The old harridan could lead me by the nose. If she hadn't wanted me to, I wouldn't have noticed the book I'd accidentally stolen until I got home. She would have had a perfect right to complain to the Watches about the theft of a valuable 'wonder'.
When I left the house, I saw the night was already pitch-black. And I had at least two or three hours of staggering through the forest ahead of me.
But the moment I stepped down from the porch, a ghostly blue light appeared in the air ahead of me. I sighed and looked back at the little house, with electric light glowing brightly in its windows. Arina hadn't come out to show me the way – but the blue light danced invitingly in the air.
I followed it.
Five minutes later I heard the lazy yapping of dogs.
And just ten minutes after that, I reached the outskirts of the village.
The most annoying thing about it all was that not once in all that time did I sense the slightest trace of magic.
CHAPTER 4
THE CAR IN the barn had been returned to its former appearance. But I didn't dare get into the driving seat to check how the diesel engine had survived its long ordeal at the hands of the farm mechanics. I walked quietly through into the house and listened – my mother-in-law was already asleep in her room, but there was the faint glow of a night light in ours.
I opened the door and went in.
'Did everything go all right?' Svetlana asked. The way she asked, it was hardly even a question. She could sense everything perfectly well without words.
'Pretty much,' I said and nodded. I looked at Nadiushka's little bed – our daughter was fast asleep. 'I didn't find the werewolves. But I had a talk with the witch.'
'Tell me about it,' said Svetlana. She was sitting on the bed in her nightdress, with a thick book lying beside her – The Moomintrolls. Either she'd been reading to Nadya, who would listen to anything as she was falling asleep, even a list of building materials, as long as it was read by her mother. Or she'd decided to relax in bed herself with a good book.
I took my shoes off, got undressed and lay down beside her. And started telling her everything.
Svetlana frowned a few times. And smiled a few times. But when I repeated the witch's words about my wife putting a spell on me, she was genuinely upset.
'I never did!' she exclaimed in a trembling voice. 'Ask Gesar . . . He can see all my spells . . . I never even thought about doing anything of the sort!'
'I know,' I reassured her. 'The witch admitted it was a lie.'
'Actually . . . I did think about it,' Svetlana said suddenly, with a laugh. 'You can't help thinking things . . . but it was just a silly idea, nothing serious. When Olga and I were talking about men, a long time ago . . .'
'Do you miss the Watch?' I couldn't help asking.
'Yes,' Svetlana admitted. 'But let's not talk about that . . .Well done, Anton! You got to the third level of the Twilight?'
I nodded.
'First-grade power . . .' Svetlana said uncertainly.
'No, I know my limits,' I objected. 'Second. Honest second grade. That's my ceiling. Let's not talk about that either, okay?'
'All right, let's talk about the witch,' Svetlana said with a smile. 'So she went into hibernation? I've heard of that, but it's still very rare. You could write an article about it.'
'Who for? A newspaper? Arguments and Facts? A witch has been discovered who slept for sixty years in the forest outside Moscow?'
'For the Night Watch information bulletin,' Svetlana suggested. 'Anyway, we really ought to put out our own newspaper. It would have to be a different text for normal people . . . anything you like. Something narrowly specialised. The Russian Aquarium Herald, say. How to breed cyclids and set up an aquarium with flowing water in your apartment.'
'How do you know about things like that?' I asked in amazement, and then stopped short. I remembered that her first husband, whom I'd never even seen, was a big fan of aquariums.
'I just happened to remember,' Svetlana said, frowning. 'But any Other, even a pretty feeble one, has to be able to see the real text.'
'I've already thought of the first headline,' I said.
We both smiled.
'Show me that "artefact",' Svetlana said.
I reached across to my clothes and took out the comb, wrapped in a handkerchief.
'I can't see any magic in it,' I admitted.
Svetlana held the comb in her hands for a while.
'Well?' I asked. 'What should we do? Throw it over one shoulder, then wait for a forest to spring up?'
'You're not supposed to see anything,' said Svetlana, smiling. 'And it's not a matter of power, the witch was just making fun of you. Maybe even Gesar wouldn't see anything . . . it's not for men.'
She raised the comb to her hair and began combing it smoothly and gently. She said casually:
'Just imagine . . . it's summer, hot, you're tired, you didn't sleep last night, you've been working all day . . . But you've just had a swim in cool water, someone's given you a massage, you've had a good meal and a glass of fine wine. And now you're feeling much better . . .'
'It improves the mood?' I guessed. 'Counters fatigue?'
