It was after Geralt of Rivia passed through and killed the Griffin when the fire dances started. Well, they hadn’t exactly started. They had always been happening, but no one had noticed the deaths when the Griffin had been on our doorstep, plaguing our village.
And so, once the screech of the flying menace had gone, the crackling of flames and the smell of burnt human flesh was more obvious than ever. Growing up, I was always told that that was simply the way Dunbarren smelled. That its coarse, sickly sweet odor was due to the closeness of the bog nearby. Everyone was used to it, and so we did not question it. Except for me. I remember asking my father, “Why do we smell when nae other towns do?”
He smiled. “How do ye know what any other towns smell like when ye have never been there, my sweet?” I remember frowning. He was right. I had never been anywhere, and I still have not, but when Geralt of Rivia had arrived, his white hair streaming, and his hard armor glinting in the sun, I could see his grimace, and I knew what it was at once.
He had spoken to my father then. “I am here about the Griffin. I saw your notice on the board.” The voice he used made me think of sandpaper, which my father would use to smooth the wood to sell. He was cruder and taller than anyone I’d seen in Dunbarren before. He looked just like I’d imagined. We’d heard about a White Wolf who wandered, searching for money to kill monsters.
“Are ye the Witcher, sir?” My father had asked, and it was the first time I’d seen him slightly in awe. No one need have inquired, for his rough, scarred looks were enough to tell anyone what he was, and his eyes were sharp and yellow. He made me think of a cat who was ready to strike at any moment.
“Yes. I will take the job. But what will you pay? And what is the cause of this stench? It hangs heavy in these parts.”
My father nodded and sent a thumb back over his shoulder. I knew he meant the bog. “‘Tis a bog tae the south. Full tae the brim with stench.”
Geralt’s nose scrunched. I wanted to laugh, but I stayed quiet, watching him. Only once did he glance down at me. “The town will pay ye fair and square, Master. We have 200 coins tae spare for ye. Ye must help us. The Griffin has nae let us at rest. ‘Tis hungry nearly every day.”
Geralt grunted. “When did he come to you? I had not heard of a Griffin so far north.”
My father shrugged. I could spy the other townspeople moving closer, leaning out of their windows and over their work tables to stare at the tall, white-haired stranger. Everyone was hopeful for an end to the death and the afternoon screeches. “We think it may be the bog that draws him, makes him want to feed.”
Geralt grunted again. “I agree to the task. I will return when it is complete. Farewell.”
He mounted his horse, and his leg nudged something gaunt and white that hung from the saddle. As he kicked the horse to move, I gasped at a face that had turned towards me, its eyes hollow, empty holes of black. I tugged on my father’s shirt and pointed.
He nodded and knelt down close to me. I could smell the sawdust on his shirt. “Aye, he is a true witcher, then, and keeps his prizes upon his steed. Lass, ye have seen a momentous thing this day. I have nae seen one more than once in me life.”
We watched him go, we all did, with the reverence of worshippers staring at the idols of their gods. As he left, I could see the smoke rising in the distance, the smoke I knew which would bring the smell. I was older now and wanted to ask my father.
“‘Tis nae the bog, is it, father? The smoke brings the stench. Ye know it, do ye nae?”
I could see my father’s cheek twitch. Mother would not approve of my questioning. “‘Tis nae for ye tae worry about, my dear. ‘Tis only the bog.”
Not thinking, I jumped off my seat and over the fence, running after Geralt as hard as I could. Father called out. My skirts were light, but they still tried to trap my legs. A cloud of dust raced after me as I ran towards the butt of his horse. I hoped only that he would stop for a moment. It was only a moment I needed. I saw him race across the bridge, and I flew after him, my feet aching and my lungs beginning to tighten in their search for breath.
He paused and turned his head. Was it possible he had heard the steps of a little girl coming towards him? Witchers could do so many things, we had always learned. He turned and stuck his yellow eyes on me, but I wasn’t afraid. They weren’t frightening, but they were like thrumming power that crouched and waited, and it made one cower with the strength of it.
“Witcher!” I cried, my breath coming hard and fast. “‘Tis nae the bog which stinks up our town. I do nae know what it is, but the smoke rises in the distance nearly every day. With it the stench rises warm and high. Find it! Save Dunbarren from our stink!” I had put out my hands in pleading. I waited while he digested my words.
I tell my grandchildren now that his lips had curled up into a smile, but I am not sure if they did. He left then, racing to the mountain top, and the afternoon screeches started. The griffin would be there soon, its sharp claws ready to snatch.
***
Father didn’t say anything to me when I got back, but by the flash of his eyes, I knew he meant me not to tell mother or my brothers. It would only upset them. I was the youngest, and they saw me as too inquiring, always bothering about something. So we waited. As we ate our food by the firelight, we waited for signs that the Griffin was dead. We’d heard screeches and flaps of wings, but to our relief, the shadow of the creature did not cast itself over our village. Everyone was safe in their houses. Or so I thought.
The next morning, Geralt returned. I saw underneath his collar, a fresh scar that lingered, warm and red. He had done the battle. I admired him for his strength, but I hoped by the eagerness in my eyes, he would look at me and tell me about the smoke. Did he find out the truth?
