Castoff: Humans and Monsters (ch. 4) (Patreon)

"Oh," was Ciri's response the moment that Guts' words registered with her. His smoldering expression narrowed into a dull glare, telling her that he wasn't at all satisfied with the response and that he clearly expected more. However, the glare wasn't accusatory. Which was a good sign, but also a pretty terrible one.

"Oh?" Guts echoed, his voice low and rumbly. "I tell you that I'm from a different continent and your response is 'Oh?'" he continued, clearly suspicious of her response. Mostly because she wasn't trying to poke him with a pitchfork or decry him as a liar. Those would probably be the more understandable responses, Ciri reflected, just not with her.

Ciri's gaze drifted over to the corpses of the Wild Hunt. She could still barely believe what she had seen despite seeing it. Watching Guts fight all night drove home how strong he was, but she had underestimated just how monsterous his strength truly was. He cut through enchanted steel and a member of the Hunt along with their horse as if they had been made of butter. Terrifying. Doubly so when he had killed another member of the Wild Hunt with the same swing.

That was insane. Downright impossible. Only it clearly wasn't.

All that made this very awkward. Guts struck her as a walking apocalypse with anger issues, "How… certain are you that you're on a different continent?" She asked, keenly aware that she was within striking distance. Gretta, the girl she had rescued, had thankfully joined the other children so she would be safe even if Guts took the news… badly.

Guts' eyes narrowed while Puck tilted his head while he crossed his arms. "Meaning?"

Outlander. That's what the Crones called him. That, and Struggler, which made less sense. The former Ciri had encountered before. Both in personal experience and in history books that she had been forced to read as a princess and as an aspiring Witcher. It was a relatively common enough term. In her experience, when she traveled to other worlds…

They called her an Outlander. More or less meaning someone that wasn't from here.

From a historical perspective, it was applied most frequently to the Conjunction of Spheres. An event that made the world what it was today. Thousands of 'spheres', each its own world with their own history, people, magic, and dangers, all crashed into one another. In doing so, the spheres overlapped. In this world's case, humanity along with a wide variety of monsters had been deposited here. Originally, those strangers to this sphere were called Outlanders.

Ciri hadn't thought much of it on account of the wound on her side, the deadly fight, and then every monster in that bog trying to kill them. But, now that he brought it up, the use of the word stood out to her.

"I mean how certain are you that you're not from a different sphere?" Ciri asked him, making Puck hum loudly.

Ciri wasn't exactly sure what expression she had expected. Maybe rage of the murderous variety. But it certainly wasn't for Guts to pale, his face going bloodless and Puck looking up at him with an expression filled with concern. Ciri quickly continued, not sure what to make of the reaction. "I could be wrong," she offered, though she didn't think that she was. "But I don't think that I am. Puck introduced himself as an elf, but elves here are as tall as humans with pointed ears."

Not to mention his arm. This world wouldn't know what it was, but Ciri spent time in far more advanced worlds than this -- so advanced that it had taken her some time to make the connection. Guts, for some inexplicable reason, had a cannon in his prosthetic. Gunpowder. Something that this world didn't know about. Thankfully. Wars were bad enough without guns or cannons, and she had seen what gunpowder lead to in Night City in another Sphere -- complete and utter chaos and butchery.

"Why," Guts growled, the shock fading to give way to the predictable anger, "do you sound guilty?" He questioned and… had she sounded guilty? Her eyes flickered down to Puck, seeing him look at her and she wondered if he had picked up on it.

No point in hiding it, "Because it could be my fault that you're here," Ciri told him, owning up to it. "I can travel between Spheres. I jumped through a portal -- a hastily made one, but I had used my powers not long before that. Given how close you landed to me, I think your arrival can't be coincidental." Ciri told him, knowing that his reaction was going to be… well… a lot like a volcano exploding and shitting lava everywhere.

"Take me back," Guts snarled, taking a threatening step forward until her nose could touch his breastplate. "Now," he growled the word, his expression becoming more beast than man with the fury glimmering in his eyes.

She expected that, so she had an answer ready, "If I could bring you back right now, I would," Ciri told him, her tone honest. "But I can't. I can only jump straight to Spheres that I've been to before and I have no idea where I might have picked you up. Or how you came with me. Jumping between Spheres takes a lot out of me, so if we don't jump straight to it, it'll be months before we can try again. With blind jumps, we could be at it for years. Decades."

