3/23-New cover is yo boy Kozin. Yup yup.
The sky was supposed to be cloudy, grim—maybe with a little rain and the groan of thunder in the horizon. The world was supposed to reflect the somber tones of the day. Just like in the tales of heroes charging forth into their doom or prisoners being led to the man with the large ax, the heavens were supposed to weep for the tragedy to come.
Today was going to be sunny. Warm, even. This year the Skelligan chill had, for some reason, receded early to make way for the sun. Aside from the lazy wisps that hung in the pale pink, the sky was spotless. The sun was only just beginning to rise, but today was going to be sunny.
Kozin made sure it wasn't going to be easy for anyone, even another witcher, to follow him. A witcher knew how to make himself invisible to even the land he walked on. He traveled by foot, leaving his horse behind in the safety of the seaside village. He must've crossed a couple of miles inland by now. When could he stop? When was if safe enough to?
Aside from a tiny village, Kozin had seen no other sign of civilization. That'd been over an hour ago. He'd gone through what looked to be a tiny campsite—an abandoned bandit camp, if he had to guess. But the site was picked clean, and he doubt anyone was around for miles. Not that he was worried. He wasn't trying to escape from anything. Not that he could.
Not when evil was following him.
Gaunter had only let Kozin see him when he wanted to be seen, but the witcher always felt his presence. Perhaps it had been paranoia, or perhaps instinct. There had always been something just barely there—a thing out of the corner of the eye or against the back of the neck. Kozin felt as though he was being stalked by a predator that always lurked just beyond the mirror's edge.
That feeling never left him all morning. It didn't matter that his heightened senses told him that nothing was there but the awakening world. He was being watched.
Kozin wasn't scared. Fear had churned itself into exhaustion within him in the past few days. Remaining was an aftertaste of dread—he was worried. Kozin was ready to charge headfirst into whatever Gaunter had in store for him, but a part of him knew he wasn't going to get what he'd asked for. And what about Andryk? If Kozin failed, his brother would never return. Neither would he.
Why? Why the fuck, Addie? He wondered that for the millionth time. He could curse and blame Andryk all he wanted, but just like all the other times, nothing would ever come of it.
A small hill emerged in the distance. Kozin squinted as he peered at it. The rising sun gleamed from behind the hill like a brilliant crown. For some reason, that hill seemed like refuge. Perhaps it was the high terrain that appealed to him—the protection from stalkers. The witcher spurred himself into a light jog towards the hill. His gait didn't slow when he met the slope. His shadow stretched downwards behind him as he climbed to the top.
Small boulders dotted the top of the hill. Kozin looked at the landscape around him as he sat down on one of the rocks. Trees dotted the ground in patches. Beyond, in the far horizon, rose mountains. Even distance did little to stifle their towering forms. Snow streaked their jagged slopes, covering the dark rock underneath. Kozin breathed deeply, letting the cool morning air relax him. Perhaps he ought to be grateful that the day had chosen to be so tranquil.
Once again, Kozin lowered his eyes to scan around the base of the hill. He was still alone.
The witcher lifted a leg and crossed his ankle over his knee. He leaned his forearms on his bent leg, the black pipe already in one hand. He filled it with dark-colored tobacco and lit it with Igni. He breathed in his first pull and immediately began to feel a bit more relaxed.
What, Kozin wondered, had driven Andryk into such desperation that he had made a deal with Gaunter? Even the red-haired witcher should have had enough sense to know better. Kozin recalled Andryk's demeanor during the past winter. No doubt that had something to do with it.
There was evidence—Andryk's strange attitude towards the late Pirate Queen, and the battle he had allegedly participated in. Kozin figured he had a theory, but there was no way of knowing for sure except to hear it from Andryk's own mouth.
