"If I don't make it back from where I've gone to, know I've loved you all along."
"Then don't go."
"I have to."
"I know."
She hugs him and, for the very first time, kisses him. On the mouth. Passionately. Like in his dreams.
"You know I'm in love with Geralt?" she says breathlessly when their lips part, her all too pale face now slightly flushed.
"Yes. I know." He brushes a stray black lock from her eyes. She looks awfully tired and in pain after her imprisonment and the torture. Vulnerable, but beautiful. As beautiful as he remembers from their time on the run together. And from his many dreams. He looks into those incredible purple eyes - now filled with tears - one last time. Then he lets go of her and strides toward the door, black armour grating. On the threshold, he turns around for a brief moment. "Stay safe, Yennefer."
"You too, Cahir. And do come back. Promise."
"I'll try."
He dons his helmet, the one with the raptor wings, and disappears down the long corridor to find and save Ciri, her daughter. As destiny demands.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
There is blood, so much blood. Blood is speckling the plinth of the marble statue of the unknown goddess. Pools of blood on the steps at her feet. He lying sprawled on those steps like a sacrifice, ghastly pale, unmoving, his blood dripping down the white marble stairs. She knew there was no hope, knew he was dead, killed by the hands of Leo Bonhart, may he rot in pieces. Ciri told them as much. But seeing this is a lot worse. Tears well up in her eyes as she limps toward the body, Geralt supporting her every step of the way.
The ugly gash across his face, from temple to the corner of his mouth, is still bleeding sluggishly. The black breastplate with the awful, gaping hole in the middle is sticky with blood. She drops to her knees at his side and breathes a kiss onto his cold and clammy brow, the tears spilling freely. Then Yennefer sniffs and straightens up to make space for Geralt. There is work to do. As Geralt pushes his arms under the body of his faithful companion and starts to lift it so they can bury Cahir next to Milva and Angoulême outside the walls of Stygga Castle, Yennefer stiffens. Has she misheard or just imagined it or was there a low moan? Geralt seems to have heard it, too, as he lowers his friend down again, yellow eyes wide with surprise. Another soft moan. The black knight's eyelids flutter.
"Cahir?" Yennefer quickly kneels down next to him. His eyes blink half open for a moment.
"Yen -" He croaks, then starts to cough up blood. Fresh specks of crimson on his pale, almost bluish lips. Yennefer squeezes Cahir's far too cold hand.
"Don't talk. And don't you dare die on me, do you hear?" He has closed his eyes again, struggling for breath and moaning. "We'll get you help. You'll be okay, I promise. Just don't die," Yennefer soothes, holding Cahir's trembling hand in hers while Geralt removes the blood-speckled breastplate as quickly and carefully as possible. He cuts open the black, padded vest Cahir is wearing underneath it. It is soaked with his friend's blood. As is the black shirt. Geralt rips it apart in his haste. There is a deep stab wound in Cahir's chest, just below the sternum. Caused by a powerful upward thrust with a very sharp sword. It must have missed the knight's heart by no more than the breadth of a hair. Probably because the tip of the sword was slightly diverted from its intended path by the golden Nilfgaardian sun decorating the centre of the ruined breastplate. Geralt presses his neckerchief against the wound to stop the bleeding, but he knows there is not much they can do with Yennefer too weak from months of imprisonment and torture to perform any healing magic or to open a portal. It is a matter of mere minutes. Then he will have lost his entire Hansa here in this goddamn castle. Milva, Angoulême, Regis who he cannot even bury because his body is melted into a stone pillar. And now Cahir. He should not have brought them along. However, without his comrades he would never have made it as far as Stygga. Yennefer and Ciri are alive and Vilgefortz dead, thanks to them. Thanks to their sacrifice.
Cahir gives another low moan and coughs up more blood. A shudder courses through his body as a new line of scarlet meanders down his chin. Then he lies still. Deathly still.
"No!" Yennefer shakes Cahir by the shoulders but there is no reaction. No shallow breathing, no faint heartbeat. Geralt shakes his head, looking sadder and more tired than she has ever seen him. Beaten, although he won. At a very high price. The lives of all of his friends.
