Here it is- another chapter. I'd like to apologize everyone for that two months it took me to update. My life is a roller-coaster lately which doesn't help in keeping things under control. Hopefully the next chapters are going to be more regular. Only two more chapters to go! Yeah.
I'd like to apologize to any potential geeks in Obstetrics. I know there is one significant mistake when it comes molar pregnancy in this chapter. I know about it and acknowledge it but decided that Yennefer and others will not be aware of it as they're not acquainted with neither Embryology nor Genetics.
The world was already beginning to dance at the edge of a new day when the sound of an opening portal pierced through the silence that filled the chamber. Eskel shifted on the mattress and turned his face towards the source of the disruption.
Triss, who had loomed up from the nothingness, had already regained her previous shape and now sat by the dressing table. She and Eskel's eyes met almost instantly, but for a good while neither of them spoke.
"Did I wake you?" she asked after a moment.
"No." he yawned in reply, following his fingers along the top of the lifeless sack his pillow had become overnight. "Couldn't sleep anyway. How did it go?"
The sorceress placed her boots under the table, right next to three other pairs. "Good I suppose," she mumbled, still peering at him, "someone switched off the water engine so I had to use the manual centrifuge. To make things worse, Nenneke added citric acid to the blood so isolation of pure serum was harder than I anticipated. Anyway, everything that required immediate action is pretty much done."
"Glad to hear that," he whispered.
She moved closer and took a seat beside him on the bed. Eskel reached his hand towards her knee covered with a thin layer of stocking and grabbed it, securely but not impertinently. "Can we still count for a negative?" He asked, once more seeking her face in the darkness.
She didn't reply. Instead, she laid down next to him and cuddled up. They both remained silent. He kissed the top of her head. Triss clung a bit closer.
"Penny for your thoughts?" she offered, ghosting her fingertips over the long scar lancing his cheek.
"Like you couldn't find out anyway," he observed.
The sorceress giggled and lifted herself on her elbow, her lips brushed his lips in a quick kiss. Too quick a kiss. "Good point," she purred, still impossibly close to him. "Nevertheless, I'd like to hear it from you."
Eskel took a deep breath. Triss used the occasion and settled herself down on his chest. "You can tell me you know that?" she yawned, intertwining her hands with his.
"I know," he offered in exchange. "It's nothing. I'm just worried about Geralt."
The morning seemed leisurely, sluggish almost. It had the taste of crumpets, roasted grain beverage and baked apples of paradise. It blazed with the light of the fireplace and countless candles and resonated with the sound of laughter and paper being torn in excitement.
"More underwear," Geralt whispered, placing the pieces of undergarment on the pile of socks and tunics, and other fiddle-faddle Yennefer and Ciri generously presented him with. Then he glanced again at the box with silver earings he got the sorceress and an expensive set of oils he found for the younger one and sighed.
"One can't have enough of these," Yennefer yawned, swaddled up in a cocoon of blankets. Despite being woken up before dawn and forced to wear a festive outfit, she appeared to be in a good mood; best proof of that was that she hadn't yet chased Ciri and him away from the bedroom. "Besides if we talk about it," she continued, moving her lips slowly, "little changes will do you some good. The ones you currently have are ashen from so many washes." She paused for a moment. Ciri passed him another wrapped bundle. Geralt smiled, very insincerely.
"It's toilet water," the sorceress snorted.
It was indeed a toilet water.
"Smells nice," he observed, breathing in the scent of orange, vetiver and something else, most likely pepper. He didn't lie. Yennefer had one heck of experience on the field. "Your perfumery in Vengerberg's working again?" He asked.
The sorceress shook her head. They both went silent, not without reason. For a brief moment, he came back to those days in her house; to the shelves buckling under the weight of colourful vials and caskets; the baskets with tiny bags of sea salt and scented bath balls; the smell of lilac and gooseberries in the air. He had never asked what happened next.
"Business as usual," the enchantress replied, spotlessly sensing his uneasiness, "my house is one of the biggest in Vengerberg, so it was an obvious choice for a police station. The walls of the basement are still stained with blood, but at least they did not burn the entire place down. Just the perfumery. I don't know why but I just can't compose… Not like back then at least. Ciri, it's your turn."
