Verena's Whistle: Varangian Descendants Book I

by K. Panikian

  Back at the house, Owen and I made a quick pile of sandwiches for everyone while Julian checked on Theo and Zasha in the back. He reported that the two had a favorite of the batches that cooled in the shed and wanted me to set it on fire to see if it was the one to be duplicated.

  I finished eating my turkey on rye as I shoved my boots and coat back on.

  In the backyard, Theo showed me a copper pot full of black, viscous fluid. I made a depression in the snow and dumped about a tablespoon of the liquid into it. It settled into the bottom of the icy container. Zasha handed out safety goggles to everyone and motioned everyone but me back.

  I lit a spark at the fingertips in my right hand and tossed it into the bowl, while taking a giant step backwards. The liquid burst into flames with a boom that rattled the windowpanes of the house; I took another step back. The fire settled into a steady blaze, dancing along the surface of the black material and I whistled it up into a ball. I let the ball dance around in the air, keeping it well away from the spectators and then shot it into the empty fire pit. It flashed through the air with a whoosh and then exploded in the pit, where it continued to burn for several more minutes.

  Julian stepped forward with a large glass of water from the kitchen and dumped it on the fire; it didn’t go out. He kicked snow on top of it next and the blaze continued. We watched it until the last of the black material burned up and the fire died.

  I turned with a grin to Theo and Zasha, “You did it! That was amazing!” They high-fived and Zasha danced a little jig that ended with a booty shake.

  “That was a pretty decent explosion for that small amount,” Julian noted. “How much do you think we need?”

  “A lot less than I was initially thinking,” Theo agreed. “Maybe a two or three of the copper pots?”

  “How long will that take?” I asked.

  Zasha picked up a notebook off the back deck and flipped to the page before. “For this recipe, each batch will take two hours to create, then overnight to cool. So, if you want two more batches, in addition to what’s already in this pot, it will be ready in the morning.”

  I nodded. “Okay, sounds good. You two get to work on that. You guys ready to go scouting?” I asked Owen and Julian.

  WE decided that if we took the souvenir certificates that Dmitri passed along with the swords, we could conceivably argue our way out of trouble if anyone stopped us for carrying weapons in the open. So, Julian and Owen strapped on their new swords. I hung my nightingale knife around my neck again and put a crossbow and several quarrels in my backpack.

  We took both snow machines and I rode behind Owen. This time, instead of following our normal ski trail to the crater site, we followed a different trail that would send us parallel to our regular route and then veer west to a high-altitude lake. Julian took the lead and while our sled followed, I scanned back and forth along both sides of the trail, looking for tracks or other signs of disturbances.

  It was a cloudy day and the shadows cast by the trees made it difficult to differentiate depths in the snow. After a couple of miles, Julian stopped his sled and pulled off his helmet to talk to us. He pointed to a scorched bush on the left side of the trail.

  “Kids with matches?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” I answered slowly, “but probably not.” I pulled the crossbow from my backpack and loaded a bolt. “Do you see any tracks?” I asked.

  “No,” Julian answered. “But the trail is all churned up.”

  “Could be an azhdaya, or maybe a balachko,” I said.

  “I remember an azhdaya is a two-headed dragon,” Owen said. “But what’s a balachko?”

  “A three-headed giant,” I said. “One head spits fire and one head breathes cold wind.”

  Owen blew out a breath. “Lots of heads all around. I don’t know which I prefer it to be.”

  “Me either,” I answered and squeezed his waist. “Let’s keep following the trail,” I said to Julian, “but let me know if you see anything else.”

  He nodded and started up his snow machine again. We made it all the way to the lake without seeing any more scorched areas. At the lake, we climbed off the sleds and looked around.

  It was an incredibly beautiful vista. The ice on the lake was bluish white and where the sun peeked through the clouds, it glowed aquamarine. Craggy peaks rose behind it, gray and white with glacial fingers. A boulder-strewn creek of frothing white water dumped into the lake, creating an expanse of bright blue-green open water directly in front of us.

