Verena's Whistle: Varangian Descendants Book I

ice of a frozen lake, with throngs of people around, was particularly compelling.
Grandpa Basil muted it and pointed at the couch across from where they were sitting. “Verena and Theo, good. This is what we know so far,” he started. “The meteor ended up in at least three pieces. One fragment exploded in the air over Chelyabinsk, so we don’t think that a portal, if one was created, would be accessible to anyone in the other world. Uncle Alex doesn’t recall any flying besy.”
Uncle Alex took over. “The second fragment impacted the lake in the video just now. That site will have to be examined as I definitely remember some creatures that lived in or near the water.”
“What about the third site?” Theo asked.
“We don’t know yet,” Uncle Alex answered. “It doesn’t look like they’ve found the third crater yet. We’re thinking you should base yourselves out of Chelyabinsk at first, since it’s the biggest city in the area, but after you pick up some necessities, you’re probably going to want to move closer to the sites.”
I agreed, thinking about the supplies we’d need to tramp around the Russian countryside in February. Plus, we would need weapons, just in case. The idea that the meteor impact opened portals and monsters followed through was still unbelievable to me, but we needed to be prepared. Uncle Alex’s intuition was trustworthy.
Theo took over with some questions about our travel itinerary and I zoned out, making packings lists in my head, until Theo poked me hard in the side and gave me an expectant look.
I gave him a blank look back and he asked again, “Did you want to tell them about the bear, Very?”
I quickly went through what happened with the dog and then the black bear, with Theo interjecting here and there to add his perspective. When we were done, Grandpa Basil looked as perplexed as I felt and Uncle Alex beamed.
“A Nightingale! How wonderful! I remember stories of nightingale magic. It’s a rare power that doesn’t pass along genetic lines, and I don’t remember ever meeting one.”
“So how do I learn how to use it?” I asked.
Uncle Alex frowned. “I’m not sure, actually. Like I said, it’s pretty rare. Let me think about it for a bit, see if there’s anything buried deep.” He tapped his forehead, stood up, and started to wander toward the kitchen.
“Very’s been using it subconsciously. I bet that now that she’s aware of it, she’ll be able to direct it,” Theo pointed out and stood too.
“That’s a valid idea,” Uncle Alex agreed. “What if….” I stopped listening as they stepped into the kitchen and disappeared from sight.
I turned and smiled at Grandpa Basil. “While they figure that out, I’m going to spend some time in the basement. At least down there I know what I’m doing.”
AN hour later, I was soaked with sweat and feeling much more in control of my life. I’d started with some stretching, then the weight machines, and finally a long run on the treadmill. Now I was nice and loose. Julian had come down after a little while, but he was still in the weight area. Julian’s magic was strength-based; he could bench press a car if he wanted to show off.
Great Grandma Joanna installed the gym and training area ages ago when she was still young enough to use it. Separated by a cinderblock half-wall, one side was full of weight machines and a couple of treadmills, and the other side had mats, punching bags, and a weapons rack full of practice swords. The barn behind the chicken coop was where we practiced with projectiles, like the bow and arrow, crossbow, and for those that had the skill, magical energy bolts.
I picked up my favorite practice sword, a spatha. It was around 30 inches long, which was a good length for my height but still maneuverable. I’m tall but my height is in my legs, so I like bladed weapons that give me a long reach. Swinging the wooden sword, I loosened my wrist and then did some lunges with forward thrusts. Smoothly, I stepped into the rhythm of a basic kenjutsu kata. My sword felt comfortable in my hand and my muscles moved effortlessly. I added complexity to the kata and closed my eyes, losing myself in the rhythm.
I’d been practicing with swords since I was little but for the past few years, once I accepted that I hadn’t inherited any of the family’s offensive magic, I’d really focused on it.
Someone stepped into the space to the right of me and I reflexively spun away and opened my eyes. Julian was there with a heavy gladius and raised eyebrows. I nodded and we began to spar.
Julian preferred heavier swords because of his strength; the lighter ones were prone to break on him. The advantage in the heavier weapon was that, if he struck me, I would be out of the fight immediately. However, he sacrificed speed and I was already the faster fighter. The last time we sparred he’d beaten me with a combination that lulled me into a strike that he’d anticipated and parried, allowing him to knock my sword away, and I’d yielded. This time, I would not make the same mistake.
Julian had a few inches on me, so I needed to respect his reach. The trick was to engage from a distance, dance around, and tire him out, then attack with rapid slashes, striking at both sides of his body, forcing him to swing that heavy sword back and forth to parry. Then, when he slowed down, attack in earnest.
We began and the sounds of the wooden swords clashing and scraping filled the basement space. We moved back and forth and around, testing with feints and short slashes. Julian began a combination that I knew would end with a head strike; when it came, I ducked under it instead of parrying and pivoted away; Julian smirked at me.
A few moments later when he tried another strike,