Motso was a small boy in his twenties, dressed in an ordinary gray robe, who had just moved to the Planet of the Endless Water. The black sphere continued to fly around him. He expected to see an endless blue ocean, a huge number of fish, a bright sun. But it wasn't like that. The terrain gave him a shock. The mountains were like the abode of the devil; the sky was overcast with gray clouds, and Motso's feet sank into the snow up to his knees and instantly froze. From the direction of the mountains, he spotted some unknown birds with red heads, and a bit whiter wings against their black bodies. They flew around the area like mystical guards, like the distant ancestors of majestic dragons, only eviler and greedier for flesh.

The sphere could not fight the elements, so the boy clung to his own life with all his strength. A few months passed by, he was struggling to adapt to the local environment and met a lost soul like himself. His name was Ötzi. He was five years younger than Motso and dressed in a kukhlyanka. They decided to continue their journey together, and after a while they became best friends. They talked a lot (but never discussed their past), hunted. Once Motso told about his desire: "I will create a kingdom where people will not have to go through the horror that you and I go through every day. My sphere will protect everyone. And we, my friend, will stand at the origin. We will be the best rulers, such that even after death we will be legendary." Ötzi exclaimed, "To a great future!" Then they swore to each other to make Motso's wish come true, and set out to find a kingdom where their wanderings would end, where they could create their own Paradise, where they could, thanks to the power of the sphere, save and protect travelers by providing shelter and food. And the more people who want to stay, the faster the dream will come true.

A few years later, moving East across the planet's expanses, through the eternal cold and snowstorms, Motso vitality started to dwindle, in the eerie, pitiless environment of a vicious land engulfed in unrelenting darkness. He lay like a blind beast that saw the true picture of the world before dying, in which no longer burn the Church candles that gave hope, where only the stench of death and void of lost traces lurked in the air of the infinite vacuum of the universe.

His life force was supported only by the sphere and tenacity. With each new day, food was harder to find and the dehydrated, hungry boy, was more often losing his consciousness. Ötzi, on the other hand, hunted alone and gave his friend most of the prey, which was a far cry from enough. When things got worse, Ötzi returned from hunting without any prey, but with a smile on his face. He sat down next to Motso who was lying in a downy sleeping bag and said:

"Listen, there's a cave about two versts away. When you see it, you will understand that this is the perfect kingdom that we have been looking for such a long. It's very warm. There is also a lake of fresh water."

However, Motso didn't have the energy to respond at all. The blizzard grew fiercer. The once-beautiful snowflakes that wrapped the planet in their tenderness and caress, now cut into the skin of the face with all their strength, like hundreds of small needles. A deafening wind roared from the North, creating small snow tornadoes around the travelers. Ötzi raised his head and stared at the faintly visible black sphere.

"So powerful and not able to save the owner from the forces of nature…" Then he lowered his head and looked at his friend. "Damn it, you can't die now! We're almost there. Hey! Hey!"

Ötzi started to shake Motso, but He lost consciousness again. It seemed that the skin on the poor fellow's face had acquired a waxy hue, and if you looked closely, you could see the skull. The human form disappeared with his life, reminding Ötzi that death didn't care when or whom it took to its shadow world, and it didn't care what anyone's hopes were, whether they were good or evil. Motso's hands would not have been able to lift even a small rock, and despite the warmth of his sleeping bag, He was shivering. Clouds of steam during breathing appeared less and less often.

The next morning the storm subsided, but the sun was not destined to look out from under the thick gray clouds. Motso woke up to the smell of food, when opening his eyes, he saw the fire on which the meat was browned. Half an hour later, the boy had eaten everything before he saw that Ötzi's left arm was missing up to the elbow.

"What happened to your left hand?"

"I lost it hunting."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, we need to get to that cave, it's the most beautiful you've ever seen!"

Motso nodded, and they set off, not knowing what their journey would lead to.

***

Malum moved toward the square, where the music was already coming from. There were tents and carriage sheds everywhere, as well as various jewelers and blacksmiths who sat on the deserted road and sold items that they crafted. The noise of people grew louder. The smell of local food increased Malum’s appetite. Already in the square, he saw bread, barley, cream, cottage cheese, dried fish, bird meat of various types lying on long tables. He approached one of the men who was putting food on the table and asked if he could steal some to satisfy his own hunger. The man couldn't refuse.