Kozin let out a heavy breath. Smoke puffed out in front of his face and drifted away in the lazy breeze. He tapped the point of his pipe against the corner of his mouth—a habit he did when he wasn't quite ready for another drag. The blue of the sky was starting to grow more intense. He wondered why nothing was happening. Gaunter obviously knew where he was and that he was waiting. Before, he had needed the wait to enjoy the quiet and still his heart. Now, it was growing unbearable.
Kozin took another sharp breath. It made his shoulders rise, and he expelled it slowly through the slit between his lips. Then he pushed the pipe between his teeth and took a deep drag of the heavily fragranced smoke.
He began to wonder whether he should have told Theila what he had done. Then again, what would that achieve? She'd fuss, scold him for his foolishness. And he didn't need that. No, this was something he needed to deal with on his own. He couldn't afford the risk of leaning on someone else.
Another puff of smoke crowded the air in front of his face, obscuring his vision. As it was carried away, Kozin saw that he wasn't alone. The first thing he spotted was the Bear medallion still around Gaunter's neck.
"What's with the grim look, dear witcher?" By contrast, Gaunter's tone and look was positively glowing. "You remind me of a man awaiting his death."
"You're late," was the growled response.
"Then you must be raring to go."
Kozin slowly dumped his pipe over the cool dirt, though his eyes were trained on Gaunter. The morning air suddenly felt a little too cold. Gaunter sprang to his feet and, reflexively, so did Kozin. He realized his hand was hovering in front of his midsection, fingers flexed and ready to grab the hilt over his shoulder. The witcher quickly lowered his hand, but the detail was not lost on Gaunter.
"Jumpy, aren't we?"
Kozin scowled at Gaunter's mocking eyes. "Just get on with it." Gaunter placed his hands behind his back and casually began strolling around Kozin. The witcher's eyes never left him. Then, suddenly the trickster passed by a door that appeared out of thin air. Gaunter stopped by the door and swiveled around to face Kozin. He raised a hand to beckon towards the door.
"Come, Kozin. I have some place special in mind where we can partake in our little game. I've chosen it especially for you." The doorknob turned on its own accord. The hinges creaked as the door opened a crack, too narrow for Kozin to see past.
All there was beyond the narrow sliver was darkness. The back of Kozin's neck prickled. But he couldn't hesitate. He wouldn't show any sign of weakness, or give Gaunter any fuel to feed his smug fire. He pushed himself forward, crossing the distance between himself and the door in a few speedy, sure steps. Kozin ignored Gaunter as he passed him and shoved the door open to step through.
The moment his boot touched the soft ground beyond, a brilliant flash blinded him. His ears were filled with the crackling roar of thunder. Kozin flinched and shielded his eyes. He felt the sharp pecks of heavy rain on his skin. Squinting, Kozin lowered his arm.
A storm raged above him. The howling wind whipped rain into his face. Nearby, a large rectangular banner billowed and slapped weightily against the pole it was affixed to.
There was writing on the banner. Kozin slopped over the mud to inspect, but stopped when he saw something else.
Before him were five tall tombstones lined side-by-side. Kozin realized he was in a small graveyard. The wet stones held no words, but at the top of each was a mirror. The relief of a banner was carved above the mirror, and below were four silver, plaque-like rectangles. Each tombstone was identical.
A deep, burning sensation bubbled in the pit of Kozin's stomach. What kind of sick game had Gaunter prepared for him?
"Comfortable, Kozin? Ready to play?"
Kozin whirled around to find the source of Gaunter's voice. No one accompanied him in the graveyard.
"Looking for me? Indeed, in order to win you'll need to find where I hide. But I'm afraid it's not going to be that simple, my friend. Look down at these lovely headstones before you." Kozin obeyed. "Here stand the graves of fived deceased—all well known to you, as you will soon find out. Each of these sad souls has brought to the grave a name and four dark secrets.
"Failure. Each of these primitive beings have dreadfully disappointed in their time. Fear. They all have something that creeps along the back of their minds during the darkest of nights. Memory. Something they wish they could tear from their minds in order to find peace. And finally, death. I'll admit, Kozin, that this one is by far my favorite. Let's have a peek into the future, shall we? Some of the things you will learn about have not yet come to pass. Why restrict ourselves to the then and now, after all?"
