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No witcher has ever died in his bed.
Ciri knew this, but she never expected her path would end so soon. Just hours earlier she was flirting with a Metinese barmaid, imagining how impressed she would be when the witcher girl rode back into town on Kelpie, head of the monster she’d been contracted to kill hung from her saddle. Instead she was lying on the ground, the throbbing pain in her forearm where the beast had sunk its claws into her flesh slowly being overshadowed by the burning sensation of venom spreading throughout her muscles. The manticore was dead, but what did it matter when she was slowly suffocating, saliva spilling from her mouth and pooling around her head? All this over a fucking logging spot. As the burning gave way to numbness her mind drifted back to her time at Kaer Morhen.
She remembered Vesemir’s dull lessons, Geralt’s harsh training, Lambert, Eskel and Coen’s smiling faces illuminated in firelight as they sat at the table, laughing with one another, mugs full of alcohol Ciri was not allowed to taste in their hands. Tears welled up in her stinging eyes as she remembered Triss’s gentle tutelage. She felt droplets spilling out as she turned to thoughts of Yennefer and her warm embrace. The feeling of her dark curls brushing against the side of her face and the comforting scent of lilac and gooseberries.
I’m sorry, mamma.
She felt her muscles spasm painfully and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Just before she lost consciousness, she was assailed by the strong scent of wormwood, basil, sage aniseed and cinnamon.
*
A black mare galloped through the cobbled streets; its rider taking care to use routes he knew would have little foot traffic. The sight of him riding with an unconscious and wounded young woman slung over the horse in front of him would surely do more than raise a few eyebrows were he anyone else but a doctor and were he riding anywhere other than his own shop, home and practice. Coming to a stop outside said building, he lifted the young woman from the horse with an ease that his slight frame should not have been capable of.
The medic strode briskly through the apothecary and into the side room where he treated his patients. After laying the witcher girl down on the bed in one of the room’s corners, the barber-surgeon hurried to administer the antivenom. If the girl had been of a regular constitution there would’ve been nothing he could’ve done for her. Nevertheless, he would have to monitor her carefully for any adverse changes until midnight. After cutting away the layers covering her chest, he set about cleaning the puncture wound just under her shoulder. Wringing a rag he’d soaked in cool, clean water, he pressed it to the area. Satisfied there were no other significant injuries he turned his attention to her injured arm. He unwrapped the bandage he had used on site to staunch the bleeding. Cleaning out her wounds, he examined that the gashes, while wide, were shallow. The surgeon surmised that the young witcher dodged out of the way before the beast could do any real damage with its claws. Her arm only needed a few stitches before the surgeon then rebandaged it and draped a wool blanket over her chest. He pulled up a chair and sat facing his unconscious patient. All that was left to do now was wait.
*
When Ciri came to, she was lying on a bed in an unfamiliar room. Light streamed in from under drawn curtains. The walls were in disrepair, but the room was clean and had an intense herbal aroma. The muffled cawing of corvids outside reached her ears as she regained her senses. Her armour and undershirt had been removed. In her haze she vaguely remembered eyes that glowed with a feline-like light staring at her from the dark, although she wasn’t certain if it was not a dream. At some point during her unconsciousness, a folding screen adorned with an intricate floral pattern had been placed beside the bed to afford her some measure of privacy.
From behind said screen a man’s voice called out “Ah, you're awake”.
She shot bolt upright, clutching the blanket to her chest. This was an ill advised action as all the muscles in her torso throbbed with a dull pain. Certain that up until now, she hadn't moved, Ciri couldn't understand how whoever was behind the thin separation knew she was awake. She barely registered that the soft voice was that of a Northerner. She instinctively reached for her steel sword, only to find that it was only not within reach but nowhere in sight. She took a few deep breaths to steady her rapidly beating heart and retreated into her own thoughts.
Regardless of who or what is in this room with me, he has made no indication that he wishes to harm me, despite having ample opportunity to. He is not an immediate danger to me. I can manage.
Wood clinked against wood as she cautiously pushed the folding screen to the side.
When she saw the face looking back at her all she could manage to choke out was “How?”
“I suppose that is the only reasonable question given the circumstances”, remarked the man who all those years ago had introduced himself as Emiel Regis, as he stood to open the curtains. “I gather from your reaction that you know of my encounter with the mad mage and its unfortunate outcome, so I trust we have no need to discuss it”. He paused for a moment before turning back towards her and continuing “as for how I came back from such an event, I must first explain something about my species. A higher vampire can only be truly killed by another higher vampire and thus while in human terms I was considered quite dead, I was not gone for good. Meaning I could still regenerate. A long and arduous process that would have been much longer and much more arduous if I had not had the help of … another of my kin”. He looked away, fiddling with the fabric on the front of his apron. “In fact I have not yet finished regenerating”.
In the daylight, it was evident. Despite the fact that vampires do not age, he looked older than he did back then. His hair was whiter than before and had significantly receded. His skin somehow even lighter and appearing almost grey in colour. His eyes had been bloodshot that night, but they hadn’t been yellowed as they were now.
“So, you were brought back from the dead?” Ciri responded, still bewildered.
“In human terms, yes.” He then fixed his eyes on her and Ciri couldn’t help but look away to avoid returning the vampire’s gaze. “But that’s enough about me. How are you feeling?”
