6

 And a few hours later, two skinheads from the Słupia River walked by the pitch. Seeing the wreckage, the fans' scarves lying everywhere, and the broken teeth, they uttered these words:

"There was a football match here, it's plain to see. Look, they're supposedly so civilized, but they behave worse than the barbarians from Łosiowa Valley."

"Yeah, and you'll see that in a few hundred years, we and our batons will be blamed for the greatest destruction. If there's a massacre at a match, it's the skinheads' fault; if someone has a bat, it's a skinhead. Oh, poor us."

After a dozen or so hours of a dull, uneventful journey, our heroes reached Gre, a port town on the border of Tazmania and Lower Zorel. The settlement was as calm as the sea at sunrise, and like any seaside town, it reeked of fish. And where there were fish, cats also roamed—plenty of homeless, meowing furry creatures. Worse than the cats were the frightened wives of the fishermen, praying every day for their husbands to return from the sea. All sorts of taverns were filled with a colorful motley crew of pirates and thugs. You could get punched in the teeth and never know it. But you could also sail on an old barge for practically nothing.

And that was the option 3jaja chose. Although it was night, the horses were barely moving, and even the cats were no longer following the witcher, he decided that this was the right time to set sail. Surely the lazy pirates were asleep or making out with girls, and only honest sailors remained on the ships. Perhaps one was sailing to Zuu?

A fool is always lucky, so they found a captain who was about to set sail at that very moment. He was so kind that he refused payment. Soon, his ship, with two travelers aboard, raised its threadbare sails.

She ran ahead, ignoring the treacherous, protruding roots and cow patties. Anger, rage, and a host of other negative emotions filled her. She fled from their source, finding in it a raw, primal joy and solace. But not for long. Finally, she stumbled, fell, rolled through the tall grass, and lay in the meadow, among the flowers, alone and strangely joyful.

"Sasasanka," she heard a voice in her head, "Sasasanka!

" The voice sounded alien, cold, and unfeeling. Yet there was something about him that made her believe he wasn't a bad person, but rather that he wanted to help her solve her problem. So she lay on her back, but the voice didn't reappear. Instead, a cool wind rose, ruffling her gray hair. She stood.

And then she saw something she should never have seen, and if fate had taken her elsewhere that day, the fate of the world would have turned out completely differently. But she stood in that meadow, staring in disbelief at the gleaming sword. And if fate had robbed her of her memory, the fate of the world would have turned out completely differently. But she remembered the green-haired witcher's sword, remembered the silvery gleam and the mysterious runes, remembered the rough hilt.

And she thought it was a sign from the gods.

Then a terrible wind arose, bending the tree branches like sticks, pressing them to the ground, lashing the air, and howling cruelly and terrifyingly like dozens of hungry jackals. Offering almost superhuman resistance to the element, bent double, the girl dragged her sword behind her, reciting all the names of the gods she knew.

And she finally reached home, sweating like a city dweller's sponge, furious as a wasp, on whom not only had someone sat down but also had to show her their cocoa eye. Sassassan's mother, upon seeing her prodigal daughter, became even more furious and immediately called on her father to pour some water on the wayward girl; perhaps then these childish whims would subside. The girl was initially terrified, but quickly realized that she was wielding a powerful and probably magical sword, more powerful than her father's stick or thong.

When her father entered the room, hastily donned a butcher's apron, she stood calmly, hiding the weapon behind her back.

"What do you have there, rebellious girl?" he asked with suspicious politeness, striving for poetic language, for he was trying to impress the young milkmaid who only allowed prophets to touch her.

"Hey, old man, what do you care? Hurry, I'll still make it to the forest.

" "So, are you thinking about forests now? I'll kill those bushes, and elves, and other little flowers. Maybe you'll finally help your mother instead of wandering around the wastelands and giving it to the first gamekeeper who comes along for free!

" "What, should I give it to you? Or maybe to some pimply farmer who promised you a pig? Go to the rhubarb, I don't want to listen to you anymore, I'm almost an adult and I'll decide for myself!"

Meanwhile, in another dimension, Grandma Sassandra was telling her grandchildren that in her day, the youth were well-behaved and never, ever spoke back to their elders. Meanwhile, in the young Sassandra's cottage, things were completely different. But it was Father who started it.

"You little whore, I'll give you such a slap that you won't be able to give a damn for five years!"

