Verena's Whistle: Varangian Descendants Book I

by K. Panikian

  He’d spent the morning trying to reach the other family with the disturbed grave in 1960, but Mme Dubois would not see him. He’d returned to Montmartre Cemetery but found no other headstones that matched his dates. He had no new leads.

  He dialed the number for the farmhouse in Alaska and when Aunt Zoe answered, he quickly headed off her inquiries and asked to speak to Uncle Alex. When the older man came on the line, Julian jumped right into his interrogation.

  “Uncle Alex, sorry, I know it’s early there, but some questions have come up and I think I need quick answers. Do you know anything about Irene having a child? Or a family?”

  “What?” Uncle Alex asked, surprised. “No, she never told me about a family or children. She was a lot older than the rest of us when we crossed through the portal. I always thought that was why she couldn’t settle down like we did. She’d been a soldier too long.”

  “I uncovered information that she had a grandson in 1960.”

  Alex paused a long moment before answering. When he did, he sounded sad. “Well, I’m not entirely surprised. We lost touch with her for long periods of time here and there. She was in Europe during the first and second world wars, chasing rumors of besy back and forth across borders, avoiding troop movements. She was paranoid that our secrets would be discovered and then exploited. Our papers were forged, you know. The rest of us hunkered down, bought land, kept our noses clean... She couldn’t bear the idleness.

  “Then, after the wars, that paranoia only grew, I’m afraid. She wouldn’t let us meet her anywhere. She sent occasional letters, but she didn’t like us to all gather in the same place.

  “When news came of her death, I remember being shocked. I don’t think I’d heard from her for five years or so at that point. She was 99 when she died, but still soldiering, still tracking and fighting monsters.”

  Alex stopped with a sigh. “If there is a family, I hope you find them. I wish I had known. Perhaps I should have pushed harder…” his voice faded.

  Julian talked to Uncle Alex for a few more minutes and then let him go eat his breakfast. It sounded like Very and Theo were uncovering some troubling information and Julian knew he needed to get to them soon. He ended the call by telling Alex he would go and visit Aunt Irene’s memorial and see if he could discover any information on her family. When she died, Irene had been a respected city employee. Per her last request, she’d been cremated, but there was a memorial at the Montparnasse cemetery.

  AN hour later, Julian read the inscription on the memorial at Montparnasse. “Irene Belisarius. 1861-1960. Beloved Mother and Grandmother. Returned to the stars from whence she came.”

  Julian read the epitaph again. It was obvious that whoever had commissioned it knew of Irene’s origins. The stars reference was too on point otherwise. He turned and headed back to the cemetery entrance. There, he called the phone number listed on the maintenance sign and after a few disjointed inquiries, was connected to the caretaker.

  After he introduced himself, Julian asked about finding records and was directed to the city offices. When he spoke to the person who answered that line, he was told that, unfortunately, the records of cemetery memorials from 1960 to 1965 had been lost in a fire in the 1980s.

  When he ended the call, Julian let out a groan. It felt like the universe was trying to prevent him from uncovering any information on Irene’s family.

  Stymied, he returned to his hotel and resolved to hit the gym and think. The weight machines in public gyms were never up to his strength level, so he decided to use the treadmill and then do push-ups later in his room. As the miles ticked by, he tried to determine what to do next. It seemed like his only lead was still Père Vianney. He would head back to the church this afternoon and talk to the priest some more.

  An hour later, push-ups complete, Julian stepped out of the shower and dressed for another cold jaunt through the city. His long hair was still wet so he knotted it up and out of the way. Despite his students’ teasing, he would never call it a man bun. He moved to the door and then stopped abruptly, hesitating. Someone knocked. He peered through the peephole and saw a man with dark hair. The man held up a bound book. It looked like a journal. Julian opened the door.

  The stranger stood in the hall, a duffel bag over his shoulder, and waited for Julian to invite him in. He was tall, just a little shorter than Julian, and had warm tan skin and a thick mass of dark brown, almost black, hair that curled in all directions. His eyes were dark brown as well, and he looked suspiciously at Julian.

