Silver Temple in Chiang Mai (Wat Sri Suphan). Serebryany Bor Silver Temple in Chiang Mai

Thailand has many Buddhist temples, but there are a few that are quite different from most. The Silver Temple is one of these. It is made according to all Thai traditions, but has an unusual color. The temple is completely covered with metal, and silver-plated religious paintings are carved on its walls. The Silver Temple is located in Chiang Mai and anyone can look at it.

The Silver Temple is part of a temple complex that also contains another temple in the usual Thai style and a museum. The entire area is well-groomed, there are paths along the temples that are pleasant to walk along.

The temple complex was built in the 16th century, but it looks quite good, as if it was built quite recently. The fact is that over the course of many years the temple was attacked and was torn apart piece by piece. Therefore, it was often restored and now all the buildings look like new.

The Silver Temple itself is not the main building. It is only an extension to the main Buddhist temple. But the main temple looks completely ordinary, and therefore arouses little interest among tourists, which cannot be said about the Silver Temple. It sparkles in the sun even in cloudy weather, captivating with its beauty and unusual appearance.

Inside the temple is also metal with a large number of silver plated paintings depicting Buddha, his disciples and significant scenes his life. At the end of the temple is the main golden Buddha statue; at its foot, Thais pray and light candles.

Interesting fact is that women are prohibited from entering the Silver Temple. A sign at the entrance says so. You can walk around the temple, but you cannot enter it.

On the territory of the Silver Temple there is a workshop where metal paintings are made. If you wish, you can watch this process and even sign up for courses on making such paintings.

Working hours

The Silver Temple is open to visitors during daylight hours. Entry is completely free, but donations are always welcome. On Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday from 5:30 to 7 pm there are organized meetings with the monks, where everyone can ask them their questions. Communication takes place on English language. Such meetings are available to everyone.

How to get there?

The Silver Temple is located at the intersection of Singharaj and Rajdamnern streets, near the south side of the square. The landmark can be a statue of a cow. From there you should turn right and move straight until you reach the temple.

Silver Temple on the map

See this map for the exact location of the temple.

Waking up in the morning on the second day of my stay in the city, I no longer wanted to walk inside the old walls and look at the beautiful, but boring Buddhist temples. There was also no desire to travel hundreds of kilometers on an excursion to the Doi Suthep and Doi Ithanon national parks, which are so popular among tourists. In general, at breakfast all my thoughts were occupied with where to go for something interesting. And here another theory of mine was confirmed: if you formulate your question correctly, the cosmos will always send you an answer to it.

At the next table to us in the cafe sat a rather nice couple of older Russian tourists who were not in the city for the first time. It was from them that I heard about the Wat Sri Suphan temple - the silver temple of Chiang Mai. According to our new acquaintances, this is a very unusual temple that is a must see. Therefore, the plan formed by itself: after breakfast we set off in the direction of this place.

It didn’t look very close on the map, but exploring new places on foot is my absolute rule.

The road there took us about an hour and a half. But it was definitely worth it! We found so many beautiful things along the way!

Here, for example, is a picturesque embankment, which is lost somewhere behind a web of narrow streets and restaurant fences.

And this place reminded me of Geneva. Although I was not there, photographs of the famous Geneva lake with a fountain stood before my eyes all the time.

As always, getting lost, missing our turn and walking for more than half an hour in the other direction from the temple, we found... the Chiang Mai Cultural Center. I won’t say that the place was particularly remarkable or interesting. At certain times, there are various exhibitions and shows showing scenes from Thai folk epics. But during the day it was completely empty.

And so, having finally sorted out the road, rested and refreshed ourselves with tiny pineapples, which to my taste reminded me more of a peach, after another 40 minutes we finally found the Silver Temple!

It was built in an area where families of artisans have long lived, so it is not surprising that everything there is handmade.

On the territory of the temple there is a workshop in which monks and ordinary craftsmen manually make “ construction material"for the temple. You can watch the process for a long time. I always watch with bated breath the professionals in their field. You can always see when people are very good at something and really enjoy their work.

The temple building itself. Everything here is made from forged silver sheets!

According to some old legend, women are prohibited from entering. It's a pity! :(

Even the statues of guards and Buddha are silver!

In fact, the silver building itself is not the main temple. It serves only as an extension to the side of the Buddhist temple itself. But this building was so typical and ordinary that I didn’t even want to photograph it.

I got the impression that Wat Sri Suphan is not an old temple at all. Everything there was somehow new and sparkled in the sun. Although, as I later read, in fact, this is not at all true: the temple is over 500 years old! It’s just that its beauty always attracted a bunch of thieves who literally took away the temple piece by piece. Therefore, it has to be restored all the time and missing fragments built in.

