The Bounds Of Reason 5

V

‘Yennefer.’

She turned around, as though surprised, though the Witcher was in doubt she had heard his steps well before. She placed a small wooden pail on the floor, straightened up and brushed aside some hair which had freed itself from her golden hairnet and fell in curls onto her shoulders.

‘Geralt.’

She was wearing just two colours, as usual: black and white. Black hair, long, black eyelashes forcing one to guess the colour of the eyes concealed beneath them. A black skirt and a short, black tunic with a white fur collar. A white blouse of the sheerest linen. On her neck a black velvet ribbon adorned with an obsidian star bestrewn with tiny diamonds.

‘You haven’t changed at all.’

‘Neither have you,’ she sneered. ‘And in both cases it is equally normal. Or, if you prefer, equally abnormal. In any case, the mention of it, though it may not be a bad way to begin the conversation, is meaningless. Am I right?’ ‘You are,’ he nodded, looking to one side, towards Niedamir’s tent and the fires of the royal bowmen obscured by the dark shapes of wagons. From the more distant campfire floated Dandelion’s sonorous voice singing The Stars above the Path, one of his most popular romantic ballads.

‘Well, now that we have the preliminaries out of the way,’ the sorceress said, ‘I wonder what’s coming next’.

‘You see, Yennefer—’

‘I see,’ she interrupted sharply, ‘But I don’t understand. Why did you come here, Geralt? Surely not because of the dragon? I presume nothing has changed in that regard?’ ‘No. Nothing’s changed.’

‘Why, then, I pray, have you joined the party?’

‘If I said that it was because of you, would you believe me?’

She looked at him in silence, and there was something in her flashing eyes which Geralt did not like.

‘I believe you, why not?’ she finally said. ‘Men like to meet their former lovers, like to relive memories. They like to imagine that erstwhile erotic ecstasies give them some kind of perpetual ownership of their partner. It enhances their self-importance. You are no exception. In spite of everything.’ ‘Nevertheless,’ he smiled, ‘you’re right, Yennefer. The sight of you makes me feel wonderful. In other words, I’m glad to see you.’ ‘And is that all? Well, let’s say I’m also glad. Having said that, I wish you goodnight. I am retiring for the night, as you can see. Before that I intend to bathe and I usually get undressed to perform that activity. Withdraw, then, in order graciously to assure me a minimum of discretion.’ ‘Yen,’ he held his hands out to her.

‘Don’t call me that!’ she hissed furiously, springing back, blue and red sparks streaming from her extended fingers. ‘And if you touch me I’ll scorch your eyes out, you bastard.’ The Witcher moved back. The sorceress, somewhat calmer, brushed her hair aside once again and stood before him with her fists resting on her hips.

‘What did you think, Geralt? That we’d have a nice, cheerful gossip, that we’d reminisce about the old days? That perhaps at the end of our chat we’d get onto a wagon and make love on the sheepskins, just like that, for old times’ sake? Did you?’ Geralt, not certain if the sorceress was magically reading his mind or had only guessed right, kept silent, smiling wryly.

‘Those four years left their mark, Geralt. I’m over it now, which is the only reason why I didn’t spit in your eyes during today’s encounter. But don’t let my civility deceive you.’ ‘Yennefer…’

‘Be quiet! I gave you more than I’ve ever given any other man, you scoundrel. I don’t know, myself, why I gave it to you. And you… Oh, no, my dear. I’m not a slut or an elf-woman met by chance in the forest, who can be discarded in the morning, walked out on without being woken, with a posy of violets left on the table. Who can be made a mockery of. Beware! Utter a single word and you will regret it!’ Geralt did not utter a single word, correctly sensing the anger seething in Yennefer.

The sorceress once again brushed aside some unruly locks and looked him in the eyes, from close up.

‘We’ve met, that’s too bad,’ she said softly. ‘But we shall not make a spectacle of ourselves for everybody. We shall save face. We’ll pretend to be good friends. But don’t be mistaken, Geralt. There is nothing between us now. Nothing, understood? And be glad of it, because it means I have now abandoned the plans which, until recently I still harboured regarding you. But that in no way means I’ve forgiven you. I shall never forgive you, Witcher. Never.’ She turned around suddenly, seized the pail, spraying water around, and disappeared behind a wagon.

Geralt chased away a mosquito whining above his ear and slowly walked back towards the campfire, where Dandelion’s performance was being rewarded with half-hearted applause. He looked up at the dark blue sky above the black, serrated saw blade of the mountain peaks. He felt like bursting out laughing. He did not know why.