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Shit, the sun will set soon in the west and she is still not anywhere close enough to reach Kaer Morhen today. Another night that she will have to spend alone outside in the rugged wilderness of the Blue Mountains. Not that she is afraid, because she is not, but it is cold as fuck, and the sky is heavy with the promise of snow.
Shivering slightly in the chilly autumn air, Ciri pulls the fur-trimmed hood of her leather coat over her head and spurs Kelpie on, up along the winding path, deeper and deeper into the darkening mountains. Toward home.
The wind is howling.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
The door of the old hut creeks in its hinges when she opens it. Ciri gazes around. Thanks to her witcher senses, she can see enough in the darkness to notice a tree marten quickly exiting the shack through a hole in the roof and the swift shadows of several small rodents disappearing in the heaps of old straw in its corners. Otherwise, the hut seems to be unoccupied.
"What do you think, Kelpie?" Ciri turns toward her beautiful black steed. "It's not exactly a castle, but it'll keep us out of the storm and snow." Kelpie nickers softly as if in agreement and nuzzles Ciri's cold-reddened cheek. Ciri smiles and strokes the mare's long nose affectionately. "Then let's go inside and make ourselves comfortable. I believe I even have a nice treat for you."
More than willingly, Kelpie follows Ciri out of the cold and into the hut. The Witcher girl closes and bolts the door behind them. Then she rummages in her coat pocket. Kelpie snorts impatiently.
"Here, my little munch monster." Ciri grins, holding a big, red apple out to the mare. "The very last one, and all for you. But don't swallow it whole!"
Kelpie snuffles for the fruit, then takes a big bite, sweet juice dripping from the corners of her mouth onto Ciri's fingers. It does not take long and the apple is gone.
"Sorry, I told you it was the last one," Ciri laughs, licking her fingers, when Kelpie nudges her and tries to stick her nose into Ciri's pocket. "But I'm sure Vesemir has another apple for you when we arrive at Kaer Morhen tomorrow. And the sooner we get some sleep, the earlier we can get going, right?" Ciri yawns extensively, tired after a long day of riding. With practiced movements, she unsaddles her beloved horse, brushes her down, feeds her a few handfuls of oats and hay and gives her some water. Only then does she spread out her bedroll and blanket. She finds the last bits of cold meat and bread in her saddlebags, lights several beeswax candles, sits down on her makeshift bed and hungrily eats her sparse meal.
Silvery stars of snow dance in the warm shine of the candles, drifting slowly from the hole in the roof toward the floor. It is almost cozy inside the hut.
Outside, the wind is howling.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Ciri wakes up with a start, her heart racing, her brow clammy with sweat. Kelpie snorts softly into her face.
"Sorry, a nightmare," she mumbles and pats her mare's silky nose. Was it the snow and the cold that had triggered it? She shudders at the vivid memory. The snow-clad mountains, at their foot the frozen lake. The sound of her skates scraping across the mirror of ice, leaving scratches of white lines in their wake. And red. Severed, bleeding blue fingers. Screams for help as frozen faces sink below the indifferent surface. Years have passed since then, but she remembers it as if it was just yesterday. Ciri shudders. Will she ever get truly rid of the ghosts of her past? With shaky fingers, she casts Igni and the wick of the candle next to her catches fire. At first, its flame is no more than a tiny golden dot in the darkness of the night, but it makes the dark less eerie and chases away the lingering chill from the horrible dream. She takes a deep, steadying breath and proceeds to light another candle.
Suddenly, she feels an ice-cold draft as the door is flung open by a violent gust of wind. Kelpie whinnies and balks. Ciri looks up. Her mouth falls open. She stares, the blood in her veins freezing with fright. A dark figure looms in the doorframe, male, very tall, but ghoulishly thin, almost skeletal, with a prodigious grey moustache. His eyes are cold, expressionless, like the eyes of a dead fish.
"Here we meet again, girl," he drawls, his voice cutting through Ciri's heart like a hundred shards of ice. Leo Bonhart twirls his moustache, then raises his sword. Its blade is covered in blood. Ciri knows whose blood it is. But no, this is not possible, it happened years ago! Bonhart died by her hand! Is she dreaming still? She pinches herself, hard. It hurts. And Bonhart is still there. He steps across the threshold and inside the hut.
"For years, I've waited for this very moment." He grins his ugly, ghoulish grin. "You see, Ciri, we are tethered to each other, the two of us, and especially during a night like this. And for the first time, you're all alone." He takes another step toward her. The temperature inside the hut drops rapidly. Ciri's heart begins to race as she suddenly realises what day it is. Samhain, the very last night of October, the night when the doorways to other worlds open and the ghosts of the dead come to haunt the living. He is here to take revenge, to drag her to hell with him. But fuck, she will not let him do it! She is not just a girl anymore, she is a witcher! With one swift move, Ciri grabs her silver witcher sword and leaps to her feet like a wild cat. Her eyes gleam unnaturally green in the shine of the candle.
"Ah, you've gone through the witcher trials. Interesting!" Bonhart twirls his sword, a swishing moulinet of blades. "That will make it even more enjoyable for me to rip out your heart. But before I do that," he leers, his dead, fishy eyes ogling Ciri's body in a most uncomfortable way, "I'll make you mine, Cirilla, my betrothed. Mine in life and in death."
"Never!" Ciri hisses, her blood boiling from sudden fury. She has killed spectres and all kinds of beasts before, damn, she has killed him before! The long, slanting, perfectly straight slit in his jacket is still visible, as is the thin line along his throat. She can do it again. No, not can - she will do it again!
