"It's all right,” Elena whispered to her. “He's almost done."

"It's not all right,” Galina said. “You know how they say the grass is always greener on the other side? It is greener, because you're not there. And if you go you'll trample it and leave dirty footprints and probably spill something poisonous."

Elena smiled. “I don't think that's how they mean it."

"I know. Only they're wrong."

She tried not to listen to the awful creaking and slurping sounds, the wet swish of fabric, the soft give of something organic and formerly human. And then a soft tinkling that inexplicably reminded her of the New Year tree ornaments and the long silvery strings of tinsel.

"What on earth is this?” Yakov said behind her.

Elena kneeled next to him. “I have no idea.” Her voice held a quiet awe, and Galina turned.

The two of them looked at the dead man's face, his mouth open and his lower jaw jutting out at an unnatural angle. They stared at something in his mouth, and Galina looked, too.

A small object, the size of a sparrow's egg, bright metallic blue, lay under the swollen purple tongue as if that were a monstrous nest. Yakov reached out and touched it, and the blue sphere tinkled and sang. Galina drew a sharp breath through her clenched teeth, trying to ignore the ruined body around the shining blue gem.

Elena nudged Yakov aside, and plucked the object from its gruesome resting place. It rolled on her palm, still singing, sending icy sparks into the air that suddenly felt fresher, cooler. “I don't know what it is,” Elena said, “but it certainly did not belong on the surface, just as this corpse does not belong here."

"What do you mean?” Yakov asked. He seemed to have noticed Elena for the first time and stared at her, wide-eyed, as if she was a greater miracle than the blue gem.

"Underground used to be more isolated than it is now,” Elena said. “And I don't like that."

"Why not?” Yakov said. “Wouldn't it be great if people on the surface learned about this place, if they could visit here?"

"No,” Galina said. “It wouldn't be great at all. It will become just like the surface if that happens."

Elena rolled her eyes. “Look at you two. You just got here and you already presume to decide for us. Now, can we go see Zemun?"

"Who's Zemun?” Yakov whispered in Galina's ear.

She moved away. “The Celestial Cow,” she said. “Don't ask. That's all I know."

"I like cows,” Yakov said. “But what's a celestial cow doing underground?"

"Like all of us, she's in exile,” Elena said. She led them around the lake and through another labyrinth of twisty wooden streets. Galina surmised that there were no true boundaries to the city-it spread in rivulets between long stretches of woods and meadows and pulled in open plains, spreading with each new arrival. She did not want to think whether underground had a limit, or whether a day would come when the woods would have to go and the deep swamps would be drained to give way to more people. She did not want to consider what would happen to the rusalki and the forest spirits when there would be no more water or forests. She did not want to envision the underground world a darker, dustier copy of what lay above it. And yet, it was all she could think about.

They left the body in the care of the rusalki who acted fearful for a while, but soon giggled, reassured by Elena's whisperings, and played with it as with a gruesome oversized toy. Yakov wanted to object at first, but then decided that it made no difference, and watched the rusalki sink below the lake's surface, carrying their new amusement with them. After that, they left to find Zemun.

He regretted not wearing sturdier boots as the clay and mud of the meadow, wet from a recent flood, sucked on his shoes. The meadow, green with stolen sunlight, spread downward on a gentle slope. Small white and yellow flowers winked in the verdant grass, and among them the Celestial Cow grazed, languid. Yakov recognized her because she emitted a soft glow that lit the meadow with a wavering light that reminded him of the northern lights he had seen once, when he visited some distant cousins in Murmansk.

"What a pretty cow,” Galina whispered behind him.

"Yes,” Elena agreed. “I haven't seen much livestock back on the surface, but I like this one."

The cow lifted her head and studied them with an expression Yakov could only describe as ‘wise'.

"Hi,” Elena said. “We came for your advice. We found a dead man who came from the surface-"

"Was he dead when he arrived?” Zemun interrupted in a slow, melodious voice.

"Yes,” Yakov said. “I'm Yakov, and that's Galina. We're looking for birds who used to be people. The dead man had something in his mouth."

Zemun nodded. “I will listen to your questions, but one at a time. What did you find in the dead man's mouth?"

"This.” Elena opened her palm, and the blue egg pulsed, as if revived with her warmth.

Zemun sniffed at the gem, and even tested it gingerly with the surprisingly agile tip of her tongue.

"Do you know what it is?” Yakov asked. “Elena thinks it's magical, somehow."

"I don't really believe in magic,” Zemun said, and sniffed at the jewel again. “But this is certainly… strange."

Yakov and Galina traded a look. Yakov wasn't sure what he expected from this cow, but he hoped for something more insightful.

"Can you help us?” Galina said. “If you don't know what it is, do you know who does?"

Zemun thought for a bit. “You know,” she said. “I made the Milky Way."

"That's-nice,” Yakov said, and looked to Galina for help.

"You don't believe me.” Zemun looked mournful. “You think that stars just happen, that no one makes them."

"Not necessarily,” Galina said. “But what about the people who turned into birds?"

"Tell me about that,” Zemun said, still sulking.

Yakov did, and Galina butted in a few times, talking about her sister. Yakov wished she would stop reminding him about that-he was acutely aware that he was not doing his job and missing work to boot; his mother was probably worried sick, and there was nothing he could do to help Galina.

His thoughts drifted to the young girl, Darya, and her missing mother. He wished he could send her a message to let her know that he was looking, that he was trying, and hadn't forgotten about her. It was like the sleep paralysis he used to get as a child-a feeling of utter helplessness and despair, and it felt like it was his fault.

Zemun chewed her cud, thinking. “I can help you,” she said after a while. “I will help you find why all of this is happening."

"You mean you don't know?” Yakov tried to keep disappointment out of his voice. Nothing was ever easy, and he resented that his visit to a magical kingdom of fairytales was turning into a series of interviews. And corpse examinations. If one was a cop, this sort of thing would be unavoidable, he supposed. He just wanted a bit of a respite-and the ability to do something about it.

Zemun shook her head. “I suspect that the disturbances we're seeing originate on the surface. The surface world is changing, and so is this one."

"I don't get it,” Galina said. “The surface always changes-the wars, the revolution, all the other shit that happened. Why now?"

Zemun looked up, into the grey haze that masked the absence of the sky. “Who knows? Maybe it is time for the worlds to merge, and maybe not. But my guess is that someone from here is working with the surfacers."

"Why?” Yakov said. “And working on what?"

"I would not know,” Zemun said. “But Koschey the Deathless should be able to help you."

Yakov rolled his eyes. “Of course. Koschey the Deathless. I knew he would show up eventually. Do you want me to track down his death? I already know where it is; I watched a movie about him once."