They say no morning is truly good. On a hike, after yesterday's climbs, you feel that to the fullest. Muscles are stiff, the body craves rest, but ahead lies a new day and new summits. To shake off the stiffness, I performed my signature warm-up routine — a set of exercises from different systems, tailored personally for me. While the water boiled, I prepared breakfast: mixed muesli with powdered milk and protein powder, poured boiling water over it. Stretched properly, sat down to eat. By then, the porridge had settled, and the fatigue was completely gone. Washed it all down with sweet coffee — now I was ready for new feats. Sounds a bit pompous, but maintaining a battle-ready mood is necessary — a hunt might be on the agenda today.
But first, I needed to climb the Gaznok Pass. Or rather, South Gaznok — nobody uses the North one, it's in the neighboring couloir, so everyone just calls it Gaznok. The ascent, as always, was endless: step by step, up, up, until the pass saddle finally came into view. Finding it wasn't so simple — the trail had split into many small paths, as often happens where livestock is frequently herded. I had to navigate by direction, fortunately, it was easy to guess. From the pass, a view opened up of the Maykhura River gorge. I took a break, had a snack, let myself recover a bit. No point in lingering either — there was still a long way ahead.
After about forty minutes, I started descending. My target was a small ledge almost at the bottom of the descent. If you turn right from it and climb again, you enter the Bear Gate gorge. It practically leads right to the very summit of an unnamed peak on the same ridge as the Gaznok Pass. That's precisely where the spirit I'm tracking is hiding.
I first noticed it when I was guiding a group of foreigners through this pass. From time to time, I work as a guide — a man's got to live. But there's a nuance: my partner finds me not ordinary tourists, but wealthy lovers of the mystical, those who want to see something truly unusual. Usually, I take them to see stone golems — pseudo-sentient spirits inhabiting stone bodies. They are very rare because they were nearly exterminated at some point. Despite their threatening appearance, golems are slow — moving a stone body requires a tremendous amount of energy. So, knowledgeable people used to raid them, draining their energy. It seemed they were completely wiped out, but centuries passed, and they started appearing again in secluded corners.
I don't take tourists there to hunt — golems are impressive and relatively safe if you don't bother them. Modern mystics aren't cut out for that sort of thing anyway, and I prefer not to get involved myself — my bear is powerless against stone. So, everyone's happy: the golems remain intact, the clients get their adrenaline rush, and I get money. It's an exclusive service, so I don't have to work much — a couple of hikes a year is enough for me.
Someone might think: he led a group — they remembered the spot and will now guide people themselves. There were such smart alecks. They gathered people, took money, came — and no golems. They started calling my partner, making complaints. But he's no fool: he asked if they were sure they wanted to pick a fight with the person who not only showed them the place but also ensured their safety? They immediately backed down. And my partner later spread the word throughout the community — only strengthened our reputation.
The thing is, golems are only active at certain times. When they are in passive mode, you can walk right over them and notice nothing — just rock and more rock. You need to know their active periods or be able to sense them. So the whole venture relies on my ability to see the otherworldly. Outmaneuvering us here is almost impossible.
But back to that hike. We had just reached the ledge, the clients were exhausted, so we had to stop for the night. At night, we had a visitor. I call such spirits Rustlers. Luka advised giving them my own names, not searching through mythology — it's easier to remember and act. Rustlers are minor spirits that mimic sounds: footsteps, the crack of twigs, rolling stones, even voices. They do this at night, especially when you're falling asleep — they seem to sense that moment. It frightens inexperienced travelers, and fear is their sustenance. They don't engage directly, too cowardly. That time, I just scared it off, without explaining the details to the clients — only added to the mystery. But for myself, I noted where it disappeared to — into the Bear Gate gorge.
Now it's his turn. I won't go into the gorge itself — I'd scare it off. I'll camp on the ledge, like a simple traveler, and set an ambush on the Rustler's trail closer to evening. I can only hope it will come.
I was pondering all this while descending. The descent took several hours, and now I was there. I set up camp under the spur that forms one side of the gorge. Interesting name — Bear Gate. Probably, bears used to live here. Don't sense anything large yet.