CHAPTER 1
Gate
I went down the stairs from the railway platform. The path, winding, ran along a wheat field.
Another half hour of walking and he will be at the dacha that he bought quite recently. He’ll put things in order, get to know his neighbors, and then go fishing in the river in the evening.
A village appeared ahead. Along the way, a tractor was collecting dust and somewhere a button accordion was playing, trying to drown out the frantic rhythm of the turned on tape recorder.
“It’s a fun place,” Timofey smiled and, pulling the latch, pushed the gate, which sang in a drawn-out creaky voice.
At that very moment he fell into a lilac abyss. The wind whistled in my ears and my heart began to beat wildly.
A blinding light splashed into his eyes and he fell into the water. Having reached the muddy bottom, he pushed off and was pushed to the surface like a cork.
“It’s not far from the shore,” Timofey perked up and energetically worked with his hands.
Got out on sand beach, and breathing heavily, he wandered off, absolutely not understanding where he was and what had happened to him.
A light breeze brought the smell of smoke. Turning into the forest that stretched along the coast like a green wall, I found myself in the world of tree giants. The brownish trunks of trees with a hundred girths were covered with velvety moss; cirrus clouds with a pinkish tint walked along their crowns. The air is humid and filled with the melodic trill of an invisible bird, which is sometimes interrupted by the drumming of a woodpecker.
The strange forest parted and in front of it appeared a house cut down from centuries-old logs, fenced with a high, strong palisade. Several country roads stretched towards the massive gate, lined with iron strips for strength. There was a sign hanging on a separate pole; the lacy letters were unfamiliar and therefore Timofey could not read it. But even without this it was clear. The smell of baking and roasting suggested that this was a tavern.
Entered the yard. Several short horses are tied to a long pole. In the large barn, grunting, mooing and cackling could be heard.
Climbing the steps of the porch, he opened the door and immediately found himself in a spacious room, the entire length of which was lined with tables and similar benches. In the far corner was a staircase to the second floor. Two people were sitting near the window and heatedly arguing about something, so that you could hear some words: “... what did I tell you... that strange passerby over there will be... give me 10 silver coins, you bet me on them...”
Before he had time to settle down at the table, a plump little man rolled up to him and, smiling, asked what to serve.
Afraid of attracting too much attention to himself, Timofey ordered bread and a glass of water. leisurely devouring the simple food, he pondered his situation.
In just half an hour, his whole life changed. Everything was turned upside down. Maybe ask someone from the local public. And if they look askance at the curious. No, perhaps it’s better to be a gray mouse for now and try to figure out everything that’s happening for yourself.
There was some change in Timofey's pocket. The innkeeper turned the ruble over in his hands incredulously, tried it on his teeth and, shrugging his shoulders, took it.
“Whatever there is in the world,” he decided and left.
Timofey left the tavern. No mood. How could he be good if he got into such trouble?
The reddish clay road led to the crossing. An old man was sitting near the ferry. Dressed in blue pants tucked into short boots, a casual shirt tied with a leather belt with a short sword tucked into it. His eyes were small and squinted, his arms were strong, and his white beard did not hide the crooked scar on his cheek.
Seeing the traveler, the grandfather easily rose from the ground and, greeting him, took hold of a long pole, with which he playfully pushed off from the shore. The current of the river is rapid, sometimes the waves flooded the upper deck and you had to hold on tightly to the extended rope.
“Where are you coming from, a dear man, what have you seen in this world,” said the ferryman and mysteriously added, “I see you are suffering from something.”
“From afar,” Timofey did not immediately answer, glancing at his watch. If you believe them, then it is now twelve o'clock in the afternoon, although the sun has already caught on the jagged edge of the distant forest - I have more questions than answers.
“Then you need the Guardian of the Black Tower,” and, waving his hand, he said, “Look for a man named Olan in Edina, he knows the way there.”
Timofey paid and walked along the dusty road. Night fell instantly, filling everything around with blackness. But then the moon emerged from behind the clouds in an orange halo and illuminated the path with its pale light.
A terrible howl, chilling to the very bones, was heard, then another and another, as if somewhere very nearby there was a pack of wolves.
I picked up a strong stick and my soul became a little calmer, although what can a piece of wood do against sharp fangs? Timofey quickened his pace, but the animals did not lag behind, their yellowish eyes sparkled fiercely a couple of times.
The clopping of hooves was heard behind me. Turning around, I saw a heavily loaded cart.
“Why are you alone at a time like this, sit down together and have fun,” the guy shouted and with one blow of a long whip he threw away the leaping wolf. He, squealing pitifully, rolled into a roadside ditch. - Uh, evil spirits.
Timofey was glad that he would not be alone for the rest of the journey. He deftly jumped onto the cart and settled comfortably on the sacks.
The horse snorted and slowly walked on, waving its tail away from the annoying midges.
“Yats, miller, I’m taking flour to the market,” the guy said and looked closely at the wanderer, who was dressed in unfamiliar clothes and wore a shiny bracelet on his arm. “From afar, traveler.”
“Yes,” Timofey answered and, fearing that they would question him further, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. After all, a day had passed since he had slept.
I woke up from a push in my side. Yats bent over him: “Now there will be a city gate, prepare some stamp paper or a few gold pieces so that the guards will let through.”
Through the fog, gloomy stone walls and two towers that guarded the arched bridge.
Timofey did not know what to do, and apparently this was reflected, as in a mirror, on his face.
“Listen, are you not a runaway?” the miller asked and answered his own question: “No, you’re not.” Okay, take off your jacket - you untied one bag, took a handful of flour and poured it onto your shirt, not forgetting to grind it - you will pass for my assistant. If possible, you can help unload the cart.
Timofey had no choice but to agree; there might not be another chance to get to Edin.
Two soldiers, their armor glistening in the rays of the rising sun, stopped them. They inspected the cargo and demanded Stamped Paper, but having received coins from Yatsi, they raised a forged lattice with long spikes.
The cart rattling wooden wheels By stone slabs, slowly rolled into the city.
Narrow dirty streets twisted, intersected, rose up with worn-out steps, descended into slums, and only one thing united them: they invariably, like streams, flocked to the main square in front of the Town Hall.
“Come on,” Yatz suggested and shouldered the bag.
When the first buyers arrived, the goods were already standing in neat rows near the scales with weights.
Timofey shook off the flour dust from his clothes and decided to walk along the market rows, near which desperate bargaining was already underway.
They sold everything from a simple nail to an inlaid one precious stones armor.
There was absolutely no money left, but I decided to spend it. I carefully selected a weapon from the blacksmith. Of course, Timofey had no idea how to handle a sword, but he didn’t want to survive another night of howling wolves.
He chose it - short, with a wide blade and light, just right for him, and the handle fit into his hand... He waved for show and left the forge.
Noon. The sun is beating down mercilessly. Dust, kicked up by hundreds of feet, hangs over the square like a gray cloud.
I found my friend Yatsu. After stomping around, he asked when he was free from weighing: “Don’t you know Olan?”
Yats took him to the side where there were no people and answered: “Why do you need him. He’s a thin man, he lives haphazardly and they say that he steals.”
“I’ll just exchange a word with him and that’s all,” said Timofey and, taking grain from the feeder, gave it to the horse.
“I heard that he works for the baker Lozen,” Yatz said and added, “Beware, people like Olan can easily deceive.”
Having adjusted the sword on his belt, Timofey went in search of the baker. With difficulty I got out of the market square, filled with goods, carts and horses, among which buyers walked, trying on price and quality.
Two boys were rushing down the street.
“Nobody knows the city better than them,” and Timofey grabbed one by the sleeve of his shirt. “Wait, where Lozena lives,” and showed the last ruble.
The boy’s eyes lit up and he blurted out in one breath: “Straight ahead, to the left, then to the right, the third house with a tiled roof,” and, grabbing a coin, he and his friend rushed on.
Already approaching the house, Timofey realized that he was not mistaken in the street labyrinth. The fragrant smell of freshly baked bread hung in the air.
The gate is wide open. The yard is filled with freshly purchased flour. The hefty fellow easily lifted two sacks onto his shoulders and carried them into a stone barn, near which a black dog sat on a chain.
“The owner is in the bakery,” the guy muttered and greedily drank water from the ladle.
Timofey entered a small building with blue smoke billowing from its chimney. A man dressed in a long white apron was bustling around near the stove. He deftly pulled out fluffy rolls with a crispy crust and stacked them on the table.
“Now,” he said and covered the hot bread with two towels, “I’m listening to you,” and, taking an inkwell and a pen, he prepared to write down the order.
“I need Olan,” and Timofey put his hand on the hilt of the sword for convincing.
This movement did not escape the baker Lozan and he decided not to look for adventures on his own head, so he shouted: “Olan”!
The same guy who was carrying sacks in the yard burst into the bakery.
“They suggested to me that you are the one who can help me,” Timofey explained when the baker walked away and began to knead the dough in the vat.
“I,” the big man was surprised and scratched the back of his head with his fingers. He was flattered that the gentleman was turning to him for help, but the tramp’s instincts told him that there was not far to a catch. Like the last time, when he was persuaded to scare one shopkeeper, but it turned out that while he was talking to him, his goods were stolen. Then the guards came running and did a good job of kneading the sides. Since then, he has been wary of various offers to make easy money - I don’t know, I hired myself for a day for free food.
Timofey realized that the guy was curious, but apparently he had been burned more than once by dubious deals, so a more tasty morsel was waiting for him than the work itself.
- I’ll tell you straight, I don’t have any money. I can promise only one thing - to sleep in the open air and eat whatever you have, - said Timofey and was afraid for his words. He will refuse, because the baker promised him some stew and a piece of bread, but he received absolutely nothing.
And something inside Olan stirred. He has been in the city for several days, and the soul of the tramp has long been asking to be released. All the same, tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, taking someone else’s wallet, he will set off along the dusty road, wherever his eyes look. And why not do it now, when a fellow traveler has turned up.
“Okay, I’ll just put away the bags,” Olan agreed and smiled.
By evening the heat of the day subsided and a light breeze blew. The solar disk has set behind the horizon.
They left the city and reached an abandoned peasant's dwelling before dusk.
“We’ll spend the night here,” and Olan impatiently added, “let’s lay it all out, I don’t like to play in the dark.”
“I don’t know where to start,” and Timofey, sighing, whispered, “The Black Tower, I’ve heard about this one.”
There was a pause that seemed to last an eternity. Olan silently handed over a piece of meat roasted over the fire and turned away.
He did not expect such a turn of events. The stranger asks to be escorted to the Ash Wasteland. He hasn’t been to those parts for a long time, and troubles may arise that are better not to remember. On the other hand, you can make good money at this event, although the wanderer says that he has no money. And what an interesting bracelet with numbers over there, people would willingly buy such a thing in the city of Ovoklup, where the Sacred Sages live.
“Let’s go, just one condition,” Olan turned sharply and pointed at his watch. “You’ll pay with this.” Timofey nodded his head in agreement
As soon as the dawn broke with a pinkish stripe, we set off. Soon the landscape changed. Endless forests gave way to hills overgrown with stunted bushes.
On the sixth day, the area became more desolate and oncoming pedestrians and carts loaded with belongings became increasingly rare.
Towards noon a cloud of dust appeared. An armed rider flew out of it on a black horse, followed by ten more people.
“Let’s run,” Olan shouted and rushed into the roadside bushes.
But it was too late, they were noticed and surrounded. Timofey received a blow with the blunt end of a spear. There was a noise in his head and he lost consciousness.

