Chapter Eight
~Geralt~
"Geralt?" Fingers, warm yet trembling, were at my throat, my forehead, my arm. Groaning, I forced my eyes open, blinking up at the face peering down at me, drawn with fear.
"Eliana." I said, recognising those sea-blue eyes, pert nose and full lips, her golden hair trailing over my neck. "Hold still I'll free your arm." She panted, breaths coming short from what? Fear? My left arm stung and throbbed, like I'd been swiped at repeatedly by a dagger. I guess it had been. The Shrieker's talons were as sharp as dagger blades. Blood tainted the air, along with the foul scent of the dead creature, akin to a chickens coop, but worse, more like a chickens coop where the chickens feasted on meat and gore, not grains and vegetable scraps.
I winced as Eliana pried each of the claws from my arm, muttering under her breath over the blood, and something about infection. Fuck, I could taste the dead creature's blood on my lips. Abruptly, I sat up, pushing back bile.
"I need a wash, stay under the trees, close to Roach." Ignoring more protests about infection, and bleeding everywhere, I grabbed my sword and hurried to the wide stream which we'd camped near, desperate to get the taste of blood from my mouth. Then we needed to get out of this valley. Who knew what attention the Shrieker's screams might have attracted? My right shoulder stung where the beast had clawed me, the sleeve of my shirt soiled in my blood. Eliana had my spare shirt, fuck, I needed to get the girl clothes. Dragging my shirt off, I dumped it on the grass, and knelt on the bank of the stream, splashing water over my face and arms.
Two cuts on my forearm bled, and my shoulder had not let up either. Shaking the water out of my hair, I rose, pulling the shirt back on, the material pulling tight in places from the water still on my skin.
"We need to go." I said to Eliana, striding back to our small camp. She stood next to Roach, as I had instructed earlier, but bundled in her arms was my healer's satchel.
"Are you hurt?" I hadn't checked her, I didn't think the beast's talons had caught her, but had I been wrong? Its wing had knocked her over. Or had that been me? My rush to get between her and the Shrieker was a blur now.
"No, but you are."
"It's fine, we need to go." I kicked soil over the remaining embers of the fire, turning to pack up the bedroll, before snatching up my jerkin. A hand caught my right, uncut wrist. I stilled, meeting Eliana's determined gaze.
"Your arm needs bandaging, and your shoulder might need sutures." Sutures? I barked out a laugh, and her eyes narrowed.
"I don't need sutures."
"I beg to differ." I made to shrug on my jerkin, but she still held my arm, surprisingly strong.
"There isn't time for this."
"And when will there be time to get the rotting stench of blood out of your jerkin?" She let go of my arm, crossing hers over her chest. A sigh whistled past my lips.
"Fine, but no sutures."
"Fine." She hurried to Roach on silent feet, fetching the healing supplies as I conceded defeat and sat on the ground, sprawling my legs out before me, staring at the boots I'd pulled on moments before the Shrieker had made its appearance.
Eliana had already mixed up a tincture while I'd been at the stream. I stared at the bowl of olive-coloured liquid, picking up on the various notes of the herbs she'd used from my supply. Soaking one of the clean rags I kept for just this purpose, she began dabbing at my shoulder, the pressure gentle considering the speed she worked.
The tincture stung, but her minustrations made it hard to let the pain bother me. Once she'd applied a thin layer of balm to my shoulder and wrapped it, she focused her attention on my left forearm,. Taking my hand, Eliana ran the cleaned and re-soaked rag over the jagged cuts. The bleeding had stopped, save for a vein on my hand near my wrist. She frowned, dabbing the fresh blood away.
"This one should be sutured."
"No."
"It's a vein. She bit out, annoyed I was refusing her."
"It will be fine." A huff escaped her.
"Typical stubborn knight."
"Pardon?" Knight?
"You all think you know better than a healer, but stubbornness can kill a man." Man? Was she generalizing or did she think…?
"I'm not a knight." I countered as she took a clean, dry rag and applied pressure to the bleeding cut.
