Children of Light and Gloom

“Julitta, haven’t you finished?” Ares impatiently asked.

“Almost. Last stroke remains.”

Julitta moved aside. The white bird feather in her hands was smeared with the bile of a wild boar.

“In your opinion, does it look like something?” Methodius asked Julitta, contemplating the complex figure on the floor.

“Don’t barge in! They criticise the experiments when the rats fail!” Julitta snapped.

Daph stepped into the rune first, after her Methodius with the sword of The Ancient One hanging from his belt, and finally Ares in a breastplate and helmet. He nodded to Julitta, and his secretary, squatting down, traced the last line with the feather, completing the rune.

The edges of the rune flared up. The outlines of Julitta, standing outside, gradually became transparent.

“Success!” She shouted.

Methodius also wanted to shout something for farewell, but Julitta clearly could not hear him. All around everything had suddenly changed. He understood that he was standing on white sand. Directly in front of him spread an enormous plain. It was so flat that it seemed convex. The sloping horizon especially emphasized this. The sun stuck precisely to the thoroughly roasted sky. A little further ledges and cliffs, resembling the ridges on a dragon’s back, jutted out in the body of the plains.

“Further on foot. It doesn’t make sense to start with this place from our rune. Artefacts only protect small magic. Do you see those cliffs? There Middle Earth begins,” said Ares.

“And where is this geographically?” Methodius asked.

“Geographically? Forget this word. This place is not on moronoid maps. Besides, the Garden of Eden and Hades are also not marked on the globe. Which in no way prevents them from existing,” Ares said and, not looking at Methodius and Daph, quickly went ahead.

For long, for very long they went along a rock spiral between the cliffs. In a few places were islets of brownish earth with stunted saplings. The sun recklessly burned the sand. The sky seemed inverted and wrong. Something in the place was such that it gave birth in Methodius the sensation of falsity, which happens from time to time when you look at a bad film or wander among movie sets. Instead of a house, there is only the front wall, and the door of the saloon leads nowhere. These sets were completely natural — live trees, crumbled cliffs...

However, the sensation of unreality, irregularity now overtook Methodius nevertheless. It swept over him, it flooded him. He perceived himself as a spider running on the bottom of a jar, and someone powerful and unrecognizable was looking at him from above. They were exactly on an enormous surveying area, perfect, carried out to the last detail, that it appeared too real, and therefore was only false...

Here is a small dried up little lake, and here nearby — is it not true, very appropriate? — is an old tree with a crooked stem. In a desert wilted and scanty owing to scorching heat... Well, simply in the best traditions! Everything was to the point, very to the point, so to the point that Methodius finally understood: Middle Earth was a creation as ancient as the Temple of Eternal Skip.

“Yes,” said Ares, reading his thoughts. “Middle Earth — it’s a part of the Temple. They don’t exist separately.”

The Baron of Gloom was going at a huge pace, vigilantly looking around along the sides and as if having forgotten his satellites. He did not even remove the helmet or the red-hot breastplate. The blazing sun seemingly did not exist for him. Daph also appeared fresh and trained. Methodius managed with difficulty behind her swift light step and now and then changed to a ridiculous jog trot. Once after this jog trot, allowing him not to lag behind, he noticed how Ares and Daph exchanged understanding, mocking glances, and, getting angry at himself, he overtook Ares.

In a few places, small pangolins were caught in stone cracks. By the cliff, Methodius saw a dragon skeleton whitened by centuries. A large vulture with a naked neck was resting on the skull. Depressiac jumped off Daph’s shoulder and, arching its back, decisively made its way to the vulture. The vulture waited quietly. After closing in by about seven steps, Depressiac turned sideways, screwed up its eyes, and began to approach slowly. At the same time, he persistently looked not at the vulture but only to the side, as if thinking of making a fool of the stupid bird. The vulture straightened its wings and with its heavy beak made a quick fencing movement in space, as if also in no way connected with the approaching Depressiac. Both were playing the same game: the cat — that it was simply passing by, the vulture — that it did not notice the cat.

“I place a gold ingot on the vulture,” said Ares.

“And I on Depressiac... I place Eddy Khavron’s weights and seven forks from his restaurant!” Methodius said, after deciding to support Daph.

“Don’t hope that I’ll let my cat be mauled! He’s already all covered in scars at home! Everyone beats him up, only he, poor baby, offends no one!” Daph declared unhappily.

She reached for the flute — Methodius hardly had time to notice this quick motion — and drove off the vulture with an aimed maglody. The vulture unwillingly jumped off the dragon skull, took a running start and took off with difficulty.

“Strange thing... I thought flight magic is blocked here,” Ares mumbled, squinting without enthusiasm at Daph’s flute and rubbing his ear with a finger.

“Possibly the vulture, like my cat, flies without magic...” remarked Daph.

Ares nodded, agreeing with her assumption. Depressiac was going to stick with the vulture, but it remained and, after flying around the nearest cliff, returned to Daph’s shoulder.

“Again the poor little devil was allowed to kill no one, and happiness was so possible!” Methodius beat around the bush.

“You understand nothing! My cat is very vulnerable!” Daph was offended.

“Yes indeed, vulnerable... Face-to-face with a machine gun...” Methodius was more specific.

And again the cliffs stretched on. An hour passed, another, a third... Time was compressed into oily formless clumps. Methodius could no longer look at the blazing breastplate of Ares without getting a sharp pain in the eyes. He hardly felt the steps, but each step gave out a low disgusting rumble to his ears. When everything had already quite merged before his eyes and he was ready to collapse onto the sand, something changed. The cliffs gave way. The rabid sun at once weakened its heat, as if an unknown director had given a sign to the illuminator.

Immense marble columns shot up to the sky. They were so enormous, as if they were propping up the dome of the sky. Ares, seeing the columns several instants earlier, abruptly stopped, as if his chest met an invisible obstacle. Daphne, following behind Ares, missed the moment to stop and poked her nose into his back. Depressiac fell down from her shoulder and coolly started to lick a rear paw. It alone remained indifferent to what was now before them.

Ares carefully, as if listening to his feelings, took several steps forward. Then a couple of steps back. He stopped and sat down heavily on a rock, placing the helmet beside him.

“Further you will go alone. Something told me to stay. Must admit, earlier I also suspected something similar,” he said.

“It’s an order? Are they ordering you to stay?” Daphne asked.

Ares smiled:

“No. It’s only a wish. Such a small, modest wish of the ancients. But it’s a wish with more power than any order. Alas... no choice!”

“And us?”

