The Witcher

SOMETHING MORE V

“Are we already in the territory of Outer Rivia, Yurga?”

“Since yesterday, my lord Geralt. We will reach the Yarouga river soon. On the other side, we will be in my home. Look, even the horses are walking more quickly and leaning their heads forward. They've picked up the smell of the barn and the house.” 

“The house... You live within the castle's fortifications?”

“No, in the suburb.”

“Interesting.” The witcher looked around. “There's practically no evidence of the war. It was said, however, that the country was horribly destroyed.”

“Well,” Yurga replied, “there is a shortage of everything but ruins... at least, that's not what's missing. Look carefully: almost every house, every courtyard, has a brand new frame.

Beyond the river, you see, there it's even worse, where the fire burned everything to the ground... War is war, but one must keep on living. We suffered the worst torments when the Black Ones crossed through our lands. It seemed that they wanted to turn everything into a desert. Many of those who fled then have never returned. In their place, newcomers have settled. Life must go on.”

“That's right,” murmured Geralt, “life must go on. Regardless of the past... one must keep on living...”

“Absolutely right. Here! Look at it this way. I sewed and patched your trousers. Now they are like new. Just like this land, my lord Geralt. The war tore and trampled it under iron horseshoes; bruised and bloodied it; but the land renews itself, becoming fertile once more: the bodies themselves work to enrich the soil, even if it is difficult to work the land because of the bones and the armor cluttering the fields. Earth will overcome iron.”

“You don't fear the return of the Nilfgaardians... the Black Ones? Now they know the path through the mountains...”

“Well of course, we live in fear. But what can we do? Sit down and cry? Tremble? One must keep on living. Come what may. Whatever fate has in store for us, we can't avoid it.”

“You believe, then, in destiny?”

“How could I not believe in it? After our meeting on the enchanted bridge where you saved my life! Oh, master witcher, you'll see that my Chrysididae will be kissing your feet...”

“Stop with that. In truth, I am the one indebted to you. On the bridge... I was only doing my job, Yurga. I was practicing my profession, which consists of protecting humans for money, not for charity. Yurga, you know what people say about witchers? That no-one knows which is worse... them, or the monsters that they destroy.”

“That's all wrong, lord, I don't understand why you talk like that. You think that I don't have my own eyes to see with? You are cut from the same cloth as that healer...”

“Visenna...”

“She didn't tell me her name. She came to us and offered her services without hesitation, knowing that we needed her. That evening, by the time I got down from my horse, she was already taking care of you. Oh, my lord, she took such good care of your leg. The air was filled with magic and we all fled, terrified, into the forest. And then the blood ran from her nose. Magic, apparently, is not easy. She bandaged you with such delicacy, like...”

“Like a mother?” Geralt asked through clenched teeth.

“Effectively. That's right. And when you were asleep...”

“Yes, Yurga?”

“White as a sheet, she was barely on her feet. But she came to ask us if any of the rest of us needed her help. The tar-maker, who had his hand crushed by a tree, benefited from her care. And she didn't take a cent. She even left the medicine. I know, Geralt, that there are many things said in the world about witchers and sorceresses, but not here. We, the people of Upper Sodden, of Outer Rivia, we know the truth. We need sorceresses too much not to know who they really are. Their memories are not peddled by storytellers or gossips, but etched in stone. You saw for yourself back in the woods. Besides, my lord, you certainly know better than I do. The whole world knows about the battle that was fought here less than a year ago. You must have heard about it.” 

“I haven't been back here for over a year. I was in the North. But I heard talk... The second battle of Sodden...”

“Exactly. You will see the hill and the rock. Before, the hill had the ordinary name of

'Mount Coulemelle,' but now all the world knows it as the Sorcerers' mountain or the mountain of the fourteen. Because twenty-two sorcerers joined the battle and fourteen died. It was a terrible struggle, master Geralt. The ground rose up, the sky spat fiery rain. Lightning struck. Corpses littered the ground. But the sorcerers at last vanquished the Black Ones and snuffed out the power that animated them. Fourteen of them did not return. Fourteen of them gave their lives... What's wrong, my lord? What is it?”

“Nothing. Continue, Yurga.”

“The battle was terrible, oh! Without the sorcerers on the hill, we surely would not be able to talk like this today, you and I, on the tranquil road to my house, because it wouldn't exist anymore, and neither would I, and perhaps you wouldn't either... Yes, we are indebted to all those sorcerers. Fourteen of them died in our defense, we the people of Sodden and Outer Rivia. Of course there were others who fought as well: warriors, nobles and peasants alike, anyone who could lay hands on a pitchfork or an ax, or even a stake... All acted with courage. Many of them died. But the sorcerers... Nothing is more natural for a warrior than to die on the field of battle, and then, that life is short anyway... But sorcerers can live as long as they like. Even so, they did not hesitate.”

“They did not hesitate,” repeated the witcher, wiping his forehead. “They did not hesitate. And me, I was in the North...”

“What's wrong, my lord?”

“Nothing.”

“Yes... All of us, in the area, we leave flowers on that hill and through May, Belleteyn, the fire always burns. It will burn forever and ever. These fourteen sorcerers will live eternally in the memories of men. Living in memory, master Geralt, it's... it's something more!”

“You're right, Yurga.”

“Every child knows the names of the fourteen carved in stone at the top of the hill. You don't believe me? Listen: Axel known as Raby, Triss Merigold, Atlan Kerk, Vanielle of Bruga, Dagobert of Vole...”

“Stop, Yurga.”

“What's wrong, my lord? You're as pale as death.”

“Nothing.”