The Traveler: Part 1

Chapter 22

The murky waters roughly sloshed their way through the poorly defined banks of the Ismena. Here and there, white peaks formed where boulders attempted to inhibit the spring waters' passage. To the west of the river was an abundance of white alders, some of whose trunks were happily submerged in the nutrient-rich waters originating from the mountains. To the east, a less dense mixture of poplars and pines sprawled across the flatter side of the Ismena, on which Ciri and Iespeth wished they were traversing.

It had been a week since their unfortunate landing in Crookback Bog. They had made their way south-east until hitting the river and planned to follow it to the Owl Hills. There they would head south to Cintra—a country still under Nilfgaardian rule—and could then leisurely travel to Toussaint.

The two slowly picked their way through the snowberry and dogwood undergrowth. Iespeth's stomach rumbled as she eyed the white fruit on the bush.

"Don't eat those," Ciri told her. "Though a delicacy for the birds, they are poisonous to humans and I suspect elves as well."

They had been eating nothing but the occasional unripe berry and sprouting grass. They had seen a fair amount of game but Iespeth's injury did not permit her use of a bow. Ciri tried using it once to hit a hare, but hadn't shot a bow since she was a young girl and ended up lodging the arrows into the trunk of tree. She broke the tip trying to pry the arrow out and decided not to waste any more.

"Now that we are at the river, we should be able to find a village at some point," Ciri told her.

The elf nodded, her face having reached a shade of pale that worried Ciri.

They walked another three hours before coming upon a small village. Before leaving the woods, Ciri wrapped her cloak around Iespeth despite her already having one on. She found a spot tucked away concealed by brush where Iespeth could wait for her. She opened up Iespeth's vest and shirt to have a look at the wound. The edges were red and puffy. Ciri ground a bit of wilted chamomile that they had found a few days back and put the mangled clump on the infected flesh. Though it had antiseptic properties, it was nowhere near strong enough to fend off the developing infection. Iespeth flinched from the pain and took deep breaths trying to keep quiet.

"I'll be back soon. Try to rest."

The village was certainly more than a settlement, yet not quite large enough to be called a town. It must have had at least some traffic, as it had a stone bridge as apposed to a wooden one stretching over one of the smaller streams running into the Ismena. Ciri found the notice board in front of the tavern with ease.

-A rake was borrowed from me and I can't remember who. Please give it back.

-Warning: keep the youngins away from the river lest the flooding sweep them away.

-Hallington to receive repairs on the chapel as paid for by the Church of the Eternal Fire. May its light shine down upon us. Builders to arrive the 1st of Blathe.

Not much work for a witcher, Ciri thought.
She walked on into the tavern only to realize that it also served as the local store as well. The shop keep wore a rough linen shirt and had a weathered look about him. He scoured his guest with inquisitive eyes.

"What can I do ya for miss?" he asked, wiping out a clay mug with a sullied rag.

She sat down on a decrepit wooden stool and put her gloved hands on the counter.

"I'm looking for work."

"Well we ain't got no brothel here miss. We's good folk and haven't need of that. Besides, ever since the war we have too many women as it is and..."