“I’ll wait for you here. You must approach the Temple, pass through the labyrinth, and bring what you will find in the far room... Methodius, remember, you only step on the first stone if and only if you feel that you can and should do it. Not earlier and not later. Wait for your insight. The labyrinth itself will prompt you, if... if you’re fated to...”

***

They again went on — now already two without Ares. They walked silently. The columns slowly got nearer, they were almost crawling. Now and then it began to seem to Methodius that they were not crawling towards but away, obeying not the laws of physics but internal inspiration. It was almost entirely dark when they finally found themselves next to the columns. Daphne touched the outer column with a palm.

“Strange... It’s not cold, not warm, but like it’s pulsating,” she said.

“Don’t! Touch nothing!” Methodius exclaimed. He approached the high marble threshold and stopped.

Depressiac made several stealthy steps and stopped beside Methodius’ leg. Its nostrils greedily pulled in air. Daphne began to worry that the cat would jump over the threshold and find itself inside the labyrinth, but no... Depressiac clearly sensed something. Something that was hidden for the time being from Daph and even Methodius.

Daph also approached the threshold. She saw many identical flagstones — black and white, beaming weakly in the dusk and alternating as in chess. The size of each stone was approximately two-three steps. Some were trembling slightly, others were immobile. The carpet of stones was shimmering, flowing — it seemed unsteady and not too real. It reminded Daph of something like a quagmire, on top of which someone had cautiously placed thin sheets of paper or fragile black and white ice floes. On the other side of the labyrinth — Daph would have difficulty determining the exact distance — a slightly open door was visible. There was no one and nothing. Silence.

“I don’t like all this. Ah, don’t like it!” Daph inhaled.

Methodius kept silent, casting glances along the sides with a vacant look. Daphne even did not know whether he was thinking about the labyrinth or something else.

“Time yet?” She asked in a little while.

“No,” said Methodius.

He looked at the shimmering, trembling stones. They were shuddering, reshuffling like cards in front of his eyes, and all the time it seemed to him that there was some system in their instantaneous flashing.

Yet he recalled what Ares had told him about intuition — which should suddenly awake in him. However, intuition so far had not. There was no inspiration. He experienced only fatigue. He could not imagine to himself what could turn out to be there behind the door, and why it was so important for both Light and Gloom to get it.

He looked at the sun — or what substituted for the sun in this strange, simultaneously real and invented world. It was already almost set. Now in its place there was only a reddish sphere falling beyond the horizon. From the other direction — a little obliquely — a pale and languid moon crept out. Methodius unconsciously attempted to move it with his eyes as he once moved the lunar reflection, but the moon mockingly remained on the spot.

Methodius again got up to the threshold, on which Depressiac was already lying. The cat’s tail only noticeably trembled. An attentive eye was looking in the direction of the labyrinth.

Daphne, bored, took out the flute and tried to play something on it — something completely inoffensive. However, here — in the labyrinth itself — maglody did not sound. Not a single note could be wrenched out of the flute. Moreover, Daph perceived a weak smell of heated metal. The copper strip encircling the flute suddenly became red-hot and attempted to burn the wood. It was a delicate hint that it was not worthwhile to use magic here or the consequences could be painful.

“Well, no need!” Daphne said and indignantly hid the flute in the knapsack.

Recalling about intuitive sight, Methodius shut his eyes tight, visualized the bandage and attempted to open in the gloom that tiniest bit of light on purpose. Internal sight obeyed easily and willingly. With such readiness that Methodius perceived also falsity. However, nothing changed in the labyrinth nevertheless. With closed eyes, he saw the same as with open.

“Certainly, and what did I expect? As if everything would be so simple... Intuitive sight exists in each guard,” he thought.

The Moon rose higher. Methodius involuntarily glanced at it and... discovered suddenly that the moon had become brighter, whiter, filled with blinding light... Next to the moon, three stars were arranged in a zigzag — one large and two on the sides like guards. Again, Methodius understood that he was absorbing this light, drinking it greedily like fresh milk. Daph, accidentally glancing at Methodius, simply froze. She clearly saw two pulsating threads connecting his pupils with the disk of the moon. And also three delicate threads — threads of the stars — sliding towards his temples.

Daph hid, afraid to frighten off the lunar magic. A minute or two passed this way. Then something happened in the sky. The distance between the stars changed, the moon passed the critical point and... everything faded, perished, disappeared... But even before the lunar paths grew dim, Methodius felt such fullness of power, which he never had. He was gorged, sated, literally hiccupped with the energy satiety.

The bio-vampire cat Depressiac rushed over intending to rub against his leg, but immediately began to spark and flopped onto the stones in a state of extreme ecstasy, resembling an overdose of valerian drops. Still not quite understanding what was happening to them, Methodius took a step to the threshold and glanced at the flagstones.

Something had changed. The majority of the stones had dimmed; at the same time, the remaining ones formed a path. What was a chaos of flickering spots earlier now had become a trail. Whimsical, illuminated, continually turning back and again courageously and obstinately rushing forward. Sometimes on the trail something changed, something flared up brighter, something went out, something paled. Where the trail lay earlier suddenly a black seething nothing appeared, the way to the distant door began to lie in a totally different place. The labyrinth was unpredictable and constantly changing. It was hastily sewn together. It was, after all, a living thread.

Space expanded upward, broadened. Buslaev suddenly saw the past, the present, and what could happen in the near future. Hundreds of different fates, hundred of ways — very short, simply short, or even long, in each of which was its finale... The possibilities branched out and Methodius thought that to know everything — this was all the same as knowing nothing. The absolute truth in the arbitrariness of everything and of every kinds of truth.

“Do you see anything?” Controlling himself, Methodius asked Daph.

“Why yes,” answered Daph, surprised.

“What do you see? A path?”

“Of course not... Simply flagstones...” She said.

“The same as before?”

“Mmm... Well, yes...”

Methodius again turned to the threshold. “You will take a step only if you will be able to,” he again heard the voice of Ares and understood that he already could. There was no time to lose. Who knew how long this strange lunar gift would remain in him, whether it would...

“Let’s go!” He said to Daph. “Only take steps after me... On the same stone. No deviation — even the slightest. And one more thing... Don’t linger! If a stone suddenly goes out when you’re on one and I’m on another...”

“Then we’ll never meet?” Daph quickly asked.

“Exactly,” said Methodius. He did not want to say that Daphne would simply cease to exist.

Daph touched the nose of Depressiac with a finger.

“You are to remain here!” She ordered. Depressiac meowed and turned its back.

