Ok. So.... First of all, let's address the Monster in the room.

That monster being that the Unicorn didn't die. But from everything that Schrodinger told us later, she kind of wished that she had. She also came awfully close a couple of times as well. I can't answer for that. I do know that she was incredibly weak for a long time. Weeks all told, and that is the answer to my question at the beginning of this particular affair, as to why we were delayed in getting to Novigrad. The reason is that Kerrass and I were not comfortable in leaving both her and Schrodinger to the mercy of the village without the potential of getting any help from other folks.

Yes, I'm commenting on human nature again.

I was confident that we had seen the worst of the problem off. That they had a certain amount of gratitude towards the two Witchers, myself and the Unicorn as well as our little cadre of helpers but at the same time... Gratitude is a finite resource and sooner or later you wear out your welcome. This is a typical problem when Witchers deal with things anyway. It's almost like a Witcher holds up a mirror to the community and points out all their flaws and all their weaknesses. He points out to them that they have broken their word in how much they are being paid, throwing their dishonesty or, to be fair, their desperation back in their faces. He also shows them that sticking together does not guarantee success and that a community can do everything if they just work together. He shows them that there really are things out there in the woods and in the darkness that are coming to eat you and that you can do nothing about it.

Kerrass is a little less philosophical about this kind of thing. He suggests that Witchers are a cold shower of water on the face of the Villagers. The sobering shock that is provided by dunking a drunk person's head under the water. He shows them that the things that lead them astray in the night, that cause them to beat their wives and children, that steal clothes from washing lines and convince people to get drunk and cheat on spouses. The Witcher shows the villagers that these things do not exist and that the honest truth of the matter is that they are just being awful to each other.

A Witcher's otherness is only part of the factor. People don't like Witchers for their perceived superiority and the fear that they inspire.

So both Schrodinger and, to a lesser extent, Kerrass were wary that we hadn't seen the last of any efforts to come after the Unicorn in her weakened state. Especially as they all now knew exactly how magical the creature was herself. The proof of this was walking up and down the village singing slightly off key and regularly bringing food to the creature that had brought her back to life.

Were the pair of them being overly cautious? Maybe a little bit, but their caution is the kind of thing that has kept them alive over the years and so I cannot begrudge them their cynicism. But as it turns out, the village rose to the occasion and their hospitality was absolute. There was a sense of apology over the entire thing. As though, now that the darker deeds and schemes were out in the open for everyone to see, there was a collective sense of guilt that needed to be washed away with wine, food and partying.

It reminded me of a wake in many ways. As though they were celebrating the passing of something.

But I am getting a little ahead of myself now in communicating what happened during the remainder of that night and in the coming days.

After the miracle of Tulip's return from the dead she became tired very quickly and although she wanted to run around and talk to people and laugh and shout and tell people what she really thought about the entire affair as well as this and that and the affairs of field mice. She had to be taken in hand. A group of laughing church-goers picked up both her and her husband, who was caught between weeping and grinning like a fool to the point that he couldn't put two words together in any kind of useful order, and took them off to bed.

Apparently Tulip fell asleep almost immediately and so she was carried to the inn where she and her husband were given a room. She later told me that she slept like a log and doesn't remember any of it but that when she woke up she found a tired husband watching over her as though he just couldn't stop looking at her.

I asked her whether or not she found that a little creepy. She laughed, something that she does often, and told me that it was a little bit creepy but the sweetness of the gesture made up for it.

The Cartwright had already been taken to another room where the Herbalist put him before sprinting back to her cottage for the herbs and tools that she wanted in order to properly take care of her husband. The fact that the two were now married was also something of a minor local scandal because many people were well aware that although the Herbalist had a “thing” about the Cartwright, the vast majority agreed that the Cartwright didn't care for her. They cited the incident with his wife as well as several other factors and incidents that I knew nothing about. I do know that the Herbalist felt incredibly guilty about not being there when Tulip was resurrected but Tulip told her off for this sentiment pointing out, correctly that there was no way she could possibly have known that that was going to happen and that she had a duty, born out of love and capability to see to the wounded.

Which is how I spent the rest of that night as well. I took the arrow out of the priest's shoulder. To all intents and purposes he didn't even notice what I was doing. The injury was not serious, no major veins were pierced and torn but there would just be the problem of some muscle damage and strain so I told him to rest it and to keep it in a sling. I told him about a proper poultice to use and how often to change the bindings but as I say, he paid absolutely no attention to what I was saying. At the time, we were still outside and he was just looking at his wife, the tears still streaming down his face. In the end I asked her whether she would remember my instructions and she nodded with a smile and told me that she would take care of the matter while she snuggled further into his embrace and yawned hugely.

After that though there were a few other injuries to take care of. A couple of gashes including the incident of friendly fire from my first set of opponents. Some more scratches and some bruised ribs. Nothing too serious, certainly nothing serious enough to pull the herbalist away from her husband's bedside. When all was done I went to visit the sick room to find a very tired woman and a mostly unconscious man. He was on the bed, lying flat on his back, quite obviously sleeping the sleep of the happily medicated.

I have slept that sleep myself and I have to tell you, other than the occasional need to pee, it's amazing. She was lying on a nearby bed, watching her husband. One of the other women who had been charged with boiling bandages in some very particular herbs informed me that the Herbalist was tossing and turning not really able to sleep. Presumably due to worrying and, at the same time, still being utterly filthy from the stuff that she daubed herself with, the smoke and her own blood from where she had been struck in the head.

I nodded and went to see them.

She was the very portrait of a woman who was beyond tired. Halfway between fatigue and worry. Professional enough to know that there was nothing more to be done but worried enough that she couldn't leave that alone and take care of herself.

The door was open and I watched for a moment or two to see her tossing and turning on the bed before she eventually sat up and just sat there, half staring at her husband and half staring into space.

“Are you perving at me?” She said abruptly but she was too tired to put any proper venom in it.

“Not really.” I told her as I walked into the room. “Only as a matter of course. Personally I prefer my women a bit older.”

“True, I heard you liked to sleep with the dead.”

“We prefer the term differently alive if you please.” I said, trying for being haughty. “And also, even being nine hundred years old, she's still prettier than you.”

She snorted before leering suggestively. “I bet I could teach her a thing or two though.”

“That is drifting the argument over towards things that I couldn't possibly know about and therefore have no way of actually winning.”

“That's the point though isn't it. Not much of an argument for me if there's a danger that I might lose.” I saw a gleam of her old character in her eyes then and I knew that she was going to be Ok.

“So?” I asked after a long moment where I screwed up my courage to the point. “Did I kill him?”

He was pale, there was no way of denying that and he had certainly lost a lot of blood as well as the pain and discomfort that goes with being stabbed in some of your thicker muscles and having one of your arteries cut. His breathing was a little laboured but nothing that was triggering any kind of alarm bells. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully so that was certainly something.

“No,” she said after a while. “No you didn't kill him. It goes against everything that I stand for to be nice to you but you almost certainly saved his life.” She grinned. “You did so in the most ham-fisted and basic way possible though. You're bloody lucky that you hit the right area to get that blood out that was squeezing his lungs though. If you'd missed you would have just caused more problems for him.”

“Hey it worked though didn't it.” I protested.

“It worked which is why I'm letting you live.”

It might not be entirely clear. But I liked her. I liked her a lot. Since committing myself to Ariadne when I asked her to marry me I haven't been with another woman. It just hasn't seemed right, even though I'm confident that Ariadne wouldn't have a problem with my taking care of some stress in a casual one night stand or by visiting a brothel, but it's not about her it's about how I would feel about it. I just wouldn't feel right about it, I would feel it as though I was betraying her. It's also been odd that I haven't really felt any kind of physical desire for a woman in that way since making that commitment towards Ariadne in my head.

True, a lot has happened since she and I became betrothed which would easily explain why I have not been as interested in such things but I've just....not felt the desire or the need. Not in the villages or the towns or the places that we visited on our journey north and back south.

Kerrass seems to be of the opinion that this run of....whatever it is....self-enforced celibacy would probably be the best term for it, will possibly end in Skellige as, apparently, if a Skelligan woman decides that she wants to have her way with you then you should just hold on for dear life and enjoy it as you go. This because Skelligan women have what Kerrass calls “views” on the subject of sexual adventures and associated moral questions.

But I'm digressing again.

The herbalist was the first woman, since committing to Ariadne, where I have seen someone that I thought I could love. It never occurred to me to do anything about it. I love Ariadne and the Herbalist loves her Cartwright and I have enormous affection for the newlyweds. But if we had both been single and free from obligations of the heart and the mind. Then I could have loved that woman.

Right now she is spitting vitriol, swearing and hurling abuse at my memory. The thought makes me smile.

As I say, I liked her.

“I will take care of him.” I told her in that room. “Go and get yourself a bath, a change of clothes, something to eat.”

“But...”

“But me no buts.” I told her. “You will need your energy. Also, get that head wound cleaned up. If you won't let me do it then get someone else. Go on. You look fucking awful.”

“Just the kind of thing a woman wants to hear.” She snapped back, but she was awake enough and professional enough to know that I was right. Then a smile crept across her face.

“Heh,” she said. “You said butts”.

“Just fuck off will you. You stink and are so dirty that you might make the sick room worse.”

She stuck her tongue out at me and left. I found a chair and pulled it over to the Cartwright's bedside.

While I was doing all of that, Kerrass, Schrodinger and the Livery people were getting the Unicorn somewhere warm and comfortable. I may have been a little unfair when it comes to the Livery owner who had recently inherited the business from his father. Kerrass told me that his first, last and every thought in between was for the upkeep of the animals and during the time that the two of them talked he was even able to teach Kerrass a thing or two about horses.

I will also say that although there are a lot of differences between the two species, horses and Unicorns, the body mechanics of the two are identical. The main differences physiologically was that the Unicorn is a carnivore rather than a herbivore and that she is a vastly more intelligent person, rather than a beast of burden. I'm told that this didn't make her a good patient and she fought against her recovery even though, to Kerrass' eyes at least, the way that she was moved into the livery stables was done as quickly and efficiently as possible with every care to see to the comfort of the Unicorn as they did so.

This is all done from Kerrass' point of view as he told me this later. The main problem was that the Unicorn was thrashing about in pain so they needed to get some pain relief into her as well as to calm her down. Although Schrodinger wasn't happy with it, the two Witchers used theirAxii signs to keep her calm so that she could be fed. The Livery man mixed one of his horses tonics in with some of the red mead that they “commandeered” out of the inn's kitchens and fed it to her. It was a mark of the efficiency of the signs as well as the desperation for relief in the Unicorn herself, that she ate the food without protest, only briefly complaining that the meal tasted a little off.

