The night comes for you, it comes for us all.
The dark is nothing to fear, only what lies within it. But in the dark, the blind benefit - they are the true seers and are the guides, or the executioners. Which will you be, Philippa?
Come. Come to us. We have plenty of space for you - you and your brood.
Philippa gasped awake.
"Dream?"
Philippa was brought back to her surroundings - riding on the trail on the back of Roach. She was pressed flush against Geralt, who was still looking ahead.
"No. I wasn't asleep." She lied. "I was just-"
"Resting your eyes?" Geralt finished cheekily, glancing over his shoulder.
"Ass." She lightly reprimanded, slapping his shoulder.
"People tend not to snore when they're awake."
"I DO NOT snore."
Philippa and Geralt were eastbound towards Crookback Bog. They had taken a ferry across Lake Wyndamer - it seemed the lifting of the curse was already felt, and the braver went back to the water. The ferryman would only take them so far, fearful of drowners or or worse that resided inland in the bog. That was just fine for Geralt and Philippa, who needed time to figure out where in the hell they were even going in the sprawling mire.
"So you going to tell me what you were dreaming?" Geralt continued.
"It was…nothing of importance." Philippa lied. Truthfully, she didn't understand it herself. It was less a dream, rather a voice, perhaps voices. Before - when they had just entered Velen, it was a whisper, a phantom through her head; it was there, but intangible. Now, something was speaking to her, trying to draw her in, to somewhere. Philippa prided herself on her mental fortitude - even Yennefer had trouble getting into her mind, but now, it was being breached like an open door, interlopers entering and leaving as they pleased. It felt like old magic she had only dipped her finger in, the kind that made her whole body ache. The kind that the Three ancient witches could conjure.
These witches…as far as the pair of them were concerned, it could be nothing but legend; the machinations of simple folk with too much imagination of fear of the dark. But Philippa - she could feel something powerful, something beckoning, and something dangerous.
"Hm." Geralt simply responded. He didn't really believe her, but he didn't push the issue, and Philippa was a bit thankful for that.
"So do we have any kind idea of where we're going?" Philippa sighed.
"The book Keira gave us might as well be a limerick." Geralt grunted. "Why can these things never be direct?"
Is there a village anywhere nearby, to gather our bearings? Wandering in a swamp is not something I enjoy"
"Really, you should do it more often."
"Ass." Philippa said again, an amused smile on her face. She leaned forward a bit more, her chest pressed right to Geralt's back, and shifting herself to whisper in his ear. "A village would mean a bed, and all the activities one could get up to on one."
"We…really don't have time for that." Geralt responded, almost as if it pained him to say it.
"You don't need much time." Philippa quipped.
"Watch it, woman." Geralt warned
"OR what?" Philippa replied cheekily.
"You'll find out…when we find a bed."
"Promises, promises."
Philippa was sick…again.
Her stomach cramped as she bent over, spewing her guts.
The smell.
It had hit her so suddenly. Maybe it was a change in the wind, maybe it was the deeper they went inland, but it suddenly hit her. It was a horrid mix of polluted still water, mixed with an ever present smell of rot. Plenty died and were dying in Velen, but the bog smelled as if it was amplified tenfold. It was like crawling inside of a carcass. Philippa swore she could taste the rot in the grayish, garish air. The unevenness of the terrain didn't help either - the roads were barely formed, and muddy. Roach's feet sank deeper to the ground, causing the horse to stumble and misstep as they traveled.
Then there was the specter of dread that washed over her - it made her whole body tingle, like it was constantly moving, crawling around her.
Geralt rubbed her back awkwardly, not sure what to do when someone vomits thrice. It wasn't as if he hadn't experienced the same, but usually that was after an obscene amount of alcohol.
Philippa wiped her mouth, and looked at him from her still hunched over position. She didn't understand how he could even function with those heightened senses of his. Geralt handed her his water pouch, which she took gladly to wash out her mouth.
"I can go slower." Geralt offered.
"No." Philippa answered quickly, feeling quite burdensome. "And be in this waste longer? No, no. Lets…just keep up the road. We're bound to find something sooner or later."
Philippa hoped sooner. Geralt gave her a moment to compose herself, before helping her back onto Roach. Her stomach tried its best to crawl out of her stomach, but she was able to hang on a bit longer. She buried her face into Geralt's back, using his natural scent as a filter. It didn't help much, but it helped a little, which was all she needed.
They rode for another half hour, no destination in particular. Geralt could sense there were monsters all around, but they didn't have time to deal with them - especially not for free. They needed to keep going…to wherever they needed to be, to wherever the next step to Ciri was.
The next step to-
"The hell is that?" Geralt suddenly asked, peering forward. Philippa was able to pull herself from Geralt's back, and look around him.
Ahead, on the side of the road, was something made of wood, a figure. Geralt rode up so that they were right in front of it.
It was a wooden carving that stood about a foot taller than Geralt. It was of a woman, with long, thin limbs, and hair past its shoulders - a makeshift shrine. And around its wooden neck was a necklace…a necklace made of sweets: cookies, danishes, fritters, hanging around its neck with a piece of rough string tying it together.
"Find a child, young and innocent, and take it to Crookback Bog. Search out the Ladies' shrine - that is where the Trail of Treats begins." Philippa began to recite, memorizing the passage from the book Keria gave them. "Set the child off on the trail and it shall follow its sweet track and find the Good Ladies. The child will never want for anything ever again, for the Ladies are kind and generous."
