With
the translucent blue stone amulet between her
fingers, she couldn’t focus on the presentation document about
Choros-Gurkin. She had always felt a connection with him, despite
living in different eras. Choros was the Altai indigenous creator who
interpreted his own world, and she aspired to resemble him.
Could that amulet be a knot of fate?
The stone had witnessed the passage of light, centuries, and
mountains. It was a bridge between the visible and the invisible, a
receiver of the breath of a spirit—an awakened object that only a
shaman could interpret.
She let it fall onto the table, but its force clung to her fingers
like a magnet.
Looking around, the sunlight streaming through the library’s
large windows cast long shadows on the wooden floorboards with black
knots. The rays seemed to show the ephemerality of existence,
appearing and disappearing between collapsing clouds.
In Choros-Gurkin’s logic—and that of the Altai world—the
amulet preserved magic as a stone preserves the cold of the mountain:
it didn’t create it, it only kept it.
What stories would it want to tell?
Wrapped in that transient magic, she stood and stepped
onto the street. The cold air burned lightly in her nostrils and made
her skin tingle.
The vision of the Russian captain in front of the library struck
her like a sudden blow. She rubbed her eyes. When she opened them
again, he was gone.
Was she losing her mind? Strange things were happening in her
head. A tingling in her fingers reminded her that the amulet was
still alive in her hands.
The stone stirred a slight discomfort, pushing her to change
plans. She reached into her coat pocket for the napkin with the phone
number. Her pulse raced; each beat made the napkin vibrate like a
tiny drum.
Straightening what was crooked as if by a spell, her first attempt
to discard the paper failed. Now she slid it between her fingers,
removing invisible obstacles that kept it hidden.
The street noise pressed around her. She wanted to spot the
captain among the crowd. She chased countless silhouettes. Nothing.
She felt trapped by a will not her own. Why can’t I just
move freely? A knot of tension tightened her stomach.
—Damn Russian captain! —she muttered—. He has
condemned me and left me with a strange omen.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
"When the path opens, you can no longer pretend you
didn’t see it."
She needed to return to her village, Kalmanka. She had to discover
what had happened to Altynai Arsenova and her father, Mihail
Strogarev.
Her mother had always told her that the true power of shamans, who
spoke with the Dukh-G?kh—blue celestial spirits—was
to attract humans peacefully into their Tyngyr-Kh?l. These
ceremonial nets, made of fibers, bone, horsehair, and small metal
discs, kept people from falling into the abyss and being forgotten.
That same attraction led her to her phone.
It vibrated, then rang. Her heart leapt; warmth surged through her
chest. The number was saved in her phone—it was from the university
administration.
Her heart raced. I have to answer this.
—Hello, this is Professor Arsenova. How can I help
you?
—This is Valentina, your assistant —said
the familiar voice.
—Ah, Valentina —Ksenia’s calm
returned.
—I didn’t want to bother you. Professor
Lyudmila Sidorova said you were busy, but…
—Don’t
worry —Ksenia cut in, voice slightly trembling—. I can take
care of this. What is it?
—You won’t believe it!
—Tell
me, Valentina.
—Your captain has returned. He is in
front of the door, waiting the same way.
—Thank you
for letting me know.
—You’re welcome.
—Can
you tell him to wait? I’m coming right now.
—Of
course, don’t worry.
She ended the call abruptly and ran to the main avenue, raising
her hand to hail a taxi. Her feet pounded the asphalt. Breath came
short and ragged.
A wave of panic hit her. Lunchtime traffic had eased, but taxis
were scarce. She looked left and right. Nothing.
At last, an old white Lada appeared like a miracle. She waved
frantically. The driver understood. She gave the university’s
address and prayed it would be fast.
She closed her eyes. Lungs filled with ancient air, centuries of
wind from the Altai mountains coursing through her.
Her breath became a living current, lifting her, propelling her
forward. Strength, freedom, urgency merged.
Heart and air synchronized. Each inhalation smelled of stone,
grass, and sky; each exhalation shed the fear anchoring her to the
ground. She felt weightless, as if her feet could brush the clouds.
She became a hawk—guardian between sky and
earth, observer unseen, never doubting the wind. Instinct guided her.
Currents and chance propelled her above doubts and obstacles. Her
flight was pure: neither force nor haste, only trust in the air and
herself.
Imaginary wingbeats traced circles over the city, seeking the
safest, most direct path. Streets, squares, rooftops became an
invisible map for the keen-eyed. To be a hawk was to see urgency and
beauty together, fragility and strength entwined.
The taxi stopped. She barely paused to pay, then dashed through
the university gardens. She turned toward the Institute. Empty.
Emptiness hollowed her chest; a shiver ran down her spine.
Valentina watched from the reception window as Ksenia arrived in a
rush and froze.
Ksenia rushed down the stairs and found her in the garden, broken.
—Where is the captain? Has he left? —she asked,
trembling.
—He said he couldn’t wait long.
—It
can’t be! —Ksenia’s throat tightened—.
—He
left his phone number. He said it’s urgent.
A sudden wind swept the garden. Ksenia looked up.
A hawk soared above the building, wings spread
wide like an omen. Its talons glinted in the sunlight. It seemed to
stare directly at her, as if it knew her next move would decide
everything.
Ksenia’s heart flipped.
She could feel it—there was no escaping what was coming…
