Ivan Rasskazov
The Mysteries of the Shaman Stone

© Ivan Rasskazov, 2022

© International Writer’s Union, 2022

Dear readers!

This book gathers selected writings that allow you to get acquainted with my creative work. I will not list the contests and festivals on which some of the works from this book won prizes. I just want to briefly introduce you to them.

“The Mysteries of the Shaman Stone” is an adventure story with elements of mysticism and love drama, interesting to readers of any gender and age. It tells a story of a visit of two Muscovites very famous in the world of literature and journalism to Ugryum-River, well-known to many Russians since childhood thanks to the eponymous feature movie, with the purpose of hunting. While there, they face unusual and mystical events that are semi-present in real life of the dwellers of taiga, in this case – the local Tofalar hunter Herman, who got his name in homage to cosmonaut Titov and who accompanies his guests on their bear hunting. However, by some quirk of fate, they get into adventures so wild and unusual, that you should read about them yourself…

About the author

Creative alias: Ivan Rasskazov. Graduated from the Moscow Academy of Labor. I am married and have five children. At the same time, I am engaged in social activities and charity work. I have been repeatedly elected a deputy of the City Duma. I am disabled and a member of the Presidium of the Irkutsk regional organization of the All-Russian Society of Persons with Disabilities, as well as Member of the Moscow Office of the International Union of Writers.

During my work at different enterprises, I was awarded orders and medals for my active social work, as well as incentives – more than a hundred certificates and recognition letters.

I was awarded the Adam Mickiewicz International Medal established by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) and the International Writers Union; the diploma “For contribution to the development of modern Russian literature and the preservation of the Russian language” by the organizing committee of the “People’s poet” and “People’s writer” (Moscow, 2013) awards.

With my story “Salaspils. Kunterhof Concentration Camp” I became the finalist of the “People's Writer” award (2013). In March 2015, I was awarded the title of Laureate of the National Literary Prize – “Writer of the Year”. I am also a finalist of the People’s Writer Award (2014). For my story “Angels”, I received a huge amount of recognition and feedback, including from the head of the Foundation for Socio-Cultural Initiatives Svetlana Medvedeva. I am a laureate, finalist, and nominee of more than 17 literary awards in all.

My work has been published in the editions of the Moscow organization of the Union of Writers – the “Russian Bell” magazine, the “Russian Bell” almanac of the International Union of Writers: “From Heart to Heart”, in Russian-Swedish, Russian-Japanese and Italian-Russian collections, as well as in the following Russian collections: “Prose” (volume 9), “Writer of the Year 2013” (volume 5), “Writer of the Year 2014” (volume 8), “Russian Writers” (volume 5), “Heritage” (volume 7), the “Ribbon of St. George” almanac dedicated to the 70th anniversary of Victory in the Great Patriotic War, in the magazine “Region” which is a supplement to “Russian Newspaper”, regional magazine "Beloved Land" and local editions: “The Lena Miner”journal, “Pilgim”, the “Bodaibo Panorama” magazine, “Bodaibo – the Golden Capital of Siberia”, in the book called “City on Vitim” dedicated to the 100th anniversary of the city.

Books from the series “Tales from the Taiga” have been published. The first one: “Taiga Adventures”, the second – “The Mysteries of the Shaman Stone”, the third – “Selected Works” and the fourth: “Verses and Prose of Ivan Rasskazov”. There is also an audio CD released by the studio of the International Union of Writers and Radio Newspaper “Moscovskaya Pravda”.

I am a correspondent for the “Russian Bell” magazine, established by the Moscow City Organization of the Union of Writers of Russia. During the Maidan in Ukraine, armed with a pen, I fought with fascist writers of Ukraine on the anti-Maidan publishing site of Olesya Buzina, having released publications like “Don’t drink, lads, from the Euro slump, or you’ll turn into calves” (Nos. 1, 2, 3) and others.

In my work, I pay special attention to the fate of children and orphans with disabilities. With my stories, I try to raise as much awareness as possible about their difficult lives, to awaken in the minds of people a sense of tolerance towards those who need our care and protection.

Book one
The guardians of the Shaman stone

Dedicated to my Moscow friends – writers and journalists Alexander Gritsenko and Nikita Mitrokhin

Part I

Chapter One

The plane, having lifted off the ground, began to bite into the sky with a loud howl. I thought that the vibration and the roaring inside an old AN-24 would scare all passengers but taking a closer look, I realized: those flying with me were experienced people. Taking into consideration the fact that Irkutsk and Bodaibo are only connected by this mode of transport, I calmed down and started watching the earth moving away from us, without noticing how I fell asleep pretty soon. Suddenly, the loudspeaker that looked like it had seen a lot started reproducing the hoarse voice of the flight hostess right above my ear, heralding the imminent touchdown. This woke me up immediately and brought me to my senses. The AN-24 that must have been of my age, made a U-turn and plunked into the liquid mud of the Bodaibo airport, throwing thousands of splashes in all directions from under its belly. I crossed myself, woke up my Moscow pal Nikita who was sitting next to me and started bringing my cell phone to life. Vitim was the only thing I wanted to see as soon as possible. Ugryum River, what are you like? – I kept on thinking. I heard so much about this mysterious and Nordic river from Herman and then there was this movie with a pursuit in taiga and gold rush I saw as a child, which stirred up my interest to this river and the surrounding nature even more.

Meeting us at the airport, an old acquaintance Herman immediately offered to go with him to hunt some bear. The day before, he put a smelly bait in his hunting area destined for the predator that was walking around his winter hut and frightening people and dogs. And he was sure: the bear had already found it and we had to hurry in order to go up Vitim to get to the winter hut and meet the beast while it was still daylight. Herman was a local entrepreneur, a hunter, fisherman and a descendant of a small, vanishing ethnicity, the Tofalar, whose representatives are mainly settled in the Nizhneudinsky District and only a few of them, like Herman, were uprooted and dispersed all over our huge country. Without much delay, the three of us – me, Nikita and Herman – left the airport to go to the boat station where a “Crimea” boat was waiting for us. The three of us hopped into it and, together with two huskies Buran and Baikal, went up the river at quite a pace. You would not believe it: the higher we climbed up Vitim, the larger grew my admiration for nature around me. The soft carpet of the forest was interrupted by the ragged rock that climbed up the sky with its snow that has not yet melted on the peaks. The wild, primordial nature fascinated me with its beauty, and the same feeling that our ancestors must have felt, the ancient people who went hunting some prey without knowing what was awaiting them, was filling my chest. “If we’re lucky,” Herman said, “the Deer crossing will be behind that hill, and we’ll be able to see these beauties.” Very little time passed, and far away, right in the middle of Ugryum River, we saw a herd of seven deer swimming rapidly. The leader was swimming in front of the herd; he could be distinguished by the huge horns that struck immediately. The animals, which we took by surprise, snorted loudly with their nostrils, trying to get to the shore as soon as possible and enter their habitat, that is, Mother Nature. Meeting humans was never a good thing for the deer. We slowed down, watching these forest beauties jumping out of the water to the river bank one by one and disappearing in the woods. When the last one of them disappeared in the taiga, we accelerated and continued our journey. Suddenly we saw another deer not far away, which was swimming in a strange kind of way – slowly and in circles. Getting closer with our boat, we understood the animal’s behavior – there was a small calf swimming next to its mother and the latter, fearing for its safety, was blocking it from us. Pushing it with its face, the mother was helping it to swim faster. Herman, in order not to frighten the two, moved the boat aside, and soon the deer disappeared from my view.