Geralt dismounted Roach to get a closer look. He gave it a look up and down, and sniffed it. He reached a hand out-
"Don't!" Philippa exclaimed, causing Geralt to freeze and look at her over his shoulder. Philippa could feel…something radiating off of it, nothing good. "Don't touch it."
Geralt gave her a skeptical look, but retreated his hand. Philippa dismounted and joined him in front of the shrine. They looked closer at the treats. There was something off about them. There was something moving around them - within them.
Maggots.
"So…the Trail of Treats." Geralt repeated.
"That's what the book says." Philippa answered, trying to push down her queasiness . "And something about a child-"
"One thing at a time." Geralt sighed. He leaned forward, closer to the shrine. Philippa grabbed at his arm, but he wasn't reaching for it. Instead, he angled his nose up, and took a large inhale of the sweets that adorned its neck. "Hmm"
"Hmm?" Philippa repeated. Geralt began to sniff the air, looking around as he did, like a hound. His head stopped, looking eastward.
"Sugar." He stated. "The same used in these. Where the trail splits off."
"I'm surprised you can smell anything though this wretched stench."
"If you're knee deep in pigshit, you notice the flowers."
"How poignant."
Following Geralt's nose, they went on the trail, following the bath for about 10 minutes, until a small village came into view. There were only a handful of houses, mostly in disrepair.
"Abandoned?" Philippa wondered aloud.
"Not quite." Geralt responded.
"Dog went in the kitchen, stole a hunk of meat."
"Dog went in the kitchen, stole a hunk of meat."
"Cook gave him a lickin', strung him by his feet."
"Cook then bled him empty, stripped his skin off clean."
"Laughed and said, "How tasty, best sausage I have seen!"
"Cook's a stupid killer, shouldn't 'ave ate the pup."
"Now we'll light a fire, gonna roast him up!"
"One, two, three, the one to fetch the kindling's...thee!"
Children.
Half a dozen of them, seemingly coming out of nowhere, frolicking in the decrepit village.
"This is disconcerting." Philippa mumbled at the sight of them.
"Unaccompanied children?"
"Children, in general."
"That is something you'll have to get over soon enough."
Philippa frowned and went a bit red at that dire reminder. She and Geralt dismounted Roach, and walked to the playing children, who noticed them with curious interest. They were playing around a chopping block, stacks of wood piled up, and an axe embedded into a stump. Not one of them looked older than ten years
"Interesting rhyme." Geralt commented, eying the kids.
"Don't know you. Go away." Piped up a red faced blonde girl. If the others shared his sentiment, they didn't speak up, all just staring at the pair.
"Good to be wary of strangers." Geralt gave. The girl seemed confused by that, and shrank back a bit. Geralt gave a look around, before asking, "Anyone else here?"
"Yeah!" said a boy wearing a white cap. "There's Gran!"
"Gran?" Geralt repeated. "What about your parents?
The children's mood suddenly turned sullen.
"Aint got no parents" The boy said. "We're orphans."
"All of you?"
"There's a war, so there's orphans. Didn't know that?" The boy responded. Shrugging his shoulders. He looked at his feet for a moment, kicking a rock, before his eyes glanced up to Philippa.
"You is' wife?" The boy asked, curiously, a hint of a blush on his face.
Philippa snorted at that, "For your information, no I am not."
"Then what are you?" A brunette girl asked from behind the boy.
"And what's wrong with yer eyes?" another piped in
"Never mind what I am." Philippa snapped. "We're here looking for someone. A girl with ashen hair, scar on her face. Any of you seen anyone by that description?"
"What's descripshin mean?"
Philippa sighed wearily. If the stench and deadly aura didn;t do her in, these kids would,
"Have you seen anyone that looked like what my companion said?" Geralt covered for her.
"Ain't no lassies here." The boy in the cap stated.
"What am I?" Asked the blonde girl.
"You're no lassie. Lassies got tits." The boy stated as if it was obvious. "Like her."
The boy flagrantly pointed at Philippa's chest, and the sorceress's mouth gaped. For a moment, Philippa wondered if she'd be labeled a dark mage if she turned the lot of them into newts. Her peers would have to understand.
Before Philippa could act on her intentions of grievous bodily harm, Geralt stepped forward as a buffer. "Is there anyone who might know anything about it? Your Gran maybe?"
"I dunno about Gran-" Said the blonde girl. "But maybe Johnny knows!"
"Yeah, Johnny!" Said another.
"Who's Johnny-" Geralt began, before he heard shuffling from around the otherside of the shack.
"What's this talk? What kind o' jabberin' is this?" Came the harsh, scratchy voice of a woman. From the otherside of the shack, came an old woman, who looked at least in her late 50s, maybe older, with a hard dried out face and chapped lips. She had straw-like hair that ran down to the back of her neck. She wore a simple dress of brown and green, but her left arm was wrapped in blue cloth, held on with strings and buckles. Around her neck was a large necklace of beads - Geralt thought they were folk like, perhaps related to medicine. The woman gave the children a harsh look, and they immediately shrunk back nervously. Her eyes then snapped to Geralt and Philippa, beady pupils scanning over them quickly.
"Eh? No one allowed here! Just kids. My kids, they're allowed. But who are you? Wearin' swords, like a bandit?" she accused. She then turned her attention fully to Philippa. "And you, dressed like a right hussy round' my kids. Bad influence, bad influence!"
