The Last Wish (8 page)

Nivellen extended his legs under the table and stretched until the armchair creaked.

'I came to an understanding with the merchant in no time,' he continued. 'He'd leave her with me for a year. I had to help him load the sack onto his mule; he wouldn't have managed by himself.'

'And the girl?'

'She had fits at the sight of me for a while. She really thought I'd eat her. But after a month we were eating at the same table, chatting and going for long walks. She was kind, and remarkably smart, and I'd get tongue-tied when I talked to her. You see, Geralt, I was always shy with girls, always made a laughing stock of myself, even with wenches from the cowshed with dung up to their knees, girls the lads from the crew turned over this way and that at will.

Even they made fun of me. To say nothing of having a maw like this. I couldn't even make myself say anything about why I had paid so dearly for a year of her life. The year dragged like the stench following marauding troops until, at last, the merchant arrived and took her away.

'I locked myself in the house, resigned, and didn't react for several months to any of the guests who turned up with daughters. But after a year spent with company, I realised how hard it was to live without anyone to talk to.' The monster made a noise which was supposed to be a sigh but came out more like a hiccough.

'The next one,' he said after a while, 'was called Fenne. She was small, bright and chirpy, a real goldcrest. She wasn't frightened of me at all. Once, on the anniversary of my first haircut, my coming of age, we'd both drunk too much mead and ... ha, ha. Straight after, I jumped out of bed and ran to the mirror. I must admit I was disappointed, and despondent. The trap was the same as it ever was, if with a slightly more stupid expression. And they say the wisdom of ages is to be found in fairy tales. It's not worth a shit, wisdom like that, Geralt.

'Well, Fenne quickly tried to make me forget my worries. She was a jolly girl, I tell you. Do you know what she thought up? We'd both frighten unwanted guests. Imagine: a guest like that enters the courtyard, looks around, and then, with a roar, I charge at him on all fours with Fenne, completely naked, sitting on my back and blowing my grandfather's hunting horn!'

Nivellen shook with laughter, the white of his fangs flashing. 'Fenne,' he continued, 'stayed with me for a year, then returned to her family with a huge dowry. She was preparing to marry a tavern owner, a widower.'

'Carry on, Nivellen. This is interesting.'

'You think so?' said the monster, scratching himself between the ears with a rasping sound.

'All right. The next one, Primula, was the daughter of an impoverished knight. The knight, when he got here, had a skinny horse, a rusty cuirass and incredible debts. He was as hideous as cow dung, I tell you, Geralt, and spread a similar smell. Primula, I'd wager my right hand, was conceived while he was at war, as she was quite pretty. I didn't frighten her either, which isn't surprising, really, as compared to her parent I might have appeared quite comely. She had, as it turned out, quite a temperament and I, having gained some self-confidence, seized the moment by the horns. After two weeks Primula and I already had a very close relationship. She liked to pull me by the ears and shout “Bite me to death, you animal!” and “Tear me apart, you beast!” and other equally idiotic things. I ran to the mirror in the breaks, but just imagine, Geralt, I looked at myself with growing anxiety. Less and less did I long to return to my former shape. You see, Geralt, I used to be a weakling and now I'd become a strapping fellow. I'd keep getting ill, I'd cough, my nose would run, but now I don't catch anything. And my teeth? You wouldn't believe how rotten my teeth had been!

And now? I can bite through the leg of a chair. Do you want me to bite a chair leg?'

'No, I don't.'

'Maybe that's good.' The monster opened his mouth wide. 'My showing-off used to amuse the girls and there aren't many whole chairs left in the house.' Nivellen yawned, his enormous tongue rolling up into a tube.

'This talking has made me tired, Geralt. Briefly: there were two after Primula, Ilka and Venimira. Everything happened in the same way, to the point of boredom. First, a mixture of fear and reserve, then a thread of sympathy re-enforced by small but precious gifts, then “Bite me, eat me up”, Daddy's return, a tender farewell and an increasingly discernible depletion of the treasury. I decided to take longer breaks to be alone. Of course, I'd long ago stopped believing that a virgin's kiss would transform the way I looked. And I'd come to terms with it.

And, what's more, I'd come to the conclusion that things were fine as they were and that there wasn't any need for changes.'

'Really? No changes, Nivellen?'

