Chapter 11: THE WITCH'S CURIOSITY
The old woman's grip was iron.
"Let go." I tried to pull my wrist free, but her fingers dug deeper. Market crowds flowed around us, oblivious to the confrontation.
"You have magic." Her voice was barely a whisper, but her eyes burned with intensity. "I felt it when you passed. But there's no chaos in you. No training. No source." She leaned closer, breath smelling of herbs and smoke. "What are you?"
A hedge witch. Of all the luck—
I'd read about them in the temple texts two months ago: minor practitioners with genuine magical sensitivity, not powerful enough for the academies but capable enough to spot anomalies. I'd assumed I was safe in small towns, far from Aretuza and Ban Ard.
Apparently I'd assumed wrong.
"I don't know what you're talking about." The lie felt hollow even as I said it.
"Don't." Her grip tightened. "I'm old, boy, not stupid. There's something wrong about you. Your aura reads like a candle, but candles don't heal headaches from across a room."
She saw that. Two months ago, in that tavern—she must have been there.
"It's a gift," I said. True enough. "Discovered, not taught." Also true.
The witch—I could see her clearly now, weathered face under a worn hood, eyes that had seen too much—studied me for a long moment.
"You're not lying. Not exactly." She released my wrist but didn't step back. "A gift. Discovered. Something that works like magic but isn't chaos." Her expression shifted from suspicion to something more complex. "You're genuinely confused about what you are, aren't you?"
"I know what I can do. I don't know why or how."
"Dangerous." She shook her head. "Aretuza and Ban Ard notice unusual magic. Whatever you are, stay beneath their eyes or they will dissect you to find out."
The words hit like cold water.
"You're serious."
"I've seen it happen. A boy in my village, thirty years ago. He could speak to animals. The mages came, took him for 'study.'" Her mouth twisted. "We never saw him again."
Dissect you to find out.
"Why are you warning me? You could report me yourself."
"Could. Won't." She glanced around the market, checking for listeners. "I've spent my life hiding from the schools. Minor talents like mine aren't worth their attention, but I know what it's like to have power they'd want to control. Consider this a professional courtesy."
She turned to leave, then paused.
"One more thing, bard. That song you sang two months ago—'The Burning South'? I heard what happened to the room. Thirty people weeping, laughing, feeling exactly what you wanted them to feel." Her eyes met mine. "Whatever you are, you're getting stronger. Be careful who notices."
She vanished into the crowd before I could respond.
I found a quiet corner behind a cloth merchant's stall and tried to breathe through the panic.
Mages can sense me. Not just powerful ones—a hedge witch with minor talents could feel something wrong.
In eighteen months, I'd meet Geralt. In the timeline I remembered, Geralt traveled with Yennefer—one of the most powerful sorceresses on the Continent. If a hedge witch could spot my wrongness, what would Yennefer see?
She'll know immediately. She'll ask questions. And I have no good answers.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
I startled. A merchant was watching me from behind his stall, amusement crinkling his weathered face.
"Bad news from home," I lied.
"Ale helps. There's a tavern two streets over—the Pig's Ear. Terrible name, decent brew."
I thanked him and walked without seeing where I was going. My feet found a food vendor; my hands exchanged coins for a meat pie. I ate mechanically, barely tasting the filling, mind racing through possibilities.
I need to understand magical detection. How it works, what it looks for, whether I can hide from it.
The hedge witch had said my powers weren't chaos-based. The temple texts had hinted at the same thing—chaos magic left specific signatures, drew from particular sources. My abilities didn't match those patterns.
Maybe that difference could protect me. If detection spells looked for chaos and I wasn't using chaos, perhaps I'd slip beneath their notice.
Or maybe powerful sorceresses could sense any magic, chaos or otherwise.
I need more information. I need to understand how they see.
Aretuza trained sorceresses. Ban Ard trained sorcerers. Both institutions hoarded magical knowledge, restricted access, controlled who learned what. I couldn't exactly walk through their doors and ask for a lesson in detection theory.
But there were other sources. Temples that served healing gods. Herbalists and healers with working knowledge of magical interference. Old libraries in forgotten places.
I finished the meat pie without remembering a single bite. The panic was fading, replaced by cold calculation.
Sixteen months until Posada. Sixteen months to learn how to hide.
Yennefer was coming. Whether I met her with Geralt or encountered her some other way, our paths would cross eventually. I needed to be ready.
The market crowd flowed around me, oblivious to the crisis happening inside my skull. A mother herded children toward a sweet vendor. A merchant argued prices with a farmer. Normal life, normal concerns.
I'd never have normal again.
Research. Planning. Preparation.
I knew where to start. The Temple of Melitele in Ellander had one of the better libraries outside the academies. More importantly, they were known for accepting people with unusual gifts—healing powers, prophetic visions, things that didn't fit neat categories.
They might help. Or they might report me to Aretuza.
It was a risk. Everything was a risk now.
But standing still meant waiting for Yennefer to dissect me with her violet eyes, and I refused to let that happen.
I shouldered my pack and headed for the eastern road.
Ellander was three weeks away. I had questions that needed answers.
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