Along the entire perimeter of the square, there were either tar or oil torches, as well as several lanterns hung on a rope that was tied to the roofs of the houses that hang over the people who were passing under them. But Malum was not comfortable standing in this light, so he hid in a small dark corner near a residential building, where the lantern wasn’t working, and watched what was happening from the shadows. Men in their late thirties sang songs that were very off-key and constantly out of tune, praising the representatives of the Supreme authority and the gifts they gave them, of course they sung in the local dialect; and seems, they didn’t care how it was perceived by others. Children were dancing and having fun, and mothers were circling around them, clearly afraid of losing their own child in the huge crowd of people. In addition to the local civilians, militia armed with wooden sticks and even more strange armor began to gather in the square. At that moment, Malum realized what Pelleas didn't like about them. Young ladies, or rather young girls, sat in their corners together and held sleeping babies in their arms, talking quietly among themselves. Their husbands – boys who were not yet grown up-tried to snatch more alcohol from the table, constantly fooling around and hitting each other in the shoulders, some would even start dancing next to children of six or seven years old.

Local actors appeared on the stage. A small performance began and everyone fell silent. Malum watched it with great interest, but did not understand much, since he did not know the local customs and history at all. The actors sometimes presented themselves as Gods, vulgarly moving back and forth on the stage, changing their voice to a lower one, then as local fools, making fun of the militia in the first place, as Malum have realized. They, in turn, waved their batons at them, saying that now we will kick you in the head for such jokes. Then the local bards came out, played funny songs, and recited poems. At the end, when the sun touched the horizon, Ismila appeared on the stage, dressed in a black dress. Part of her hair was tied in ribbons, and part of it was wrapped in such a way that it looked like horns from a distance. There were luxurious earrings in her ears, a gold necklace around her neck, and high-quality bracelets on her hands.

Ismila greeted all the people gathered in the square, and then called on everyone to pray to Perun and praise him. The voices died away, and a deathly silence settled in, only the sound of the wind could be heard. Ismila said a prayer, during which people were bowing, bending one knee and lowering their heads down. It was getting darker, and the torches barely illuminated the square. It was clear that the night was trying to restore this world to its original appearance without the light of fires, without the bustle of people. Malum himself, in the shadows, was completely lost to sight, like a ghost watching a funeral service by itself in the thick shroud of night. There was no moon in the sky. Everything was plunged into darkness. Then Ismila got up and started calling names. And Malum heard Pitris's old voice over his shoulder, but he did not turn to look at him.

"She names young poor souls, which Perun, at night, after the holiday, will take to the capital."

Malum said nothing, but the thought of how the old man had found him here flashed through his mind. Pitris continued:

"First they pray to one, then to the second, then to the third, and they can only revel in their own glory, not caring about others. The saddest thing is to see that no one understands this. It's a shame. One day before the moment when Jarilo brings food to the city, they pray to him, when Perun takes their children, they pray to him, before going to bed they pray to Rod – the Supreme ruler, and so on. And as a reward, they get another completely stupid and illogical law.

"Not everyone would agree with you," Malum replied.

"Yes, because the people here are sick zombies.”

Ismila hesitates slightly before calling the next name. A couple of seconds later, she finally decides to do it, and the assembled people scream in delight, as if they saw a shooting star in the sky for the first time. Then the next one. Pitris winced.

“This is my son,” he said in a doomed voice.

After a short pause, he boiled with anger and said through his teeth:

"I didn't think they decided to deprive me of my offspring. All these maniacs need is fresh blood; they don't care about the rest. But everything has its price, I believe that they’ll pay for what they’ve done."

"Who chooses these twenty names?"

"Jehuti."

"Who? Who?"

"Jehuti."

"Hmm ... Can I go instead of your son?" Malum asked uncertainly.

"What for?"

"Since you and I are talking to each other honestly, then I’ll tell you something, I'm not from this planet. But I would really like to talk to the local authorities. And it seems that this holiday is the only way. Can you help?"

Malum did not see the old man's reaction, but watched the flame of the torch to the West of him, which swayed in the wind from side to side, and was installed between the first and second floors of a multistorey building in the background, with a certain periodicity, the people gathered in the square and continued to cheer.

"You're saving my grandson, and you saved me before that. There can be no questions. I'll do my best. So that's a deal. We will dress you in a long white robe and hide your face under a hood so that Ismila will not recognize you. And when you get out of town, take off your hood. Ah, and don't show your sphere ahead of time."

When Malum asked about the possible disastrous outcome if he suddenly did not find a common language with the Supreme government, the old man warned that in this case they would capture him and Ismila. Both will be tortured to death. And then their lives will end.

"I'll take the chance."

