Verena's Whistle: Varangian Descendants Book I by K. Panikian (essential reading txt) 📗

was hot. Quite hot. I started to smell burning nylon. With a shrill command, I sent the ball back to the center of the fire pit and the coals exploded in a flash of cinders and smoke. I fell backward out of my chair.

Owen was there in an instant, dragging me back further. We sat in the snow and stared at the still-smoking fire pit; the flames were totally out.

I cleared my throat. “That was really interesting.”

“Yes,” Owen answered. “The conclusion was especially exciting.”

It started to flurry and we went inside.

Chapter 15

In the morning there was a text from my dad when I woke up: “Call home. Uncle Alex wants to talk to you.” I brushed my teeth and then climbed back into bed and called the farmhouse.

Mom answered and I told her about the chalet and Owen’s meal last night. She passed the phone to my dad next and he wanted to hear about the snow machines we were using. Finally, Uncle Alex was on the line.

“Your dad’s going to email this to you too, but I wanted to talk to you first. All of us here spent the whole day skimming the journals for Greek fire references. There are three, all referring to battles on the other side of the portal when Irene was young.

“I also scoured my memory and I do recall we had a unit of magic users whose sole job was to both create and deploy Greek fire against the besy in battle. They guarded the secret of how to create it closely; it was so destructive, our leaders didn’t want anyone experimenting with it, or using it for nonmilitary purposes.

“The recipe is not in Irene’s journals, if that is what you’re looking for. I don’t remember her ever speaking of it.”

I thanked Uncle Alex and hung up, thinking. The idea churning in my head involved barricading the cave with the besy inside and then launching some kind of incendiary substance, such as Greek fire, into it. But if we couldn’t make Greek fire, maybe we could make something similar? Or what about napalm? Can you buy napalm? Probably not. What about a bazooka?

I got dressed in running clothes, plus a hat and my singed gloves, and went out the front door. It felt like it was in the upper 20s outside and the sky was clear. The sun was just starting to come up and I headed in the direction of the city center. Last night’s inch of new snow covered the sidewalk with a slippery layer, but the road was clear. I found my rhythm, pounding along, and continued thinking about explosive devices.

Zlatoust was a really hilly city; the vibe reminded me of a ski town. There were beautiful glimpses of snow-covered peaks; cute little shops and cafés, and a tramway running up and down the streets.

By the time I returned to the chalet, I had a couple of different ideas to run by the guys. I stretched in the entry room and then walked back to my bedroom for my shower stuff. Under the steam, I stretched my hands to the water pouring from the showerhead, but I felt no spark of power. The water felt flat and lifeless as it sprinkled down. I turned to my shampoo bottle and tried to call it to me with a quiet whistle. Nothing happened. I shrugged and picked it up.

By the time I made it back into the kitchen, Theo was up and pouring a bowl of cereal. I poured my own and told him about the fire experiment from the night before. He was very interested and wanted me to show him right there. I felt cautious though, after the exciting conclusion last night, so I told him we needed to go outside first.

We stepped out onto the deck and I walked to the railing. I held out my hand and snapped my fingers, making my spark. As it came to life, the gold core blazing, I whistled. The spark grew into a small sphere and as I trilled to it, it danced. I cut off my whistle and the spark vanished.

I turned to Theo, “Last night the ball was much bigger. I think I can only control flames that are already in existence. I can’t make the fire bigger; I can only direct it.”

“That’s seriously cool, Very,” Theo said. “What about other stuff?”

“I played around a little with water and a bottle of shampoo, but nothing happened. I couldn’t feel a gold spark in them so I had nothing to control.”

“Gold spark?”

“When I whistle, I feel a gold spark, like a spirit. That’s what I command. But the stuff I tried this morning didn’t have a soul, I guess.”

“The shampoo bottle I get. But why no spark in the water?” Theo mused. “If the whistle commands the elements, like fire, then it should work on water too.”

“Maybe it doesn’t command the elements,” I countered. “Maybe it only works on fire.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you need to try a different kind of water. Not something out of a tap.”

“And,” I added, “I can’t feel anything in the air either, or in the earth.”

“I’m withholding judgment,” Theo answered. “We need to do more experiments.”

We went back into the kitchen and I started the kettle for tea. Julian wandered in and headed for the cereal still on the counter.

“So, the beard thing is definitely happening?” I asked him, eyeing the serious scruff growing on his face.

“Yep,” he answered.

“I like it,” Theo interjected. “Makes you look older.”

“Older,” Julian said, worried. “Like I look old? I’m only 30!”

“Not old,” I soothed. “Older as in handsome. Like it hides your baby face.”

“Baby face!?!”

Theo started laughing. I examined the scruff again. It was coming in darker than the blond hair on his head. He looked a little like a mountain man; the California surfer dude was gone. I should get him a flannel shirt, I decided.

I made tea and listened with half an ear while the two men