I wrote this as a short story - even if I love long-format stories better and I could have expanded on it more - simply because the end isn't exactly what you'd call happy. Hope you enjoy the read despite that and don't hate me by the end.
Fucking djin. Fucking witch. Fucking bard. He cursed them all at once as he got knocked through a wall by the enraged air elemental.
How did he always end up being dragged into this somebody else's crap?
Fucking luck. Fucking destiny. Fucking witcher's existence.
"I wish this wasn't my life." And just like that, he spoke his third and final last wish.
The world spun upside down, then upright again, and his head went along for the ride. There was no crumbling house, no burning village, no mad woman trying to submit a dangerous spirit to her will. Colours and shapes swirled and blended into an amorphous amalgamation until nothing remained but the perfect pitch black of nothingness.
For a moment he thought the witch portalled him again, but there was no smell of ozone - so characteristic of magic - not even the icy stillness of being transported. In fact, he couldn't really feel anything, like he had been disembodied. Only his thoughts floating inside a void.
Was this what death felt like? Had he stupidly wished himself out of existence?
He wished for peace, maybe a little happiness, nothing more than a simple existence, unburdened by all these responsibilities thrown at him from all sides. Although, if he was fair to himself, it was partly his fault for having so much to hang on him. Sure, there was no shortage of people needing help, but it wasn't like he went out of his way to avoid them. Not that it mattered anymore; now all that was over. He relaxed, waiting for the faint light of his consciousness to be extinguished.
Just as he had made his peace with the inevitable, the world grew bright again.
"It was just a nightmare, love," a faint voice echoed inside his head.
Was this the afterlife the prophets spoke of?
He felt solid again, thoughts anchored inside a body. His fingers reached out to feel around, but he daren't open his eyes yet. If this was the afterlife, he hadn't really led a virtuous existence. There was no reason to think that a pleasant image would greet him. Yet, what his hand felt underneath was a crisp sheet over a straw mattress. Surely heaven or hell must have something more... particular to offer. Not plain bed sheets, the kind any commoner would have.
"It was just a bad dream, love," the same soft voice spoke again, and a soft touch accompanied the sound; small fingers clasping his hand and faintly squeezing.
He opened his eyes carefully, as if procrastinating could change the reality that met him. Soft pale green eyes watched over him and the firelight from the hearth glittered inside them.
A rush of images and memories flooded him and he felt himself drown in someone else's life. Anna. The green eyes belonged to Anna. His wife? Witchers don't have wives. They have the Path, they're married to their work. Yet he remembered marrying her. On a sunny autumn day, under the oak tree, they took their vows, and the priest bound their hands and destinies together. Had that been a dream or was his life as a witcher the dream?
He sat up and looked around, disorientated. Soft hands coiled around his waist and a delicate cheek pressed against his chest. Ringlets of chestnut hair that swirled and danced cascaded over his skin. Lighter sunburnt strands shone in the dim light. With each passing second, his memories of being a witcher faded, and his conviction that he was a simple huntsman who dreamed of being a hero became stronger.
The fire burned dimly in the hearth; it was time for him to stoke it if he didn't want it to die out.
"Was it monsters again?"
He nodded in silence. It had been monsters, even if one had human form and violet eyes.
"It's that cursed thing in the woods. Sends bad dreams to all the villagers. I heard Eloise complain, too. Her and the kids all have the same nightmare each night. Crows pecking at their eyes and while roots spring from the ground to keep them in place. She was on the verge of tears, thinking of moving to her mother's. If this continues much longer, the entire village will be empty."
"Sounds like a leshen."
"Leshen? And how would you know that?"
He shrugged. How could he explain he dreamed of being a witcher, complete with 80 years of experience under his belt?
"I'll speak to the ealdorman. Whatever it is, he should put out a contract for a witcher," she said.
"You think he'll spare the coin? Could be expensive."
"I'm sure everyone will pitch in. Cheaper than packing up and leaving."
He got up to stoke the dying fire. For a moment, he had the impulse to make some a sort of sign with his fingers. How odd, he thought. That dream had been so vivid, it muddled his reality.
