Daniil Andreev. «The Rose of the World»
Book VIII. On the Metahistory of the Tzardom of Moscovy

VIII. Chapter 1. Succession of Witzraors

The demiurge of the suprapeople revoked his sanction from the demon of statehood when activities of the latter became dictated in the main by its black kernel. At the very moment, the witzraor’s human weapon fell short of the involtation of the demiurge on the historical plane.

This is just a formula. But in this formula, all notions are anthropomorphized so as to make them commeasurable with our mental abilities. This will have to be done thenceforth as I don’t have any other means of making my topic conceivable for the reader.

So, the king’s falling short of perceiving (or the right to perceive) the demiurgical involtation, his complete turning into a weapon of the infraphysical tyranny well reflects the spirit of the Alexander’s Sloboda, that is, the period in the Terrible’s reign when he got his nickname affixed.

The idiosyncrasy of such metahistorical and historical provisions lies in the fact that falling under the black kernel always and invariably leads the witzraor and his human weapon to the confrontation with two mutually antagonistic principles: with the lightful dyad of the suprapeople and Dingra from one side and with Velga – from the other. For inner forces of the anticosmos are torn with struggle and contradictions: its steady equilibrium is but a goal of Gagtungr, the goal achievable only through an all-out tyranny.

But tyranny has its inner invincible logic. Branching out into thousands of channels, into thousands of human individuals in the historical reality with their complex psychic structures, the tyrannical tendency ceases to be monolithic. Its channels break out from under the center’s control only to start harrowing the state’s body on their own. It would be naïve to think that the activities of the Terrible took dangerous for the state forms only by a mere coincidence. Any tyranny is fraught with such forms, moreover: precisely these are its hallmarks. You can trace back this process just as to the reign of Caligula, Nero, or Domitian so to the rule of Louis XI in France, Genghis Khan’s in the East, Aurangzeb’s in India, Hitler’s in Germany, and so on.

Instead of consolidating the state principle, the oprichnina only caused unrest, terror, and confusion all over the country. If not in the arbitrariness, sadistic cruelty, anarchic barbarity of the ruling minority’s antisocial passions, where else shall we search for a vivid manifestation of Velga’s influence but in the oprichnina?

None of his deeds, even abolishment of the oprichnina could have righted what the Terrible had already wronged: it was no longer a man but a disintegrating psychic being incapable of the linear movement in any direction. And when, finally, he killed the successor to his throne in a fit of rage, even the demon of statehood turned his back on the Terrible’s degrading dynasty. It should come as no surprise that the last years of the king were nothing but a series of failures.

Did it become clear to the so foreign to us demonic consciousness of Zhrugr that the historical version of his own tyrannical tendency threatens him with a loss of that much he had acquired? Yet, a witzraor can step back only for the time being; he cannot change its principal tendency just as he is uncapable of expunging his yetzerhara. Ioann IV got out of his hand, but Ioann V was already being primed, the very prince Ivan whose coming enthronization so much frightened and engloomed his contemporaries. The prince dies from the Terrible’s hand as he tries to save his young pregnant wife from his father’s lusting; having knee stroked his step-daughter upon her belly, the old man finishes off the murder of his son with that of the grandson. Thereby the demonic involtation of the Rurik dynasty comes to a complete close. Let prayful Fyodor Ioannovich reign as he wishes: he won’t live long all the same, and it won’t be him who will actually rule. A new, young, robust, wholesome dynasty is needed – an ascending one. None of the branches of the ramifying tree of Ruriks is well-becoming: the parochial mindset, small-town superstitions, oligarchic tendencies, the spirit of rivalry, the animal-like attachment to the ways of past – all this was inherent to the old family boyars (nobility, translator’s note). What is needed? A strong-willed cast of a genuine statesman. A bold yet precautious mind. A freedom from the feudal mindset of boyars. An overbrimming yet shrewdly concealed thirst for power. Finally, a capacity to encompass and comprehend the problems of a European scale. In other words, there needed someone like Boris Godunov

The obstacles have been removed, the road has been cleared, and the primacy of gentle birth becomes temporarily paralyzed in minds.

Yet: too late.

