The Traveler: Part 1

Chapter 1

It had been three years since the Wild Hunt had been defeated and the Dearg Ruadhri sent back to the world from which they came. The White Frost had been destroyed at the tower of Tor Gvalch'ca on Undvik. Since that great battle, the natives of Skellige all avoided the island believing it to be cursed and not realizing the circumstances under which it had been occupied. When the elves from the Northern kingdoms, that is—kingdom—arrived, fleeing the wrath of the Church of the Flaming Rose and seeking refuge, they were welcomed to settle on the Isle of Undvik.

But Yaennin knew none of that. All she knew was that in the deep of summer, a most tasty mushroom grew in the center of the ruins on the tallest peak of the island she came to call home and that today she would bring home a basket full of spindleshrooms. It would be fitting, concidering the guest her father's inn had received the prior night. The second sword on his back made of silver marked him unmistakably as a witcher. He had been their first guest since they arrived 2 years prior.

After an exhausting hour-long hike up to the old ruin, Yaennin reached the last step to the place where the mushrooms grew. It hadn't been half an hour of picking that she saw a small speck of a light in the center of the ring. She couldn't help but look into its center as it began to grow. It reached about the size of a meter before she began to fear it. She wanted to back away and leave but she couldn't take her gaze away from the now massive ball of light. It seemed to pull her in and consume her thoughts. As she drew closer she couldn't help but reach her hand out toward the warm glow. She mustered her last bit of strength and fear to try and pull her hand back, til she heard something in her head. "Help me". She wasn't sure if that was what she heard, but she was convinced she heard it. She reached out and stuck her hand into the glow and then...nothing.

"She has always been back well before dark. It's not like her to be gone this long" whimpered an elven man with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes.

"We are almost to the top." said the ashen haired woman brandishing two swords on her back: one made of steel and the other silver.

"How would you know that?" questioned a slender man with chesnut hair and cat eyes.

"I've been here before Lambert. Can you smell anything or see any tracks?"

"Huh? When were you...oh...right. I lost the scent half way up the mountain with this fucking wind, but I do see tracks. All made by smaller feet going one direction." replied Lambert.

"What does that mean?" cried the elf.

"It means, whoever went up here did not come back down. Or at least, came down another way. Stay down here elf, it's best Ciri and I go up there alone. If there is a monster up there, best leave it to trained professionals."

"There is no point in worrying yet Nathaen. If Yaennin is up there we'll find her" Ciri assured the elf. In her experience someone who had been missing for that long in an ancient elven ruin was often found in pieces, but she was always the optimist.

Ciri and Lambert drew their silver swords. Ciri lead with both hands on the hilt of Gweyhyr, while Lambert held his sword lowered with the tip about knee high and his left hand stretched out prepared to cast a sign.

As Ciri reached the 4th to last step she peered over the ridge.

"I see two bodies. One is lying on the ground. The other is sitting up against the wall with its arms around its knees." she whispered.

"Bodies or corpses?" asked Lambert

"I can't tell," said Ciri.

She waited for Lambert to reach the top. He concentrated his senses has he climbed the last few steps.

"They are alive. I can hear them breathing. One has a strange rhythm...it's first labored and then soft. The other is normal."

When he finally reached the top he contracted the muscles in his eyes in order to focus on smaller areas more precisely and looked around.