CHAPTER 2
Pirate Cliverius
In the Sea of ​​a Thousand Thunderstorms, the island of Itt lay like a stone bowl. Its mild, warm climate and convenient coves have attracted pirates since time immemorial. They subsequently built a powerful fortress, around which the city of Alebardos was formed. Its markets were filled with loot and slaves, former sailors whose ships had sunk during battles with the filibusters. And some slaves were brought from the continent. Among them are wandering artists, travelers, and even nobles, whose guards scattered like cowardly hares.
Timofey woke up from a disgusting creak. Four people entered the cage where he was lying. Two of them lifted Olan up. A richly dressed man examined him and, shaking his head, said to the overseer standing next to him: “I’ll take it at half price. It won’t last long, it’s flimsy like a reed.”
The overseer tried to raise the price a little, but, seeing the buyer’s stubbornness, he gave up.
And Timofey said goodbye with a glance to Olan, who was dragged along spiral staircase up.
They came for him the next morning. They doused me with cold water and forced me to change into short pants, a shirt put on through a neckline for my head, and thick-soled wooden sandals.
And then, under escort, they led him through the courtyard and pushed him into a cart drawn by two oxen. Nearby on a bench sat other slaves, shackled with a chain on which a cannonball was attached. Only a madman could jump and run away with such an extra weight.
All day they trembled along the bumpy road, swallowing road dust and licking lips cracked from the heat with their tongues. It was as if the guards deliberately did not give me a sip of water, although they made a halt at the well. By evening we reached our destination.
The huge quarry went deep down and spread, as it seemed, to the very horizon. Exhausted slaves swarmed on its steep slopes, they carried hewn small blocks like ants. If one of them fell and could not get up, he was dragged to an abandoned pit, which the slaves called Deliverance, and they threw him down. But the unfortunate man did not ask for mercy; on the contrary, he thanked God for granting him a quick death.
Timofey was given a hammer and instructed to drive wedges into holes drilled strictly along the contour of the future block.
And all hell broke loose. The food was scanty, it only provided the opportunity to satiate the stomach, but did not in any way increase strength. I quenched my thirst from a barrel, the water was warm and I had to throw leeches and tadpoles out of it every time. We had to sleep in a barracks, blown by all the winds for no more than four hours. The palms of the hands are a continuous rotting wound from which white worms were pulled out.
One day he was driven not to a barracks to rest, but to a small lake that formed in a rock fracture and was fed through an underground tunnel with sea water.
“They’ll drown him like a puppy,” Timofey decided, remembering that yesterday he pushed the overseer, who hit him on the back with a whip.
He was tied with a rope and thrown off a cliff. The cool waters embraced me. Salt penetrated into the wounds and a terrible burning sensation began. I tried to reach the bottom to push off, but it was a real abyss. The air ran out and darkness fell before my eyes...
“Hehe, get up and let’s go,” someone’s shout brought him to his senses and, for convincing, a boot drove into his side. “Now at least you don’t stink like a pig.”
The guards put the rope in a bag and, pushing with pikes, led him to the village where the quarry guards were located.
A wooden wall with two towers surrounded several buildings - a barracks, a forge and a stable. Among them, a one-story stone house with a wide porch stood out; the head of this small garrison lived in it.
Timofey was stopped and examined again. It seemed okay - clean, except for the foul-smelling wounds that were wrapped in rags.
A dwarf dressed in a multi-colored caftan with bells ran out to them. He examined the guest and, wrinkling his hooked nose, ran. Timofey could barely keep up with him. So they stopped in front of the door into which they pushed him.
The room is filled with stuffed animals killed during the hunt. Despite the heat outside, logs crackled in the fireplace, spreading the aroma of pine. At a massive table, smoking a pipe, literally sat a man whose appearance could be said to have been cut down with an axe. But, despite his rough features, he felt unprecedented strength, and when he got up to throw some firewood, Timofey saw a mountain in a light chain mail shirt.
“You want to get out of here,” a voice rang out, making the colored glass in the window tremble. “I know you want to, let’s do it this way, you’ll get minimal freedom, and I’ll get gold,” and he whistled.
A plump man came out from behind the screen behind which stood an oak bed, tapping the floor with a wooden prosthesis, and shouted cheerfully: “I got a hole below the waterline and the storm threw me ashore,” he patted his crippled leg.
“If you serve him, remember, don’t think about escaping, my dogs love fresh meat,” the gold-chain man growled and hit the table, along which a crack ran like a snake.
Olan also said that a gold chain is awarded to the best and most loyal warriors and it gives the right to have your own detachment of up to a hundred soldiers.
Timofey was again pushed into the cart, chained to an iron rod that was screwed to a beam, and he again experienced all the delights of the local roads.
So he ended up in Cliverius’s house, which was located on the shore of a small bay, pressed against a granite rock.
The work turned out to be completely trivial - running a household. The wounds were healing slowly.
It must be said that Cliverius and Timofey were on equal terms, they sat at the table together, in the evenings they admired the sunset on the sea, and from the outside one could think that these were two friends. And only the three-letter “SLAVE” brand on his arm and back spoiled this idyll.
Timofey had already become so accustomed to the new world that he began to remember less and less where he came from and how he got here.
But one day, Cliverius, not suspecting anything, stirred up the past. And this is how it happened.
At breakfast, he mysteriously whispered: “You’ve probably heard that they sometimes call me crazy and even threaten to put me on the fire. I’ll show you why today,” and continued dipping corn tortillas into a sour sauce, and then putting them into his mouth with pleasure. .
Having smoked his favorite pipe, Cliverius led Timofey along a steep path down. I had to hold the old pirate all the time; it was very difficult for him with one leg on such a steep slope. We stopped at a small area, which was protected from the sea by a meter-long stone parapet.
“We’ve arrived,” Cliverius carefully parted the thickly hanging stalks of ivy that hid the wrought-iron door. “Come in,” and turned the key in the lock.
The small cave was crackling and illuminated by torches. Strongly knocked together boxes stood along the walls. Empty shells crunched underfoot and fine white sand creaked.
Lifting the lid of one of the boxes, Timofey could not hide his surprise with the addition of joy from seeing familiar things. Broken ones lay here Sunglasses, pens, table fan, aluminum pans, someone’s passport and many other interesting things.
“I’ll show you a trick for which they threaten me with the fire of hell,” Cliverius chuckled and, taking out a lighter, clicked it a couple of times. The flame flared up like a bright cricket.
“Where does all this come from?” said a stunned Timofey, looking at the camera without a lens.
“Heavenly gifts,” and the old pirate hid the lighter in his jacket pocket.
Time flew by unnoticed in worries. The forest put on its autumn attire and gray clouds floated across the once blue sky. The sea turned steely and, in a blind rage, stormed the coastal cliffs.
One day, returning from Halberdos, the old pirate called Timofey and together they went down into the cave again.
“Listen, what country did you dock with us from?” Cliverius asked and added: “You have a wonderful name, and there are rumors about you in the city.”
He so wanted to tell everything and let what happen - either a fire or ridicule. But Timofey just shrugged.
- You’re silent, but I guessed it from the Great Tornado - the old pirate stroked his mustache with his wide palm - it’s not for nothing that you looked at these outlandish things as if they were familiar to you.
And Timofey could not stand it. He told his story from beginning to end, which was more like the ravings of a sick or insane person.
There was silence. Cliverius, tapping his wooden prosthesis, paced his secret grotto, and then said: “I am a sailor and have seen a lot, I even met the Two-Headed One on the Nameless Archipelago. And I’ll tell you what. Not a single word to anyone else, you understand. People are different and They can interpret it in their own way, and this is very dangerous. They don’t touch me, because I have a strong friendship with the Marshal of the city, and for them you are a slave and nothing more. And I will also help you and tell you who from the local dashing public is not afraid to sail along. Dead River. In the meantime, it’s time to refresh yourself with a glass of rum and a good piece of meat.”
After this conversation, the old pirate began to linger for a long time in Alebardos, and then sent a letter sealed with wax, which was brought by a boy of about ten years old on a dun horse. It contained a stamped paper with permission that such and such a slave was allowed to come to the city to the owner and a few words about what needed to be taken on the road.
Timofey got ready and, closing the secret lock gate, set off. On the way, the patrol stopped several times, but the stamp permit worked flawlessly every time.
And then the gray, moss-covered city walls appeared. The guard at the gate reluctantly let the slave through, with nothing more than a worn-out shoe.
In the labyrinth of streets, Timofey with difficulty but still found the "Torn Sails" tavern. In the spacious room, tobacco smoke hung in the air, and in its bursts one could see the tables at which dashing guys were sitting. Their terrible scars and injuries, swords and sabers could tell about the numerous bloody boardings of merchant and warships.
“Hey, slave,” Cliverius’s loud voice rang out, and when he approached, he whispered, “Let’s go, let’s find a quiet haven.” He went out first, followed by Timofey, like an obedient dog.
Through the alleys they came to a dead end that formed two streets, on one lived tailors, and on the other shoemakers.
The old pirate sat comfortably on an empty barrel. Timofey looked at him expectantly.
“Everything worked out,” Cliverius exhaled and, breaking off half of the flatbread, continued: “Today the trading ship is leaving for Waterfall.” No one will look for you there, but beware of anyone you meet. This port is home to the darkest personalities, our island Itt is a paradise compared to Waterfall. Loy lives in an old ship that lies keel up on the shore; he and I have not traveled a single sea mile. Give me this and he will arrange everything. And finally, let's go, we need to remove the stigma.
Timofey finished chewing the flatbread, took the letter, hid it in a bag and hurried after the old pirate, who knocked on the gate of one house.
Evening. A light orange sunset flashed on the horizon. The city gradually emptied; watchmen with mallets came out onto its quiet streets, scaring the thieves.
Kliverius accompanied them to the pier and, saying goodbye, left. Timofey was taken onto the ship and, settling down in the hold between bales of fabric, he began to wait for departure.
A light wave crashing against the side made him feel seasick and he fell asleep.

