Lady of the Lake

  Ciri was about to turn around and leave when a gesture from Avallac’h restrained her. With another gesture he invited her onto the boat. She hesitated. She did not want to talk in front of witnesses. Avallac’h said a few quiet words to the elf and kissed her hand. The elf shrugged and walked away. Only once did she glance at Ciri and her eyes show exactly what she thought of her.

  ‘If you can, refrain from comment,’ said Avallac’h as she sat on a bench in the bow. He sat down across from her, pulled out his flute and began to play, ignoring the boat completely.. Ciri watched anxiously., but the boat slid perfectly into the middle of the river, without deviating an inch. The boat was very strange, Ciri had never seen anything like it, even in Skellige where one could see everything that could move through water. It had a high bow carved into the shape of a key, was very narrow and very shaky. Indeed, only an elf could sit in something like this and play carefree on a flute, instead of rowing and steering.

  Avallac’h stopped playing.

  ‘What is it that troubles you?’

  He listened to Ciri’s story with a vague smile.

  ‘You’re disappointed,’ he did not ask. ‘Disappointed and disillusioned and above all outraged.’

  ‘Not at all! I’m not!’

  ‘You should not be,’ the elf became serious. ‘Auberon treated you with reverence, as a native Aen Elle. Do not forget, we, the People of the Alders, do not ever hurry. We have time.’

  ‘He told me something else.’

  ‘I know what he said.’

  ‘What he wanted, well, you know?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  She had learned a lot. She did not sigh nor gave a hint of impatience or irritability when he put the flute to his lips and started playing again. Melodic and wistful.

  The boat sailed and bridges passed overhead.

  ‘We have very serious reasons for believing,’ he said after the fourth bridge had passed, ‘that your world is in danger of disappearing. In a natural disaster no a massive scale. You do have some elementary education, so you must have heard of the Aen Ithlinnespeath – the Ithlinne’s Prophecy. She speaks of the time of the White winter. In our opinion, it will be a powerful ice age. It will be so extensive that it threatens the existence of most living creatures. They will simply die from the cold. Those who survive will fall into barbarism, killing each other in ruthless battles for food, they will become prey to predators mad with hunger. Remember the text from the prophecy – The time of contempt, the Axe and the Wolf’s Blizzard.’

  Ciri did not interrupt him, afraid that he would start playing the flute again.

  ‘The child, on which so much depends,’ said Avallac’h as he played with his flute, ‘will be a descendant of Lara Dorren and a carrier of the gene, a gene that was specially built by us, it may save the inhabitants of your world. We have reason to think that the descendant of Lara and your child, of course, will have abilities a thousand times more powerful than those we have, the Knowing ones. The same as you yourself possess. Do you know what I mean?’

  Ciri had learned that in the Elder Speech such rhetorical figures, although seemingly questions, do not require an answer, but simply prohibit a response.

  ‘In short,’ continued Avallac’h, ‘we will have the opportunity to travel between the worlds, and not for only a single person. We want to open Ard Gaeth – The Great Gate, which all will pass through. We could do this before the Conjunction, and we will achieve it now. We will evacuate the dying world and the Aen Seidhe who live there, our brothers,

  whom we are obliged to help. We do not neglect such a responsibility. We will take all of the world’s endangered, Zireael. Everyone, even the humans.’

  ‘Really?’ Ciri couldn’t contain herself. ‘Even the Dh’oine?’

  ‘Yes. Trust me. Do you now see how important you are, how we care about you? It is imperative that you be patient. It is important that you return to Auberon and spend the night with him. Believe me, his behavior has not been a sign of reluctance. He knows, that for you this is not easy and does not wish to be inappropriately hasty. He knows many things, Swallow. You may have no doubt noticed.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve noticed,’ she snorted. ‘I’ve also noticed that the current has bore us quite far from Tir Na Lia. Time to take the oars. Which, moreover, I do not see here.’

  ‘Because they are not here,’ Avallac’h raised his arm, turned his hand and snapped his fingers. The boat stopped. It stood in place, then began to move against the current.