Methodius stepped on the threshold, again glanced at the silvered stones, tried just in case to memorize at least a dozen of the first — further everything had already become entangled and was bouncing — and... took the first step... It seemed to him that he was torn away from a tower into an icy sea and was now flying down. The instant that his foot passed in the air descending onto the stone seemed infinite, and extended to centuries and centuries. The stone made a deep champing sound, went down and... stopped.

Methodius felt how a wave swept over his body, from the brain to the sole. The labyrinth studied him, and in any instant was ready to close the file titled “Methodius Buslaev” calmly and without any emotions.

And — it did not close it.

Daph took a step after him.

The return path was cut off. Depressiac saw them off without any special regret.

***

Step... Step... Step... And each was seemingly the last. The stones shuddered under their feet and imperceptibly sunk into nothing. Methodius clearly sensed the vague push repeated twice. When he stepped and when Daph stepped. Her steps were lighter, more subtle. She moved lightly and gracefully, exactly like a cat. Not surprising that Depressiac, now purring outside, willingly acknowledged her as mistress.

Methodius’ heart sank before each new step... Is he correct, is he making a mistake... The sensation was like that of a person going through a minefield. A stone, a stone, another stone. Methodius simply did not understand whether there existed a system in the interchange of the stones or whether it was worthwhile to search for a system precisely in the unsystematic whimsicality in which the flagstones were arranged.

Sometimes they were joined in a straight line, sometimes diagonally, sometimes — fortunately infrequently — it was necessary to make a risky leap, which was especially complicated. Not even the leap itself, but that Daph immediately jumped after him, which could accidentally throw him off the marble square or she herself could fly off. But somewhere inside, passion was living in his heart... He liked the labyrinth, the risk, the feeling of how the next stone shuddered, obediently accepting his foot. His confidence in himself was growing little by little. Met no longer bit his lip nor involuntarily closed his eyes when stepping onto a new stone.

His feeling of the labyrinth grew with each instant. He and the labyrinth gradually became a single entity, they merged, fused together. They had the same eyes, same ears, united circulatory system and flesh. Methodius saw and knew everything that the labyrinth knew. The labyrinth saw and knew everything that was known to Methodius. Good or bad — it was so. The secrets and the obstacles that existed between them had disappeared.

Methodius looked intently at the adjacent dark slab and saw on it a small rune. Its meaning was unclear to him, but at that moment, he suddenly grasped that the rune was not simply a picture. The rune was an image, an idea, the impression of a dream. There was no need to look at the rune — like the need to look inside a well.

“It’s a flagstone of fire! Here are quite a few of them...” he said.

“Why is it a flagstone of fire?” Daph thought. She thought, but did not say it aloud.

Something alien persistently and momentarily flickered in her consciousness. Brown, supple... A short cry — and a bog, which accepted something that became nothing. A freed eidos swiftly launched itself as a bluish spark high into the air.

“Yes, ashes... Ashes and dust!” Methodius said, turning away.

“What, did you read my thought? Stop!” Daph was annoyed.

Methodius shrugged his shoulders:

“Excuse me... Later perhaps I won’t, but now...”

“Now it comes by itself?”

“Something like that...”

“And that one, another normal flagstone?”

Methodius again glanced into the abyss opened before him.

“No. This is the stone of old mistakes... It’s worse than the fiery one. You recall at once all your mistakes, the most bitter, the most humiliating moments of your life, amplified a hundred times... and you die from the pain, which cannot be removed... and here this stone, across from the slightly dented one, is the stone of transformations... You change into the animal closest to you in spirit, rapture grips you, you forget about everything, you rush about without thinking, and... your life comes to an abrupt end on some other stone. The magic action of the stone of transformation does not weaken a bit.”

“And that, the adjacent one?”

Methodius squatted down, looking intently.

“Hm... Honestly speaking, I didn’t understand what this sign means... Something indistinct. This slab... likely... is the stone of insane sluggishness, cowardice... You hesitate, you procrastinate, afraid to make decisions, you miss opportunities, sluggishness simply paralyses you... You stand still on the spot, and after a certain time the stone collapses... Together with you. And even in the collapse you doubt whether you have stepped correctly or not.”

“Something painfully philosophical!” Daph said, examining the carpet of flagstones, which seemed to her, in contrast to Methodius, quite monotonous. For him each stone was special.

“Aha... Then over there — ah yes, you can’t see the mark! — the stone of nice surprises. It eternally begins to creates something for whoever steps on it: hatchways without covers, pickpockets, falling down on a level place, burning a hand, squeezing a finger, not sitting in the right railroad car, breaking a leg, drinking vinegar... Here, of course, everything accelerates and there is no vinegar, but the finale is clear...”

Methodius looked around in the other direction:

“And here is another stone of fire... here are a heap of them... A stone of hunger... Frost... Diseases... Laziness...”

“Why this laziness? Is it really dangerous?”

“Regarding laziness... In the case of this laziness, we would simply crawl on the stone like amoebae. Sluggish, flabby, going to seed. We would talk lazily, look to the sides, think... But the third stone, if we count from this here, is the stone of treachery! You almost pushed me onto it!”

“And what would happen?”

Methodius squinted:

“Really not clear? Last time on this stone two brothers stuck daggers into each other, but earlier they were like hand and glove. They never parted for a minute.”

“But what if one steps on it? In the sense, if someone went alone?”

“Don’t know... Not visible... although... It was also this way... once... then the person simply betrayed himself, his hopes and aspirations, and it was even worse. Vile and repulsive like nothing else. He became so sick that he took a step onto the adjacent stone of fire and ceased to exist... Only the ashes remained. But it was also better this way, because at least the pain disappeared.”

“Well, let’s go... Where did you want to begin? Here?” Daph hurried. She did not like the laid-back and perceptive state of Methodius at all.

“Stop!” Methodius suddenly shouted. Her raised foot froze above the stone that she was going to step onto and she brought it back. This stone definitely emitted the silvery safe radiance, but... simultaneously there was something not quite right. Some dirty trick, glitch of the rhythm...

“Yes, I’m stopping, I’m stopping... Already no one is hurrying anywhere!” Daphne muttered, not understanding a single thing.

Methodius waited, staring intently at the stone. He himself did not know what made him do this. Five minutes, ten... Daph moved from foot to foot, feeling like a standing donkey.

“Are you saying that this is that stone! Or you’re already having doubts?”

“No, I don’t doubt. That is it.”

“So what are you waiting for?”

“Don’t interfere!!!”