Ciri grizzled but ultimately reached for a huge red package, just as she was told. "A dress," she commented, retrieving from it a long emerald gown embroidered with black thread and pearls in the same colour. "Thanks, Yen."
"It's not from me," the enchantress defended herself, "after the last try, I would never dare to buy you clothes again."
"You got me," Geralt said, imitating guilt and picked up from the bedside table a heavy, perpendicular packet. "It's for you, Yen." He offered, encouraging the sorceress to let go of the quilt. She got herself up and sat, suggesting unblushingly she wished to be cradled. Her eagerness seemed almost unnatural but Geralt complied, very eagerly.
"The Poisoned Source," he whispered with his lips close to her ear as she fought a battle with the paper at the front. "Very first edition of the book that revolutionized the entire mage society. This was at least what the bookseller said. Plus it was written by your mistress. I saw it in Beauclair and immediately thought-"
"What the fuck did you think?" Ciri cut him in the mid sentence. "They did it to her because of that book. Because of that book she can never have… How cruel one needs to be to-"
"Ciri, calm down," Yennefer interrupted her in turn and placed her hand on Geralt's lap. "Thank you, dear," she said, glancing at him. "It was a spot-on choice. To be frank, I haven't read The Poisoned Source since Aretuza. It's high time to give it another go."
"Yen?" whispered the Witcher, diffidently.
The sorceress leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. "Geralt," she said after a moment, imitating the tender notes in his voice, "I'm too old to throw a tantrum over everything other people do or say. Even mage life is too short for that. Beside I really like it. Maybe it's really a right time to finally let it go. Do you believe me?"
Geralt was forced to believe.
"You're fast, gotta tell you. Crack of dawn and you're already grumpy," Eskel chuckled while Geralt fruitlessly forced himself to finish his plate of semolina pudding. There were only two of them in the dining hall, but the fresh tableware and platters of sizzling food suggested that things were to change any minute. The only uncertainty was Yennefer. After spending the last hour on apologizing to her, the sorceress still tried to fool Geralt she hadn't felt offended in the first place. "Ciri or Yen?" the dark-haired asked again, much bolder now. The sword he was polishing by the table gleamed brightly in the candle light.
Geralt sighed, very loudly and pretty much for effect.
"I understand."
"You know shit." He growled, regretting the anger behind his words straight away. On the other hand, Eskel really knew little. His relationship with Triss was at a completely different stage, and even if they had started serious conversations already, did Triss dream about the same things Yennefer did?
Yennefer clearly had not forgotten about her dream, had accepted her failure maybe, but was hurt just as much as before. Now he was sure of that. The miraculous effect Ciri had on them had worn out, and maybe Nenneke was right? Maybe they were ready for another try? Maybe even needed it? After all, things had gone incredibly well for them after Ciri had joined them. Still, he did not want to discuss it with Eskel. No, he didn't want to discuss it at all.
"Touchy subject?"
"Very touchy."
"I won't dwell on it then."
"I wanted to give Yen something memorable and I gave her The Poisoned Source."
"That weird book that took from Yennefer and her schoolmates the pain of motherhood before they even managed to learn what that pain was?"
Eskel burst out laughing. Geralt glanced once more at his plate and the disgusting mess on it, now utterly convinced that the effect of his efforts was easy to predict for everyone but him.
"You're better than Nenneke," the other Witcher said, carefully inspecting both sides of the blade and then showing it to Geralt. Geralt pointed out few tiny white blobs, most likely a keepsake from an encounter with a drowner or a water hag. Eskel sighed and went back to the task. "Yennefer seems to be a reasonable woman. She'll forgive this little incident, I'm sure of that," he stated as his fingers tried to scrape off the obstinate smudge, "you're going to be stuck in Toussaint anyway today. Maybe a romantic dinner would sort it out? Or at least a bouquet of flowers?" He stopped and showed Geralt the sword again. This time he did not have anything to suggest. "Proper ones," the witcher continued, completely ignoring the fact that that their conversation changed pretty much into a monologue. "Women don't appreciate fudge. Maybe roses or peonies? No, orchids. Yennefer is an orchid type. And please consult with me every gift you plan to give her. As your groomsman, I feel obligated to make that wedding happen in the first place."
