The Witcher

THE LAST WISH XII

Geralt looked around. Water was slowly dripping from the hole in the ceiling. There were heaps of rubble and stacks of timber all around. By a strange coincidence, the place where they lay was completely clear. Not one plank or one brick had fallen on them. It was as if they were being protected by an invisible shield.

 Yennefer, slightly flushed, knelt by him, resting her hands on her knees.

 'Witcher.' She cleared her throat. 'Are you dead?'

 'No.' Geralt wiped the dust from his face and hissed.

 Slowly, Yennefer touched his wrist and delicately ran her fingers along his palm. 'I burnt you—'

 'It's nothing. A few blisters—'

 'I'm sorry. You know, the djinn's escaped. For good.'

 'Do you regret it?'

 'Not much.'

 'Good. Help me up, please.'

 'Wait,' she whispered. 'That wish of yours ... I heard what you wished for. I was astounded, simply astounded. I'd have expected anything but to . . . What made you do it, Geralt? Why . .

 . Why me?'

 'Don't you know?'

 She leant over him, touched him. He felt her hair, smelling of lilac and gooseberries, brush his face and he suddenly knew that he'd never forget that scent, that soft touch, knew that he'd never be able to compare it to any other scent or touch. Yennefer kissed him and he understood that he'd never desire any lips other than hers, so soft and moist, sweet with lipstick. He knew that, from that moment, only she would exist, her neck, shoulders and breasts freed from her black dress, her delicate, cool skin, which couldn't be compared to any other he had ever touched. He gazed into her violet eyes, the most beautiful eyes in the world, eyes which he feared would become . . .

 Everything. He knew.

 'Your wish,' she whispered, her lips very near his ear. 'I don't know whether such a wish can ever be fulfilled. I don't know whether there's such a Force in Nature that could fulfil such a wish. But if there is, then you've condemned yourself. Condemned yourself to me.'

 He interrupted her with a kiss, an embrace, a touch, caresses and then with everything, his whole being, his every thought, his only thought, everything, everything, everything. They broke the silence with sighs and the rustle of clothing strewn on the floor. They broke the silence very gently, lazily, and they were considerate and very thorough. They were caring and tender and, although neither quite knew what caring and tenderness were, they succeeded because they very much wanted to. And they were in no hurry whatsoever. The whole world had ceased to exist for a brief moment, but to them, it seemed like a whole eternity.

And then the world started to exist again; but it existed very differently.

 'Geralt?'

 'Mmm?'

 'What now?'

 'I don't know.'

 'Nor do I. Because, you see, I ... I don't know whether it was worth condemning yourself to me. I don't know how— Wait, what are you doing . . .? I wanted to tell you—'

 'Yennefer . . . Yen.'

 'Yen,' she repeated, giving in to him completely. 'Nobody's ever called me that. Say it again.'

 'Yen.' 'Geralt.'

It had stopped raining. A rainbow appeared over Rinde and cut the sky with a broken, coloured arc. It looked as if it grew straight from the tavern's ruined roof.

 'By all the gods,' muttered Dandilion, 'what silence . . . They're dead, I tell you. Either they've killed each other or my djinn's finished them off.'

 'We should go and see,' said Vratimir, wiping his brow with his crumpled hat. 'They might be wounded. Should I call a doctor?'

 'An undertaker, more like it,' said Krepp. 'I know that witch, and that witcher's got the devil in his eyes too. There's no two ways about it, we've got to start digging two pits in the cemetery.

 I'd advise sticking an aspen stake into that Yennefer before burying her.'

 'What silence,' repeated Dandilion. 'Beams were flying all over the place a moment ago and now it's as quiet as a grave.'

 They approached the tavern ruins very cautiously and slowly.

 'Let the carpenter get the coffins ready,' said Krepp. 'Tell the carpenter—'

 'Quiet,' interrupted Errdil. 'I heard something. What was it, Chireadan?'

 The elf brushed the hair off his pointed ear and tilted his head.

 'I'm not sure . . . Let's get closer.'

 'Yennefer's alive,' said Dandilion suddenly, straining his musical ear. 'I heard her moan.

 There, she moaned again!'

 'Uhuh,' confirmed Errdil. 'I heard it, too. She moaned. She must really be suffering. Chireadan, where are you going? Careful!' The elf backed away from the shattered window through which he had carefully peeped.

 'Let's get out of here,' he said quietly. 'Let's not disturb them.'

 'They're both alive? Chireadan? What are they doing?'

 'Let's get out of here,' repeated the elf. 'Let's leave them alone for a bit. Let them stay there, Yennefer, Geralt and his last wish.

 Let's wait in a tavern; they'll join us before long. Both of them.' 'What are they doing?'

 Dandilion was curious. 'Tell me, dammit!'

 The elf smiled. Very, very sadly. 'I don't like grand words,' he said. 'And it's impossible to give it a name without using grand words.'