In the morning, Anna kept her word and went to speak with the ealdorman. As it turned out, she wasn't alone. Numerous other villagers had made their way to his door, all of them demanding a solution to their problems. The ealdorman had no choice but to listen. Even his wife joined the choir of angry voices. Soon, the contract was drawn up and posted on the village notice board for any passer-by to see.
"To whoever may be concerned, a monster or a curse plagues this village and we are in need of one with sufficient knowledge and skill to rid us of it. For details regarding the task and reward, seek out the ealdorman." Geralt read the notice as he passed by it and headed into the woods.
The days passed, and no one showed up to take up the contract. Then the days turned into weeks and soon into a month. Villagers began to flee, some temporarily, some permanently. The ealdorman shrugged his shoulders and claimed there was nothing more he could do. Until the day came when one child wandered into the forest foraging for mushrooms, only to be found days later by Geralt whilst on a hunt. It was a gory sight: the boy's body tangled among the brush, his eyes had been pecked out by birds and wolves had torn off pieces of flesh and eaten the organs. To get him out, they had to cut through thick roots that pierced his body. What was left of him was so gruesome-looking they couldn't even show the remains to his mother. They just wrapped him up in a sheet and buried him.
The time for idle waiting had passed. After the funeral, the entire village was in an uproar, demanding something be done. A small mob gathered outside the ealdorman's door, and soon the rest of the townspeople joined them, Geralt and his wife included.
"I've put up the contract. Someone will see it and help," the ealdorman said.
"No witcher 'as come by these parts in a decade and we could wait a decade more for one to show up."
"We could send someone out to seek a witcher."
"And where would one seek a witcher these days?"
"We could post the contract in other villages closer to the merchant's route. One might pass on their way to Novigrad."
"And who'd be crazy enough to cross the forest to get there? The monster's prowlin', I can hear 'im at night, I can."
"You have a better suggestion? Let's hear it."
The murmurs in the crowd continued, but no one spoke up.
"So that settles it. Any volunteers?"
Even the murmurs stopped, and heads turned from side to side, cowardly looking at their neighbors for salvation.
"I'll go," Geralt spoke and saw the horrified look on his wife's face. "I go into the forest every day. Not much difference if I go a little further out this time."
The ealdorman was exceedingly eager to have this burden lifted off his shoulders and passed on to someone else, so he quickly made his way to the fresh volunteer and handed him the parchment. He also offered to pay Geralt for his trouble, provide victuals and a weapon to defend himself. Geralt accepted the pay and victuals, but he preferred to use his own weapons. They agreed he would leave the next day after dawn.
That night, Anna did and said anything she could to sway him to stay, but he could not be moved from his decision. How could he, when there was no one better to make the journey? And if no one did, then others might die. And soon it would be winter, then surely no one would come till spring.
He packed a few days' worth of supplies for the road and prepared to leave at first light. Anna followed him out, teary-eyed and silent. He embraced her, and she melted into his chest, clinging to the fabric of his shirt, once again tears streaming down her cheeks.
"I'll return, don't fret. You needn't mourn me yet," he said as he caressed her hair, running his fingers through the soft strands.
He couldn't leave her weeping. If he was to die, this wasn't how he wanted their goodbye to look like. His thumb stroked her cheek, wiping away salty tears and comforting her. He gave her a few moments until the sobbing subsided and gently put his index under her chin and lifted it so he could look into her eyes. Maybe he should have said something more, but he couldn't find the proper words. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her dearly.
"In a few days, I'll return."
She nodded and released her hold on him.
With a last smile, he headed onto the dirt road that led into the forest and left the village behind.
He knew the forest well. To get to the other side, he had two options. A shorter and more dangerous route, which involved a two-day trek through the deep forest. Meaning he'd have to move away from the road and potentially stumble into the beast's lair. Or a longer, safer route if he stuck to the trodden path. But then it'd take him four days to cross, and that meant more nights spent in the midst of the beast's territory. So in the end, not that much safer. He weighed his chances and chose the first option. If he moved quick enough and quiet enough, he was sure he could make it unscathed.