"Very funny." Grunted Geralt. "Besides, she insists she's fine."
Eskel smiled and opened the two jars with brown oil and hanged man's venom. Geralt passed him the gloves and a box of steel arrows and started to polish some arrowheads on his own. "I'm always serious when it comes to women-" he admitted, coating the blade with the purple paste. "Maybe she really is? In the end, she can't get mad every time someone mentions it. And I'm glad Triss is fertile. It makes me a bit more hopeful for the future."
"Is she?"
The other Witcher placed the sword back in its scabbard and reached for a bunch of arrows. "Yes, she is," he replied, completely without emotions. "Tissaia de Vries decided to retire but against everyone's assumption Margarita Laux-Antille wasn't chosen to replace her, which caused an overwhelming storm in the school. The new rector seemed to have one goal, to damage Tissaia's legacy, compulsory sterilization including. Things changed back to normal eventually, but Triss graduated already. To make things worse Triss is allergic to potions and elixirs. Thought that out of all people-"
Geralt finished the last of bolts. "Clearly I did not know."
"Didn't want to find out? Personally, I think it's for the best. Who knows, maybe she'll change her mind? Pregnancy and motherhood are important."
Geralt took a deep breath. "Yennefer gets mad every time I mention Aretuza. I've never thought about asking Triss. She can have children; you can't. Really consider asking another man to inseminate the woman you love? We went through it with Yen. I'm quite relieved it never got more serious."
Eskel hesitated for a moment. "Triss loves talking," he recommenced, gracefully evading the other topic. "I asked once and she never stopped. I like it. Feels like I know her a bit better. Can you believe she couldn't sleep without her doll till she was almost fifteen years old? I love everything about that woman, but can we please change the subject? I feel incredibly stupid."
They ceased their conversation instead. A pleasant silence filled up the room. Geralt could, at last, come back to stir the pudding and raspberry sauce it was decorated with. The mixture got a satisfying shade of violet but tasted just as bad as usual.
"Geralt?"
"What?" snorted the Witcher.
"There's something I'd like you to know about. Triss made me promise I won't say a word but-"
"Want to join me in my exile? She said no and likely meant it."
Eskel stopped but not for long. "Thought about it the entire night." He whispered, reaching for the baking sheet and the bacon was shining with fat. "You're like a brother to me. Never kept anything from you and don't want to start doing it now. Besides, I really think you have every right to know. I'd like to know if I were you."
"Spare me this melodramatic introduction. What's going on?"
"You're going to be a grandfather," said the dark-haired Witcher, this time around painfully to the point.
Geralt chuckled and for a moment did not speak. "No way," he muttered then. " Ciri would never do something so reckless. She knows what's at stake. Beside these are not values Yennefer and I instilled in her. You must have misinterpreted everything. Beside I would have been first to know-"
"Yesterday," Eskel interrupted him. "Nenneke came to our bedroom and asked Triss to run some tests. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but she wanted the ones for foetal abnormalities, not the pregnancy test itself. And she said someone is precisely four months along. Maybe I really misinterpreted everything-"
"Don't think you did" Geralt gasped, feeling how the earth beneath his feet shifted all of a sudden.
Although Eskel considered himself a calm person and deeply believed in the advantage of negotiations and compromise over duels and fistfights, that day he was close to breaking the habit. He sat by the breakfast table, glancing at Avallac'h crooked advances and the pinkish blush which deluged Ciri's cheeks and cogitated over all methods he could use to separate the elf's head from the rest of his scrawny body.
Ciri was expecting the sage's child, in the best case, he was just a passer-by who kindly offered his help with the newly encountered problem. Geralt and Yennefer did not give a damn about such help and would surely demonstrate their gratitude. They definitely should.
"How is Yennefer feeling today?" he heard Nenneke ask the white-haired witcher.
"Couldn't be better," Geralt replied, still gawking at his plate of semolina pudding which was now properly cold, as if the performance Ciri and Avallac'h delivered before her eyes did not exist.
