Читать книгу: «The Whisper of Submerged Sanctuaries», страница 5

The noise outside grew louder. Flashlight beams darted across the slope, picking out rocks and trees from the darkness.

"They're getting closer," Alexei said anxiously. "We need to leave."

"There should be another exit," said Rustam, rising to his feet. "All caves in these mountains are connected. If the records are to be believed, this grotto connects to a large cave system that emerges on the opposite side of the mountain."

He raised the lamp and headed deeper into the cave. Dinara and Alexei followed him. The grotto narrowed, transitioning into a narrow corridor where they had to walk bent over. The corridor gradually descended, deeper into the mountain.

"Careful, it's slippery here," Rustam warned as they began descending a steep slope.

The air was becoming humid, and the sound of running water could be heard. Soon they found themselves in another grotto, significantly larger than the first. A small underground stream flowed here, disappearing into a crack in the far wall.

"We go that way," Rustam pointed to a narrow passage to the left of the stream. "It should lead us to the other side of the mountain."

At that moment, voices and flashlight beams came from behind—the pursuers had discovered the first cave and were now following them.

"Quickly!" Rustam commanded, heading for the passage.

But before they could take even a few steps, people with flashlights and weapons appeared from the opposite side of the grotto.

"Stop!" one of them shouted. "Don't move!"

They were trapped—the way forward and back was cut off. People in black clothing and masks surrounded them, weapons pointed.

"It seems the game is over," Rustam said calmly, lowering the lamp.

From behind the armed men emerged a tall, middle-aged man in expensive mountaineering attire. He had a well-groomed face with sharp features, dark hair with gray streaks, and eyes full of cold calculation.

"Timur Karabaev, I presume," said Rustam, looking at him.

"Rustam-aga," the man nodded. "At last, we meet in person. I've heard much about you."

His Russian was impeccable, with barely detectable accent.

"And you must be Professor Sorin's grandson," Karabaev shifted his attention to Alexei. "Alexei Igorevich, if I'm not mistaken. And, of course, Dinara Kambarova, talented ethnographer and special services employee."

"I don't work for the special services," Dinara replied coldly.

"Come now, dear," Karabaev smirked. "Your work on the commission for cultural heritage protection is a cover for counterintelligence activities. But that's not important now." He stepped forward. "What matters is that you have a medallion that belongs to me."

"The medallion belongs to no one," Rustam objected. "It's the key to a secret that our ancestors have guarded for centuries. A secret you are incapable of understanding."

"Oh, I understand its value perfectly," Karabaev replied. "Better than anyone else." He turned to Alexei. "The medallion, please. And the book too."

Alexei instinctively covered the medallion on his chest with his hand.

"And if I refuse?"

Karabaev smiled—a cold, soulless smile.

"Then I'll have to take them by force. And believe me, it will be unpleasant for everyone present."

Rustam stepped forward, shielding Alexei and Dinara.

"You will get neither the medallion nor the book, Karabaev," he said firmly. "You are unworthy to touch them."

"Worthiness—such a subjective concept, Rustam-aga," Karabaev shrugged. "Who determines who is worthy and who isn't? You? Your ancestors? The Nestorians, long since decayed in the earth?" He shook his head. "No, in our world, everything is decided by power and money. And I have both."

He nodded to one of his men:

"Take the medallion and the book from them."

The masked man stepped forward, heading toward Alexei. At that moment, with unexpectedly quick movement, Rustam drew a knife from his belt and lunged at the attacker. The knife entered the masked man's shoulder, and he cried out in pain.

Immediately shots rang out. Rustam jerked, taking a bullet to the chest, but continued to stand, shielding Alexei and Dinara.

"Run!" he shouted, pushing them toward the passage.

Dinara screamed, seeing her grandfather take a second bullet. Alexei grabbed her hand and dragged her to the exit.

"Don't stop!" Rustam shouted, taking a third bullet and falling to his knees. Blood soaked his shirt, but he continued to grip the knife in his hand. "Find the truth!"

At that moment, Karabaev approached him and pointed a gun directly at his face.

"Where is the disc?" he asked. "The astronomical instrument?"

Rustam raised his eyes, full of contempt:

"You will never find it, Karabaev. Even with the medallion."

"We'll see," Karabaev replied coldly and pulled the trigger.

Alexei, dragging Dinara toward the passage, heard the final shot and her desperate cry. He looked back and saw Rustam's body lifelessly sinking to the stone floor of the cave.

