The Road With No Return Read online

  The Road With No Return

  by Andrzej Sapkowski

  As published in the anthology

  “Something Ends, Something Beings”

  fan-translation based on the official German translation,

  “Der Weg, von dem niemand zurückkehrt”, aus

  “Etwas endet, etwas beginnt”,

  published in 2012 by dtv

  Updated: Wednesday, September 2, 2015

  Progress: finished

  (based on the ebook)

  Translated by

  Tina B.

  [email protected]

  Disclaimer: This body of work is a fan translation and not meant to infringe copyright or produce profit. It is being created for the sole purpose of allowing fans to familiarize themselves with works which have not yet received an official translation. As soon as the latter is available, this document will no longer be hosted.

  Translator’s notes can be found at the end of the document.

  I

  The bird with the colorful plumage resting on Visenna’s shoulder began to cry, batted its wings, rose and glided into the underbrush. Visenna reined in her horse, listened for a moment, then carefully continued along the forest path.

  The man seemed to be asleep. He sat leaning his back against a pole set into the middle of the crossroads. When she came closer, Visenna saw that his eyes were open. Even before that, she had noticed that he was wounded. The makeshift bandage covering his left shoulder and upper arm was soaked in blood which had not yet turned black.

  “Greetings, lad”, the wounded man sounded and spit out a long shaft of grass. “Where are you riding to, if one may ask?”

  Visenna didn’t like the ‘lad’. She threw back her hood.

  “One may ask”, she retorted, “but should justify one’s curiosity.”

  “Pardon me, Milady,” the man said and narrowed his eyes. “You wear man’s clothing. And regarding the curiosity: it is well justified! This here is an unusual crossroad. An interesting adventure has befallen me here…”

  “I see”, Visenna interrupted him and regarded the motionless, unnaturally bent figure lying halfway hidden in a bush no more than ten steps from the pole.

  The man looked in the same direction. Then their glances met. Visenna acted as if she were brushing back her hair and touched the diadem that was hidden under the snakeskin headband.

  “Ah yes,” the wounded man said calmly. “There is a corpse. You have quick eyes. Surely you think me a bandit. Am I in the right?”

  “You are not.” Visenna said without taking her hand off the diadem.

  “Ah…”, the man moaned, “Yes. Well…”

  “Your wound is bleeding.”

  “Most wounds have that strange property.” The injured man smiled. He had pretty teeth.

  “Covered with a bandage applied with only one hand, it will bleed for quite a while.”

  “Would you perhaps honor me with your help?”

  Visenna jumped off her horse, her heels leaving deep traces in the soft ground.

  “My name is Visenna”, she said. “I do not honor anyone. I also do not appreciate being addressed in such a manner. Still I will treat your wound. Can you stand?”

  “Yes. Do I have to?”

  “No.”

  “Visenna”, the man said while stretching slightly to allow her to remove the bandage more easily. “A pretty name. Has anyone told you, Visenna, that you have pretty hair? It’s called copper, isn’t it?”

  “No. Strawberry blond.”

  “Ah. When you’re done, I will give you a bunch of lupines that are growing in the ditch over there. And while you’re operating on me, just to pass the time, I will tell you what has happened to me. I did, you know, come here the same way as you. And I see, there at the crossroads, a pole. Yes, this one. And on this pole there is a board. That hurts.”

  “Most wounds have that strange property.” Visenna tore off the last layer of fabric without even trying to be especially careful.

  “True, I’d forgotten. Where was I… Ah, yes. So I come closer, see what’s on the board. Horribly clumsy, I once knew an archer who could piss prettier letters in the snow. I read… And what’s that supposed to be, Milady? What kind of stone is that? Oh, damn it. I didn’t expect that.”

  Visenna gently ran the hematite over the wound. The bleeding stopped immediately. She closed her eyes and gripped the man’s wounded arm with both hands, tightly pressing the edges together. She let go – the tissue had grown together, leaving behind nothing more than a jagged, scarlet line.

