K )   S E P T E M B E R , 1 9 4 3   -   D R E S D E N

Peter collapsed into a long sleep after his meeting with the God-king of the Buryat. When he awoke, he made the following entry, dated 14/2/45, the day of the allied bombing of Dresden:

“Night sky, Dresden. Slowly I walk to the back of the aircraft to talk to the gunner. I cannot touch the fuselage, it is too hot. Anything close to it vaporizes instantly. When I reach the gunner, I find him carbonized, his hands still locked around the triggers, the casings melting, the entire gun platform molten. All the glass in the observation bubble has exploded, hot air shrieks through the holes. The entire landscape, as far as I can see, is fire. Anything above the city incinerates instantly, birds, planes, insects fall flaming into the flamescape. Worst of all are the parachuters, they burn up slowly as they descend. Oh God Oh God. I must try and steer the burning wreck beyond the fire zone. In the cockpit, the steering column is glowing red, I summon all my will power but I cannot make myself touch it...

“I jerk awake. The bed is soaked, my chest so badly constricted, that at first I think I am back in the gulag, dying of typhus. Help me, Nootka. Then I remember: I am in the land of the Buryats, the kingdom within the circular river. The relief only lasts a moment, as I remember more - the King of the Buryats is going to have me cast adrift on a burning raft. My nightmare is real! The wave of panic that hits me is so strong, I roll over and vomit. As I retch I spy an old man sitting in the corner of the yurt. ‘Do not fear, my son. The Chachamak has granted you anything you may need. You are to be an honoured guest.’ I calm down as the old man tells me the events of the previous day. At the end of his account he adds, ‘My son, you are sick. I will cure you in a pit filled with medicinal leaves. I am Tasak, a shaman.’”