Verena's Whistle: Varangian Descendants Book I

by K. Panikian

  He cleared his throat again. “We, my mother and I, buried her in a small ceremony on a Tuesday. Three days later, however, when I went to leave fresh flowers, I saw that her headstone was knocked over and the ground was disturbed. I contacted the city to ask if someone had been digging there, and the city sent an investigator out. She met with me at the grave and we talked about what she observed. She was very old, in fact I remember being surprised she was still a city employee, but she moved like a much younger person and she was quite strong. She was very serious, taking notes and measurements, and then she told me not to come back to the cemetery until she contacted me.

  “I think she was warning me away from gang activity, or something like that. I told my mother and we stayed away.

  “About a week later, she called on the phone and told me it was safe to return to the cemetery. When I asked her if the police caught the persons responsible, she said only that the threat was gone and wouldn’t return.

  “I was very grateful to her. I wanted to thank her in person, but when I asked if I could meet with her, she declined. Still, I persisted and finally, she agreed. We met at a café near the church where I was working at the time, and I could tell she was sick. She looked even older than the first time I saw her. Her hands were trembling and she was very pale. I asked her for details, but she was close-lipped. I thanked her for helping, she thanked me for the coffee, and then her grandson came to take her home.”

  “Her grandson?” Julian asked, very interested. Aunt Irene never married, that he knew of. Who was this grandson?

  “Yes. I am trying to recall his name. Michael? Thomas?” Père Vianney stopped, lost in thought. “No, I can’t say for sure. It was too long ago. He was very young and handsome and very solicitous of her.”

  Julian thanked the priest, shook his hand, and helped him up when he indicated that he wanted to stand. “My goodness, that’s quite a grip,” the priest said to him with a smile. “I will walk you out.”

  They walked slowly back down the hallway to the nave and the priest said, “I hope you find everything you need for your research project. Will you be in Paris much longer?”

  “A few more days at least,” Julian answered. He was preoccupied. He needed to call Uncle Alex, he decided. He was obviously missing some key information on Irene’s life.

  “And where are you staying?”

  “I’m in the central business district,” Julian said. “I was thinking about walking back, instead of taking the metro. Do you know how far it is?”

  The priest chuckled. “Oh yes, it’s very walkable, especially for a young man like you. And very scenic too. Well, I hope that you enjoy the rest of your stay.”

  Julian thanked the priest again and headed into the cold sunshine.

  The priest watched him disappear from sight and then walked slowly back inside and down the hall. He stepped into his office, closed the door, and reached into the bottom drawer of his desk. He found the paper he was looking for and picked up the phone. He dialed a number and then spoke.

  “Hello, Matthew? Yes, it’s Père Vianney. Yes, someone has come.”

  Chapter 8

  We found our first-class cabin on the train with the help of the porter. Inside there were two low bunks with a small table between them and a large window with the curtains drawn for privacy. There were eight other cabins in our sleeper car and two bathrooms at the end of the corridor.

  The train left Kursky station right on time and soon we were speeding into the dark Russian countryside. I was excited for the daylight view, but right now all I could see were occasional lights from cars on the parallel highway and the bright glow of distant towns.

  We were both too wired to sleep, despite the evening hour. It felt like it should be morning. We were each in our own bunks and I watched Theo pull out his laptop, set it up on the table, and find the train’s Wi-Fi signal.

  “Okay,” he said. “Time for a council of war.” I nodded and he started in.

  “First of all, what do we know about the kind of besy we might be on our way to find? We’ve heard the stories, but I don’t know about you, a lot of them blur together in my memory. I asked my dad to pin down Uncle Alex and get him to articulate exactly what he remembered: what they look like, what they do, how to kill them, et cetera. He emailed me a list so check it out.

  “First, the bauks. We’ve seen them in Uncle Basil’s illusions before. They’re like ogres, with curving horns, claws, and fangs. They’re stupid but big and vicious. Some of them can use basic weapons, but generally, they’re going to try and grab you and rip off your head, then eat you. You can kill them the way you would any large animal – chop off the head, bleed it out, strike to the heart, you know, the usual. They have no magical powers on their own.

