Chapter 12: Mountain and The Path

POV Vesemir

The waves dashed themselves on the shore in front of Vesemir as he stood there with his latest, and hopefully last, mutated witcher.

He turned to Jon and explained his last trial. "The Trial of The Mountain is very simple. First, you must cross the lake to reach the opposite side. Where you will find the entrance to a cave, enter the cave and pass to the other side safely. Then climb the Troll's Head and reach the circle of elements." he paused, pulled out a medallion and continued, "Place this medallion on the largest stone in the circle and wait for the dawn. This marks the end of the trial." he handed Jon the 'dead' medallion, placing it in his hand.

Jon, who was gazing at the lake during his instructions, turned his head to Vesemir and asked, "Do I have to swim?".

Vesemir closed his eyes and gave his answer, "Well, no? But there are no boats, and you must get there before tomorrow's dawn. I don't see how-" he opened them and saw that Jon was already walking away. Vesemir sighed, Why don't they ever stay and listen?

The young man quickly reached the shoreline and stopped walking. Vesemir watched as he knelt down and brought his elbows to his ribs, his fists forward. The old witcher was about to say something, when suddenly the air around the boy condensed and the water in front of him solidified into a large platform.

The sides of the ice sheet bent upward and the front and back both came to a point. Jon stood back up, shook out his arms and jumped into the boat.

Once inside, the young witcher put one hand on each edge of the boat and it sped off into the lake.

Vesemir sighed and walked away, Kids these days...

POV Jon

The cold from Jon's small boat seeped into his bones, worsening the effect of using his magic. He felt it was worth it though, he was going much faster than if he was swimming.

As his boat cut through the lake's waters, fog slowly closed in around him and Jon thought felt a tug on his ear. His head wiped to the right, but saw nothing other than white mist. He turned back and forced his boat faster, his wake growing larger behind him.

"Help me! Please!" he heard from his left, an old man's voice.

He felt his boat curve left instinctually, but he quickly corrected his course. Jon knew what the sounds and feelings were, Foglets. They played at his senses, filling his ears with sounds and his skin with feeling. Even his nose had a few smells in it, mostly sweat, piss and tears.

Jon's boat suddenly hit the dirt, making him jump. He hadn't even seen it coming, the fog obscuring his vision and Foglets tricking or dampening everything else. The witcher made flattened out his boat back into a sheet and walked off. He barely feeling the loose dirt shift beneath his feet as he released his hold on the ice, letting it melt away.

Jon looked around, searching for the cave entrance, but all he saw was fog. Not even the telltale glow that would show him where to blast his Aard, so he chose to pull out his dirk and held it in reverse grip.

The young witcher held himself perfectly still, his dirk in his right hand and his left ready to cast the only sign he can. He waited, eyes straining to see a glow or even a shimmer in the fog. Eventually, he heard a young man's scream. Knowing it an illusion, Jon didn't move towards it and tightened his grip.

"Help!" the voice cried,

Jon remained still.

It screamed again. This time in a higher pitch.

Jon remained still.

"Please!" it yelled again, this time in a woman's voice.

Jon remained still.

"Jon!" he heard Ciri yell.

She screamed and he ran.

Jon raced towards the voice before he knew what he was doing, he knew it was an illusion, but still he ran. He had to be certain.

The young witcher reached a small clearing and the noises stopped. Jon again took a ready stance and soon saw the glow. He felt his pulse quicken, his pupils dilate and his breathing becoming deeper. He felt fire in his lungs and ice in his veins as he pushed an Aard at the Foglet. It ripped the fog away from the beast and knocked it off its feet.

Seeing its weakness, Jon pounced with his silver blade raised above him. The Foglet had barely lifted its disgusting head when the witcher crashed into it and slammed his dirk into its throat. He shifted down a little and tore the blade out and plunged it back into the beast's chest, over and over again. Growling with every stab.

After the tenth, his breathing slowed, his heart calmed and his eyes returned to normal. Jon closed his eyes, breathed deeply and collected himself. He reopened them and surveyed the damage.

He had collapsed the Foglet's ribcage, its organs were strewn about, its head was missing and his dirk was in the stump. Jon sighed and shook his head. He tore the blade from its neck and stood. It got me again...

The cavern was dark, the diluted cat potion barely enough to help Jon differentiate between his hand and the stone wall it rests on. He couldn't even see the black veins he knew were standing out on his skin.