Having glanced back from the faraway epoch, it pains – both for Godunov and the whole country – to witness how the demon of statehood tried to make amends for his doings; how he yearned to reclaim the help of the demiurge by promoting Boris as a personality suitable to both parties; how Boris was being inculcated into such measures that would do grace to any ruler. Crown prince Fyodor was being reared with utmost care and acumen; it was obvious that he was being molded not only into a wise ruler but a highly moral individual worth of becoming a kin-guardian should the conciliation with the demiurge have come to pass. At the same time, the tyrannical tendency shined through these undertakings, now with a wave of new disfavors and executions reminiscent of the Terrible’s days, now with laws that are hard to see as anything but the final legitimization of serfdom (agricultural servitude to landowners not unlike slavery, t/n) in the era of Boris.

When in the Pushkin’s tragedy Boris ruefully peers into the string of his benign political endeavors and their fatal fiascoes, he – as thought of by the poet – is inclined to see the cause of that in the moral law which had rendered him, the prince’s murderer, unworthy of the crown. This is an aberration characteristic of those attempting to eagerly demand the immediate retribution in this life and extrapolate the norms of human morality onto phenomena of a much grander scale rooted in the metahistory. Aren’t we familiar with many a cases when infinitely greater crimes of power holders remained unpunished or, rather, unpunished here, in the viewable leg of their unimaginably protracted spiritual journey? Could Timur, Henry VIII, Louis XIV, Stalin – all these sovereigns who died a natural death in the ripe age and at the pinnacle of their might – have possibly understood why and how the Pushkin’s Boris is tormenting himself? The truth, of course, is something else. More specifically, no figure nominated by the witzraor wouldn’t be sanctioned by the higher hierarchies; the matter is that the witzraor was left alone with the consequences of his tyrannical attempt with Ioann.

Just as Newton who, in spite of his genius, couldn’t “rise” to the relativity theory in the seventeenth century, so couldn’t Pushkin surpass the level of the nineteenth century’s historical experience and metahistorical consciousness. His genius did show in the fact that he intuited the ethical nature of the conflict between the intentions of Boris and the unblessedness weighing down upon him. It should come as no surprise that the great poet whose literary works date back to a hundred and thirty years ago explained this conflict in terms of the king’s violation of the moral law.

It is well-known what the left on their own Godunovs had impressed upon the history. And, perhaps, no one, having acquainted with the Time of Troubles’ chronicles, remains indifferent to the demise of King Fyodor Borisovich. Possessing such a purity and generosity of heart, so caringly nurtured in anticipation of future tasks of a ruler, so courageous and kind he dies “for father’s sins” as a sixteen year old youth and in such horrible death that the young warrior passed out from pain thus making it possible for his assassins to see their business through. Only that he doesn’t die for “sins” of Boris alone but for the sins of four Ioanns, three Vasilies, Dmitry, Simeon, and so on – in sum, all who had weaved this karma of the throne which this boy now suffered for. He dies because in that epoch the demiurge rejected everything, even the benign, inasmuch as it came from the witzraor or was used to his advantage. But something else is quite clear: beautiful human nature and light personal karma of Fyodor II fended him from the afterlife karmic connection with the witzraor and the ways of his fate; this connection had been exhausted with his martyrdom. Through his threshold of pain did he go in the hour of death. Thereafter, he was going to reap beautiful fruits of what he had sown in life, and, instead of the burdensome rule in Moscow which he was perfectly ready for, he took the freight and joy of the corresponding way in Holy Russia.
 
Shuisky’s death caused an outburst of national grief unseen since the demise of Nevsky. The capital, towns, villages, monasteries were resounding with weeping. This flush of bereavement united all the strata of Moscow from the patriarch to boyars to commoners. In despair, King Vasily fell by his throne ripping off his hair and garments. Even the commander of Swedish sellswords, a Lutheran, kneeled before the hero’s coffin, and his rough face was wet with tears. – It would seem: what else could have possibly been a proof that Skopin was led by the demiurge of the suprapeople and destined to become a kin-guardian, a savior of the country and its statehood in those tumultuous times? – But, I would repeat, not always and not all stirrings of the national spirit stem from that hierarchy. Hadn’t the look of the demiurge been more penetrating than the sight of the people’s masses and their leaders, he wouldn’t have been the demiurge of the suprapeople. Something unfathomable to the people yet well-known to him withheld him from blessing Skopin, from buttressing the destiny of this hero with the shield of his sanction. Nomination of Skopin at the heart of it was the witzraor’s last cry for help: thereby he would renounce from his tyrannical tendencies, from his past, at least, for the time being. In fact, it was a repetition of what had happened with Fyodor II.