  The elf sat comfortably, put his flute to his lips and completely devoted himself to music.

  That night, the King of the Alders invited her to dinner. When she entered, accompanied by the rustle of silk, he motioned her to sit down at the table. There were no servants. He served himself.

  Dinner consisted of more than a dozen varieties of vegetables, there were also mushrooms, fried, stewed and dipped in sauce. Ciri had never tried that kind of mushroom. Some were white and thin like leaves with a delicate and delicious flavor, others were brown and black, aromatic and fleshy.

  The meal was washed down with rose wine, which was light and relaxed the tongue. Before she knew it, she had told him things that she never thought she’d tell anyone. He listened patiently. And then she suddenly remembered what it was she had come here to do. She frowned and stopped.

  ‘As I understand it,’ Auberon said, offering her another kind of mushroom, greenish and smelling like apple pie, ‘you are convinced that destiny binds you to this man, Geralt?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she said, picking up a glass with lipstick marks around the edges. ‘Destiny. He, that is, Geralt, is predestined for me, and I him. Our fates are intertwined. Therefore it would be better if I left immediately. Do you understand?’

  ‘I admit, not much.’

  ‘Destiny,’ she drank a little wine. ‘The power that is not advisable to resist. So I think… No, no, thank you, I do not want more, I am stuffed to bursting.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think it is wrong for you to keep me here. And if you force me… Well, you know what I mean. I have to leave here, and hurry to their aid… Because my destiny…’

  ‘Fate,’ he interrupted, raising his cup. ‘Predestination. Something that is inevitable. The mechanism that causes a virtually infinite number of unforeseeable events to necessarily lead to one result and not another. Is that it?’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘So where and why do you want to go? Drink wine, enjoy the moment, enjoy life. What is to come, will come, if it is inevitable.’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’

  ‘Thus contradicting yourself.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘You deny the denial, that’s a vicious circle.’

  ‘No,’ she said shaking her head. ‘You can’t sit there and do nothing. Nothing comes by itself!’

  ‘That’s a sophism.’

  ‘You cannot mindlessly waste time! You’ll miss the right moment… There is often only one, unrepeatable. Time cannot go backwards.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, getting up from the table. ‘Look at this.’

  He pointed to a wall, which was decorated with an embossed relief depicting a giant scaly snake. The reptile was rolled into the shape of a figure eight with its teeth biting its own tail. Ciri had seen a similar representation, but could not remember where it was.

  ‘Here you see the snake Uroboros,’ said the elf. It is the symbol of infinity, eternal departure and eternal returns. It has neither beginnings nor ends. Time is like Uroboros. Time is the passing moments, like grains of sand in an hourglass. We try to measure acts and events, but Uroboros reminds us that every moment, in every deed and every event lurks in the past , the present and the future – in short, eternity. Every departure is also returning, every welcome is also a goodbye. Everything is simultaneously the beginning and the end. And you…’ the elf said, but did not look at the girl. ‘You’re the beginning and the end. And becaus
e there was a question of destiny, know that this is your destiny. Being the beginning and the end. Do you understand?’

  Ciri hesitated a few seconds. But the vehement look from Auberon forced her to reply.

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Take off your clothes,’ he said it so casually and carelessly, she nearly exploded with anger. With trembling hands, she began to unbutton her bodice. The bodice was tight, and she had trouble with the hooks and buttons with her clumsy fingers. Although Ciri was in a hurry to get it over with, it took her a long time to take off her clothes. But the elf gave no sense of hurry. As if, indeed, he had all eternity.

  Who knows, she thought. Maybe he does.

  Once she was naked, she shifted from foot to foot, the ground was cold. Auberon realized and wordlessly, he pointed to the bed. The bedspread were mink. Extensively formed by many skins sewn together. Warm, soft and comfortable.

  He lay beside her, dressed from head to toe, even with boots on.