Chapter two

The beginning was promising but, as it turns out, even more exciting adventures were waiting for us ahead. As a resident of Moscow, who managed to escape from the urban pile of concrete and brick, poisoned by cars and other charms of oxygen civilization, I felt as if my lungs were being filled with an invigorating and deliciously taiga-smelling river air like a balm.

Our tea-drinking a bit later on, when we landed on the shore for relaxation, only added additional minutes of bliss to my euphoria – something that you can experience by tasting tea freshly brewed from the immediately freshly picked forest herbs and berries. These latter, slightly wilted from winter frost, were like red beads hanging on small lingonberry bushes. Having had some tea and asked Herman about our one-hour-long rest, I decided to take some photos of Vitim shores while strolling along its banks.

“Where are going to, Alexander?” – Herman asked me. Upon learning of my intention to take a walk, he forced me to take a five-shooter “Saiga 12-C” with me, filling its magazine to the brim – first with two rounds of three birdshot and then another three with expanding bullets, putting a bandoleer with twenty rounds in all on my belt and explaining to me that when I see a hazel grouse or a duck, the first two shot cartridges would be enough. However, if I stumble on a bear that often catches fish on small rivers flowing into Vitim and that would not want to leave, it is better to discharge some cartridge shots in the air but if the beast attacks, I should use bullets and shoot to kill. Fearing for my safety, Herman shouted to one of the dogs named Baikal: “Go with him,” pointing at me. And Baikal joyfully rushed forward, spending our entire small journey running ahead joyfully and returning to keep up with my pace, as if checking if there was any trouble waiting for us ahead, like bear or wolves. His joyful face was telling me: we had nothing to fear. With such weapons and a dog, there was not a drop of fear – enjoying nature, I kept clicking with my camera, capturing the beauty of the surrounding nature. About thirty minutes passed unnoticed, with me moving down the river, from where we came from with our boat. I walked about one kilometer down the shore, reaching the exact point where we saw the deer calf with its mother. Then all of a sudden, Baikal rushed to the river with loud barking: never had I seen anything like it before. Several wolves were sitting on the bank, blocking a herd of deer from coming ashore. The deer stood close to each other, and the leader who was in front of the herd bravely jumped on the wolves, hitting the water with its front hooves. Barking loudly, Baikal rushed at the rear wolf and, before I knew it, I was firing my shotgun into the air. The wolves, grinning and snapping reluctantly, moved a dozen meters closer to the forest, and by the looks of it they were not going any further and were not taking me seriously. Two of them, having separated from the pack, began to distract Baikal, and my sixth sense told me: the wolves are going to attack Baikal and me. Remembering that when hungry, wolves are capable of tearing their wounded brethren apart, I shot the second cartridge at the pack from about thirty meters. I then added a bullet shot. They did not like it and threw themselves to the forest, while Baikal rushed behind. God, if anyone could hear me scream: “Baikal, come here, Baikal!” I was so scared for the dog, without which, as Herman told me, it can get really tough in the taiga, and was mentally castigating myself for getting so far. Hearing my shouts, Baikal, came back from the forest, sat beside me and started watching the herd that was still in the river Vitim. After the wolves left, the deer started jumping out of water one by one, shaking the water off their bodies and cautiously looking at us. However, for some reason unknown to me, they did not go far. It all continued until there was only one deer left in the water, which was standing at about four meters from the shore and barely changed its position. “What’s all about here?” I thought to myself and started moving slowly towards the water. As I approached, the herd receded a bit, but the animal in the water would not move. When it was about seven meters away, by its side I saw a muzzle of a deer protruding for about thirty centimeters, which it rested on his mother’s stomach, and this allowed it to breathe. The area was above one meter deep and the fawn could easily drown if it were not for its mother’s body. It seemed that the fawn had clung to something at the bottom of the river. Not knowing what to do, I decided to go to the water and to see what was going on. Seeing a gun in my hand, the animal started jerking its head in fear, but the maternal instinct was stronger than the fear of death and only the scared eyes of the female deer that had suddenly turned wet, revealed her wild fear. Leaving only my shorts on and taking a knife, I entered the water; at a distance of about one meter, I submerged my head and saw the hind feet of the fawn tangled in some kind of rope. Thank God it’s only a rope, I thought to myself, and made a dive towards the calf’s feet, cutting the rope in two swings of my knife. The water immediately turned turbulent from eight deer feet, so I hurried up to get to the shore, in order to avoid getting a hoof blow to the head or any other part of my body. Once on the shore, I had to help the small fawn one more time. One of its feet was firmly held by the rope that extended towards the water, so I had to use my knife once again. The fawn must have become so tired and cold in the water that it barely paid any attention to me. This allowed me to realize the reason of its water imprisoning: upon a closer look, I realized that the animal had actually gotten into a fishing net left by someone. “What an awkward turn of events,” I said aloud to Baikal who was sitting next to me, and immediately I heard the sound of a motorboat approaching. The deer, having seen the boat, started towards the taiga. Only the mother of the calf turned its head to stare at me several times as if expressing its gratitude for saving her child. When the boat moored, the whole herd had already disappeared from slight. “What happened to you, Sasha, why were you shooting?” Herman asked anxiously. Having told about the events that happened to me, I showed the network lying on the shore. German and Nikita, having examined the net and the deer tracks interspersed with those of the wolves, took turns in shaking my hand, congratulating me on the first hunting trophy. I haven’t even noticed how I actually got one of the wolves and, as it turned out, the shot was in the head. Herman explained: most likely, I got the leader, which was the reason for such a rapid flight of the wolves. Throwing my trophy in the "Crimea", we moved up Vitim to the winter hut, which was only about forty minutes away now. For the rest of the way, the dogs growled, grinning at a wolf wrapped in tarpaulin: it was the thousand-year-old natural instinct speaking, something that cannot be etched by any civilization. Due to all our daytime adventures, we reached the hunter’s site by four in the afternoon and my friend, the owner of the site Herman, made a decision: today we should not go to taiga to hunt a bear. We would visit banya instead, have a good rest, and tomorrow hunt the predator with renewed forces. Nikita and I began to heat the bathhouse, while Herman began to skin the wolf. In about two hours, when the bathhouse was quite hot already, we were joyfully pounding each other with birch brooms, and so I ran out to cool myself a bit in the fresh air. A few meters away, I saw the skin removed from the wolf and I really wanted to try it immediately… I just could not help it: taking the skin from the pole, I threw it directly on my naked body and, apparently, immediately lost consciousness. Waking up about ten minutes later with a wolf skin on a naked body, from which water flowed for some reason, I frantically ripped it off, threw it back on the pole and, shaking from the cold, jumped back into the bathhouse.

