The city of Tomsk slumbers in its cradle of snowy taiga as winter draws to an end. The temperature hovers around –25°C, and one's breath freezes the moment it leaves the mouth. Dreaming of escaping that frozen hell is often the best way to endure it. Late February always carries that faint promise.
In the middle of the night, the radio becomes the best of companions. Perhaps Irina Mirova's program isn't the most popular—but it is certainly the most unusual.
Her voice—soft yet deep, calm yet enigmatic—transforms this former professor of Slavic literature, now a collector of oral legends, into a kind of shaman of the airwaves. Every broadcast of The Soul of the Forest begins with her ritual phrase:
—When the forest sleeps… the ancient voices awaken.
Then comes the program's haunting introduction: a distant Siberian wind, followed by deep, resonant chimes, and finally an ethereal melody played on a harp.
—Tonight, my dear listeners —Irina continued—, the taiga speaks to us once again through the voice of one of its most distinguished daughters. Joining us is Dr. Ksenia Arsenova, ethnographer and professor at Tomsk State University.
The music returned, filling the air with the solemn hymn Heyr Himna Smiður by Icelandic composer Hildur Guðnadóttir—one of the program's signatures, blending mystery with Slavic instrumentality and soul.
In his small room at the military residence of the Tomsk Higher School of Communications, Captain Alexander listened in silence. Ever since he had been declared unfit for command units—after the accident the previous winter—his life had been reduced to routine and paperwork. He had never been the same again.
He had discovered the program long ago, broadcast by Radio Sibilá from ten to midnight—a refuge for insomniacs, loners, and seekers of the unknown. Men like him.
—Tonight, Ksenia —said Irina—, you join us to step a little outside academia and tell us about your latest book, The Soul of the Taiga, rooted in the shamanic traditions of the Siberian peoples.
—This book —Ksenia began, her voice steady— I wrote in memory of my mother, who passed away last year. To me, she was more than a mother—she was a guardian of that invisible world that slips away from human senses.
—I'd like to know more about these blue spirits—the protectors of the great nomadic lineages.
—Although there are no historical records —Ksenia explained—, we've managed to reconstruct a narrative inspired by their cosmology. The surviving remains speak of a deeply symbolic spiritual world.
—What kind of remains are we talking about?
—Some bodies have been found tattooed with mythical animals—winged deer, for example. Horses were buried with animal masks to guide the soul, and amulets or pendants were used for magical purposes.
—And how do these practices relate to the blue spirits?
—In the unwritten legends of the Altai, there is mention of the Dukh-Gökh—celestial spirits of deep blue hue. It is said they descend during the winter twilight to watch over the bloodlines of tribal chieftains. Their eyes shine like frozen jade, and their voices can be heard in the night winds of the Altai.
—So they appear mainly during snowstorms?
—Yes. That's why the shaman used the Tyngyr-Khöl, the "circle for capturing the spirits of the wind"—a ceremonial net woven from fiber, bone, horsehair, and small metal discs. If the spirits wish to enter, they will. If not, they whistle and drift away.
—And what about their supposed saving spirit?
—The Dukh-Gökh are ambivalent entities, deeply connected to the passage between life and death. They are ancient breaths of the sky—that's why their color is tinged with blue. There are no documented cases of them acting as saviors… but it is possible.
Once again, the music took over the airwaves. Irina's solemn voice returned to close the interview:
—Between the taiga and the spirits, we bid farewell to our friend Ksenia. May the Dukh-Gökh walk beside you through the night.
Alexander lay on his bed when a sudden chill brushed his body. It had felt real—as if the professor's words had conjured it. He remembered the accident: the truck collapsing into the abyss, the furious blizzard, the pull downward—and then that moment suspended in midair, held by a blue spirit.
As those memories passed through him, Professor Ksenia left the studio. Irina, still seated before her computer, was preparing the next topics. The producer knocked on the glass, signaling something urgent.
—Someone's on the line —she said—. He insists he's had contact with the blue spirits. He wants the professor's opinion—whether it was real or just his imagination.
—All right —Irina replied—, put him through—but remind him of the rules.
Irina's voice returned to the air, serene yet charged with intrigue:
—My dear listeners, I can feel your reactions pouring in. Many of you were moved by Professor Ksenia's words. We've received countless messages and testimonies, but I believe this call is something special.
A man's voice broke through the static:
—My name is Alexander. I was saved from death… by a blue spirit.