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Chapter Text

They arose from slumber whilst night still hung. The mending would take many hours after all, and if they ran into any hurdles, it would take even longer. No one wished to focus on such a task after sunset when it would be even colder, and already Tissaia was making precautions with extra layers – she would not be compromised by cold, stiff joints at any point during this day that would feel as long as years. Yennefer, already dressed, was watching her strangely as she did so, her violet eyes seeming to catch what little starlight remained above their dome through the clouds. Tissaia sensed her attention had to do with something more serious than whatever enjoyment or mourning she was getting out of watching her cover her nude body, but she didn’t inquire, and Yennefer didn’t elaborate.

“Shall we stretch our legs with the horses up the creek before we break our fast?” Yennefer asked her when she was done.

Tissaia nodded, and they left up the path to where the brook laid whilst the elves began to ready breakfast. When they reached the top, they had view of the land around them, and Tissaia saw that although the snowfall from last night had ceased, there were more of its dark clouds lingering in the open sky than she had expected, enough that she could not be certain if their numbers would in fact fade rather than grow. Despite this, there was no great heaviness in the air, and the predawn morning was captured in a crisp stillness. Even the brook their horses lapped from glittered frozen at the edges, with neither their tongues nor the water pouches Yennefer passed through able to disrupt the gentle chatter of its clear water upon the stones. Perfect crystal-chime silence hung between all things as the faint stars in the velvety-dark above them dimmed ever so slowly towards morning.

Tissaia found that she felt nothing for these fresh winter sights, which was especially alarming with Yennefer by her side. But then, she knew that nothing was better than something in this situation. Indeed, Tissaia wagered that she felt as in ideal conditions as she could be considering what had been plaguing her: now equipped with nothing more than the simple desire to get on with the task at hand, and the sharpness brought on by that deadened resolution. Her heart was void, her eyes were solemn, and there was no emotion within her to interfere. And after today, she would be free.

Yennefer capped the water pouches and stood, and they waited together for their horses to finish drinking.

“Tissaia—” Yennefer suddenly said.

Tissaia turned to her and leaned up on her toes, pulling Yennefer’s head down to where she could kiss her lips squarely. Then without speaking another word, she took her hand and the horses’ reins, and they went back down to join the elves.

The sky was showing the first signs of paling when they had their morning feast. At first glance it did not seem a feast at all, as it consisted of nothing more than tea and cakes, but the cakes were a special kind gifted to them by one of Haven’s inhabitants that they’d met during their arrival and had been made specially for long labours, with enough energy residing in each to serve its eater an entire day of strength. Tissaia believed a similar recipe was used in witcher potions, and Draeren had later said to save them for their day of mending due to the nonstop nature of the task. As they were partaken, Tissaia watched the low fire they sat around with careful eyes, almost daring its dancing shadows to taunt her. When no trigger came, she felt neither triumph or relief – only a sense of annoyance for having been reduced to such manual hankerings at all. But even this irritation was vague; half-formed.

Small vials containing the elixirs to suppress their bodily functions and stimulate their faculties were imbibed after their meal, with the next round placed in areas on their bodies they could easily reach for. Supposedly, the effects of these potions would also help them cope with the psychological aspect of having to stand silently and in place as they fended off the Chaos-maelstrom. The former of these mixtures however could cause damage if used too often, serving as yet another motive to succeed with their mission now and not tomorrow. Tissaia addressed the group when they were finished and the fire had been doused.

“We may as well get started,” she said.

They nodded, and Algryn looked towards the fissure and began to recite something in Elder. His voice was soft, almost as though it was meant to be spoken between just him and the earth, and as it moved across the icy field it seemed to Tissaia’s ear that the already musical-sounding language took on a greater poetry, the brief lines of which she recognized as a blessing for the day they faced though not one she was familiar with. She noticed then that he was wearing a necklace of aquamarine beryl beads she had not seen before, which was considered a stone of good tidings among the elves. The twinkle of morning light caught against their array seemed fitting for the twinkle of his humorous eye that had made him and Yennefer bond quickly. Elaron, too, wore a necklace, though it was the same one of carved golden birch pieces on a leather strap he’d worn since they met, for he as well as many elves favoured the look of natural jewellery over forged. Feydronn wore no adornments, but Tissaia had often seen him rubbing an amber stone he kept in the burrow of his pocket – perhaps it was also for good luck, or a preservation passed down from trees his ancestors had researched under. She had meant to ask him about it and never had. No doubt he had it with him now. Eryarus, Algryn’s brother, also wore no decoration, and Tissaia had seen none on his more athletic body throughout the week, though his unusually dark shoulder length hair still took clear pride of place in his appearance and gleamed like glossy obsidian. And though its locks were without the grey touch of age, they still framed a face possessing the edges of many known things. Strange Tissaia had forgotten that he and Algryn were not related to the other elves – all four had seemed as close as brothers in their time together. Even, at times, to her and Yennefer.

Tissaia looked at the group once more; they looked at her. Along with Yennefer, these were the companions she was to fix the fissure with. For the hours of this day, they were who she would stand by. There was no doubt in any of their eyes as they stood there in the grey morning, or any acknowledgement uttered that they could fail here. What had to be done, simply had to be done.

And so their task began.

The elves set up the basics of the air bridge first. With great degrees of Control mobilized now that they stood so near the surgent fissure, they managed to construct its framework from Chaos drawn outside its vein, and because the weaves could not be freestanding this close to the disruptive forces, they had to anchor it to their bodies instead. Like many robust magics, its design was intelligent in its simplicity: the air woven so that the two outermost flows would compress into the middlemost in a way that would cause a downwards trajectory for that space, thereby sending the magic they released into it straight towards the Source Point where the bridge ended and the weave would dissipate into its raw Chaos particles again. Her and Yennefer would alternate between releasing the Chaos they drew in from the fissure as an air current themselves, or releasing a portion of it raw for the elves to convert into air instead. They had already calculated the rate at which to do so to ensure that the energy cost was split between all six of them evenly.

The bridge was woven; the air magic flowed together like stolen moonbeams held with the crystalline meticulousness of genius. Tissaia watched with Yennefer as the finishing touches were made and they both readied themselves into position, breathing steadily and standing cat-eyed and attentive.

“It is ready,” Eryarus announced. And indeed it was: Tissaia could feel the anomaly in the natural air pressure around them on both her skin and with her magical senses; small breezes moving closer to her face and hands. She had to be quite proximate to the bridge to be able to work her magic into it after all, as neither her nor Yennefer were to be anchored to it like the others were – their sole devotion was to the drawing and releasing of the Chaos without distraction, and they did not wish for what they absorbed to interfere with its structure somehow.

Tissaia gave a look at Yennefer, who nodded. “Then we shall begin,” she said.

Forcing herself to work carefully, to let the fissure Chaos fill her up so that she could steer its enormous power into a safe release, Tissaia started the process of mending by channelling out an air current into the bridge. And though she was without direct anchor, she still felt the current move immediately downwards in the Chaos-flow sensation and away from her, managed by the bridge flows. But she did not have time to linger on this sensation or its journey to the Source Point – already Yennefer was channelling the layer beneath hers to beat the refill signal, and it was time for Tissaia to do the same for the layer beneath that before the window of lag ran up. She could not let herself focus on the quickness this required and let it cause panic, or how if she lost precision even once then all could be ruined: they had practiced this already and it was routine. Before she knew it ten minutes had passed, and the process was undeniably underway – already they were slowly but surely redirecting the fissure Chaos back into the Well.

And so the hours of the day passed, slowly and quickly, and so they channelled – drawing from the fissure, restraining the particles from geysering up into an overflow inside themselves, bridling it with the deadly-careful rhythms its vastness enforced, making sure those tidal waves then broke as lesser waves on the shore they had to pass over to the elves, and then again always ensuring it all flowed towards, each weave swallowed up and contained by the air bridge an instant later. It was even more routine now: the draw, the release, or the transfer. At times Tissaia would chance a look around her, in the shallow passive sort of way a bird looks at the surrounding terrain its prey is on, and she saw that, as with herself, everyone in their party was fixed in place channelling as still as ice, with beads of sweat forming on their brows and upper lips despite the cold, and with eyes blank like river-smooth rocks. One spectating from outside would almost wonder if they were aware of their surroundings, but of course it was only a testament to their dedicated focus, their determination not to veer from the process. Even the small wind that gathered from the continuous air streams they channelled that began gusting and hissing steadily in volume did not disrupt them, nor did the way the overall Chaos pressure rumbled and strained as its heaviness was contested with their mending. Not even Tissaia’s own fears of being unable to sense something in the binding-magic reacting wrong or in areas of the fissure she was not currently channelling from disrupted her – she was doing what she was set to do, and the elves would surely tell her if something they monitored was wrong.

At other instances, Tissaia looked up at the sky so as to measure time, and though the sun had stolen behind the now-thick clouds, she still managed the task with the required shallow effort just the same, a fitful light managing to break through their depths aiding her. And when midday did come, it was time to take their next round of potions. As Tissaia gave the announcement, she was almost startled to hear her own voice speak properly after so many hours without – the words passed between them thus far had been sparse and uninvolved. By then, the sky was so gloomy it was actually showing the promise of future snowfall, its stormy field only paralleled by that of the Chaos below it, though it certainly could no longer alarm anyone: with the need that drove them and this far into the task, they would work even in hail. Indeed, Tissaia even felt somewhat annoyed that she had to accommodate the elixir into her flow state now – natural adrenaline had already made her less aware of her own physical needs just as sufficiently as what a potion would give. Still, she knew the numbness currently in her pelvis and abdomen and standing muscles would soon turn into an irksome prickling if she allowed the effects to wear off any further, and so agreed it was better to take it now than get genuinely distracted by those sensations later (or in the waiting for them).

