The Dyatlov Pass Incident. Mystery of the Fireballs. Sergei Mikhailov

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СКАЧАТЬ immediately. It only managed to say a few words – in a language no one knew. Except for one word. Kholat Syakhl.”

      At that moment, the device in Maxim’s hands came alive. Glowing symbols raced across its surface, and strange sounds emerged from its speaker – like distorted human speech passed through an unknown filter.

      “Lord above,” Nikolai Ivanovich breathed. “In all these years, it never…”

      Maxim felt the metal pulsing beneath his fingers like something alive. He held in his hands not just the key to the pass’s mystery, but to something incomparably greater.

      The sound of approaching vehicles shattered the silence.

      “Go,” Nikolai Ivanovich pushed him toward a far door. “Quickly. I’ll hold them off – won’t be my first time.” The old man darted to a corner of the sawmill and pulled a pair of hunting skis from under a tarpaulin. “Take these. You won’t get far in the winter forest without them. Behind that door is a trail into the mountains. Head for Kholat Syakhl – that’s where the answers wait.”

      Maxim stuffed the device and documents into his backpack and shouldered the skis. “What about you?”

      “I’ll be fine. I know how to talk to people like them. Now go!”

      After a firm handshake with the old searcher, Maxim plunged through the indicated door. Behind him, the growing roar of engines, the thunder of opening doors, and sharp voices violated the winter forest’s silence.

      He ran along the snow-covered trail, each step carrying him further from the familiar world. In his backpack, the strange device hummed quietly, counting out his heartbeats. Ahead, among the stern Ural peaks, waited a mystery that had kept its silence for more than half a century. There was no turning back now.

      Chapter 5 – On the Threshold of the Unknown

      Maxim ventured deeper into the forest, leaving the sawmill and sounds of pursuit far behind. The frigid air burned his lungs, and with each step his backpack seemed to grow heavier. But he didn’t stop – fear and curiosity drove him forward.

      After several hours of exhausting ascent, the forest parted to reveal a small plateau. Maxim paused, catching his breath. In the distance, among the Ural mountain ridges, lay Mount Kholat Syakhl.

      The strange device in his hands came alive. A series of pulsing signals joined its familiar hum, and the mysterious symbols on its surface began to shift. Slowly turning, Maxim held the device before him like a compass. When he pointed it toward one of the distant peaks, the signals grew clearer, more insistent.

      Further progress was impossible without skis. He put them on, silently thanking the old man for his foresight.

      Fortunately, his serious background in skiing proved invaluable now. The hunting skis, fitted with climbing skins, were unusually wide but gripped the snow well. He moved quickly for the first few hours, driven by fear of pursuit. The winter day waned, the forest grew denser, massive fir trees converged overhead, barely letting through the dim light. The frost intensified, creeping under his jacket, but he couldn’t afford to stop.

      As darkness approached, Maxim finally caught his breath and surveyed his surroundings. The sawmill lay far behind, and ahead stretched an endless winter forest. He checked the map – Kholat Syakhl was more than a hundred kilometers away – a long journey ahead.

      As night fell, fatigue began to take its toll. In a small clearing between trees, Maxim decided to make camp. Taking a thermos of tea from his backpack, he suddenly realized how cold and exhausted he had become. A long night lay ahead, with several days’ journey still remaining to the Mountain of the Dead.

      He hastily constructed a small shelter from pine boughs beneath a spreading fir tree, clearing away the snow. The frost intensified during the night, and even his warm sleeping bag couldn’t completely ward off the cold. He drifted in and out of troubled sleep, starting at every rustle, flinching at the crack of frozen trees.

      He set out again at first light. The morning sun painted the snow pink, and fog crept between the trees. The forest seemed endless; kilometer after kilometer Maxim pressed on, occasionally checking his map. The old hunting skis glided softly over the snow, leaving long tracks behind.

      Several days passed this way. Each day mirrored the last – long treks through snowy forest, brief rests, and cold nights.

      Once, fortune smiled on him. He encountered some kind people on a snowmobile who, upon seeing Maxim, offered to take him to the nearest village. This significantly hastened his progress and allowed him some respite from the long journey.

      On the fourth day, the forest began to thin, and ahead the outlines of mountain ridges emerged more distinctly. Maxim sensed he was close to his goal. Somewhere among these stern peaks lay Mount Kholat Syakhl. He took out the device again to confirm his direction, and suddenly caught movement from the corner of his eye. Among the trees appeared a small figure – no taller than a child, but with unnaturally white, glowing eyes. The white-eyed Chud – ancient Mansi legends made flesh.

      The being studied Maxim and the device intently, then pointed toward the mountain and spoke something in an incomprehensible language.

      With trembling hands, Maxim retrieved a package of sugar from his backpack – remembering Dyatlov’s notes. It carefully accepted the offering and again pointed to the mountain.

      “They’re guiding me to my destination,” Maxim realized.

      The journey grew increasingly difficult. Snow reached to his knees, the wind strengthening with each step. The device in Maxim’s hands pulsed more frequently, as if sensing the approach of something significant.

      By evening, they reached the mountain’s base. At the entrance to a small cave, the being stopped and gestured for Maxim to enter, its movement carrying an air of ancient wisdom.

      Deep in the cave, ancient drawings glowed with a dim phosphorescent light. Maxim gazed in amazement at the strange images – human figures, stars, and objects floating in the sky. In the center, like the heart of a sanctuary, rose an altar stone.

      The being approached the altar and touched it with its white hand. The device in Maxim’s hands exploded with light and sound – the signals became deafening, symbols on its surface whirling in a frenzied dance.

      The air in the cave thickened, pulsing like a living thing. The stone walls dissolved, revealing the infinity of starry sky and the outlines of alien worlds whose existence humanity had never suspected.

      Maxim understood – he stood on the threshold of a discovery that could overturn all understanding of reality. Here, in this ancient cave, awaited answers not only to the mystery of Dyatlov Pass, but to questions about the very nature of the universe.

      Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward into the unknown…

      Chapter 6 – Gateway to the Unknown

      A flash of light blinded him. When his vision returned, Maxim found himself on a snow-covered slope beneath a night sky crisscrossed by the trajectories of fiery spheres. They floated above the horizon as if performing some ancient dance.

      The crunch of snow behind him made him turn. There she stood – СКАЧАТЬ