.XXI. The Bear: .III. Murmurs of the Sea.
'A leaf...
Our, most precious life,
It's length and golden years,
Unbeknownst to us...
The Countless Questions
Thus,
Bother the mind,
As deep as the deepest ocean, and as infinite as the sky.'
- Konstantin Wolwyen, 'Sophia...', Volume .II. Thirteen Century Poetry.
'Would you believe my luck, friend ? They said it rained so much the bridge over Yelena had been washed away into the Great Sea ! Damned weather...', said the blond bearded merchant sitting at the table near the wall, next to a window, only a few steps from the door.
'It's still pouring...', added a foreigner, as he had a northern accent, from Aedirn.
'The gods be damned ! It's been like this for days ! This, and that damned plague up north, that fucked me good this autumn...', cursed the merchant, looking out the window, running his hand over his head.
'Any word on the plague ?', asked the strange man sitting across the table. His head was covered by a rugged hood, but it did show a pair of menacing eyes, sheltered by a pair of thick eyebrows. Followed by his thin lips, pointy chin, and a long narrow, off-centered nose.
The merchant sighed, fixing his eyes on the man, then replied. 'Not much. They say it first took hold in Vizima, where it even robbed of life the princess herself, sweet Sophia, as well as countless others. Mages try to contain it but, rumors have it that the damned plague has spread all the way to Cintra. Then, there are those bloody beasts that feed on the dead and the living. The main road to Vizima is said to be full of them.', the blond bearded man paused as he took a drink, then resumed as he looked at his companion. 'Huh, your kind can't but profit from this shit, I bet my whole cart that's where your heading.', the man scoffed. 'You cat eyed son's of whores, always profit in such times, be it war or peace. All nonhumans should be burnt on pyres, not us ! 'Cause it matters not who's sick or healthy anymore, those damned priests burn whomever they fancy. Maybe your kind started this along with mages and elves...to wipe us out-'.
'Trust me. None of my kind nor elf or mage, need a plague to rid this land of humans.', interrupted the individual sitting across the table. 'I suggest you to shut up, while you can...'.
'What ?', replied the merchant, showing a grin of his teeth. 'You're going to try something ? Here ?', he scoffed, as he was sure that the witcher won't dare harm him within a such crowded tavern.
'Try me.', the man answered, with his eyes fixated on the merchant.
In the time it would take one to blink, the stranger's knife impaled under the table, the tip coming out on the top side, covered in blood.
A table under which the merchant had stashed a crossbow, of small size, but enough to cause damage if fired. Placed at the exact position so it would hit the abdomen.
'Enough with the games, and the shit-talk. I know so far that you like to 'dress up' and pretend. You really thought you had me fooled ?', said the assailant, grabbing the man's neck. 'Tell me, where's the big bag of gold we were promised ?'
'I don't have...it-'.
'Then, who does ? Who ?!'.
As a result of all the ruckus that happened at the table. A tall man with a scarred left side of the face that watched them for a while, approached quickly, unsheathing his sword. 'Oy ! Freak !'.
'Friend ?', said the foreigner looking at the merchant, who didn't respond. And, before the scarred man even took his sword out of the scabbard. The aedirnian got up and with a slash of his knife, he managed two cuts, one above the knee and the other above the man's left wrist. The femoral and radial arteries, more precisely.
The man fell on his right knee, bleeding.
'Your pal, isn't he ?', the aedirnian asked the merchant who was breathing heavily. 'Don't try it, that knife I put through your hand, it's made of silver. As for your friend right here...He may live only if you answer what I asked. I don't like killing your kind, but, you pushed me and I don't like being pushed. Now...Fuckin' answer that damned question ! Where is the gold ?'.
The face of the merchant began to loose it's form. It was melting, like a brick of iron under the heat of the forge. Changing it's color to a pale yellowish nuance, while his eyes lost their color completely, becoming grey, almost entirely white.
'We...don't have it...We've spent it.', the non-human replied. As the folk inside, almost trampled over each other while getting out of the inn.
'You did ?', asked the foreigner with an unsettling calm. 'How convenient...'. He took a deep breath, and without hesitation he slashed the tall man's neck, then looked back at what was left of the figure that barely resembled the merchant just few moments ago. 'You are a terrible liar...'. Then, sat down on the other side of the table, while the sound of gurgling and moans of the dying man continued. 'Who has it ?'.
The remaining goo of the man standing across the table, made a sound as if he swallowed.
'You really want to die here ? Looking like this ?', the aedirnian moved his right hand in front of the creature, making a sign with his fingers. 'I'll burn you, slowly, until you turn to cinder. You are at my mercy now. Which is almost at its end. So, last chance. Who has my gold ?'.
As the leaking shape of what used to be a man, didn't respond, from the hand of the sorcerer a few sparks ignited, flowing towards the creature, fading away before touching it's melting face.
'Tell me.', said the foreigner, while with his right hand he casted a different spell.
'A- woman... She's in Forgeham. She's scarlet haired...'.
'The name...'.
'...Vera.'
His eyes watched him carefully, hoping to find clues of how his friend would react. He found none. His face did not change one bit since he entered the room.
'That's what I told him. I'm sorry, Gerd. I-.'.
