The Witcher

THE LAST WISH XI

'Are they both going to die?' wailed Dandilion. 'How come? Krepp, why? After all, the witcher— Why, by all perfidious and unexpected plagues, isn't he escaping? Why? What's keeping him? Why doesn't he leave that b****y witch to her fate and run away? It's senseless!'

 'Absolutely senseless,' repeated Chireadan bitterly. 'Absolutely.'

 'It's suicide. And plain idiocy!'

 'It's his job, after all,' interrupted Neville. 'The witcher's saving my town. May the gods be my witness - if he defeats the witch and chases the demon away, I'll reward him handsomely . . .'

 Dandilion snatched the hat decorated with a heron's feather from his head, spat into it, threw it in the mud and trampled on it, spitting out words in various languages as he did.

 'But he's . . . 'he groaned suddenly, 'still got one wish in reserve! He could save both her and himself! Mr Krepp!'

 'It's not that simple,' the priest pondered. 'But if . . . If he expressed the right wish ... If he somehow tied his fate to the fate . . . No, I don't think it would occur to him. And it's probably better that it doesn't.'

'The wish, Geralt! Hurry up! What do you desire? Immortality? Riches? Fame? Power?

 Might? Privileges? Hurry, we haven't any time!' He was silent. 'Humanity,' she said suddenly, smiling nastily. 'I've guessed, haven't I? That's what you want, that's what you dream of! Of release, of the freedom to be who you want, not who you have to be. The djinn will fulfil that wish, Geralt. Just say it.'

 He stayed silent.

 She stood over him in the nickering radiance of the wizard's sphere, in the glow of magic, amidst the flashes of rays restraining the djinn, streaming hair and eyes blazing violet, erect, slender, dark, terrible . . .

And beautiful.

 All of a sudden she leant over and looked him in the eyes. He caught the scent of lilac and gooseberries.

 'You're not saying anything,' she hissed. 'So what is it you desire, witcher? What is your most hidden dream? Is it that you don't know or you can't decide? Look for it within yourself, look deeply and carefully because, I swear by the Force, you won't get another chance like this!'

 But he suddenly knew the truth. He knew it. He knew what she used to be. What she remembered, what she couldn't forget, what she lived with. Who she really was before she had become a sorceress.

 Her cold, penetrating, angry and wise eyes were those of a hunchback.

 He was horrified. No, not of the truth. He was horrified that she would read his thoughts, find out what he had guessed. That she would never forgive him for it. He deadened that thought within himself, killed it, threw it from his memory forever, without trace, feeling, as he did so, enormous relief. Feeling that—

 The ceiling cracked open. The djinn, entangled in the net of the now fading rays, tumbled right on top of them, roaring, and in that roar were triumph and murder l**t. Yennefer leapt to meet him. Light beamed from her hands. Very feeble light.

 The djinn opened his mouth and stretched his paws towards her.

 The witcher suddenly understood what it was he wanted.

 And he made his wish.

The house exploded. Bricks, beams and planks flew up in a cloud of smoke and sparks. The djinn spurted from the dust-storm, as huge as a barn. Roaring and choking with triumphant laughter the Air genie, free now, not tied to anyone's will, traced three circles above the town, tore the spire from the town hall, soared into the sky and vanished.

 'It's escaped! It's escaped!' called Krepp. 'The witcher's had his way! The genie has flown away! It won't be a threat to anyone anymore!'

 'Ah,' said Errdil with genuine rapture, 'what a wonderful ruin!' 'Dammit, dammit!' hollered Dandilion, huddled behind the

 wall. 'It's shattered the entire house! Nobody could survive that! Nobody, I tell you!'

 'The witcher, Geralt of Rivia, has sacrificed himself for the town,' mayor Neville said ceremoniously. 'We won't forget him. We'll revere him. We'll think of a statue . . .'

 Dandilion shook a piece of wicker matting bound with clay from his shoulder, brushed his jerkin free of lumps of rain-dampened plaster, looked at the mayor and, in a few well-chosen words, expressed his opinion about sacrifice, reverence, memory and all the statues in the world.