Daph stared at Methodius with alarm. She had not yet heard this intonation in him. “Well now! Already ordering me! And who? Almost a moronoid! True, not entirely, but nevertheless!” She thought.

Methodius continued to wait, not understanding what for. Suddenly the solid and definite outlines of the stone trembled and floated somewhere. “And what if I was mistaken?” Methodius said to himself and immediately, not turning it over in his mind, took the step.

The stone trembled, went down and... held. Existence was not shattered. Methodius felt nothing except a light tingling. Daph hurried after him.

“The stone of patience. It kills the hasty,” explained Methodius.

And again they went along the lit up path, trying not to look at how many still remained. Suddenly Methodius understood that the flickering trail came to an abrupt end a step before the slightly open door. In front there was only one flagstone — one step, one white square, but could this step be taken? Where neither time nor space existed, a stone could turn out to be deeper than the entire universe. And to become the last, as if the entire way before never was.

Methodius looked narrowly at the stone. With both external and internal sight. It was useless. The stone remained impenetrable. But it was obviously the one — only this wide stone exactly joining the threshold could lead to the door. His unity with the labyrinth had not disappeared, no, but the labyrinth was definitely hiding something from him. It was insidious and sly.

“You see nothing?” Daphne asked with uneasiness.

“No, nothing...”

“Do you think it’s a trap?”

“How would I know?”

“But if it’s not a trap, then why hide it from you?”

“They can have their reasons,” remarked Methodius.

“But we can stand here infinitely. Until the remaining way fades. And we’ll remain here — one step from success, on the threshold of success.”

“Or failure.”

“But indeed we cannot go around the stone? Or jump? See, there simply cannot be another step... The door is exactly the width of this one step!”

“I know...” Methodius cut her short.

Daph capriciously looked sideways at him.

“Do you know everything or are you only arguing with me?” She insinuatingly asked.

“I’m only arguing with you,” said Methodius and understood that this was almost the truth.

He took a deep breath and... made the step. He was not confident that it was wise, and... so it turned out to be. Although that notion about wisdom is relative, you rarely think at the moment when it fails.

Methodius saw how, when his foot just touched the stone, a person took a step from it towards him. This was a longhaired boy — agile, quick, with rather insolent eyes. In the short instant before the truth dawned on him who this could be, the boy sharply slapped him in the face with one hand, and stretched the other to the handle of the sword. Everything became double in Methodius’ eyes, sparks began to jump. He understood that he was fighting with himself. With this second terrible “I”, with this part of him, which was absolutely real as it also appeared to him.

Defending himself, Methodius gripped his enemy by the hand and pushed him away. The boy again briefly slapped him without swinging and, insolently looking at him with his terrible bulging eyes, seized the hilt. Met understood excellently what he wanted — to take possession of the sword of The Ancient One and drive it into his chest. If their physical strength were nearly equal, then by force of spirit and fury the enemy exceeded the real Methodius considerably. “Strength is nothing, spirit is everything,” flickered in some stale memory, but a very wise slogan...

Methodius made up his mind and, recalling the lessons of Eddy Khavron, attempted to land a fist onto the jaw of this second “I”. But the longhair managed to duck and, grabbing hold of Methodius, brought him down off his feet. Methodius already remembered nothing more. Everything was as in a fog. It seemed they rolled somewhere and then everything suddenly darkened before his eyes.

Daph, stepping onto the stone after Methodius, understood nothing. She did not see the double, but only saw that Methodius, having strangely turned pale, moved back. One of his hands tried to pull out the sword and the other — the left, weaker, tried to prevent it, clinging to the right with nails. Yet after a moment, Met fell onto the stone and started to roll along it, dangerously approaching the edge of the stone. Twice he nearly rolled into nothing, and twice he succeeded in rolling away. It seemed to Daphne that a strange madness had taken possession of Methodius. His teeth bit his lips with hatred, as if the lips belonged to someone else.

Daph attempted to hold him, but Methodius was much stronger. Hardly realizing what he was doing, he brought Daph down off her feet and together with her rolled to the edge of the stone.

Daph yelled. Now there was no way out left for her. Afraid there was no time, with strange internal clarity and knowledge of what she was doing, she tore the lace with the wings off herself and threw it around the neck of Methodius. The bronze wings shook. The flute compassionately and sadly jumped in the knapsack.

Methodius came to, with a short push he swam out of non-existence. He was lying on the edge of the stone, touching its edge clearly outlined. The hand, with which he was clutching the hilt of the sword, unclenched. It was slippery with sweat. Daph, managing to get up, looked at him with horror.

Methodius discovered around his neck the lace with the wings.

“Why is this?” He asked mechanically. At the given moment, he was unable to be surprised — too tired.

“The wings possess sobering and damping magic... Are you okay? Give them back!” Daph said, decisively taking her own talisman from Methodius.

Methodius noticed that she was in a very bad mood.

“What’s with you?”

“Nothing! Leave me alone!” Daph growled.

“Kiddo, be more careful with the wings! A guard of Light who puts the lace with her wings around the neck of a mortal will fall in love with this person and will love him eternally,” Daphne recalled the words of Retired Fairy.

Certainly, they said that the old woman had outlived her mind, but...

“Brrr!” Daph calmed herself. “Let’s examine this! Will I really fall in love with him now? With this smug, cheeky individual with a chipped tooth? Ha and again ha! Stupid prophecy!”

But in her soul there was alarm nevertheless.

“This was the last stone! We have arrived!” She suddenly heard the voice of Methodius.

He pushed the door with his hand. The door, creaking, opened. Methodius entered the far room of the Temple. It turned out to be unexpectedly small, tight, in no way tallied with the immensity of the labyrinth. The ceiling was so low that, it seemed, he could touch it with his hand.

Methodius stopped. In him emerged the sensation that he would never leave here at all. That this place was already well known to him before pain, before bedsores, as if he only did things his entire life so that he would enter this room and would not rush out of it. He stood before the lead sarcophagus with ancient signs imprinted on it — the sarcophagus from his old nightmare. He looked at the sarcophagus and felt how there, inside, in the sarcophagus, something had woken up, obeying his look. Something having neither form nor essence nor its own will, but not knowing barriers of force.

***

The lead of the sarcophagus was tarnished, with small impregnations of something foreign. Where his look rested, Methodius noticed drips of lead. The sarcophagus was melting.

“What’s inside there?” Daph asked in a whisper.

