The Witcher

A LITTLE DEDICATION IX

Their departure from Bremervoord took place with a fresh morning mist veiling the intensity of the disc of the sun that appeared on the horizon. They had decided to leave as a trio, but without real discussion and without a common goal, wanting simply to stay together for a while longer.

They left the rocky cape, bidding farewell to the cliffs carved by the surf and jutting vertically from the beach, the strange limestone formations lapped by the wind and waves.

Upon entering the green and floral valley of Dol Adalatte, the scent of the sea, the crash of surf and the savage cries of seagulls still remained in their nostrils and their ears.

The talkative Dandelion kept jumping from subject to subject: the country of Bars and its idiotic custom of forcing young girls to remain virgins until marriage; the iron birds of the island of Inis Porhoet; the water of life and the water of death; the taste and the narcotic properties of the sapphire wine called cill; the royal quadruplets of Ebbing, dubbed with the quarrelsome names of Putzi, Gritzi, Mitzi, and Juan Pablo Vassermiller. He also criticized the new trends in music and poetry started by his competitors, poor specimens, he said, without a true artist among them. 

Geralt kept his silence. Essi, too, was quiet or only responded with partial words. The witcher felt and avoided the look she cast toward him.

They crossed the Adalatte river on a ferry whose rope they had to tow themselves as the ferryman, white as a sheet and lost in a state of inebriation approaching epilepsy, could not release the mooring post that he held in both hands and responded systematically to all questions put to him with an inexpressive “beuh.”

The country on the other side of the Adalatte pleased the witcher. The villagers situated along the river were for the most part circled by fences, suggesting that there would be work for him.

Earlier that afternoon, enjoying a break – they left Dandelion watching the horses while they drank – Essi approached Geralt without warning.

“Geralt,” she said softly. “I... I can't stand it. It's more than I can bear.”

The witcher tried to avoid her gaze, but she would not let him escape. Essi toyed with the azure pearl set in the silver flower that was suspended around her neck. Geralt regretted anew that she was not the fish-eyed monster hiding its sword beneath the water instead.

“Geralt... We must resolve this problem, mustn't we?”

She waited for his response: a word, just one, the slightest hint of a reaction. But the witcher knew that he had nothing that he could dedicate to her and did not want to lie to her.

In fact, he didn't dare tell the truth for fear of hurting her.

Dandelion, ever-reliable Dandelion with his habitual tact, at last salvaged the situation by appearing suddenly.

“Yes, that's right!” he yelled, plunging a stick into the water to scatter the rushes and enormous river-nettles. “You really have to make a decision, it's about time! I don't want to watch the act you're putting on any longer! What are you waiting for from him, Doll?

Something impossible? And you, Geralt, what do you expect? That Little-Eye read your thoughts like... yes, like the other one? And that she content herself with the situation you're comfortable with, where, without divulging your emotions, you are required to give neither explanation nor refusal? How long will it take you to hear? When do you plan to understand?

In how many years? In the form of distant memories? Tomorrow, we part ways, by the devil!

Oh, I've had enough of you two. Listen: I'll cut myself a hazel branch to fish with, and you, meanwhile, will have time for everything you have to say. Say it all! Try to come to a mutual understanding. It's not as difficult as you think. Then, by all the gods, do it. Do it with him, Doll. Do it with her, Geralt, and be good for her. And then, by the plague, either move on or...”

Dandelion turned violently on his heel, breaking a bulrush and swearing. He planned to fish until nightfall with a horse hair mounted to a hazel branch.

When he disappeared, Geralt and Essi remained motionless for a long moment, leaning against the trunk of a willow tree overlooking the stream. They were silent, hand in hand. Then the witcher began to talk at length and in a low voice; Little-Eye listened with tears in her eyes.

Then they did it.

And all was in order.