And this was exactly what caused the entire crisis, thought Eskel, with his face hidden behind the mug of herbal tea. Geralt and Yennefer's neutrality and reluctance to patronize paid off, but not in the way they wished it to. If it was Eskel's decision, he would have got rid of the elf forever ago.
"What's wrong this time?" asked the woman again.
"Same what yesterday," the white-haired witcher mumbled. "Nausea."
"She's been very sickly lately," the arch-priestess pointed out, pouring herself another ladle of stewed apples, "not that it's surprising. She's an epitome of workaholism. Her job hours, her eating habits, aversion to outdoor activities… It all matters. One cannot fool their body forever. Maybe you could convince her to change a thing or two?"
Geralt grunted under her breath. His answer while trivial as it seemed, must have satisfied the woman. She stayed silent for way too long as for Nenneke.
"You're right," the older of women commented after a moment. "It's like encouraging bear to try vegetarianism. But you saw what happened yesterday; she needs to take care of herself. Especially now as she-"
"I what?" Yennefer muttered through clenched teeth. Her appearance in the room caused quite a significant reaction in Geralt. She seemed to be aware of it or at least that was what Eskel thought immediately. "Geralt, don't stare like an idiot. And pass me some croutons," she ordered, taking a seat next to her fiancé.
"Actually, could I get some too?" interrupted Avallac'h who apparently observed the absence of croutons as well.
"Course you can," said Geralt as if waking up from a trance, and reached for the basket lying in front of him. He passed it to the sorceress and then without making a meal out of it, poured onto his own, almost empty plate the remaining two or three handfuls of bread cubes, completely ignoring the elf.
Eskel swallowed a laugh he hoped no one noticed.
Yennefer noticed it.
"What's so funny, Eskel?" she growled, pouring herself some stewed fruits and almost piercing him with her violet eyes, but then the expression on her face changed, she glanced at the elf and smiled. "Take mine," she offered, reaching her bowl in his direction. "I didn't try it yet. Frankly, I don't know why I even made myself one. Crackers are more realistic option for me lately."
"Maybe Triss is up," Eskel jetted out of the blue. Within seconds he was back on his feet, looking through the leavings from the breakfast. "Anyone's still in mood for bacon?"
"Take as much as you wish, Eskel," blurted Geralt, still snuggling to his plate of semolina pudding.
"There are still some crescent rolls left, I see, " Yennefer butted into the conversation, now for a change calm. "And scrambled eggs. Also Triss isn't a fan of mint tea. There's some camomile left in the kitchen. Actually I was planning to go there too… I'll help you."
Eskel accepted the offer but still peered at Geralt. The other witcher shook his head, the pupils of his eyes visibly dilated.
The sorceress rose from her seat and joined Eskel by the door. "Anyone fancy anything?" she offered, looking around the room. No one replied. She nodded. "Alright then, I'll be back in a second."
Triss was asleep when Eskel snuck into their chamber. The window shutters were still closed, their wet clothes still decorated the room from hooks and chairs and every vertical surface Eskel and Triss had found useful to store them earlier, the fire in the fireplace still danced slowly. Everything seemed exactly how he left it, except for the sorceress who now resembled a flying squirrel and monopolized by the same token the entire bed.
Eskel closed the door after himself, placed the tray beside the door and approached the bed, minding his footsteps on the squeaky floor.
"Triss?" he said, not raising his voice higher than the ultimate minimum.
For a moment something appeared to change. Triss shifted, but against his hopes only to roll onto her side, forcing the witcher the same way to marvel at the floral embroidery that made up a good half of the back of her nightgown.
He made another step and kneeled beside the mattress, for a good moment only glancing.
"Wake up sleepy head," he whispered next, placing a tender kiss on the sole of her left foot. The sorceress released a long sigh, gulped loudly, scratched her feet with one another and put both of her limbs under the covers, but still she did not wake up.
Eskel chuckled. Still convinced not to let go, he raised the duvet a little and repeated the trick with sole kissing, now for a change, detaining the sorceress' foot in place.
"Damn you, Eskel," squeaked Triss sleepily and pulled her foot out of his trap. "Where did you learn these antics? I swear I'll try it on you one day."
"I count on that," Eskel laughed and lay down in the bed with her. She moved a little closer and laughed along with him. He leant in on his elbow and kissed her gently.