Tissaia took the vial out in small stages, the same way she had to hitch the cloak around herself in the brief free moments she’d chance between weaves due to the clasps having somehow come undone despite her carefulness with dressing: one free movement to grab it from her pocket, another to put it in her mouth and tip her head back, and then (rather uncouthly) the spitting it out onto the ground. When everyone was done, they chanced a rare group glance at each other, and nodded to acknowledge the time-mark: they had now drained just over half of the terrible ocean. Tissaia felt relief at this, as well as a sort of suspicion that the process could be so simple, similar to the prickling she’d felt throughout the week, though the knowledge that the elves had just over half their collective reserves left brought her back to grim reality, and she knew they needed to be as careful as ever in not making any wasteful slips so they’d have enough energy left to perform the manual seam at the end if needed. That technique had not been something her and Yennefer were able to learn, after all.

More hours passed. And the day did begin to wear on them, as only a repetitive task done so extensively and for something so unfathomably important could: treading in outpouring waves of Chaos they had to mitigate with air, feeling the heavy fissure-pressure around them acutely till its grimness stood out more than the impetus with which they channelled, the tedium of repetition and simple monotony done for something so terrible. The daylight was darker than it should have been thanks to the clouds, and knowing that they were unable to react in any way with their surrounding environment ended up giving it a dreary, almost menacing air, rather than a pride in their ability to push past it regardless. There were no mistakes that Tissaia could register in their process – even the tiny bits of Chaos that slipped out from their grasps were soon put back in place by quicker hands. But still, the knowledge began to weigh: they were very close now, and if they lost their hold over the ocean even slightly, it could strip away everything they had done. Even worse, such a huge redirection could damage the entire fissure, and a cataclysm done so late into the procedure meant they’d have little Chaos left to mitigate it. Indeed, as Tissaia’s reserves were steadily drained with each weave, the iron will she had to maintain over that of the fissure’s also became harder for the carefulness she had to exert mentally to manage her strength, and the awareness of this threat did not help her. She dreaded having to tarry on this arduous, stressful business with a second attempt, dreaded it for her mind above all, though she was also adamant in her refusal at letting that thought dominant her. And as the afternoon closed about them and she realized they had covered more than three quarters of the vastness, she found herself feeling more determined than ever to preserve that miracle: for they had been preserving it and they were preserving it. Tissaia even felt something of an excitement building, and smiled to herself; slightly, genuinely.

Another hour passed, and eventually Elaron spoke:

“Do not cease channelling, but I must remove myself from the process for a few minutes to conduct a probing,” he announced. “If someone is able to take on my anchor to the air bridge, it shall make the process swifter.”

It was not an unusual choice now that they were nearing the finish line, but Tissaia would have thought it better to wait until the very end to examine things. Still, she supposed it was a conservative measure, easy for someone whom fine-tuned probing was practically an art, so she dismissed her judgement.

“You may pass it onto me,” Algryn responded easily, who was standing closest to him. Elaron nodded and the weave was transferred over, and they all waited as they continued channelling automatically. However, there was also a slight sensation of their bodies being held in excited abeyance now that the task was so close to being finished, a feeling which Elaron had solidified with his announcement. Was the intersection in fact at the brink of being totally drained? It was not Tissaia’s job to track the precise stage they had reached, but from their probing’s and practises they did seem near where she remembered the end to be.

Even with Elaron’s talent, the probing was a short one, and his attention returned to them only minutes later. From his eyes it immediately became clear that this swiftness was not because he didn’t have enough time for thoroughness: it was swift because whatever he was looking for hadn’t taken him very long to find.

Tissaia’s breath nearly hitched and she gave him a close look: aside from the eyes, the formerly blank and focused features now displayed a slight tremble in the mouth.

Had she noticed it before, she wondered? She searched back in her memory – when was the last time she’d chanced a proper glance at him? She had not been able to spare the luxury of depth, lest her attention waver from the main target.

Suddenly Tissaia remembered said target, and the gap in the interval between her and Yennefer’s flows – her mind had almost been distracted and she veered it towards focus again.

“What did you see down there?” Yennefer asked Elaron carefully. Her gaze was as piercing as ever. “You’ve been holding the section of the air bridge closest to the Source Point – did something tip you off? We’ve been too occupied to notice anything, after all.”

“Focus,” Tissaia warned her, though she knew even before speaking that this demand was misguided – Yennefer was still channelling.

Elaron returned to Algryn’s side and rejoined the bridge with a strange, stiff ease. When he looked over at them again Tissaia did gasp: his large eyes, once full of the typical elven pride and charisma and his own warmth, were now abysses of complete panic. “I fear the barrier between growth cycles has weakened quite a bit, though I shall need another pair of eyes before I act on that statement.”

“You must be joking,” Eryarus said, his features actually displaying something like vexation, something Tissaia had not quite imagined could play out on his typically stony visage. He cursed in the Elder tongue and passed his flow off to Feydronn before conducting his own probing. As he did, Tissaia threw a careful glance around the rest of the elves, searching their expressions for answers: there was hesitation perhaps, confusion; nothing to betray great despair to anyone unfamiliar with their prior looks of focus but everything to betray to Tissaia with crystal clarity that something terrible was underway indeed.

“So it is, then,” Eryarus said, after it was over – and his probing had not been long at all either. “So it is growing.” His features were those of someone angry and resigned to the worst happening and again Tissaia was particularly unsettled to see the panic on his face. But then why should she be surprised? It was not often one had to deal with the most haywire manifestation of that which they had been studying for their entire lives after all. Vaguely she felt her own lips tightening – to suppress a laugh, a cry; who could say?

“The fissure is ‘growing’?” Yennefer echoed in an angry voice. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Elaron ran his hand through his sweat-damp hair, still looking grimly at the fissure and standing in about as awkwardly and dejectedly a manner as could be conceived.

“We have put undue pressure on the pipe-webbing with our efforts here. We knew that our air bridge magics may brush up against its sensitive field due to concomitant proximity, though this was not expected to have exerted a tangible effect. Of far greater consequence was the actual drawing from the fissure. We did not notice it during our practice, because it was only the surface level that you two drew from. But today on the day of mending we began drawing a great deal of it, and as enough Chaos was removed and put back into the Source Point, the natural binding-magics in the intersection were activated to a much greater degree and tried to close the broken gap – magics we did not expect to be properly activated or work until the very end if at all, as you know. But because the fissure was not yet fully drained, it could not close itself with those magics, which caused a further confusion-strain in its already fragile system, and thus resulted in…damage,” he said, and wiped the moisture from his palms on his cloak. His voice was flat, shaky, as he looked up at them briefly. “It is a strange thing – I should not have thought those binding properties would activate to such a degree so early, let alone cause such damage when they did. It seems the structure of the intersection was far weaker than it appeared when we began, even with the extra week we allowed ourselves. I confess I sensed something stretching at midday, but it was not so bad then, only a general strain, calculated in our acceptable risks, and so I knew we would be able to push through if that was its rate – I wagered us releasing what we’d already put back into the Source Point would cause worse damage anyways if we stopped. But suddenly, this strain…gave way all at once, just minutes ago when I went to do the probing. I am afraid this is one of the unknown-unknowns Draeren warned us of – and one far worse than our attempt merely failing due to mechanical slippage on our part.”

Tissaia recalled that putting pressure on the pipe-webbing from simple channellings and drawings had been a driving point for her compulsions the second night, one she had ultimately dismissed as unfounded. That it had sprung to dangerous realization suddenly here was desperately, devastatingly unnerving – and this time there was nothing she could do to mitigate it. Her eyes began to twitch at once.

“No,” Tissaia said quaveringly. “No.” Nobody seemed to hear her. Had she spoken? She could not be sure of anything, it seemed.

“I’ll remove the air bridge,” Eryarus said. Tissaia looked at him, and then at Elaron – it suddenly occurred to her that both their hands had been removed from the bridge since their probing’s; they had made no effort to pick up their position on it again.

“What? Can’t we keep channelling before it opens? It hasn’t actually grown yet and it isn’t long now until we’re finished anyways – don’t stop! You just said so yourself that releasing it will make things worse!” Yennefer exclaimed.

“Cease your channelling,” Feydronn told her. “Both of you, cease – if you don’t stop, the fissure will kill you.”

But even in the face of danger their channelling was still automatic enough at this point that their flows could not be stopped, and the volatility of the fissure made it impossible to stop what was already in motion anyhow: their air weaves were traversed downwards. But to Tissaia’s disturb, Algryn redirected them immediately – the antithesis to what they had been doing this entire day – and hard, cold air hit Tissaia’s face. It was barely noticed under the cold knot of dread that coiled within her as she then watched the elves collapse the bridge. Still she removed herself from the process of channelling with a stubborn slowness, as she only could.

“What the hell! Now all of our progress is gone!” Yennefer yelled. “Don’t you reckon us releasing all of that Chaos back up is going to put even more pressure on the thing and make it grow?!”