"Let's go!" he shouted, pushing Dinara into the narrow passage.

They ran through the dark tunnel, stumbling over rocks, scraping their hands on rough walls. Behind them came shouts and the sound of footsteps—Karabaev's men were pursuing them.

"Faster!" Alexei urged, though he could see Dinara was barely keeping on her feet from shock and grief.

The tunnel gradually widened but became steeper. They were sliding rather than running, grabbing at wall protrusions to avoid falling.

Finally, dim light appeared ahead—the exit from the cave. They burst outside and found themselves on the opposite slope of the mountain. Rain was still falling, turning the slope into a slippery mess of mud and stones.

"There, to the trees!" Alexei pointed.

They ran down the slope, slipping and falling. Behind them, the first pursuers emerged from the cave. Shots rang out, bullets raising small fountains of mud near the fugitives.

Suddenly Dinara stumbled and fell, rolling down the slope. Alexei dashed after her, trying to stop her fall. He grabbed her hand, but the momentum was too great—they both rolled downward, collecting mud, leaves, and small stones.

The fall ended in a small ravine overgrown with bushes. They lay there, breathing heavily, dirty and soaked to the skin.

"Are you all right?" asked Alexei.

Dinara silently nodded, but her eyes were full of tears.

"Grandfather…" she whispered.

"I'm so sorry," said Alexei, embracing her. "But we need to go. They're still looking for us."

He helped her up. The bushes concealed them from pursuers, but it was temporary shelter.

"The book," Dinara suddenly said. "We lost the book! It's with Karabaev!"

Alexei automatically checked the medallion—it was still in place, hidden under his shirt.

"We have the medallion," he said. "So not all is lost."

He looked around. The downpour had turned into a drizzle, visibility improved. Below, in the valley, the lights of a village could be seen.

"We need to go there," Alexei pointed. "We need to find shelter and decide what to do next."

Dinara looked at him with eyes red from tears.

"Karabaev killed my grandfather," she said resolutely. "And he will answer for it."

"First, we need to survive," Alexei reminded her. "And find what your grandfather was looking for. Do you remember his last words? 'Find the truth.' He gave his life so we could continue the search."

Dinara nodded, wiping away tears.

"You're right. We can't give up now."

They began cautiously descending the slope, staying close to bushes for camouflage. Above, on the mountainside, flashlight beams still flickered—Karabaev's men continued their search.

"We need to search not for treasure, but for truth," Dinara quietly repeated her grandfather's words. "What did he mean?"

"I don't know," Alexei admitted. "But I'm sure we'll find out. For his sake."

The medallion on Alexei's chest warmed again, as if agreeing with his words. The mystery was only beginning to unfold, and the price had already been paid in blood.

Chapter 6: The Guardian's Vow

Morning mist shrouded the mountains, descending to the shore of Lake Issyk-Kul in milky swirls. The sun had just begun its journey, and its first rays, piercing through the veil, fell on the smooth surface of the lake, creating a fantastic play of light and shadow.

Monk Thomas stood on a rocky promontory, gazing into the distance. Behind him, on a small plateau, nestled an Armenian monastery—several stone buildings surrounded by a low wall. Here, in this secluded place, the surviving Nestorians had found temporary refuge.

He heard careful footsteps behind him. The monk did not turn—he knew who had come.

"Teacher," David said quietly, stopping beside him.

In the early morning light, the young man's face seemed especially youthful and vulnerable. Despite this, his eyes reflected a determination that Thomas admired.

"Good morning, David," the monk replied, not taking his eyes off the lake. "It's beautiful here, isn't it? As if the Lord Himself created this place to remind us of the perfection of His creation."

David nodded, but there was nervousness in his movements. He anxiously fiddled with the silver medallion that Thomas had given him the day before.

"You must leave today," Thomas said, finally turning to his pupil. "Before dawn."

"But the scouts report that the Mongols are still combing the area," David objected. "They know we're somewhere around here."

"That's precisely why you must leave now." Thomas placed his hands on the young man's shoulders and looked him intently in the eyes. "While their attention is focused on the monastery, you have a chance to slip away unnoticed."

"I cannot leave you all, teacher," David's voice was filled with despair. "I cannot abandon the brothers, sisters, children…"

"You are not abandoning us," Thomas gently interrupted. "You are fulfilling the most important mission. What we hid yesterday must be protected, and knowledge of it must be preserved for future generations."

