Death in the Family
The bloated evening sun was already slouching towards the horizon when Geralt brought Roach to a halt by the wooden signpost marking the village's outer limit. The sign was pleasant, its edges carved with such natural motifs as vines and leaves that made him think of elven ruins he'd seen. The twelve-pointed sun atop the highest point was less welcome.
He made a noise and gestured to the sign. "Seems odd out here" he said to his companion.
"The Unconquered Sun" she said from under her green hood, "Or a local deity?" I don't really know Verden well. Either way, I'm sweaty and sore from all this riding" - she tugged at her blue and white striped bodice - "let's stay here the night, Geralt. The Voivoda can stand to wait a little longer".
He pointed at the name carved deep into the wood. "Olden Dun".
"Elder speech. But we're nowhere near Brokilon."
"No. And it won't be elves. I don't think you'll like what's left."
Silence. He could hear her weighing up her options.
"Fine. The war was a long time ago. Hopefully they're civilised enough to have a hot bath. Maybe some sulpher springs?"
"And if not, you'll make some?"
"Absolutely. After seeing the delights of the Schwemmland swamps, I deserve it! And a backrub."
"I didn't think it was your back that was sore."
She kicked her heels and her horse obediently started past him and towards the houses. As she passed, she said, brightly; "it's not, but why waste the opportunity?"
"Oh." Triss reined in her horse to a stop. "Oh Geralt, look."
There was a fuss around the nearest house. And it was a house, not a typical northern peasant hovel. As Geralt had guessed from the smoke plumes that had alerted him to the village's existence, this Olden Dun was large and relatively prosperous - brick walls, tiled roofs, the various horrifying smells of industry. There were still northern-style peasant buildings dotted around though, shadowed in the lee of their taller competition.
A dozen or so people had gathered. With his heightened hearing, Geralt could pick out some kind of argument, or at least disagreement carried to him on the breeze. As the two of them watched from a distance, a small, white bundle was passed through a hole clearly sledgehammered through the brick wall and to the wailing family outside. Meanwhile what sounded like the village aeldorman remonstrated with the family's pater.
"If I'd been here a day sooner" she tailed off.
"It happens. Just so long as it doesn't turn into a botchling."
"Wouldn't that be good for you? Some extra work? An excuse for these good people to open their purses to you, have a reason to appreciate you?"
"Yeah, but not before that bath."
They pushed into the village proper. By now the sun was kissing the distant primordial forest on the horizon and anything nearby not shadowed was painted a pinker hue.
Triss pushed back her hood and breathed in, before calling out to the nearest couple in as friendly a way as she could.
"Hello! Have we come at a bad time? We're looking for a place to stay!"
The dark-haired man patted his heavily pregnant wife on the shoulder and looked Triss up and down. He almost tried a bow. "Greetings milady. I'm Justyn, this here is Renata."
"She looks resplendent. Will it be soon?"
Geralt hung back, happy to leave the small talk to Triss. He wasn't enough of a small talk person for this.
"Maybe another moon, two at most. Says the chirurgeon."
"The - I'm sorry, I don't know that term. No cunning woman? No surgeon?"
"No, 'tis the Black Uns' word for a special doctor. They chased the cunning woman away, said they had no need of her superstitions. Brought one of their own with 'em. I mean, he's good an' all, but without a connection to the gods, how good can he really be?"
"How indeed?" Triss responded, absently putting her hand to her chest.
"Anyway, it looks like Sabryna lost her child. Poor woman."
"Were there signs?"
"She's been bad for days. Closer she got to popping, more ill she became. Like Nora before 'er."
That focused Triss' attention. "This has happened before? Frequently?"
"I dunno about frequently, but recently. Though you'd best speak to the aeldorman about it" - he pointed at Geralt - "if only to get your bodyguard checked out."
"Thank you, we will" Triss said, suppressing a smirk and glad that the witcher had already dropped out of the conversation. The aeldorman, he's the one arguing over there, right?"
"Yeah, the one in the black tunic. Hard, but fair, he'll see to travellers aright. We don't bother with an inn here. It would lead to indolence." He said, clearly wistful at the thought of indolence.
"Thank you. I wish you two well." Triss waved at Renata, who waved back before encouraging her horse next to Geralt's.
"Get what you need?" He asked, quietly.