“It is already growing, and would have been released regardless,” Elaron said, terribly calm, terribly sad. “If we had allowed you to keep channelling, then it would have overrun you as it swept up.”

Yennefer’s aghast expression flashed through a storm of suspicion as her gaze swung towards the fissure. Her mouth went ajar: truth had dawned.

Indeed, Tissaia saw that it was true. Her indignation at not noticing the change before Elaron still blurred and disturbed her awareness, one which had been worsened by the knowledge that she’d been duped once already with the fear she’d deemed as irrational that second night having now come true, but she reminded herself that his discovery was only due to his proximity to the fissure and expertise and not her fault, and blinked hard several times to come back into reality. Then she was able to see it, and by then the change had become so starkly apparent it was visible without any examination needed anyhow. At first, the stretching of the pipe-webbing seemed almost superficial to her senses against all the vast Chaos they’d been dealing with. And then even that superficiality faded, and the feeling of it became part of the vastness, became its own vastness: for through this stretched entrance the Source Point released another wave of Chaos on top of the rebounded wave they’d just shoved in, and the fissure grew.

It was terrible. It was as though nature had given up on itself and submitted to entropy, no matter how much the earth cried out for it not to. Yennefer had been right – the earth did not like the fissure. To witness the stretching, the growth, the unnaturalness was terrible in of itself; to see that such a thing could happen, to bear out the promise of such evil from the crannies they had examined with such comparable casualness before. But to feel the increased pressure, the snow-blinding force of energy, to behold the new depths of the power-pit their error had uncovered, was of something else entirely. On the one hand, part of Tissaia was in absolute coolness and calm – she had been expecting it in some way, deep inside of her always an apprehension knowing she would not escape here with smooth sailing. On the other, she was in a state of shock – a coolness and calm that was in fact horror at its highest hour, a disbelief that the very worst had happened before her eyes, that her apprehension had in fact come true and veered itself on point:

The fissure had grown!

“No,” Tissaia said again, to no one at all. The quiver in her voice had not let up – like a bow unable to be properly drawn, she thought. No one responded, for she had again spoken too softly to be heard. 

“Now what?” Yennefer asked, voice frantic. “Could you still maintain the bridge, if you reconstructed it?”

Tissaia looked over at her, suddenly aware of her – she felt at once relieved that Yennefer was not burnt out or in immediate danger, that she had not accidentally channelled from the new Chaos. She also felt disturbed that she had not directed her attention towards the girl right away, to her beloved. What was wrong with her? She was losing grip indeed!

Elaron shook his head; his eyes, despondent as ever, were still fixed unwaveringly on the fissure. “Perhaps, but the rate we were mending it at with our air bridge already resulted in this growth. This new current will take us even longer to mend, and with the new demand it will put on our reserves, we’ll have to use one of the backup methods we discussed to manage it, which shall slow the process down even further. Another growth cycle shall be set in motion well before we finish, with how fragile its integrity seems to be,” he answered. “And even if we were to attempt it, we would need to recover our reserves first, which shall likely take us a full day’s rest.”  

“We hardly have a full day to work with,” Eryarus said. “Without us doing anything to the fissure, I suspect the next growth cycle could begin by tomorrow night. I can tell – the monthly intervals are no more. We’re nearing the cycle of rapid expansions.” He looked up at the sky. “And the present day is old already. It is shameful and wrong that we did not plan for this in our fallbacks, but what we have been met with today is of great absurdity. The binding-magics should not have reacted this way.”

The words were a blatant announcement of their doom, but Yennefer’s inquiring, determined look did not let up.

“Well, there’s no sense speaking of hopeless plans before we determine whether or not Tissaia and I can even safely channel from this new vein. I can feel its pressure, the new amount; it might not be too much for me. We can do our brainstorming after I check.”

It seemed Tissaia’s relief over her safety was premature: whether by foolish instinct or careful calculation, Yennefer stepped onto the new vein and drew the new current into herself without any visible hesitation. Her lips and eyes then immediately tightened in a grimace, and Tissaia found herself completely and petrifyingly heartbroken knowing it was too late to pull her away. She found herself hypnotized as well, in knowing what was happening: that someone was actually drawing in such a vast, terrible amount of Chaos! Madness, it was pure madness, everything they had been doing.

Yennefer’s expression lightened somewhat with relief and triumph, emotions more fitting for the spirit that was able to shine with such visionary fire even now.

“It’s much worse than before, though not unmanageable. I feel full, like there’s no wiggle room – I feel as I did at Sodden, right at that point where the seal on the wall was lifted and the deepest parts of my Chaos came surging out and I had to channel. Only this time I can’t lift that seal; I have to battle to contain it, right there at the gates.” She closed her eyes for a moment, breathed in and out. “But I can contain it – I am containing it. I can hold on for this task, I think, if we are to try again.” Experimentally, she released a small weave of air, and Tissaia felt the brush of it on her face, just as she had when the air bridge was collapsed. It was soft, but cold as steel; cold, cold, terribly icy... Yennefer made eye contact with her. “What of you, Tissaia?”

Tissaia did not respond right away. Her breath came out parched and almost gasping, and when she tried to swallow against a dry throat, she found a scream locked tight within. She could not speak and she could not move her legs under the dawning of this reality – and she certainly could not channel.

Here at last, in full force, in all its ghastly, abysmal bloom, was her Fear. It was the same freeze ray over her person as had happened after the inn explosion, only far worse, for now Tissaia could not even make an attempt to draw in Chaos at all. Whereas the inn had been her first confrontation with this most dreadful part of herself after so long, the fissure seemed to be its full, final homecoming, and Tissaia suspected that if ever she survived this situation she would never be able to channel on her own whim again. The instinct was locked tight.

And hadn’t she known all along that this would happen? Indeed, Tissaia had – she had not gotten over it, not truly, not during her childhood or after graduating Aretuza and certainly not after the inn. Those clouds had not mouldered; they had simply been moved elsewhere in her sky. Yennefer’s recent affections may have helped distract from them, but the fundamentals had not shifted – Tissaia was still broken. She had long found freedom by building barriers to prevent herself from seeing her own fear, pushing the fear down so it seemed like it was gone, and though she’d always known that method of channelling was flawed, now that she was without it she could remember it only for itself and not its unorthodoxy: for it had functioned. What was she left with now? Nothing – paralysis. Tissaia felt the pressure of her own brokenness with an intensity far greater than her usual stubbornness to forget about it, a pressure that ran parallel to the weight of the Chaos field around them, and there was no part of her free from the glaring floodlights, no part of her unclaimed by the vortex. Yes, now she was that young girl again, crying in the woods for the Chaos that controlled her. Why, why had she gone on this mission knowing it could happen, knowing what it represented to that young girl? Was it because she knew there was no one else who could do it, or had she been too ashamed to admit the truth? Or had she actually had hope that she could find another way and succeed? Fool! she growled at herself. Love had surely blinded her. She had doomed the entire world.

“Tissaia?” Yennefer – or one of them – asked. Tissaia could not tell; sound had no meaning to her any longer. Nor did time, save for the horror it added to her consciousness – they indeed had very little time, tomorrow night at the longest. And the current could surely already be sensed past Haven’s shield, or was on its way to being sensed… If Stregobor happened to scan for a long-distance conduit thread today then perhaps he may detect it.

Madly, she squatted onto her heels, needing to examine it as the elves had done, to see just how bad it really was. She could feel the new Chaos current beneath her feet, yes, but she needed a professional viewing. Her own viewing. It would not help her, it would only make things worse, but still she required it. She placed her hand on the earth, plunging straight into the canal.

Tissaia only managed the effort for a few seconds before the psychological sense that she was being sucked in became overwhelming and she yelped aloud. Current after current, undulating wave after wave. Vast, sheer power. Might. A curtain of gusting shadow-snow sweeping up and down, covering all of her till she was down in the deepest of drifts. Then after a few moments – or had it been full minutes? – she realized she was no longer probing at all. The ‘lost’ feeling she’d gotten in her mind’s eye had only made it feel as though she were still exploring the underground. Tissaia looked at her body to check that its shadow was not also physically cast onto her, and then looked above her as well, checking for preying beasts in the sky; of course, there was nothing, the shadow was metaphorical. But the dispirit of it was not – her legs again refused to move; her hands trembled; she was in a knife’s grip of mad fear.

Tissaia looked up at the others, feeling suddenly, strangely cognizant. She discovered that everyone was watching her with unspeakably concerned expressions. Elaron, the most naturally warm-hearted of the elves, made to approach her, and then glanced at her with some constraint. Evidently, he did not know what to do.

“Are you…alright?” he settled on asking. It occurred to Tissaia that he, as well as the other elves, likely still did not know what was truly happening within her. But whether or not she could find professional mercy in this was arbitrary. What use was there to save face when doom was nigh on their tail?

“Tissaia,” Yennefer said, her face stricken. Tissaia saw that there was no such constraint in her visage: she alone knew the real truth of her brokenness after all. For her, all would forever be exposed and caught.

Tissaia stared at her too long – suddenly she was met with the sweeping image of terrible violence, a clash of Chaos on Yennefer and the world she stood against if so much as one particle entered Tissaia’s body. Yennefer dying; Tissaia dying and leaving her alone.

No. No, that worst fate would not happen. She would accomplish this task, for it was the only way home for them both. Blinking fiercely, Tissaia turned once more to the fissure and willed herself to channel. Once more, she was faced with inner ice.

