Conjunction

Chapter 25 - Departure

Six Weeks Later. Five Months until Midsummer.

"We need to leave next week," Solona announced at breakfast.

All five men shot startled looks at her. Geralt's eyebrows drew together as he studied her.

"Solona, we have a full month before Belleteyn, and you only just completed the Trials. We should wait until this weather clears. Not to mention you need more time to acclimate to your changes."

"The weather isn't going to clear," she said. Her voice was a low, eerie monotone, her eyes glazed.

A feeling of cold dread began to grow in Geralt's belly at her oddly detached tone. She sounded just like Ciri had during one of her episodes, and he could tell the other Witchers recognized it as well.

"Besides, I'm perfectly acclimated now," she said in her normal voice, blinking brightly and turning to look at him while she took a bite of buttered toast. He drew back slightly at the contrast.

"What do you mean the weather isn't going to clear?" he asked cautiously.

As Geralt continued to study her with growing concern, he saw her shiver from some imaginary chill. The castle was drafty, but her spot of choice in the dining hall was one of the warmest in the fortress, what with the fire blazing at her back. She'd bundled up in her warmest clothing this morning as well, even though it was no colder than previous mornings. The rest of them were dressed in trousers and shirts – nothing excessive.

All the men had stopped eating and were staring at her intently. Lusa whined, sensing something wasn't right in the room when the mood shifted from boisterous breakfast conversation to tense silence.

She turned her golden eyes to Geralt's, the odd tone returning to her voice. He sensed a hint of desperation in the words this time.

"Balance between the worlds is shifting. The White Chill will persist until the ritual, Geralt. We must leave soon or we will be too late to stop it and all three worlds will die. The Old Gods are restless, they must be awakened to maintain balance, and they must not awaken where they now slumber."

The White Chill. Geralt grimaced as he recalled his experience with the Grand Master and the vision Solona had recounted of their confrontation at the beginning of her trials. He was certain the Grand Master's warnings had only been the ravings of a madman, but he had suspected – dreaded, even – that it might be more than that. The prophecy also spoke of the White Chill, but Geralt had never considered that it would be a literal manifestation.

He regarded Solona solemnly, his appetite forgotten. His last bite had gone down with difficulty beyond the lump that had formed in his throat. Something was happening to her and he felt utterly ill equipped to deal with it.

She shivered again, but at the moment seemed otherwise oblivious to the change in mood. Lusa stood and walked over to her, nuzzling at her hand with a worried expression. She idly scratched his ears, then stood and cleared her empty plate, heading into the kitchen then up to the second floor without another word. Her eyes still had a distant, dreamy look.

Vesemir cleared his throat and said, "The last mutagen. That must be it."

Geralt looked at him, his eyebrows raised in inquiry.

"The Vapors of the Hunt," the older man elaborated. "The mutagen isn't part of the standard prescription for Witchers – it was the alteration you requested, Wolf. From the witch's grimoire."

Geralt nodded in understanding, feeling less tense now that he had some kind of explanation, but still not exactly relieved. Seeing her in such a state left him feeling helpless, and he wasn't the type of man who dealt well with situations he couldn't fix, particularly when it came to people he cared about.

Geralt clenched his fists, betraying his frustration. He said, "You're right. That has to be it. Every mutagen has had a particularly pronounced effect on her. It must have given her a stronger link to the spirit world than she had before. She's been having vivid dreams again, too. Visions, judging from... her tone just now." He wondered if there was even more to it than that.

"You still share her dreams, then?" Vesemir asked with a note of suspicion.

"Yes. And before you ask, no we haven't slept together since Midwinter. The connection doesn't seem related to our proximity to each other."

Vesemir snorted softly and shook his head. "Quite a risk you took as it was. I still wonder what was going through your fool heads, the both of you."

Lambert interjected with a laugh. "They weren't thinking from the sounds we heard that night – and the state of the room afterwards. You'd have thought a pair of wild dogs had been rutting up there, the way we found things the next morning."

Geralt looked mildly chagrined at being reminded of the event. He didn't like the fact that he could so completely lose control with her. Her own actions had been forgivable in retrospect, but he avoided sharing the particulars of what had incited her violent reaction to him.

He finally muttered, "Well, that won't be happening again, I can promise you."

Vesemir shook his head. "I thought as much. You two have seemed more at ease around each other since, so clearly some good came out of it. You're lucky that's all that came out of it."

Geralt glared at the older man, peeved at being condescended to like he were an unruly child, but he knew the man was right.

"These dreams..." Vesemir began. "Are they prophecies, do you think?"

Geralt shrugged his shoulders with uncertainty and recounted the images he remembered from her dreams the past few nights.

In her dreams he'd seen the white expanse of ice and snow across the world. The two of them were trekking through it, but were in the forms they manifested frequently in her dreams: that of the white wolf and dragon.

