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It was stupid, but she always let her guard down a little in Cintra, feeling like she was at home among these people despite everything. She should have known better, of course, but... well. Another lesson learned for a young witcher, she supposed.
Ciri turned to the man who had promised her a boat—an ocean-going boat big enough to sail her and Kelpie anywhere they liked along the coast or out in Skellige, he had assured her—in exchange for what had turned out to be five solid days of monster-hunting, curse-breaking, firewood-chopping, potion-brewing, and general hard labor.
"There it is!" He said, with that broad grin, in an accent that made her feel nine years old again, following her grandmother as she made a royal tour of some seaside town. None of the queens of Cintra had ever deigned to visit this particular fishing village, just north of the mouth of Marnadal—unless you counted Ciri herself, this week, but she had only come as a witcher. She always steered well clear of the capital city where she might hear news of whomever Nilfgaard had placed on her rightful throne; she would not repeat Emhyr's history, but she didn't have to drown herself in it, either. "The finest boat my brothers and I ever built!"
Ciri stared at if for long enough that Kelpie stepped up close behind her and started lipping at the end of her braid—checking to see if she was paying attention before trying for the snacks in her hip pouch. Ciri slid her hand up the reins to get a firmer grip, and made herself smile back at the man—her grandmother's subject, once upon a time, and now a client pleased to have gotten the better of a witcher. "I see. Thank you. Our bargain is complete. I hope you don't mind if I camp on the beach here until I have it rigged to sail away?"
The man laughed heartily—enjoying someone who could take a joke, as he no doubt thought—and clapped her on the shoulder. "You camp as long as you like, witcheress. Then I'll know where to find you if I have another contract for you, aye?"
"I shall drive a harder bargain next time," Ciri said dryly, and turned to look again at the... boat as the man turned and walked away, still chuckling to himself.
It was doubtless true that it had been the finest boat he and his brothers ever built; Ciri had neglected to take into account that at the old man's age, that probably meant it was built fifty or more years ago. It was thoroughly beached, a hundred yards or more up the flat stretch of sand from the waterline; even at the highest seasonal tides the water wouldn't reach it anymore. It would take an extraordinary storm to float it, thought that was hardly the greatest obstacle to sailing the thing anywhere.
Calling the boat derelict would give far too much credit to its seaworthiness. It was nearly skeletal, and if the keel still existed it was only because it was buried in the sand. She could see a suggestion of boards still forming what could be a sound hull in places, even retaining some brightly colored paint, but she could also see bare ribs poking up where nothing but the frame of the boat remained. There was a stump that had once been a mast, a few boards to indicate there had once been something of a deck, and no hint of a tiller or wheel.
Still, this was the boat her labor had earned her, and she was more sure than ever that it was long past time for her to stop roaming around in Cintra and head north. She had permission to camp here on the beach for as long as she needed to, and she would need to for some time.
She turned to Kelpie and pressed her forehead to the mare's, sighing out a long breath. Even alone with her horse, she couldn't give voice to the one thought loudly echoing through her brain: What is Geralt going to say?
She untacked Kelpie and turned her loose to browse in the dune grass, and made herself a half-sheltered camp—fully sheltered, magically speaking—before she knelt down to meditate. It wouldn't heal or rest her the way it would a true witcher, but it would let her pull herself together when she felt frozen and helpless to think of what to do next.
She knelt in the sand, felt it give way under her knees, and breathed in the salt air. She let herself sink into the sound of the waves until the beating of her heart matched the rhythm of the sea itself, and the sun poured down on her, daughter of Cintra (daughter of Nilfgaard), warming her and soothing all the cold chill away. She had done that; she had beaten back the White Frost. She had come back to this life to be simply whom she chose, to find her own path, to make her own stupid mistakes.
When she opened her eyes an hour later, Kelpie was standing over her, drowsing upright, and Ciri was grinning. The boat was an opportunity, an adventure—and an excuse to call for help that might be embarrassing, but wouldn't, for once, be life-or-death.
She considered her options as she rose and brushed the sand from her knees. She did feel refreshed, and Chaos danced at her fingertips, ready for whatever use she would make of it; she could reach anyone with the speed of a thought, so it was only a matter of deciding.
She considered Cerys, and the other Skelligers she knew, but decided quickly against them, for all that they would doubtless be the best choice to build approximately half a boat from scratch. They'd tell her it was a wreck, and worthless, and that they could get her a better boat; they wouldn't understand why it mattered to make good the contract by making good the boat, the particular witcher's victory it would be.
She could, of course, call on Geralt. She could always call on Geralt, even—especially—now that he was semi-retired down in Toussaint with Yennefer an ever more frequent presence at his villa. She would have them both swooping in to solve her problems for her, Mother and Father to the hilt. Geralt would understand, probably; Yennefer... would only take enough revenge on the old man to be funny. But mostly she would be their little girl once again, needing their help once again. It was the safe option, surely, but Ciri had not set out on the Witcher's Path to be safe.