“Long walks, huh?” my friends said, “We have been waiting for like ten minutes, then we saw you swimming in the river, finally getting your fill of this exotic nature, and decided not to disturb.”

Chapter Three

At night I dreamed of wolves running next to me. Growling and grinning, we ran through the forest, and I was horrified to see wolf legs instead of my legs and arms, with which I deftly jumped over fallen trees and shrubs. This dream made me jump up and, apparently not fully awake, I took several steps through the winter hut until I ran into a table that was in the middle. Returning to my senses and eagerly drinking some water from the mug on the table, I could not get rid of the thought of what was a reality and what was merely a dream. At this moment, my eyes fell on my hands and my legs that were all covered in small scratches from the branches, while the palms were full of marks left by needles. What I saw almost made me faint. I need to ask Herman about all this, I thought and went to the river to wash myself. After that, there was breakfast and we left for taiga, right to the place where the bait was. As I walked, with each pass I took, my nightmare seemed more and more absurd to me, and in no time I forgot about everything. After three kilometers and having detected the smell of spoilt meat, Herman led us on a detour around the leeward side, so that the bear would not smell us. Having found the place from which the bait was clearly visible with binoculars and the rifle scope, we lay down, watching all the approaches to it, and began to wait. The bait hung on a very long branch of a huge tree, tied on a rope about three meters from the ground. Everything was done so that the predator could not get to the bait even in a jump and would walk around it until found by a hunter's bullet. Herman, giving Nikita a carbine, taking a knife and a walkie-talkie, decided to go to the bait to see if there are bear tracks. Watching him through the binoculars, I suddenly saw some movement on the side in the taiga. Peering into the bush, I felt that someone was watching us. Telling Herman about it over the walkie-talkie, again I began to observe the place where it seemed to me that: someone is there! “Well, there’s heaps of bear tracks here,” Herman replied over the walkie-talkie “I am coming back, keep your eyes open.” As soon as he began to move in our direction, some kind of animal, which was not clearly visible yet, but, judging by the outlines, it was very large, began to hurdle across from the side. The hunter felt the danger as well and asked Nikita over the walkie-talkie: as soon as the beast attacks, shoot to kill. “Why didn’t he take the rifle with him?” I only had time to think and a jarring shot form a carbine and then another one rang out next to me. I turned my head toward the place where I just saw the movement and saw a huge, supposedly five-year bear lying on its side, which was knocked down by two shots shot by Nikita right in the jump. The predator missed just a couple of meters to reach Herman, who had already begun to work with a knife, getting the very valuable and healing bile from the bear. So, while dressing the carcass, Herman discovered in its stomach the wire on which he hung the fish he had caught before to sundry it. The bear slurped it the day before, while Herman was on a fishing trip, having wreaked havoc in the cabin. “If I had some doubts before as to whether it is this bandit that paid me a visit, now I have no doubts,” he said aloud. Judging by the tracks, there is one more bear circling around in this area, a smaller one, and we still have time: we can sit in ambush for a few hours. Having made some fifty shots with the bear killed by Nikita and having made ourselves comfortable in the old place, we began eating the thick slices of lard with pickled cucumbers, drink strong tea with herbs from a vacuum flask and discuss the sudden appearance of the killed bear. For my Moscow friend Nikita, it was the first-ever trophy, and it was a bear, of all things. It was clearly visible how his eyes shone and how his chest was being filled with happiness and the opportunity to brag about it to his fellow journalists in Moscow. As for my own trophy – the skin of an enormous wolf – it was already the second day that I flaunted it, extending it and fixing it with nails over my headboard in the cabin. Suddenly, the dogs, that remained silent until that moment, began growling. The wool on the scruff of the hounds stood on end, and literally a minute later a flock of wolves jumped out and occupied the area where the killed bear lay. They began to sniff the lying animal, and one of them, lighter in color, jumped right on it and began to sniff the air around it, standing on its hind legs, apparently fearing those who killed such a formidable predator. Us, that is. When the wolves appeared, I was seized by a strange feeling of some kind of unity with them, and only with a great effort of will, restraining my inner desire to rush towards them, I resisted this act. What is going on with me? – and, without expecting it, I hit the barrel of Nikita’s rifle that was about to shoot. “No, don’t shoot,” I said and stood up right, brushing off the needles that stuck to my clothes during the long time I spent on the ground, watching the wolves run away into the taiga. Forty minutes later, loaded with bear meat, we returned to our hut. This is how another day in my life passed, away from all the benefits of civilization.

Chapter Four

At night, in a dream, I again ran with the wolves, in front of everyone and with a female wolf on my side, which was supposed to be with me for the second year already. It was that very wolf that boldly jumped on the dead bear – now I knew: it was my she-wolf. The grey girlfriend was clinging to me from the side, playing with me, she wanted to have cubs with me, we were in the middle of spring and it was time to mate. So, playing with each other, the dominant couple of the pack moved away from the rest of the wolves, and we, playing and biting each other from excitement, started making love. Once again I woke up in a sweat from the thought of making love to a wolf! Maybe I was going crazy? I need to wake Herman up. Even more so, as I had marks left by branches on my hands and legs once again, and the bottom of my stomach was aching as if it had been corrupted. I only ever felt this way after spending a whole night voluptuously making love with a girl I really liked. “What the heck is that?” I swore and started shaking the shoulder of sleeping Herman. When we drank the second cup of freshly brewed tea, Herman at first only laughed at me. But when I showed my body, palms, and feet, he suddenly seemed thoughtful. Then he asked: “Did you put on the wolf skin on the first day?” I told him everything I remembered about that unfortunate story when I was washing myself in the bathhouse.

Herman remained silent, imbued in thoughts. “I don’t know. May it is true, but there is a belief among the ancient Tofalar taiga hunters! If on the first day a naked hunter puts on the skin of a leader he just killed and bathes in the river with the skin on, he turns into a wolfman. And after that he will be the most sophisticated hunter, having acquired instincts unknown to man and, thanks to his new wolf essence, he will know the habits of all animals in the taiga.” Having told this story to me, Herman became silent and suggested that we check this assumption at night. The day passed unnoticed, full of chores and things to do. At night, after relaxing in the banya, we went to sleep. Herman and Nick, who was already aware of my dreams, tied one of my legs to the bed and took turns on a night vigil. It was already past midnight when Herman heard the barking of the dogs that were on the lash, as well as the howling of wolves not far away from the hut. Herman decided to unleash the dogs and let them inside the winter hut. When on the lash, the dogs are defenseless before wolves, and the latter would often use this opportunity to attack. While he was busy with the huskies, about five minutes passed and, upon returning to the hut, he could not believe what he just saw: there was no one on the trestle bed where Alexander slept, only a rope bitten through with sharp teeth. He took a carbine, woke Nikita, and together they went to search for Alexander. The dogs were leading them directly to the wolves and soon Nikita saw the entire pack. The wolves were running in a parallel course, the leader stood out at the front with his girlfriend, a fair-haired she-wolf, running next to him. Nikita threw up his gun and shot at the leader.

“What the heck are you doing?” Herman shouted, seizing the gun from his hands.

“Well, it was just as a warning, it was birdshot anyway,” Nick said.

