He didnt feel sick or tired now. Rather the opposite. But he attributed the lack of loss of strength from a long journey to an emotional upsurge, and at first he did not think about it at all.
So the first hour passed. Wandering in the forest and in his thoughts, he did not notice the increased physical strength, although he walked straight ahead, on impassable roads and without special equipment. This path will exhaust anyone.
And Marianne easily overcame uneven slopes and ascents. Sometimes deep pits and bumps, tree roots or frozen bushes appeared under the snow. Stumbling, losing a step, falling into deep snow, the young man walked forward.
The snow crammed into his shoes, melted and now gave Marianne unpleasant sensations. He stopped twice, leaned against a tree and hurriedly shook the ice out of his shoes. But my legs only became even more chilled. Annoyed Marianne began to think about a warm shelter, where you can warm up and dry your feet. Fatigue nevertheless crept up and began to shackle the body. Now Marianne was looking both ways, trying to listen and wondering where to hide for the rest of the night. There were only dense forest and snow around.
Twice he distinctly heard footsteps behind him and another rustling sound. And the second time is very close. Anxious Marianne immediately looked around, but saw no one. He was still here alone.
There were no indentations from footprints on the velvet smooth surface of the snow. Only those that he left. Between the trees, the figure of a pursuer or a wild beast could not be discerned. It seemed that there was no one but the only traveler in the whole area. So it seemed to me.
Marianne continued to walk forward, blaming his fears on the rustle of his clothes and the echo of his own breathing. Suddenly a shadow slid along the ground on the right hand, overtook Marianne by several steps, but then just as quickly darted back and disappeared.
Marianne was frightened. Shadow? The moon has not been shown for a long time. Not a single star is visible overhead. Twilight reigned everywhere. Then what is it? And this time it was seen? Marianne immediately stopped, looked around more attentively, with suspicion of everything he could see. Something or someone was or was near. It should be here. There is no doubt about it this time. And it is now invisible, perhaps lurking among the black tree trunks. It followed Marian for a long time, because the first time he heard an extraneous sound half an hour earlier.
Whos here? Marianne asked loudly, trying to firm up his voice. But the sound of his own speech seemed uncertain.
Silence and loneliness suddenly surged in a wave. Fear was born in the lower abdomen, so light and weak that it could be mistaken for anxiety. And all around, it seemed, there was only an indifferent winter landscape.
Marianne hurried away. You need to leave this place as soon as possible. Ahead, the trees thinned and opened up a spacious lawn. Marianne headed there.
Twenty steps later, the trees parted, and behind them was a steep descent. Blue immense clouds hung low above the ground, sheltering the fantastic landscape from the silver light of the Moon. The cozy valley seemed to be a reflection of the shadows of the wavy sky. Underfoot in the twilight was a perfectly flat curve of the railway. A little to the left was a small yellow light. Marianne looked closer and recognized the house almost covered with snow to the very roof. He must have been standing right next to the tracks.
Marianne decided not to waste time on a detour, but to go down the mountain here.
He stepped carefully onto the snowy slope. Another step, and Marianne lost her footing. The snow was slipping from under my feet. Falling and tumbling down the slope, Marianne rolled down. A few seconds of falling and he felt a blow from his shoulder to the ground. In addition, the top was covered with a dense snowdrift. Unwittingly, he caused a mini-avalanche, disturbing the loose and unreliable snow of the slope, and now scolded himself for indiscretion.
Out of breath, Marianne, lost in direction, with sticky snow behind the collar and on his face, stood up on his throbbing legs. But he was stuck up to his waist in a loose snowdrift. My shoulder ached. After a dizzying descent, it took a while to recover. The rumble in my ears subsided. The cackling of anxious birds spread in the sky. There was anxiety and anxiety in him. Marianne himself has not yet seen a single night bird in this forest. Maybe it just seems to him? The unnaturally ringing clatter of hooves overlapped a displeased croak. He was walking right up to Marianne. No! It is a metallic rumble, frequent and sonorous. A second ago, barely perceptible, now he stood up as a loud curtain, an impenetrable wall for other sounds. A bright light emerged from the darkness, hit me in the eyes. Marianne, unable to escape, fell into a snowdrift again and, floundering in the snow, saw danger. He lay very close to the rails. Just a couple of meters and it would all be over. The train roared past with a roar, lifted up a whirlwind of small, sharp snowflakes and hit Marianne with a gust of wind. The iron giant had already fled far away before the youth could see it.