'Exclusively for women,' Svetlana replied. 'It's old, at least three hundred years old. It must have been a present from some powerful magician to a woman he loved. Perhaps even a human woman . . .'
She looked at me and her eyes were glowing. She said in a soft voice:
'And it's supposed to make a woman attractive. Irresistible. Alluring. Does it work?'
I looked at her for a second – then glanced at the night light and put it out.
Svetlana herself erected the magic canopy that deadens all sound.
I woke up early in the morning, before five. But to my amazement, I felt perfectly fresh – just like some woman who owns a magic comb and has combed her hair to her heart's content. I was in the mood for great deeds. And a good solid breakfast.
I didn't wake anyone, just rummaged about in the kitchen, broke a couple of pieces off a long loaf of bread and found a small plastic bag of sliced salami. I filled a large mug with home-made kvass and took everything outside.
It was light already, but the village was quiet and still. There was no one hurrying to the morning milking – the cowsheds had stood empty for five years already. No one was hurrying anywhere at all . . .
I sighed and sat down on the grass under the apple tree that had stopped bearing fruit a very, very long time ago. I ate the huge sandwich and drank the kvass. And to complete my comfort, I got the book Fuaran from the room – by magic, through the window. I was hoping my mother-in-law was asleep and wouldn't notice the levitating volume.
As I ate my second sandwich, I became increasingly engrossed in reading.
It was truly fascinating!
At the time the book was written, they didn't have any of those clever little words like 'genes' and 'mutations' and other bits of biological wisdom that we try to use nowadays to explain the nature of Others. So the team of witches who worked on the book – there were five of them, but only their first names were given – had used terms like 'affinity for sorcery' and 'change of nature'. One of the authors listed was Arina, some-thing the witch had modestly failed to mention the day before.
First of all the learned witches discussed at length the very nature of the Others. Their conclusion was that the 'affinity for sorcery' existed inside every human. The level of this 'affinity' was different for everyone. As a reference point one could take the natural degree of magic dispersed throughout the world. If a person's 'affinity' was higher than the average global level, then he or she would be a perfectly ordinary human being. He or she wouldn't be able to enter the Twilight, and would only occasionally feel anything strange, as a result of fluctuations in the natural level of magic. But if a person's 'affinity' was less intense than that of the surrounding world, he or she would be able to make use of the Twilight.
It all sounded pretty strange. I'd always thought of
Others as individuals with strongly developed magical abilities. But the point of view expressed here was the exact opposite of that.
In fact, the following amusing comparison was used as an example: say the temperature throughout the entire world is thirty-six point five degrees. Then most people with a body temperature higher than that will radiate heat outwards and 'warm up nature'. But the small number of people who have a body temperature lower than thirty-six point five will start absorbing heat. And since they receive a constant influx of power, they will be able to make use of it, while people with far warmer temperatures carry on aimlessly 'heating nature'.
An interesting theory. I'd read several other attempts to explain how we came to be different from ordinary people. But I'd never come across one like this. There was something almost offensive about it.
But what difference did it make? The result was still the same. There were people, and there were Others . . .
I carried on reading.
The second chapter was devoted to the differences between 'magicians and enchantresses' and 'witches and wizards'. Back then, apparently, they didn't use the term 'wizard' for Dark Magicians, but only for 'witches of the male sex' – Others who habitually make use of artefacts. It was an interesting article, and I got the feeling it had been written by Arina herself. Essentially it all came down to the fact that there was no real difference. An enchantress operated directly with the Twilight, pumping power out of it to perform certain magical actions. A witch first created certain 'charms' that accumulated Twilight power and were capable of working independently for a long time. Enchantresses and magicians had the advantage of not needing any contrivances – no staffs or rings, books or amulets. Witches and wizards had the advantage that, once they had created a successful artefact, they could use it to accumulate immense reserves of power, which it would be very difficult to draw out of the Twilight instantaneously. The conclusion was obvious, and Arina expressed it in so many words: a rational magician would never despise artefacts, and an intelligent wizard would try to learn to work with the Twilight directly. In the author's opinion, 'in a hundred years' time we shall see that even the greatest and most arrogant magicians will not disdain the use of amulets, and even the most orthodox of witches will not regard it as detrimental to enter the Twilight'.
Well, that prediction had come true to the very letter. Most of the Night Watch staff were magicians. But we made regular use of artefacts . . .
I went into the kitchen, made myself another couple of sandwiches and poured myself some kvass. I looked at the clock – six in the morning. Dogs had begun barking somewhere, but the village still hadn't woken up.
The third chapter dealt with the numerous attempts made by Others to turn a human being into an Other (as a rule, Others had been motivated by love or greed) and attempts by human beings who had learned the truth in one way or another to become Others.