Triss smilled. "I know you do," she blurted and then in a in a blink of an eye metamorphosed the fleety experience into a proper make out. He indulged to her hot lips and arms encircling him like the tentacles of an octopus. He was completely in love with that part of her. He had not once met a woman so sure of herself and what she wanted or needed. It was a nice change, a very enduring one.
"Let me quote you," he gasped, leaving a trail of soft kisses on her forehead and nose and cherishing the brief pause they were forced to make. Even his altered lung volume was no use around Triss. "Eskel, please wake me up for the hunting. I want to go hunting. Please, Eskel don't let me sleep entire day. I don't want to waste entire day."
"Let me quote you," the sorceress interrupted him with a hint of cockiness in her voice. "Please go to Kaer Morhen with me and we'll spend every day on walks and nights on meticulous lovemaking. Where's my lovemaking? See, you did not fulfill your promise. Not last night, it is-"
"Last night," Eskel blurted out and pressed his lips again to hers, "you were in Kovir."
"Fair point. Still you should make up for that, Eskel."
"Make up how?"
Triss giggled, reached for the row of silk buttons at the front of her nightgown and began to undo them, one by one and painfully slowly.
"Oh, in this way," coaxed Eskel.
"Everyone's ready?" Geralt heard Eskel yell as Triss tried to insert the crossbow in the holder on his back where it belonged. "Lambert," sighed the dark-haired Witcher, most likely spotting the other Witcher and his disquisition over the chest of axes and other similar tools. "Leave the axes alone. You're a witcher, not a knacker. And where's Nenneke?"
"I'm here," cried the arch-priestess and emerged from behind the front doors with a huge, wicker basket in her hands. Geralt approached her and took the inconvenient item. "What's so surprising? Didn't believe I'd come? I need fresh medlars for the pie."
"They won't be fresh. More frozen," Eskel observed, pointing out at the rows of frost-covered trees, his hand found its way to Triss's shoulder for at least third time in the last hour. Ciri burst out laughing hearing another hilarious joke from Avallac'h. Geralt, in turn, boggled at the realisation that this Yule might just as well be the very first of many he would be forced to spend in the elf's company.
"And when did you, Eskel, became a practical joker?" replied the arch-priestess as she clung to Geralt's arm. The procession moved towards the back gate and the nearby forest. "Weren't you supposed to do something else?" Nenneke directed to Geralt only. "Yennefer won't be happy when she figures out you're not in the castle. On a different note, she's very patient. If she asks you for help, you do it, no questions or silly whining."
"Wasn't whining." Geralt muttered.
Nenneke patted his arm lightly. "Of course you weren't. Thank you very much for such not-whining. Look lively everyone, we don't have an entire day. Where the heck did Lambert go?"
"One cannot even piss without supervision these days," snorted the youngest of Witchers, joining the rest of group. "If we're so open, Triss and Eskel just had sex and plan another go in the forest. It must be fashion or something cause Geralt baptised already all rooms with-"
"How did you-" asked Eskel and Geralt in unison.
"I was bluffing," said Lambert, spitting on the ground. "Fuck, thanks to you two, one cannot even eat by the table without feeling disgusted."
"Now as you all showed off," interrupted him the arch-priestess, "can we all finally go?"
As soon as they entered the woods, it became obvious that their visit had another, hidden motif to it. Eskel moved between the sea of pines and spruces with almost animal-like grace. He was swift and unflawed, in every possible way showing his unity with the place. Geralt had spotted the irrational behaviour of the Witcher almost instantly and suspected that so had the others.
"This is how it goes. See these antlers?" Eskel explained to Triss. To Geralt's surprise, she seemed genuinely interested. He would have never accused Triss of slightest interest in hunting. Definitely not after she had dirtied his shoes at the sight of animal guts a few years earlier.
"Yes?" replied the sorceress but without confidence.
"We'll climb the trees and I'll use these antlers to attract a stag. Lambert will sit in the opposite tree and shoot it. Then we'll follow the blood -stains. Hopefully, the stag will bleed to death, if not we'll help it a bit. Avallac'h and Ciri will try the elven method of hunting. By the end of the day, we'll learn which one is better."