“Okay, let’s go back,” Herman replied and they set off on their way back to our hunting hut. Entering the hut and seeing Sasha with his shorts, just as before, on and sleeping on his bed, he touched him and, making sure that he was alive and well, suggested that he’d gone out to relieve himself while they entered in panic and chased the wolves. Only the rope, bitten off with razor-sharp teeth was haunting his mind.

“Alright, we’ll figure it out it in the morning”, he thought and sank into a deep sleep.

Chapter Five

In the morning, when everyone gathered for tea at a table under a self-made shed, German asked Alexander how he slept. “Simply excellent, but there was this dream about wolves again, and some blood-sucking creative bit my back at night”. Saying this, Sasha turned his back on him. Choking from what they saw, Herman and Nikita exchanged glances. In several places on the back, a birdshot was visible right under the skin, apparently fired from a rifle by Nikita. They said nothing to Alexander, only processed the wounds on his back and quietly pulled out the pellets.

Part II

Sending Sasha to the river for water, Herman and Nikita began to confer, what should they do next.

“This is some mysticism! I can’t believe in your fairytales, Herman, I do dabble myself, writing fiction stories. But to think of something like this happening in my life – Alexander is a wolfman! It’s just crazy!” – Nikita said.

“What about brownies and all the other mystical stories in Moscow newspapers and on TV?” Herman objected.

“Are you kidding me? It’s just PR crap for the sake of hype,” Nikita replied. “And here we have something that just doesn’t make sense! What shall we do, Herman? You’re a local, aren’t you?”

“There is only one solution: we have to take a boat and visit shaman, he ought to know what to do in this situation. It’s better not to tell Sasha anything right now to avoid frightening him. In the meantime, we will prepare for our journey and head up Vitim. We need to cover two hundred kilometers to reach the rapids while it’s still daylight. We need to go to the Shaman Stone. According to our ancient legends, it is there that a very old and powerful shaman lives.”

“What if he’s not alive anymore?” Nick asked.

“It’s impossible. Our spirits that they converse with have always lived there, near the Shaman Stone.”

Having brought enough water and seeing my friends hastily preparing to depart, I began to help them. We were all silent and concentrated, putting in all things that could come in handy on the road. Having loaded the backpacks into the boat, we went up the river. Having nothing to do, I picked up the binoculars and started watching the shore that we departed from. Trees and shrubs standing on the banks of the river shone with bashful nakedness tens of meters deep. Spring foliage, not fully developed yet, could hardly cover their trunks. One could see some kind of animal or other interesting things in the thick of the woods. Staring at the opposite side into the binoculars, I saw a pack of wolves running along the shore. The pack was led by the she-wolf already familiar from my dreams. Sensing my gaze, she stopped and, turning its chest toward me, pierced me with her eyes as if with a dagger. A string snapped inside my heart and a lump rolled up my throat that was preventing me from breathing. Seeing the state I was in, Nikita snatched the binoculars from my hands. Having a look, he shouted:

“Wolves! Herman, wolves, about ten of them running right behind us along the shore!”

“Damn them,” – Herman said and accelerated. The forty HP Yamaha rattled heavily on the reinforced transom custom-made for the boat motor of our “Crimea”. Having calmed down and put some clothes on to make myself warm, I fell asleep without noticing. I dreamt of my girlfriend Olya, who was waiting for me in Moscow. We were lying in my Moscow apartment and she was gently kissing my back, whispering to my ear:

“My Sashenka, I love you so much!”

I felt so good and, facing her to give her a kiss, I suddenly saw the fair-haired she-wolf that was licking my back bitten, as I thought then, by gnats. Jumping up abruptly – something that you should not do in a boat with low sides – I lost balance and immediately fell into the water. Half-asleep, I was beating my arms against the surface as strongly as I could, but the heavy clothes and my gumboots were pulling me to the bottom like a stone. Already saying goodbye to life, I felt how someone forcefully pushed me from the depths, supporting me and keeping me on the surface of the river for several minutes, until my friends approached with the boat.

“You rock, Sanya!” they exclaimed and, grabbing me by the arms, dragged me into the boat.

“To the shore,” Herman ordered to Nikita and the latter, like a seasoned captain, turned the wheel and headed off to the shore. “When did he learn to drive a boat?” I thought for a second. And then I started trembling hard, enough to set the teeth on edge. On the shore, taking off all of my clothes and jumping in the wind like a hare, he began to rub himself with vodka. My friends helped me by rubbing on the back.

“Just don’t get sick, Sasha,” Herman kept on saying, rubbing so hard that it seemed that there was a wall in from of him. Having set up a tent, we climbed into our sleeping bags. We could not go any further. The wet clothes in which I swam in the Ugryum River was drying on sticks stuck between the stones. And the last rays of the sun, evaporating moisture from it, went beyond the horizon without completing their work.

“Pity that there were only twenty kilometers left, but Sasha can’t travel naked,” Herman said and we all laughed. Having tied dogs near the boat twenty meters from us, we went to sleep. It was a slight to behold: Nikita was sleeping on the edge, embracing “Saiga” gun, with Herman with a carbine and all optics removed from it so as not to knock down the sights on the other side. And there was I, in the middle of this formidable guard, unarmed and languid from the vodka I drank. After chatting and laughing at each other, we quickly surrendered to sleep. At first, I didn’t dream, then one by one the memories of childhood began to flash through and, without noticing how this happened, I was speeding again inside a wolf pack. I was feeling so excited inside and could only feel my heart pounding heavily in the chest from the intense running. “There is something missing,” I thought. “Where is my girlfriend?” Stopping abruptly and turning on the side, I felt the alluring smell of a female. There was another smell nearby – that of a big male. “Did I really get a rival?” my blood rushed furiously to my head. Having jumped out into a small clearing and seeing my female on a towering hill, covered with soft thick moss, grinning and not letting a huge, almost black, wolf come closer. Overcome by rage, I rushed at him and a deadly fight ensued. I had more chances to win: I was on my territory, and it was my flock and my female, and he was a mere migrant. All this gave me much more strength, and soon the neck of the enemy, which I squeezed with fangs with all my strength, became limp, and he fell dead. Satisfied with the victory, I calmed down and licked the she-wolf in the head playfully. She began to lick me in response. Reaching the tongue to my nose, she suddenly stopped. “What a dry and hot nose you have, you must have gotten sick,” I heard her thoughts. “Lie here, I will be back soon,” and my girlfriend disappeared in the darkness. I don’t know how much time passed but, emerging from the night as suddenly as it disappeared, the she-wolf brought in her teeth some small roots, which she placed next to me. Intuitively understanding what they served for, I began to chew these roots. “Wait a minute,” I thought to myself. “How do I know the taste?” and woke up immediately! My snoring friends were lying next to me on either side. Closing my eyes and trying to get back to sleep, I failed. Moreover, moving away from sleep and feeling the bitterness of ginseng in my mouth, I remembered a night's dream. Passing my tongue inside my mouth, I felt bits of root and wool on my teeth, apparently, from the opponent I had killed. I was scared as never before! Getting up quickly and taking the rifle from Nikita’s hands, overcome by some strange desire, I wandered in thought along the shore. All of a sudden, a she-wolf blocked by way. Throwing up a gun from surprise, I could not pull the trigger, and we looked at each other for several minutes. In her eyes, I saw myself, clad in a wolf skin. The earth started spinning and the ground started crumbling under my feet.