Whatever was in the tonic worked wonders and, although incredibly weak, she was able to calm down. The Livery owner marshelled his workers like an army, a horse cart was brought, lined with straw and with the help of a sling they were able to help the Unicorn into the wagon to be carted off to the stables.

Being intelligent, the Unicorn needed more space than the average stable stall and the livery man simply removed some of the slats between a couple. More straw and blankets were brought, again the sling was deployed, a little more efficiently this time as they were now inside the building, and the Unicorn was persuaded to settle down.

Schrodinger apologised to the lad for killing his father but, again according to Kerrass, the lad was quite philosophical about the entire thing. He shrugged and told Schrodinger that the Witcher had just been defending himself and that his dad could be a belligerent bugger at the best of times. Also, whether or not the lad himself didn't like the owner or rider of the animal, it has no effect on how the animal itself should be treated. I'm not sure how the animal herself would have enjoyed being talked about like that but at the end of the day, she was asleep or otherwise drug addled so she couldn't comment. Schrodinger took the better part of valour and just left it there, borrowing one of the groom's cots so that he could sleep near his wife.

The innkeeper's wife did herself proud. Because of the interruption to the normal rhythm of the evening, a lot of people hadn't eaten, so she cooked up a huge pot of stew. It might have been a bit closer to broth by the time she was done but it was tasty, rich and filling. I was brought my bowl as I sat watch over the Cartwright's resting form. My own fatigue was beginning to be telling now and I am not ashamed to say that I was struggling to keep my eyes open.

I don't remember eating the stew or the accompanying hunk of bread, cheese and apple. Or the cup of the strong, sweet tea either but I do remember waking up again (that line is taken direct from the notes that I took at the time) to the Herbalist shaking me awake with a tired smile and a suggestion that I should get myself off to sleep. I was no longer strong enough to complain.

The following morning started slowly. Breakfast was cooked, again for the community. I got the feeling that some stores were being used up but I wasn't really one to complain. As I say, the food itself was absolutely delicious.

A crowd was gathering outside, the innkeeper's daughters were walking around passing cups of mulled wine, tea and a light frothy Ale, that was more thirst quenching than properly alcoholic, and people stood around talking. Father Anchor was there looking more awake and alive than he had previously and Tulip was hanging on his arm, their heads bent together in conspiratorial looking conference. As I watched from behind my own cup of tea and bacon sandwich, Tulip was taking great delight in greeting certain people loudly before enjoying the person's confusion as they didn't recognise the voice that was calling out to them. Then she would giggle and remind all concerned just how clever she was.

Remember, this is a woman with no formal education that, correctly, argued Church doctrine with priests as well as understanding advanced academic texts on the subject of various species of monsters. If she turned her mind to it I don't think that there are many things that that young woman could do.

The Herbalist was there. She was looking a bit nervous if the truth was told although I couldn't entirely understand why. I was privileged enough to see her reunion with her “sister” the innkeeper's wife. The two women stood facing each other with tears in their eyes for a long time. Then they fell over each other trying to apologise in some kind of competition as to who should feel the most guilty before falling into each other's arms and sobbing.

It was one of those moments of catharsis that if you are really lucky, you get to be part of. If you're exceptionally lucky then you can see someone else going through their own moment of catharsis and recognise it for what it was.

I looked away from it as it made me feel kind of awkward as well as strangely sad.

When I looked back, the two of them were sat on a nearby bench gossiping as though they had never been apart.

I returned to my people watching.

Kerrass joined me after a while and began to eat his own sandwich. “Here we go.” He said gesturing with a piece of bacon. “Looks like some decisions are going to be made.”

“What?”

The Thatcher was coming down the road, a much taller man was with him, but who had a similar kind of manner so that I could take him as the son of the Thatcher. The taller one was carrying a large round of wood in both hands and I watched, kind of fascinated by the entire thing as the entire village parted with an almost reverential air, so that the piece of wood could get through. The young man found a flat piece of ground opposite where we were sitting and put the wood down, twisting it around a bit until it was properly seated. He stood on top and jumped up and down a couple of times to make sure that it was properly solid before climbing back down and nodding towards his father.

During this entire remarkable process, the crowd sort of drifted towards the stump while Kerrass and I stayed where we were.

The Thatcher, with the help of his son, climbed up on the wood so that he was a little bit raised off the ground and everyone could see him.

The Thatcher was another man who had changed in my eyes since I first met him. Beforehand, he had seemed like an old man still clinging onto what power he used to have and using it to preserve his place in village hierarchy. But since the death of the Smith he had seemed to grow a little in both stature and presence so I began to see that I had been wrong in my assessment. Now I saw him as a more elderly man who had been trying to pass power onto those people younger than himself. But now that their plans had gone awry, he was having to take control back. I don't think he was entirely happy with it and I think he would have rather done absolutely anything else right then rather than to take charge. He looked very tired and beaten down to my eyes. Old, hearty and stronger than he had thought he was, but there was a sadness about him that I found more than a little moving.

“Hear me. Hear me,” he called in a slightly raspy but powerful voice. “Now is the time of the stumping.”

The village chanted back to him. In the same way that people respond to prayers in church. “Kikut,” they called back. I noticed that Father Anchor and his wife didn't respond which left me thinking that it this ceremony was derived from an old pagan ceremony.

“I am of this village. I was once chosen by this village to lead, to advise and to speak. As such I judge that a stumping is declared. Will you listen?”

“Słuchamy” the crowd chanted back.

“Will you hear?”

“Słyszymy,” the crowd responded.

“Will you speak?”

“My będziemy mówić”

The Thatcher nodded and then seemed to relax a little bit.

“I won't speak for too long.” He told the assembly to which there were a couple of semi-ironic cheers.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up.” He told them, grinning. “But there are some decisions that need to be made and we need to make them. This is not the sort of thing that can be made behind doors and privately. We all need to know what we are all thinking and then we need to make a decision. So we're going to get it all out in the open now so that everyone can go away and think about what's happening and what's happened and make their choices accordingly.”

There was some nodding.

“First of all, it's been a while since one of these was done and we have visitors now so it bears to have a reminder of the rules. During a Stumping the person on the stump gets to talk about whatever is on his mind. Preferably on the subject that is the reason why the Stumping was called in the first place but this has not always been the case.”

He grinned at a memory.

“But while the person is speaking, everyone else must listen respectfully so that the person can finish what they have to say without interruption. When the stumper finishes what they are saying they say “Questions” and then the assembly can ask that person any questions that they may have. The questions must be respectful and pertinent. The person who gets to decide what is pertinent and respectful is the appointed judge of the Stumping. The Judge also gets to decide whether or not the speaker has out stayed their welcome or when the questions themselves are losing their relevance. For the visitors in the crowd or to those people that were not invited to the last one. This is how we used to deal with criminals or crime in the village when the capability of availing ourselves of Royal magistrates was not practical. We also used it to determine things regarding the village itself.”

His eyes scanned the crowd.

“As a village council member I am calling this stumping. The subject of the stumping is “What do we do now”?”

I was pleased for him. He made the last question come across as wheedling, pathetic and plaintive and the crowd reacted with laughter, thus defusing the potential tension of the situation.

“So to explain myself first of all and why I chose to call a stumping.” The Thatcher continued. “I feel as though we have lost our way. I am just as guilty of this as anyone and although I did not commit murder last night, I did advocate it. We all did, and those of us that dissented from that were quieted, hushed up and dismissed. In some cases, worse was done. We were going to murder the Unicorn and the Witcher and we were going to do so for our own ends. That it took the deaths of two of our own, one fortunately and miraculously returned to us, for me to see that is something that I will need to live with for the rest of my life.

“That it was a pair of Witchers, an apprentice Witcher and four of our fellows that tried to prevent further death. That went out of their way not to hurt us when they could, very easily, have used those swords and spear, hooves and horn to cut their way free leaving many many more of us killed or crippled in the process. But that after their deception it was we who attacked them. They defended themselves and despite grievous injury to themselves, they worked to prevent further injury or loss of life. When the fight was over it was one of those men who dealt with the wounded. Our own healer having been knocked unconscious by ourselves because we disagreed with her.

“Speaking for myself. I had no idea that that was the case. I had no idea of the brutality of what was going to happen and that shames me and I think that we have all been lessened by that.”

There was a general hanging of heads but there was also some defiance and angry mumbles.

The Thatcher's eyes flashed. “Some of you might be thinking “I didn't agree with it. I didn't approve of killing a Unicorn for our own gain.” You might not have agreed but after that decision was made. Only four people here present....”

“The Cartwright's still sick upstairs.” Someone shouted.

“Alright Three people here present.” The Thatcher allowed a bit of chuckling. “stood and put themselves on the line to prevent it from happening. In one case, paying for it with injury. I want to take this opportunity to apologise to our healer and herbalist for that shameful action.”

He bowed awkwardly to the Herbalist. “I am so sorry. We have not treated you well.”

Her face was a mask for a moment and I saw several thoughts cross her face although I couldn't identify any of them. Then she nodded and did a thing, halfway between a bow and a curtsy.

“But as for the rest of us. To say nothing is to do nothing. We share the guilt of allowing those actions to take place. For those things to happen. Because it was only in the silence of others that our plans were continued. Four of us stood against that and not one of them didn't pay for that defiance with blood. Blood that we, their village, shed. We are lessened by that. Tainted even and we must all of us live with that.

“The ringleader is dead though and after his actions towards Tulip, who I am glad to see is enjoying herself with her husband, I for one would have demanded his death. I saw what happened too. He decided to kill her and I would not have stood for that. Indeed, the blade of a Witcher is kinder than the marsh-drowning or the rope that we would normally inflict on murderers.”

(Freddie's note. A marsh-drowning is where they take you out to a treacherous, sinking part of the swamps. Tie you down so that the swamp-waters will go over you and then leave you to it. It's crueller in times of drought when it might take days for the swamp water to rise. Then insect bites, disease and infection become more dangerous than the water. The punishment is a lot like those people that get tied to the rocks in the harbour who are killed by the rising tide.)

There was a bit of rumbling to that but nothing really came of that.

“So, to the point then. That is the question that must be asked. What do we do now? As surviving senior member of the council, I offer myself as judge of the Stumping. Anyone against?”

No one made a sound.

“Very well. Questions?”

“What about the innkeeper?” It was the Herbalist although it was a fair question. “If not for the quick thinking of a certain person, he too would have killed another member of this community.”

“That question needs to be answered as well. But our priority should be the future of the village. I think the answers to that question might have a bearing on what is to be done with our fool of an innkeeper.”

(Freddie: Again, the omission of the innkeeper's name is my choice)

There was some nodding.

“Any further questions?”

There was a lot of looking around.

“Then I surrender the stump.” The Thatcher stepped down, again, using the help of his son for balance and leverage.