But he took the money and left and spared me not a glance as he rode away. I was bereft, and the smoke and fire continued. In the days of his departure, the stench worsened, and our sky was nearly gray with smoke.
“He has cursed us!” The villagers cried as they rushed madly around the town to get into their homes, hoping to light herbs over their fires, to keep the stench from their noses.
I stayed outside, smelling the heated flesh in my nostrils, and clenching my fists. Geralt of Rivia has no heart. He did not curse us, but he did not save us from our fate. Perhaps it was not enough coin. That was when the little boys began disappearing. No one older than ten was taken, and so we thought my brothers were safe.
The children disappeared in the night, and no one had heard anything, but the fires continued. One day, I awoke to the sound of wailing from the house across, and I knew that our neighbor’s little boy had been taken. I was resolved.
“If we are nae tae be saved, then we must save ourselves,” I whispered to myself in the night, when no one could hear me in the midst of their dreams. I would save us all.
One night, I crept out of the house into the dirt lane. There was hardly any light but a few remaining torches. Some men liked to stay in the pub all night long, and I could hear their distant rumbling and creaking. But the moon, a big and bright maiden, shone down on my path to where I could hear the distant scuttling of feet. At first, I thought it a wraith or a monster from the dark forest, and so I slid back into the alley between houses, waiting in the darkness until I could step forth again.
I prayed to the Allgod for safety, even if I wasn’t sure of him, even if I knew that he knew something was wrong. There was no one about when I entered the lane again, and so I ran towards the bridge, ready to see what my heart told me was true. The smoke still stung, and I ran towards where it stung the most, seeping into my eyes and throat.
My heartbeat loudly, telling me I was right. I disappeared into the trees when I saw it: the fire. It was the biggest fire I’d ever seen before, it almost licked the sky. Cloaked figures danced around it in spins and circles, calling out to the night. I could not hear everything, but I heard their cries of “Allgod!” and I shuddered to see them. I wanted to whimper for Mother, but I dug my fingernails into my hand to keep myself quiet.
I was a big girl, nearly twelve, and I would not be scared away when it was I who was mean to save us. I kept watch as they danced and yelled, calling to the god of our village. The smell was at its worst here. I saw one figure turn to the side to a pile and toss something into the fire. It crackled hungrily, and the figures wailed with delight, their heads leaning back as the smoke, black and heavy, lifted up to the moon.
I had to get closer. How could Geralt not see this as he fought the Griffin? He had to have at least smelled the growing stench. I swallowed slowly, afraid to think what they had thrown on the fire. I crunched through the trees, my noises hidden by their cries. I moved closer to the dark pile of misshapen items that had taken residence there. It could be logs, but my heart told me no.
I stopped behind it, hidden by a thick tree trunk, and tears fell down my face as my throat was choked with the reek of it. Heads, arms, feet, and torsos were heaped one upon the other, some old, and some fresh. I knew now where the boys had gone, for I could see their faces staring blankly upwards, their mouths no longer able to cry out against their fate.
I thought not of the monsters who I knew huddled nearby in their holes and caves. There were monsters here aplenty before me. As soon as my eyes had taken in the sight, I left, running as fast as I could, trusting to my own knowledge of the path rather than sight for tears blinded me. How could I ever forgive Geralt for what he had seen and done nothing about? He was a strong man, pulsing with power. He should use it. If I had that power, I know that I would. I wished for the strength to fight, feeling my muscles tighten in my small arms, wishing I could fight against the evil that pervaded Dunbarren.
I stopped at the bridge, for I heard the distant sound of hooves. Only one set of them, riding near the dark forest. I could spy the fire from where I stood and still saw flashes of movement from the dark dancers. My eyes widened as out of the darkness, I saw a sword spring into action, glinting in the moonlight, slicing and tearing, pushing shapes into the fire. Their cries were louder now, and not in worship but in fear.
My fingers trembled and my lips opened. To see victory against these doers of dark deeds who had taken our boys and sent the stench of evil through our village was a gift that only I had been given. Soon, the fiery area was silent except for the crackling flames which burnt black and ever upward. By now, I had hoped they were fully sated.
The hooves sounded near to me again, and I was pierced by a pair of yellow eyes. “Young maid, you have the heart of a Witcher, you know.”
My heart fluttered with joy. “Ye did not curse us then.” I knew. “But why did ye leave? Why did ye not kill these evil men when ye had the chance?”
His expression did not change. It was hard and stern as it seemingly always was. “I did not know of it, but I came back for you. For what you had said to me and shown me in your pleading eyes. I knew you had to be telling the truth. What is your name?”
“Teine,” I said, and his lips curved up once more.
“Fire. Tonight, now fire has defeated fire. It shall not alight again.”
“It is a white wolf who brings us justice. No longer will the scent of death be upon us.”
“Go, fire girl, and breathe easily.”
He left, his white hair whipping once more under the moonlight, and his horse riding hard and fast down the lane and off into the world I had never seen.
All these years later, I still have never seen the world. For one heavy sight of evil was enough for me, and so I keep to the home, to Dunbarren, where the air is clear and sweet and the children safe and happy, and the Allgod is no longer our god.
I tell them my story before a crackling fire where the only scents are woodsmoke and herbs.
