Conjunction
Chapter 19 - The New Recruit
Bekim stood anxiously for a moment, looking at the two Witchers as they shivered under their blankets, unsure of what he should do exactly. She said Geralt just needs rest... maybe that's all she needs, too? he thought. He made his decision then. They were just sick. He knew how to deal with "just sick".
He set Geralt's wet bundle of clothing by the fire. Solona had already removed her gear and curled up under her blankets, so he picked up her damp boots and trousers as well. Both Witchers seemed to be shivering from cold. That couldn't be good. He suddenly wished he'd laid their beds closer to the fire, but there was no moving them now, and there were no more blankets.
Well, if he couldn't warm them, he would feed them. You need to feed an illness, his mother had always said to him when he was sick, just before spooning hot soup into him. He found a small cooking pot in their gear, which he filled with water and began cooking the freshly skinned rabbits in. He suddenly acutely felt the loss of his mother as he set the pot in the coals of the fire to cook. She had been an ever comforting presence for his entire life, tending to his hurts, comforting him when he was upset, nursing him when he was ill. It tore at him to think that she had sacrificed herself so that he might live. It should have been me who died to save her, he thought with anguish. Instead she had died, along with his father and brother, and he had lived.
He forced himself to stop thinking about them. The creatures that had caused their deaths were dead now, thanks to the two people across the campfire from him. He decided he would do anything to help them in return.
After awhile he added some dried vegetables to the bubbling stew pot along with a pinch of the aromatic spices he'd found in their packs. He glanced over at them and saw that Solona had shifted closer to Geralt and was holding him tightly beneath their shared blankets, all that was visible was their brilliant white hair shining in the firelight. He wondered briefly if being a Witcher meant his hair would turn white. He reached up and tugged his fingers through is sleek black locks. Not that it mattered, he thought. He sat pondering the mound of blankets where they lay holding each other. Were they married? Did Witchers even get married? They had seemed familiar with each other but not affectionate in the way a married couple would be... at least not the way his parents were, or even his brother and his wife. His mind wandered to Solona briefly. She was very pretty... and not at all like the girls his age, but he didn't think she was that much older than he was. She had been nice to him, speaking to him in that delicately lilting voice of hers. It had made his heart flutter and he blushed to himself remembering it now.
He continued to watch them thoughtfully and noticed that they seemed to have stopped shivering so violently, which was a good thing, but his eyes lingered, and he wondered for a moment what other intimacy might be occurring beneath those blankets.
While the stew was cooking he found a large branch and braced it across a few large rocks near the fireplace, then hung the wet clothes from it to dry in the heat of the fire.
Bekim thought about all the scars he'd seen on Geralt's body earlier. It had never occurred to him how dangerous Witcher work must be, but if the two of them could trek into a dark mine infested with those things and both make it back out alive, that was a feat in itself. It wasn't really surprising that they would end up with a few scars. He had seen the back of Geralt's armor when they stumbled down to the water earlier. Something really, really big had caused those rips and he could see the blood stains that had soaked through. What had been down there? The creatures he'd seen had been no larger than a dog. Even the Witchers' big dog could have taken on one of those creatures, easily.
Bekim himself had even managed to kill a couple with his pickaxe before his father had shoved him out of the way a split second before the ground had collapsed beneath everyone. Everyone except Bekim, who had been thrown clear. He was the only one who hadn't been caught in the collapse so he hadn't witnessed their ultimate fate, but he had heard the sounds, the screams of pain amidst the awful skittering, screeching sounds the monsters made. He just sat, staring in horror at the gaping hole while he listened to the sounds of his friends and family being slaughtered until there were no more sounds but the ringing in his ears and his own soft, ragged breathing. He had finally found the will to leave the mine and somehow made it back to town, although he had no memory of doing so.