I found myself oddly fascinated by the stump itself. Later on, after the meeting I went looking for it and found that it was just one of many rounds of wood. For those of my readers that were born in castles and palaces who have no idea as to where their firewood comes from, you possibly don't understand the sheer and constant industry that goes into the collection of firewood. It's something that needs to be done all year round. There are always people going out into the woods to find dry wood to be stacked, broken down, stacked again and then placed carefully in areas where the wood will keep dry so that it can catch under even the coldest conditions.

When loose wood can no longer be found, then a tree might be chopped down. That tree is then stripped of branches until the trunk remains. Then the trunk is cut into the “rounds” that I speak of. It was one of those rounds that was being used. These rounds are then chopped into firewood by the young-folk of the village. The swing and thunk of axes striking wood, along with the accompaniment of splitting wood is a constant music to village life that never quite stops. Even in the rain when, before I started travelling, I would have thought that the cutting of the wood would have been pointless as you are just getting damp wood, it continues on the grounds that damp wood can be dried out and used in the long run.

This particular round was just one that the Thatcher's son had pulled out of the stores. There was nothing remotely special about it at all. It was not an anointed holy stump of wood. Nor was it an ancient piece of wood that had been passed down through the village for days uncounted. It was just a bit of wood.

But the command that it had over this village was absolute. The very second that the Thatcher was not standing on top of it, there was out burst of whispering and gossiping which continued for a while as people talked about what the Thatcher had said. Opinions were formed, dismissed, revisited, argued, changed, given, received, ridiculed, dismantled and reformed. It seemed to be a wave like process that ebbed and flowed but the very second another villager stepped out of the crowd to place their foot on the stump in order to speak, the talking and gossiping stopped and everyone turned to the speaker. It was like a magical thing and although I might have been imagining things, it was almost as though the voice of the speaker was louder than it had been before.

I was fascinated.

There was, apparently, an old tradition that went with the stump which was that if the person who wanted to call the stump couldn't find a stump to stand on, then that was a sign that the Gods of the land didn't want a stump to be called and that the village should carry on with their original course.

The first person who stood on the stump was the Innkeeper's wife and as I say, the crowd was instantly silent other than, maybe, a few children that needed to be shushed.

“Ok, this is tough for me to say.” The woman began. As with some of the others really it shames me to admit that I judged them all on the false faces that they presented to me. I took this woman for being a little stupid and easily led. And maybe she was but at the same time....

I don't know. I find I'm conflicted. I'm recriminating myself because I should have looked deeper than the surface impression that I was presented with. We came awfully close to some disastrous events in that village and I am haunted by the fact that things could have gone a lot worse.

It should be said that Kerrass has since scolded me about this attitude. “Things fall as they fall Freddie.” He told me when I was talking to him about this the other day. “It pays you nothing to dwell on them. Learn from your mistakes, do better next time and move on. You took what they were showing you and yes, we could have investigated further but then we would have run the risk of getting our throats slit in our sleep when we showed that we were not going to be influenced. If there is a lesson here then the thing we should take away is “Look Closer” and that is a good lesson to learn.

“But we did well in Crayton. We saved lives. Imagine if Eskel or Gaetan or Uhtred or..., fuck it, imagine what would have happened if Letho had walked into that situation. For a start I think it's more than likely that Schrodinger and the Unicorn would be dead, let alone all the other villagers that would have made the mistake of trying to take Letho out afterwards.”

“It's an interesting thought,” I told him, “But what's your point?”

“Things could have been a lot worse. Get over it. Get drunk, get laid, go and pray, have a weep, make use of a truly staggering array of narcotics and prostitutes, write it up, do what you have to but then you have to move on with your life. True in normal life as well as for being on the path.”

He is not wrong. But I also think that he needs to listen to his own advice occasionally.

“This is tough for me to say.” The innkeeper's wife began. “This village has been my home my entire life. Ever since my mother brought my sister (the Herbalist) and I here to live in the old cottage and started to care for the sick of this place. I married into this village. I added to this community and brought two beautiful daughters into this place of whom I am immensely proud. I made myself a niche here. I cooked and brewed using the skills that my mother taught me and I helped us to have a good reputation for having good food and good drink and a place to stop on the road.”

In any other time and a place, such statements would have been met by cheers, jokes, positive noises or applause. But this was a stumping and the crowd was quiet with the listening attentiveness.

“But now, I look around and I realise that this place feels strange to me. I am no longer comfortable here. So this is me saying that I intend to leave here.”

There was some reaction to that. It was silent, more the shifting of weight from one foot to the other than anything.

“I am deeply, deeply ashamed of what we tried to do here.” She went on. “Deeply ashamed and I should have stood up and said something. I should have acted. Instead I lied to two Witchers who were brought here on good faith and who were perfectly willing to do the service that we asked of them. They would only have demanded a fair wage in return for those services. I was party to the attempted murders of both Witchers as well as the apprentice that one of those Witchers brought with him. And I am guilty of the attempts on the life of the Unicorn who, I understand, endangered it's own life in order to help one of ours. One of us.”

She stared out at the crowd for a moment. She looked nothing like the Herbalist physically. Different colourings, size, height and shape but suddenly I saw the sisterly resemblance as she struggled to find the words that she wanted to say.

“But I hope that those men and that magnificent beast forgive me when I say that our planning of their deaths is not the thing that I am most ashamed of. The thing that shames me most is my betrayal of those that I care about, of those that I love the most. I encouraged my daughters to sleep with the....No. I will not hide from what I've done. I tried to whore my daughters out to a Witcher and his apprentice to make them more agreeable. True, one daughter was not averse and I suspect that she would have done her best to seduce the Witcher anyway regardless of my approval.”

She smiled at her blonde daughter who shrugged to show her mother that she wasn't upset. “But my other daughter was reluctant to the extreme and was put through a situation where both her mother and her father were encouraging her, no, I am obfuscating again. We ordered her to have sex with strangers for the good of the village. So I must thank the Witcher and his apprentice. The one for being gentle and the other for not taking advantage. But that cannot lessen what I did. I stood by while my husband outright ordered his daughters to sleep with strangers for profit and I agreed with this despite the foreboding in my heart.”

She grinned nastily. “I will talk about my husband in a moment.”

“But the other person I wronged was my sister who, it must be said, saw all of this coming. She predicted what my husband would turn into. She predicted the decline of the village when the war ended and she predicted that one Witcher might fall for it, but two? And then when she refused to be part of our schemes while also being loyal to us all enough to not give our plans away... Our men assaulted her, physically attacking her for the crime of “disloyalty to the village”.”

She tossed her head defiantly. “I will not be part of a village that does that. I will not. I am sorry to those people that I have wronged because I agree that to stand by is to be....just as guilty as well. I am sorry to my sister and my daughters. I am sorry for all those of you who I knew disagreed with what the Smith and my husband were trying to do but I encouraged you to stay quiet. You were right and I was wrong. I am sorry for Father Anchor and his wife especially. The two of you had the courage to try and stand up to try and save the village from itself and I should have stood with you. I am sorry to the Witchers and Apprentice. I am sorry to the Unicorn. I am sorry. I should have done better.

“I can make excuses but they are not really excuses, not really. They might explain why I behaved the way I did but they don't excuse things. I was obeying my husband. I was obeying the will of the council. But I knew that they were wrong and I should have done something about it. So I'm sorry.

“But I can't be part of a village that did those things. That was part of those things. That stood by and let those things happen. I need to move on, go somewhere where I can be better. I love the people here and there are many faces here that I will miss. Many faces and I love you all. But I no longer love the village. I don't know if that makes sense. I love the people in the village but I don't love the village anymore I suppose I'm just....”

She stood for another pause, staring into space for a while. Eventually the Thatcher cleared his throat noisily making her almost jump.

“Are you finished?” The Thatcher asked, presumably in his capacity as judge. His voice was certainly formal and solemn sounding. “Do you have anything more to say?” These words were a bit kinder.

“No,” she said shaking her head. “No, I don't think so.”

“Then...” He waved his hand in a circular motion in the universal signal that she should move on.

“Oh yes. Right. Ummm. Questions?”

“When do you plan on leaving?” Someone called. I didn't recognise the voice or see who was talking but there was some murmuring that suggested that it was a question that was on a number of people's minds.

“Oh Flame don't worry.” She said quickly with a bit of a laugh. “I'm not leaving right now, or even tomorrow. No....” She thought about it for a second before laughing again. “No, I want to say good bye properly and I want to put some things into place. I know that, I hope I'm not giving anything away....”

She looked over at the herbalist who made a shooing gesture. “I know that my sister and her new husband, which is another source of shame for me, that I wasn't standing next to my sister when she got married. That's my fault that she didn't feel comfortable or confident enough to want me to be next to her....” She shook herself. “I have a lot to put right. But she and her new husband are intending to leave as well. But they can't go until (the Cartwright) is well enough to go on a long journey which might be weeks or even a couple of months.

“So I would like to travel with them, but if I'm not welcome then I would at least still like to be here in order to properly support them both while he is healing and she is preparing. It's early in the planning but I won't leave you all to the mercies of my husband's cooking either.” There was more laughter. “I will continue to cook and brew so that there will at least be a stockpile left behind for those that choose to remain.” There was a small cheer. Now that they were onto the “Questions” part of things it seemed that the rules about remaining silent were not as strictly enforced.

There was a pause after that and it certainly seemed as though she believed that she had answered the question.

“Any more questions?” The Thatcher asked.

“What about your family?” Someone else asked. I didn't know this man either.

“I see you there.” She told the male questioner, her eyes flashing in a way that, again, reminded me of the sudden rages of her sister. “I would like to think that you are asking after my daughters as much as you are asking about the status of my husband, your brother.”

There was no response.

“My daughters are both good and wonderful women and they should know that I love them both and am immensely proud of them. Let no-one be in any doubt that their faults as daughters are my faults as their mother and I am so so very sorry about what I was party to. I love you both, girls, more than I can say. If you want to come with me then of course they will be welcome and we can talk about what we're going to do when we get to wherever we're going. An Inn, a tavern or whatever else or if you want to come with me then do something completely different then that's ok too.”

She took a deep breath. “If you want to stay here then you can do so with my blessing and love although I hope that you will come with me. But if you do decide to stay behind then that is your choice to make. Do not let anyone else influence you otherwise. I say this publicly so that you don't have any doubt as to what I'm thinking or what I've said.

“Now to answer what I suspect is really on your mind, beloved brother in law.” She hissed that last and my guess is that there was no love lost there.

