And so the night has already set in... Today it seems cold in the street. Haven't you yet noticed it? Look out of the window... Don't be afraid, come up to it and pull aside the curtain. Do you see the fog? No? Take a closer look. There it is, clothing in its milky-white sheet the streets and lanes, houses and lamp posts. Neatly, almost imperceptibly it devours everything that happens to cross its path. I would not recommend you to go outside at this dangerous time if you care for your life. Better sink deeper in your comfortable armchair and listen to my story about the far-away Canada. It happened many years back, in a village bearing the mysterious name of Anjikuni... I have quite forgotten... look at the calendar: today is January 19, 1930...

Рассказ в 2003 году номинируется на Международном конкурсе молодых фантастов имени Рэя Брэдбери и Артура Кларка. Конкурс проводится под эгидой Европейского космического агентства. Место проведения -- Ноордвик (Нидерланды). Я рискнул. Отборочный тур пройден! Это хорошо, так сказать. Одержу ли победу? Будем надеяться, что фортуна не подведет...

Адрес конкурса:

"The Clarke-Bradbury International Science Fiction Competition Team.".

http://www.itsf.org

Кроме этого, рад сообщить, что эта рукопись через ГОД (!), наконец-то, продвинулась в ознакомлении с ней самого... гм-м... (не падайте!)... Люка Бессона. Да, того самого, который снял блокбастер "Пятый элемент". Обождем немного... Авось прорвемся! Текст письма, полученного мной несколько дней назад из офиса Люка Бессона (на французском, естественно!):

"BP 947 - 75829 Paris cedex 17. Monsieur, Nous avons bien reзu votre e.mail et nous vous en remercions vivement. Nous sommes dйsolйs de vous rйpondre avec autant de retard mais nous recevonsйnormйment de courriers. Actuellement, Luc Besson ne peut vous rйpondre personnellement. Toutefois, toutes les lettres adressйes а son attention sont mises de cфtй. Amicalement. Bureau de Luc Besson".





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Shamans of Anjikuni

from the "Dark stories" cycle by Paul Gross - 8 pages 4400 words.


And so the night has already set in ...
Today it seems cold in the street. Haven't you yet noticed it? Look out of the window ... Don't be afraid, come up to it and pull aside the curtain. Do you see the fog? No? Take a closer look. There it is, clothing in its milky-white sheet the streets and lanes, houses and lamp posts. Neatly, almost imperceptibly it devours everything that happens to cross its path. I would not recommend you to go outside at this dangerous time if you care for your life. Better sink deeper in your comfortable armchair and listen to my story about the far-away Canada. It happened many years back, in a village bearing the mysterious name of Anjikuni ... I have quite forgotten ... look at the calendar: today is January 19, 1930 ...


'So they are again trying to test my power?!' shouted an old man with a gray beard.
Kneeling down, a young European-looking man, long-haired and with a newly-grown beard, tossed an armful of recently gathered brushwood closer to the fire.
'When I was collecting brushwood, I listened to what people were saying. I can't say I understood everything exactly... But it seemed to me the people in the village are against you. They say that White Shaman is more powerful. He says he has more rights to be a shaman. And the village cannot afford to keep two shamans. The elders say one of you will have to leave...'
As if confirming his words, the wind threw aside the curtain shielding the entrance to the hut, bringing to those inside the nearby singing and monotone sounds of drums.
'Pfff, these people are so stupid! They would blame anyone for their misfortunes. Were it somebody else in my place, they would throw stones at him, too. That damned Andjunda the White Shaman - he is the one who is to blame. He tries to harm me in everything I do! He kills those whom I cure, brings to an icy desert those to whom I send hunting luck, drills holes in the kayaks I bless... That is why people have begun to think that I've become too weak and feeble ? how can you be a shaman if you are unable to cure a sore tooth? If only I could ... I would throw his body to the wolves ... Sometimes I see it so clearly... He is bound to an old pole. His eye-sockets are empty, pecked out by the hungry vultures...'
'Perhaps we could move deeper into the white man's territory, just you and me?' Joe Labelle, his disciple, crouching in front of him, suggested. 'Surely nobody will be able to find us there. And even better ? let's go to my native land, a town called Toronto. There you will live among the people of my tribe...'
'Do you suggest running away?' the old man answered without hesitation. 'No, that's not for me. And what will happen to the village? Try to understand, I may be old, but I am not so angry, even with those who drive me away, giving neither brushwood, nor meat. This shaman tries to capture power over the village because he wants to devour all the people living in it. In this way he will extend his life, strength and power by a thousand years. He will be drinking their souls slowly, every day, every hour. Do you think that he got his knowledge from our gods? Nooo... Do you know how he wheedled the secrets of magic from me? He was constantly following me around, trailing behind me day and night. Once I gave up. I don't know what affected me then, probably my old age. You were not here then, Joe, and, you see, every shaman, be he bad or good, cannot die until he passes his experience onto a man of his choice. So I chose Andjunda as my successor, but now this coyote has turned against me.'

Joe nodded. The son of a lawyer from Toronto, he had just started his practice and took up a couple of cases in far-off taiga towns when unexpectedly the wild beauty of the North captured him, overflowing his soul, and he began to spend more and more time hunting with his gun. He abandoned his budding practice and went to the woods, prospecting for gold for some time, then becoming a hunter and finally, meeting the old shaman in the lakeside Eskimo village of Andjikuni, became his chronicler, annalist, almost his disciple. Almost, but not quite ? he had never managed to get further than "almost".
'They are wrong', said Labelle. 'Today I reminded Uak how you had saved the life of his daughter. I know what you really are. But Uak only laughed and said that his daughter had simply been too long with her period...'
'Hmmm, now none of them want to remember the good things I did... Oh stupid people. I have helped everyone, but now ... Now they would listen only to White Shaman. And I have become their worst enemy. Can you hear their wild cries? I know for sure that now all of them wish to see me dead.'
The blizzard howled outside. The next moment a gust of wind stirred the leather curtain, bringing in glittering cold snowflakes.
'You must leave at once,' Black Shaman's voice brooked no argument. 'Andjunda will soon be here. I do not want to see your death.'
"But ...'

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Остальное читать здесь: http://zhurnal.lib.ru/p/pawel_g/shamansofanjikuni.shtml