As the young witcher kept shuffling along the wall, he remembered the saying Eskel told him. Old Speartip is a deep sleeper... but wake him up... and you'll sleep deeper. Jon didn't quite know who, or what, Old Speartip was. He'd rather not find out though.

Eventually, Jon heard a noise. A rumble that he had heard before. Back at the third ledge he struggled over, but now it was much louder. Like it was only a few feet away from him. Jon continued his shuffling, choosing to ignore what he thought to be Old Speartip. While being as silent as possible.

A few nerve-racking moments later and he found another ledge. He wrenched himself up and started crawling away. Jon moved as quietly as possible and slowly, almost painfully so, his surroundings brightened.

The stones and his hands went from dark shadows to the grey rocks and pale skin their supposed to be. Jon looked up and saw the exit.

Jon had to rub his temples as he neared the circle of elements. He was taught that trolls, of all varieties, were incredibly foolish, but he had clearly underestimated them. It was painful trying to convince them to let him pass, and so simple that it had taken him much longer than he would like to admit to figure out how.

He just had to tell them that he won't take any of their rocks and leave his blades on a stump, then he was allowed to pass. Though he also had to let one follow him up, which lead to his current pain.

"Why Witcher needses circle? Special Witcherses foods?" the troll asked for the fourth time.

Jon tried to hide his irritation and spoke evenly, "As I said before, I only need it to focus the power of the elements into my medallion. It won't take long."

The troll hummed in confusion, again.

A few seconds later, the troll started to ask the same question once more, but they had reached the steps that lead to the circle. Giving Jon a perfect excuse to stop him by saying "We're here." he turned to the troll, "You can wait down here."

"Witcher no cheaty?" the living bolder asked.

"That's right, I won't... cheaty." Jon forced out.

Jon climbed up the steps and quickly reached the circle. The view from the top would have taken his breath away, had he not have had to deal with that troll.

He gently placed his medallion on the coffin like stone in the circle of elements, then lit the four brasiers with his trusty flint and steel. He was still unable to produce even the smallest spark with igni.

Jon then sat down on one of the many crates and waited for the sun to rise.

POV Eskel

"Hey, Kid." Eskel called.

Jon looked up from his saddle bags and asked him "What is it?"

"Vesemir and I have something to give you. Follow me." the older witcher said, waving his hand at the boy and turning around.

Eskel led the new witcher into the keep, then halfway up the staircase and into Vesemir's rooms. "Ah, you're here. Good." the old witcher said, once he noticed them entering. Vesemir focused his eyes on Jon, "I wanted to give you something before you left on the path, follow me."

The old wolf led the pup into the small storeroom in the depths of his chambers, Eskel trailing behind. He stopped once he reached a sheet covered armour stand, then stood to its right. "Eskel discovered the greaves to this armour on the very first day he brought you here." Vesemir said, grasping the cloth with his left hand.

"And I asked Vesemir to help me find the rest." the scarred man continued, moving to stand on Vesemir's right and crossing his arms.

At Eskel's nod, Vesemir quickly pulled of the sheet and revealed the recovered, and slightly modified, school of the bear's armour. The pair watched as the boy's silver eyes widened and gazed over the dark, high collared gambeson that would end just above his ankles. Then passed over the steel vambraces and greaves, the steel plates that would protect his shoulders from a beast's claws and the breast and back plates that would cover his torso.

Eskel spoke as a smile grew on Jon's face, "We thought that you should wear something other than training gear for the path."

Vesemir interrupted Jon's thanks, saying that "The only thanks we need is your survival."

Then the two witchers left the small storeroom, Eskel telling Jon that he could change there and that "Vesemir and I will be waiting by the gate with your horse."

POV Jon

Jon was sitting in the saddle, his horse at the end of the drawbridge. Vesemir to standing on his left and Eskel to his right.

"When a witcher sets off on The Path, they chose a new name for themselves. Anything you like, as long as it isn't too wordy." Vesemir told him.

Jon would like to keep his current name, but he didn't remember his surname. Though he knew he had one. Something to do with the cold.

Then he remembered the first time he showed Triss and Coën his unusual Aard. Triss had shivered under it, while Coën had smiled. When Jon and the sorceress asked him about it, the pox scarred witcher had said that it reminded him of his home in Povis. Where on the shore he could feel the arctic winds.

Close enough.

"Jon of the Arctic Winds." Jon suggested.

Vesemir gave him a look.

"Jon of the Arctic?" he said.

The same look.

"Jon Arctic" he tried.

"That'll do." Vesemir relented his stare.