Something made me look up. And his breath stopped. Above him, at the very top of the hill from which he had just rolled, a black figure could be seen. Immobile. Surely this one was looking at him.
Marianne hastened to get out of here as quickly as possible. Having got out of the snow onto the rails, I again noticed a dim light of light in the distance, and now I was almost running towards it as fast as I could, turning around every ten to twenty meters. But I saw no one behind.
Chapter 3. Mignis
Marianne knocked on the heavy door. The knock was muffled. Marianne took off his mitten and knocked again. His knuckles ached, but this time the knock was louder. No sound came from behind the door. The young man pushed the door, and it yielded.
Is anybody here? Marianne asked. There was no answer. Then he cautiously went inside and looked around. There was no one in the house, but the burning lamp was alarming. Someone lit it.
The room was small. Unpretentious furniture made of rough boards: table, bench. Marianne closed the door behind him.
A mouse sat behind the leg of the bench and looked at the guest. Black eyes gleamed from the lamp. And when this only inhabitant of the house noticed that they were looking at him, he immediately began to scratch behind his ears, rub his face and, in general, show with all his appearance that he did not care about the guest.
The lamp stood at the edge of the table. She flickered with a yellow light in the window. The light from the lamp itself was barely enough for half a room. It was cold in the house. The hearth stood out as a blackened spot against the wall. Logs lay near the hearth. One fell under Mariannes foot as he came closer. Wood chips were scattered across the floor. The young man looked under the bench: the mouse was no longer there. Marianne looked around for a match, but in vain. He threw off his backpack and in a small side pocket immediately found what he was looking for. Lighter. He bent down for the chips, and a couple of minutes later cheerful tongues of flame danced in the hearth. First, Marianne warmed his hands by the fire, then looked around again. The room looked a little better. In the far corner, the darkness dissipated, revealing a shabby, dirty chest and a wad of rags.
The house looked abandoned, but there was no better place to wait out the night. There was only one room in the house, and not a soul. Where is the one who lit the lamp? Now this question worried the young man most of all.
The house looked abandoned, but there was no better place to wait out the night. There was only one room in the house, and not a soul. Where is the one who lit the lamp? Now this question worried the young man most of all.
Marianne sat down on the bench and put the mittens beside him. The dust on the table was disturbed. The marks of small paws and thin grooves were clearly visible near the lamp itself and on the edge of the table by the bench.
The mouse slowly crawled out, carefully treading with its paws. She picked up her tail and climbed onto the bench with lightning speed. She was not afraid of the person and behaved quite confidently. As a hostess. Marianne recoiled at first from the dark woolen ball, but then saw in it a mouse and calmed down. And she looked attentively with her eyes, in which the light of the lamp walked with sharp sparks, and moved menacingly towards the mittens. Marianne found this scene comical. After all, the mouse was very small.
Suddenly, a faint, thin voice, like the creak of old door hinges, said:
Paul, by the way, is cold! Move over and dont crush me inadvertently!
What? From surprise Marianne nearly fell off the bench.
Winter outside, as you can see. You didnt think that I would sleep in an ice-covered hole, did you?
Marianne instinctively wanted to grab the mittens, his hand was already reaching for them, but he thought that the beast might bite, and withdrew his hand. The mouse settled comfortably on the mitten and froze. From such insolence, Marianne was speechless. He wanted to object to something, but there was no limit to the surprise at what the mouse was saying. Marianne could only open his mouth.
Have you ever seen talking mice? Asked a faint, quiet, thin voice. Does she also read thoughts?
Marianne said doubtfully somewhere into the room:
You say?
And, to my surprise, I heard the answer in the same thin voice:
Whos talking? What does he say?
Can you talk? Youre a mouse! Marianne expressed his thoughts aloud.
Mouse, mouse! The mouse undoubtedly said with feeling. No respect, no courtesy. By the way, I have a name! Mignis. And I dont remember being called a mouse.
Mignis drilled her guest with beady eyes, stopped rubbing her nose with her paws. Marianne burned with curiosity, looked at the mouse with an open mouth, bent over and hunched over, trying to see it better, but kept his distance from the unusual rodent.
What if he still bites? Doesnt all this seem to me?
What surprises you?
No, nothing Marianne lied.
