They are the ones who live underground, in air, water and fire. Those who steal our thoughts and wander through our dreams feed on our fears and desires. Lies, truth, reality, nightmares and fiction are subject to them.

The true rulers of this world.

The strongest are trying to resist. The weak flee or die. But never on their way did they meet someone who was able to understand. To come to an agreement with them.

Alexey Pekhov

Elena Bychkova

Natalia Turchaninova

SPIRIT TRAP

Chapter 1

THREE

There were never many petitioners at the gates of the palace of the governor of the province of Yugra. Everyone knew that Mr. Akeno did not honor the traditions of his ancestors, which obligated him to resolve disputes between ordinary residents once a week, give alms to the poor, and heal the infirm with the touch of his hands.

And at such an early hour no one was rushing under its walls. The sun has recently risen above the roofs. And as always in Yugor, it did not float up slowly and smoothly, replacing the coolness of the night with the warmth of the morning, but quickly jumped into the sky and began to shower the earth with burning rays, so that in the evening it would just as quickly fall over the horizon and extinguish the day.

The ancient residence of the Ishiro family stood in the center of the city, and the rest of the houses, as if in fear of its greatness, did not dare to approach and violate the invisible border of their property. At first glance, it became noticeable that the governor was not afraid of attack. The moat surrounding the estate was not wide. Over the masonry walls, three human heights high, hung pine branches, and if desired, it would not have been difficult to cross them to the other side, but no one had ever wanted to do such a thing.

They said that the first owner of the castle, Odoro Ishiro, ordered all the trees in the area to be cut down - supposedly the falling leaves reminded him of death, and the famous ruler would like to live forever. Only oddly shaped rock gardens decorated the area around the palace along with hinoki - sacred cypress trees.

The descendants of the legendary founder of the dynasty had a simpler attitude towards immortality, and the estate was surrounded by magnificent gardens.

A wide road strewn with small stones led to a humpbacked bridge spanning a moat. It was not the heads of defeated ill-wishers that swam in the green water, as one might have assumed, remembering the reputation of the governor, there were no sharp peaks sticking out and bloodthirsty spirit guards were not waiting, but plump, leisurely carp were waving their fins. Yellow and black.

The bridge ended at a heavy gate. The wood, bound with iron, had turned black with age, but did not look dilapidated or withered. Two dragons - white and scarlet - looked down menacingly, as if they had noticed someone who was not noticed by the guards on the gate tower - bar-khanaka.

The palace itself stood on a hill. There were rumors that it was poured by hand, and more than one forced laborer lay down in the ground from overwork, on which a dense cherry orchard then grew. There were no other hills in Yugor, so the impressive building could be seen from afar - it resembled a white dragon with sparse red roof scales, coiled in rings.

Tangled paths wound between heavy boulders and hedges half the height of a man. They were needed not so much for beauty, but in order to force the enemy, who decided to attack the residence, to stretch out in a chain and become an easy target for the archers hiding above.

A narrow road paved with gray stone led to a grate, near which short human figures froze.

Under the bright scorching sun stood two thin, sun-burnt peasants. They timidly looked around, shifted from foot to foot, stunned by the luxury of the gilded gates, behind which lay the green magnificent sakura garden covering the palace.

Both came to complain about the crop failure and wanted to get some money to buy new seeds.

A stern-looking gunsmith with three swords carefully wrapped in an oily rag looked down at his neighbors. Apparently, he wanted to give his products to the governor - and expected that he, shocked by the fineness of the work, would give him an order for new blades or take him into his service.

A lanky, important old man gave instructions to a ten-year-old boy in a low voice. It seems that he dreamed of getting a job with the governor of the province of his smart grandson, who was toiling from the heat and the new suit in which he was dressed before his visit to the governor’s gate.

A portly milkmaid, wiping her sweaty red-cheeked face every minute, pressed a jug to her ample chest. Perhaps she dreamed of working in Mr. Akeno’s kitchen, or at least carrying milk and butter there. It was noticeable that she was dying to chat, but she did not dare to start the conversation first.

Finally the silence was broken.

“The sun is so hot,” one of the peasants said thoughtfully, running his wrinkled hand over his bald, tanned head, “it’s morning, but it’s like noon.”

“The same thing happened last year,” the thrush immediately responded, pleased that she still had a reason to speak out. - When the gentlemen spellcasters deta-nabenisha called to catch the evil rats.

This book is part of a series of books:

Alexey Pekhov

Elena Bychkova

Natalia Turchaninova

SPIRIT TRAP

There were never many petitioners at the gates of the palace of the governor of the province of Yugra. Everyone knew that Mr. Akeno did not honor the traditions of his ancestors, which obligated him to resolve disputes between ordinary residents once a week, give alms to the poor, and heal the infirm with the touch of his hands.

And at such an early hour no one was rushing under its walls. The sun has recently risen above the roofs. And as always in Yugor, it did not float up slowly and smoothly, replacing the coolness of the night with the warmth of the morning, but quickly jumped into the sky and began to shower the earth with burning rays, so that in the evening it would just as quickly fall over the horizon and extinguish the day.

