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The Seventh watched the death of the Universe from the distant outer space. It was he who revealed the formula for the inevitable end of the world. And now he regretted that no one had been able to prevent it.
Chapter One. Sent by the Light
At the very beginning of the twentieth century, a mysterious explosion thundered in the heart of Siberia.
It all started when a glowing comet appeared high in the sky. As soon as it went out of sight, a flash of light lit up the horizon, and, at the same instant, everyone around was dazzled by it. The ground was shaking, and an earthquake (something that had never occurred here before) rolled underfoot, causing commotion and panic among all the living things for thousands of kilometers around. In no time the air became dry and hot. It was difficult to breathe, like in a hot sauna.
What was in the epicenter?
Three circles were formed in the boundless taiga. The first circle, the inner one, had trees lying with their tops toward the center, as if they had been carefully arranged by someone in strict compliance with the laws of geometry; in the second circle there were naked pointed tree trunks without boughs, branches and leaves; the third circle was a windthrow area extending for hundreds of kilometers from the explosion epicenter. However, there were no craters and no huge clamps of soil.
On a cool June morning, shortly after the explosion, there were observed some unusual natural phenomena. There was a strange, truly dead silence. Birds chirping, rustling leaves in the wind and other sounds of the taiga were gone. The clear sky grew dark, and everything around, including the leaves and grass, turned yellow, then orange, red and finally burgundy-colored.
There was something unusual about this explosion: Despite the tremendous explosive force, no significant damage was done to the nature or people.
Thousands of people around the world wondered what it was.
“A meteorite,” scientists said.
“A manufactured object sent by mysterious aliens!” idealistic dreamers insisted.
If it was a meteorite, why did it explode before it reached the ground? And where is the impact crater, or at least the place of its landing?
Those who believed that it was an alien spaceship-wreck that crash landed in the area were disappointed, since not a single piece, not a single part of the alien spacecraft was found.
There were also those who believed that it was a shot from a much-talked-about, huge Tesla cannon. But no plausible evidence was found.
The strange consequences of the collision between the Earth and an unidentified space object did not end there. A day after the catastrophe, the Earth’s atmosphere and night clouds were glowing eerily. The noctilucent clouds reflected the rays of the sunlight, thereby creating the effect of polar nights even in the areas where they had never occurred before.
The strange phenomena continued for a few days; then, they vanished as suddenly as they appeared. And immediately people stopped feeling the impact of the event.
A month later, no one was talking about the mysterious event. Occasionally, a new theory would spring in scientific circles to trigger a low-key discussion.
It took the nature half a century to heal its wounds. A new forest grew around. The only evidence of the alien object was the ball of fire, which was seen by many people in a radius of several thousand kilometers, along with burned and fallen trees.
The event was soon erased from the human memory. And only smoldering remains of once magnificent cedars and pines exposed the site where the alarming event had taken place.
Scientists declared this phenomenon an unfathomable mystery and gave it a name, the Tunguska Event. The humanity accepted the explanation.
However, there were those who knew everything ahead of time, waited patiently and never lost hope. Down the ages, down the millennia, the elves passed on an ancient prophecy. Their hearts and minds were able to see much more both in the future and in the past. They divined the true meaning of the Sign and were genuinely delighted at the arrival of the messenger.
There was also someone on the Earth who waited for this in the same way the elves did, but he cherished his own selfish plans.
So who will get Him first?
***
Almost a hundred years later, Molyobka village, the house of the village priest
Father Konstantin, the senior priest of the local church, and Mark, both a cleric and a bell-ringer, were sitting at a big round table and drinking tea from a pot-bellied samovar. A spicy fragrance of forest herbs was coming from the steaming hot cups of tea.
“God has not forsaken this place,” Father Konstantin chuckled happily after taking another sip of tea and lifted up his eyes to the sky. “To my great joy, more and more children are being born here. Five children have already been christened this summer.”
“There are many of those who come to the parish, answering the call of the heart. Which gives just as much joy,” the bell-ringer chimed in. “They not only work hard in the land of God, but also turn their thoughts toward him, toward our Father.”
“Fair enough,” the priest agreed.
They crossed themselves and praised the Lord. For a few minutes one could only hear the gurgle of water poured from the samovar and loud slurping of boiling-hot tea from the saucers.
“Just imagine, Father,” the bell-ringer said dreamily, with his mouth wide open and his eyes glued to the ceiling, “what if there were not four hundred, but four thousand people in our parish!”
“You don’t say so, Mark!” Father Konstantin cooled his enthusiasm. “We would not even have enough land for them all. And no jobs for such a horde. Otherwise, how would they earn their living?”
“God created our Earth for living creatures, and it can support them, regardless of their number,” the bell-ringer waved his finger.
“And that is exactly why they live where there is place for them to live.”
“But what if…!” the bell-ringer kept persisting.
“What a dreamer you are!” Father Konstantin smiled. “Don’t let dreams and idle talk make your tea cold.”
“Then I will have another cup of tea!” the cleric replied ardently, patting the round copper belly of the samovar.
“Watch out! You can burn your hand!” the priest grabbed the bell-ringer’s arm.
The restless bell-ringer gave Father Konstantin a reverent look, nodded twice and instantly changed the subject.
“Do you know what Fedotya Andreevna did the other day?”
“What?” the priest moved his cup aside.
“She had a celebration!” Mark threw up his hands.
“How’s that? On a weekday?”
“That’s right! She made pies and invited so many people that there was hardly any room for them,” the bell-ringer was bubbling with excitement. “So she had to set the table in the yard.”
“And was there any reason for such a celebration?” the priest asked.
