Patrenkov's Folly

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Ivan Patrenkov laid down his bundle to rest and scan the horizon. City lights appeared and reappeared behind the distant trees and wind. The city was far, but he could not stay. The coming dark and cold would consume him. He planted the stick in the ground to propel himself forward a step. If he could repeat that motion many times, he told himself, he would arrive. The makeshift cane found purchase on the frozen ground. He moved forward, his footstep obliterated by the keening of the wind seemingly Hell bent on knocking him down and, not content, scouring his bones from the surface.

Ivan’s feet no longer had feeling but his hands burned with the cold, so that he felt his fingertips might solidify and break off. He yearned to place them inside his jacket but knew he could not open it without risk of finally freezing his core. He tried smacking them together again, but the motion caused him to stumble. The last time he had fallen it had taken all his resolve to get up again. He knew he did not have that reserve in him now, and where he fell again would mark his grave.

He listened for sounds of people, animals, anything, but could hear nothing but his clothes flapping in the wind. Now it was pitch dark and he could only see when the clouds cleared allowing moonlight through.

Ivan reflected. It was carelessness that found him here. He was normally a careful, planning person that had made this journey many times since he was a young man. He’d been assured by the smith Novikov that the axle was fixed soundly but it had broken again the first day well into the journey. Damn Novikov’s eyes! He should have turned back but instead loaded as many provisions as he could onto the horse. The stupidity! If the weather held all would be well. But the wind had turned and the horse had taken it into his head to stop. Ivan had cajoled him, tempted him and finally smacked him hard but Konstantin was an old horse and was not having any of it. Ivan had unloaded as much food as he could, thinking that relief from the weight might tempt the horse to continue, but he remained planted to the ground like a war statue without its general. Ivan had turned a couple of times to check on him and he could see his mane blowing in the wind, but he was not following and on the third glance had disappeared from view.

Ivan came across a ravine he had not seen from the distance. The flat ground had been treacherous, but here in the moonlight were boulders covered in moss and ice with a steep bank down and the same ascending. He could hear water pushing stones out of the way under the icy stream. His stomach churned and he shook. If he slid here and twisted or broke an ankle, and chances were great, then he’d never be able to pull himself up the other side. Despite that, Ivan felt his head nod with exhaustion. He’d been determined to muscle through mentally but had not counted on his body turning against him. Had it been summer he could have stopped and splashed himself with the stream water. Instead he concentrated on making it down and up again, his frozen fingers now useless for climbing. He was surprised to find himself at the top of the other side and he gave thanks. A ridge ahead obscured the skyline, so that he could not see how much closer he was to the lights.

While he thought the wind cruel before, it now gusted relentlessly, buffeting him and leaving him teetering on his feet. Ivan scanned his surroundings to find himself in an open area bereft of even small trees. A gap concentrated and funneled the wind through. He would need to gain shelter regardless of whether it still took him in the direction of the lights. Ivan rammed his stick into the ground and lunged forward but then a vicious gust of wind took both feet out from under him and he fell.

Time passed. When Ivan opened his eyes he could see the skyline and the city lights much closer now. And there, silhouetted in the moonlight at the top of the ridge was Konstantin, pawing the ground and staring at him. Ivan realized the horse must have overtaken him while he was unconscious or slept. He called the horse's name but the wind took his words away and the horse did not come. Now there was nothing left to pack, so the peasant dragged himself along the ground until at last he reached the horse. Owen focused his mind and called on his body to do this one last thing. Time passed and he found himself pulling up and over the saddle. He could not trust himself to sit up for the remainder of the journey so thrust his hands between the saddle and the horse to find the sweet warmth, and then wedged himself like a saddlebag and closed his eyes.

Konstantin took his master’s weight and, like a young colt, began to canter towards the sounds and smell of the city, making speed where the moonlight broke through and he could see a clear path in the snow. He was able to cover the remainder of the distance arriving outside the east gate just before the sun was due to rise and the gates would be opened.

When the east gate was lifted, the guard summoned the commander of the watch to provide orders on the accommodation of the city’s latest guests: a frozen man lying across a frozen horse. But this was no ordinary mishap, as it appeared that both man and beast had been sculpted from one piece of ice from the tip of the man’s head to the toes of the horse’s hooves; the overall effect being that of a masterpiece of solid glass refracting colors on the city wall.

Later that day, as word spread and people gathered to view the spectacle, Aleksei Babanin cried out in disbelief, not so much at the phenomenon, but because he had known Patrenkov all his life as the most careful of men.