Russian Doll

Our Chapter of the Month for January is one of my most ambitious, as twenty-fifth century Serena experiences multiple past lives, in a series of dreams, one inside the other, constantly waking to find she is still dreaming. In the end she, and we, can only wonder, 'Am I dreaming still?'

Russian Doll comes from Mystery of Souls, the seventh instalment in the Souls Series. You can find out what happens to Shebana and Samantha (two of the past lives featured in Serena's dreams) in Trinity of Souls, the first instalment, available at https://troubador.co.uk/bookshop/fantasy-and-horror/trinity-of-souls or on Amazon. (You'll find out what happens to Suibhina, from Serena's second dream, in Destiny of Souls, available from the same sources very soon!)




They’d been awake most of the night. Not that it was really night... that was an artificial construct. But, since leaving Mars over twelve years ago, the crew had maintained a twenty-four hour cycle of notional days and nights. Space Corps had established long ago the best way to keep the crew at optimum performance level was to keep ship time in line with their natural bodily rhythms, so they observed day and night, just as they would on Earth. It was ironic really, they’d travelled farther than any other humans had gone before, but they didn’t even have hyperjet lag.

Nonetheless, Serena and Xenia’s bodily rhythms had been disturbed by lack of sleep, plus the stress they’d gone through, so it was inevitable Sean’s birthday celebrations were a little subdued. Even so, Serena’s heart rejoiced that Xenia was talking to her again, and she was overjoyed to be spending some time together outside their regular ship duties. She helped Sean unwrap his present from his tetya and laughed when she saw what it was.

“It is Russian doll,” explained Xenia, “seven dolls in one, each fits inside next.”

“I know, I’ve seen them before, but where did you get it from?”

“I am making it,” shrugged Xenia.

“Really?”

“Well, with little help from Jason,” the Russian laughed.

They spent a few hours talking; watching Sean playing with the dolls, as well as the toy spaceship and spelling blocks Serena had given him. Eventually, Xenia yawned, “I must get sleep now, I see you tomorrow, Rena. Thank you again, my friend, you save my life.”

“Of course,” Serena shrugged, “we’re friends, that’s what friends do.”

“But you take big risk. What if you die out there, what happens to Baby Sean?”

Serena frowned, “I never thought about that, I... I just knew my friend needed help. I guess I’m a bad mother.”

“Nyet, tovarishch, you are not bad mother, you are good friend,” Xenia smiled; “but also you must think what happens to sky stone. If we are both dying, how is it getting back to Earth?”

“Well, er... er... Jason’s programmed to auto-return if... if... shit, you’re right, it was a big risk. But, Xen, what could I do; I mean, the whole reason we came to find the sky stone is to save humanity’s souls. If I didn’t do everything I could to save my friend, my soul would be lost anyway. What’s the point taking the sky stone home if we have to lose our souls on the way?”

Xenia shrugged, “I know what you are meaning, tovarishch, but sometimes, maybe you must see bigger picture. For now, though, as you are saying, all is well that is ending well, and I am thanking you.”

She stood up, ready to leave. Serena stood up with her, throwing her arms around her, hugging her close, “Please, Xen, let’s always be friends, I couldn’t take losing you like that again.”

“Da, tovarishch,” Xenia nodded. She kissed Serena on the cheek, “Always friends now, I promise. Friends forgive anything, I should have remembered. I am sorry, Rena.”

“No need to be sorry, Xen, let’s just put it behind us.”

Serena watched her friend leave, smiling as she felt the warmth of their friendship rekindled. She settled Sean in his cot then started tidying the cabin. She put away the Russian Doll, fitting one layer inside the next, until only one doll remained. She studied it thoughtfully for a minute before placing it in a drawer with the other toys. When she’d finished tidying, she climbed into her bunk, exhausted, and soon fell asleep.

*

“Do you think we have been here before, Bakara?”

“Of course, we always come to this beach in winter.”

“That is not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, Shebana?”

“I mean has the tide washed us ashore before? Just as the sea takes us away when our breath is gone, do you think it might refresh us and bring us back again?”

“You say some strange things, Shebana. We come from our mother’s bellies; the sea does not bring us.”

“It brought Mamboja.”

“He is different.”

“Perhaps, but I did not mean our bodies that come from our mothers. I mean our spirits. Do you think our spirits have been here before?”

Bakara frowned then slowly shook his head, “I do not think so. Would we not remember if we had been here before?”

“I suppose so,” she nodded; “although sometimes I feel I have memories I cannot see, memories from long ago, but I cannot reach them.”

“Why must you reach them?”