Guilt weighed heavily on her. Ciri wasn't sure how she did it or why it happened, but she kidnapped Guts and Puck from their Sphere. Nothing like this had ever happened before -- it took effort to bring someone with her, and picking up an extra passenger… but what else could it be? How else could she explain Guts appearing in the same bog as her, uttering tales of being from a different continent that were filled with kingdoms she knew nothing about?

Guts seemed to process that for a moment, still visibly angry, but she liked to think that her sincerity and her lack of fear stopped him from doing anything rash.

A small sigh escaped her, "It also comes with its own risks. The Wild Hunt wants me for that ability. They might not seem much to you, but they have hunted me since I was a girl and two will replace every one killed."

"How do I get back?" Guts asked, his tone terse.

He wasn't shouting or raging. That was reassuring. "The same Sorceresses that I mentioned before. And Avallac'h, a friend of mine. Between the three of them, we should be able to locate your Sphere, and then I can take you back," Ciri reassured him, looking up at his face. Despite the scars and the anger, when the latter faded…

Guts struck her as young. Around her age, even.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to happen, and I'll do whatever I can to make it right, Guts. You have my word," She told him, giving him a firm nod.

"Meh," Puck interjected. "You said you were sorry, so no worries," Puck dismissed the topic completely out of hand. Guts looked like he bit into something sour, but he said nothing as he stepped back and walked away. From the looks of it, to go steal a wagon. Puck didn't join him, choosing to hover near Ciri to give her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about him! He's just a big grump… and looking at you makes him sad."

Sad? Not the usual reaction she had when people looked at her. "Really? I tend to inspire murderous rage or mindless lust when men look at me," Ciri remarked, earning a giggle from the pixie. Or fairy. It looked like she would be adding an entry into the Witcher bestiaries. Likely the first one in about two hundred years.

"Guts will be fine," Puck said, seeing through her worry. "Just let him sulk for a little bit," Puck added. And what he described as sulking, Ciri would describe as stewing in murderous anger. It seemed to exude from him like an aura that everyone picked up on. The village, which had suffered a terrible loss for some reason, possibly in a battle between Redanian and Nilfgaardian forces, didn't say a word as Guts stole a wagon and two work horses.

Anna approached Ciri after a moment, clutching her hand, "I'm glad you're alright," the older woman said and Ciri was touched by the concern. She tried to brush it off by throwing on a lopsided grin.

"All in a day's work," she replied as the children began loading onto the wagon after they had their fill of petting the horses. Anna smiled lightly in response, her gaze going to Gretta, who eagerly shared the tale of being chased by the Wild Hunt. She was young. She really had no idea how close to death she had come -- first by a pack of wolves, then by the Wild Hunt.

Guts took a seat at the front of the wagon, setting his sword down on the back of the seat and it proved to be longer than the wagon was wide. The wagon wasn't large, between a half dozen children and Anna, there wasn't a lot of room in the back. Leaving Ciri to sit with Guts at the front. He didn't acknowledge her presence beyond urging the horses to move forward down the well trodden road, leaving the village and its dead behind.

The dead horses would feed what was left of the village and they could sell the arms and armor for coin. Beyond that, the future of the village was up to them.

Ciri was intensely aware of the tension between her and Guts. Or maybe it was just her because Puck kept giggling to himself when he looked at her. She gave a mild glare, but said nothing in favor of distracting herself. From a lot of things. First and foremost was the fact that the Wild Hunt had found her, and they would be trying again to capture her. She hoped Avallac'h was okay. He could take care of himself, but so could Geralt and Yennifer and she had saved them both from a pinch more than once.

Guts was a secondary concern in comparison, but she was worried about him as well. Or, rather, for him. Guts stared at the road ahead, following it as he lightly held the reins to the horses, glaring at something only he could see. Ciri tried to not pay him too much attention, sending that he wouldn't like it, and she found herself keeping an eye on their surroundings. Because of that, she quickly noticed something out of place.

"Huh," Ciri muttered, narrowing her eyes at the edge of the swamp. The edge of the underbrush was dying. The plants were wilting and it seemed that the water and mud were drying out. Unusual. Especially considering that it was the rainy season based on how wet the air felt. Ciri glanced over at Guts to see that he was looking at her and their eyes met. Ciri opened her mouth to say something, only for Guts to narrow his eyes at her, like she did something wrong by catching him looking at her, before looking away.