“Father Anchor has advised me not to rush into any decision regarding my marriage. I am furious with my husband. Absolutely furious but again, after consulting with the Father, I am aware that I am angry with myself as much as I am with him. He was the one who suggested that our daughters might help make Witcher Kerrass and his apprentice more amenable to our designs by sleeping with them. It was him that stood by while my sister was beaten and it was he that nearly succeeded in killing a good man, the man that my sister loves. A man who, like Tulip and Father Anchor was trying to save us from ourselves. Just so that he's aware, that is a lot that needs making up for. To our daughters more than anything. But also, for years he has been taking the credit for my skills in cooking and brewing because “no-one wants to believe that a woman knows how to brew a good ale.” Fuck that. I'm going to take the credit for my work from now on.”

There was a small cheer but I noticed a few faces looking a little glum at this, angry even.

“My husband has until I leave to convince me to keep him. But he should know that regardless of the state of our marriage, I still intend to leave. If he's awful in the meantime then I will bring my divorce forwards. If not, if Father Anchor agrees to annul our marriage before I leave then I can do that too. I'm sure that there are any number of priests and priestesses out there that can be found who will be willing to annul my marriage to a man that whored out his children.”

There was another pause.

“Any more questions?” The Thatcher asked. “Then you may step down.” The woman came down and hugged both daughters. Conversation started again. I made my way through to the trio who were now sat near the Herbalist.

“Well said.” I told the Innkeeper's wife. It feels so awkward to call her that but she asked me not to use her name should I talk about this in my writing. “Well said and well spoken.”

“Our mother taught us.” The Herbalist told me.

“So here's the thing.” I said. “In a little over a years time, I will be getting married to Countess Ariadne of Angral on the border between South Eastern Redania and South Western Kaedwen. In the Northern part of the Pontar Gap.”

The Innkeeper's wife's eyes widened. She looked at her sister who nodded. “Yes,” The Herbalist told her sister. “Tulip told me. He's actually quite famous in some circles and he really is going to be a count. He's just a minor lordling at the moment though so don't start curtsying or anything.”

“Oh, as if that makes it all better.” The other woman shuddered. “I was going to try and help kill a lord.”

“Yes but only a minor one. We have to keep reminding him that he's not as important as he thinks he is. Otherwise his head will explode.” The Herbalist grinned nastily at me.

“Anyway, when you're done.” I grinned back, I hope, just as nastily. “My family is always looking for good Cartwright's and I have already told your husband about that but my wife and I could do with a cook and a brewer who could see what she could make of local crops. I don't live there yet but I will want to entertain friends and guests with a good table and fine vintages and beers when I move in with her next year. Your daughters will also be quite welcome, there is plenty of land, we're near the capital of that land which, although it's not Novigrad or Vyzima, it's still got shops and inns if they want to branch out. Also, I feel sure that my wife would love to discuss modern Herbalism and Alchemy with someone of skill.”

I leant over to the Innkeeper's wife and stage whispered to her. “Do you know anyone who might fit that bill? I had heard there was a skilled Herbalist and healer in the area but what I've found has left me underwhelmed.”

The Herbalist hit me on the arm.

“You are quite right in what you said though. Don't rush into things. But the offer's there.” I told them both.

“I'll think about it.” The Innkeeper's wife said still looking a little breathless.

Father Anchor got up on the stump to speak.

“Ok So....ummmm..... I wasn't at the last one of these so I don't know how it works. I'm not really used to speaking in public when I'm not doing so for the purpose of giving a sermon. I get the feeling that this is about statements of facts and intent. So here goes.

“I have spoken with Tulip and we have no intention of leaving. Not yet at least. We intend to stay until it becomes clear that, by staying, we are causing more harm than good. We feel that those people that remain might need our help, our advice and our guidance. In spiritual matters if nothing else. There is also the fact that I will not struggle to find somewhere else to live. The church is always looking for priests like me so when we do decide to move on. We will not struggle.

“But in the meantime I would like to offer my perspective for what it's worth. The nature of being a priest is that I am part of the community but I am not one of the community. I perform marriages, bless children, perform funerals and give sermons but I don't think it's unfair to say that no-one really wants to come down to the tavern with the local priest for a pint or two.”

He grinned as he said it and there were a few genial chuckles as he said it.

“I also get to listen to confessions which means that I know far more of the secret goings on around the place to make everyone feel entirely comfortable. There is nothing wrong with that and I absolutely understand that attitude. I have my wife who I love very much. And I have my faith which, I admit, although sorely tested last night was proved to be correct. I too owe a great debt to men, women and creatures that some in my church would have me revile.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Not that I agree with those people but that's another story.

“What I'm trying to say is that all of these things give me a sense of perspective that I think might be useful to you all to know and I want to share that with you.

“I think that the village community is sick. To be clear I'm not talking about the sickness of mind that drives people to do despicable things to others although I do think that we came close to that last night. Only to be saved by those same men, women and creatures that I mentioned earlier. I mean the term “sick” to be the same way that an old work horse or dog gets sick.

“Let's say the family dog is old and sick so that it is no longer able to perform the tasks which it used to find easy. What do you do with it? You can spend time and money to make sure that the dog survives enough so that it can have a few more years of life doing what it always did. You can retrain it so that it turns into something else. Instead of herding your your sheep it might stay inside and guard your door, it might move on to being a pet that watches the children and gets to enjoy it's retirement. Both of these options are accepting that the dog is going to die soon anyway and that you are only delaying the inevitable death by disease and frailty. Or you can put the dog out of it's misery which, although on the surface this is a harsh answer, might also save the dog, and you, a lot of heartache and misery. Not to mention the monetary and energy cost of keeping the dog alive and well.”

“To my eyes, the village cannot continue the way it has been going. Those people that point out that the merchant caravans simply don't come through here often enough to sustain us, are correct and we should all accept that fact. That's not to say that they won't come occasionally, but we would have to ask ourselves what kinds of people would bring their caravans this route when the other roads, or the sea routes are faster and safer. Do we want to be supporting those men who would take advantage of us in ways that the Witchers did not. We have all heard stories about these kinds of men after all....but I am digressing. The village cannot sustain itself in that uncertain future. Sooner or later our children, our livestock and everything else here will begin to die. It will be slow, it will be painful and it will be miserable.

“Or we can change the village. I don't know what that would entail. I am a priest and although I can shoot a bit, fish a bit and set snares for rabbits, my wife is much better at all of those things. So if the village is going to change then wiser heads than I would need to decide how we are going to survive. I suspect though that that would be a lot of work and I would wonder whether or not it is work we can afford to put the time and effort into. Do we even want to put that work in?

“The alternative, of course, is that we all go our separate ways. We strip the village of as many resources as we can and move on. It will hurt. It will be very sad. Unbearably sad but it would mean that we could all make fresh starts elsewhere.

“The village is sick, as I say. We were willing to commit murder and my sin is one of silence and complacency. It took me far too long to act and if I'm honest with myself, I acted because I was forced to by people better than myself. So we are hurting. Our community spirit is damaged, maybe irrevocably so. And that will need to be addressed as well. I would even say that this is more important than deciding what we would do to help the village to survive. Without that community spirit we are just a collection of individuals and individuals don't work together except for personal gain.”

He stopped speaking abruptly. “I'm not used to this. Normally when I give a sermon I've already written the conclusion and I know where I'm going with it. I think I've made all the points I want to make though. So....ummmm.....Questions?”

“I'm curious.” It was the woman that I had once seen tending to some pigs. “You say that your continued presence might cause harm. What do you mean by that?”

A few people nodded.

“I'm not into divination,” The priest told her. “Nor am I magical as far as I know. But I predict that a number of people are going to leave. The herbalist, her husband, her sister and probably her nieces. I doubt she will be alone. But I can foresee a time when the village is all but deserted. Our old folk have gone to live with relatives in other villages. Children born here realise that they are never going to make anything of themselves and they leave. So then the community begins to harm itself by staying together.

“They're only staying together because they've always stayed together and one of the excuses that people might use is “Well the priest is still here. So I'm staying.” If that is the case then I would go. If people are actively harming themselves by their stubbornness in staying then I will leave. I will not be party to that.”

I don't think people entirely understood what he was trying to say but there was some nodding while also a lot of people looking sideways at each other.

Those were the important points if I'm honest. Other people did get up to speak, I'm not saying that they didn't. Some people even got up to speak more than once. But at the end of the day the speakers could be put into two categories. The first was people that were talking about what they were going to do and why. Whether they were going to be leaving tomorrow or next week or eventually. Or whether they were going to stay and try to make the best of things. The other kind of speaker were those people that wanted to talk about what happened the previous night and how it had affected the village as a whole.

Some of this second category was simply people whining. People who wanted to tell everyone that they would have never been party to murder but their wife, husband, children, parent wanted them to keep their nose out of it. I will say that I was pleased that the sentiment seemed to have settled in our favour. I'm not sure how I would have felt about it if people had stood up and told us that we were wrong and that they were going to march over to the livery stable and do their best to remove the Unicorns horn from her skull. It wouldn't have been pretty that's for sure.

I would like to think that they had all seen the error of their ways but I think it's much more likely that those people that might have been tempted to turn against the Unicorn and the rest of us, had realised which way popular opinion was going and decided to keep quiet.

In the end though the Thatcher realised that people were arguing themselves round in circles and that they weren't getting anywhere. That and an amusing case of several people arguing with each other quite vehemently without realising that they were actually on the same side. The Thatcher was patient with them all though and when he decided that he'd had enough he brought proceedings to a close. The stump was picked up, carried off and that was that.

I did wonder about the fact that it didn't seem as though any decisions had actually been made but the Herbalist laughed at me.

“These things always come in pairs.” She told me. “The first one is not about making decisions. It's more about getting everything out into the open so that we can all talk about it so that when decisions do get made, no-one is surprised or angry.”

“What do you think is going to happen?”

“I think it depends on the Bow-maker.” I was astonished to find she was a little tipsy.

“Why him?”

“Goddess but you are such a noble aren't you.” She grinned at me. “You really have no idea how the world works.”

“I like to think I have a better than average idea for my class. At least I went out in the world to find out. But, if you are going to come and work with my wife you should know that I'm a scholar....”

“Tulip did mention that yes.”

“And that one of the things that I study is people. Do you get that too?”

“I think I can follow.” She was trying really hard not to laugh at my almost serious words.

“So even if I do know the answer. And I'm not telling you whether I do or do not know the answer. I'm asking you to record what you are thinking. If you prefer to think of it this way then think of it as telling the nobles and the scholars and the people that live in cities that villagers are much smarter than they are generally given credit for.”

She was laughing now. “You actually don't know do you?”

I glared at her.

“Oh stop that and have a drink.” She handed me a tankard, laughing. “I've fucking spat in it for you.”

“Your husband is such a lucky man.” I told her with as much scorn and sarcasm as I could muster.

“He really is at that.”

“Why are you so happy anyway?”

