Chapter Five

"I left him there, Zoltan. I just left him there," Ciri sniffled disconsolately.

Zoltan finished up the last stitch in Ciri's arm and stepped back, looking her in the eyes with a sympathetic glance. "There was nothing you could have done."

Ciri had returned a short while before, shamefaced and devastated, hating herself once again. She was thankful for once that Dandelion hadn't been having any customers due to the weather. She didn't think she could handle putting on a cheerful face to make it through the crowd. As it was, she had flung her sword into the corner as soon as she had entered the Chameleon, disgusted and frustrated with herself.

At the time, Zoltan had been sitting by the hearth reading a book and had startled at her sudden entrance and behavior. He had rushed over immediately—Ciri admittedly had been in quite a state, covered in blood and soot and weary from travel. Despite her protests, he had sat her down to tend to her wounds. Clearly sensing that she was distraught, Zoltan had kept a patient silence.

Ciri had tried to keep herself together, but she hadn't lasted long before she had burst into tears and Zoltan had simply held her while she sobbed into his shoulder. Only once she had settled slightly had he resumed his ministrations and Ciri told him what had happened.

Now she met his gaze, still puffy-eyed and snuffly, unready to forgive herself for abandoning Geralt for a second time. "I panicked. I didn't know what to do. But I should have done something, anything. And for all I know, he could—" Her throat caught at the words. "—he could be…" She couldn't bring herself to say it.

"He's not," Zoltan stated with conviction. "You know he's not. It's going to take a lot more than that to stop Geralt."

"Either way, there had to have been something I could have done."

Zoltan placed his hands on his hips, his tone suddenly snippy. "Tell me. What could you have done?"

The new sternness to Zoltan's voice shook Ciri out of her weepiness. "I…I could have gone for help," Ciri answered fumblingly.

"And put other people's lives in danger?" Zoltan argued, raising an eyebrow. "Do you really think they would have stood a chance against Geralt?"

"Fine. Then I could have at least stayed with him. If we had him with us, we could have tried to help him."

"And what would you have done when that other man arrived? Who knows how many men could have been coming in behind him? If you had stayed, we could have lost you too."

"I don't know then!" Ciri shouted defensively. "I…I don't know," she added more quietly, mind spinning. She didn't fully understand why she was arguing so fervently against Zoltan when all he was trying to do was comfort her. And he was only making the same arguments she had made with herself at the time. She supposed deep down, she didn't feel she deserved to be comforted. Not after everything Geralt had been through to protect her. She had been the one to get captured in the first place. She should be the one paying for it.

"Look at me." Zoltan grabbed her by the shoulders, a feat only possible because she was still seated. He spoke gently and slowly, enunciating each word. "There was nothing you could have done."

His words brought a new wave of tears burning into Ciri's eyes.

"It was more than that though. I was afraid of him," Ciri admitted, ashamed. There was no reason why she should have been afraid of him, the man she considered her father. The fact that she felt even an inkling of fear left nothing but shame in her heart.

"I should think so," Zoltan responded straightforwardly, not understanding the depth of Ciri's emotion. "He's a dangerous man. He could have killed you."

"That's the thing though." Ciri rose, brushing aside Zoltan's grip. She strode a few steps away. "He could have killed me. But he stopped himself." She dropped her gaze contemplatively. "The only time he was in control was when I was in danger."

She hadn't really thought about it before, but it was true. The moment her life had been in danger, he had regained control. Whoever this Endir was, his control over Geralt didn't seem to be absolute, which meant there had to be a way to break Geralt free. If she could only find him again…

"Ciri." There was a warning in Zoltan's tone as he cut into her thoughts. "I know what you're thinking, but you can't go putting yourself in danger just to try to get through to him. He clearly didn't want that and neither should you. It's too great of a risk."

She swiveled to face Zoltan. "It could be the only way."

Zoltan was visibly upset by her suggestion. "Dammit, Ciri, what if it doesn't work! What if he kills you? Trading your life for his gets us nowhere."

"That's exactly what he did! Why does he get to make that decision and not me?" Ciri retorted. Geralt should never have been captured. None of this should have been happening. It was all because of Ciri's arrogant chivalry that Geralt was now some sorcerer's puppet. Ciri's voiced cracked as she finally voiced what she had been feeling for the past few weeks. "All of this is my fault!"

Through her tears, Ciri saw Zoltan approach. He took her hands in his and let go a deep sigh, speaking warmly.

"You are a good person, Cirilla. And good people like to blame themselves for bad things that happen. But none of this is your fault."

Ciri searched his eyes, wishing it were true. Her gaze fell. She couldn't find it within her heart to accept his words.

"This Endir is the only one to blame." Suddenly there was a fiery edge to Zoltan's voice. "He started all of this and we will make sure he pays for it." Zoltan raised his eyebrows at Ciri, waiting.

Ciri nodded sheepishly, done with arguing, but still not absolving herself of all guilt.

