"I know. Go."

I got up and steadied the swaying hammock. It was dark, and I couldn't see Svetlana's face.

"Go, Anton," she repeated. "It's going to be hard for us to look into each other's eyes. We need time to get used to it."

"What's down there, on the fifth level?" I asked.

"It's best if you don't know."

"All right. I'll ask Gesar."

"Let him tell you… if he wants to."

I leaned down and touched her cheek-it was wet with tears.

"It's disgusting…" she whispered. "Disgusting… to be a parasite."

"Hang in here…"

"I am."

When I went into the barn, I heard a door close-Svetlana had gone back into the house. Without bothering to switch on the light, I got into the car and pulled the door shut.

Right then, what had Uncle Kolya done with it? Should I start it or shouldn't I?

The car started the first time and the diesel engine began purring very quietly.

I switched on the low beams and drove out of the barn.

What about the rules of concealment?

To hell with them. Why should the shepherd hide from the flock?

I opened the gates with a brief wave of my hand, without getting out of the car. I drove out into the street and stepped on the gas right away. The village looked empty and lifeless. Someone had sprinkled sleeping pills in the sheep's feed.

The car tore out onto the country road. I switched to high beams and put my foot down. The wind rushed in through the open window.

I felt for the remote control on the steering wheel and switched on the disk player.

I entered this windy city without a cloak.

And it wound around my throat just like ivy.

The serpent's coils fettered my soul.

I see a black sun, beneath which I shall never shed a tear.

I am slipping out of character. I am insolent, unfair.

What can a rabbit hope for in a boa constrictor's throat?

The serpent's coils only feel tight at first,

I see a black sun, and dreams the same color,

I cannot tell sins from virtues, even to save my life.

They're removing the witnesses, turning us to snakes.

And I am willing to rot under any flag,

Prepared to slither, zigzagging across the ground,

And even sing of love, up to my throat in vomit,

If that is what my Motherland requires.

A light appeared up ahead, somewhere near the access road onto the highway. I screwed up my eyes and looked through the Twilight. There was a temporary militia barrier across the road. And two men waiting beside it, with two Others.

Dark Others.

I smiled and slowed down.

My brain is a beehive with ants instead of bees.

The bullet's center of gravity is displaced toward love.

But the serpent's coils are armor plating.

I see a black sun. A sun that hates me.

I could have surrendered without a fight, caught in the devil's jaws.

But I'll die on my feet-the coils will not let me fall.

The serpent's coils-my brace and my shell.

I see a black sun. And it hurts my eyes.

I stopped right in front of the barrier and waited for the highway patrolman holding an automatic rifle to his chest. The Inquisition was never too choosy when it came to recruiting people for security cordons.

I handed the militiaman my license and documents for the car, and turned the sound down.

I looked at the Others.

The first was an Inquisitor I didn't know-a lean, elderly Asiatic type. I'd have said he was at the second or third level of Power, but with Inquisitors it's always harder to tell.

The second was a Dark One I knew very well, from the Moscow Day Watch. The vampire Kostya.

"We're looking for a witch," said the Inquisitor. The militiamen took no notice of the Others. The militiamen had been ordered not to see.

"Arina's not here," I replied. "Is Edgar in charge of the dragnet?"

The Inquisitor nodded.

"Ask him about me. Anton Gorodetsky, Night Watch."

"I know him," Kostya said casually, leaning down toward the Inquisitor. "A law-abiding Light One…"

"Proceed," said the highway patrolman, handing back my documents.

"You can drive on," the Inquisitor said with a nod. "There'll be more security posts down the road."

I nodded and drove out onto the highway.

Kostya stood there, watching me drive away.

I switched the sound back on.

I'm not for or against. I'm not good or evil.

You've been damned lucky with me, my Motherland.

Your serpent's coils are my home, my trap.

I shall crawl under the sun.

Under this cursed sun,

From here to here, and then from here to here,

From here to Judgment Day.

Story Three

NOBODY'S POKER

Prologue

He didn't often dream.

And right now he wasn't even asleep. But even so, it was almost a dream, almost like one of those sweet visions in the instant before waking…

A light, pure vision, almost like a child's.

Scavenging engines… broaching… key to start position.

The silvery column of the rocket shrouded in light mist.

The flames dancing under the nozzles.

Every Russian child dreams of being a cosmonaut-until he hears that question for the tenth time: "What do you want to be, a cosmonaut?"

Some stop dreaming about outer space when they become Others.

The Twilight is more interesting than other planets. The newly discovered Power has a stronger gravitational pull than the fame of a cosmonaut.

But now he was dreaming of a rocket-an absurd, old-fashioned rocket rising up into the sky.

The earth floating beneath his feet or above his head.

The thick quartz glass of the porthole.

Strange dreams for an Other, surely?

The earth… a veil of clouds… the lights of the cities… people.

Millions of them. Billions.

And him-watching them from orbit.

An Other in space… what could be more ludicrous? Except maybe for Other versus Alien. He had watched a science fiction film once-and suddenly found himself thinking that now was just the right moment for brave Ripley to slip into the Twilight- and then strike out and smash those unwieldy, helpless monsters.

The thought had immediately made him laugh.

There weren't any Others up there.

But space was up there. Only he hadn't realized what it was for until now.

Now he understood.

He stood there with his eyes closed, dreaming about the small earth rotating slowly under his feet.

Every child dreams of being a giant-until he starts to wonder what the point is.

Now he knew everything.

The parts of the jigsaw all fit together.

His own destiny as an Other.

And his absurd dream about space travel.

And the thin volume bound in human skin, its pages covered with neat cursive handwriting.

He picked up the book that was lying there on the floorboards.

Opened it to the first page.

The letters had not faded. They were protected by a light but effective magic spell.

This language had not been heard on earth for a long time. It would have reminded an Indologist of Sanskrit, only not many people would have realized it was Paishachi.

But Others can read any dead language.

May the Elephant-faced One preserve you, swaying his head first up, then down, like unto Shiva, swaying up and down on the Mind! May Ganapati fill me with the sweet moisture of wisdom!

My name is Fuaran, I am a woman of the glorious city of Kanakapuri.

The Fulfiller of Desires, husband of Parvati, rewarded me generously in the days of my youth, granting me the ability to walk in the world of phantoms. While in our world a petal swirls in the air as it falls from a blossoming tree, in that world a whole day passes-such is its nature. And a great power lies concealed in that world.