The ancient residence of the Ishiro family stood in the center of the city, and the rest of the houses, as if in fear of its greatness, did not dare to approach and violate the invisible border of their property. At first glance, it became noticeable that the governor was not afraid of attack. The moat surrounding the estate was not wide. Over the masonry walls, three human heights high, hung pine branches, and if desired, it would not have been difficult to cross them to the other side, but no one had ever wanted to do such a thing.

They said that the first owner of the castle, Odoro Ishiro, ordered all the trees in the area to be cut down - supposedly the falling leaves reminded him of death, and the famous ruler would like to live forever. Only oddly shaped rock gardens decorated the area around the palace along with hinoki - sacred cypress trees.

The descendants of the legendary founder of the dynasty had a simpler attitude towards immortality, and the estate was surrounded by magnificent gardens.

A wide road strewn with small stones led to a humpbacked bridge spanning a moat. It was not the heads of defeated ill-wishers that swam in the green water, as one might have assumed, remembering the reputation of the governor, there were no sharp peaks sticking out and bloodthirsty spirit guards were not waiting, but plump, leisurely carp were waving their fins. Yellow and black.

The bridge ended at a heavy gate. The wood, bound with iron, had turned black with age, but did not look dilapidated or withered. Two dragons - white and scarlet - looked down menacingly, as if they had noticed someone who was not noticed by the guards on the gate tower - bar-khanaka.

The palace itself stood on a hill. There were rumors that it was poured by hand, and more than one forced laborer lay down in the ground from overwork, on which a dense cherry orchard then grew. There were no other hills in Yugor, so the impressive building could be seen from afar - it resembled a white dragon with sparse red roof scales, coiled in rings.

Tangled paths wound between heavy boulders and hedges half the height of a man. They were needed not so much for beauty, but in order to force the enemy, who decided to attack the residence, to stretch out in a chain and become an easy target for the archers hiding above.

A narrow road paved with gray stone led to a grate, near which short human figures froze.

Under the bright scorching sun stood two thin, sun-burnt peasants. They timidly looked around, shifted from foot to foot, stunned by the luxury of the gilded gates, behind which lay the green magnificent sakura garden covering the palace.

Both came to complain about the crop failure and wanted to get some money to buy new seeds.

A stern-looking gunsmith with three swords carefully wrapped in an oily rag looked down at his neighbors. Apparently, he wanted to give his products to the governor - and expected that he, shocked by the fineness of the work, would give him an order for new blades or take him into his service.

A lanky, important old man gave instructions to a ten-year-old boy in a low voice. It seems that he dreamed of getting a job with the governor of the province of his smart grandson, who was toiling from the heat and the new suit in which he was dressed before his visit to the governor’s gate.

A portly milkmaid, wiping her sweaty red-cheeked face every minute, pressed a jug to her ample chest. Perhaps she dreamed of working in Mr. Akeno’s kitchen, or at least carrying milk and butter there. It was noticeable that she was dying to chat, but she did not dare to start the conversation first.

Finally the silence was broken.

“The sun is so hot,” one of the peasants said thoughtfully, running his wrinkled hand over his bald, tanned head, “it’s morning, but it’s like noon.”

“The same thing happened last year,” the thrush immediately responded, pleased that she still had a reason to speak out. - When the gentlemen spellcasters deta-nabenisha called to catch the evil rats.

“Nabenish was called up, and the harvest was burned,” grumbled the second peasant, stooped, with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his forehead.

“Keep your voice down about the spellcasters,” the gunsmith said sternly.

They say that the governor has a son from their breed,” the old man picked up, smoothing out the folds of a stiff kurta on his grandson’s back, which seemed to have only been pulled out of a chest today. The boy looked sadly into the distance.

“So he seemed to have died,” said the milkmaid, naively batting her eyes. - Back in the spring.

After her statement there was deep silence. People looked at each other, clearly fearing that this inappropriate remark might be heard by the wrong people and misinterpreted. And, as if in response to this fear, from the thick shadow that spread under the old alatan, a man came out, to whom no one had previously paid attention. They didn't see him, or he didn't want to be seen.

A young man in shabby, dusty traveling clothes stood up, leaning his shoulder against the gate post, and looked at the dragons, who in turn glared at him with stony glances. He hardly stood out among the others, even the spear with a white shaft hanging behind his back did not make this petitioner particularly significant - the hilt of the sword sticking out from under the gunsmith’s rag seemed richer. The young man's hair, faded to a flaxen color, was carelessly tied into a ponytail at the back of his head. The tanned face with high cheekbones, sunken cheeks and a stubborn chin is calm, imperturbable, almost indifferent, and only the light eyes on it are penetrating, hard, and cold beyond their age.

The Yugra residents were warily silent, studying him. He responded with an indifferent gaze that seemed to pass through people, and turned away, as if he was only interested in the garden visible behind the bars.

Who is this? - the gunsmith asked quietly, nodding towards the young stranger.

“Rani has been standing here since he came ahead of me,” the thrush said quietly. - And dressed like that. It was as if a pack of dogs were tearing at him and rolling him around in the dust. “She chuckled contemptuously, fluttering the hem of her new skirt, worn especially for her visit to the governor.

