(Warning: Someone is killed horribly in this chapter. Freddie warns you about it just before it begins)

There are a number of different cliches in the world.

If you read a lot, or go to plays and sit in theatres and listen to people writing songs or telling tales, there are quite a few of them. You can even track a few of them down through history and I have noted a number of them that occur in the real world. That there are some cliches that you just cannot get away from.

This is because cliches are cliches for a reason and there is little that we can do to escape that. There are the famous ones like, if a man loses control of the wagon that he is driving and that that wagon falls off, even a small cliff then there is always going to be one lone wheel that manages to roll away. Wherever possible, that wheel will be on fire.

Wizards are always old, wizened men with beards. Not necessarily long beards but there are always beards. At some point, someone told a magic user that wisdom was exhibited by having facial hair and ever since then, it has been a prevalent trend.

In comparison, Sorceresses are always young, beautiful and haughty. That is not a cliche, it is based on very real fact. But it has led to a general belief that in order to be powerful, you must also be beautiful.

Older men will always look down on younger ones and will express their displeasure by clearing their throats and turning away pointedly.

Over and over again, grizzled hero types, experienced men of the road and warfare will take younger, more naive and less experienced warriors and fighters under their wing before telling them to do something that, on the surface, looks really stupid and that it might result in serious injury or leave the younger one branded as a traitor and a particularly stupid one at that. And the older man will always look at the younger and say “you’re just going to have to trust me.”

And never once, does the young and inexperienced man, go ‘no, you know what? That looks like a stupid plan and is bound to get both of us killed. So no, I’m not going to do that.’

But many of these cliches are based on fact. They happen and they happen for a reason. People who write plays and stories and poems get together in pubs and bars and talk and meet on the street where they will complain about this story or that story and will talk about how it’s so cliched and that they have to work to avoid those cliches. But the truth is that quite often, the world is really like that.

For example.

There is a moment in a lot of these scenes, whether in books or plays, where the hero is sentenced to have something unpleasant done to them by people in authority. Whether that is to be tortured or executed or some kind of medical process that is almost guaranteed to end in someone’s death or dismemberment. The hero sits, alone or with their closest loved ones, in a dark room where they discuss the plot of the story up until that point. They generally agree that everything is awful and that the world shouldn’t have allowed all of this to take place and so on and so on.

If alone, the hero sits, staring into space grimly, sometimes playing with a piece of wood or some other item that they found on the floor.

Then, eventually, when everyone has had enough time to think the thoughts that they have to think, deliver their monologues to the audience or discuss the things that will drive the rest of the plot, a guard will come to the door of the cell or room, will open it and stare at the hero for a long moment.

The moment will stretch on as the weight, the finality of the moment will come home, further emphasised by the pause in the guard's attitudes. Even the guard is aware of the solemn nature of what was going to happen, maybe even sympathising with the hero a little bit as the finality of the coming ordeal settles home over the prisoner.

Then the guard speaks in a flat, hollow voice, laden with doom and warning.

“It is time.” The guard says.

The prisoner nods. Then they pause, just long enough to allow the audience or the reader to believe that something else is going to happen. Maybe the guard will need to wander over and help the prisoner to their feet. Maybe the prisoner will struggle despite seemingly having given in or otherwise become resigned to their fate. The moment stretches and then the prisoner takes a deep breath and climbs to their feet.

If there are other people in the room, one will clap the prisoner on the shoulder. A few more will shout formless words of encouragement. What is said is not important, it is the sound that is the important part. If there is a woman present, she will weep, often to be restrained by another male person, before she will turn away before, heroically, forcing herself to watch the bravery of the departing person.

By the way, women don’t do that. Not in my experience anyway as I have seen a number of these things. Women know to be strong in the moment. Their tears will be shed before this event. Tears of rage beforehand, tears of sadness after. Or at least, that’s my experience of having seen this scene in real life. But during the climactic moment, they stay strong because they know that the departing person needs that strength so that they can be strong themselves.

The prisoner will nod again, nodding his thanks to the other people in the cell who all hush respectfully for the person going out to face their doom before they depart, out the door and into the harsh, unforgiving daylight.

It’s a cliche. It’s one of the famous ones. You can, probably, all think of times when you have read that scene, or seen that scene on the stage. You might even have turned to your friends and said ‘Flame but do they have to do that same cliched scene?’ but here’s the thing. Cliches are cliches for a reason. And sometimes, that’s how it happens.

The Schattenmann was dying.

He was fighting it and fighting it hard. The last time I had seen him without his antlers on his head, he was doing the heaving, angry sobbing of a man that was struggling to breathe. Fighting for every breath to get around the latest coughing fit. He was in relatively high spirits but you could tell that he was afraid.

He said something to me then, something that I have kept with me and would hope to take with me so that I can consider it later.

“I’m not afraid of death,” he told me. “But I am afraid of dying.”

That might be one of the stupidest things that I have ever heard, or one of the most profound and I cannot tell which it is.

But the three of us, Stefan, Kerrass and I, had been gathered in my little pavilion and told to wait. After some gentle teasing about the fact that I got a Pavillion to myself and they got a small hollow in the depths of the giant heart tree root system, Kerrass settled down next to me while Stefan paced, not saying anything. He hadn’t looked at either of us since he had been shown into the pavilion, had just scanned the area, not looking up before he found a small patch of floor that wasn’t otherwise being used by anyone or anything else, and then he just paced. Three steps one way before taking three steps back the other way.

We were also joined by another three potential hopefuls. Some of you might have been encouraged by the increase in the number of potential candidates. Men who might be the replacement for the vessel of the Schattenmann. I was not. Over the intervening couple of days, I had worked myself up into a frenzy of expectation. I had wanted to work at coming to terms with the fact that I was never going to see Ariadne again, or Emma or Mark and that Kerrass and I would be parting ways, probably for the final time.

So a strange kind of pride had seeped into my behaviour. I was going to be the next vessel of the Schattenmann and as such, pride would not allow me to consider these other three men as being remotely worthy.

One was a bard and a minstrel. He was convinced of his safety in the coming rites and had commiserated with me and the others thoroughly. He was very good-looking and would talk, quite a bit, about how he was looking forward to a proper bath with some properly scented oils and about how he was going to write an epic poem about his journey and about the number of dryads that he had slept with.

“Obviously,” he declared sidelong to me. “In the finished draft I shall only have slept with one, supernaturally good looking one, and she and I would have set the forest alight with the passion of our loving.”

“Is that so?” I enquired, preferring the solitude at that point.

He played me a bit of the song as he had already started working on it. I was sickened to discover that he was actually really good. This is not as surprising as you might think. They have to be quite good in order to make a living. Untalented men of this kind either starve to death, find another profession or find themselves a rich widow to seduce and marry.

Another was a woodcutter from a nearby village although he came from the other side of the Black Forest than the one we had entered. He was absolutely mortified by the entire circumstance. Terrified that he had taken his axe to cut down trees when the trees were so important to ‘those nice green-skinned ladies sir. I mean theys were so nice to me and I’ve been cuttin’ them trees down all me life sir. I means they say that theys ok with it but I don’t know. I just don’t know.’

I had to really guard myself with the poor man. I’ve said it myself on more than one occasion, that education does not mean intelligence just as lack of education does not mean that you are stupid. But in this case, I don’t know if he was scared or intimidated or just overwhelmed by everything that was going on around him. But in the state that I was in where I was forcing myself to prepare for the coming ordeal, I convinced myself that this man would be unable to cope with being the Schattenmann. He just wasn’t clever enough for it. Looking back now, I had clothed myself in the arrogance and the stupidity of my station and my education. But I was confident as to the fact that this person wasn’t going to get chosen.

Then there was a fighter and his story was the most interesting of the three. He was a soldier, sent to escort a young noble. The noble had been insistent that all of the stories about the Black Forest were “utter poppycock” and had set out to prove the stories false. As is the way with such matters, the noble soon found out that the stories were absolutely true and why a good amount of superstition exists in the first place. The soldier was loyal though and had stayed behind to hold off the attacker while the overstuffed, overpaid idiot that had tried to ride a horse into thick woodland, rode off, leaving half of his soldiers behind. Others had fled after their lord while still others had stayed and fought. For reasons of their own, the dryads in that area had kept this one alive. He refuted the claim that he was the prettiest of the lot on the grounds that he was too old for that. But he had spent time in the settlement before coming here. He was… tired looking.

The guard seemed to be a good man, he had the dark humour of a man that has suddenly got first-hand evidence of just how little the nobility thought of them and was generally at peace with the world. He reasoned that he had died back in that clearing with his friends and that everything after that, the love of a few dryads and the stay here in the heart of the forest, was just a bonus before he went to whatever came next.

Kerrass and I sat on the bed. Stefan paced. The bard plucked at the strings of his Lute (another cliche that is based on a lot of truth. Bards like to carry instruments that are versatile and leave their voices free to perform the rest of their work.) The soldier sat on the floor, watching Stefan pace with a strange smile on his face. I got the feeling that he was amused at the church soldier. The woodsman was kneeling in the corner and praying, clearly terrified out of his skull.

I couldn’t blame him.

Everything that had to be said, had been said. Everything that there was to be done, had been done. All there was left now was the waiting for the Schattenmann to croak his last… or do whatever it was that was left for him to do. I was a bit unclear as to how this last little bit was supposed to go.

And we waited. Kerrass was fully armed and armoured as a Witcher, the two swords on his back. The guard was wearing a chain hauberk but his swordbelt was empty. The woodcutter was empty-handed and the bard had his lute. My spear and dagger were nearby and it didn’t occur to me to try and use them. Stefan was unarmed and unarmoured. Just wearing a black shirt and some trousers.

Those, and a frown.

Eventually, though, the ultimate moment of time came. The entrance flap to the pavilion was pulled aside and a dryad entered. I had no idea who it was as she wore her full cloak and hood, masking her face. She had a spear and a shield though. She took the time to look at all of us, the sounds of the Woodcutter's prayers were pervasive and seemed to increase in volume.

“It is time.” She said to us before turning and leaving.

Then came a moment that I had not expected. The pause as we all waited for the others to move first. The moment elongated, it stretched and became heavy. Stefan had stopped pacing, the bard had stopped plucking and the woodcutter had stopped pacing. The moment stretched until I felt as though the air would scream from the tension. And I knew what I had to do. Some cliches need to be obeyed after all.

I nodded. To myself if not to anyone else. Then I forced myself to take a deep breath and climbed to my feet.

Kerrass was on his feet next to me. The bard slung his lute onto his back. The soldier climbed to his feet and went to help the Woodcutter that was, himself, frozen in his kneeling position. Stefan fell in somewhere as I walked to the door.

I pushed my way out of the pavilion that had been my home for the last few days and into the twilight of the crater surrounding the Heart Tree.

-

The day immediately after “the Day of the Ant” conversation was a tough one and I found that I largely wanted to be left alone.

That wasn’t going to happen though, much though I might have wanted it to. The dryads were relentless and also, they had their own things going on.

The death of Radovid was not a necessarily unhappy time for the people of Redania. I mean, there must have been some people that were sorry to see him go, those merchants that had banked on his long life, those noble families that had been so strict in their support of the royal family during the war and could therefore expect to suffer the most from the fall of the Redania to Nilfgaard.

Not that that actually happened. It was a peace declaration, but that is an argument for a different day.

But for the vast majority of people, the death of King Radovid, first called Radovid the stern and now that history is becoming more comfortable with the fact that he is gone, now called Radovid the mad, was a good thing. Not least because it led to peace. There is little doubt on the matter that he was a tyrant and not a very nice man. He was the kind of King that convinced the populace that a certain group of people, a certain race or a certain profession, were at fault for everything that was going on in the world. Then he enacted policies to persecute those people and then when he ran out of people to persecute, he chose someone else.

Now here’s the thing. He did that because he knew that he could score political points for those actions. But he also fervently believed in that hatred because he hated those people himself.