He looked around to ensure they were alone and lowered his voice to a whisper:

"Do you remember everything I told you about the crystal?"

David nodded, involuntarily touching the medallion on his chest.

"It's the 'Key of Solomon,'" he said quietly. "A relic found in the mountains of Judea during the time of the great king. A crystal capable of healing diseases and opening the eyes of the soul."

"And?" Thomas pressed.

"And… amplifying both the light and dark sides of the human soul," David finished. "Granting light to some and plunging others into darkness, depending on what they carry in their hearts."

"Correct," Thomas nodded. "The Templars entrusted us with guarding it when the danger in Europe became too great. They knew about our community here on the Silk Road and believed that in these lands, far from wars, the relic would be safe."

He smiled bitterly.

"They did not foresee the Mongols. No one did."

Thomas turned away, looking at the rising sun. Clouds, penetrated by golden light, were reflected in the waters of Issyk-Kul as if in a giant mirror.

"Do you remember the map I drew?"

"Yes, teacher," David nodded. "It is safely hidden."

"And the cipher I gave you? The symbols for identifying other guardians?"

"I have memorized them as you taught me," the young man replied, touching the symbols engraved on the medallion. "I repeat them every day so as not to forget a single detail."

Thomas nodded with satisfaction.

"Now listen carefully, David. What I am about to tell you is not written in any book. This information is passed only from teacher to chosen pupil."

The young man straightened, his whole demeanor showing readiness to heed every word.

"The crystal is only part of the secret," Thomas began. "To use its full power, you need an astronomical instrument created by ancient masters. A disc with concentric circles and special markings. We deliberately separated them so that no one person could accidentally unite them."

"Where is this disc?" asked David.

"In a safe place," Thomas replied. "If the Mongols capture you and torture you, you cannot reveal what you do not know." He paused. "But I have left clues. The medallion contains instructions, understandable only to one who knows what to look for."

David looked at his teacher in confusion.

"You speak in riddles, teacher."

"Time will pass, and you will understand," Thomas smiled. "Right now, the main thing is to preserve the medallion and knowledge of the crystal. Find worthy followers who will continue to guard the secret after you."

He turned back to the lake.

"You know, I have pondered much about the power of the relic. About why the Lord allowed the creation of an object possessing such power, which can bring both blessing and curse. And I have concluded that it is a test for humanity. A test of our wisdom and our morality."

Thomas fell silent, as if listening to something. Then he continued in a different, more tense voice:

"I have created traps for those who will seek treasures out of greed. False caches, deceptive signs. He who craves gold will find only death." He looked directly into his pupil's eyes. "But he who seeks truth will be guided to it, if his heart is pure."

The wind strengthened, bringing freshness and the scent of water from the lake. Thomas shivered and adjusted his tattered cloak.

"You should know something else, David. The Mongol shamans… They sense the crystal's power. Some of them possess the gift of seeing the invisible. They are already trying to find it. Genghis Khan sent his best baghatur Subutai with divers to search for it at the bottom of the lake."

"But we hid the crystal in a cave, not in the lake," David frowned.

"Exactly. I have made sure to spread rumors about treasures being submerged. This will throw them off the track." Thomas smiled subtly. "Besides, the entrance to the cave will be visible only under special lighting, one day a year. At other times, no one will find it, no matter how thoroughly they search."

David shook his head with involuntary admiration.

"You have foreseen everything, teacher."

"Not everything," Thomas objected. "But enough to buy time. A lot of time. And now," he squeezed his pupil's shoulder, "it's time to say goodbye."

Tears glistened in David's eyes.

"What will happen to you? To the others?"

Thomas looked away.

"God will decide our fate." He was silent for a moment and added more quietly: "I will try to negotiate life for everyone, and if that fails—to buy time so that as many brothers and sisters as possible can escape."

"They torture prisoners," David whispered. "The Mongols. They tell terrible things…"

"I know," Thomas replied calmly. "But remember that physical suffering is temporary. They can break the body, but not the spirit."

He rummaged in the folds of his garment and took out a small leather pouch.

"Here, take this. Inside is what will help you on your journey. Some gold, the seal of our community, and a letter to the brothers in Kashgar. If you manage to reach there, they will help you."

David took the pouch but did not hide it, continuing to hold it in his hand as if he could not bring himself to accept this last gift from his teacher.