Alexey Pekhov

Elena Bychkova

Natalia Turchaninova

SPIRIT TRAP

There were never many petitioners at the gates of the palace of the governor of the province of Yugra. Everyone knew that Mr. Akeno did not honor the traditions of his ancestors, which obligated him to resolve disputes between ordinary residents once a week, give alms to the poor, and heal the infirm with the touch of his hands.

And at such an early hour no one was rushing under its walls. The sun has recently risen above the roofs. And as always in Yugor, it did not float up slowly and smoothly, replacing the coolness of the night with the warmth of the morning, but quickly jumped into the sky and began to shower the earth with burning rays, so that in the evening it would just as quickly fall over the horizon and extinguish the day.

The ancient residence of the Ishiro family stood in the center of the city, and the rest of the houses, as if in fear of its greatness, did not dare to approach and violate the invisible border of their property. At first glance, it became noticeable that the governor was not afraid of attack. The moat surrounding the estate was not wide. Over the masonry walls, three human heights high, hung pine branches, and if desired, it would not have been difficult to cross them to the other side, but no one had ever wanted to do such a thing.

They said that the first owner of the castle, Odoro Ishiro, ordered all the trees in the area to be cut down - supposedly the falling leaves reminded him of death, and the famous ruler would like to live forever. Only oddly shaped rock gardens decorated the area around the palace along with hinoki - sacred cypress trees.

The descendants of the legendary founder of the dynasty had a simpler attitude towards immortality, and the estate was surrounded by magnificent gardens.

A wide road strewn with small stones led to a humpbacked bridge spanning a moat. It was not the heads of defeated ill-wishers that swam in the green water, as one might have assumed, remembering the reputation of the governor, there were no sharp peaks sticking out and bloodthirsty spirit guards were not waiting, but plump, leisurely carp were waving their fins. Yellow and black.

The bridge ended at a heavy gate. The wood, bound with iron, had turned black with age, but did not look dilapidated or withered. Two dragons - white and scarlet - looked down menacingly, as if they had noticed someone who was not noticed by the guards on the gate tower - bar-khanaka.

The palace itself stood on a hill. There were rumors that it was poured by hand, and more than one forced laborer lay down in the ground from overwork, on which a dense cherry orchard then grew. There were no other hills in Yugor, so the impressive building could be seen from afar - it resembled a white dragon with sparse red roof scales, coiled in rings.

Tangled paths wound between heavy boulders and hedges half the height of a man. They were needed not so much for beauty, but in order to force the enemy, who decided to attack the residence, to stretch out in a chain and become an easy target for the archers hiding above.

A narrow road paved with gray stone led to a grate, near which short human figures froze.

Under the bright scorching sun stood two thin, sun-burnt peasants. They timidly looked around, shifted from foot to foot, stunned by the luxury of the gilded gates, behind which lay the green magnificent sakura garden covering the palace.

Both came to complain about the crop failure and wanted to get some money to buy new seeds.

A stern-looking gunsmith with three swords carefully wrapped in an oily rag looked down at his neighbors. Apparently, he wanted to give his products to the governor - and expected that he, shocked by the fineness of the work, would give him an order for new blades or take him into his service.

A lanky, important old man gave instructions to a ten-year-old boy in a low voice. It seems that he dreamed of getting a job with the governor of the province of his smart grandson, who was toiling from the heat and the new suit in which he was dressed before his visit to the governor’s gate.

A portly milkmaid, wiping her sweaty red-cheeked face every minute, pressed a jug to her ample chest. Perhaps she dreamed of working in Mr. Akeno’s kitchen, or at least carrying milk and butter there. It was noticeable that she was dying to chat, but she did not dare to start the conversation first.

Finally the silence was broken.

“The sun is so hot,” one of the peasants said thoughtfully, running his wrinkled hand over his bald, tanned head, “it’s morning, but it’s like noon.”

“The same thing happened last year,” the thrush immediately responded, pleased that she still had a reason to speak out. - When the gentlemen spellcasters deta-nabenisha called to catch the evil rats.

“Nabenish was called up, and the harvest was burned,” grumbled the second peasant, stooped, with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his forehead.

“Keep your voice down about the spellcasters,” the gunsmith said sternly.

They say that the governor has a son from their breed,” the old man picked up, smoothing out the folds of a stiff kurta on his grandson’s back, which seemed to have only been pulled out of a chest today. The boy looked sadly into the distance.

“So he seemed to have died,” said the milkmaid, naively batting her eyes. - Back in the spring.

After her statement there was deep silence. People looked at each other, clearly fearing that this inappropriate remark might be heard by the wrong people and misinterpreted. And, as if in response to this fear, from the thick shadow that spread under the old alatan, a man came out, to whom no one had previously paid attention. They didn't see him, or he didn't want to be seen.