Come on, Tissaia growled at herself, move! Channel! Unleash! Damn you, come on! Are you waiting for someone to aid you, to save you? No one is coming! They all need your help, so figure it out, now! Move, launch, channel! Unleash, damn you!

But it was to no avail. She did not know what to do, and she was more alone than ever – the situation was just as terrible as she imagined it would be. She should not have been chosen for this mission and she should not have come. Tears were now in her eyes; when had been the last time she had cried in public? Sodden, she thought. Tears for all the lives I have wrecked, for all the demise I have written. She tried to blink them away; it was a frustratingly futile gesture. Perhaps this was why she’d known deep down it would happen, why she’d carried the apprehension – she’d never escape from her sin, for living as she was for so long, a broken mage that surely belonged among those non-Ascended, more trouble than she was worth.

Footsteps behind her now, and then next to her. Very gently, Yennefer placed a hand on her arm.

“Tissaia,” she repeated, no doubt hearing the silent scream. Once more, she had too much intuition to ever look at Tissaia with anything but the full capture of her spirit.

Tissaia took her hand and came away from the fissure slowly, almost strangely, taking deeper and deeper breaths. “I cannot do this, Yennefer. You must manage the task without me,” she gasped, fully aware of how mad the statement was: there would be no going on without her for the task was a two-person job. Moreover she would never want to put Yennefer in harm’s way. Yet still she reaffirmed, “I am not well, Yennefer. I cannot.”

But Yennefer did not let go, and seemed only to heed the despair on Tissaia’s face.

“You will not be alone,” Yennefer affirmed. “You will not be alone, Tissaia. We will be fixing it together, alongside one another.” Tissaia suddenly saw the hints of guilt flashing in her expression – Yennefer felt guilty, clearly, at having to do it together, that she couldn’t do it alone and save Tissaia.

“Please, just leave me,” Tissaia begged, hardly able to speak and hardly able to believe what she was speaking. “Please. Yennefer.”

“No,” Yennefer said, unswerving. “You’re more important to me than any of this, Tissaia. I’m not going to leave you, and I’m not going to let you die channelling. Don’t you remember what I promised? I don’t even care about the fissure, I care about you. I won’t let you be overrun, I’ll keep you safe. And if it turns out you can’t do it, if it turns out you’ll be overrun by Chaos, then I shall pull you away and take you somewhere far from here.”

“You know there can be no such long-term escape! We shall likely die anyhow once the full ocean rises, along with many other mages – you know the damage such Chaos will wreak on our kind. Look at these elves, who cannot even properly leave this domain from their exposure to far gentler amounts!”

“And I’d still let the entire world get swept in its wave before I let it take you, and shoulder any guilt you may feel tempted to be crushed by, and if it’s true that we shall die, then we shall die together, bound still to the end by our love,” Yennefer countered easily. “But that is only part of what I meant. My promise to keep you safe includes something even better. I won’t have to whisk you away at all, because with me by your side you will be able to channel. You won’t be overrun. I will be there to give you strength. Let me be your inner foundation, Tissaia, and you shall be able to trust that you will not falter under the weight of your Chaos. That’s why you’re frozen, isn’t it? Because you’re afraid of yourself. I felt that fear even in the memory-spell, too, in the background; I understand it. But even if you can’t trust yourself, you can trust me, you can trust love. So take courage from that promise, and try.” Yennefer finished the statement by giving Tissaia’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

Tissaia discovered that neither the statement or its sentiment meant anything to her. To her horror, she discovered this. She looked away, and her eyes landed on a random point on the frosted field which made her wonder if the Chaos from tomorrow’s expansion would finally be enough to destabilize the actual physical earth and make it give way beneath them, like it had after the Conjunction. It was a wonder it hadn’t happened already. She then noticed the elves, who were now bent over on a somewhat farther away section of the fissure brainstorming and examining, their attention directed away from them. No doubt they still held her and Yennefer in their full awareness, but they had been polite enough to mask it. How much faith did they have even in themselves to complete this task, given their weaker reserves? There would be no way home for them either, no way to win this day.

“You know of the secret I harbour inside of me,” Tissaia said lowly as she tore her unblinking gaze away, hoping not to let more tears spill. “I have doomed us all.” It was terrible to admit such a thing in of itself – all she was tasked to do in this specific moment was draw in Chaos as she had before but with a greater amount which Yennefer had already proven was manageable. Yet to her it felt as though she were being tasked with channelling the entire Source Point.

Yennefer placed her other hand over Tissaia’s, her eyes squinting somewhat. “Tissaia, that is what I meant – the foundation of trust, the strength I shall give you, will combat that inner harbour of your Chaos. It’s just as you said in the water-cave – you can channel in that way you spoke of now, the way I did at Sodden, with love as your guiding emotion. Your theory was right all along.” There was a pause of hesitation before she hazarded, “Maybe it was meant to be this way. Draeren is an Aen Saevherne…they’re supposed to know things no one else knows and be able to look into the future with their oracular talents, aren’t they? She wouldn’t have chosen you for the task if you weren’t well-suited for it. Maybe she figured something out when she delved into your mind that night… Maybe that two-month journey we had to go on for the coordinate key wasn’t just because of secrecy, but so that we could figure ourselves out and grow closer so that we’d have the bond needed to channel in that new way. Maybe that’s the only way the fissure can be mended.”

Tissaia looked at her furiously. Though it was not quite destiny she was addressing, part of her was nevertheless amazed, moved even, that Yennefer would dare speak so openly about matters she had previously scorned, but she did not understand.

“No, Yennefer. If she had any such foresight at all, it only means that she saw a chance that we could fix it. But I assure you there was no such foresight: she selected us as the most suitable persons based on an analysis of our known abilities, because there was no one else available with those abilities to trust.” Tissaia felt the weight of that truth again: there was no one else available, and if there was, would there be any use sending for them under such a narrow timeframe as they had now? She was the only option left, and this necessity did not encourage her in the slightest.

Yennefer’s passion was fanned again. “Well fuck it, a chance is all we need! Am I, are we not worth taking that risk for? What other choice do we have, Tissaia?”

“A chance is only as good as the abilities of those executing it, Yennefer. Even if Draeren did make that forecast you refer to, it surely did not include the possible image of the mage I have become today. She surely did not know of my invalidity. So do not speak to me of visions or preordained certainty – I know how tempting it is to invent such reassurances, but don’t you see? They offer us no true guarantees. I have failed to rise to the occasion afforded to me by any such chance.”

“So, you’re saying that what happened at Sodden was all a fluke? That I just happened to stumble on unheard of Balance and Control? It was exactly as you said, I channelled out of love, for you. I thought that was objective proof of your theory. How can you even know that you won’t succeed just the same when you haven’t even tested it on yourself?” Yennefer then jerked her arms as though to cross them, but upon realizing she was still holding Tissaia’s hand, she lowered them again. “How typical for all that you hypothesized with such confidence that day in the cave to suddenly falter now that it is time to stand and test it, now that you are no longer under the safety of the theoretical.”

Once again Yennefer had demonstrated her full lack of understanding. But Tissaia knew it was unfair to be angry at her for this – the truth of it went against her nature after all. Tissaia smiled, tremblingly, crestfallenly, as she managed to finally say,

“Yes. It is you who did it that day, Yennefer. Not I.”

“What?”

“It is you who is brilliant, Yennefer. You were Sodden’s saviour. Not I.” The words came out as a croak, so strong and desperate was Tissaia’s need to simply admit it, to open the terrible doorway in words and not just in actions. “I did not channel forbidden fire magic or accomplish any miracles. It was you.”

Yennefer was taken aback briefly, with an almost crestfallen look flashing over her features before a surge of anger took over again. “I did it at Sodden because of you. Why can’t it be the same now? Or am I not enough to give you sufficient strength and courage?”

Tissaia shook her head, eyes closing for a moment, “Yennefer, it is not a matter of those things, it is a matter of unfortunate history. I am too used to my ways – the way Chaos feels to me and the ways I have coped with it are too familiar. Even if I could channel in that new way you achieved, it would likely be overridden by those deeply embedded routes in my channelling matrixes. What has existed for centuries cannot be overcome in a day – I am older than you, and my personality is far less free-spirited. I cannot break loose from such fear.”

“Bullshit! If anything, you’re brilliant because of it – no one else could have coped with the strain for so long, found their own way of channelling in spite of it. You can adapt to the new way too! And if you can’t fix the fissure, then it doesn’t even deserve to be fixed.” Passion slipped into softness, and she squeezed Tissaia’s hand again. “You’re the most brilliant mage on the Continent. Of course you can still rise to the occasion. Just because you are frozen once, twice, doesn’t mean the static won’t dissipate. You can do this, Tissaia.”

“No,” Tissaia growled, her teeth gritting against the encroaching desperation and madness of it all. And at the patronization – as though she now needed someone to believe in her! Yet she knew again that this was unfair, that Yennefer was only making an analogy to the encouragement Tissaia had given her at Sodden, and that she had too much stubborn belief in the impossible to ever leave things to sober resign anyways. Still Tissaia continued with a growl, “Do you even know what you’re saying? My control has switched over to fear, Yennefer. If ever I manage to unfreeze and push back the tide of this Chaos, it will only be to doom us in an even greater tidal wave of my own making. I will not watch you die by my hand.”