The banner next to him reared up in the wind. Kozin's eyes snapped to it as it flapped back down. "The banner you see there tells you 15 clues you'll need to discover the grisly truth to each of the dearly departed," Gaunter continued. "Find out who lies where and, finally, find under whose grave I hide under: the one who dies a fool's death. Once you think you know, start digging."
Something whistled past, and Kozin jumped back as a shovel stuck deep into the soggy ground.
"A word of caution, dear witcher. Should you drive the spade of that shovel into the wrong grave, there will be hell to pay. It is, after all, disrespectful to disturb the dead." Thunder crashed overhead. "Oh, and don't keep me waiting. You have twenty minutes."
Frantically, Kozin gave the tombstones one last, desperate sweep before turning his attention the banner. He grabbed one of its corners and pulled it down to read the words sewed onto its surface. 15 clues were laid out before him in a list.
1) Your grandmaster rots beneath the first grave.
2) The one who fears being degraded lies to the left of the one who remembers being left behind by a daughter.
3) The grave of the one who turned his back on his brothers is to the left of the one who let the boy die.
4) The one who fears degradation is buried next to the one who will lose their head to the ax.
5) Theila will die when hatred for Vintrica flares up
6) The one who will fall with the monster resides by the one who fears losing the guild.
7) Oslan turned his back on his brothers.
8) The one who fears being struck by the abusive hand remembers the face of man looking into the eyes of his murderer.
9) The resident of the center grave shall remember watching the woman in his arms fade away.
10) Undevar lies next to the one who wasn't able to save her.
11) Andryk remembers the billowing blouse on that warm night.
12) The one who fears the inevitable death not theirs will die in foreign lands.
13) The one who bent to the allure of power fears losing the guild
14) The one who let the boy die remembers burying his brother and lies next to the one who inadvertently killed Bear.
15) Kozin fears being the last of his brothers.
Undevar, Theila, Oslan, Andryk, and himself. Those were whom Gaunter allotted these graves for. Kozin gritted his teeth as his eyes raced over the words, dark truths laid so ungraciously bare. Lightning flashed. Kozin pushed the soaked banner away as he turned to face the headstones once more. He quickly reminded himself that he precious little time to solve the puzzle.
Kozin looked back at the banner, once again reading the first clue. Your grandmaster rots beneath the first grave. Looking at the leftmost headstone, Kozin said aloud, "The first one is Undevar's." Immediately, the grandmaster's name appeared on the headstone, etched in the banner at the top. Kozin exhaled heavily through his nose as he looked down at the plot in front of the stone. Undevar wasn't down there. He wasn't. It was just Gaunter trying to get to him. Kozin gave a rough shake of his head to rattle the disturbing thought out of his mind. His eyes returned to the banner. That clue had been the simplest. The others were hell of a lot more cryptic.
Scanning down the list, Kozin stopped at the ninth clue. The resident of the center grave shall remember watching the woman in his arms fade away. "That's the memory for the one in the center." One of the rectangular plaques on the center headstone became filled with the words of the clue.
There was one last obvious clue. Undevar lies next to the one who wasn't able to save her. A failure. It appeared on the second headstone.
What next? Kozin had been able to pin three clues down, but the rest were proving to be a challenge. All of them said someone was lying next to another, but whom? Where? Kozin read the list again and again, trying to find any kind of solution tucked away in the words. Growing panic was clouding his mind.
"Stuck, Kozin?" Gaunter's voice mocked. "I assure you, this puzzle can be solved. I have seen to that. Your stupidity, however, was something I did not account for."
Wildly, Kozin reached out and gripped the shovel with cold, shaking fingers.
"Careful, witcher. Are you sure that's wise? You're nowhere close to narrowing down your choices, and I don't think you can afford to guess. But what am I saying?" His laugh grated Kozin's ears. "I care not! Guess away!"
