by K. Panikian
Verena's Whistle
Varangian Descendants Book I
K. Panikian
Copyright © 2021 K. Panikian
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
For Aron.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Part II
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Bonus: When Owen Met Very
About The Author
Prologue
A ball of orange fire streaked across the sky, carrying with it a mighty wind. The wind roared, grew, and pressed down, hammering the dry earth. The ground shuddered and cracked and the trees shattered. The sky turned white and split in two with a thunderous crash. A wave of heat pulsed and then everything was silent.
In the crater, five figures crouched with their shields over their heads and their eyes closed. A few feet away another figure lay flat and unmoving.
The first person stood and lowered her shield. Her chain mail shifted and rustled, breaking the silence. An iron helmet with a screen of mail covered her whole face except her eyes. Both lower arms and thighs were protected by thick cotton guards. Under her helmet, her blue eyes scanned the clearing and landed on the sprawled creature. She raised her sword and barked out a command. The man to her left jumped to his feet, raising his bow and nocking an arrow in one quick movement.
“Bauk,” he spat.
“Is it dead?” the commander asked. “Agatha, check it.”
Agatha pulled her sword and moved her large shield to the side as she strode to the bauk. She kicked its clawed foot and prodded it with the tip of the sword. “Dead. That last strike from Roman finished it off, I think.”
“I felt it connect before the sky exploded,” Roman said as he walked to Agatha. “It’s got one of Alex’s arrows in its gut as well.”
“Pull it, would you?” Alex asked, lowering his bow and sliding the unused arrow back into the quiver on his back. He wiped the bloody arrow on the still-warm earth and returned that one to his quiver as well.
“Agatha, send out a pulse. Are there any more?”
“Clear. I don’t feel any more within a day’s journey.”
“Look at the sky,” whispered the smallest woman in the group. “It’s morning.”
“Look west. Where’s the citadel?”
The small woman crouched again and drew her finger through the dirt. “The earth is quiet. I don’t feel it nearby.”
“What about the tower, Joanna?”
“No, not the tower either, Stratego.”
The commander frowned and looked at the sky again. Slowly she spun in a circle, taking in the blown-down trees and the scorched earth. She looked to the west again and then closed her eyes, searching. The call echoed back to her unanswered. She sheathed her sword and bowed her head.
“Stratego. Irene. What does this mean?” asked Roman.
“You know what this means. You know what happened. We have returned to the land of our ancestors.”
Part I
Chapter 1
I left the Student Union a little after 10pm, blinked at the darkness, and zipped my coat to my chin. My breath frosted the air and I paused at the bench by the door to pull my cleats on over my sneakers. The trail had been icy this morning and I doubted that anything melted during the short window of sunlight earlier. I headed down the path leading to the parking lot and tugged my hat over my ears. The Anchorage hillside was inky black behind me, blotting out the stars. I fingered the phone in my pocket and unmuted it as I walked.
My ancient Subaru waited under a light. I unlocked it, popped open the hatchback to drop my backpack and laptop, and then slid in the driver’s seat with a shiver. I started the engine and turned the heat on blast, angling the vents away from my body as chilly air streamed into the car.
My phone rang and I jumped. I checked the screen and saw “Mom” alongside a picture of a beautiful woman with dark hair and smiling eyes. I pulled off my mitten to answer and then quickly slid it back on.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie! I was hoping to catch you before you got on the road. Is this an okay time to talk?”
“You caught me right on time. What’s up?”
There was a pause and my phone crackled as she cleared her voice. Sudden worry spiked through me, leaving a prickling aftermath, and I asked quickly, “Is it Uncle Alex?”
“What? No. Uncle Alex is fine. I actually just got off the phone with him. Have you checked the news in the past hour or so?”
“No, I was teaching my self-defense class at the Student Union. I haven’t looked at my phone since dinner.”
“There was a near-Earth asteroid event in Russia today. It created a pretty big blast.”
I was confused. “That’s interesting, Mom,” I said slowly. I tried to remember if astronomy was one of the online courses she’d talked to me about last week.
“They’re saying that it’s likely the blast was more than 30 times stronger than the Hiroshima bomb.”
“Oh, wow. I hope no one was hurt.”
I could tell she heard my confusion because her tone changed and became more serious. “I know it’s the middle of the week and you weren’t planning on coming home until the long weekend, but Dad and I and Grandpa Basil need to talk to you.”
I stared across the parking lot and thought hard. I had classes tomorrow and Friday, but I was a pretty good student. If I emailed my professors and told them I had to go out of town for a family matter, they would probably let it slide. “Okay, Mom. I can do that. I’ll swing by my apartment for my stuff and get on the road. I’ll get there late, probably around midnight, so don’t wait up. We can talk in the morning.”