Bekim was suddenly struck with uncertainty about the choice he had made. He knew Witchers were outcasts. He'd always heard the stories that they were little more than monsters. Monsters that had been created long ago for the purpose of killing other monsters. He had thought if he joined them they would make him one of them and he would be able to put these terrible feelings of loss and loneliness behind because monsters had no feelings. That was what he had always heard of Witchers, at least - that they had no feelings, but did he really want that kind of life? He already knew what it felt like to be an outcast. His family was dead and his friends had shunned him and would only talk about him behind his back, or point and stare. At one point early on they had thrown rocks at him until Reznik made them stop. His brother's wife and his niece were the only ones left, and she had cast him out of the house they all shared in her grief over his brother's death. No, he knew he needed to go, for them as well as for himself.
The dog barked at him suddenly, disrupting his contemplation. He looked up to see the dog staring intently at the pot nestled in the coals of the fire.
"Is it done, boy?" Bekim asked the dog, who whuffed back at him softly. The boy stepped over to the fire and pulled the sleeve of his jacket down to cover his palm, then grabbed the pot by its handle and pulled it off the glowing coals. He pulled the lid off and stuck a spoon into the steamy contents, stirring it and then tasting it gingerly.
"Yep, you're right!" he said to Lusa, giving the dog a rewarding pat. He distributed stew into three bowls, and placed one bowl before the dog then took the other two over to the Witchers.
He hesitated for a second when he approached them, not sure if he should interrupt their rest.
"Are... are you hungry?" he asked quietly. "I made rabbit stew."
He stood waiting, uncertain, then thought he heard a muffled rumble from beneath the blankets. It sounded vaguely like, "Mmm... food."
The lumpy pile of blankets shifted and one pale,scarred face peered out at him, strange, slitted eyes blinking wearily. Geralt's expression was looking more alert and less sickly than it had earlier, at least. He sat up and let the blanket fall away from his lean, muscular torso, then looked down at Solona and shook her gently. Bekim tried not to stare at the Witcher's scars in fascination. His mother had always taught him that it wasn't polite to stare.
"Wake up, Sol. You need to eat something," he said sternly to her.
Geralt gestured and Bekim handed him the two bowls along with a handful of hard biscuits. The boy saw him begin to shiver again and asked, "Do you have dry clothes in your pack?"
Geralt looked up at him and nodded, murmuring, "Left saddle bag," around a mouthful of food.
Bekim followed his instructions and came back a moment later with a dry woolen shirt and breeches, which he handed to the Witcher. It would be enough to get him through the night until his clothes were dry.
To his amusement he saw Lusa lay down next to Solona and nuzzle at her head, whining softly and licking at her ear. She swatted at him weakly in irritation and then sat up sluggishly.
"Fine, you win," she said with mild indignation. Geralt handed her bowl to her with a merry wink at the dog, who stood up and panted happily at him.
Geralt gave Bekim an appraising look. "You did good tonight, with the camp. And the food - especially the food. I appreciate it."
Bekim nodded back at him as manfully as he could manage. He wasn't used to such praise.
Geralt continued, "You should have made a bed for yourself. We had enough blankets..."
Bekim shook his head. "No, sir. You and the lady need the blankets more'n I do... besides, there may be something I can use up in... in the foreman's shack." He pointed vaguely up the hill into the darkness.
Solona sat crunching on a biscuit and turned a creased brow in the direction of the shack she had seen earlier in the day. She swallowed her food, then reached out to her pile of gear and grabbed her staff. It illuminated brightly and she offered it to Bekim.
"Take this with you. If there's anything bad up there, stab it with the pointy end," she grinned at him.
Bekim was briefly mesmerized by her smile, but took her staff obediently and began trekking up the short path to the shack above the mine.
Her staff was not as heavy as it looked, and the light was oddly comforting in the darkness. When he reached the door to the shack he paused and gathered his courage. He hadn't been up here since that day two weeks past. He took a deep breath and opened the door.
His nose was instantly filled with the sweetly pungent odor of the leaves his father used to smoke, mixed with the sharper smell of the soap his mother used for their laundry. The wave of familiar aromas caused a surge of grief to well up inside him and he stood unmoving for a second, his heart pounding in his chest. With resolve he finally took another deep breath and wiped his eyes, then entered the shack.