"Or who had more luck," mumbled the elf, at last taking his eyes, which were as pale as fish scales, off Ciri.
"Really," started Geralt. His observation forced an unpleasant and vague grimace on the girl's face. She made a step or two in his direction, as if sensing the storm hanging in the air. The Witcher began to ponder for a brief moment if she knew he knew. "Enlighten me! Why would you think so, Avallac'h?"
"Many reasons," replied the elf, showing his white and hilariously even teeth. "Mostly because single hunting does not reflect the level of skills of the participants. In fact, it's more a matter of luck. Those antlers of yours to start with: how close from here does a stag need to be to hear them in the first place? One, two hundred yards? My skills allow me to trace prey from a good ten or even twenty miles."
Geralt grinned, his smile was equally horrid. "Twenty miles? Do you measure other things with similar accuracy?"
"My math is good," said the elf. To the Witcher's exasperation, he did not seem to be embarrassed or even slightly confused. "You -in turn- should work on your analysis of covariance."
"Of course I should," snorted, the Witcher, swinging the crossbow hanging from his back. The object resonated gently and hit him, right in the occiput. He overcame the sudden desire to curse, but the anger still boiled in his veins, tickled his eyes with hot, salty tears. "That's why I'll join you today," he mumbled. "Just to make sure I'll take into account all essential variables."
"Must say, I never pictured you as an expert in obstetrics. How did it happen, Triss?" asked Nenneke as both women denuded a lonely shrub of hawthorn from its reddish fruits.
"Long story," replied Triss.
"I'd love to hear it, dear. Geralt, can you act like an adult? And why on earth, are you collecting all those rotten cones?"
The witcher did not know, and frankly he had no idea why they needed rosehip either, or juniper berries or those funny, tiny apples. They came for medlars. Their basket contained everything, except for medlars. He threw the slithery cone between the rampant leaves of nettles and joined the women by the hawthorn shrub.
"Thank you very much," blurted the older of the women.
"Why do you even need me here?" he growled, gently kicking the basket laying on the frost-covered grass. The item, heavy with the weight of the women's rubbish did not move for even an inch.
Triss chuckled lightly. Nenneke sighed, but still did not bother to look at him. "You know why. You see those shrubs of red raspberry? Gather some leaves."
Not sure if out of boredom or simple resignation, Geralt obeyed. It was a pleasant task. Due to the early ground frost that year, the fruits had no time to fade and almost flaked off along with their stems.
"Triss, so how was it?" the witcher heard Nenneke continue on feeding her unhealthy curiosity.
"It was never my intention," said the auburn-haired sorceress and dropped into the basket another handful of fruits. "A friend of mine decided to show me his new invention. The tool uses ultrasounds to visualise the interior of the body. It's pretty useful. For lack of better examples, he brought his pregnant cat and to his misfortune something clicked. I showed it to Tankred and his advisors, introducing it as a potential part of prenatal screening. The king who was about to welcome his firstborn was of course really excited. He offered to fund the research right away. Ever since, the project grew only bigger. We hire twelve people and want to recruit two additional apprentices. I can't complain about my own finances too. Still, it's not the most important part. Not for me at least. Just in the last two months we diagnosed ten cases of ectopic pregnancy and one of hydatidiform mole. For the very first time in my life I think I do something that matters."
Nenneke's pale lips formed a smile. "Best feeling in the world, isn't it?"
"You have no idea, Nenneke," Triss almost interrupted her. "We collect all kind of data we can, analyse it and evaluate. In the last months, I wrote ten papers and assisted in further ten. More than I've done through my entire life until then. I feel like a part of something bigger, eternal even. Didn't feel like that since I left Aretuza."
The archpriestess picked up from the ground a huge pine cone and inspected it carefully. "Hydatidiform mole. Did anything change in regards of the treatment?"
"Curettage and a screening for elevated level of human gonadotropin. If there's a rise, full mastectomy. We don't want to risk cancer. Available medications are a dead end and the tumour metastases quickly."
"Nothing changed then."