In sightings similar to the all-people grief in the hour of Skopin’s death, a metahistorian taps into a source of reverential feelings akin, as strange as it sounds, to an enlightening joy. Hopelessness is foreign to the metahistorical outlook. It is crystal clear to a metahistorian that great people’s love and doings which have caused it aren’t amenable to the law of annihilation if the doings were lightful and the love was justified. Having transitioned through death, the hero opens doors to new upon new creative ways of influencing the historical plane, from top downward. Skopin’s lifetime doings weren’t accepted by Yarosvet. But their lofty aspirations couldn’t but bring their fruits, and his soul didn’t face any obstacles upon entering the Synclite of the metaculture. Which boundaries could delineate, which scale could weigh, which definitions could encompass the significance of spiritual and creative contribution of Skopin – past and, perhaps, present – to the cause of saving Russia, to its metahistorical development as well as the contribution of all heroes of the past in their otherworldly existence?

Yet, having been precipitated by the inner metahistory of Russia, the Time of Troubles, as is known, was aggravated by the fact that on the border with and partially spilling over the Russian land was the newly formed Polish-Lithuanian state: just as Russia did, it entered the path of belligerent expansion.

In connection with the concept I am expounding on, I shall talk about this state only once, at this precise moment. It is clear that any speculations in regard to such a broad and complex subject as the metahistory of Poland would be injudicious here; besides, I am not authorized making any. Yet, one thing is certainly need: to pinpoint the existence of some infraphysical being under the statehood of that country which I would dare calling, without going into detail, the witzraor of Poland. Complicated relationships between this young and weak yet besotted with ambitions creature and the belligerent demon of papacy bolstered crystallization of a certain mindset in the Polish ruling circles. It could be boiled down to a rather emotional idea of creating a strong state on the easternmost outskirt of the Catholic civilization at the expense of and against Russia. In the ideal scenario, they envisioned a possibility of eradicating the Orthodox culture, Russia’s falling under the rule of the Polish statehood, and including Russians as a small and backward nation among satellites of the Roman-Catholic suprapeople.

Searching across Enrof for a human individual capable of becoming his temporary weapon, the witzraor of Poland discovered a being, totally inglorious yet deeply convinced of its rights upon the Russian throne and willing to make a deal even with a devil for that end.

Elucidation of origins and the real name of this individual is, of course, beyond the purview of metahistorical contemplation. Here, it may lead only to the following: unveiling a certain component in this unknown which had an unshakeable conviction of its organic relation to the once ruling dynasty in Russia, its rights upon the usurped throne, and the duty of avenging the usurper.

Iron-cast undauntability, even obsessiveness of this idea is at staggering odds with the human temperament of False Dmitry – flippant, giddy, erratic. This man could vacillate between abject despair and groundless delight, make the most ill-considered plans, unmindfully yet wholeheartedly give himself up to carnal infatuations. He could lay all his designs on the line out of passion for a pretty she-Pole only to cheat on her next day magnetized with Ksenia Godunova’s looks. With the same ease, he pictured himself now in the emperor’s crown (not the king’s, precisely emperor’s), now in the rags of an outcast. But the idea or, rather, an irrational feeling of his entitlement to the throne, his regalness never waned in him. The last minute of his life is truly striking when he, sprawled on the Kremlin stone blocks, with his chest burst and one of his legs broken, saw unsheathed swords raised over him and outraged faces of his persecutors. About his right to the throne, nothing else was rambling his hardening tongue.

Such a duality of one’s being is quite natural when incrusted with some foreign “ego”; its bearer may be unaware of it (certain rare specificities are needed to bring it to consciousness), but the mere presence of this foreign component leads to a disastrous discoordination between the life purpose of the individual and his or her mold, between his or her qualities and conduct. And it was precisely the case with the unknown who went down in history under name False Dimitry I. At a tender age, perhaps, from the moment of his birth there crept and nestled in him one of those many unflaggingly dashing homeless shells looking for harborage in living beings – those shells, those shreds which a part of the Terrible’s being had disintegrated to when fell prey to Velga. Just to avoid redundancy in future, every time when speaking about those shreds of personality I will be referring to them as to “micro-ego”.

The conviction in his identity was, clearly, just an aberration of this man’s consciousness inherent to his simple cast lacking in any mysticism and proclivity to self-analysis. The irrational feeling of his regalness demanded a rational substantiation, justification. And it wouldn’t have been possible to find a more plausible substantiation than the one that, first, was prompted by his mind and then became merged with his principal idea.

Thus, the extraordinary destiny of False Dmitry was shaped (as, overall, it stemmed from the inner reasons) by two factors: a shred from the deceased tyrant-kinguardian’s being and the mold of the unknown himself. This disharmony spawned forth actions not only incongruent with the principal goal but fatally contradicting it.