“Because I want to know we were here before, I want to see it. Because if we were here before, it means we will be here again, and our mother...” she started to cry, “our mother is not gone forever.”

He put his arm around her and pulled her close, “I miss her too, Shebana.”

“I want to see her, Bakara,” she whispered between sobs; “I want to see everyone the sea has taken. It cannot be the end of us when our breath is gone, this cannot be all there is, there must be more, please tell me there is more.”

“I... I... I do not know, Shebana, no-one knows.”

“Mamboja does. I will ask him when the sun brings the day back again.”

“Do not anger him, Shebana; he will punish you if you question him.”

“I do not care; I want to know the truth.”

*

Each lash of the dried sharkskin whip across her buttocks hurt more than the last. She squealed in pain, tears flooding down her face. “Please, my father by law, please stop... I only wanted to know the truth; I did not mean to question you,” she sobbed.

“The sea sent you here and it will take you away again when it decides the time is right,” Mamboja retorted, “maybe in many years, maybe next year, maybe tomorrow. That is not for you to know. But, whenever it takes you, you will not return. You will go back to nothing, because you are nothing; that is the truth.”

He whipped her until her blood was dripping onto the sand. Then he told her to get out of his sight. She ran back to the tent, threw herself to the ground, and cried herself to sleep curled up in a tight little ball. Hours later, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and she looked up.

“I warned you he would punish you if you questioned him,” said Bakara, softly wiping the tears from her eyes.

“I do not care about the punishment; my skin is sore, but it will heal. I cry because Mamboja has filled me with a dark despair I cannot escape.”

“Why, what did he do?”

“He said I am nothing and, when the sea takes me away, I will go back to nothing.”

Bakara put his arms around her, “That is not true, Shebana, you are not nothing. In fact, to me, you are everything. How can you go back to nothing when you will always be in my heart?”

“You are kind, Bakara, you will always be in my heart also. But still, if Mamboja is right, one day, when the sea has taken us both, we will be nothing again. I cannot bear to think of that.”

“Mamboja is wise, but perhaps he does not know everything. What do you think happens when our breath is gone, what do you feel in your heart, Shebana?”

“You will laugh at me.”

“I will not, I promise.”

“I think the ocean swallows us for a time, a long time, letting us rest until we are ready to return. Then it washes our spirits back to the beach so we may find our way into the belly of a mother who will give us life once more, inside a new body she has made for us.”

Bakara smiled, chuckling softly.

“You promised not to laugh,” she frowned, punching him on the arm.

“No, I am not laughing, it is just that I... well, I like your idea better than Mamboja’s, that is all.”

“I like it too,” she nodded, “I hope it is true.”

*

Suibhina woke suddenly, sitting bolt upright in her cot. What an extraordinary dream. It was so real; what did it mean? The man whipping her, that Mamboja, he was so much like Morcant. He did not look like him: he had another face; his skin was a different colour. But the way he spoke, the way he moved, it was just like Morcant.

And the boy, Bakara; again, his skin was different, but he was so like her beloved Bradan. He had held her, spoken softly to her with strange words she did not know, but somehow understood. He loved her, she could feel it. Was this a sign, did it mean she would be coupled with Bradan at the solstice? Oh, by the Gods, she hoped so.

Who was this Shebana? Suibhina frowned; she felt she may have dreamt of her before, perhaps many times. Could it be what Shebana said was true; had her spirit returned from beyond the darkness, from this ‘ocean’ she spoke of, found its way into Momma’s belly, so she could live again?

But the whipping had been horrible, it had been agony; and it was like she could still feel it. Was this a sign too? Would Morcant punish her at the solstice? Might she even be coupled with the Gods like Aife?

She shivered in fear. The thought of being taken to the Ring of Death by Morcant and the headmen filled her with terror. But it was only one chance in nine and she had to go to the solstice celebrations to have any hope of seeing Bradan again. It was worth the risk.

She lay back on her cot, closing her eyes, trying to push her fears from her mind. She needed to get some sleep; they had a long journey ahead of them tomorrow. And she needed to look her best. If the Gods smiled on her, when they got to River Village, Bradan might be there.

*

Satiah blinked as the morning sun hit her face, rising above the hills to the east. She felt a sudden thrill of excitement as she remembered what day this was: her last day as a maiden. Tomorrow at noon she would be wedded to Baufra. She could not wait.

She was lucky to be marrying someone she loved. As the daughter of a noble, she’d been betrothed to Baufra at birth. He might have been some horrid old man, or a cruel, ugly youth. But he was handsome and kind, she’d fallen in love with him the day they met, when he was eight and she was five. She would want to marry him, whoever he was. They loved each other; that was what mattered most. The fact he was a prince and, one day, as his first wife, she would be his queen, was not important. Although, she had to admit as she smiled to herself, it did not do any harm.

