Traveller

By EDGARS AUZIŅŠ

Yegor Rajewski is a stuntman. His destiny is to wander the world in search of the key pieces. If he collects it all, it will give him power over the portals, but for now they are spontaneous, appearing whenever he wants, so he falls through, flying to another world. All he has is a chimera servant and a magic dagger, a soul-consuming dagger. And waiting for him are worlds of which there are many in the universe, magical and technological, post-apocalypse and far space, populated by humans and creatures, elves and orcs. And in each of them, danger awaits Yegor - because he is a Traveller.

• Language: English
• Publisher: EDGARS AUZINS
• Release date: Apr 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224986989

EDGARS AUZIŅŠ

Dzimis 1989. gada 22. decembrī. Absolvējis Rīgas Juridisko koledžu. Profesijā nav strādājis, bet apguvis programmēšanas prasmes un pašlaik ar to nodarbojas. Kopš 2022. gada ir personīgā uzņēmuma vadītājs, kas nodarbojas ar transporta pārvadājumiem, kā arī programmēšanu. Dzīvnieku, īpaši suņu, mīļotājs. Born 22 December 1989. Graduated from Riga College of Law. Has not worked in the profession, but has acquired programming skills and is currently working in it. Since 2022 he has been the CEO of his own company, which deals with transport transport as well as programming. Lover of animals, especially dogs.

Book preview

Prologue

Raevsky, shouted Zoya, the second director of the project, heartily drumming on the door of the trailer, Egor, to the site. Bikovich has already finished his takes, it’s your turn, Cascade, it’s time to rock instead of the Serb.

Yegor opened the door and jumped out of the trailer, landing one step away from a beautiful, tall, impressive blonde who recoiled in surprise. Well, what else could the mistress of a director known throughout the country be? Moreover, his wife knew about this connection and kept quiet while her husband was extracting funds from the state for films; she was not interested in who he fucked in the evening after filming.

Raevsky, you brute, the girl squeaked indignantly, who had almost fallen into a puddle and was now balancing on the edge. - That’s all for you, not like people. If you weren’t so similar to our Serbian star that he only wants you as an understudy, I would whisper to Nikolaich that you’re superfluous here on the set.

You’re a vindictive bitch, Zoya, Yegor muttered through his teeth. - How have you not been stabbed yet? Look, someone will load a real cartridge instead of a blank, and they will slap you, as if by mistake. You're chirping. Youth, beauty and the director’s favor do not last forever, but you do nasty things to people every day, and they will definitely remember you. Okay, let's go, otherwise they're probably already waiting. I need to quickly get sunburned and go home. I’m having dinner at my mom’s today, and I’m here rocking it with you.

Egor collided with the film's star, Serbian Milos Bikovic, on the edge of the set.

Oh, Yegor, the Serb said almost without accent, firmly shaking the stuntman’s hand, you try there, the scene is important, you need to burn beautifully.

It will be done, Milos, Raevsky assured him. - Don’t worry, I’ll jump out on the move, engulfed in flames, everything will be in the best possible way.

They bowed, and Yegor hurried to the director, who was already swearing at everyone and everything, since he did not have an understudy for the star on set, and time was limited, another twenty minutes, and nothing worthwhile would be filmed.

Finally, Edgar Nikolaevich said displeasedly when he saw Raevsky. - Where are you going? No, someday I will definitely kick you out for your carelessness. Okay, let's get to the car.

Yegor nodded and headed towards the luxurious Mercedes Gelendvagen, from which he was to jump out and burst into flames. Climbing into the passenger seat with a machine gun, he mentally crossed himself, kissed the army dog ​​tags that brought him good luck, according to tradition, and raised his hand, indicating that he was ready.

A girl with a firecracker jumped out, Zoya commanded into the walkie-talkie: Silence on the site, the cameramen started up the cameras.

Camera one went, camera two went, camera three went, followed the report of the director of photography.

Motor, the director yelled, and the Gelik rushed along the mountain road.