The light emanating from the staff brightly illuminated the interior of the small room. He was amazed at how familiar it all looked, yet how alien at the same time. It was just as it had been on that day. Exactly the way his father had left it when he'd run into the mine at the alarm. Bekim's mother had been there that day, visiting and bringing his father's lunch to him, and she had run into the mine after her husband. Bekim and his older brother had both been inside working. He knew his mother... she would have given her own life to save her children, and she had, but only Bekim had lived. He knew that if he could he would give his life for all of them to be alive again. He forced himself to shake the feeling and focus on what he had come here for.
The shack was furnished only with a small table, a chair, and a small cot in one corner for when his father had to oversee a night shift in the mine. Fortunately, he saw nothing that needed stabbing, the only intruders being a small nest of mice that had taken up residence inside the pillow on the cot, which he left alone. Luckily the rest of the bedding still appeared to be intact. He quickly grabbed the blankets off the cot and looked around. He saw his father's leather pack resting in the far corner by the table and stared at it for a moment before stepping over to pick it up. From the table he grabbed his father's carved bone pipe, stashing it in his pocket.
He surveyed the room to see if there was anything else of value, then turned to leave. Hanging on a peg just inside the door he saw his father's leather coat with the woolen scarf his mother had knit for him draped over it. He reached out a tentative hand and touched the sleeve, then the fringe of the scarf. He had vivid memories of his father wearing the coat and scarf while they walked to the mine together, which they had done every day since Bekim had been old enough to accompany him. He had only just started working in the mine himself and had been determined to make his father proud. He never expected that his entire world would fall apart in the span of a day, leaving him with nothing but bitter regret that he was even alive.
With a shaky hand he unhooked the coat and scarf and gathered them into the bundle in his arms, then went back out the door, shutting it carefully behind him.
When he reached camp again he dropped the things into a pile on the ground, then fed a few more large pieces of wood into the fire. He served himself the remainder of the stew and sat on his stump, hunched over his bowl and eating in silence while he stared at his father's pack, hesitant to open it for fear of the memories that would be unleashed. He paused in his eating for a moment and drew the bone pipe out of his pocket. He inhaled deeply the scent of its contents, then set it gently on a flat stone at the edge of the fireplace and gazed at it while he finished his supper. He'd always been fascinated by the object and by his father's small ritual when he would prepare it for smoking - first cleaning it thoroughly, and then packing it gently with the leaves before lighting it with a small twig held in a flame for a second. The pipe was carved on three sides with the three faces of the goddess Melitele: a young girl, a woman, and a crone. It had been a gift from Bekim's mother before he'd been born and he knew his father had treasured it.
There was a rustling sound from across the camp and he looked up to see the blankets covering the Witchers shift and settle again. He heard a soft, rumbling murmur followed by low, deep laughter. It was answered a moment later by the lighter, more melodic sound of the woman's voice, speaking in a penitent tone. He concentrated on his dinner in an effort not to eavesdrop, but couldn't help but think what she was saying sounded like an apology. He wondered what she could ever do that might require an apology.
When he was finished eating, he quietly stepped over to pick up the bowls and spoons the Witchers had left and carried them down to the water to wash them along with his own bowl and the empty stew pot. As he was walking down the path he heard a loud, feminine yelp followed by deep, throaty laughter. He distinctly heard her yell out, "You bastard!" before she erupted into her own soft laughter. It reminded him of the antics his brother and his wife would get up to when they were still courting - little incidents of affectionate torture to get back at the other person for some small insult. He could tell from Solona's reaction that she had liked it in spite of her outburst. The small reminder of his old life caused a surge of desolation to well up in him as he sat in the dark scrubbing the dishes in the icy cold water. Tears began streaming down his face and he sat staring at the starlight rippling on the water for several moments after he was finished cleaning the dishes. He used to be surrounded by such sounds of happiness on a daily basis, and he sorely missed them.