The strange and casual expression of Methodius’ face disturbed her not a bit less than the sarcophagus itself. It was as if he was no longer with her. His consciousness, freed from the labyrinth, now almost merged with what was inside the sarcophagus. With what had been waiting for him for long millennia.

“What’s there, Met?”

“Don’t know,” Methodius responded as in a dream.

“You know! You must know, otherwise the sarcophagus would not call you!” Daph confidently said.

“There... there’s something... I know nothing about it, I only feel it!”

“What, you don’t even know if it’s alive or not?”

“No. It’s neither a corpse nor alive... Neither good nor evil, neither curious nor indifferent. It’s not even from another world or another dimension. It was always here on Middle Earth, and now and then — very long ago — it even came down into our world.”

“Why did the ancients imprison it here?”

“They... they were afraid.”

“Afraid of it?”

“Afraid of it and for it. They wanted it to be found and feared this... Everything is complicated, undefined. They worshipped it for long millennia and — never once used it. They were very wise and were afraid to come running to it, because it’s particularly dangerous in combination with wisdom.”

“So tell me about this something! WHAT IS THIS?”

Methodius answered after a long pause. It was complicated for him to clarify himself but he understood the end.

“It’s... omnipotence, equal to gods. Something, not having a shape or its own will. A single omnipotence, almightiness, deprived of all other shades and unadulterated... I don’t know how to explain plainly. It can be everything but it wants nothing.”

“How can this be? How can it not have a will? This is omnipotence?” Daph doubted.

Buslaev shrugged his shoulders:

“If we think about it, it can only be so. Omnipotence is precisely omnipotence because it can be everything but wants nothing. It’s formless, like an ocean. It has only one desire — to become a part of someone and serve him, amusing itself with the idea that it, omnipotence, would finally obtain its ‘I’. And then, possibly after long years, to leave him and again return here, to the Temple. But if and only if the host himself wants this, because it has no will of its own.”

“And now it wants to become a part of you?” Daphne asked.

“Yes... Or no. But, more ‘yes’ nevertheless. Such a weak ‘yes’,” after thinking, Methodius said.

“Weak? You don’t understand that for someone not having a will at all and unable to say ‘yes’, such a weak ‘yes’ is a monstrously strong ‘yes’,” muttered Daph.

Now lead tears no longer simply ran down along the sarcophagus. They were flowing like a stream. But strangely — the sarcophagus did not melt, although under it on the stones a whole puddle of lead had already accumulated. Only in one place, on the side along its centre, an opening of an exact circular shape, something similar to a hole for an ancient key, suddenly came to light in the sarcophagus.

Daphne became uneasy. She suddenly recalled her mission. She must not allow Methodius to obtain what could serve Gloom. “And what if...” the thought flickered in her.

“And would it come to me?” Daph asked, after deciding to make use of that same strange, keen-casual state of Methodius.

The boy turned to her. His pupils emitted deathly moonlight.

“No. It doesn’t need you. And it would not go to you. It needs something else from you. Your horn. The horn of cold. Only it will be able to cool the sarcophagus,” he said tonelessly, as if someone else was speaking in his voice.

“I won’t give it the horn!”

“Nothing depends on you any longer. The road of the horn ends here. This artefact will never leave here...” said Methodius and imperiously stretched out his hand with palm up, as Ares did sometimes.

Daph sensed how the horn of the Minotaur was rushing forward against her will. She tried to hold on to it, but it only burned her with the cold. Daph understood that if she did not let go of the horn, she would be pulled into the incandescent womb of the sarcophagus after it.

No, the horn of the Minotaur was not an artefact of Light. It had been using her from the very first moment when she saw it in the depository of the House of the Highest Light. The horn needed her only to deliver it here, into the far room of the Temple.

Daph unclenched her hand, having yielded. The horn slid into the circular opening on the side of the sarcophagus, scorching and weeping lead, and entered there almost completely. No, it did not turn — this was a key of a different kind. Cold waves went in different directions from the horn. It melted like an icicle, and, melting, returned its cold to the sarcophagus.

“Now... do it now!” Daphne said, not understanding why she said this and whether it was her voice.

Methodius stretched out his hand and touched the sarcophagus. Only a short, almost elusive contact was required of him. The cold and the heat burnt his fingers, and then the omnipotence living in the sarcophagus simply entered him.

Daph, tensely looking at Methodius, discovered no special changes in him. It was entirely the same Methodius... or was it?

“Do you feel anything? Anything special?” She asked.

Methodius kept silent for a long time, listening to himself, groping for words.

“No. Not so far. It would be keeping a low profile and watching. Or the time for its complete awakening simply hasn’t arrived yet. But I know that we must get out of here. Nothing more for us to do here.”

Methodius walked calmly back through the labyrinth, with wide steps, not thinking about the stones and not looking narrowly at the lunar path. He perceived suddenly that the labyrinth, having given up its secret, was no longer fearful to him.

***

When they went outside, the Temple of Eternal Skip no longer seemed so enormous to them. True, they also almost did not look around. Soon the sharp-sighted Daphne saw someone’s silhouette in front. They walked closer and recognized Ares. Blood caked on his cheek. Next to Ares Ligul the hunchback was sitting on the ground and shaking his head. On Ligul’s forehead was the noticeable trace of a hit by the flat of a sword. The hunchback’s armour appeared pretty beaten up.

Ares looked with a sombre smile at the approaching Daph.

“Certainly now they’ll try to ask me: ‘What happened here?’ This rather stupid little question is literally printed on the forehead of our Light mademoiselle with black feathers on her wings. Isn’t it so?” The swordsman asked.

“Yes,” nodded Daphne. To deny was obviously more foolish than admitting it.

“So, I’ll explain,” Ares said mockingly. “It turns out we were not alone here. To keep me company nicely are my friend Ligul and... the friend of my friend Yaraat. As real friends, they decided to give me a surprise and did not warn me about their arrival. They sneaked up. In order to scratch my back with a dagger. However, my aunt Intuition called me in time on the internal telephone. After a brief exchange of opinions, Yaraat prudently concealed himself. I would like to know which of the artefacts he used. As souvenirs, Yaraat left the sabre tooth tiger bite and his friend Ligul, who fell in celebration and gave himself a bump. Isn’t it so, friend Ligul?”

The hunchback, sitting with arms across his chest, sniffed angrily.

“Your irony is incomprehensible to me, Ares. To kill you was not in our plans. It was necessary for us only to ensure that what Methodius brought out would reach Gloom,” he said.

“I understood it too, when you both jumped me and started tenderly, as in the first meeting, to probe my breastplate and darx cord with your irons. As for Yaraat — I hope the paths of our life will still cross. And it will be the last crossing of one of the paths,” politely said Ares.