"You can't win every battle," Zoltan added. "But that doesn't mean that this war is over." With one of his callused hands, Zoltan raised Ciri's chin so that her eyes met his. "We will find Geralt. I don't know how or when, but we will. And when we do, we will find a way to set him free."

Ciri wanted with all her heart to believe Zoltan, but she just couldn't shake the feeling that things were only going to get worse.

"Don't give up on him, Ciri. There's still hope."


Thanks to Zoltan's bolstering, Ciri's spirits had marginally been raised, and she had even been hopeful about setting out again to oppose the cult. They had agreed that Zoltan would go with her whenever she went to protect another village. That way, she would have reinforcements if Geralt happened to show; they were confident they could take him down together.

But a week had gone by without any storms and thereby no settlements had been attacked. The waiting was wearing on Ciri, anxiety building with every moment she was stuffed inside the house. And every moment she remained in all her luxuries, Geralt spent suffering. Guilt crept back up on her. It weighed her down more and more through the days, casting a somber mood over the Chameleon as Dandelion and Zoltan couldn't help but take notice. They could do nothing to assuage it, even Dandelion's relentless optimism couldn't dent Ciri's gloom.

Most nights, Ciri slept fitfully. The wolves that had been encircling her were growing closer, yipping and snapping at her heels, but disappearing every time she turned to confront them. She couldn't tell if they were some kind of sign or just a figment of her distress. Whatever her dreams were, her lack of sleep did nothing to ease Ciri's conscience, rather it only exacerbated everything she was already feeling.

By the end of the tenth day of idleness, Ciri was right back to where she had been when she had arrived. She hadn't spoken to Zoltan or Dandelion in days, spending most of her time holed up in her room or out in the stables taking care of Kelpie and Roach, whom Geralt had left behind. Kelpie's stalwart presence was always appreciated and offered an understanding that Ciri's human companions could never provide. With Kelpie, Ciri could be whoever she wanted or needed to be, could feel whatever she needed to feel, and the mare would always treat her the same, nuzzling Ciri for an apple or being content in Ciri's affectionate grooming. Ciri could appreciate Zoltan's and Dandelion's concern, but they just couldn't leave well enough alone sometimes and Ciri tired of them always trying to cheer her up.

At first, it was difficult for Ciri to want to be near Roach, as he did nothing but remind her of Geralt. Seeing as how Ciri did nothing but think of Geralt anyway, she thought it unfair that Roach should be neglected. After that, she took it upon herself to see that Roach was well taken care of, as if it were a small way of atoning for everything Geralt was going through. Soon, Roach was just as happy to see Ciri as Kelpie was and nickered to her whenever she passed. She would stroke his velvet nose when he did, donning a sad smile.

It had been thirteen days since Ciri had seen Geralt and there had been no sign of the cult. Ciri spent her afternoon, much as she had been, exhausting herself in the stables. She meticulously groomed all three of the horses and Zoltan's pony until they gleamed, despite their long winter coats. After that, she mucked out all of the stalls, lugging away the soiled bedding and replacing it with fresh straw. The tasks took the better part of the evening and it was dark when Ciri, sweating and thoroughly chilled, stepped back inside.

She ate a somber meal with her two companions, the uneasiness in the air palpable. They said nothing as they ate; Zoltan and Dandelion knew she wouldn't listen to anything they said anyway. As soon as she could, Ciri dismissed herself to her room, a low murmur springing up behind her as she ascended the stairs. Ciri couldn't bring herself to care.

Closing the door behind her, Ciri lit a small candle by her bedside, pulled on her nightclothes, and tucked herself into her bed, thoughts swirling as they always did. She didn't fall asleep for a long while. Instead, tears trickled down her cheek onto her pillow as she wrapped herself in her misery, unable to turn her thoughts aside from everything that had happened and her uselessness in the past few weeks. Unable to purge the image of Geralt's merciless face from her memory.

She hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep when she was suddenly awake, unaware of what had disturbed her. The candle was barely alight, only the smallest of flames illuminating her room, melted wax sloppily spilling down the side of the candleholder and onto the table. She was laying on her side, eyes crusted from dried tears, and she groggily scanned the dim room in front of her. Then a creak beyond the foot of her bed caught her attention.

The door to Ciri's room swung inward on rusting hinges and there, silhouetted by the light of the still-lit lamps on the stairwell, was Geralt. Though she could only see his outline, Ciri knew instantly it was him. What she couldn't figure however, was whether he was real.

This has to be a dream, Ciri thought. It had to be her subconscious bringing Geralt to her, striving to release her guilt.

He took a step forward. As he did so, his eyes entered the dim light diffused by the candle, eyes that held neither recognition nor life, and they stoked within Ciri a familiar fear. A fear that snapped Ciri out of her hopeful stupor. This wasn't a dream.

It was a nightmare.

When Geralt lunged, Ciri was ready for him. She cast her bedcovers over him like a fisherman casts his net, leaping from her bed at the same time. Geralt swatted at them, but the action caused the fabric to wrap around him and he was tangled up momentarily. In that moment, Ciri weighed her options.

