The silent park came alive with the chirping of birds as the sun's first rays filtered through the naked black tree branches that stood against the watercolor-pale sky. Galina listened to the sounds absentmindedly-these were small ordinary birds, tits and nuthatches and wrens. She heard the cawing of crows off in the distance, but no Masha. She snuggled into the snow, finally exhausted, and hugged her knees to her chest. Everything had been useless. The transformation of birds back, hundreds that went home to their families-just now, before her very eyes-did not matter. Masha was not here, and everything was pointless. She couldn't fathom returning home, and she thought with indifference that she could freeze to death, die here in the snow, and it would be as fitting an end as any.

Yakov sat down next to her. Her heart fluttered for a moment when she saw a bird in his hand, and slowed down just as quickly-the bird was an ordinary crow, who cawed at Yakov demandingly.

"Imagine that,” he said by the way of explanation. “This crow was the only real one in the whole bunch-my Carl."

"Your pet,” she remembered.

He didn't argue. “I'm so sorry,” he said. “Elena said they would search underground once more."

"What's the use?” she said. “The charm is gone, and Alkonost has no more feathers to give."

"Koschey…” Yakov started.

"Can't do anything without the feathers,” she concluded, determined to wallow in her misery with as much abandon as she could muster in this low-spirited moment. “And how do you know she wasn't on this side, somewhere?"

Yakov remained silent, his fingers caressing the crow's shining black head absentmindedly. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I know how it feels-but really, you shouldn't sit in the snow, you'll freeze."

"That'd be just fine,” Galina said darkly, but couldn't help but feel ridiculous and small, and her eyes grew hot again with unbidden tears.

"Come on,” Yakov said and nudged her to get up. “It's warmer in the cabin."

Galina sighed and followed him inside.

Elena smiled at her, but stopped once she noticed Galina's face. Elena gave her a quick warm hug. “I so wish I had some tea here,” she said.

Galina nodded. “Tea would be nice."

Oksana, Yakov, Fyodor and Koschey stared at them, and Elena wrapped her arm around Galina's shoulders and turned her to face the window, their backs to the others. “Don't pay attention to them,” she whispered. “They mean well, but they don't know what to say. Frankly, neither do I."

"Where's Zemun?” Galina said. “And Timur-Bey?"

Elena waved her hand. “Underground. You can come back with me, if you want. It's not so bad there, and you can forget things you want to forget. If it's especially bad, you can always give it to the boatman."

"I know,” Galina said. “Yakov met him; he didn't seem too happy."

Elena shrugged. “It's funny how it goes. But the boatman, he can help you, really. And it is-quiet. It'll be quieter still with Likho and Zlyden gone. We can drink tea and talk all day."

Galina nodded. “It sounds nice.” Better than the alternative, she thought. She remembered the story of Sirin, of the power of her voice to lull people into quiet contentment that was worse than death-at least, so the stories went, but they never explained why it was so bad. The heroes were meant to struggle and persevere, to fight, to not give in. But after the fight was done and one still lost, why not let the contentment take over? There was nothing for her on the surface.

She heard Yakov and Fyodor murmuring behind them, and turned to see what was going on. She had decided to abandon hope because hope would only hurt more, but she couldn't help it.

Fyodor was showing Yakov and Koschey a jackdaw, and Sergey, still in the body of the white rook, looked on skeptically. Galina's heart squeezed in a painful spasm.

"No,” Fyodor said quickly. “It's not your sister, sorry. It's that guy, Vladimir-or rather his soul, see? It was in another one of those glass spheres, Oksana's rat stole it from Slava-so we jammed it into the jackdaw. Koschey said that he might be able to bring Sergey back, so I thought maybe he'd help Vladimir."

Vladimir the jackdaw gave a strained squawk. “Are you really Koschey the Deathless?” he asked Koschey.

"Really,” Koschey said. “And yes, I might be able to help you, only I would need a suitable body."

Yakov and Fyodor exchanged looks.

"What?” Koschey said. “I can't make something out of nothing. Soul-trading is one thing, but making bodies out of thin air is an entirely too metaphysical a proposition."

"But those birds…” Yakov started.

"Those people were turned into birds by a magic I don't have,” Koschey said. “I reversed it. But how do you suppose I could make a human body out of a glass sphere, or a stupid jackdaw? Haven't you idiots ever heard of conservation of mass?"

Yakov and Fyodor nodded, silent like guilty children.

"Let's take a look at what you've wrought with this jackdaw here then,” said Koschey, and took the jackdaw from Fyodor's hands. “Uh-huh-wait… what is this?"

"What is what?” Oksana said. “Did we do something wrong?"

"You mean, besides ramming a glass sphere down an unsuspecting bird's beak?” Koschey scoffed. “Yes, actually you did. This bird-this is one of those cursed ones."

"Why didn't it turn back to human then?” Yakov said.

"Because you stuck another soul into it,” Koschey said. “Fucking amateurs.” He studied the jackdaw for some time, and finally turned to Galina. When he spoke, his voice was careful, calculated. “Darling,” he said. “I have good news and bad news for you."

Galina swallowed with a dry throat, the sound of blood in her ears deafening. Through its roar, she barely discerned Koschey's words.

"The good news,” he said, “is that I think we've found your little sister."

Galina remembered the time Masha had run away from home. Unlike most children who come back around dinner time, Masha had kept walking; the police apprehended her ten miles away from their home, well beyond the circular highway that surrounded the city like a snake swallowing its own tail and gagging on its own noxious exhalations of gasoline and tar heated by the sun. When the policeman brought Masha home, her dress-pink roses on pale-yellow background-smelled of gas and exhaust, and she could not provide a cogent answer to the grownups’ questions-why? What were you trying to do?-and just stared past the worried faces of their mother and grandmother. And only when they left her alone and Galina asked her the same thing, she shrugged. “I don't know. I just wanted to be away."

"Aren't you happy here, with us?"

"I am.” Masha smiled, her usual sunny disposition returning. “I just wanted to see where else could I be happy."

Where else indeed. Even her rebellion was good-natured, not a denial but an attempt to affirm more, to embrace more of the world. Galina envied that capacity for love-when she had run away as a child, she had come home before dinner, after wandering through the neighborhood streets and indulging in the fantasy of her mother's grief and remorse until she grew tired and hungry; past that point, her sullen indignation could not sustain her. Masha taught her that love and curiosity was a more enduring force.

She looked at the jackdaw sitting in Koschey's palm. “What's going to happen?” the jackdaw said. “To me, I mean-Vladimir."

"We'll have to find you another vessel,” Koschey answered. “I fear that we only have some rats available."

Vladimir did not look thrilled. “A rat?"

"Don't worry,” Fyodor said. “I'm sure we'll find you something more suitable underground. Maybe a rook, like Sergey."