They didn't get far before another wave of drowners and hags attacked them. Geralt pulled Ciri to him so they fought back to back, either tried to not get pulled away while slashing at the enemy that kept coming like neverending rain.
"Is she making them?" Ciri called over her shoulder, wiping drowner blood from her face. It seemed like they were spawning on the spot. "They're just keeping us here. Slowing us down. Should we make a run for it?"
"Just fight," he yelled, stabbing and slashing. "She makes them attack, but she's not creating them. They can't keep coming forever."
It took them a long time to fight through the army of swamp forces, but when there were only a few left, they heard a long, low howling sound roll through the bog as if something humongous rumbling and stirring beneath the ground.
The drowners screeched and fell back, visibly frightened, and then disappeared in the fog, leaving Geralt and Ciri perplexed. The remaining hag wasn't scared, though she wasn't too hasty to attack. As if waiting for something.
Reinforcement, Geralt thought grimly.
"It's not the end of it," he told Ciri who was panting next to him. "We're about to hold a bigger battle."
Ciri reached for Geralt's arm when the ground began to quake beneath them, staring wide-eyed and confused. "What creature can do that?" she asked the Witcher, assuming if anyone would know, it was him.
Another low, grumbling sound rolled across the bog. Closer this time.
"I'm sure you know," he said. "It's a fiend. She put a fiend between us and Cath."
A fiend? Giant creatures looking like hybrids made up of diseased stags and ogres. One blow from them was enough to crush skulls.
Ciri adjusted her hold on her sword, pressing her back to Geralt's. Because at that very moment it was impossible to tell where the beast would come from.
When it did, the fiend ran straight at them, knocking over a tree in its wake. It looked like a ghostly specter emerging from the thick fog, but Ciri never doubted for a second that the creature was very real and corporeal.
"Don't suppose you brought any of those bombs fiends hate so much?" Ciri groaned after having thrown herself out of the beast's way.
They dashed apart as the monster barreled between them, horns poised to spike. The fog thinned a bit, worried by the huge bulk of the fiend, but it scarcely made the fight easier. The hag that had been hesitating on the sidelines screamed and hurried toward Ciri to attack, and Geralt couldn't reach her in time - the fiend jumped, cutting the Witcher off. It lowered its horned head, and its third eye widened.
Geralt's vision blurred, darkened, and something pressed into his temples as if trying to squash his head. He staggered back, shaking his head, let out a grunt. Something hummed inside his skull in torturing, vibrating waves.
Ciri jumped back as the hag advanced, avoiding her razor-sharp claws as they swung for her. Ciri twirled her sword once and, when the hag briefly bent at the waist to scoop mud from the ground, attacked. Only, she wasn't quick enough. The hag righted herself almost immediately, dashed out of the way of Ciri's sword, and flung a ball of mud at the girl.
It hit Ciri directly in the face, covering her eyes and blinding her. Ciri winced and hurriedly tried to wipe it away. Again, not quickly enough.
A heavy weight tackled Ciri's middle and threw her to the swampy floor, her sword knocked from her hand and out of reach as the hag writhed on top of her. Fighting close to blind, Ciri's hands took hold of the hag's slimy head, trying to keep the beast's teeth from tearing into her jugular. It was like holding onto a rotting corpse, skin slick and feeling as though it threatened to slip off the bone.
The hag's claws raked across Ciri's armor fervently but had yet to break through. Only a matter of time, though, Ciri reckoned. The hag's weight was suffocating and Ciri could barely move beneath her, which left no other choice than to rely on her magic.
She focused all her power on the head between her hands, and with a soft groan of exertion she released it. The hag's head exploded in a shower of rotten flesh and brains, making Ciri gag as she made to push the rest of the body off of her, and to finally wipe her eyes clean.
Geralt couldn't take it any longer, nor afford to try, since the fiend was digging the dirt with its paws, poising its horns to run them into the Witcher while he was struck with its mind distortion wave.
Geralt could barely see through the pulsing migraine, but he noted the impending attack.