"I think so. Come on, before all this stink forces me to hand in my 'most desirable woman in the country' status."
"I must apologise for the stew" their host began in his heavily accented voice. "When I heard we would be having guests, I told my wife to water it down so it would go further. But please, enjoy the bread. Our Mickel is a consummate baker and strew is for dipping. Another roll, madame?"
Triss took the crusty roll and smelt it before cracking it open the cut line. It crackled open in a most satisfying way. She spread a little butter on it and held it in stew until the roll was sufficiently soggy before wolfing it down.
"Thank you, this stew is amazing. What did you say the secret ingredient was?"
"I did not, but it is no secret - we use turmeric, which mostly grows in the south. We are lucky to maintain a small harvest this far north. If you like it so much, I may be able to convince someone to sell a small pot - for an appreciative guest."
Geralt looked around the aeldorman's house for something nice to add to the conversation. Brick walls, a dark tiled floor contrasting with the light carved birch wood furniture adorned with many natural designs. A golden sun banner was placed opposite the main entrance, the first thing for guests to see.
"A cozy place" he offered. "Never seen tiled floors like this before."
"You like them? We can run hot air through them, warm them up in the winter. A marvel of engineering we brought north with us."
"Husband, I don't think he's here for the full 'marvels of Nilfgaardian civilisation' speech" his wife chided gently.
"No, no, of course not. An itinerant monster hunter, eh? What a curiosity. We have heard of them, obviously, I think we even have some south of the Yaruga, but still-"
"Husband-"
"Ah - of course. The matter at hand. The women. Surely some deaths are liable? Childbirth is a difficult matter, not that I am an expert, of course. Even the chirurgen does not seem to think-"
"Husband." Forcefully this time.
Triss took it upon herself to intervene. "So there are stillbirths?"
"Yes, but such is nature. There are no more than a few a year, the Chirurgeon assures me-"
"Husband, he missed out Lana. And Teryn."
"But they were-"
"Kept quiet. For their families' sake."
"Ah." He turned back to Geralt. Then perhaps you can find an answer where our man of science cannot. Though I hope it would not be something linked to his negligence."
"Why not?" Geralt inquired around a chunk of carrot.
"Why, he would have to be flogged, of course. Medical negligence is taken very seriously. Our lives are in his hands. If he fails to keep our glorious nation healthy…" He let the implications hang in the air.
"Hmm. And to think we let anyone with a cleaver call themselves a surgeon."
"Geralt, that's unfair." intervened Triss. "We have the surgeon's school in Oxenfurt. And, of course mages can heal, even magically if conventional medicine won't work."
"And are there many mages in the north? Only one school?" The aeldorman inquired with dangerous politeness.
"Two schools, but good ones. We have to keep standards," she returned with similar, dangerous charm. "And I've heard that Nilfgaardian mages are kept on short leashes - whereas ours can be found in the populace, providing aid to those who need special ministrations, performing miracles beyond those of surgeons. The rest is taken care of by the healers at the temples of Melitele. They are everywhere and don't even charge for their aid."
"Those mages - they act only for a price, I'm sure. Ours have no need to debase themselves, they are given everything they need."
Geralt looked over at the aeldorman's wife. She looked up at him and their eyes met in mutual embarrassment and disinterest in fighting a third war over the dinner table.
He coughed to break the air. "How many stillbirths are we looking at? This year alone"
The aeldorman pointedly looked at his wife. "Seeing as my information is apparently lacking, perhaps you could fill us in?
"Of course husband, anything to help. Let's see, there was Sabryna. Nora also lost one earlier this week" She ticked off names on her fingers. "Lana and terys I already mentioned. Lucile was a fortnight ago…all of them, their babies were wrinkled and dried up like fruit."
"Oh, and Lucya" he added.
"No, that was some time ago."
"But it was strange" he countered.
Geralt stiffened in his chair. "Go on" he urged.
The aeldorman waved his hand. "Ach, it was a long time ago, well over a year. She died in stillbirth and her parents have never gotten over it. Initially they blamed me."
Triss leaned in. "You? Were you feuding?"
"Na, but they ran the village before we came. They never took their loss of position well. Where I come from, they'd have been run out of town to avoid conflict between past and present leadership, but I felt I should be magnanimous in victory."
Triss and Geralt's expressions remained carefully blank.