Yawning, she got up and walked through to her water chamber where Fatou was preparing her morning bath.

“Did you sleep well, my lady?” asked the handmaiden, helping her into the bath.

“Yes, thank you, Fatou; although I did have some strange dreams,” she replied as she sat in the soothing water.

“What did you dream about?” asked Fatou as she began gently washing Satiah’s back.

“Well, first I was a girl called Shebana and I lived on a beach by the sea. There was a horrible man called Mamboja and he was whipping me, but there was also a boy called Bakara, he was kind to me. He was very like Baufra, actually.” Smiling, Satiah looked up at Fatou and noticed she was frowning.

“Does something trouble you, Fatou?”

“No, er... it is, er... just your dream seems familiar. I think I may have had a similar dream myself. But you remember it well, my lady.”

“Yes... it was very real, as if I was truly living it. And then there was a second dream. That seemed real as well, although it was short. This time my name was Suibhina and I was worried about going to a place called the Ring of Death. Both of them were thinking a lot about death.”

“Both of who?”

“Shebana and Suibhina”

“Oh, I see.”

“They were such unusual dreams, I wonder what they mean?” 

“Do you want to know what I think, my lady?”

“Yes, please tell me, what do you think, Fatou?”

“Tomorrow, you will start a new life as Baufra’s wife, as his princess. Your old life as a maiden will end. That will be like a kind of death, but a good one, a happy one. Even so, deep inside, you are scared. It will be a big change for you, from a single lady to a married princess. That is why your dreams speak of death, it is quite natural.”

Satiah smiled again, “You are wasted as a handmaiden, Fatou; you are filled with wisdom. When I am a princess, you will be head of my household and, when I am queen, you will be a lady.”

“I am honoured, my lady,” Fatou bowed, “but I am a Nubian, a mere slave; I do not think Mahu will accept me in the royal household.”

“Huh, Mahu; who is he to decide? I will choose my own household.”

“Be careful, my lady, the grand vizier has pharaoh’s ear. Those who cross him do not live to tell the tale.”

“He is an old snake. When Baufra is pharaoh, we will be rid of him.”

“Please, my lady, do not speak so, you do not realise the danger you invite. None are immune from Mahu’s wrath, not even pharaoh himself.”

“Well... all I mean to say is I should like to choose my own household, and I want you to be my lady in waiting. I will speak to Baufra about it tomorrow, after we are married.”

“Do you not think you may have more pressing concerns on your wedding night, my lady?”

Satiah looked up and saw Fatou grinning down at her. They both burst into laughter.

“Your bath grows cold, my lady,” said Fatou a little while later, “I will fetch more hot water for you.”

Satiah lay back, enjoying the feel of the water around her body. She closed her eyes and thought about the wedding. By tomorrow night, Baufra would be holding her as close as the water held her now. She heard a distant noise, like someone falling. Frowning, she shouted, “Was that you, Fatou? Are you all right?” Then she heard footsteps behind her. She turned around, “I was worried about you, it sounded...”

She fell silent, her mouth falling open in astonishment, as she saw the tall figure dressed all in black, their face covered by a veil, moving rapidly towards her. Before she could speak, they had grabbed her around the neck and pushed her beneath the water. She struggled in the assailant’s grasp, desperately trying to break free. But it was useless; her attacker was far stronger than she.

Her chest burned, aching for her to draw breath, but only death awaited her if she opened her mouth. Then, just as she could hold out no longer, as she was about to let the water flood into her lungs and take her to oblivion, the assassin released her. She sat up, coughing, gasping; sucking in huge gulps of precious, life-saving air. Then the dark figure pulled something from their robe, brought it down on the side of her head… and everything went black.

*

She woke staring at the bars of her cell. She still could not understand how she had ended up here. It was not right, not fair; she had done nothing to deserve this. It should not be happening, this was not the life she was meant to be living. She longed to see the man she loved, she missed him so much, it ached inside. She missed everyone, all her friends; she missed the life that had been snatched away so abruptly. Surely it could not be true; surely they would not really do it?

She remembered her dream. It had seemed so real, but so strange, like three dreams combined, as she woke from one into another. It must have been brought on by her fears, the prospect of imminent death. Each of the women had spoken of it, or thought about it. But who were these women, why had she dreamed of them; why had it felt like she was them?

