Night Lights

The 1956 Power Wagon pulled into the snowy village of Vizhai. Two figures, decked out in the thickest of clothes and carrying hiking gear, hopped out from the bed. One of them paid the driver for his troubles, and they made their way towards a nearby cabin. A man with a thick beard—seemingly in his late thirties—stepped down from the patio to greet them. One of the figures removed his hood, revealing a man who could have been no older than twenty-five.

The younger man held out his hand. "Piotr, I presume?"

"You presume correctly." Piotr flashed a smile and held his hand out in return. "That makes you Igor, then?"

"Yes it does." Igor returned the smile and gestured to the other figure, who removed their hood upon cue. "This is Mila." She, like Igor, was in her twenties.

Piotr shook her hand and invited them both inside. Buddy Holly's "Peggy Sue" played on the radio. The living room was rustic. Each piece of furniture was made out of a different piece of wood—mahogany, elm, oak. Encircled around a rug were a couch and two chairs—the frames made of knotted branches. On one of the walls was a topographical map of the northern Urals. A fireplace in the corner shot flashes of red and orange around the room.

"Can I get anyone anything?" Piotr asked.

Mila shrugged. "Do you have any hot chocolate?"

"I believe so," Piotr said. He looked at Igor.

"I'll just have some coffee."

Piotr disappeared into the kitchen. The other two removed their sopping wet gear and sat down. It was apparent from the dampness of their hair, that their clothes just barely kept them dry. After a bit of rustling in the kitchen, Piotr returned with a lowball glass in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. He took a seat and began pouring.

"The hot chocolate and coffee should be ready in a bit." Piotr took a sip of his vodka and turned to Igor. "So, you're looking to climb Otorten?"

"That's right. We've been Grade II for awhile, and we're hoping to make it to 300 kilometres."

"Ah, yes. I believe you mentioned that on the phone. I warn you, though. Even though I'm Grade III, I haven't climbed since..." Piotr took another sip of his vodka. "...since the war."

"That's alright." Igor smiled reassuringly. "We still need someone who knows the area."

"You were in the war?" Mila said.

"Yes," Piotr said apprehensively. "I'd prefer not to talk about it."

An uncomfortable silence fell as Piotr sat in something of a dazed state. A few moments later, a kettle began whistling from the kitchen.

Piotr snapped back to reality and smiled. "Those are your drinks!" He got up with a grunt, and walked back into the kitchen. There was more rustling, and the clanking of porcelain could be heard.

Igor glared at Mila. "Have you ever heard of tact?"

"Sorry." Mila shrugged. "I was just curious."

Seconds later, Piotr returned with a tray of coffee mugs and distributed them. They all took a sip after an exchange of thanks.

Piotr walked over to the map on the wall. "Otorten is about 78 kilometres northwest of here." He drew some squiggles with his finger from Vizhai to Otorten. "We can make our way through this pass by starting at this highland area here. It'll definitely take us a few days to get there, though."