  “Next, the balachko,” Theo continued. “These ones are trouble. They’re giants and they have three heads. They have magic too – from one head they can spit fire and from another they can breathe cold wind. However, good for us, once they deplete their magical power, they’re relatively easy to kill.” He paused. “You know, for giants.”

  “The bukavacs are slimy, with six legs, big mouths, long tails, and spiral horns on their heads. They like to yell very loudly and they live close to swamps, rivers, and lakes. Their yells aren’t magic but they’re earsplitting and they can make you momentarily deaf. The legs are the key with them. They’re thin and they snap easily, like an insect, so you want to break their legs and then you can chop off their heads.

  “Todorats are half human, half horses–”

  “Like a centaur?” I interrupted.

  “Not really. A todorat looks more like a rider sprouting from a horse’s back. They wear cloaks that obscure their faces and they kill by stomping. They can use offensive weapons because, hello, human torsos, and they can also use offensive magic. They’re pretty hard to kill. They can shake the ground with their stomps and when you add in their magic, it’s like battling a very strong human mage who can also run faster than you and kick you to death.”

  “Awesome,” I said sarcastically. “That one’s my favorite so far.”

  “Just wait,” Theo responded.

  “The azhdaya are two-headed dragons that spit fire and the psoglav is a chimera, with horse, human, and dog pieces, oh, and one eye. It likes to eat people with its iron teeth.”

  “You’re right. The dragons are probably my favorite,” I said and made a face at Theo.

  “The dragons don’t have any magic talents except for, you know, the breathing fire thing. Obviously.” Theo added.

  “So those are the big six, according to Uncle Alex. There are some other, minor creatures that he can’t remember the names of, but he doesn’t think they’re likely to be difficult. Maybe we can find more information about them from Aunt Irene’s journals, if Julian discovers them.”

  “Now,” Theo said. “Our weapons. We’re descended from a magical Varangian cohort. A cohort would be organized so that it held at least one member of each of the four main categories of magic users under a stratego, or commander.

  “The main categories are elementals, zhakhar, augurs, and strikers.

  “Elementals connect with the elements – air, earth, fire, and water; and can also exert some amount of control over their element. From the cohort that became our family back in 1908, my Great Grandma Agatha was an air elemental and your Great Grandma Joanna was an earth elemental. Now, my Grandma Ariadne is a water elemental and Aunt Helen is an air elemental.

  “Zhakhar are illusionists.” Theo paused to take a sip of water and continued. “Irene was the original one in our family and Uncle Basil is almost as strong as her.

  “Augurs are soothsayers, or seers. Basically, anyone with the second sight. Uncle Alex has this power and I do also, to a smaller extent. Uncle Alex can see more clearly than I can and also at longer distances.

  “Finally, strikers use offensive magic. Some hurl magic bolts, some propel objects, and some are super strong. Roman had the po
wer to launch energy bolts, and now Aunt Sophia and your mom have this power. Julian has incredible strength as his offensive magic. Both my dad and Uncle Constantine can shoot objects, mainly projectiles, to some distance.”

  I added the obvious. “So, if we get in over heads with this, we have a lot of offensive magic users and elementals we can call to help.”

  “Exactly,” Theo said. “Just ignore the fact that most of them are approaching their one century mark, if they haven’t already hit it, or are spring chickens in their 60s and 70s, or are caretakers to those spring chickens.”

  “Plus—” Theo exclaimed, “don’t forget we have a Nightingale! So, add that to our magical arsenal. Boom.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, a Nightingale who has no idea how to use her powers.”

  “Yes, exactly,” Theo said. “Let’s work on that. We’ve got hours and hours to go. Let’s do some experiments.”

  I started with just some basic whistles, like I’d used previously on Denali, the neighbor’s dog. “Come” and “stay” had no effect on Theo. He continued to sit on his bunk, looking at me expectantly. Okay, so it wasn’t the noise itself that was the magic; it must be the intent behind the whistle. I tried to think of something I wanted Theo to do.