  Julian returned the look and then invited the man into the room with a gesture. He stepped in confidently, dressed similarly to Julian in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, with his coat unzipped. He held out the journal to Julian and asked quietly, “Is this what you’re here for?”

  Julian flipped open the journal and recognized the handwriting as Aunt Irene’s. He closed the book and said, “Yes.”

  “Great,” the stranger responded. His face relaxed into a smile and he held out his hand, “Which one of them do you belong to? Alex, Roman, Agatha, or Joanna?”

  “Roman,” Julian answered automatically and then flinched. “I mean, who are you?”

  “My name is Owen Belisarius. Irene was my adoptive great grandmother.” He gestured to the couch. “May I sit?”

  At Julian’s wave Owen sat and then continued his story. “My father, Matthew, met Père Vianney in 1960 and made an impression. The good father has been watching for 50 years on Matthew’s behalf, waiting for someone to come and ask about that strange grave desecration at Montmartre, or the strong, mysterious city employee. He called my father yesterday, after you visited him.”

  Julian exhaled. He sat down on the bed, leaned forward, and listened.

  Owen continued. “Great Grandmother Irene adopted my grandfather, Leon, in 1921. She was 60. The war had ended a few years earlier and Irene was in French Algeria tracking rumors of a cannibalistic nun. The rumors ended up being rumors only, no demon involved, but in Algiers she met my grandfather. Leon was only two years old but he was, apparently, both adorable and precocious. When Irene left the convent, she took Leon with her.

  “She taught him to fight like a Varangian soldier, though of course, the other skills she had could not be taught. They traveled all throughout western Europe in that short period of time between the wars. She would stop in a town for a year or two and Leon would go to school, then she would hear a rumor of a bes and they would leave to track it down.

  “Then, the Second World War started, and they were separated for a long time. Leon served in the French army and then, after the surrender, fought in the resistance. Irene, however, was paranoid about the Germans discovering her origins and her magical skills. She fled France to the east and lived out of touch for a long time. When the war ended, they were no longer close. Leon married and had my father, Matthew, in 1946. Irene would visit, whenever she was in the area, but Leon was angry with her for abandoning him and my grandmother thought her stories were signs of delusion. They never got along. Irene tried to make amends to Leon and managed to spend some time with Matthew, but when she died in 1960, they were still at odds.”

  Owen paused. Grief seemed to etch his face with hardness, briefly. “I never met her, obviously, but she left an indelible impression on my grandfather and my father. When she died, they expected the Varangian family to show up. But you never did.”

  Julian looked at the other man with grave eyes. “We didn’t know,” he said.

  Owen nodded and continued, “So Grandpa and Gran left France and moved to Montreal. They wanted Matthew to have a fresh start, away from the memories. Leon took with him the journals that Irene left with him, but he refused to read them or teach Matthew to fight.

  “Matthew read Irene’s journals however, in secret. He decided, on his own, that he wanted to be a soldier like Irene, so he joined the Canadian military. In that time, that meant NATO deployment, so back he went to Europe. Grandpa was not happy with his choices. Matthew serve
d for 15 years before he met my mom, retired, and moved back to Montreal.

  “Leon died in 1996, but Matthew knew that one day, your family would try and find out what happened to Irene’s journals. He kept in touch with Père Vianney and when I was old enough, told me the stories too.

  “I’ve read the journals and I can fight,” Owen stated firmly. “If something is happening now involving the supernatural creatures that Irene spent her life chasing and killing, I want to help.”

  Julian started to shake his head.

  “I served too. I joined up right when I turned 18 and I only just got out. Ten years as a NATO peacekeeper. I was in Afghanistan. So, don’t tell me I can’t handle whatever it is you’re doing.”

  Julian held up his hands, “Whoa, whoa. I’m not telling you anything. I’m just being cautious. You don’t have all of the information yet.”

