To jump was probably deadly. To stay still was to remove the word “probably” from the previous statement.

“Fuck it.” I said and vaulted over the rail.

It was both, much further down than I wanted it to be, but at the same time, not as far as I feared. The main concern was making sure that I didn't hit any of the rocks or splintering wood when I got there. I was not entirely successful on the part of things about the wood but I did manage to miss most of the rocks. I did manage to twist my ankle as I fell and landed awkwardly. An awkwardness that was made worse by the sheer cold of the water that I landed in which robbed me of all control of my muscles and breathing.

Every muscle in my body tensed. As though I was desperately trying to lift something heavy. But at the same time, I had no control over the way that those muscles were tensing. So, I started to shake. Shivering is the wrong word for it. These was full body trembling. I had to be careful that I didn't bite my own tongue off.

And that was only in water that came up to my knees. If the water had come up any further then I don't know what would have happened.

As it was, the injured leg collapsed underneath me and I fell, a wave splashed me in the face and I screamed with the pain of it.

I pulled myself to a kneeling position, my protesting leg still submerged under the water and the icy temperatures causing the muscles to bellow into my brain at the agony that they were feeling. My hands were in the water now and they were going mercifully numb. With just a hint of the agony that was beyond the numbness.

At the time it didn't register. I was all in the process of struggling to keep my head out of the water but I think that that was the closest I've ever been to dying. I now agree with Kerrass that the instance where the imitation Jack almost ran me through in Toussaint was him toying with me. I don't think that he was actively trying to kill me. He could have done that at any time. The cult of the First born, the time I was strapped to a torturers chair.... The poison at the hands of fuckface. All of those things were pretty close.

But crawling through the icy waves off the coast of Skellige, lumps of ice battering at my body. Falling timbers of wood from the ship that was still going through it's death throes. Men screaming and dying all around me. All of that made me frantic with the panic. It was also another occasion where if I had stopped and actually taken the time to think through what I was doing, then survival would have been much easier to achieve. You hear about all of these stories about how people just freeze, or run away in a straight line from the boulder that is about to crush them when they could have jumped off to either side and be safe. You hear about all of those things and mock and laugh and tease. But when you're actually in the moment, your brain is not thinking about that kind of thing. Your brain just wants to survive.

I think that that might have been the closest that I've been to dying.

And like most of those other times. It was Kerrass that was my salvation. Sometimes, I honestly don't know why he continues to hang around with me.

I felt a hand grab me by the scruff of the neck and haul me out of the water. Tucking his head under my arm he all but dragged me through the water to the beach, avoiding falling wood, barrels, crates and the bodies of humans.

Twice he had to kill Nilfgaardian sailors that came through the spray to try and take their vengeance. Twice, Kerrass had to drop me and kill another man so that their blood could freeze along with the water which was already beginning to crunch under foot as we did our best to make our way through the shallows.

It is not a good memory that. How we made it I will never know. Not something that I could have done in cold blood. I was hurt by the time that we were done. So was Kerrass with a gash across his forehead. I had a nastier gash that left blood running down my leg, the same one with the twisted ankle.

The pain was an extraordinary thing. Not because it hurt particularly badly. But because, it was both not as bad as I thought it would be due to the numbness of my limbs, but at the same time, it hurt like a bastard with the sea water stinging in the cut.

Kerrass all but dragged me out of the water and put me on a rock. Ciri was there with the mage, who had been tied up again, all but hopping from one foot to the other as she waited for us. She was leaning on my spear and ran down to us with it. Kerrass snatched the spear from her grip and passed it back to me.

“The next time you lose this,” he told me. “I'm keeping it.”

“The next time I lose it, you can have it.” I told him.

Kerrass ran back and tore some clothing from one of the corpses that were now washing ashore and used it to bind my leg.

“That will have to do for now.” He told me. “Can you walk?”

“Fucking well better.” I told him, using the spear to lever myself up. It took a, not small, amount of effort to force myself to put weight on the injured ankle. A not small amount of effort at all and I hissed with pain.

But on the catalogue of pain that I was suffering.... It was having to fight for attention amongst the fact that I was freezing cold from both the water and the dropping temperatures .As it was, the water in my clothing was freezing solid which meant that there was an audible popping noise coming from my shirt and tunic as I moved.

I also had the gash in my leg and now that I had room to think about it, I had suffered several other cuts and injuries from the flying splinters of wood. My chest was bruised from being thrown into my bindings. Which might have also suggested why my breath seemed to burn in my throat. But that was just as likely to be due to the probability that I had swallowed some of the freezing cold sea-water.

Kerrass was doing slightly better because it was Kerrass, and his mutated body was designed for these kinds of hardships. Also, judging by the size of his pupils, he had taken another couple of potions to help with the pain of whatever he was suffering. From somewhere, the question occurred as to how many potions he had taken that day and also, how many did he have left.

Ciri was fine. She was just as wet as the rest of us but otherwise she seemed uninjured. The benefits of being able to teleport I suppose. The Mage was bound and gagged but he was looking pale. He might have been injured but I didn't really care enough to check.

“What now?” I wondered through chattering teeth.

“Now?” Ciri wondered. “I refuse to leave what remains of the Wave-Serpent alone. If any of those men survived then I will do my best to help them.”

“There won't be many by now.” Kerrass told her as he stood up.

“Then we will help at least them.” She told him. “Freddie? You with me?”

I nodded and hobbled after them.

Twisted ankles take time to heal. But, although it really is agony as you do it. The best thing really is to walk it off which is where the saying comes from. Keeping the joint moving is the best thing to do to prevent swelling and seizing although I didn't have to worry about swelling too much. I was freezing cold which I was more than confident was keeping the swelling down to a minimum.

Instead, I was more concerned with my joints seizing up and the occasional spasms that I felt. But again, the movement helped keep me warm. There was no doubt in my mind that I would pay for this later but I hadn't really thought that far ahead. It wasn't all that long ago that I had expected to die and had been in the process of preparing myself for that. That I was still there at all could be considered, not unfairly, as being miraculous. So the thought of some point in the future where I might be struggling to fight off another cold, or whatever cramps and pain in my limbs that I might be struggling with. All of that was secondary to if I could just survive the next few hours.

