The Last Wish: Introducing The Witcher

She stood over him in the flickering radiance of the wizard's sphere, in the glow of magic, amidst the flashes of rays restraining the djinn, streaming hair and eyes blazing violet, erect, slender, dark, terrible…

And beautiful.

Don't you think”—he smiled—“that my lack of faith makes such a trance pointless?”

“No, I don't. And do you know why?”

“No.”

Nenneke leaned over and looked him in the eyes with a strange smile on her pale lips.

“Because it would be the first proof I’ve ever heard of that a lack of faith has any kind of power at all.”

“If you know that, then why your reservations about the trance? What are you afraid of? That I’ll make you bow your head to a statue and sing canticles? Geralt, we'll simply sit together for a while—you, me and Iola—and see if the girl's talents will let her see into the vortex of power surrounding you. Maybe we'll discover something worth knowing. And maybe we won't discover anything. Maybe the power and fate surrounding you won't choose to reveal themselves to us, will remain hidden and incomprehensible. I don't know. But why shouldn't we try?”

“Because there's no point. I’m not surrounded by any vortex or fate. And if I were, why the hell would I delve into it?”

“Geralt, you're sick.”

“Injured, you mean.”

“I know what I mean. There's something not quite right with you. I can sense that. After all, I have known you ever since you were a youngster. When I met you, you came up to my waist. And now I feel that you're spinning around in some damned whirlpool, tangled up in a slowly tightening noose. I want to know what's happening. But I can't do it myself. I have to count on Iola's gifts.”

“Don't grin like an idiot.” The priestess rose and took a bag of dressings from the chest of drawers. Despite her weight and low stature, she moved swiftly and gracefully. “There's nothing funny about it. You're losing your reflexes, Geralt.”

“You're exaggerating.”

“I’m not exaggerating at all.” Nenneke spread a greenish mush smelling sharply of eucalyptus over the wound. “You shouldn't have allowed yourself to get wounded, but you did, and very seriously at that. Fatally even. And even with your exceptional powers of regeneration it'll be months before your neck is fully mobile again. I warn you, don't test your strength by fighting an agile opponent during that time.”

“Thank you for the warning. Perhaps you could give me some advice, too: how am I supposed to live in the meantime? Rally a few girls, buy a cart and organize a traveling house of ill-repute?”

The difference, my dear witcher, is that one who is bought is paid according to the buyer's whim, whereas one who renders a service sets his own price. Is that clear?”

‘Evil is evil, Stregobor,’ said the witcher seriously as he got up. ‘Lesser, greater, middling, it’s all the same. Proportions are negotiated, boundaries blurred. I’m not a pious hermit, I haven’t done only good in my life. But if I’m to choose between one evil and another, then I prefer not to choose at all. Time for me to go. We’ll see each other tomorrow

“You've got a guest.”

“Again? Who's it this time? Duke Hereward himself?”

“No. It's Dandilion this time, your fellow. That idler, parasite and good-for-nothing, that priest of art, the bright-shining star of the ballad and love poem. As usual, he's radiant with fame, puffed up like a pig's bladder and stinking of beer. Do you want to see him?”

“Of course. He's my friend, after all.”

“You've got a guest.”

“Again? Who's it this time? Duke Hereward himself?”

“No. It's Dandilion this time, your fellow. That idler, parasite and good-for-nothing, that priest of art, the bright-shining star of the ballad and love poem. As usual, he's radiant with fame, puffed up like a pig's bladder and stinking of beer. Do you want to see him?”

“Of course. He's my friend, after all.”

Nenneke, peeved, shrugged her shoulders. “I can't understand that friendship. He's your absolute opposite.”

“Opposites attract.”

In order to become a witcher, you have to be born in the shadow of destiny, and very few are born like that. That's why there are so few of us. We're growing old, dying, without anyone to pass our knowledge, our gifts, on to. We lack successors. And this world is full of Evil which waits for the day none of us are left.”

Foltest was slim and had a pretty—too pretty—face