"Very generous of you" Triss eventually said.
"Either way, I had nothing to fear from beaten Nordlings. But the strange thing is, we never saw the baby. They refused all help."
His wife look at over at Geralt and Triss. "Do you think you know what is going on?"
Geralt lay on the floor's solid, low bed, idly watching Triss wash herself distractedly in the wood and pitch tub in the middle of the floor. After the meal they had retired to the guest room and their hosts had helped arrange a hot bath. No springs, but a handful of sulpher from his saddlebags had done the job. Candles lit up the gloom of a moonless night.
"So" Geralt mused. "A string of stillbirths. All dried up 'like fruit'.
"Sorry, did you say something?"
"Just going through everything. I think it's a botchling."
Triss didn't say anything, but he saw a shiver run down her spine.
Eventually she huffed and stood up, arms out as if she was trying out new clothes. Rivulets ran over her body and off back into the tub.
"Geralt, look at me" she said. He obliged.
He started at her waist and the thighs he'd often had wrapped around himself. The copper of her mound, unlike the artificial red of the hair on her head. The flat stomach and the contrast with her large breasts, existing in that perfect space between motherly large and the firm roundness of youth, splendidly ignoring gravity in a way that made his mouth dry. Up to her defined clavicle and graceful neck to that chin and those freckled cheeks, finally meeting her hazel-green eyes.
"Mmmm. Wonderful."
"I know. I didn't look this good when I was in my early twenties. But that's magic for you - if you know how, even your age and looks can be impossible things. But everything has a price."
"Triss, I know what you're thinking about."
She put her hands flat over her belly, cupped it, the belly button peeking out above her thumbs.
"Men want beauty and so, in our desire for control over them, we made sure they got it. A distraction for them, a tool for us. And a nice confidence boost. But I can't help feeling…like Witchers, infertility and mages go hand-in-hand."
She paused, lost in herself.
"But hearing about those mothers and their dessicated children. The others will be wondering if they are next, others glad they already have children. There's something even peasant women have that I, for all my great power cannot. And yet, something is taking even that away from them.
"I know that Phillipa and the others like to talk of sisterhood, but Geralt - we have
to figure this out and we have to put an end to it. Call it my gift to them, my form of sisterhood."
He nodded. "Mhm. We will. Now finish drying off and come over here. Now you're nice and clean."
She rolled her eyes but didn't decline. "Oh Geralt, it really doesn't take much, does it-"
They were interrupted by a long, pained scream.
Their eyes met. He pulled on trousers and ran, barefoot, to his swords downstairs. She was pulling on her trousers and top by the time he was downstairs.
Geralt barrelled downstairs and out of the door, swords already in hand. Outside there were lights coming on and the night watchman went running by, his night lamp swinging on its pole. Geralt followed him past houses and the granary to a smaller house on the village's edge, neat with with a small herb garden out front.
"Help me" the watchman shouted at him, holding down his slightly oversized
helmet. The witcher nodded and they both slammed the door, shoulder first.
No effect. They nodded at each other and drew back for a longer run at the door, when a glowing figure emerged from the door.
The night watchman blanched at the sight and staggered back. Skin torn and ragged, jaw hanging loose and a fat, black tongue, the wraith shrieked at him.
Geralt drew his silver sword, dropped the scabbard and steel sword into the grass.
The wraith stared at him for a moment and imploded in a flash of silvery light.
"Damnit" he cursed at no-one in particular, hand already halfway into the sign for conjuring Yrden. The adrenaline drained away and he stood for a moment, before picking up his swords and sheathing the silver one.
"So a wraith?" Triss asked, perched on the lip of the well, swinging her legs and picking at a breakfast bun filled with some kind of stewed meat.
"Yeah." Geralt had already devoured his bun, so he drew the bucket up, drank his fill then poured the rest into a waterskin that he put back on his belt.
"Well that kills the botchling theory."
"Yeah."
"So, curse?"
"That's what I'm thinking. Problem is, with curses it's not the who, but the why. We know she's attacking expecting mothers but we've still to confirm the who and we have no idea why."
"And not all expectant mothers. When I got these" she waved her half-finished bread bun "the baker's wife was saying that there's been lots of children born already this year."
"A fecund people."
"An empire needs lots of subjects. So does the village. No abortions allowed."