  Next to the creek a bloody, brown carcass lay and a buzzard hopped in the snow. We waded through the snow to take a closer look. A wolverine, maybe. Or a large polecat. Parts of it were charred and the rest looked gnawed to the bone. The tracks in the snow around it included the buzzard’s prints and also a large three-toed print, probably about the size of polar bear print, with distinctive claw points.

  We stared at the scene for a moment and then all three of us moved at once. The men drew their swords and I lifted my crossbow. We ranged ourselves, each looking outwards, backs together, and scanned the expanse of snow surrounding us.

  “I don’t see anything,” I said.

  “Me either,” said Owen.

  “Something’s in the lake,” said Julian.

  I turned in that direction and saw bubbles in the lake water. A wedge shape broke the surface, then another, and then a scaly tail briefly popped out of the water before falling back in with a splash. The shapes went back under the surface and bubbles trailed in one direction and then another.

  “Is it playing?” Owen asked.

  “Or maybe hunting fish,” I answered.

  We watched the lake.

  “Irene’s journal said their heads are independent,” I reminded them. “And there are three of us. So, if two people occupy the heads, the third person can try and strike it.”

  “We have no armor,” Julian reminded me. “What about the fire?”

  “Try not to get hit in the face,” I answered. “Stop, drop, and roll in the snow.”

  The azhdaya’s heads broke the surface again, this time with a grayling in one of its mouths. The other head turned in our direction. We froze. It was instinctual. We were prey and something with large teeth spotted us.

  Julian was the first to break free of the paralysis. He said, “Owen and I have swords, we’ll take the heads. You shoot its body with as many bolts as you can.”

  Owen and I both said okay and I snatched the rest of the bolts I’d stored in the backpack, dropped the pack in the snow, and fitted the bolts into my waistband. I pulled my long knife from around my neck and put it in my pocket.

  Meanwhile, the azhdaya swam toward us and then, walking with an odd, weaving gait, clambered onto the icy beach.

  It was large and wore a metal chain around each of its two necks with spikes that pointed inwards, like a prong collar for a dog. Even from a distance I could see the scar tissue where the spikes had dug into its necks over time. Its eyes, all four of them, glowed red with anger and sparks fell from its slavering mouths.

  “Did it escape the rest?” I wondered. “Look at that collar.”

  “Save the questions,” was Julian’s terse response.

  It stalked toward us; Julian and Owen moved to either side of me and a few steps away. I fired my first bolt and it flinched away. It was very fast.

  It rattled its wings and I could see daylight and blood vessels through the thin membranes.

  I loaded the crossbow again as quickly as I could and said, “Someone start distracting it, and I’ll fire again.”

  Julian began weaving his sword through the air in a figure eight pattern. Owen shouted suddenly, “Ah!” and I jumped. The azhdaya stopped for a moment, staring with its two heads, and then started moving toward us again, this time at faster pace.

  Julian stepped forward, imitating Owen with a sharp, “Hah! Hey you!” His figure eight made a whirring noise in the air. The azhdaya focused on him with both sets of eyes and I slowly raised the
crossbow into position. Julian yelled again and in that moment, I fired.

  This time, the quarrel hit straight into the center of its chest. The impact made a thunking sound, but the azhdaya didn’t even stagger.

  I whistled a penetrating high-pitched signal, “Stop!” My command though, split between two distinct gold sparks in the hearts of the beast, and fizzled in the air. Crap. I’d forgotten that. Two hearts, two brains. It made sense there would be two spirits. I focused on one and tried my whistle again. “Stop!”

  This time the head closest to me froze in place, but the other immediately snapped at it, and my control slipped.

  “My whistle isn’t working,” I told the guys.

  The azhdaya was now about 15 yards away. It focused both heads on Julian’s whirling sword and then, in a sudden burst of movement, belched a ball of fire at him, lifting its body slightly off the snow with an upward thrust of its wings.

