Verena's Whistle: Varangian Descendants Book I

by K. Panikian

  I stopped us at one point and bought an exquisite little swan pendant for my mom. The seller beamed at me and wrapped it carefully in tissue paper.

  There were people lined up in one area for what looked like tug-of-war and we paused at a stall for hot spiced cider to drink while we watched.

  Finally, we found the display of Maslenitsas dolls. The dolls were a lot more elaborate than I expected, with little outfits and cheerful expressions painted on their faces. Zasha was waiting under the tent, her own hot drink in her hands.

  “Hi guys,” she called and waved. We weaved our way over to her and she hugged me first and then Theo. Her eyes glowed when she stepped back again and seized Theo’s hand to give him a tea cake out of the bag in her hand. Theo popped it into his mouth, powdered sugar raining down his coat.

  “Delicious,” he said, his voice muffled.

  “I knew you would like it,” Zasha said with a big smile. “My mother’s recipe. She sent this bag for you. For you both,” she corrected herself.

  I smiled at Theo. “You’ve got a little something on your chin,” I pointed out, helpfully. He brushed it off.

  “Oh no, what happened to your cheek?” Zasha asked me.

  “I tripped on the ice yesterday,” I told her. “Fell right on my face.”

  She clucked her tongue sympathetically. “We will go find the blinis. Then you will forget your cheek is hurt.” I smiled and then followed her and Theo out of the tent. Theo snagged her hand to guide her around a knot of people and then held on. I smiled again.

  We found the blinis next to the bandstand and I devoured mine with a dollop of sour cream and raspberry jam. I listened to the folk music group and tapped my foot, pretending that I was engrossed.

  Theo took turns biting into his blini and asking Zasha questions about her work. She was done at the impact site and would be at the university for the next few weeks, studying the meteorites they’d found.

  “You must be happy to be done digging in the snow,” Theo said.

  “Yes, I am happy to be off the mountain altogether,” she answered. “It was very strange. Normally, I like best being in the field and working with my hands. But the last few days I worried—” she stopped herself.

  “You worried what?” Theo prompted.

  “You will think I am foolish.”

  “No,” he said and bent his head closer to hers. I couldn’t hear what she said back. I decided Theo would get more information without me there as a third wheel. I took a few steps back and mimed going for a walk with my fingers when Theo looked up to check on me. He nodded and I turned away.

  I wandered the rows some more and resisted stopping at another blini stand. There were several tents selling knives and I admired the metalwork. I started talking to one seller and he told me that his workshop was actually in Zlatoust, and that Zlatoust had a huge sword-making industrial complex. There was a factory and at least 60 smaller workshops like his.

  I admired the animal motifs on his hilts and told him I’d recently come into possession of a long knife with a nightingale on the hilt. He got very excited and I promised to bring it by his workshop soon. He gave me his name, Dmitri, and a business card and told me that if I wanted to buy any steel when I was in the area, he would make me the best deal. I thanked him and moved on.

  I checked my phone; no texts from Theo. I wandered back toward where I’d last seen him and Zasha and eventually saw them walking ahead of me, hand in hand again. Zasha was carrying a couple of small bags and Theo was smiling down at her. I turned to go and wander some more when Theo looked back and saw me. He waved me over cheerfully and I joined them.

  “Very! I have bought you a Matryoshka doll,” Zasha called to me. She fished in the smaller bag she carried and pulled out a little nesting doll with the painted face of a peasant girl; she was holding a little dark-haired baby. “It’s a very traditional gift, yes, but oh, so sweet. I thought you would like it,” Zasha explained. “See, she has long, brown hair, like you, and blue eyes.”

  “I love it,” I told her, my finger tracing the cheerful, smiling face of the doll.

  “And for Theo,” she continued, “I have found him a fur trapper hat.” She pulled a hat from the other bag and flourished it. Theo obligingly bent his head and she put it on him. The ear flaps went down to his shoulders.

  I burst into laughter. “It looks very warm,” I told him.