"Mhm. That's drastic."
"It's hard on the women. And kills my main source of income. You wouldn't believe what people will exchange for a month's worth of prevention. Maybe I'll move into brewing something to encourage amorousness, see how that pays out here."
"Can we focus?"
"Sorry. But I have a standard of living to maintain."
"What happened to all that 'for the sisterhood' stuff last night?"
"You think people hand out breakfast buns for free? I don't have to maintain my figure, but you need food for the energy to fight."
"Point."
"So I'm going to go talk to some mothers and some mothers-who-weren't. Stillbirth can be hard on the body, I have some potions that can help, I just need some cooking time."
"Sounds like you have it planned out. Have you already decided my role for the morning?"
"Go see the parents of that Lucya woman. I suspect they're part of it."
"Me too, but wouldn't you be better for that? It sounded too political for me."
"Geralt, it's village politics. You've stood before kings, a mere ex-aelderman shouldn't be any worry."
"Doesn't mean I liked it. I'm still hardly what anyone would call a people person. That's what you mages are good at."
"I know, but you can still pick up on deception. Mostly. And I need your senses there may be something there, a smell or sight that gives us a clue."
After some asking around, the Witcher found that, amongst other things. Lucya's parents were called Jurek and Ula and that they lived in a smaller house on the outskirts. When he got there he found an aggressively northern style house - someone had gone out of their way to carve images and faces of as many gods as they could think of - even Veopatis, who wasn't even local to the area.
Geralt hovered around for a while, examining the area. Once he was sure that no-one was around, he moved on to the widower.
Rolf - Rolf ap Jaegen, a Niflgaardian name if there ever was one - was carving up a boar in the bloody lean-to next to his hut when Geralt approached. Finding the place was easy. Geralt followed the stench of smoke, blood and salt.
"This one's not ready" Rolf said absently, deep in the boars' carcass. "But I have some nice sausages curing away in the smoke room."
"Not here for- wait. Smoked sausage?"
"Yes. Cintran coastal style, with garlic and paprika. Good and oily, full of spice."
"How much for" the witcher rummaged in his satchel. "Mph. Do you take orens? I seem to be running out of ducats."
"I can take orens. We get some traders coming here from Rozrog to Kerack so I can use them."
Then I'll take a loop or two of sausage, as much as" he rummaged again "about thirty-two orens will get me."
Rolf washed his bloody hands in a pewter bowl and disappeared, returning a few minutes later with a loop and a half of sausage. The smell brought back good memories for Geralt.
"Thanks. Didn't actually come here for food though. I need to ask - about your wife."
Rolf's head dropped. "My wife is" he pointed away. "And about six foot
under the ground. And my dreams with her."
"Not sure she's that far away. Have you heard about the problems giving
birth recently?"
"Women's gossip isn't for me."
Last night I met what I think is the cause; a wraith, an angry spirit. Bram-"
"My father told you what?
"Mmmh, of course he is. I'm going to ask outright. Were you in love with her?"
"What? How is that-"
"I'm not intimating anything. But I think the wraith is cursed and that means
someone was very unhappy. I just need to know who."
Rolf paused. When he spoke again, he spoke carefully and slowly. "As you can probably 'intimate', I am Nilfgaardian. So is my father. Lucya was a local girl; once we beat the defenders here, we reached a settlement. The leader's son married the ex-leader's daughter."
"How did she feel about that? Marrying the soldier who butchered the people
you know never tends to be someone's first choice."
"How did you-"
"The way you stand, the way you swing the cleaver. You went through military training. Go on."
"We were as non-violent as possible. Our orders were settlement elsewhere,
but that failed and father found this place. We found a non-violent solution."
"But they still saw you as imposing, on them."
Rolf sighed. "Most acquiesced. Father… 'if you can convince, that's better than killing' he'd say. Burn down a village and you have to rebuild. Take it over and you can put the energy into expanding instead. Everyone wins.
"And we married. I wasn't pleased at the start, I won't lie. Nordlings are…not what we'd call civilised. But we do not treat our women as badly as you do. I never raised a hand, or really even shouted at her. We came to love each other quickly and we had a child. But she…she got ill."
"It must have been wrenching."
"I-" he stopped himself. "I wasn't there. She had moved to her parents for the birth. 'A traditional birth' they said, women only. Wouldn't even let the Chirurgeon attend."