  I started a high, cheerful whistle and in the tune, I inserted a little trill of “Cookie! Cookie! Cookie!”

  Theo stood, leaned forward to the container on the small table, snagged a cookie, and handed it to me, all with a terrible, blank look on his face. I immediately stopped my whistle.

  Theo blinked and looked at me, then looked down at himself standing in the aisle between our bunks. “Okay…” he said.

  “No, not okay,” I whispered. I had a hard time finding my voice. “I just controlled you.” I felt it, my magic, reaching out to him and smothering the spark I sensed in his chest, laying my will on top of his. It was too easy. What if I’d lost control? What if I couldn’t withdraw my command? What if I’d asked him to do something dangerous? What if he felt violated and now, he hated me forever?

  Theo must have seen the panic on my face. “Right, let’s calm down. I have an idea; I’ll be back.” Theo disappeared into the corridor and I tried to take some deep breaths. This was fine. This was just practice. I’d never hurt Theo. Theo trusted me. I tried not to think about how the gold spark of Theo’s essence felt, fluttering wildly, when I controlled it.

  Ten minutes later, Theo came back into the compartment with a small bucket of beers and two glasses. “Here’s the deal. You need to mellow out. Have a beer. Then we’ll try again.”

  TWO hours and three beers later, I was definitely feeling mellow. I’d successfully gotten Theo to do a handstand on his bunk, text a girl in his Statistics class, and yodel. I was feeling confident now.

  When I whistled to him, the gold spark in his chest danced for me. I felt powerful. I’d never felt that way about my magic before.

  I leaned across the aisle to Theo, waving my beer, “Let’s try an inanimate object. The book you gave me said the Robber Nightingale leveled a palace.”

  “Yes,” Theo said, pushing my beer out of his face and munching on a handful of M&Ms and peanuts, “while theoretically I agree that we should try an inanimate object next, I don’t think the place to do it is on a train traveling at 120 miles per hour. What if you aim for a cookie, hit the window, and we get sucked outside like in Total Recall?”

  I blinked owlishly at the image. That sounded reasonable. “All right then, school’s over, I’m going to bed.” I stood and grabbed the toiletries from my bag and then, staggering to find the rhythm of the rocking train car, I opened the door into the corridor. I gently swayed my way down the hall and into an open bathroom. It was spartan but clean. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and changed into my sleep shirt and sweats. Then I slowly made my way back to our cabin. I paused once to stare out the window into the black countryside. The sky was awash with stars, pinpricks of brightness in the dark canvas of the night.

  THE next morning, the train was still rocking along. I sat up and peaked out the window, trying not to disturb Theo sleeping across the aisle. I saw a landscape of white – white snow, white snow-covered trees, and white low-lying clouds. I stared through the frosted windowpane and after a minute or so I could see that the fields of snow were separated into lines of cultivation. Abruptly, the fields vanished and we were traveling through a forest. The scene was dramatically beautiful. I felt like I was in a snow globe, right as the glitter has finished falling, and now the miniature scene has a sparkling, pristine layer of white.

  The trees were very tall and their branches bowed heavily under the weight of snow. The sun shining through the nexus of limbs cast intricate patterns on the forest floor. I felt homesick for the winter woods around the farmhouse. I bet there were snowshoe hares in these woods as well, and gray wolves hunting them.

  I made my way down the corridor again to the bathroom to get dressed and brush my teeth. I texted Theo that I was going to find the restaurant car. I stopped to check the map by the door between the cars and then made may way across the flexible, noisy gangway to the next sleeper car.

  A few hops later and I found the restaurant car. It wasn’t crowded, likely because it was late in the morning. I chose a seat and when the server came by with tea, I pointed at the picture of pancakes on the menu.

  While I waited for my food, I sipped my tea and fiddled with my phone. I emailed my parents an update and texted Julian. Then I put my phone down to stare out the window some more.