I didn't eat — if the hunt is successful, I'll eat afterwards, same as if it fails. Boiled tea, finished the remaining Amosov's paste with some hardtack. Had a snack — good enough. Now, all that's left is to wait. I didn't have to wait long — while I was busy with camp, dusk crept up unnoticed.
Once it was fully dark, I undressed, tossed my things into the tent, and turned into a wolf. Ran towards the gorge — needed to find a suitable spot. Soon, I caught the scent of the trail the spirit uses to descend from the gorge. That's where I needed to look for the right place along its path. No need to hurry — such spirits come out later.
The gorge doesn't start immediately; you need to climb a bit, but that's easy for a wolf. I ran at a leisurely pace, scouting the area. A tongue of scree spilled out from the gorge; I moved along the left wall until I reached the entrance. It was formed by the spur, becoming the second wall of the gorge. Right at the entrance, I found what I needed: a stone pocket with one entrance. The only way out was upwards, along vertical walls. Not a problem for a spirit, but that was the direction I would control.
In front of the hollow was a spacious area, perfect for a charge. I transformed into the bear, checked — I fit, and I'm hidden from view. Changed back to the wolf and lay in wait.
About the bear's charge. I learned this trick by watching computer games — tanking classes have this ability, a charge. In the world of military craft, druids in bear form possess it too. Unlike in computer games, I have an advantage: the body isn't physical, so the charge can be made instantly over a great distance. The whole secret is in the initial push, disengaging materiality, and instantly rematerializing near the target. The instantaneous embodiment of a huge mass at speed produces the effect of a cannonball.
Speaking of bodily materiality, some spirits are capable of such changes, using it as both weapon and defense. They can inflict tangible physical damage, and in case of danger, they can become incorporeal. This makes them very dangerous opponents. But not for the bear — to it, a spirit, in any guise, is physically tangible. That's why spirits are sometimes stunned by the mere fact that a bear slams into them when they are, seemingly, incorporeal.
The waiting dragged on. With the night came frost; good thing the wolf has fur. But it was still cold. I could have switched off that sensitivity too, but it's better not to — you could get frostbite without even feeling it.
Suddenly, pebbles clattered down the scree from the gorge. The Rustler was making its presence known. I instantly warmed up. Sniffed the air — yes, it was him, that familiar scent. He was moving along the stone wall, keeping to the shadows, unaware that this made my task easier. Continuing like this, he would inevitably end up near the hollow.
I sat motionless, tracking him by sound and smell. Now he was level with the hollow. Transformation into the bear, the push, closing the distance — all in an instant. Wham! The Rustler slammed into the wall of the hollow. My follow-up swipe with the paw was unnecessary — the spirit was already shattered from the first impact. Pinned it with my paw, absorbing the energy. Simple. But such simplicity is deceptive. If everything is planned correctly, the fight is instantaneous and in your favor. If the battle drags on — it means control is lost, and it's better to retreat. You can always come back prepared.
These creatures don't get tired, don't experience emotions except perhaps bewilderment, and they act as long as they have energy. They are capable of many tricks. So if a fight drags on — better to leave while you can. Of course, it varies, but most often everything is decided in the first few seconds.
Today, however, everything went like clockwork — the Rustler got rustled out of existence. I shifted back to the wolf and ran to camp, time for dinner. The little bastard was small, but had accumulated a fair amount of energy, which was pleasing. Now I was ready for any surprises. I just needed to speed up the energy assimilation process, which I set about doing. Lit the stove, dumped three cans of stew into the pot, diluted some alcohol. On hikes, it's better to take pure medical alcohol — you can carry more in less volume. Tastes unpleasant, of course, but tolerable. I'm not doing it for pleasure, but, so to speak, for therapeutic purposes. Diluted half of a liter flask, thinking: if needed, I'll dilute more and heat up more stew, but for now this will do. Poured water into the remaining half of the alcohol in the flask so it wouldn't slosh in the backpack — would have to dilute it later anyway.
Finally, the stew warmed up. Surprisingly, by all sensations, this amount was quite enough for me. Well, good. I cleaned everything up and crawled into the sleeping bag.