For a while, he walked along the beaten path, moving quietly while listening for danger. There was nothing but the usual sounds of birds, the rustle of leaves in the fall wind, and the occasional squirrel or rabbit scurrying through the undergrowth. It was more of the same until he reached the bend in the road where he knew he had to walk on straight ahead instead of turning left along the path. He took a deep breath and trudged on.
As the hours passed and he ventured deeper, the air got cooler until he could see his breath in the chilly air. He pulled the hood of his cloak tighter around his head, readjusted the pack on his back, and walked on. Maybe he should have stopped to eat, but he wanted to get as far as he could while there was still daylight coming through the trees. There would be plenty of time to rest and eat in the evening.
When daylight began to fade, he searched for a suitable place to camp for the night. He settled for a small gap amidst the trees. After clearing the fallen leaves from the area, he gathered kindling and made a small fire to warm himself and the food. He ate a little of his supplies and laid out his bedroll, but couldn't bring himself to sleep just yet. Anna's worry had burrowed into his heart and his ears perked up at every odd sound.
Just as he was about to call it quits and force himself to sleep, he caught an unusual sound. Something he had no business hearing so deep into the forest. A horse whinny. It could mean that there were other humans around, so he got up to investigate. He followed the sound a little way from his small camp and soon he happened upon a bay mare, fully tacked but untethered. Either she was lost or her rider was nearby. He got closer and, even in the dimming light of the day, he could see streaks of blood running down the side of the saddle and the mare's coat. Meaning the rider was likely dead and there was no point in leaving a perfectly good horse to be eaten by wolves in the woods. The horse didn't shy away from him when he got closer, and after patting her nose and stroking the side of her neck, he grabbed the reins and led her back to his camp.
He had some apples in his pack and he treated the horse to one of them before taking off her tack and tying her to a nearby tree. The horse probably wouldn't have wandered off, even untied, but he didn't want to risk it.
Having another soul around, even if it was just a horse, proved comforting and soon sleep found him. The dreams he had, however, were as unsettling as ever. Unlike the other villagers, he didn't dream of crows, wolves, and roots; he dreamed of a spiral staircase, emerald eyes, a silver blade and blood. In his dream, he wasn't in danger; he was the danger. Waking up to see the first light of day making its way through the tree boughs was a relief. He was alive, the horse was still there, and he was halfway through his trek through the forest. Maybe even further now that he had a mount.
He saddled the horse and rode her the rest of the way to the nearest village. It was evening by then, so he stopped directly at the inn to find lodgings and information on the ealdorman. Perhaps he knew where they could find a witcher. And, even if he didn't, he wanted to make sure the man was aware of the contract so he could steer anyone interested in their direction.
He also got to hear the latest news in the kingdom. War was coming. Nilfgaard had attacked and conquered Cintra and was steadily moving north. Queen Calanthe was dead, along with her granddaughter, princess Cirilla. Temeria had struck a deal with them already and it looked like the elves were giving them aid. Dark times would be upon them if they let the black armies cross unimpeded through Temeria. It was times like these he was thankful he lived in an out of the way remote village forgotten by most.
The innkeeper served a decent stew and a not so decent ale, but it was more than enough for a weary traveler like him. He sat at the table eating in silence, appreciating the presence of humans around him after two days spent in the dark woods.
While he ate, he even got a spectacle. A garishly dressed bard with a large feather in his cap sang all the way through dinner. The man's pleasant tone accompanied by the skillful strumming of his lute drew Geralt in and made him listen until the end, even if most of the compositions were ballads.
The bard was nearing the end of his performance when a bald-headed man with dark eyes sat down at Geralt's table.
"Ah, Geralt! Enjoying your friend's performance, I see!"
"Do I know you?" Geralt asked, confused. The man was so self-assured in his movements and speech that Geralt assumed he must have met him and forgot. How else could he know his name?
"I doubt you do, but I know of you."
Why would a random stranger know of him? And what could he know? So he asked him just that.
"Oh, I know plenty. Even more than you know yourself."
"Like what?"
"Your mother was a sorceress, burned at the stake during a small town uprising. You watched it all, despite them telling you to look away. The shock of it turned your hair white, and it has been like that ever since. I also know a hunter took you in and raised you as his own and now you yourself are a hunter."