Awkward. Very awkward. If a stray arrow fell from the sky and put her down, Ciri think she'd welcome it. But, by her very nature, Ciri knew she wasn't the type to be cowed so easily. If she was, then she never would have made it through the Gauntlet. "Do you want to talk about your Sphere? Or this one? I'm sure you have some questions-"

"No," Guts cut her off. Right. Ciri was rapidly finding that dealing with Guts was like dealing with a particularly angry brick wall.

"Well, I have questions," Ciri decided. "What were you doing before you arrived here? This is the first time I've ever picked up a passenger by accident. I want to make sure what happened to you doesn't happen to anyone else. So, does anything come to mind?"

Guts sullenly refused to answer her for a long moment and right when Ciri decided that she would use the tried and tested 'be so annoying that they give in to get her to shut up' Guts spoke in a low terse tone, "I was resting. I had just killed another apostle. The battle was… a difficult one."

Ciri took a moment to size Guts up, looking for injuries. She didn't see any. Though, his ratty black cloak did show signs of fire damage -- charred blackened points that told her that Guts had been completely consumed by flames at one point. His face and hair didn't show any signs of the fire, though. "That's it?"

"I also escaped some fanatics. Dealt with another long night. I found a hill with some ruins on it and passed out there," Guts continued and she was right. Getting answers out of him was less pleasant than pulling teeth. Still, he gave her something to work with.

"These ruins -- describe them for me," Ciri instructed, earning a long sideways glance from Guts along with a small frown. With the greatest reluctance, he described where he had camped out at as shortly as possible. Featureless stone blocks that had once been stacked up, but time wore them away and some toppled over. It was impossible to say because Guts treated words as if they cost him something for every one he spoke but from the sounds of it… "That sounds like a Place of Power. An old ritualistic place where ley lines intersect. That's actually good news."

Guts narrowed his eyes at her, clearly asking how so. So, Ciri answered the unspoken question. "It means that your Sphere is probably close if I could pick you up by accident just because you were at a Place of Power," she answered, earning a small pleased grunt from Guts. At least she thought it sounded pleased.

Ciri decided to take the hint and swallowed her remaining questions simply because Guts wouldn't answer her. Maybe she could extract some information out of Puck when they had a moment. Puck seemed to love the sound of his own voice, so it shouldn't be too hard. Still, Ciri was curious. Was Guts his world's version of a Witcher? It would explain why he was hunting down things he called apostles. As well as explain his monstrous strength.

And, despite herself, Ciri found her eyelids growing heavy as the events of the past few days caught up with her. The Wild Hunt finding her, teleporting to Skellige, the battle there, then the crones, and a long fight all night, only to be found once again by the Wild Hunt. As the rhythmic bumps of the wagon rocked her to sleep, Ciri found herself closing her eyes and slipping into a trance rather than sleep. At least, that was her intention but as the hours slipped by, Ciri found herself waking up from a deep slumber hours later with the sun starting to dip towards the horizon.

The first thing that she noticed was that the pain in her side was gone. The second was that the sun was angled wrong for her few hours of trance rest. Glancing down at her self, she saw Puck was resting on her -- his feet kicked up on the button of her shirt while he reclined back into her cleavage, looking right at home. It was tempting to flick him out of it, but when a hand shifted to her side, she found that the wound she suffered was nonexistent.

She completely underestimated his healing power, Ciri decided. Over the course of a day, a wound that should have taken at least a month to properly heal vanished. Something like that… sorcerers could do something like it, but only if they specialized in healing magics. And precious few did because healing didn’t bring the kind of power that sorcerers craved, in her experience.

She had to protect him. Witchers protected monsters from humans as much as they protected humans from monsters -- if anyone found out about the healing powder, or how effective it was, whether they be sorcerer, king, or a peasant, they’d lock Puck up in a cage and never let him go.

“There’s a village up ahead,” Guts spoke, seeing that she was awake. She glanced at him, then up at the sky that was dimming. She saw smoke. A normal amount that told her that the village was decently sized and not that far away. She glanced over her shoulder to look at the back of the wagon to see that the children and Anna were asleep, exhausted from the night prior. They held it together pretty well, but the fact of the matter was, they had spent all night in a house that was under attack by monsters.

