The Divine Hunter

Chapter 178: Water of Brokilon

Like most dryads, Eithné was petite and delicate. She wore a long green dress, and she held her head up proudly. She had a stern look on her face, and her hair and eyes were pure silver. It was as if there were no emotions or soul behind those eyes.

In Roy’s eyes, Eithné looked like a great green blaze, and he could not look at her directly. Naturally, that was because of her overwhelming strength.

‘Eithné

Age: Two hundred and thirty-four years old

Gender: Female

Status: Queen of the dryads, witch

??’

***

Eithné did not pay attention to Roy. She went past everyone and stopped before Ciri, and she raised the girl’s head to look her in the eye. A long, long while later, Eithné asked Braenn to take the girl away when she was starting to shiver and cry in fear.

“Rise, Gwyn Bleidd.”

“Greetings, Eithné, ruler of Brokilon.”

“Welcome to my forest again. But it is dangerous to come here unannounced, do you understand?”

“I come with a great duty on my shoulders.” The White Wolf still stared down at the ground.

“I see.” Eithné smiled. “No wonder you’re so brazen. Is this child your companion?” She finally looked at Roy, and an invisible surge of energy weighed down on Roy, forcing him to bow to her.

It was then Roy realized why Geralt knelt before Eithné. He had known that he could never hope to match her power after all.

“Lady Eithné, he is little more than a boy. Please forgive his attitude just this once.”

“Raise your head, child.” Eithné raised her hand to silence Geralt. “And let me see your eyes.”

And just as she wished, Eithné came face to face with a pair of dark gold eyes. She looked into Roy’s eyes intently, as if she wanted to get something out of him, but a moment later, her indomitable aura was slightly shaken, and it surprised her.

However, she composed herself in only a moment. “Gwyn Bleidd, for our friendship’s sake, the child may leave with you later.”

Roy heaved a sigh of relief after Eithné moved her gaze away from him. She only looked at him for a moment, but Roy could feel something pushing down on him. Roy kept his calm, however. After coming face to face with Melitele, a higher vampire, the projection of Dagon, and the Lady of the Lake, he was much more immune to legendary creatures at that point.

“Now, Gwyn Bleidd, let me guess the duty you are carrying out,” Eithné said. “Ekhart is a fool, while Ervyll and Viraxas want my head. Out of all the kingdoms nearby, only the king of Brugge will send someone to talk to me.”

“It is as you have guessed.”

“You have to understand that Brokilon and the outside world are two completely different things. You cannot resolve the hatred between humans and dryads just through mere talks. We have already been at war for centuries. But war is not what I wish for. I do not wish to see any more of my children die. I shall give you permission to send a message to the king of Brugge. As long as his people never step foot in Brokilon from this day forth, we can live together in peace.”

Geralt wanted to say something, but Eithné stopped him, “Do not speak on his behalf any further. He will never get even an inch of Brokilon’s land, no matter how much he wishes for it.”

“But—”

Eithné ended the discussion. “Tell him what I have told you. He will not execute a lowly witcher for failing this monumental task. If it is possible, let us talk about another matter at hand.”

Eithné finally smiled. She turned her attention to the burly and powerful Frexinet, who had been ignored thus far. “This scalp-hunter, he is your friend, yes?”

“Please do not scare him.” Geralt gave Frexinet a reassuring look. “You should know that he is here for the girl. You would not have saved him otherwise.”

“But I do not know what I should do with him. His wounds require a long time to heal.” Eithné slowly walked to the bed where Frexinet was resting. Frexinet blanched, and he curled up.

“Do you have any children out there?” Eithné stared at him for a while. “I require an honest answer.”

“I…” Frexinet was backed up to the wall. He cleared his throat and answered softly, “I am still not married.”

“I do not care. All I want to know is…” Eithné stared at Frexinet’s crotch greedily. “Are you still healthy? On the name of the tree, tell me! Have you fathered any children before, or are you seedless like the witchers?”

“Um…” Frexinet flailed his arms and gasped in surprise. He forced himself to look at Eithné, and he answered, “Of course I have, Lady Eithné. I am a father to many bastard children, but milady, why do you ask?”