It was not a foregone conclusion. We had sailed through the fire of the Wave-Serpent's charge and the Nilfgaardian ships fiery vengeance at our temerity. Then we had leaped aboard an enemy ship and still we survived. Then we had survived running that self same ship aground and leaping to shore. Our next task?We had to fight through the other Nilfgaardians that had been put ashore in order to finish off the men of the Wave-Serpent, so that we could save those self-same men of the Wave-Serpent.

It should be said that I, at least, considered myself one of those men and that the enemy would have to go through me in order to kill any of the survivors.

So that, dear reader, is the reason why I didn't “run for the hills” or hide or any of the other things that people have told me that I should have done in those circumstances. Was I thinking clearly? Absolutely not. My anger was coming back and I was thinking with that more and more as time went on.

I don't know how many men had been deposited on the shore in order to destroy the remaining crew. But it was not a small number. Many of them were moving towards the wreck now and so, when we were coming up behind them, they were spaced out. Ciri and Kerrass moved almost as one. They moved as dance partners with Kerrass as the solid centre that just moved forward into groups of men and killed them. Ciri flitted around the battlefield, such as it was, the green flash of her teleporting would light up the place. Sometimes they fought together in order to see off a larger group of men, other times the split up in order to defeat stragglers.

There is a strange thing that happens in a fight. Skelligans are the exceptions to this rule so don't think of them in this batch of things. But generally, the people at the front of a battle are those people who feel as though they have something to prove. Men who are yearning for fame or fortune or whatever. Young men who think that they are immortal and still think that the world will bend according to their whim.

The veterans are in the middle generally. This is because they are more confident in their roles. The old folk are towards the back. These are the men who are just trying to get by. Men who are well aware of the terror's of battle. Men who have been injured before, or been covered in the brains of their best mate. They are the men who set aside and let the “youngsters” get on with it. These were the men that we were fighting at the moment...

I say “we.” I mean Kerrass and Ciri really. I was mostly dragging the mage along behind me.

But they soon realised what was happening and that there was this new threat coming up behind them. I even heard a few of them put two and two together in order to get the necessary sixteen when they saw Ciri flitting around the battlefield with her green flash teleportation. They had, presumably, heard stories of the Empress of Nilfgaard doing that kind of thing and had realised what was happening. They, wisely, took to their heels.Others just ran to get help to where the main mass of men were, still desperately trying to kill the survivors of the wreck of the Wave-Serpent.

Even then though, things were slow to turn around. The attacking crews and sailors had smelt blood and were not going to let up for any reason at all. There was an enemy to smash. An enemy that had dared to challenge Nilfgaard's ultimate supremacy of the seas. An enemy that had stood up to them and now they needed to be punished for it.

Helfdan and his men were having none of it though. But they still weren't ashore. They were still struggling to clear themselves of the wreckage from the Wave-Serpent.

The waves were lifting the Wave-Serpent now. Even though the water was more liquid slush than actual sea water, it was still raising the remains, the skeleton of the ship up and down. Every time it did so, it threatened to come crashing down on the heads of her surviving crew. Every single time. And every single time those men would dart forward trying to drag more people, more corpses really out of the wreckage.

But the Nilfgaardians weren't letting them do that. The Nilfgaardians were like the sharks of the ocean, they had scented blood in the water and were now pushing forward to try and destroy these last few men.

I didn't understand it. I still don't in all honesty. Sailors, as a whole, are supposed to be a cooperative species. They are supposed to work together in the face of oncoming elemental disaster. Whether that's a storm or what. Among the earliest stories that I had heard about Helfdan was an account about how he had prevented men, prevented enemies that had tried to kill him and his men, from dying at sea. How he had picked up survivors from the wreck that he himself had sunk and deposited them on a nearby stretch of land.

The other problem was that the Skeleton Ship was still coming. One of the remaining Nilfgaardian ships... surprisingly the last one in the formation, had seen the coming threat and put on it's full sail to flee before the oncoming ship. The other large one that had turned to come back at us was already caught in the ice and the last was floundering, trying to get away from shore. You couldn't miss the Skeleton Ship. As I say, it's huge. Huge, black and utterly terrifying. We didn't need to fight. We needed to run for shelter in the face of that awful, awful cold.

But the Nilfgaardian sailors were trying to kill with a desperation that was shocking to me. I don't know why. As I say, it's possible that some of them knew the penalties for attacking the Empress. It's even more likely that they would also know the retribution that would come down on their heads should any Skelligan survive to be able to tell how a few merchant ships had tried to prevent them from getting to safe harbour so they had been ordered to kill these men, whatever the cost.

It's also just as likely that these sailors were glorified pirates that were hungry for blood. Sometimes, a pirate can attain a veneer of respectability for taking a few jobs for a crown or a merchant family. Acting as escorts to the traders or raiding opposing ports and ships.

But it was madness, utter madness.

We were no better. We should have run too. We had our proof in the form of the Mage, so that we would be able to prosecute the necessary people. Leaving aside the fact that the Empress' vengeance was bound to be somewhat.... extreme.

But we had to see what had become of the Wave-Serpent and see if there were any survivors. We had to. I can't say it any fairer than that. Just one of those moments where I wasn't in control of my body or mind. I had to know if anyone else had made it to shore and then I had to help them survive to.

Well.... It turns out that some of those brave men had survived the crash against the rocks. Some of them had made it through the storm of fire, ice, arrows and churning water to hurl themselves onto the teeth of the islands of Skellige. They had torn themselves free of their ship and had turned to help their fellows when their enemies had fallen on them like wild dogs.

Then they had fought.

It was both the most uplifting and saddest sight that I had ever seen. Because it was doomed. Utterly doomed. The remaining crew had found a small rocky island just off the shore that they were standing on. Calling it an island makes it sound grander than it actually was. It was a rock that was large enough for a few men to stand on. They couldn't get off the rock to get to shore because of the pressing attackers, but the attackers had to go through the icy water to get to them in the first place.

There were arrows of course but the Skelligan men had some shields. Many of them were splintered though. I could see one or two people still working to get things or people out of the Wave-Serpent but it was hopeless. The ice was coming. Waves were drenching the fighting men who screamed in terror as much as they were screaming in rage.