She raised a hand to her medallion—quiescent out here in the wide sunny open land of the shore—and considered who that left. Her fellow witchers. Then she cupped her hands before her, calling up to little swallows made of blue light.
"Find Eskel," she told the one on the left. "Find Lambert," she told the one on the right. "Say: Ciri needs a hand, are you free? If they reach out a hand to you, bring them to me."
The birds would hang back from a fight or heavy magical activity, so there was no danger of them distracting Eskel or Lambert in the middle of anything too perilous. Ciri poured in all the magical power they would need to complete their tasks and opened her hands, tossing the little swallows away into the air. They both vanished before they had gone a few strides, taking their energy with them.
Ciri leaned against Kelpie and closed her eyes, trying to sense the birds as they flew—northward, both of them.
One went almost due north, skipping in and out of reality as it crossed high over the Brokilon and the hills that bordered it to the northeast, then began skimming lower over the still-scarred lands of Velen, making for the spot where one particular man knelt by a fire under the shelter of a few trees.
The other bird went far, far east of north, following one of the sources of the Yaruga to its distant beginning in the foothills of the Mahakam Mountains, and finding a weary man leading his horse along a winding pathway.
Ciri withdrew her attention from the birds; they would receive their yeses or noes and—
The popping sounds of displaced air came almost simultaneously; suddenly the beach held Lambert, still kneeling, hand caged around the place where the swallow had been, his gear and potions ingredients all arrayed around him on the sand. A little way uphill of him stood Eskel, Scorpion's reins still over his shoulder, Scorpion tossing his head and pricking his ears in Kelpie's direction.
Kelpie gave a friendly whinny for the familiar stallion, but kept still until Ciri straightened up off her and gave her a pat on the side, releasing her from standing sentry.
Ciri had her uncles for that now. Eskel had already dropped Scorpion's reins and started toward her, smiling, while Lambert was more slowly dusting himself off, grumbling as he checked that all his ingredients and belongings had come with him, just loud enough for Ciri to make out the tone of his voice: amused and pleased as well as annoyed, instead of annoyed and nothing else or stonily silent, the true sign of Lambert properly angry with her, holding it in until he couldn't anymore.
She hugged Eskel, laughing as he squeezed and lifted her right off her feet—but then she had just done as much to him, by magical means, so it was only fair.
When he set her back down he slung an arm over her shoulder, angling them both so that Lambert was visible off to one side, but Lambert wouldn't think they were going to demand he come and hug them too. "Right," Eskel said. "What's the job?"
"Well," Ciri said with a sigh, the last of her laughter fading on the sea breeze. "It's not a job, exactly. It's my payment for the job that's the problem. I was promised a boat, and I didn't think to demand to see the boat in advance, and so..."
She gestured, Eskel's eyebrows rose as he took in what there was of the boat. Lambert popped to his feet and stomped over to stand at the bow end of it, hands on his hips and his grumbling momentarily silenced. That was all right; he was just building up to something suitable to the occasion.
"Congratulations, little lion cub," Eskel finally said, squeezing her against his side. "Your first what the fuck am I supposed to do with this? payment. I'm honored to be here."
"Be honored to go find what boat he's actually using and make a few improvements to that," Lambert growled, then kicked the bit of keel that protruded against the sand and made a thoughtful noise. "Give you this, I don't think it's all actually rotted to nothing under there."
"That's what I was hoping," Ciri agreed, giving Eskel's waist a last squeeze before she stepped out from under his arm and went to stand near Lambert, running her fingers over the bits she could reach of the boat. It was badly weathered, but as her magic tasted the shape of it, it still felt like boat, and not like flotsam.
"Aard first?" Eskel offered, coming up on her other side. "Clear out the sand, see what we have?"
Lambert scoffed. "You Quen, so we don't wind up buried in our own sandstorm, we'll Aard."
Then they had to work out who should be standing where and exactly how to aim their efforts to get the best effects, but pretty soon after that, Ciri and Lambert were blowing the sand out of what was left of the hull while Eskel kept all of them shielded. In moments there was a new dune curled around the newly unearthed boat.
All three of them stood for a while, staring at it, listening to the horses romping in the waves not too far off.
"So when we're done helping you fix this up," Eskel said, turning to look at her with his arms crossed over his chest. "You're going to take this boat and you're going to sail north, right?"
Ciri grinned. "Won't stop until I've cleared Ys, I swear."
Eskel cracked a smile, then, and Lambert said, "We could use you up there—maybe up in Kovir? I keep hearing about things up there, but it's a hell of a hike."
"Kovir," Ciri agreed. She didn't know if she'd ever been there, but she knew her way. "It's a deal."
"Well, then," Eskel said, "let's get started. Youngest witcher gets the dirtiest chores, you know that, right?"
Lambert made a sound of triumph—not the youngest in this company—and stepped into the shell, beginning to measure out how much timber they would need. Ciri followed, smiling wider than she had in months. This boat had been a fine prize indeed, for what it brought her. She wouldn't trade it for anything.