'It's true. I have a horse's health, which came with the way I look, for one. Secondly, my being different works on girls like an aphrodisiac. Don't laugh! I'm certain that as a human I'd have to give a mighty good chase to get at a girl like, for example, Venimira, who was an extremely beautiful maid. I don't suppose she'd have glanced twice at the fellow in the portrait. And thirdly: safety. Father had enemies, and a couple of them had survived. People whom the crew, under my pitiful leadership, had sent to their graves, had relatives. There's gold in the cellar. If it wasn't

for the fear inspired by me, somebody would come and get it, if only peasants with pitchforks.'

'You seem quite sure,' Geralt remarked, playing with an empty chalice, 'that you haven't offended anyone in your present shape. No father, no daughter. No relative or daughter's betrothed—'

'Leave off, Geralt.' Nivellen was indignant. 'What are you talking about? The fathers couldn't contain themselves for joy. I told you, I was incredibly generous. And the daughters? You didn't see them when they got here in their dresses of sackcloth, their little hands raw from washing, their shoulders stooped from carrying buckets. Even after two weeks with me Primula still had marks on her back and thighs from the strap her knightly father had beaten her with. They walked around like princesses here, carried nothing but a fan and didn't even know where the kitchen was. I dressed them up and covered them with trinkets. At the click of a finger, I'd conjure up hot water in the tin bath Father had plundered for my mother at Assengard. Can you imagine? A tin bath! There's hardly a regent, what am I saying, hardly a lord who's got a tin bath at home. This was a house from a fairy tale for them, Geralt. And as far as bed is concerned, well . . . Pox on it, virtue is rarer today than a rock dragon. I didn't force any of them, Geralt.'

'But you suspected someone had paid me to kill you. Who would have?'

'A scoundrel who wanted the contents of my cellar but didn't have any more daughters,'

Nivellen said emphatically. 'Human greed knows no limits.'

'And nobody else?'

'And nobody else.'

They both remained silent, gazing at the nervous flicker of the candle flames.

'Nivellen,' said the witcher suddenly, 'are you alone now?'

'Witcher,' answered the monster after a moment's hesitation, 'I think that, in principle, I ought to insult you, take you by the neck and throw you down the stairs. Do you know why?

Because you treat me like a dimwit. I noticed how you've been cocking your ears and glancing at the door. You know perfectly well that I don't live alone. Am I right?'

'You are. I'm sorry.'

'Pox on your apologies. Have you seen her?'

'Yes. In the forest, by the gate. Is she why merchants and daughters have been leaving here empty-handed for some time?'

'So you know about that too? Yes, she's the reason.'

'Do you mind if I ask whether—'

'Yes, I do mind.'

Silence again.

'Oh well, it's up to you,' the witcher finally said, getting up. 'Thanks for your hospitality, dear host. Time I was on my way.'

'Quite right.' Nivellen also got up. 'For certain reasons I can't offer you a room in the manor for the night, and I don't encourage you to spend the night in these woods. Ever since the area's been deserted it's been bad at night here. You ought to get back to the highway before dusk.'

I'll bear that in mind, Nivellen. Are you sure you don't need my help?'

The monster looked at him askance. 'You think you could help me? You'd be able to lift this from me?'

'I wasn't only thinking about that sort of help.'

'You didn't answer my question. Although . . . you probably did. You wouldn't be able to.'

Geralt looked him straight in the eyes. 'You had some bad luck,' he said. 'Of all the temples in Gelibol and the Nimnar Valley, you picked the Church of Coram Agh Tera, the Lionheaded Spider. In order to lift the curse thrown by the priestess of Coram Agh Tera, you need knowledge and powers which I don't possess.'

'And who does?'

'So you are interested after all? You said things were fine as they are.'

'As they are, yes. But not as they might be. I'm afraid that—'

'What are you afraid of?'

The monster stopped at the door to the room and turned. 'I've had enough of your questions, witcher, which you keep asking

instead of answering mine. Obviously, you've got to be asked in the right way. Listen. For some time now I've had hideous dreams. Maybe the word “monstrous” would be more accurate. Am I right to be afraid? Briefly, please.'

'Have you ever had muddy feet after waking from such a dream? Conifer needles in your sheets?'

'No.'

'And have—'

'No. Briefly, please.'