"You know a lot."
"I also know that is all a lie, and this is not your life."
"Is it now? Seems pretty real to me."
"As it should, it is what you wished for, after all. But you were destined for much greater things than culling the local predator population in the nearby forest."
"Am I?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. He measured the man from head to toe. Judging by the way he dressed, he was probably a merchant of sorts. This was probably some trick to get him to loosen his purse and part him from his coin. "How about you stop beating around the bush and just tell me what you are peddling and stop wasting my time."
The man had an eerie, crooked smile. "I can give you back your life. The real one. The one you wished away."
"Even if that were so, who says I want it back?"
The man laughed. "You'll say it yourself when you're ready to. When you're sick of playing house in the forest." His laughter stopped as abruptly as it started. "Come find me when you do. Or perhaps it will be I who finds you first."
"I don't even know your name."
"And you never will, but you can call me Gaunter O'Dimm."
And with that, the man got up and walked away, whistling a tune that made the hair on the back of Geralt's neck stand on end.
It took some time to fall asleep that night. Even if he laid in a comfortable bed, over a bustling tavern, in a busy village, he felt more uneasy than he did in the cold, dark forest. And all because of a strange conversation with an even stranger man.
The next day, he had no trouble finding the local ealdorman and entrusting him with the contract for their village's monster. He even found out that there was a witcher who passed by each year, on his way to their keep for winter. By the ealdorman's account, he should probably be due for a visit in a week, and he promised to let him know his services are required. With that, his task was complete and he could finally return home.
With a horse at his disposal, he could make the journey back in half the time, meaning that if he timed his departure correctly, he wouldn't have to spend even a single night in the forest.
He patted the mare's neck and stroked her nose affectionately. She really was a gentle horse, and he already had a soft spot for her.
"What should I call you?" he thought aloud while brushing her coat. A soft whinny and a shake of her head was all the response he got. He smiled. "I think I'll call you Roach."
He made his way through the forest on horseback, still trying to be as quiet as possible. After all, the monster might not attack only at night and it was ill to tempt fate. It was better to be careful.
The ride was smooth, and he estimated he was halfway through the forest when he got an ominous feeling. At first, he didn't know why, but soon he realized the forest had gone quiet. There were no more birds' songs and no movement besides the rustle of leaves in the wind. A blood chilling panic crept in. A predator was around. He dismounted and drew the short sword he had fastened on his belt. Grabbing Roach's reins, he continued his journey on foot, ready to defend himself if needed. He was hoping it was simply an animal and not the creature that haunted the villagers' dreams.
He took a few more steps when he heard leaves crunching underfoot. Someone was running, and by the sound of it, they were heading straight for him. The crunching got louder, and a faint hissing accompanied it. He let go of the lead and took a defensive stance.
Out of a nearby bush, a small cloaked figure stumbled out. It leaped to the side as soon as Geralt came into view, and he finally saw what it was chasing it. A multi-legged monstrosity, a giant myriapod. Some dormant instinct took over; he pirouetted and slashed at the creature, cutting off the legs on one side. There was no time to think how and why he did what he did; if he lived, there would be time enough for that later. He rolled to the side as the myriapod lanced its spiky tail at him. With a swift twist, he cut off the tip of the tail that held its venomous spike. The creature wailed and screeched, then retreated. It scurried back into the underbrush, leaving him in shock, panting and heaving.
He remembered the cloaked figure and whirled around, looking for it. It lay on the ground, face down, eerily still. He got closer and lifted the little thing off the ground, twisting it face up. The hood of the cloak fell back and long, ashen hair spilled over the ground. A little girl, no more than twelve. She stirred and opened her eyes. His heart stilled its beating for a moment. Her eyes were the emerald green ones he dreamed of each night. He was at a loss for words. The girl wriggled out of his arms and stood up and he remained frozen, crouched on the ground, unsure of what was real and what was a dream. A rustle of leaves dragged him out of his stupor.
"We should leave. That... thing could return at any moment," he said, looking at the little girl.