“Do you even know what you’re saying? You’re a hypocrite! All the resolve you gave me, not just at Sodden but last week, and you’re exempt from the same challenge? You say your hesitation and uncertainty will be what kills us, but I shall tell you this, Tissaia: strength and courage have nothing to do with feelings of fear or personality or the past. They have to do with choices and trust, and deciding whether making that choice for itself is worth something to you.” She closed her eyes for an extension as though to hide another surge of emotion, and then placed her hands on Tissaia’s shoulders so she could look at her from up close. Her gaze was again sadder and more desperate than it was angry, the same crestfallen flash from before having returned. “Please, Tissaia. Just have faith in me. And don’t say that you don’t want anything to happen to me, because my fate is intertwined with yours, and if I die from your efforts then it shall not be from a stroke of unlove but in the great love that had to be wielded to find the courage necessary to choose those efforts. If I could fix it without you, I would, but I can’t, and that kills me, so help me do the next best thing and fix it alongside me so that we can save each other.” Her expression tightened, almost in an odd, failed attempt of steel. “And if you can’t, then you can’t – but either way, I won’t let anything happen to you.” She let her arms drop away from Tissaia’s shoulders, giving her the space between them again. Now the sadness eclipsed more than ever. “Or do you doubt me?”

There was silence after the words, suspense, and Tissaia found herself unable to address it because she was now ice-bound where she stood, frozen staring into Yennefer’s face. Tissaia stared at her, perceived her, and saw from her expression that the sadness emphasizing her words was not one Yennefer had wanted exposed, it was simply one she couldn’t contain.

All at once she felt something splinter deep within. Something that came in even past her own tearful vale and the reticence and fear she stood in. It was horror at what Yennefer was saying – horror at what was so clearly true. Yennefer had spared them both the pain of voicing it with the depth it deserved but Tissaia understood that her hypocrisy had just been painted vaster than the sky, for even if she could dismiss what Yennefer had done at Sodden and the inn as comparison, Yennefer had gone through another dilemma of resolve just last week that was comparable, and none of her inner fierceness had aided her then. The matter had come down to cold choice alone, and it had been one made by trusting something bigger than the terror, in her own love for Tissaia. Now Tissaia was faced with a similar battle, and the implication was clear: if she did not find her own resolve here then it was saying that Yennefer wasn’t enough.

Obviously, of course, the two situations were very different contextually. Yennefer’s dilemma had been about choosing to embrace vulnerability rather than the life-or-death scenario Tissaia now faced with the fissure. Obviously, there had been no world at stake, no Conjunction magic to tilt off its axis. But the emotional grappling had been just as potent if not more so – this Tissaia knew in her soul.

And it was more than that. At its core, her present dilemma was also one of emotional vulnerability. One that Tissaia had already been choosing to say yes to.

Because hadn’t her feelings for Yennefer been what forced her to confront this broken part of herself after so long? And no matter how stark the danger and how vast her hesitation, hadn’t the joy of those feelings always been worth throwing caution to the wind for? Yes, Tissaia had already been choosing to accept emotionality ever since she’d met the younger woman, whether for her own happiness’ sake or for that of Yennefer’s or even simply because it would be a lie not to. Now with the fissure she was faced with the final confrontation of that choice, and she had been choosing Yennefer yet again, taking comfort in her throughout each day of this week that the danger had loomed closer in. Had not the restless nights of fear been made at least somewhat more bearable in her tender embrace?

But therein lied the problem: the comfort had only been somewhat and temporary, because Yennefer’s burrow into her broken inner world had been incomplete, hindered by the fear that was also there. Tissaia had never truly fallen in, because she’d been stopped by a lack of trust, a revulsion at the idea of change happening to herself, at surrendering to something and losing the iron will of cold control she’d mustered for so long. Falling in was what the ability to channel magic as Yennefer had done at Sodden would require, she knew, if such an ability existed at all for her. It was more than that: falling in was what it would require to even try and see if it existed. To try and see if she could unfreeze herself.

Oh, she was pathetic, if she could not even do that! Yet the ultimate risk still terrified her – the image of Tissaia channelling in that emotional way, and having her Chaos entwine more with her fear than her love, and Yennefer dying. Yennefer may be convinced of her protective prowess but Tissaia knew how quickly disaster could ensue before anyone could effectively be pulled away from the dark source. But even so she found it harder to disregard the other half of Yennefer’s promise, that Tissaia’s love for her was a worthy force to put her trust in. It had no full guarantee of victory, or at least Tissaia could not rationally believe that it did, but it did possess stability in and of itself, in what that choice meant: by choosing to try and channel she would be declaring that she did believe her love was more powerful than any haywire force of Chaos, no matter how potent her fear happened to feel. She would be acting on her love for Yennefer and that meaning would not change even if it resulted in their demise. Therefore, she would not be setting sail into the unknown entirely unequipped: for the fissure situation had proven itself as an unknown course full of risk no matter how it was addressed. All she could do was her best, and control what she could, and accept the uncertainty of the rest, and in this abhorrent mad situation, all that she could control was the choice to raise her sail into that uncertainty at all, and perhaps she could do so knowing that it would be cut from the cloth of love. And maybe wanting to keep this woman of irreplaceable rarity safe from the potential onslaught of those waters was rooted in love, but it was surely a far lesser one than the decision to try anyways, to see what would happen if she did venture out – for even Tissaia could not truly say that there wasn’t at least some chance of this method of channelling succeeding. And she would not be a worthy mage if she did not take the only option available to her in a crisis.

Dear Gods, the situation was madness! Tissaia felt sick once more at it all, and at herself for even entertaining such a risky notion – she felt like she was going to faint, scream from the nausea; she wished to claw at her own face, yet she remained frozen, paralyzed standing there, only a tremble in her hands and her wide eyes betraying her storm. She felt for a moment that there may be other options yet unconsidered to her, rational solutions that would make throwing caution to the wind right now seem all the more farcical and devastating, even if it was just waiting here and gathering her wits enough to calm down and channel in her old way. She needed time, she needed to think, to consider all avenues—

Tissaia breathed in deeply, reminded herself of what she had ultimately just considered, of the sail and the risk and what was worthwhile, her thoughts flying at speeds of sound as she did yet all appearing in slow motion as well.

No, Tissaia did not want to channel. She did not want to try. She did not want to step anywhere near the fissure, because she was pathetic, and Yennefer deserved far, far better than her. She shuddered to imagine what this would do to her newly sealed void – Tissaia was not the right person for Yennefer to put any trust, love, or faith in with such weak knees as she stood with now. And this after Yennefer had extended a great vulnerability to her in declaring she was in fact worthy of Tissaia putting trust in for such a momentous task, worthy of being loved, as Tissaia had always dreamed for her to feel!

Yes, Tissaia had to try. She had to because she did love Yennefer, and even if she was pathetic and unworthy and quite likely not strong enough to do this, Yennefer deserved someone who would at least aspire to those qualities. She deserved Tissaia’s courage. Even if it would ruin them all – even if the drawing in from the fissure would simply end them somehow right away. It was what Yennefer wanted, and indeed, Tissaia did not honestly think that an attempt was not in her capacity to give her.

“Blast it all,” Tissaia told her, her eyes moist and teeth gritting. “Damn you, Yennefer. Foolish, loathsome girl. Damn you.”

Yennefer nodded. “So, will you trust me?” 

“Hold me,” Tissaia answered. “Hold me and I shall try to channel.”

Yennefer nodded again, her features calm and understanding and her resolve unwavering, and she stepped behind Tissaia to wrap her arms around her waist. Her warm breath tickled against Tissaia’s ear, enough to send pleasant shivers through her despite the fear and the surrounding shadow of impossibility. Then Yennefer spoke to her in a soft but shiveringly firm voice:

“Face forwards, and never look behind – there is no need, because I am right behind you. Face forwards and greet the day, or the day shall claim you under the shadow of your retreat. I have felt lonely fear flowing from your Chaos, and that is why your grip on it wavers. This inner world of emotions mages like us are consumed by, and you’ve only ever had yourself to bear its storms – no wonder you are afraid when the clouds start to gather. Did you know that I, too, have felt that torment in my own inner world? But not with you there – ever since you joined me, each drop of rain that falls is beautiful, for it falls on my face as I gaze across at yours. So let me be with you in your broken world, Tissaia. There is Chaos, and then there is us – how can its tempest shake us when we stand and grasp its hilt with such a worthy force? Or do you not trust that I know you better than anyone, that I am part of that inner world where your Chaos dwells and is wielded, that I stand with you in your fears? Answer me, Tissaia, Skylark: are you alone?”