'You're rightly afraid.'

'Can anything be done about it? Briefly, please.'

'No.'

'Finally. Let's go, I'll see you out.'

In the courtyard, as Geralt was adjusting the saddle-bags, Nivellen stroked the mare's nostrils and patted her neck. Roach, pleased with the caress, lowered her head.

'Animals like me,' boasted the monster. 'And I like them, too. My cat, Glutton, ran away at the beginning but she came back later. For a long time, she was the only living creature who kept me company in my misfortune. Vereena, too—' He broke off with a grimace.

Geralt smiled. 'Does she like cats too?'

'Birds.' Nivellen bared his teeth. 'I gave myself away, pox on it. But what's the harm. She isn't another merchant's daughter, Geralt, or another attempt to find a grain of truth in old folk tales. It's serious. We love each other. If you laugh, I'll sock you one.'

Geralt didn't laugh. 'You know your Vereena,' he said, 'is probably a rusalka?'

'I suspected as much. Slim. Dark. She rarely speaks, and in a language I don't know. She doesn't eat human food. She disappears into the forest for days on end, then comes back. Is that typical?'

'More or less.' The witcher tightened Roach's girth-strap. 'No doubt you think she wouldn't return if you were to become human?'

'I'm sure of it. You know how frightened rusalkas are of people.

Hardly anybody's seen a rusalka from up close. But Vereena and I . . . Pox on it! Take care, Geralt.'

'Take care, Nivellen.' The witcher prodded the mare in the side with his heel and made towards the gate. The monster shuffled along at his side.

'Geralt?'

'Yes.'

'I'm not as stupid as you think. You came here following the tracks of one of the merchants who'd been here lately. Has something happened to one of them?'

Yes.'

'The last was here three days ago. With his daughter, not one of the prettiest, by the way. I commanded the house to close all its doors and shutters and give no sign of life. They wandered around the courtyard and left. The girl picked a rose from my aunt's rosebush and pinned it to her dress. Look for them somewhere else. But be careful, this is a horrible area. I told you that the forest isn't the safest of places at night. Ugly things are heard and seen.'

'Thanks, Nivellen. I'll remember about you. Who knows, maybe I'll find someone who—'

'Maybe yes. And maybe no. It's my problem, Geralt, my life and my punishment. I've learnt to put up with it. I've got used to it. If it gets worse, I'll get used to that too. And if it gets far worse don't look for anybody. Come here yourself and put an end to it. As a witcher. Take care, Geralt.'

Nivellen turned and marched briskly towards the manor. He didn't look round again.

The area was deserted, wild and ominously inhospitable. Geralt didn't return to the highway before dusk; he didn't want to take a roundabout route so he took a short-cut through the forest. He

spent the night on the bare summit of a high hill, his sword on his knees, beside a tiny campfire into which, every now and then, he threw wisps of monkshood. In the middle of the night he noticed the glow of a fire far away in the valley; he heard mad howling and singing and a sound which could only have been the screaming of a tortured woman. When dawn had barely broken he made his way there to find nothing but a trampled glade and charred bones in still-warm ashes. Something sitting in the crown of an enormous oak shrieked and hissed. It could have been a harpy, or an ordinary wildcat. The witcher didn't stop to check.

About midday, while Roach was drinking at a spring, the mare neighed piercingly and backed away, baring her yellow teeth and chewing her bit. Geralt calmed her with the Sign. Then he noticed a regular ring formed by the caps of reddish mushrooms peering from the moss.

'You're becoming a real hysteric, Roach,' he said. 'This is just an ordinary devil's ring. What's the fuss?'

The mare snorted, turning her head towards him. The witcher rubbed his forehead, frowned and grew thoughtful. Then he leapt into the saddle, turned the horse around and started back, following his own tracks.

'Animals like me,' he muttered. 'Sorry, Roach. It turns out you've got more brains than me!'

The mare flattened her ears against her skull and snorted, throwing up earth with her hooves; she didn't want to go. Geralt didn't calm her with the Sign; he jumped from the saddle and threw the

reins over the horse's head. He no longer had his old sword in its lizard-skin sheath on his back; its place was filled with a shining, beautiful weapon with a cruciform and slender, well-weighted hilt, ending in a spherical pommel made of white metal.