The cold, stark desolation extended as far south as Nilfgaard, and farther. Cities were frozen in ice, livestock starved or just died from exposure, the citizens of the Northern Kingdoms were gripped by famine.

He'd seen visions of the other sides, as well. He'd seen the baking heat of droughts overtaking her own world, its inhabitants still struggling to recover from the blights wrought upon it by the evil creatures she called the Darkspawn.

He'd seen a third world equally entrenched in a bitter winter like his own and overrun by monsters, some familiar to him and some utterly alien.

He'd heard the resonant dream-like voices of the ones she referred to as the Old Gods and their incessant beckoning that was almost a plea for help.

The look on Vesemir's face had grown darker the more he described, and the other men were looking at him with astonishment.

"Wolf, if she's become a Source, you don't want to tempt fate by disregarding those visions," Vesemir said.

Geralt nodded gravely. "I'll begin making preparations tomorrow. We'll leave within the week."

ooOoo

He found her late in the afternoon the next day, soaking in the hot water in the pool at the bottom of the fortress. She was staring blankly at the flickering flame of a brazier that sat beside the pool.

He padded in soft leather-booted feet over to the corner she sat in. His leather leggings creaked when he knelt down next to the edge of the pool beside her.

"Solona, you've been in here for hours, you should come out to eat at least," he said.

She shuddered in the water, causing little ripples to cascade out from her body. "It's too fucking cold up there. This is the only place I can stay warm anymore."

She turned her head to look up at him with a pleading expression. Her now shoulder-length curly white hair trailed into the water behind her. He could see the curve of her soft, white shoulders and the swell of her breasts dipping beneath the surface of the water and longed to touch her. He'd gotten used to the idea that his longing for her would never die. It was in his blood, he knew. He let out a soft sigh. He picked up the blanket he'd brought down with him and held it out to her invitingly.

"I'll make sure you're warm enough. Come on." He gestured with his head.

He stooped to reach out a hand to her, holding the blanket loosely in his other hand.

She scowled at him but obeyed. She stood up and took his hand, then stepped gracefully out of the water, turning her back to him. He immediately wrapped the blanket around her naked body and held her before him, rubbing her arms and sides briskly to dry her.

Solona leaned back against him and sighed. Her damp hair tickled at the side of his face, catching on the bristle of his unshaven cheek. She spoke in a dreamy voice that made him feel equally aroused and tortured.

"I feel warm enough when you're beside me, Geralt. You and I together can make it warm enough. It's what we were meant to do."

"I know," he said gruffly, his voice hitching slightly.

He found her clothes and started to help her dress when she gave him a wry look. "I can dress myself, I'm not an invalid... yet."

"Do you know what's happening to you?" he asked, taking advantage of the rare moment of lucidity when she actually seemed to be wholly herself for a change.

Solona sighed, "The pull from them has been stronger since Midwinter. And then when I took the last mutagen, it's as though they're all I can hear sometimes. They're only dreams, Geralt, but they're dreams I can see when I'm awake, and they're so powerful. I almost don't know who I am when they're in my head. It's... frightening sometimes, but almost soothing at the same time."

She grew quiet for several moments while she dressed and he could sense the tension building in her from her increasingly abrupt motions while she fastened her clothing and tied up her boots.

Finally she erupted in a tense and desperate voice, looking at him with tears clearly visible in her eyes, "We have to save them. We have to save everyone!" Her voice quavered, "I... I know how to do this, but feeling their desperation sometimes it just makes it harder to bear. They feel so helpless, trapped where they are. It's up to us to get them out. Three worlds, Geralt. Three worlds depend on us!"

She broke down entirely and all he could do was reach out and pull her into his arms while she wept.

ooOoo

Their dream voices were almost constant now. So much so it was becoming difficult for her to focus on even the most mundane tasks like eating or bathing.

When she would sleep, the dreams were vivid and distressing. The one saving grace was that now she could feel Geralt in her dreams as a constant, comforting presence. She wasn't sure if she was drawing him in, or if he was reaching out to her unconsciously in his sleep, but having his presence amidst the harsh landscapes of her dreams made her feel a little less overwhelmed by what she witnessed.

She existed in a fugue-like state for days, only having a few short respites in which the voices finally would subside. During those moments she would first sit briefly enjoying the silence before her mind would frantically begin going over the things she needed to accomplish before their departure.

She was in such a frenzy one afternoon when Geralt showed up in her room.

"Stop, Solona," he said grabbing her hands and forcing her to release the items she was holding. "Just relax. I can make the plans, I can pack everything. Why don't you go down to the armory and spar with Bekim – he needs the practice, and you clearly need to burn off some energy."

She looked into his eyes for about a heartbeat too long and felt the familiar surge of need in her that was clearly reflected in his own eyes. For a split second she was sure he was about to kiss her and she abruptly turned and left without a word, leaving him holding her belongings.