Tissaia felt such trust and love radiating from Yennefer’s Chaos as she spoke as she’d never felt, except perhaps last week as they’d made love. Of course, she had always been able to feel Yennefer’s Chaos more strongly than any other, at highly charged moments even able to impossibly sense the emotions within, and she knew that Yennefer was able to do the same. It had been a symptom of that which Tissaia had so feared – of allowing emotions free reign over her Chaos, of having thinner Balance and Control barriers. But perhaps these were the right emotions. Perhaps they could be stronger than the fearsome force, no matter her doubts and cynicisms and how foreign it was to her ways. In any case Tissaia was willing to try – she was willing to choose those emotions. Because that’s what this challenge constituted for her. She would never have her old method again, the stubborn walls protecting her Chaos from emotion having fallen to pieces. All she was left with now was protective paralysis or emotional surrender, and because surrender would always seem mad to her and went against her teachings and contained no rational guarantees, it could not be instinctive; it would instead have to be chosen. Yes, the emotions were there, bustling as ever, wanting her to give in, but for her – for her they needed to be chosen first. Yennefer holding her was making it far easier for them to be chosen though, for how strongly and truly they were now being felt…

Indeed, Yennefer was making her feel, just as she always had, and so not only would the choice to channel with her feelings be a mad one, it would be believed in for that quality. For how else was Tissaia to follow it but for the same irrationality that had always come so easily to her in matters surrounding Yennefer? It had been the same quality that had made her feel that everything would work out at Sodden and during their ascent here for no better reason than that Yennefer was by her side, for with Yennefer by her side it was hard not to believe in the impossible. It was what had gotten Tissaia into this wretched situation to begin with, Yennefer having made her reevaluate the broken parts of herself and made her want to share that inner world, had made it less lonely, had made her happy after over four centuries without, not just content. So, it was only fitting that Tissaia should take it the rest of the way and allow her in fully. And perhaps this was the gift of change, to forge a new way with Chaos, because things simply couldn’t go on as they were, not after everything, and even if they could, would Tissaia truly want them to? Even if there were no guarantees that this method would work, wasn’t it worth trying for its own sake, to let that central radiance into this final part of herself if only so that for once in her life, she would belong to something greater than the wild fear that had haunted her for so long? To belong to someone she loved, to love itself, would be its own victory, and of those the choice guaranteed. Ergo, this decision, this act of drawing in the surging seas whilst already swept away in those of Yennefer, would not be bringing love to an end but would finalize its glory. And if that togetherness could not mend her brokenness, if two sparks of life standing outside this surging vein could not win, if her best driven by that force was not enough, then Yennefer had been right; their world did not deserve saving.

Yes – it seemed strange that Tissaia had not seen it. As she now stood in Yennefer’s arms and allowed herself to focus on the love and trust in Yennefer’s Chaos, she even found her own Chaos reaching out for those feelings, controlled and guided by them more than her fear. To let her paralyzing resistance down to channel was difficult, but here in the arms of the woman who had always been good at rousing her emotions, and with the wonderful right ones roused now, she found it possible to do so. How could her love not be enough to give her strength? It was as boundless as the Chaos within her.

“No, I am not alone. You are with me,” Tissaia answered.

“Then declare your triumph and advance: you have your strength.”

Tissaia attempted to draw and channel from the fissure, and succeeded in doing so without being overrun: a precise gust of wind came out through her palms with hardly any Balance and Control needing to be exerted at all. This easy precision she had expected, if indeed she was successful at channelling with love-based emotion and willpower. But what defied expectations was how little strain the drawn in Chaos had put on her reserves. She was not at all stretched and full as she ought to be – in fact, she felt far less so than when they’d first started and the fissure was smaller. For a stunned moment she thought this ease was because the fissure must have shrunk somehow – and then at once realized that her reserves had not only grown, but doubled.

She gasped, and heard Yennefer do the same, and when they turned to stare at each other in delighted silence, she knew she’d found her answer. All those instances of feeling each other’s emotions through their Chaos, and sensing sometimes even the absurdity of that Chaos wanting to dance and entwine, and now the dance had finally happened, and this was the result: their Chaos was each other’s. Joined.

“Our reserves have combined…our Chaos belongs to one another,” Yennefer surmised, clearly awestruck by the sense of linkage, by what the freefall of beautiful, eager things had given them.

“Indeed it has…I did not expect this. At Sodden and the inn when you surrendered to your emotions we were not joined like this,” Tissaia managed, her thoughts both at a standstill and in hightailing analysis. She looked at Yennefer, knowing her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “But unlike then, today the surrender happened with both of our Chaos’ emotions present, with the radiance of each other’s trust and love felt and reached for as my channelling was made… no wonder union became the natural result. This was what you had felt at Sodden but in union form, isn’t it?”

“The ultimate expression of our surrender,” Yennefer agreed.

Two miracles had thus been achieved – one of impossible precision and one of impossible reserves. Mages could put their Chaos together into a spell, yes, as the elves had done with their air bridge, but to combine one’s innate reserves in such a primal, physical way? It was unheard of. Now it did not matter if the fissure grew again – when they channelled from it, they would literally belong to something greater than what its power could engulf. She was glad Yennefer hadn’t given up on her and had encouraged their dual effort, that neither of them could protect the other on their own this time – it had enabled their belonging to each other in more ways than one. Now Tissaia was a young girl again, marvelled by the power of dragons and secure in her own power.

“Yes, our reserves have combined. And I can feel you, as vividly as though you were part of me,” Tissaia said, almost tremblingly, feeling a closeness surpassing even the strongest thought transference spell. She realized that with their Chaos entwined with each other’s emotions and not just their own, what the other was feeling was also tumbling in through the link – so many of the emotions that were in Tissaia’s mind now were indeed not just her own, despite their current mutual awe and excitement. So speedily and easily did they spill into another, these impressions of compassion and trust and exhilaration and confusion and love, that they became at once blurred and yet descried with an almost defying clarity. It ought to have been at least somewhat aversive, for Tissaia had always been one of reserve, but it was not. They were what she wanted to embrace after all, even if it was perturbing to admit. It was a vulnerability not unlike their lovemaking, the always secretly desired vulnerability that had led them on this lifelong dance towards each other. And though she was scared, the fear and delight also on Yennefer’s face calmed her.

Indeed, at the foundation of it all was that calm, that trust; the Control she wrought on Chaos having melted into someone else’s hand. Tissaia was in control of where she sent her Chaos, but not in control of everything – there was a foundation there of Yennefer that could pull her back towards, and Tissaia knew she could do the same for her.

Yennefer experimented by tugging on those reins, and though neither of them were actively channelling Tissaia still felt the abrupt jerk on her senses before it was returned. She also felt the mirth behind the gesture, and wanted to laugh with Yennefer; however, all she could manage was a small smile. She was too overwhelmed.

“Yes,” Tissaia repeated, barely managing to speak under the sheer joy and impossibility of this feat. “I can feel you.” This, all of this – this sense of emotional verity – she knew she would not be able to truly process until later.  

“We can channel now,” Yennefer declared, smiling so joyfully that there was also something of the same overwhelmed tremble to it. “The fissure will be even easier to fix. We can take in even more, channel past the volatility now.”

Tissaia felt this joy indeed, but a shadow of reality was still able to fall over it. Yet it was not one that put her into a panic. It was hard to panic, after what had just happened. “I am afraid we are merely in the same position as before – even though we can handle a greater share of Chaos, we would still not be able to put it back fast enough without generating another growth cycle.”

“Is it true?” Yennefer said, turning to the elves, who had since turned their heads away from the fissure to watch them. No doubt they had picked up on the magic that had fused to form their linkage spell.

“I can feel it,” Feydronn said. “The amount of Chaos that can now pass through you both is far greater than before, but that does not change the inherent speed set by the element of air, even if it shall be easier for you to channel with it. Moreover, the fissure Chaos will still require our collective energy – it will need to be split between all six of us still. And none of us are at full strength right now from what we’ve done today.”

“Yes. It is futile for that reason – all of our reserves, including yours, are still over half-drained, even if yours are now larger. You’d have to wait until tomorrow to be fully recovered,” Eryarus said. He crossed his arms in thought. “And even then, we would still be in the same position as today. Though your power is combined so that you can draw in more Chaos than you could as individuals, it has not created new power – the net strength is still the same. And even if all our power is equal to what the new current will require, even if the power boost from the now larger intersection gives us that, that still creates the same situation. The fissure will grow before we’re finished. We need something faster, a faster medium than air – which perhaps your joined reserves could indeed manage, now that you’ve the ability to handle more power and volatility. But again, that would only work if we were all at full strength – and in waiting for tomorrow we may find even more growth afoot.”

“Shit…” Yennefer said, her eyes now fixed on the fissure with desperate frustration, but still with a glimmer of determination: as though she could find a solution if she simply thought hard enough.

Having just witnessed one impossibility, Tissaia could not help but feel the same spirit of resolve: things simply could not end here. Fortunately, the calm brought on by the linking had restored her mind to a state of inquiry, and she now had the hope of unconsidered possibilities. She felt cerebral; exactly like herself.

Tissaia considered the fissure, the vastness of its Chaos, the slim window of time they now had before it grew beyond all hope of fixing. She considered her surroundings, the elemental terrain that all mages were taught to examine strategically to aid with their operations. Harsh winter surrounded them on all sides: air that was chilling to breathe, a stretch of chiselled, icicled mountain rock, an expanse of frozen trees. But the air was also not without great moisture: there were still snow clouds gathered in the sky, the same batch Tissaia had noticed lingering in the morning having grown substantially and with their grey depths appearing close to them from the altitude they stood at. This was good, for it would make her task much easier.

She turned to Yennefer, placed a hand on her arm.

“Channel fire into those clouds,” she instructed. 

“What? Why?”

“Trust me and do as I say, and do as I say now: channel a stream of fire, and make sure the core of the cloud system is penetrated. Don’t worry about wasting energy, I will tell you when to stop.”

