Fyodor followed her down the snow-covered street. The low wind raised brief vortices of snow; they reared up and fell again, weighted by the heavy thick flakes. Bad skiing weather, Fyodor thought, the snow is too heavy and wet. It would get stuck to the skis in great heavy clumps.
The rats pressed closer to Oksana's feet, trying to find cover under her skirt and the heavy hem of the coat. Some grew bold enough to jump on Fyodor's shoes and squeeze up, under his trouser legs, their fur surprisingly warm and soft against the skin. With a sigh, he scooped up a few and put them in his pockets. Others saw it as an invitation and climbed on his shoulders and under the thick quilted jacket he had borrowed from Sovin, too long in the sleeves and narrow in the chest.
"They like you, Oksana said, smiling. The white snow settled on her black hair, crusting it with a thick translucent crown as it melted and froze again.
What about you? he wanted to ask, but could never make his tongue turn to utter these words. It was better to wonder silently, than to be assured once and forever that his inability to feel rendered him unlikable; he never tried to ponder the paradox of his indifference and his intense desire to be liked by someone, even a gypsy-especially a gypsy.
13: Bird Gamayun
Galina dreamt of Masha again. In her mind, she still saw a jackdaw, huge and swollen with disease, but with her human arms, full and smooth just like Galina remembered. Sister, sister, Masha cried. Why won't you help me?"
"I'm coming for you! Galina yelled, and woke with the sound of her voice still ringing in her ears, her throat hoarse.
She sat up and looked at the frozen forest outside of Berendey's house window. They had decided to spend the night here, but any delay grated on Galina, like a hard shoe against tender skin. Every day felt like a nightmare where she was wading through molasses even though every fiber of her soul screamed for her to run like the wind.
She had spent all night going from one bird to the next, all of them still perching around Berendey's dead body which Yakov had covered with a sheet. Galina looked at every jackdaw, calling her sister's name, but none of them answered; they just watched her with shining black eyes.
"It's no use, Koschey said. Get some sleep; the morning is wiser than the night."
She couldn't help but smile at the familiar words-in every fairytale it was true, and the hero woke up to find the impossible task done. Maybe she would wake up too, and find herself back at home, with Masha pregnant and safe and sound; even waking in the hospital bed didn't seem too terrible. To save her sister, she would welcome such an outcome. She loved her enough to trade her own sanity for Masha's safe return.
The morning came, and she was still in the forest underground, cramped from sleeping on the floor of Berendey's kitchen. God, she whispered, I swear to you, if you let Masha be safe, I won't mind spending my whole life in the hospital and I swear I will never complain.
"Which god are you talking to? Zemun asked from the corner where she had slept standing up.
Galina shrugged. It's stupid, I suppose. Is there a god who could make it come true?"
Zemun shook her heavy horned head. I don't know, dear. We're underground, and we can't go anywhere else. Our time has passed, and I know nothing of the new gods."
"God, Galina corrected.
Zemun nodded. God. I don't know his power, I don't know who he is. Back in my days, we could do things. I made the Milky Way-did I tell you this?"
"Yes. Galina thought for a bit. Why do you think Masha wasn't with the birds here?"
"I don't know that either, Zemun said and heaved a sigh. Galina could tell she wanted to discuss the Milky Way. We used to have many birds here-the Firebird, Gamayun, Alkonost, Sirin"
"Where did they all go?"
"Flew away, maybe, Zemun said. Or died. Or maybe they're still around somewhere."
"There was something I wanted to ask you. Galina hesitated a bit, unsure of Zemun would be upset by her question. I was wondering about the gods-the major ones, like Yarilo and Belobog and Svarog-what happened to them?"
"You are correct, Zemun said. They were the real gods. And they were too proud and too important to be exiled. This place is for those of us who don't mind being small, who can live without being noticed. Those who are not ashamed to hide. But even we fade away eventually-you can't be small forever without disappearing."
Galina nodded that she understood. They heard movement in the other parts of the house, and she guessed that Yakov and Timur-Bey were up. Koschey didn't sleep at all, or so he claimed-he stayed up all night, guarding. He wouldn't say why or from whom.
They set out before long. Galina was relieved when Koschey and Zemun decided not to retrace their steps, but to go further into the woods, to look for whoever had done the deed-he still had to be on this side, since the boatman swore that he had taken no one across in quite some time. And Galina held onto the hope that they would see more of the dark-colored birds, and somewhere, among them, she would find her sister.
"Tell me about those birds you mentioned, she asked Zemun as they picked their way through the melting snow. The first snow anemones peeked through the melting transparent crust, their white petals and yellow centers looking at the world shyly. They seemed artificial under the snow, and Galina stopped to uncover the blooming flowers and thin, delicate leaves.
Zemun waited for her, chewing patiently. I suppose I could, she said when they resumed their walk. It'll help pass the time. Alkonost and Sirin, yes, sisters-and the Firebird-you probably know about her yourself. But it is Gamayun I think about most."
Galina noticed that Yakov picked up his pace, straining to catch Zemun's story, and the albino rook on his shoulder listened too. Galina smiled despite her somber mood-they were all like children, eager for a good story.
"It all happened a long time ago, Zemun started. When heaven and earth had meaning, when only the dead lived underground."
The bird Gamayun was related to Alkonost and Sirin in some vague fashion-even the most casual observer would've noticed that all three of them were not entirely birds; they had the faces and breasts of women, severe but beautiful. And when their lips opened, they sang in women's voices, deep and rich and bittersweet.
Alkonost, resplendent in her white feathers, sang of joy to mortal people, and when they heard her voice, all their cares and troubles lifted off their shoulders, and the old felt young, the sad rejoiced, and the tired became refreshed. Alkonost made her home in the Garden of Iriy, in the branches of the tree that grew with its roots planted in heaven, and its branches stretching toward the earth. There, she sang to the gods, and lightened their hearts burdened with the worries inherent in running the world.
Sirin of the dusky-gray feathers and long sweeping wings sang for the saints and gods and holy men only-if any mortals heard her, they were so entranced by the beauty of her voice and serene face, they followed her to their death; some lost consciousness and never regained it, forever lost in the wonder of their visions. Many said that she lived in Navi, the kingdom of the dead and the lost. Others maintained that she lived next to her sister Alkonost, in the branches of the heavenly upside-down oak. Every night, they sang down the setting sun in a duet so sweet that even the gods became quiet and contemplative. The songs of joy and sorrow mingled together, and as the giant flaming sphere of the sun settled for the night's rest, the heavenly oak itself froze motionless, not a single leaf daring to flutter on its branches.