  The man was silent and watched attentively. Finally, he carefully raised his arm, stretched it, rubbed the scar, shook his head. He adjusted the bloody shirt and doublet, stood up, picked up the belt with the sword, money pouch and canteen. The belt buckle was shaped like a dragon’s head.

  “Well, that’s what you call luck”, he said without taking his eyes off Visenna. “I met a healer in the middle of the wilderness, where the Yaruga meets the Ina, where one usually is more likely to meet a werewolf or, even worse, a drunk lumberjack. What about payment for my treatment? I am a little short on money at the moment. Will a bunch of lupines suffice?”

  Visenna ignored the question. She stepped closer to the pole, raised her head – the board was nailed on at a man’s eye-level.

  “’You, who come from the west’”, she read aloud. “’Go left and you will return. Go right, and you will return. Go straight ahead, and you will not return.’ Nonsense.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” the man said while brushing pine needles off his pant leg. “I know this region. Going straight, which means east, you get to the Klamat pass, onto the merchants’ road. Why should one be unable to return from there? Pretty girls who want to marry? Cheap booze? An opening as mayor?”

  “You digress, Korin.”

  The man opened his mouth in surprise. “How do you know that my name is Korin?”

  “You have only just said it yourself. Go on.”

  “I have?” The man scrutinized her distrustfully. “Really? Well, perhaps… Where was I? Ah. So, I read and ask myself what idiot came up with that inscription. Suddenly, I hear someone babbling and muttering behind my back. I look back and see an old hag, gray-haired, crooked, with a cane, of course. I politely ask her what is wrong. She murmurs: ‘I’m hungry, dear knight, haven’t had a bite since morning.’ I think, so the hag has at least one tooth left. I’m mighty touched, so from my knapsack I take a piece of bread and half a smoked brace, which I received from a fisherman on the Yaruga, and give it to the old woman. She sits down, chews, croaks, spits out fishbone. I keep looking at that strange signpost. Suddenly the old woman sounds: ‘You’re a good man, little knight, saved me, should have a reward.’ I wanted to let her know where she can stick her reward, but then the hag says: ‘Come closer, I have something to whisper in your ear, an important secret, how you can save many good people from woe, have fame and fortune.”

  Visenna sighed and sat down next to the wounded man. She liked him, tall, blond, with a narrow face and pronounced chin. He didn’t stink like most men she had met. She shooed away the persistent thought that she had been aimlessly wandering the woods and country roads by herself for too long.

  Korin continued his tale: “Hah, I thought, this is a classic opportunity. If the hag doesn’t have sclerosis and is still right in the head, then this may really prove useful for a poor warrior. I bend down, stretch my neck like a bumbling idiot. And if my reflexes hadn’t worked, she would have got me straight in the throat. I jumped back, the blood gushing from my arm like from a castle fountain, but the hag brandishes the knife, cries, sputters and spits. I still didn’t think it was serious. I go in close, to gain the advan
tage, and notice that she isn’t an old hag at all. Breasts as firm as flint…”

  Korin squinted at Visenna to see if she had blushed. Visenna was listening with polite interest.

  “Where was I… Ah. I thought I’d push her over and disarm her, but not a chance. Strong as a lynx. I notice that her hand, which his holding the knife, is going to slip from my grip any moment. What should I do? I pushed her away, drew the sword… She ran into it herself.”

  Visenna sat silent, her hand at her forehead, as if she were absentmindedly adjusting the snakeskin headband.

  “Visenna? I say it as it was. I know it was a woman, and I feel stupid, but I’ll croak if that was a normal woman. Right after she fell, she transformed. She got younger.”

  “An illusion”, Visenna said thoughtfully.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Visenna stood up, walked over to the corpse lying in the undergrowth of fern.

  “Look.” Korin stepped up to her. “A wench like a statue at the castle’s fountain. But she was bent and wrinkled like the backside of a hundred-year-old cow. If…”

  “Korin”, Visenna interrupted. “Do you have a strong stomach?”