Malum half-turned and held out his hand to the old man. The man smiled and grabbed his hand with a jerk, creating a small pop. Pitris's skin was icy, and his handshake was firm and confident. With three shakes up and down, the old man loosened his grip and released Malum. A cold wind blew, and immediately a wave of goosebumps ran down the back of the recruit of this world. A single dark cloud floated across the sky. People screamed all over again. When the noise subsided, Pitris continued:

"I'll go to my son and tell him about our plan. You, as soon as the holiday is over, go to my house on the South road, it is number twelve, there take clean white clothes and go to the temple, you can see it from any point, you will not get lost. But don't go inside until I show up, okay?"

"Yes," Malum said absent mindedly. Then he felt a few snowflakes on his face. Not expecting this, he jerked and brushed them off his face, as if they were not snowflakes, but a huge gadfly. "Why is it snowing here?" he asked, and turned to look at the old man, who was already gone.

Without waiting for the end of the celebration, and at the same time having managed to satisfy his hunger with some food, Malum went to the house number twelve. He opened the wooden door (it was unlocked), entered inside, walked to the back room, noticed that the house was almost empty. He took his white rob out of the chest, changed his clothes, and went out. There was a magnificent temple in the Western part of the city, and Malum slowly walked towards it.

Outside, the temperature seemed to drop below ten degrees Celsius, and Malum’s body shivered involuntarily. The streets were suddenly covered with a desolate murk, and every step was heard louder than usual, as if hearing had suddenly become more acute and began to prevail over vision. The small torchlight still resisted the night; the screams of the people in the square were far behind them, growing more and more unnatural and wild, and eventually finally died out.

As he drew closer to his goal, Malum saw the temple, literally, shoot upwards. Over the vast portals, was no less huge gables. The walls were lined with tall lancet windows. In addition, the abundance of sculptures that adorn the facade of the building was exorbitant; they were an integral part of such a gloomy architecture. If it were during the day, and Malum would be able to study the history of this planet in detail, study local myths and important events, and in the corner, on the bell tower, he could see an elderly man with a fishing rod in his hands; at the very top, even higher than the gallery of kings, sat an ordinary guy in ragged clothes, looking at a snowflake on his own palm; the chief architect never admitted at the time why he made it, although he knew that it was a joke of a stupid employee.

Malum came closer to the southern portal, and looked at the depiction of an unknown world where buildings were flying in the air, and everything was controlled by a three-meter monster, almost entirely made of iron, instead of a head it has a hexagonal cube, on the sides of which human emotions were shown: fear, anger, sadness, interest, indifference, the latter disappeared from the eyes of curious onlookers. The monster was surrounded by unknown creatures in black robes, instead of their faces, from under the hood, a mask peeked out with a tear under the right eye. At the back hung a black axe with a long handle. At the bottom was a caption, probably the name of the world. Malum didn't try to decipher it until he happened to see a huge old man with a hammer in his right hand and an anvil in the background, it was very small and inconspicuous. There was a sphere on the anvil, and the blacksmith's left hand glowed. Then Malum released the sphere from the small pocket of his robe, touched it, and imagined that he knew the language. Looking at the inscriptions again, he was able to translate it. The world was called Kulungan. The leader's name was Jalad. When he saw the blacksmith's name, his eyes widened and his heart beat twice as fast.

"Damn it," Malum said to himself. The sphere flew back under the robe. "Kulungan means…"

He lifted his head up and fixed his gaze on South gable, where the scene of a tall, bearded man's victory over Jalad was located. The man looked very familiar, but Malum couldn't remember where he'd seen him until the familiar voice appeared behind him again:

"This is the scene of Rod's victory over Jalad."

"I see that he liked to fight."

"Yes. The old man had conquered many planets in his time."

"There is something I wanted to ask you…"

"What?"

"Is the story depicted on the temple true?"

Pitris thought about five seconds and then replied:

"Is there anything specific you're interested in?"

"Not really."

"I don't know. This temple was built a long time ago; I know almost nothing about it."

"Understood."

As they walked around the temple, Malum could not tear himself away from the various statues, names, and stories. As an experienced archaeologist, this was the first time he had seen something like this, and if he had at least a few months to spare, he would have been happy to study every detail. All the applicants for Irin-Ajo were already on the transept side – small children slightly shivering from the cold. They conversed among themselves, without breaking the precepts of the night's silence. The old man counted them all, pointing down at each of them and making "mmm" sounds. Then he took a key out of a small bag, put it in the lock, put his shoulder against the door, turned the key twice, and then opened it and let everyone in.