She said nothing, instead, she looked at Roach with a glimmer in her eyes.
"Do you have family here? Somewhere I could take you?" She shook her head, and the glimmer disappeared. "No one to take care of you?"
"No," she answered in a faint voice. "They're all dead."
"Oh..." Once again, he knew not what to say. What if he took her back with him? What would Anna say? They had been trying for children for years with no luck. Perhaps this little girl with the green eyes he dreamed of was to be their little girl. He got off the ground and extended his hand to her.
"I'm Geralt."
"I'm..." She averted her eyes for a moment, thinking, but then shook his hand. "I'm Ciri." She looked at the horse again.
"Well, Ciri, this here is Roach and if you want, you can ride her. But we should make haste. This is a dangerous place to spend the night. All sorts of terrors live in the forest."
She nodded and mounted the horse with a grace he had never seen; it looked like second nature to her. He got into the saddle behind her and urged Roach on towards the village.
"Have you eaten anything?" he asked the girl. She just shook her head. "Are you hungry?" She nodded.
He reached into the pack and pulled out an apple, a piece of bread, and some cheese. Normally, he would have stopped, but they had no time for breaks if they meant to reach the village before nightfall. She ate in silence.
"You don't say much, do you?" he asked.
She huffed. "Thank you."
"What for?"
"The monster. You saved me. Thank you."
"Oh... You're welcome."
"Where are we going?"
"Weaverton. It's just beyond the other edge of this forest."
"Is that where you live?"
"Mhm."
"Is it nice there?"
"Not sure nice is what I'd call it. But it's... quiet, peaceful."
"Quiet and peaceful sounds nice."
"Your folks... You lost them in the war?"
"Mhm. I lost everyone."
Words began spilling out in torrents, rushed and eager, and it didn't look like she was about to stop anytime soon. He imagined she hadn't spoken to anyone in a long time, living in the forest on her own for half a year. Soon, he learned the entire story that led her to be in the woods alone. She told him how she fled her city and took refuge with a band of nobles who escaped the grasp of the black army, only to be found by them and ran through. She escaped with the clothes on her back. Just her, alone in the forest. She lived off foraging for mushrooms and berries, bathing in forest streams, avoiding the beaten paths, always going further from civilization and never towards it. Animals didn't bother her. Not until she accidentally woke up whatever it was that attacked them.
"You don't have to continue to live in the forest if you don't want to. I'm taking you to my home and, if you like it, you can stay with me and my wife. The gods never blessed us with children and nothing would make me and Anna happier than having a daughter."
"I'd like that but..." She hesitated.
"But what?"
"I'm cursed with misfortune. Everyone around me is fated to die. They all died because of me."
"Nonsense, it's not your fault the emperor went to war. It's what rulers do. They decide to expand their kingdom and people die and suffer by the thousands. It's no one's fault but their own. Certainly not yours."
Once they left the forest, they dismounted, and Geralt led Roach with Ciri behind him. They approached the house late in the afternoon. Anna was busying herself in the garden, as she always did when she couldn't find peace of mind. The joyful expression on her face when she laid eyes on him was unparalleled. The last time he had seen her this happy was after he'd proposed. Little Ciri's head peeked out from behind him and Anna's eyes darted from one to the other, an unspoken question in them. Who was the girl? Perhaps their future, was the answer he gave.
The days passed by lazily. Ciri adjusted quickly to her new environment and Anna took to her immediately. The feeling was mutual and Geralt liked nothing more than to watch both their smiling faces as they spoke about some girlish thing he knew nothing about. Apparently, the gods saw fit to repay his good deed through her and finding a lost little girl had given him and his wife the missing piece in their lives. Now he had everything he had ever wanted and lacked for nothing. It wasn't a life of luxury, but he had all that mattered.
On the tenth day since his return, as he came from a hunt, bringing back a pheasant for dinner, he saw that once again there was a crowd of people gathered in front of the ealdorman's house. Sheer curiosity pushed him to join them.