  “Huh? What does my stomach have to do with this? But if you’re interested – I can’t complain.”

  Visenna removed the headband. The jeweled affixed to the diadem glowed in the milky gleam of light. She positioned herself in front of the corpse, stretched out her hands, closed her eyes. Korin watched, his mouth halfway open. Visenna slightly nodded her head, whispered something he didn’t understand.

  “Grealghane!” she shouted suddenly.

  The undergrowth moved violently. Korin jumped back, drew his sword, froze in a defensive posture. The corpse began to twitch.

  “Grealghane! Speak!”

  “Aaaaaaa!” A hoarse, tumescent cry sounded from the undergrowth. The corpse bent, almost levitated, touching the ground with its back and head. The cry faded, turned into a throaty stammer, broken sighs and screams, which slowly gained tonality but were utterly incomprehensible. Korin felt a stream of cold sweat on his back, irritating him like a creeping caterpillar. He balled his fists to suppress the tingling in his hands and with all his might fought the overwhelming urge to flew into the depths of the forest.

  “Oggg… nnnn… nngammmmm”, the corpse stammered while it clawed the ground with its fingernails, blisters of blood welling out of its mouth and bursting on its lips. “Nam… eeeggg…”

  “Speak!”

  A muddy stream of light seeped from Visenna’s outstretched hands; and in it, the dust tumbled and accumulated. Dry leaves and stalks shot up from the undergrowth. The corpse chocked, began to smack its lips and, suddenly, to talk. Quite comprehensibly.

  “Crossroads six miles south of the source. At most. S…sent. The Circle. A lad. Slau…gh…er. Ordered.”

  “Who?” Visenna yelled. “Who gave the order? Speak!”

  “Fffff… ggg … genal. All letters, sheets, rings, amu…lets.”

  “Speak!”

  “…pass. The Koshchey. Ge…nal. Take letters. Par…chment. He comes from Maaaaa! Eeeeeee! Naaaaaa!!!”

  The stammering voice began to vibrate, to dissolve into a horrible cry. Korin could take it no longer, he dropped the sword, closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his ears. So he stood until he felt a touch on his arm. He shivered violently, all over, as if someone had hit him in the genitals.

  “It is over”, Visenna said and wiped sweat off her forehead. “I had enquired about your stomach.”

  “What a day”, Korin groaned. He picked up the sword, pushed it into the sheath, taking care not to glance in the direction of the now motionless corpse. “Visenna?”

  “Yes?”

  “Let’s get away from here. As far away from this place as possible.”

  II

  Together, both of them on Visenna’s horse, they rode along an overgrown, uneven forest path. She sat in front in the saddle, Korin on the croup, behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. Visenna had long since grown accustomed to enjoying the amenities that fate offered her without second thoughts; so she contently leaned back against the man’s chest. Both remained silent.

  After almost an hour it was Korin who first brought himself to speak. “Visenna.”

  “What is it?”

  “You’re not just a healer. You’re from the Circle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Judging by that… demonstration, a mistress?”

  “Yes.”

  Korin let go of her waist and grabbed the pommel. Visenna angrily screwed up her eyes. Of course he didn’t see.

  “Visenna?”

  “What is it?”

  “Did you understand anything of what the… said?”

  “Not much.”

  Again they were silent. A colorful bird flying through the foliage above them screamed loudly.

  “Visenna?”

  “Korin, do me a favor.”

  “Hm?”

  “Stop talking. I want to think.”

  The forest road led them down into a ravine, to the bed of a shallow stream which lazily meandered between stones and black tree trunks. The air smelled strongly of mint and nettle. Once in a while the horse slipped on the stones, which were covered in clay and silt. To keep from falling off, Korin again wrapped his arms around Visenna’s waist. He shooed away the persistent thought that he had been aimlessly wandering the woods and country roads by himself for too long.