Ciri was right, he needed a bomb to disrupt the destructive telepathy, but he had none. He wasn't planning to fight any fiends and now he felt mighty ashamed of his lack of thought on that regard.
Geralt waited for the fiend to launch at him, then rolled away from under its paws as it dug into the dirt right where Geralt's feet had been. The pain eased a tiny bit while the beast turned around and set his three red eyes on the target once again, and when it did, Geralt hurled his sword at its head. The blade slipped into the eye sitting in the middle of its forehead and got stuck in the skull.
The monster wailed and reared up, its paws clawing at the sword.
"Ciri!" Geralt yelled. "Throw me his sword!"
She did, and they both dashed to the beast, Geralt aiming at the chest, and Ciri set her eyes on its bristled scruff.
Ciri jumped, thrusting her sword into the beast's furry neck. It was harder to pierce than she had expected, the hide too tough. But her sword did great damage nonetheless, and when Geralt stabbed at the fiend's heart, it seemed to have done the trick.
The fiend roared in pain and fury as its legs quaked and gave out from under the heavy body. Ciri, who was at the creature's side quickly rolled out of the way to avoid getting crushed, pulling herself back up just behind where Geralt was standing.
The fiend lay on the swamp floor, unable to launch another attack but still drawing breath. He groaned and gasped for air, reminding Ciri of a horse in the throes of death.
"We need to put it out of its misery," she said, panting.
Geralt said nothing and drove Kain's sword deeper into the beast. The fiend groaned with its deep rumbling sound, and its remaining two eyes rolled. It let out its last breath and stilled.
Geralt yanked the sword out, then regained his own from the third eye on the monster's forehead, and turned to Ciri with a searching gaze.
"Are you all right?"
"Could use a bath," Ciri answered, eyeing the fiend one last time before turning her gaze to Geralt. "But otherwise relatively unharmed."
"We should get moving before more come to stop us," he said, gesturing behind Ciri as he began to walk, sheathing his sword. "If you feel which way to go - lead."
She had to close her eyes again and take a moment to focus before she found her connection with Kain.
When she did, Ciri reached for Geralt's hand and led the way through the fog.
For a long while that was all they saw – thick, white mist that walled them in from every side. There were no sounds of animals or birds. Just an eerie silence and the occasional cry of a drowner.
At least thirty minutes passed before Geralt and Ciri found their way into a clearing. A clearing with several small wooden houses, as well as a larger construction that looked almost like a bell tower.
"I've been here before," Ciri whispered, not daring to let go of Geralt even if the fog was dispersing. "When I first came to Velen. This is where I ended up."
The fog was coiling around the old woman's orphanage as if there was a huge forest fire all over the swamps. The shrine of the Crones – a wooden chapel with a pointy roof – was almost fully concealed by the milky veil as if it were a mirage in the corner of their imagination. It had no windows, and Geralt randomly wondered whether the numerous candles were still burning inside, illuminating the golden tapestry above the altar.
"I've been here before, as well," the Witcher said. "But you already know that." He looked at her – she was a bleak vision in the mist. "They made me serve them for information about you. Not that I'm proud of it, but killing that enchanted thing for them wasn't too bad of a deed. It meant no good for anyone living in these lands. The Crones, however, were wary of it, even though it was just a pulsing root in the core of a cave."
He made a few steps forward, glancing between the hut and the shrine, pondering.
"Think we can skip the barn and just visit the Lady?" he looked to Ciri, perking an eyebrow.
"Only one way to find out," Ciri replied, her sword drawn as she stepped towards the shrine. She was all kinds of nervous, which was unusual when it came to hunting monsters. And she knew it had nothing to do with the monster itself and everything to do with Kain. Was he all right? Would the Crone already have been able to use him for her nefarious purposes?
She tried to push those thoughts to the back of her mind as she nudged the door open. Nothing flew out at them immediately, so after a few seconds Ciri stepped inside. From the first glance, the space was empty. Though dozens of lit candles shone in the darkness, most of them illuminating a large tapestry depicting three beautiful women.
The whole place vibrated with magic, making the hairs on Ciri's arms stand on end.
