Verena's Whistle: Varangian Descendants Book I

flight directly there but they were all sold out, probably due to a combination of meteor-curious people and official scientific investigators flooding the region.
When we finally boarded, I was too antsy to sleep again, so I ordered a glass of wine and cracked open Theo’s book about the Robber Nightingale. In it, the monster had a combination of human and bird-like features, was able to fly, and lived in a nest in a forest. It had a human family too. It would sit in a tree and stun travelers with its powerful whistle and then rob them while they were passed out.
The monster was pretty formidable. When it whistled, the wind blew and the trees bent. Later in the story, it destroyed a palace with its whistling song.
I thought about the story and started making a list of questions I needed to figure out. First, was it only a whistle that had power or was it other noises too. What if I hummed? In the story the Nightingale whistled, roared like a lion, and hissed like a serpent.
Second, how far was my reach? How close did I need to be to someone, or something, for the whistle to affect them?
Third, and most important, how did I do it?
Theo leaned over my shoulder to see my list. He took my phone and added one more question: Could I direct it only at certain people or creatures in my vicinity or would it strike everyone, friend or foe?
With that depressing question circling my head, I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep again, but the hum of the airplane engines, the glass of wine, and the hiss of the air vent above my head soon had my eyes drooping.
In my dream, I was watching the bauk army in the snowy valley again, but this time I was the one standing in front of the charging creatures. The winter sun was warm on my head and I could hear the snow crunching under the stampede. I held my sword in my right hand and I felt the weight of a knife strapped to my thigh. My hands were steady. As the ogres ran toward me, I could see their yellow eyes. They swung their arms low, using one arm or the other to push off the ground for a burst of speed. Some had light-colored fur, but most were a dark brown. As they approached, I could see that some of their curving horns were capped in iron. Behind them, a jet of fire pulsed.
A figure stood to my right, waiting for the signal. I whistled.
I woke up when we started our descent into Moscow and I poked Theo. “I can’t take much more of this. How long is our train ride?”
He nodded and scrubbed his hands through his hair. It stood straight on end. “I know. I need to go for a run or something. I feel stiff like an old man.” He pulled up the itinerary on his phone. He groaned. “It’s 34 hours.”
I groaned too. “How is that possible? How long do we have until we board?”
He looked at his phone again. “It’s 2pm now. We board in five hours.”
“Do you have any running stuff in your suitcase? You know it’s only in the mid-20s outside.”
“Yeah, I’ve got the stuff I need.”
“Okay, then let’s do this. Let’s go to the train station and lock up our bags. You can change there and go for a run. I’m going to find a grocery store and buy snacks and water for the train. We can find a dinner spot when we drop our bags and meet there about an hour before we board.”
“I like it; let’s do it.”
THE Moscow Kursky railway station was open and cold. The vaulted ceiling had huge, round chandeliers with Soviet red stars and floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the late afternoon sun. Amid the snaking lines of commuters, I waved goodbye to Theo as he jogged away down the sidewalk.
I found a grocery store about a block away and filled a reusable bag with bottles of water, apples, bananas, mixed nuts, and some delicious-looking cookies. I texted my dad to check in and let him know we were on schedule.
I was losing track of my days with all of the travel and time changes. My phone said it was Sunday, February 17, which meant the meteor had fallen two and a half days ago. We were still a day and a half from Chelyabinsk. By the time we were actually on our way to check the first site, it would be four days after impact. If some creatures did get through the portal, or portals, they had a very significant head start. However, there was nothing in the news about any mysterious deaths or disappearances, which made me more inclined to think we were on a wild goose chase.
I met Theo back at the station and we ate our first Russian meal. I ordered a pasta with a white fish and Theo ordered a steak. The food was okay, considering we were in a railroad station, but the two local beers we tried more than made up for the boring meal.
“Too bad we can’t explore the city at all,” I said to Theo as we waited for the bill. “Our first time in Russia and we’re in such a hurry; I feel guilty when I see something scenic, like I should only be focused on what we’re doing here.”
Theo agreed. “Yeah, but hopefully we’ll have more downtime once we get to Chelyabinsk. We’ll check the sites, find nothing, and be back at the hotel for happy hour with a local vodka sampler.”

Chapter 7
Julian landed in Paris in the early afternoon and went straight to his hotel room to drop his bags. He snagged his hat and gloves and a copy of the last letter Uncle Alex received from Irene. He had read it several times over the past few hours and had some ideas on