I know that it’s getting off-topic but this is something I feel is worth pointing out. Radovid was more evil than the rest of the world gives him credit for and I can prove it. How?

The war was being fought along the Pontar. Radovid had proven, in his admittedly brilliant tactical invasion of Kaedwen during the Winter War, that he had no problem in fighting during the winter. He didn’t care about the normal niceties of war in that regard. War normally waits during the winter and when the first harvests are being sown, but again, that’s a different analysis for a different day.

Modern analysts have been able to point out, correctly, that Radovid had the military strength to strike deep into Nilfgaardian military territory and he could have done a lot of very real damage to the Nilfgaardian offensive capabilities. But he didn’t. Why?

Because his soldiers were too busy persecuting magic users and nonhumans. If he had taken those troops, including the Witch hunters, and sent them to the front, then the Nilfgaardian forces, that were still arranged for a war on two fronts, would have struggled to blunt any Redanian offensive.

But instead of doing that, not only did Radovid not order those troops to the front, he actively deployed more resources to the persecution of the nonhumans. Some people might argue that the Witch-hunters were church troops and therefore would not have fallen under the remit of Radovid’s chain of command. I’m afraid that I don’t agree. A lot of the pretence about Magic users and nonhumans especially was that the magic users, backed up by the coup at Thanedd, and the nonhumans were supporters of the South. It would not have been hard to argue that those troops could have prevented the spread of the Great Sun from coming north.

Which is what all the churchmen that I have spoken to were terrified of in the first place.

But Radovid diverted resources to help with the Pogrom against Non-humans in Redania. And then he died. Many people, including in the military, the noble and merchant classes, were relieved. The peace treaty was signed. Redania became a client kingdom and we all moved on.

I remember that there was a state funeral. A tomb was erected and there was a parade, but I remember no coffin was used as it toured the cities of Redania. But I also remember a general sense of relief and a hope that things would get back to normal. The university opened again, the dwarven smiths and bank branches reopened and life carried on the same way it ever has.

I understand it was different in Temeria. For all his faults, or perhaps because of them, Foltest was loved by his people. It was more that there just wasn’t time to properly mourn their monarch when he died. There was a brewing civil war and then Nilfgaard invaded.

So my little tangent notwithstanding, the dryads were mourning the coming loss of their monarch and it would seem that they were genuinely upset and unhappy that he was going to be dying. But even then, there were certain things that they had to do in this kind of situation and it was these preparations that I kind of watched with a certain amount of bemused interest.

Tables were being set out. I had not seen the dryad attendants of the heart of the Forest gather yet. They had seemed to be a rather practical lot, working or meditating accordingly with food and drink being things that happened when they were free of all of that.

There was also a large bonfire being built. I was now, so used to seeing the light bowls that the dryads used in the place of fire that, other than the fire pit in The Scattenmann’s own tent, this would be the first fire that I had seen in that time. I went to watch it being built at one point and my, ever-present and slightly irritating, guide came to stand next to me.

“A funeral pyre?” I wondered.

“Pretty much,” She told me with a smirk on her face.

“It looks odd though,” I told her. “I mean, I don’t know much about the building of funeral pyres but I have seen a couple and this doesn’t look as though it’s going to get hot enough.”

This was true, there was an almost slapdash arrangement of the sticks that suggest that the heat would be spread out a little evenly. This looked more like a cooking fire than something that would be used to incinerate someone’s body. I said so as well.

“That’s because it is meant to cook things.” She told me. “I mean, primarily it’s meant to cook the other animals that will be slaughtered for the feast, but it will also be the place where we cook the Schattenmann.”

“Wait, what?”

She nodded and I was not entirely certain if I was being teased. It is sometimes hard to tell with her.

“The death of the Schattenmann and the celebration of his rebirth in a new body is the only time we are allowed to use fire to cook things. I mean, I know that it’s not good for you but there is something about food that has been cooked over a proper wood flame with the smoke and the herbs that you can add to the fire that just makes it all that much the better.”

“Hold on, are we talking about… you eat the Schattenmann?”

“Well, yes.”

“Are you having me on?”

She grinned nastily at me.

“But… But that’s cannibalism?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Eating another hummm….”

I was interrupted by her hitting me over the back of the head.

“WE. ARE NOT. HUMAN.” She said it slowly, biting off the words as though I was terminally stupid. “For the last time, we are not human. For all that we are similar, can interbreed and for all it can be distasteful, I would agree, We don’t hunt to kill humans and this is the only time that we actually do eat humans and the old man will already be dead so…”

She shrugged.

“You are, you’re teasing me.

“No.” She said, suddenly more serious. “I am not. His belongings will be passed out among us. Some of them will be sent back to the settlement for those people for whom it might be fitting. The canvas of his tent will be broken down. The clutter will be used elsewhere. And then, after being thoroughly cleaned and prepared for the eating, his body will be moved to the fire where it will be cooked slowly. Then, when it is declared as though it will be ready, it will be divided up into portions. We don’t get much more than a mouthful each.

“Then we increase the heat of the fire, the rest of it for the cooking of the venison and the like will have been cut away and whatever is left, will be burnt until it is ash. That ash closest to where the body of the Schattenmann burned will be laced into some of our medicines, alcohol and narcotics… Don’t worry, you have not drunk any of the leftover Schattenmann and then whatever is left, or deemed unusable for that purpose, will be sewn in the gardens and spread amongst the Schattenmann’s grove. I will admit to not knowing the proper use of ash in the garden but I do know that wherever the ash of the Schattenmann is sown, then the growth rate of the plants nearby increases exponentially.”

“But… But that’s awful.” I protested.

“Is it? I think it’s quite beautiful. That way, none of him is wasted. The Schattenmann’s power then becomes our power and his strength becomes our strength. His wisdom becomes our wisdom. I cannot pretend to understand, all I can say for certain is that this man will be my fourth Schattenmann. This one will not be the worst, not by a long stretch. And I will celebrate his life while I toast the new Schattenmann.

“And for you. It is not an empty gesture. In the days immediately after his death and my one or two mouthfulls of flesh, I will be stronger, more full of energy….”

She looked at me sidelong.

“Randier as well. I become that little bit closer to the best form of myself and when I think about the Schattenmann as he is gone, I will remember that time. The time when I might take a friend or a loved one and we all sit and drink and think and love and… This is not just a time for sadness, it is a time for joy as well and I would not waste them. I would not waste a moment of them. For him as well as for me.”

She gestured and I looked off in the direction that she pointed and I saw the Schattenmann’s vessel. He was being led out and around the tree. He looked like an old man now and he was being helped along by one of his attendants. He was looking around himself as though he was seeing it all for the first time.

“Maybe not for her.” She said sadly.

“How does that work?” I asked. Not really needing to gesture.

“I love the Schattenmann.” She told me. “I love the figure, the Schattenmann, the power, the being, the God. She loves the man and whoever the next Schattenmann will be, it will not be her Schattenmann. It will hit her hard. All of those that love the Schattenman really struggle afterwards and many do not survive. Those that do tend to be leaders among our little subsect of Attendants. Some go back to the Settlement and lead there. But most die afterwards of a broken heart.”

“I didn’t know that was possible,” I commented.

“There you go, being human again. Of course, it’s possible. Elves do it all the time. But in this case, it’s how we prefer to describe it when a dryad commits suicide. They will just walk out into the trees one day and we will never see them again. We think that The Schattenmann takes pity on them in some way. We hope…”

“Gratitude maybe?” I suggested.

“Maybe.”

We turned and walked away. I was being led off to the Sycamore of the Elder for another enlightening and frustrating conversation.

“I just need to ask though.” I began as we walked.

She laughed at me. And that was one of the reasons that I struggled to like her. She laughed at me.

“No,” she said. “If you are the next host of the Schattenmann, you will not be eating a bit of the last one.” She grinned. “That would be cannibalism.”

I told her what she could do with her cannibalism.

Alas that it didn’t quite have the desired effect.

There were lots of other tests, things that I had been prepared for and set up for. I did indeed run through the trees and do some pull-ups on a branch as well as doing some push-ups and a few sit-ups as well as some jumping jacks and something called a plank.

I did not enjoy that last one.

I was also taken out to see the Elder of the Sycamore tree on several occasions. None of those discussions was satisfactory to either me or her. Over and over again she would ask the same question which was “why did I come to the Black Forest?” and over and over again, I did not have an answer. She softened a bit on the back half of our conversations with each other. She scolded me quite a bit for the self-delusion of the matter but at the same time, she was comfortable with the idea that I wasn’t doing it deliberately and so did her best to be charitable.

During that time, I saw the Schattenmann three times. Once, I saw him in his antlered form, striding through the woodland that was described among the attendants as being “The Schattenman’s park.” It was, as I described in the last issue, essentially a small piece of woodland within the greater forest of the Black Forest. The difference here is that there were no beasts here. No monsters or animals. No dryads or people for him to govern or otherwise look after. Here was a place where he could just walk underneath the branches of the trees, listen to the birdsong, the sound of the wind in the leaves and the rain, when it did rain, trickling down through the branches and off the leaves. It was the closest place where he could find peace.

According to a couple of the Attendants I spoke to, that was where he went when he wanted to talk to his vessel, or his host or whatever you want to call it. A place where the two could speak privately. It was also, morbidly, the graveyard of the dryads. Attendants and many of those scouts and warriors from the outskirts that survived to the dryad old age would come here in order to find a tree and join with it.

Some of the outer scouts would have already chosen a tree to join with when that particular time came. But if there was nothing in particular in mind, they could come here and see which particular tree “spoke to them”. Out of some kind of misguided attempt to goad my guide, who had still not been replaced by someone else, I tried to ask her which tree she had chosen. But being somewhat out of my depth, I had not allowed for the fact that she would just take me to the relevant place.

“I will sit there.” She said. “I have tried it out and it is quite comfortable. I will be able to stretch my legs out and fold them against the cramps and the like until the roots will grow around me. And this is the place where I will sleep until the world ends in ice and frost.”

Then she looked at me slyly. “Try it out,” She instructed. “It is quite comfortable.”

I did, and she was not wrong, although I found the exercise to be a little morbid.

She also took me on a tour of some of the other trees that marked the final resting place of this dryad or that one. It was a lot like visiting a mausoleum in Toussaint or one of the better-maintained crypts in the rest of the world. She knew many of them by name and could tell me something about each of them. There was another layer though, which is that I could see the dryad in the trunk of the tree. Still, frozen in time, beautiful women, robbed of their age by the process that had turned them into wood. They sat there, or lay or stood there, asleep, pillowing their head on a branch or a bowl of the tree. They looked peaceful, calm and dare I say, happy.

“We like to think that they are just that,” She told me. “Just asleep. Those dryads that are born human struggle with that a little. I imagine that you, for instance, can imagine few worse fates than to be asleep for the rest of the time given the nightmares that you have.”

I did not stop and ask her how she knew that I had nightmares. I just let her talk.

“But to those of us that were born dryad. We know the real truth of the matter. It is peace, the end of all things. The roots of these trees are all tangled together. You, poor mortal things, you look at the forest and you see all the individual tree trunks. You see the different branches, the leaves and the seeds and you know that they all come from different types of trees and so you tell yourself that all of the trees are separate, individual beings, plants or however you want to describe them.

“But you miss the point. The Black Forest is not made up of all of the different trees, from the mighty trunks that create the canopy far above us, to the heart trees or the trees of the grove. That’s not how it works. It is the other way round. The trees are all part of the one, greater being. The trees are the Black Forest. So that is the hope, that at the end of our lives, as we all come to the end of our existence and we all become part of the trees that we have loved for so long. Then we become part of the tree and so we become part of the Forest. Joining our mothers, our sisters and our lovers from now until the end of all things.

“I like that. There is a poetry to it that appeals to me.”

I nodded, it was not an entirely unpleasant prospect, however, there was no way that I was going to let her get away with that and if I could find an opportunity to annoy this woman, or poke fun at her, then I was going to take it.