The candles were thick and rather tall as if lit recently; their flames shook subtly when Ciri and Geralt approached. The tapestry was swimming in their golden glow as if it came from within the fabric. The shivering light made the Crones seem alive and breathing.
Geralt found the image captivating, almost unnaturally so. It lured and hypnotized.
The Witcher tore his eyes away from it with effort and strolled around the room, taking a better look with sharp eye, peeking into every nook and cranny while his medallion vibrated against his chest bone.
"We need to check the basement," he said eventually, turning to Ciri. "I sense her magic and her presence, but something's not right. She's good at hiding."
"Well, we already knew this was a trap," Ciri said. She was also in no doubt the Crone already knew they were there. She was probably just waiting.
Ciri stepped closer to the tapestry and knelt down to open the hatch in the floor. From her vantage point there was only darkness down there. She squinted, then looked to Geralt. "Care to make use of your night-vision, Witcher?"
Geralt slipped down into the dark without hesitation. It was pitch black for any human eyes, but for him - on the potion - it was all shades of grey. He moved through the vast basement with a dirt floor, trying to sense anything. It felt the same as upstairs - the presence was there, but no physical evidence thereof. He approached the furthest wall and a makeshift altar on the ground before it. There were candles; Geralt used Igni to light them, then turned to look back at where Ciri's legs dangled in the hatch.
"Get down here. It's empty just the same. Look if you can feel anything."
Ciri waited for Geralt's signal, then dropped down into the semi-darkness, landing nimbly on her feet.
She took a quick look at her new surroundings; nothing was standing out, nor caught her immediate attention.
"It's like she is everywhere and nowhere," Ciri murmured after a moment's contemplation. "I can't pin her down. And Kain..." She could feel something tug at her heart, but it was as though their connection had been clouded. Temporarily lost in the fog. "I don't know where he is."
The Witcher nodded, brooding, and looked at the altar at their feet. A skull sat in the head of it surrounded by flickering candles, and in the changing light it seemed that the skull was laughing at them soundlessly.
"She pulled him into her dimension," Geralt said quietly. "Into whatever is behind the tapestry. We can't get there on our own."
Some strange smells and sounds were seeping through the thick blanket of dizziness. His head was heavy and swimming. Red and orange glow shimmered against his eyelids trying to get through.
Kain tried to open his eyes, but it wasn't an easy task. The muttering gradually gained sense when he observed a blurry figure bustling around a glaring bonfire. He tried to move and found he was unable to: he was bound to a construction made of three stakes - one for his torso, two for his arms. His head felt stuffed with the fog he recalled from the swamps. It was hard to think and focus, as if the fumes around him were toxic. He suspected it wasn't far from truth. There was muddy water up to his ankles, and around him - stony walls of what looked like a cave. Drying lianas and brownish moss and fungi clung to them.
"You're back, my boy," the Weavess cooed, approaching. The water under their feet almost didn't worry beneath her, nor restricted her fussy moves. Her face was in front of his in a matter of seconds, and he winced looking at her horrid eye with flies crawling all over it and fluttering in and out like bees with their honeycomb. "Finally awake, my child." Her breath smelled of rotting meat and dead leaves. "Now's the time for you to pay your debt."
Her long crooked nail crept along his neck, the line turned crimson. She skimmed a finger over it and brought it into her mouth, smacking her lips.
"Elder Blood," she purred, caressing his cheek. "Your wonderful, delicious blood will bring them back to me. And then the elven filth can have whatever's left of you."
She cackled and went back to the fire where she whispered some spell Kain didn't understand, nor heard well. His mind was groggy and slow, painfully slow. The very air around him felt poisoned, soaked with her magic and energy, aiming to disable his. She had been preparing for a while, and now it was about to pay off with dividends. He shook his head, but it didn't help. Nothing would help – not while he's here and weakened. His medallion wasn't on him, he noted. That was just another slip of luck.
"Our pretty little princess will come after you," the Weavess said in a matter-of-fact way, nearing him slowly. Her smile resembled a frog's – from ear to ear. She was taking great pride in her operation. "She will come to save her prince, and then I shall take what's rightfully ours. Her lovely delicious feet! Her dainty little hands! She doesn't need those, and we do! We do! It shall make us stronger than ever before!" She threw her head back, laughing loudly, which sounded more like shrieks of a spooked bird. "No filth shall ever destroy us!"