CHAPTER 3
Archipelago
Screams woke me up. He climbed up the ladder and was almost washed overboard by a wave. The angry sea roared, the wind whistled and tore sails and ropes to shreds. With a deafening crack, lightning flashed fiery hieroglyphs across the blue-black sky.
And then a cry was heard that made all the sailors stop and turn around: “Ninth wa-a-a-al!!!
A huge wave, like an animal ready to jump, rose predatorily above the ship and the next moment pounced on it...
Having emerged, Timofey grabbed a piece of the mast with a death grip and surrendered to fate. If she wants him to live, she will not allow him to die.
The sea, like a playful kitten, calmed down a little. But the clouds continued to hang over him like leaden pieces.
Gradually, the blurred lines in the drizzle of rain turned into an island. Timofey crawled ashore and fell into oblivion.
Acute abdominal pain brought me to my senses. I collected shellfish thrown out by the storm and soon felt full.
The forest approached the cone-shaped mountain in a dense wall, on top of which lay a snow cap.
Suddenly the birdsong was interrupted by the approaching beat of drums. Timofey hid in the bushes, just in case, picking up a strong stick. He didn’t want to be a slave again; mortal combat would be better.
A procession walked along the sandy spit. Warriors with spears were moving in a chain on both sides. Each of them has a loincloth, to which is attached the skull of the first enemy defeated in battle. In the center, about twenty people carried a stretcher richly decorated with multi-colored ribbons, and an incredibly corpulent native sat on it. On his head were bright feathers attached to a leather strap.
And behind, surrounded by several warriors, a sailor in torn clothes walked, falling and rising. And Timofey recognized him, this unfortunate man who was being led to a terrible ritual, from the crew of his ship that had covered the ninth wave.
The procession turned into the forest and along the path came out into a clearing. Stone idols surrounded her at regular intervals. The natives bowed to each of them, lit a fire, tied a sailor to a spit, laid him next to him and began jumping up and shouting something to the monotonous beat of drums, shaking their spears.
There is no longer any time to delay. Timofey was smeared with mud and with a wild cry jumped out into the clearing, throwing in all directions the live frogs that he managed to catch.
The aborigines apparently decided that all the gods were angry with them at once. They left their clumsy leader and fled in all directions.
Timofey freed the sailor from his bonds and they ran together deep into the forest until the wild local population realized their mistake and began to pursue them with the frenzy of a hungry wolf pack.
Having gotten pretty lost, Timofey fell exhausted into the grass, in which furry caterpillars and centipedes crawled.
“We need to get to another island of the Nameless Archipelago,” the rescued sailor said, breathing heavily and added, “They will find it anyway, sooner or later.” These are dog people and their sense of smell is fine.
And as if in confirmation of his words, one native jumped out to them, frantically clapped his hands and began to whistle, informing his fellow tribesmen that the escaped dinner had been found.
While jumping, Timofey knocked down the native and gave him a good pat on the head with his club, after which he fell silent.
“We’re running, as far as I remember from the books, they’ll attack him first, and only then they’ll attack us,” Timofey shouted and rushed through the thorny bush.
They again found themselves on the sandy shore, which was lazily licked by a sea wave.
“Let’s cross the strait, it’s narrow,” the sailor suggested and looked hopefully at his deliverer. “This is our chance.”
Timofey smiled and ran into the water, only splashes different sides. When they got a little further more than a half, the moon illuminated with a pale light the saber-shaped fin that was rapidly approaching them.
- Oh, God - the sailor screamed heart-rendingly and furiously began to work with his arms and legs - Nura!
It was stupid to ask, since they scream like that, it means they’re worse than a shark and we need to get away as quickly as possible.
And at that moment everything around began to boil, a giant fish jumped out of the water and, opening its mouth, landed on them.
I tried to get up, but fell onto something slippery, warm and alive. The face and hands are covered with scalding mucus, and the air is saturated with suffocating gas that causes drowsiness.
“Where are we?” Timofey whispered and settled down next to the sailor, who was getting worse and worse every minute.
- We are in Neura’s stomach. We will be kept here for a long time, until only our clothes remain, which will be spat out like unnecessary ballast. But this won’t happen soon, so kill me,” the sailor croaked and began to open and close his mouth, like a fish at the bottom of a boat.
Timofey did not like this prospect at all, well, he was a slave, then he was almost roasted at the stake and now some fish is going to slowly digest him - this is too much.
- A-ah-ah!!! - and he began to jump and tear the vessels, from which a brown, stinking liquid gushed out.
A trembling appeared, as if before an earthquake, then a convulsive hiccup, and now he flies along a purple winding pipe and again finds himself in the water. There is no air, but he looks down and sees the cigar-shaped carcass of the Neura fish slowly sinking to the bottom, blowing bubbles.
My lungs burned like fire, my head began to pound alarmingly against my temples. Timofey shrank and flew to the surface like a spring, gasping for air that was divine for a drowning man.
Swam to the stone ridge. His head started spinning and he doesn’t remember anything else.
I woke up when the sun hung motionless at its zenith like a hot ball. The hand on which the brand “SLAVE” was burned was very painful. He unfolded the rag, the wound swelled with a bluish-white blister. I bit into it and immediately a thin stream of yellowish pus flowed out, the pain gradually decreased and no longer interfered with thinking about the future.
- This is the second, or maybe the third or fourth island of the Nameless Archipelago. Although it doesn’t matter what the score is, the main thing is to stay away from the cannibals,” Timofey thought, picking out a mollusk from the shell with a stick. “We need to assemble a raft as quickly as possible and get out of these places.”
He stood up and carefully began to jump from boulder to boulder. So I got to the bamboo grove. The shadow pleasantly cooled the hot body. Large glossy centipedes crawled in the grass, some of them climbed onto our hands and we had to get up and shake them off.
Suddenly there was a whiff of smoke from the fire, which beckoned with an appetizing smell.
“I’ll finally see people,” thought Timofey, deciding that a fisherman lived on the island.
I walked along a winding path that meandered among a pile of rock fragments and came out into a picturesque clearing.
The small lake is surrounded by a green belt of low bushes with bright purple flowers. A grotto could be seen in the mountain like a limestone arch. Raising thousands of splashes, the waterfall fell. And the air is filled with heavenly birdsong.
Someone lived in the cave. A hearth was made of stones, near which there was dry firewood; in the depths there was a wall made of logs; behind it there was a deep pit, covered with a bamboo lattice.
Timofey was about to leave the grotto when something crunched under his foot. He bent down and with a trembling hand picked up the sooty bone.
“Oh, are there really bounty hunters here too,” he said, and at that moment the entrance was obscured by a huge shadow. My heart began to beat faster and for some reason I wanted to become invisible.
The creature, wrapped in the skin of a tiger, entered the semi-darkness of the cave. It walked on its hind legs, holding a wicker snare in its front legs, in which people sat huddled together.
“No, it’s better to fry it until golden brown” ... - a squeaky voice was heard, which was interrupted by a second rude one: - “No way, let’s cook the broth, season it with Dreams herb and you’ll get an excellent soup. And don’t argue with me anymore, I’m the eldest, that’s what I said.” our mother, dying."
And only now Timofey, looking closer, was horrified; two heads, set on a massive neck, were chattering among themselves.
“Two-headed,” and he remembered Cliverius, who mentioned this monster more than once when he talked about his sea adventures in the evenings.
And the monster lit a fire, went to fetch water and began preparing lunch for itself, throwing its prey into the pit.
Timofey crawled out from behind the stone where he had hidden and questioned the people. They turned out to be sailors from a ship that anchored in the local bay to replenish fresh water. Having secured that they would take him with them, he began to untie the vines. Soon they managed to remove one bamboo stick, a gap formed, and the prisoners climbed out through it. Now all that remains is to pass unnoticed past the hungry Two-Headed One, who was enthusiastically crumbling the collected ants with a rusty sword.
They agreed that one would have to divert attention so that others could take advantage of the turmoil. They chose the fastest one and he began the performance. He started dancing, singing loudly, and got so excited that he grabbed a stone and threw it at the monster. The two-headed man scratched the bruised area and began to thrash with his club, trying to hit the offender. And the sailor, indeed, had considerable dexterity, deftly dodged crushing blows and continued to tease.
“It’s time,” Timofey shouted and was the first to jump out of the grotto. He ran a little and looked back; behind him, a little behind, were three sailors. And then a terrible death cry echoed.
“That’s it, our friend is no more,” and one of the sailors wiped away an uninvited tear.
Then they went through the cactus thickets to the bay and swam by boat to the frigate, which was already preparing to sail. The captain, believing that the people sent for water had been eaten by wild animals, ordered the sails to be lowered as the tide began to ebb.
Timofey repeated his story several times, omitting, for obvious reasons, the most important thing about how he got to these parts.
A man with a weathered face puffed on his pipe, sometimes twirling the ends of his mustache, yellowish from tobacco smoke, with two fingers. He didn't like this strange middle-aged man in slave clothes. His trained eye immediately noticed a dirty, bloody bandage on his hand, under which a brand was clearly burned.
“Throw overboard and no hassle,” the captain thought, and said out loud: “Stay, but so that in Waterfall I don’t see you on my ship again.” In the meantime, clean the deck if you want to eat.
Timofey bowed and, backing away, left the cabin. He was given a place near the galley. During the day he worked, either winding ropes into coils, or mending the torn clothes of the crew, and in the evening, tired, he climbed into his cramped, stuffy closet and, falling asleep, listened to the bilge rats fiddling behind the bulkhead.
A week later, a sailor sitting in a barrel on the mast shouted furiously: “Earth!” Timofey, shielding his eyes from the blinding sun with his hand, looked around the horizon.
Two powerful towers slowly emerged from the morning fog, guarding the entrance to the harbor. They saluted the frigate with blank shots, which immediately responded in kind.
The ship lowered the sails and, standing at the pier, dropped anchor.
“Waterfall,” Timofey whispered for some reason and, stepping off the ladder, mingled with the crowd that had come to look at the newly arrived ship.