"Dangerous. I heard you chased the cunning woman away and there's hardly a temple of Melitele nearby when you need it."
"And my Lucya…"
Geralt awkwardly waited to see if Rolf's mood improved. When Rolf sat heavily on the bench outside and sobbed even harder, Geralt left without a word.
"Oh, the poor man. Sometimes Geralt, you are too unfeeling."
"Yes. Yes I am. Because the source of fear is the same as anything else. Emotion. I couldn't be a witcher if I felt as much as you people do."
"That" Triss paused. "I understand, but that doesn't really make it better. I really wish I'd have gone with you now."
"Doesn't matter. He told me what I need."
"Oh?"
"Her parents insisted that she have a traditional Northern birth. No men, traditional medicine and so on. I'm guessing that killed her. And that she cursed them with her dying breath for being so stubborn."
"It certainly has the makings of a curse. Except for one small thing."
"Go on."
"I might be wrong, but; Sabrina, the one whose baby we saw coming in is a local woman. The other woman who suffered stillbirth recently is also local. But there was a live birth recently - a healthy baby boy."
"Humph. So what's the difference? Are they related? By blood, I mean."
"What? No. They're all different families. Very different, as the one successful birth was to a Nilfgaardian woman, Rikke."
"And their husbands?"
"All local. Making the stillborns all Northern and the live child part Nilfgaardian."
Geralt looked impressed. "Huh. That's quite a twist. Rolf, Lucya's husband was also Nilfgaardian."
"It doesn't make sense though" Triss countered. "If it is this Lucya, why is she only going after Northern couples and their babies? Wouldn't she be protecting against outsiders?"
"It would have to be one serious grudge."
"Oh, no," Triss pulled a face. What did her parents do to her?"
The sun was again setting over Olden Dun by the time Geralt and Triss were outside the couple's overwrought house. They had agreed to wait until evening so they could move to quell the wraith directly afterwards.
They had spent their time in the warm fields most enjoyably. Being in the fresh air and potentially visible to passers-by made it all the more exciting for the city-dwelling sorceress.
"I see what you mean about the house" Triss said, marvelling at all the decorative faces. "I couldn't even name half of these! And look at that herb garden!"
"Pretty sure some of these gods are from obscure parts of the Pontar. See that one? Lethayne. God of…uh, something to with death and rivers, crossing to the afterlife. There's one area that worships him and John of Brugge thought it was a corruption of an elven figure."
"Figure, or deity?"
"He wasn't sure, but John seemed to think it referred to an elf from….somewhere else."
"Well, well, I live and learn. I'll take the lead though, Mr, Knowitall. Don't need you getting distracted by talking theology" Triss said, stepping forward and rapping on the door.
After a short period the door opened cautiously.
"Help you?" A older man's voice asked.
"Hello there" said Triss, brightly. "We are looking into the recent, tragic death of Sabryna's child and we thought-"
"Thought what exactly?" The voice wasn't angry as such, more tired and…Geralt suspected, scared?
Triss paused, did some mental calculations and restarted her greeting. "We know that your daughter died tragically some time ago. We know how hard it must have hit you - losing your position to the Nilfgaardians, your daughter to the Nilfgaardians and then again, when she died. We're worried that she laid a curse, one that is killing children and their mothers."
"Not our business. If the people'd kept to their own, instead of welcoming those black bastards…"
"Can we come in? I don't think we need to be airing all this in open air where anyone could hear."
A pause. Whispered discussion? "Alright. Come on in. Where are two from?"
"Maribor. The Witcher is from Rivia."
The door opened fully and the two could see an elderly pair. Time and fate hadn't been kind to them - hunched shoulders, threadbare clothes, a relatively bare house.
"Oh aye? I served in Rivia - the first Nilfgaardian war. Back when Verden was a Temerian vassal, I was drafted into the army. Would've fought to keep the bastards out in the second war if I hadn't been too old and knackered."
"You may have heard of me then. Triss Marigold. I was the fourteenth of Sodden hill."
His eyes went wide. "Come on in, come on in then. Even in Verden we've heard of Sodden Hill. Let's see what we have for a hero t' drink!" The husband tottered over to a cupboard and pulled the stopper out of what smelled to be plum vodka.