A young man in shabby, dusty traveling clothes stood up, leaning his shoulder against the gate post, and looked at the dragons, who in turn glared at him with stony glances. He hardly stood out among the others, even the spear with a white shaft hanging behind his back did not make this petitioner particularly significant - the hilt of the sword sticking out from under the gunsmith’s rag seemed richer. The young man's hair, faded to a flaxen color, was carelessly tied into a ponytail at the back of his head. The tanned face with high cheekbones, sunken cheeks and a stubborn chin is calm, imperturbable, almost indifferent, and only the light eyes on it are penetrating, hard, and cold beyond their age.

The Yugra residents were warily silent, studying him. He responded with an indifferent gaze that seemed to pass through people, and turned away, as if he was only interested in the garden visible behind the bars.

Who is this? - the gunsmith asked quietly, nodding towards the young stranger.

“Rani has been standing here since he came ahead of me,” the thrush said quietly. - And dressed like that. It was as if a pack of dogs were tearing at him and rolling him around in the dust. “She chuckled contemptuously, fluttering the hem of her new skirt, worn especially for her visit to the governor.

“Hey, guy,” the gunsmith called out to him. - Why are you visiting Mr. Akeno?

“To the point,” he answered briefly and dryly, without turning around.

Alexey Pekhov, Elena Bychkova, Natalya Turchaninova

Spirit Trap

There were never many petitioners at the gates of the palace of the governor of the province of Yugra. Everyone knew that Mr. Akeno did not honor the traditions of his ancestors, which obligated him to resolve disputes between ordinary residents once a week, give alms to the poor, and heal the infirm with the touch of his hands.

And at such an early hour no one was rushing under its walls. The sun has recently risen above the roofs. And as always in Yugor, it did not float up slowly and smoothly, replacing the coolness of the night with the warmth of the morning, but quickly jumped into the sky and began to shower the earth with burning rays, so that in the evening it would just as quickly fall over the horizon and extinguish the day.

The ancient residence of the Ishiro family stood in the center of the city, and the rest of the houses, as if in fear of its greatness, did not dare to approach and violate the invisible border of their property. At first glance, it became noticeable that the governor was not afraid of attack. The moat surrounding the estate was not wide. Over the masonry walls, three human heights high, hung pine branches, and if desired, it would not have been difficult to cross them to the other side, but no one had ever wanted to do such a thing.

They said that the first owner of the castle, Odoro Ishiro, ordered all the trees in the area to be cut down - supposedly the falling leaves reminded him of death, and the famous ruler would like to live forever. Only oddly shaped rock gardens decorated the area around the palace along with hinoki - sacred cypress trees.

The descendants of the legendary founder of the dynasty had a simpler attitude towards immortality, and the estate was surrounded by magnificent gardens.

A wide road strewn with small stones led to a humpbacked bridge spanning a moat. It was not the heads of defeated ill-wishers that swam in the green water, as one might have assumed, remembering the reputation of the governor, there were no sharp peaks sticking out and bloodthirsty spirit guards were not waiting, but plump, leisurely carp were waving their fins. Yellow and black.

The bridge ended at a heavy gate. The wood, bound with iron, had turned black with age, but did not look dilapidated or withered. Two dragons - white and scarlet - looked down menacingly, as if they had noticed someone who was not noticed by the guards on the gate tower - bar-khanaka.

The palace itself stood on a hill. There were rumors that it was poured by hand, and more than one forced laborer lay down in the ground from overwork, on which a dense cherry orchard then grew. There were no other hills in Yugor, so the impressive building could be seen from afar - it resembled a white dragon with sparse red roof scales, coiled in rings.

Tangled paths wound between heavy boulders and hedges half the height of a man. They were needed not so much for beauty, but in order to force the enemy, who decided to attack the residence, to stretch out in a chain and become an easy target for the archers hiding above.

A narrow road paved with gray stone led to a grate, near which short human figures froze.

Under the bright scorching sun stood two thin, sun-burnt peasants. They timidly looked around, shifted from foot to foot, stunned by the luxury of the gilded gates, behind which lay the green magnificent sakura garden covering the palace.

Both came to complain about the crop failure and wanted to get some money to buy new seeds.

A stern-looking gunsmith with three swords carefully wrapped in an oily rag looked down at his neighbors. Apparently, he wanted to give his products to the governor - and expected that he, shocked by the fineness of the work, would give him an order for new blades or take him into his service.

A lanky, important old man gave instructions to a ten-year-old boy in a low voice. It seems that he dreamed of getting a job with the governor of the province of his smart grandson, who was toiling from the heat and the new suit in which he was dressed before his visit to the governor’s gate.

A portly milkmaid, wiping her sweaty red-cheeked face every minute, pressed a jug to her ample chest. Perhaps she dreamed of working in Mr. Akeno’s kitchen, or at least carrying milk and butter there. It was noticeable that she was dying to chat, but she did not dare to start the conversation first.

Finally the silence was broken.

“The sun is so hot,” one of the peasants said thoughtfully, running his wrinkled hand over his bald, tanned head, “it’s morning, but it’s like noon.”

“The same thing happened last year,” the thrush immediately responded, pleased that she still had a reason to speak out. - When the gentlemen spellcasters deta-nabenisha called to catch the evil rats.