  I whistled instinctually, calling not to the heads, but to the fire. Shrill, my whistle commanded the fire and it turned from Julian in an arc and slammed into the snow a few yards away.

  Everyone stopped, including the azhdaya.

  “Okay, new plan,” I said quickly. “I redirect the fire; you chop off the heads.”

  Julian darted forward, blade spinning, and swiped at the head closest to him. It reared away and coughed again, the fire shooting forward; it took all I had to seize it and spin it away in time. As the azhdaya’s head turned though, to watch the fire spin, Julian leapt forward and chopped sharply, severing the head that just produced the flame. The empty neck slumped into the snow in a gush of blood, and the other head immediately turned to him, teeth extended. Julian continued his move into a roll and ducked out of the way. I fired my crossbow at the remaining head and missed again.

  The stump of the missing head flopped to the side and the azhdaya’s remaining mouth shrieked. Owen started forward with his blade extended and then hesitated.

  I whistled, this time capturing the one gold spark in the azhdaya’s chest, and I commanded it “Stop!” again. The dragon froze, glaring balefully at me out of its orange, whirling eyes. I extended my whistle, keeping it in place, using all of my focus to control the wildly dancing spark of its spirit. The spark vanished in a puff of black as Julian severed the remaining head.

  I sat down hard in the snow.

  There was silence. The lake was placid, the snow was red, and I concentrated on breathing. This time, the adrenaline rush didn’t overwhelm me. After a moment, I stood again.

  I asked Julian, “You okay?” and got a wave back. He pulled a ragged cloth from his snow machine’s storage bin and wiped down his blade.

  I turned to Owen, ready to ask the same, but found him staring down at his sword with a frown on his face. He said, in an unhappy voice, “It wasn’t that I was scared, though I was, of course. I’ve been scared before and still did what had to be done. This time, I didn’t know what to do though. Do I dance with my feet, do I thrust, do I lock my wrists, do I swing? I just stood there, thinking.”

  I hesitated, then said it, “You’ve owned a sword for one day. No one expects King Arthur.”

  “I expect it,” he responded stridently. “I’ve been a soldier for ten years. I expect to be able to defend myself, to defend my teammates.” He stopped. Then he continued in a quieter voice, “I thought I could help but I’m not helping. I’m a civilian in this fight. I’m another body for you to protect.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “You froze, fine, it was a dragon for crying out loud.”

  “A little one,” he retorted.

  “Yeah, but it had two heads.”

  He smiled at me but it was forced. Julian walked over to us and added, “You stayed on Very’s six. You were ready. As far as I’m concerned, you did fine.”

  Owen nodded and turned away, sheathing his sword and gesturing to the dragon body. “Very, are you going to torch it?”

  “Yes,” I said. I pulled the gas can from the snow machine, made my fire ball, and then set the azhdaya ablaze. It took a long time to burn and I wondered if its scales were fireproof. I actually had to make a new fireball at one point and set it burning anew.

  By the time we made it back to the chalet, I was exhausted. Zasha made a solyanka, a Russian stew, for dinner and I ate it robotically. It was delicious, especially the potatoes. When I went to help her and Theo with the dishes though, she waved me away.

  I was ready to turn in, but I saw Owen sitting in the living room, playing with his phone. I came in and said to him, “About today—” and he abruptly stood.

  “It’s cool. I don’t need to talk anymore about it,” he said. “I’m sorry I unloaded earlier.”

  “You don’t have to—” I started but then he waved his hand at me dismissively. “The first time I—” I tried again but stopped when he turned away.

  “I know,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. See you in the morning, right?”

  I felt suddenly horribly embarrassed. What was I doing? I had known this guy less than a week and obviously, we did not have any kind of emotional connection, despite the physical attraction. He didn’t want any comfort from me. Why would he? I turned and headed for my room, knowing my face was flaming.

  I heard a muttered, “Very, wait—” behind me but I ignored it and shut my door. I fell asleep dreaming of potatoes chasing me through the snow, dripping blood.