Triss felt Geralt's breath as he came close. "Triss," he breathed "are you all right talking about this?"
"Yes. Look at where it's getting us."
"Come on, come on!" The father went over to the table and poured out a finger each of the strong-smelling drink into wooden shot glasses. "We should toast. To the North! May all invaders be one day driven out!" He swallowed the entire shot in one while his wife sipped cautiously, one eye on Geralt.
They drank. The booze felt hot, left a searing trace down the throat and filled the nostrils with the sweet smell of plums.
"A little rougher than I'm used to" Triss coughed. "But far better than a small place has the right to produce, am I right Geralt?"
Geralt said nothing but proffered his cup for a refill.
"So" Jurek offered after filling them up again. "How can we help a hero? Please, sit down."
They sat. Triss led the conversation. "When someone experiences great pain and suffering- when all their emotions are at a height and the local stuff of chaos is malleable - a curse can be made. Often people don't even know what they're doing. There was once a powerful mage, called Svetlana, who didn't even know that she was a mage. She managed to curse herself through self-loathing and nearly destroyed an entire city with the curse she created.
"Childbirth is a powerful event. Is there something, anything, she told you or that you told her, that could have gone beyond death? Maybe about her husband's family? Was she given trouble for carrying a mixed child?"
That hit home, as she knew it would. But it surprised her when Ula spoke first. "I'm not going to lie, we were not happy. Why would we be? We were chased out of our home, we lost our place here. Our traditions were disrespected, called arrant superstition."
"I'd heard that the local cunning woman had been removed. Did she have actual powers?"
"Aye, she was a retired sorceress. Left the circle, settled down, even let herself aged and grow infirm! Said she'd had enough of meddling in others' lives and wanted merely to help before the end."
"Better to be thought a witch than a mage then. We all know what Nilfgaardians would have done to her."
"No more than slavery! I am glad she escaped."
"With good friends to help, I'm sure." Triss cast an eye about the place.
"And it looks like her spirit is still among us."
The two crossed looks and Ula stood up. "I'll see if I can find something to go with the drinks." She went to a cupboard and moved some things, opened and closed a few doors noisily before coming back with a small bowl of dried fruits.
She plonked the bowl on the table with a "help yourselves".
"Most kind. We are staying with the headman; he seems a generous enough sort. Not the sort I fought back in the war."
The set off Jurek. "If they was decent, they'd've stayed where they came from. We got refugees and messengers coming through on the road north, we knew what was coming. Hang the men, rape the women, take the land for themselves. Don't matter that this one decided to be all polite, like. He still came with soldiers and he still turned this place into some part of Nilfgaard."
"Yet you negotiated with them."
"After they made a show of force. How was I to know they was at the end of their tether as well? If we'd held out, they'd have moved on…my dear daughter…that child" He shook his head and downed yet another shot of vodka.
Ula put her hand on his arm and spoke up coldly. "I think you've said enough." She gestured at the door with her chin.
Triss reached out, put her hand on Jurek's other arm. "I'm so sorry about your daughter" she said evenly and met Ula's angry glare. "We'll be going now".
Geralt waited until the door was slammed shut behind them. "Huh. I coulda probably pissed him off like that myself. Maybe I'm better at politics than I think."
"Shhh. Are they watching us?"
He glanced around. "No. They've closed the shutters. I think they've seen enough of us for the rest of their lifetimes."
"Good". And Triss stepped delicately to their herb garden. After a moment's searching she plucked a fruit from a bush and offered it to Geralt.
He took the fruit it and ate it.
"Mmm. Not bad. We just had some of those dried, didn't we?"
"Yes. Do you know what it is?"
"Myrtle?"
"Yes. The fruit can be eaten, but it's also a herb, used in all kinds of potions."
"I know."
"Commonly an ingredient in abortifacts. Did you know that?"
"Ah. Strangely enough, that's not something that comes up when discussing Witcher potions. I still don't have much use for abortions."
"You don't." Triss glanced back at the house, whose faces seemed to be leering at her now. "But I think they did."
They returned to the aeldorman's house before heading out to the graveyard. Triss hung about outside enjoying the evening air while Geralt fetched his weapons and potions. Aeldorman Bran accosted Geralt on the stairs.
"I thought you were going to look about, not cause uproar!"