She had to stop Geralt somehow, had to save him. To do that, she had no choice but to capture him. In his current state, there was no way he would come willingly. To that end, she would most likely need her sword. Geralt was much more powerful than her and she could never best him in hand to hand combat. Unfortunately, her sword was still downstairs by the door where she had discarded it nearly two weeks ago. Feeling her failure so acutely, she hadn't had the heart to touch it since then.

But Geralt was currently blocking the doorway. She wouldn't be able to get past him without coming within his reach. If she did that, Geralt was sure to overpower her and who knew what he would do with her then. Would he kill her? Or would he bring her back to Endir—

They know.

The realization struck Ciri like an avalanche. They knew she was the one foretold by Ithlinne's Prophecy. Why else would Geralt have come? So far as she could tell, the cult had never gone after any specific person before. And it might help explain why they had gone so quiet of late. They had no need of anyone but her. And Geralt was the perfect weapon to send after her.

With difficulty, Ciri pushed aside her sudden revelation. The fact that Geralt was there to bring her back to Endir didn't change what Ciri needed to do. She had to get downstairs.

That left the balcony.

Wasting no time, Ciri sprinted for the shuttered doors to her small balcony, efficiently unlocking them and slamming them open just as Geralt freed himself from his entanglement. She didn't stop to consider what she did next. If she had, she very likely would have talked herself out of it.

Geralt's long strides swiftly carried him across the room and he reached out, grabbing for Ciri at the edge of the balcony. His hand met with nothing but the gust of air Ciri created as she hoisted herself over the railing. She turned herself around and slid down the rails to the bottom of the platform, catching just a glimpse of Geralt's impassive face before he was blocked from view.

Her room was on the top floor of the Chameleon, three stories up and overlooking the stable yard. She knew she couldn't jump from her balcony directly. If she didn't kill herself, then she would have been seriously injured. But there was an overhang directly over the first floor that was within jumping distance. From there, she could get down to the ground safely.

Maintaining her momentum from her initial swing over the railing, Ciri launched herself toward the overhang. It wasn't very wide so she couldn't actually land on it, rather she would use it as a springboard. When her feet made contact, she let her knees take the impact. Snapping her legs out and rebounding as much as she could manage, she directed herself back away from the building and toward the—now much closer—hard-packed earth of the stable yard. Her landing was clumsy. She half rolled, half tumbled onto the ground, her ankle twisting slightly at the initial contact. Her hands and feet were scuffed from skidding across the dirt, but she had made it, and all in one piece. Ignoring the throbbing in her ankle, Ciri scrambled to her feet, bursting through the back door of the Chameleon.

Just as she entered, Geralt blindsided Ciri from the stairs to her right and seized her by the arm. His attack didn't faze her, she simply kicked out backward toward his knee and wrenched her arm free as he stumbled. There were still a few lamps lit in the main room so Ciri had no difficulty in snaking her way across the room to her sword. On her way, Ciri heard Zoltan's voice call her name from the stairwell. He was heading up to her room by the sound of it, having heard the commotion up there.

"Zoltan!" she shouted over her shoulder, though Ciri didn't have the time to wait for a response. She had to reach her sword.

It only took moments for Ciri to cross the room and retrieve it. Once it was in her hands, Ciri drew it and turned to face Geralt, who had barely moved.

Seeing the sword in Ciri's hand, Geralt reached behind him and pulled his own sword from its sheath, but not immediately attacking. He stood stoically, waiting.

Ciri knew that Geralt was at somewhat of a disadvantage. His sword was much longer than hers and while it was more effective in an open area, it would be limiting in the cramped space of the Chameleon. Ciri could fight much more freely than he could. Not that she wanted to fight in the first place. She would do what she had to, but she wanted to keep him from harm as much as possible. Maybe there was still a way to reach him. She may as well try.

She lowered her sword to the side, lifting her free hand, palm out. "Don't do this, Geralt," she implored. "I don't want to hurt you."

Geralt made no reply. He was getting twitchy though. Ciri knew he was going to attack soon. She dreaded the idea of having to fight Geralt again, but she knew there was no other way and so prepared herself mentally for the imminent quarrel.

From the corner of her eye, Ciri saw something that snapped her out of her concentration. Zoltan was flying down the stairs, his panicked shout of, "Ciri!?" preceding him.

Geralt turned toward the new threat, stopping Zoltan in his tracks.

"Geralt?" The disbelieving question escaped Zoltan's lips as he skidded down a few steps in his haste to come to a stop.

The distraction was just the opening Ciri needed. She charged across the room and closed with Geralt, knowing that the closer she was, the less effective his sword would be, though still keeping in mind that he had strength on his side and she needed to keep some distance between them. Their blades met with a metallic clang and the force of Ciri's assault drove Geralt back a few steps.