The voices stopped. Inside, the room was lit by many torches and candles, which, apparently, were watched by a local monk or acolyte. To the left side of the transept was a wide choir, which was surrounded by apse chapel dedicated to the government of this planet (whose name, as it turned out, was Rety): Rod, Perun, Jarilo, Svarog, Devana, Jehuti and (at the center) Vyshen. The high pointed arches of the temple are supported by massive marble pillars with prefixed columns. The middle nave was covered with small wooden benches. In the direction of the southern facade of the building, the choir and the upper tier of the nave, stained glass glowed with blue and red colors. Each one told a separate story with images of great generals and rulers that Malum never learned anything about. The smell of Church candles and incense was everywhere. A massive bronze chandelier hung in the center of the cella. An ancient clock ticked in the choir. Malum checked with his own. 02:46. That's right. Then he looked around the group and wondered if he was too tall for the others. But there was no retreat. In addition, one more thought did not give rest: why are the names of all the Supreme powers of this planet the same as those of the ancient Slavic gods from Earth?

The little girl went up to the old man and asked:

"Who’s that man, right there, in the center?"

"This is Vyshen."

“I've never heard of him."

Pitris shrugged. At this time, from the side of the bell tower, which was located at the southern entrance, someone began to move along the side naves, hiding behind the pillars. The wooden soles of their shoes echoed throughout the space. Everyone tensed. Thirty seconds later, Ismila came out and said that Vyshen is the ancestor of the planet. He is the father of the Rod and Mokosh (which, alas, is not here). He created several cities on Rety. The first capital was called Fryad (although there was another name, which, alas, she does not know). Mokosh ruled there at the time. The second capital was called Giera. Rod had once ruled there. However, after a three-hundred-year Panic war, Fryad and Giera were destroyed. To the question what is the capital now, Ismila said that it’s Strota. That's where their group will go.

For some time, everyone just stood in the area of crossing and were silent. Most of the children were looking at the floor, Ismila and Pitris were looking towards the South entrance, and Malum was very tired and wanted to sit on one of the benches, but since no one sat on them, he didn't dare either. The calm didn't last long, and a deafening thunderclap rang out in the sky. When lightning began to shoot out from under a thick layer of clouds, the stained glass light up in a gloomy dark blue light, illuminating the faces of children and the gloomy Gothic architecture of the temple; it was as if the Creator himself had summoned the four horsemen of the Apocalypse from the heavens to wreak havoc and destruction on this mortal, forgotten world for the last time. Malum could see that the children's faces reflected neither happiness nor excitement at the occasion, but fear of death, as if they knew something was wrong but were afraid to admit it to themselves. Ismila with quick steps went to the South exit, ordering everyone to wait inside. The girls clasped hands (and some even hugged each other tightly), the boys stood shoulder to shoulder at attention, Malum and Pitris were behind everyone, not betraying their own emotions with their body language. He looked at the old man's face and saw a completely emotionless expression, without confusion, without fear or excitement, as if it isn’t the commander-in-chief of a powerful army that had won many wars and battles descending from the sky, you could think that in his eyes it was like a girl's tea party was beginning, in which he really did not want to participate. Rain began to fall on the roof of the temple. Again he heard the neighing of a horse. Malum assumed that in this night in Tuhinmua no one was sleeping. The gusty wind howled wildly. The lanced windows and stained glass rattled like during an earthquake. The light grew brighter, accompanied by the wheezing of the Geiger counter. Ismila returned to the temple and gestured to the group. When everyone went outside, Malum saw Perun for the first time. He was a huge, three-meter-tall, stocky man with a black beard that was only slightly streaked with gray. His body covered with chain mail, in the center of which was an additional golden chest piece with the Slavic symbol of the sun, protecting the chest and stomach. In his ears were shining earrings in the form of a Crescent. A long red cloak covered his back. In his left hand, he held a round iron shield the size of a man, and in his right hand, an axe that glowed in black. The skin was white. The helmet on the head had something that resembled Kulah khud, covered with gold. Perun sat on a pure-bred black horse, which did not stop neighing and constantly shook its head, releasing clouds of smoke from its nostrils. Malum saw lightning reflect in its eyes. Around the commander-in–chief an endlessly rotating sphere glowed in white and blue color, painfully reminiscent of a pulsar - the standard of time, light, but most importantly, its magic made the hearts of all present tremble.

The storm abated. Perun carefully examined the group, nodded to Pitris, then coldly said goodbye to Ismila and ordered everyone to move out, so as not to waste time. When Malum quietly asked the translator how far they should go, he replied that it was about half a day. Tomorrow night, the Irin-Ajo ceremony will be fully completed. And Malum began to think that he shouldn't have started all this, but there was no way to retreat.

Perun took the reins, turned the horse around and moved towards the exit of the city. The black horse strode steadily forward, and the children followed with small steps, like slaves chained and forcefully dragged by their master.