Jon sighed, shook his head and kicked his horse to a trot.

POV Maia

Maia sat with her young daughter by the warm hearth, braiding the girl's blond hair, when she heard a knock at the door. "Just one second!" she called. Then sent her girl away with a whispered command to go to her room as she rose to her feet and patted out her tunic, making sure it was presentable. Unlike most of the women of the village, she gave a damn about appearances.

The blacksmith's wife quickly reached the door, fixed her hair a bit, and slowly opened it. "My husband isn't here right now." she said with her eyes closed. "But I can take a message." she continued, opening her eyes to see who was there.

Maia blinked at the man just outside the door. He was tall and strongly built, with long dark hair tied back and out of his face. He was handsome too, easily the best-looking man she had ever seen, with a long face and straight nose. His eyes were silver and... slitted like a cat's, Witcher.

She stepped back instinctualy before she could stop herself, "Why are you here... witcher?"

His brow furrowed slightly as he held up a parchment, "There was... this notice about a ghost in a nearby cave. I came to accept the contract and learn more details." he said, his voice was deep, slightly rough, and coloured by a strange accent.

"Ah, yes." she said, her nerves creeping into her voice. "Please, come in so that we can talk."

Maia backed away and turned around, leading the monster hunter to the hearth with quick steps. "My daughter was the first to see it, witcher. Then the other children saw too. A few men were sent to look, but they were chased away by the spirit." she told him, as he sat in one of their few chairs.

Maia sat in the other, half facing the witcher and half the fire. "I haven't seen the ghost myself, but I have been told what it looks like. Tall and thin as a reed, hairless and with skin a white as old bone."

She was about to continue when the witcher asked her an odd question, "Did it look like male or female?"

"I-I don't know."

"May I speak with your daughter then?"

Needless to say, Maia was reluctant to have her child speak, or even be in the same room, with one such as him, but nodded anyway. "Lyah!" she called, then continued once she poked her head out. "Come here and tell the witcher what you saw."

Her daughter gave a meek nod and came to stand next to her. Maia grabbed her hand, squeezing it to urge her on.

When she still kept quiet, the witcher spoke to her in a soft voice. "Hello, little one. My name is Jon, can you tell me yours?" the merchant's daughter saw that the witcher's eyes went from steel to fog when talking to her girl.

"L-Lyah..." she said.

The witcher gave a small smile and said "Lyah, I need to ask you some questions. Answer all of them as well as you can, can you do that for me?"

Lyah stood a little straighter and gave the man a quick nod.

"Where was it that you saw the ghost?"

"I was picking flowers... near the old mine... at noon." she said, looking to the floor.

"And that's when you saw it?" he prompted.

She nodded shakily.

"Can you tell me what they looked like?" he asked.

"It was tall and white with had ripped up clothes... and no hair..." her daughter mumbled

"Was it a man or a woman?" he asked again.

"Man..." she said.

"Did it say anything, make any noises." he continued

She gave the witcher a shake of her head.

The witcher nodded and stood from the chair. He walked over to them, his long legs quickly closing the distance. He knelt before Lyah and thanked her, then stood up again. Gave Maia a nod and moved to the door.

Just as he was about to leave, Lyah called out to him and asked "Are you going to get rid of it, mister witcher?"

He looked back at them, a small smile on his face and gave a firm "Yes". Then he left.

As the door closed, Maia let out breath she didn't know she was holding and, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her shy daughter smile.

POV Jon

The sun was nearly at its peak when Jon found the cave. The spirits' description didn't sound like any phantom he had been taught about and it couldn't be a mutation. Since spirits don't do that, given their sources. The only thing Jon thought it could be was a bound soul, but even that didn't quite fit.

So, Jon had used a day to prepare for anything. Which mostly consisted of filling two of his many pouches with various bombs, along with spector oil.

As the young witcher neared the cave entrance, the ghost fazed into his vision. Jon quickly unsheathed his claymore and smashed the bottle of spector oil on the flat of the blade, near the cross guard. Then he spread it along the rest of the blade.

The spirit's long, thin legs quickly pulled it into Jon's range and he swung. The blade ripped through its torso, but nothing happened. No resistance, no odd whooshing noise. Nothing. He knew that wasn't right, the senior witchers had described it in detail.

His suspicion aroused, Jon went on the defensive and waited for it to swing. After a few seconds, it did. The phantom whipped its left arm at him, the long claws on the ends on its fingers coming straight for his face. Jon swiftly moved to block, but the twisted excuse for a hand passed right through both the blade and his head. An illusion!