Here is the control point that three cameras are currently focused on.

Let’s go, came the command in the miniature earpiece, and Cascade, throwing open the door, fell out onto the rocky road. The pyrotechnics immediately went off, and Raevsky’s clothes caught fire. He lost his machine gun and rolled down the slope, knocking out the flames. He was hit with a fire extinguisher and was able to get up. I felt my face, this time it was okay, a small abrasion on my cheekbone doesn’t count.

It was filmed on the first take, Nikolaich shouted, and everyone clapped. Egor, come here, the director shouted, we need to discuss the next scene, we’ll shoot it tomorrow, it’s late today.

Yegor nodded and wandered towards the director. It was at that moment that he saw under his foot some silvery spot of irregular shape, similar to a blot, and stepped into it. My leg immediately lost support. Raevsky tried to keep his balance, but he didn’t just fall forward, some unknown force pulled him towards him from the silvery haze. He even heard the technician standing five steps behind him scream. And then heaven and earth changed places, and he pressed the back of his head against the stone, sparks flashed in his eyes. He groaned and sat up.

B... he briefly commented on what he saw when he was able to look at the world again.

It was anything but a film set.

Chapter 1

Yegor was sitting among old, shabby, three-story houses, on a stone-paved street. It seemed that no one had been watching her for a very long time, since grass grew from the joints, not to say that it was tall, but there was about ten centimeters in it.

Raevsky rose to his feet and slowly turned around his axis. A sticky fear, long forgotten (the profession obliged), crept under the jacket that stank of burning. It was relatively warm here, at least twenty degrees, and where he fell here from, there is no other way to call it, it was a little more than three. So, he started sweating almost instantly. He pulled the anorak over his head, crumpled it and tucked it under his armpit. The cold machine gun that took part in the shooting remained lying on the slope along which it had rolled. But there were three things that pleased him: the presence of cigarettes in his pocket, a lighter and a heavy combat knife on his left thigh.

I felt like it would come in handy, Egor muttered, pulling out a heavy Damascus blade from its sheath, proudly called Plastun on the manufacturer’s website.

Raevsky mechanically checked the ideal sharpening, took a knife from his own collection with a specialist; what was on the site did not correspond to the image at all. He did not offer it to Milos, since they were filming him and the knife would not be visible, no matter how hard he tried. And even the most attentive viewer will not notice that in one scene there is a cleaver, but in another there is not. Having returned the blade to its sheath, he was more calmly able to examine the place where he had ended up.

There was an old empty city all around, the wind was blowing some kind of garbage along the pavement, not a single intact window. Some houses bore traces of fire, others had sagging roofs, and here the façade of the mansion was crossed by a crack into which one could easily stick a hand. The houses themselves were solid and majestic, decorated with statues and bas-reliefs, standing close to each other. Each had a porch with several steps leading up to doors that were partly crumbling to dust and partly hanging in pieces on rusty door hinges.

The street itself is not exactly wide, about seven meters, relatively straight, although after about fifty meters it began to bend slightly. The city was abandoned and dead, at least the area within sight. But there were traces of people who had been here, and they clearly could not belong to the locals. Someone scratched on the facade of a neighboring house: Pasha Rogov, 2020, got there, I don’t know where or how. And below, someone wrote something similar: Roma Goose, 2021, where am I? But the third inscription turned out to be extremely interesting, and if Pasha and Roma did not know what was happening here, then the author of the third seemed to have a good idea of ​​the situation. The inscription was made with something dark, maybe blood. Hello, wanderers of the worlds, welcome to the eternal walk. In this world, living or dying will be decided by the fog. Wait for your door, you will feel it. Anchor.

Raevsky turned his head, looking for some more messages, hoping to get more useful information, but the rest of the walls were clean, in any case, there was no more rock art observed. The conclusions suggested themselves - he is not the first in this world, there is a way out of here, there are many worlds, and someone occasionally looks in here, and the door should open, and he will feel it. Most of all, he didn’t like the words about the endless walk; it meant only one thing: he wouldn’t get home soon. The downside was the fog warning.