And there were far too many attackers. Far too many. The Skelligans knew that to stay on their rock was to doom themselves but they couldn't push back. They had no room and as we watched, trying desperately to make our own headway down the beach, another effort was made by some warrior that I didn't recognise from this distance who was cut down under the raw savagery of the Nilfgaardian pirates.

It was impossible to tell who was who at this distance. Impossible to tell. As I say, I was so proud of those men who had managed to make it this far, let alone being able to survive and to keep on fighting. But it was achingly sad. I felt tears on my face.

Kerrass and Ciri were fighting like people possessed. And the Sailors fell back from their fury as they killed and killed and killed but there was just too many of them. It was like there was a wall between them and us and there was nothing we could do. I lost the mage at some point. I think I just dropped him somewhere, so desperate was I to be able to bring my own weapons to bear on these men that I hated.

We were tired as well. Fighting is hard work, not to mention the climbing and the jumping and the running around. The cold was sapping our strength, the water in our clothes were making it harder to move. And all the small injuries that we had suffered over the time. The cuts and bruises, even the small ones, were slowly beginning to take our toll.

We didn't talk. We didn't speak at all. I can't speak for either of the other two of them but I did not have the energy for a war cry or any kind of vocal expression of my anger, pain and despair. I was shaking with the cold apart from anything else. So I gritted my teeth and stabbed another man in the back. Short, hard thrusts, as men tried to get behind Kerrass and Ciri. The small of the back was my favourite target.

I know what you're thinking and I don't care. Yes, I was stabbing people in the back but right then and there, I find that I didn't care about the honour or the perception of the thing. I wanted these men dead.

But we weren't making any headway. I have no idea how much further I had to go when my body gave up. It just gave up, my twisted ankle and injured leg just crumpled underneath my weight and I fell to my knees in the surf. I didn't scream in agony. I didn't shout or yell or bellow. I might have grunted as that took me back into the sea spray and the water among the rocks was still icy cold.

But I had nothing more to give. Nothing more that I could do. This was it. Taken to the very limit of my endurance. Maybe even beyond it.

For the second time in the year, I despaired of my body and gave up hope. The first time was in the woods of Northern Redania as Kerrass and I fled from the Cult of the First-Born with the aid of the Elves and the bastards. There, when things had gotten bleak, Kerrass, Chireadean and Rickard would be the ones that would pick me up, dust me off and force me to keep moving when all I wanted to do was to find a small, dark place to lay down and die.

That time, when my body gave up, I gave up with it. I gave into despair.

This time was different. My body had failed me....

Which is harsh. It had already killed more and done more in the most extreme conditions than I had any right to expect of it.

But at this last hurdle, my body failed me. Like before, my heart and mind were despairing but this time, I didn't want to give up and crawl away to die. This time I wanted to do something different. I wanted the strength to keep on killing. I wanted to make it through to the remaining survivors of the Wave-Serpent. I found that I had no problem with my death, in that time and in that place, no problem at all. But it seemed monstrously unfair that those men would die in my stead.

I tried to force myself back to my feet and I almost made it too before stumbling and falling again a few steps later.

I tried again but the fight was moving beyond me now and getting further and further away.

I was on my hands and knees again in the freezing sand and stone of a beach on the western coast of Ard Skellig. Breath hissing between my teeth. Pain shooting up my legs and taking root in my back in way that suggested that I would struggle to uproot it.

“Not like this.” I tried to verbalise the thought that kept bouncing around inside my head. “Not like this.”And I began to pray.

They say that when you get to the absolute ends of despair you can do one of two things. The first is that you can appeal to some kind of higher power. When your body and mind have failed you. When your friends have failed you....

Through no fault of their own I might add....

…. When everything else has failed you then you turn to prayer as the last possible refuge. The only possible alternative is to take a blade to your wrists.

I have even seen this in action. At those points of despair in my life.... This time, the Cult of the First-Born doesn't count. MY friends had not failed me then and when I was feeling a little bit stronger, I was still able to depend on my body at the very end of things.

But when I went to my room after my father had forbade me from academics and had told me to properly pursue my marriage proposals. Several times in various exam halls reaching for an answer that I could not grasp. When my heart had been broken.... I had turned to prayer. I still do it too and this time I turned to prayer.

There is comfort in those words. Comfort in the ancient rituals that you say to each other in the churches and chapels of your youth where you kneel on soft cushions with the gentle light coming through the stained glass windows and the smell of candles, incense or oil burning. There is comfort there and sometimes, an answer presents itself.

I'm not going to explore the theological implications of that here. I'm not going to try and guess whether those answers came to me in the exam hall, or that my eyes struck my book and therefore my salvation in my chamber after that last most catastrophic row with Father came to me as a result of divine intervention or as a result of my mind going elsewhere for a moment and therefore finding a different avenue through to the solution.

Nor am I going to argue whether or not the one necessarily invalidates the other. The divine invalidates the reason.

Instead, I will tell you what happened. On the beach as I slowly began to freeze to death. As my body began to shut down in the face of all the overwhelming things that we were facing. I'm going to tell you what I saw and what I did.

First, I reached for the Holy Flame. I tried to think of those prayers that I have used so many times before and how they had brought me comfort and given me strength in those hardest of times.

But try as I might. I just could not find the focus or the clarity to be able to get to that. There were none of my normal aids to concentration. There were no bells, it was cold rather than warm, there was no smell of burning candles or oil, there was no.... There was no peace, that's what I'm trying to say. I find that prayer to the Eternal Fire, my version of it anyway, requires peace and calm. It requires me to be a bubble in a storm.

But I wasn't a bubble in a storm. I was a freezing cold man being covered in icy water while I froze or bled to death from thousand tiny cuts.

And anyway, it was not peace that I needed. I needed anger, I needed rage and energy. I needed power to get me back to my feet and get me moving again. That was what I needed. I needed the proverbial spear up the backside to get me back and moving again.

And I couldn't find it.

I found myself drifting free from my body. You can call it an out of body experience if you like and I will not say that you are wrong. You could also call it a near death experience and I can't entirely say that you are wrong at that either. There is no telling what state I was in at the time. I think that I was pretty close to death but other people have disagreed pointing out that it can actually take a while for the body to freeze to death and that my injuries were not that severe.

They certainly felt severe but that's a different discussion for another time.