"Hussy?" Philippa repeated indignantly. "Why you wrinkled-"
Geralt held out his arm to keep Philippa from taking a step toward the woman.
"Just talking to the kids. Asked them if they'd seen a young woman." Geralt explained.
"I was a lovely young woman." The woman said suddenly, looking wistful "Wore a long, beautiful braid my mummy did up for me. Had dresses with flowers on 'em."
Geralt and Philippa gave each other a look, one that understood that this woman might not be all there. Still, Geralt pushed on.
"Maybe you've seen her. Young... Ashen hair."
"What's she to ya?" The woman asked, seemingly snapping back into some form of present.
"My daughter actually. Maybe you've-"
Daughter... My dear, sweet little daughter and her sister." The woman interrupted, sounding sad. "Where are they now? Maybe they've come to some harm...?"
"Who exactly ARE you?" Philippa asked, growing tired of the strange woman's ramblings.
"She's Gran of course!" the blonde girl spoke up
"Yeah!" the brunette girl agreed. "Gran's good to us. Gonna be soup with scratchings for supper!"
"Kids get lost in the woods... I miss 'em... Seen 'em in the woods? No one has." Gran mumbled.
"We're not going to get anything out of her." Philippa stated. Just another crazy backwoods woman as far as she was concerned.
" Bet Johnny knows." The boy in the cap said. "He knows a lot. When I ask 'im somethin', he says 'Wait, I'll scratch my arse and tell you.'"
"Ugly word!" Gran hissed at the boy, who immediately shrank in maternal fear. What're you sayin'? Johnny aint nothin' but yer imagination."
"Not the only time this Johnny has been mentioned." Geralt pointed out. Gran narrowed his eyes at him before turning her attention back towards the boy.
"To the hut. You'll stand in a corner, I'll make sure you do."
"But-"
"To the hut!" She barked, pointing to a shack across the way. Despondent, the boy looked to his feet and began to shuffle in its direction. Gran turned her attention back to Geralt and Philippa, and hissed, "He has nothin' to say to you."
Gran turned at that, following the boy away from Geralt and Philippa, but the sorceress followed behind a step.
"Nonsense." She argued. "We just need-"
"Away from us ya tramp!" Gran hollered. Philippa was a bit stunned by that, in both surprise and blinding rage.
"We just want to speak to the boy." Geralt said calmly.
"Not allowed. It's not allowed!" Gran punctuated.
"Johnny's made up." the boy said, looking at his feet and fidgeting. Geralt could tell he was lying to spare himself further punishment. He looked back to the other children, who had all shrunk within themselves, not wanting to look at him. Geralt was not new to extracting information out of people. He couldn't push too hard lest he risk being totally shut out. A retreat was in order.
"Thank you for your time." He said briskly. Gran glared at him for a moment, and dragged the boy off to the hut "Come on Philippa."
"What?" Philippa asked in indignant disbelief. "We can't just let them walk away! She called me a tramp, and-"
Geralt slyly brought a finger to his lip, telling her to cut her rant short. When Philippa fell silent, Geralt nodded his head back to Roach. They walked over to stead, and went to his flank, out of earshot of the other children.
"Alright, clearly the boys know something - and this Johnny might point us in the right direction." Geralt began.
"Clearly."
"But I don't think we'll get anything with his Gran around." Geralt admitted. "Clearly she hasn't spared the rod. And we can't have the other children noticing us trying to talk to the boy, they might go chirping away."
"Sounds like you have an idea." Philippa noted.
"Just some classic misdirection. We need the kids and Gran distracted while I go talk to the boy."
"While YOU go talk - meaning you expect me to interact with these…children?" "Philippa said in open discomfort.
"You have more to offer." Geralt argued. "Perhaps you can show them some magic-"
"I am an all powerful sorceress, not some…some- Oxenfurt street performer!"
"Philippa, we really don't have time for this." Geralt groaned. "Please?"
Philippa's mouth went to a hard line, and she tapped her foot anxiously. Why'd he have to ask so politely. She missed the days where she could say no to him easily.
"Fine." Philippa hissed quietly. "Fine. But if one of these imps gets turned into a toad, it's on you."
"You just need to hold out for a few minutes." Geralt assured her. "I'm sure you can manage not to hex a few kids"
With that, Geralt walked to the perimeter of the village, walking around to get behind the shack the boy was herded into. Philippa looked towards the remaining children. She felt like she was walking into battle as she made herself go to them. She could face the armies of Nilfgaard, evil mages and witch hunters - those were easy, she could just turn them into dust.
"Gran said we couldn't speak to you." one of the boys spoke up.
"I'm not here to ask any more questions." Philippa assured him.
"Where'd yer husband go?" the brunette girl asked.
"He's NOT my-" Philippa had to stop herself. She breathed in through her nose, pushing down her vexation. "Don't mind you where he went. I'm here to show you all something."
"Is it yer tits?" the boy asked. "Never seen a pair 'fore."
'A few minutes. Just a few minutes You can turn them all into toads…after.' Philippa mentally told herself. She'd be damned if Geralt crawled in her ass over ruining his "misdirection."
"What do you kids know about magic?" Philippa asked them.
"Magic?" The blonde girl wondered, tilting her head to the side. "My pa used to know card tricks."
"Well, this is a little more involved than a simple card trick."