CHAPTER 4
Loy
The first feeling when you enter the city is complete chaos in everything and there is no power. All the buildings are scattered haphazardly, like children's blocks from a playful child. Everyone built houses where they wanted and to their own taste. Therefore, here you can find shacks made from the wreckage of a shipwreck, and a luxurious white stone mansion surrounded apple orchard, and an old yacht dragged along. But the most incredible thing happened to the streets, or rather to what was called that. There were practically none. Between the buildings it twisted, ran into a fence, turned away, turned, making several bends a meter away, and again the path meandered, in some places paved, and in others just a rotten board through a puddle in which a piglet lay, grunting blissfully. Boys were running around everywhere, earning their living by making donations from someone else's wallet without the owner's consent. Passers-by, passing under the windows, shouted so as not to be doused with slop. And over all this bedlam hung the suffocating smell of rotten eggs.
Timofey went out to the pier again to breathe fresh air. I poked around between the shops and at the same time found out about Loy.
Walking down the stairs to the shore, I walked along the stone wall of the port warehouse and soon the city of Waterfall was left behind.
The sand spit ended abruptly and we had to climb over fragments of rocks before a cozy cove with a narrow passage that resembled the neck of a bottle appeared ahead. The overturned sloop lay between two huge boulders. The hole in the bottom was carefully repaired, and a rope ladder hung from the stern. Nearby there is a well-kept vegetable garden, a corral with sheep and chickens swarming in the sand.
“Hey, cabin boy, stay still, otherwise I’ll make a hole,” a shout was heard and, for convincing, an arrow whistled next to Timofey’s ear. “Why are you here, just keep it short.”
“I have a letter from Cliverius,” Timofey explained stuttering and took out a crumpled, soaked, dried piece of paper. “Sorry, it’s in this form.”
- The broken mast still creaks on its one leg - and the voice added - Turn around and let’s talk.
Timofey lowered his hands and turned around. Standing nearby was a thin, long man in a brown jacket, leather pants and boots. In the teeth, spreading the aroma, stuck out a tube carved from walrus ivory. The right hand held a crossbow, ready for shooting, and the left hand held several bolts. The eyes squinted at the guest.
Loy, and it was he, quickly scanned the message and for some reason raised his head to the sky with alarm. Cherry clouds slowly gathered into one huge ominous cloud.
“Come on, help me,” and he began to catch the birds and put them in a large wicker bag, after which he took them to a cave that was nearby.
And as soon as the last sheep was hidden in the shelter, the sky literally split in two and the coastal rocks began to melt, like candles from a fire.
Yellow and blue flashes of electric discharges struck the ground, leaving smoking bald patches of burnt grass, and a giant funnel formed in the air, from which various objects fell, as if from a cornucopia.
Blood dripped from his nose and Timofey fell onto his side.
“Yunga,” he heard and opened his eyes.
A smiling Loy leaned over him: “Today the catchers will have a lot of work, I also collected something.”
On weak legs, Timofey reached the uprooted oak tree and, breathing heavily, leaned against the trunk.
“That’s not a bad thing at all,” Loy boasted, showing an electric iron. “The blacksmith will definitely give you six gold pieces.”
Timofey forgot about the pain. Once again fate brings him a surprise. And then he begins to compare everything that happened to him in a month and shuddered from a sudden guess.
I remembered right away Science Magazine. It said that there supposedly were “time holes” on the planet that could transport you to another dimension….
“Well, it’s not stormy anymore,” Loy asked and handed over a mug filled with some kind of liquid. “Drink it, you’ll feel better.”
The smell is such that it cannot be expressed in words. Timofey knocked over the mug in one gulp and his stomach immediately began to growl, but his head cleared and the pain subsided.
“Come on, tell me why you needed the Dead River,” said Loy and began to clean the fish.
Timofey repeated everything he told the old pirate, without hiding anything. What for? If he doesn’t believe it, he’ll think he’s crazy, but if it’s the other way around, he’ll help.
Loy, having listened, began to mutter something under his breath, every now and then sticking a knife into the wet sand. Finally, he rinsed the gutted fish in water and said:
“Cliverius and I have boarded more than a dozen ships, so he won’t slip me fake pearls and, laughing, he added, “You’re not, by any chance, one of those travelers who makes up fairy tales and then tells them to the crowd in the market square.”
For the rest of the day, Timofey asked about sailing on the Dead River. But Loy said every time that he was still considering whether to take the cabin boy on board or send him back to his mother, otherwise he simply remained silent.
Timofey had no desire to go to Waterfall and look for housing and he stayed, especially since Loy was glad to have an extra pair of working hands. The Great Tornado damaged some buildings on his farm and they needed to be put in order.
By midnight all work is completed. Timofey sat on a coastal stone, devoured fried fish by both cheeks and watched as fishermen from the city dived and took outlandish household items of the twentieth century from the bottom of the bay.
One boy ran up and, shouting excitedly, tried to sell him a radio. I barely fought him off.
The next morning, Loy flatly refused to take Timofey to Waterfall, explaining that he would sort everything out himself.
And Timofey had to stay and take care of the household, and at the same time clean the small beach of garbage. In the evening, Loy returned and drank several mugs of brackish water at once.
“Wow, and it’s hot,” he said and, breaking off a piece of black bread, began to chew greedily. “I found a vessel, bargained for ten gold pieces, so let’s get ready.”
After some time, Timofey climbed up the ladder onto a small single-masted boat. Even the first glance was enough to understand that this was a simple fishing boat.
“It’s okay, our “ship” will survive the voyage,” Loy grinned and stomped on the deck for reassurance.
The sail filled with wind and the boat easily took off. We rounded the cape protruding far into the Bay of Storms, on which stood the ruins of an old fortress, walked along the wooded shore and entered the mouth of the Dead River.
“Nothing special, just the names are creepy,” Timofey thought and walked up to the board.
A trail of foam slid across the hull. The water was cloudy, but even through it one could see the bottom, overgrown with brownish algae.
On the fourth day of the voyage, the wooded shores were replaced by granite rocks. Over the centuries, the river has carved out an intricate channel in them, which soon broke out of the stone grip onto the hilly terrain.
“Listen, why should we sail at night and rest during the day?” Timofey once asked at one of the rest stops.
“Yunga, don’t be scared,” and Loy threw several dry branches into the fire.
Timofey shook his head negatively, his mouth was busy chewing porridge.
The moon rolled out into the night sky in a yellowish ball. An eagle owl hooted nearby, as if warning about something.
Loy took out a pinch of glowing purple powder from the bag and sprinkled it under everyone's feet.
“Stay on it,” he whispered and listened. “They’re coming, you hear them, spanking.”
At first Timofey was a little amused by all this. But when an ephemeral figure emerged from the water and headed towards him, it was no laughing matter.
The ghosts approached, looked at them with their glazed eyes and walked away again. One of the warriors waved his sword, Timofey cowered, expecting a terrible slashing blow. But it didn’t come, the soldier played with his weapon and disappeared into the air.
“How long should we stand?” Timofey asked. There is horror and lack of understanding of everything that is happening in his eyes.
- Until the morning - and Loy shifted from foot to foot - You still have, cabin boy, the desire to moor to the shore for the night.
- No-no-no - Timofey tried to look good, but his teeth were tap-dancing louder and louder.
With the first rays of the rising sun, the ghosts went back into the river. Timofey fell to the ground from fatigue, his body became numb and he could not even lift a finger.
And Loy jumped around a little, lit an extinguished fire and prepared flat cakes from salty dough.
“Let’s get out of here,” Timofey suggested and noticed a smile on his guide’s face. “If you’re used to meeting the spirits of the dead, then I’m not!”
The river still slowly carried its waters to the northeast. The green patches of the forest gradually turned yellow, and the banks turned into swamps.
It seemed that their journey would end without incident, if one did not remember the nightly procession of ghosts.
But one day the river unexpectedly made a large circle around the table mountain and rushed furiously straight into the gaping mouth of the cave.
“Hold the steering wheel,” Loy shouted and with one swing of the ax he cut down the mast and in time, the boat dived into the blackness.
The arch either increased or forced it to lie directly at the bottom. The waves furiously attacked the uncontrollable boat and spun it wildly. The rapid stream carried the boat further and further deeper into the cave labyrinth.
“You’re like a cabin boy,” Loy shouted, pouring water overboard with a ladle.
Timofey waved his hand and turned around. The growing roar approached with the speed of a flying arrow. The waterfall picked up the boat and threw it into the void, drowning out the screams of people with its roar.