"Hunter then. You're all the same, although given your supply of herbs and how you treated me, I expected you'd know you need sutures." I looked at her, really looked at her; taking in her frustrated expression, those eyes, sparking like tumultuous waves on the ocean.
"Eliana, I don't need sutures, a pressure bandage will be enough." She stared at me a moment longer, as if she were trying to will me to change my mind.
"Fine, hold this." She indicated to the rag, and I took over applying pressure while she applied the healing balm to the other cuts, her fingers soothing against the sting. I stared at her left hand holding mine. Smooth, unblemished golden skin against my pale skin, crisscrossed with scars. Her fingers were straight, elegant. Could they wield power beyond her soothing touch? Did she know her hands soothed as much as the balm?
"What was that creature?" Eliana asked, wrapping a bandage about my arm and hand.
"A Shrieker. They usually prey on livestock and dwell near towns."
"Is there a town nearby?"
"Mhmm. We'll pass through it today. Our supplies are out, I'll buy food in Kaer Morheh. It is a risk, but a necessity. Hopefully, I can acquire garments for you there, although I doubt there will be much." I didn't mention the other risk of entering a town, being driven out by hatred.
"Thank you." She finished her work, and I pulled on my jerkin, both glad and disappointed her ministrations had ended. For someone with a fiery temper, she evoked a peacefulness. I couldn't deny I'd slept soundly once her potion infused dreams had abated. I turned to face her, but she'd pivoted on her feet, back facing me. Fresh blood stained the shirt.
"Eliana, your back—"
"It's fine." She made to buckle the healing satchel, and I stilled her hand with mine.
"Your bleeding, you must have torn your sutures."
"I know." She whispered without looking at me.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"It wasn't important, your injuries are worse." A derisive laugh erupted from me.
"I'm in a far better state of body to heal than you are."
"Geralt, please can we leave them for now?" There was a panicked wildness to her eyes, her face paling behind golden strands of hair. I pulled my hand away from hers.
"Are you afraid of me?" I cut to the chase, but she shook her head, jaw clenched. "Then what is it? You think I'm a monster?"
"No!" Her eyes widened in horror. "Why would you presume such a thing?"
"I..." I had no words, as realisation hit.
"Well?" She pressed.
"You called me a monster our first night together." A frown creased her brow, and she stared at me. Embarrassment heated the small points of her ears and coloured her cheeks.
"I was scared, I am sorry. I know now you are nothing like those men, but I just..." She shook her head helplessly, seeming at war with an inner demon. "I… it's hard to… forget." She shook her head again, biting down furiously on her bottom lip. "I don't mean to offend you." She finally said, staring at her hands.
My own hands clenched and unclenched at my sides, a palpitating rage simmering beneath my skin. If I'd known, if I'd had the time, I would have ensured those slave traders suffered more for the pain they'd caused Eliana. Heat blazed hot under my ribs.
"Geralt?" Her voice was an uncertain whisper, and I came back to the present, cocking my head to meet her almost shy gaze.
"It is all right." I wanted to tell her I'd been called worse, but I had never, would never act like the scum who had caught her—tried to enslave her. Blowing out a sigh, I stood and extended my good hand. "Tonight, you will let me see to your back and shoulders." Eliana swallowed but nodded, placing her hand in mine like a peace offering.
"Thank you." She said once I'd pulled her up to stand before me. I merely grunted, dropping her hand to tug my jerkin on. That damn overgrown rooster had really done a number on my wrist, and the bandage would be a nuisance until it healed, but I'd wear it to appease Eliana and her notions I was a mere white knight sent to fetch her, not the monster I truly was.
~Eliana~
It was not until the ring of shod hooves on cobblestones echoed in my ears I realised I had fallen asleep. Starting, I blinked into the sunlight, staring at the town now surrounding me. Men and women going about their daily business observed us. Their expressions were wary. I didn't know what to make of their reaction and squirmed with discomfort, my neck prickling with fear.
