Verena's Whistle: Varangian Descendants Book I

nodded and turned the sled in the direction he pointed. Our progress was slow, weaving in and around downed trees as we tried to avoid tangling ourselves in the snowy underbrush. Finally, Theo tapped my shoulder again and I shut off the machine.
We snagged our backpacks and snowshoes, also rented from the hotel, and started tramping east. I didn’t see any other tracks in the new snow. After about half a mile, we did see tracks. They looked like horse hoofprints, at least three sets of them.
For some reason, I lowered my voice to a whisper and asked Theo, “Did Zasha say anything about using horses to reach the crater?”
“No,” Theo answered. “But these could be from park rangers, or some kind of mounted police force.”
“Yeah, but they’re unshod, see?”
We followed the hoofprints for a little while, but didn’t see any horses. The prints veered off to the north eventually, and we stayed on our eastern track until I started to hear voices and machine noises through the trees. I poked Theo and he waved his hand low to the ground. We crept closer until we could see the edge of a clearing.
The clearing was full of people, sifting snow and carrying metal detectors. The very center of the crater was clear of debris and then spreading outward were broken branches, fallen trees, and mounded snow. The snow was brown and churned up and walled around the center of the clearing like a bowl.
I closed my eyes and tried to find my second sight, however, unlike the lake, I couldn’t sense anything magical nearby. We were too far from the crater, maybe. I looked at Theo and his face looked pinched in concentration. He turned around in a circle a few times and then focused back the way we came for a few moments. He opened his eyes finally and whispered, “There is too much activity happening at the crater. I can’t tell for sure, but I’m pretty sure that I’m getting the imprint of a group of besy. They were at the crater, then walked into the woods. I don’t know where they are now. I don’t know what they look like.”
“The hoofprints?” I asked.
“Maybe,” he answered.
We watched the work in the crater for a few more minutes and then suddenly, a voice spoke behind us.
We turned a saw a man in a police uniform. He spoke again and Theo answered in English, “Sorry, we don’t speak Russian.”
The officer switched to English and said, “No unauthorized visitors at this time. Please return to your vehicle and leave the area.”
“Sure,” I answered easily and we got to our feet. The officer watched us suspiciously as we tramped back the way we came. Once he was out of sight, we stopped. We had maybe another hour of daylight in the day. The crew at the crater would likely stop when it got dark, but the hotel expected us to return the snow machine when the sun went down, so we couldn’t linger and try to sneak back.
“I think our best bet is to wait until the scientists leave the site,” I told Theo. “I don’t think we can get up here in the dark tonight without a snow machine.” Theo nodded.
“Tomorrow maybe,” I thought out loud, “we can find some kind of rental house that comes with snow machines, like a vacation rental.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” said Theo. “The scientists will be here at least a few more days and I’d really like to get a better idea of the number and kind of besy that came through. If we could get up here tomorrow night, I could do a circle in the center of the crater. I might be able to See the magical echo of the impact.”
We started walking again back to the snow machine. When we reached the part of our trail where it intersected the hoofprints, we paused again. I dug carefully down around one print and pointed out its depth to Theo. These were very heavy horses. I pulled out my phone and took a picture.
Back at the snow machine, we stowed our snowshoes and headed down the mountain. I was feeling cold now under my winter gear and I was anxious to get back to the hotel. It had a beautiful, old wooden bar with local brews and spirits, plus a large open hearth fireplace and unlimited Wi-Fi. Heaven.

Chapter 10
Julian paced back and forth in his hotel room, rehashing what he learned from the priest the day before. There was no way around it, Irene had kept secrets from the rest of the family. The question was, why? Or maybe that wasn’t even the question. Maybe the question was, what information did this grandson have that Julian’s family didn’t? And was that hypothetical information relevant to the crisis at hand? Julian ran his hands through his hair and then decided he’d waited long enough to call Alaska.
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