“Nabenish was called up, and the harvest was burned,” grumbled the second peasant, stooped, with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his forehead.

“Keep your voice down about the spellcasters,” the gunsmith said sternly.

They say that the governor has a son from their breed,” the old man picked up, smoothing out the folds of a stiff kurta on his grandson’s back, which seemed to have only been pulled out of a chest today. The boy looked sadly into the distance.

“So he seemed to have died,” said the milkmaid, naively batting her eyes. - Back in the spring.

After her statement there was deep silence. People looked at each other, clearly fearing that this inappropriate remark might be heard by the wrong people and misinterpreted. And, as if in response to this fear, from the thick shadow that spread under the old alatan, a man came out, to whom no one had previously paid attention. They didn't see him, or he didn't want to be seen.

A young man in shabby, dusty traveling clothes stood up, leaning his shoulder against the gate post, and looked at the dragons, who in turn glared at him with stony glances. He hardly stood out among the others, even the spear with a white shaft hanging behind his back did not make this petitioner particularly significant - the hilt of the sword sticking out from under the gunsmith’s rag seemed richer. The young man's hair, faded to a flaxen color, was carelessly tied into a ponytail at the back of his head. The tanned face with high cheekbones, sunken cheeks and a stubborn chin is calm, imperturbable, almost indifferent, and only the light eyes on it are penetrating, hard, and cold beyond their age.

The Yugra residents were warily silent, studying him. He responded with an indifferent gaze that seemed to pass through people, and turned away, as if he was only interested in the garden visible behind the bars.

Who is this? - the gunsmith asked quietly, nodding towards the young stranger.

“Rani has been standing here since he came ahead of me,” the thrush said quietly. - And dressed like that. It was as if a pack of dogs were tearing at him and rolling him around in the dust. “She chuckled contemptuously, fluttering the hem of her new skirt, worn especially for her visit to the governor.

“Hey, guy,” the gunsmith called out to him. - Why are you visiting Mr. Akeno?

“To the point,” he answered briefly and dryly, without turning around.

“We’re not all here because of idleness,” the elderly peasant grumbled disapprovingly, but the young man was in no hurry to tell why he came to the doorstep of the ruler of Yugra.

No one else said a word, as if the man who had suddenly revealed himself had involuntarily discouraged people from speaking.

He continued to face the gate. It looks like he was now admiring the curved gilded rods.

There was no security at the entrance. The mythical creatures, grinning their jaws from the stone pillars, themselves looked like stern guards.

Paths stretched beyond the fence, the red roofs of the gazebos sparkled under the bright sun, and pink lotus bowls swayed over the surface of the pond. Coolness and the smell of flowers wafted from there. The steady buzzing of bees evoked sleep.

Paying no attention to the petitioners, the servants worked in the garden. One was pinching off young shoots of a pine tree so that the ornamental tree would grow in the right direction. Three others, shielding their faces from the sun with wide-brimmed straw hats, crawled across the lawn, thinning the grass. They didn't talk and didn't look up from what they were doing for a second. And only when, after another hour, all four suddenly stood up and, as if on command, bowed, it became clear that the wait was over.

Several servants dressed in red and white robes approached the gate. Without opening the doors, they placed a low table and a chair on the other side, and secured an umbrella to block the sun.

The visitors perked up noticeably when, accompanied by two soldiers armed with spears, a man in loose gray clothes appeared on the garden path. Next to the dressed-up servants, his outfit seemed modest and inexpressive. The narrow, thin face with a long, thin nose, dark, deep-set eyes and a sharp chin was tired and slightly absent-minded. The glare of the sun, reflected from the water of one of the ponds, fell on his short-cropped black hair with a streak of gray hair.

The man threw back his long angvarshi cape, straightened out a stack of paper and looked indifferently at those standing behind bars.

Is this Mr. Governor? - the thrush asked in a loud whisper.

“He will waste time on people like us,” the old man answered with the greatest humility, stroking his grandson on the head. And he added with significance and respect: “This is his secretary.” Mister Nagateru.

The young man with the spear was the first to step closer.

I'm listening. - The person sitting at the table looked at him with an indifferent look. - State your request clearly and clearly.

All rights reserved. No part of the electronic version of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including posting on the Internet or corporate networks, for private or public use without the written permission of the copyright owner.

* * *

Chapter 1
Three

There were never many petitioners at the gates of the palace of the governor of the province of Yugra. Everyone knew that Mr. Akeno did not honor the traditions of his ancestors, which obligated him to resolve disputes between ordinary residents once a week, give alms to the poor, and heal the infirm with the touch of his hands.

And at such an early hour no one was rushing under its walls. The sun has recently risen above the roofs. And as always in Yugor, it did not float up slowly and smoothly, replacing the coolness of the night with the warmth of the morning, but quickly jumped into the sky and began to shower the earth with burning rays, so that in the evening it would just as quickly fall over the horizon and extinguish the day.

