Another Year
The sun is beating down on the godsforsaken village where Lambert finds himself after wandering without much of a goal. He hasn't accepted a contract until it is absolutely necessary, sleeping rough and eating little. But a man needs coin for drink and so here he is, studying the notice board.
There's nothing but offers for barter, misspelled and bleached out by the sun. Lambert contemplates setting fire to the whole board but then decides it's not worth it. Nothing much is, these days.
There's a gaggle of children watching him from a few steps' distance, eyes wide. They all try to hide behind one another, casting a many-limbed shadow on the packed soil.
'Piss off.' Lambert can't even bring up the energy to be mean to them. They still scatter, shrieking as they go. The noise pierces the cloud of white gull hangover in Lambert's head and he turns away with a disgusted grimace.
For a moment, there are words on his tongue. Let's get out of this shithole, there's nothing here for us. Better go fishing in the river for dinner. But they shrivel and die before they reach his lips. There's no one to say them to. Lambert is alone.
For a while, he hadn't been.
For a few short years, there had been Aiden. Cocky bastard, had been getting on Lambert's nerves and under his skin every waking moment. Cheeky smile and mischievous eyes, every inch the Cat. Lambert would give anything to see him again, just once.
But wishing has never gotten him anything, or he wouldn't be here. Aiden is dead, has been for months, and that's that. He needs to get used to being alone again. After all, it's how witchers are supposed to live. And die. Like Aiden did.
Lambert growls under his breath, stalking away from the notice board and down the street. There's a merchant with a rickety table full of odd and ends who takes some herbs off of Lambert's hands for enough coin that it buys Lambert a bottle of the inn's best horsepiss moonshine.
On the way out of the village, a slender birch catches his eye, its trunk almost glowing white, dark green leaves flitting in the breeze. It has been decorated with garlands, blue cornflowers and yellow marigolds, red poppy scattered in. A young girl, her long braid falling over her shoulder, is winding yet another garland around the trunk. She catches Lambert's gaze and smiles at him before quickly averting her eyes and hurrying back to the village.
Scowling, Lambert stalks past the birch and along the fast-running stream. None of the villagers will go near it at this time of year but Lambert doesn't give a shit. He's itching for a fight. But not enough to seek it out or go through the motions of a contract. The thought of that alone is enough to leave him exhausted.
Simply existing is exhausting right now.
A swig from the bottle, or ten, takes the edge off, especially once Lambert has drunken enough so he can top it off with the last of his White Gull. It takes the edge off of his reflexes as well, so for a moment he doesn't even react to the voice.
'Hello.'
The bottle drops from Lambert's hand and spills its contents but Lambert couldn't care less.
Aiden.
His wish come true. Aiden, standing there like nothing had ever happened. Like nobody had ever shot a bolt right through his eye, killing him as easily as a deer. Like Lambert hadn't grieved and raged for the past months, cursing himself and Aiden and the whole world in his anguish.
Aiden, one lock of reddish hair falling into his eyes, that crooked smile lighting up his whole face. One hand on his hip, the other outstretched to Lambert. His dark blue armour like the night sky even under the midday sun. His feet in the water.
And oh, how Lambert wishes he could be fooled.
Take that hand. Go where Aiden wants him to. Let it all be over.
He steps closer, close enough to get a whiff of river mud. His swords stay in their sheaths. If death wants to have him, Lambert is not going to fight. He cannot look away from the familiar face that shouldn't be here. And he wishes he didn't know. But he does.
'He's gone, you know.' Lambert doesn't really understand why he talks to the rusalka. It's not like they have a bond. Aiden has told him about her, and how he had met her back when he was a child and two times after that. How they had even talked. Lambert had berated Aiden for being stupid, and yet here he stands, talking to her.
Maybe because she won't offer pity. He can deal with a monster trying to bite off his head, but he cannot deal with pity.
'I know.' Her voice isn't like Aiden's. It's much softer, and spoken through a mouth full of teeth not suitable for human speech. 'I had hoped to see him again sometime. He talked to me. I'm sorry he's gone. And like this. He deserved better.'
'How the fuck would you know?' Suddenly, Lambert is angry again.
'How he died? You showed me. I can see what you love. Can't not see.' The rusalka shrugs, the motion entirely too fluid for a human body.
Lambert wants to yell at her to get out of his head. He wants to draw his sword and do what a witcher should. Instead, he stands and stares, fascinated and appalled at the same time. He cannot look away from her. From Aiden, so much more alive than the bloody memory burned into Lambert's mind.
'You want to die, but I have no wish to try and kill you. Or die by your hand. It seems we both get to live.' The rusalka smiles, and this time it's her own smile even though her teeth stay carefully hidden.
'Seems that way.' Lambert cannot pretend that he didn't walk up to the river with the thought that maybe he could pick a fight he wouldn't win. Lying to the rusalka is just as pointless as lying to himself. It stings that she has seen through him so easily. Of all the fucking rusalkas in this shitty world, Lambert has to find the one who knew Aiden. Just his luck.
'If you still want to die next year, come here again. I promise it will be quick, and you will think you have found him again. I can do that.' There is no pity in her voice, Lambert has been right about that. It's an offer only a monster can make, or would dare to make.
And it sounds good to Lambert. He doesn't want people cheering him up. He doesn't want people trying to help. He wants— What he wants, no one can give him. But this is at least some kind of goal. It's better than the aimless drifting, each day a struggle and for what?
'Until next year, then. Maybe.' He gives a curt nod, stepping back from the edge of the river. His foot hits the bottle and it rolls into the water.
'Be well, until then.' The rusalka sinks below the surface, and the last glimpse Lambert catches is long red hair, nothing like Aiden's, before she's gone.
Turning away, Lambert walks towards his camp, with more purpose to his step than he has had in a long time. One year. He can do one year. Time to get his affairs in order. Time to find out who killed Aiden, and kill them in turn. Not like anyone else cares. Lambert has a name to start with, someone Aiden mentioned before they parted ways. Jad Karadin. He will follow that thread until the bitter end.
And then, he will return.
For one last glance, one way or the other.