"And I thought you would be honest with us. Lucya was your daughter-in-law. It would have been useful to know that."
"Ach, she was only a Nordling peasant. I got the idea of marrying on from reading about barbarian tribes - they exchanged in marriage, the wife becoming a hostage. I did not expect Rolf to embrace her so much, nor care so deeply when she died!"
"So you were happy when she died?"
"No, but the least he could have done was move on, given me an heir! Who will run the place when I die? A clear succession avoids violence, creates stability."
"Save me from your politics."
"And what have you ever created in your life? To create you need a group, division of labour, political stability! You have none of those! You live a subsistence life, going from place to place, no roots or culture. Paid only to do what others don't want to do themselves. I will pay you a fair wage, I will not cheat you, but I want you gone after this."
"Not a problem" Geralt muttered and pulled himself up the stairs, two steps at a time.
"And how did it go in there?" Triss asked casually.
"Not great. If we can leave tonight, we might want to."
"And miss the morning's first batch of freshly-baked meat buns?"
"Triss."
"I'm serious. Those things are amazing. I wonder if he'd sell the recipe?"
"Triss."
"Fine, we can always camp out tonight. It's dark but clear."
"Yeah, about that. You might wanna-."
"I know, I know". She muttered some reality-warping syllables that coaxed a small light into being before throwing it up into the air. It floated a couple of feet above and in front of her, somehow giving off the air of an excited puppy.
They arrived at the communal graveyard long before midnight. The darkness of the no-moon sky made her ball of light seem more of a pinprick in darkness. Geralt went ahead, pupils fully widened, soaking in every drop of starlight.
Triss finally broke the silence. "Have you decided how you want to do this?"
"Curses are hard. I can fight the wraith as many times as she wants - the curse won't let her leave this plane until she's done. Which may be never. I have to break the thing binding her here. That could be a physical thing or it might be bond of will."
"You don't know what it is yet?"
"She loved Rolf, her Nilfgaardian husband, and he loved her. But her parents, defeated and shamed, couldn't let a Black One put a child in her. That's what broke them. They couldn't get hold of her until she was ready to give birth and convinced the husband's family to let them have a 'traditional' birth. That brought her into their house, where they could feed her abortifacts garnered from their friend, the cunning woman. I guess Lucya figured it out when the birth went wrong, or maybe she recognised the herbs she was given.
"And she cursed them for it. We can't always know how curses will turn out. In this case, her rage turned against her parents' racism in general. She became a personification, bringing about what her parents feared. She passed over mixed births but ended Northern ones, changing the local population. Her revenge is that her parents will get what they feared - a Nilfgaardian takeover."
Triss didn't answer him but stared out ahead.
"You don't think they were all wrong, do you?" He asked, gently.
She broke out of her thought, refocused on him. "For killing her? Yes. But…" she held her chest unthinkingly.
Geralt gently took his glove off and put his hand on her chest too. "If I close my eyes, I can imagine every scar on your chest. When you wear bedlinen, I can feel them through it. You hate them, I know, but you like my scars. Say they make me heroic. Well, same applies to you. What they mean is more important than what they look like."
"Geralt…Geralt, you need to know…"
"Yes?"
"She's behind you."
Triss dove left and rolled away as Geralt pirouetted right and drew his silver sword at the same time, stopping in a forward stance. His blade rested at an impaling angle to discourage any attackers from charging.
The wraith withdrew to a few yards away. Geralt could see her clearly - the
bloated, blackened tongue a clear sign of her death by poisoning.
Her raggedy bedclothes terminated at her bloodied thighs, but open around her distended belly -bloated yet fallen in on itself - and with a small face poking out. Between her thighs an umbilical cord coiled and twitched like a snake. She roared and shrieked as Geralt cast Yrden on the ground, violet lightning bolts ensnaring her to the spot.
"Geralt?" Shouted Triss. "Any ideas?"
"One. Raise up her coffin."
"Do what now?"
"The ground she rose out of. Bring it up" he shouted urgently.
Triss did as bidden, boiling chaos causing the ground to erupt like a geyser, piling up and throwing rocks all over the place. Triss ignored the ones that bounced off her face until something angular and human-sized was pushed up.
"That's it" Geralt yelled as he threw down Yrden again, jabbing at the wraith with his sword to keep her in place. "Now, seal her to the spot."
