Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

The Last Magog

was on his way to see her. She met him with a calm gaze. Stuttering, he put the question before her. She continued looking at him. And suddenly, his body was seized with a wave of cold, and his breath taken away by fear. But she, having completed the silent pause, simply answered: “Soon.” And she smiled. And the other one rushed off, having forgotten to communicate her answer to his friends. Yes, Nishkni was a strange one. And she was my friend, my only friend. Together, we would explore the old sanctuary. The warren of caves beneath the burial mound was inhabited by shamans. These were some sort of particularly special shamans; no one had ever seen them. It was said that at night, in their underground tunnels, they would climb up to the temple and pray the night through to the Great Spirits. But it was impossible to confirm this – no one had ever visited the temple at night. No one went there even during the day – they were too afraid. It was a place of ill omen. One time, out of curiosity, I tried all day to climb the eroded earthen steps to the temple. I slid downhill numerous times and was covered with red earth from head to toe. Many times, I found myself near to the target of my interest – the black building, with its entrance into the temple, was within reach. But then, the roots which I was grasping onto, trying to pull myself up, would tear

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