Yennefer nodded, the firm resolution in Tissaia’s voice evidently enough to convince her. Tissaia watched as she stepped back and raised her arms towards the sky, and then watched as the great blaze streamed out and traversed into the gloom. Through the bond it did not escape Tissaia’s notice that Yennefer had done so without any hesitation – she had not felt any real fear at handling such volatile magic, and her Balance and Control was as firm as a golden blade. And, as with Tissaia’s air gust from earlier, Yennefer was fully in control of her own channelling, with Tissaia keeping her grounded if needed, a steady presence just behind able to pull the direction away if required. Tissaia had her hold the flames there for a few moments before halting her.

“Good,” Tissaia said. The amount channelled was far less than what had been done at Sodden, but it was without a doubt enough for her purposes. She turned to the elves, and found that they had guessed her strategy before she could speak it.

“Do you mean to create a thundercloud?” Feydronn asked.

“Yes. It is similar to how wildfires and volcanoes form their own storm systems, but in this case we have the good fortune of moisture-laden clouds already present which will speed up the process. The intense heat from Yennefer’s fire will create an even stronger convection current in their system, and I believe that the extra warm air now rising from it will be enough to create an electrical charge when its vapours freeze at the top and collide with the already existing particles as they then fall back down. I will need you to add to it though, to make that charge even stronger – add in rock fragments, and then break them up within the cloud; weave in air magics and create even more turbulence – the greater the particle collision, the more electricity.”

“Couldn’t you summon thunderclouds with the incantation for Alzur’s Thunder?” Yennefer asked, looking doubtful. Tissaia only smiled.

“That would require using our own energy, my girl, and with such a spell we would only be able to draw a single bolt down at a time. I mean to direct the entire sky. Think back to the lightning trial, and what its challenge entailed.”

The elves followed her command, and Tissaia watched as the cloud system began to intensify with a fierce and crazed pressure and a static charge was built; watched as that pressure was then accompanied by a fierce heat as the reactions of electrical power began to leap and writhe in shimmering kinetic fibres, a bright light-stream now breaking out through the gloom. She listened as the low rumblings and snaps in the cloud mass turned into high-pitched humming’s and chirrups, and then at the same time witnessed the grey-scape shift unto a bruise-black shade of flaring restlessness. Finally, Tissaia felt the buzz of it on her fingers: the fierce promise of their victory, lightning. The sensation of it had come to her instinctively, as it was only natural for a mage to be in tune with that ultimate expression of Chaos. This was indeed the storm that was needed. Now, she only needed to control it.

She looked at Yennefer again, whose eyes had widened in recognition. “I understand…not only will lightning be quick enough to carry all of the fissure Chaos back in and in one stream, it won’t cost us any energy. The challenge of the lightning trial was not our ability to create lightning like you would with Alzur’s Thunder, but to allow that which already existed in the storm cloud to pass through us to where we wanted it to go, without allowing it to overcome us. You’ll need to draw in the fissure Chaos and the lightning simultaneously, which is insane, but technically you have the space to contain its raw power without getting overrun thanks to our joined reserves.”

“Yes. Though I will still be expending some energy by putting the raw fissure Chaos into the bolt, as we did with air. However, the cost of this transfer will not exceed what we have remaining in our combined stores, and will be far less draining than air or any other element, for lightning is a form closer to raw Chaos than anything else in nature – it is easier to put what is raw into what is already so primal. That rawness is why the bolts have such an affinity to us mages.”

“But it’s so volatile!” Yennefer cried. “Channelling a mere bolt is already volatile – now you intend to do an entire sky, and whilst having to contend with the intersection’s totally messed up Chaos?”

Tissaia smiled at her with the corner of her lips, and Yennefer’s cheeks pinkened.

“Oh,” she said, smiling in turn. “Of course. You now also have greater Balance and Control, not just greater reserves, thanks to our bond.”

“Indeed. Our linkage shall be our salvation here in more ways than one,” Tissaia said. Then her expression became more solemn. “Though now with our bond I suspect it is not just going to be me at stake, even though I shall be doing the channelling. Physically I may be at risk if the bolt electrocutes me, yes, but with our Chaos…if I burn myself out, I do not know what would happen to you.”

Yennefer was unphased. “That does not change anything – your pain is my pain here and in all things, as I want it to be. We shall go down together; we shall meet any outcome together, positive or negative.”

Tissaia looked at her for a long moment, and nodded. She turned to the elves, who were already in full agreement with her plan.

“We shall be in station to ensure the Source Point is sealed afterwards, and to help you channel any extraneous Chaos that may be missed from your bolt. Likely you shall manage it just fine, but just in case.”

“Thank you,” Tissaia said.

With that, she went to assume her stance on the fissure, and turned her head towards the bustling sky. By then the wind had become deafening, with a turbulence that caused her eyes to water and made Tissaia wonder briefly if it would not just be her magic at trial today but her physical attachment to the ground as well. Yet there was another storm-sound even keener than its gusts: the chittering from the electrical concentration had gone from high-pitched to ear-splitting, as though there was a great migration of birds at work in the cloud system. She recalled that skylarks were also known for their high-pitched song, delivered in hovering flights from elevations similar to the low clouds above them now.

As Tissaia then began to probe into the cloud, assembling the electric fibres into one continuous chain so that she could strike the bolt uninterrupted, she noted also the lightning’s colour: white and tinged with a curious light-blue around the edges. She had long suspected that there had been lightning involved in Yennefer’s inn-explosion feat, though had been perplexed that it had not been drawn from the sky or had been of any spell manifestation Tissaia was familiar with. Her post-Sodden conclusion, of course, was that it had simply been generated from within Yennefer, with her protective spirit having converted the Chaos in the room into that most potent, pure, majestic and impossible to manage form of magic imaginable; a spirit of plasma fire in a precise flash of sheet-lightning. Though Tissaia would not be channelling lightning in quite the same construct now, the sight and reminder of it in the present colour gave her courage, for in its fierce sky was the reminder of Yennefer’s own fierceness. She had often related the younger woman to lions for a reason after all: fierce and prideful and of an unbending command.

As Tissaia found the right spot in the gloom to grasp at, and felt that fierce power humming on her fingertips, and heard it call to her again with the piercing chitter of a thousand birds, she knew also what to name the act:

“Coraim aew lírë,” Tissaia spoke as she filled herself up with the fissure Chaos and directed one arm to the sky and the other to the ground, towards the Source Point, “Lioness’s Birdsong.”

She grasped onto the tremendous bolt with the Balance and Control of two wills, two hearts, and had its electric current intermesh with the just as tremendous fissure Chaos inside of her as it entered through her fingers. And when Tissaia felt the combination of that sheer, tremendous volatility and power brush up against her, she understood that she was stronger, and that Chaos played soldier to her command.

“Evanesce with the lightning strike,” Tissaia said, looking down at what was broken and would finally be mended.

*

The skies began to clear; it seemed that Tissaia’s lightning spell was a one-time only technique. But Yennefer was not transfixed by the sudden absence of thick clouds and energy pulses, or even by the cessation of the all-powerful Chaos that had been spilling out from the fissure just moments ago. Instead she was struck by the silence. The bird-like chatter from the electricity had been high-pitched; in combination with the howling wind, the storm’s symphony had been deafening. Left in its stead was a vacuum of sound that hung suspended in the near-twilight air; the bright, sharp, noiseless chimes of the North. It was very peaceful.

She was fully spent from what they had done, every bone in her body protesting from the strain, as leaden and in need of rest as she had been after Sodden. And yet there was enough, somehow; some part of their Chaos evidently retained by the other in the link and sent back just in time before its connection had ended, enough to keep them cognizant and standing there in the aftermath. Indeed, Yennefer’s legs only somewhat staggered as she stepped towards Tissaia, her hand only somewhat frail in its grip as she reached to join it with the woman’s, her voice soft but still able to be heard clearly in the surrounding stillness as she spoke:

“Come with me over there, near where the trees are,” Yennefer said, and they walked slowly towards the spot where the snowy ground was untouched from what had happened and began to slope gently down towards the forest’s edge.

As they walked, Yennefer sensed a probing at her mind, which she recognized as coming from Algryn. She opened the transference barriers and heard the message conveyed: Everything is alright on our end – it is sealed. We’ll send out our message to Draeren and have her and a few of the others come to examine things here and aid us. Do you two need any assistance with injuries?

Yennefer told him that they were not pressing, and that her and Tissaia would reconvene with them soon, because they’d like to have a moment alone first. Algryn sent his affirmation and the mind-link promptly ended.

They arrived at the sloping stretch of land above the forest. Yennefer paused and turned to look at Tissaia.

“Lay down with me for a moment, my love,” she said, and Tissaia did; they let go of each other’s hands to do so and laid beside one another on their backs near the top of the incline, about a metre apart with the snow packed enough to support them and their cloaks thick enough to provide barrier. Above them the sky was an expanse of slate-coloured grey, peaceful and empyrean. Yennefer stared up at it as she spoke.

“I shall tell you my deepest dream, dreamed when I was young and carried with me always: I dreamed of becoming important to someone, someday.”

Across the small snowy space between them, Tissaia gave her reply:

“You are everything to me, Yennefer. Everything,” Tissaia said, and her voice was clear, soft and profound, truthful.

Yennefer turned her head to her, stared into her eyes deeply before speaking again. Like her innermost dream, her next words contained a truth they both already knew, but which deserved to be given the breath of life:

“I’m in love with you,” Yennefer said.

Tissaia’s endlessly deep eyes became deeper, swam.

“Yes,” Tissaia said breathlessly. “Yes. I’m in love with you, too, Yennefer. My dearest heart.”