“I don’t know.” I said, what happens if you don’t get on with your family?”

She laughed.

Later on, one of the older attendants came to see me and walked me through what was going to happen.

“You will be sent word that the vessel of the Schattenmann is about to pass.” She told me. She was an older woman, but shorter and a little rounder than some of her fellows. Like most of the attendants though, I could only see her face. She had a kind looking face but it had the weight and fatigue of someone who was doing important things that they didn’t want to get wrong.

“At this stage we expect it to happen in a day or two’s time. When we are certain that the end cannot be far away, your fellow potentials, I will not say hopefuls, will be brought to this place.”

“My pavilion?”

“If you like although by that point it will no longer be your pavilion.” She smiled as she said it though so I didn’t take it too much to heart. “Then you will wait until we are ready for you.”

“And by ‘ready for us’ you mean until the Schattenmann meets the ultimate moment.”

“That’s right. Then you will be led from the tent.” She demonstrated and I followed her. You will be guarded and those dryads will be armed. Do not take offence by this but the fear that you and your fellows will be feeling is very real and entirely understandable. More than one man’s courage has broken at the last, causing them to flee. Also, some men that have obviously committed grievous crimes against the forest and hide horrible things in their past, will also be aware that they are heading for the ultimate and final judgement and sometimes try to escape.”

We talked while we walked and she led me towards the heart tree.

“You will be led here.” She said, bringing me to an open area. It was the largest, flattest and above all, clear piece of ground that I had seen since I came to the Black Forest. It was just in front of the great boulder that seemed to be the place of growth for the heart tree. I had wondered if it had not been a boulder, but if it was some kind of seed or bulb for the heart tree, but no one seemed to be able to give me a straight answer on that.

“The six of you will be lined up in no particular order.”

“Do we kneel?”

“Almost always. Some people believe that a man does not kneel before a monarch or a priest and some actively prostrate themselves. In our experience, The Schattenmann doesn’t really care that much as such matters are mortal concerns and do not affect him. But for the people that come here and many of the people watching, kneeling is important.”

“Huh,” I said, unhelpfully.

“There are several things that you should be aware of. This moment is a matter of some important ceremony to most of us. Generally speaking, unless called at the requirement of the Schattenmann, or brought here for other purposes, most of us are quite advanced in our careers and in our lives. Therefore, we can only expect to see this, half a dozen or so times at most. Therefore when it occurs, we all come to see it.”

“Including the people from the settlement?” My heart soared at the prospect of seeing the friendly faces of Chestnut-Shell or Apple-Seed in the crowd.

“No.” She smiled at me, obviously reading my thoughts off my face. “There would not be room apart from anything else.No, just the attendants that make up those of us that actively live in the heart of the forest. Those of us that wear the black robes. That is not to say that the rest of the dryads are unaware of what is happening and they will be having their own rites as well. But I would advise you to put it from your mind. I tell you this in order to warn you as to just how full the area will be and to help you be unintimidated by it all.”

I stared at her for a long time.

“Good job,” I told her with as little inflexion as I could manage.

“Thank you.” She said, obviously missing all of my sarcasm.

“When the six of you, as there are no more potentials to come now, are all lined up, then the Schattenmann will come. He will walk down the line. I would dearly like to warn you as to what will happen in those moments but I am afraid that I simply cannot do that. From the outside observer, all I can tell you is that he comes, and then he will stand and look at each of you in turn.

“What happens after that?”

“It varies. Those that The Schattenmann deems unworthy will die on the spot. Sometimes, it is a simple case of their eyes rolling back in their heads and they are just dead. Sometimes, they die horribly, I will not hide that from you but in our experience, those are the men that have something hidden or carry great evil within themselves.

“Others, those men that are being sent elsewhere, with or without their memories intact, some have roots that grow up all around them that then pull them into the ground. In contrast, others will just collect their belongings before striding off somewhere without a backwards glance or without another word. That is certainly what happens to those Witchers that we have experience of.

“And finally, those men that are chosen to succeed as the next host of the Schattenmann… The former host, with the last of their strength, will remove the crown of antlers from their head and as they do so, the essence of the Schattenmann will leave them. It looks a lot like a cloud of smoke but it is much grainier than smoke and moves in a very similar way to a thick and viscous liquid. The crown will be passed to the new man as the essence passes from the one man to the other in a stream before, at the last, as the smoke is finally absorbed into the new man, the new man puts the crown on his head and the old one falls, dead. There will then be a cheer as well as some grieving for the departed and after which, there will be a feast. Sometimes, those surviving men who have taken part in the ceremony will be invited to stay and partake of some of the food and drink before departing to wherever they go, but that is the rarity.”

“Huh,” I said again. “So, a stream of dust and smoke will flow out of the old man and into the new.”

“Yes,”

“Does it hurt?”

“I cannot possibly tell you although it is an interesting question.”

I nodded and turned away.

The Schattenmann was standing at the edge of the treeline, his crown of antlers stood proud. Even though I knew that he was a man wearing a skull piece, I wanted to look the skull in the eyes rather than where the man’s eyes would be. We looked at each other for a moment before the Schattenmann turned and walked back into the trees.

I had difficulty sleeping that night as well. There was nothing that could be changed by the need to sleep. I was not going to be more eloquent or more determined to resist the Schattnemann’s advances. Nor was I less likely to be chosen if I was fatigued. The enormous weight of what was about to happen was pressing down on me and I was consumed with a desire to get it over with. I wanted it to be done.

Then I laughed.

Long time readers will remember that time that I was consumed in a day’s service to Jack where he showed me the fear of what happens just before a person dies. I was the person about to be executed on several of those instances, both in these worlds and inside others as well, worlds that were barely recognisable as being anything like our own, but the emotions are all the same.

And one of the things that would be similar, regardless of where, when or who I was. There would always be a moment when I just wanted the entire thing to be over. I just wanted it to be done and now, that was what was happening. The last night before my life would change forever. The thought that I might be wrong and that something else would happen, that someone else might be chosen, was not even remotely considered. I had convinced myself that I was going to be the next vessel of the Schattenmann now and that there was nothing else that could be done about it.

And I wanted it over now.

So I laughed. I felt like a condemned man, but still, I could not sleep. I tried, I did everything in good faith. I lay on the bed for a good amount of time and stared at the roof of the tent, I paced, and I did some of the exercises that Kerrass had taught me that you can do in a confined space. But none of it worked. Having sleepless nights is not entirely an unknown factor in my life, but normally, I would read or write notes on recent events or something to the equivalent of all of that.

But even that seemed a little bit pointless at that point in time.

It was not that late, as these things go when one of the dryads knocked to request entry.

I don’t know if I’ve ever described this before, but it is not uncommon to hang a small board of wood next to the entrance of a tent for people to knock on in order to request entry. So when someone says that they knocked on the door of a tent, this is what they are really describing.

I called out the permission to enter and the woman, not my normal guide but just another one of the interchangeable dryads in their shapeless black robes.

“Good,” she said, looking me up and down. “You are awake. The Schattenmann is calling for you.”

“Is it…” I began as I walked toward her, feeling almost relieved that all the suspense and waiting might finally be over.

“No.” She interrupted. “He still has some living in him. Not much but some.”

I nodded, fighting off the strange disappointment that seemed to well up in me. I pulled my boots on and followed her out of the door of the tent.

The clearing around the heart tree was a strange and ethereal place, the white, silvery light that emanated from the huge fire bowls that were set up all around the clearing, bathed the area in this strange, spectral light. It was enough to leave me wondering if this was how Elves see the world.

Or Wraiths.

That was a less pleasant thought and I did my best to squash that thought as soon as it was possible.

Dryads were gathering now. As uncomfortably vast as the clearing around the heart tree was, it still surprised me just how many dryads there were around the place. But more were coming from the surrounding camps. For the first time, it occurred to me that the settlement that we had come through might not be the only one of its kind.

But there were more and more of them around the place. Lying on the ground on camping mats, some gathering in small circles over a communal light bowl or a cooking stone where they heated water for tea or cooked some food for themselves. They spoke in hushed voices that reminded me that this tree, this entire clearing, was a holy place for these dryads. People behave in the same way in the cathedral in Novigrad. The hushed tones of people that don’t want to break the silence, don’t want to call attention to themselves or break the spell that everyone is under.

They stopped when I passed them. Some pointed or gestured with their heads as I passed, moving through the small gatherings as quietly as I could so as not to interfere. I did though, and even though they kept their voices to a whisper, I could still hear them.

“That’s him.” They said.

I felt myself kind of hunch in and the desire to raise an absent hood or to try and turn up the collar of my clothes so that I could try and hide behind them was powerful.

There were more dryads waiting outside the tent of the Schattenmann. Standing around mostly. Some chanted something in low voices while others spoke quietly and softly. Still, others were swaying as though in some kind of low breeze.

They parted for us. Not that I could possibly have felt more uncomfortable but there you go. I was shown into the tent.

Fortunately, the insides of the tent broke a cliche. I do not know how I would have felt if the place was gloomy, smoky or otherwise dimly lit. Instead, the fire pit was burning brightly with a small stack of dead wood nearby that was there to keep the fire going. The light bowls around the walls were well fuelled and as such, there were no shadows flickering and the smoke from the firepit was sucked into the hole in the ceiling so that it didn’t fog the room.

The only thing that was there was the smell. Sick rooms give off a smell and I don’t know what it is. Various theories have been suggested as to what it might be. Medicine, a particular brand of soap, the dying body letting loose its grip on its bowls, I don’t know. But the fact that when I entered that tent, I smelled that same smell from a man who had not seen ordinary human soap or clothing or even blankets for at least seven years…

They say that death has a smell. I don’t know the answer to that. But I do know that sick beds and the beds of the dying have a particular smell. People fight it off with various things. Lavender is the most common one, or the flowers that people bring for sick people are another.

But the smell is always the same.

I have been in many of these rooms in my time with Kerrass. It’s not nice, never pleasant and when you are not part of the proceedings yourself, people always look up at you with a crazy hope in their eyes. As though they are begging you to deny the inevitable. Even with relatives that are ancient, senile and horribly, horribly sick. Those kinds of people where, being honest, death will come as mercy. The people there will look up at you with a desperate hope that you might be able to fix something. In Kerrass’ case, he might, somehow, be magically able to say that this person might not be afflicted with the bite of a poisonous beast after all.

I was reminded of the day of my Father’s death to the point where I looked around for my family.

Sure enough, The Schattenmann was not dead yet. In fact, he looked pretty good for a man that was dying. He was still sitting on his throne and the most that could be said of him was that he was possibly wrapped against the cold a little more thoroughly. His face was pale and spots of colour danced in his cheeks but beyond that, he looked as though he was doing quite well.

His two attendants were there. One was mixing something Alchemical while the other was sitting near the throne. She was holding the Schattenmann’s hand but other than that she wasn’t really doing anything.

It was an odd tableau. The Schattenmann gestures towards a stool that had been set aside for me.

“No weapons today?” He wondered.

I was startled as I realised that I had left them behind, suddenly feeling their lack of weight in my belt and on my back before I realised which way my mind was going.

“There didn’t seem to be a great deal of point.” I told him, sitting down.

He smirked at that.

“You wanted to see me.” He told me.

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did.” He held his hand out for the cup that the Alchemist put into his hand before nodding towards her in gratitude.

“Actually,” I began, having been given a moment to collect my thoughts, I wanted to speak to the other you.”

He nodded and pulled his hand from the grip of his lover. He downed the contents of the cup and leaned his head back.

The shadows deepened.

I would have been happier if something more dramatic had happened like a gust of wind blew the entrance of the tent open or the flames in the firepit guttered and blew up or something similar. But instead, all that can be said is that the shadows seemed to lengthen and deepen.