CHAPTER 5
Black Tower
The river threw a man onto the rocks, his clothes were torn, his body was wounded. A huge, bug-eyed crustacean creature with a spike-like process on its back approached him and dragged him into its grotto. The compressive grip of the claw brought Timofey to his senses.
He grabbed a stone and successfully launched it, hitting him in the eye. The crayfish rose up on its wide tail for a moment, and then spun in place, releasing its prey.
Timofey, stumbling, rushed up the slope. I spent the rest of the day at the top, and with the onset of dusk I went back down. There was a large green stain of blood on the white sand.
“Apparently he crawled away,” Timofey decided, and before sunrise he searched every creek, every coastal bush, but did not find Loy anywhere. What happened to him - whether he was saved or not - is unknown.
I didn’t want to stay any longer near the grotto, from where I could hear the tapping of the horny shell of a wounded crayfish. Hoping that he would meet his friend again, Timofey wandered along the river, which again went under the limestone, making a tunnel for himself in it. I had to cross the mountain saddle, risking falling into the abyss.
And then the desert stretched before him to the very horizon. Lizards ran along the dunes, quickly moving their paws, burying themselves in the sand every now and then.
Unnoticed, as if in an instant, the days flew by, which I lost count of. He fell, rose and fell again. The lips are cracked and crusty, the feet are burned with hot sand, the eyes see nothing, only blurry outlines. And when I knelt down again I heard a horse snoring.
“This is the end,” and Timofey fell on his side.
... The water is cool and life-giving. He bathes and drinks it with rapture, drinking it without stopping. But suddenly it evaporates and rises in a cloud to the sky...
Timofey screamed and opened his eyes. Lying on a couch in a spacious tent. The curtain lifts and a man enters. He was wearing a djeridi, under which one could see a robe, tied with a belt embroidered with gold ornaments.
“Greetings to you, oh, stranger,” the newcomer said quietly and, settling down on silk pillows, took several amber grapes from a silver tray. “What brings you to our region?”
- I do not even know where to start. I have told my story so many times that I am completely confused and no longer believe myself. Perhaps, indeed, I came up with everything myself and nothing happened,” Timofey whispered and took a sip of hot tea from a bowl, which was presented to him by a young lady with her face covered with muslin.
“Who will dispel our doubts if not ourselves,” the owner of the tent said philosophically, “You will get better, and I will show you the path that will help you in your quest, but for now, rest.” Nadira will take care of you, but I have work to do, I need to gather a caravan for the city.
Constant care and attention did their job. Timofey first began to walk around the tent, and then, accompanied by Nadira, left it for the first time.
An oasis in a white-hot desert. Palm trees with their wide leaves covered the blue mirror of the reservoir from the scorching sun, along the edges of which grew pale green grass. The caravan tents were located nearby, forming a circle. Packed camels stood in the shade of palm trees, people were fussing around them - the last preparations before the difficult transition through the sands.
In the evening the Bashamar came and was very pleased that the guest was already on his feet, which means it was time for everyone to follow the star of their destiny.
He led Timofey to the camel, helped him to sit properly in a kind of saddle and said goodbye: “There’s enough food and water for you, it won’t be a long ride, just a full circle of the sun and moon - and, pointing to the glow that was blazing on the twilight horizon, he continued – always look at the dancing fire and you won’t get lost.
Swaying monotonously to the rhythm of a camel's step, Timofey set off on his way. Here and there, stunted bushes began to appear, and then bald patches of withered grass. The desert was slowly retreating under the onslaught of vegetation.
Towards midnight, when the moon shed its silvery light on the earth, he drove up to the forest. The centuries-old oaks towered as mighty as giants, and under their huge crowns I spent the night.
The next morning I discovered that the camel was missing. He shouted and called, as the caravan driver taught, and nothing, only the birds trilled on the branches. There was nothing to do, I collected my belongings in the telly and moved on.
The oak grove ended, and behind it a plain opened up, as if scorched by the breath of a dragon - the Ash Wasteland.
By the end of the day, he approached a lake of fire, in the middle of which the Black Tower rose on an impregnable rock. Its polished stones glittered dullly in the flashes of fire. The unbearable heat burned and I had to move away. And then a splash was heard and a boat hit the shore. At the stern with a long pole stood a skeleton. He smiled with his creepy mouth and motioned to board his fragile vessel.
“And I won’t become his friends,” Timofey thought, accepting the invitation.
The boat slowly sailed across the fiery raging lake and there was no longer the heat that was observed on the shore; it all looked more like some kind of illusion.
Ahead, there is a staircase leading up to the pink and white clouds. As soon as Timofey jumped out onto the first step, the boat disappeared into a red haze.
Having gone upstairs, he stopped in front of an openwork woven forged lattice, which slowly swung open into two halves, letting him through.
The hall was immersed in twilight, only the marble columns were illuminated by light turquoise light, and footsteps echoed loudly. Something elusive touched his hand and an insinuating voice sounded: “Don’t look for me, I’m everywhere and nowhere.”
- Interesting - and Timofey looked around, there was someone standing behind him, but now there was no one - Solve my riddle.
“It is simple and complex at the same time,” said the Guardian of the Black Tower and continued, “Once upon a time, one Black Sorcerer, wanting Omnipotence, moved one of the points of Time and the Unified Space received a crack, into which your World, parallel to us, now sometimes seeps. Locals this ejecting stream in which you found yourself was called the Great Tornado.
“And there’s no way back,” Timofey became wary for some reason.
- Birth and Death, and between them Life, so the path has a beginning and an end. Go to the Silver Temple that you built White Mage after defeating the Dark Forces, there is your Future.
“It’s vague, but at least they explained it this way,” Timofey thought and left the hall.
He returned to the lake of fire and the ferryman ferried him again to the shore of the Ash Wasteland, waving his knuckles as a farewell.