Yegor went to the wall and looked down. There, on the formwork, lay a rusty nail, and a very strange one, it looked like it was forged, and triangular, not even a nail, but a spike. It was he who served his fellow sufferers with writing materials.

Well, there’s no need to break away from the team, he said quietly and, picking up a nail, began to scratch his text on the plaster. It turned out to be easy, and within five minutes a new inscription appeared next to the other names - Egor Raevsky, 2023.

The only place he hasn't looked yet is the sky. Raising his head, he decided to ask what was above him. I must say, the problem has become dramatically more complicated. Despite the fact that there was enough light, the sky looked completely unusual. Dark crimson, dense, as if it was woven not from clouds, but from energy clots that were constantly in motion, flowing from one to another. It is impossible to see any stars or satellites through these dense substances. In general, both this sky and this city were gloomy. The worst thing is that nothing is clear. How long do you need to hold out here? What if the door opens in a week or a month? Where will it open? This Anchor, who congratulated him on his arrival, did not specify whether it was possible to leave the place of appearance, or whether he needed to sit and wait. There were more questions than answers, for example, what is hiding in the fog, and can an ordinary knife cope with it or is some kind of magic needed?

Egor most of all disliked being inactive and hanging around in one place; waiting for who knows what was not in his principles. He walked up the white but occasionally dirty steps and pushed open the door leading into the mansion. It opened very slowly with a disgusting creak, giving the opportunity to look inside. He was in no hurry to enter; he studied the wide hall from the threshold. The height of the ceiling is six meters, the length is twenty steps, no less. It is much darker here than outside, but there is still enough light to see the situation. The ceiling and walls have wide cracks, a huge chandelier is lying on the floor, at least twenty horns, each once ending in a dull, impressive lampshade, most of which were broken when they fell, only about three survived. The entire floor is covered in fragments and fragments of stone. There is a door on the right and left, wood with stained glass windows, knocking one out is not a problem. And the tree looks deplorable, and is likely to fall apart with a light touch. The staircase to the second floor is right in the center, about three meters wide, but part of it has collapsed, leaving about a little more than one and a half meters. The white steps are covered with dust. Further on there is a platform about four meters away, from there two more stairs lead, one to the right, the other to the left.

But most of all, Raevsky did not like the mummy sitting with his back against the wall, just three steps from the entrance. The mummy was classic, as it is shown in films, yellow skin stretched over bones, empty eye sockets, knees pressed to the chest, arms hugging them, as if a person shrank before death and froze forever. The worst thing was that the mummy belonged to his fellow countryman. There was a good watch on my hand, I’ve seen more expensive ones, but still not cheap, jeans and sneakers, branded ones, also not cheap, a faded sweatshirt on top, the hood was still pulled over my head, but it didn’t cover my face. Cascade slowly approached the corpse and squatted down next to it.

- Who are you? — he cynically asked the dead man. - Roma or Pasha?

He did not believe that this was an experienced Anchor. The answer was found in the back pocket of his jeans, there was an equally expensive snakeskin wallet, inside of which were the rights to the name of Pavel Anatolyevich Rogov, born in eighty-nine, from the city of Vladivostok. He was a little older than Raevsky; Yegor turned twenty-seven two weeks ago. By the way, Pavel was not a poor man; in his wallet there were twenty thousand in cash and four cards, a photograph of a slightly plump, but very nice woman. Not at all embarrassed, Cascade rummaged through the rest of his pockets. The car keys, the Lexus badge on the key fob, he simply threw them away as unnecessary, but he immediately put away the folding bag with the liner-lock, securing it with a clip on his pocket. Such a cleaver would definitely not be superfluous in his situation. But what bothered him was that the knife was on the dead man’s belt, and not in his hand. It turns out that either what killed him acted so quickly that he did not see it, or, conversely, very slowly and without revealing itself. Or maybe there is nothing in the fog? Maybe the fog itself is dangerous? Inhale - and play the rest.