Philippa instantly materialized a card in her hand. Simple magic, small mass and matter. Then with the one card, she split them into three, a king, a queen, and a jack of hearts. The children's eyes all popped in interest. Well, if this was able to maintain their interest, then their little minds would melt at what was next. With a bit more creativity, Philippa caused the images on the cards to come to life, winking at the children.
"Wow!" The brunette girl exclaimed.
"This is way better than my pa's old trick!"
The children buzzed in excitement at the relatively simple display. Maybe these children weren't as horrid as she thought. She even thought they were a bit cute, looking up at her in wonder. All except the snot nosed child who commented about her breasts.
"Big whoop." He said with folded arms. "I could do that."
Philippa arched an eyebrow at the loud mouth boy, wondering how the other children would take if he was turned into a frog. She thought better of it however, deciding that was reserved for Princes, which this boy certainly wasn't. But another idea came to her mind, one that was a little less spiteful - just a little.
"Perhaps you're right." Philippa faux agreed. "A card trick is something ANYONE could do."
Philippa disappeared the card's into nothingness, leaving a bit of smoke for effect. The boy lifted his chin definitely, still seemingly unimpressed.
"Let me show you some real magic." Philippa said with a small smile. She placed her hands behind her back, and looked at the boy. The boy looked back expectantly, waiting to be dazzled. Philippa just stared back at him. The boy's brow furrowed in confusion and he pursed his lips before looking around at the others. They were staring at him, eyes wide and mouths open. He was about to ask what they were gawking at, until he realized he was now a foot taller than the rest of them. He looked down quickly, paling when he saw he was levitating a foot off the ground.
"Aye! P-put me down!" He panicked, kicking his feet about and flailing. Philippa levitated him a bit higher, so that he was clear over the heads of the other children.
"I thought you wanted to see some real magic." She smirked in a saccharine tone.
"He's 'fraid of heights." The blonde girl laughed.
"No I'm not!" The boy hollered, thrashing about, which caused him to flip and float upside down. Laughter erupted amongst the other children, which Philippa realized didn't bother her too much.
"I want to learn how to do that!" The brunette girl exclaimed, jumping up and down.
Philippa looked at the girl, and smiled. The girl had a round, freckled face, and big brown eyes.
"What's your name?" Philippa asked.
"Oh, erm - Mikula" The girl answered, suddenly shy.
"That's a pretty name." Philippa offered, causing the girl to once again beam.
"What's goin' on - what's happenin?"
Geralt waited outside the window of the shack, just out of site until Philippa started her interference. The boy was made to stand in the corner, while Gran swept incessantly with a makeshift broom. Geralt could hear a commotion coming from the front, a boy yelling, and the others laughing. Looked like Philippa took her assignment seriously. Gran seemed to have heard it too, as she set the broom down, and stomped out the shack, mumbling all the way.
When Geralt was sure she was clear, he quickly climbed through the window. The boy jumped at the sound and turned, staring wide eyed at Geralt.
"Don't be afraid." Geralt told him, showing the boy his palms.
"Don't know nuthin" The boy said quickly. He tried to look around Geralt, towards the door. "Where's Gran."
"She's busy, but I really need to talk to you. It's important."
Geralt bent down to one knee to get on the boy's level and look him in the eyes.
"What's your name son?"
"T-Travik"
"Well Travik, I'm Geralt. I need to know about this Johnny."
"G-Gran said I shouldn't talk to strangers." The boy deflected nervously.
"Why're you scared to talk?" Geralt questioned. That got Travik's attention, his head snapping up and eyes lit with embers.
"I'm not scared of nuthin'!" the boy stomped.
"You're all scared of something." Geralt reasoned gently. "Woulda told me about Johnny otherwise."
"I'm worried about Johnny. He don't come 'round no more." The boy admitted, dropping his head a bit. "Once when we was mushroom pickin', I saw his burrow. But Gran yelled at me. Said not to talk to strangers, 'cause then kids go missin'. She worries 'bout Johnny too, though she says he's made up."
'Burrow?' Geralt thought. "Can you tell me where his burrow is?"
"...Not gonna hurt 'im, right? "
"I'm not gonna hurt him."
The boy took a moment before speaking, eying Geralt up and down. Even children had intuitions about people. "There's a little meadow on the edge of the swamp. This strange tree grows there. Look around, you'll see 'im."
"Thank you. You've been-"
"BLACK MAGIC! HORRID WRETCHED BLACK MAGIC!"
Back outside the hut, Gran was having a fit. Philippa had let up the spell, lowering the boy back down to the ground. He immediately was sick all over his shoes. Philippa felt a tad penitent at that - she hadn't meant to make him nauseous or green in the gills.
But as Gran saw it, she had practically cursed the boy. She might have gotten the very same reaction if she had turned him into a toad - a missed opportunity
"It's hardly black magic." Philippa dismissed with crossed arms as Gran got in her face.
"She was just showing us a trick." Mikula tried. "Honest. Genny is just-"
"Hush your tongue!" Gran hissed at her. "Hush it before this witch hexes it off."
"I am NOT a witch." Philippa sneered.
"All the same, all the same." Gran repeated shaking her head side to side. "Horrible spells, horrible curses. Just like - just like."
Suddenly Philippa's demeanor changed, and she felt the dread of the bog trickle down her back. It hit here out of nowhere, just from a mere insinuation.
"Just like who?" Philippa asked.
Gran just kept shaking her head.
"Just like WHO?" Philippa demanded.