“I'm married to the man that I've loved for....fuck....for ever and he's going to live and tells me that he loves me back. I've reconciled with my sister and she's leaving the man she married who I despise. When my man is ready we're going to go somewhere else and we'll talk about starting a family. All of those things are things that I've wanted forever, even the ones that I didn't know that I wanted and now they're coming true. I would kiss you if I didn't hate you so much.”

“Do you really hate me?”

Something in my voice must have caught at her as she put her cup down with the excessive care of someone well on her way to getting drunk after looking at me sidelong.

“Really really? No I don't hate you. I enjoy sparring with you. But no I don't hate you. I love you for all that you have achieved and brought to pass in this village. You've helped make all of this happen. I just wish you had done so without all the blood, pain and fear.”

“So do I.”

“One thing though.”

“What's that?”

“If we do come and live near you and my sister opens an inn or becomes your cook or whatever. I'm not going to call you “My Lord”.”

“I can live with that.”

She looked at me strangely. “I'm also not going to be your mistress. I know that some nobles get ideas about that kind of thing and you might be thinking that my gratitude for everything means...”

“What?” I recoiled, “Flame no. That's not....” For reference, this sentence started about halfway through hers.

She peered at me for a long time before she nodded. I guessed that there was a decision in the middle of that somewhere.

“Ok. Sorry, forget I said anything.”

“I mean.....”

“Don't worry about it.”

“I'm just saying that you haven't met my fiance yet.”

She laughed. “Fair enough. Oh, and don't give our names in your writings. We don't need that kind of attention.”

“Fair enough. So are you going to answer my question?”

“How else is the village going to get food?” She asked. “We're not a farming community. We don't have fields to grow things in them. We all have vegetable patches, a few people have goats and there's the odd cow for milk. But the land is too marshy for proper crops. So to get the food we have to hunt for it.”

“So?”

“So what do we need to hunt? We can do bits with spears I suppose but rabbits will soon learn not to go near the traps and the river does not have an infinite supply of fish. We need men who know how to track, sure. But we also need bows, arrows and people who know how to make them. People could figure it out eventually but in doing so that is time where they're not hunting. So that's my prediction. If the Bow-maker leaves then the Fletcher will follow him. Once both of them have gone then it's all over.”

“Interesting.”

“You had no idea what I was going to say do you?”

I did as a matter of fact. I could see the line of logic, but sometimes you have to allow yourself to be the butt of the joke. Sometimes this is because it makes the joke funnier because your comeback is never going to be as good. But sometimes it's because you just feel as though it's the right thing to do.

“I knew.” I protested loudly and falsely. “Of course I knew.”

She laughed. “I need to check my husband's dressings.

I spent a bunch of time talking to her sister, the former innkeeper's wife. She wanted to know more about the job offer I'd just offered her. What I liked to eat, what my fiance liked to eat. What our fields were like. What grapes and hops and things we could bring in. She was surprisingly happy with the fact that I didn't know many of these answers but it did make me paranoid enough to check with Ariadne that she had space for a cook.

Fortunately she did. When she did eat at home her needs were simple and a local woman was more than enough to take care of the needs of a lump of bread, some cheese and some meat. She often dines at the palace in Angraal anyway. As she keeps reminding me, being able to use a transport gate has it's uses so she can go, dine with the Duke and his household and get back before things have gone too awry in the laboratory. But she was pleased with the idea of having a proper cook in residence.

The gathering went on for a while. Lots of people standing or sitting around drinking their way through the inn's stock of beer and wine. There was a general feeling that there was no way that the Innkeeper would be able to talk his wife round so that the food and the beer might as well be enjoyed while the opportunity presented itself. There was a growing consensus that suggested that the actions of the Smith, the innkeeper and the rest were always a bad idea and that everyone had always agreed that it was a bad idea and if only the village had actually listened to us then this crisis would have been averted.

I found it interesting that they weren't really talking about what they were going to do now. They were talking about what they should have done in the past although I also noticed that not a single person owned up to the fact that what they should have done was to make sure that the plan to kill the Unicorn was never acted upon. All they seemed to want to talk about was how the village should have invested in clearing some of the woodland around them, import workmen and expertise in order to drain the swamps in order to give themselves some arable land to work on. But it was never admitted to be a mistake that people should never have made the Smith a member of the council. Or that his orders should have been ignored.

I grew tired quickly and left. There was still a bit of a party atmosphere going on. Musical instruments were being produced and a dance was starting up. I felt like an outsider and a fake. I wanted to scream and shout about the fact that people had almost died and that there were bigger concerns here that they were ignoring. There was a blanket of depression sinking around me and over me as well as a frustration about things that I knew I could do nothing about.

That blame for the recent events was being pushed over onto the dead man who was unable to defend himself. I found myself wondering how long it would be before the Innkeeper was forgiven by the villagers and allowed back into the fold. How long it would be before the story was beginning to be circulated that the entire plan about murdering the Unicorn for the good of the village could be laid at the Smith's feet and his feet alone. That the Innkeeper was innocent of the whole thing and had done his best to curtail the more extreme tendencies of his colleague on the village council.

I theorised that it wouldn't be until the innkeeper had lost his wife. Not until the Cartwright, the Herbalist and the rest had gone off to go wherever they decided to go in the long run. The fact that the Innkeeper had nearly stabbed a man to death would be forgotten and pushed under the rug.

The thought that the Innkeeper would be able to talk his wife into staying around did not even begin to cross my mind. That woman had made her mind up but again I was wondering what the greater sin was in her eyes. That the man had tried to prostitute his daughters out or that he had almost killed a man.

These are the questions that always seem to haunt after these kinds of events and I am always left with the desire to know what happens next. Kerrass and I would mount our horses and ride off after having gone into a village and then the chances of my ever returning that way again was remote. Some places, I wasn't even sure I would know how to find them again. I was able to find the Bridge of Tom the Troll on a map due to the local terrainbut I only have the loosest idea of where Amber's crossing is and those are extreme examples of large events. I have no idea where the village is that I killed my first monster although I think of that place often.

This place would be no different. My guess was that Kerrass would want to wait a few days to make sure that Schrodinger and the Unicorn would be alright and weren't in any danger of either the Unicorn's injury worsening abruptly or the village changing it's mind again. Then we would be riding south. The delay here already meant that we were running late for our aim of getting to Skellige. I didn't mind as much as I possibly could or even should on the grounds that I still wanted to question the Unicorn about what she could tell me.

In the cold light of time passing, my guess as I walked away from the party was that the Unicorn couldn't actually tell me a great deal. That that had been the reason for her ultimatum. That she was of the opinion that I would be disappointed and that I wouldn't want to help her and Schrodinger escape from the trap that they were in. I was prepared for that though.

I checked in with the two Witchers who had commandeered a couple of jugs of ale and were sat in the livery stables reminiscing about old times and old friends. I stayed with them for a while but I found the conversation to be impenetrable. The names and the places that they discussed meant nothing to me and left me feeling resentful and excluded.

I was self aware enough to realise that I was going through the inevitable come-down that happens after every event or every fight. It's as regular as the fear before hand, afterwards the sweating will come, the shaking, the nightmares as well as the realisation that the exact same thing would happen next time there was a crisis. So I knew that I was being unfair and resentful.

After much practice I have come to the conclusion that all I could do was to just ride it out. If I can stand it then I would go and find some company to get drunk with and talk things through with. Kerrass used to advise me to find myself a nice warm and willing woman to affirm my own survival with and that has been successful in the past but my taste and desire for that kind of thing has lessened since my engagement. I went back to the party, bought a bottle of spirits by having to force my money onto the protesting Innkeeper's wife before I went off to find somewhere to think.

I ended up at the church, not by design but it was the building furthest away from the party.

The church was unlocked and unbarred. I was surprised by that and had every intention of sitting with my back to the wall to watch the stars but the door was open and I pushed my way in. The flame on the alter was burning brightly and I found myself wondering when the priest or his wife had found the time to come in and maintain that flame.

I chose a pew at random and sat down, taking occasional swigs from my bottle. It was a vodka of some kind but I was in too much of a daze to realise what kind of vodka it was. As it always did in these small, quiet shrines and churches. The sounds of the flickering flames lulled me into a sense of peace. Not quite the same sounds as the family chapel, the brazier was the wrong size and the echoes didn't seem quite right but it was peaceful enough for my purposes.

“I heard you come in.” The words showed me that I was just as susceptible to cliché as everyone else as I jumped a mile. Still unused to hearing Tulip speak.

“I'm sorry,” I said after a while. It seemed to take me a long time to be able to say the words. I don't think I slurred them but that could have gone either way. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“You didn't,” she said as she sat next to me, twisting her body on the pew so that she could face me easily. I did the same and offered her the bottle. “I find I don't want to sleep at the moment. Not since...you know....I had my chest caved in.” She grinned, taking the bottle off me and drinking deeply.

“Your husband?”

She laughed, a beautiful sound. “He's asleep, Right now I could probably ring the warning bell and he could sleep through it. Snoring his head off. He's also struggling with the aftermath of....well...everything.”

“How are you doing with it all?” I asked, taking the bottle back.

“I'm alive. I have a tongue back so that I can speak and properly say all of the things that I want to say and there will no longer be any doubt as to my meaning. I can yell at people that upset my husband. I can order my own drinks and explain when I don't like particular varieties of food without having to work out a way to mime, “it's ok but I wouldn't choose it”. You know, that whole thing where you can eat it if there's no other choice but you would rather have something else.”

“I fell that way about fish.” I told her, returning the bottle.

“But above all I can call out my husband's name in the throes of passion and I no longer need to rein in my voice. It used to make him uncomfortable, cries of passion from a mouth without a tongue. ”

“I'm not sure I should be listening to all this personal stuff.”

She laughed again. “I can soothe him with words now as well as actions. I can tell him what I like in the marital bed and ask him what he wants me to do in return. I can be vocal in my appreciation of the movements of his tongue, fingers and m...”

“Now I know you're just trying to embarrass me.”

She smiled at my embarrassment. “I'm trying to tell you the gift that has been given to me. I can discuss things with learned scholars such as yourself. I can haggle with merchants and shop-keepers. I can sing and say the prayers in the religious services that I love. I feel that I can....I feel alive.”

“I'm happy for you.”

“Are you? You don't look very happy.” She chided.

“Confession time?” I asked

“If you like although you should do this with my husband.”

“Maybe but I don't think he would.... I suppose I need a woman's perspective.”

“Very well.” She took a long drink and composed herself before giggling at the image. Her smile was infectious and I found my mood lifting.

“I love my fiancée a great deal.” I said. “But I am coming to dread our wedding day.”

She nodded, carefully not saying anything.

“It marks an ending.” I continued. “A point of no return.”