Ciri still had questions, but the vampire clearly did not wish to speak about his encounter with Vilgefortz or the fallout any further, if he’d even wanted to discuss it at all. So she went along with his obvious change of topic. Eyes cast down towards the floor, she mumbled out, “Sore all over. I could do with a soak in a warm bath”. She was doing remarkably well given the circumstances.
“Then, I shall draw you a bath”. He declared with a faint smile.
*
Ciri sat in the warm water, arm slung over the stained wood wall of the tub, as to keep the freshly stitched and bandaged area dry. She had been trying her best to relax, but she could not turn her mind from that night at Stygga Castle. More specifically, her mind was firmly fixated on how Regis appeared before her that night.
Men let out bone chilling screams as they were torn apart, a body slung over the knee of the vampire convulsed as the victim was drained dry and she was faced with all too inhuman black eyes. She convinced herself that the shiver that ran down her spine was due to the rapidly cooling bath water. Although she had not admitted it, he had terrified her that night and became yet another vicious figure that plagued her nightmares. However, that was nearly a decade ago, she was a child then and she’s an adult now. A witcher. She was no longer afraid of monsters under her bed, things that went bump in the night, knights with winged helmets, or vampires that could very easily end her life if they so desired. Upon feeling her heart threaten to beat out of her chest, Ciri had to admit a certain truth to herself; a truth she so desperately wanted to flee from. She was afraid of Regis. No one could possibly blame her for this. She had been brought into a vampire’s lair in an utterly defenceless state and even now she was completely vulnerable. Still, she was frustrated with herself. Hauling herself out of the now cool water, she let out an exasperated sigh as she reached for the towel the subject of her terror had laid out for her. She was still suffering from lingering effects of the venom and felt unsteady on her feet.
After slipping into borrowed men’s clothes, Ciri made her way through the house and out the back door where she found Kelpie. Regis was already stood behind the counter speaking with a customer, so she’d elected not to bother him. The witcher girl’s ever loyal steed let out a soft snort upon seeing her and leaned her head into Ciri’s touch when she reached out to pet her. Stroking along the mare’s neck, Ciri spoke softly to her. The familiarity had a calming effect on her. As grateful as she was to Regis for coming to her rescue for the second time, she was relieved to be away from the vampire. However, the young woman couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. Stepping back from the building’s rear wall and craning her neck upwards, she found what had been watching her. Ravens were perched upon the edge of the roof, staring down at her. She suddenly felt that she had had enough fresh air, nearly slamming the back door upon re-entering the building.
*
Ciri hopped off Kelpie and stood outside the inn; a pouch heavy with coin upon her hip, paid out by the loggers’ foreman as compensation for slaying the manticore that had hindered their work. She had come to pick up her belongings after Regis insisted that Ciri would need to stay under his care for the next few days. She had tried to argue that she was completely fine now and absolutely did not need any further monitoring, but the medic was infuriatingly difficult to argue with. Ciri herself was also quite difficult to argue with, asserting that she was perfectly capable of retrieving her belongings on her own even with only one good arm. Although it took a long time for her to load them into Kelpie’s saddlebags, she didn’t particularly care. By the time the repairs to her armour had been completed and she made her way back it was already dusk.
As expected, Regis had closed up shop. Upon entering, Ciri found the door to the kitchen open. The delicious smell of cooked meat and vegetables wafted through the apothecary and mingled with the scent of medicinal herbs. Ciri’s stomach made her aware of how hungry she was.
“Welcome back, Ciri”. When she reached the kitchen’s doorway Regis greeted her without turning away from the simmering pot. “I’ll take your possessions upstairs for you if you would be so kind as to watch the stew for me”. He turned to her and smiled with pursed lips.
She had hardly stepped into the kitchen and grunted in agreement before Regis had slipped past her and out of the room. Soon they were seated at the table with a hot bowl of fragrant stew in front of each of them. A heavy silence descended between them as they ate. Regis occasionally just sat there pushing bits of carrot and meat around the bowl with his spoon. The vampire was clearly trying to figure out how to start a conversation with the young woman. Ciri pretended not to notice. Finally, when Ciri was about halfway through her meal, Regis spoke up.
“I am starting to get the impression that you do not like me”. His voice was cool and measured.
A sliver of cabbage fell into the broth as she nearly dropped her spoon. “Not at all!”, she said far too loudly and slightly too fast.
For the first time since she sat down, Ciri looked up from her bowl. Regis had a smug smile spread across his wrinkled face. She felt muscles relax that she didn’t even realise she was tensing.
“Don’t make fun of me”, she huffed.
“My apologies”. After a moment of pause he continued, “and I must further apologise for how I first appeared before you on that night. I had not intended to frighten you, but reflecting upon my actions that night, it is no wonder you’ve been so intent on avoiding me. The truth is, I couldn’t bear fighting while sober and I can assure you I haven’t touched human or non-human blood since”. His voice was low and his brows furrowed. He looked remarkably human.
She shifted in her seat and fixed her eyes on a wood knot on the table. Sober was a strange way to describe not drinking blood, but she believed him. “No, I should be the one apologising. You saved me for the second time, welcomed me into your home and I’ve been acting rather ungrateful”. She looked him in the eyes. “Back then you saved me, you saved Geralt and Yennefer too. It’s long overdue, but thank you”. Ciri suddenly felt as if a weight had been lifted from her chest.
“Then let’s call us even.” He said with a fondness not directed at Ciri.
After that they conversed easily, regaling each other with tales of the past few years. In the following days Ciri joined Regis in his domestic life and when the time came for her to continue on the path, she had a newfound appreciation for the vampire.