There was a detailed analysis of the story of Gilles de Retz, Joan of Arc's sword-bearer. Joan was a very weak Dark Other, 'a witch of the seventh rank', which, by the way, did not prevent her from performing deeds that were, for the most part, noble. Joan's death was described in very vague terms, there was even a hint that she might have averted the inquisitors' eyes and escaped from her pyre. I decided that was pretty doubtful: Joan had violated the Treaty by using her magic to interfere in human affairs, so our Inquisition would have been keeping an eye on her execution too. There was no way you could avert their eyes . . . But the story of that poor devil Gilles de Retz was described in much greater detail. Either out of love or sheer scatterbrain foolishness, Joan told him all about the nature of the Others. And the young knight, so famous for his noble courage and chivalry, totally lost it. He decided that magical Power could be taken from ordinary people – young, healthy people. All you had to do was torture them, become a cannibal and appeal to the Dark powers for help . . . In effect, the man decided to become a Dark Other. And he tortured several hundred women and children to death, for which (as well as the offence of not paying his taxes), he was eventually burned at the stake too.
It was clear from the text that even the witches didn't approve of that kind of behaviour. There were scathing attacks on the blabbermouth Joan and unflattering epithets applied to her crazy sword-bearer. The conclusion was presented in dry, academic terms – there was no way to use the 'affinity for sorcery' possessed by ordinary people to transform anyone into an Other. After all, an Other was distinguished, not by an elevated level of this 'affinity' that the bloodthirsty Gilles de Retz, in his foolishnness, had tried to increase, but by a lower level. And so all of his murderous experiments had only made him more and more human . . .
It sounded rather convincing. I scratched the back of my head. So . . . it turned out that I was far less gifted for magic than the hopeless alcoholic Kolya? And only thanks to that lack of ability was I able to make use of the Twilight? Well, try to figure that out.
And Svetlana, it turned out, had an even lower level of 'affinity'?
And theoretically Nadiushka had no gift for magic at all? And that was why the power simply flooded into her the way it did – here, take it and use it?
Oh, those witches, they were really smart!
The next chapter discussed whether it was possible to raise the level of Power in nature, so that a larger number of people would become Others. The conclusion was disappointing – it wasn't possible. After all, Power was not only used by Others, who in principle could refrain from magical actions temporarily. Power was also gleefully consumed by blue moss, the only plant known to live at the first level of the Twilight. If there was more Power, the twilight moss would grow more abundantly . . . And there might be other consumers of Power at the deeper levels of the Twilight . . . So the level of Power was a constant – I laughed out loud at finding that word in the archaic book.
All this was followed by the actual story of the book Fuaran. The title was derived from the name of an ancient eastern witch who wanted desperately to turn her daughter into an Other. The witch experimented for a long time – first she went down the same path as Gilles de Retz, then she realised her mistake and began trying to increase the level of Power in nature. In fact, she followed every false trail, and eventually realised that she needed to 'reduce her daughter's affinity for sorcery'. According to the rumours, her attempts to do this were recorded in Fuaran. The situation was complicated by the fact that in those times the nature of the 'affinity' was unknown – but then it wasn't known at the time this book was written either, and the situation still hadn't changed today. Nonetheless, through a process of trial and error, the witch succeeded in turning her daughter into an Other!
Unfortunately for the witch, a great discovery like that attracted the interest of every single Other. Back then there was no Treaty, no Watches and no Inquisition, and so everyone who heard rumours of the miracle made a dash to get their hands on the formula. For a while Fuaran and her daughter managed to beat off the attacks – apparently the already mighty witch had not only turned her daughter into a powerful Other, but also increased her own grade of power. The aggrieved Others banded together into an army of magicians, with no division between Dark Ones and Light Ones, struck all together and wiped out the family of witches in a terrible battle. In her final hour Fuaran fought desperately for her life – she even transformed her human servants into Others . . . but although they acquired power, they were too disoriented and unskilled. One of the servants turned out to be cleverer than the others, and didn't hang around, but just grabbed the book and ran. By the time the victorious magicians realised that the witch's 'laboratory notes' had disappeared (essentially that was all Fuaran was, lab notes), the fugitive's tracks were already cold. The fruitless search for the book went on for a long time. Occasionally someone would claim that he had met the runaway servant, who had become a rather powerful Other, and that they had seen the book and looked through it. Counterfeit books also appeared, some of them produced by crazy followers of the wi
tch, some by Other swindlers. All the cases were thoroughly analysed and documented in the book.