“So, that means Ligul let Yaraat out?” Methodius asked.

“Yes. As I understand it, he needed Yaraat to influence Troil remotely. He possesses some kind of capability for remote zombification,” remarked Ares.

“He turned Troil into a zombie?” Daph asked with suspicion.

“No. Troil was way over his head. But they got the better of his secretary Berenarii’s defence and turned the poor wretch into a zombie. And Berenarii, in turn, delivered to Troil a little ring, known in tight circles of the very broad magical community as the ring of suppression of will. For sure, talking with you, Troil was looking continually at the ring. Such indeed is the characteristics of this artefact — it suppresses the will of whoever looks at it. No one is able to look away for long.”

“But what did they do all this for?”

“These cheaters, I must assume, needed the horn of the Minotaur. And a messenger, who would deliver it. The messenger, it goes without saying, was you, Daph. However, Berenarii and Yaraat had not considered that Troil is not a fool. In spite of the ring, he preserved enough common sense to understand that there was an attempt to manipulate him. True, excessive gentleness ruined him. He did not immediately undertake any measures but waited. And then nothing was left for Berenarii except delivering to him that box with Typhon’s scales. And at the same time also your feather, Daph... I hope that Troil will survive nevertheless, although I’m not sentimental by a wide margin. Simply the poor wretch Troil is not the worst that Gloom can wish for itself.”

“But how about Mamzelkina? Well, that someone must perish and she would record with a pencil?”

“As I understand it, there was no record at all. The old lady attempted to help us, but very originally, in her own touching manner. To warn us about Ligul and Yaraat, while at the same time remaining within the framework... mm... of professional ethics, perhaps...” said Ares.

Methodius felt that Ligul the hunchback had already been looking at him with greediness for several minutes, as if he was striving to grasp something but could not. He examined the face, the eyes, the empty hands. He examined and did not understand.

“What did the boy carry out from the labyrinth? Take me, Light, but where is it — what I’ve lived for all these years?” He asked finally.

Daphne squatted down near the hunchback. He was not even offensive to her. She did not feel hatred for him. To her he was... like a large black shiny beetle, which crawled along drying manure.

“Methodius obtained omnipotence there. Absolute force, not having any shade. A force, deprived of its own will, form, desire. A force — complicated to take away and even more complicated to subordinate. Now everything will depend on what road he’ll choose. Will it be the path of Gloom or the path of Light...” she said to Ligul.

The hunchback licked his lips, thinking it over in a hurry.

“I can make to the young person a very interesting and advantageous proposal! A proposal that cannot be refused!” He briskly said.

Ares burst out laughing with his terrible resonant laughter:

“Take a good look at him, hunchback! I know you, you’re not a fool, though you play the role now and then. Took a good attentive look at the boy... And now take it away if you are able to. Be more bold: neither I nor Daph will interfere with you. Take it away, what are you waiting for?”

The hunchback’s furious eyes drilled into Methodius. This lasted a long time, a very long time. Finally, Ligul looked away.

“No, you cannot take this away. This has already become a part of him. Cannot steal this, or lure this away. Even finishing him off, we’ll win nothing,” he hissed unhappily.

“Certainly. Interesting that you understood this only now,” said Ares.

“And you know that it enrages me! That this entire force depends on one tiny, negligible eidos!” Ligul said quietly but with threat.

The swordsman Ares took a step towards Methodius and suddenly, obeying an internal impulse, got down on one knee.

“Remember what I’ll say to you, boy-moronoid. Yesterday’s moronoid, but nevertheless... You have not yet mastered this force living in you, have not tamed it... There is still much in prospect for you to understand and much to live through before the force that came to you will actually become your force. But this will happen sooner or later, I know. A long winding road is in front of you, but you will come to us, sovereign of Gloom, and you will place the last dot in the existence of this reckless world!” He said.

“Or you will open a new page, sovereign of Light!” Daphne said in a whisper to Methodius.

Glossary

Absalom: In the Bible, he is the third and favourite son of David, but he revolted and was killed in battle.

Achilles: The most handsome and the quickest of the Greek heroes assembled for the Trojan War. Legend states that the only vulnerable part of his body was his heel, and an arrow shot to this heel killed him. The term “Achilles’ heel” or “Achilles tendon” has come to mean a person’s weakness point.

Aleutian god: The Aleuts are the native inhabitants of the Aleutian Islands and West Alaska. Before the arrival of Russian explorers in 1741 and the subsequent introduction of Christianity, the traditional Aleutian beliefs were animism and shamanism, the entire environment was alive with deities demanding appeasement.

Apollo Belvedere: This is a marble sculpture of Apollo, in Greek mythology the god of the sun, the arts, and manly beauty. It was installed in 1511 in the Cortile del Belvedere in Rome, hence the name Apollo Belvedere. It was considered the greatest ancient sculpture and for centuries epitomized Western ideals of aesthetic perfection.

Ares: In Greek mythology, the Olympian god of savage war, bloodlust and slaughter personified.

Artefactology: The study of artefacts.

Aryan: Originally, the word originally referred to ancient peoples that inhabited parts of modern-day Iran, Afghanistan, and India, but its meaning started to change in the 18^th century, and nowadays it refers to the blond-haired blue-eyed physical ideal of Nazi Germany.

Astral: Astral can mean something related to stars; or the astral body, a second body that accompanies an individual through life, able to leave the physical body at will, and survives the individual after death of the physical body.

Bald Mountain: According to Slavic legends, a place where witches and other paranormal creatures gather for the Sabbath.

Bast sandals: Sandals woven from bast, the inner fibrous bark of linden or birch tree, they are the not very durable traditional footwear of Eastern European peasants.

Belladonna: A poisonous herb, also called deadly nightshade.

Blok: Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok (1880-1921), Symbolist poet, considered the greatest Russian poet after Pushkin (see Pushkin).

Bolkonsky, Andrei: Prince Andrei Bolkonsky from War and Peace (1865-69) by Count L.N. Tolstoy (1828-1910).

Bread and salt: A welcome greeting ceremony of the Slavs — a round loaf of bread on an embroidered towel with a holder with salt sitting on top of the bread is presented to important guests. It signifies hospitality and friendship of the host.

Buslaev: In the Novgorod cycle of byliny — heroic poems, epics — Vasilii (Vaska) Buslaev was a brave young folk hero of unlimited boldness.