He leaned his head back, resting it on the back part of his throne as though he was kind of settling in for a bit of a nap in his chair. The flickering light from the flame seemed to heighten the shaded parts, his beard seemed to lengthen and his eyes seemed to hollow out so that instead of being eyes, they were just pools of shadow.

One of the two attendants came and offered him the horned crown but the hand lifted up from the arm of the chair and waved her off.

And there was a different presence there. For a while, I desperately looked to see if something had changed. I wanted there to be something different, either in the man or in the air around us. I needed something to be different. But nothing was there.

“Why?” I wondered aloud. “I don’t want this, why me?”

There was a long pause and I could feel the Schattenmann as a presence in the room, in the man sitting before me. Saying that it was a benevolent, or a hostile presence is wrong. He was simply there. I could feel him looking at me through the closed eyes of the man in front of me.

The mouth of the man didn’t open as the darkness whispered to me.

“I am the Man of Shadows, the Father of Forests and you are a leaf, driven by the wind,” it said.

At first, I thought that I had imagined the voice, it was so faint but at the same time, it was also clear. There was certainly no getting away from it. Then I desperately felt for whatever came next.

But there was nothing.

The light came back as the man seemed to come back forward into his own body. Another cup was placed into his hand and he took a sip from this, again, nodding back in gratitude. He closed his eyes against a shiver that ran through him as his hand groped for the hand of his lover. He squeezed it when he found it before he opened his eyes.

“It would seem that that is all that you are getting.” He told me. “I am sorry.”

I nodded in response.

“I know the answer,” I told him. “But I would hate myself from now until the day I die if I don’t at least ask it.”

“Then ask… No…” He smiled a little sadly. “I don’t know who he is going to choose as his next vessel. No, I cannot influence him in his choice and no… There is no convincing him otherwise when his mind has been made up.”

He sighed.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I remember being afraid when my turn came so I do, at least, have some idea what it was you are going through. But I had nothing else to really live for. Or at least, that is what I had thought at the time. Now, I wonder what my sister might have done if I had, instead, escaped.”

“Why were you taken?”

“What? Oh…” He laughed. “The dryads needed more babies. There had not been enough men going into the forest in order to keep the population up. And so, they appealed to the Schattenmann and because I had broken the rules…”

He shrugged. “I was fair game.”

I nodded and climbed to my feet. “I had better let you rest,” I told him.

“I will see you again Lord Frederick.” He told me. “In this life or afterwards.”

I turned to go.

“Lord Frederick?” He called and I turned. “It’s worth it.” He told me.

It didn’t help. All that happened was that I went back to the tent and went back to pacing. If this was to be my last life on the continent as Freddie von Coulthard, I wanted to make the most of it. I made one last effort to try and reach Ariadne, but she wasn’t there.

I wept then for a while.

I didn’t sleep that night. Instead, I updated my letters.

The first time that I wrote the letters was back near the end of my first year in Kerrass’ company. When the cold was starting to come in we had stopped off at a village called Amber’s Crossing. There was a beast there that we had heard about and the reward was supposed to be substantial. I wrote about it so you can go back to previous issues if you like and see what happened in that time and place. I used to read back issues a lot but now, I struggle to keep my focus on that kind of thing. I find it intensely depressing although I wouldn’t be able to tell you why.

The letters are a series of missives that I had written to those people that are important in my life. Whenever we were going to do something important, that bundle of letters was given to someone with a suitable timeframe, so that if we didn’t survive, or didn’t come back within a given time frame, then we were to be presumed dead and those letters would be sent off.

At the time of first writing, I had written extended missives to my entire family. I had attempted to describe why I had done what I had done and told them all those elements of my thinking that I had been able to articulate at the time. Nearly all of it was lies. Not that I knew that at the time but the advantage of several years of distance has been able to show me just how much I was lying to myself in those early years of my journey.

These letters… To my shame, I had not kept them up to date since I had met Kerrass’ Goddess and the time of the Skeleton Ship. I had not felt in any particular danger for my body on the lead up to meeting Kerrass’ Goddess, more fool me, but I had not updated them since departing on the Wave-Serpent.

I felt really stupid about that and as I got them all out of my travelling pack to look at them, I had a think as to why that might be the case. The answer to that question was, alas, all too obvious. It had honestly not occurred to me that we would fail. I had not believed that I was in any danger. The same arrogance that I had once called out in those people that had chosen to follow my career path had become the same trap that had caught me.

It had not occurred to me that I would fail.

And now, there I was.

The letters had changed since I had first had to write them. For a start, I didn’t really have any parents to write to. That made me sad. Mother is still alive as far as I know, indeed, the last time we had heard anything, she was being released from the abbey to come and attend my wedding. She does not communicate with the outside world much, if at all. I understand Mark writes to the Abbess there, the formidable Mother Nenneke is still in charge in Ellander despite needing a pair of walking canes to get around. But that holy lady has decreed that Mother not be allowed to communicate or have much if any, contact with the outside world.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I’m told that this is as much for her protection as it is for anything else. Too many people have tried to take their vengeance out on the nun with the Witcher pendant on both sides of what had happened. I am unsure how I feel about that. So all I did was add a note to Mark’s letter, asking that he carry word to her and that I apologise to her.

Mark’s letter was very simple. I told him that I was sorry and that I would not be able to keep the family together after all.

Emma’s and Sam’s letters were virtually identical. I told them both that I loved them and then took great pains to remind them exactly why the other one was so important. I reminded them both of the good times that we had had together and I reminded them about how much they had in common. I also made a half-joking threat to each of them, that if they sabotaged each other then I would come back to haunt them.

The worst one was not the letter to Ariadne or the letter to Kerrass. In Ariadne’s case, the letter was really short. I told her that I was sorry and that I loved her. There didn’t seem to be that much else to say. The letter to Kerrass was about how I didn’t want him to blame himself for what had happened. This had been the same letter that was written for him that had not changed since we had been friends with each other. Since we set out to try and find out what had happened to Francesca.

I told him that he owed it to me if for no other person, to try and find happiness. I left it unsaid that I thought that happiness could be found with Sleeping Beauty. That was not something that I particularly wanted to think about.

There was not much new that I wanted to say here so I just added a note to say that he was, to the best of his ability, to try and prevent Ariadne from seeking her vengeance against the Schattenmann. Coming to the Black Forest was the first time that I had ever thought I had met someone, or something, that she would not be able to defeat in battle. Even should the entire Lodge of Sorceresses deploy themselves against the Black Forest and the Schattenmann, I was not sure that they would succeed.

And for all I knew, the person that they would be fighting would be me.

The hardest letter though was that I still had my letter to Francesca in the sad little bundle that was at the bottom of my pack. The idea behind that letter was that should anything happen to me but that she would eventually be found, then she could be given my letter and that I would tell her what had happened and inform her as to how I felt about the matter.

It was mostly full of apologies and even more declarations of love.

I read it again and if the dryads believed and trusted in fire, I would have thrown it onto the fire and watched it burn through tear-filled eyes.

Instead, with no small amount of concentration, I bundled it up with the others. I would give it to Kerrass in the morning.

The morning came round with depressing slowness and far faster than I would be completely happy with. The bard was shown into the tent first. As I said earlier, in the type for such men he was a good looking man, his clothing seemed somewhat faded and he was clearly drawn. He greeted me, was pleased that he knew me and was disappointed that I had never heard of him. He quickly realised that I was not interested in answering any of his questions or giving him any more gossip than could be gleaned from just reading my normal pieces of work and just retreated to a corner of the tent in order to pluck away at his Lute.

Next, the guard and the countryman came in together. They seemed to know each other relatively well and the guard was spending a good amount of time trying to tell the woodcutter to remain calm. He seemed to have it well under control with gentle encouragement and some light teasing of the other man and things seemed to be working well for the two of them. The guard introduced himself and the woodcutter to me. He knew my name but little else about what was happening there.

Stefan and Kerrass came in together as well. I was surprised. Kerrass was wearing all of his gear and carrying the remains of it. Whereas Stefan was in his shirt-sleeves, a pair of trousers and boots. He wore no mail and no weapons.

Stefan looked around the tent and saw me before he paled. His eyes widened his mouth opening and closing a few times as he looked at me unhappily. But it was soon clear that he had nothing to say. He found a small patch of ground to start pacing in while Kerrass came over to me.

I was sitting on a chair, my bed having been taken away to make room in the early hours. I swear to the Holy Flame that I had not noticed it happening.

Kerrass pulled over a chair and sat next to me at a slight angle.

“I have a confession to make.” He said after a long while.

“Oh?” I raised my eyebrow at him.

He nodded.

“We were, somewhere on the road to the North and west of the Black Forest when we heard that someone was following us. Someone was asking about us in the villages that we had been through. By us I mean, Piotr, Trayka and the others.

“It did not occur to me that it might be you. I had packed you off at the time and it seemed to me that Ariadne and the others would have you well in hand. You were going to go North and get married, have lots of sex and produce whatever the equivalent of children was when they happen between an Elder Vampire and a human. I dunno, maybe you adopt or… Anyway…

“But I remember the day it became clear that the person following us was more tenacious and more skilled at tracking. At first, we had thought it might be someone who was trying to collect the bounty on either Piotr’s or Trayka’s heads. It happens occasionally in their line of work and we agreed that we would set an ambush.

“I remember watching the road as the lone horseman came into view. I saw that it was you, but I promise you Freddie, I swear on the tits of the Goddess that I didn’t recognise you. All of the things that are you, all the factors that make it you, the way you ride, the way you examine the countryside, everything was you but there was something there where I just refused that it could have been you. It could not be you. You were in the North getting married. I was lumbered with these people that didn’t like each other very much, were jealous of each other and didn’t know my routine nearly enough to be useful on any kind of level.

“Since departing Toussaint, all I could think as we all made camp every night was that I so… wanted you to be by my side. I was fed up with answering questions about why I wanted things to be done this way or that way. I was fed up with Piotr trying to follow me into the night when the need for solitude started to overcome me and I was not interested in Trayka’s crude advances.”

He chuckled at a memory.

“I remember having to sit her down once, at a point when her father wasn’t looking and informing her, as firmly as I could manage, that I don’t shit where I eat because it always leads to problems. I told her that if she still wanted to ride the Witcher when the journey was over then we could hire a room and I would show her what a Witcher’s stamina meant, but until then, I would keep it in my pants and I advised her to do the same.

“Didn’t stop her from going after Piotr though.

“Anyway.

“I saw you and then I saw you fight. I realised then what was happening. Do you remember how angry I was with you?”

I nodded, the rest seemed pointless.

“It was more that I was angry with myself. I knew. I knew that what I should do was knock you on the head, deliver you to the passing Nilfgaardian patrol and then carry on my way. But I didn’t. Why? Because I wanted you by my side. I had missed you Freddie and I didn’t want to let go of our friendship or our working relationship. And in doing so, I very much feel as though I got you killed.”

He shook his head.

“I’m so sorry Freddie. I… I should have done it differently.”

I nodded to him.

“It’s ok Kerrass,” I told him. “It’s ok. I’m sorry too.”

I handed him the bundle of letters. He knew what it was and nodded, tucking it inside his armoured jacket.

“Don’t let Ariadne try for vengeance,” I told him. “I am not so convinced that she would win.”

“Her best friend is a dragon.” Kerrass reminded me and I nodded with a slight smile. The image was evocative.

“Even so, between them, they could raze the Black Forest, but I don’t think they will kill The Schattenmann.”

“No,” Kerrass said. “No, he’s like the Leshen like that. I remember Piotr’s story.”

He nodded after thinking for a moment.

“I can promise that I will try Freddie. But if Ariadne tries for vengeance, then I don’t think I would have the heart to stop her. In fact, I might even want to go with her.”

“You might be fighting me if it comes to that,” I warned him.

Kerrass looked unhappy, but he didn’t have an answer for that.

“I will be there as long as I can Freddie. As long as I can be there for you, I will be there. Do not forget that.”

“I will not. Thank you Kerrass. For everything.”