“Why? Of what?”

“You've read my work right?”

“I'm something of a fan.” She giggled at herself.

“So you know about my sister.”

“I do.”

“Much to my horror, I realise that I am coming to terms with her disappearance and probable death. I've started to talk about her in the past tense and worse, I've started to think about her in the past tense. But my marriage marks the boundary. When I'm married I will have feudal duties, academic duties as well as a duty to my wife. None of those duties are unpleasant and I look forward to many of them.” I felt myself grinning. “How did you say it? I'm looking forward to being vocal in my appreciations.”

Tulip laughed.

“But it marks the point where I give up on my sister. I can feel it. As time goes by more and more people are giving up. People are waiting now, we're becoming reactive in our search for any kinds of news of her. And I know that that's how the world works. That sisters, mothers daughters and lovers go missing all the time and that sooner or later someone else is going to go missing and they need to be searched for too. That another crisis replaces the last one which replaced the crisis before that.”

I took a deep breath.

“My wedding day is the day I formally give up looking for my sister and I dread that moment. I dread being happy.”

“That sounds pretty fucking stupid if you ask me.” Tulip said after a moment.

“And it is.” I admitted. “How can I put this?” It was my turn for a long drink. “This is my disaster scenario alright. This is how wrong it could be in my head.

“Ariadne and I have an amazing day. I've recovered from my stag do which Kerrass is organising and Ariadne's recovered from whatever it is that she's doing at the time. We get up on the morning, we dress, we go to the ceremony and then go to the party. Everyone we both love is there. All of our friends and my family. I don't know if she has a family and if they would turn up if they were invited but that's not important. We eat too much, we drink too much, we dance until our legs can't keep us up any more. Speeches are made, toasts are drunk. I can see it now.”

I closed my eyes.

“I can see it, like a dream on the edge of memory. The moment comes that Ariadne and I make our way to the marital chamber. I can see everyone's faces. Smiling and laughing. I can see Kerrass, Mark, Sammy, Emma, Laurelen, my friends from University, Rickard, Shani and all the rest. I can see them smiling happy faces as I pick Ariadne up and carry her from the banqueting hall and up to our marital chambers. I can hear the lewd jokes, helpful but unhelpful advice and the shouts of encouragement.

“Ariadne and I are both grinning like lunatics. A little too tired, a little too drunk, a little too sweaty for comfort. I'm going to carry her to the marital chambers and across the threshold where the room and bed has been set up according to our specifications. There is a bath with steaming water and rose petals floating for us to clean up. A large and soft bed and a fire in the hearth and a rug before it. I will set her down and take her hands in mine and kiss them because the idea of kissing her lips is still too much for me to bear. She will smile, she has this way of knowing what I'm thinking and she will have resolved to be gentle with me. She will tilt my eyes to meet hers and I'm going to look into Ariadne's smiling and unspeakably beautiful face and I'm going to say, entirely without meaning to, “I wish that Francesca had been here.”

“I dread that. I dread it. Because I know myself. I know how I work. I know more about how my brain and heart works now than I ever really wanted to know. I will say that and even if I have the self-control left to hold those words back. That will be what the day is about now. Rather than a day dedicated to the love that I have for her and that I hope that she has for me, it will be about the fact that my sister was taken from us and could not share that day with the other people that I love. That will be my memory of my wedding day. Not the marital night. Not the food, the drink, the dancing or the company. It will be the face of the person that is missing.”

Silence reigned in the church after that. Only the flickering of the flame kept us company.

“May I ask a question?” She said after a while.

“Please?”

“Genuinely, and I'm not joking here, does it always hit you like this? It's a thing I've noticed from your writings. When the action is over and things die down, are you always left with this sense of melancholy?”

“Always.” I told her. “These last few days are going to haunt me. We were so close to disaster, so very close to disaster.”

“But we didn't. We prevailed.”

“But that is not the thing that will haunt my nightmares. It will be the twang of the bowstring that, if the kid had had an arrow on that bow, then I would be dead now. It will be your husband's howl of despair when the hammer descended. The Cartwright's groan as the blade entered his shoulder and the look of fear in his eyes when he couldn't breathe.

“If I'm lucky and a month goes past. Maybe two months. I will look back and see these events and be able to look back on them with a smile and satisfaction. But for right now? All I can think of is all the things we did wrong.”

She nodded. “I suppose you already know that we could have done much worse though, right?”

“To be fair, I do know that.”

“Good. As for the other thing. I know I look far too young for it but one of the things that having a tongue means is that I can actually taste food again. I've warned my husband that I might get fat now but he doesn't seem to care that much.”

“Good for him.”

“But anyway. I've been married for several years now. The secret to it is to talk to each other. Not just the good things but also the bad things as well. Your dread is not a bad thing. It doesn't make you evil or cruel or make you a horrible fiancée. It means that you're human. I've read your diaries and my assessment is that the lady in question is positively besotted with you. If you show her your flaws as much as your qualities then she will only love you the more. And talking to each other is a habit where it's never too early to start.”

“You're right. I know, it's a lesson that I've begun to learn and I'm getting better. To be fair to me, it's only this alcohol and recent events that have made me think about it.” I sloshed the bottle for effect.

“Also,” she told me firmly. “There is absolutely no reason at all why your sister can't be there and be part of the wedding.”

“What?” I blinked in stupidity.

“I'm a priest's wife. I've been to so many weddings that it honestly loses it's joy after a while unless I know and like the people. But I've seen it all. Here's a suggestion. You're a rich man. Have someone paint a portrait of your sister. Flame, have several painted. The solemn but smiling portrait to be there in the chapel itself during the ceremony. The laughing party girl for during the feast. The tired but happy woman at the end of the feast. That way she can be there and she can be watching you.”

“Holy Fire,” I felt tears in my eyes.

“Also,” she went on. “Take it from someone who knows these things. Even if you don't do that. Even if you decide against that course of action. Then your sister will be with you. She is with you now, watching over you, caring for you, laughing in joy and shedding her own tears in times of sorrow. The people that we love never leave us. Even in death.”

I sobbed then and she threw her arms round me while I wept.

“Grief is not a crime Freddie, stop trying to make it one.”

I wept for a long time. When I stopped she rose and reached over the back of the pew. “I brought you a spare blanket and a couple of pillows. The cushions on the prayer rail are fairly comfortable and I can recommend their use as a mattress if you pile them together. I will wake you in the morning with my mother's patented hangover cure.”

“What is it?”

“Possibly best I don't tell you. I'm heading back to my husband now.”

“Thank you Tulip.” I told her departing back.

She grinned. “Just, when you come to write all of this up. Say that I am pretty, clever and wise.”

“I do not think that will be difficult for me to say.”

I'm having to hurry this along now as I have recently received word that Kerrass and I will be leaving Novigrad shortly so I apologise for the abbreviated nature of what comes next.

As expected, Kerrass didn't want to leave Schrdoinger and the unicorn in a vulnerable position and so we had a long heart to heart conversation where he begged me to allow for this small delay for our general arrival in Skellige. It was really just a matter of waiting for him to stop talking so that I could tell him that it was alright, that I still wanted to talk to the Unicorn anyway. I told him that after spending all that time and effort trying to keep the pair of them alive, I was hardly likely to squander it now by walking off before they were ready. Kerrass looked absurdly relieved.

I also think that occasionally, he needs to spend a bit of time with his brother Witchers. Not just Eskel and the other Wolves but also with those men that still survive from the Cat school. Schrodinger is not the first Cat Witcher I've met. I've mentioned Gaetan and that I met a couple of the others in Toussaint. If Witchers are an odd group of people in comparison to the rest of the world then Cat Witchers are odd from that bunch.

As I think I've said before, Witchers are solitary creatures and they spend vast swathes of their time by themselves riding from one village to the next while waiting for a monster attack or for those self-same villagers to start throwing cow dung at them. They only tend to relax around those men who have a common frame of reference, the one with the other. So, otherwise taciturn men start to become positively loquacious around their fellow Witchers.

But Cat Witchers are different again. I can well remember Gaetan's discomfort when surrounded by large groups of people. He could stand it for a while, especially when he had the chance to mentally and physically prepare himself for the ordeal but after a while he would start to twitch and begin looking for the exits.

Kerrass... Kerrass seems to shape himself into the correct form of himself for his surroundings. When I first met him I had assumed that this was some kind of skill that he employed in order to be able to talk to children or to blend in with the nobility but now that I know him better I have begun to wonder if it was a reflex thing. A part of his character or some other gift from the mysterious Goddess that he kept talking about.

What I mean to say is that Kerrass, the man I spend time with on the road, is sometimes different when he spends time with his peers and I wanted to encourage that a bit. I wanted him to spend time with old friends without feeling as though he had to take care of me.

After that first stumping, nothing seemed to happen. The day after the stumping the vast majority of the village wandered round in a bit of a daze. They seemed to perform tasks and chores with a kind of distracted air that I associated with some kind of village wide hangover. Possibly closer to the truth than I had previously considered but nothing happened. Then nothing continued to happen and by the evening I was astonished to realise that nothing had happened again. The village felt like it was on the edge of a cliff, just waiting for the first person to decide that it was the right time to jump.

I spent that day watching and writing up some notes. The inn-keeping was now being done by the lady of the household. I had no idea where the former innkeeper was although from some dark suggestions it seemed that he was staying with his brother. A man who the lady of the household seemed to hold in contempt. But she had moved some tables and benches out of doors so that I could sit in the sun and the breeze and write up some notes. Kerrass had warned me that the magical effect surrounding the Unicorn might come into effect when we rode away and I wanted to preserve certain elements of this tale. I thought it might be pertinent, not least of which was some academic observations on what a Unicorn actually looks like versus the cartoonish drawings of romantics and children.

But I also thought that there were some good people in the village who deserved to be remembered. By me if by no-one else so I spent some time writing up some notes, taking care to ensure that there was enough detail contained within.

But nothing happened for the entirety of the day. The Cartwright sat up and was beginning to protest that he could feed himself just as well with his left hand as he could with his right. An assertion that was blatantly untrue. Also, I rather think that his new wife was enjoying feeding him like a baby. She even did that whole thing you do with toddlers where you pretend that the food is a sheep and her hand is a sheep dog chasing it into the waiting open mouth of the toddler.

I also suspect that he was quite enjoying himself as well.

I ate well. The new Lady Innkeeper kept bringing me samples of her cooking and her brewing in an effort to try and discover what my tastes were. What food I liked and what wines and beers I liked to drink. She didn't seem to listen to me when I tried to tell her that I had enjoyed her cooking so far. That if she wanted the job for cooking for my wife and I in Angral then it was hers, or we could help find an inn to manage. That I was used to eating on the road and as such my palate was no longer as refined as my father had once wished it to be.