So I felt a sense of drifting. I probably closed my eyes and I remember thinking about some of the things that Ragnvald said in the halls of the berserkers. I don't know why I thought of that. I certainly didn't do that consciously. There was no decision to do that. There was no conscious thought. I just found myself thinking of that.

There was little to no rage in me at the time. I was exhausted and the rage and fear had kind of been burnt out of me by the sheer muscle numbing fatigue that I had felt up until that point. So I also know that that wasn't what I was feeling.

I've spent quite a bit of time since then thinking about what happened on the beach that day.

Instead, for that moment, I thought about Ragnvald and the cave and for whatever reason, I felt that there was warmth there. And because I was freezing cold, I went towards the warmth.

I found myself in a cave. It was dark, warm and dry and there was a fire in the middle of the cave which was the only source of light. It flickered against the walls throwing large and objectively terrifying shadows everywhere.

But I was not afraid.

I realised that I was witnessing some form of conference and that the speakers at the conference were familiar to me. Although, at the time I could not remember from where. Regular readers will certainly remember them.

The main conversationalists were a Viper, a Cat, A Spider and a Bear. There were other animals as well, same as there were last time that I had seen these creatures back in Ragnvald's cave when he had invoked a vision in me. There was an owl, who this time was perched on the Spider's main body. The Wolf was still there, but much smaller than he had been and he was sat next to the Cat, sitting calmly rather than prowling on the edge of things. There was a mouse perched between his ears.

I don't know how I knew that the Wolf was a he. I just knew it.

The Cat was much larger than it had been last time. He was still a battered old Tom-Cat, scarred and fierce but he was sat with his tail wrapped around his paws. He looked, for all the world, like some house cat that people keep around to keep the mice and rats at bay. He seemed to be in charge, the chair of the meeting if you like.

The Viper was much smaller and was keeping himself close to the fire. He seemed tired. Last time he had reared up so that he could look me in the eye but now he was resting his head on the warm stones. As I watched, the mouse jumped down from on top of the Wolf's head and went over to rub the top of the Viper's head gently. The Viper hissed in a combination of relief and contentment.

The Bear was much smaller than he had been. Much smaller, still ragged and glowing with a dull red energy but he was smaller, more withdrawn from anything.

By far the largest of the creatures was the Spider. She, because again I couldn't tell you how I knew, was pleading with the others.

“I don't know what else to do. I have carried him as far as I can. We both have.”

The owl nodded in agreement.

“He has given everything he has to give.” The Spider went on. “What more can there be?”

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“It is a close run thing.” The Viper spoke up. “He is losing his instincts and with all due respect to the lady. This is not a situation that he can think his way out of.” I swear that the snake bowed to the Spider. Don't ask me what that looked like.

“He should hide.” The Cat said. “He has done enough for one day.”

“He would never be satisfied with that and we all know it.” The mouse said in a surprisingly deep and low voice.”

“Hiding is logical.” The Wolf said. “But he will hate himself for making that choice.”

I realised that the bear was looking at me. Watching me.

“I can help.” The bear said. “I can give him what he needs.”

“No.” The Spider shook her head. “He will hate himself for that even more.”

“Will he hate himself more for that? Or will he hate himself for leaving his friends to die?” The Cat asked. “I would be more concerned at the capability. With all due respect to our friend and colleague, the Bear has been chained for a long time now. Could he carry all of that?”

“I am stronger here.” The bear said. “This is my land and I draw power from it.”

“He will be changed.” The Owl said.

“And that cannot be allowed.” The Spider agreed.

“One time only.” The Bear told them both. “If it's done this one time, taking power from this place where I am at my strongest. The Witcher will protect him as he always has. He will need me anyway to get him off the beach. Use this time.”

“I don't like it.” The Cat declared. “Once that door is opened once, then it is far easier to open it again without meaning to.”

“He won't.” The Viper and the Wolf spoke together. “His self-control and self-awareness will prevent it.” The Viper said.

“He knows of you now and he is afraid of you.” The Wolf added. “That fear will provide the chains. His rage will be stronger if he stays in The Bear's place of power but if he leaves without having another reason to use it. Then he will re imprison the Bear.”

“And I am content with that.” The Bear was still looking at me. “At the very least, he has learned to be less afraid of me and has learned some discipline as to how to use me properly.”

“For this one time only.” The Spider declared.

“One time.” The Owl agreed.

“Yes.” The Cat and Wolf said.

The Viper nodded.

“Why not?” The mouse was grinning. “It should be fun at any rate.”

“You have a strange sense of fun for a mouse.” The Spider seemed to say it fondly. Again, don't ask me how I know all of this.

“Done then.” The Bear agreed and seemed to grow in the cave as the others, especially the Spider, seemed to shrink. “Open your eyes.” He told me.

I did so. I was still on my hands and knees in the surf with the now freezing water was beginning to film over with ice.

“Look up.” Came the voice.

Ahead of me was a corpse. Definitely Nilfgaardian because they were wearing the necessary clothings. It was a man that Kerrass had killed. He was a marginally more efficient killer than Ciri so the wounds were smaller than those wounds that Ciri inflicted. He was lying on his face and there was a small cut at the base of the man's skull.

In the man's hand was an axe. A large one. I felt the lips of my mouth curl up in a smile. The air of my breath whistled through my teeth and from somewhere I found the strength to push myself forward in a kind of scuttle like a crab or a lizard and I grabbed hold of the axe.

I blacked out. I know that that isn't helpful, nor is it particularly informative. But that's what happened. There was no descending red curtain of rage. Nor was there any more kind of hyperventilating or any of the other things that happen when I lose my temper. I have the distinct impression of the cold of the axe's pommel in the palm of my hand. I remember the feeling of the cheap leather and I remember the weight of it and I remember the surge of energy that accompanied it.

I have flashes of the rest of it. I remember it in black and white. Not in red which was something that I always felt was a bit strange. I thought that a berzerker fit would be red. But it wasn't, it was Black and White. It's also a falsity that berzerkers don't feel pain. I felt plenty of pain. Believe me, there was no getting away from it.

But I remember little else.

Just flashes.

Apparently, the brain is very good at defending itself from horrible things. Memories and horror are dismissed and forgotten quickly and easily whereas you would think that they are things that you would remember. I recently had recourse to reread the article on the beast of Amber's crossing and I can remember little to nothing of what happened in the woods. So in reading the words, it was as though they happened to someone else.