Buyan: In Slavic mythology, Buyan is an island far away at the end of the world. Concentrated on the island are all the might of spring thunderstorms, all the mythological personifications of thunder, wind, and storm. The stone Alatyr, the centre of magical coordinates of the world, can be found here. On this island are also the Dawn maiden and the thunder god Perun. This island appears in The Tale of Tsar Saltan (1831), a fairy-tale poem by Pushkin. (See Pushkin.) The merchants have to pass this island to get to the realm of Tsar Saltan.

Candidate of science: The equivalent of an assistant professor.

Cerberus: The three-headed hellhound in Greek mythology, an offspring of Echidna (see Echidna) and Typhon (see Typhon), guarded the gates of Hades and ensured that the spirits of the dead could enter but not leave.

Cedars of Lebanon: A species of cedar native to the mountains of the Mediterranean regions, the tree is important to various civilizations for both religious and civil uses.

Chakra: In Hinduism, a spiritual energy centre of the human body; there are seven of them.

Charon: A special cup used for an alcoholic mare’s milk beverage in Sakha (Yakutia).

Cherchez La Femme: A French phrase, literally translates as “look for the woman” expressing the idea that behind a problem there is a woman. It simply means to look for the root of a problem.

Chernomorov, Sardanapal: The wicked sorcerer in Ruslan and Ludmilla (1820), a fairy-tale poem by Pushkin (see Pushkin), is named Chernomor. In The Tale of Tsar Saltan (1831), another of Pushkin’s fairy-tale poems, Chernomor is the leader of thirty-three knights from the sea. Chernomorov can mean “of the Chernomors.”

Sardanapal is the Greek name for Assurbanipal, the last great king of ancient Assyria. During his reign, 668-627 BC, Assyria was known for both military power and cultural splendour.

Chimera: In Greek mythology, a fire-breathing female monster made up of parts of multiple animals, an offspring of Echidna (see Echidna) and Typhon (see Typhon). The sighting of Chimera was an omen of natural disaster.

Chocolate “Downty”: A chocolate that can fry one’s brain, jokingly called the “sweets of paradise.”

Crimean Bridge: One of the bridges over the Moscow River.

Dali, Salvador: Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domènech (1904-89), Spanish surrealist painter best known for striking and bizarre images in his works.

Danish kingdom: A reference to the Shakespearean play Hamlet.

Darx: A small silvery icicle-like personal ornament for keeping captured eide (see Eide). Each guard of Gloom has his own darx, which he guards with his life.

Davout: Louis-Nicolas d’Aout (1770-1823), Marshal of France during the Napoleonic era; known as the “Iron Marshal” for being a stern disciplinarian, and the only Napoleonic Marshal to be undefeated in battle.

Demosthenes: (384-322 BC), prominent Greek statesman and orator of ancient Athens, acclaimed as “the perfect orator, the standard of oratory.”

Descartes: René Descartes (1596-1650), highly influential French philosopher and mathematician.

Desdemon: A reference to Desdemona, a tragic character in the Shakespearean play Othello.

Diathetic: A predisposition of the body to disease.

Doctor Ziggy: Sigmund Freud (1856-1939), Austrian neurologist and psychiatrist who founded the psychoanalytic school of psychology. Ziggy is an affectionate term for Sigmund.

Dot, dot, comma, turned out a crooked kisser: The first two lines of a popular children song by Yu.Ch. Kim (1936-), Russian bard and playwright.

Double bottom: A chart pattern used in technical analysis of the price of a stock, it looks like the letter W. The twice-touched low is considered the support level indicating the up/down trend of the market.

Dragonball: The favourite sport of magicians, involving 2 teams of 10 players and a live “goal” — a dragon — for each team. These “goals” are capable of swallowing players. The aim is to throw the balls — flame-extinguisher, stun, pepper, sneeze, and immobilize — into the mouth of the opposition’s dragon.

Echidna: The mother of all monsters in Greek mythology, an offspring of Gaia — Mother Earth — and Tartarus (see Tartarus), mate of Typhon (see Typhon), with the face and torso of a beautiful woman and the body of a serpent.

Eide: Plural of eidos.

Eidos: In Greek philosophy, an eidos is the immutable genuine nature of a thing, an abstract universe, the essence. In anthropology, it is the distinctive expression of the intellectual character of a culture. In the current story, it is what is generally termed the soul.

Ekril: A-krill; krill is the collection of shrimp-like planktonic crustaceans, from the Norwegian word for small fry.

Etna: Mount Etna in Italy, the largest active volcano in Europe.

Everything was in disorder in the Oblonsky home: A line from Anna Karenina (1873-77) by Count L.N. Tolstoy (1828-1910).

Evil spirits:Slavic mythology is full of evil or unclean spirits, or petty demons, presiding over different things, e.g., domovoi — male house-spirit, kikimora — female hobgoblin, also female house-spirit, leshii — wood-goblin, ovinnik — barn-spirit, vodonoi — male water sprite, rusalka — mermaid or female water sprite, to name a few. They often play tricks on humans.

Fifth dimension: A hypothetical dimension beyond the three spatial dimensions and the fourth temporal one.

Gargoyle: A gargoyle is a spout in the form of a grotesque carving on the outside of a building to direct water away from the roof. As an architectural feature, it has been known since before the times of the ancient Greeks, but became very popular in Medieval and Victorian ages and took on its role of a building’s protector to scare off evil spirits. In contemporary myth, a gargoyle is depicted as a winged creature with demonic features and only comes alive at night after everyone is asleep.

Gehenna: From Hebrew ge bene Hinnom — the valley of the sons of Hinnom, where, according to the Bible, children were sacrificed to the deity Moloch. The word represents a place of torment and suffering — hell.

Genie: In Middle Eastern mythology, a genie is any spirit less than a god. It is a creature with free will, made of smokeless fire. Genies are invisible to humans but they can see humans, are beings much like humans possessing the ability to be good or evil, and have communities much like human societies. They are controllable by magically binding them to objects.

Gerasim: See Mumu.

Gnome: Technically, there is no such thing as British gnomes, only elves or fairies – supernatural and invisible magical folks, usually in human form.

Golden mean: In philosophy, this is the desirable middle ground between two extremes.

Gorgonova, Medusa: In Greek mythology Medusa is one of the gorgons — vicious female monsters with hair of living, venomous snakes, who turn to stone anyone who looks at their faces. Using his shield as a mirror, Perseus managed to chop off Medusa’s head.

Great Tooth: A play on word on the name Dentistikha — Zuboderikha in the original Russian text, zuboder being the Russian word for dentist. Her nickname is “the Great Zubi,” zub being the Russian for tooth.