  Owen exhaled. “Sorry. I got excited. My dad’s been waiting his whole life to be involved with the Varangians, as he called you, and now he’s in his late 60s. He called me as soon as he heard someone, a very strong someone, was asking about Irene and I flew to Paris last night. I knew your name, so I started calling hotels this morning.

  “My dad idolized Irene. I feel like I owe it to him to help you as much as I can.

  “I know I just blurted a lot of information at you. I’ve been rehearsing,” Owen added self-consciously. “I can leave this journal with you. The others, there are about ten more, are at my dad’s house. He can ship them wherever you want.

  “They’re also digitized. We scanned them about five years ago. Some of them were starting to fall apart.”

  “Really? That’s amazing,” Julian said slowly. He was thinking hard. “Okay, I’m going to tell you what’s going on. Then you can decide if you really want to help or not.”

  Owen agreed and settled deeper into the couch.

  Julian told him everything. The real story of the family’s origins, the magic, the besy, and the new information about the meteor blast in Russia a few days earlier.

  “Right now, my cousins, Verena and Theo, are in Russia checking to see if this is all a wild goose chase. At this point, we don’t think it is. While they haven’t physically seen any creatures yet, the signs are there and Theo’s magic, at least, is responding to them.

  “If you’re still in, I think we need to get there as soon as possible.”

  “Do they have weapons?” Owen asked.

  “They shipped a bunch from the States, but I don’t know if the crate’s arrived yet. Can you use a sword, crossbow, anything like that?”

  Owen laughed, “Swords? No, I can’t use a sword. I was in the army. I can use a gun, and I have some martial arts skills. You guys don’t use guns?”

  Julian shrugged. “We can’t; they won’t fire for us. Your great grandmother speculated that we have too much magic in our blood. Uncle Alex can’t use a cell phone; the screen just turns black if he touches one. In my mom’s generation, she was the first one who could drive a car.

  “The magic interference seems to be decreasing with each new generation. I can drive and use a cell phone. But guns are still off the table.”

  “Do you think they would work on the beasts?” Owen asked.

  “Honestly, I have no idea,” answered Julian, shaking his head.

  “Okay, I’ll ask my dad to ship some stuff to us in Russia and we’ll see.”

  Julian nodded. “Can’t hurt.”

  He added, “I’d like to get the actual, physical journals to the aunts and uncles. They’re all staying at the farmhouse in Alaska for the time being and they’re not going to be able to access the digital versions.”

  “Sure,” Owen answered. “I can tell my dad to ship them today too.”

  “Then let’s send the link to the digital versions to Very and Theo, and me, of course. We can divvy them up between the four of us and search for anything useful to the current situation.”

  Owen agreed again.

  “All right,” Julian said and stood. “Let me make some phone calls and then let’s head to the airport.”

  Chapter 11

  The rental house advertised itself as a chalet and it looked like something that belonged in the Swiss Alps. It was an A-frame with a steep-pitched roof extending nearly to the ground. It had five bedrooms and three baths, a spacious kitchen, and a hot tub on the back deck that looked down onto the Ay River and up onto the snowy slopes of the Urals. When I first saw the view, it caused an audible gasp, it was so beautiful.

  I muttered to Theo beside me, “Is this cheating? Are we doing the dangerous adventure wrong? I feel like I’m on vacation.”

  Theo laughed and agreed, then he called dibs on the biggest bedroom.

  The garage had two snow machines inside and as long as we filled them with gas again before we left, we were allowed to use them. The property backed onto the national park and we’d be able to get to the crater in about an hour and a half, using the ski trails.

  We asked the hotel clerk last night if he knew of any houses to rent for the next month and he directed us to his cousin, who was a local real estate agent. The house was on the market but there were unlikely to be any buyers in the winter, so the owner was willing to rent it to us in the meantime. It was so easy it felt like fate.

