The Mysteries of the Shaman Stone. Ivan Rasskazov

      The beginning was promising but, as it turns out, even more exciting adventures were waiting for us ahead. As a resident of Moscow, who managed to escape from the urban pile of concrete and brick, poisoned by cars and other charms of oxygen civilization, I felt as if my lungs were being filled with an invigorating and deliciously taiga-smelling river air like a balm.

      Our tea-drinking a bit later on, when we landed on the shore for relaxation, only added additional minutes of bliss to my euphoria – something that you can experience by tasting tea freshly brewed from the immediately freshly picked forest herbs and berries. These latter, slightly wilted from winter frost, were like red beads hanging on small lingonberry bushes. Having had some tea and asked Herman about our one-hour-long rest, I decided to take some photos of Vitim shores while strolling along its banks.

      “Where are going to, Alexander?” – Herman asked me. Upon learning of my intention to take a walk, he forced me to take a five-shooter “Saiga 12-C” with me, filling its magazine to the brim – first with two rounds of three birdshot and then another three with expanding bullets, putting a bandoleer with twenty rounds in all on my belt and explaining to me that when I see a hazel grouse or a duck, the first two shot cartridges would be enough. However, if I stumble on a bear that often catches fish on small rivers flowing into Vitim and that would not want to leave, it is better to discharge some cartridge shots in the air but if the beast attacks, I should use bullets and shoot to kill. Fearing for my safety, Herman shouted to one of the dogs named Baikal: “Go with him,” pointing at me. And Baikal joyfully rushed forward, spending our entire small journey running ahead joyfully and returning to keep up with my pace, as if checking if there was any trouble waiting for us ahead, like bear or wolves. His joyful face was telling me: we had nothing to fear. With such weapons and a dog, there was not a drop of fear – enjoying nature, I kept clicking with my camera, capturing the beauty of the surrounding nature. About thirty minutes passed unnoticed, with me moving down the river, from where we came from with our boat. I walked about one kilometer down the shore, reaching the exact point where we saw the deer calf with its mother. Then all of a sudden, Baikal rushed to the river with loud barking: never had I seen anything like it before. Several wolves were sitting on the bank, blocking a herd of deer from coming ashore. The deer stood close to each other, and the leader who was in front of the herd bravely jumped on the wolves, hitting the water with its front hooves. Barking loudly, Baikal rushed at the rear wolf and, before I knew it, I was firing my shotgun into the air. The wolves, grinning and snapping reluctantly, moved a dozen meters closer to the forest, and by the looks of it they were not going any further and were not taking me seriously. Two of them, having separated from the pack, began to distract Baikal, and my sixth sense told me: the wolves are going to attack Baikal and me. Remembering that when hungry, wolves are capable of tearing their wounded brethren apart, I shot the second cartridge at the pack from about thirty meters. I then added a bullet shot. They did not like it and threw themselves to the forest, while Baikal rushed behind. God, if anyone could hear me scream: “Baikal, come here, Baikal!” I was so scared for the dog, without which, as Herman told me, it can get really tough in the taiga, and was mentally castigating myself for getting so far. Hearing my shouts, Baikal, came back from the forest, sat beside me and started watching the herd that was still in the river Vitim. After the wolves left, the deer started jumping out of water one by one, shaking the water off their bodies and cautiously looking at us. However, for some reason unknown to me, they did not go far. It all continued until there was only one deer left in the water, which was standing at about four meters from the shore and barely changed its position. “What’s all about here?” I thought to myself and started moving slowly towards the water. As I approached, the herd receded a bit, but the animal in the water would not move. When it was about seven meters away, by its side I saw a muzzle of a deer protruding for about thirty centimeters, which it rested on his mother’s stomach, and this allowed it to breathe. The area was above one meter deep and the fawn could easily drown if it were not for its mother’s body. It seemed that the fawn had clung to something at the bottom of the river. Not knowing what to do, I decided to go to the water and to see what was going on. Seeing a gun in my hand, the