So I wonder if that's what happened. I have no idea though.

So, as I say. I remember flashes.

I remember delivering a huge stroke of the axe into the back of a man. I didn't cut him in half, but I did sever his spine and he collapsed with an odd look of surprise and confusion on his face.

I distinctly remember realising that the man in front of me had little to no leg armour. So I should cut him in the thigh. I did that, except I didn't just cut him. I cut his leg off.

I remember knocking a man down. I didn't manage to kill him with the stroke. I think it's possible that I hit him with the wrong part of the axe as I was certainly wielding it badly. But he fell into the water and I stood on his chest in order to keep him under water where he drowned.

Little flashes.

I remember being struck on the head with a club and seeing flashing lights...

Incidentally, it has also been suggested that this blow to the head could be the reason why I don't remember much and why I hallucinated the animals in the cave. I find I don't like, and don't believe, this explanation but there it is. Just for the sake of completeness and balance to the narrative.

I remember a dagger cut across my left bicep and I remember that my reverse stroke cut the offending arm off.

I remember the fear on a man's face as I killed him.

All these and other flashes that keep me awake at night and wake me up in the darkness with a scream on my lips. Not that I needed more nightmares.

So I remember little useful of those few moments. Because it wasn't very long before my body finally stopped working.

But it worked.

I woke up, because that's the only real way that I can describe the feeling, I woke up only a short while later. Standing on the beach and staring after the retreating Nilfgaardians. My throat was raw, my limbs ached and were sore with exertion and I was shaking. Really shaking.

“Freddie?” Someone called my name.

Does anyone else cry with anger? I sometimes feel as though I'm the only one that ever does it. That moment where you are so overwhelmed with something, the frustration of it or whatever.

I remember as a child, being mocked for my tears of frustration and stymied rage. When I had taken a battering on the practice fields or after a particularly unpleasant confrontation with Father. I couldn't talk back, I couldn't get my opinion across which meant that I was just standing there, taking whatever an older brother, tutor or family member was dishing out. So I would often burst into tears.

Nowadays, it happens less often. More and more because I don't ever really fall into a position where that kind of thing is going to become a problem. I have also learned the lesson that yelling back at someone, or walking away from things, is also a viable technique.

As is violence. Kerrass taught me the proper use of violence. I know that he sometimes regrets teaching me this and sometimes, somewhat rarely, I regret the need to learn it.

But on the beach, that is what I felt. I had fallen to a knee. I was hot, and freezing cold at the same time. I don't know but it felt as though steam was rising from my body. I felt as though I was a long way away, as though I was trying to hear and speak and move but that I was controlling a puppet.

In front of me was a long stretch of beach where the right wall of the beach was a cliff that eventually led up to the lighthouse. Along the beach, the Nilfgaardian sailors were fleeing. Full on retreat, with never a look back.

“Freddie,” Someone said again.

It started to rush back to me then, everything that I had done over the last few moments, minutes really. It hadn't been very long. It all seemed to come back to me in a rush, everything that I had done since I had seen the axe and taken it up in my hands. I had a feeling of dizziness as that time seemed so long ago and yet it had provably happened a matter of seconds ago. I staggered as the two points of view seemed to rush together and collide in my head.

I realised that I was trying to force myself back to my feet and I fell again, using the axe as a crutch. Which was when I realised that I was still holding it. It was covered in gore, slime and all kinds of other things that would normally be contained in a human body. I groaned in a combination of pain and horror as more of the memories of the moment came back to me in a rush.

“Freddie,” Someone said calmly, a little closer this time. “Freddie, it's done. You can come back now.”

It had all seemed so safe in amidst the rage. I had an enemy that I could face. I had a tool that could be used for their destruction and in the meantime I could destroy them at my leisure. I had an enemy and I was going to end them. It was all so simple, so safe and so easy.

I longed for that feeling again. I wanted it. I wanted those enemies that fled from me to come back. To come back take their punishment like the men that they claimed to be. I wanted that safe blanket of security but it had gone from me now and those tears of frustrated anger were coursing down my cheeks. I was shaking again.

I was holding onto the axe with a death grip and I was shaking with the effort. I was sweating, breath coming in short gasps and I couldn't calm myself. I just couldn't.

And then it happened.

It all just stopped and I was myself again. Drenched to my skin in sea water, sweat and blood that was drying to my skin. I still felt the after effects of everything. I was still shaking and I could barely lift my eyelids but I could breathe again. I could think at the very least.

“Freddie? Are you with us?”

Speaking was exhausting. It took, what felt like, an immense amount of effort to get anything out. The prospect of thinking what I wanted to say, constructing a sentence and then finding the breath in order to say that sentence, was almost too much for me to manage. So when I did speak. It took a long time to say what I wanted to say.

“I don't...know.” I managed after a while. “What?” I managed a little later when it occurred to me that that answer was a little bit.... it didn't entirely answer all the questions that I had been asked.

“Freddie,” It was Kerrass' voice. Of course it was Kerrass. “Freddie, we need you to let go of the axe so that we can get to you.”

I looked down at the axe and realised that it was still in my hand. I don't know why but I felt as though I had dropped it. I couldn't remember why I thought that but I did. I started to weep again as my body refused, absolutely refused to let go of the axe.

“I can't,” I wailed. “I want to. I can't.”

“It's ok Freddie. I'm nearly there.”

I wept some more and then I felt a hot hand on mine. I flinched. But Kerrass carefully took the axe out of my hands and passed it to someone out of my line of sight.

“Oh Flame Kerrass, what did I do?” I was looking in my blood covered hands in horror. Horror doesn't seem as though it's the right word. It doesn't seem to convey the right thing that I was feeling.

“You saved us Freddie. You saved us.”

I fell. Kerrass caught me. Just as he always has.

I woke a little later....

No that's not right. Saying that I woke suggests that I had fallen asleep. It was closer to the fact that I lost awareness of myself. I had lost consciousness I suppose. I moved and walked but I didn't take part.

I was propped against a rock and I stared into space until Ciri approached. “Here.” She told me. “Svein said that they occasionally used to give this stuff to Sigurd after he had had a Warp Spasm. He said it helps.”

I remember staring at her hopelessly until she put the bottle to my lips and helped me to drink it.