"No! You cannot die. I won't let you!" she suddenly half shouts, half sobs, furious at the cruelty of the world, of the gods, of fucking destiny. And at her own impotence. If she could only summon enough magic, but Yennefer knows she cannot. Then she turns around abruptly, remembering Ciri who is standing at the knight's feet, watching with wide eyes. "Ciri, come here. You have to help me save him. I need your magic. Quick!"
Ciri hunkers down at Yennefer's side but shakes her head. "I'm sorry, mummy, I relinquished it in the desert. I don't have any magic left."
"It doesn't matter. Put your hands on his chest, right above the heart. Please. Just do it," Yennefer pleads. "I can try to find your chaos and use it as a conduit." Ciri knows it will not make a difference. The black knight - no, Cahir - is gone. The former Princess is not sure at all how she should feel about that after everything he has done to her. He helped save her in the end, though, sacrificed his life to protect her from Bonhart, and obviously both Geralt and Yennefer care about him. In spite of everything. So, for them, she does what she is told, trying not to think too hard about the fact that she is touching the bare, bloody chest of a dead man with her hands. Of the dead black knight of Cintra ...
Yennefer closes her own hands tightly around Ciri's. Then she exhales, concentrates and murmurs a spell. Ciri can feel the tendrils of chaos prickling in the tips of her fingers, warming them, electrifying them. The prickling spreads from her fingertips through her hands. As Yennefer repeats the spell, the feeling intensifies and suddenly a blast of energy erupts from Ciri's palms almost throwing her backwards. Yennefer releases her hands to reach for Cahir's neck and feel for a pulse. There is non.
"Again!" Ciri complies and Yennefer mutters the words of the spell under her breath several times. Blood starts to trickle from her nostrils as another blast of energy erupts from their joined hands. Still, no effect.
"Yenn, stop it. Please. He is dead. And died bravely, honourably. " Geralt puts a soothing hand on her shoulder and she leans against him for a short moment, breathing deeply. "Let him go. You are only hurting yourself."
"One last time," Yennefer says with resolve, gathering all her remaining strength. One last huge effort, one last blast of electrifying magic. A blast that leaves her dizzy, panting for breath and close to fainting. Blood trickles from her eyes, gushes from her nostrils down onto Cahir's chest. Where it mixes with the blood of her friend. Only now Yennefer notices that Geralt is holding her in his strong arms so she would not collapse from magical exhaustion. Then she becomes aware of one more thing. An almost imperceptible movement under her and Ciri's joined, blood-covered hands. Quickly, she feels for a pulse. A very faint and thready throbbing against her bloodied finger tips. Gods, it worked!
Suddenly, the back-from-the-dead knight stirs and draws in a shuddering breath. And another one. He does not open his eyes or make a sound, though.
"He needs a healer. Now!" Yennefer exclaims agitatedly. They have to hurry or all her efforts will have been in vain. She cannot let that happen. "Ciri, you travel through space, don't you? Can you find Triss? Take him to her?"
"I don't know, mummy. I have never taken anybody with me, except for this once with Voleth Meir. I have no idea how that worked, though," the girl answers doubtfully. "But I can try. Will you be okay?"
"Just hurry. I'm with Geralt. We'll be alright. Go, my daughter! And get back safe!"
With Geralt's help, Ciri gathers Cahir into her lap, holds tightly onto the unconscious and unresponsive knight with blood-streaked hands and concentrates. She has not only never intentionally taken anybody with her on her travels through space before, but she has not ever tried to make the jump from a sitting position on the ground and without Kelpie. Nor has she been able to find the exact person and time she was looking for. However, for Yennefer and Geralt, she will try. Hard. To make her parents happy. In her mind's eye Ciri conjures up the familiar image of Triss Merigold. Her first female mentor and friend. She imagines herself running toward her, shouting her name. The image becomes stronger and powerful. Like it is real. Is she shouting Triss's name now?
Suddenly there is the familiar feeling of weightlessness, disorientation and dizziness of the jump through time and space. Is it working after all? Will she save the black knight's life instead of taking it? What an unexpected twist of fate. Or destiny. Who would have thought it just a few hours ago? Definitely not she, Ciri, the Witcher-girl of Kaer Morhen.