“Thank you, Verena. I’m sorry to ask you to miss school but this is really important.”
I disconnected and fought off another shiver. The car heat had warmed up by this time; this shiver felt more like my intuition warning me. That wasn’t one of my strengths so I grabbed my phone again and texted Theo: “Everything cool?”
“Yes. Why? Something going on? I just saw a missed call from my dad.”
Bingo. Uncle David hated using the phone. Something was going on with the family. I told Theo I was heading home to see my folks and he sent back: “I have a weird feeling. I think you should bring the bag. Later.” I whistled in excitement and put the car in gea
r, speeding into the night. I arrived at my apartment in record time.
Two hours later, I pulled off the highway and headed down the winding driveway that led to the farm. The snow looked deeper than in Anchorage and I could tell Grandpa Basil had been out with the plow. The stars were bright above the house and the porch light sent a yellow glow across the yard. The vague feelings of foreboding I’d been feeling off and on along the drive dissipated. I parked, snatched my bags, and ran for the door without my hat and coat.
In the arctic entry I dropped most of my bags, just taking my laptop and overnight stuff. Then I opened the inner door and tiptoed through the family room into the kitchen. There was a light on over the stove and I quickly downed a glass of water before heading deeper into the house to my bedroom. Inside, my bed was made with fresh sheets and I could smell the lavender, rosemary, and thyme sachet my mom kept in the linen closet. My nightlight glowed. I was home.
THE next morning, I woke up as muted voices from the kitchen drifted down the hall. The sky was still dark outside even though my phone said it was after 9am. I had a couple of new texts from Theo asking if I remembered the “bag” and what was the name again of that beer he liked from Midnight Sun, the Anchorage brewery that he loved to visit when he was in town. I typed a reply.
I brushed my teeth, splashed some water on my face, and changed out of my fleece pajamas. I made my way down the hall to the kitchen. My dad was sitting at the circular table with his laptop open in front of him and a mug by his elbow. His mug had a picture of the largest member of the deer family and the phrase: “I Moose Have My Coffee.” I walked over and kissed his cheek. “Morning, Dad.”
“Morning, Verena.”
“What’s the big news?” I asked as I sat beside him and reached for the paper to read the comics.
My mom, standing by the stove with a spatula in her hand, turned and called over to us, “Wait until Grandpa Basil comes in. He’s checking on the chicken coop. We may have another bear problem. Eggs, Verena?”
“Yes, please,” I answered and got up to snag my own mug for tea. After I started the kettle, I went over to the counter and saw Mom had the dill out. I reached for the knife and chopped a few teaspoons for the eggs; Mom smiled her thanks.
A couple of thuds from the entry announced Grandpa Basil’s return and I walked quickly over to help with the fresh eggs he carried. Grandpa Basil was old, in his early 90s, but looked a spry 75. His pale blue eyes beamed at me and he grasped me in for a tight hug. “How’s our smart girl?”
“Fine, Grandpa,” I answered and we walked into the kitchen. My eggs were ready beside my steaming tea and I dug in while Mom and Dad exchanged glances and then Mom looked at the clock. She cleared her throat and I hurriedly swallowed my mouthful.
“How are your classes going?” Dad asked. “And your martial arts training?”
“Classes are good. It’s still my goal to be done by the end of the semester. I’m TA’ing for my Russian Lit professor and I’m really enjoying working with the undergrads.” I took a sip of my tea. “I just switched dojos again. The last one was starting to ask questions about why I wouldn’t compete in any of the tournaments Outside. I think this new one will be a good fit though, for at least a little while.”
Grandpa Basil nodded his head. “And what about your magic training?”
This time I took a minute to organize my thoughts before I answered. “I’ve been practicing my Sight; however, I don’t think that’s where my strengths lie. My results are vague and I’m not confident I’m getting true readings.
“I’ve tried creating energy bolts and usually don’t get more than a spark, though it’s a nice spark. I can do that on command.
“I’ve been levitating my pencils pretty reliably recently, but not above a few inches and not for more than a few seconds. I may try further experiments there…” I trailed off and then continued, my voice echoing my frustration. “I know that I have greater magic than these small tricks. I can feel it inside of me. But I don’t know what kind it is or how to bring it out.”
“Be patient, Verena,” Grandpa Basil said, leaning forward to pat my hand. “You are a late bloomer, that is all.”
It was the same thing he always said but I worried. Every generation of my family seemed to have a little less magic than the one before. Maybe sparks and pencils were it for me. It was a depressing thought.
I took another breath. “About six months ago, Theo called me. He’d had a dream and wanted to send me something. He asked me to keep it close by and not to open it until he told me. I talked to him last night and he said to bring it here. Do you know what’s in the bag?”
My parents and Grandpa Basil looked at each other and shook their heads.