Frexinet noticed the look of pity Geralt was giving him.

Good luck, man. Roy mourned for him quietly. The governor has a strong body, and he has a well-trimmed beard. The dryads are a sucker for that. He’s the perfect seed bearer for them. Shit. I can just imagine them riding him nonstop all day, every day. Roy shivered. That imagery alone was enough to send a chill down his spine.

Eithné got the answer she wanted, and she turned to Geralt. “After he makes a full recovery, he may regain his freedom, but in exchange, he has to father a dryad or two.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Eithné.” Geralt couldn’t bear to look at his old friend.

“Lady Eithné.” Roy could not hold it in any longer. “I have a question. It’s about the girl, Ciri. What shall you do with her?”

“You are an interesting child. I can see nothing but a mist within your eyes. They tell me nothing.” Eithné looked at him with interest. “But that is not your concern. Tomorrow, you and Geralt shall leave Brokilon.”

“But she is no ordinary girl. She is the princess of a kingdom.”

“And what does that have to do with you, Gwyn Bleidd? That does not change my decision. If you wish to, you may attend the ceremony in my chambers tonight.” Eithné flicked her sleeve and left.

***

Evening descended soon after, and countless fireflies appeared around the treehouses. They illuminated the tree with a gentle green light, and the strange plants in Duén Canell basked in it. They swayed with the wind, dancing happily without a care in the world.

The witchers left Frexinet to process his eventual fate of fathering plenty of dryads, and they went to Eithné’s gigantic treehouse.

She was kneeling in the center of the living room, combing Ciri’s ashen hair gently. The girl was sitting cross-legged before Eithné. Her back was straight, and her eyes were wide open. Her face was clean, but she looked a bit deadpan, unlike her usual self.

“Ah, you are here,” Eithné greeted them, but she didn’t stop combing Ciri’s hair. “Gwyn Bleidd, I know you have never harmed dryads, rusalkas, or pixies. In fact, you are willing to protect them. That is why I invited you to the ceremony out of respect. Now, I need you to repay that respect by keeping an eye on the boy. I do not want him doing anything that might ruin this ceremony.”

Geralt knelt on one knee, then he sat down, and Roy followed.

“Lady Eithné, before you begin the ceremony, I need you to listen to me. Just like what you have said, Brokilon is at odds with the outside world, and this girl does not belong to you or this world.”

“She will be in just a moment,” Eithné said dismissively.

Strangely, Geralt argued, “Eithné, please give her to me. Let me take her back to her world. She should be the one to decide her fate.”

“How dare you disobey me?” Eithné stopped combing Ciri’s hair and looked Geralt in the eye, and she sneered. “I see. So you are thinking the same thing I am. I have heard about how witchers are sterile. And all witchers who employ the Law of Surprise desire an Unexpected Child of their own.” She continued, “I know you meddled with the marriage of Calanthe’s daughter and lifted the curse of Pavetta’s husband—Duny. You employed the Law of Surprise as well, hoping you could get a boy to inherit your will. Alas.” Eithné raised Ciri’s head. “The Unexpected Child is a girl, and a girl can never be a witcher. She is now mine, and she shall inherit Brokilon’s will.”

“Horseshit!” Geralt roared. “Look at her! Her eyes are out of focus, and she can’t move because you forced her into this! This is a kidnapping!”

“No, Geralt!” Ciri shouted defiantly. “I am not spacing out! And I am not scared! Grandmother said that dryads aren’t evil. I won’t be in any danger here.”

Eithné laughed. “Do you see now, Gwyn Bleidd? This is the choice of the child with the Elder Blood. It is her fate. You have nothing to do with this.”

Roy’s heart skipped a beat. I knew it. This witch has seen through Ciri.

“The child with the Elder Blood?” Geralt looked somber. “You’re saying that Ciri is…”

“That is correct. I see a great blaze and brilliant stars gleaming within her eyes. She is the heir of the Elder Blood. She shall be a part of Brokilon and walk the path of glory.” Eithné waved, and a dryad came out from the veil behind her.

