Pressing her thumbs to the seam, Matrona split open the halves. But instead of a smaller version of the Fukuruma doll, she found two other dolls. Fourth dolls, judging by the size. One bore the face of a kite; the other of an old man. She recognized the second as Slava, if the years had been harder on him.
Her breath tickled her lips. Cradling the Fukuruma doll against her elbow, Matrona took the brown doll and ran her fingers over the detail in its feathers. The wood squeaked when she opened it. Emptiness greeted her.
A cry pierced the air and startled her, nearly causing her to drop the dolls. Looking up, Matrona saw a kite soar above the village. Sun glinted off a copper band around its leg as it flew toward the wood.
“Pamyat?” she whispered, and looked down at the doll in her hands. He had been of this world, and preserved? Then . . .
She placed Pamyat’s doll halves back into the Fukuruma and pulled out the doll painted to look like Slava. She didn’t understand. Slava’s doll had been his house. So why did a vessel with his likeness exist here?
The words of Pavel rang ever true in her memory. “Do you really think that whoreson would build himself a prison without a way out?”
Her eyes met the blue painted ones of Slava. The irises weren’t as neat as the other dolls’. The clothing was oversimple, as though the painting had been done in haste. A new construct? Had Slava created this while Matrona and the others hid in the Nazad?
She eyed the seam splitting the stomach of the doll.
“Matrona.”
She turned to see Jaska walking toward her, a borrowed hat pressed over his hair. She searched his face for traces of regret, but his eyes were warm, and that singular dimple curved into his cheek ever so slightly.
His gaze fell onto the dolls, and his brow furrowed. “What is that?”
Matrona set the tradesman’s doll back into its Fukuruma hiding place. She thought of Feodor. “It is a decision that isn’t mine to make.”
She had already mimicked her mentor and changed the fate of her comrades. The village would choose what to do with Slava’s last attempt at immortality. She pressed the Fukuruma halves back together.
Jaska’s eyes refocused on her, framed with lines of confusion.
“I will explain later,” Matrona promised, “but where all can hear.”
He nodded slowly. “Now is the time, then. A town meeting.” He gestured back toward Sacha’s home. “To figure out where to start, I guess. And to learn what we’ve missed.”
He extended his hand toward her.
Matrona tucked the doll beneath her blanket. She reached for Jaska’s hand, glancing back to where she had seen the kite.
The Fukuruma doll shuddered from within.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Another book done! This one barreled down the pipeline almost out of nowhere, but I’m happy with how it turned out. Many thanks to my husband and kids, who put up with their wife/mother tucking away to punch out words. You all are so supportive (even if the little ones don’t realize they’re being supportive, yet).
A big thank-you, as always, to Marlene Stringer, Jason Kirk, and Angela Polidoro, who helped make this book what it is, from idea to print. Together we’re an unstoppable team.
Thank you to my friends who read this book and helped me get it into shape: L. T. Elliot, Laura Christensen, Caitlyn Hair, Rebecca Blevins, and Kimberly VanderHorst. You guys are dedicated and sharp, and I would flounder without you.
Thank you to Bill Giles, Chris Baxter, and Wendy Nikel, who helped me get religious facts and Russian names correct. Thank you also to Katie Purdie, who shared her research with me.
I’d like to tip my hat to the LDStorymakers conference because I came up with the idea of enchanted Matryoshka dolls while putting together a workshop for you. You’re the best.
My gratitude to the cover designer, editors, and layout folks who made this book pretty and readable.
And keeping with tradition, thank you so much to my Heavenly Father, who still somehow finds it amusing to let me dabble in my fantasy playground. Cheers.