“I'm sorry.” I managed.

“What for?” She asked. She seemed a combination of astonished at the apology and aghast at my feeling the need to give it. “That was amazing. I didn't know you had it in you. I should be apologising to you”

Speaking was so much effort then that my head sank.

I was conscious of very little. Someone came and helped me bathe. I suspect it was Kerrass but it could have been anyone. I was found some clean clothes. I have no idea where I got them from but they were Skelligan. I found the woollen trousers itchy and the shirt coarse. But they were warm and above all, they were clean. After that I was wrapped in a cloak and a blanket.

The drink that Ciri had given me helped. I felt it warming me from the inside out and I slowly started to come back to myself.

Eventually I was helped to my feet and we, as a group, started to move further down the beach and climb away from the shore.

Kerrass walked with me, plainly ready to catch me if I couldn't make it. He had found my spear and I was using it as a walking stick to keep me moving. He did not make a joke about keeping it.

So it was that we saw the final destruction of the Nilfgaardians that had sailed against us. We had killed many, but we did nothing compared to the casualties that the Skeleton Ship inflicted upon them. We had steered one of the large ships until it beached against the shoreline. The other had, automatically turned away from the shore in an effort to come back round and contribute towards the Wave-Serpent's death but that had steered the thing into the way of the Ice flows.

As we walked off the beach and up the hill we watched as more men jumped overboard onto the ice. You could see the ice forming in the ship, the massive sails slowly becoming still before they began to shine in the weak sunlight, Huge icicles forming off the ends of the cross-beams before the added weight started to pull the ropes down and shatter the beams. In the end, the sheer weight of the icy sea shattered the ship in the same way that a mailed gauntlet would crush a wooden toy.

The fleeing men were quick, but the combination of the cold, that they weren't equipped to deal with the cold let alone run across the ice meant that they too were caught. We saw many men slip, fall and then struggle to get back to their feet.

The smaller ship that had dropped off the men that had assaulted the Wave-Serpent was unable to get off the shoreline. Most of their crew had fled north under..... after my attack and so it was impossible for the ship to get clear. The icy water battered the thing to death against the rocks that were beneath the shoreline. The same thing happened with the remains of the ship that Ciri had sailed onto the shore.

The fourth ship who had had more time to see what was happening had carried on sailing down the shoreline towards the old Clan Drummond harbour at Holmstein.

The remains of the men that fled north towards the lighthouse eventually froze to death. Apparently they ran out of shoreline to flee down and tried to make it around the headland around the lighthouse. This didn't work so they found themselves stranded when the Skeleton Ship got too close.

As for us. We got away from the shoreline and away from where the Skeleton Ship's power would be at it's height. We still had our captive mage who was tied and gagged. Both Ciri and the survivors of the Wave-Serpent wanted their way with him and he walked dejectedly. Hoping for a reprieve. I wanted no part of that.

We built a huge fire, burning driftwood by the armful as we watched the final death of the Wave-Serpent. We sat against rocks, logs and whatever else we could find as we let the fire, built from driftwood and the remains of an old sheep hut that was nearby. It was huge and we could use it to fight off the cold for a little bit longer as we watched the final destruction of that brave ship.

Men wept and I wept with them. We were seeing the passing of something great.

Not many had survived. Only one of which was unwounded and that man was Thorvald. He wept bitterly at this massive injustice as he saw it. Many men had thrown themselves or their shields between him and danger so that when the end came, he could pray for them, tell their tales and care for the wounded that had survived. So he wept and railed at the men that he worked on, asking them why they had allowed themselves to be hurt and to die for him.

They had no answer of course. There was no decision, no order to that effect. But the men of the Wave-Serpent had spoken and Thorvald had made it to shore.

Svein was another survivor. He had fought clear and was covered in injuries but his eyes were hollow and blood shot. He was a man that was going through the motions now. He set sentries and ordered people around but he seemed to be broken. Tears were streaming down his face and into his beard but he did not wipe them away, as to acknowledge them was to give them strength. I couldn't blame him. He had lost another brother in the last mad charge to shore. Ursa had died under the arrows of the enemy. Shot down when he couldn't move or fight back. One of those men who had died to the lottery of the rain of arrows.

Kar had survived. He was bitterly angry and almost inconsolable about the death of another of his elder brothers. He kept insisting that it should have been him that died under the hail of arrows. That Ursa should have died at the hands of a hero like himself. That he should have died in a contest of champions, not according to some lucky arrow shot. He wept and raged and stomped around.

There were many more that were dead.

Perrin the archer hadn't made it to shore. Instead he had stood on the remaining deck of the Wave-Serpent and fired arrow after arrow into the charging Nilfgaardians. Arrow after Arrow as the Waves overcame the dying ship. Eventually he had run out of arrows just before the sea claimed him.

Kunnr the Shining, son of Hlaf Boar-biter had finally died. The men told us of him. They told us about how he had been the first ashore and had stood as a bulwark against the oncoming enemy. About how his axes had drunk deeply of enemy blood before he was finally pulled down by numbers and pushed underwater. They could not kill him otherwise. He was pulled off his feet and held underwater until he drowned. The survivors said many things about that. About how he had been dead since facing the Ice-Giants. About how the life of him had been stolen then and that since then he had been looking for a way to die. That in dying he had saved the lives of others.

I can't answer for any of that.

All told, five members of the crew of the Wave-Serpent came back. Only five of them. Svein, Kar, Thorvald and two other men that I had never known. Five men and their Captain.

Because, in the same way that the men had ensured that Thorvald lived. They had also ensured that Helfdan lived too. He was hurt, no doubt about that. He had scars from arrow wounds and the striking of blades. But he lived. He had said nothing as Svein had taken charge and led us inland. Then he stood so that he could watch the last moments of his ship's life. As the remaining fires burnt her down to the waterline.

He was like a statue as he did that. Standing on the edge of a small ridge as we waited for the sun to set on the last voyage of the Wave-Serpent. He took food when it was brought to him and allowed Thorvald to see to his injuries. But other than that, he watched his ship being battered against the shore and the rocks that lay there, resting up against the line of the beach.

We all did. It just seemed right that we bear witness to something like that. There were tears and stories. But no laughter. Men that cheer the good death of fellow warriors had been struck to tears by the loss of their ship.