"It's all right." Geralt murmured near my ear. "Strangers passing by are always a curiosity to village and townsfolk." I swallowed, his steady words reassuring. Between my shoulders I could feel his heart's slow, slow beat. It helped settle me enough to take proper notice of our surroundings. The village was built from the great pines which surrounded the area, nestled in a valley. There was a tranquillity about it, yet I was sure, by the worn faces of the village-folk, their life was far from tranquil. Geralt nudged Roach down a wide street, revealing various vendors' stalls. We passed a rack of polished hunting bows of various designs at a smithy before Geralt halted Roach before a water trough. A mouse-grey donkey let out a low bray, jerking his head up and down. Geralt swung down, murmuring at Roach not to bite. I glanced back towards the bows.
"Geralt?"
"Hmm?" He busied himself rummaging in the left saddle pack, and I heard the soft clink of coin.
"Could I, perhaps, acquire a bow while we are here?"
"What would you do with a bow, Princess?" His cynical tone set my teeth clenching.
"Use it." He shook his head.
"Stay on Roach, I'll see what I can find." Pocketing a soft leather pouch and strode to a nearby stall where I could see breads set out on a wooden bench.
I stayed in the saddle, trying not to fidget, the hairs at the back of my neck prickling. Multiple pairs of eyes watched me, just as I could see townsfolk watching Geralt with a scorn I did not understand. Others were curious, a middle-aged woman whispering excitedly to her younger companion.
"Yeh could do better company than that monster, girlie." A man muttered, hurrying past, away from where Geralt stood. I stared after him, my confusion growing. Monster? Was the man perhaps mistaken? I turned back to Geralt, and he must have felt my gaze, for he turned, those golden eyes finding mine.
It's okay. He seemed to say with but a look. Swallowing, I nodded, and he turned away, a loaf of bread in hand, to purchase something from the next stall.
"Look at the girl, she might be one of them too. Eyes are too bright, like his." I stiffened; the gruff voice filled with a hatred I couldn't miss. I glanced about Roach's saddle, the mare shifting with unease. Geralt wore all his weapons. Shoving a hand into the left saddlebag, I tried finding more coins, but there was nothing, nor in the right when I checked. I wanted a weapon. Grabbing up the reins, I nudged Roach around and into a trot towards the Smithy.
"Stay here." I told the mare, sliding from the saddle, pulling Geralt's cloak tight about me. Heart pounding with both fear and adrenalin, I walked up to the row of bows, and reached out to run my fingers over the smooth rose wood of a recurve similar to mine back in Verden. Gripping the bow, I lifted it from the rack.
"What do you think you are doing?" I startled, right hand jerking back, before I remembered I had no quiver and the bow I held was unstrung. I turned my head to see a man, perhaps ten years my senior, but he appeared much older and battered by the worry creases marring his forehead, and a jagged scar running down the right side of his jaw.
"I, I…"
"Think you can steal it?"
"No, no! I just wanted to look at it." I stammered. Roach, nearby, let out a low huff.
"If you're not buying, move on."
"How much is it?"
"Twenty crowns." I swallowed.
"Including a full quiver and strings?"
"Thirty-five." He crossed his arms, staring at me. "What's a slip of a girl like you want with a bow, anyway?"
"It doesn't matter." I let out a defeated sigh, placing the bow back on the rack. "I don't have the coin for it." I made to leave when a child's terrified voice called from the door of the nearby pine house.
"Papa, mamma won't wake up!" The man's face palled, and he spun on his heel, bolting towards the house adjoining the Smithy. The child, a boy, stared at me. He was surely no older than eight, brown eyes wide with fear, tears brimming at his dark lashes. Without thinking twice, I rushed after the man.
The house was dark and stifling warm, but I easily followed the man into a bedroom where a lady lay in a bed, blankets up to her throat, her auburn hair damp. Sweat and decay hit my senses, and I let out a gasp. Infection. "What happened to her?" I asked the man as he shook the woman awake. To my relief, she stirred, feverish eyes fluttering.