Yennefer closed her eyes and nodded a little, overwhelmed. Beneath her the earth felt infinite, as limitless as the sky above her had seemed, yet between the two of them she felt held, steadied somehow by the sanctitude even as her heart felt ready to float away from her with how joyous and unreal this moment was. When she opened them again, it was to seek and hold Tissaia’s gaze anew.

“When did it start for you, the feelings?” Yennefer asked, because she wanted to, and because she knew Tissaia would tell her; because Tissaia understood those parts of her that cared.

Tissaia smiled gently, the knowing, shared-secretive kind that Yennefer always loved. “Would you believe me if I told you there was no single moment? Before I even met you, I was swept away. When I felt you teleport into the school, and your magic sang against mine, the seeds were already there – change had stirred in the deepest parts of my horizon. And by the time you graduated, there was no telling where your heart ended and mine began – you had grown so much life and light in me it was difficult to imagine a time when there’d been none at all. Though if I had to pick just one stretch of time, then I suppose it was during your years away at Aedirn’s court, because it was then that I found myself always waiting for you to return and for my life to un-pause, and with it came the realization of just how deeply you were entwined. But in truth it was with me all along – I have always loved you, Yennefer,” Tissaia concluded easily. “And yourself? When did it start for you, my darling?”

“I thought you were an angel, when I first saw you,” Yennefer said thickly. Tissaia’s answer had brought her close to tears and she had to take a long, shaky breath before continuing. “But I think for me it really began at Tor Lara, when you held my wrists and declared us similar. That sense of belonging…it moved me in a way nothing else ever had. Not just because it was new, but because it was with you.” She found it was still hard for her to admit this part of herself out loud no matter how much they both already knew its truth; to acknowledge that the need for love and connection was as entrenched in her as her magic was. But Yennefer found she rejoiced to say it all the same. So much so that she couldn’t stop herself from letting more come free, almost as a cry: “I’m so in love with you it hurts, Tissaia. It’s like every piece of me was made for your embrace. I could believe in the power to move mountains and forge bridges across the stars just from what I feel towards you. I know there is a forever, with you in my gaze. I love you.”

Across from her Tissaia’s eyes stared into her with an almost eclipsing adoration, the pupils window-wide with winding paths traversing into all the golden places their love belonged. “I know it to be true as well. As a mage with centuries to spare I have paid no heed to the ways and notions of forever, but with you now in my heart they have demanded my belief, for I know very well that one life spent with you shall not satisfy me, even if that life is long. It is true that this love necessitates an infinity, and serves as its ultimate proof.” The words were expressed with a calm ease, and Yennefer realized that for Tissaia they were the simple truth. Tissaia smiled at her again, tenderly and feline. “I love you, Yennefer.”

Yennefer nodded, feeling her throat tighten again with burgeoning tears, but she forced herself to speak, forced herself to continue. She managed to arch an eyebrow and tilted the corner of her mouth playfully, “So, what now? Does Aretuza need us back quite so soon? I know there’s the business of the memorial approaching, but surely we could spare ourselves a week – I think we’ve more than earned a vacation after what we’ve accomplished here. Especially for yourself – The Lightning Enchantress indeed,” she teased.

Tissaia’s eyes sparkled rather enticingly. “Perhaps we could have a few days, yes – my false mission in the mines may warrant such an extension. Did you have anywhere in mind you’d like for us to go, if we don’t end up staying down at Haven?”

“Oh, I can think of a few places. If it wasn’t for the political situation in Cintra and the weather then I’d suggest that nice rocky overhang we slept in before meeting with your spy, or that nice hill with the willow tree, but I believe there is also a couple’s suite in the Eternal Lantern inn down in Oxenfurt that is waiting for us…”

Tissaia gave her a somewhat amused and dubious look. “I never did tell you what that young serving maid who led me to the baths said when we’d gotten down the stairs. There was a great deal of sympathetic relationship advice.”

Yennefer groaned lightly, “Ugh, don’t even mention the details. The innkeeper lady already gave me a bad enough earful. And her husband, too.”

Tissaia chuckled through closed lips, and then they simply gazed at each other for a moment, not in tense waiting but just to see. To look at one another. It was a gift, to drink her in, and Yennefer cherished the thought that she would always be able to do so without the mask of pretence.

“You truly are returning with me, then?” Tissaia asked after a while, her soft tone laced with a seriousness.

Yennefer smiled at her gently, reassuringly. “Yes. I meant what I said in the cave, Tissaia – it’s not about the ‘where’, it’s about the ‘who’. My home is in your heart. So long as I’m with you, I shall be there.” She sighed, breathy and drawn. “I don’t think I could bear it, anyways. Being apart. Not after so long. Not after knowing what it feels like, to be with you for real.”

This time Tissaia was the one to nod with her eyes closing briefly. “Thank you,” she said, when she was able.

“There might be a detour in our peace, though,” Yennefer added, suddenly remembering something. “I believe you may already know something about it? I forgot to tell you, but Geralt, the white-haired man that rescued us in the woods after Sodden, is linked to me through a djinn.”

“Yes, he told me of it when he found us in the creek, to convince me to let him provide aid – to be called to each other in times of need is a monumental wish indeed. The bond you two shared during your first meeting must have been a strong one,” Tissaia said, and smiled. “He must have seen the same noble qualities in you that I have.”

Yennefer smiled waggishly in return. “Perhaps. In any case, I had a dream about him the other night, a pulling. The scenes were fuzzy, but the message in them was clear – grave danger chases him and Jaskier and the teenaged girl he’s with, and I’m to help them somehow. Not to raise the girl like Geralt, but to mentor her, help her hone her powers. She’s not like most conduits, I think. Others are to help, too – Triss and Sabrina and a bunch of men wearing witcher pendants were also in the dream, so I’m guessing this is a myriad conflict.”

Tissaia nodded, “My reserves were too low at the time to do a proper examination, but there was something about her. I dare say she might be a Source, and an important one at that.”

“Which probably means she has something to do with Ithlinne’s Prophecy, since it’s happening at the same time as all of this,” Yennefer said, gesturing at the Precursor Mountain scene they’d just dealt with. Yet she found that the words did not scare her as they once had. What was the shoreline of Change, the White Frost itself, if not another horizon she would face with Tissaia?

“Little wonder you had that dream, then – Geralt will no doubt need me to ensure that Aretuza and the world of kings is safe, what with the endless mercenaries that will want to get their hands on a Child of the Elder Blood,” Tissaia mused. “Rita will no doubt be compliant – she cares for the students as mages over political pawns.”

“I meant to ask – are you going to be relinquishing the Rectoress spot to her permanently? It has always been hard for me to imagine anyone else in that office but you, but with everything happening now…”

Tissaia smiled knowingly. “You are right to discern it. If things work out in the post-Sodden landscape as I predict, then I dare say my new role in the Brotherhood shall take up most of my hours – a teaching role in the school over headmistress would not be remiss,” she said. “It will also of course give me more time to spend with you.”

The words were spoken in a practical way that held weight with Yennefer, and she saw the windows of Tissaia’s eyes again, saw the winding roads in them that carried their forever, one that had been made all the more tangible with the plans she’d just effortlessly mapped out. Everything was true all over again: they would always be each other’s focus; they would never be kept apart by the world and its saturnine demands; no one and no thing could ever be more important than the other.

“I love you,” Yennefer whispered. For her these three words would always be what made life flow again.

“And I you. So much. My sweet girl.”

After that there was silence as they gazed across at each other. Yennefer was struck again by the stillness of their surrounds, and how the vortex of winter made even the faintest of earth noises stand closer: the crystalline ringing’s of the ice crystals on the frozen branches now loosening as they settled in the calm, the whisper of an icy breeze fading down corridors of gravel and snow, the trickle of the far-off rill. But the greatest vibrancy of all was Tissaia, and in this blanket of stillness Yennefer heard and watched as her warm breath billowed out into a floating mist that intertwined with hers, heard and felt the beating of her own heart resound louder as Tissaia’s life-bright eyes seemed to glow and imprint as they stared into hers.

Suddenly Yennefer felt tears well in her eyes, hot and profuse.

Because she had done so her entire life, Yennefer didn’t think twice before turning her head away and raising her hand to wipe at them, the motion so well-practised it was unconscious. But a hand placed gently over her arm stopped her, and made Yennefer turn to look at the woman across from her again.

“It’s alright to cry, Yennefer. I feel it too,” Tissaia said softly, and withdrew her touch. In her expression was love abound.

And so, instead of swiping away the flow, Yennefer lowered her hand and reached over to hold Tissaia’s, interlocking their fingers on the snowy expanse between them. She held her gaze steadily, and when she felt the moisture start to spill over in her eyes, she allowed its release. Tears ran down her cheeks, and their coursing stream was not shed with feelings of brokenness or sorrow or frustration, nor with the shame that had made her weep in private at the cliffs when she was young so that none would bear witness to the gentle heart within. Nor were they the tears she was simply too tired and overwhelmed by to stop, or those she’d let fall only to turn away from in the end, scornful and afraid. Tears ran down her cheeks, and in their glittering stream flowed life’s warmth and truest intimacy, and they were shed with honour and joy. Honour and joy and pride for how open her heart had become for the woman beside her, for knowing their hearts were no longer their own but each other’s, for knowing that she had found Everything, for knowing that she’d found love. For the first time in Yennefer’s life, she cried freely.