"And if… if they catch me?" he asked in a strained voice. "And I cannot withstand torture?"

Thomas looked at his pupil attentively. During his long years of wandering and service, he had seen much, but always found the strength to remain true to his principles. He had witnessed the fall of Jerusalem, fought in the Crusades before turning to faith and becoming a monk. He knew what fear and pain were. And he knew how to cope with them.

"David," he began gently, "do you remember the story of Saint Peter?"

The young man nodded.

"He denied Christ three times before the rooster crowed."

"Yes. Even the most devoted disciple can show weakness. We are all human." Thomas placed his hand on David's shoulder. "But what matters is not that we fall, but that we find the strength to rise. If you are captured and you break… Just survive, David. Survive and continue the mission when you can."

Tears stood in the young man's eyes.

"I don't want to leave you, teacher."

"But you must," Thomas said firmly. "Not for me, not for yourself. For those who will come after us. For those who may one day need the crystal's power."

He embraced his pupil, holding him tightly to his chest.

"Go by mountain paths," he whispered. "Local shepherds will show you secret trails. Stay away from main roads. And remember: light in water, water in light. Solomon's key will open the way."

"Light in water, water in light," David repeated. "Solomon's key will open the way."

They drew apart. Thomas pronounced a blessing in Aramaic, the ancient language of their faith, and made the sign of the cross over his pupil.

"Go in peace, my son. And may the Lord keep you."

David bowed his head, accepting the blessing, then quickly, without looking back, walked away. At the edge of the path leading down from the plateau, he turned one last time. Thomas still stood there, against the backdrop of the rising sun, tall and straight. His figure seemed to glow in the rays of dawn, as if woven from light itself.

David raised his hand in a farewell gesture and began to descend. Within moments, he disappeared among the rocks and shrubs.

Thomas remained standing motionless for a long time, gazing after his departing pupil. Then he turned and looked at the lake, shimmering in the rays of the morning sun.

"Lord," he whispered, "give him strength to fulfill his mission. And give me courage to face what is to come."

He knew that returning to the monastery meant, most likely, condemning himself to death. The Mongols did not leave alive those who resisted. But Thomas had a plan—a mad, desperate plan that might give the remaining refugees a chance for salvation.

He took a deep breath, gathering his courage, and headed back to the stone buildings. A conversation with the abbot of the Armenian monastery, old Father Grigor, awaited him. They needed to prepare a feigned surrender of the monastery, while the majority of the refugees would secretly leave through an underground passage known only to a few.

Three days later, Thomas sat in a dungeon—a cramped cellar with an earthen floor and rough stone walls. His hands were tied behind his back, his legs bound with rope. His face was covered with bruises, one arm, twisted during interrogation, throbbed painfully.

The Mongol noyon Jebe was known for his cruelty, but also for his perspicacity. He quickly realized that Thomas was not just one of the refugees, but a leader, a keeper of knowledge.

The interrogations continued day after day. Jebe wanted to know where the treasures were hidden. He was not interested in gold and silver—he was looking for some special item. "The Stone of Power," as he called it.

Thomas remained silent, no matter what they did to him. Even when the pain became unbearable, he found solace in prayer and thoughts that David was already far away, beyond the Mongols' reach.

In the dim light of a torch burning in the corridor, he gazed into the semi-darkness of his dungeon and thought of those who had already left this world. The abbot of the Armenian monastery, Father Grigor, was killed on the first day of the siege when he refused to hand over the refugees. Many brothers and sisters died protecting the children. But a large group managed to escape through the underground passage while Thomas negotiated with the Mongols, deliberately buying time.

The creaking of the door roused him from his reverie. Jebe entered the dungeon, accompanied by his shaman—a thin old man with a bird-like face and eyes that seemed to reflect other worlds.

"You can still save your life, monk," the noyon said without preamble. "Tell me where the stone of power is hidden, and I will release you."

Thomas looked at him silently. He knew Jebe was lying. The Mongols released no one.

"Our shaman," the noyon pointed to the old man, "says the stone is somewhere nearby. He can feel its power."

The shaman nodded, not taking his penetrating gaze from Thomas.

"It glows in the water," the old man said in a creaky voice. "But there is much water around. The lake is large."

Thomas felt a chill run down his spine. Had the shaman truly sensed something? Or was it a coincidence?

