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

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СКАЧАТЬ froze, watching as Zolotarev’s group descended the parallel slope. His gait carried the confidence of a man who had seen war. He led his group, occasionally stopping to survey the surroundings carefully.

      “Strange,” Anna whispered. “It’s as if he’s searching for something.”

      Itokai remained silent, but his gaze, fixed on Zolotarev, grew even more attentive.

      Suddenly both groups – Dyatlov’s and Zolotarev’s – began converging. Their paths intersected at a small mountain lake.

      “We need to get closer,” Maxim whispered. “This meeting… it’s important.”

      They carefully approached the lake, concealing themselves behind large boulders. From here, they could clearly hear the voices of both groups.

      “Hello,” Dyatlov spoke first. “Heading far?”

      “To Belukha,” Zolotarev replied, appraising the group of young hikers. “And you, I see, are returning from there?”

      “Yes, third day here. Amazing places,” Dyatlov studied the experienced hiker with interest. “Which route are you taking to Belukha?”

      “From the Urals. I work as an instructor at the Kaurovka base. Semyon Alekseyevich.”

      “We’re from UPI, hiking club,” Dyatlov introduced his companions. “I’m Igor, this is Yura, and this is Tibo… Thibeaux-Brignolles.”

      At the mention of this name, Zolotarev suddenly tensed. His gaze pierced into Tibo’s face, as if trying to recall something. A strange silence hung for a moment.

      Chapter 13 – Shadows of the Past

      Tibet, 1935

      The young guide stood at the foot of one of the world’s most majestic peaks. His attention was focused on the group preparing to depart. This was no ordinary expedition. Germans. High-ranking ones. Though he had led many difficult routes and guided various travelers, he had never encountered people quite like these.

      His selection wasn’t random. He was one of the best guides, with a reputation for leading groups through the most difficult and dangerous passages that even the most experienced explorers preferred to avoid. His knowledge of local trails, unmatched endurance, and ability to read the mountains made him a valuable ally for any expedition.

      This group was special. They represented an organization called Ahnenerbe – a mysterious scientific society that grew more enigmatic with each passing year. Officially, Ahnenerbe studied culture, history, and artifacts connected to ancient civilizations. However, rumors that the organization also sought occult knowledge known only to initiates made him uneasy.

      “Herr Briniol,” the tall German in black uniform addressed him. “Wir sind bereit.” (in German: “We are ready.”)

      Joseph Brignolles – brother of Vladimir Iosifovich Thibeaux-Brignolles – adjusted his backpack and nodded. His thoughts momentarily drifted to Volodya, now serving his exile in Russia.

      “Follow me,” he commanded in German and moved forward along a barely visible trail.

      Ahead lay an ancient monastery, lost high in the mountains. Joseph didn’t know that there, within those ancient walls, awaited an encounter that would change his entire family’s destiny. An old hermit monk, keeper of ancient prophecies, was already preparing for this meeting.

      The group slowly advanced up the mountain trail. The Germans were well-prepared, but the altitude took its toll. Each step became increasingly difficult.

      “Herr Briniol,” the expedition leader, Dr. Schäfer, addressed him. “How far to the monastery?”

      “Two hours’ journey,” Joseph replied, scanning the mountain peaks. Something strange hung in the air today. A tension, as if the mountains were waiting for something.

      By noon, they reached the ancient walls. The monastery appeared abandoned, but this was deceptive. Joseph knew hermits lived here, guardians of ancient knowledge.

      An old monk met them at the gates. His faded eyes seemed to look through time.

      “We have been expecting you,” he said in perfect German, surprising the expedition. “Especially you, Joseph Brignolles.”

      Joseph froze. He had told no one his full name.

      “Come with me,” the monk directed the Germans to the inner courtyard, where other monks awaited them. “And you, Joseph, I ask to follow me. We must speak privately.”

      Dr. Schäfer wanted to object – group separation wasn’t part of their plans, but something in the old monk’s eyes stopped him. The Germans exchanged glances and headed to the inner courtyard, where scrolls and ancient texts they so eagerly sought awaited them.

      The monk led Joseph down a narrow corridor that penetrated deep into the mountain. Oil lamps cast strange shadows on the ancient walls.

      “I know you seek answers,” the monk spoke without turning. “But today you will receive knowledge you did not seek.”

      They entered a small cell. In the center stood a low table bearing a worn leather-bound book.

      “On the fifth of June this year,” the monk spoke quietly, but each word seemed to imprint itself in the air, “your brother will have a son. A child whose destiny is already written in the book of time.”

      Joseph wanted to speak, but the monk stopped him with a gesture.

      “This boy will possess a gift that manifests once in several generations. He will be able to see what is hidden from others. Feel what is inaccessible to ordinary people.”

      “How… how do you know about my brother?” Joseph tried to hide the tremor in his voice.

      The monk opened the ancient book. Strange symbols and drawings were visible on the yellowed pages.

      “There are places of power,” the monk continued, running his finger along the lines. “Sacred mountains where the boundary between worlds grows thinner. Belukha in the Altai. Kailash here in Tibet. And there is another mountain…” he paused momentarily. “Your nephew will find it. And this will change everything.”

      “Which mountain? What are you talking about?”

      “Kholat Syakhl,” the monk’s expression darkened. “I see… I see snow and cold. Nine figures. And among them – your nephew. His gift will lead them there. But…” he fell silent abruptly, as if seeing something terrible.

      “But what? What will happen?”

      “Fate is unchangeable when paths are already drawn,” the monk raised his eyes to Joseph. “But we can prepare him. The first step – his name. The boy must be named Nikolai.”

      “How can I tell my brother? He’s in exile, I can’t contact him.”

      “Your brother has the right to family visits. Write to his wife. She will understand. A mother’s heart feels truth.”

      The СКАЧАТЬ