The Witcher

THE SWORD OF DESTINY IV

The next day, they reached the Trees. Braenn knelt and bowed. Geralt sensed that he should do the same. Ciri sighed in admiration.

The Trees, primarily oak, yew, and white walnut, were a dozen yards across. It was hardly possible to estimate the height of their peaks. The place where their powerful, sinuous roots transformed into a single trunk was located very high above their heads. They could move much faster: the colossi left plenty of space, and other vegetation, in their shadow, could not survive. Only a bed of rotten leaves remained.

They could move faster, but they walked slowly. In silence. Bowing their heads. They were, among the Trees, miniscule, insignificant, trivial. Negligible. Even Ciri kept quiet. She didn't say a word for nearly half an hour.

They left the perimeter of the Trees after a hour of walking, to again sink into the ravines and damp beech forests.

Ciri's cold was getting worse and worse. Geralt, who had no handkerchiefs, and who was tired of hearing the constant sniffling, taught her to blow her nose in her fingers. This pleased the little girl enormously. From her smile and her sparkling eyes, the witcher knew that she was delighted by the idea of being able to show that trick to the court during a banquet or an audience with an overseas ambassador.

Braenn stopped suddenly and turned.

“Gwynbleidd,” she said, pulling her green scarf down around her neck, “come. I need to cover your eyes. I must.”

“I know.”

“I will guide you. Give me your hand.”

“No,” Ciri protested, “I'll guide him. Okay, Braenn?”

“All right, sickly little one.”

“Geralt?”

“Yes?”

“What does that mean, Gwyn... bleidd?”

“White Wolf. That's what the dryads call me.”

“Careful, a root. Take care not to trip. They call you that because you have white hair?”

“Yes... oh! Damn!”

“I told you there was a root.”

They continued to walk. Slowly. The leaves on the ground were slippery. Geralt was feeling a warmth on his face. The sun's glow filtered through the cloth that covered his eyes.

He heard Ciri's voice:

“Oh! Geralt. How beautiful it is here... It's a shame you can't see it all. There are so many flowers. And birds. You hear them singing? Oh! There are so many! Such numbers.

And then the squirrels... Careful, we're going to cross a stream on a path of stones. Don't fall into the water. What fish! There are so many. They swim in the water, you know! There are so many animals. Nowhere else are there so many...”

“Nowhere,” he muttered, “nowhere. We have arrived in Brokilone.”

“What?”

“Brokilone. The end of our journey.”

“I don't understand...”

“No-one understands. No-one wants to understand.”