Next moment, she was before him, imposing, enveloping him in her stench of decay. He felt a stinging pain in one arm, then another, as she dragged her grey nails sharp like daggers from inside of his elbow to his wrist cutting the skin. Blood pooled, welled up and began to pour down into his palms and off his fingers into the muddy waters around his feet. He tried to break free, but it was utterly fruitless.
"Good, good!" the witch cackled, her head bobbing. She sucked her bloodied nails clean and grinned at him. Her face got blurry. "Fight, stir, wiggle, precious child! The quicker your blood will trickle, trickle down, down, down…"
"Thank you," Shani said, her hair uncombed and skin blemished with blood and other bodily fluids.
They'd had to do a series of medical treatments. Some with magic, some with potion, and others with more menial means. That didn't even include those that hadn't survived and those that needed to be buried.
Usually, Yennefer wouldn't have bothered to stay, to play handmaiden to the troubled victims of the once prestige university town, but it was something to do – something to occupy her mind. She had a lot to think about, a lot to work through, and even more to consider.
"Don't thank me," Yennefer said, stepping away from the young woman she'd just removed the last remnants of her baby from. The woman had been one of the survivors. Unfortunately, her unborn child wasn't, and the strain and stress of the attack had caused her to lose a child she wasn't even aware she was carrying. "Make sure she drinks a lot of water, and keep a close eye on her the next few days. Should she continue to bleed," Yennefer extended a bottle of potion toward Shani to administer to the woman, "make sure she takes this three times a day."
Yennefer would have instructed the woman herself, but she hadn't any intention of hanging around to wait for her to wake up.
She'd had enough and needed a break.
She ambled into the confines of her new room, no better than the pile of beds she'd had before, but secure and hers alone. She helped herself to water from a barrel at the door, rinsing her hands and up her elbows. When they were clean, she entered her room, dried them upon a yellowing sheet and sat down on her mattress. She'd tipped back onto it to stretch out and get a bit of rest when she felt a vibration of magic.
A message.
She shot upright, slid off the mattress, closing her eyes to search for the invisible tether, a spray of gold shooting forth from her right hand only once she was sure of its location.
She stepped through the oval passage, scarcely even feeling the disorientation of motion, allowing her eyes to adjust to the weak light provided by the lit candles in the basement once she arrived. She'd come in prepared for a fight and to defend. Thankfully, Geralt and Ciri didn't appear to need any help on that front. None that she could see. She could feel a lot, though, the way the magic imbued the structure as if every wall oozed with it.
"Where are we?"
"At the Crones' shrine," said Geralt. "In the middle of the Crookback Bog."
"We lost Kain," Ciri added. "It's likely she has taken him. Somewhere we cannot follow on our own."
"We found his and Vesemir's medallions in one of the pools outside," Geralt added. "She must've used water to pull him into her dimension. How, though... I don't know. I'm not a sorcerer."
Yennefer extended a hand toward Geralt, snapping her fingers in suggestion. "Medallion."
Ciri plucked Kain's medallion off her neck and handed it to Yennefer. "This is Kain's."
She bent her head and examined the medallion that still rested upon her chest. Vesemir's. "The Crone used this to cut Kain the day we killed her sisters. It caught blood. That must be how she's been tracking him in the first place."
Yennefer took Kain's medallion, her gaze shifting to Ciri's throat where the other was still secured. "Depending on the severity of the cut and how much blood the medallion managed to retain, it's certainly possible. It would be useful here."
Yennefer turned the medallion over on her palm and tried to lock onto his energy signature. It shot from her hand, skittering across the air like a bug, pausing inches from the wall.
"I suppose you both already suspected that he's in another plane?"
"We figured," Geralt nodded, and waved a hand at the ceiling. "There is a tapestry of them - which might be the way in or at least a window. But we cannot get in without your help. Ciri can't lock on his energy. Like something's blocking it. And we know what. Or who."