Contrary to expectations, I slept very well. Early in the night, there was some mental fuzziness from the spirit's energy, but it passed quickly. Compared to the aftereffects of the Ice Witch — it was like night and day. So, upon waking, I was in an excellent mood. Took my time stretching — meaning, thoughtfully performed my warm-up routine. After all, I did cross a pass yesterday. Mood is one thing, but the body was still taxed. Afterwards, drank coffee, broke camp, and moved on.
A long trek lay ahead today. But it didn't bother me in the least — I was full of energy, the weather was beautiful, the road passed through scenic places. Relatively speaking, of course — there were many old mine works, adits, signs of human activity everywhere, but still, mountains are mountains. Plus, the movement was mostly a gentle descent. What more does one need for happiness? Just walk and enjoy. Not everyone fancies such pastimes, but I quite enjoy these meditative walks. You walk and don't think about anything, just exist here and now, sensing and absorbing everything happening around you.
And a lot was happening — life was bustling all around. At times, I felt a foreign attention on me, but it came from living creatures, nothing otherworldly. Near the end of the descent, the trail led to an old dirt road coming from those very old mine works. Walking became even easier. So I covered the entire distance to the conditional exit from the gorge almost without stopping. Stopped to drink tea once the road to the Anzob Tunnel became visible.
After tea, I continued along the dirt road. I could have crossed to the other side of the stream — there's a trail there, more authentic for a hike, but it winds around, skirting rock outcrops along the river. So no, I'll keep going as I am — it'll be faster. Still had a fair distance to cover: I needed to reach the Sangi Navishta mountains from the side of the road to Ziddi. That's how I planned it from the very beginning, won't change anything now.
It will take a couple of days to cross those mountains. In the end, I should reach the Daraikunal River and follow it down to the village of Gushari, though nowadays this village is called Khushyeri. Or rather, it was always called that, but in Soviet times they wrote down a sort of Russian translation, which just ended up mangling the original. Same with many names: Siama — Siema, Khazormech — Khazormesh.
But I'm digressing. Why am I talking about the end of the hike? Because it's already nearing its end, and I haven't heard a thing about meeting anyone or anything like that. But I decided to stick to the original plan, especially since Luka specifically mentioned this — to follow the initial route. If I don't meet anyone, I'll return home, look over my notes, ponder the maps, and sketch out a new hike to the most promising areas. Well, just for the sake of due diligence. If I don't meet anyone on that hike either, then it's quite possible Luka was just joking or feeding me misinformation for some pedagogical purpose — that would be just like him. So, if there's nothing, then there's nothing to be done. I'll continue with my own affairs, of which there are always plenty.
With such thoughts, I trudged quite briskly to the turnoff for Ziddi, where right after the main bridge there was a small bridge for crossing the Ziddi River itself to the side of the Sangi Navishta mountains. Now I needed to reach the right gorge, the most convenient one for ascending. But I ran out of time — while walking, it started getting dark. So I turned into the second couloir and set up my tent in an inconspicuous spot by a stream running down this gorge.
Gathered firewood, lit a campfire. I don't usually do this, but sometimes you just want to sit by the fire like this, drink some tea, stretching out legs tired from the long trek. Sipping tea, I listened to my sensations. In the evening, a lot of wildlife comes out to hunt; I kept feeling a foreign attention briefly brushing over me. Usually, local inhabitants, upon noticing a human, immediately try to leave — in these parts, as they say, the game is skittish. After all, I could very well be an ordinary hunter, you know, the kind with a rifle. So the game runs off as soon as it scents a human.
But among this jumble of sensations, I singled out one — someone was watching, not leaving. Hmm, maybe some dumb or curious animal, or maybe not, but keeping its distance. The feeling was entirely physical, no otherworldly undertones, which only made it more puzzling.
Maybe it's nothing, or maybe, as Winnie-the-Pooh said, it's a sign of something. Not taking any risks, I laid a warning ward around the camp. Essentially — it's just a simple spell. If you add salt and pepper — it becomes a boundary for otherworldly creatures too, but I'm not in the habit of wasting foodstuffs, and it leaves a specific trace, albeit for a short time. Without salt and pepper, the spell simply alerts me if something sizable crosses the line. After casting the ward, I sat a while longer for good measure and then crawled into the tent to sleep — who knows what's out there, and I have more climbing and a long trek ahead tomorrow.