“She does not need one,” Mark drawled meaningfully and narrowed his eyes slyly.
“It’s hardly surprising,” Father Konstantin smiled. “However, there must be a reason… What does she say?”
“She says she received some good news,” the bell-ringer vouchsafed an explanation, “some welcome news, as she says. The news that affects many people! That is that!”
“Well, her celebration makes us happy!” the priest crossed himself. “She brought an onion-and-egg pie for us. This is the second evening we have been eating it.”
They sipped the tea noisily from their saucers and got lost in their thoughts.
“Don’t you find our old Fedotya… a bit strange?” the bell-ringer asked, scratching the back of his head.
“No, why? Did she do anything wrong?” Every sip of tea and every piece of the pie infused the priest with good humor. “She is an ordinary old woman of faith, wearing a headscarf on her head and a warm shawl on her shoulders. She is always at home, doing chores around the house. And she never misses important events in our church.”
“It may very well be true,” the bell-ringer explored his thought. “But I say, she is somewhat funny. Take this celebration of hers. She declared a random day a red-letter date out of the blue, according to the calendar existing in her imagination, and threw a feast.”
“Well, what is wrong with that?” Nothing was going to put Father Konstantin out of his humor. “A person feels good and wants to share their joy with others. The way I see it, it is a charitable deed.”
“Of course, it is,” the bell-ringer nodded. “It is for sure willed by God…”
His face clouded with concern, and it did not escape the priest’s notice.
“You seem to have something against the old lady. Do you?” he asked, searching the bell-ringer’s face.
“For pity’s sake, Father!” the bell-ringer crossed himself. “I have nothing against her! How can I? Her food tastes so good.”
“She is good at filling your belly with delicious food,” Father Konstantin said, “and she is also good at filling your head with nonsense.”
“How’s that?”
“She is spinning yarns without stopping.”
“You are right about it, Father,” Mark perked up. “She is doing it so well that I wish I could write her stories down!”
“So why don’t you?”
“Yeah, right, as soon as I learn writing!”
They both laughed.
Suddenly, the church bell rang loudly and violently from the bell tower.
The men stopped laughing and gave each other a puzzled look.
“Who is playing pranks there?” Father Konstantin asked, frowning.
“Well, the door is locked! Here is the key!” the bell-ringer apologetically pulled a big copper key out of his pocket and showed it to the senior priest as a proof of his non-involvement in the discipline violation.
“Maybe these are boys who sneaked in there?” Father Konstantin assumed.
“Those boys, they could!” Mark agreed quickly, putting his cup under the samovar faucet.
“Won’t you… well…”
“What?” the bell-ringer looked at the priest blankly, but then caught his demanding gaze and began to hurry. “Sure, sure… I will go and have a look!”
The bell-ringer stood up, leaning on the table. The senior priest rose to his feet too.
“I will go with you!”
They went out to the tall front porch and looked at the bell tower, with their hands shielding their eyes.
The bell kept ringing.
“It is odd,” Father Konstantin broke the silence. “I don’t see anyone there.”
“I don’t see anyone either,” the bell-ringer echoed and in the next breath collected himself and exclaimed: “I’ll be right back, Father!”
He trotted down the stairs and ran to the bell tower. Every here and there onlookers gazed out of their windows at the bell ringing.
“What’s happened?”
Ringing bells at an odd hour heralded a trouble or big news. A handful of children ran out onto the street, but their angry parents brought them back home.
Hardly had the bell-ringer put the key into the lock, the bell stopped ringing. Anyway, the bell-ringer climbed up the steps to find out what was going on.
The northern lights lit up the sky above the bell tower. Shimmering with rainbow colors, they were swirling and glistening. Little by little, they filled out the crevice between the mountains surrounding the village, lit up the tops of the trees and colored the skyline with their dazzling glow.
Father Konstantin gazed at the wonderful scene with admiration.
“There is no one in here, Father!” he heard from the top of the bell tower. “It’s just the wind, blast it! It must have untangled the ropes and caused a mess. I will secure the ropes.”
Out of the corner of his eye, the priest saw something moving on his right. Something was glowing white behind an old rowan shrub. Father Konstantin turned his whole body toward the fence.
Clusters of green berries were swaying as if someone invisible was shaking the shrub.
The priest walked down the porch and cautiously moved towards the rowan shrub. Father Konstantin came closer and walked around to find out that the mysterious light spot had taken the shape of a child, a barefoot fair-haired boy of around three years old. He was wearing loose white clothes and a chain around his neck with a small sacred charm.
“Oh!” the priest gave a cry of surprise and stood motionless. “Who are you?”
“Oh!” the boy echoed in a monotonic robot voice. “Who are you?”
He was neither embarrassed nor afraid of a grown man, and was perfectly calm.
“Where did you come from?” Father Konstantin asked, good-humoredly, and got down on his haunches.
“Where did you come from?” the boy echoed and then, after a pause, he added, this time skipping the interrogative intonation: “Where I came from.”
He seemed to savor the words, tasting, chewing and swallowing them.
“What is your name?” the priest asked and gave him a friendly smile.
“What is your name?” the boy repeated the question, deliberately putting an emphasis on the third word.
“My name,” the priest tapped his finger on his chest and said clearly and distinctly, “is Father Konstantin.” He waited for a minute, giving the boy time to memorize the words. He could see him moving his lips. And then he asked the question again, clearly and making pauses: “And what is your name?”
“And my name…” the boy mirrored the priest’s gesture and tapped his finger on his chest, “is… Vlad!”
“Vlad… It’s a good name,” the priest said approvingly.