"That block that you speak of would be because of the veil they're in. She's invited him in, essentially, and everything else is pushed out. I can hardly even hold onto his energy."
The medallion thumped against the wall and then leapt back into her hand like a dismissed child.
"The only way I can surmise going after him would be… you," Yennefer mused, her eyes coming to rest on Geralt. "With all you've learned - if you two truly are related, your blood should be enough of a connection to help break through her seal."
The Witcher considered it and nodded. "Makes sense."
When they all climbed back into the shrine and stood before the tapestry bathing in the flickering candlelight, Geralt pulled his knife out and peered at Yennefer. "How are we gonna do this?"
Yennefer studied the tapestry, enthralled by the fine details, the beautiful faces of three woman and felt every ounce of its magic as if it were a boa constricting around her throat. Either the Crone had sensed that they'd brought in magical help or it was part of their security.
There wasn't much time.
Yennefer turned Geralt's right hand palm up and ran the blade across it, placing the medallion in the center, carefully repeating the process with Ciri before encouraging them to hold hands.
"Now, focus. Focus on Kain's energy, on his blood, on the medallion in your hands and the connection it has to him. As it pulls—you'll feel it inside—let it guide you."
Ciri cast a cautious glance Yennefer's way before taking Geralt's hands in her own. She closed her eyes to seek the connection the sorceress spoke of and it wasn't long before she felt a stirring. That didn't mean she knew what to do.
"Am I to teleport?" Ciri whispered, her eyes still closed, fingers squeezing Geralt's.
"Only if you feel certain," Yennefer supplied.
Ciri reached for Yennefer as well, her brow furrowed as she locked on to her mystical tether with Kain. When the sorceress' hand was in Ciri's, she jumped, pulling Yennefer and Geralt through space and into a world that was not their own.
Her chanting became more and more vigorous the better she felt how magic brewed and gathered for the peak of the spell. The Weavess didn't doubt it would work - she felt it in her every bone, her every cell ached for success. She sensed them as if from beyond the veil. From whatever Limbo the nasty girl and her naughty boy had sent her sisters to. She was not going to be alone and weak any longer.
They were coming.
The spell thickened, gaining strength, while the Weavess chanted with more passion and will, putting everything she had into it. There was no another time, no new chances - just this one, the only one, and it had to work.
When magic began to sparkle at her fingertips and sting her old veins, she waved her hands, and their cauldron, with some ugly-looking slimy brew bubbling and worrying in it, nearly spilling over the brims, appeared suspended over the bonfire.
The Weavess chanted, her hands still raised, and it felt she was holding the cauldron with her will alone. Next, she summoned a knife and, chanting louder, sliced the blade over her palms, one after the other. Her blood, thick and dark, spilt reluctantly and dribbled into the murky waters around her feet that was worrying now like a stormy ocean. When the waves and vortexes gained more power, she cried out another part of the spell and overthrew the cauldron.
The slimy brew with some pieces of what no one would want to take a better look at sunk in the water, feeding the stormy power in it, and then something began to happen.
Two vortexes formed before the Crone as she chanted louder and louder, losing herself in the ecstasy of the spell that literally began to grow flesh and bones. Two figures started to rise from the vortexes. They looked like two lumps of mass at first, but little by little they formed their shapes. The holes of their mouths gaped, they screamed and wiggled like eels on a hot skillet, while their bodies sought to finish the transformation.
Yennefer expelled a breath as soon as the travel had ended, her hand still tightly closed around Ciri's, as if the idea of letting her go meant possibly losing her.
She took quick account of what they'd be up against inside. The first thing she noticed was that instead of one Crone, there were three. One more grotesque and imposing than the other. Not that she'd ever been face to face with them herself. Yennefer, Geralt and Ciri were also standing in ankle-deep swamp water, which felt as if were soaking into her boots, singed with dark magic and automatically had Yennefer summon a shield with her free hand to prevent an immediate attack.
Ciri inhaled sharply, the stench of death and decay burning her nostrils. But that didn't matter. None of the discomforts did.