And then Gran crumpled, dropping to her knees in front of Philippa, and catching the sorceress off guard. She began to weep, loudly and haggardly, crying into her hands. Philippa took a step back, now VERY uncomfortable, and not sure what to do.
"Don't cry Gran!" Mikula urged, stepping forward and wrapping her small arms around Gran's wracking shoulders. "We didn't mean to be naughty!"
"Yeah, we was just playin', honest." Added the blonde girl, also moving to hug the weary woman. The children all huddled around Gran, almost in protection, hugging her as she cried into her hands. Before Philippa thought she was going to fold into herself, Geralt walked from the shack. He gave her a confused look, which Philippa could only mirror.
"Erm, thank you for your time." Geralt said simply, looking at the scene. Philippa gave him a look of relief as they went back to Roach.
"What was that about?" Geralt whispered.
"I-" Philippa began, before stopping herself. "Nothing. I just used too harsh of words."
Geralt looked at her, but didn't comment.
"Mhm Footprints." Geralt noted.
They followed Travik's instructions, traveling to the meadow through the swamp. They moved on foot, not wanting to risk Roach sinking into the muddy, loose ground, or slipping on the hilly terrain.
Geralt didn't have a scent to go by, so he looked for physical clues of this Johnny. And a small, child-like footprint was just that. Philippa stood beside Geralt, examining the footprint herself.
"What's a child doing all the way out here?" She wondered aloud. "As barmy as she might have been, that old hag seemed to keep those kids well fed and relatively clean. Why leave one to wander this horrid swamp, barefoot of all things?"
"Might be more to it than that." Geralt commented.
"Such as?"
"Look closer at the footprints." Geralt instructed. He knelt down to it, and after a moment Philippa followed suit. "Notice anything strange."
"I'm not exactly well versed in the feet of children." Philippa drawled.
"Hmph. Know of any children with six toes?" Geralt asked. Philippa's eyebrows arched in confusion, and she inspected the footprints closer. He was right - the ever vigilant Withcer.
"So that's supposed to explain why he's shunned by Gran? I figured you'd be a little more sympathetic to mutants."
"Funny." Geralt said flatly. He pushed himself to stand again, dusting off his legs. "But I just think there's a bit more to it than that."
"Isn't there always?" Philippa sighed.
They continued a bit into the meadow, Geralt leading the way and scanning the horizon cautiously. Geralt's ears perked, and he stopped abruptly, pointing off into the distance.
"There."
Several yards ahead was a mound of sorts - a small hill in the mostly flat landscape. As they got closer, it became clear it was a dwelling, a hollowed out section in the hill. There was grass lining the inside of the nest, and animal bones scattered around the entrance. There was a makeshift shrine of some sort near it, a cow's skull wrapped in a bloody rag - Philippa began to understand why this Johnny might have not been welcome around the other children. Geralt knelt by the opening, peering inside the hole.
"Johnny? Don't be afraid." Geralt beckoned softly. For a moment, there was no response. Then some rustling. Then, from the darkness of the burrow, poked out a small head, and a pair of huge, yellow, luminescent eyes. Philippa took a step back. It LOOKED like a child…but not
"Come on out. We're not here to hurt you." Geralt assured. 'Johhny' seemed to trust them enough to come out of his nest fully, crawling out of his hiding spot. He pushed himself to his feet, standing before Geralt and Philippa. He was about the size of a child, but that's where the similarities ended really. His skin was a grayish blue color, scaly, and full of craters and scars. He had shoulder length hair that was almost wool like, his eyes were much larger than a child's almost too big for his face, and a flat, upturned nose that was like a pug's. He wore little clothing; a loin cloth covering his privates, a ratty scarf, and on top of his head - a small crown of thorns. And on his little feet were six toes.
His large eyes bounced back and forth between Geralt and Philippa a few times, gauging them defensively. When neither Geralt or Philippa made a move towards him, he relaxed a bit.
"As I thought." Geralt stated. "A Godling. The six toes gave it away."
"Godling? I thought those were of myth." Philippa doubted.
"There aren't very many of them left." Geralt stated.
Johnny seemed to look a bit sad at that fact.
"A boy from a nearby village told me where to find you." Geralt began. "I'm looking for a woman with ashen hair. Seen her?"
Johnny smiled and nodded his head. If Geralt were a more dramatic man, he might have sighed in relief, but instead he pushed the question.
"Tell me everything, from the start. Where did you see her, what was she doing? It's important to me." Geralt said quickly.
Johnny frowned a bit, before shaking his head. Geralt frowned sharply in return.
"What? Why not?"
"He can't speak, Geralt." Philippa pointed out, making it sound obvious." Unless this race communicates through pantomime."
Johnny snapped his fingers, before pointing at his throat and pointing at Philippa, nodding his head repeatedly. Geralt let out a large sigh through his nose, closing his eyes for a moment. "Of course." He mumbled. He thought he shouldn't have expected anything different with his luck.
"Oh don't get all dreary." Philippa told him. He glanced at her, mouth in a thin line. "And don't give me that look. Defeatist attitudes don't suit you. You, come here."
She pointed at Johnny, who gave her a confused look, shared by Geralt. Still, John took a step toward Philippa, looking up at her with big eyes.
"Good. Now - don't move."
Philippa gently placed the tips of her fingers on Johnny's throat. "Mów do mnie-" She chanted softly. The tips of her fingers glowed orange, and Johnny's eyes went wide. He jumped back startled, retreating back into his burrow a bit.