It was hypnotic. In the same way that men stand and watch as a fire will burn. Staring into the depths of the flame and watching the eddies and currents of the heat turn wood into charcoal and then eventually into ash.

I looked at that part of the ship that I had taken shelter, just a few short hours ago. You could tell because of all the arrows that were embedded in the hull. The feathers of which would first catch light in the flames with a bright yellow flare before the wood itself would carry the fire further down the haft and into the hull of the ship.

I was astonished that the ship still carried the fire. It was bitterly cold and with the water around the Wave-Serpent turning to ice as we sat there and watched it. It seemed impossible that the wood would be dry enough to burn. But burn it did.

Burn it did.

From the arrows and fireballs of the Nilfgaardians. Which I suppose gives a possible explanation for the continuing fire. That it was magical fire. It seemed fitting though. I didn't know her for long but it seemed wrong that the Wave-Serpent would just be another wreck against the shore of Skellige. That it should just be another hulk that would later be stripped of the larger timbers by local villagers and fisherman as a foundation for a house at best, or larger fires at worst.

It seemed right that this was her fate as well, rather than for her to freeze and shatter in the grips of the Skeleton ship's ice.

The other sailors had a theory that they talked about as we all watched the ship burn. They said that it was the soul of the Wave-Serpent that saw to the fact that it was still burning. That it was that soul that had kept us warm and protected over the many days, weeks and years of her sailing. That what we were watching, really watching was the funeral pyre, not just of the Skeleton Ship but also of all the men that had died during the mission. Whether standing on her deck or elsewhere. All those men that had been lost over the years to cold, illness or enemy action. It was their funeral pyre too and just as we wanted the ship to keep burning, it occurred to me that those men also wanted the ship to keep burning.

I looked up and down the line of the men that had survived and it seemed to me that I saw some of the others that had lost their lives standing with us with the campfire at their backs and the flames of the Wave-Serpent reflected in their faces.

I saw Ivar standing there. Huge, hairy and ancient, his face drawn with age and grief. Perrin with his crooked teeth and calculating expression that betrayed more shrewd intelligence than many men who claim to education. I saw Haakon with his long, solemn face. Ursa, wrapped in a bear skin looking indomitable.

I thought of them all as I turned back to watch the flames as they finally started licking up towards the figurehead. I remembered their stories, much more than I have been able to record here and all the things that they had done for me. That they had given their lives for my quest was only part of that and there were hot tears on my face as I thought of that fact.

As night fell, just as the sun began to set in the west and the Skeleton Ship was out of sight, having finally moved away due to the lack of victims, Helfdan turned and beckoned Ciri over to where Kerrass and I were sat together watching the remains of the Wave-Serpent smoulder. Then he led us a little way away from the group. Not far, but enough so that we could speak privately.

“I wanted to thank the three of you.” He said carefully. He didn't appear cold but massive shudder's were assaulting him. He would close his eyes, grit his teeth and just wait for it to pass.

Ciri put her hand on his shoulder. “Helfdan?”

“I'm....” He paused as another shudder struck him. “Just a little overwhelmed thank you.”

Ciri nodded and pulled her hand back.

“I wanted to thank the three of you.” Helfdan said again. “Without you I, and the rest of my men would be dead.”

“Without us, you would all be alive.” I told him. Ciri gave me a withering, disapproving look but I ignored her.

Helfdan stared at my collarbone for a few moments. “No.” He told me. “Our lives were decided long before we were born. Long before we met and our deaths were written there as well. We could have fled from that finality if we wanted but the ending would have found us nonetheless.” Then he frowned slightly. “I thought you knew this of Skelligans.”

I sighed. “I do.” I told him. “But I struggle with that philosophy.”

He nodded. “It is one of the weaknesses of Continental folk. It means that they often flee when they should be atacking. Thinking that we decide our own fate is the parent of fear, confusion and indecision. But that is not why I came to the three of you tonight.”

“Oh?” Kerrass asked.

“I will start with Ciri...” He shuddered and gritted his teeth as he did so, “... if I may.”

Ciri seemed to kind of square her shoulders and then nodded.

“Ciri...” He shuddered again. “I have hated you for many years.” He told her. “And I have been afraid of you for even longer. I feel it is only fair to tell you of this.”

“I know.” She told him. “I am sorry for all that happened.”

He waved her off. “We were children. I was.... I am strange and it is the nature of children to laugh, or fear, that which is different to themselves.”

“We should not have been so cruel.” She told him.

“But that is the lesson of time, distance and experience.” He told her. “I am not here to talk about the past though. It is, literally, the past and does neither of us any good to dwell on it. Instead, I am here to tell you that I no longer fear you. Nor do I hate you. I find, now, that I have more in common with you than I ever thought possible.”

Ciri couldn't look at him anymore. I think he was staring at her shoulder but she couldn't look at his face. His deadpan, emotionless delivery made the statement more profound somehow.

“I would call you friend if I can.” He told her. “I know that I am a lowly Hersir, not even a ship's Captain anymore and that you are the Empress. But I would like to think of you as my friend if you will allow it.”

“Of course.” She seemed aghast that he was asking that. “Of course you can.”

He nodded in the same way that you or I might nod if we were ticking something off our “to do” list.

“I would like to think the same of the two of you, Witcher and Scholar.” He told the pair of us.

“I would be honoured.” Kerrass told him while I tried to get past the lump that was forming in my throat.

“As would I.” I sputtered.

There was a pause as he turned to look down at where the Wave-Serpent burned. You could just about see the silhouette of the Figurehead against the flames.

“When we get back to Kaer Trolde.” He said. “I am going to order a new ship built. I will not be land-bound for longer than I can possibly manage it. I'm not sure what I would do with myself apart from anything else.”

He turned back to face the three of us.

“I know that the three of you are important people in your own worlds. That none of you can stay. The Empire needs it's Empress and the wrong of what happened to your sister, Scholar, needs to be righted. But I want all three of you to know that although you started this voyage off as my passengers, you finished the journey as part of my crew. I cannot think of you as being anything else now.”

Ciri smirked. “I thought that women couldn't serve as crews of longships.”

“That is the tradition.” Helfdan agreed. “But since when have you cared about traditions?” A small smile tugged at his lips. “Or have I for that matter? The men will accept it anyway. You have shed blood for us and that is worth more than any kind of tradition.”