CHAPTER 6
Silver Temple
Timofey, without turning around, went northeast, raising balls of gray ash
The provisions that the caravan driver provided are running out. Just four flatbreads and a waterskin half filled with water.
The horizon first turned yellow and then turned green, pleasing the eye with small bushes with purple flowers.
Approaching the shallow river, I saw a rickety house, the fence in some places had rotted and collapsed. An old man sat on the porch, his clothes were full of patches, his wooden shoes were tied to his feet with a long narrow leather strap. The face and hands are wrinkled and look like burnt paper.
“What need pushed you, man, on such a long journey?” he creaked and stood up to meet the unexpected guest.
And Timofey doubted his grandfather’s weakness. His title said that before him was a warrior and, despite his advanced years, he could still kill a dozen young men in single combat and with swords.
“I’m looking for the Silver Temple,” Timofey answered unexpectedly and straightforwardly.
“Usually they start on the bypass paths, but you don’t, and I like it,” and the old man put his hand on his shoulder, which made me groan a little, it was so heavy. “I won’t ask “why,” everyone has their own reason for this, but not everyone returns from the mountains of the Seven Winds. I visited there and decided to settle nearby, because the old world in which I lived seemed too small after what I saw. Rest with me, evil spirits walk in these places at night.
Dusk deepened and a light rain began to fall. And Timofey gladly accepted the invitation.
IN small window the moon appeared. They dined in silence, without uttering a single word. And only when they began to lay down on the benches to sleep, an old warrior approached him: “Here, take it, it will suit you. The main thing is to shout louder and wave it furiously in front of the enemy’s nose and you will be safe,” and he handed over the broadsword.
The blade glinted in the candlelight. Timofey immediately made several swings, which pleased the old man, who smiled.
We rose with the first rays of the sun. We had breakfast with leavened soup and Timofey, saying goodbye, headed along the stone ridge that stretched like an impregnable wall across the steppe and abutted the swamp of Oblivion, and it was behind him that the Mountains of the Seven Winds began.
By noon I made a halt. Leaning against a mossy boulder, he slowly chewed black bread, washing it down with a tart infusion of herbs.
In the evening I approached the Swamp of Oblivion. A dark bluish stain spread all the way to the horizon. It rustled, as if the reeds were whispering among themselves, swaying slightly. On the hummock, the frog, staring with its eyes, looked at him. A gas bubble rose from the “window” and burst with a quiet crack, spreading a stench throughout the area.
I tried the soil with the toe of my boot, it began to move and water came out. Same thing elsewhere.
“That’s all,” and Timofey lit a fire, but there was no need to sleep. From the fog that crawled from the swamp, voices were heard, reddish eyes flashed, and bony hands constantly tried to grab clothes.
With the first rays of the rising sun, the nightmare stopped and only sticky drowsiness sometimes reminded me of it.
I carefully examined the muddy shore, but everything was useless - there was a quagmire all around. And when he turned back to the old warrior’s house, he noticed a shield among the withered grass. He approached, and there was another shield next to him, and it turned out that they were placed in such a way that you could walk on them, like on shaky bridges.
“Incredible,” Timofey exclaimed and began to move along the rusty battle shields deeper into the swamp of Oblivion.
So I got to the island, which was in the very center of these swamps. A hut was hidden behind the pine trees.
He opened the door and was stunned. On the table are dishes that have never been heard of. His stomach began to growl and he immediately attacked the roast pig, then the goose, and so on until he ate it all. He fell off and immediately fell asleep. And, having woken up, he began to eat liver soup with a bite of fish pies.
Time seemed to stand still in this mysterious hut. Timofey devoured all the food, but it did not diminish, as if someone was putting and placing dishes on the table. It turned into an endless conveyor belt, which accelerated its pace every hour and it seemed that nothing would stop it.
“Just that sausage over there and that’s it,” Timofey said to himself and, stretching, fell out of his chair.
I had no strength to get up. I decided to clear my head. On all fours he reached the door, pushed it with his forehead, fell out onto the porch and rolled down the steps.
And I was literally stunned by what was happening. Snowflakes slowly fell to the ground. The swamp was powdery and in some places matte ice was visible.
Timofey rubbed his eyes, thought he was dreaming, but no, everything was real. He stumbled into a puddle and jumped back.
A fat, shiny face, swollen pig eyes, a fat, clumsy body with protruding arms and legs, a huge ugly belly tore all the buttons and now bulged out like a beer barrel.
“Who’s that there?” Timofey whispered, paralyzed by the reflection. And at that very second, another invisible force, pushing him, forced him to return to the hut and take the veal jelly.
- Noooo! - he shouted and threw the plate against the wall. And immediately, bursting with food, the table was empty.
Moving with difficulty, he went out into the street. Winter was spinning in a snowy waltz. The mischievous frost pinched his nose and cheeks.
“I’ve eaten enough for the rest of my life,” thought Timofey, before a shroud enveloped him and the light faded.
I was brought back to my senses by the tickling of something on my face. He opened his eyes. A large beetle, buzzing in a businesslike manner, with its long mustache examined the find, which was of exclusively gourmet interest to it.
“Scram,” and Timofey pushed away the curious insect, which, spreading its wings, flew away.
He stood up and noted with joy that his body had regained its previous slender shape. Wrapped in a summer cloak against the piercing wind, he wandered through the endless frozen swamp of Oblivion.
The snowstorm caught up with him at the very foot of the Seven Winds Mountains. I had to urgently look for shelter. Huddled in a cave, I sat there for several days until the bad weather subsided.
Timofey walked briskly through the snow sparkling in the sun, which creaked merrily under his boots. He had no idea where this Silver Temple was located, and he had no desire to climb up the icy rocks.
Closer to noon I approached the suspension bridge. Curly clouds floated below him, painted the pinkish-blue color of sunset.
Carefully, testing each narrow board, he began to move. On opposite side When there was very little left, his leg slipped and he flew down.
He took his breath away, his heart began to beat faster, and in his head there was a picture of his whole life, like in a slow motion movie.
The blow shook him and a terrible cold gripped his body. Water poured into his mouth, which was open in horror. A second later, Timofey, stunned by the fall, heard the roar of a mountain river.
With numb hands he stopped a passing tree and climbed onto it, which turned around and caught its branches on a coastal bush. Timofey moved to the shore and, shivering from the cold, looked around.
The gorge is so narrow that the raging water beat against its impenetrable stone walls. And this ledge is probably one of the few, if not the only one, and to get out of here, you need to have the skills of a climber.
“As they say, we’ve arrived, no one will even find my bones after death,” Timofey angrily kicked the pebbles and felt warm breath on himself.
He approached the rock and got ready; he was about to run his fingers along the leaves of the loach when they sank into them. As if he had been scalded, he pulled his hand out - everything was fine, no damage. I tried again, and then I lowered my head into the stone, as if into water.
“Hologram,” Timofey was amazed when behind it he discovered a cut-out staircase leading somewhere upstairs.
Steep steps spiraled upward and soon led to the platform. And the Silver Temple, a majestic structure, appeared before our eyes. A huge quadrangular base, on which lay a huge, globe-like ball covered with silvery scales. A metal disk floated on top of it without any visible support.
And nearby, granite titans held the ropes of the suspension bridge, from which it had recently made its dizzying flight.
I looked around from all sides and there was no sign of a door. And then I remembered about the hologram and after a while I found the entrance.
From inside the ball was illuminated with a greenish light; mysterious ruby ​​mosaics were applied along the circumference of the floor. magic signs, and in the center there is a large metal cylinder.
Suddenly it opened, as if inviting you to enter. And on the dome all the constellations of the universe flashed with orange lights.
Timofey approached incredulously and stood in the niche, feeling like a pencil in a cramped pencil case that had been closed.
They began to drive electric needles into the body, then they began to cut off small pieces from it, and finally it was launched like a projectile through a light tunnel with incredible speed.
There is a flash and Timofey is sitting on a bench at a bus stop, with wildly open eyes and a feeling as if he had just been reassembled like a children's construction set from individual parts.