She ignored these things and kept bringing me food. In the end I decided to stop complaining so much.

Things eventually started to happen the following day when the Livery stable started to pack up it's gear. The young owner of the stable turned up to the inn to negotiate the purchase of a couple of wagons to house the gear which meant that the Herbalist had to allow the Cartwright out of bed in order to sell and negotiate his wares. The two wagons that they purchased then started to fill with all the things that you need to run a successful stable. Everything that was unessential or relatively cheap to re-purchase was piled in a corner with the the legend “Make us an offer”.

Saddles, Winches, boxes and crates of medicine as well as personal belongings started to pile up in those wagons as well as the smaller carts that the stable already owned. They managed to get the entire operation done in around two days before they waved farewell and rode off. The Unicorn stayed in the stables though and Schrodinger's opinion was that she was probably going to make it but that she was weak. Weaker than he had ever seen her.

But the departure of the stable was the turning point I think. After that, people started leaving with more regularity. The village Fisherman and net mender packed all of his stuff to the side of a horse and simply rode off without a word.

A hunting family threw a party. I gathered that several of their children had already left to go and work in other villages and that the only remaining children were about to go as well. So they pre-empted that and were going to where their eldest son was living and working as a woodcutter. My general feeling about the state of the party was that the family left a little disappointed. Too many people were making their own plans, or were critical of those that they saw as “deserting the village in their hour of need”. I noticed that people, even the most optimistic of people, were no longer referring to the place as a town. It had become a village again.

Then, out of the blue to me as it was utterly unexpected, Schrodinger came to see me in order to inform me that the Unicorn wanted to speak with me. He then told me that Kerrass had suggested that I bring my notebook and spare quills.

I nodded and gathered my things while Schrodinger sat at my table and Kerrass arrived with a couple of frothing tankards.

“Don't tire her or wear her out.” Schrodinger told me with a frown and a dire expression on his face. The warning was slightly offset by Kerrass winking at me over his brother's head.

“I will try not to.” I told him before stomping over to the now mostly derelict stables.

She had the run of the place. At some point, the boards between all of the stalls that were there to keep the horses separate had been removed and she was just walking round that building in circles. Slowly trudging around, her hooves barely lifting themselves off the ground. She had a blanket over her back, the kind that you put beneath a saddle but it looked...I wanna say that it looked fluffier than a standard kind of riding blanket. Her head was low and she was just trudging around in circles.

There was a big clump of what I took to be bandages tied around the end of her horn. They looked clean but it gave her an oddly comical appearance.

There was clearly a bedded area in one corner, piled high with straw and a couple of sleeping pallets that had been set up nearby.

I closed the door carefully and walked forwards.

She ignored me. Either that or she didn't notice me which was not beyond the realms of possibility. Which was when I realised what I was looking at. I wasn't looking at an injured horse. I was looking at a wounded solider who was desperately trying to get better so that they can rejoin the fight. Because the lack of physical fitness and lack of physical capability was almost fate worse than death for them. I also know, (from Shani who will tell you about such things when she's had a beer or two, seriously I've seen that woman drink dwarves under the table) that the habit of these kinds of people is to try and force the return of strength. To make it return faster than it would do naturally.

“Not for nothing.” I said aloud. “But I've been threatened with actual violence if I tire you out.”

“Schrodinger is an old woman who hasn't got the first idea about how to treat this kind of injury.” She didn't stop in her trudging.

“Fair enough, and far be it from me to try and stop you walking yourself to death.” I sat down, propping my back against one of the pillars in the place that would once have been part of an entrance into a stall. I reasoned that if she was talking to me telepathically then she wouldn't really need to look at me. She certainly hadn't lifted her head to acknowledge my presence. I went through my routines. I opened my ink well, took out a fresh quill and sharpened the end into a proper nib that would do the job, set myself out some paper and then waited expectantly.

“Fascinating.” It turned out that she had approached and had been watching me as I went through the motions.

I laughed at her. “I can't decide whether my fiancée and you would get on really well or hate each other on sight.”

“I suspect the latter.”

“Why?”

“Her people and mine were at war for millenia.”

“Is it pertinent to say that she was born on this continent, tells me that she has never seen a Unicorn and has been pressing me for details?”

“It might be. Do you believe her when she said that?”

“I have no reason not to.”

Carefully, the Unicorn sank down until she was lying down. She looked oddly like a dog as she did so. The same kinds of movements. If she communicated audibly rather than telepathically then I would have suspected that she would have sighed. She lay there and considered me with her dark eyes.

“I have had to rethink a lot of my established thinking over the last few days.” She told me. “Why not this as well?”

She sighed again. It's the strangest thing. After a certain amount of time of speaking with her, I found that I began to get a sense of her intended body language. Even though she wasn't physical performing the movements I could almost feel her shrugging, sighing and shaking her head. Possibly a left over from her particular style of telepathy but who knows really.

“I feel that I owe you an apology.” She told me.

“Oh? Well I came here intending to offer you the same thing.”

“An apology?” She asked, sounding more curious than anything.

“Yes. Do you want to go first or would you prefer me to get things going?”

“By all means,” I felt her gesture for me to take precedence.

I took a deep breath and launched into my prepared speech. The one I'd worked on during the five minutes that it had taken me to wander over from the inn.

“I misjudged you.” I began. “I was holding you to an impossible standard. A standard that was fed to me by the myths and legends that I was fed as a child that were designed purely for the purpose of putting me to sleep at night. It did not occur to me that you might have your own drives, your own goals and I resented you for not just going with what I wanted you to do. I did expect you to just give me the information that I wanted without anything in return and I was angry when it was not forthcoming. But in showing the compassion that you did, towards Tulip I realised that I was wrong about you and for that I am truly sorry and I hope that you can forgive me.”

That strange telepathic effect took hold of me again as I could sense her mouth beginning to open to say something but I jumped in before she could say anything.

“Also, just so that I can say it. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. If the conversation ends here then that will be fine and I will walk away without complaint.”

“No sadness?” She enquired.

“A little sadness.” I admitted. “And a little disappointment I will admit.”

She nodded and her head seemed to sink down. For a while there I thought that she had gone to sleep and that I would need to leave. Then a horrible thought occurred that she might have died. I did that thing where you check to see if someone's chest is rising and falling and for a moment you can't see it so you begin to panic.

Then I saw movement and felt the relief wash over me.

“My turn for an apology.” She declared softly. “The basis of the apology is that I don't really know very much. You really would have been far better served if you had met a shaman of the tribe rather than a warrior but that is not the only problem.

“I have been in this world now for so many years, well over the majority of my life-span. I am now, far older than I ever expected to be and thinking about things logically I can realise that my parents are dead, my brothers and sisters are all dead and my friends have likewise perished.”

There was another pause. “Even my children are likely to have died.”

“Even if that were not the case, the world that we war over with the Aen Aelle is dying and we would all be dead in a few hundred years anyway.

“Life is short there. Much shorter, so short that it had not occurred to me that I could live any longer. Young warriors die quickly as war is in our blood. Young females stay behind so that they can procreate in order to guarantee survival and they are bred with those males that make it back from the war in the vain hope that this would breed a better, more intelligent and luckier breed of Unicorn. But there is no sign of this being true. We are a doomed race, fighting against that doom that we know is coming but cannot stop resisting.”

“But you keep trying to go back.” I pointed out.

“No, no not really. If I really wanted to go back, I dare say that we would have found a way to go back by now. But I don't really want to go and Schrodinger doesn't really want to take me. But it gives our lives some form of meaning. The constant searching and need to keep travelling. Otherwise he would just be a Witcher, making money in order to survive and feed us both and I would just be a companion. A weight dragging behind him. Instead we need money in order to continue our search, futile though that search might be. It is an odd truth that my greatest nightmare is that we find a way to make that happen. My greatest nightmare is finding a portal, or a method for me to go home, or to remember the way in which our people used to travel through the realms so that I could go. I would have to part from Schrodinger then and he is the only person in the world, the only person in existence who knows who I am. My herd would not recognise me. My people would not need me. I only have Schrodinger and he would not be allowed to follow me.”

“Why not?”

“He would not survive. If there is one thing that would unite us with the hated Aen Aelle then it would be our fear and distrust of outsiders. We know about humans, we know about Elves in their many varieties and dwarves, gnomes, halflings and the rest are not so far outside of our experiences but Witchers?”

She shook her head. Another gesture that I felt rather than saw.

“But as I say. I did you a disservice before. I have so little to give you and I was afraid that you would turn us away and not help us. Schrodinger and my latent desire to search without finding, led us into a trap and I was beginning to despair of the prospect of getting out. The circle was closing and sooner or later we were going to make a mistake. I was desperate and I saw a way to use your pain for our own ends. It was a soldier's reflex, I painted you as a potential enemy rather than a potential ally and treated you as such. For that I apologise. The events of the last few days have proven that I have misjudged humanity so very badly.”

“Not all that badly.” I told her. I had a strange desire to make her feel better. “I have a saying that I often share with others. Individual people are clever, informed, kind, generous and respectful. They will help their fellow man and go out of their way to make the world a better place. But people as a whole are reactionary, stupid, ignorant, greedy and full of a hate so black that it would drive me to despair if I didn't also know that the opposite is true.

“For every Tulip would give her life in order to save yours and do without thought or hesitation, there are dozens more that wouldn't even blink at watching the smith kill you before stabbing the Smith in the back and making off with the proceeds of his crime. That same man also has the capability to be a loving husband and a caring father.

“One of the greater monarchs of our age both as a diplomat and a general was King Foltest of Temeria. He was out manoeuvred by the Emperor but he fought at Brenna and Sodden. There was a reason why he was targeted for assassination before the third invasion of the North. He loved his children fiercely even when one of them was a monster responsible for many deaths and all things being equal his people flourished under his rule. He curtailed the spread of the more militant aspects of the church which led to a rebellion needing to be put down, he protected the rights of other religions to practice and his country prospered.

“But he could never resist a pretty face. Even when that pretty face was his own sister. He literally marched to war when his favourite lover and the mother of his bastards turned away from him. An action that led to his own death and killed many soldiers on both sides. His constant campaigns against Radovid in the North over a few miles of relatively pointless swampland was costly as well in terms of coin as well as lives.”

“What is your point?”

“My point is. People can be good and evil at the same time. Admittedly Tulip is the best of sources of good and amongst the best people that I've ever met.”

“Indeed. Otherwise she would not have returned to life.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn't think all of those stories about virgins being the only ones who could capture unicorns were just myths did you.”

I stared at her for a long moment.

She laughed. “I've surprised the all knowing scholar.”

“I'm pretty sure that she's not a virgin though. She's married, knows quite a lot about sex and has something of an explicit sense of humour.”