Still on the stairs, Zoltan recovered from his shock quickly and leapt onto Geralt's back when he neared the steps, tying his legs around Geralt's middle and latching his arms around Geralt's throat, cutting off his airway. At the unexpected assault, Geralt flailed his arms out wildly and Ciri had to leap backward to avoid the sword that came with them.

Geralt blundered around the room, eventually dropping his sword and using both hands to try to unseat the stout arms closed around his throat. He bashed Zoltan into the walls repeatedly, but Zoltan endured, letting go a pained grunt every time he was smashed by Geralt's considerable force.

Ciri wanted to help, but she was afraid if she moved in, she might end up hurting Zoltan instead. Plus, she was still hoping to keep Geralt from harm and Zoltan's plan seemed to be a perfect balance between subduing Geralt and minimizing damage. So she remained on the fringe of the tussle, ready to attack if need be.

Ciri could tell Geralt was weakening; his steps faltered and his attempts to remove Zoltan from his back grew less and less vigorous. She was sure Zoltan was about to prevail when Geralt gave one final heave and threw himself onto his back, crushing Zoltan beneath him. The blow stunned Zoltan whose lax arms released Geralt. Still dazed, Geralt came up onto one knee, hauling in rasping breaths to recover the oxygen of which his body had been deprived.

It was the perfect moment to strike. And Ciri came up with a solution that she wished she had thought of sooner.

Sheathing her sword, Ciri ran at Geralt, swinging the covered flat of the blade into his head. He did nothing to try to stop her, paralyzed as he was. His head went careening into the edge of the nearby table and he instantly crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Zoltan coughed as he raised himself onto one elbow next to Geralt's prone form. Ciri moved over to Zoltan, offering him a hand that he gratefully accepted. They both stood over Geralt, worry and guilt and sadness brewing between them.

Finally catching his breath, Zoltan spoke, voicing the very thought that was running through Ciri's head. "That was easier than it should have been."

"I know," she answered back sullenly, a little breathless herself. "It's because it's not him."

She had noticed it little by little in their confrontation, the utter lack of substance behind Geralt's eyes. When Ciri had seen Geralt in that town, there had been an emptiness and a coldness in his eyes, but there had been something more simmering beneath the surface as well—the slightest spark of desperation and life clinging to whatever it could. Now there was nothing. An empty void had stared back at Ciri and it unnerved her to her very core.

Were they too late? Was Geralt gone for good?

"What are we going to do?" Ciri probed.

Zoltan shook his head. "This is beyond any of us. We need someone with more expertise."

She jerked her head toward him. "You mean—"

"Yes," Zoltan interrupted. "I have some contacts that can get a message to her. Let's hope she'll know what to make of all this."

Now that they had Geralt safely with them, Ciri felt hope returning, trifling as it may have been. She didn't know if they could break the spell on him or what would happen if they did. But she wasn't going to give up on Geralt. He needed their help and she would stop at nothing to free him from his imprisonment. No matter the cost.

Just as they made to find some rope to bind Geralt, heavy steps thudded down the stairs, a disheveled Dandelion rounding the corner, accusing, "What in the blazes is going on down he—" He halted abruptly as he took in the unlikely scene. "Is that Geralt?" he finally asked, a bit slow to catch on.

Ciri and Zoltan couldn't help but sigh as they exchanged exasperated looks.


Yen arrived by portal a day later, concern flooding her face as she stepped into the Chameleon. The message she had received had been vague and brief, merely conveying the fact that Ciri and Geralt were in danger and needed her help. Yen, of course, had dropped everything and had come as soon as she could. The sight she beheld when she stepped out of the portal took her a little aback.

Geralt was tied up to one of the wooden pillars in the main room of the Chameleon, his hands straddling the pole and bound on the other side of it, his legs trussed similarly. Ciri, Dandelion, and Zoltan were all standing around him while Geralt snapped and snarled at anyone who came too near, like a wild animal caught in a snare.

They swiveled to face Yen at her entrance, Ciri running up to her and throwing her arms around Yen's neck.

"Yen!" Ciri greeted excitedly.

Yen returned her hug. "Ciri, I've missed you," she replied warmly.

Ciri stepped back, motioning toward Geralt. "Oh Yen, we didn't know who else to turn to. You have to help him."

There was a desperation in Ciri's eyes that broke Yen's heart and she tried to answer with an encouraging look. Then, stepping past Ciri, Yen greeted Zoltan and Dandelion with a nod of her head as she neared Geralt. Like they had with the others, Geralt's hackles rose as she came closer. She came to a halt out of his range, scanning him. There was a nasty welt burgeoning on one side of his head, a purpling bruise just peeping out from his hairline. Crusted blood matted the hair on the other side of his head, flattening his hair to his face.

His external wounds were obvious. And it was unmistakably clear that Geralt was not of sound mind. More than that though, Yen could sense something was terribly wrong. It was like she was looking at a stranger, a stranger that happened to look exactly like Geralt. A suspicion rose in Yen's mind. She doubted it would be that simple, but she had to check.