Lastly, she looked to Guts, “Do you want to catch a quick nap before we arrive? Seems like it’ll be another hour until we do,” Ciri offered a hand to take the reins, only for Guts to hold them. He grunted a response, which Ciri was forced to interpret as a no. “When was the last time that you slept?” She asked him because Guts looked exhausted. Sleep was a lot easier to push off when you were forced to move around, or fight. But Ciri knew it was a lot harder to stave off when you were forced to sit for hours on end.

Ciri really didn’t expect an answer, but she got one anyway, “Three days? Maybe four?” Ah. That's why. Guts was sleep deprived. It really was just too much. Guts really was just too… much.

“Right. How about you hand the reins over to me so you don’t pass out and steer us into a ditch,” Ciri stated, giving Guts a sweet smile and opening and closing her hands expectantly. Guts scoffed while Ciri heard an amused snort coming from her cleavage. “Don’t trust me?”

“No,” Guts answered with a very telling lack of hesitation. The kind of lack of hesitation that the blanket answer to that question would never change, no matter who asked.

"Can you trust me to not steer the wagon full of kids into a ditch?"

"No."

"Are you always this cheery or is it only after you haven't slept for the better part of a week?" Ciri sighed and Guts seemed vaguely thoughtful, as if he were thinking about it.

"No," he decided, sounding like he was doing it specifically to annoy her.

"Hint taken," Ciri decided, accepting defeat in this. She knew she could be stubborn but at the very least she didn't decide to be a stubborn bastard about every little thing. They traveled in silence towards the village, the sky starting to get darker. As the wagon bumped along since Guts insisted on hitting every single patch of uneven ground between them, Ciri felt a stirring in the air. Almost as if it were a stray breeze of unnaturally cool air.

"Damn you…" Ciri stiffened when she heard a whisper in her ear. A sound so faint that she almost wasn't sure that she had heard it.

Guts didn't look at her as he spoke, "Just ignore 'em. They're not capable of anything beyond cursing you for their own weakness," Guts dismissed the whispers that seemed to emerge from the shadows. This hadn't happened last night, Ciri noted, glancing at Guts to see that blood seemed to be welling up in his brand. Not enough to spill, but enough to fill the odd marking.

What she wouldn't give to be able to use the Yrden sign. The magic she could have used was given up, and most of the magic's out there weren't usable for her as a Source. Yrden would be enough to drive away the spirits whispering their spite -- at least in theory. This was a bit different than the average wraith. Lesser, but different was a danger of its own kind.

Despite saying to ignore them, Ciri found that she couldn't even as they reached the edge of the village. The sound played at the edges of her ears, pulling at her attention. The village itself was a few dozen building with no real layout to be seen but she spotted a number of signs -- an inn, blacksmith, butcher, and so on. A handful of people were standing in the dirt road, looking at them with curiosity.

Ciri's stomach clenched when she spotted Niflguardian uniforms in the village, recognizing that it was a sign of occupation. They seemed interested in them -- a odd group of soldiers playing Gwent outside a tavern -- but that could be because of Guts, the children, or because of her. And not because they were looking for the lost princess of Cintra or whatever her father wanted her for.

"Can I help you, serahs?" A hesitant voice questioned, a man in his thirties wearing a stained leather apron but he had clean hands questioned. An innkeeper if she ever saw one.

"We need lodgings," Guts growled, stepping off of the wagon to reveal that the full-grown man barely reached his shoulder. "Food. Directions too." The man took a step back, his gaze darting to Ciri, then Anna, and finally, the half dozen children that were poking their heads out from the edge of the wagon. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly at them.

Could just be that he was confused about why they were traveling with a bunch of kids.

Could be something else.

"Of course," the man said, taking another step back as he offered Guts a nervous smile. "We have two rooms available? Shall I book them both? And, ah, perhaps a bath?" He asked and it seemed while they all went nose blind to the stench, they smelled bad enough that the average peasant was about to start pinching his nose. To that, Guts grunted. "We have a hot stew. Will you just be staying the night or longer?" The Innkeep began firing off rapid questions.

Ciri recognized it as someone trying to find out exactly how many crowns they could squeeze out of someone. Which, naturally, led to a pretty big issue. Ciri didn't have a single crown on her. And she couldn't imagine that Guts did either.

"The night," Guts answered. "But," he continued, interrupting the innkeeper, "we don't have any coin on us."

