Chapter 34: THE LAST WISH — Part 2
Chaos magic was terrifying to watch up close.
Yennefer's hands moved through patterns that hurt my eyes to follow, pulling threads of power from the air itself. The energy she channeled into Geralt glowed violet-black, sinking into his ruined throat like water into parched earth. His breathing steadied. The blood stopped flowing.
"Djinn venom is particularly nasty," she said conversationally, never pausing her work. "It corrupts the magical field around the wound, making normal healing—even your kind of healing—impossible. You kept him alive, but you couldn't have saved him."
"I know."
"Do you?" Those violet eyes flickered toward me. "Your songs slowed the damage. That shouldn't have been possible. Djinn magic resists interference from other sources. Yet your power touched it anyway." Her hands continued their intricate dance. "Payment for this healing will be considerable. But first—you."
I said nothing.
"You're not a mage. You have no training, no source of chaos to draw upon. Yet I sense something that shouldn't exist." She finished a complex gesture, and Geralt's breathing deepened into something more like natural sleep. "Explain."
"I have a gift. Songs that—"
"That's what you told me at the door. I want the real answer." She stepped away from Geralt, wiping her hands on a cloth that probably cost more than my lute. "I've studied magic for longer than you've been alive, little bard. I've encountered hedge witches, druids, elder blood, and things from other spheres. Your power resembles none of them."
"Maybe it's something new."
"There is nothing new under the sun. Only things that have been forgotten." She circled me slowly, and I forced myself not to turn to track her. "May I?"
"May you what?"
"Examine you. Properly. My earlier reading was... superficial."
Every instinct screamed to refuse. But Geralt lay unconscious on the chaise, and I was alone in a sorceress's domain, and refusing might mean leaving without him.
"Will it hurt?"
"That depends on what I find."
Not reassuring. But I nodded.
Her magic reached toward me—not visible, exactly, but felt. A pressure against my skin, then deeper, brushing against the place inside me where Bardic Resonance lived. I felt the contact like fingers probing a wound.
And then she recoiled.
"What—" Yennefer's composure cracked for the first time. Surprise, confusion, even a flicker of something that might have been fear. "That isn't possible."
"What did you find?"
"Nothing." Her voice was flat with frustration. "Your power exists, I can feel it, but it has no source. No connection to the chaos that underlies all magic. It's like trying to grab smoke—present but insubstantial, operating on principles I don't recognize."
Belief-powered. Fueled by fame instead of chaos. Of course she can't understand it.
"I told you. It's a gift."
"Gifts come from somewhere. Power has origins." She was pacing now, agitation visible in every step. "You shouldn't be able to do what you do. The fundamental laws of magic don't allow for—" She stopped, turning to face me. "How long have you had these abilities?"
"About ten years."
"And before that?"
"I was nobody. A student at Oxenfurt with modest talent." The truth, from a certain angle. Julian had been exactly that.
"Something changed."
"Something changed," I agreed. "I don't know what or why. One day I was ordinary. The next, my songs started doing... more."
Yennefer studied me with an intensity that made me want to step backward. "You're not lying. I can tell that much. But you're not telling the whole truth either."
"I'm telling you what I understand. Which isn't much."
"Hmm." She turned away, moving to a cabinet and retrieving a bottle of wine. "The honest answer of someone genuinely confused, or the careful evasion of someone very clever. I haven't decided which."
She poured two glasses, handed me one. My throat was raw from hours of singing Healing Melodies—I'd asked for water at the door, and she'd given me wine instead. "Water is for peasants," she'd said.
I drank anyway. The wine was excellent.
"Here's what I propose," she said, settling into a chair with predatory grace. "I'll finish healing your Witcher. I'll refrain from dissecting you to understand your power—for now. In exchange, you'll help me with a project."
"What kind of project?"
"The djinn that wounded your friend is still bound to him. Djinn grant three wishes. He's used one. Two remain." Her smile was sharp as broken glass. "I want to capture it. Bind it properly. Use those remaining wishes for myself."
I knew what she wanted. In the story I remembered, Yennefer had been seeking a way to restore her fertility—stolen by Aretuza during her transformation. The djinn represented power enough to grant that impossible wish.
I also knew how badly this would go. The djinn's power would spiral out of control. Buildings would collapse. People would die.
But if I refuse, Geralt doesn't get healed. And if I warn her, she'll want to know how I know.
"What would you need from me?"
"Your power works differently than mine. When the djinn manifests, your songs might... disrupt it. Provide opportunities I can exploit." She set down her wine glass. "And frankly, I'm curious. I want to see what you can do when you're not half-dead with exhaustion."
"And afterward? You let us go?"
"Afterward, we part ways. Unless you'd prefer to stay." The offer was casual, but something flickered in her violet eyes. "I have questions about you, bard. Many questions. You could remain and help me find answers."
"I'll help with the djinn. Then we leave."
"As you wish." She rose, returning to Geralt's side. "I'll continue his healing. You should rest—you'll need your strength for what's coming."
Her magic resumed, violet light flowing into Geralt's throat. But I felt something else too—a thread of awareness that hadn't been there before. Yennefer's attention, lingering on me like a spider's web.
She'd let me go. But she wouldn't forget. And someday, those questions she'd mentioned would demand answers.
I found a corner to sit in and tried not to think about how complicated my life had just become.
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