  Chapter 18

  In the morning I felt focused. This was it. We had Greek fire. We knew the enemy’s location. Now was the time to strike. After the bukavac fight I’d been scared, but now, I felt determined. I felt like we had a solid plan.

  I set my alarm to go off early and spent the hour before everyone else woke up in the backyard, doing a kata I’d been practicing for the past year. My sword gleamed in the early morning light that spilled over the valley and I swung it with strength and grace. My muscles stretched and released in an easy rhythm and I breathed carefully and smoothly.

  When I walked into the kitchen for a glass of water afterward, I saw Zasha stepping out of Theo’s room. She waved at me and came into the kitchen, and I started the kettle for tea.

  “I saw you through the window,” she whispered. “You looked very fierce.”

  I smiled at her. “Thank you so much for everything you’ve done here. I know we’d still be exploding the backyard without you.”

  She shrugged, “Yes, probably,” she admitted.

  “I want you to promise me that if we don’t come back today, you find some way of alerting the police or the military. Talk to Dmitri at the sword shop, maybe. But people need to be warned that the mountain is not safe.”

  “Yes, I will promise,” she answered, then she smiled, “Theo already made me promise. He gave me the phone number to the farmhouse too. I will call your family.”

  “Good,” I said. “He is a good man. I’m happy you guys found each other.” I paused. “So, you guys are spending the night together and…?”

  She smiled at me again, her eyes laughing. “Do not worry. You come home safe tonight and I will tell you everything.”

  I grinned back.

  We worked together to grill up a big pile of pancakes and then I slipped away to shower. In the hall I ran into Owen, just shutting his bedroom door.

  “Hey, Very,” he said. “Listen, I wanted—” I stopped him quickly.

  “Sorry, I need to shower. I’ll see you at breakfast.” I slid into my room and shut the door. I’d learned my lesson. He was a teammate only. His kisses might be delicious but I did not need the aggravation of dealing with an emotionally closed off man, thank you very much.

  When I came back into the kitchen a little while later, everyone was up and had made a big dent in the pancake pile. I’d prepared my speech in the shower and started in when I knew everyone was paying attention.

  “The plan of attack is basic and hopefully, that will make it effective. The four of us,” I pointed to everyone but Zasha, “will take the snow mach
ines up to the place on the ski trail where the creek intercepts. We’ll be carrying three pots of Greek fire and all our weapons. We’ll follow the creek up the ridge to the cave.

  “At the cave, we’ll dump out the pots and I’ll light the Greek fire. I’ll launch it into the cave entrance and hold it there until it burns out.

  “When it burns out, we’ll deal with whatever is left, whether that means going into the cave to count bodies, or killing whatever crawls out.”

  I finished up. “Zasha knows what to do if we don’t come home.

  “Any questions?”

  There was radio silence at first and then everyone started in. Julian wanted to know if we were taking a backup Greek fire projector, in case anything happened to me. Theo told him the projector he’d bought in Seattle arrived last night and was ready to go in the garage.

  Then Theo wanted to know if he should bring the bows or just the crossbows, and what if we got stopped by someone with all our weapons exposed?

  I told him yes, every bow, and that we had to risk the exposure. The alternative was worse.

  Finally, Owen asked what time we were heading out, since Dmitri was expecting him.

  I told him we should be on the trail by early afternoon to be at the cave, set up, by dusk, when any scouting parties would be back in the shelter. He agreed and headed out.

  I continued to plan with Theo and Julian, and Zasha went out to the garage to inspect the projector. Then she called Theo out there to go over a couple of ideas.

  Julian and I sat in the living room and I waited for the inevitable.

  “The thing is….”

  There it was.

  “Guys don’t like to feel like they’re not the protectors. That they’re not needed.”

  “That’s BS,” I answered. “And you know it. You don’t—”

  He stopped me. “Of course, I don’t. I was raised by my mother, the great Sophia, who could blast you with an energy bolt from a football field away.”