The ancient residence of the Ishiro family stood in the center of the city, and the rest of the houses, as if in fear of its greatness, did not dare to approach and violate the invisible border of their property. At first glance, it became noticeable that the governor was not afraid of attack. The moat surrounding the estate was not wide. Over the masonry walls, three human heights high, hung pine branches, and if desired, it would not have been difficult to cross them to the other side, but no one had ever wanted to do such a thing.

They said that the first owner of the castle, Odoro Ishiro, ordered all the trees in the area to be cut down - supposedly the falling leaves reminded him of death, and the famous ruler would like to live forever. Only oddly shaped rock gardens decorated the area around the palace along with hinoki - sacred cypress trees.

The descendants of the legendary founder of the dynasty had a simpler attitude towards immortality, and the estate was surrounded by magnificent gardens.

A wide road strewn with small stones led to a humpbacked bridge spanning a moat. It was not the heads of defeated ill-wishers that swam in the green water, as one might have assumed, remembering the reputation of the governor, there were no sharp peaks sticking out and bloodthirsty spirit guards were not waiting, but plump, leisurely carp were waving their fins. Yellow and black.

The bridge ended at a heavy gate. The wood, bound with iron, had turned black with age, but did not look dilapidated or withered. Two dragons - white and scarlet - looked down menacingly, as if they had noticed someone who was not noticed by the guards on the gate tower - bar-khanaka.

The palace itself stood on a hill. There were rumors that it was poured by hand, and more than one forced laborer lay down in the ground from overwork, on which a dense cherry orchard then grew. There were no other hills in Yugor, so the impressive building could be seen from afar - it resembled a white dragon with sparse red roof scales, coiled in rings.

Tangled paths wound between heavy boulders and hedges half the height of a man. They were needed not so much for beauty, but in order to force the enemy, who decided to attack the residence, to stretch out in a chain and become an easy target for the archers hiding above.

A narrow road paved with gray stone led to a grate, near which short human figures froze.

Under the bright scorching sun stood two thin, sun-burnt peasants. They timidly looked around, shifted from foot to foot, stunned by the luxury of the gilded gates, behind which lay the green magnificent sakura garden covering the palace.

Both came to complain about the crop failure and wanted to get some money to buy new seeds.

A stern-looking gunsmith with three swords carefully wrapped in an oily rag looked down at his neighbors. Apparently, he wanted to give his products to the governor - and expected that he, shocked by the fineness of the work, would give him an order for new blades or take him into his service.

A lanky, important old man gave instructions to a ten-year-old boy in a low voice. It seems that he dreamed of getting a job with the governor of the province of his smart grandson, who was toiling from the heat and the new suit in which he was dressed before his visit to the governor’s gate.

A portly milkmaid, wiping her sweaty red-cheeked face every minute, pressed a jug to her ample chest. Perhaps she dreamed of working in Mr. Akeno’s kitchen, or at least carrying milk and butter there. It was noticeable that she was dying to chat, but she did not dare to start the conversation first.

Finally the silence was broken.

“The sun is so hot,” one of the peasants said thoughtfully, running his wrinkled hand over his bald, tanned head, “it’s morning, but it feels like noon.”

“The same thing happened last year,” the thrush immediately responded, pleased that she still had a reason to speak out. - When gentlemen, the spellcasters of Deta-Nabenish, called to catch the evil rats.

“Nabenish was called up, but the harvest was burned,” grumbled the second peasant, stooped, with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his forehead.

“Keep your voice down about the spellcasters,” the gunsmith said sternly.

“They say that the governor has a son from their breed,” the old man picked up, smoothing out the folds of a stiff kurta on his grandson’s back, which seemed to have only been pulled out of the chest today. The boy looked sadly into the distance.

“So he seems to have died,” said the milkmaid, naively batting her eyes. - Back in the spring.

After her statement there was deep silence. People looked at each other, clearly fearing that this inappropriate remark might be heard by the wrong people and misinterpreted. And, as if in response to this fear, from the thick shadow that spread under the old alatan, a man came out, to whom no one had previously paid attention. They didn't see him, or he didn't want to be seen.

A young man in shabby, dusty traveling clothes stood up, leaning his shoulder against the gate post, and looked at the dragons, who in turn glared at him with stony glances. He hardly stood out among the others, even the spear with a white shaft hanging behind his back did not make this petitioner particularly significant - the hilt of the sword sticking out from under the gunsmith’s rag seemed richer. The young man's hair, faded to a flaxen color, was carelessly tied into a ponytail at the back of his head. The tanned face with high cheekbones, sunken cheeks and a stubborn chin is calm, imperturbable, almost indifferent, and only the light eyes on it are penetrating, hard, and cold beyond their age.

The Yugra residents were warily silent, studying him. He responded with an indifferent gaze that seemed to pass through people, and turned away, as if he was only interested in the garden visible behind the bars.

- Who is this? – the gunsmith asked quietly, nodding towards the young stranger.

“Rani has been standing here since he came ahead of me,” the thrush said quietly. - And dressed like that. It was as if a pack of dogs were tearing at him and rolling him around in the dust. “She chuckled contemptuously, fluttering the hem of her new skirt, worn especially for her visit to the governor.