As it turned out, a witcher had finally arrived to slay the beast that haunted their dreams and their forest. His horse was tied in front of the ealdorman's house and he was inside, discussing the terms of the contract. All had come to catch a glimpse of the monster slayer. There were so few witchers remaining that one might never have a chance to see one in a lifetime. Yet, he preferred to head home and leave the gawking to his more curious brethren. He had a family waiting for him to provide supper.
His Anna cooked a delicious stew and just as they were about to sit down to dinner, a knock interrupted them. The witcher that everyone was so curious to see was standing in his doorway, the ealdorman behind him. He looked like a normal man, if you ignored the ugly scar that streaked his face from the corner of his mouth to his temple and his yellow cat-like eyes.
"Pardon the interruption, but the witcher is in a hurry and wanted to talk to whoever found little Jarred's body."
"Of course. I'll tell you anything I can."
"Actually, I wanted you to lead me to where you found the boy's body." The witcher's low voice was softer than one would have guessed just by looking at him.
"If that's what you want, perhaps it would be better we go in the morning."
The witcher's eyes darted to the women behind him and he heard Anna gasp. The man itched at his scar, self-aware and awkward.
"I'd prefer to go now, if it's not too much trouble. This was an unforeseen detour, and I must make haste. I have a long ride to Kaer Morhen. If the snow begins to fall, I won't be able to cross the mountain pass."
Geralt nodded and picked up his short sword before walking out into the chilly evening air alongside the witcher.
"We should hurry. The days are growing shorter and soon it'll be dark."
He led the man into the forest, to the place where he discovered the body. Along the way, he recalled all the details from that grim day. It wasn't hard; the sight was something no one was likely to forget anytime soon. The witcher was mostly silent, nodding from time to time, letting him recount all he could remember.
Upon reaching their destination, the witcher crouched down and examined the ground. There wasn't anything there to Geralt's eyes. After so much time, the rain and forest animals had wiped out all traces of the horror committed. But the witcher seemed to disagree.
"As I suspected. It's a leshen. Your fellow men have been cutting trees in its forest and spurred its rage. I'll have to draw it out and kill it." He looked around, then at Geralt. "Ever seen anything that looks like a totem inside the forest?"
"No, nothing of the sort."
He hummed. "You can return to your wife and daughter. There's nothing else you can do here, unless you'd like to be bait for the monster."
Being bait didn't sound like anything Anna would approve of, so Geralt didn't need to be told twice; he turned on his heels and left the witcher to his task.
Over the course of the night, gruesome sounds could be heard coming from the forest. It didn't sound like a man or beast. It sounded like the trees creaked and moaned, like rocks shattering, like the flapping wings of many birds. Few could sleep in the village, and those who believed in the gods prayed to them for deliverance.
In the morning, deliverance indeed came, but not from the gods above. It came from a man with golden eyes and a silver sword. The witcher emerged from the trees, sword slung over his back, dragging behind him the horned head of the creature he slew. Had he not been in such a hurry, the village would have held a feast in his honor. But seeing as he was in a rush to be on the road again, he simply took his payment and rode off.
For a small village such as their own, this would be a tale to be told for generations to come. A tale of the fearsome witcher who slew the forest monster and brought them peace. For Geralt, this was simply a reminder that once he had a vivid dream of being a witcher himself.
A few years passed, and nothing of notice happened in his little village. While in other parts war was being waged, they remained untouched, hidden from the path of the invading armies. Men and women married, bore children and died. Life went on as it always had. Little Ciri was not so little anymore and began to venture outside the village. She was growing more beautiful by the day, and soon he would have suitors at his door, asking for her hand in marriage. Word of her striking looks was spreading to the neighboring villages, and whilst this worried him, it made Anna hopeful that her daughter would find a suitable match. Geralt's only hope was that she would find love, so he turned away those who were looking for a trophy wife without batting an eye. His daughter was not to be bought or traded like a mare.
For a while, this was his only concern, until one day when the world caught up with him and threw a wrench into his peaceful life.
One day, as he came back from a long hunt that lasted a few days, the smell of burning wood and flesh greeted his return. His heels dug into Roach's side, urging her into a gallop, his heart beating out of his chest.