  “It is,” he said firmly back.

  Zasha laughed too, and said sheepishly, “I could not resist.”

  We started to meander back to the entrance of the fair, chatting about the knives I’d seen and the selyodka, or pickled herring, Zasha convinced Theo to try.

  When we reached the gate Zasha hugged us again and kissed Theo’s cheek. She said, “You must come to Chelyabinsk again shortly. I have no car here, but there is a train. You must say I will see you again soon.”

  I gave her another hug and whispered in her ear, “I’m positive you will see us again very soon.” I turned away and let Theo say his goodbye in private. He caught up with me after a block of walking and I checked the time.

  It was late afternoon and we had a two-hour drive back to Zlatoust. “We need to get to the lake before the light is gone,” I reminded Theo and we hurried back to the rental. We’d exchanged it in Zlatoust that morning with the car company, telling them vandals smashed the windows.

  When we reached the parking lot, I climbed back into the driver’s seat. “How are the ribs?” I asked.

  “I could use a couple more Ibuprofen,” Theo said. “I didn’t want to take them at the fair in front of Zasha, but I’ve got some in my pocket.”

  He popped the pills with a sip of water and we hit the road. He talked while I drove and updated me on Zasha’s team and the crater.

  “So, the scientists are definitely noticing something weird going on at the site. Their readings are showing an incredibly high level of potential energy in the center of the crater, despite the fact that the large meteorite fragment that landed there is no longer in place; it’s already at the university. That fragment is showing normal readings. But the crater and the site are acting peculiar.

  “Next,” Theo continued, “two of the scientists on Zasha’s team have quit over the past three days. One vanished mid-shift; she just took off and didn’t tell anyone she was leaving. No one has heard from her at all. The second came back from a smoke break and flat-out threw her badge on the ground and demanded to be snowmobiled out of there. She won’t talk to anyone on the team and has taken the train back to Moscow and maybe, moved in with her grandmother. That’s unconfirmed.”

  “Two encounters,” I mused. “The second one maybe saw something in the woods that panicked her and she left, wondering if she was going crazy. Otherwise, she would have tried to warn them.

  “The first one though, I don’t like it. She vanished? I think one of the bes scouting parties found her,” I concluded.

  “I agree,” Theo said. “And there’s more. The meteorite fragments that they found in the snow and stored in a crate at the site, they vanished last night. Poof. Crate and contents gone.”

  “Whoa,” I said. “I have no idea what that means. What could the besy want with the fragments? Do they have power? Maybe it was just thieves. We should try and find a fragment too, see if it reacts to our magic.”

  “And for my final trick,” Theo declared, pulling a small rock out of his pocket, “we have a meteorite!”

  “What!?!”

  “Zasha gave it to me,” Theo answered, smugly. “She said they were allowed to keep a handful of the smaller fragments out of the pile, to give away or sell if they wanted. Zasha thinks they knew people would be sneaking them out anyway, so better to try and control what escaped, like the little pieces only.”

  “Theo, this is perfect. What do you think? Does it feel weird?”

  “No,” Theo answered, sounding disappointed. “It feels like a rock. But! I think we should mess around with it, let everyone try and hol
d it, see if anything happens.”

  “Yes, I agree.” I asked him to describe it to me as I drove and then eventually, we pulled off the highway to check on the lake.

  It was almost dusk and the parking lot was empty again. I didn’t see any new warning signs or police tape. We parked and discussed what that meant.

  “Okay, so there was definitely a lot of blood in the snow. The fact that there’s no police presence here now must mean….”

  Theo took up the thread. “Either one, the couple that Owen chased off told people there was a movie being filmed, and everyone thinks it’s fake blood.”

  “Or two,” I continued, “the police checked it out, did some kind of test, and decided it was animal blood only.”

  “Would bes blood show up as animal blood?” Theo asked.

  “I have no idea,” I answered. “We really, really need to read Irene’s journals. Let’s head back and see what the guys found out.”