Her father quickly ran to the potato shed for an axe, deciding that an old leather thong wouldn't be the right tool to instruct his unruly daughter. He believed the girl was so paralyzed with fear that she wouldn't move anywhere. She wasn't paralyzed, but she still didn't want to run. For the first time, she could take revenge, and she didn't want to miss the delicious taste of revenge. She simply held the sword in front of her and began laughing maniacally, rolling her eyes. It was

the first time she'd ever held a sword, but she knew she'd use it well. She'd listened to the village storytellers' stories hundreds of times, and she knew it was best to strike with a backhanded, half-turn, or perhaps feint and slash diagonally. Then blood would flow, and that would be the end of it. As long as her younger sister didn't get in, she'd be even more offended.

Her father rushed into the room like a hurricane, raising a slightly rusty axe to strike. The Sassandra screamed for effect, then quickly ran out into the yard, dragging her sword along the ground. Naturally, her father began chasing her. The girl ran around the entire village, shrieking lowly, effectively luring people out of their houses, even though it was dinner time. If anything happened, they would know it was in self-defense. As everyone watched the unusual event, muttering under their breath words like "Have mercy on your face" and "I won't lend him another thaler," her daughter decided it was time for the finale. She fell to the ground, choking, coughing, flailing, shaking her head, and making a multitude of other gestures. A moment later, her father jumped at her, instinctively making a feeble attempt at a battle cry. The Sassandra tried to get up, but the sword became too heavy, and instead she just whimpered pitifully. Her father flashed a bloodshot eye and raised the murder weapon. The girl, without losing her composure, grabbed the sword with both hands and touched the point to her father's ample belly.

"I'll kill you if you do anything to me," she warned. She remembered this line from the story of the brave maiden in a skirt, Janna Łukowska, the half-elf who had once saved Tazmania. However, this didn't change the people's attitude toward the half-elves. It didn't change her father's attitude toward his daughter either; in fact, it intensified his fury. Blinded by bloodlust, he charged at the girl. But she was faster. She quickly plunged the sword into him, right up to the hilt. It reeked of half-digested pea soup. The girl hadn't gone to school, but she was intelligent, so she knew she'd hit him in the guts. And every other warrior in the stories said, "Being hit in the guts is the quickest and least pleasant death."

Her father groaned and grunted, then collapsed to the ground. Applause then broke out for the heroic girl, and the villagers, nodding their heads in appreciation, whispered, "Oh, she can surely go into the forest and no gamekeeper will touch her." The Sassanid woman, however, was not happy. Not that she regretted her deed. On the contrary, she was happy with all her heart, but she didn't know whether to treat her mother the same way or leave her alone. Finally, she decided on mercy; after all, the woman was too lazy to chase her all the way to Zuu anyway.

Bajdel sniffed the deck like a curious dog. He peered into every hole, already chatting with all the sailors, and even drank the famous grog, thinner than elven beer. But 3jaja couldn't afford that; he was too busy sticking his head overboard and politely feeding the fish, food already somewhat digested for their comfort. His face turned the same color as his hair. Not only was his stomach turning, but the sailors were mocking him. He preferred to trudge for weeks across snow-covered mountain peaks rather than die on board. He looked so pathetic,that the captain took pity on him and came to him accompanied by a beautiful woman.

The captain didn't look like a sea dog at all; he didn't wear a ridiculous hat, and both eyes were in the right place. There wasn't a swearing, rum-addicted parrot on his shoulder. There weren't any tattoos depicting skimpy mermaids under his thin linen shirt, either. Sure, there were distinct black lines, but 3jaja thought they were simply hair.

"Hello, sir," the sailor said politely, "I see you're not feeling well. It happens."

Suspicious, he spoke like a polite man.

"Hey, by a hundred sperm whales!" the woman boomed, "too much wine on land! That's why we give our boys such watery grog!"

With that expression, she lost her image as a decent woman, even in the undemanding eyes of the witch. No wonder the captain didn't use the word "whore," since he had its embodiment with him all the time.

"Excuse me, but could you mind your own business?" 3jaja asked politely, then immediately grimaced in disgust as he had to feed the fish again.

It wasn't easy finding a ship to Zuu in the middle of the day. Everyone was busy, or they had a nasty look in their eyes. But the Sasassan woman was lucky. She'd just encountered a very kind old man, who turned out to be the captain of a Royal Guard ship. They happened to be chasing evil pirates and expected to find them in Zuu. They agreed to accept a rather valuable sword in payment. And the girl wasn't left without a weapon; she held her father's axe under her robe. In these dangerous times, a woman must know how to defend herself.