"Nothing changed in many years. Still for some women the chance of motherhood is too precious to lose. The patient I mentioned insisted on keeping the baby despite our assurance that there was no fetus at all. Of course, the nature did its work. She had an spontaneous abortion three weeks later. Maybe there's hope but hell… I still get angry when I think about it. Eskel keeps saying I should not get involved, but she has two little girls."
With his hands full of fruits, Geralt moved in their direction. "What are you talking about?" he asked, not sure if the topic disguised or scared him more.
"Hydatidiform mole," started the archpriestess, still holding the cone, "is a feminine illness. A very disgraceful one. It gives all the symptoms of pregnancy, but instead of bearing a child, the woman's uterus is full of grape-shaped tissue that if not removed spreads to other organs. Or course if high pressure and hyperthyroidism didn't kill the woman earlier. At least with the novel techniques it's easy to diagnose. Foetal hormones are often out of scale."
"Is it very deadly?"
"Nobody knows," Triss sighed. "Treatment can be very difficult at times, even despite early diagnosis. And it's not that uncommon either. Lately we've been examining the products of conception the women pass during miscarriage. Some of what seems a normal fetuses seems to be affected by something similar to mole. Both illnesses combined give a quite nice number."
"You know more than me," observed Nenneke and then wrapped her hand around Geralt's wrist.
"What?" asked the witcher, instinctively sensing problems.
"Nothing," replied the archpriestess and reached for the basket laying on the ground. "Triss, you go with me. We need to finally find some medlars."
"What about me?" asked Geralt, more and more puzzled.
Triss chuckled. The witcher looked at her inquiringly. "If I was to guess," she started, rewarding him with her prettiest smile, "Nenneke asks you precisely to collect red raspberry leaves. Not fruits."
"Do we really need them?" he asked in resignation. Neither of the two answered.
The forest seemed odd, he realised as soon as Triss and archpriestess disappeared from the sight to continue their search of medlars. On other occasions the endless hectares of trees and forest glades pulsated in their own pace, the birds sung in turns with crickets and frogs. The water in the river nearby followed its cut-and-dried pathway, time and time again crushing against the stones only to slow down and then speed up again. Sometimes, on quieter days the only sound was the rustle of the wind forcing its way between the perennial boughs. Today however it felt different, for the very first time in his life, the witcher found the woods around Kaer Morhen lifeless.
He finished gathering the leaves and begun to move in hope to meet either of the groups, but preferably Avallac'h and his advanced technique of trailing.
It was by the stream when he first noticed it, a blurry shadow between the trees that seemed to follow his footsteps. At first he hadn't considered it even slightly suspicious, in the end it could be anyone from their group. The change came when the shadow had not replied to his many calls. Not eager to find out what the creature was, he decided to veer of the course a little.
For a while it appeared to work out just perfect, he did not see the shadow in the corner of his eye, did not feel someone's breath at the back of his neck, the forest felt once more abandoned.
Before long, he walked out of the woods and into a forest glade. He knew that one, knew where it led. From the walls of Kaer Morhen separated him now only a small part of relatively young trees. He has seen the castle already on the horizon. He decided to move in that direction.
And then he noticed him. At the edge of the forest, maybe twenty feet away, unaware and calm. Beautiful.
The deer spotted him too. Greyish head and a pair of antlers rose in a gesture of invitation, motionless chestnut- brown eye pierced through him to the core, melted deep into the heart.
Geralt made a step in direction of the animal. He tried to be equally dignified but soon learnt how hard task it was. The deer did not mind it however, only raised his ears gently.
The witcher made another step, then fifth and tenth. The deer still waited. Geralt could swear he was waiting.
He made the final step, and so they stood. One next to another, human and nature, predator and the prey, only there was no predator and no prey anymore. There was only a deer and a witcher and his hand reached in the animal's direction.
Touch. The rustle of fur under leather glove. A pair of wise eyes, too wise eyes. Wisdom and truth. Life and death. A shadow. The shadow that in an incredible pace started to gain human shape. A long coat with hood. A bow and an arrow. The deer. Arrow. Avallac'h lying on the ground, clutching his leg. Lambert's laughter.
"Avallac'h got shot in the ass. Fuck, Geralt shot Avallac'h in the ass."