The sight that met him was his worst nightmare realized. The village had been razed to the ground in his absence. Only charred remains of houses and people stood in their place. His house was no exception. The beautiful garden Anna had so lovingly grown and fostered was trampled and scorched, and his house burned to the ground like all the others. He walked amongst the remains, too shellshocked to express any emotion, still nursing the vain hope that somehow Anna and Ciri had escaped the massacre. The burned and blackened body curled into a ball on the floor of his former home trampled any hope he had. The necklace around its neck was Anna's. There was no doubt, she was dead. He kneeled and wept sorrowful, angry tears that refused to be kept at bay. He wept until there were no more tears in him, only rage and the desire for vengeance. They burned his world down, he'd burn theirs.
He searched through the bodies for a sign that someone had escaped, and although the bodies themselves were burned beyond recognition, small trinkets such as bracelets or amulets remained as telltale signs of the owner's identity. A few of the villagers were missing, including Ciri. Perhaps they escaped, perhaps they were taken prisoners. Either way, there was a chance he could find her again. A slight chance, but it was enough to give him a purpose beyond pure distilled revenge.
There wasn't anything he could do for the dead except give them a proper burial. He dug, and he dug for what seemed to be an eternity, until he had made enough graves for each and every one of them. Many of them had been his friends, and they deserved more than an unmarked common grave.
When all were laid out in their graves, he said a prayer he learned as a child. Perhaps it wasn't even a prayer, perhaps it was just a way of saying goodbye and wishing the dead their well-deserved rest. Either way, it was all he knew and all he could do.
He had no worldly possessions left except the clothes on his back, his horse, a crossbow and the short sword hanging on his hip. But that didn't bother him. He could work, hunt, build anything the army destroyed, but he couldn't bring back the dead. However, he could try to recover the missing.
With no idea of where to search for first, he scouted the area surrounding the village for any telltale signs of survivors fleeing. If there weren't any to be found, then he'd follow the obvious trail of the moving company of soldiers. Fortunately, he soon found the tracks of two men, three women and three children fleeing from the village. From the indents left on the soft ground, they had been running as fast as their feet could carry them, heading west. He mounted Roach and followed the tracks, hoping to find the survivors before man or beast got to them.
It took him a few hours to catch up to the refugees and when he did, he found them scared half to death, hiding in the bushes, thinking he was a soldier. After they regained the ability to speak, they told him the invaders had indeed taken Ciri. Apparently, there was a very specific order from the emperor to take any ashen-haired lasses alive and unharmed to Vizima, where he has taken temporary residence. No one knew what he wanted with them, not even the Nilfgaardian soldiers, but all knew better than to lay a hand on any such lass.
Vizima. Now he had a direction to go on. But first, he had to get these people to safety, to the nearest village that would take them in. He did just that, crossing the forest on foot and letting the children ride Roach with him leading the mare by the reins.
Fortunately, the village on the other side of the forest - the one where he had posted the monster contract years ago - was still standing. The Nilfgaardians had taken it without a fight and, for that simple reason, they had left the villagers in peace as long as they swore fealty to the emperor. After a brief chat with the ealdorman, he entrusted him with the care of his fellow villagers and left in a rush, heading South; his next destination, the former capital of the Temerian kingdom: Vizima.
He rode as fast as he could without causing harm to the horse, wanting to cover as much distance as he could over the course of the day. But no matter how fast he traveled, his thoughts chased him harder and he could not escape them. He was no idiot. He had put two and two together long ago. Finding the little girl in the forest, her peculiar looks, her even more peculiar name, her dead family and even her guilt over it. She wasn't an ordinary village girl orphaned by the war. She was princess Cirilla, the one all the kings thought dead. And now it was his fault the emperor had found her. His fault for letting her roam outside the village, making herself known. He cursed himself for not having been more careful in hiding her. Perhaps he should have told Anna of his concerns, then maybe she could have swayed the girl to stay out of sight, in the village, at least until the war passed. But they were both so happy and enthusiastic that he couldn't bear to stand in their way, consoling himself with the thought that even if she was royalty, everyone thought her dead and no one would search for her. How foolish he had been.