In the corner, Yen spied Geralt's swords. She crossed over to them, drawing the silver one.

"What are you doing?" Ciri asked concernedly.

"I have to make sure," was Yen's only answer.

Without waiting for anyone's approval, Yen moved over to Geralt and sliced his arm with the sword. It was a shallow cut, but deep enough to draw blood. Geralt hissed and tried to grab the sword, but couldn't manage it bound as he was. Satisfied, Yen returned the blade to its sheath.

Zoltan stepped forward, looking a little offended at Yen's actions. "What was that about?"

"I had to make sure he wasn't a doppler. And don't look so concerned, Zoltan. That little scratch is the least of Geralt's worries." Her test had done little to settle Yen's mind. In fact, it would probably have been easier to deal with a doppelganger rather than whatever deep magics coursed through Geralt's veins. But at least one possibility was off the table. It was a start.

Yen approached the group. Zoltan didn't budge from his place next to Geralt, seeming not to be pacified by Yen's answer. Conceding, Yen forced back her pride and turned to him, apologizing, knowing that Zoltan was merely worried for Geralt as she was. "I'm sorry. I meant no offense. But it seemed the simplest answer and we have no time to lose."

Zoltan held his hands crossed over his chest for a moment before his expression softened and, arms falling concedingly, he resumed his place within the group.

Struggling to keep herself from formulating a million other theories before she had all the facts, Yen eagerly addressed the group at large. "I need to know everything that's happened before we proceed."

They spent the next hour filling Yen in on the events of the last month, Dandelion spreading out a feast at the table as they did so. Once they were all sated and the recounting had ended, Yen sat in contemplative silence for a minute.

She was astonished to hear that Geralt's mind was being controlled. Such a thing was rare among sorcerers, let alone one who was unknown and seemingly untrained. Even more strange was the fact that distance didn't seem to matter to the degree of control Endir maintained. Most of the time, the further the subject was from the sorcerer, the less control they had. This was obviously not the case. Unless Endir was camped out somewhere outside the house, of course, but Yen dismissed that thought immediately.

Mind control cases were very finicky. Yen had never dealt with one herself, but she had heard reports from her sisters at the Lodge. Very few of them had ended happily. There were only a handful of cases where the subject's mind was set free by another sorcerer who was able to steal back control. Most of the time, the sorcerer who had set the affliction was the one to reverse it, either because they had accomplished their goal and no longer needed to control the other's mind, or, in more extreme cases, through coercion. Sometimes though, whoever was trying to set the subject free took the coercion too far, or didn't know the consequences of what they were doing, and killed the sorcerer who was controlling their loved one. In those cases, reports were varied on the outcome. Many of the subjects went mad, some returned back to their normal selves, but there were a few that died the instant the sorcerer did.

They had to proceed with caution.

Yen explained all of this to her companions. Ciri in particular seemed shocked and horrified to hear what could become of Geralt, each emotion legible on her face as it passed.

Though she hadn't said a word while Yen had talked, Ciri could no longer hold her silence. "What are we going to do then?"

"I'm going to try to set him free using my own sorcery. Based on the amount of control Endir exhibits over Geralt, it seems doubtful that it will work, but it's worth a try all the same."

Worry crept into Ciri's eyes. "Is that safe?"

"I can't say, to be frank. If I succeed, there's no telling what will happen to Geralt. But I don't think we have any other option right now short of Endir releasing Geralt himself. From what you tell me of him and his cult, that seems extremely unlikely." Yen swung her leg over the back of the bench and stood, beckoning to the others. "We may as well get started."

Geralt, who had gone quiet while no one had been near, redoubled his efforts to break free at Yen's approach. His wrists were already raw and bruises were forming where his arms met the post. The sight was sobering to Yen, to see Geralt in such a low place. She would do all she could to restore him to his former self.

Kneeling down in front of Geralt, Yen reached out toward him, weaving a spell as she did so. The others gathered behind her, already waiting with bated breath. Focusing solely on her task, Yen closed her eyes as her spell took effect and her mind ventured forth into Geralt's, leaving all sights and sounds of the Chameleon behind her.

As soon as she made contact, Yen's breath was stolen from her at the vast emptiness that stretched on in front of her. Geralt's mind was utterly vacant. It engulfed Yen in its scale and the further she went, the greater her sense of foreboding grew. Yen could sense no trace of Geralt's consciousness. She called out to him, but the sound was swallowed up before it could escape her lips. Deeper and deeper she burrowed, yet she seemed to make no progress whatsoever. The all-pervading blackness was impenetrable. Worse still was that it seemed to be drawing her in, like it were an endless chasm into which anything that entered its vicinity fell.

Fear gripped Yen abruptly. She felt like she were losing herself, like she had indeed tumbled over the edge of the chasm and would fall forever into the depths of Geralt's mind.

She needed to leave.