Another useful thing was a pair of condoms from a fairly good company. Raevsky also tidied them up, because their functionality is much broader than just pulling on the end. He didn't find anything else useful. For a moment, he wanted to bury his brother in misfortune, but he had absolutely no time to look for a place where he could do this, and a tool, and, to be honest, he was too lazy. Rising, he looked around the hall again, and here he was struck by a certain stupor. What to do next? Ransack the house, steal everything he considers valuable into one place? Weapons, gold, precious stones. Does he need all this? Probably yes, because if you get into inhabited places, it can be exchanged for many things that he needs - clothes, food... It’s strange, if he finds a sword here and ends up in the world of space cruisers, the local Darth Vader will laugh with laughter. Although, if he falls through there with a Kalash, he will still laugh.

Yegor sat down on the steps of the stairs. Having knocked a cigarette out of the pack, he lit it, counted the remaining ones and sighed heavily, there were only seven of them left. Cascade smoked the cigarette all the way to the filter, after which he crushed the bull with his foot. It was getting dark in the house, and on the street too, apparently he came into this world in the afternoon, late in the evening. It was stupid to sit in the hall next to a dead person; you need a room that is at least protected from penetration.

Raevsky stood up and carefully examined the hall. After a couple of seconds, he noticed what he needed, a stool standing to the side against one of the walls. Breaking off the legs was a matter of minutes, then he, without a twinge of conscience, breaking the dead man’s arms, pulled off his sweatshirt, which was quite dry and suitable for making a torch.

Let’s light it, Raevsky smiled to himself and began tinkering with the lighting device.

Thin wires from a fallen chandelier were perfect for winding. Five minutes later he had three torches.

While there was enough light, he walked around the first floor. Some kind of guest room, table, armchairs, glass facade overlooking a completely overgrown garden. Apparently, the owner of the house received here petitioners or guests who did not come out with their snout to get further. Basically, maybe he was some kind of businessman, a man came, sat here, smoked, discussed business and went away. It got dark outside, so I had to light a torch. Well, no luck, someone was poking around here, and very actively at that, open cabinets, some papers lying on the floor... Most of all he was interested in something resembling a weapons pyramid. It was behind a glass display case, but someone had thoroughly cleaned it, so he didn’t find anything useful in that room. It was not suitable for shelter. Lots of glass, flimsy door.

The second floor was also looted, but there was an office here, and the door was massive, and the whole window was almost eight meters above the ground. It also overlooked an overgrown garden, but no one would run into it, which means there was a chance to spend the night peacefully.

Raevsky settled into a large leather chair, which creaked under his weight. Eh, I wish I knew what to fear in the fog, poison or whatever lives there. Couldn't this Anchor write a little more in detail? It was difficult for him to add a couple of lines, maybe Pasha would still be alive.

Yegor closed his eyes and, oddly enough, passed out. And he had an extremely strange dream. He stood like a ghost in that very office, his body reclining in a chair, and it was clearly alive, since his chest was heaving.

Hello, brother, an unfamiliar voice came from the door.

Cascade turned around and saw the same ghostly man in the darkness, and while the figure was barely outlined, the face was very clear and detailed. Pavel Rogov came to visit him.

Hello, Raevsky greeted the ghost.

Well, thank God, the ghost breathed out with relief. - Listen, brother in misfortune. I got here a long time ago, died on the second night, I can tell you something useful, but I will demand something, take an oath.

- First, a request, in case you ask me for the impossible.

Reasonable, agreed the ghost of the victim. - No, I won’t demand anything beyond the limits. In the morning, bury me in the garden, but with an indispensable condition, you drive something iron into my head, even the nail with which you scratched my autograph. Then I can leave, it’s hard for me, I’ve been sitting here for a long time.