Someone was descending the steps. She looked up and shuddered, as she recognised Mathews, the magistrate who had sentenced her to a horrible death. Why was he here? Had he realised his mistake, was he going to cancel her execution? Oh, thank God, Praise the Lord, she was going to be saved.

The magistrate walked up to the bars of her cell, “Good evening, Shebana.”

She frowned, staring back at him, “How can you know that name when I only dreamed of it?”

“Oh, poor little Samantha, I know so much more than you could possibly imagine. I would dearly love to tell you of it, but I fear you have so little time before you must go to the scaffold.”

“Please, Mister Mathews, sir, I am not a witch, I did nothing wrong,” she begged, looking up at him from red-rimmed eyes as she struggled to hold back her tears.

He laughed, “I know, Samantha… I know you are not a witch. You cannot be… for there are no such things as witches... at least not the ones these people fear.”

“Then will you not let me go please sir? I am afraid you might really burn me; it frightens me to think about it. And I hate it in here, my wrists ache from these chains,” she raised her hands, still held in the heavy iron manacles she’d worn throughout her trial; “please, sir, you know I am not a witch, yet still you keep me here.”

“There is nothing I can do, Samantha, the court found you guilty. It does not matter if I believe in witches or not, it is my duty to carry out your sentence.”

“But you were the court, you found me guilty, you said I was a witch. Now you say there are no such things. Please, sir, I do not understand.”

He smiled, “It will be a long time before you understand, Shebana.”

“Please, sir, I do not want to die, I want to be with Barnaby; I love him, I want to marry him. Please, sir?”

“I told you, there is nothing I can do. You will go to the stake on Saturday.”

“Please, sir, can I not at least see Barnaby before I die?”

“No, that is not possible, it is forbidden by court procedure.”

“But, please, I would do anything, anything to see Barnaby once more.”

“Anything?”

“Yes sir, anything.”

“Well,” he grinned, “I suppose there might be something you could do.”

“Tell me, sir, and I will do it.”

He pulled out a key and opened the door of her cell, “Kneel on the floor and lean across your bunk.”

“Yes sir,” she did as he asked.

He knelt behind her and started to push up her skirts.

“Please, sir, I am a maiden, still pure. I am to be married.”

“Not any more,” he put his hand on the back of her neck and pushed her head down as he tore off her undergarments.

“Please, sir, I...” 

He grunted as he pushed himself inside her. She gasped in shock as he entered. He took her like a dog with a bitch, it was vulgar and horrible, but it only lasted a short time before he sighed in satisfaction and then withdrew. He stood up and went back to the door. As he was locking it, she asked, “Can I see Barnaby now?”

“Perhaps, but you will need to do more to earn it. I will be back tomorrow.”

She threw herself down on the hard bunk, her face buried in the thin, sackcloth sheet, and sobbed herself to sleep.

*

The sound of approaching footsteps jerked her back to consciousness. That was weird, four dreams in one. She couldn’t recall that ever happening before. She’d watched the last one in utter dismay, knowing what was to come, wanting to scream at herself, tell herself not to trust that evil monster. Night after night, as Samantha, she’d done what he wanted. He’d strung her along, using her body every vile way he could imagine. He never had let her see Barnaby. The next time she’d seen her fiancé, she was being burned at the stake.

The footsteps stopped outside her cell. She tried to lift her head so she could see the door, but the restraints held her face down on the table. Naked and helpless, she could only lie there, waiting for her fate to unfold.

She heard the door swing open, someone crossing the room, standing next to her. She twisted her head to the side and gasped in astonishment as she recognised the man smiling down at her.

“Hello, Shebana, how lovely to see you again,” said Mendor.

“My name is Subira; I don’t know anyone called Shebana. Why are you holding me here?”

“Come now, Shebana, let’s not play silly games. You know who you are; you’ve been awakened for your last five lives, since I awoke you in the back of a Rolls Royce in Dubai, in the early twenty-first century.”

“You didn’t wake me; it began the moment I took Ben Carlton’s wrist in my hand, you just accelerated it a bit... Mamboja.”

“Touché, my dear; so, we recognise each other then. I have missed you, I must say, it’s been too long; it must be, what, about a hundred years?”

“A hundred and three.”

“Indeed, yes, I enjoyed that little party we had in the jungle. I am rather angry with you now, though, you killed my son.”

“We both know he wasn’t really your son. Anyway, it was a mistake; I didn’t mean to kill anyone else, I thought he was you.”

“Whatever made you think that?”

“It’s the same trick you pulled back when you were Mortimer. You pose as your own son for a few years then fake a death and ‘he’ succeeds you.”