"You will never touch me, you monster!" Ciri roars and charges at the ghostly apparition of her worst enemy, brandishing her blade.
Bonhart laughs. Then he disappears.
The wind is howling, rattling the open door and blowing heaps of snow into the hut.
Ciri spins around, her unnaturally green eyes searching the darkness. Where has the bloody devil gone to? Then she sees it, and her heart almost stops. Kelpie. With a strangled whinny, the mare's legs give way and she sinks to the ground, shuddering as if all her warmth had been sucked out of her. A cruel, disembodied laugh fills the air that chills Ciri to the bone.
"No, you bastard!" she cries, flinging Igni in the direction where the laughter came from. Leo Bonhart's shape re-materialises, outlined by the jet of magical flames. He growls menacingly, then, as fast as lightning, he attacks, his sword swishing through the air.
Ciri pirouettes out of the way and blocks the blow. Their blades clash, and clash again in a deadly dance, a clang of metal against metal, a kaleidoscope of lightning-fast strikes and parries, rapid slashes and blocks, feints and whirls that send sparks flying.
From the corner of her eye, Ciri can see Kelpie get back on her feet. In the far corner, a pile of old straw has caught fire.
"You've improved your technique since Stygga, I must give you that, witcher girl. But I'll get you anyway, like I got your friends, the Rats. Remember how they squealed with fright before I cut off their heads?"
"Remember how you shit your pants, Bonhart, when Swallow cut through your throat and you writhed in the dust, bleeding out like a pig?"
Bonhart scoffs and spits on the floor. Then he vanishes once more, only to reappear directly behind Ciri. It is the bone-chilling cold emanating from the ghoulish spectre that tells her where he is. Before his icy hand can reach through her chest from behind to claw at her heart, Ciri dives to the side, and in the blink of an eye, she is gone. Bonhart's ghost turns around searchingly, his material form flickering with fury.
"Where are you, Ciri?" he snarls. "Come play with daddy, the game isn't over yet!"
"I'm here, come get me, you bloody fucker!" Ciri has re-appeared at the far end of the hut, the tip of her silver sword trained at Bonhart's heart.
"Then make ready to die!" The spectre strides toward her, his heavy boots barely touching the ground. And Ciri is ready. Not for her death though, but for his final moments in this plane of existence. Her timing is impeccable. She moves her hand forward, casting Yrden at exactly the perfect moment. The sign she has drawn on the floor in the middle of the hut explodes in a bright purple light around Bonhart. The spectre freezes in its place.
"What fucking devilry is that?" he roars, fear flashing in his fishy eyes.
"Time travel has its perks." Ciri grins. It is not a nice grin. Then she charges at the trapped ghost of her nemesis.
Slowed down by the witcher sign and bereft of his ability to turn incorporeal, Bonhart has no chance against her. After a few quick feints left and right, Ciri thrusts her silver sword right through the ghost's heart. With a long, wheezing wail, the ghoulish apparition disintegrates into a thousand pieces. Leo Bonhart is no more. This time for good.
Ciri breathes a sigh of relief, wiping her sweaty brow on her sleeve. Then she gazes around. The pile of straw in the opposite corner is engulfed by flames that are licking higher and higher into the air. Smoke has begun to fill the hut. It cannot be long and the beams of the roof will catch fire. Ciri rushes toward her horse.
"We better get out of here, and quick, Kelpie. Are you alright?" she asks, worried. The mare is still trembling, her eyes wide with fear and shock. But she quickly calms down when Ciri gently strokes her nose and plants a wet kiss on her forehead. "Come, my girl," she whispers into Kelpie's ear. Ciri sheathes her sword, grabs her saddlebags and leads her beloved black mare outside into the night, leaving the burning hut behind - a fitting pyre for the evil bounty hunter's ghost. Never will he haunt her again.
Slowly and carefully, the witcher girl leads her horse through the darkness and densely falling snow. Soon, they are both covered in a thick layer of white, like the forest and the winding path.
The wind is howling.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Finally, the snow storm has blown over. The morning sun rises on the horizon, painting the snow-covered mountain tops in its rosy-pink light. In front of them lie the weathered ruins of Kaer Morhen. Only a short distance and they will be save. Tiredly, Ciri trudges on through the snow, leading Kelpie by the reins.
With stiff hands, she bangs the knocker against the heavy door of the keep.
"Damn it, Ciri, you must be frozen!" Vesemir exclaims when he opens it. "Are you fucking crazy to travel in this weather, and on a Samhain night to boot?" Before she can utter a word, he pulls her toward him over the threshold and wraps his arms around the shivering girl, enveloping her in a bear hug that sends the show that has accumulated on her hood and shoulders flying.
"Lambert, you take care of the horse!" the old witcher then commands. "Coën, stoke the fire and find some furs. I'll make our girl something hot to drink."
Not many minutes later, Ciri is sitting by the roaring fireplace huddled in warm furs, a big mug of hot cocoa in her hands, Vesemir's special blend with a generous dash of rum and topped with whipped cream and cinnamon - what a treat after this most horrible night! Her lips have already lost their unhealthy bluish tint and her fingers, feet, cheeks and nose are regaining their feeling. It is a bit unpleasant, but soon she will be thoroughly warm, both from the outside and the inside. Kelpie is safe and in the best of hands, too.
She smiles happily. Once again, they have made it home.