  III

  The settlement was a typical roadside village, clinging to the mountainside, huts of straw and wood, dirty, ducking between crooked fences. As they rode closer, dogs began to bark. Visenna’s horse quietly plodded forward in the middle of the road and paid no heed to the keen mutts stretching their foaming muzzles for its pasterns.

  At first, they saw no one. Then, from behind the fences, from the paths leading toward the farmsteads, appeared the residents – they approached slowly, barefoot and with sinister faces. They carried pitchforks, sticks and flails. Someone bent down and picked up a stone.

  Visenna reined in the horse, raised a hand. Korin saw that in it, she was holding a small golden knife formed like a sickle.

  “I am a healer”, she said in a voice that was clear and sonorous, but in no way loud.

  The peasants lowered their weapons, began to murmur, exchanged glances. More and more arrived. Some of those closest took off their caps.

  “What is the name of this settlement?”

  “Key”, it sounded from the crowd after a short silence.

  “Who is your alderman?”

  “Topin, your ladyship. There, the hut.”

  Before they moved off, a woman holding an infant squeezed through the line of countryfolk. “Mistress…”, she moaned and carefully touched Visenna’s knee. “My daughter… She is burning with a fever…”

  Visenna jumped from the saddle, touched the child’s small head, closed her eyes.

  “She will be healthy tomorrow. Don’t wrap her up so tightly.”

  “Thank you, your ladyship… A thousand thanks…”

  Topin, the alderman, was already in the yard, considering what to do with the pitchfork he was holding. Finally, he used it to free the stairs from the mess left by the chickens.

  “Pardon me”, he said and leaned the fork against the wall. “Milady. And you, milord. Times are unsafe… Please step in. Let us entertain you.”

  They went inside.

  Topin’s wife, trailed by two flaxen-haired girls clinging to their mother’s apron strings, served scrambled eggs, bread and sour milk. Afterwards, she vanished into her chamber. In contrast to Korin, Visenna ate little and was sullen and quiet. Topin rolled his eyes, scratched himself in various places and talked.

  “Times are unsafe. Unsafe. We are not doing well, Milady. We raise sheep, whose wool is meant to be sold, but since there are no merchants, we’re slaughtering the herd. We slaughter the sheep to have food on the table. Back then, the merchants trave
led around Hornstone and Greenstone into the Amell, across the pass, where the pits are. They mine hornstone there. And when the merchants passed, they also took wool, paid and left other wares. Now there are no more merchants. There’s not even salt; whatever we slaughter we have to eat within three days.”

  “The merchants are steering clear of you? Why?” Every once in a while Visenna thoughtfully touched the headband.

  “They just do”, Topin growled. “The road to the Amell is closed, and that damned koshchey has taken the pass and doesn’t even let a single soul through. How are the merchants supposed to come here? To die?”

  Korin froze, spoon suspended in midair.

  “Koshchey? What is a koshchey?”

  “Well, how should I know? The koshchey, they say, is a man-eater. He’s supposed to sit on the pass.”

  “And he’s not letting the caravans through?”

  Topin looked around the hut. “Some he does. His own, they say. He’s letting his own through.”

  Visenna frowned. “What do you mean: ‘his own’?”

  “Well, his own”, Topin murmured and blanched. “The people of Amell have it even worse than we do. We can at least feed on the forest a little. But they are sitting on bare rock and only get what the koshchey’s people sell for the hornstone. Which is bad, because they are supposed to demand a high price for their wares, but what should the Amell people do? They can’t eat the hornstone after all.”

  “What ‘koshchey’s people’? Humans?”

  “Humans and vrans and some others. Thugs is what they are, Milady. What they take from us, they bring to the Amell and exchange it for hornstone and greenstone. They take it from us forcefully. They have often robbed the villages, raped the girls, murdered them, burnt them. Thugs. The koshchey’s.”

  “How many are they?”

  “Who is supposed to count, Milord. The villages defend themselves, hold together. And what’s it help us if they raid us at night and set fire? We rather give them what they demand. Then they say…” Topin blanched even further, began to tremble violently.