  Now we were on our way back to Zlatoust from Chelyabinsk. The hotel where we stayed our first night had called my cell and said our crate arrived. We picked it up and now I was driving and Theo was on the phone with Julian. I heard a lot of “uh huhs” and “okays.”

  When he hung up, he updated me. “Julian’s got the journals. He’s going to email us digital copies and we’re going to split them four ways to read through them as quickly as possible.”

  “Four ways?” I asked.

  “Yeah, four. He found Irene’s great grandson too, and he’s going to help us.”

  I held my questions and let Theo tell me the whole story.

  “That’s messed up,” I said at the end. “He knew all about us and we had no idea he existed? There has to be some resentment there.”

  “I guess we’ll see. Julian likes him.”

  “Julian likes everyone,” I said in an undertone. I was suspicious of this new guy’s motives.

  Theo shrugged philosophically. “If we don’t like him when he gets here, we’ll deal with it. But I’m not going to lie; the possibility of bringing firearms into this fight is making me appreciate him already. They’re already on their way anyway. They flew out of Paris last night and they’re about to catch their connection to Chelyabinsk.”

  “What?” I grumbled some more. “They get to skip the 35-hour train ride? What gives?”

  Theo shrugged.

  “What do you need for the circle tonight?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “Just some candles. I could use flashlights in a pinch but candles are better for my focus.”

  “Let’s make a grocery list then,” I said. “We can stop at the market in Zlatoust after we get the crate into the garage at the house. I’m telling you right now though, I’m not going to be the only one cooking and cleaning.”

  We bickered back and forth for the rest of the drive, making lists and arguing about jobs. I knew Julian was a terrible cook, but Theo had some skills. Maybe Theo and I could take turns in the kitchen and let Julian do all the clean-up. We could put the new guy on toilet-scrubbing duty.

  THAT night, we snuck back to the crater in the mountains. It had been easy enough to find the right trail and then do the snowshoe trek from where we left the snow machines. There were no new hoofprints, but it was very dark outside the beam of the sleds’ headlights and then our flashlights, so that wasn’t necessarily useful information.

  I wore my saber and carried my flashlight in my left hand, ready to pull the sword in an instant. Theo had the sovnya and a backpack with the candles and some extra flashlight batteries.

  “I,” I told Theo as we crunched along in the snow, “do not like doing this at night. I feel ve
ry vulnerable. Anything could be watching us blunder along. Our flashlights are like beacons.”

  “I know,” Theo answered. “But my Sight isn’t warning me of anything tonight, so I think we’re okay.”

  That reassurance helped a little. Still, I kept my right hand on the hilt of my sword. I also spent a few minutes trying to decide if it would be better to fight while wearing snowshoes or whether I should take them off. They would seriously hamper my footwork, but more or less than staggering through snow up to my knees if I took them off? If I chose to remove them, how long would it take? Probably I would still be fiddling with the straps while a monster tried to eat my face. Maybe it was better to just keep them on? I shared my circular thoughts with Theo and his opinion was I should just keep the snowshoes on. Easy for him to say, he was carrying a spear.

  “Next time, we need to bring the crossbows,” I finally concluded.

  When we got to the clearing, Theo set up the candles at the four compass points and I lit them with my spark. I watched from the edge of the crater while he sat down in the snow in the center of the circle and closed his eyes. I turned off my flashlight and waited and fidgeted and waited some more.

  Finally, Theo opened his eyes and waved me over. I stood next to him as he walked me through it.

  “The meteor struck in the center of the crater, obviously, and created a huge blast of debris, smoke, and water vapor. It took a few minutes before I could see again, even speeding up the time, and then there were at least 20 besy in the clearing, all different kinds. Some looked like they were wearing armor. I definitely saw a handful of todorats. They all seemed very confused.

  “There was one bes that stood out – he was very tall, with long horns, wearing armor, and he had a sword. He organized the rest and they followed him out of the clearing in that direction,” Theo pointed north.