Waking up from Herman’s slaps on my cheeks and opening my eyes, the first thing I saw was his face.

“I said you were going to get sick, here you are, and who's running half-naked in this cold? We’ll get you back on track in half an hour.” Saying this, they stuck a Dimedrol injection mixed with Analgin in my ass cheek. Some time passed, the fever disappeared, and I started to regain clarity of mind.

“Alright, that’s it, get yourself together,” Hera said to me, holding out my stuff that had dried in the wind. An hour later, our "Crimea" was approaching the shore, where right near the water stood the Shaman Stone. It was a huge megalith that dominated the surrounding nature. It towered and radiated powerful energy.

“Do you feel the force and energy emanating from it?” I asked Nikita. He started at me and said nothing. Without waiting for the boat to land, I jumped right into the water that reached the edge of my boots. So I threw myself at the stone with all my strength, hugging it, pressing my body against it, hot from the fever that was rising again. I suddenly felt such a relief and unearthly bliss. Closing my eyes, I started talking to the stone. Or, rather, the stone, invisibly to me, began singing an ancient shamanic song to me. “I am shaman, the stone spirit, standing before the sick! More than this, I can’t do! I always do the shaman thing around the world! The animal I ride is Manchirian elk! I travel far and I travel close, doing the shaman thing! I always see the creations of Higher Lords (the stars)! I always see the Higher Lord (the sky)! Who lives the shamanism, who lives the victories – here is my wide tambourine! Tonight, until the dawn begins, there is no thing I don’t see or know! Sick or wounded, there is enough strength to some, Hold me tight, and your illness disappears.” With every word of the song, my body parted with the sickness, filling with strength and energy instead. It seemed to me that we had become one with the stone, and I could stand there for a long time just enjoying the sense of euphoria that gripped my body if Herman had not grabbed my arm and dragged me away from the stone with force!

“You can’t hold on to the stone for a long time, or you may feel bad,” he said.

“Oh, come on, you and your bogus stories again,” Nikita uttered. Then we all noticed a bird flying in a strange way, apparently with a damaged wing. Having reached the stone, the bird sat on its top and literally a minute later, flapping its wings, it flew on as if nothing had happened. Nikita, who did not believe his eyes, bent down and picked up a large black ant on the ground, which one of us stepped on. The ant was still alive and jerking its legs. Finding a small depression in the stone, he laid it there. We silently encircled the stone, watching the ant. At first, nothing happened for a minute. Suddenly the ant rolled to his feet and briskly ran along the stone, down to the ground. Mouths open, we all followed him with an amazed gaze. Then Nikita made us laugh, throwing all his things on the ground and pressing himself against the stone, hugging him like a mother. Herman also hugged the stone on the other side.

“That’s enough. The Shaman Stone can give strength and health, but can also take it from those carried away,” he said. “Let’s go find the shaman, his home must be somewhere in this area”.

Throwing our backpacks behind us, we went up the hill, following a barely noticeable pathway. After about three hundred meters, a large chum with smoke coming up appeared before our eyes. It stood in the middle of a large clearing, and there were two smaller chums next to it, where a woman with two children was cooking something on fire. Herman went to her, asked her a question in Tofalar language and then returned to us.

“The shaman went to the taiga. He’ll only return tomorrow. The woman said we can spend the night in one of the chums”.

Having made ourselves comfortable and cheerful from communication with the Shaman Stone, we ate like wolves the venison offered to us by the tofalar woman, giving her five cans of tinned meat in return, at the sight of which the woman's eyes sparkled with joy. There was no refrigerator in the taiga, and the meat spoiled quickly, so the tinned meat was a lifesaver for any woman, allowing her to prepare a quick and tasty meal for her men and children. Knowing a little about tofalars, one could assume: this often saved them from the wrath of husbands who kept a firm hand on their wives. Many families living in the taiga still have many bans on women. For example: you can’t get into a man’s saddle, touch a weapon, step over men's belongings and many other restrictions that I found weird. Having eaten a good and tasty meal, the three of us, accompanied by dogs, decided to fish grayling on a small mountain river, which expanded as it flew closer to Vitim, rolling over large boulders, from which we were going to fish. Catching about four dozens of large graylings in no time (we could hardly eat more than that, including the dogs), we began to gut the fish right on the shore for subsequent salting. An hour later, we decided to try our slightly salted fish. Nikita and Herman ate salted grayling like wolves. Me, I found the salt annoying for some reason. Grabbing blindly one of the fish left for frying in the evening and therefore unsalted, and biting off a large piece of it, I realized that I like unsalted fish more. I ate about five of them, thinking that my friends would not notice it, and started feeling thirsty.

“I think I’ll take a walk,” I said to my friends and went down to the river. There, I had to face another surprise. On the shore, some wolves were sitting as if waiting for me. Without a drop of fear and going straight into the pack, I sat on the grass. The wolves surrounded me; my nocturnal girlfriend came closest to me and laid her head on my shoulder. Closing my eyes, I heard her thoughts: “Tonight I will tell you news, and it concerns only the two of us.” As I sat there, Nikita and Herman, having followed me, were watching this scene from the bushes. Nick was clicking with the camera all the time, saying:

“If we tell someone, nobody would believe it, and the photos will be the proof. Did you see, Herman, how he ate raw fish like a true wolf?”

German said nothing and simply admired the crazy beautiful picture of the love between Man and the Wolf. The careless fall of the photographer who got hooked on a branch instantly broke off this idyll. The cursing and the crunch of branches that followed made the flock run up the valley, and after a minute they disappeared from sight. Sitting with my back on friends, I was smiling and happy from the guess that dawned on me. The night was to become a confirmation of that. So I had nothing left to do, just wait until it comes. I never wanted to give a few hours out of my life the way I wanted to now, just to bring the desired moment closer. Living in Moscow, where the work of the head of the Moscow branch of the Writers' Union made me dangle all over the country and abroad, while the catastrophic lack of time simply did not give me an opportunity to relax even for a minute – and here at the other end of our country, having arrived at the invitation of my friend and writer Herman, I simply forgot about everything, and with every minute that I passed here, my wish to go back to the fussy world created by men became smaller. To stay here forever in the bosom of Mother Nature, not ruffled by civilization, and to enjoy the surrounding wild unbridled beauty was what I now craved for more than anything. Apparently, having felt my thoughts, Herman suggested that I communicate a bit with my home via satellite phone. Before that, Nikita had been chatting on the phone for five minutes. He wanted to step aside and tell the editor about the mysterious stories that happened to us, but he changed his mind in time, imagining what he would do if he heard such things from others in Moscow. The editor will surely think that we have been drinking here until we got delirious, so it was better to come back and show everything. Reluctantly taking the heavy phone from his hands, I dialed the number of the only person dear to me – Olga. I heard her excited voice, and it stirred a feeling of tenderness in me. Realizing that I missed her, I just kept on listening to her voice so dear to me and kept silent.

