The Traveler: Part 1

Chapter 7

The day had started as any ordinary day. Nathaen and his daughter woke up shortly before daybreak, ate a meager meal of berries and sat off to work. The work however was different. It had become different since the ashen-haired Witcheress had for some reason left pouches of seeds and a book on farming. He didn't know that this book had been issued by the very queen who had allowed the elves to settle on Undvik and was free to every farmer in the Isles. He didn't know that Queen Cerys had commissioned the ashen-haired Witcheress to bring the seeds and book to them. He didn't know the political ramifications the Queen might face if she were to have openly given them these gifts, which is why she had hired someone she knew personally who was not from Skellige. One thing he did know was this offering might mean more than mere survival for the elves on Undvik.

No longer was every member of the village a gatherer and fisher. Now more than half of them, including himself, set off with a shovel and a rake towards the fields instead of with a basket into the woods or a net to the seas. They worked in the field until the sun left the sky and spent their evenings in the tavern Nathaen's daughter, Yaennin, now ran by herself.

She always made a tasty fish stew for the patrons, who in turn gave her legumes, seaweed, berries, roots and whatever else they could scrounge up as payment. Payment wasn't truly the right word though since even those with nothing would get something to eat and drink without expectancy of compensation. After all, the farmers working in the field had no time to gather tidbits from the forests and beaches, but their payoff might possibly be the greatest for everyone in the long run. Since their barely populated society was almost completely isolated from the mainlanders, it was necessary for them to live more socially.

Nathaen was rather impressed at how innovative his daughter had become with brewing and distilling beverages from whatever berries and roots came her way. Such creativity must have come from her mother, he thought, opening his book on farming as he let his bowl of fish stew cool off after a hard day's work.

After the two Witchers had taken the strange she-elf with them, he occasionally worried that someone might come. He remembered watching his wife lose her head because she had sold a necklace to Lady de Brankfurtt the day she had been 'uncovered' as a Nilfgaardian spy. Whether or not she was a spy was unknown, but that never mattered to witch hunters. Circumstance and association were very dangerous for all non-humans even before Radovid and his Church of the Flaming Rose began their crusade. Recently though, nothing took Nathaen's mind off of fearful imaginations of what could happen or who could come because of recent events, like reading about the correct spacing of potato tubers and how rove beetles, with their black and tan bodies and voracious appetite for pests, are a welcomed guest for your crops. He certainly wasn't prepared for the guest that had been drawn to their little village.

He was so preoccupied that even when the tavern went silent, he didn't notice the stranger who had come in. It wasn't until he began speaking to Yaennin did he finally take notice.

The man was very tall and wearing such elegant clothes which Nathaen could, in his limited understanding of fashion, only describe as robes. His head was covered with a cowl that left his face free, but unfortunately hardly visible in the dim light. It wasn't entirely uncommon for strangers to come into the tavern, but never ones as grand such as he.

"What do you offer?" the man asked, in a deep lulling voice standing before Yaennin with only the counter to separate them.

"Fish stew and a blackberry current to wash it down with," replied Yaennin, nervously.

The man looked around the tavern noticing the shoddy construction. Yaennin couldn't tell if he was turning up his nose or feeling sorry for the Aen Seidhe and what little they had.