We agreed, Yegor agreed easily. I wanted to do it myself, but it was getting dark, and I was too lazy, to be honest.

The ghost said nothing to this, only nodded.

- Ask, we have time.

Raevsky thought about it, there were a million and a quarter questions, but which one should I ask first? And it is doubtful that Pavel’s ghost is a local guide.

Okay, he finally decided. - Can I get home from here?

I don’t know, I died here, how can I know what’s there, behind the opening portals?

- By the way, how did you die? I didn't see you being attacked.

I failed the fog test, the ghost answered sadly. "Anchor, the wanderer who left the message, appeared after I died. By the way, Roma didn’t survive the second night either, he’s three houses away, down the street, but I don’t advise you to talk to him, he’s turned into something terrible, there’s anger in him. It’s safe during the day, but at night, if you go near it, it’s all over. Here, about six months ago, a girl of about twenty appeared, read the inscriptions and went for a walk. Unfortunately for her, it was getting dark. In short, there is no girl, he swallowed her up. I'm afraid of him, he can kill people like me. This means that nothing will happen after, he will dissolve me in himself.

- What if his body is destroyed? - Yegor became interested.

But there’s no body, Pavel shook his head, it’s hidden somewhere. So, leave it, just don't go into the houses down the street.

- Okay, to hell with Roma. Do you know how to survive in the fog?

- Everyone has their own test, and yes, you can run away from it. There was one such smart guy here, he left, then returned, but the portal in front of him never opened. He wandered around this city, looking for food, naturally found nothing, and eventually sat down and died.

- And this Anchor?

- He is a wanderer who wanders the worlds. As I understand it, he was thrown here by accident, he hung around here for about five hours, then jumped into the blot and was gone.

-What kind of place is this anyway?

— As I understand it, a distribution center. Something happened here a long time ago, and the world died. A fog has appeared that hunts people like us. As I understand it, not everyone sees and can fall into these portals, we are somehow special, and he conducts further screening.

- How can you smell a portal? - Yegor remembered the inscription left by Anchor.

- No idea. You can’t control them, they are spontaneous, you will fall into them yourself. I've seen people like us a couple of times who survived the test of the fog. They were just walking down the street, this blot appeared under their feet, and they sank into it. And I’ll tell you right away, you can’t dodge it, one tried, jumped away, so the first blot disappeared and a second one opened under him. I won’t say what will happen next. Don't know.

I see, Yegor said after a short silence. - As I understand it, why is all this, is it stupid to ask?

You can’t imagine anything more stupid. Maybe the fog will tell you if you pass its test. He will appear tomorrow night, I don’t advise you to go far. Apart from Roma, or rather what he has become, there is nothing more to fear here, but he cannot leave the territory within a radius of forty meters from his home.

- What useful things can you find here? I saw they were searching the house.

- Hard to tell. Everyone is looking for weapons, gold, stones, something that can be used to pay in other worlds. In any case, Anchor took off my gold signet with a brulik. I tried to shout to him so that he would bury me, but he didn’t hear and left.

— Is it important to stay where you are or can you wander around the whole city? - Cascade remembered the question that interested him earlier.

- Yes, wander wherever you want, the fog will find you, but I’ll tell you this, this city has seen more than one thousand of our brothers, every day two or three end up, but not all of them are right at this point. Just be careful, different people sometimes hang around here and kill each other. If you're lucky, you might find something valuable.

—Are there many worlds there? Although, how do you know? Stupid question.

- Stupid, you will find out everything yourself, or you won’t find out, but I think there are thousands of worlds out there. Oh, dawn," Pavel raised his hand and pointed to the window.

Yegor turned around, and sure enough, despite the fact that the sky was still covered in these strange energy clots, it became lighter.

- Why so fast? - he turned to the ghost, but the question hung in emptiness, Pavel was no longer in the office, had disappeared.

Raevsky looked for several seconds at the place where his brother in misfortune had recently hung, and then he was pulled back into the body, and it became dark.