"What are you doing?" Johnny shouted, voice shrill and childlike. "Spelling a lad without his-"
Johnny stopped his impending tirade, thin eyebrows shooting up as he realized he could speak.
"Ha - ha ha!" He laughed cheerily, jumping to his feet. "Whiskey! Slither! Ringworm! Rubbish! Bumblebee! Flabbergasted! Ha! The sound of it! Peter Piper picked Prince Proximo a peck of pickled peppers by the Pontar. Hahaha!"
"Hm, glad that worked. Useful spell when a sorceress loses their voice." Philippa said, giving Geralt a smile. "Never tried it on a non-human before. There was a 50/50 chance he'd be without a head."
"Glad we were on the right side of the coin." Geralt told her appreciatively.
"Seymour sucked on silver sickles and-"
"Done celebrating." Geralt cut in, cutting off Johnny's alliteration. The Godling smiled at Geralt. Then he turned to Philippa, smiling even wider. The imp of a being leapt forward into Philippa's arms. The sorceress was caught well off guard, catching him, and stumbling backwards. Johnny threw his arms around Philippa's neck, and wrapped his legs around his torso, hugging her fiercely.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you." Johnny repeated over and over. "You gave me the best gift a boy could ask for, his voice!"
"Get off me!" Philippa struggled, trying to pry the Godling off of her. "You smell like manure, off!"
But Johnny only tightened his hug, bringing his head to her chest and rather plainly pressing his face into her cleavage. Philippa's face burned scarlet, and she decided that Ciri would just have to understand if she turned this little monstrosity into ash.
Luckily for Ciri and Johnny, Geralt stepped in, grabbing Johnny by the scruff of the neck, and holding him in the air like one might hold a cat. Magic crackled from Philippa dangerously as she stepped toward him menacingly.
"You perverted little shit!" She raged. "I'll make sure your entire species goes extinct!"
Geralt held her back with his free hand, turning his head to the Godling.
"Talk." He demanded simply.
"Alright, alright, I was just playing." Johnny with a mischievous smile. "You're as humorless as the lass from earlier."
"The ashen-haired girl, so you have seen her?"
"Did I ever. Remember it as if it were yesterday. Soon as I awoke, I went to empty me bowels - my favorite part of the day. Defecatin' to the sunrise - downright glorious... Suddenly, heard a bang - so loud it couldn't have been me. And that lass appeared! Out of nowhere. Young, ashen-haired - just like you said. Wounded, and panting to boot! She raced off toward the children's huts. Quick – as if the Crones were after her. I yelled some unpleasantries – she'd disturbed my morn. Sadly, I'd lost my voice, so I don't think she heard me. Shame because I had-"
"Stop." Geralt interrupted. "Crones?"
In an instant, all the fire in Philippa was extinguished and she felt a shiver run through her body, and the dread she had become too familiar with, yet not accustomed to, filled her took a step back, legs feeling wobbly all of a sudden.
"You alright lady?" Johnny asked with a tilt of his head. "You've gone pale."
"Philippa-" Geralt started, setting Johnny down and stepping towards the sorceress.
"I'm fine." Philippa lied, stepping away from Geralt's touch. "The swamp is just getting to me."
"You get used to it after a while." Johnny chirped. "I've come to love the smell. Really ignites the nostrils."
"The Crones…keep talking." Philippa forced out.
"They're as old as this forest... Cruel, vindictive... Not to be crossed."
"What if someone does cross them?" Geralt wondered. Johnny gave a slight shrug,
"Might take his voice, might take his life - depends on their whim. They're nasty, although...they care for this land and its folk in their own way. Supposedly they always keep their word, but you must be careful what you ask for." Johnny warned in caution. "Won't find them until they want to be found, see them until they want to be seen. But remember, they see and hear all that happens in the mire."
"The woman, back at the village - she knows of them." Philippa said. Geralt gave Philippa a curious look.
"Gran?" Johnny asked.
"Maybe she is one. She's completely batty" Geralt added, but Johnny shook his head.
"Nay. She's crazier than a bag of weasels, but that's no Crone. That's the granny who takes care of the orphans. Claims the kids made me up. Me!"
"But she knows of them." Philippa reiterated sternly.
"Aye…she can contact them. Dunno why she's special to them, but she has a connection no one else er' does." Johnny explained.
"So she possibly knew something, but didn't tell us." Geralt concluded, agitation seeping into his voice.
"Don't be hard on her." Johnny beseeched the pair. "These are dangerous times. She has to be cautious - for the children if nothin' else."
Philippa looked towards Geralt, who was visibly annoyed. "So where does that leave us?"
Geralt thought for a moment, rubbing his hand over his beard. He looked down at Johnny for a moment, before speaking.
"Johnny, if we take you back to the village, do you think you could convince Gran to help us contact these Crones? As repayment for helping you get your voice back."
"You'd besmirch such an act of charity by allotting a debt to it?"
"I'm a Witcher - nothing I do is free."
"Eck - fine." Johnny relented. "But I must ask, is this ashen haired girl worth crossing the Ladies of the Woods?"
"Absolutely."
Geralt and Philippa returned to the village with Johnny in tow. The orphans were back to playing and frolicing in the remnants of the town, while Gran swept empty doorways. She clearly saw them approach, but acted otherwise, sweeping impotently and muttering to herself.
"Good. It's clear." Johnny stated. "Not a Crone in sight. I need to sing to Gran, that oughta calm her."