animal started jerking its head in fear, but the maternal instinct was stronger than the fear of death and only the scared eyes of the female deer that had suddenly turned wet, revealed her wild fear. Leaving only my shorts on and taking a knife, I entered the water; at a distance of about one meter, I submerged my head and saw the hind feet of the fawn tangled in some kind of rope. Thank God it’s only a rope, I thought to myself, and made a dive towards the calf’s feet, cutting the rope in two swings of my knife. The water immediately turned turbulent from eight deer feet, so I hurried up to get to the shore, in order to avoid getting a hoof blow to the head or any other part of my body. Once on the shore, I had to help the small fawn one more time. One of its feet was firmly held by the rope that extended towards the water, so I had to use my knife once again. The fawn must have become so tired and cold in the water that it barely paid any attention to me. This allowed me to realize the reason of its water imprisoning: upon a closer look, I realized that the animal had actually gotten into a fishing net left by someone. “What an awkward turn of events,” I said aloud to Baikal who was sitting next to me, and immediately I heard the sound of a motorboat approaching. The deer, having seen the boat, started towards the taiga. Only the mother of the calf turned its head to stare at me several times as if expressing its gratitude for saving her child. When the boat moored, the whole herd had already disappeared from slight. “What happened to you, Sasha, why were you shooting?” Herman asked anxiously. Having told about the events that happened to me, I showed the network lying on the shore. German and Nikita, having examined the net and the deer tracks interspersed with those of the wolves, took turns in shaking my hand, congratulating me on the first hunting trophy. I haven’t even noticed how I actually got one of the wolves and, as it turned out, the shot was in the head. Herman explained: most likely, I got the leader, which was the reason for such a rapid flight of the wolves. Throwing my trophy in the "Crimea", we moved up Vitim to the winter hut, which was only about forty minutes away now. For the rest of the way, the dogs growled, grinning at a wolf wrapped in tarpaulin: it was the thousand-year-old natural instinct speaking, something that cannot be etched by any civilization. Due to all our daytime adventures, we reached the hunter’s site by four in the afternoon and my friend, the owner of the site Herman, made a decision: today we should not go to taiga to hunt a bear. We would visit banya instead, have a good rest, and tomorrow hunt the predator with renewed forces. Nikita and I began to heat the bathhouse, while Herman began to skin the wolf. In about two hours, when the bathhouse was quite hot already, we were joyfully pounding each other with birch brooms, and so I ran out to cool myself a bit in the fresh air. A few meters away, I saw the skin removed from the wolf and I really wanted to try it immediately… I just could not help it: taking the skin from the pole, I threw it directly on my naked body and, apparently, immediately lost consciousness. Waking up about ten minutes later with a wolf skin on a naked body, from which water flowed for some reason, I frantically ripped it off, threw it back on the pole and, shaking from the cold, jumped back into the bathhouse.

      “Long walks, huh?” my friends said, “We have been waiting for like ten minutes, then we saw you swimming in the river, finally getting your fill of this exotic nature, and decided not to disturb.”

      Chapter Three

      At night I dreamed of wolves running next to me. Growling and grinning, we ran through the forest, and I was horrified to see wolf legs instead of my legs and arms, with which I deftly jumped over fallen trees and shrubs. This dream made me jump up and, apparently not fully awake, I took several steps through the winter hut until I ran into a table that was in the middle. Returning to my senses and eagerly drinking some water from the mug on the table, I could not get rid of the thought of what was a reality and what was merely a dream. At this moment, my eyes fell on my hands and my legs that were all covered in small scratches from the branches, while the palms were full of marks left by needles. What I saw almost made me faint. I need to ask Herman about all this, I thought and went to the river to wash myself. After that, there was breakfast and we left for taiga, right to the place where the bait was. As I walked, with each pass I took, my nightmare seemed more and more absurd to me, and in no time I forgot about everything. After three kilometers and having detected the smell of spoilt meat, Herman led us on a detour