What is your name? The mouse asked.
M-marianne, answered the young man, and he himself thought, is it really all this happening to him or is he dreaming? Maybe Im dreaming?
Mimariann, the mouse repeated quietly under her breath. Probably to remember.
Marianne! He said more confidently. Not mi, but ma.
Mignis ignored the comments and squeaked:
Move the lamp to the edge of the table. It will be warmer.
Marianne obeyed, though he doubted it would make it warmer. The mouse seemed to be sulking at him.
He felt disposed towards the mouse. She was small, but rather brave. Talking to a person bigger than you, with a stranger! How would Marianne feel if he were in her place?
Tell me, Mignis, who else is here?
The mouse looked at Marianne and hesitated to answer, as if pondering what to say.
You see that only we are in the house?
Who lit the lamp, Mignis?
Yes, Mignis, said the mouse. Marianne did not understand the answer.
So someone is about to return? Probably gone to get some brushwood or water?
Mignis looked at the door.
If anyone comes, then Yakov. Now is the time for him to appear.
Who? Who?
Jacob. The old hunter. The mouse turned its nose to Marianne. He comes almost every night if the lamp is lit. Somewhere in this hour.
Mignis looked at the wall. A dusty clock hung there. They seem to have stopped long ago. The hands froze at five to eleven.
So youre not alone here. Does Jacob live here?
No, the mouse answered shortly. Does not live.
Marianne thought Mignis was not that talkative.
Maybe its coming to light? Or cant find the way without it? A thought struck Marianne. So he wanders around here?
The mouse didnt answer. She wiggled her mustache listlessly. She seemed to doze off. Marianne looked at the mouse for a minute and said quietly:
I saw someone here. I couldnt really see it myself. And I thought to myself: Is this old man sane? And then, the mouse called him a hunter. This means that he knows everything in the neighborhood like the back of his hand. Maybe ask him about Wolf Mountain? Or at least the direction to the north.
The door trembled, the window pane creaked in the wind. It probably would have rang if it was not almost completely covered by snow. There was a heavy, muffled knock on the door and a knock on the threshold outside. Marianne froze in place with horror. A figure seeped through the door, huge and broad-shouldered, gloomy, like a transparent shadow. The ghost was tall, dressed in a fur coat, and this made him look shaggy. He moved silently around the room, ignoring Marianne. The ghost swam through the air through the room and froze, bending over the chest. As if tormented by his thoughts, it stood like that for a minute. Marianne was afraid to move, where to run. Numbness and terror seized him. Goosebumps ran down my skin, my blood froze in my veins.
Mignis did not react in any way to the appearance of another guest.
Suddenly the ghost turned to Marianne and looked at him. His beard was tousled. Black holes gaped from beneath thick and knitted eyebrows. The ghost had no eyes, but Marianne did not doubt the severity of his gaze. The mere presence of this disembodied creature made it noticeably colder in the house. And the thought that the ghost was looking into your eyes made you feel uneasy. Marianne regretted that he had wandered into this house, that he was sitting next to a lamp that perfectly illuminates it. In the twilight of the night he would not have been noticed.
So another minute passed. And then Marianne thought with hope that the ghost did not see him.
It was hard to tell if he was looking at Marianne or at the table, whether he was a threat or not. But the realization that there was a ghost in front of you imposed a mute numbness and icy fear. The mouse was talking about a lamp. Is he looking at her?
And then Yakov went to Marianne, turning first sideways, then chest. There was something unnatural in his movements. Legs moved limply above the floor, but did not touch it. The ghost held an ax in his hand. Marianne shuddered, and the heaviness in his muscles eased slightly. He got up and took a couple of steps back. Then another step and another, away from danger. The back rested against the wall. There was nowhere to retreat. He and the ghost were only three steps apart. A massive figure moved closer, enveloping the room in darkness.
Then, in the blink of an eye, a dark figure lunged at Marianne. At the same moment, the front door flew wide open and hit the wall. Outside, a bright light jumped across the snow. A loud hum, a metallic rumble burst into the house. The flames in the hearth dived down behind the logs, and fiercely jumped there, thinning and melting before our eyes. All the air shuddered, white snowflakes swirled, turning into clouds of white mist. Marianne squeezed into a corner and raised his hands in front of him. The ghost froze in front of the young man. A little more and would have touched him with his huge chest, but turned around at the sound.