  BACK at the chalet, we found Owen in the kitchen. He was chopping peppers and onions. He gestured with his chin to the backyard and said “The grill is closed. All swamp monster pieces accounted for and disposed of. Julian’s just dousing the fire now.”

  “That’s great!” I exclaimed. Once again, I was having a hard time regulating my tone when I saw those velvet brown eyes and sinfully thick lashes. I stared at Owen chopping vegetables with his strong fingers and my palms started to sweat. I walked to the sink and washed up. “Need any help?” I asked nonchalantly.

  “Want to set the table?” Owen asked. “We’re having fajitas.”

  “Sure,” I answered and got to work. Theo went out through the mudroom to help Julian. A few minutes later I was on condiment duty, filling little bowls with sour cream, shredded cheese, and hot sauce. “You’re good at delegating,” I told Owen.

  “Thanks,” he answered. “Now, for the guacamole… drum roll.” He paused. “Mix it with some garlic salt and lime juice. That’s it.”

  I did as instructed, and then perched on one of the kitchen stools to watch Owen finish the meal prep. He set aside the onion and bell pepper mixture and pulled some chicken from the oven. With two forks he shredded the chicken and then tossed it in with the peppers and onions. He put a wet paper towel on top of a plate of tortillas and placed the stack gently in the microwave. Finally, he pulled two more pots off the stove, rice and refried beans, and stirred them. The aroma of chili powder and garlic filled the air. Steam wafted around his face and a curl fell across his forehead. I sat on my hands.

  Just then, Theo and Julian stomped into the mudroom from outside and I blinked, the spell broken. Everyone washed up and we sat at the big kitchen table. After people served themselves and started eating, I hopped up again and stepped to the fridge. “Beer?” I asked and everyone raised their hands.

  We ate and I tried to keep the fajita juice from running down my arm onto my shirt. At last, I took a break and sat back. “So good, Owen, really. Thanks.” I noted to myself that the rice had a sprinkling of lime juice in it too. I needed to cook more with limes, maybe.

  Owen nodded back at me, pleased, and continued chewing. Julian reached for another tortilla, his fifth, but who was counting.

  Finally, the chewing tapered off and the four of us sat back, sipping our beers.

  “Okay, who wants to go first?” I asked.

  “I’ll go,” Theo said. He told the group everything he’d learned from Zasha and what we’d observed at the lake. Then he placed the meteorite piece in the center of the table.

  Julian picked it up first and closed it tightly in his fist. After a moment, he shook his head and handed it to Owen. Owen tossed it in his hand and then shook his head too.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Feels like a heavy rock.”

  I picked it up and looked at it closely. It was dark gray with brown streaks and swirls. Some of its edges were jagged and some were smooth. It was about the size of a robin’s egg. I concentrated my Sight on it, but I didn’t sense anything. I shrugged and put it back on the table.

  Julian cleared his throat and took over. “We burned the bukavac. It took pretty much all afternoon and the whole stack of firewood. So, if we’re burning any more bodies, we need to get more wood.

  “We took turns stirring the coals and reading and I’ve flagged a few journal passages that I think we should all take a look at. One details Irene’s encounters with some azhdaya.”

  I turned to Theo and whispered loudly, “Dragons.”

  Theo smirked at me and then asked, “What about the aunts and uncles? Have they found anything yet?”

  “The journals just arrived today, according to my dad’s tracking info,” Owen answered.

  “Does that mean your firearms are here too?” Theo asked.

  “Tomorrow, maybe,” Owen answered.

  I stood up and started clearing the table until Julian waved me away. I grabbed a fresh beer and stepped into the mudroom to pull on my winter gear. Outside it smelled like charred meat, with a sprinkling of bog water and woodsmoke. Ugh. I wondered if the sharp, shark-like teeth had turned to ash or been buried with the other miscellaneous bones.

  I snagged a folding chair and set it up next to the smoldering remains of the fire. Overhead, the sky was clear and I could see countless stars gleaming. I sipped my beer and then I pulled out my phone and opened the link that Julian highlighted today. I began to read.