EPILOGUE
A gray one-story building hid behind a high concrete fence from the bustle of the city.
“Evgenia Sergeevna, as promised, I drew a map, don’t lose it, it can be useful to you at any moment,” the patient looked into the resident’s room and put a pencil and a piece of paper on the table.
- Thank you, Timofey. “I’ll definitely take a look, but now it’s time for an injection,” the doctor thanked and called the orderly. And she unfolded the notebook sheet folded in half.
It has a hilly terrain, circles indicate the cities of Edin, Halberdos, Waterfall, the outline of the island of Itt on the Sea of ​​a Thousand Thunderstorms, the Nameless Archipelago, the Dead River, the Ash Wasteland, the Black Tower and all this was connected by a winding dotted arrow that stopped in the mountains of the Seven Winds on the cross under called the Silver Temple.
“Maybe this gate of his exists, who knows,” and Evgenia Sergeevna, pouring herself a cup of tea, went to the window.
After breakfast, mentally ill people walked along the shady alleys of the hospital garden, under the supervision of orderlies, quietly talking to each other. Some of them were approached by nurses and taken away for the day's procedures.

Glorious deeds and military exploits of the hero Patriotic War 1812 General D.S. Dokhturov and Marshal of the Great Victory V.I. Chuikov contributed to increasing the glory of the Serebryano-Prudskaya land. The military strength of these great heroes grew in the spiritual field, in their work and prayer, in the prayer and spiritual standing of their loved ones and relatives. The existence of the St. Nicholas Church was marked by a spiritual feat.

The majestic St. Nicholas Church, which adorns the Russian Land, is one of the oldest on the Serebryano-Prudskaya land, its history dates back to the 15th-16th centuries. It was built and rebuilt. In 1782 it was closed due to disrepair. But immediately after the closure, nearby, through the diligence of Count Nikolai Petrovich Sheremetev, a new wooden church was built in the name of the wonderworker Nicholas with a chapel in the name of St. Sergius of Radonezh, which stood until the end of 1829. The dilapidated cathedral was destroyed and, at the expense of the same Nikolai Petrovich Sheremetev, it was erected in 1835 a new stone five-domed church in the name of the same saints, with a new side chapel, in the name of St. Dmitry Rostovsky. Four colonnade porticos, four belfries, a powerful drum dome, a spacious nave, the arrangement of the iconostasis - all this together told not only about the wealth of the Sheremetevs and the people who lived in Serebryano-Prudye, but also should have reminded of the capital city of St. Petersburg, of the churches and churches of the Solovetsky monastery, where residents of the area often went on pilgrimage or business trips.

St. Nicholas Church was originally a church next to a cemetery (or the cemetery was located next to it). The priests who served here never forgot about the dead, looked after their graves, reminding the living that “the cemetery is a holy place, on which, without a doubt, many of our prayer books rest before God.”

The stone temple was constantly updated and equipped. In 1886, two renovated chapels of St. Nicholas Church were consecrated. In 1892, a warm chapel was built in the name of St. Sergius of Radonezh (before that the temple was not warm), spending a large sum for those times - 2180 rubles. 93 kop. Among the largest donors were priest Mikhail Muzalevsky, church elder peasant Vasily Gynin, Venev merchants Mikhail Galkin, Vasily Matveev and Ivan Aleksandrovich Labzin. Long time The chairman of the trusteeship was the priest Fr. Mikhail Muzalevsky.

There was a library at the temple, which in 1916 contained 120 books.

Before the war, the church was closed for a short time. No. Only thanks to the intercession of Elizaveta Fedorovna Chuikova, mother of Marshal V.I. Chuikov's temple was opened and restored.

Once answering a question from a regional newspaper correspondent why “a century and a half ago such a massive church was erected in the Russian provincial wilderness,” Dean Father John Veligorsky replied: “Apparently, the local residents had great faith in God, that’s why they built such a great church. Decades have passed since then, but to this day the Lord does not leave us...”

The other side of Moscow. The capital in secrets, myths and riddles Grechko Matvey

Serebryany Bor

Serebryany Bor

Further, towards the Moscow Ring Road, there is an absolutely unique area. This is Serebryany Bor - a conglomerate of rivers, rivulets, lakes and swamps, formed more than two hundred years ago, after the cessation of work in the silver mines. The nearest metro stations are Krylatskoye, Strogino, Shchukinskaya, Oktyabrskoye Pole. But from each station you still need to travel by ground transport.

There is clean air and excellent beaches. And you can really swim in the summer. But antiquity lovers will also find something of interest! Two unique churches have been preserved in Serebryany Bor. On the right bank of the Moscow River, on Karamyshevskaya embankment (No. 15) - Church of the Life-Giving Trinity in Khoroshev. This church was built in late XVI century on the orders of Boris Godunov and the few who survived the Time of Troubles.

It is believed that its architect was Fyodor Kon.

The church stands directly opposite the Rechnik cooperative, which they recently tried to demolish, throwing the residents out onto the street. Nearby, across the canal, is an artificial island and the Khoroshevo-Mnevniki area.

The second church is across the river, in the village of Trinity-Lykovo. The village went to Ivan Kirillovich Naryshkin as a dowry to Praskovya Alekseevna Lykova, and then the construction of a new Church of the Holy Trinity began. According to legend, the foundation stone of the temple was laid by Peter I as a sign of respect for his uncle. It is believed that the architect was Yakov Bukhvostov. This is a marvelous example of Naryshkin baroque.

Since 1749, the estate passed to the Razumovskys, under them a regular park was laid out and an estate was built. The current brick manor house was probably built under the next owners, the Buturlins.

During the War of 1812, the temple was destroyed along with the estate; many valuables were removed from it, later returned by partisans who recaptured the loot from the French nearby. Only the antique silver chandelier, which was sawn into pieces, did not return; To replace the lost one, Emperor Alexander I sent a new bronze one with crystal pendants.

In 1933, the temple was closed, but less than ten years later, in 1941, during the war, Academician Podklyuchnikov began taking measurements of the unique monument. Nowadays, much of the restoration of the temple is done using its measurements.

In these places there was another temple - a wooden one, a very old “cage type”. Having avoided fires, it stood until 1937, carefully guarded by the owners of Trinity-Lykov, especially the last owner, the wealthy merchant Karzinkin. Even the original decoration of the early 17th century was preserved in the interior of the church. But in 1937, when the new stone Assumption Church built nearby was closed and a club was set up in it, young rural activists, outraged by the fact that few people went to the club and much more to the church, secretly set fire to a unique monument of wooden architecture at night. Now plans are underway to restore the temple on the preserved and recently discovered foundation.

Another attraction of the area is the Bottomless Lake, about which there are many legends: they say that there is no bottom there, caves are hidden under the water, leading to God knows where... None of these tales are true, in fact, the “lake” is nothing more than a quarry, formed after sampling low-grade silver ore, its maximum depth is 8 meters.

It is interesting to visit neighboring Krylatskoye in the summer, on the Rowing Canal, where rowing competitions are held in the warm season.