Kozin released the shovel handle, squeezing his frozen hands into fists against his abdomen. How much time had passed already? Kozin looked back to the banner.
This was a test of logic, he told himself. He just needed to think, that was all. Kozin started at the top of the list and reread the clues at a slower pace. His eyes fell onto the third—the grave of the one who turned his back on his brothers is to the left of the one who let the boy die. That clue named the failures of two different people. "The one who turned his back" couldn't be in the first grave, couldn't be Undevar. The grave to his left already had a failure named. That left either the third or fourth headstone.
Another clue eliminated the uncertainty. The one who let the boy die remembers burying his brother and lies next to the one who inadvertently killed Bear. The failure and the memory for "the one who let the boy die" were named, as well as the failure of the one next to him. The center grave's memory was already known, so "the one who killed Bear" was in the last grave. That meant "the one who turned his back" was in the third grave. "The one who let the boy die" was to the left, in the fourth grave. The fourth grave's memory was also now known. The clues found their places on the plaques. Kozin breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of them.
"Don't celebrate just yet," Gaunter told him. "You're not done."
Another look over the list told Kozin that things were slowly starting to match up. The one in the center grave turned his back on his brothers. The fifth clue read Oslan turned his back on his brothers. The blond witcher's name appeared in the arched stone banner. The failures of four out of the five graves were known. Kozin knew who to match the final one with.
The one who bent to the allure of power fears losing the guild. Undevar's failure and fear appeared on his headstone.
Kozin paused to reread the plaques under his grandmaster's name. Bent to the allure of power? What did that mean? The black-haired witcher quickly dismissed the question. He had more work to do.
The next step was in the sixth clue. The one who will fall with the monster resides by the one who fears losing the guild. That death was associated with the second grave. It was the first death he matched.
It wasn't Undevar or Oslan's predicted death. Kozin stared, his mind brimmed with worry at the unwelcomed truth. Was it his? Andryk's? It was the kind of end expected for a witcher, but the prospect still didn't sit well with Kozin. And then there was Theila. Her death was already identified in a clue. When hatred for Vintrica flares up. Kozin felt as though he ought to keep that detail in mind. Maybe there was something he could do about it.
That was the worst part of this game—learning about the deaths. Kozin wasn't sure he wanted to be saddled with those secrets. Had Gaunter simply made them up? Surely he didn't know.
"Are you sure you have the time to deliberate?"
Gaunter's voice snapped Kozin out of his thoughts. The witcher scowled. "These secrets—you're lying about them, aren't you? Just to get to me?"
"Only time will tell," Gaunter replied. "Although, with the progress you're making, perhaps I should change the deaths of two certain individuals to 'lost a game with Gaunter O'Dimm,' hmm?"
"How much time do I have left?" Kozin demanded. There was no reply. With an enraged shout, Kozin swung his arm and struck the shovel handle. It jerked and fell into the mud. Breathing heavily, Kozin turned back to the banner.
The second clue read The one who fears being degraded lies to the left of the one who remembers being left behind by a daughter. A fear and a memory. The memories of the third and fourth grave were already known, leaving the fear to the second grave and the memory to the first.
Again, Kozin hesitated. A daughter? Undevar had a daughter? How? "What does that mean?" Kozin pleaded to no one in particular.
"I doubt you'll have the chance to find out," Gaunter taunted.
"Shut up!" Kozin snapped. His shoulders sagged with an invisible weight. It wasn't the challenge of the puzzle that was getting to him. It was what the banner and the graves were telling him. Every bit of progress he made was like a stab to the gut. He didn't want to know.
This was what Gaunter had intended. He was trying to discourage Kozin from solving the puzzle. Too paragon, he had called the witcher. Too weak to accept the ugly truth.
Well, he was wrong. He was wrong, and that was how Kozin would beat the bastard.
12 of the plaques and banners were completed. Undevar's grave was mostly filled—only his death remained a mystery. Oslan's grave had two secrets missing. The identities of the other three were still unknown.