We sat in silence for a while until I realised that Stefan had stopped pacing. I looked up at him and he looked away quickly. He had been listening and I wondered if I saw wetness in his eyes.

Not my problem.

And then we waited. Some small refreshment was brought, loaves of bread, fruits and things and the six of us waited until a dryad pushed aside the flaps of the tent and put her head into the room.

“It is time.” She told us.

I took my breath, stood up and followed a couple of other people out into the open air. I have no idea who it was that was in front of me, nor do I know who it was that was behind me. I was mostly concentrating on not staggering and falling over as I walked.

My spear felt cold in my hand. I had no intention of actually using it but the thought of going out there to face, whatever it was that I ended up facing without the solid weight of the thing in my hands… just seemed unthinkable that I would do otherwise.

I stepped out into the open air. The air felt fresher than it had inside the tent which was a huge relief. I closed my eyes reflexively against the much brighter out of doors than I was expecting. Despite the bowls of light, the area surrounding the heart tree could tend towards being fairly gloomy but the dryads seemed to have brought more light in order to mark the occasion and I felt dazzled by it. I took the moment to also have a deep breath of the fresh air and let that freshness fill my lungs. I felt…

I actually felt pretty good all things considering.

I remembered what Trayka had told me when she was still Trayka. The way she had felt when she was descending into the smaller dell of the smaller heart tree back in the dryad settlement. She said that she felt like an arrow fired from the bow. That there was only one way forward and that there was a simple outcome ahead of her. She told me that she felt a kind of peace stealing over her as she came to terms with that. That there was little fear, little worry to go with any of that. That it was just time to get the thing done now. At the time, I had thought she was mad. That the thought of going to a point where you would either live or die was something that would scare the crap out of me. But now that I came upon my own ultimate moment, I kind of understood how she felt.

I opened my eyes and staggered in discomfort.

There were a lot of dryads there. I have no idea how many but there were a lot of them. I had been used to thinking of them in the region of dozens. I was aware that there were quite a few of them among the area surrounding the heart tree, praying and working and whatever else happened out there in the gloom. I also knew that there were many more in the waystations and guard posts surrounding the Heart Tree itself. I knew that on some level I had registered that. But now that I was actually there with them all looking at me?

I mean, I didn’t get to count how many there were, but there was enough to make me feel suddenly crowded. Crowded and incredibly uncomfortable.

They stood, very nearly shoulder to shoulder. Their identities blurring together in their shapeless robes and their relatively uniform features. Only the changes in height and skin tone seemed to differentiate them, the one from the other.

And nearly all of them were holding small bowls of light that shone in various shades of silvery white. Some leant towards the blue end of things, a couple were green and purplish in colour while one or two gave off a kind of red or yellow sheen to the cloaks and the faces that watched us.

It was the expression of awe that seemed to stand out on their faces that really made me feel uncomfortable. That and the fact that they seemed to part before us. The bard led the way. He was absently plucking on the strings of his lute and as is the way with such things, the music conjured images. It was like a religious tune, something close to the musical accompaniments to the hymns of praise that the church of the Eternal Flame use, or the accompanying chants of the cult of the Great Sun. But there was a jaunty edge to the music that gave me the feeling that the music was, in some way, mocking. I found that I didn’t like that.

I took a deep breath and stepped forwards as well, Kerrass walked beside me. He had been watching me, waiting for me to take the first steps out into the clearing. I didn’t really look at him but he walked close next to me. I think he was ready to catch me if I fell. Stefan walked just behind Kerrass and off to his right-hand side.

I didn’t look at Stefan.

Behind him strode the guard who was still helping along with the trembling woodcutter.

We started to walk towards the heart tree and the crowd parted before us which was weird enough. But it was only going to get stranger from there.

“Thank you.” Someone shouted. “Bless you.” Shouted another.

Someone reached out and touched my arm as I passed, another ran her hand up my arm and made me shiver. An old dryad, with tears running down her cheeks stepped out in front of us and bowed low, staggering and falling to her knees before someone else came and tried to pick her up. Kerrass darted forward and helped the old woman aside.

I could feel things, gentle things starting to fall on my hair. I reached up and plucked one from my shoulders. It was a flower petal. People were throwing flower petals into the air.

I would have been more shocked but another woman stepped out of the press and tucked another flower into my clothes. Another did the same into my ear. A much younger dryad, still wearing a black robe but I would have put her at being maybe eleven was picked up so that she could put a crown of daisies on my head.

“This is unseemly.” I heard Stefan mutter. “We do not deserve to be treated like this.”

“Oh come on,” the bard called backwards from where he strode. He had snagged a pretty dryad from the crowd who was clearly in some kind of trance of semi-religious fervour. He had his arm around her as she tried to kiss him repeatedly on his face. “Such things are not for us. This is for them. Try and enjoy it.”

Then the bard laughed and kissed the woman soundly on the lips before disentangling himself from her dazed arms and moving forwards. His occasional bursts of music took on a more martial air.

“I feel like I’m at a wedding,” the guard muttered.

“Are you not?” Kerrass muttered back. He had a yellow flower tucked in his hair now.

The guard absorbed Kerrass’ question.

We moved on. Someone tugged at my trousers of all things and I had to bend to help a tearful woman let go. Another woman held out a baby dryad for me to bless after the bard had ignored her. I remembered what he said and although it hadn’t sounded like wisdom when it came from his mouth, it felt like wisdom that I should listen to. I put my hand on the infant's head and she wept tears of gratitude. This wasn’t for me, it was for them.

They became more insistent.

One woman stepped in to hug me. She was gone before I could respond. Another plucked a hair from my head, dislodging the crown of daisies. I had to slap a hand away that was trying to open one of my pouches. I looked up to see an open mouth moving towards my own and then I was being kissed. She was gone before I had the chance to realise what was happening.

Somehow though, we managed to move forwards. The press and the shouting only got worse until it echoed in my ears, making them throb and ache. I had an urge to cover them and just scream myself hoarse.

Eventually, it seemed as though things were drawing to a close and the sound fell away, the feeling of having to force our way through the crowd started to subside and I looked up to find myself staring at The Schattenmann. He was standing alone, on a large flat stone that was raised a little bit above us. He was holding his hands aloft in a kind of benediction and I gathered that it was this gesture that caused everyone to quieten down and lessen their… efforts.

The Schattenmann looked regal. He was wearing the crown of horns and I could not see the part of him that was the man. His face was shadowed, despite all of the light that was in the clearing and he seemed to be cloaked inside this large, robe that was likewise made out of shadow. His hands seemed to be gloved in darkness and they were clawed. When silence was achieved and our little procession had come to a halt in front of him, he lowered his hands and stood there, unmoving. For all intents and purposes, he was a statue made out of dark stone.

Then I looked closer and I could see that the edges of his shadowy form seemed to shift like smoke. Light silver motes danced in the moke, reflecting the lights that were all around us and making them glint.

Cloaked figures moved towards us. One went to the bard and spoke with him, suddenly solemn, the bard moved and stood on a particular point in the ground.

Another came and collected the guard and I found myself facing my usual guide. She smiled at me.

“Well,” she said, “this is it.”

“This is it.” I agreed.

“Almost enough to bring a tear to my eye.” She joked, pretending to wipe a nonexistent tear from her cheeks.

“Where do I stand?” I said, my urge to get this all over with was on me.

“Well, technically, you kneel.” She said. “But I don’t think he cares that much.”

“I thought it wasn’t important that I kneel, I thought we didn’t do that here.”

“We don’t.”

“Then why…” The questions came to my lips automatically. I wasn’t really interested in the answers, my mouth was moving on its own.

She leant in conspiratorially, “I don’t think it matters. But him…” she gestured with her head towards the bard. “He needs a deft touch otherwise he throws a tantrum and him?” she gestured towards the woodcutter who was being lowered to the ground, still sobbing and now being helped by both the guard and one of the dryads. “He needs direction so that he doesn’t just… break.” She looked at the weeping man with worry and a little sadness.

“But you kneel, same as you would before a ruler.”

“Skelligans stand before a ruler.” I tried.

“That’s lovely.” She said calmly. “First of all, what’s a Skelligan? And second of all, are you a Skelligan?”

“How would you tell the difference if I was or if I wasn’t. And anyway, I thought you lot knew about Skelligans?”

“We do.” She told me. “I just wanted to see if I could wind you up.”

She grinned at me before her face went still.

“Kneel, Lord Frederick.”

“Freddie.” I corrected her.

“I will remember it.” She told me. “Whatever happens.”

Then she stepped back and the Schattenmann came forward. I did as I was told, what else could I do really? And she was right. This man, this… thing… was a monarch in his own realm. To behave otherwise was to do myself, and everyone around me a disservice.

I knelt.

I looked up and down the row. Kerrass was next to me on my right-hand side staring ahead and down the same way that he would if he was meditating. Stefan was on the other side of him, close by Kerrass’ right-hand side. He was looking from The Schattenmann to Kerrass and back to the Schattenmann. Then he examined the floor between him and the Schattenmann, then him and Kerrass and then back up at the Schattenmann.

I had expected him to fight the order to kneel, but he seemed content with what was happening.

The bard set his lute to one wide and was the other side past Stefan. He knelt easily and with a relaxed air. He was looking around himself, taking things in.

On the other side of me, the guard was kneeling. He was holding the hand of the weeping man and whispering words of encouragement to the simpler man who was all but grovelling on the floor beyond him. The guard seemed calm, resigned. A little sad.

The Schattenmann paused for a while before he seemed to flow down towards us off his rock. And for those people that are wondering, I choose that word for what The Schattenmann did deliberately. He was in his own little cloud of shadow but instead of that smoke drifting towards us, it flowed, like water. Just as he also did not jump down as a person would. Indeed, as far as I could tell, his body didn’t actually move at all.

He came down towards us and stood in front of the bard and looked down at him for a long time. I watched carefully, looking for a clue, or anything that might mean that we could escape, or survive. The bard grinned as he looked up into the Schattenmann’s face. Not the skull, I noted, but the actual place where the man’s face would be. He stared at that for a long time. A cocky, kind of smug, grin plastered on his face. Then the smile seemed to freeze in place.

It was the smile of a man being caught in a provable lie. When they are so confident that the lie that they base their entire existence on is known to be true, that there is nothing that they have to worry about and that their world is as rock-solid as it could be. Men smile in a way as to try and inform everyone how confident they are. Then, if you call them out on that lie, it’s as though the man retreats from the smile. The eyes start to become frightened, the skin goes pale, maybe he starts to sweat, and they always start to fidget. But the smile remains in place as though it might be some kind of talisman, a shield against the fact that they have been caught in the untruth.

That was what happened to the bard. He tried to push himself backwards from the steady gaze of The Schattenmann but two burly dryads came up and held the bard in place as he whimpered. The crowd was silent now and the whimper was clearly audible.

The guardsman next to me kind of gave a sad, resigned little sigh but I wasn’t looking at him. I was watching the bard.

The bard’s smile was still fixed, even though his mouth had fallen open in something close to a scream.

Then the Schattenmann turned away. The bard collapsed onto the ground. Just a heap of flesh and bone, breathing deeply and heavily.

The Schattenmann moved down the line to look at Stefan. Stefan took a deep breath before lifting his head up and staring into The Schattenmann’s face.

“You do not frighten me.” He declared before he started to chant a prayer. It was one of the standard ones of the great sun and if we’re all being honest, all religions have a very similar prayer to this. It will go, “let me walk with you in safety, protect me from darkness and evil, keep my feet from straying from the path and keep my gaze focused on the good. Give me the strength to resist and the mind to think. Shield me from those that mean me harm and give me the power to help those who need it the most.”

Stefan chanted this, most basic, form of the catechisms of his faith as he stared into the face of The Schattenmann. Then his words began to falter. It was not long after that that Stefan just paused abruptly, then he gave a kind of sob before hanging his head.

Kerrass was next in the line and I started to feel the fear.

