‘And then? What is there, beyond the fog?’

‘Nothing,’ she smiled. ‘There is nothing more.’

‘You dogged my every footstep,’ he said. ‘But struck down others, those that I passed on my way. Why? I was meant to end up alone, wasn’t I? So I would finally begin to be afraid? I’ll tell you the truth. I was always afraid of you; always. I never looked behind me out of fear. Out of terror that I’d see you following me. I was always afraid, my life has passed in fear. I was afraid… until today.’

‘Until today?’

‘Yes. Until today. We’re standing here, face to face, but I don’t feel any fear. You’ve taken everything from me. You’ve also taken the fear from me.’

‘Then why are your eyes full of fear, Geralt of Rivia? Your hands are trembling, you are pale. Why? Do you fear the last–fourteenth–name engraved on the obelisk so much? If you wish I shall speak that name.’

‘You don’t have to. I know what it is. The circle is closing, the snake is sinking its teeth into its own tail. That is how it must be. You and that name. And the flowers. For her and for me. The fourteenth name engraved in the stone, a name that I have spoken in the middle of the night and in the sunlight, during frosts and heat waves and rain. No, I’m not afraid to speak it now.’

‘Then speak it.’

‘Yennefer… Yennefer of Vengerberg.’

‘And the flowers are mine.’

‘Let us be done with this,’ he said with effort. ‘Take… Take me by the hand.’

She stood up and came closer, and he felt the coldness radiating from her; a sharp, penetrating cold.

‘Not today,’ she said. ‘One day, yes. But not today.’

‘You have taken everything from me—’

‘No,’ she interrupted. ‘I do not take anything. I just take people by the hand. So that no one will be alone at that moment. Alone in the fog… We shall meet again, Geralt of Rivia. One day.’

He did not reply. She turned around slowly and walked away. Into the mist, which suddenly enveloped the hilltop, into the fog, which everything vanished into, into the white, wet fog, into which melted the obelisk, the flowers lying at its foot and the fourteen names engraved on it. There was nothing, only the fog and the wet grass under his feet, sparkling from drops of water which smelled intoxicating, heady, sweet, until his forehead ached, he began to forget and become weary…

‘Geralt, sir! What’s the matter? Did you fall asleep? I told you, you’re weak. Why did you climb up to the top?’

‘I fell asleep.’ He wiped his face with his hand and blinked. ‘I fell asleep, dammit… It’s nothing, Yurga, it’s this heat…’

‘Aye, it’s devilish hot… We ought to be going, sir. Come along, I’ll aid you down the slope.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me…’

‘Nothing, nothing. Then I wonder why you’re staggering. Why the hell did you go up the hill in such a heat? Wanted to read their names? I could have told you them all. What’s the matter?’