple, Regis encouraged her to seek rest for wearier than most she looked. He walked with her to one of the houses that the worker's usually occupied and promised to spin for her his own tale when next they worked in the laboratory. Regis then proceeded to wander the grounds just outside the sturdy walls of Corvo Bianco for the movement of his feet helped in concentration, giving him a sense that his thoughts were leading to something.
He'd glimpsed little information from Shani's recollection, and yet all that she had told him was of substantial size when compared to what he had learned from his other sources over the past two years of his search. To the many libraries of men, elves, vampires and ancient times he had been in search of tomes and scrolls that would reveal to him some specifics of Mater Mirror's character and corporal makeup. Within all the literature dedicated to the study of life and history that he had deliberated over, however, he found no mention of a person bearing any resemblance to the elusive merchant of souls and wishes.
At a loss as to where else he might turn in his pursuit for this dangerous knowledge, he found himself delving rather bleakly into the work of poets, authors, bards and playwrights, and to the stories shared by word of mouth among his literate brethren. To his everlasting surprise, there he found what he sought, and he supposed quite rightly that O'Dimm's person was so outlandish and ineffable that only in fiction could it be recorded. The tales spoke in hesitant passing of a simple, travelling merchant who sold not the wares he held but offered instead a great service for which a King would give his throne. Drawn by the pursuit of boundless happiness and untold fortune, those that crossed the merchant's path would strike with him a deal that told of unfathomable possibility who's end forever remained unchanged; misfortune lay behind each path one might take after an encounter with O'Dimm.
It frustrated Regis perhaps more than was reasonable to know almost nothing besides the name of the enemy with whom they had entered into this deadly game. He prided himself on knowing a great deal about the history and science of the world and was thus unused to the sensation of uncertainty and unpredictability that he had encountered when first the name and deeds of Gaunter O'Dimm had been uttered to him in frightful whispers. There were no means available to him to predict the outcome that might likely arise when the darkness fell upon them and thus no specific scenarios for which they could guard against. Unknown odds, he found, were far more terrifying than knowing that to set foot upon the fields of war was to step a foot into his grave, so to speak. Regis had already been reduced to a smattering of conscious organic matter twice in his longevity and the experience was one that he desired to avoid re-experiencing at almost any cost.
As he walked under the gated archway and onto the grounds of the main house, he spied a young woman dressed in the colours of the night searching the grounds. It appeared that Syanna had found that which she sought, for when she noticed him she briskly walked towards him.
"Regis, it's Dandelion. He's awake."
The main house was in a state of waking when he pushed upon the front door and took the steps upstairs two at a time, the cooks already up and beginning the preparations for breakfast. On the landing, he saw the Duchess, dressed in expertly tailored travelling clothes of black and gold thread, standing outside the door to the main bedroom. She was talking quietly with a silver plated gentleman he recognised to be Damien, her captain of the Ducal guard. Briefly, he overheard the knight informing her Grace that all was well in Beauclair and that no matters which required her attention had yet arisen before they fell to silence as he climbed the last step.
The Duchess smiled sadly at him as he came to the door and placed a gentle hand on his wrist when he wrapped his fingers around the handle. "I must warn you, Regis, that I have seen Dandelion with my own eyes and he is...far from himself," she said.
Regis nodded his understanding and opened the door, the ward erected around the Master bedroom letting him through.
All the proxies were there, lying on the floor around the bed upon which Yennefer's preserved body was laid out. Rita and a few of the guards, mostly Toussaint knights, were scattered about along with one of Nenneke's priestesses. They were all staring out at the balcony. The Sorceress, who'd been standing at the foot of the bed with her arm wrapped around her and a hand over her mouth, looked over her shoulder at Regis when he entered. Heavy blue eyes that looked so odd set upon her youthful and genial face, turned from him to the balcony and back again. Passing the others, who stood as watchful statues over the bodies of the dead but not gone, he stepped through the glass doors.
Dandelion was cowering in the corner, pressed tightly against the stone, perhaps hoping to melt into it in the heat of the coming morning that soon would begin to creep softly over Corvo Bianco's green and purple tinted fields. His shoulders shook under the burden of the unimaginable horrors that he must have seen in his crossing, and he hugged his knees and pressed his forehead against his arms, now draped with sodden sloth. He did not stir when Regis lowered himself carefully to the floor beside him, nor when he called the Bard's name and spoke of his presence there beside him.
With the patience of a seed that knows that great worth lies in waiting to plant its roots when the sun is bright and the soil rich and moist, Regis waited still and silently on the balcony beside his friend. He watched the grounds begin to bustle with life when the rays of the sun peaked over the edge of the world and painted the sky and its clouds with Dawn's orange hue. Food was being carried out to the tents and a new rotation of guards were taking to their posts, full with an early breakfast to start off the morning. Regis enjoyed watching the comings and goings of civilization; observation was as key to understanding the lives of humanoids as was integration and the knowledge of their culture and behaviours was something that had fascinated him. He's always regarded himself as somewhat of an anthropologist and he'd helped other vampires understand their human, elf and dwarf neighbours.
Regis was recollecting some of those instances when Dandelion lifted up his head and stared blankly with bloodshot eyes into the distance. He watched the Bard out of the corner of his eye, waiting and studying each detail of his face and countenance. For all the great many experiences he had enjoyed and suffered upon this world and his distant own, none, Regis guessed, could give him even the slightest inclination into what Dandelion was going through. He thought it best, then, to watch closely and listen well.
"Four days," he said croakily after another half hour. "They say its been four days since...since we began the journey. Is that true?"
"It is," Regis replied.