A heavy, suffocating scent of camphor and balsam fir hung in the air, burnt inside his lungs with fiendish power, and made his eyes sting. Geralt tried to distract himself by controlling his breath, paid extra attention to the waterfalls building up already in his nostrils, tickling and moist, annoying.
"You're allergic, Geralt?" Yennefer observed rather than asked, wiping her hand in linen cloths. "Wait outside if it makes you ill. Your presence here can't make the situation any better."
"I'm fine," the witcher coughed. He lied. It seemed to be a right thing to do. He had followed the sorceress' movements for a good ten minutes. Even lost in her chores and the sudden puzzle, she managed to keep the full control over her face. Geralt however knew where to look, he knew what sort of questions to ask. The answer was clear: she was furious.
"You don't need to worry," exhaled Avallac'h between the stifled gasps. Exhausted by the painful sensations and prolonged surgery, the elf appeared very pale, amongst the sheets and blood-stained towels almost transparent. The only distinctive part of his body was his pale hand kept in tight embrace of both Ciri's hands. "It's really nothing," he repeated and then buried his face in the pillows once more.
"She's almost done, Avallac'h," whispered the witcheress, observing carefully Yennefer's actions. "Right, Nenneke?"
The arch-priestess passed another vial of painkilling potion for the elf to drink and nodded. Her assurance had little to do with confidence though. It couldn't possibly have. The head of the arrow which causes the entire fuss was still in its place, and seemed to bite even deeper with every attempt to remove it. To make things worse, the colour of the blood suggested that the elf's right internal iliac artery could be in pieces. Yennefer was up to her ears in the work that noon. Now a trip to Toussaint was certainly out of question, and the Witcher would be surely to blame.
"Maybe try to cut the skin a bit more?" Nenneke suggested, again without a trace of confidence in her voice. Yennefer however followed her advice.
It must have been really bad, thought Geralt, pressing his lips together. Yennefer hardly ever accepted anyone's orders. He watched how she reached for the knife and pressed it to the skin. Her hand and the blade appeared to move along the skin almost effortlessly.
The elf released another wave of muffled complaint.
"Did you see my earrings?. Eskel, my earrings. I can't find my earrings," Triss' voice rung in the distance.
Eskel ignored it. He opened the wooden casket lying next to the bassinet and the bar of camomile soap on the dressing table, retrieved from it a long, bone comb and begun to pull it through his wet hair, as always strand by strand.
He always liked it. For some reason it always made him feel better, a bit more confident. In the end it was the only thing in his appearance he could still improve. Tonight he would really need improvement.
"Are you deaf, Eskel," Triss' voice tinkled again, this time around from a closer distance. The Witcher turned around and noticed she had already passed the decorative screen that separated the bath section from the rest of their chamber, her curves still weren't covered by anything more proper than a thin fabric of the towel. "My earrings, I gave them to you back then in the forest. Can't find them anywhere. Please, don't tell me you lost them."
"I did not," he mumbled, recalling a pair of gold earrings formed in the shape of daisies or marigolds. "They're in my jacket, the inner pocket."
The sorceress rolled her eyes at him. He didn't notice it however, just as he did not pay attention to the fact she left the bathroom. All that existed in that moment was the mirror and the reflection that emerged from beneath the veil of fog. Whose face was that? A monster? A mutant? The devil himself? A groom-to-be? A pair of blunt, cat eyes were looking straight at him from the tile of glass.
He looked away, took off the piece of ribbon from his forearm, and tied his hair up with it. He was ready to go. Almost.
"Someone's hungry and a bit cranky?" he called out, placing the comb back in the casket. The casket in turn found its place on the shelf beneath the countertop of the table. Triss adored harmony and demanded the same thing from everyone who shared the bedroom with her. Luckily for her, Eskel liked order just as much. "What would you like? Chicken soup? Dumplings? You know what's better? A chicken soup in dumplings. Nenneke knows how to makes those little miracles. What would you say to that, Triss? Chiffchaff?"
The sorceress was silent. He left the bathroom and flashed on all at sudden what he had forgotten about, what had been in the other inner pocket of his jacket all along, and what he had learned terrified him greatly.
He found Triss sitting on the bed, troubled and sad with a familiar, wooden box in her hands.