She continued to laugh at me. “You're right of course. It's actually about purity. A person must be “pure” to be able to capture or ride one of us. You're going to ask “What do I mean by Purity” aren't you?”

“That was pretty much my next question yes.”

“I haven't the first idea. Again, it's a thing that you would need to ask a shaman. Purity of body is part of it which is why Schrodinger is able to ride me and I could perform the same trick with him.”

“Schrdoinger is a virgin? I thought he told me about experiments...”

“Yes. And like most males he exaggerates in an effort to inflate his own ego and standing. But other kinds of purity are also valid. You are not pure, not that you are a bad person but there is a conflict in you. A deep seated war in your heart and mind and it is nothing to do with the state of your body. I could not tell you what that war is or what the basis of the conflict is about, but it's there. The same with Kerrass. He has a pure and unconditional love in his life, I know that because I've heard him talk about her but he is conflicted about how it makes him feel and what he should do about it.

“Purity of life, purity of purpose and purity of soul. Purity of body is actually the smallest component but it is like a physical....reaction if I try to have some ride me who is not pure. It's like a human gag reflex when you eat food that you cannot abide. I could not stand you to sit on my back. Nor Kerrass nor any number of people that I've met. Even Tulip's husband, who is as good a man as any I have met, would not meet the requirements. But Tulip? She loves her husband without reservation. She loves her God and does not see the conflict inherent in that. She loves life and she has the clearest moral compass that I have ever come across.”

“Ok. But just an observation. That means that you could also be ridden by the person with the purest form of evil in their hearts.”

She sighed. “You speak the truth although you do not know just how profound that truth is.”

She smiled. “Odd how a conversation can be steered round to the intended topic, the reason we came together, without either of us really intending it to.”

“No intention?” I wondered.

“No intention. I am not so clever a conversationalist as that. I am a warrior not a Shaman. Nor one of your Philosophers or thinkers. In pure intelligence I would suggest that Schrodinger, Kerrass or yourself are far more intelligent than I. I just have a different perspective that makes me seem cleverer than I am.”

She gave the impression of staring into space. I had a feeling of the thing in front of me, who's eyes were drooping closed, but also of a woman sat with her legs crossed, staring into space.

“You are aware of the Conjunction of spheres which brought all worlds together.”

“I am.”

“And are you aware that this has happened before and will happen again.”

“My understanding is that this is the working theory although it has yet to be proven to everyone's satisfaction.”

I felt her nod.

“What I tell you know is myth and Legend to my people. Camp fire stories as we sat in herds listening to our elders speak. As they stood in the firelight and danced and sang and warned of times past. Of valour unseen and evil unlooked for and lost. There is a great saying amongst my people which is “We tell the tales of heroes to remind ourselves that we can be great.” I liked that saying and it seems to be true across the races and across the worlds. Why do people tell stories? To give our children things to look up to and look down upon.

“Mine was a people at war, so many of our stories could be divided into two camps. The first and the one least important to your questions are the stories of peace. Tales of endless rolling planes of grass. Of plentiful game, clean water and freedom from fear. The other kind though, those that might be able to help you were of the wars across the heavens.

“I am narrowing things down here from several different stories here. We were taught that like most of the older races. The Elves, the Vampires and the Unicorns. We were slaves in a war. We were the foot soldiers serving at the whims of powers that we did not understand and have now forgotten. Huge, Elder beings that defined reality in their “sphere” of existence. Things that would break a humans mind to look upon. Things that would break a Unicorn's mind to look upon if we are being truthful with one another. There are many different stories about all of these and I have forgotten many of them. Including those stories about the creatures that used to ride us into battle with their purity of purpose being to kill and to keep killing. It is more than possible that the answer that you seek lies amongst the memories that I have since lost. Memories of tales that I was too young and fractious to be properly listening to when I was young.

“But you referred to a creature and called him “Jack”.”

“Yes. You called him “One who waits in darkness”.”

“I did. For to give them names is to give them power.”

“Why?”

She sighed. “I must remember that you do not have the first idea as to why this is all the way it is. Such things were driven into me at the point of a horn when I was nothing more than a child.

“We did not know the names of the primal powers. The things of whom we were the foot-soldiers, the slaves and the extensions of their will. The vast majority of them were referred to with a mixture of fear and scorn. Fear because of the awesome power that they commanded but scorn because they refused to do their own fighting. Because they sent others to do their fighting for them.”

“Why did they do that? Why send others to do their fighting?”

“Again, you are missing out in having a shaman do the answering for you. I do not know the answer to that question. I remember that there was one race of beings though who we did not scorn. We still feared them and rightly so but they did their own fighting. They were hard and beautiful at the same time. Terrifying in their majesty and awesome to behold. We never called them Gods because they themselves liked the term so much and we wanted to deprive them of that pride but there is no word in language to properly describe what they were. Some were what humanity would call good and benevolent. Some were bad and what you would call Evil.

“There are many stories of these beings and about how they moved among the spheres at will. No-one knew how they did that or why. Unlike many of those elder creatures, they had no interest in territory, they kept worshippers and followers but they had no need of slaves. They seemed to have an overwhelming urge to experience everything but they were limited by their nature. They warred because they could do nothing else. To defeat them you simply trapped them in a noose that they would often fashion for themselves.

“No-one knows where they came from but they seemed to spring up out of the raw belief of their followers. I can explain no more than that. So your “Jack” as an example.... The more people spoke of a creature, just waiting out in the darkness to steal unwary offspring. The more young women ran around in the dark to avoid a nameless and uncertain assailant. The more people stood in places of authority and told stories about a boogyman that stalked the night in search of those with lower and looser morals. They gave your Jack form, purpose and personality. I have had Schrodinger read me the sections of your journals regarding him and it would track that he is old and powerful because it is one of our first fears. Beyond the fear of the unknown there is the fear of the thing that waits in the unknown. The thing that waits in the shadows behind the tree. That hides behind the ridge and in the bottom of that dark lake. The thing that lives in that uncharted forest or off the edge of the map. That is what gives Jack form and power.

“So why is that relevant? I can feel you chomping at the bit.” She joked.

“As I say, these things, these beings had followers. They would tell the stories of the creatures to empower them and then they would imbue people as the avatars of the beings. They would have a person dress up in costume that they would imagine Jack to wear. The person would move how they believed that Jack would move, behave in the way that Jack would behave and as such they could invoke Jack's spirit and summon Jack's powers. The person dressed as Jack would almost become Jack, take on elements of his power.

“They called this ritualistic invocation of the mythical forces the “placing of a Glamour” over a person. There were others, I remember tales of the Bloody Cap and the Goodfellow. But you could not do it for long because the being who was having their power taken was lessened by the taking of the power. Part of their being was taken away as the man pretending to be Jack was becoming Jack. But Jack himself still wanted to be Jack and would fight back. Leading to the madness and eventual death of the original performer.”

“It sounds confusing. Why would anyone want to do such a thing, or have something like that done to them.”

“I have no idea. It sounds like a form of worship to me. And I may have it wrong. As I say, I last heard these stories decades ago. But Jack could move at will, after all. The thing in the darkness is always just peering over your shoulder is it not? No matter how many times you turn around. It's just in that shadowed entrance to the alleyway over there.”

I smiled. She was right. The urge to check over my shoulder was palpable.

“Be careful.” The Unicorn told me. “If the people who took your sister are making contacts with other powers in order to further their goals or further their pursuit of power then you would be lucky indeed if all they did was figure out how to take on the Glamour's of Jack and his ilk. There are far worse beings out there to attract the attention of than “The Fair Folk,”

“The Fair folk?” I asked

“Yes. We called them that so that we would not attract their attention. It is neither their names nor is it the true names of their people. The term is also a compliment calling them both beautiful and generous.”

“I will remember.”

I really must jump along now as I've been summoned to the docks of Novigrad with all possible haste.

Kerrass and I stayed another couples of weeks or so. We had long since missed our booked ship to Skellige but the Skeleton ship festival was some distance off so I resigned myself to waiting.

After that first flurry of departures from the village, they kind of tailed off and life returned to normal, or as close to normal as it could be. The Cartwright rose from his bed after five days and made his displeasure known to all assembled, declaring that he could easily take on a long journey but his wife and his sister-in-law stood firm. They finally compromised on leaving about a month to six weeks after that.

Now that he was up and about though, he insisted that there be a reaffirmation of his wedding vows. He wanted it done again and properly with suits and flowers and a party for his friends to attend. He said that he wanted to declare his love for this woman before all who would listen so that they could bear witness.

Kerrass and I attended and stood in our original spots as the Groom's witnesses. Tulip was joined as bridesmaid by the Herbalist's sister and I was overjoyed to see that the Herbalist rode the unicorn from her house where she had prepared, to the door of the church. The Unicorn had to be led by Schrodinger though and the Unicorn struggled a bit toward the end of the short walk but the Herbalist positively glowed.

“Sometimes it is worth making the effort though,” The Unicorn said in my head a little smugly.

The wedding was joyous, the party afterwards was raucous and the jokes were many as the Herbalist forcibly led her new and formal husband off to their bed chamber. I suspect it was more to get him back to bed rather than any bedroom gymnastics as he was pale and sweating by the end of things. But they greeted everyone with beaming smiles the morning after.

The Unicorn recovered well after our talk although, like the Cartwright, she was determined to force along her recovery by act of will. The injury on the end of her horn stopped bleeding it's black goop and seemed to begin to calcify over. I was a little touched when the Smith's former apprentice, now the town smith, constructed a cap for the horn. It was like a thimble that sewers wear over their fingers in order to protect their finger tips from sharp needles. But he had sharpened it into a weapon to replace the length of horn that the Unicorn had lost. Schrodinger accepted the gift gravely and the Unicorn did wear it for a little while before it was removed after she complained of some soreness.

Schrodinger and the Unicorn eventually departed Northwards, getting an early start to make up for the slower pace, forced by her fatigue. Schrodinger embraced me before he left. I do not think we will ever truly be friends but we will like each other for Kerrass' sake.

“Thank you,” he said to me as we hugged. “I do believe that you saved my brother's life.”

I looked at him strangely. “How did I do that?”

“You gave him a purpose, something to live for. He is educating people and the world through you. You gave him that and I will never forget it. If you call out for help through your writing then I will come. I mean that.”

“Thank you. I hope that you will never need to though.”

“So do I. But if what the Unicorn tells me is true, about your enemies, then I may be needed.”

We stared at each other for a long time before I laughed.

“That was good and foreboding.” I told him.

“Wasn't it though?” He grinned at me with his astonishingly white teeth.

He and Kerrass embraced before he mounted the Unicorn.

“Farewell.” She told me.

“Good bye.” I replied.

There didn't seem to need to be anything else said.