Triss turned from the erupting ground to the wraith and, summoning her will, channelled the local energies to her. Mist bumped and raced along the ground, forming a perfect sphere around the maddened wraith. As the sphere perfected itself her shrieks instantly deadened as if coming from the other wide of a wall.
"How long do I keep her here?" Triss shouted.
"As long as you can. You'll know when to stop."
Triss didn't answer.
Geralt weaved his way through the various headstones until he reached the now-solidified geyser of earth. He spun his blade around so he was holding it pommel out and pounded the rotting wood of the coffin until it smashed open.
From inside the dried-up corpse of Lucya stared back at him, a look of fury on her shrivelled features. Geralt shifted his grip again and, with absolute control, sliced open her stomach. Something withered fell out of her and he caught the tiny thing in one gloved hand.
"Geralt?"
"Keep her there. You'll know when to stop!"
Geralt ran as fast as he could, scattering rabbits, badgers and other nocturnal creatures in front of him. He knew where he was going - the house on the outskirts, whose lights he could see from the graveyard.
Geralt didn't give Jurek time to open the door, barging through and throwing it wide open.
Before either Jurek or Ula could complain, he thrust the shrivelled corpse under their noses. "Do you know what this is?"
Both reared back in fear and disgust. "Get it out of my house!" Jerek demanded.
"This is your grandchild. The one you rejected. The one you poisoned to death, along with your daughter. All because she fell in love with the wrong family, a Nilfgaardian family. There's one way to end the curse of stillborn children and that's to embrace this child as your own."
Jurek made an emphatic gesture. "Never! It wasn't our own, not with his seed in it".
"If you don't, your daughter's ghost will keep murdering Northern babies. Her revenge - creating the future you fear, one where only mixed children survive."
Their faces fell in with shock, gawping like fish shocked at being caught.
He looked at them with some surprise. "You hadn't realised?"
Ula spoke first. "We hadn't wanted to. Still don't believe it. Our daughter" she trailed off.
"More to the point, I'm not sure you were acting like parents any more."
That shocked them into deeper silence.
Jurek wiped his hands on his tunic and reached out tentatively. "Well…maybe we should. For our daughter's sake, eh? No matter what I felt, I never wanted this. Not for my daughter."
The shock as Ula ripped the remains his child out of his arms was bigger than he could register. "No!" she shouted. "After all you went through - they defiled Rivia, Verden and your own blood!" And before he could do anything, she threw the child into the hearth.
Jurek stood there, stunned. Geralt merely stood there.
"That settles that, then" he said after a moment's silence. And he turned and walked out of the house.
It didn't take too long for the Aelderman to come, running up the path with the nightwatchman, lantern swinging violently as the younger man struggled to keep up. The screaming had already stopped long ago by then, but Geralt hadn't moved from where he was standing. Triss had joined him some time ago. He'd stopped her from going inside.
The aelderman stopped in front of the two, chest moving like bellows. "Witcher, are you to be the end of all life in this village?"
Geralt uncrossed his arms and stared at the aelderman until the smaller man looked uncomfortable. "It's done. You can pay me and we'll be gone. You won't suffer any more unnatural stillbirths. Oh, and you'll need to send someone to the graveyard once it's light. They'll need to re-bury someone."
Once the sun was up, Geralt and Triss saddled up and left the village of Olden Dun - after Triss had visited the baker's shop.
"You were right, you know" she said as their horses plodded along the northern road. "I knew when to let the barrier down."
Geralt said nothing. He hadn't said anything, no matter how often Triss asked him about the events in the house.
"She looked so sad, you know. She stopped boiling with rage and just looked…hurt. Like she'd lost everything. Again."
He tried staying silent, but he knew she'd keep trying to draw events from him. Eventually he said:
"Even when we die, even when we're alone, we can usually rely on one thing. Our parent's love. Except for Witchers. We don't get that. And she died knowing they didn't love her any more. That she'd done what they never would. And last night…Triss, you've no idea how close this came to going the other way. The right way."
"Geralt, you can't control what other people will do. You can only advise them how to fix these things. It's up to them if they actually want to."
More silence from him. She spotted the village's sign as their horses walked past. "The baker told me that the place used to be called Messerfirth. I think I like that name more."
"Be careful Triss. Not adapting to the current reality can get you killed."