Yen made to extricate herself from the darkness, but it was as if there were a force holding her in place. She could only move forward, not back. Like an animal that finally realizes it has run into a trap, Yen thrashed against the barrier preventing her escape. Violently she struggled, making very little headway for all her vehemence. Then, faintly, she could hear voices in the distance. She headed toward them and started to make some progress, as though she had merely needed to be shown the way back. Agonizingly slowly, Yen retreated from the void, the voices growing ever louder. The blackness somehow grew thinner and thinner, until, suddenly, it dissipated altogether and Yen came back to reality.

She was free, and back inside her own body, falling back onto the floor with a thud.

The others swarmed around her, Ciri kneeling on one side and Zoltan on the other, Dandelion hovering fretfully over them. Geralt was leaned up against the pillar, unconscious, but looking no worse for wear. It took a moment for Yen to come back to herself, the world around her hazy. When she did, she realized there was blood streaming from her nose and Zoltan was shaking her slightly by the shoulder, calling to her as he leaned over her.

"Yen! Yen, look at us. Yen!"

All of a sudden, everything was clear again and Zoltan's voice rang in Yen's ears. Her head was pounding and his yelling was deafening for it. She cringed at the booming sound. "I'm fine," she lied, pushing herself into a sitting position, leaning back on her arms.

Ciri was distraught. "Yen, what happened? You were in there for hours!"

Hours? Had she really been in there that long? It had only seemed like minutes. But Yen checked the now blackened windows and they confirmed Ciri's assertion. It had been midday when Yen had started and it was obviously dark now.

Since Yen didn't answer her right away, Ciri spoke up again. "Yen, are you alright?"

Yen gave her a wan smile. "I'm fine, really. Or, at least, I am now." Truly, her headache was starting to recede and the blood had stopped pouring from her nose.

Zoltan and Ciri still seemed skeptical at her claim. Dandelion merely handed her a handkerchief to clean the blood off her face. Yen politely thanked him, then pushed herself to her feet and plopped herself down on a chair nearby. She proceeded to explain what had happened inside Geralt's mind.

More than she was willing to admit, the experience had unnerved Yen. Who was this Endir? He was clearly a very powerful sorcerer and not one to be trifled with. But where had he come from? It wasn't unheard of for there to be unknown sorcerers out in the world, but it just seemed strange for one so powerful to spring up in such a way. And the fact that he was leading a cult made him all the more dangerous. Suddenly Yen's thoughts turned to Ciri and the threat this cult posed to her. A threat that Yen understood all too well now.

It was Ciri herself who called Yen's attention back to the present. "Are you saying there's nothing left of Geralt? Can he really be gone?" The last question came out as little more than a whisper.

Snapping out of her reverie, Yen shook her head confidently, clarifying, "No. No, he's not gone. A soul cannot be destroyed, that is indisputable. When we die, it is transferred from one plane to the next, but it is not destroyed. And the body could not live on without it. Even with necromancy, the body would decay, so Geralt has to still be in there somewhere."

Ciri remained concerned and confused. "But you said you couldn't sense him in there."

"No, I couldn't. But that doesn't mean he's not in there. I think he's just been so far repressed that he is beyond conventional reach." Yen hated telling Ciri this, but she needed to hear it all the same, she deserved an explanation. Still, the hopelessness in Ciri's face was hard to bear. She was clearly scrambling for some kind of answer, becoming more and more agitated as the conversation drew on.

"What are you saying? I mean, there has to be some way we can reach him!"

Yen spoke softly and calmly for Ciri's sake. "We're not giving up on him, Ciri. I'm merely stating that I could not reach him directly. But magic provides many avenues to achieving the same goal. We just have to keep trying." Yen flashed Ciri a sincere smile. "I know you want him back as soon as possible. We all do. But these things take time. The important thing is that you and Geralt are both safe now." Standing, Yen addressed the group as a whole. "I need to rest. We'll carry on tomorrow."

With a final glance at Ciri, Yen followed Dandelion, who showed her to her room. Yen thanked and dismissed him, settling herself into the bed, but finding it hard shut down her mind regardless of her weariness.

Despite her assurances to Ciri, Yen didn't think their chances of extracting Geralt were very high. She would try all the same, but Yen found it hard to get her hopes up when the odds were stacked so high against them. And succeeding was just as frightening a prospect as failing. Would Geralt come out the same man? There was just no way to know.

But one thing was for certain. No matter what happened with Geralt, Yen was going to hunt down this Endir and kill him. Not only for Geralt's sake, but for Ciri's.

No one threatened her family.


There was nothing but emptiness, darkness, and silence. Geralt perceived nothing, not even himself. Time didn't exist where he was, nothing did. There was no pain or peace. No happiness or despair. Geralt didn't fight it. There was nothing to fight for, nothing to fight with. He couldn't even have conceived of the concept anyway. He was pure instinct, but without any context into which it could apply.

Then, out of the blackness came something, a disturbance to the normal flow of nothingness. Geralt's consciousness gave a flicker of notice, but it disappeared just as soon as it had materialized, and Geralt went back to his persistent state of nonbeing.