He dried his eyes and returned to camp with the clean dishes, stowing them back where he had found them. He shook out the blankets he'd retrieved and laid them on the hard dirt near the fire, rolling up his father's coat for a pillow and then lay down to sleep. When he was comfortable he felt the big dog lay down behind him and rolled over to give him a soft scratch on the head.
He lay looking at the starry sky for several minutes unable to sleep, the myriad stresses of the day still running through his mind. He turned on his side facing the fire and glanced across to the other side. He saw Solona laying on her side with eyes open and staring at the fire, a wisp of white hair loosely curling across her cheek. He could see Geralt's bare shoulder behind her and his arm draped across her, their fingers tightly entwined where their hands rested against her stomach outside the blankets. He was struck by her beauty in the warm, flickering light, but even more so by the look of sadness in her eyes, which seemed so incongruous to her mood from moments before. Her eyes flicked up briefly and met his and she gave him a small smile. He averted his gaze abruptly, and turned onto his back again, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep.
ooOoo
Bekim was awakened later in the dark of night by a sharp cry from the other side of the camp. He sat up abruptly, eyes blinking in the dim glow from the coals of the still smoldering campfire. He looked over to the other side of the camp where the cry had come from and saw Geralt's shadowy form sitting up and holding Solona gently in his arms, rocking her and whispering in her ear. Bekim lay back down and pretended to sleep, but continued to watch them silently in the dim, glowing light, strands of his hair obscuring his eyes.
He had been slightly frightened of the big white-haired man when he'd first seen him, but over the course of the evening had gradually realized how human he was, and now he seemed even more human than the other men he knew. He'd never known another man to behave so tenderly to another person. Was that what it was supposed to look like when a man loved a woman? He'd never seen his father behave that way with his mother. Sure, he'd been sweet to her on many occasions, and there had been no shortage of affection between them, but he'd also never seen his mother upset to that degree. What was Solona so upset about? he wondered. He suddenly remembered himself as a child, waking in the night from a bad dream and crying out, and his mother coming to him and rocking him gently, stroking his hair to comfort him and lull him back into peaceful sleep. He knew then what he was witnessing, but this was different somehow - the way Geralt held Solona, the way he looked at her, the way he stroked her hair, the desperate look in his eyes as he did all that.
She finally drifted off to sleep again, and Bekim watched as Geralt laid her back down, but the Witcher hovered over her for several moments stroking her hair and watching her sleep. Finally he leaned down and placed a soft kiss against her temple and Bekim could swear he heard the man whisper, "I love you."
What he had witnessed made him realize that all the stories he'd heard of what Witchers were like had been wrong. They were as human as he was. As prone to fear and loss and sickness. And clearly as susceptible to love. He wondered what it was that made them so special if they were so normal. Maybe it was just because they were outsiders, but what he had seen so far made them seem somehow better than most of the people he knew, and he decided that would be a better reason to join them than anything else. He finally drifted off, comforted by the certainty that he had made the right decision.
ooOoo
Bright sunlight and noises roused him from his sleep the second time. He lay blinking the sleep out of his eyes for several seconds. When his sight cleared, his eyes focused on the nearest motion, which happened to be Solona's scantily clad backside shimmying into her leather trousers, her firm, round behind brightly illuminated in the rising sun. He was mesmerized for a second until he saw Geralt's large form looming near the fireplace. The man glanced at his half-dressed female companion then back at Bekim and gave him a stern glare. Bekim blushed brightly and averted his eyes, sinking back under his blankets defensively.
Geralt chuckled at the boy's reaction and said under his breath in an unmistakeably affectionate tone, "It is a rather hypnotic sight, isn't it? I admit I've fallen under the spell on far too many occasions."
Bekim looked at the man sharply, his brows creased in confusion. Had the other man just admitted - out loud - to doing... things... with her? Geralt shot a friendly grin back at him and said, "Get moving, boy. We need to collect our payment and get on the road. Plus there's the matter of your relocation. I need to make sure we won't be causing any uproar if you come with us."
Bekim was bewildered for a second and completely distracted from the semi-dressed female in their midst, "You... you're taking me with you?"
