They entered a spacious courtyard where a table had been set under a canopy of grapevines. A plump middle-aged woman in a traditional dress and headscarf was busy with preparations.
"This is Aigul, my helper," Rustam introduced her. "She has been taking care of me since my wife, Dinara's grandmother, passed away ten years ago."
Aigul nodded warmly to the guests and returned to her tasks. Bakyt, saying goodbye, left on his own business, promising to return in the morning.
They sat down at the table, which was already laden with traditional Kyrgyz dishes—beshbarmak, manty, boorsok, kurut, jam, and, of course, apples and peaches grown in Rustam's garden. The old man poured strong black tea into bowls.
"Eat, drink," he invited. "Help yourselves to everything God has provided."
During dinner, the conversation revolved around everyday matters—life in the village, harvest prospects, relatives' health. Rustam asked Dinara about her work at the museum and Alexei about life in St. Petersburg. It seemed the old man deliberately avoided the topic of the medallion and the pursuit, as if waiting for the right moment.
When the meal was finished and Aigul had cleared the table, serving fresh tea, Rustam finally got down to business.
"Ermek told me by radio about what happened," he said, looking intently at Alexei. "About the medallion, about Karabaev's men." He shook his head. "I knew this day would come. I've been preparing for it for many years. But it still caught me off guard."
"What do you mean?" asked Alexei. "What day?"
"The day when the medallion would return to Issyk-Kul," Rustam replied. "The day when the final chapter of a story that has lasted eight centuries would begin."
Alexei felt the medallion on his neck seem to respond to these words—becoming warmer, heavier. He took it out from under his shirt and placed it on the table in front of Rustam.
The old man did not touch the medallion but looked at it with reverence mixed with anxiety.
"So it is indeed the one," Rustam said quietly. "The very one your grandfather found in 1954 and then hid from everyone."
"You knew about my grandfather's find?" Alexei asked in surprise.
"Of course," Rustam nodded. "I was there when Igor found it in the cave. I was twelve years old, helping the expedition as a guide. I saw how the medallion first glowed in his hands."
"Glowed?" Alexei repeated. "You mean… literally?"
"Exactly," Rustam confirmed. "The silver began to emit a bluish glow when Igor took it in his hands. The expedition leader, Voronov, attributed it to some optical effect, a reflection of light from minerals in the cave. But Igor and I knew it was something more."
The old man sipped his tea and continued:
"After that, your grandfather began asking me questions about local legends, about the Nestorians, about sunken treasures. I told him what I knew from the stories of my father and grandfather. And then Igor decided to conceal the find from the expedition leadership."
"Why?" asked Dinara. "Usually archaeologists strive to register every find."
"Because Igor understood that the medallion was not just an ancient artifact," Rustam answered. "It's a key to something much more important. To a secret that had been kept for centuries. And this secret should not have fallen into the hands of the Soviet authorities, especially at that time—the height of the Cold War, spy mania, KGB everywhere…"
Rustam rose and went to a shelf where books and old photographs were kept. He retrieved a worn leather book tied with a cord.
"This is a family heirloom," he said, returning to the table. "The diary of my distant ancestor, Murat Kambarov. He was a shaman and healer. People from all over the valley came to him for advice and help. He began helping people after a man once came to him who changed our family's history."
Rustam untied the cord and carefully opened the book. The pages were yellowed, with handwritten text in old Kyrgyz, faded in places.
"It says here," Rustam began, slowly translating, "that in 1273, an old man named David came to my ancestor. He was very old, with a beard as white as snow, but his eyes were clear and lively. He spoke in a strange mixture of languages and wore a silver cross on his chest. The old man said he had come from afar to pass on important knowledge to one worthy of keeping it."
Rustam turned the page.
"David said he was the last keeper of an ancient secret. His teacher, a European monk named Thomas, had entrusted him with preserving knowledge about a Nestorian treasure hidden during the Mongol invasion. Among the treasures was a special item that David called the 'Key of Solomon'—a crystal with extraordinary properties."
"A crystal?" Alexei asked. "Not the medallion?"
"The medallion is a pointer, a guide to the crystal," Rustam explained. "The real 'Key of Solomon' is a crystal hidden in a cache." He continued translating: "David was too old to keep the secret himself. He gave my ancestor a map indicating the place where the treasures were hidden and said that someday a person would come who could find and use the 'Key of Solomon' for good. Until then, the secret must remain hidden."
"And where is this map now?" asked Alexei.
"Lost," Rustam replied regretfully. "During the civil war, our house was burned down, and many family heirlooms disappeared. Only this diary remained, which my grandfather managed to hide." He closed the book. "But even without the map, I know where to look. Our ancestor passed this knowledge to his son, who passed it to his son, and so on from generation to generation. Thus the secret came down to my father, and my father passed it to me."
"And you never tried to find the treasures yourself?" asked Dinara.
"I tried, when I was young and hot-headed," Rustam smiled. "But my ancestor left a warning: without the medallion, finding the cache is impossible. And the medallion was lost in David's time." The old man looked at Alexei. "At least, that's what we thought until your grandfather found it in 1954."
"But why didn't my grandfather use the medallion to find the treasures?" Alexei wondered. "Why did he simply hide it and tell no one?"
"Because it was a dangerous time," Rustam answered. "The USSR, the Cold War, the KGB watching every step. Igor understood that if the authorities learned about the 'Key of Solomon,' they would do everything to get it. And if the legend is to be believed, this crystal possesses extraordinary power. In the hands of those who crave power, it could become a dangerous weapon."
"What kind of power exactly?" asked Alexei.
Rustam smiled mysteriously.
"They say the crystal can heal diseases, prolong life, and even open the 'eyes of the soul,' allowing one to see the true nature of people and things. But there is also a warning: it amplifies both the light and dark sides of human nature. In the hands of a good person, it works miracles. In the hands of an evil one—it brings calamity."
"Sounds like a myth," Alexei remarked.
"Perhaps," Rustam agreed. "But your grandfather, a scientist and skeptic, believed in this legend enough to keep the medallion secret all his life. That makes one think, doesn't it?"
Dinara looked at the medallion lying on the table.
"What about these symbols?" she asked, pointing to the strange marks on the reverse side of the medallion. "What do they mean?"
"It's a combination of Nestorian script and special symbols known only to initiates," Rustam replied. "A kind of cipher. But I cannot read it completely. My father couldn't either. That part of the knowledge was lost."
"And the inscription inside?" asked Alexei. "'Lux in aqua, aqua in luce. Clavis Salomonis aperiet viam.' Light in water, water in light. Solomon's key will open the way."
"That's a clue," said Rustam. "Light in water, water in light' is a description of a special phenomenon that can be observed only at a certain time of year and in a specific place on Issyk-Kul. When the sun rises and its first rays penetrate the