I changed the subject with a sigh. “Okay. So, what’s your news? Why am I here?”
Grandpa Basil leaned forward again and said, “How much of our family history do you remember?”
“Everything you’ve told me, I think. The great great uncles and aunts, Alex, Roman, Agatha, and Irene, and Great Grandma Joanna, lived in the Russian Empire in the beginning of the 20th century. They were in some sort of military group, maybe? I forget. They had to leave in a hurry, something with the revolution, and came across to the Alaska Territory. They built this house and cleared the land, but not everyone wanted to farm. Great Grandma Joanna stayed and the others went Outside. Aunt Irene vanished off and on and then died, but everyone else built homes and some had kids, and then grandkids. All of us in the family have some sort of magical ability that is genetic, but we have to keep it a secret.”
Grandpa Basil nodded and shrugged. “Yes, that’s basically what we told you. However, there are things that we haven’t told you.”
I felt a flash of anticipation at first, but then growing disquiet as Grandpa Basil told his story.
“In the 11th century, the Roman Empire was no more, but in the east, Constantinople was the capitol of what historians now call Byzantium. Its citizens called themselves Romans still and its armies were highly effective. Emperor Alexios sent one of his Varangian Guard units into Rus to protect the Volga trade route and once there, the unit vanished. Historians don’t know what happened to those people. At the same time, scholars noted a great beacon traversing the heavens and a giant earthquake that caused a terrible fire in the city of Ladoga.”
Grandpa Basil’s hands blurred as he weaved them together and then apart, and an illusion appeared on the table in front of us. I saw a camp with tents of white, red, and yellow in the middle of an ocean of tall grass. Shaggy horses stood in a wooden corral and people walked through the camp, some in chain mail with swords and spears and helmets, and some in long tunics, carrying bundles or talking. There were women near the fires and sitting in front of the tents. A few small children darted in and around, chasing chickens and dogs. Suddenly a bolt of orange streaked across the sky, heading straight for the camp. The people looked up with fear in their faces and then everything vanished in a flash of bright white.
“That great beacon was a meteor. It struck the center of the Varangian camp and catapulted it into another world. All of the soldiers and their retinues, their wives, children, and servants, vanished, never to be seen again.
“In that other world they found monsters and great magic. They learned, they adapted, and some died. Many lived, however, and they built a great citadel to guard their people, with an eastern tower to watch for encroaching monsters. Centuries passed and the Varangians, blessed by the benevolent gods, grew to possess great magic. They began to beat back the monsters. They lost the knowledge of their home world except as passed down through stories, and soon even those memories grew hazy.”
Now Grandpa Basil’s hands sketched a great stone citadel. On the western side a wide, brown river curved and I could see small boats and men and women casting nets and pulling in fish. There were fields with green rows and children hoeing and carrying packs. On the tower a woman in a white tunic stood watching the shadowed lands to the eas
t, a staff in her hands.
Soldiers in mail coats with bows stood on the battlements and in the bailey, more soldiers practiced swordplay. A few sent energy bolts of blue and yellow fire at dummies shaped like giants with three heads. In another part of the bailey a small group of people gathered around a large pot full of boiling, black liquid, stirring the contents and gesturing quickly with their hands. I could smell a nauseating blend of sulfur and pine needles.
I looked from the illusion to my father and asked him silently with my eyes, “Did you know this?” He nodded carefully back at me and patted Mom’s hand.
“Then one day, a small scout party left the citadel to track rumors of a bauk, or an ogre, in the area. The party traveled a day and a night and on the second night, they found and fought the bauk. They wounded it and then, suddenly, the sky exploded once more. When they opened their eyes, they found themselves in a different place. Once more a meteor strike opened a portal between the worlds and this group of five, plus the unfortunate bauk, were now far from their home.
“The five people who are the heads of your family were on the soil of their ancestors once more.”
I saw in the five figures faces I knew. Uncle Alex, looking young and handsome, carrying a bow; Aunt Irene with a sword, issuing commands; Great Grandma Joanna, so little and with great fear on her face. I peered closer at the bauk and saw its sharp claws and large spiral horns, like a ram. It lay in a pool of blood and its fangs were bared in an open grimace. Its fur was long and tangled and appeared to be mostly brown and gray, camouflaging with the earth. The group stood in the center of an open clearing of brown dirt and beyond were thousands of blown-down trees, stripped of their leaves and in laying in concentric circles.
“Your Great Great Aunt Irene, who was the stratego, or commander, of the scout party decided that they needed to leave the area of the blast site immediately. They were not prepared to answer questions if anyone came to investigate. Aunt Irene remembered in the old stories that their ancestors did not have magic and were likely to react to it with superstition and distrust. They burned the bauk’s body and fled. You know the rest of the story.”