"How dare you follow me—"
"I'm a healer." I cut over him. "I may be able to help her." He turned to me, the look of a desperate man.
"Are you truly?" I nodded. "I can't pay you."
"I don't care, tell me what happened?" He stared at me, shock and hope swirling in brown eyes just like his son's, who lingered in the doorway crying.
"A cut to her leg, she fell whilst tending the chickens over a week ago. It's infected, I've tried treating it myself, but there's no healer in town, and to send for one, we don't have the money." The man drew in a shaking breath. "Please, I beg of you, if you can help my Annetta, you can have anything you wish from the Smithy, any bow." I barely nodded, focusing on pulling the blankets away to reveal the woman's leg. The inner blanket and her bedclothes were drenched through with sweat, and I could not stop the instinctual wrinkling of my nose as the full stench of infection flooded my senses. The bandage wrapped about the woman's red and swollen calf was stained yellow and rust brown, where puss and blood seeped from the wound. With tentative fingers, I un-ravelled the bandage, gritting my teeth where the cloth caught on dried puss.
"Brom?" The woman's shrill, confused voice filled the small room.
"Tis all right, a healer is here." The man, Brom, smoothed a cloth over her feverish brow. As I chewed my bottom lip, examining the full extent of infection. Angry, vermillion lines extended beyond the festering wound, trailing up beneath her nightdress. Poisoning of the blood. I had seen it in soldiers, had aided Petra in trying to heal their wounds, but once the infection made its way into the blood, most did not survive beyond a few agonizing days lost to fever dreams.
"Lieth, where is Lieth?" Annetta called out. "Lieth, it is time to learn your numbers." The boy still stood in the doorway, small hands clutching the wooden frame.
"Do you have a herb garden?" I asked him, and his tear-filled eyes turned to me. He nodded.
"If you have it, can you fetch me some lemon-leaf, a garlic bulb, oregano, aloe, calendula and a lemon or orange if you have one? Even a lime?" He nodded, turning to hurry away.
"You can help her?" Bram breathed once his son was out of earshot.
"I, I don't know. I can try." I looked up at the man, forcing myself to meet his desperate eyes. "I am sorry, the infection has reached her bloodstream, I can only try…" He nodded; jaw tight. "I need clean, warm water, clean cloths, and a clean knife. I need to open the wound, and quickly."
"All right, I can do that." Bram sprang from the room, leaving me with the woman. An overwhelming dread spread to my heart as she muttered incoherent words, falling in and out of consciousness. Every man I had ever seen under Petra's care, who had reached the mind realms of a fever, never survived the night. The woman would die tonight, and I couldn't help her. This woman who was a wife, a mother, barely older than I. Tears burned behind my eyes while I absently took up the cloth to her brow, wiping beads of sweat away.
"I'm so sorry." I whispered, blinking back my tears.
"No, no, help me, please help me." Annetta whimpered, her breathing laboured behind cracked lips. I wanted to help her, I wanted to scream because I couldn't! I wanted to draw the infection from her blood, from her body! Drag the poison from her blood, leaving it clean. I wanted to, no, needed to save her! She couldn't die, she couldn't!
Fire burned through my chest, shooting through my right arm, followed by a heavy weight, tingling as if my fingers were going numb. Someone behind me shouted, and Annetta cried out. Something wrapped tight around my arm, jerking me away from the women, and then the same numb tingling cloaked my mind, sending me spiralling down, the last thing I felt, a reverberating growl through my spine.
Toss a coin to your Witcher, reviews welcome!
I'm still alive! Although, wow have the actually staying alive stakes risen big time! This is day eighteen of self imposed isolation, and only now have I both had time, and felt up to writing. Hi to all new readers and followers, and hi to my current peeps! I hope you all, wherever you are in the world are doing okay and that you are all safe. xx If you are like me, you are probably falling back on reading fics for that familiar comfort of characters you know, so if you are an anxious mess like me, I really hope my stories are helping others out there, like others' stories are helping me! xx Love to you all.