Something More 6

VI

‘Are we in Riverdell yet, Yurga?’

‘Have been since yesterday, sir. Soon the River Yaruga and then my homeland. Look, even the horses are walking more jauntily, tossing their heads. They can sense home is near.’ ‘Home… Do you live in the city?’

‘No, outside the walls.’

‘Interesting,’ the Witcher said, looking around. ‘There’s almost no trace of war damage. I had heard this land was devastated.’ ‘Well,’ Yurga said. ‘One thing we’re not short of is ruins. Take a closer look–on almost every cottage, in every homestead, you can see the white timber of new joinery. And over there on the far bank, just look, it was even worse, everything was burned right down to the ground… Well, war’s war, but life must go on. We endured the greatest turmoil when the Black Forces marched through our land. True enough, it looked then as though they’d turn everything here into a wasteland. Many of those who fled then never returned. But fresh people have settled in their place. Life must go on.’ ‘That’s a fact,’ Geralt muttered. ‘Life must go on. It doesn’t matter what happened. Life must go on…’ ‘You’re right. Right, there you are, put them on. I’ve mended your britches, patched them up. They’ll be good as new. It’s just like this land, sir. It was rent by war, ploughed up as if by the iron of a harrow, ripped up, bloodied. But now it’ll be good as new. And it will be even more fertile. Even those who rotted in the ground will serve the good and fertilise the soil. Presently it is hard to plough, because the fields are full of bones and ironware, but the earth can cope with iron too.’ ‘Are you afraid the Nilfgaardians, the Black Forces, will return? They found a way through the mountains once already…’ ‘Well, we’re afeared. And what of it? Do we sit down and weep and tremble? Life must go on. And what will be, will be. What is destined can’t be avoided, in any case.’ ‘Do you believe in destiny?’

‘How can I not believe? After what I encountered on the bridge, in the wilderness, when you saved me from death? Oh, Witcher, sir, you’ll see, my wife will fall at your feet…’ ‘Oh, come on. Frankly speaking, I have more to be grateful to you for. Back there on the bridge… That’s my job, after all, Yurga, my trade. I mean, I protect people for money. Not out of the goodness of my heart. Admit it, Yurga, you’ve heard what people say about witchers. That no one knows who’s worse; them or the monsters they kill—’ ‘That’s not true, sir, and I don’t know why you talk like that. What, don’t I have eyes? You’re cut from the same cloth as that healer.’ ‘Visenna…’

‘She didn’t tell us her name. But she followed right behind us, for she knew she was needed, caught us up in the evening, and took care of you at once, having barely dismounted. You see, sir, she took great pains over your leg, the air was crackling from all that magic, and we fled into the forest out of fear. And then there was blood pouring from her nose. I see it’s not a simple thing, working magic. You see, she dressed your wound with such care, truly, like a—’ ‘Like a mother?’ Geralt clenched his teeth. ‘Aye. You’ve said it. And when you fell asleep…’

‘Yes, Yurga?’

‘She could barely stand up, she was as white as a sheet. But she came to check none of us needed any help. She healed the tar maker’s hand, which had been crushed by a log. She didn’t take a penny, and even left some medicine. No, Geralt, sir, I know what people say about Witchers and sorcerers in the world isn’t all good. But not here. We, from Upper Sodden and the people from Riverdell, we know better. We owe too much to sorcerers not to know what they’re like. Memories about them here aren’t rumours and gossip, but hewn in stone. You’ll see for yourself, just wait till we leave the copse. Anyway, you’re sure to know better yourself. For that battle was talked about all over the world, and a year has barely passed. You must have heard.’ ‘I haven’t been here for a year,’ the Witcher muttered. ‘I was in the North. But I heard… The second Battle of Sodden…’ ‘Precisely. You’ll soon see the hill and the rock. We used to call that hill Kite Top, but now everybody calls it the Sorcerers’ Peak or the Mountain of the Fourteen. For twenty-two of them stood on that hill, twenty-two sorcerers fought, and fourteen fell. It was a dreadful battle, sir. The earth reared up, fire poured from the sky like rain and lightning bolts raged… Many perished. But the sorcerers overcame the Black Forces, and broke the Power which was leading them. And fourteen of them perished in that battle. Fourteen laid down their lives… What, sir? What’s the matter?’ ‘Nothing. Go on, Yurga.’

‘The battle was dreadful, oh my, but were it not for those sorcerers on the hill, who knows, perhaps we wouldn’t be talking here today, riding homeward, for that home wouldn’t exist, nor me, and maybe not you either… Yes, it was thanks to the sorcerers. Fourteen of them perished defending us, the people of Sodden and Riverdell. Ha, certainly, others also fought there, soldiers and noblemen, and peasants, too. Whoever could, took up a pitchfork or an axe, or even a club… All of them fought valiantly and many fell. But the sorcerers… It’s no feat for a soldier to fall, for that is his trade, after all, and life is short anyhow. But the sorcerers could have lived, as long they wished. And they didn’t waver.’ ‘They didn’t waver,’ the Witcher repeated, rubbing his forehead with a hand. ‘They didn’t waver. And I was in the North…’ ‘What’s the matter, sir?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Yes… So now we–everyone from around here–take flowers there, to that hill, and in May, at Beltane, a fire always burns. And it shall burn there forever and a day. And forever shall they be in people’s memories, that fourteen. And living like that in memory is… is… something more! More, Geralt, sir!’ ‘You’re right, Yurga.’

‘Every child of ours knows the names of the fourteen, carved in the stone that stands on the top of the hill. Don’t you believe me? Listen: Axel Raby, Triss Merigold, Atlan Kerk, Vanielle of Brugge, Dagobert of Vole—’ ‘Stop, Yurga.’

‘What’s the matter, sir? You’re as pale as death!’

‘It’s nothing.’