Because she saw Kain, pale and unconscious, blood dripping steadily from both his arms. It terrified Ciri to her very core and she acted without thinking, jumping the distance between herself and Weavess, sword raised.
The Crone saw her coming and smacked the girl hard in the chest with her arm before the sword could do any damage, sending Ciri flying. Her back collided with the stone wall of the cave with a crunch that reverberated inside Ciri's skull. She fell forward and to her knees in the filthy water, gasping for breath, but her blazing emerald gaze still set on Weavess, as if she was hoping the old hag would spontaneously catch on fire.
"Aaah! The naughty girl!" the two Crones screamed. They had slime all over them as if it was some sort of bubble or a cocoon they emerged from. "We're going to eat your feet, you naughty, NAUGHTY GIRRRRRL!"
Geralt's eyes shot to Kain strapped to a post, then to Ciri as she dashed toward the Weavess and was sent flying. He heard the crack, and cold fury flooded his mind.
The Witcher flung his knife toward the Weavess and dashed with his sword bared toward the bulkiest one of them. The Brewess laughed nastily and moved away from his blow with incredible agility and grace. Their screeching laughter made his ears hurt, as if they pricked long needles right through his brain. The sounds rose and rose, becoming unbearably high-pitched, while the Crones tapped into their magic and began blinking from place to place. The Weavess turned into a murder of crows and attacked Ciri while her sisters focused on Geralt.
The Whispess spread her arms, and something in Geralt's head shimmered and vibrated; a load of voices filled his mind, stretching it like they were physical hands and wiggling fingers. Geralt growled and shook his head, his vision darkening for a scary moment. His medallion was sending thrills through his chest. The potions didn't wear off yet, but he felt they were of little help, save the cat vision.
Yennefer's shield dropped as the two jumped into action. She herself wasn't a fighter, not of the physical sort, but she did react as needed, reaching out with one hand to soften the blow for Ciri as she was thrown. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to anticipate it fully, hopeful at least it would limit whatever damage Ciri incurred. And not a moment too soon.
They were at full-fledged war and it was hard to keep track. It was hard to throw any blows, for she feared to accidentally hit her loved ones – they were too close to the atrocities they were fighting.
For a moment Yennefer debated freeing Kain from his post, to limit the source of blood magic he was feeding the Crones. The most logical in her mind. Before she could make any sort of attempt at the plan, her eyes came to rest on Geralt, the one who for a time seemed the most distressed and at odds with his opponent.
Yennefer lurched forward angrily from where they'd been ignoring her, sending the overturned cauldron flying at the Crone like a cannonball.
The cauldron caught the Whispess in the head. She staggered, surprised, and lost her focus for just one moment, which Geralt needed to regain his. He slashed his sword across her chest and abdomen, releasing a fountain of her black blood and innards that smelled of a rotting swamp.
The Crones wailed in unison, filling the cave with more chaos: the waters splashing, dried twigs and branches flying, the bonfire leaping upwards and spreading through water as if it were oil.
The Brewess stepped toward the Witcher menacingly and raised her log-like arms. The worrying waters around him began to boil.
We can't win this here, he realized with painful clarity. This was like fighting a storm in the open ocean.
He jumped, doing a quick pirouette in the air as he struck his sword into the bulk of the Brewess, and landed behind her. It made little to no difference, for she showed no pain from the slash.
From the corner of his eye he saw Ciri battling crows, and yelled, "She's the anchor for them!"
As well as this whole place, his mind added.
The swarm of crows was suffocating, hindering Ciri's vision. It was all just black feathers and sharp talons raking across every inch of exposed flesh she possessed. Shielding herself with her arms did very little to prevent the crows' attack.
Same with jumping. Every time Ciri leapt through space, the crows were right there, as if caught up in the wake of her powers.
She heard terrible shrieks and cries and hoped it came from the crones rather than her own companions. Beyond that, she couldn't hear much at all. The flapping of wings and cawing of birds drowning out everything else.
Ciri felt trapped. A small animal being taken down by a bigger one. It both infuriated her and filled her with a sense of dread. She could feel her magic vibrate inside her, threatening to escape in a violent blast. But she feared that, too. She didn't want to harm anyone but the Crones.