  When he touched her, she could not help but stiffen and was angry with herself as she was determined to show him she was proud and distant to the end. Her teeth, needless to say, chattered slightly. But the elf’s electrifying touch calmed her, and his fingers began to teach and give orders. To give directions. In time she began to assimilate so well to his indications she could almost anticipate them. She closed her eyes and imagined it was Mistle who was at her side. But it did not work because he was not at all like Mistle.

  His hand taught her what to do. She obeyed. Even happy. Hastily.

  He did not hurry. His touch was like soft silk. He made her moan. Biting her lip. He got her whole body to contract in a violent spasm.

  What he did then, she did not expect.

  He got up and walked away. Leaving her flushed, panting and trembling.

  He did not even look at her.

  Ciri’s blood rushed to her face and forehead. She curled up on the mink bedspread. And began to sob in anger, shame and humiliation.

  The next morning, she sought out Avallac’h and found him at the rear of the palace. He walked along the row of statues that depicted, to her surprise, elven children. In various, mainly playful poses. Especially the one with which the elf was interested in – a little boy with his mouth contorted in anger, with clenched fists, standing on one leg.

  Ciri stared at it for a long time, she felt a dull pain in her stomach. Only when Avallac’h urged her, she told him everything. Fragmented and with frequent omissions.

  ‘He,’ said the elf when she had finished, ‘has seen the smoke from the fires of more than six hundred and fifty Saovines. Believe me, Swallow, that’s a lot even for the People of the Alders.’

  ‘And what do I care?’ she snapped. ‘We have a contract! Have your relatives the dwarves not told you what a contract is? I fulfilled my obligations! I surrendered! What does it matter to me if he cannot, or will not? What do I care if he had impotence or is not attracted to me? Maybe he abhors Dh’oine? What if like Eredin, when he see me he see a gold nugget in a pile of manure?’

  ‘I hope,’ Avallac’h face lost its usual calm and changed, ‘you didn’t tell him something like that?’

  ‘I did not say anything. And not for lack of desire.’

  ‘Be careful. You do not know what you risk.’

  ‘I do not care. We had an agreement and I am free.’

  ‘Be careful, Zireael,’ repeated Avallac’h, noting the enraged expression on the statue of the boy’s face. ‘Do not behave like that here. Watch every word. Make an effort to understand. And if there is anything you do not understand, then do not use it as an excuse to act precipitously. Be patient. Remember that time is of no importance.’

  ‘For me it is!’

  ‘I told you not to behave like a stubborn child. I’ll repeat – be patient with Auberon. It is your only chance at freedom.’

  ‘Really?’ she shouted. ‘I’m beginning to have my doubts! I’m beginning to suspect that you’ve tricked me! That you have all deceived me…’

  ‘I promised,’ Avallac’h face was a dead as the stone of the statues, ‘that you will return to your world. I’ve given my word. To doubt ones word is a very serious offence for the Aen Elle. To avoid you occurring such an offence, I propose that we settle this talk.’

  He went to leave, but Ciri blocked his way. He narrowed his aquamarine eyes and Ciri realized that she was dealing with a very dangerous elf. But it was too late to go back.

  ‘It is typical of an elf,’ she hissed like a snake, ‘to offend someone and not allow the other to take revenge.’

  ‘Be careful, Swallow!’

  ‘Listen to me,’ she lifted her head proudly. ‘You King of the Alders is unable to comply, to me that is more than clear. No matter if it is his problem or if I’m guilty. That is not important. But I want to enforce the agreement. I want to get it over with. So let someone else get me with child, which you care so much about.’

  ‘You do not know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘And if the problem is me,’ she did not change her tone or expression, ‘that means you’ve made a mistake. Avallac’h. You’ve brought the wrong person to your world.’

  ‘You do not know what you mean, Zireael.’

  ‘If he abhors me, we’ll use the method that horse breeders use. Do you know how they do it? They take a mare to the stallion and then blindfold it and put a donkey in front of it.’

  Avallac’h did not even deign to reply. He unceremoniously ducked and walked down the row of statues.

