“Darkness still exists,” he agreed. “In spite of the progress being made which we’re told to believe will light up the gloom, eliminate threats and drive away fears. Until now, progress hasn’t achieved great success in that field. Until now, all progress has done is to persuade us that darkness is only a glimmering superstition, that there’s nothing to be afraid of. But it’s not true. There are things to be afraid of. Because darkness will always, always exist. And Evil will always rampage in the darkness, there will always be fangs and claws, killing and blood in the darkness. And witchers will always be necessary. And let’s hope they’ll always appear exactly where they’re needed. Answering the call for help. Rushing to where they are summoned. May they appear with sword in hand. A sword whose gleam will penetrate the darkness, a sword whose brightness disperses the gloom. A pretty fairy tale, isn’t it? And it ends well, as every fairy tale should.”

“But…” she stammered. “But it’s a hundred years… How is it possible for…? How is it possible—?”

“A future novice of Aretuza may not ask questions like that,” he interrupted, still smiling. “A novice of a school where they teach that nothing is impossible. Because everything that’s impossible today may become possible tomorrow. A slogan like that should hang above the entrance to the school. Which will soon become your school. Fare you well, Nimue. Farewell. Here we part.”

“But…” She felt sudden relief, and her words gushed forth. “But I’d like to know… Know more. About Yennefer. About Ciri. About how that story really ended. I’ve read it… I know the legend. I know everything. About witchers. About Kaer Morhen. I even know the names of all the witcher Signs! Please, tell me—”

“Here we part,” he interrupted her gently. “The road to your destiny is before you. A quite different road is before me. The story goes on, the tale never ends. As far as the Signs are concerned… There is one you don’t know. It’s called the Somne. Look at my hand.”

She looked.

“An illusion,” she heard from somewhere, far away. “Everything is an illusion.”

“I say, wench! Don’t sleep or you’ll be robbed!”

She jerked her head up. Rubbed her eyes. And sprang up from the ground.

“Did I fall asleep? Was I sleeping?”

“I should say!” laughed a stout woman from the driver’s box of a wagon. “Like a log! Like a baby! I hailed you twice—nothing. I was about to get off the cart… Are you alone? Why are you looking around? Are you looking for someone?”

“For a man… with white hair… He was here… Or maybe… I don’t know myself.”

“I didn’t see anyone,” replied the woman. The little heads of two children peered out from under the tarpaulin behind her.