Geralt studied him with a serious look. "Yes..." he said slowly. "That is what you wanted, isn't it?"
"Y-yes!" Bekim exclaimed. He immediately hopped up and began scurrying to collect his things.
He was anxious as they started the short trek off the mountain back to the town. He'd never considered the possibility that anyone would object to his leaving. He'd always assumed that everyone wanted him gone, but now faced with the prospect of confronting that particular question he was suddenly uncertain. He figured Reznik was the only person who would state an opinion, being the town mayor and the one who had taken him in when he'd been cast out of his family's house. He doubted his brother's wife would care, and the thought caused a tightening in his chest. He'd always thought she'd liked him, before... but now things were different. He knew his little five-year-old niece didn't know any better so she still always greeted him with the same enthusiastic joy as she had before her father had died. He pictured her running up to him with her brown ringlets bouncing around her head, excited about something or other. The little girl's innocent adoration of him was the only thing that had broken through his grief during the past two weeks and he hoped his leaving wouldn't hurt her too much; she'd already lost far too much in her short life.
He heard a noise on the trail behind him and then felt a gentle pressure on his elbow through his jacket.
"Bekim, did you hear me?" Solona asked him. He turned to her and blinked a few times.
"Uh... what?"
She smiled gently which only served to make him a little more tongue tied as she fell into step beside him.
She seemed to hesitate for a second before saying, "Are you sure about this, about becoming a Witcher?"
He was struck dumb for a second before he could respond. She had the most interesting accent. It was like nothing he'd ever heard before. He thought briefly that he wished she'd never stop talking to him, her voice was so pretty just to listen to. And he still had the sight of her shapely bottom burned into his mind. He sighed heavily and then came back to his senses, flustered when he realized he'd barely even registered her question.
"Ah... becoming a - a Witcher... yes. Yes." He cleared his throat and averted his eyes from hers abruptly, then mumbled, "I'm sure."
She was quiet for a moment as she walked beside him, the he heard her ask gently, "Do you mind telling me why you think that's the only option?"
He felt a surge of frustration well up in him. "Why did you do it?" he asked abruptly and turned to look at her intently.
She gave him a steady look before answering with a small sigh. "I didn't have a choice," she said. "But you do. I just want to make sure you're making the choice for the right reasons."
He gave her a desperate glance and turned back to stare at the road. He said, "I don't know... I just know that my da always said it's important for a person to be of use. And I don't feel I can be that here if I'm not wanted." He looked at Solona and helplessly tried to find the words to explain himself. He had nothing left inside him but a burning need to somehow make things right, and he knew he wouldn't be able to do that if he stayed. He finally just gave her a sad little shrug and turned back to face the trail before him.
She nodded and fell silent walking beside him. She was oddly quiet, he thought. She didn't even talk to Geralt that he had heard, but she suddenly fell back to walk next to the other Witcher. He thought he saw her give the man's hand a gentle squeeze and they all walked in silence for the remainder of the short trip back to town.
When they reached the town there was a subtle uproar at their return. They lingered in the square briefly before Reznik emerged with a smile that Bekim knew was only reserved for visitors.
"So, are the mines clear then?" Reznik asked in his nasally voice.
Geralt answered, "The monsters are dead." He untied a bundle of claws from the side of his horse's saddle and tossed them onto the rough-hewn boards of the porch in front of the other man. One of the claws was easily three times the size of the others and obviously had dried blood clinging to it. Bekim wondered if that was the claw of the creature that had injured the Witcher.
Reznik nodded and said, "Your payment will be ready shortly..."
Geralt cut him off, saying, "There is something else of import that we need to discuss. In private."
The other man looked surprised, but after a second he nodded and ushered the Witcher into his house.
Bekim shuffled anxiously where he stood. A moment later Solona came up to him and asked quietly, "Are there any things you need to collect before we go? Now would be the time to do it."
He glanced at her and sat thinking for a moment. He shook his head and said, "No... I already have everything I want. There ain't nothing left here for me."
He could feel her studying him for a moment before she nodded and said. "Okay."