  ‘Or maybe you?’ she screamed. ‘Do you want me to give myself to you! What do you say? Are you not willing to make that sacrifice? But you say I have the eyes of Lara!’

  He stood beside her in two leaps, his hands shot out like snakes and closed around her neck like steel tongs. She realized that if he wanted to, he could choke her like a little bird.

  He released her. Then leaned over and looked into her eyes at close range.

  ‘Who are you,’ he asked very quietly, ‘to dare to so profane her name? Who are you to dare insult me with so miserable a pittance? Oh, I know, I can see who you are. You’re the daughter of Lara Dorren. You are the daughter of Cregennan, you are an inconsiderable, arrogant, narcissistic dh’oine, a representative example of a race that knows nothing, but that has to ruin and destroy everything, who can defile with a touch alone and befoul with a mere thought. Your ancestors stole my love from me, smug and ruthlessly took her away. But you, are worthy to be his daughter, I will not let you take my memories of her away.’

  He turned away. Ciri overcame the resistance from her squashed larynx.

  ‘Avallac’h.’

  He looked at her.

  ‘Forgive me. I behaved stupidly and miserably. Forgive me. And, if you can, forget it.’

  He walked over to her and hugged her.

  ‘It’s forgotten,’ he said kindly. ‘No more talk about the matter.’

  That night, when she appeared in the royal apartments, freshly bathed, perfumed and with her hair combed. Auberon sat at a table, leaning over a chess board. Wordlessly, he invited her to sit in front of him.

  He won in ten moves.

  The second time they played, she was white, but he won in eleven moves.

  Only then did he look up, showing his clear eyes, so unique.

  ‘Undress, please.’

  At least she had to acknowledge one thing – he acted with tact and never rushed.

  When, as on the previous occasion, he rose from the bed and left without saying anything, Ciri took it calmly and resignedly. Although she could not fall asleep until almost sunrise.

  But when the first rays of dawn lit the windows she fell asleep and had a very strange dream.

  Vysogota was hunched over, washing algae from his muskrat traps. In the wind they dry reeds rustled.

  ‘I feel guilty, Swallow. It was I who pushed you to the idea of this mad escapade. And I who pointed you the way to that cursed tower.’

  ‘Do not feel b
ad, Old Crow. If not for that tower, Bonhart would have gotten me. Here at least I am safe.

  ‘You’re not safe here.’

  Vysogota straighten up.

  Behind him, Ciri could see a hill, bare and rounded, protruding from the grass like the bent back of a monster lurking in ambush. On the hill was a giant boulder. In addition to the rock, stood two figures. A woman and a girl. The wind tugged at the woman’s black hair.

  On the horizon, lightning flashed.

  ‘Chaos stretches its hand towards you, daughter. Child of the Elder Blood. You are entangled in movement and change, in Destruction and Renewal. Chaos wants this power and it does not know if it is a tool to be used or an object in its plans. Not knowing if chance will make you a grain of sand in the gears of the clock of Fate. Chaos is afraid, Child Surprise. He wants to make you afraid, too. Therefore he sends you dreams.’

  Vysogota again hunched over and cleaned another trap. He is dead, Ciri thinks coolly. Does that mean that here in the afterlife, the dead are forced to clear muskrat traps?

  Vysogota straightens up. Behind him, the sky glows from the reflection of burning fires. Across the plains rush thousands of horsemen in red coats – Dearg Ruadhri.

  ‘Listen carefully, Swallow. The Elder Blood that runs through your veins confers immense authority. You are the Lady of Space and Time. You have a vast power. Do not let criminals and scoundrels snatch it and use it for their ignoble purpose. Fight back! Take it away from their thieving hands and wicked intentions!’

  ‘It is easy to say! I am trapped here by some barrier or magical bond…’

  ‘You’re the Lady of Space and Time. Nobody can imprison you.’

  Behind Vysogota is a plateau, a rocky plain covered in the wrecks of ships. Dozens of wrecks. And looking back further, black, menacing, toothed battlements, rising over a mountain lake.

  ‘They’ll die without your help, Swallow. Only you can save them.’