The Sword Of Destiny 4

IV

The next day they reached the Trees. Braenn knelt down and bent her head. Geralt felt the need to do the same. Ciri heaved a sigh of awe.

The Trees–chiefly oaks, yews and hickories–had girths of over a hundred feet, some much more. It was impossible to say how high their crowns were. The places where the mighty, twisted roots joined the vertical trunks were high above their heads, however. They could have walked more quickly, as the giants grew slowly and no other vegetation could survive in their shadows; there was only a carpet of decaying leaves.

They could have walked more quickly. But they walked slowly. In silence. With bowed heads. Among the Trees they were small, insignificant, irrelevant. Unimportant. Even Ciri kept quiet–she did not speak for almost half an hour.

And after an hour’s walk they passed the belt of Trees and once again plunged deep into ravines and wet beechwood forests.

Ciri’s cold was troubling her more and more. Geralt did not have a handkerchief, and having had enough of her incessant sniffing, taught her to clear her nose directly onto the ground. The little girl was delighted by it. Looking at her smirk and shining eyes, the Witcher was deeply convinced that she was savouring the thought of showing off her new trick at court, during a ceremonial banquet or an audience with a foreign ambassador.

Braenn suddenly stopped and turned around.

‘Gwynbleidd,’ she said, unwinding a green scarf wrapped around her elbow. ‘Come here. I will blindfold you. I must.’ ‘I know.’

‘I will lead you. Give me your hand.’

‘No,’ protested Ciri. ‘I’ll lead him. May I, Braenn?’ ‘Very well, moppet.’

‘Geralt?’

‘Uh-huh?’

‘What does “Gwyn… bleidd” mean?’

‘White Wolf. The dryads call me that.’ ‘Beware, there’s a root. Don’t trip! Do they call you that because you have white hair?’ ‘Yes… Blast!’

‘I said there was a root.’

They walked on. Slowly. It was slippery under their feet from fallen leaves. He felt warmth on his face, the sunlight shining through the blindfold.

‘Oh, Geralt,’ he heard Ciri’s voice. ‘How delightful it is here… Pity you can’t see. There are so many flowers. And birds. Can you hear them singing? Oh, there’s so many of them. Heaps. Oh, and squirrels. Careful, we’re going to cross a stream, over a stone bridge. Don’t fall in. Oh, so many little fishes! Hundreds. They’re swimming in the water, you know. So many little animals, oh my. There can’t be so many anywhere else.’ ‘There can’t,’ he muttered. ‘Nowhere else. This is Brokilon.’ ‘What?’

‘Brokilon. The Last Place.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘No one understands. No one wants to understand.’