bookbashuk Chapter 89 Henry and the Eternal Fire
Chapter 89 Henry and the Eternal Fire
Chapter 89 Henry and the Eternal Fire
At the Kingfisher Tavern, the group went downstairs. The stairs creaked, and the knocking grew clearer. Triss had already returned to her room; it wasn't appropriate for her to be in such a large group.
Down in the lobby, Dandelion was busy with something, one hand on his hip, pointing at the painting on the wall.
"Yes, yes, move this painting a little to the left. Left, I said left, not right! Can't you tell left from right?!"
He was wrapped in bandages, but that did not diminish his imposing presence. He turned and glanced towards the door, a hint of anxiety flashing across his face.
"Has Priscilla not arrived yet? The ceremony is about to begin. If she's late, I'll have to improvise a poem about waiting in my opening remarks."
Ms. Polly, who was in charge of choreography, chimed in, "She said she went back to change her clothes and should be there soon."
Erwin patted Dandelion on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I've already sent Henry to pick up Priscilla. Everything will be fine."
Dandelion nodded and continued directing the workers to arrange the bouquets on the stage.
Ron leaned against the stair railing and glanced around the hall. The stage backdrop had been changed to a custom-made kingfisher pattern, all the brass oil lamps were polished to a gleaming shine, and each table had a small bottle of blackberry mead sample labeled with Carradine Winery.
A new oak bookshelf has been added to the corner, displaying several finely bound poetry collections and an open Gwent guide. It was Dandelion's idea; he said, how could an elegant tavern be without books?
Ron came down the stairs, and Dandelion, who was squatting by the stage, looked up, saw him, and smiled.
"How about it? Isn't that impressive enough? Priscilla said she's going to hold a new poetry appreciation event, and I promised to write her a new sonnet. I've already thought of the first line: 'Under the wings of the kingfisher, I heard the sound of the Ponta River.' What do you think?"
"It's better than those frog-leg poems you wrote in prison."
"How did you know I wrote poetry in prison? Did Geralt tell you? I spent three days conceiving a poem about freedom and imprisonment, and all he remembers is me saying the food was worse than toad legs!"
Dandelion jumped down from the side of the stage and straightened his collar.
"Never mind, tonight's opening ceremony will let all of Novigrad know that their favorite poet, Master Dandelion, has returned!!"
"Ha! I think the most glib-tongued playboy is back!" Zoltan sat at the bar, took a big gulp of ale, and his rough laughter echoed in the tavern.
"The noble ladies should be careful; it would be terrible if Dandelion carried her to her apartment building with her lute and recited poetry there, haha!"
"Zoltan, you're just jealous of my talent, but you can't let Priscilla hear you say that."
"Ha, your talent is nothing compared to Bobby's random barking!" His gaze shifted to the shelf in the corner. "Oh, right, I haven't fed Bobby yet."
Zoltan jumped off the stool and walked to the wooden bird stand next to him. A white owl was perched on the stand, its leg encased in an exquisite metal shackle. The owl was preening the feathers on its chest, seemingly oblivious to the surrounding noise.
Ron glanced at the owl, his gaze lingering on the shackles on its legs. The metal gleamed with a peculiar dark luster under the light, its surface covered with fine lines.
He had seen this material before; the plate armor Brom made for him was inlaid with this stuff, magic-blocking gold.
Dandelion walked over from the direction of the stage, his voice filled with concern. "Geralt, the ceremony is about to begin, and Priscilla hasn't arrived yet. Could you go and fetch her? I'm a little worried."
Ron chimed in, "Didn't Henry go to pick up Priscilla? Why isn't he back yet? I'll go check on him too, Gerald."
The two had just stepped out of the tavern and walked a few hundred meters along the main road of the bishop's square when they saw Priscilla walking towards them.
She was wearing a dark green velvet dress, her blonde hair was loosely braided and draped over her shoulders, and she was carrying a small leather violin case. When she saw Ron and Geralt, she paused.
"Priscilla, where's Henry? Didn't he go to pick you up?"
Priscilla looked tired. "Yes, we received the call, but we encountered a strange man on the way, who seemed to be a missionary. He asked if we were followers of the Eternal Flame. Henry seemed very interested in this and started chatting with him. I was worried about delaying the opening ceremony, so I rushed over."
Pusi smoothed his wind-blown hair. "That priest was a bit strange. He kept staring into Henry's eyes while he was talking, like he was looking for something."
Geralt frowned and turned to look at Ron.
"Ron, I have a bad feeling. I heard that there were several murders in Novigrad a few days ago. The murderer seems to be a fanatic of the Eternal Flame and would leave sermon leaflets at the scene."
I've seen those leaflets that say flames can be a blessing or a curse, and that anyone who refuses to learn the lessons of the Eternal Flame will lose their life in the flames. And judging from the evidence at the scene, it doesn't seem like the kind of killing an ordinary person could have done. Your soldier Henry, he shouldn't be a follower of the Eternal Flame, right?"
Ron frowned. "It's worse than that. Henry is practically a heretic to the Eternal Flame. We need to hurry, Geralt."
The two quickly crossed the square and turned into a secluded alley. As they approached the alley entrance, Geralt's wolf head badge on his chest suddenly began to vibrate violently.
"It's Henry's voice," Ron whispered. "He's alright for now."
"Be careful," Geralt said, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "The opponent isn't human."
The two turned the corner quietly and, deep in the alley, saw Henry standing in front of a man wearing a dark gray robe. The man's face was hidden in the shadow of his hood, making it impossible to see his features, but he was tall and had a hoarse, deep voice.
"So, who is the God you're talking about?"
Henry tapped his right hand on his left and right shoulders and forehead in a gesture of devout prayer. His voice was calm and firm, a completely different tone from his usual one.
"He is one, and also ten thousand; he is a moment, and also eternity; he is the beginning, and also the end."
It is the creator and the ruler; night and day, chaos and order, are all kingdoms it created.
May your ways be done on earth as they are in your kingdom! Amen!
The man in black remained silent for a long time before turning his hood to Henry, his gaze fixed on his face.
"Are you saying that we have turned our backs on the true Creator and instead worship the fire of His creation? We disregard our Heavenly Father?"
Henry nodded, his expression devout and reverent.
The man in black's hands trembled slightly within his robe sleeves. "How do I know you're not fabricating a god to deceive me?"
Henry looked directly into the man in black's eyes. "Look at me, brother. Do I look like the kind of guy who'd try to be clever? What good would lying do me?"
Henry placed his hand on his chest. "I'm simply telling you the truth. Whether you believe it or not, the Lord's eyes are still on you."
He pulled a book from his pocket; the cover was hand-bound in old leather and had a pure white cross printed on it.
"Your confusion and your questions can be answered in this book. This is my Bible written in the Common Language. If you have any doubts, please feel free to come and talk to me. The door of my Lord is open to every lost sheep."
The man in black reached out and took the book, gently stroking the pure white cross on the cover. He then nodded slowly to Henry, turned, and walked into the depths of the alley, quickly disappearing into the shadows.
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