“Hey, guy,” the gunsmith called out to him. – Why are you visiting Mr. Akeno?

“On business,” he answered briefly and dryly, without turning around.

“We’re not all here out of idleness,” the elderly peasant grumbled disapprovingly, but the young man was in no hurry to tell why he came to the doorstep of the ruler of Yugra.

No one else said a word, as if the man who had suddenly revealed himself had involuntarily discouraged people from speaking.

He continued to face the gate. It looks like he was now admiring the curved gilded rods.

There was no security at the entrance. The mythical creatures, grinning their jaws from the stone pillars, themselves looked like stern guards.

Paths stretched beyond the fence, the red roofs of the gazebos sparkled under the bright sun, and pink lotus bowls swayed over the surface of the pond. Coolness and the smell of flowers wafted from there. The steady buzzing of bees evoked sleep.

Paying no attention to the petitioners, the servants worked in the garden. One was pinching off young shoots of a pine tree so that the ornamental tree would grow in the right direction. Three others, shielding their faces from the sun with wide-brimmed straw hats, crawled across the lawn, thinning the grass. They didn't talk and didn't look up from what they were doing for a second. And only when, after another hour, all four suddenly stood up and, as if on command, bowed, it became clear that the wait was over.

Several servants dressed in red and white robes approached the gate. Without opening the doors, they placed a low table and a chair on the other side, and secured an umbrella to block the sun.

The visitors perked up noticeably when, accompanied by two soldiers armed with spears, a man in loose gray clothes appeared on the garden path. Next to the dressed-up servants, his outfit seemed modest and inexpressive. The narrow, thin face with a long, thin nose, dark, deep-set eyes and a sharp chin was tired and slightly absent-minded. The glare of the sun, reflected from the water of one of the ponds, fell on his short-cropped black hair with a streak of gray hair.

The man threw back his long angvarshi cape, straightened out a stack of paper and looked indifferently at those standing behind bars.

- Is this Mr. Governor? – the thrush asked in a loud whisper.

“He will waste time on people like us,” the old man answered with the greatest humility, stroking his grandson on the head. And he added with significance and respect: “This is his secretary.” Mister Nagateru.

The young man with the spear was the first to step closer.

– I’m listening. – The man sitting at the table looked at him with an indifferent look. – State your request clearly and clearly.

“I want to talk to the governor,” the young man said politely but firmly.

“Your request will be passed on to the master,” the secretary waved his hand, inviting the next petitioner, and from his face the young man realized that this request would never reach the governor of Yugra.

One of the servants immediately handed the ruler’s assistant a sharp stele.

“Tell him that the spellcaster wants to meet with him,” said the young man, without moving away and demonstrating unexpected persistence and strength in his voice.

- Spellcaster? “The official frowned and looked at the young man in torn, dusty traveling clothes more carefully. -Where is your seal?

– Find out from the governor what is more important to him – the seal of the magician or the magician himself.

His interlocutor stretched his lips into a smile, and at the same time they turned into a thin line, two deep wrinkles appeared on his forehead.

“Many people come here who want to talk with the gentleman.” Who are they not called? But spellcasters,” he paused lightly and grinned, “have never happened before...

“Tell the governor that I have news about his son.”

“Mr. Akeno’s son died,” the governor’s secretary answered coldly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t think you can tell him anything new.”

At this point the young man lost patience.

“Under these gates there are two guardian spirits, one more in the left wing of the dragon,” he said quietly, leaning slightly forward towards the bars separating him from the official. “If you don’t tell the governor about me, I’ll release all three.”

For several moments the man looked coldly and hostilely at the insolent man, then with a gesture he ordered the soldier to approach and, when he approached, he said abruptly:

The soldier left. He was gone for quite a long time. All this time the secretary was studying some papers. The rustle of thin papyrus and the scratching of the stylus gradually filled those waiting with irritation towards the arrogant upstart.

And he again looked towards the garden. Not paying attention to the people, a heron landed in one of the ponds and froze on the stone like a thin white sculpture. The rest of the line didn't seem to bother the young man. But the Ugra people talked nervously - they were afraid that so much time was being wasted on some boy, who probably didn’t have anything worthwhile to do, and they wouldn’t have time to listen to complaints about their troubles.

The soldier finally returned. Out of breath and clearly perplexed. He whispered something to the secretary, who leaned back in his low chair, looked intently at the strange visitor and said:

- You can come in. Mister Governor is waiting for you.

The gates were barely opened. To get through, the one who called himself a spellcaster had to squeeze between them. His spear touched the bars and rang thinly.

“We’ll have to leave the weapon,” the secretary said, watching him.

The young man, without much desire, took off his spear and allowed himself to be searched.

“Don’t be afraid, boy, they’ll look after the yari,” said one of the soldiers, slapping him on the sides. – If you go back, you’ll pick it up.

Then he turned to the governor’s attorney and reported:

“It’s okay, Mr. Nagateru.”

He bowed his head and motioned to see the invitee out.

The first courtyard behind the heavy gates - a spacious square covered with fine sand - was surrounded by pine trees and several home altars - butsudans. Thin streams of fragrant smoke flowed over the stone bowls.

