"Here, Ivan. When you get to the center of the graveyard, in front of the biggest tomb, stick the sword into the ground. In the morning we shall go there. If the sword is in the ground---five rubles to you!" Ivan took the sword. The men drank a toast: "to ivan the terrible!" They roared laughing.
The wind howled around ivan as he closed the door of the tavern behind him. The cold was knife-sharp. He buttoned his long coat and crossed the dirt road. he could hear the captain's voice, louder than the rest, yelling after him, "five rubles, pigeon! If you live!"
Ivan pushed the graveyard gate open. He walked fast. "Earth, just earth… just like any other earth." Nut the darkness was a massive dread.
"Five gold rubles…" The wind was cruel and the sword was like ice in his hands. Ivan shivered under the long, thick coat and broke into a limping run.
He stopped the large tomb. He must have sobbed---that was the sound that was drowned in the wind. And he kneeled, cold and terrified, and drove the sword through the crust into the hard ground. With all his strength, he pushed it down to the hilt. It was done. The graveyard… the challenge… five gold rubles.
Ivan started to rise from his knees. But he could not move. Something gripped him in an unyielding hold. Ivan tugged and lurched and pulled---gasping in his panic, shaken by a horrible fear. He cried out in terror, then made senseless, gurgling noises.
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