“Why the silence? I need to tell you something important,” Olga asked at the other end of the line, seemingly offended.

“Olenka, dear, I’ll come back soon,” I said and hung up in fear without understanding why. The big red disk of the sun was setting behind a hill, the night was getting closer. I was lying in chum, watching this miraculous sight through a half-opened curtain and falling asleep quietly.

“Sleeping already. Will we tie him with a rope?” Nikita asked Herman.

“He must be sleeping. The damn rope is of no help, you can’t deceive nature,” he answered. “Tomorrow, the shaman will come and decide what to do with him,” Herman gave up and, turning on his side, went to sleep. In my dream, I met my she-wolf again. While swimming with her in the river and chasing each other, I suddenly heard her thoughts again. She was grateful to me for the fact that we would have cubs soon, and they would grow as brave and strong as their father. Rejoiced at this news, I rushed to race with her like mad. Having regained consciousness from Nikita shaking me, I realized that it was already morning…

Part III

Having regained consciousness from Nikita shaking my shoulder, I realized that it was already morning.

“Get up, you sack rat, wash yourself and let’s have breakfast.” Upon leaving the chum, a picture of an early sunrise appeared before my eyes. It seemed that a magic crown of light and gray clouds, like a fluffy head surrounded a huge hill, under which our camp lay. “What a beautiful sight,” I thought and immediately heard the dogs barking, and a reindeer relay jumped out of nowhere into the clearing.

“Haigu, haigu!” shouted an elderly charioteer sitting inside. In his hands he held a long flexible stick, which he used to urge the deer, directing them in one direction or another.

“Here comes the shaman,” said German who came up to me. Hearing this, a feeling of inner anxiety began to wake up in me. Sensing a clear threat to my internal state, which I was already getting used to, coming from this person, I heard the thought of running away. Overpowering myself with a huge effort, I went up to the Shaman, who was surrounded by my comrades, explaining something to him hastily. As I approached, Herman switched to Tofalar language, and I did not understand what they were talking about anymore. The Shaman was piercing me with a gaze from under the thick gray eyebrows. Sucking on a pipe, he listened to Herman, nodding his head, sometimes inserting sparse words into the conversation. I only intuitively understood: the conversation was about me and my fate; unable to stand the man’s gaze, I stepped aside. Some time passed, and we were invited to eat. Having sat down in a circle near an impromptu table made of a mat covered with a white, apparently festive tablecloth, we began our meal consisting of boiled deer meat, fried hare, steamed tortillas, which replaced bread, and some kind of homemade jam as dessert. I don’t know what berries it was made from, but it was very tasty. After rummaging in his backpack, thrifty Nikita pulled out a bottle of good whiskey. After the second shot, we all cheered up, and even the old Shaman who, at first glance, seemed very severe, became more sympathetic to me. The alcohol relieved tension, and we began to communicate more confidently with each other, not hesitating to ask questions. Without much pussyfooting, Nikita shot out to the Shaman:

“Dear Sir, explain to me what is going on here? A stone heals birds and revives insects! My friend Alexander runs at night with wolves in the taiga.” The old man, sucking on his pipe, looked with interest at the agitated Nikita. Then he pulled the pipe out of his mouth and asked him, not answering the questions asked:

“And what is going on where you live in, in a big city?”

Nikita did not understand what the Shaman was driving at. The old man, keeping it quiet for another minute, answered:

“Nothing strange happens in our taiga, except for what has been living and thriving here for thousands of years, created by nature and spirits or, as you call it, God. We do not change anything, do not destroy and use what the Spirits gave us. On the contrary, you have destroyed everything spiritual in the place you live in, built your cities of stone and glass, invented flying birds, cars, completely changing your world. You have built churches where, as you say, the main spirit that you call God, lives. And sometimes you go there to pray for forgiveness, for your sins that are much more numerous than it could ever be possible to absolve. You call all of this a civilized way of living, thinking that it is what life is about! Yes! You could call that life, but it’s an imagined life that you invented. (You can also add about corrupt prosecutors and judges here). Now, we, the children of nature and spirits, live in these faraway places, guarding one of the last sanctuaries of our spirits. If it’s gone tomorrow, our whole world will collapse into the abyss and darkness, along with your money and the evil that this fetish produces.

Having said all this, the old man became silent. His words made us all think deeply. And I was once again convinced: I should stay here in the wild, leaving the worthless, bustling, as it seemed to me now, Moscow life, where, the last time I came to the countryside or visited surrounding nature, I could not find single a drop of inspiration and sensuality, something that is so essential for writing good prose. Only one soulless blockbuster about robots and other civilizations came out from under the pen. The complete absence of nature was to blame. The dachas were all alike: bombastic brick palaces with automatic gates and a minimum of trees. One day, having visited my friend on the riverbank in order to get some literary inspiration, I saw a shore, overbuilt with moorings for yachts and boats for kilometers. It did not even have a meter-wide gap for grass and trees, just solid concrete. The voice of the old man, who started talking again unexpectedly, brought me back out of my state of reflection:

“Alexander,” Shaman talked to me all of a sudden “You are between two rivers now. You are still in the middle. But with each day, your old, fake life is being replaced by the one that you’ve found by entering into the water, putting on your pass to this new life: the skin of the wolf you killed. Our legends say: if a man, knowing what awaits him, puts on the skin of a wolf on purpose while entering the water, he no longer has a chance to return to normal life. The hunter became a wolfman forever. Not everyone could pass such a test of dual life, many went crazy. There were times when hunters simply killed themselves. But this situation has two sides: becoming a wolfman, the hunter brought several times more catch, thereby saving his family from extinction in the taiga in bad years for fishing, consciously condemning himself to suffering in return for the lives of members of its clan saved from hunger! You have a chance, Alexander, as you made this rite without knowing it. Therefore, if you ask well the spirit of the wolf, he can let you go; you only need to want it really bad. Without your will, we won’t be able to do anything. And now I want to tell you one story which will let you understand another reason the Tofalar hunters wore the skin of a wolf, the leader of a pack. AI heard part of this story from my father, and our spirits told me what he could not see and hear, and what other people couldn’t tell me. My father, the head of a very large clan, consisting of five children and many relatives, was a very famous shaman and a successful hunter who always brought home a lot of catch. He would have lived on happily and in abundance, but one day he received some people clad in military uniform. One of them, apparently the eldest, dressed in a black leather jacket, introducing himself as an enlistment officer, asked my father to help him gather as many tofalar warriors as possible to send to the front, where there was a lack of soldiers. Nobody, except my father, could do this, as male tofas were scattered over a large territory in the taiga, and only a very skilled, respected hunter could gather all of them and could know where they could be found. Having agreed to meet with him at the same place in a month, my father disappeared in the taiga for a long time. Having returned three weeks later with a bunch of deer skins, he began to erect a few more chums for an increasing number of new hunters who came up every day from the taiga. Finally, as the day agreed between my father and a man in a leather jacket was getting closer, about forty men had gathered at the camp. The enlistment officer, whose name was Ivan Pavlovich, arrived and addressed them with a speech.