Jon took out a rag and cleaned the oil off Cerbin's blade. The ghost trying desperately to tear him apart. He sheathed it and walked to the cave, drinking a small cat potion along the way.

He entered and he looked around the cavern, the grey walls were unnatural... carved in the same way as a mineshaft. As he walked, the walls became cleaner cut. Going from rough chiselling to cleanly carved bricks and columns. He saw no more illusions other than the one at the entrance. Eventually, he saw a weak light coming from beyond a doorway.

Passing through the opening he entered what seemed to be laboratory. There were beakers, crucibles, retorts and other such alchemical tools on a table across from him. All covered in a thick layer of dust. To his right was a pulsing crystal, which was most likely the source of the illusion outside. To his left was a swirling mass of magical energy, one of the many things Geralt hates. A portal.

Jon walked to the crystal and did what any witcher worth his salt would. He punched it. He put all his strength into it, using all the muscles in his body for this one strike and the pulsing gem burst into a dozen pieces.

He then heard a rumble, followed by a sharp crack. Wasting no time, Jon spun and leapt into the fluctuating portal.

POV Serra, 290

Serra hated the Shy Maid with a passion. She would sink it given the chance, after offloading her books of course. She didn't hate the boat itself really, just what it represented. Serra had never, ever left the small pole boat and no amount of begging could convince Griff to let her off for even a second. She hated him too, her jailor.

He wasn't even intelligent about it, though she had come to expect that of him. The worst part was that he didn't even know about that fault, at least Duck knew about his.

The annoying sound of a clearing throat brought her mind back to the cyvasse table, "You seem distracted, young lady. Copper for your thoughts?" Haldon said, his voice cool.

Serra sighed and moved her dragon, obliterating one of Haldon's elephants and the last of his trebuchet. After hearing his groan, Serra thought on the man before her. She didn't hate him, but she didn't like him either. He was intelligent, no doubt about that, and the best cyvasse player on board, other than her. But he was so stuck in his ways, unable to think outside his conventions or take risks. Which was why she often beat him.

Her purple eyes refocused when she heard the clack of piece on tile. Haldon had moved his light horse around one of her mountains, clearly trying to flack her crossbowmen.

She was just about to rush her heavy horse into Haldon's rabble when a knock sounded from the door. Immediately after, her mothe- Septa Lemore pulled the door open and said "Serra, it's time for your lessons.".

"But septa Le-"

"No buts, you can beat poor Haldon later." she said with a smile.

Serra hung her head, but stood anyway and left the half-maester without another word, but almost stopping when she heard him mumbling. She hated her lessons on courtesies and the seven, yet loved... and feared... Lemore enough not to complain.

She walked behind her mot- Lemore!, watching her septa robes shift as she walked and feeling herself going back into her mind. Serra disliked most of courtly etiquette and thought it mostly useless and false. A mindset her mother told her was very northern.

A hand placed on her shoulder pulled her out again. "Sit dearheart, we are going to learn about something new today." these words, said so nonchalantly by her septa, quickly took hold of Serra attention. She swiftly sat on one of the floor cushions in her and Lemore's room, her eyes focused on her mother's similar ones.

The older woman smiled sadly as she spoke, "Serra, what do you know about the old gods?"

She hummed in thought and answered, "The Old Gods are worshipped in The North, they're represented by Wierwoods that have faces carved into them.". The Gods of the north aren't often motioned in books, other than being demonised that is, and Serra didn't trust those views.

Her mother raised a brow, "Is that all?"

"They are often demonised." she said, earning a nod from her septa.

"I don't know as much as I wish about them, but I can teach you the basics. The Old Gods are the original gods of Westeros, there even before the first men and worshiped by the children of the forest. They are many and nameless, they're in all things. The trees, the stones, the water, the wind and every other part of nature. The children carved faces into Wierwoods so that the gods can see through them..."

Her mother kept speaking on this interesting religion. Serra occasionally interrupting to ask a question or for clarification, but otherwise stayed silent. The older woman spoke until her throat went dry, then took a sip of water to keep going. She went over certain practices like giving oaths, marriages, executions. Even a few stories.

Serra, always eager to learn something new, was enraptured from the beginning and stayed that way into the sun set and it was time for her to sleep.

As the septa put her to bed, Serra grabbed her pale hand with her much darker one and asked "Will you tell me more tomorrow?"

"I will tell you all I know about them, little one." she said with a smile.

Serra nodded and drifted off to sleep.