He walked forward a bit, about halfway between Gran and Geralt & Philippa. He sat down in the grass, staring forward.
"Little Johnny, softly gazing, fire waning, pale" Johnny began to sing. He didn't seem to care about how well he was doing or staying in key, but pushed on regardless."Pop! A spark jumped out and whispered... Listen, I've a tale…"
Gran stopped sweeping and looked up, acknowledging Johnny's presence with wide eyes. "You...got your voice back?"
"I did!" He responded cheerily, hopping to his feet Though I seem to have lost an octave somewhere in the process. I shall look for it when I get home."
Gran gave him a sad looking smile, only briefly, before shaking her head.
"You're not allowed here." She said, sounding almost disappointed by the fact. "Johnny - You shouldn't 'ave come."
"We asked him to." Geralt stepped in. Gran gave him narrowed eyes, but didn't say anything. "The woman I asked about earlier...I need to know where she is, and I believe these Crones can help guide us to her."
Gran flinched at the mention of their name, and Philippa herself felt a vein in her head pulse.
"Forgive me, Gran, but this fellow absolutely must talk to the Ladies." Johnny urged in their favor.
"No, 'tis not allowed." Gran replied gravely, shaking her withered head.
"The fellow will be quiet. Gran, please hear me out." Johnny began. "I found little Yagna when she got lost, did I not? Did I break Genny's fever, too? I did. I ask anything in return? No. Didn't even fuss about my stolen voice. Well, now I want something. Gran, help this fellow. Because otherwise they'll pester me day and night, even durin' potty time. their lass is missing, mayhaps the Ladies can help find her, eh?"
Gran stared at them for a moment, considering Johnny's words. Her already thin lips went to a line as she looked back and forth between them. Finally, she let out a weary sigh.
"-Since you put it that way, Johnny...I'll help him." She relented to Geralt and Philippa's subdued relief. She looked at the pair, and beckoned them to follow. "Come with me."
Gran led them to the edge of the village - to a chapel. It looked as if it was the most up-kept building in the whole village. The doors were locked with a chain, perhaps to keep the children out, perhaps to keep something in. Gran pulled the key from a necklace tucked into the collar of her dress. She was hesitant to unlock the doors, hands pausing for a moment, before pushing through whatever hesitation she had. The chains fell to the ground, and Gran pushed the doors open.
The building was only a chapel on the outside - its interior was something completely different. The interior was a tornado of the macabre; horrid looking figurines of animals, bones, candles melted all over the place, and at the center was a tapestry, at least ten feet tall, its edges spilling outward, wrapping around beams and supports. It was a shrine, as if it was meant to be worshiped.
Its image portrayed 3 women. Their faces were normal enough, young looking even, but everything else about them was…appalling. They were in tattered clothes, almost like neanderthals. The "woman" on the right had her arm extended - something in her hand. A severed ear. In fact, she wore a sash of ears across her torso as if they were jewelry. The woman in the center sat with a knife in one hand, a fowl for sacrifice in the other, and a crown of thorns around her head. The woman on the left wore a cowl…and a noose.
Around them were ruins of a language neither Philippa or Geralt recognized, and above them was an eye, large and bloodshot.
"What…is this?" Philippa asked, feeling great unease.
"Those're the Ladies." Gran answered, as if it was obvious. She walked up to the tapestry, placing her hand upon it. Philippa looked around, seeing its tendrils extend like an octopus' tentacles. She looked hard, when something unsettling dawned on her.
"Is…is this thing made of hair?"
Gran didn't answer her, she just continued to look upon the tapestry.
"Ladies lovely, with power o'er all" She began to chant loudly. Geralt and Philippa looked at each other in slight concern. "Beseech I thee, answer my call. Before you a worm crawls, wretched and small!"
After she finished, Gran went stock still for a moment, before twitching unnaturally. Her mouth opened, and she let out a croaking sound, eyes rolling into the back of her head. Then SOMEONE spoke.
"How dare you disturb our rest, woman?" Came the voice, wholly unlike Gran's. It was raspy and horrid.
"She's possessed." Philippa said, more to herself than anything.
"So you're the three Crones?" Geralt questioned.
"Crones? Where d'you get such an ugly word, young man?" Came another voice from Gran, this one sounding muffled and distorted, but the hint of a Kawadian accent.
"Village bitches have been gossipin' again." Responded another voice, this one sounding almost like a growl.
Philippa hadn't seen magic like this before. Possession was difficult enough, especially since it was seen as forbidden magic - writings on it were scant. Yet here, 3 separate entities possessed one body, from magic knew what distance away, and interchanging with the ease of turning a page.
"This one has white hair - like the girl. Handsome. Come closer, handsome man."
Geralt didn't move.
"And what of this one? She has no eyes. Did you pluck them out yourself?"
Philippa hated these THINGS speaking to her. Their words were piercing, making her skin crawl and her joints ache.
"But there's something else…something new - something delicious."
Instinctually, Philippa's arm went across her stomach, and she took a half step back. Every fiber in her was telling her to set the tapestry in front of her ablaze, to get out of there.
"Enough of this." Geralt spoke up. "It's clear you met her. Tell me everything."
"How rude. Coming to our lands. No tribute or anything."
"Not an ear, or even a measly finger. The young have no respect."
"Perhaps it's for the best. Tell me, have you got the bollocks? Do you fear woodland beasts?"