“Dear hunter citizens, an enemy has attacked our Motherland! Fascist hordes ruin and burn entire cities, killing our brothers, sisters, and daughters. Our long-suffering people are being taken to Germany and driven into slavery. They spare no one, even the elderly with small children. If we do not destroy them, they will come here; they will invade your land. In this crucial moment for our Motherland, the Soviet government calls on you to defend our Motherland and help defeat the German invaders with weapons”.

This fiery speech and the newspapers these people brought with them did their job. All the tofalars who arrived enrolled in the Red Army, promising to come to the recruiting station in a week to be sent to the front. When the endiltment officer left, the most respected older hunters gathered near my father to hold the council. And then one of them remembered the ancient belief and invited everyone ready to perform this rite to do so.

“The numbers of wolves have increased, and while we fight, there will be even more of them, but everyone decides for himself,” he said. A week later, a detachment formed of tofalars was shaking in the heated goods wagon, going to the front. Dressed in the same uniform, with trimmed hair, they all looked alike. Only when it was deep night, the soldiers from other wagons heard howls at night, watching in surprise dozens of wolves running along a slowly moving locomotive. The echelon guards tried several times to shoot at them, but after a severe ban by the enlistment officer, they stopped doing this. The political instructor was the same person who came to meet with the hunters. Having formed several battalions from the Siberians of the Irkutsk region on the orders of the command, he was going with them to the front. Not understanding at first what the soldier who came to him at the stop was asking for, and then, recognizing in him the very shaman who helped him to assemble a detachment of future scout snipers, he decided to listen to him carefully.

“You know, commander,” speaking in a roundabout way and realizing that, and realizing that if he tells the truth, the communist political instructor would never believe him, my father decided to go for a trick. “Look, commander, a lot of soldiers have crosses on their chests and icons in their backpacks and nobody tries to hit the icons! Now imagine that the wolves that run after us at night are also our icons or our own kind of spirits, so please put a ban on trying to shoot them, commander. Otherwise, my soldiers (my father had sergeant insignia on the tabs) would start to get sick.

And he invited him to his wagon to take a look at the soldier who, while being a wolf, was wounded at night from a rifle. The wound was not very serious, but still he was confined to bed.

“You see, a soldier got sick, commander, because his spirit was being shot at,” my father said.

The officer shook his head and, without saying anything, went along the train. He had all kinds of freaks in his submission: Orthodox Christians, Muslims, Buryat Buddhists and now also shamans with their spirits! But according to the internal instruction, saying that political officers and commanders were not recommended to ban soldiers from worship in the war, so as not to reduce their morale, Ivan Pavlovich, seeing the head of the echelon guard, forbade shooting at wolves at night. Knowing that he was informing the secret agents about everything and to disperse any doubts, he told him:

“Captain, we have every cartridge counted, and you squander ammunition. Do wolves attack you personally or do you want to reduce the combat effectiveness of our army?” he asked.

Realizing where the enlistment officer was heading, and fearing any charges against him, the captain, up to this point pretty confident because of his ties with the Special Forces, sprang and said:

“Yes, Comrade Officer, we’ll do everything,” he said and rushed like a bullet, holding his belly, huge from stealing rations from his soldiers, while thinking to himself: the damned political instructor spoiled everything, taking away all the fun (every night this overfed, like a wild boar, security guard, taking a rifle from the watch, would shoot at the wolves running next to the steam locomotive just for amusement). And the only thing that saved the Tofalars was that he was a storekeeper before being enlisted and could not shoot at all. Having achieved cunningly what he wanted to from the enlistment officer, my father, gathering his fellow countrymen, suggested that they ask to be put in the same detachment at the front, claiming that their knowledge of the Russian language was poor.

“Otherwise, you all understand how bad it will be. We will be shot by friendly fire on the first night! And there will be no discussion! And this way, we will have twenty people who performed the rite and the same number of those who didn’t. For others, we all look alike. This will give us an opportunity to keep our secret.”

Part IV

Upon arrival, the soldiers were assigned to platoons, battalions, and regiments. My father and his comrades were lucky, as a separate platoon of sniper-scouts was created especially for them, and the commander was their old acquaintance, officer Ivan Pavlovich. Over time, he learned the Tofalar secret, keeping it until the end of the war. The ability of hunters to turn into wolves at night helped to solve seemingly impossible tasks, and at war, one must always comply with an order. You can even turn into the devil, but it must be beneficial for the command. In order to understand how the Tofalars fought, I will tell you about one case. Before the offensive, Ivan Pavlovich received an order to take the prisoner not from the front line, but from the rear, located a hundred kilometers from the front line. No one asked how he would do it, giving two days for the whole operation. The command was only interested in the result. It was just not possible for a man to walk such a distance on foot and return back unnoticed with a captured prisoner. For a wolf, though, covering the distance was a matter of maybe four hours. My father and three soldiers set off on the mission. Having turned into wolves at night, five hours later they were in the city occupied by Germans. Hiding at the road guarded by a patrol that went by every hour, they began to wait for a convenient moment to attack it. They needed weapons. There was an hour left until dawn, this time was quite enough. Among them was a wolf whose father was a shepherd, and therefore he strongly resembled a large dog, which they took advantage of. Seeing the patrol from afar, the wolf sat on the side of the road and, pressing his ears against his head and making a touching face, wagged his tail, just like a dog would.

“Look, Hans, a dog! Just like my shepherd!” one German said to another.

“Come here, I’ll give you a pat,” another German said.

The wolf, wagging its tail with increasing intensity, on half-bent paws, was getting closer and closer to them. A quick jump – and sharp fangs closed on the neck of the enemy. The second German fell next, his throat cut as if with a razor. Clutching their teeth tightly over the clothes of the dead soldiers, the wolves dragged them into the bushes about twenty meters from the road. Returning to his human form, my father praised his comrade:

“Cunning stunt, eh?” he said. Everybody smiled amicably and started waiting for the needed car. The Germans are very punctual people, so, appearing exactly five minutes later, the German driver could not drive over a huge dead dog lying on the road. All attempts to go around it on a narrow road failed, and the man, getting out of the car and wrapping up his sleeves, grabbed the animal by the hair, trying to pull him out of the way. Suddenly, the hair in his hands turned into air, and he received a strong blow to the head. The last thing he saw in his life was the terrible transformation of a dog into a man! At this moment, in the passenger compartment of the car, two scouts were rounding up a clueless German colonel. Immobilizing and gagging him, they led him to the front line through the forest. Having traveled more than half the way, they decided to have a rest in the dense woods. Having pulled a gag out of the mouth of a heavily breathing Colonel, they heard his words spoken in good Russian:

“Russians, they’ll get you. If you untie me, I guarantee your life,” said the Colonel.