On his way, he was fortunate enough not to meet any soldiers. The army had advanced further North after they had conquered Temeria and only small companies remained down South; just enough to keep the peace between the local population and the new empire they belonged to. He saw, however, the destruction they had brought to the communities that opposed them. It all looked much like the remains of his own small village. The sight of the wreckage served as a reminder of what awaited Ciri if he failed.
He continued to ride on until evening, when he approached a crossroad. There, by the crooked and faded side of the road, a man was roasting his dinner over a campfire. He dismounted and approached the man, a strange feeling roiling in his gut. The man lifted his eyes and Geralt knew where he had seen him before.
"Ah, Geralt! So we meet again!" the man greeted him with a mirthless grin.
"O'Dimm."
He was struck in place. The memory of the encounter he had years ago had never faded, and the tune he whistled played in his mind from time to time on dark nights when sleep escaped him. Always the same unsettling feeling accompanying the memory.
"Come! Sit! I have a story about a princess I'd like to share with you!"
A shiver ran down Geralt's spine. Gaunter had known all about his youth and now, somehow, he knew about Ciri. Shoving the dread away, and focusing on the benefits he might draw from a man who knew so much without being told a thing, he stepped towards the fire and sat down on a fallen log, across from the stranger.
"What do you know about her?"
The man laughed, but there was no joy, only an evil sort of satisfaction in it.
"She's someone you can never escape from, no matter what wish you make. Your destiny, if you will."
"Hmm... So you don't know everything after all. I aim to find her, not escape from her." He made to get up and leave, relieved that this time the man was wrong and he didn't have to prolong the encounter.
"And find her, you will. Or she'll find you. Either way, the snake bites his tail and round and round we go in circles. And I can help you."
Geralt's brow furrowed, and he sat back down. The man was speaking in riddles. Few things he hated more than riddles.
"And how can you help me? Plan to tell me where she is? If so, save your breath. I already know she's on the way to Vizima. Do you have an army that can help me steal her away? I see no one around but us. What help could you possibly provide?"
The man laughed again, just as strangely and without reason as the first time.
"I can save you the trip. She's already in Vizima and in a fortnight she'll be wedded to the emperor. Your efforts to save her will yield no results aside from your useless death." A dark cloud passed over Geralt's face. "But... I can give you a second chance at finding her. As you should have in the first place. A chance at fulfilling your destiny, both your destinies."
His whole being protested against taking this helping hand. Yet, what else could he do? Ciri was the last part living part of his life and he would gladly trade his life for hers.
"I know better than to think something would be offered for nothing. So tell me what you want in exchange."
A wry smile spread across Gaunter's lips and there was nothing good in it.
"Your word that when I'll come to you with an ask, you'll fulfill it."
"What kind of ask?"
"Now you're just being picky. Any kind of ask I please. After all, is that too high a price for one's destiny?"
"No, but my word might turn out to not be worth much. So you gamble as much as me in this trade."
"The word of the White Wolf. Much can be bought with that. I gamble not tonight."
"Fine," he agreed. "My word for a destiny. Ciri's."
Gaunter's crooked smile turned into a toothy grin as they shook hands over the deal they struck.
Next thing he knew, Gaunter snapped his fingers, and the world spun once more into a blurry mess until it became nothingness. His awakening was not so pleasant this time; he was slammed into a wall, the small shape of a woman clinging to him. Raven black locks spilled over his face and he inhaled the fresh scent of lilac and gooseberries, then angry violet eyes focused on him and thin lips pursed in despise.
"Make your damn third wish, witcher!" she screamed like a banshee let loose from hell.
Fine, he thought. He had known and felt love and loss already. He didn't deserve it again. What he deserved was pain and anguish, something tumultuous that would never let him rest, that would forever drive him down his path with unquenched thirst. This woman was just that, the bitter medicine he needed to sober him up. So he looked into her eyes and spoke his last wish.
I've always wondered when reading the book why Geralt chose Yen. Besides the fact that he is a masochist who is relentless in trying to save everyone - and his last wish did just that - I see no other reason. So I decided that this story could fill that gap as well.
Hopefully, someone enjoyed my little thought experiment, if so, looking forward to your thoughts!