"I'm a Witcher." Geralt responded. "Woodland beasts are my specialty."
"Oh, hard times are upon us, White-Haired One. Brother has turned against brother, the land is soaked in blood. Evil reigns stronger than ever before.
"A dark power has surfaced near Downwarren. It feeds on hatred and disdain. Destroy the beast, and we'll be grateful, tell you all we know about this ashen-haired maid."
"And why should we believe anything you say?" Philippa said, finding her voice. It was a valid question. They were talking to a wretched looking tapestry afterall.
"You shouldn't."
"But you have no choice."
"So what will it be?"
"...Fine." Geralt sighed. He wasn't happy about taking on another task, but their back was to the swamp. "What is it we need to do?"
"The ealdorman of Downwarren will tell you all. Remember to collect your payment from him after you complete your task."
"A̵̝̒͗n̴̘̕ḋ̸̬̳͝ ̸̡̈́̈y̴͍̟͝õ̸̗͝ủ̵͈͋.̴̬̐ ̷̱̜̑̀I̶̮̬͐ ̷̙͔͗͘ḱ̶̙̊ǹ̶͎̂o̶̟͆̏͜ẁ̶̹ ̸͍̱̌ŷ̶̻ǒ̶̢̝̋u̴̦̎ ̴̢͓̈́̕č̵͙͜a̶̫̕n̴̟̝̈̿ ̵͓̤̑̈́h̶̡̗̋̇e̶̯̐a̵͍̋͝ř̸̬ ̵͎̳̀̕u̷̟͚͆̚s̸̼͙͠.̶͓͝͠"
Philippa went rigid, and an awful chill and nauseousness rolled through her body. Her head snapped to look at Geralt, who simply returned her an arched eyebrow. He couldn't hear them - they were speaking directly to her, their voices in horrid unison.
"C̵̫̍o̸̖͛m̴̱͉̈́́e̸̪̪͐̚ ̶̲͚̌ṯ̷͐ö̴̺́̋ ̸̧̦̍u̸͇͗̀ş̴̖̿ ̶̡͈̋s̶̻͌õ̷̹̿o̸̺͉̓̈́ǹ̸̬̩̄.̶̝͌ ̶̲̽̈W̵̭͍̓ȩ̸͎͆ ̴͎̘̆c̷͔̫̐á̴͔̞̓n̵͇̍́ ̶̡̂ŏ̶̳̌n̶͙̩͛l̷̞̞̊y̷͍͗ͅ ̸̣͂̇b̷̡̊̈́ḛ̷̌ ̵͕̈s̴͋̕ͅó̸̘͙̃ ̶̞̤̽p̷̞̌̑a̷̛̼̤͠t̵͔̿i̴̭̠͑́e̷̟̚n̶̠͑̒t̵̨͑"
Philippa's heart was pounding in her chest, threatening to burst through her ribcage. She couldn't hear anything besides their voices, deep in her head where they had no business, no right to be.
"Ẃ̸̻̻e̴̡̛ ̶͙͚̀̐w̷̭͓͐͠a̸̺͑̈́ṉ̷͉̔̋t̵̯̑ ̴̟͖̃̔y̷̪̕ö̴̯̞́ü̴͔͛.̶͇̩̕ ̸̜̐̎Y̸̘̟͆͝ỏ̷̜u̴̟̓͌ ̴̮̋å̸̝̬͐n̴̬̉d̶̯̍ ̸̜̉ȳ̷̹̬̔ô̷͖u̸̬̝̽͘r̴̙̦͛ ̷̢̢́b̴̛͚͙̚r̷͚̫̒ỏ̸͈͝o̵̟̙͘d̷͇̞̃̕.̷̭̘̾̂"
"I-" Philippa spoke out loud to the violation of her mind. "I'm gonna be sick."
Her face had gone pale, and then green, and she turned and rushed out the chapel. She made it a few feet, before falling to her knees in the grass and emptying the contents of her stomach, what little there was. Her body shuddered, and she heaved again. This wasn't supposed to be her. She was supposed to have total control over her body, her mind - she worked so hard to get there.
"Are you alright?" Came Johnny's voice from beside her. She tilted her head up to look at him, her neck hurt. She was breathing rapidly, trying to catch her breath. Johnny extended his hand, looking at her to take it. She looked at him for a moment, weighing the shame of a stranger seeing her like this, and appreciating the gesture. She took his hand - he wasn't tall or strong enough to actually help her to her feet, but it was nice of him.
"Thank you, Johnny." She mumbled, wiping her mouth.
"You sick or somethin'?" Johnny asked bluntly.
"I don't know." Philippa admitted. "Maybe."
"You should get looked at." He offered.
"Philippa!"
She turned around to see Geralt marching out the chapel. "Are you-"
"Fine." She interrupted quickly. "A wave of nausea."
"That was different." Geralt argued. "I could hear your heartbeat-"
"I said I'm fine." She said, harder this time. She looked at him defiantly, challenging him to argue. He met her look with a small frown, but chose not to speak. "What is it we have to do?"
Geralt reached behind his back, pulling something from his belt. A large, finely pointed cinquedea. "We need to take this to this ealdorman. He'll have more instructions for us."
Philippa laughed harshly.
"What are we doing Geralt?" She asked sadly. "Running around this horrid place, doing the bidding of voices in the sky."
Geralt sighed himself, understanding her trepidations.
"We're doing what we can." Was all he could say.