They continued to stand in the square with the horses, fidgeting slightly while they waited for Geralt to finish his conversation with the town's mayor. The big dog sat quietly next to Bekim, gently licking him on the hand every so often; each time Bekim would idly scratch him back.
As they stood in the square Bekim heard the sound of his niece Mila's high-pitched voice ringing out, "Bekim!" He turned to see where she was and saw her on the other side of the square running towards him, the springy coils of her hair bouncing as she approached. He squatted down and she stopped abruptly in front of him and asked breathlessly, "Bekim! Did you thee the monthterth that killed papa? Did you kill any?"
Bekim shook his head, a large lump in his throat made it tough for him to speak to her. He saw her mother approaching out of the corner of his eye and finally whispered quickly to the little girl, "No, but I'm going to go with the Witchers today and they're going to teach me how to kill monsters, so you never have to worry about monsters ever again, because I'll be able to protect you, okay?"
She nodded at him and then threw her little arms around his neck. Abruptly she was hauled away by her mother who merely gave Bekim a dirty look before carrying her daughter off again.
Finally the door to Reznik's house opened and Geralt strode out with a look of irritation. He was followed closely by Reznik who stood on the porch, resolute and unspeaking. The man directed a pointed look at Bekim.
Bekim looked at Geralt beseechingly. Geralt only shook his head and said in a low voice, "It's time we moved on. Bekim, you're riding with Solona. Mount up."
The boy nodded, confused and excited at the same time, but he wasn't oblivious to the look the two Witchers exchanged with each other. Something wasn't right, and he got the sense he shouldn't say anything just now. He gave Solona a leg up onto her horse and she stretched out a hand to help him mount behind her. He hesitated awkwardly, trying to figure out where to place his hands. Finally Solona turned to look over her shoulder with a smirk and said, "Don't be shy, Bekim. Hold on or else you'll end up on your ass in the dirt." He nodded at her and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist.
They rode in complete silence for a time, and Bekim was anxious to find out what Geralt had discussed with Reznik. He knew it must have been about him, but their mood seemed tense and he wasn't sure how to broach the subject. It wasn't until they'd been on the road for about an hour that it occurred to Bekim what was wrong.
"Wait, weren't you supposed to get paid? I remember you talking to Reznik about payment before I showed you to the mine yesterday. Payment in liquor... surely that'd mean a wagon or another horse, wouldn't it?"
The big man turned his head and gave Bekim a sardonic smile. In a gruff voice he said, "We did get paid, kid. You're it."
Bekim was dumbstruck at the comment. He sat with his mouth agape, staring at Geralt. He finally stuttered out a question, "B-but... why... I don't understand..." He was leaving willingly. They didn't even want him there. Why would they punish the Witchers for taking him away?
Geralt shook his head slowly and explained. "It has nothing to do with you personally, Bekim. It's just the way things work with Witchers. We haven't recruited in decades, and I use the term 'recruit' very loosely to describe what we did to increase our numbers. Usually we would collect able bodied urchins from cities. Children who had nothing else. But it was also common knowledge that we would occasionally take young boys from smaller villages as payment for a contract if no other payment was possible. Reznik simply chose to follow tradition, as was his right."
Bekim was beginning to understand, which made him angry. "But I would have gone anyway!" he exclaimed.
Geralt glanced at him. "His argument was that the village would be losing a worker. It was no matter to him how you felt about the situation, and there was no arguing with him. It's of no consequence now, Bekim. You'll begin your training as soon as we reach the fortress. If you do well, you will prove yourself far more valuable than any other payment we could have received."
Bekim clung to Solona's waist as they continued to ride and brooded over what Geralt had said. He thought that somewhere the spirit of his father might be watching and that bolstered his resolve. He decided he would do his best to make sure Geralt's prediction came true. He would prove himself more valuable than anything his village could have paid the Witchers. And someday maybe he would go kill monsters in that mine himself and prove it to them.
Next Chapter: Tales of wolves.
Author's Note: Special thanks to Danish Existence for creative assistance on this chapter in particular, as well as the rest of this story.