Still, Ciri could only maintain so much control in this situation. Her magic erupted in small, but powerful bursts, targeting the crows with a fiery fury. Those afflicted squawked in pain, and the ones still able to fly retreated, feathery fireballs bouncing blindly off the cave walls, giving Ciri the opportunity to breathe.
The Crones wailed and howled, affected by Ciri's fire scorching the Weavess' crows, supporting Geralt's idea of her still being a sort of an anchor for her newly-remade sisters.
The Weavess took her form, staggering as she tried to put out the flames licking her rags and skirt. She fell, splashing, rolling in the water, and there Geralt reached her, stabbing his sword into her middle, pinning her like an eel.
The trio howled again, the Weavess wiggling and hissing as he tried to slice her further until the Brewess rammed into him with her body. He propelled into the wall, his sword knocked out of his hand and remaining in the Crone's flesh. The Brewess yanked it out of her sister and threw it away like something disgusting.
When the water Yennefer was standing in began to ignite, she waved both hands and shielded herself and Ciri. Unfortunately, with them spread out so far, she wasn't able to include Geralt in her missive. But it was unnecessary. He was moving, fighting back. The fire also didn't help, spreading, heating the water to a point where it began to soak through her boots and burn tender skin.
She tried for a moment to catch Ciri's eye, to make sure she was ready, and then lowered their shields, focusing on the fire, pushing it away from her, parting the water so that it would carry the flame around in an arch and meet in the middle.
The middle happened to be where the larger Crone was helping the limbed one pinned to the ground. Geralt had already been tossed away, making her target easier to hit without needing to alert him.
The Brewess sensing the shift and heat, shielded the Weavess with her massive body, taking the brunt of the flame damage. Yennefer didn't linger, aware that fighting in the midst of a magic battlefield that the Crones controlled was like fighting a stone. They could only do so much before their limitations set in.
"Ciri!" Yennefer cried, dashing to meet her, jerking a look toward Kain. "Get him off that post and get him out of here!"
Ciri was already headed that way, darting through the chaos until her fingers wrapped around Kain's arm. She didn't need to bother with the restraints; they were no match for her jumping.
She took Kain away and leapt with him to grab Yennefer. She needed the sorceress to heal him, so Ciri could return to Geralt and fight by his side.
They appeared in the shrine a second later, on the floor in front of the tapestry. Ciri shifted her hold on Kain, concern creasing her brow. It was impossible to know how much blood he had lost.
"You have to help him," she told Yennefer. "You have to heal him."
Yennefer tried to stave the bleeding of Kain's wrists.
"I'll do what I can," Yennefer promised.
She'd used so much magic that she knew it was impossible, but she didn't need Ciri going back in there with her concern for him distracting her. That would cost them all.
Wiping blood from her eyes, Ciri stood on shaky legs, intending to find her way back to Geralt and the Crones when the tapestry caught her gaze. It was shimmering, more alive than before, and for a moment Ciri couldn't look away. A cold sense of dread rippled down Ciri's spine.
"It's evil," she whispered, swaying on her feet. "We have to destroy it."
Yennefer collected Kain's blood on her hands and reached for Ciri so she could paint it onto her wrists.
"We're not leaving here without setting it ablaze," she agreed.
What she was doing was strengthening Ciri's connection to Geralt. Yennefer feared that the Crones' magic and how hard they were fighting would work against her on her way back in.
Ciri held her arms out for Yennefer without paying much attention to what the sorceress was doing. She was too preoccupied staring at the tapestry. If she looked at it from a certain angle, the women depicted looked to be moving.
"How do we destroy it?" she whispered, already aware something as common as the flames the candles around them held would do nothing. This was dark magic. Powerful.
Yennefer needed time to think. There were only a few ways they could destroy the object. They could draw the magic out of the tapestry and push it elsewhere, destroying it as it went or they could counterattack the magic turning it on itself. The risk was Geralt still inside and the fact that they'd already used so much of their magic. The first option would at least give Ciri time to bolt back inside. But once the collapse started, how long before it would disintegrate and make that impossible? Yennefer had no idea how Geralt was holding up without them there to assist him and those monsters were tough.