“Fuck you,” – my father told him and they started waiting for the night to come. The Colonel listened, turning his head in all directions, apparently thinking that he would be found. He even tried to scream, confusing the sound of a running boar with his liberators. But, having received a good kick in the butt, he shut up! The hunters knew that a dog would never follow a wolf’s trail. The German shepherds, trained on concentration camp prisoners, cowardly pursuing their tails, refused to take a wolf track, leading their owners in a circle. As the night closed in, the scouts made drags from the trees, tied a shaking Colonel to them, and, having made two collars on each side of the belts, became wolves, got into harness and pulled the drags to the front line. With each meter, it became increasingly dangerous as, pushing themselves against the ground, they approached the neutral strip. Having almost reached a safe place, they heard the German "heil"! “What should I do now?” my father thought for an instance. And again it was their friend who saved the situation: barking, twisting his tail, and with an ingratiating face, he ran to the two Germans standing at the machine-gun post. One of them, stroking the wolf on the head, threw a stick, the wolf brought it and sat down, as if asking for rewards.

“What a smart dog,” – he said and went to the dugout shelter to get some bread. Emerging from the shed in two minutes – enough to drag the prisoner to the positions of scouts – the German saw his comrade lying with his throat cut. Screaming:

“Russians!” he rushed to the machine gun but it was too late.

The Colonel turned out to be very valuable prey for the command. All the scouts participating in the operation were awarded the Order of the Red Star, and my father – the Order of the Red Banner.

Having said this, the old Shaman fell silent and started lighting his pipe. Then he shouted something to a boy playing next to him, who in a minute brought a wooden box. The old man began to carefully take out rewards wrapped in a rag. There were more than twenty rewards in all, and all of them were combat awards.

“Yeah! These are only given for real feats of arms,” said Nikita and then asked:

“What happened to your father after that?”

“He returned from the war, he was guarded by very strong spirits. Twenty-four of his fellow hunters did not return home. But thanks to each of them, hundreds of fascists also did not return to their homeland. Now few people remember that war! But even in our taiga, we have a monument to our lost brothers. It was made by young people right at the foot of the waterfall, not far from the Shaman Stone. I will show it to you later. In the meantime, come along with me,” and, getting up from his seat, The Shaman led us to the dogs tied to the pillar. “Come closer, Alexander,” he said to me.

For some reason, I did not want to do this, but with my friends watching me, I took a few steps towards the dogs. The dogs stiffened and, sniffing the air, began to rush at me.

“And now you, come here,” he pointed at Nikita, who approached calmly and began stroking the dogs. “We don’t have that much time, Alexander, tomorrow morning will perform the rite,” said the Shaman and went to his yurt.

Part V

Already very tired by the evening, we wandered to our home. There were two hours remaining until midnight when I mentally felt that she was calling me. Grabbing a backpack and a rifle, I stealthily stepped outside and went in the direction of my girlfriend who was calling me.

“Nothing keeps me here anymore.” With these thoughts, I went to the river, where my pack was waiting for me. As if rejoicing at my decision, they clustered around me and asked me to follow. The wolves were running much faster than me, looking around from time to time to see if I was managing to keep up with them. After spending some time running this way, I saw a cave. Entering it and looking around, I began to turn into a wolf. All my brothers were nearby, and we ran to hound a deer for a future night feast. Used for centuries, the animal corral tactics were not giving wolves any results this time. And I, dividing the flock into two groups, began to drive the deer expelled from the taiga to the river, where there was nothing left for him but to jump into the water, where we got him right near the shore. Having eaten enough raw deer meat, my girlfriend ran to the cave, where she lay down and started talking to me. Her slightly rounded sides betrayed her pregnancy, the reason I felt good and calm.

“You’re not going away anymore, aren’t you?” she asked.

“No, don’t worry, I’ll stay for good now.”

“What a cool idea you came up with during hunting today. That’s human mind showing. People often take our leaders into their world; you are the first who voluntarily came to our world, abandoning the human one. Our cubs will be the smartest of all, ever. At first, the spirits did not know that you were a wolfman.

Neither did you actually know that. So they allowed me to get pregnant from you. This has never happened from others who have accepted the rite. They knew who they were, and the spirits did not allow them to give birth to a half-wolf half-human. Therefore, if a person had no children before the rite, he remained single and childless forever.

“Can a wolf turn into a man?” I asked the she-wolf.

“Yes, there are my fellow tribesmen among you, but there are very few of them. To do this, you need to kill a person, tear out and eat his heart. In your world, these creatures are called werewolves. They are very cruel killers and do not remember what they did at night. Spirits take away their memory immediately after they kill a man, so that they do not remember all our secrets and cannot use them against us. We, wolves, are guardians of spirits, the Shaman Stone and the place where they are. And if a wolf that has become a human remembers the healing properties of the stone and other secrets of spirits while being in his world, he will bring other bad people here and try to destroy our world and take away the Shaman Stone.

“But what about Nikita and German? What will the spirits do with them?” I asked her, preoccupied with the fate of my friends.

“As soon as your Moscow friend moves away from the stone for the distance of one day’s journey, he will immediately forget about everything, and Herman is one of the initiated.

Having heard so many new things, and mellow from such delicious meat, having buried my face in the soft side of my friend, I fell asleep soundly.

In the morning, Nikita and Herman, waking up and not finding Alexander, became very worried and ran to the Shaman. The old man sat in the same place and stared aloof, paying no attention to the agitated guests who entered his home. No matter how many words Nikita said to him, waving his hands, not one muscle moved on the old man's face. He was not here, he was talking to spirits.

“Let’s go,” Herman pulled Nick’s sleeve. Rapidly getting out, Nikita, ran for the satellite phone. Pulling the phone from his bag and dialing the editorial, he started explaining anxiously the whole situation to the editor. In response, the editor was saying that he could not hear him and, hell, what a shitty connection and all. Then Nick called home to parents, not telling anything bad to them in order not to disturb them, and the connection was good. Then again he tried several times to call the editor. Only now he began to realize that as soon as he tried to talk about the stone, wolves and other things happening here, the connection failed immediately. The guess that visited his brain knocked him out of his rut, and Nikita, having never felt discouraged up to this point, dropped his hands and he sat on a stone.

“They will not let us out of here alive, and Herman is one of them, he brings visitors from afar, and they turn them into wolves. Who will look for them after that!” From these thoughts, Nick's legs began to fail and the head ceased to think. “At least Sanka was turned into a wolf and me; they’ll probably just kill me for learning about their secrets.”

After these heavy thoughts, he became suspicious of everyone, including Herman. The Shaman, who approached without warning from behind, scared him to death.

“We all should go to Alexander, today is the last day when he can be brought back, so the spirits told me.”

“Didn’t they tell you where to go and to search?” Nikita asked mockingly. Turning his head, he did not see anyone. “Am I talking to myself?” he thought. Then Herman came up and said:

“The Shaman is calling. We are going to look for Sasha.”

Nikita had no choice but to go along with everyone. Taking a backpack, he dragged along behind the Shaman who was riding a deer. Herman followed in the rear. They walked for a long time, about four hours, stopping for a rest only once to drink tea. Arriving at the cave in which Alexander was supposed to be, the Shaman, having examined it, said:

“His wolf skin is not here. If he destroyed it, it’s over: we won’t be able to do anything,” he said, lighting his pipe and singing a song in Tofalar language. Suddenly, he ceased signing:

“It was the she-wolf who hid the skin,” he uttered and started climbing up the slope in a swift manner that contrasted with his age. Putting his hand into a crevice, he pulled the skin into the light.

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