Kerrass looked up into the face of The Scattenmann. He made several gestures during that time. He nodded a couple of times, shrugged, nodded again, and nodded more vehemently. Then he spoke.

“I will tell her that you said hello.” He told The Schattenmann. “But if I may, I would beg for…” Then he jerked backwards as though he had been struck across the face. Thin welts and lines appeared on his face as he straightened up again and looked at me.

I realised that The Schattenmann was standing over me. I took a deep breath, found that I needed another and then I raised my head.

I felt as though I was falling for just a moment.

I thought of the Leshen that I had seen back in the woodland. I remembered looking into the eye sockets of the skull that it seemed to wear in place of having a face of its own. I remembered looking into its eyes and feeling as though I could see a deeper well of darkness in the depths of those eyes and in that deeper well, I thought I could see a pool of shadow. A well of deep night that seemed to call at me, seemed to suck at my mind.

It was not a look into the darkness. It was not the regarding of evil or the looking for the telltale signs of a monster or something else that might want to kill you. This was not the cave in the depths of the ground where the Elder resided. Nor was it the depths of the deep waters of Skellige. The closest it had on me was the feeling of looking into those eyes of the Leshen and although the two experiences could not have been more different. I remembered the spectral beings on the hill. Cromm Cruarch and his people.

There was no despair there. There was no pain or anger or hope or fear. Nor was their love or reverence. There was almost an absence of all of those things. I felt as though I was falling into that pool.

I can no longer remember everything that I saw as I looked into the eyes of the Schattenmann. I have tried, but as I was warned, it was all but impossible to communicate some of the things that I saw. I do not know if I was meant to see them, nor do I know if he was showing me those things as some kind of promise as to what the future may hold. I do not know if it was some kind of feeling as to a fair exchange given that what he was doing was going through my memories.

I saw things for which I have no words.

I shall try though, just for the sake of completeness.

I saw a world of redness where the trees were blackened husks.

I saw a shrieking thing rushing towards me. It had no legs but it had hands that it used to pull itself along the walls and the ceiling of the tunnel that I was in. It had one, unblinking eye that seemed to dwarf my entire body and it was screaming even though it had no mouth.

I stood on a mountain top as I overlooked a battle between two armies, vaster than I could dream. In the distance, a dragon rose up from the end of the world. Larger than the mountain that I stood on. Greater than the sky or thought. It was impossible that something so big could be so fast. It reared up and bellowed.

I was riding in a great host of riders, their armour and mine glittered and shone with the exact shine of reflected moon and starlight. I drew my sword and screamed as I charged, along with all of the others, into the jaws of death and agony.

I stood by the side of a road. Huge trees stood like walls on either side of the road. I knew that it was a road but I have never seen anything like it before. The road itself seemed to be made out of some kind of shiny black rock and there was a broken white line painted down the middle of it. The air was thick with mist and something in the distance roared a strange kind of metallic roar.

I became a restless thing. A worm of some kind but I was inside out. My insides were lined with wiggling fingers that seemed to reach out and grasp for things that it could sense in the frigid air that burned my very soul.

I saw a great being lying beneath the waves. It looked up at me, saw me and registered my presence before it smiled. I have no idea how I knew that it was smiling but it was.

For a while, I thought it was over as I stood on a hillside and I looked down at the ground. Then I realised that I was flying above the piece of ground that I was on. Then, as I seemed to fly higher and higher, I went through a cloud and then I could see the shape of the continent lying beneath me. Then as I went further away from that place, I saw that the continent was part of a great circle in space. I was among the darkness now, looking down at the great circle that the continent rested on. I saw the great sea and the desert off to the east. Then I saw that it was not a disc or a circle at all. Instead, it was a globe and it shone, reflecting the light of the sun that I could now see further out.

I continued to move away from it all and the globe that we all lived on got smaller and smaller. I saw the sun, and the moon as it spun and then the globe seemed to shrink until it became a tiny dot against the blackness. More stars came into focus, more dots and still I was moving further and further away. Faster and faster as I saw that our sun existed in a cloud of other suns. That cloud, in turn, was just part of a great wave of them that came off a spinning core of light. I have no notion of what it was and you would probably need to go to a mage for an explanation. Then I realised that I could no longer see where the dot that the continent was on had been, lost in the vastness of everything. It was so tiny that I could no longer see it.

I was afraid.

Not all of it was bad and terrifying either. I was standing beneath a waterfall. I was huge, colossal even and I knew that if I moved, I would cause a huge rampage of damage that would destroy everything around me. But I didn’t mind. I could see the sun through the falling water and the spray and the light shone, leaving me feeling at peace.

I was at a feast. Men and women wearing black armour with silver highlights laughed and toasted each other with horns of something. I drank and the thick, viscous liquid made lights go off behind my eyes. I choked and my friend standing next to me clapped me on the back.

The food on the plates in front of me was moving.

I was making love with a man. Such a thing has never interested me in life but in this dream or vision, I was loving him back with enthusiasm. He did something deep within me and I screamed in horrified pleasure and from my scream, the heavens were born.

I was a star, dancing at a party with a tall, pale man with white skin and a shock of hair darker than the night sky.

And these were just the things that I have the words to express to you. I have nearly driven myself mad trying to get some of it down on paper or to speak of it to those that might be interested in such matters. It has never worked and I have always been left with a kind of a disappointment that I have not been able to put those things into words.

Then I was on my hands and knees, gasping for breath, feeling the leaf mould and the debris of the ground beneath my fingers, the cool dampness on my knees and I realised that I wanted more.

I raised my head and looked for The Schattenmann.

He had moved down the line.

He stared down at the guard who was openly weeping in front of him. The Schattenmann moved on and stared down at the trembling man of the country.

“I’m sorry.” The woodcutter said. “I’m so so sorry, please don’t…”

Then he stilled.

“I’m sor…” he said again, much calmer and then he laughed.

The Schattenmann turned and walked away, before turning and standing in front of the six of us

The Woodcutter was the first of the six of us to react. He stood up and stretched. There was a new element to him now. Not just that he was no longer weeping and terrified. But he was more comfortable in his movements and there was a particular kind of glint in his eye that I would have associated with confidence if I hadn’t noticed any better.

“Oh, that’s better.” He said when he settled back down before bouncing up and down on his feet a couple of times. He laughed again.

The guard that was next to me turned to look at him and this caused even more laughter from the Woodsman who walked over to him and crouched in front of him, putting his hand on the shoulder of the kneeling guard.

“Do not worry,” The woodcutter told his friend. “It’s all going to be alright.”

“What?” The guard was clearly confused and mystified. I can’t say that I blame him. I felt much the same.

“In the future.” The Woodcutter said. “Do not worry about me. I know that this will be hard and I know that our Father’s told you to look after me. It will be alright. Don’t look for me. It will be alright. Try and do better would you?”

“I don’t understand.” The guard said. Then he did understand as though the understanding hit him in the head like a crossbow bolt as he looked up at the Schattenmann.

The Woodcutter rose to his feet and came to me, resting his hand on my shoulder as he looked down at me.

“It will be alright my friend.” He told me. I had no words to answer that but he seemed to understand as he looked down at me. Now that I was looking up at him, he seemed regal, imposing and powerful in his own body. He had not changed anything as far as I could tell, but now he was… more than he had been before.

“Good luck,” he told me before he turned and walked off. A dryad was waiting for him and she gave him a travelling pack that had a torch strapped to the side of it and a blanket tied to the top. He crouched down and opened it, rooting through the contents before he nodded his approval. She also handed him a sword belt with quite a decent looking sword in the scabbard. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell you much. It lacked the ornamentation of Stefan’s blade so I knew that it wasn’t that one. He drew the sword a little and gave it a couple of swings.

The guard was staring at him open-mouthed with an expression of crazy horror, hope and confusion on his face.

The sword belt was strapped on, the pack was on his back and a large water skin was tied to the Woodcutter’s gear. He jumped up and down a couple of times to settle it all into place before he nodded. Then he was handed a powerful hunting bow and a small quiver of arrows that he took, and with a wave to the Schattenmann and the kneeling men in front of him. He turned and strode off.

The dryads closed in around where he had gone so I didn’t see him again after that. Who he was, what he was and where he ended up is just one of those little mysteries that torment me sometimes.

The guard transferred his gaze to me, his mouth still hanging open. I had nothing to say to him though and I was as confused as he was. He turned and looked up at The Schattenmann who hadn’t moved.

“I know it was war.” The Guard said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I did horrible things to those people. I tried to make up for it but… I’m a father dammit and every time I look into that crib and see her little face I see… I see what I did.”

There was a long pause.

“I could have refused.” He snarled, he sounded like he was denying something. “I could have thrown my sword at the Knight’s feet. I could have cut my own dick off rather than…”

He seemed to fall back a bit as though buffeted by a strong wind. He blinked in shock, his eyes widening before anger came to him out of nowhere. He started to climb to his feet.

“MY WIFE WOULD HAVE LOOKED AFTER HER.” He screamed at the Schattenmann. “So don’t give me that shit. And then, I wouldn’t have had to…”

He collapsed again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I didn’t want to. Being a guard and a soldier was my Father’s job and it was all I was ever good at. I couldn’t do anything else other than hold a spear, wear armour and carry a sword. I dug ditches, cooked, did drills and guarded places. I fought in two battles and a few more skirmishes. I liked being a soldier.

“Then I was ordered to sack a town and make our enemies fear us. Great Sun burn me, I didn’t want to. I didn’t but…”

He sobbed. Broken.

“I don’t deserve…”

Then he looked up sharply. “I will. I will make sure my daughter doesn’t marry a soldier. That I can do…. And…”

There was a pause.

“And if I have a son, I will find him a proper trade. I will. I promise and I will, I will donate and…” He nodded. “I will do those things. I promise. Yes, I can make amends. I can.”

His childish hope seemed to radiate from him. A jaded, calm man was suddenly a bouncing, energetic, almost childlike person. His enthusiasm stood clear.

He rose and walked off in a different direction from where the Woodcutter had gone. Like before, a dryad met him with a much larger travelling pack. The waterskin and things were the same and his sword was much more basic and battle-worn. As was the fighting dagger that he settled onto his other hip. Then he was handed a helmet that he put on his head.

He almost laughed as he pushed through the dryads and headed off in a different direction to the other man. Not quite the opposite direction but… close.

Again, the dryads closed around him.

“Weak?” Stefan hissed, and then he spat the word for a second time. “Weak?”

I turned my head so fast that I almost hurt myself. Stefan was glaring his hatred at The Schattenmann.

“What’s weak for following your ideals,” It was not a question.

He climbed to his feet.

“I will not listen to this poison. Weakness…” He spat and the crowd groaned as he turned and walked away before spinning back.

“Weakness?” He demanded. “WEAKNESS?” He took the volume back down to a hiss. “I will show you weakness.”

He stormed back and stood next to Kerrass.

“I don’t care if you dismiss me or tell me to go. I will stand with my companions, even if they do not call me ‘friend’ anymore. I came with them and I will leave with them. You and your orders can go fuck yourselves together in the shadow where you hide from the divine light of the sun.”

During the course of his little speech, the murmurs and the discontent from the crowd started to grow and build until the first one shouted. Then another shouted, then another screamed. There were words in those shouts and screams. I have no idea what, but they were definitely there and they were angry. I would guess as to them saying things like ‘How dare you?’ And ‘What gives you the right?’ And other words to that effect. That’s what normally happens when people start ranting at figures of authority. It’s certainly what happens when I do it.

I think it would have continued as well, it might even have gotten to the stage where Stefan and the rest of us would have gotten hurt. But the Schattenmann moved for the first time since what I assumed where the judgements had begun. He lifted his hand, the same way that a priest will hold his hand up for a benediction of some kind.

The crowd died and someone was giggling.

It took me a moment to see what was happening or to figure out who was giggling. It was the bard at the end who was staring at The Schattenmann, open-mouthed with shock and surprise.