The next few days were hard on Ciri. She was constantly worrying about Yen and Geralt, all the while unsure whether what they were doing would work. Yen tried tirelessly to free Geralt from Endir's control, but nothing she did made an ounce of difference. Though Yen never fared as badly as she had the first time, the process still took its toll. Ciri was afraid that Yen would end up just as bad as Geralt if she weren't careful. There was no telling what could trigger another assault on Yen's mind. And the more they tried, the more likely it became that something bad would happen.

As much as Yen was endangering herself, Geralt was undeniably taking the brunt of the abuse. His bouts of unconsciousness after Yen's sorcery were lasting longer and longer. He seemed gaunt and drawn, though he would eat and drink when they fed him, and he would do nothing but stare mindlessly into the corner, even if they were near. Ciri never thought she would miss Geralt trying to snap at them, but watching him devolve into a husk made her wish he at least had some spirit left in him.

Their attempts to free him were only making things worse.

Dandelion had had to close down the Chameleon, telling the few customers that sought entry that they were remodeling and would be closed until further notice. To be fair, Geralt's wrestling match with Zoltan had left a few holes in the walls and more than one broken furnishing. The curtains were kept drawn and the front door securely barred. If any of them had to leave, they used the back exit. Geralt had to remain a secret.

As it was, no one knew about Geralt save for the four of them and Priscilla to whom Dandelion told everything, though she was smart enough to keep her silence. It wouldn't do for anyone to find out they were holding a prisoner in the main room of the Chameleon. It would be extremely bad for business, not to mention what the Guard might do. Ciri wasn't worried about getting into trouble, she was worried that the Captain might come and take Geralt to try to get information out of him. But Geralt had never said a word. She didn't think he could speak. So there was no point in putting Geralt through such torment in an attempt to get information he could never share. Not that Ciri would have let them torture Geralt even if he did have information.

Although, she was starting to feel that they were treating Geralt no better than the Guard would have.

It was three days later when Ciri felt she needed to put an end to their trials. Yen had just finished another failed attempt on Geralt's mind that had left him unconscious. Only this time there was a thin trickle of blood coming from his nose. He was definitely getting worse.

When Yen seated herself at the table to get a drink of water, Ciri spoke up. "We have to stop this. Nothing is working and Geralt is getting worse and worse by the hour."

Zoltan and Dandelion sat morosely across from Yen, eyes downcast. They looked up at Ciri's remark, but said nothing.

Yen set down her glass. "We can't give up, not yet. There are still more spells that are worth a shot."

There was turmoil roiling within Ciri, forcing tears into her eyes. Obstinately, she fought them down. "Yen, I want Geralt back desperately. But not like this." She motioned toward Geralt. "Look at him. Whatever you're doing, he can't take it. We're going to kill him at this rate."

All eyes focused on Geralt, Yen's especially. A forlorn look crept into her gaze, a longing for something that was and may never be again. With a deep sigh it was gone, and Yen seemed to steel herself against her own vulnerability. "You're right, Ciri. I think my magic may be too much for him in his current state. I guess I just didn't want to believe that I was causing such harm." Yen's eyes found Ciri again. "But I don't think we can give up trying. We'll give him a few days' rest. That should give him enough time to recuperate before we try again. We don't have any other choice. If this doesn't work, I wouldn't know what to do next. There's just nothing else we can do at the moment."

"Actually, I think there is," Ciri rejoined defiantly.

Zoltan perked up and growled at her statement. "Ciri, that's not going to happen."

Ciri threw up her hands. "We don't have any other option here."

A confused look glazed Yen's face as she swiveled her head between Zoltan and Ciri. "What are you two talking about?"

Zoltan piped up before Ciri could answer. "She wants to put herself in danger to draw Geralt out."

"It's the only thing that's ever worked," Ciri quickly added, confident in her conclusion. "He was going to hurt me, but he stopped himself."

The bench scooted back over the wooden floor with a squeaking drawl as Zoltan stood abruptly, becoming incensed. The sudden action nearly unseated Dandelion who had been sharing the seat. "Are you forgetting that he did hurt you?"

Ciri dismissed Zoltan's comment. "It was a scratch. He barely touched me."

"And what if that little scratch had hit an artery? What if he can't control himself next time? You said it yourself that he had changed for the worse. This is much too big of a gamble and I won't stand by and let you do it!"

Ciri had never seen Zoltan in such a state. She knew he was just worried about her, but she could make her own decisions and right now, this could be their best chance at reaching Geralt. "Nothing's going to happen. Even if he can't control himself, you'll all be right here. Geralt—"

"Enough!" Yen's voice boomed over their argument.

Shocked into silence, Ciri swallowed what she was going to say.

"Ciri, putting you in danger is out of the question."

"But—"

Violet eyes bored into Ciri, brooking no argument. "This is not a discussion. You're smarter than this, Ciri. This kind of risk is foolish."

Fuming a bit, Ciri was lost for words.