"Find something to stop the bleeding," Yennefer instructed, stepping away from Kain and Ciri to inspect the tapestry more closely. She skimmed her fingers across the corners, thousands of needles poking into her palm as she tried to decipher what it was made of.
She focused on the center, on the false representations of the three women, on the space beneath her hand, trying to lessen the infliction, to weaken it.
A test.
Yennefer's voice pulled Ciri out of her semi-trance and she fell to her knees in front of an unconscious Kain. He was deathly pale and looked far too vulnerable to her liking. She already knew no amount of cloth or bandages would do him any good. He'd been bleeding too long for that.
But Ciri still covered the wounds on his forearms with her hands, clutching him as though she was trying to pin him to the floor. He didn't stir or seem to notice at all.
She closed her eyes and focused her magic as best she could given the current situation, building up her intention of healing with love and respect, allowing her power to flow into him, to aid his body, to minimize his cuts and wounds until only the scars were left behind.
Beads of sweat subtly coated Ciri's forehead when she opened her eyes again. Not from magical exertion, but from frowning so deeply in concentration her body had a reaction of its own.
She didn't wipe the blood off her hands but rather curled them to fists to keep her skin stained. No matter how small, it was a connection to Kain himself, and to Geralt.
Yennefer squeezed her eyes against the overwhelming agony crawling up her arms, into her shoulders, around her neck and down her spine. She was used to pain, had combated it most of her life, but even she had her limitations. She needed more time to study up on the tapestry, on the power within and what the Weavess used to hold it together. She could guess, alternate between varying attacks of magic, but again that would take time – time they didn't have. The most she'd been able to do was have it sway as if rushed by a breeze, the shimmering gold temporarily brightened before fading away into nothingness.
Yennefer winced and drew back, cradling her hands, unsurprised to see that her palms were actually blistered.
"We need to overwhelm it somehow, and I can't do it alone."
Triss flashed to the forefront of Yennefer's mind. If only she'd thought to send Triss a message to help before exerting herself.
Ciri looked to Yennefer, noticed her wounded hands, and scowled in displeasure. She loathed those Crones and everything they were.
"I need to return to Geralt," Ciri chimed in, getting to her feet. "He can't take on all three of them forever. I have to help him."
She paused, eyeing her bloodied fingers as if the crimson revealed something she'd forgotten.
"I can destroy them," she whispered, her gaze lifting to Yennefer again. "I have the power. And it's aching to be released."
Kain stirred with a soft groan, his head heavy as if filled with liquid metal, his mouth dry. He felt dried out and dying like that dead desert they had seen in the world Avallac'h took them to.
His thoughts were in disarray, a flock of spooked birds. But one of them blinked through his mind most frequently: Ciri.
Had she come for him? Had she fallen in that trap?
He felt her magic. She was close. And that meant yes - she found her way into the same spider web.
He grunted with effort and tried to open his eyes. It was like fighting a huge rock pinning you to the ground with weight exceeding anything you can push away.
"No," Yennefer said. She reached for Ciri. "I know you're strong, but I'm not so sure you'll be able to maintain your control. If you go crazy in there, you'll not only be killing yourself, you'll be killing Geralt, too." Yennefer hadn't seen in the past but what she'd heard was enough to terrify her. "You need an anchor, someone or something to be able to even you out and unfortunately your elf isn't here. Grab Geralt and get out. If we have to, we'll deal with the tapestry from out here."
As if to second the thought Kain broke the silence with a groan. Yennefer averted her attention to the boy, noticing that Ciri had managed to seal his wrist wounds. Good sign. It also meant she'd exerted herself quite a bit as healing wasn't an easy task.
"I'll find a way," Ciri promised. "But if anything were to happen, if the Crones show up here, you take him and get out." She gestured to Kain, trusting Yennefer to portal him and herself away from the bog if need be.
She vanished on the spot, drawing on her connection with Geralt to find her way back to him again.