“Oh, I see. Well, yes, that was pretty much the technique I used in those days. But, as Emperor Mendor, I’m rather more in the public eye than I was as Lord Mortimer. I need a sort of, er, decoy... to help convince people I have a son ready to succeed me. Hence, we have had a few Prince Mendors waiting in the wings. It’s not a bad deal for them, really. We find some poor orphan with a vague resemblance to me... well, at least, they’re an orphan by the time we’ve put our plans into action. We install them in the palace as the prince, tell them I cannot father a child of my own, so they are to become my adopted son, but it must be kept secret. They have a life of luxury; all they have to do is make a few public appearances...”

“Then, when the time comes, you murder them and take their place.”

“Just so,” Mendor smiled; “bravo, Shebana, you are as perceptive as ever.”

“And just as appalled; but nothing you ever do would surprise me, you’d probably still murder them even if they were your own children.”

“Ah well, that’s another story… natural children can be difficult to control, I have found. But the more pressing issue is what to do with you, my dear.”

“You could let me go?” she shrugged.

“Your sense of humour does you credit,” he laughed, “but I don’t think that is an option. For one thing, you’re a royal murderer, you killed a prince. For that, you will have to be punished, the public demands justice. Then there is your association with the Silkie Sisters, or ‘Camjay’, as they are sometimes known. We will need to ask you some questions about that. I’m afraid the questioning may grow rather tedious for you,” he put his hand on the back of her calf, then slowly began to run it up the inside of her leg, “it may even spoil this beautiful, ebony-coloured skin of yours...” He briefly probed inside her with his fingers then withdrew and gave her buttock a tight squeeze, before running his hand up her spine until it was resting on the back of her neck, “... so it would be an awful shame if we didn’t take this opportunity to enjoy a little intimacy first.”

Subira sighed. She rested her forehead on the table and closed her eyes. She wasn’t as naive as she’d been when she was Samantha, she wasn’t going to be fooled by any of his promises. But the outcome was going to be much the same.

“Yeah,” she scoffed, “intimacy, questioning, and punishment, you call it; why don’t you tell it like it is... rape, torture, and execution. Well, just do me one little favour, for old time’s sake, eh?”

“I will if I can, my dear, you know that. What would you like me to do?”

“Do the execution first.”

*

She could still hear Mendor’s laughter ringing in her ears as she opened her eyes. Feeling disoriented, it took her a moment to remember where she was... who she was. The ache in her leg helped, the wound reminding her of their hasty flight in the hovercopter. Grief took its cold grip on her heart as she thought about Vicky; then fear overtook her mind as she remembered Jewel bleeding in her arms.

Looking up at the sound of a quiet knock on the door of her rest room, she demanded, “Who is it?”

The door opened. She stared at the visitor, “Since when have you ever knocked?”

“I didn’t wanna disturb you if you was still sleepin’, honey,” Candy smiled as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

“How’s Jewel, is she gonna make it?”

“Yeah, it was touch and go, but she’s gonna be alright."

"Thank God for that. We need her... I don’t think anyone else could have got us out of there alive.”

“I know, right? She only had forty hours, simulated, but she flew that thing like a veteran.”

“I’d trust her simulated hours over anyone else’s actual years. She’s incredible, she can turn her hand to anything, pick it up in no time. Except combat, that doesn’t suit her at all. Poor Jewel, I don’t think she was cut out for this kind of life.”

“Were any of us?” Candy raised an eyebrow.

“You, maybe,” Silkie laughed

“You cheeky bitch, just for that...” Candy leaped onto the bed and pulled off the sheet.

“Hey, watch my leg,” protested Silkie.

“It ain’t your leg I’m interested in, honey.”

*

“I had some weird dreams.”

“That’s not exactly unusual for you,” Candy chuckled.

“I know, but this was like five dreams in one. I would wake, thinking this was it, I was back to normal life, then it would turn out it was just another dream and I would wake again.”

“You did that five times?”

“Yeah... well, almost, I mean this is real now. At least I think it is. But how would I know?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this, now, could be part of my dream in a future life. I could be dreaming six times, or seven, or God knows how many.”

“But, honey, you always said your dreams are real, they’re your memories, your past lives. So, obviously one day you’re gonna dream this. Then you’ll dream of that day, then that day, then so on, forever. All your lives are there, one inside another, like, er... like one of them, er... you know, like a...”

*

“Like a Russian Doll,” Serena whispered to herself, smiling. That’s what she was: one woman, one life, inside another, then another, then another... dozens of them, all the way back to Shebana, back to when it all began.

She rolled over and closed her eyes. As she drifted back to sleep, she wondered where, when, and who she’d be, when she dreamt of this moment.