Yen continued on in a softer tone that soothed Ciri's ire. "We'll try again in a few days."

Ciri took a breath to speak, but Yen held up her hand.

"If that doesn't work, then maybe we will discuss other options." Yen met all of their gazes. "But putting any one of us in danger has to be our absolute last resort," Yen added pointedly, eyes completing their circuit around the room and settling once again on Ciri.

"Fine," Ciri acquiesced, defeated. It wasn't the outcome Ciri had wanted, but at least Yen hadn't necessarily put the option off the table completely in the end. Ciri would go along with Yen's plan for now. But, based on past results, Ciri didn't hold out much hope that it would work.


A few days passed and Geralt had indeed recovered a bit. Some color had bloomed in his cheeks and he started watching them with wary eyes, though he still hadn't regained the strength to put up a struggle. Since he was no longer unconscious at the end of the day, Ciri would steal downstairs after everyone else had gone to bed to speak with him. Or, at least, speak to him. She would tell him how much she missed him and how she wished he would come back. The conversation always seemed to steer toward some shared memory between them—of the first time he had brought her to Kaer Morhen, of how he had taught her swordplay and horse riding, of quiet nights sitting by the fire, staring at the stars. She would laugh and cry as the memories stirred emotions within her. But Geralt remained impassive as always, simply staring at her with a stranger's eyes. When she could no longer bear the uneasy silence, Ciri would leave, wishing Geralt a good night and padding back up the stairs, his eyes following her all the way.

Three days after the argument, Yen tried once more using her sorcery to free Geralt. As Ciri had expected, it accomplished nothing and what color Geralt had gained had immediately drained from his face as he was left unconscious yet again.

Ciri began to seriously worry for Geralt's health. A concern that the others didn't seem to share. She didn't think they were completely apathetic, but they didn't seem to think that Geralt was deteriorating as rapidly as Ciri knew he was. She had to do something, no matter what the others thought.

In fact, she had been thinking more and more on her plan over the past few days and was convinced that it was the right thing to do. Geralt wouldn't hurt her, she was sure of it. The only thought giving her pause was that she didn't know how far things would have to go for Geralt to break free. But that didn't matter now. Time was ticking away for Geralt.

Ciri had to act.

That night, Ciri waited until past midnight, when she was sure everyone else was asleep. Still dressed in her day clothes, Ciri snuck downstairs, the very knife that Geralt had given her to escape Endir's camp so long ago held firmly in her hand. As usual, Geralt studied her approach.

Coming closer than she ever had before, Ciri knelt down in front of Geralt. "I know you're still in there, Geralt. I don't want to see you hurt anymore and I think this could work."

Geralt made no move toward her, his face remaining expressionless, though his eyes never left hers.

Conveying a meaningful glance, Ciri said, "I know you won't hurt me. This is the only way."

Rather than waiting for a reply she knew would never come, Ciri bent down and started cutting the bonds that held Geralt, sawing through the rope that bound his feet and then moving up to his hands. He was utterly still while she worked, his fingers didn't so much as twitch.

Her heart soared at the realization. He would have made a move by now if he was going to, she thought.

There was only one cord of rope left around his raw and oozing wrists. She was nearly there.

But just as the knife reached the last twine, Geralt snapped through it, rising up and grabbing her by the throat with a snarl and pivoting them around to shove her into the very post that had been his prison. Ciri was shocked by the suddenness of his attack, but not by the fact that he had attacked. After all, that was kind of what she had been hoping for. She dropped the knife, clutching at his wrist and forearm instead, her instincts compelling her to fight back.

She tried to gasp out his name, but he was crushing her windpipe. As her brain became more and more deprived of oxygen, her will to survive reared up and panic coursed through her. She fought back in earnest now, her need to breathe overcoming her willingness to put herself in harm's way to save Geralt. But even in his weakened state, Geralt easily overpowered her.

Everything in Ciri's mind was going fuzzy. She couldn't think and she was losing control of her limbs. The edges of her vision closed in. The last thing Ciri saw was an emotionless Geralt bearing down on her, like she meant nothing to him, like she deserved no more consideration than a pig at the slaughter.

But there was no time for regret or hurt or sadness. Ciri didn't even think of herself or what she supposed would soon be her death. Morbidly, her only thought was that she hoped Geralt never found out he had killed her.

Then everything went dark.


Something was wrong. Yen couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew something was wrong. She had woken with a start, her heart racing. She sat up, scanning the room for intruders. Finding none, she sprung out of bed and flew down the stairs, a nagging fear drawing her toward Geralt. When she turned the bottom corner, her heart stopped.

Geralt was gone.

Yen raced up to Ciri's room, heart in her throat knowing what she would find, calling out Ciri's name frantically as she went. She could hear Zoltan and Dandelion stirring behind their doors as she stormed past, but she didn't stop to explain. Once she reached the top floor, Yen's worst fears were confirmed. Ciri was gone as well.

Geralt had taken her.