The innkeeper started to go red and she could see that man working up the courage to snap and tell them to go sleep in a ditch and eat dirt if they were hungry. Then his face rapidly paled when he watched as Guts hefted his sword, the blade standing taller and wider than the man himself before Guts sheathed it on his back. "A-ah-ahhhh…"

"Is there any work nearby for a mercenary?" Guts questioned, his tone flat but Ciri knew he knew exactly what he looked like to the man. Just about drove him to fill his trousers.

"Or for a Witcher?" Ciri tacked on, throwing on a confident smirk, and damn near possibly, that seemed to scare the man more. However, he quickly gathered himself.

He glanced between them, "Well… there's no official bounty on 'em yet, but some bandits have been raiding the village farmsteads nearby. Can't rightly say if it's one really big group, or two big groups, or just a bunch of small ones. After the last battle… there are more deserters than soldiers and that lot won't be doing much to protect us. Even if they don't cut and run." Ciri glanced out of the corner of her eye from her position on the wagon, spotting the squad of Nilfgaardian soldiers that were watching them with far less subtlety than she was watching them with.

"For monsters?" The innkeeper offered a shrug of his shoulders, looking nervous as he scratched the back of his neck. "I know we've been getting sights of 'em more often lately. I can't say for sure, but the mayor will give you at least a crown for every dead monster you bring proof of," he offered a shrug. A crown? Completely not worth it. Especially when you didn't know what monster you were dealing with. It was an old trap that people in power liked to use.

Used it as an excuse to not pay a Witcher, or anyone, what they were due.

"Fine," Guts decided, accepting the tasks with little preamble. "Get everything set up for them. I'll be back some point tonight," he decided, starting to walk off out of the village in the same direction that they came from. Her jaw dropped ever so slightly, struck by just… indomitable Guts was.

“R-Right away,” the innkeeper responded, also understanding the implication. Guts heard that there could be a large group of bandits -- not exactly a solid figure, but large tended to mean more than ten bandits. He heard that there were nests of monsters roaming the countryside. And he just went back out with a vague promise that he would be back with such certainty that the innkeep decided to take him at his word.

“Stay here with the brats,” Guts told her, not looking over his shoulder as he walked away. Ciri’s lips thinned until Puck rested a hand on her cheek.

“He’ll be back,” Puck stated with confidence, as if sensing her thoughts that Guts might be leaving for good. It was clear how uncomfortable staying with other people made him, and how much danger it put them in. “He just wants to make sure that the kids are all okay. He’d rather you be here to protect them than out there protecting him,” Puck continued, killing whatever argument that Ciri was about to make.

A sigh escaped her, her gaze going back to the kids, who were all eagerly waving Guts by with promises that they would share some of their stew with him. Guts didn’t speak much, and when he did, he was a gruff asshole. But, his actions were speaking loud and clear.

“Alright,” Ciri decided to herself, “alright, kiddies -- let's get you stuffed up and into bed,” Ciri said, urging the children into the inn. It was a quiet place, for the most part. Dirt floors with a few tables for breakfast, white washed walls that seemed clean enough, and a stone hearth on the side of the building. The innkeeper gave her two keys to their rooms, looking everywhere but at her face when she took them.

The sun descended, letting night fall over the village that clamored down until morning. All of them ate a hearty stew, the kids stuffing themselves until they were about to burst, all promises to save some for Guts forgotten after the first spoonful. With that, they were shuffled off into a room upstairs, sleepy despite the naps that they had on the way over.

Ciri kept a careful watch on the front door to the tavern, her sword close at hand at all times. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. And, more than once, she caught the Nilguardian patrol venturing to the inn -- an irregular route to be certain. In the end, Ciri decided to take a position outside of the rooms, seated at the end of the hall, ready for anyone to come at some point during the night.

Hours went by, time slowing to a crawl and the only marked passage of it was her own slow deep breathing. Her senses were honed, hearing every cough and snore coming from the room of kids, every creaking board in the inn from a strong wind. It was the witching hour when she heard it. The sound that she expected.

A soft squeal of hinges in need of a good oiling. The sound of chainmail jingling, but quietly. Enough to tell her that the chainmail was covered and tied down. The sound of metal on metal, hinted that the men entering the inn in the dead of night were armored. Dirt shuffling and the sound of one of them bumping into a table, a sharp curse, and a muttered ‘be quiet.’ They were nearing the staircase, and it was then that Ciri decided to draw her blade, the sound deafly loud in the low silence.

Ciri was rather curious. Why exactly would she be getting visitors in the dead of night for?

One way to find out.