“What?” He laughed. “But… But… She came to me?”

He just stared at the Schattenmann.

“Her maid came to get me. The maid carried messages between the two of us. It was all arranged by her. She started things….”

There was a long pause while confusion reigned over the bard’s face.

“I mean, yes. She was a beautiful woman. And she was married to that idiot that didn’t appreciate her or look after her. And yes, I went there to have a look at her. But…

“Of course, there were others before her. And yes, others since. That’s part of the job though. I am a wandering fantasy. Not only do I tell stories and sing sagas, but I must live them as well. I am the travelling bard and that comes with a certain amount of…

“What do you mean I didn’t have to write the song. Of course, I had to… It was a good song. You can’t not perform it. It was a good song and it needed to be sung. And so I added a few little words… alright lines. Inspiration comes from everywhere, it’s not my fault that…”

His face reddened and a wave of sudden anger was on him.

“I did NOT kill her. Her husband did that. Her husband and that advisor of his, what’s his name? I DID NOT DRIVE HER TO HER DEATH.”

He seemed to rock back under the weight of something.

“I don’t know how many…”

He started to raise up from his kneeling position.

“No,” he whispered. “Please.”

He watched in horror as his own hand reached down and picked his own lute up by the neck. He fought it, he really did. You could see his hand and his arm shaking as he strained against whatever force it was that was making his hand move. He lifted the lute high above his head and smashed it onto the ground. A second time, a third.

He was sobbing by the end of it.

A dryad stepped forward and placed a satchel in front of him before plunging a dagger into the ground in front of him.

“No,” He shouted. “No, please, I will…”

He stopped. His hands started to move and from the satchel, he took a set of juggling balls. He placed them on the ground and stabbed them, spilling the sand that they contained onto the ground. He wept as he did it.

He fought off his fear and his horror with anger.

“My Father gave me those juggling balls you bastard.” He snarled at The Schattenmann before he paused and his eyes widened and his face turned purple. “MY FATHER WOULD NOT BE ASHAMED OF ME YOU BASTARD.”

He turned his knife and started to charge toward the waiting Schattenmann who still didn’t move.

It was like the bard hit a wall. He turned and walked back to where he had been kneeling.

Have you seen a puppet show? There is a regular one in Novigrad main square and occasionally, shows are put on in Oxenfurt. But think of a puppet show. The bard moved like that.

Another pair of dryads put another satchel and a large framed bag in front of the bard that was kneeling again.

“No,” the bard protested. “No, please. I need them to make a… No…”

First, he reached into the large box bag and pulled out a harp. Beautiful it looked before the bard destroyed it. Cutting the strings with his knife before crushing the frame with his bare hands and casting it aside.

He watched his own hands in horror as he pulled open the satchel to show a row of different sized flutes and other wind instruments. I don’t know enough about what they are all called but they are long. One by one, he went through them and snapped them all over his knee. The two biggest needed him to stand up so that he could stamp on them to snap them.

The metal ones, he could not snap, he just bent them and tossed them away.

Warning gentle reader. Now it gets graphic and bloody.

“Are you happy now? Wretch?” He demanded between sobs. “You have ruined me. What do you mean?...” He choked on more words.

With more horror, joined by a little bit of my own, he took up the knife again and reached into his own mouth with his left hand and pulled out his tongue. Then he started to saw the tongue off with the knife.

He screamed as he did it. As well he might. I don’t know if he was lucky that the knife was sharp or if he was unlucky.

It took a long time anyway and when he was done, he spat a long stream of blood onto the floor.

The Schattenmann was still not done.

Then he held the knife to his throat. Not aimed to slice or cut. This was aimed at an odd part of his throat. I had time to register the strange angle and things before he stabbed inwards. It was only a shallow stab and it took me a moment to realise that the screaming had stopped. His mouth was still open, blood streaming from it but no sound emanated other than a horrific kind of gurgling.

Then he stood, still moving like a puppet, he pushed his own trousers down and exposed himself before he pulled his own manhood away from his body and he cut his own manhood off and tossed it away nonchalantly.

There was more blood.

And still, The Schattenmann was not done.

The bard collapsed back to his knees and watched as he held his own, presumably dominant, right hand out and swapped the dagger to his left. Then he used the knife to cut his fingers and thumb off. He didn’t do it slowly, there was no act of torture where the pain is delighted in by the torturer. There was a utility to the movements. As though it was a miserable chore but that it needed to be done one way or another. I could not look away, it was… awful watching a man mutilate himself, removing the things that had made him who he was. When he was done, his mouth leaking blood still, he reversed the knife and used it to stab out his eyes. First the left, then the right. All of this before cutting his ears off. First the left, then the right.

He barely looked human now. Stefan had turned away but Kerrass watched on. I forced myself to look as well.

Finally, the blade fell from the nerveless fingers and the bard dropped onto his side.

And after a while of wheezing and coughing, he died. Blood loss? Shock? Horror or some kind of combination of all three? It was not the kind of thing where we are given the answers.

I finally couldn’t take it anymore, turned my head and vomited what little food and liquid I had in my stomach. While I was doing that, I heard Kerrass start to speak.

“I understand.” He said. “I did not actually come here to destroy you.” He paused. “I know it’s unusual, but to do that, to take a contract on that, I would need to know that you are a monster. And if someone offered me a contract like that, I would walk away. You are what we Witcher’s call ‘a ride away’ job. In that, if someone offers, you should ride away.”

There was another pause. I have no idea who he was talking to. I can only presume that it was The Schattenmann but I can, of course, not be certain.

“Well, some Witchers do it to challenge themselves I suppose. I have taken that kind of contract when something about the job has caught hold of my character and I find it impossible to leave the locals in those kinds of straights. Some people do it because they have something to prove and still others do it because they feel as though it’s expected of them.

“So… I came here to talk. The man to my left is insatiably curious, it’s how I met him in fact. He is interested… Because he is my friend. And he will still be my friend if, after today, you take him to be your… whatever it is that you choose. If I may though…

“We both have many friends and one of his friends is a dragon.

“Whether you fear a dragon or not is not my concern. I have faced her and I fear her. I even feared her for a while during a few winter months when we shared a bed.

“Sorry, an attempt at humour. Sometimes, the man next to me has rubbed off on me and he sometimes uses humour to…

“My questions? They’re the big ones I’m afraid. Who are you? What are you? Where do you come from? And what do you want?”

His eyes glazed over for a long while before he blinked.

“I will,” he said. “But before I go, I would like to beg on behalf of my friend.”

Kerrass’ gaze hardened. “He does not deserve… I appreciate that but… He deserves better… I would offer to…”

And then he stopped talking. He turned to me and I saw a look on his face that I had not seen since Amber’s crossing. The day that he asked me to do something dangerous, the first time that he asked me to do that. It was a look of sorrow, pain and something else that I didn’t recognise.

“It’s ok Kerrass,” I told him. “It’s ok.”

And then I turned to face the Schattenmann who was suddenly standing right in front of me. I had heard no sense of movement, no rustling of cloth and no padding of feet. I looked up at him for a long time and I stared into his face.

“It’s ok,” I said again. “It’s ok. I understand.” I mean, I didn’t but what else was I going to say?

A new noise had started in the area. At first, it was just a whisper, a kind of subdued noise almost exactly like the sound of the wind blowing through the trees. Then, as I stared up at the Schattenmann, the sound of that whisper seemed to grow and I started to realise a little bit more as to what it was.

The Dryads were chanting.

I felt the question rather than heard it but it seemed to come from, not that far off really.

“Give me a moment,” I told the Schattenmann.

I looked at Kerrass for a long moment. I tried to put as much into that look as I could. I tried to tell him that I was alright, that I loved him and that there was nothing that he could do. I tried to show him that I was grateful for everything that he had done, that he had shown me over the years. I tried to thank him for all of that and all of the help that he had given me. I tried to tell him to do things for me. Tried to tell him about the people that I loved, tried to tell him to carry the word of what had happened to Emma, Mark, Sam and Ariadne. That last one most importantly. And I tried to tell him to look after Ariadne. I have no idea how he was going to do that, but these are the things that occur to you in your ultimate moments.

I tried to tell him that I was no longer afraid.

He stared at me, a stricken look on his face. His left hand came up and reached for me a moment, I have no idea what he was going to do there, but it was well-meant for all of that. That little offer of comfort can be the most important thing after all.

Then I looked around me. Little more than a glance really. I looked at all the expectant faces of the dryads. I tried to look for my guide. I tried to see any of the others that I might recognise. The child of the Elder and I had exchanged a few words and I wondered if I could see her in the crowd. They all looked at me back, not blinking, not moving. Just staring and chanting.

I looked up at the heart tree, the light from the boulder seemed to be throbbing to my eyes, or maybe those were the tears that stood out in my eyes, obscuring whatever it was that I was seeing, there was no real way to tell.

I looked up at the canopy of the forest, it suddenly seemed really important to me that I was able to see the sun but all I could see really were the trees above me. The huge trunks of the trees and the branches and the leaves covering the sky. I couldn’t even see where the sun might be and guessed that it was a cloudy day.

My head sank until I was staring at the floor.

I tried to picture Ariadne in my mind. I put a lot of work into it in an effort to preserve even that, but there was a feeling in me that there wasn’t time for it.

I looked up into the eyes of the Schattenmann who was staring down at me.

I nodded. I tried to find some eyes, whether of the man who was wearing the headdress or the eyes of the Schattenmann himself. I don’t know why. But it suddenly seemed important that I make eye contact with the man or the thing before I take the plunge. I couldn’t find the eyes of the man so instead, I looked into the eyes of the deer skull.

“I am ready,” I said, although I suspected I was lying. It was more a feeling of… I needed to take the plunge, otherwise, I was simply not going to make it.

There it was, the perfect image of Ariadne. I imagined her smiling at me and I very nearly sobbed.

I wondered if it was like a man waiting for the headsman to lift his axe above his head. You know, the moment where the man has stood on the stool with the noose around his neck and is waiting for the hangman to finish doing what he was doing elsewhere before he kicks the stool out from under you. Or the victim has lain across the block willingly before the headsman started to busy himself tying them to the block to prevent them from shifting about and making things more difficult for everyone involved. Then he makes a play for taking the bag of his axe and stands over the victim.

I don’t know if it was like that. But still.

The Schattenmann started to smoke, Black vapour, smoke, liquid, whatever it was started to flow out of The Schattenmann. It was a slow thing at first, it was more an echo of his own movements but then that smoke seemed to flow out from him. It was like a cloud around the being himself as he stood there before all of us.

Then he looked down at me and that smoke started to move towards me. The smoke seemed to billow and move around. I started to be able to see things inside the smoke, glittering motes, sparkles or something else that I could not identify. It was beautiful and hypnotic in a way that made me feel… at peace. I kept the image of Ariadne loosely in my own head. I could see her as well. I could almost feel her as though she was standing next to me. The image of her that existed in my head seemed to smile at me and give me a little bit of an encouraging smile.

The smoke continued in its flow towards me.

I nodded, this was it, this was the moment where I stopped being Freddie and started being something else. Someone else.

I took another deep breath and stared into the shadow that was coming closer to me.

Then the first tendril seemed to dart forward. At first, it had seemed almost tentative. If smoke could be shy and cautious then this is what was going on here. That was how it felt but now, something had changed and the smoke darted forwards. And it hit me.

It was… wonderful.

Like the visions that I had seen earlier, there are few words to describe what it was that I saw, or what it was that I felt. It was like, being inside joy. There was a friend there, a lover and a teacher. The Schattenmann was not a he. Calling him a man was a misnomer, he was more than that. He had reached a place where gender was not important although I keep calling him he. I felt myself laugh as the intensity of that feeling started to wash over me like waves. I could hear my entire body trembling with it as I became part of this thing, this great chorus of voices. I could hear the voice of my predecessor talking to me, giving me words of encouragement. Telling me that it was going to be ok. After a while, that voice was joined by others and they all became a kind of chorus as they urged me on, urged me to accept what was happening to me.