In a long chain of bizarre – precisely for their simplicity – mistakes of the unknown, two are particularly standing out. One of those was involving himself with Marina, a crafty yet completely lacking in the sense of statehood lady. As known, it was precisely Marina who was one of the instigators of the conflict between False Dmitry and Muscovites; it was she who had the szlachta (Polish gentry, translator’s note) bring alongside all the sloppiness of Polish governance, all its anarchy, arbitrariness, all its belligerent haughtiness. Another mistake of False Dmitry was a sheer ignorance of his situation in Moscow and of a whole series of blunders made during his reign. These blunders (starting from pardoning Shuisky after unveiling the first plot and to blatantly neglecting all traditional ways and practices of Muscovites) poured fuel on the fire of the conflict until it brought about a catastrophe. That shows once again how foreign was to his flippant and, overall, good-natured personality the idea of life that he was obsessed with.

A metahistorical hierarchy that was most actively involved in the life of Muscovites at the time was, aside from Velga, the weakened demon of statehood. He was still alive, and nothing but a deadly combat between two witzraors could have eventuated out of False Dmitry’s rule. To vanquish the enemy in his geographical foothold, the Kremlin, where the Polish witzraor’s forces could hardly reach, Zhrugr was still capable of exerting himself. Most importantly, Velga no longer needed her weapon: having eroded the central power in the state, involved foreign forces into the country’s life, shaken all traditional norms and figures of authority in the entire generation of Russians with his imposture, the unknown played his role.

Speculations like those that False Dmitriy, with some of his mental properties, stood higher than the Muscovite society of the time or that hadn’t it been for the confluence of circumstances surrounding the successful state coup in May of 1606 the king would have continued the most progressive undertakings of his predecessors – these speculations are meaningless from the metahistorical vantage point. Whatever his subjective intentions were, False Dmitry remained an outlander that wasn’t organically connected with the Russian culture and statehood. On his shaky throne, he was bolstered neither by the hierarchies of the suprapeople, nor by the demon of statehood, nor even by that infraphysical she-predator whose powers had helped him before in the power struggle. An incomplete year is only natural a term for such a phantom-like reign.
 
In dealing with an array of questions like the contemporaries’ testimonies of various dark miracles around the lacerated and defiled body of the imposter, a metahistorian doesn’t interest himself or herself whether all this actually came to pass as described. However distorted were the facts as refracted in the naïve fantasies of the magical-religious consciousness of that epoch, taken alone – and precisely the way they are described by the contemporaries – these testify of a certain metahistorical experience of not just a few individuals but of human multitudes acknowledged by various authors. Through these images shines a burning feeling of closeness to the raging otherworldly forces for which the unknown was but a toy. What swarms were reveling over his corpse on the Red Square that apocalyptic night – what and why?

The witzraor accepted into his material tissue none of the particles of the deceased: having no upper hand over the immortal part of his being that was falling headlong to the Pit of Shadanakar, he slashed it into a great many pieces and swept them across planes from Skrivnus to Drukkarg. A new momentary human weapon of the demon imitated the very act with what it held sway over: physical remains of the unknown. And the canon primed with False Dmitry’s ashes fired toward Polish bounds. Yet, this act of hatred and revenge proved to be suicidal.

Of course, it is uneasy to accept certain things not only from the standpoint of the seventeenth century but also from the twentieth’s. An absurdity and insanity would seem a thought that, for example, one of the Terrible’s micro-egos possessed the unknown’s being, poisoned his soul throughout and, at the same time – just what microorganisms do in the water medium – entered the process of swelling; that the afterlife of the unknown served as a frightening example of pulverization of his being not only in the physical but also infraphysical space; and, finally, that each of those particles entered a new cycle of existence leeching, as parasites, off the souls of the living and giving rise to historical phenomena unknown to previous epochs. For over decade they fraction and multiply in the geometrical progression of sorts rapidly degenerating in terms of individuals’ stature and range of activity. At last, it all comes to ghostly formations known to history only by their nicknames. All further fractioning recedes from our view into obscure planes of infraphysics.