“I cannot be obligated.” Kerrass began but again, Helfdan waved the objection away.

“It doesn't work like that and I relinquish that right anyway. I require no oaths, I never do although I do not prevent people from doing that if it is important to them. I might ask for help but if it is impossible then you should not trouble over it. Instead I will make an oath. If any of you need a longship Captain and a crew, then we will be there for you. I swear it.”

“Be careful Helfdan.” Ciri warned despite being moved by what she heard. “Although I will admit enjoying the image of you and your crew turning up to court to dispense some justice.”

“I would like to see that.” I commented and Kerrass chuckled.

Helfdan did not.

“I once told you that I would feast you in my halls.” Helfdan told us. “That is still true when this is all over. The other thing is this. All members of my crew have homes in my village. When we return, you can choose where you want your house and we will build it for you. You may never be there. You may never see it again. But you will have a refuge there should you need some solitude...” He looked at Kerrass, “Some peace,” He told Ciri, “Or somewhere more private to rest.” He told me. “The three of you will always have a home, near my home. There will always be welcome, good food, a warm hearth and people who love you.”

“Thank you Helfdan.” Ciri said.

“It's been a long time since I've had a home.” Kerrass commented, clearly a little moved as well.

“Then it is high time that someone gave you one.” Helfdan told him.

“Thank you Helfdan.” I liked the thought. My brain went on imaginative fancies of a honeymoon location for Ariadne and I to get away from it all. I liked the simplicity of the thought.

“Is it...” Ciri began before starting again. “Is it acceptable for a crew member to hug her Captain?”

Helfdan shuddered violently. He seemed to wait patiently for it to subside. “A short one,” he told her.

After the, very short embrace, he walked away to stand in front of the fire. Ciri using the moment to wipe her eyes.

“Listen to me,” Helfan said. “All of you, listen to me and look at me.”

It took a moment. There were only a few of us but most of those few had tears in their eyes and sadness in their hearts. Our ears were blocked by thoughts that we did not want and grief that we could not bear. So it took a while for us all to look at him. Ciri, Kerrass and I were the easy targets there as we had just been part of a conversation with him but some of the others took some time to come back down to land.

“I don't suppose,” Helfdan began, “That someone managed to grab my mead-horn from the wreckage did they?”

There was a long pause. “I did actually.” Svein said rising and moving to the small pile of bags and luggage that had been salvaged. The thing he pulled out was not a small object, not a standard drinking horn or anything quite so.... ordinary. This was, at the same time, much more brutal, large and.... I want to say primal. There was no ornamentation on it, no leather straps or jewelled workings. It was not smooth or polished. But it was a horn.

“Now,” Helfdan took the horn from Svein's hands. “Did anyone keep any mead?”

There was some looking around before Kar sighed and stood up. “Yes.” He said. “Of course I have some mead.”

Svein glared at him.

“What?” Kar asked. “I thought we might need it in a little while.” He handed the sack over.

“And you were right.” Helfdan told him as the mead was poured into the huge horn, rather carefully, by Svein. Helfdan waited until the mead was poured before he tore his eyes his burning ship.

“I want you all to listen to me.” He said. “Some of this, I have just told our outlander Crew-mates.”

There was some cheering and jeering as the men caught onto the nuances of what Helfdan had just said. Helfdan waited for the noise to subside before he spoke again.

“In the morning,” he began, “we will find some horses and set off towards Kaer Trolde to see to the ending of our mission and tell the Queen what has happened. I suspect that there will be blood.”

The men nodded grimly.

“But after that, I mean to go to Skurl the Ship-wright and order us a new ship built. That will, I suspect, take him a while until he gets it right according to our specifications. So it will be next year, the next season, before we can properly take the measure of this new ship. We will take the time to get to know her, we will even grow to love her and we will work hard with her until she sings to us, sings to our tune and the seas themselves will tremble at the sound of her oars.”

There was a muted growl of agreement.

“I look forward to meeting that lady.” Helfdan said reflectively. “But she has a hard road ahead of her. Because first of all, we must forgive her. She will have committed no crime, she will have done us no wrong, but still we will have to learn to forgive her. We must forgive her for that most basic of crimes. That being the fact that she is not the Wave-Serpent.

“But we will grow to love her, whoever that unnamed ship will be. She will not be the same when we meet her. She will never have sheltered us from the storm. She will never have ridden the waves or carried us from enemies that we could not defeat. She will not have fought beyond the endurance of any lesser ships in order to keep us safe and to carry our blades to different shores. She will not have kept us warm, or seen to our ills. She will not know the thrill of people seeing her on the skyline and quaking with fear.

“We must teach her how to do that. We must teach her the joy of being a ship and we must teach her what it is like to have a crew that loves her.

“Just as the Wave-Serpent taught all of us everything that she knew.”

I felt the lump in throat then. Even though I had only known the Wave-Serpent for a short time, she had become real to me. I had not realised it until Helfdan had spoken but that was what was happening. I was grieving.

“The Wave-Serpent did all of those things. She sheltered us from the cold. She carried us through the storm and she put us where she intended us to be. Every single time. And make no mistake, she put us on the beach. We helped her, but she put us there. She carried us to shore and even while she lay dying, she was still protecting us from the cold and the arrows and the waves with their blades of ice.”

He stopped talking for a bit, no longer able to keep his eyes from looking down at the stricken ship. “She was my mother.” He said quietly. “She was my mother and my first lover. She was my sister and aunt and greatest friend. I will miss her. I will miss her, even when I stand at the tiller of the new ship that will be built, I will still miss the Wave-Serpent.

“The men, and woman,” his eye glinted slightly, “that have sailed the Wave-Serpent are now bound in fellowship and comradeship. We, who have sailed aboard her and with her, know something that no-one else will ever know. We were the sailors and warriors of the Wave-Serpent and our enemies trembled in fear at our coming.”

He turned away and looked back to where the flames continued to burn the figurehead.

“They say that the ships that die in battle are sailed to the next world by those who have sailed upon them. I hope that this is true. Just as I will hope to sail upon her again when my time comes. There is some comfort there I think. So for now, I give her to those men who have died in this journey.”

He raised the drinking horn.

“And soon, very very soon, the people that killed her will answer for it.”