The ground underneath me started to open up and I could feel myself falling into the Shadow that made up the being and I laughed as I fell. It felt wonderful. I opened my eyes and I could see the smoke and the substance of it floating toward me like a band that bound him to me. I could see the shape of the man as he had been in front of me and I laughed and he laughed within me as he, and I saw the awful shape that his old body was in. And still, the Schattenmann came towards me. The intensity of the sensation just increased until I was screaming with it. It suddenly seemed as though it was all going to be too much. The other voices encouraged me and told me that I was strong, that I was going to be able to do all of this and that it was not too much and that I was better than that.

That I could take it.

I nodded and threw myself forwards into that feeling and then…

And then the Schattenmann screamed in agony.

I saw it, I experienced it I suppose, on two levels. The first level was the physical one which I will describe in a minute. But the other one was in the visual world that I was already part of.

I had begun to see the face of the being that I was slowly becoming part of. I started to be able to hear him and feel her. I could see that face forming before my… mind's eye or whatever you want to call it. I was standing before him as he formed inside my… well, my soul. He was huge… I am still more comfortable describing him as a he so I’m going to stick with that. Like many things in these writings, that probably says something about me. I have no idea what, but there you go. I stood before him, looking up at him from the position where I was on his knees. He was magnificent, tall and powerful. That was how he formed in my mind.

There is now a, not small, part of me that wonders what would happen if he decided to merge with a woman, but that’s a different conversation.

So as I looked up at him, into that magnificent face of beauty, wisdom, age, knowledge and power. I saw him looking down at me with an expression of honour, love, gratitude and peace. And he was smiling.

Then that smile seemed to open so that I could see teeth, then it opened further and for a moment there, I had no idea what I was looking at before I then realised that the mouth was continuing to open.

Then he screamed. What with everything else, I was already overwhelmed, but this was worse and more than it had been before. I was already overwhelmed, but this soul-deep agony that was thrown at me… This tipped me over the edge into madness.

I also registered this agony on a physical level. The Schattenmann screamed. A fraction after the thing in front of me screamed, then so did every dryad in the area scream. They tipped their heads back and just howled their horror and pain into the heavens. This wasn’t just a scream, this was a proper screech of agony. The kind of expression of pain where it causes the throat to hurt and bleed with the sheer force of what you have done to yourself.

I fell backwards from where I had been kneeling, pulling a muscle in my thigh as I did so which added a new, bright tinge to the agony that I was already feeling.

And then the screaming of the physical form of the Schattenmann and the screaming of all the dryads was joined by all the howls of agony that came from the beasts that lived in the Black Forest. Those howls and screeches echoed throughout the forest, bouncing off the trees and the canopy and reverberating through our bodies. But still, the howl was not over.

Have you ever heard a plant scream? I had not until that point and I hope that you never do. Because that is what it felt like happened. It was awful as though the trees around us were screeching with what had happened. The logic might be that many of these trees had the old forms of dryads in them so maybe, just maybe, that was what was going on. That it was whatever was left of those dryads that were screaming.

I don’t have an answer for you there.

What I do know was that the ground itself was erupting in its own feelings of agony. Giant geysers of earth and mud and water exploded from the ground. Some of it struck me and it was scalding hot, burning hot like I imagine the liquid hot fire being hot as it explodes from the mountain

As best as I understand it, this is what had happened.

Kerrass was kneeling next to me, as close as he could in order to lend me whatever strength he could in being as close to me as he could. Stefan had been standing next to him in order to… I don’t know, bear witness maybe? But as it turned out, Stefan had chosen his ground and his positioning very carefully and had been doing so for some time.

As I described Kerrass all that time ago, Kerrass wore his twin swords together so that the hilts poked out over his right shoulder. The harness is designed so that if you give the harness a firm and hard tug, then the swords will leap out of the scabbard and into a reaching hand then further designed so that the sword can be drawn from a back scabbard. People occasionally ask me how this might be possible given that… and they normally try and demonstrate the impossibility of people drawing their swords from over the back. I cannot answer for that, it’s something to do with the fact that the scabbards are not fixed on the backs and that the harness can move. What can I say? Witchers have been doing it for centuries and alright, I can admit that it might be hard for the rest of us mere mortals to do that.

But Witchers are… well… Witchers aren’t they.

But what had happened was that Stefan reached over and grasped the hilt of Kerrass’ silver sword and drew it. At the same time he kicked out with his foot, not particularly hard but enough to push Kerrass down and away from him as he drew the sword. Thus preventing Kerrass from interfering with… whatever it was that he was trying to do.

Kerrass, who was watching me and the Schattenmann, caught up in the moment or however, you want to talk about it, fell. He was reaching for his back to try and prevent his sword from being drawn. I can’t speak for that but I know that Kerrass fell.

Then Stefan stepped forward and did his best to cut down. He didn’t aim at me. Nor did he aim at the old, physical form of The Schattenmann. Instead, he aimed at the shadow and smoke that bound me to the Schattenmann. And in doing so, The Schattenmann screamed.

I have no idea how long Stefan had been planning that. I do think that it was a plan, I think his placement of himself next to Kerrass’ shoulder was deliberate and thought out. So it was planned for at least that long. But before that? I have no idea.

Still screaming, The Schattenmann fell. The black smoke slammed back into the old man’s body and that body slid across the ground with a very real sound of impact. It was hard enough that the gouge in the ground displaced earth and other bits of debris. The old man’s back arched in agony, his feet and his arms were spasming and hammering themselves into the ground with not inconsiderable force. And he was still screaming.

“What did you do?” Kerrass bellowed at Stefan but his voice was lost in the sounds of all of the other people screaming.

Stefan just stood there, open-mouthed with a kind of shocked, smug, horrified pleased look on his face. Kerrass had leapt to his feet but the ground was shaking now and both men fell. Stefan fell harder, fairly being thrown from where he stood.

I was still on my back, howling in the agony in my leg and the muscles that had been injured there as well as the pain in all of the other things that I had seen and had happened otherwise.

I felt… empty. I felt as though some fundamental part of me had been stolen away and I felt that absence. As though something precious had been ripped from my soul and as I screamed in the agony about what had happened to my body and the answering agony as to what was going on in my soul, I was all but insensible. Kerrass picked me up by the armpits and tried to haul me to my feet.

I promptly fell down and Kerrass swore. He lifted me up again and put my arm around his shoulders.

“This way,” someone shouted at us, a dryad I think, “Run.”

And we ran. We were not alone either. The ground was shaking and exploding all around us, showering us in mud, dirt and all of the different debris that blanketed the forest floor. Some of those other dryads ran away in a blind panic, clutching their heads with the agony that was tearing through their skulls. For some, it had not affected them as bad and they were the ones that were trying to steer the tide as it were, pushing people away. But even those dryads looked grey with the effort of trying to keep that pain down.

Kerrass fairly dragged us both along with them. I was howling with the leftover agony and I don’t remember many moments of that first headlong flight. The pain was enough to drive a man mad and it really is possible that I did lose my mind in those moments. I am not ashamed of that either.

We ran and a new voice was being added to the chorus of agony. I looked back and my last sight of the heart tree was one of horror.

The heart tree was bleeding, dark crimson rivers of blood were running down the trunks of the tree and into the cracks along the surface of the boulder upon which it grew. The boulder itself was throbbing with light and its own strange version of the screaming that was consuming everything else. And from everywhere that the blood of the heart tree touched the surface of the stone. Where the stone had cracked to show an odd, silvery light… The blood ran into those cracks and seemed to steam. From that steam, the black smoke had been formed.

Stefan was there. The smoke that was coming out of the tree and the boulder was forming huge, black voluminous clouds. There was a face and a form in those clouds although I could not describe it. There was a face there and it reached out with fingers that formed tentacles of smoke. It picked Stefan up by the neck and Stefan thrashed around. The last thing I saw before it was all consumed by the smoke was that Stefan’s arms and legs were splayed, lifting him up and over the earth in a great spread-eagled pattern and he was howling in pain at the fact that he was being pulled apart. I saw the arm that was still holding Kerrass’ silver sword being literally torn off his frame.

I winced and whatever anger I had felt for the church soldier was lost. I had liked that man and that was not a pleasant way to die.

Then the smoke obscured him and it was coming for us.

We ran.

There were more screams behind us now. Screams of pain and screams of madness. Kerrass had been joined by a dryad and the pair of them were trying to drag me up the side of the crater wall. We were beginning to leave the sound of the screaming behind now but we could still hear it behind us.

How they did it, the dryad and the Witcher between them, I will never know, but somehow they forced me to the top of that rock wall and we turned to look behind us. To my shock, the smoke seemed to be lessening. The smoke was falling down and settling over the ground. At first, I was relieved before Kerrass pointed out what was going on.

“It’s flowing underground.” He said.

“The Schattenmann is the Black Forest.” The Dryad agreed. “Run. He will be coming soon and I must save my sisters.”

And she took off, running along the wall of the bowl.

I wish I had known her name as she probably saved my life.

“Can you walk?” Kerrass demanded of me.

I whimpered in response. I could only barely feel a link to reality. I could see that the undergrowth was coming alive. Massive vines were reaching up and moving. Tree roots were waving and tree branches were swaying in a wind that did not exist.

Kerrass swore and we took off. Him pulling and pushing me while I did my best to help.

And the forest came after us. There was more screaming then. Kerrass and I were running alone but we saw signs of the flight of the dryads. We saw a woman impaled on a tree branch, twenty-foot off the ground. Another woman was cut in half as if by a great axe blow.

A bear charged at us and Kerrass gestured, causing it to fall in a stun before he drew his steel sword and killed it. But it cost us a lot of time in that instant.

We were running again and more monsters came for us. The only reason we survived that early rush was that the monsters and the animals themselves were dealing with their own agonies and pain. An Endrega leapt at us, only having his steel sword, Kerrass cut at it and it fell away as though it had been battered with a club. Then it fell to the ground, hammering the ground with its feet. Another bear attacked us but we avoided it because it was too busy trying to ram its own head into any passing tree. A small pack of wolves were near us but they were also rolling on the ground with their paws over their heads and trying to cover their ears. They added to the cacophony with their own howling.

And we ran on.

I have no idea how long for. It seemed like no time at all but also seemed to last forever. Even Kerrass cannot run forever and I think he was tiring. I was in agony, tears streaming down my face, both from the pain in my legs and the pain in my heart.

Kerrass’ face was stricken and as he looked at me, I knew what was coming. We were not going to make it. Then Kerrass snarled a negative, put my arm over his shoulders again and we ran on. But then the Leshen came for us.

Three of them, so-called solitary creatures literally erupting out of the ground around us. They reached out their arms first, and vines grew from their arms and feet to surround us. I saw their skulls and precious little else. Kerrass reacted instantly, dropping me to the ground and hurling himself at the nearest Leshen, sword swinging. I had no idea where my spear was but my dagger was still in its sheath and I slashed at a vine as it came toward me.

But I was lying on the ground. I tried to get my legs under me as I knew that when you are in a fight, the ground is not your friend and I was acting on instinct by this point.

I tried but I fell.

Another vine came and wrapped itself around my arm. Immobilising the arm with the knife. I couldn’t see Kerrass anymore. Then another fine wrapped around my legs and I was lifted. The vine wrapped around my chest and still I was lifted until I was face to eye socket with the skull. This time it was the skull of a ram with huge, gnarled and twisted horns. A branch appeared, sharp and pointed. I no longer had the strength or the mobility to fight it and the branch thrust itself into my chest.

The blow pushed all the air out of me and blood exploded from my mouth. There was no air to scream in pain or agony I just hung there.

I had a moment where I could feel the branch moving inside me but then I just kind of felt myself sinking into blackness. I knew nothing more.

(A/N: I hope that I don’t have to inform folks that this is not the end, but just in case anyone needs the reassurance. )