A movement on the ice caught her attention-she squinted at the dark shapes, worried that some clueless peasant children had wandered onto the ice, thick but liable to split open every time a smallest child set a lightest foot on it. She was about to call out, to tell them to get back, when her breath stopped fogging the air; she forgot to breathe. The shapes crawled out from under the embankment on which she stood, covered in mud and raw sewage, and they were not children at all but grown women. Pale filthy women, dressed in nothing but thin linen shirts.
They crawled on all fours like animals, until they reached the first patch of open black water. They slid into it, one by one, noiseless as seals. Before Elena could break her stupor or call for help, they re-emerged, sleek and clean, the linen clinging to their young bodies, their wet hair plastered to their faces and necks. As she watched, they gathered on the ice where it seemed more solid and held hands, forming a circle like peasant girls did at weddings. And they started dancing-moving around in a circle, faster and faster, until Elena felt dizzy. And then their bare feet left the ice, and the women danced in the air, water on their shirts and faces frozen. They looked like ice sculptures come magically to life.
Elena leaned over the embankment, her heart racing. In the back of her mind she knew who these women were-rusalki, spirits of drowned girls, but she wanted nothing more than to join them. There was nobody around, and she climbed over the parapet, awkward in her heavy skirts and coat, but eager. She could not remember the last time she had such a longing to join people.
She stepped onto the ice; the women seemed oblivious to her approach. She skirted far around the black dizzying splotches of open water. The ice creaked under her shoes. She was close to them now. Just as if someone had given a signal, all of the faces turned toward her, and she heard a thundering, roaring noise as the ice cracked under her feet, opening a black rift across the river. Her feet slid from under her, and the black water reached up, seizing her chest in its icy embrace. It flooded her mouth opened in a scream, washed over her eyes, twined her hair around her neck. She felt hands on her shoulders and arms, and grabbed at them. But instead of pulling her to safety, the women laughed and pushed her down, down, deep down into the black water where even the wan starlight could not reach.
Her lungs burned and her chest heaved, rebelling against the dead heavy embrace of the ice-cold water. She swallowed and breathed water, feeling it churn in her stomach, waiting for the inevitable darkness. She felt hands dragging her along, under ice, where the starlight did not reach and where she could not hope to reach the surface.
Her skin was so numb from the cold that it took her a while to notice a change in temperature-the water had turned balmy, and the glow on the surface signaled escape. She lunged toward it and did not believe her senses when her head emerged into musty stale air and her lungs convulsed, expelling the ice-cold water of Moscow River into the unknown warm lake. The girls that dragged her there surfaced too, laughing and lisping gentle nonsense. She didn't know where she was, but she knew that her former concerns had fallen away, like crust from the eyes of a cured blind man.
"It's all the same with everyone here, isn't it? Galina said. You wanted so badly to escape."
"And we didn't fit in anywhere else, Elena said.
Galina nodded. You know, I always hoped that there was a place for me, a promised land-and I could never find it, until someone I love disappeared."
"You know, Elena said and took a long drag on her cigarette, people are notoriously bad at discerning what it is they really want. Besides, this is really no promised land-funny you would think that once you stick all the misfits into one place, it would somehow magically become a paradise."
"It seems like one, Galina said.
Loud splashing and cries turned her attention to the lake, and even Elena stood up and looked over, squinting. The rusalki, several of them at once, wept and cried, and shied away from something in their midst.
"What are they doing? Galina said.
"No idea. Elena carefully picked up the hem of her dress, exposing a pair of small but sturdy combat boots. Let's go see."
The rusalki left the water, and stood on the shore, dripping wet, fear in their eyes that showed no whites. Elena moved among them as if she were at a party, working her way toward the plates with canaps, and Galina followed in her wake. On the bank, they both stopped, looking.
Galina could not quite understand it at first-dark fabric flapped in the water, concealing the outline of its contents, until she saw a hand. And like in a brainteaser where one was supposed to find a hidden figure, everything fell into place-there were two hands and a leg, and a pale face with wide open eyes. She was about to call to the man bobbing in the waves when she realized that his hands were lashed together with blue electrical tape, and that the deep blue shadow around his eye was a bruise, spreading slowly over the left half of his face. A dark smear at the corner of his mouth was undoubtedly blood, but at this point Galina did not need any confirmation of the man's dead state. Who is it? she asked Elena, unable to look away from the corpse that neared the bank on which they stood, certain as death. Why is he here?"
"I don't know. Elena bent down to tear out a long and stout cattail stem, and reached out, pulling the body closer. Never seen him before. And his clothes-do they look familiar?"
Galina looked over the sodden leather jacket and track pants, at the buzz cut. He's a thug, she said. What they call a racketeer. There're plenty of them on the surface now."
"I see. Elena grabbed the lapels of the dead man's jacket, and heaved the body ashore. Never seen a corpse making it here. She turned to the rusalki, still huddling in a disturbed clump, like deer. Did you drag him here?"
They all shook their heads in unison and cried, wringing their hands-it almost looked like ritual mourning, Galina thought.
"Now, this is really strange, Elena said, looking over the man at her feet thoughtfully. What, the surfacers don't think they're good enough for us and dump their garbage here?"
"They don't even know about this place, Galina reminded her.
Elena sighed. I know. I just don't understand."
"There have been strange things happening on the surface too. Galina told her about the birds and her sister.
"This is strange, Elena agreed. There's magic on the surface and corpses down here-it shouldn't happen. I think someone's breaching the barrier. We better talk to one of the old ones."
"I was looking for Berendey when the rusalka led me here, Galina said. Do you know where we could find him?"
Elena snorted. Berendey? To be sure, he makes things grow; he even steals sunlight from the surface for my plants-see how green they are? But he wouldn't do something like that; he couldn't if he wanted to. Nor Father Frost, no any of the others-they have a link to the surface, but it is subtle. No, we need someone who actually knows what this is all about."
"And who would that be?"
"The Celestial Cow Zemun, Elena said seriously. Don't even think of laughing."
Galina didn't feel like laughing, with a dead body almost touching her sneakers. Can we talk to my friends first? One of them is a cop, and maybe he would know something about this body."