Griffin: A mythical beast found depicted in ancient Babylonian, Assyrian, and Persian paintings and sculptures, having the head and wings of an eagle and the lower body of a lion. Griffins were supposedly guardians of the gold mines of ancient Scythia. Their eyesight was clear and sharp and they were also known for their swiftness.

Hades: In Greek mythology, the name for both the abode of the dead and the god of the abode.

Heracles: In Greek mythology, the greatest of heroes, a paragon of masculinity, and the ancestor of royal clans, also known as Hercules in Rome and the modern West.

Herostratus: According to legend, in 356 B.C. Herostratus (also Erostratus, Herostartos, or Erostratos) burned down the Temple of Artemis in Ephesus in order to get his 15 minutes of fame in history. The Ephesians forbad his name to be mentioned, but the law defeated its own purpose.

House of fashion named after me: In Russia, institutions bearing the name of famous people usually have the format “…named after…” For example, the “Moscow Tchaikovsky Conservatory” has the full name “Moscow State Conservatory named after P.I. Tchaikovsky” in Russian.

House-spirit: In Slavic mythology, a house-spirit is closely connected to the well-being of the house he resides in. The health of the residents and livestock depends on his relation with the people. He either looks like the master of the house or a little old man with a white beard. A house-spirit can also take the form of a cat, dog, cow, snake, rat, or frog. There are two kinds of house-spirits: the house-spirit that lives in the corner behind the stove, and the yard-spirit that frequently torments animals.

Judas tree: A small deciduous tree from Southern Europe and Western Asia, noted for its prolific display of deep-pink flowers in the spring.

Julitta: St. Julitta was a Christian martyr under the reign of Diocletian (244-311), Roman emperor (284-305). The name is a diminutive of Julia; in Russian it is Ulita, with a possible diminutive of Ulitka — snail.

Kerkinitida: An ancient small Greek outpost on the northwest plains of the Crimea, the modern city of Eupatoria, a major Ukrainian Black Sea port.

Khavron: From Russian khavron’ia — pig.

Kingston valve: A valve installed at the bottom of a ship’s fuel, water, and ballast tank; when open, it allows seawater in to clean the tanks, and admits water ballast into the ballast tank.

Kislyandii Anufrievich: Whiny ass.

Krovozhilin: From Russian krovozhadnyi — bloodthirsty.

Kvodnon: “kvd” is a Yiddish root meaning heavy.

Ligul: From Latin ligula, diminutive of lingua — tongue.

Magciety: The society of magicians.

Magford: The Oxford equivalent of magic schools.

Maglody: Magic melody.

Makarenko: Anton Semenovich Makarenko (1888-1939), Soviet educator and writer.

Mamzelkina, Aida Plakhovna: Mamzelkina is from Russian mamzel’ka — mademoiselle, Aida is from Russian Aid — Hades (see Hades), and Plakhovna is from Russian plakha — executioner’s block.

Matador tires: Originally started in Slovakia, the Matador Company has since expanded internationally. Of its thirteen enterprises, one is a joint venture in Moscow.

Matisse: Henri Matisse (1869-1954), one of the best-known French artists of the 20^th century, famous for his use of colour and brilliant draughtsmanship.

Mebelprom: In reality the name of a company supplying furniture — mebel’ — and other things.

Memento mori: A genre of artistic creations to remind people of their mortality.

Mephistopheles: This is the name given to one representation of Satan. In a 16^th century German legend, Dr. Faust made a pact with Mephistopheles: in exchange for knowledge, Faust sold his soul to the Devil.

Methodius: Saint Methodius, 9^th century Byzantine Greek archbishop, and his brother Saint Cyril are credited with devising the Glagolitic alphabet, from which evolved the Cyrillic alphabet.

Middle Earth: In ancient German and Norse myths, Middle-earth was the world of Men, the centre of the universe that included the world of the Gods and the world of the Dead, among others. These physical worlds all linked together.

Minotaur: In Greek mythology, it was a fierce man-eating creature with the body of a man but the head and tail of a bull. King Minos of Crete imprisoned it in a gigantic labyrinth located under his own palace in Knossos. Using a ball of string to find his way around the maze, Theseus was able to kill the Minotaur.

Mordovia: The Republic of Mordovia in the central part of European Russia, in the Volga River basin, is part of the Russian Federation. It has a vast forest area.

Moronoid: How the immortals — magicians, guards — refer to a mortal.

Moscow Ring Highway: The highway in the shape of a ring encircling the city of Moscow.

Motherwort: Among other things, this herb is also a mild relaxing agent and is often used to calm the nerves.

Mumu: The short story Mumu (1852) by I.S.Turgenev (1818-83) describes the relationship between a dumb and deaf peasant Gerasim and his dog Mumu, and how Gerasim, ordered by his mistress, drowned Mumu.

Murka: A very popular Russian song about criminals. “Murka” is also another form of the name Maria.

Musmagic: Music of magic.

Necro-department: The department of death.

Notre Dame de Paris: Notre Dame is the world famous Gothic Cathedral in Paris and it inspired the novel of the same name (1831, English title The Hunchback of Notre Dame) by Victor Hugo (1802-85). There are numerous movie and theatre adaptations of the novel, and a French-Canadian musical debuted in Paris in 1998. This production, according to the Guinness Book of Records, had the most successful first year of any musical ever.

Palaeolithic times: Stone Age, c 2,000,000 – c 10,000 BC.

Patrick, Euphrosynus, Dius, Bithonius, Galycus, Illyricus, Aniketos, Conan, Onisius: Names of saints of the Russian Orthodox Church.

Patroclus: Greek warrior, Achilles’ friend and companion in the Trojan War, the name means “glory of the father.”

Paul I: (1754-1801), emperor of Russia (1796-1801), son of Peter III and Catherine II, though his mother misleadingly implied that his real father was her lover Count Sergei Vasilievich Saltykov (1726-65). Paul was eccentric and neurotic, with high chivalric ideals, suspicious of democracy and anything Western European. His policies were ill received by the Russian nobility and led to his assassination.

Pegasus: The winged horse from Greek mythology.

Petrosyan Khazanovich Zadornov: Evgenii Varanovich Petrosyan (1945-) humorist; Gennadii Viktorovich Khazanov (1945-), satirist; Mikhail Nikolaevich Zadornov (1948-), satirist.

Philaretos: The Orthodox saint Philaretos the Merciful/Almsgiver (702-792) was a wealthy man

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 737