A New Life Begins with Books

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An unfamiliar ceiling.

'Where am I?'

Marek lay fully dressed on a bed that was not particularly soft. The blankets smelled faintly of mildew.

After a few minutes with his eyes open, the practical part of him took over. He accepted the obvious without wasting much time on denial.

He had crossed into another world again.

Apparently, crossing worlds was not necessarily a one-time event.

This new starting point was far worse than the last. He had lost every relationship he had slowly built, and the blood, cruelty, and violence of the witcher world far exceeded anything he had known in the alchemy world.

His one advantage was memory. As his thoughts settled, more of this world began to come back to him. Those memories would not make him invincible, but they might help him stay far away from danger.

***

Kaer Morhen.

By the time Marek followed the old stone stairs down through the keep, he had already worked out where he was. This was Kaer Morhen, the stronghold of the Wolf School witchers and the heart of their legacy.

As expected, he found Vesemir beside the hearth in the great hall.

White-haired, gray-eyed, with the slit pupils of a cat, Vesemir was the old witcher Ciri called uncle and treated like a grandfather. To the Wolf School, he was its living memory.

Marek knew the version of events he remembered would not map perfectly onto reality. One small difference along the way could change the result completely. Still, people's basic natures should not be too different. That was the conclusion he had reached after living with Ciri.

Their eyes met.

Marek nodded politely and offered the old witcher a friendly smile. Vesemir had spent centuries hunting monsters, holding to his principles, and doing work that earned respect whether the world gave it or not.

After a simple and thoroughly unpleasant lunch made by the old witcher himself, Marek and Vesemir sat on the steps of the inner courtyard and talked.

Vesemir repeated what Ciri had told him before leaving Marek in his care. Hearing it gave Marek the odd urge to laugh and sigh at the same time.

So she really had treated him like a child.

Still, he was happy. It meant she had valued him that much.

When it was his turn to speak, he did not reveal too much of Ciri's privacy. He only explained why he had been brought into the witcher world. He knew far too many details, including things Ciri would never have said if she had been thinking clearly.

The night before, she had probably told him because she thought they would never see each other again, and because she felt guilty for hiding the truth for half a year.

If he poured all of that out to this old man, it would only make things awkward later.

"That's what happened," Marek finished. "She stayed with me for half a year. Last night, she had a nightmare and said she had to leave. When I walked her out of town, the Aen Elle attacked us. Ciri had no choice but to pull me onto Kelpie and run."

"So you come from another world." Vesemir's expression turned grave as he listened. "Marek, you must not tell anyone else where you came from."

Marek looked at him.

"Our world has a natural phenomenon called the Conjunction of the Spheres," Vesemir explained. "When it occurred, many places overlapped with other worlds. The environment changed. Creatures migrated."

His mouth tightened.

"The beings that came through during the Conjunction fifteen hundred years ago included ghouls, necrophages, higher vampires, basilisks, and worse."

He let the implication settle.

"You can imagine how people feel about creatures from other worlds."

Marek nodded. "I understand, Uncle Vesemir."

Calling Vesemir uncle did not bother him. The man was a living relic several centuries old. Calling him Grandfather would have felt just as reasonable.

"Then I'll be in your care for a while," Marek said. "I'll do my best to adapt. Are there any rules or forbidden places in Kaer Morhen I should know about?"

He was worried about Ciri, but he knew there was nothing he could do for her. By now, the battle might already be over. All he could do was remain in Kaer Morhen and wait for news.

"You cared for our child," Vesemir said. "That makes you kin to us. I promise you, in Kaer Morhen, there are no taboos or forbidden places for you. You are as free here as you would be in your own home."

Marek thought for a moment.

"Then please tell me about witchers. Ciri only had time to give me the basics. I want to understand this world by understanding you first."

Vesemir brought him several books.

First, he handed Marek Northern Royal Bloodlines and The Massacre of Cintra.

"These two describe Ciri's background."

Next came Witchers: Not as Evil as You Think.

"A neutral account of witchers and how people view us."

Then Monsters: A Portrait of Witchers, Volume One.

"This one hates us. It is also closer to the view most people outside these walls hold."

He set down another volume.

"After you finish those, read The Trial of Grasses and Other Secret Witcher Practices, Seen by My Own Eyes. It explains how a witcher is made."

Finally, he added two more books.

"Witcher Signs and The Art of Explosions: A Practical Guide to Witcher Bombs cover two of the tools witchers rely on in combat."

Listening to Vesemir explain the selection, Marek understood the care behind it. To keep him from being misled, the old witcher had even placed the world's prejudice against witchers directly in front of him and let him read it for himself.

"I'll be reading in that chair over there," Vesemir said gently. "If you have any questions, come ask me. I'll answer as well as I can."

"Thank you, Uncle Vesemir."

For Marek, there was no better way to understand a new world than through books.

Reading was never wasted effort. Books could help him recover memories he had buried or forgotten. More importantly, they gave him a plausible way to account for what he knew. If he ever needed to act on knowledge he should not have, fewer unnecessary questions would follow.

Anyone who revealed secrets, predicted events, and outmaneuvered everyone without showing how they knew so much would invite suspicion, and probably a knife in the dark.

Marek took that as a warning.

That evening, Vesemir woke from a light doze and was surprised to find Marek still at the desk, reading with steady concentration.

The low sun slanted across the boy's face. A faint, satisfied smile rested at the corner of his mouth. The sight unexpectedly made Vesemir sense a quiet strength gathering in him.

He rose, walked over, and patted Marek on the shoulder.

"Let's eat first."

Marek put the book down and looked up.

"Uncle Vesemir, where I came from, daily life was rarely dangerous. Here, violence seems to be everywhere."

He held the old witcher's gaze.

"I want to strengthen my body and learn swordsmanship so I can protect myself. But I don't know where to start. Would you be willing to train me?"

Vesemir did not answer at once. He studied Marek's serious expression for several seconds.

"You mean you want to become a witcher?"

The boy shook his head.

"Witchers were created after the Conjunction of the Spheres. Sorcerers used brutal alchemical treatments and mutations to make people who could fight the monsters that came through. Witchers have greater speed, greater strength, sharper senses, and longer lives than ordinary humans. Their shared traits include mutated pupils and sterility."

Marek's voice was firm.

"I respect what witchers do, and what they endure to fight monsters. But become one myself?"

He shook his head again.

"No. Absolutely not. Seven days of seizures, fever, nosebleeds, vomiting, agony, and a death rate as high as seventy percent? No, thank you."

Vesemir let out a breath when he heard the answer. At the same time, a faint trace of disappointment passed through him. He did not want to see another child endure inhuman torment, but he could not help mourning the slow death of the tradition.

"You read closely," he said, patting Marek's shoulder in approval. "That's accurate."

He nodded.

"Of course I can train you. Eat dinner, rest early, and we begin tomorrow morning at five."

Marek smiled, genuinely pleased.

"No problem. Then please let me cook dinner tonight. I'm a good cook."

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