Gerd walked away, towards the left side of the room, and stopped near a small window looking out towards the sea, who's bright blue almost seemed united with the sky. 'This man was he-'.
'A witcher. Don't know from where, exactly, besides his aedirnian accent.'.
'Do you know his name ?'. he asked, watching the sea.
The end of Lammas, 1173 CE.
It was the end of summer.
That morning, the first leaves of the old oak in the courtyard of the witcher keep, had decided to start their journey towards their final rest, hibernation, in an endless cycle they repeat and endure since no man, elf nor dwarf even began to breathe. The beginning of their pilgrimage, already wearing their green coats with yellowish marks as they were picked up by the northern wind combined with a sea breeze flowing from the south, which caressed the walls of the keep and began to whistle as it passed through the crack of the main gate. While a few crows resting on the edge of the fortress's western wall seemed to have a heated discussion, and beyond it, the forest that stretched all the way to the harbor, not far from the keep, was covered by a dense fog.
Sitting on a stump, the old witcher, Mousar, admired the change that nature had set in motion for a few days now. As he cleaned his silver blade, having planned to take a contract or two. For he heard of a beast roaming the forests south of the small village of Fayrlund and of some witcher work needed in Arinbjorn.
'The warmth of summer will soon leave those lands...', he whispered. 'Time of the frost is near...'.
During that time, the keep was inhabited by the old witcher and Neena. Who was out that morning, as she went into the village, near the harbor, to visit a friend and with some luck buy a few fresh caught fishes from the fisherman and a few eggs from his wife.
A few seven or eight springs ago, right before Gerd and Ksander would usually prepare to leave the keep. She had them convinced to help her prepare a patch of land inside the inner courtyard, where she thought to grow spices and other plants, as it would help lower the amount of spent coin during the autumn and winter.
Mousar, remembered the time there was a garden in which they used to grow the ingredients used for witcher potions and those which were used during the Trail of the Grasses. After all, it was the old witcher who mentioned the patch of land near the entrance to the inner courtyard would be the right place for Neena's garden.
Last winter, she mentioned her plans to buy a few hens so she won't have to buy eggs anymore. Mousar agreed, the other witchers beside Junod didn't weigh in on the discussion. Ayo, who had been injured during a contract and was recovering at the keep, joked, saying 'That's all a witcher needs, chickens...'.
However, besides the sooner arrival of the colder autumn, it had also brought more trouble in the Skillige Isles and through the main land. As a plague spread rapidly across the continent. The fear of it reaching the Isles was increased by the recent rumors of it reaching the lands of Cintra, and spread north as far as the northern shore of the Pontar. On the main land, in some cases pits had been dug outside the towns, cities or villages, where bodies of those that had died of the plague, were burned, sometimes both the dead and the living, while the number of necrophages increased around those areas. Whole villages had been burnt to ashes, the dead laying near the main roads, while those that still lived, hid in the forests and within caves, from both men and beasts.
The elves killed anything that came near their territories, while at the same time the gates of the human fortresses and towns were closed shut. Ports as well, merchant routes left bare, while the kingdoms and their kings in hand with the politicians, aided by the City Guard, and the Eternal Fire priests kept the other capitals clean. Vizima being the most affected of all.
Therefore, the Skillege Isles were closed to any ship that sailed from the main land or any other place for more than a year. The Isles fared well, as what is Skellige if not independent of any ties with the continentals...
'...Gael, as I recall. I don't know his guild.'. He stopped, sucking his lips. 'I'm not very helpful, am I ?'.
Gerd sighed. 'You helped enough...'.
'I'm sorry.'.
'Sorry doesn't cut it.', replied Gerd, looking out the window.
That had been a sign, he guessed. 'I guess you'll hunt him down ?'.
Gerd didn't answer right away. He knew he wanted to, but, after so many days, it was quite hard to find a lead. 'His trail is cold. The chances that I manage to even find him are very slim.'.
'You are a great tracker, you'll surely find something.'.
After taking a deep breath, Gerd turned towards the man. 'What's your part in this ?'.
'What do you mean ?'.
'What did you and Vera need all that coin for ? Was it debt ?'.
'Nothing gets by you, does it ? Yes, debt. That job we did, had...Unexpected complications...'.
'Meaning ?'.
'We needed an extra set of hands...'.
'The witcher and his pal.'.
'Right.'
'Which you screwed over, because ?'.
'The reward didn't cut that well in five...'.
'Meaning it wasn't enough to pay the debt.'.
'Yes...'.
Gerd returned to the table the auburn haired cintrian soldier sat at.
'And the debt, is still unpaid...'.
'Correct.', the cintrian replied with a sigh.
'Yet, you seem to handle this nicely.'.
'You jest, right ? I have, had, a profitable business in Neunreuth. I had a decent way of life, and I undoubtedly don't find any damned benefits from a life on the run.'.
'You can become whoever you want-'.
'True. But, to have something I build myself is hard to come by. It takes time, Gerd. It took me years to settle in Neunreuth...'.
'Therefore you need my help...'.
'I do. If you offer it.'.
'How could I refuse.'.
The soldier breathe with relief. 'Thanks Gerd, I'll be forever in your debt.'.
'I think you have enough debts as it is, old friend. Let's not add even more.'.
'Right.', replied the cintrian soldier, happy that he had a trusted help. Finally...