Kyana Of Cintra

90

Kyana left Geralt's thoughts the minute they turned black, a sign the hallucination had ended and he had fallen asleep. She sighed, picking him up to sit in a sitting position to put a new shirt on his body, one she had been hoarding in her bag to wear while they slept. He was cold, freezing almost, to the touch, a stark contrast to a few hours prior. Kyana had brewed three of the four medicines that were on Visenna's list, mixing them in vials to give to them when they were all finished.

"Yurga, I trust you know what wolfsbane looks like? Arenaria?" Yurga looked at her funny as they set up a camp, the sunset's orange glow peaking through the trees. Kyana took it as a no. "Wolfsbane is a long flower, with purple petals, that look like foxglove. Arenaria is shorter, with white petals. Can you harvest some for me please?" Yurga nodded, walking off into the woods while Kyana sat by the fire, the brewing pot boiling with water over it. She had not slept in at least 30 hours; her body grew tired and weak. Still, she pushed on, refusing to close her eyes when she did not know if Geralt would open his.

His fever had been dying down, aided by the copious amounts of Swallow Kyana had been giving him. She made the choice of giving him the first of the brewed potions, watching close by his side for any negative change. The blackness in his veins receded, making Kyana grin in achievement. She kissed Geralt's cheek in happiness, knowing finally she could save his life. Geralt frowned in his sleep when she turned away, entering another of his hallucinations; but this time, however, Kyana was not there to guide him through.

He woke, alone against a tree in the middle of the night, covered in a cold sweat. He knew he wasn't really awake, just in a dream state that would be over soon. He looked around him, noticing the bags that had been placed under him for his comfort. Besides him was Kyana, pottering around with potions and ingredients. He tried calling her name, only for her not to hear. When she touched him, he could not feel it. Geralt started to panic. "Kyana?" He called again, hoping against all hope he wasn't dead, that he didn't leave her this way.

"You're not dead. You've merely woken." A familiar voice informed him, bending down to talk to him. Geralt's eyes shifted to Renfri, who stood besides him as bold as brass. His fright was overtaken by his confusion, knitting his brow together as Renfri pointed to Kyana. "She needs you to neutralize the toxins." Geralt glanced at Kyana again, and when he turned, Renfri was no longer there.

"There's magic... in the air." Geralt spoke, struggling to get his words out. He realized he was in his own head, that he wasn't dead at all, merely sleeping. He calmed a little, his hand reaching out slowly to graze Kyana's cheek, even if neither could feel it. "She looks so tired." He whispered, his arm dropping back to his side.

In Renfri's place, Yennefer stood over him, speaking to him as though he were incoherent. "Your wound was troublesome, Geralt. But you will be all right." Yennefer reassured him, her face as stern as he remembered. Geralt realized that both women, one dead and one alive, were far away from him, that this was not his mind alone. Someone manipulated his thoughts, his sight.

"You know my name." Geralt called out to the darkness, taking his eyes off Kyana as she took the last of the flowers from Yurga's hands, adding them to the final potion. "You're in my head." Geralt said, his eyebrows still knitted in bewilderment, his eyes flicking open and closed. "You're listening."

From the shadows, a woman, blurry beyond recognition, appeared, sitting by his side. "I'm a sorceress. But you knew that already. You were saved by your pulse. Four times slower than a normal man's." She explained, observing Kyana as she poured the potion into a vial, cooling it enough for Geralt to drink. One by one Kyana poured the potions into his mouth, watching his paleness slowly vanish and his colour return. "That, and your woman. She's beyond anything I would've expected." Visenna admitted, watching the Witcher work.

"She's a person, and her name is Kyana." Geralt mumbled, pulling his arms up to pull himself into a sloped sitting position. "I'm a Witcher. But you knew that already too." Geralt breathed out, watching the sorceress walk into the shadows. "Is she..." He trailed off, licking his lips and gesturing to Kyana. "Is she able to save me?" Visenna huffed a small laugh, her mouth curled up into a grin.

"With the potions she's brewing now? She could save you a million times over." Geralt closed his eyes and let out a thankful breath, finally able to rest with the knowledge he'd wake up in the morning. "Most mages are occupied at the battle raging in Sodden, but I heard a merchant's cry for help and..." She trailed off, inspecting the wound, which had started to heal nicely after Kyana's usage of the potions. "It's my profession. The only thing I've ever been good at. I'm glad I could push her in the right direction."

"I'm glad our paths crossed, then." Geralt mumbled, his eyes opening a little wider as he began to recover from the bite.

"People linked by destiny will always find each other. Don't move." Something about that phrase had Geralt reeling, remembering the last time he had heard that, the time in his hallucinations by a woman he thought he'd never remember. Geralt frowned deeply, ignoring her advice and sitting up bolt upright.

"Come closer." He demanded, recognizing the woman in front of him. The red hair and green eyes stood out in the darkness, labeling her as his mother, the mother that left him on the road, alone, all those years ago. "I want you to look at me." Geralt growled out. "How do you like my eyes? Do you know, Visenna, what they do to a Witcher to improve his eyes?" He demanded softly, dangerously, praying on her guilt as a mother.

"Stop it." Visenna cried, unable to hear the truth of what she'd abandoned her son to.

"Do you know that it doesn't always work?" He growled again, of perfect strength to rip her throat out. Visenna left him, on the side of a road, like an animal fit for slaughter. Abandoned, alone, a child.

"Stop it, Geralt." Visenna insisted again, only to be scolded for the use of the name given to him by Vesemir, the real parent in his life. Geralt grew angry beyond words, fire burning in his eyes as he surveyed his mother, who was too weak to admit she'd signed her child up for death.

He glared at her.