It was none other than the yellow-haired dryad, Braenn. She handed a silver chalice over with trembling hands, and Eithné took it from her. “Do you recognize these runes, witchers?” She raised it high up in the air.

“Yes.”

“Then read it. This is the chalice of Crach an Craite. The king who drank from it has been forgotten by the people.”

“Duetaean aef cirran Caerme Gleddvy, Yn esseth,” Roy read the words inscribed on the chalice. “There are two blades on the sword of fate.”

“And Ciri is one of them.” Eithné turned to Ciri and ordered imperiously, “Drink this, child of the Elder Blood. This is the Water of Brokilon.”

Finally. You’re here, mysterious liquid. Roy held his excitement down and turned his gaze to the chalice. ‘Water of Brokilon. An enchanted water. Hallucinogenic. Human girls who drink it lose almost all their memories, and they will see the illusions of the past and the future. They will start to turn into dryads after that. Deadly lethal for men. This water can purify the Elder Blood. Using it with ‘Child of the Sun’ can multiply its effects.’

***

The Water of Brokilon would turn humans into dryads, while the Child of the Sun would turn humans into elves. And both of those originated from the ancient bloodline of Aen Elle. Using them together can purify Elder Blood. “So that means it’ll be useful for me, too.”

Roy felt encouraged. He had one Child of the Sun in his inventory, and he had one use of Full Recovery to deal with any possible deaths. I came all the way from Cintra, sailed across Yaruga, came to Brokilon, and I finally see my prize. My plan is coming to fruition.

***

Eithné was forcing Ciri to drink it. The girl brought the chalice close to her lips ever so slowly. It was obvious she didn’t want to do this. She was hesitating.

Eithné was on the brink of rage, while Geralt looked furious. Time to step in. Roy said, “Lady Eithné, I have a suggestion.”

“Talk. Before my patience runs out.”

“Why don’t I, the White Wolf, and Ciri drink the Water of Brokilon at the same time? But on one condition. If we can all wake up and return to normal, you have to let Ciri leave with us.”

“Your courage is commendable, but do you know what happens to men and witchers who drink the Water of Brokilon?”

“They will be poisoned and possibly killed,” Roy said calmly. Nothing could torture him more than the Trial of the Grasses.

“Then why are you willing to do this?”

“Ciri is still young. She should not take it all by herself. We shall help her, but please honor the promise. If she is still willing to leave with us after she has seen her fate, then you must not stop her.”

“Very well. I agree.” Eithné said. She noticed that Ciri’s eyes were lighting up. “It is a fair suggestion. Fate shall be the judge. I must admit that I had underestimated you before.” The ruler of Brokilon nodded at Roy as a show of respect. “Well then, Gwyn Bleidd. What about you? Are you willing to take the risk for your Unexpected Child?”

Geralt nodded, but he had a weird feeling that he missed something.

Under Eithné’s orders, Braenn came back with two more cups of the water, though of course they were kept in normal containers. The chalice was still Ciri’s to use.

Roy held the cup of gleaming water. The Water of Brokilon. It looks like liquid stalactite. Drinking it had always been part of Roy’s plan. It might be poison, but it also contained immense magical energy. It could modify human bodies and reawaken memories of the past and future. But more importantly, it could purify the Aen Elle bloodline he acquired after ingesting the Child of the Sun back in Smiack.

“Do not be afraid, Ciri. It will be fine, trust me,” Roy assured the girl calmly before looking at the White Wolf.

The young witcher raised the cup and gulped down the water in one go. At the same time, he swallowed the Child of the Sun, which he had been hiding in his mouth. Then Roy wiped his lips and fell back down to the ground as he started to move eerily.

Geralt stared at him in surprise. He had seen this once, and the exact same thing happened back then. The one who drank the potion gasped, spasmed, burped, talked gibberish, and blacked out. When that person regained consciousness, there would be nothing in his eyes but a cold, numb void.

“My turn.” Geralt gazed at the water gently. The past? I wonder if I can still see her. The person Geralt was thinking about was a witch in black—Yennefer of Vengerberg. It was a gentle and happy time with her.

Ciri was the last to drink the water, and she lay between the witchers.

***

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