  “The azhdaya is usually solitary,” Irene wrote.

  It is generally smaller than a horse, with armored scales and four clawed feet. It has two heads and both spit fire. If you cut off one head, the other will not weaken. The smaller ones have wings but cannot fly. I don’t know if the large ones fly.

  I have fought two azhdaya in my lifetime. The first time, in the Varangian realm, I was very young, maybe sixteen? A small azhdaya came to my village and began stealing chickens. The elders trapped it in the coop one night and in the morning, I was sent to kill it. I chopped off one head with my axe and was severely burned by the second head. Marcus shot it in the chest with an arrow and it did not falter. I never dissected one, but I believe they have two hearts and two sets of lungs. I killed the one in the coop finally when I kicked it hard into an anvil, stunning it, allowing me to sever its spine with my axe.

  The second time I saw an azhdaya was outside of Prague in 1924. This one was very big, the size of a large pony. It was raiding a sheep farm every night for two weeks straight. This one walked into a pit trap, allowing me to pin its body in a deep hole. It was easy then to avoid its flames and fill it with arrows.

  The flames of an azhdaya are very hot, but do not spread like a fire. There is a burst of flame, like from a cheirosiphone, that is focused.

  I stopped reading and looked up cheirosiphone. It was a siphon, or projector, for deploying Greek fire. I wondered what Irene knew about Greek fire; I thought that Theo said the recipe was long lost? Maybe the Varangians took the recipe with them through the first portal?

  The back door opened and Owen stepped outside, dressed in warm layers and carrying two new beers. He offered one to me and I took it, gesturing to the other folding chair.

  “Thanks again for doing the fire pit work today,” I told him. “I know it had to have been gruesome.”

  “Gruesome, yes,” he answered. “That’s a good word for it. Were you reading Julian’s find from today?” he gestured to my phone.

  “Yeah,” I answered. “It actually sparked an idea. Do you know anything about Greek fire?”

  Owen thought for a long moment, staring at the orange coals, before he offered “Ah, was it in a video game a while back?”

  “I have no idea,” I responded, sighing. “It’s the second time I’ve heard it referenced in the last week though. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  I pulled up my phone again and texted my dad: “Search for journals for Greek fire references.”

  “You said your dad’s on board with all of this,” I said to Owen. “What about your mom?”

  “
Mom’s mellow,” he responded. “She’s rolled with the punches from the first time my dad told her the family story. She’s never witnessed anything supernatural herself, which probably helps,” he added. “She’s an artist, a potter.”

  “And what do you do now that you’re out of the army?” I asked. I was so nosy. Next, I would ask him if he had a girlfriend… I muzzled my thoughts.

  “I actually just enrolled in college at McGill,” Owen answered proudly. “I get a full ride after ten years in the army. I’m thinking accounting.”

  “Good with numbers?” I asked with a smile.

  “Excellent,” he answered and smiled back at me.

  He leaned forward in his chair. “What do you think? Can I build it back up or will you gag if you catch a whiff of eau de monster?” He gestured to the dying fire.

  “Build it,” I answered. “I’m tough.”

  Owen stood and hefted some new logs from the diminished pile and layered them in the coals. Then he sat again.

  “What do you do in Alaska?” he asked me.

  I told him about grad school and my TA work and about my small apartment in Anchorage. He asked some more questions and we talked for a while. It was nice. The fire caught and crackled and smoke drifted upward into the clear sky.

  I stared at the flames, watching them dance in the breeze, and then I felt it, that gold spark that I drew on when I whistled. It danced in the fire in front of me.

  “I’m going to try something,” I murmured to Owen. He turned to me and raised his hand like he was going to touch my cheek, but stopped when I added, “I’ve never done it before, so get ready to run if it turns bad.”

  “I feel like you should give me more information than that,” Owen answered, hands in his lap once again. “What are you trying? Why would it turn bad?”