To the right of the iron-clad wooden doors stood a long one-story pavilion with a low sloping roof covered with dark gray figured tiles. It glistened in the sun like dragon scales.

Just behind the trees one could see another khanak bar, no less impressive than the central one. Guards armed with bows also loomed on it. And the first impression of the not very reliable protection of the governor’s palace began to dissipate...

In addition to the main building, the endless garden was scattered with gazebos built on small islands in the center of the ponds, spacious pavilions connected to each other by open galleries, stone altars surrounded by thickets of sakari - sacred plants symbolizing eternity, slightly swaying with elongated dark green leaves, catching light wind.

Looking around and walking past, the uninvited guest thought that all these buildings could easily be turned into defensive structures. From the towers, fire at the enemy while he wanders through the green labyrinth, where you can hide a lot of traps...

The palace in the depths of the garden turned out to be huge. The massive building, white and scarlet in color, lay on the ground like an overturned carving of the logic game baghar-chola, which required one to put together complex pieces by matching them one to another.

The Ishiro family has owned it for more than five centuries.

Only once did the governor of the neighboring province of Hakata attack him. With an army of twenty-five thousand he captured the residence, defended by three thousand soldiers of the then owner. Ishiro had to retreat. But he returned at night during heavy rain and fog. His soldiers emerged from the stormy darkness and killed enemies who were celebrating their victory around the fires. Panic began in the invader's camp. It seemed that the attackers themselves were bloodthirsty Shiisans, led by their leader, who had emerged from the ground.

Overnight, Ishiro Castle passed to its previous owner. A rare case of unprecedented courage, cunning and tactical art... Since then there have been no more attacks.

Inside, the palace looked cold and empty.

From every corner there was a draft of frosty air, as if winter had begun. Drafts made their way like invisible ghosts along the endless walls, stealthily touching the long panels of thin white curtains hanging from the carved cornices. The luxurious halls, decorated with rich paintings and mahogany bas-reliefs, were not made any more comfortable by the uncomfortable gilded furniture.

In some corridors and halls, one of the walls was replaced by windows opening onto the garden, which became an extension and decoration of the home. Looking at the opening views, the young man tried to orient himself in order to understand where he was, and he did not always succeed. The labyrinth of rooms turned out to be too confusing.

The soldier accompanying the guest gave abrupt instructions - “right”, “left”, “straight” - and he realized that there was no point in asking him questions.

Servants glided silently past. Most of them were dressed in the red and white color scheme already familiar to the visitor who had so boldly forced himself into the closed, impregnable residence of Ishiro. But for some reason these contrasting, bright colors did not give them vivacity, but, on the contrary, made them look like nameless, faceless spirits. They also communicated with each other without words - with short gestures, and it began to seem to the young man that they were all mute.

There were armed guards in the passages, watching the stranger with intent gazes. And he had the impression that they were clinging to him like thorns, getting stuck in his clothes for a long time.

Then began a series of living quarters, staircases and corridors. It has become warmer here. Near one of the doors, the caster stopped involuntarily. It was closed and no different from the others, but for some reason he wanted to enter it or at least look through the keyhole.

- Nothing. “It’s none of your business,” he responded sharply. – A room, one of many.

The young man pretended not to notice this sudden abruptness.

He was led into a waiting room, brightly lit by lamps, and left, asking him to wait.

The spacious room was decorated with incredible luxury. Taking a quick look around, the visitor realized that the sparkling stones in the bas-reliefs were most likely large sapphires. The scarlet ornament on the wall fragments free from carvings is made of rubies. The heavy curtains on the lattice window are woven with gold threads and pink pearls. It seems that the rumors that the ruler of Yugra is incredibly rich turned out to be true.

Then the next door opened and a scarlet-robed servant invited the guest to come in.

The viceroy sat at a low table, looking through papers. His tightly buttoned chardan resembled a military uniform, only instead of metal overlays, patterns of precious stones and gold embroidery sparkled on the dense fabric. At the slightest movement, corundums and diamonds scattered multi-colored prickly sparks in all directions, which made the caster’s eyes tingle slightly.

Mr. Akeno raised his head at the sound of footsteps.

He had a stern, reserved face with a heavy chin and wide cheekbones, a nose with sharply cut nostrils that had once been broken. A long-healed scar crossed his forehead, lost in his thick, short-cropped blond hair. This man exuded a feeling of enormous vitality, will and determination.

For several moments, gray eyes, gleaming with steel, studied the newcomer, then the governor motioned for him to sit down on the mat in front of him.

– Why do you think I’m interested in him? Sagyunaro renounced his family, name, home. He rejected the offer to return to his family after graduation. And more than once he made it clear that he died for us.

It was clear that the interlocutor was expecting such an answer. He was not confused, not surprised by the cold, almost hostile tone.

- It's not just about your son. I have information that may be important for the Order of Varra and all of Akane.

- Fine. Tell me. I'm listening to.

The visitor paused, collecting his thoughts.

– We graduated this year. And they had to pass the final test. During the day of the spirits, we were ordered to go through the city to the central temple.