She found Bekim and Lambert in the armory and joined them for a time. When the call for supper came, she opted to stay behind. Sparring had done her good, and had seemed to clear her head, leaving her more focused than she'd been earlier. When she felt the voices begin to return during a rest, she immediately grabbed her staff again where it was leaning against the bench beside her and began another series of choreographed attacks on a training dummy. The voices didn't subside entirely, but the act of carrying out the disciplined, practiced movements helped her to maintain her focus in spite of them.

After another couple hours of such activity she stood sweaty and breathless, leaning with her hands on her knees for a short rest, but loathe to stop moving. Every time she paused to even catch her breath, the din of their pleas would return forcefully in her mind.

She shook her head savagely and let out a frustrated roar. She lifted her head, aiming her staff at the training dummy. She pulled a measure of magical energy out of the air around her and sent it surging through her staff at her target.

The training dummy exploded in a cloud of feathers and wisps of burlap that floated to the ground, reminding her a little of the wraiths they had killed weeks earlier. She felt immeasurably better after the outburst. She stood panting and surveying the destruction as the remains of the training dummy settled to the floor.

"That was... impressive," she heard Lambert's voice from behind her. "Remind me not to sneak up on you in an alleyway."

She smirked to herself and turned to give him a sardonic look. "Surely you've seen more impressive displays from Triss."

She hadn't stopped needling him about Triss over the past few weeks when they were alone. He'd finally given up and started talking to her, his reservation gradually lessening as he shared his observations of the pretty red-haired sorceress.

He shrugged. "She's good. Just... different. She won't get up close if she can help it." He paused for a second before saying, "She's allergic to it, you know... that's why she never uses glamours on herself."

Solona asked, "Allergic... to magic? How is that possible?"

He shrugged, "I don't know, but she gets violently ill if magic is used on her. It makes it tricky if she gets injured. Potions work, at least."

He looked her in the eyes and said, "I don't trust most sorceresses... they practice deception as a rule, in my experience. Triss is... different. She's honest. Whatever you see when you first look at her is the real thing. You're like her in that way, actually."

Lambert chuckled softly and said, "She's also not as good with weapons as she is with magic. She's a complete klutz if you put a weapon in her hands. You're definitely unlike the average sorceress."

"I've had good teachers," Solona said.

"You're a good student," he replied.

She walked over to the bench and sat, pulling her damp hair up in a tail at the back of her head and securing it with a leather thong. A few unruly curls sprang free, fringing her face. She looked up at him where he leaned in the doorway of the armory.

"I'm going to miss you, Lambert," she said. "I'm going to miss everyone, but you mostly."

His expression grew tender and he strode over and sat on the bench beside her, grabbing her hand and holding it tightly in his own.

"Solona, you are a remarkable woman," he began, and she listened to him earnestly awaiting his words of wisdom.

He continued. "I've been utterly overwhelmed by your irritating presence hounding me day in and day out ever since we met. I still feel a little twinge in my nose from time to time where you broke it... in case you forgot about that." He squeezed the bridge of his nose and glanced at her, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She gave him a shocked look and said indignantly, "You were asking for it, and you know it. Queen of Geralt's cock." She snorted and elbowed him in the ribs.

He let out a loud "oof" and said through a laugh as he turned to look at her, "Well, you have to admit I was right. But I am actually going to miss you as well."

"You'd better," she said with a grin and slung one arm around his waist, then dropped her head to his shoulder with a sigh.

"Take care of yourself, Lambert," she said. She felt him nod softly and his arm came up around her shoulders, squeezing gently.

ooOoo

Four days later they had their horses packed with the supplies they would need for their journey.

"We could go with you, Wolf," Lambert reiterated. Geralt only shook his head, glancing at Solona who'd already made her goodbyes and now sat atop her horse bundled up in her freshly repaired dragonhide armor and her cloak, which he knew were much warmer than they appeared.

"No, brother, we'll travel more quickly this way. Thank you, though." He grasped fists and hugged his brothers and Vesemir.

When he reached Bekim, he paused, looking the boy over. The boy had filled out over the last few months and Geralt was starting to see a hint of the man he might become. He still had an unfinished quality to him, but nothing another year of training wouldn't take care of.

"You've learned much these past months. I'm proud of you. Keep it up. With any luck we'll be back to teach you more before your trials."

Bekim beamed at him and returned his strong embrace, then stooped down to accept an affectionate goodbye from Lusa. He looked almost mournful to see the dog go.

"Take care, Wolf," Vesemir said, waving as Geralt strode to his horse and mounted. Geralt turned to look at Solona and she smiled back at him, but her eyes seemed distant. He only hoped that she would be able to fight if it came to it.

It began snowing again as they descended into the frozen valley below Kaer Morhen and began heading south.

Next Chapter: Keeping cool.