It is clear that the afterlife destiny of False Dmitry’s shelt which manifested not only in juggling with interests of the people and state but also with a host of noble acts and the whole tonus of his personality amenable, it seems, to the ascending movement – the afterlife of this shelt couldn’t be identical to the afterlife of the micro-ego leeching off it. No matter some personal qualities of that man, his objective historical role – the undermining of social and moral norms of Russia – was following through on his dark mission. The immediate afterlife stage of all dark mission bearers are just the same: falling to the Pit. Only centuries-long stay down there can redeem those dark missions which is followed – unless Gagtungr pulls the shelt of the wretched one back to Gashsharva – with a new stage: redemption of that karmic freight in the shrastr that was created by the individual during his or her stay on Earth as a ruler and consolidator of the state. That is why the imposter is based now in Drukkarg toiling as a slave stone carrier alongside other sovereign prisoners.

Meanwhile, around every particle of the disintegrating micro-ego of the Terrible appear dark-ether vortices, billow movements of Kazaks, service class gentry, the impoverished peasantry, lumpen, the have-nots. A time comes when ruling the country in earnest is but Velga.

Her awakening and coming out of Gashsharva and into the shrastr of the metaculture, vortex-like coils of her violet and black coats whizzing over the suprapeople mark the scene every time when the demon of statehood’s might is on the wane. Her emergence is even more so precipitated when the tyrannical tendency of witzraors and their ravaging of millions of human destinies devalues human lives and exposes all human scum. Not “the gods are athirst” but athirst is the great transphysical she-predator – one may say so in regard to such epochs.

She surfaced from her depths preceded and followed by those devilish swarms which was impressed as the people’s otherworldly experience in countless fantastical stories of the time.

It may appear, sometimes, that her frenzies are reminiscent of ancient orgies of the karossa: the selfsame rampancy of unbridled elements, the very outbursts of bravado and whirlpools of lust; at times, it may be hard indeed to distinguish between historical projections of these two principles. Yet, this similarity is but superficial, a mere result of the entanglement of these two principles in a deadly fight, for the She-annihilator, first and foremost, threatens the She-molder of the people’s flesh. The impulse of destruction and defilement, the mayhem of centrifugal anti-state forces, roiling waves of civil wars, all fighting all, pulling foreign destructive forces into the vortex of the all-people chaos, clashes of infinitely differentiated particles – this is a historical projection of otherworldly doings of Velga sucking, part by part, the living material substance of the people, its arungvilta-prana into infraphysical crevices.

This chaos sent huge ripples to the surface of history when Vasily Shuisky was still there. His reign is nothing but death throes of the first witzraor: these were spasmodic, nearly blind swings of his tentacles, tossing of his head on an unimaginably long neck, shuddering of his body being mauled alive by the enemies.

With a stamp of disgrace, inadequacy, irreparable spiritual deficiency is marked this reign from the beginning all the way to the end: as is known, Shuisky was proclaimed king by a spontaneously gathered crowd on the square only to be, four years later, ripped off the door posts and dragged out of the palace, held tight by hands and voiced “on his behalf” the utterances required for the ritual of tonsure. Reflecting the immense humiliation of the witzraor, the mirror of the historical plane shows us the dumbfounding concluding episode: infirm Shuisky in the Polish captivity kissing in Krakow, in full view of the court and szlachta, Sigismund’s hand. Since the time of Russian princes’ travels to the Golden Horde’s khan, the Russian statehood experienced such a humiliation not.

What does the good-for-nothing personality of Vasily IV signify? What is precisely this nonentity of his? Evidently, the involtating powers of the demon of greatpowerness were rapidly declining; on the other hand, another outcome of falling-out with the demiurge could have hardly been anticipated. The circumstances were such that he was forced, if I may put it thus, to grasp at any political figure that possessed two qualities at the least: being organically bound with the old statehood principle as well as the thirst for power.

It was a rueful reign as Zhrugr could see its own progenies budding off him, each ready and lusting to devour him and take his place. They were incarnating into those kernels of the new statehood which appear to historians as emerging in vagaries of revolutionary movements. There weren’t enough powers for struggle; now Pollacks, now Swedes were called out for help, so the foreigners were shown the straight path into the heart of the country. Moscow owned but a shred of the erewhile vast state. After Skopin’s death and the dethronement of King Vasily, the hours of the First Zhrugr were counted. He died at that metahistorical moment which the interregnum in the historical plane corresponded to.

The procreations of Zhrugr were writhing about, fighting one another and making haste to condense their dark-ether tissues, – multifarious formations appearing in the main as armies, militias, bodyguards, even, at times, as gangs of outlaws. Perhaps, what I am going to say would seem rather abstruse, but I cannot circumvent this fact: the future witzraor would have to devour the heart of his predecessor and father, the focal point of his feelings and will that was homelessly dashing about in a state of inexplicable yearning for the expanses of Kragr – that plane where battles of witzraors rage – after his demonic shelt had sunk to the depths of Uppum, a world known as the Rain of Eternal Misery. There was no end to the skirmish and mutual destruction of Zhrugr juniors just as to Velga’s ravings. Smashed was the vessel of the societal organization. Navna was rising as a resplendent mist while, below, were billowing and blocking her descent onto the people waves of infraphysical forces.

