'You're not supposed to see anything,' said Svetlana, smiling. 'And it's not a matter of power, the witch was just making fun of you. Maybe even Gesar wouldn't see anything . . . it's not for men.'
She raised the comb to her hair and began combing it smoothly and gently. She said casually:
'Just imagine . . . it's summer, hot, you're tired, you didn't sleep last night, you've been working all day . . . But you've just had a swim in cool water, someone's given you a massage, you've had a good meal and a glass of fine wine. And now you're feeling much better . . .'
'It improves the mood?' I guessed. 'Counters fatigue?'
'Exclusively for women,' Svetlana replied. 'It's old, at least three hundred years old. It must have been a present from some powerful magician to a woman he loved. Perhaps even a human woman . . .'
She looked at me and her eyes were glowing. She said in a soft voice:
'And it's supposed to make a woman attractive. Irresistible. Alluring. Does it work?'
I looked at her for a second – then glanced at the night light and put it out.
Svetlana herself erected the magic canopy that deadens all sound.
I woke up early in the morning, before five. But to my amazement, I felt perfectly fresh – just like some woman who owns a magic comb and has combed her hair to her heart's content. I was in the mood for great deeds. And a good solid breakfast.
I didn't wake anyone, just rummaged about in the kitchen, broke a couple of pieces off a long loaf of bread and found a small plastic bag of sliced salami. I filled a large mug with home-made kvass and took everything outside.
It was light already, but the village was quiet and still. There was no one hurrying to the morning milking – the cowsheds had stood empty for five years already. No one was hurrying anywhere at all . . .
I sighed and sat down on the grass under the apple tree that had stopped bearing fruit a very, very long time ago. I ate the huge sandwich and drank the kvass. And to complete my comfort, I got the book Fuaran from the room – by magic, through the window. I was hoping my mother-in-law was asleep and wouldn't notice the levitating volume.
As I ate my second sandwich, I became increasingly engrossed in reading.
It was truly fascinating!
At the time the book was written, they didn't have any of those clever little words like 'genes' and 'mutations' and other bits of biological wisdom that we try to use nowadays to explain the nature of Others. So the team of witches who worked on the book – there were five of them, but only their first names were given – had used terms like 'affinity for sorcery' and 'change of nature'. One of the authors listed was Arina, some-thing the witch had modestly failed to mention the day before.
First of all the learned witches discussed at length the very nature of the Others. Their conclusion was that the 'affinity for sorcery' existed inside every human. The level of this 'affinity' was different for everyone. As a reference point one could take the natural degree of magic dispersed throughout the world. If a person's 'affinity' was higher than the average global level, then he or she would be a perfectly ordinary human being. He or she wouldn't be able to enter the Twilight, and would only occasionally feel anything strange, as a result of fluctuations in the natural level of magic. But if a person's 'affinity' was less intense than that of the surrounding world, he or she would be able to make use of the Twilight.
It all sounded pretty strange. I'd always thought of Others as individuals with strongly developed magical abilities. But the point of view expressed here was the exact opposite of that.
In fact, the following amusing comparison was used as an example: say the temperature throughout the entire world is thirty-six point five degrees. Then most people with a body temperature higher than that will radiate heat outwards and 'warm up nature'. But the small number of people who have a body temperature lower than thirty-six point five will start absorbing heat. And since they receive a constant influx of power, they will be able to make use of it, while people with far warmer temperatures carry on aimlessly 'heating nature'.