The one who fears being struck by the abusive hand remembers the face of a man looking into the eyes of his murderer. It was the fear and memory of the same person. Only the memories of the second and fifth grave were unknown. However, the fear of the second grave gleamed from its plaque. Two plaques on the fifth grave filled themselves.
Whoever was in the second grave recalled a man they murdered. Kozin thought back to what a certain deceased witcher had told him. He had a sinking feeling he knew whose name belonged on that grave, though he refused to accept the truth until it was confirmed.
There was only one unmatched memory left, and one headstone it could belong to. Andryk remembers the billowing blouse on that warm night. The final plaque on Andryk's grave became embossed with words. His headstone was complete. Movement caught Kozin's attention. Something rippled across the mirror. It no longer reflected the dark, muddy graveyard. Instead, a blurry scene played behind it as though it had become a window.
Kozin could hear a voice, muddled and unclear. His vision wavered and his mind suddenly became hazy. He raised a hand and pressed his fingertips gingerly against his temple. What was happening to him? The voice was starting to become clearer. By contrast, his head was getting more and more bleary. Kozin squinted his eyes. His hand dropped and he stumbled—
—And was storming forward, his feet booming angrily against the floor. He was in a house, marching down a short hallway. Fury bubbled through him. The voice that Kozin had heard was his own.
"Where are you?" he shouted. "Where are you hiding?"
The voice was his own. They were coming from his mouth. It was his feet carrying him through the house, and his arm throwing the nearest door open. But who was he looking for? Gaunter, wasn't it? That fucker was hiding somewhere—hiding somewhere in this goddamn house! Once Kozin found him, he'd…
There! Someone was crouching behind a crate in the corner. Kozin stormed over, ready. But it wasn't O'Dimm. It was a small boy.
Who? The boy's messy hair was a brilliant red. He couldn't have been more than five or six—too young for the Trials. Too young for Kozin to recognize at first.
The boy looked up at him. Fear, desperation, fury, they were all there on his small face. Kozin wanted to hesitate, but a foreign force suddenly took over his body. He felt himself reach forward and snatch the boy tightly by the arm, hauling him up to his feet.
"Finally got you, you little rat!" Kozin heard himself snarl. "Didn't you hear me? I said to get out! Out!"
"Da, stop!" the boy pleaded, stumbling behind as Kozin dragged him through the house. "Da, it's raining outside!" The child resisted as much as he could, struggling to break away from the grip that no doubt hurt him. Try as he might, he couldn't outmatch Kozin's strength.
"So what?" They reached the front door. Kozin shoved it open. Rain pattered heavily down over the grass. "You stay out, you worthless leech, and don't you dare come back before you're allowed!" He shoved the boy out into the downpour and slammed the door shut before Andryk had a chance to turn around.
Suddenly, the hazy feeling and wavering vision struck him again. The sound of the rain just outside the door became loud, and Kozin felt it pounding over him. He blinked and shook his head, his wet hair sticking to his cheeks. He was back in the graveyard. The boy and the house were gone.
"What was that?" Kozin demanded. He was answered by a loud crash and the tinkle of glass as the mirror on Andryk's grave shattered. Splintered fragments fell into the mud. Only the words etched into the stone remained.
Andryk.
The one who wasn't able to save her.
The one who fears degradation.
The one who remembers the billowing blouse on that warm night.
The one who will fall with the monster.
"Very good, Kozin," Gaunter remarked, like a schoolteacher praising a child. "You'd be glad to hear that you're exceeding my expectations. But they weren't very high to begin with."
"What does the last one mean?" Kozin asked, his eyes still focused on the plaques. "What monster? When?"
"Time is ticking," Gaunter reminded him.
For the life of me
I cannot remember
What made us think we were wise
And we'd never compromise
For the life of me
I cannot believe we'd ever die
For these sins
"The Freshmen"—The Verve Pipe