"You know that sooner or later we will find it," Jebe continued. "The great khan has ordered every stone to be turned, every stream to be dried up if necessary. He wants to obtain the stone of power."

"Why?" Thomas asked, breaking his silence. "Why does Genghis Khan need this stone? He already has power over half the world."

Jebe smirked.

"The great khan is mortal, like all men. He seeks that which will extend his life, make him stronger." The noyon leaned closer. "They say this stone heals any wound, grants longevity and strength of spirit. Is that not so?"

Thomas turned away, not wanting to show how much these words troubled him. The Mongols knew too much about the crystal.

"If I had such a stone," he said slowly, "I would hide it so that no one could find it. Because the power you speak of is not meant for people. Especially for those who crave power."

The shaman suddenly made a strange sound—something between a laugh and a croak.

"I told you, noyon. This man knows more than he says. He hides the stone not out of fear, but out of conviction."

Jebe looked thoughtfully at Thomas.

"You know, monk, I respect your resilience. Not many can endure what you have endured." He straightened up. "But my patience is not endless. Tomorrow at dawn, we will continue our conversation. And if you do not tell everything you know, I will be forced to resort to extreme measures."

With these words, the noyon left, the shaman following him. The dungeon door slammed shut with a crash.

Thomas leaned back against the wall, trying to find a position in which his wounded body would hurt least. He understood that he would not survive the next day.

But this did not frighten him. The main thing was that David had escaped with the medallion, that the crystal's secret was preserved, that the knowledge would be passed down the chain of guardians, from generation to generation, until the time came.

In the dim torchlight filtering through the grate in the door, Thomas mentally repeated the ancient words of prayer, preparing for what lay ahead. He knew he would die, but he also knew that his cause would live on.

And in this knowledge, there was a strange, calm certainty that gave him strength to meet the final dawn with peace in his soul.

The guard had dozed off at the dungeon door when he noticed a strange glow seeping from under the loosely closed door. He rose, rubbing his eyes, and peered through the small window.

The cell was empty. The ropes that had bound the prisoner lay on the earthen floor, but the monk himself was nowhere to be seen.

With a cry of alarm, the guard flung open the door. He searched every corner of the cramped dungeon but found no trace of the prisoner. No tunnel, no broken lock, no other signs of escape. Thomas had disappeared as if dissolved into thin air.

The news quickly reached Jebe. The noyon personally searched the dungeon, then the entire monastery. He ordered a search for the fugitive on the lakeshore, in the mountains, and questioned all the local inhabitants.

But Thomas was never found.

Jebe, enraged by the failure, ordered the monastery burned to the ground. Flames consumed the ancient walls, turning the centuries-old abode into smoking ruins.

The shaman, observing the fire, approached the noyon and quietly said:

"This man was no ordinary monk. There was a power in him that we do not understand."

Jebe stared grimly at the fire.

"We will search for the stone without him," he said resolutely. "Send divers into the lake. Check every cave in the surrounding mountains. The stone must be somewhere around here."

The shaman shook his head:

"Now that the monk has disappeared, I feel that the stone's power has become more hidden, more distant. As if he has strengthened the protection of his secret."

"The prophecy states that the stone of power will one day return to the world," Jebe said thoughtfully. "Perhaps not in our time. But someday."

Wind from the lake scattered the ashes of the burned monastery high into the mountains. Gray flakes swirled in the air, like the last farewell of the ancient sanctuary.

And somewhere far from these places, young David continued his journey, carrying within him knowledge that would one day, centuries later, lead other seekers to the hidden sanctuary.

It was deep night. Lake Issyk-Kul was calm and dark, only a silver path of moonlight shimmered on its surface. On the shore, among the stones, sat a solitary figure. His face was hidden by a hood, but in the moonlight, one could discern ascetic features and attentive eyes.

Thomas gazed at the waters of the lake, knowing that he would never again see either David or the other brothers and sisters of his community. Now his path lay in another direction.

Thomas raised his eyes to the starry sky. He knew he had to go far, to where even the most skilled of Genghis Khan's spies could not find him.

With a heavy sigh, the monk rose and headed toward the dark silhouettes of mountains reflected in the waters of Issyk-Kul. Ahead lay his final mission and a long, solitary journey.

He did not look back. The past remained behind, and the future was in God's hands and those to whom he had entrusted his knowledge.

Thomas's figure dissolved into the night darkness, as if it had never been there at all.