When Yegor opened his eyes, it became much lighter outside the window. He stood up, stretched, and immediately heard his stomach growl. He hadn't eaten in quite some time, and it looked like he wasn't going to eat anytime soon.

Yegor remembered the conversation with the ghost quite clearly, everything from the first to the last word, and now he had to do what Pavel asked him to do. He went down to the first floor, walked around the stairs and went out into the garden through large broken glass doors. The shovel was found in a small shed with a leaky roof. He had to fumble to break through the thickets and open the door; for about twenty minutes he chopped some kind of vine with his cleaver. It took so much more to dig the grave. Returning to the hall, he picked up the dried light body and carried it into the garden. Quite carefully he wrapped it in a sheet taken from one of the bedrooms. Then he drove an iron nail into the eye socket, but not the one with which he wrote, but another one found on a shelf in the barn. And then he saw how a light silvery cloud left the dead, dried shell and melted into the air. Well, he kept his word and repaid the night conversation. He buried the body and went to inspect the house.

The third floor turned out to be a workshop, the strangest he had ever seen. It was a huge hall under a glass dome, which partially lay on the floor with fragments and fragments of an iron structure. There were paintings hanging on the walls, dozens of paintings, however, there was no way to make out what was painted on them; bad weather and time had done their job, destroying the work of art. In the center of the room there was a large easel of an unfamiliar design, next to a table with paints and brushes.

Balls, beauties, cadets, cadets, Yegor began muttering under his breath, moving along the almost unlit hall. — To the waltzes of Schubert and the crunch of French bread...

There were no windows on the right and left walls. If Yegor understood correctly, then there were walls of another house, but the back wall in front of the balcony was made of glass, again partially broken, and now the fragments were lying on the parquet floor. Through the knocked out pieces, Raevsky saw a balcony, three and a half meters long, how much width it is unclear, but if you believe the glass wall, then about ten meters, and maybe more.

Realizing that there was nothing to catch here, and his curiosity was satisfied, he went down to the first floor. It was useless to rummage around in the house; he went out into the street and looked at the house that Pavel had not advised him to go into. But he said that it was daytime, which means Roman could not harm him. Maybe there’s something interesting there?

Having checked whether the plastun comes out of its sheath easily, Yegor, grabbing the two remaining torches, headed towards the house with columns. As he approached, he felt a chill run down his spine. If you believe in all mysticism, then you can say with confidence that this place is cursed.

- Is it worth it to come here? - Yegor asked himself. - What do I get from this Roman’s carcass? Pavel at least gave me a useful conversation, but this one can only cause trouble. We need to solve the problem," he confidently declared to himself and resolutely entered the hall.

There was no door here, only wood chips lay on the dirty marble floor. Yegor stopped on the threshold and looked around carefully. This house was completely different from the one where he spent the night. It was a real tower with a spiral staircase along the wall. Here the chandelier hung at a height of five meters and was not going to fall. Just as massive, only she had more horns. If you measure it in candles, as power was indicated in the old days, then about fifty pieces, no less. At the far wall, a skeleton lay in a heap of crusty rags, the bones were bleached, not a piece of meat remained on them. Only by the fact that there was a clutch lying next to him, he realized that this was exactly the loser girl that Pavel had told about. Moreover, he did not find her skull anywhere. Deciding to deal with it later, Raevsky continued the inspection. There were two doors leading from the hall, one to the right, the other straight ahead. Yegor thought and went to the one that was closer. It was not locked, and with a light push it opened, though not forgetting to creak with ungreased rusty hinges, so disgustingly that he even shrugged his shoulders.

In the light of the torch, which he had to light, he saw a small room, more like a dressing room. The smell of damp, rotting rags hit my nose, making me wince. Nothing interesting, some large closets, a spreading carpet, wet walls overgrown with mold. It is doubtful that a body can be hidden here. If it had been locked, he wouldn’t even have come in, but Roma could have huddled here out of fear