Dandelion closed his eyes and pressed the sides of his steepled hands against his nose, thumbs hooking under his chin upon which many tears glistened. It was troubling for Regis to see Dandelion so at a loss for words, for typically hyper-verbal was he. In their travels he had found that with himself Dandelion could easily converse, for often did the Bard think aloud and processes the events of his life where others could hear him. Unusual it was, then, to see behind his eyes deep thought that did not fill the silence around them.
Reaching to his left, Regis produced an enchanted silver pitcher of icy water and poured for Dandelion a half-filled goblet from which he could drink without fear that his shaking hands might spill the water. Without courtesy - the lack of which would have annoyed Regis under different circumstances - Dandelion took the goblet and eyed it curiously. He took several slow and hesitant sips, choking not once but twice, before all the water was drained and into an empty cup he stared with his pitiful reflection looking back in return.
"Years, it feels like I was there for years, centuries, and yet days I can count on one hand have passed." Dandelion turned his head and for the first time met Regis' gaze. Dull were his eyes, the youthful spirit that was usually held there worn away if not all together choked by the weight of his experience. "What does that mean, Regis, for Yennefer? Look at me! If in four days I have lived another lifetime, what time has she spent with - him."
Dandelion's lips quivered as the mere thought of the author of all this chaos stirred in him an inhuman fear and terrifying awe that Regis could see plain as the sun upon his face. His body shook and shuddered under heavy sobs that threw Dandelion's heart and breath into an erratic dance. Regis wrapped his arms around his friend as the man buried his head in the front of his shirt and continued to cry.
"Regis, please," he stuttered, pulling back and taking a hard grip on Regis' shoulders, "tell me this wasn't for nothing. Tell me there will be enough left of Yennefer to bring her back."
Carefully, he pried Dandelion's hands free and held them in his own. He smiled kindly at him, presenting a gentle expression that was the culmination of years experience delivering news that he knew a patient would not want to hear but which had to, for their sake, be said.
"I can't, Dandelion," Regis admitted, "I can only promise that we'll do whatever we can to put her, and you, back together again."
Shani led Dandelion into the spare bedroom long after the remnants of breakfast had been cleared away, where he would remain for a further two days, speaking only to Regis, Shani and Nenneke and only sparingly. The guards around the main house were doubled in the wake of people's curiosity and desire to speak with one who had made the crossing as news of Dandelion's waking spread in hushed words and fearful rumours. People wanted to know what he had seen when walking the great lands of O'Dimm's daemonic Kingdom; to hear the tales from a world beyond life and death; and to known the true form of the eldritch Master who soon would plunge the realm of mortal men into iniquitous and unnatural darkness.
Regis too had a considerable longing to learn of Dandelion's experience, but he saw that the man was broken and could not bring himself to ask a single question about the man whom he so desperately wished to know more about. The knowledge that he would gain could not be worth fracturing further the mind of his friend for it might possibly already be beyond what even time could repair; Yennefer would likely be the same. Increasingly, Regis was beginning to think that in spite of whether her soul was returned, victory was assuredly O'Dimm's for misery seemed to be the outcome of every turn of fate.
The remainder of the day was spent by Regis upon the grounds of the estate as he made himself available to the curiosity of their forces, for Dandelion could not. Well practised was his speech when the light began to recede, for time and time again were the same questions spoken. Only with the Witchers, Eskel and Lambert, and with Nenneke did he have a thorough talk, speaking about O'Dimm and the coming conflict in light of the implications of Dandelion's state and the little that he had said to him and Shani. Many trials and tribulations would the proxies have to survive before they could but glimpse the magnificence of the black throne and they were not alone in their suffering, for O'Dimm too walked his grounds. Never might blood be spilt on the sun-baked soils of Corvo Bianco as long time would it be before Geralt and the others posed the slightest threat to the security of the Realm of Glass. Their spirits were low when the meeting was adjourned.
After their discussion, Regis made his way to the underground laboratory where he could hide for the night, working in relative secret for all his hours were sleepless and to no one but the Witchers did he entrust his secret. While he made the short walk, he heard a commotion coming from behind the stone walls, two raised voices heavy with a Skellige accent. A pair of dice, fairly won in Gwent claimed one voice, had gone missing. Accusations and profanities were being hurled around and more voices were adding to the ruckus with each passing second. Before he could see the scene with his own eyes, he heard the argument break-out into a fight and arrived to see punches and kicks been doled out and received by a number of burly warriors before Keira threw the men apart with a spell and started screaming curses of her own.
Regis watched for an instant before turning on his heels and returning to his previous destination. He reckoned that this incident with the dice must have been the seventh or eighth brawl there'd been in Corvo Bianco since the proxies went on their way. The number of disagreements and altercations was rising exponentially and increasingly the outcome was a series of bruises, broken bones and empty beds as people deserted the cause. Tensions were high and paranoia was running strife as the peace preluded a coming storm and presented no opportunity for relieving action. There was something in the air, Regis felt it, that was making everyone volatile. This was more than just nerves and fear; his birds hadn't sighted a single vampire within a three-mile radius of the estate because perhaps they sensed what he did. Something in the world was amiss.
After their meeting, when Nenneke had left to tend to Dandelion, Regis has shared his suspicions with the Witchers knowing that in their wisdom and with what they knew his of true form, they would not dismiss his claims. He was right, and together they agreed to keep an eye on things in the probably vain hope that this was a mystery that they could solve. There was something afoot in Corvo Bianco, for you see, on more than one occasion, Regis could have sworn he saw the shadows move.
Thomas Paine - The American Crisis: Chapter 27, The Vault and the Scribe
"These are the times that try men's souls."
Hope you enjoyed the update, sorry its a bit shorter than usual. How was your first look back at Corvo Bianco? There will be more chapters there but its more of a side plot, the proxies are the main event - don't worry.
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