Meanwhile, the Polish witzraor was initiating a new onslaught.

Russia was fortunate indeed that this witzraor whose temperament had reflected so tellingly in the obtuse statehood of the szlachta Poland was, if I may say so, his own adversary: unwilling to rise above his momentary arbitrariness, he couldn’t lay the necessary groundwork for his human weapon to materialize his witzraor involtation; nor was he able to choose for his weapon an individual whose individual qualities would meet demands of the designated tasks. Had the movement been led by a more strong-willed and foresighted individual, with a mind more lucid than Sigismund’s III, the events would have turned differently, the Polish dynasty would have taken hold of the Moscow Crown, and it is hard to conjecture possible historical vicissitudes in the aftermath of that.

Still, the Polish witzraor’s destiny maintained the ascending momentum. Pollacks took possession of the Russia’s heart – Kremlin, and all around was boiling the beheaded yet living country.

What did Yarosvet himself come to realize drawing on this apocalyptic epoch’s dreadful experience? Not even daring – it would be naïve on our part to try to think over this experience together with him with our tridimensional consciousness. But the equivalent that projects into this consciousness invariably simplifying alongside is roughly as follows.

For Yarosvet to accomplish his goal on Earth, for the suprapeople’s Collective Soul to give birth to Zventa-Sventana from him, the suprapeople is to mature into creating a worthwhile material vessel; such a vessel can only be a societal organization exceedingly more elysian than any state can ever be. Any witzraor of the Russian suprapeople will be bearing inside the distorting and ruinous yetzerhara. Yes. But who else save mighty Zhrugrs could protect the suprapeople from being enslaved by witzraors of other states surrounding it? Who else would warrant creating new upon new generations of Russian people to karossa Dingra? Who else would guard Navna from the danger of captivity by foreign witzraors or her disembodiment and return to heavenly Rangaraidr, though not as great collective Self having fulfilled its mission but a monad that failed miserably in Shadanakar and is now compelled to start anew its creative ascension in the uncharted times, spaces, and forms? Roads to the future worldwide brotherhood were wrapped into unfathomable darkness. But to avert the impending doom of the suprapeople, to secure its further physical existence there was only one way: to decide in favor of one of the witzraor’s procreations, pour new life into it, bless it for the battle with the foreign enemy and for its further agelong existence as a great state as the only possible way, for the time being, of protecting the Collective Soul.

And made the choice was. The potential bearer of the most robust kernel in the societal organization, the most full-blooded strata of the nation turns out the middle class: craftsmen, traders, lower clergy. Old-time moral norms were still there just as the proclivity to acts of bravery and self-sacrifice, willfulness to mould life and create, inner wholesomeness, purity.

Through patriarch Hermogenes, a great kin-guardian of the Time of Troubles, the demiurge of the suprapeople made an appeal to its grassroots. Hermogenes paid with martyrdom for putting the word out, but it was picked up by kin-guardian Minin. Gold and silver that poured into the young militia having it bolstered and magnified was a physical semblance of those higher forces which poured into the young witzraor from the above sources of lightful will and authority: Yarosvet and the Synclite of Russia. There came the time for a mighty outpouring of will of the second demon of statehood and Yarosvet himself into the historical plane, the outpouring that swept through more and more strata of the people turning nobility, tradesmen, clergy, Kazaks, and peasants into those partaking of the feat and pulling the militia to Moscow, under leadership of kin-guardian Pozharsky, so as to conclude the all-Russia bloody drama: the succession of witzraors.

When Velga, wounded by the new Zhrugr in the under-earth Drukkarg, crept away into her Gashsharva squirming as withered and torn-apart black blankets, and the witzraor of Poland pulled back into the confines of his country to lick wounds on his stubbed tentacles, the new Zhrugr devoured the heart of the former, and a new dynasty crowned by Yarosvet and powers of the Christian Myth began its work at the new historical societal organization of Russia.

to the next part: 8.2. The Egregor of Orthodoxy and infraphysical fear
to the previous part: 7.3 The Era of the First Witzraor
to the beginning: «The Rose of the World». Table of contents
 
Сверху Снизу