  Someone stood across from me and I looked up with a smile, expecting Theo. Instead, it was a woman around my age, with white-blond hair tied back in a low pony tail and a cheerful face. She asked me something in Russian and when I shook my head, she changed to English, “I can sit here?”

  “Sure,” I said, “Help yourself.”

  “Thank you,” she sat across from me, putting a backpack under her chair. She leaned forward and said confidingly, “I don’t like to sit by myself on the trains. Some man will always sit right next to me. So, I look for a girl to sit next to first.”

  I smiled. “Good strategy.”

  The server came by with my pancakes and the girl put in an order for coffee. I smeared some jam on my pancakes and dug in. Deliciously fluffy.

  “My name is Zasha. I work for the Federal Space Agency. It is like your NASA, I think.”

  I swallowed my bite quickly. “Really? Are you going to Chelyabinsk to study the meteor?”

  “Yes! I am very excited. It’s my first time at a meteor crater. I am, how do you say? Intern. I am intern.”

  “That’s awesome. My name is Verena, but my friends call me Very. I’m heading to Chelyabinsk too.” I paused and thought hard. Why hadn’t we come up with a cover story yet? “I’m doing some research at the university there, studying Russian folklore.”

  Zasha beamed at me. “You are American and you study Baba Yaga?” she asked and laughed delightedly.

  I grinned back at her, remembering the Baba Yaga story from my Russian Lit class just last week. “Yes, witches just like her, and other monsters too.”

  “A very interesting job to have.”

  “Not as interesting as yours,” I replied. “Have they found the third impact site from the meteor yet?”

  “Oh yes,” Zasha answered. “It’s in the national park outside the town of Zlatoust. That is just so where I am heading. My team leader, Dr. Kuznetsov, has not checked in with me, but I think that is where he is. He probably got so excited, he forgot he asked me to come and help him today.”

  Zlatoust. I said the name over in my head a few times so I would remember. I ate some more of my pancakes and listened to Zasha chat. She was very pretty, I noticed. She had pale skin, pink cheeks, and big brown eyes. And she was a scientist. I reached for my phone and sent another quick text to Theo.

  “And so,” Zasha was saying, “you must go there when you are in Chelyabinsk. The outdoor festival, I have been before, it has the most delicious
Russian food.”

  “It sounds great,” I said. “At the end of the week?”

  “Yes, just so.” Zasha answered. “If I am still in town, I will meet you there and show you the best place for blini. Here, give me your number.”

  We exchanged numbers and then she frowned at her phone. “I do not know why I’m not hearing from Dr. Kuznetsov.”

  I felt a nudge from my intuition, and asked, offhandedly, “Is it unusual for him to be out of contact?”

  “Oh yes, very unusual. I am his newest intern and generally, he emails me three or four times a day with tasks.”

  Just then, Theo sauntered up to our table. He was dressed casually, like Zasha and I, in jeans and a thermal henley. I introduced him to Zasha and after he sat, I told him, with a significant eyebrow wiggle, “Zasha works for the Russian version of NASA. She’s on her way to study the meteor. Her team leader, Dr. Kuznetsov, who is already on site, appears to be missing.”

  “Oh, missing,” Zasha said, with a blush in Theo’s direction, “that is too strong a word, I think. Only I have not heard from him in 24 hours, and that is, perhaps, curious.”

  Theo began questioning her about the meteor strikes and I searched on my phone for any recent articles about missing people in the area. Nothing came up, not even Dr. Kuznetsov’s name.

  Theo swiped the rest of my pancakes and after a few minutes, ordered another stack from the server. While he ate, I asked Zasha about the different towns we were passing. Then she wanted to hear about Anchorage and Seattle. We chatted for at least another 20 minutes before Zasha reluctantly stood.

  “I have work I must do before we reach Chelyabinsk. I will text you, yes, about the festival?” she asked me, with a glance under her lashes at Theo. I promised her I would be there and she walked out of the restaurant car.