The Curse of The Ancients. Quintarra

A.A. KRUTOGOLÓVA

The Curse of The Ancients. Quintarra

Disclamer

This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, brands, media, incidents, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental. Quotes & references listed at end. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means; electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the copyright owner and publisher.

Prolepsis

Death for the sake of innocent lives sounds heroic — people will sing legends about you; generations will remember your name…

But what if you were destined to die by your own hand?

What then?

I guess I'll be the one to learn it the hard way…

Animal terror buckled my exhausted legs.

That's good. Means I'm still alive…

Whatever was in front of me, it smelled no better than the stinky breath of a dead Xurus, blowing mucous bubbles that popped right on the surface — a surface that reflected absolutely nothing.

"Forget everything you are in your own world. Let the shadows take over you…" Riker leaned toward me, so close I could feel his agitated heart beating.

"I… I can't…" I whispered with the last of my strength, sitting on the cold stone floor of the cave.

As if sensing the truth of my words, the murky surface responded with an echo, sending ripples across the viscous lake that so longed to swallow us whole.

"You have to. You need to do this! Before you kill yourself…" The dark mage carefully tried to push me toward the inevitable.

Is that a tremor I heard in his voice?

Empathy… The last time I'd encountered it was when I got hit by a car many years ago, not to mention that the Loreons were generally strangers to such things.

Or was it his own special trait?

The human world… I had my own issues with it, but right now I would’ve gladly brewed myself a cup of aromatic berry tea, wrapped myself in my favorite blanket, and greedily continued watching that stupid series Orin had recommended to me, while stroking Silas with my other hand.

I wonder if he still remembered me?

They say cats remember those they love…

A sudden sharp pain pierced beneath my ribs, shooting straight into my rotting knee, as if a part of me was agonizingly and slowly dying, crying out for help. Though, that’s exactly what it was…

I didn't know which one or where, or under what circumstances, but soon there would be one Alora less in the universe. And I was the only one to blame.

I needed to hurry…

Chapter 1

"Deep breath in… And exhale… Ahhh…" a young woman in a pink tank top and purple leggings said in an instructing voice, smoothly flowing from pose to pose to a melodic mantra. The chaotically gathered chocolate bun on top of her head trembled slightly in tune with her words. "And again!"

A loud sound echoed through the studio, spreading across the room like a stinking, tear-inducing time bomb.

"Oh god…" I muttered, wrinkling my nose at the smell of rotten eggs.

I cracked my right eye open and looked around. It seemed that out of everyone here, I was the only one embarrassed by this incident.

Probably that’s exactly how it was.

"It’s only natural!" Orin's words bubbled somewhere at the back of my head. Which would have been fine, except my dear friend forgot to mention that we'd have to sit in this studio for nearly two hours, listening to and bathing in the aroma of complete strangers I hoped to see once and never again.

Why did I even let her drag me here?! Me and yoga.

Yeah, right…

"And now let's return to the starting position. Bring your hands to your chest and thank yourselves for the work you've done!" Our instructor twisted nimbly, flowing from downward-facing dog into a blooming lotus position. She smiled broadly and surveyed her students.

Inga, if I remembered her name correctly, was… peculiar. More than peculiar. Having traveled through half of Asia, she knew from experience how to reach the rainbow, which herbs to mix to heal yourself without paying an arm and a leg for medicine, and what it truly meant to be spaced out.

Though, looking at it from another angle, sitting here among all the colorful outfits and mats with mandala patterns, it was me who looked like a black sheep. Literally.

Total black had always been my motto when it came to clothes — except for that transitional period around thirteen, when I got struck by a sudden obsession with that piggy color, and everything around me absolutely had to be that shade.

Not just soft or girly — pink.

And so, after choking down that neon, unicorn jelly, I entered my teenage years the way any self-respecting teenager should — in total black. I liked it so much that a good chunk of my wardrobe stayed loyal to it all the way up to my twenty-seven.

Quite a number, that’s for sure… But even worse are the phrases thrown at me constantly, ever since my age rolled past the second decade. I mostly hear them from my relatives. It's always the same: husband, kids, stable job, mortgage… The only things that change are their expressions and the tone, which gets more and more condescending toward my misery with every passing year no matter my hard attempts to explain the complexities of the modern world, that it's often better to be alone than with just anyone, and that inheritance and legacy are two very different things.

And still, every dog has its day. Theirs came when, by some lucky coincidence, I met a cute guy at a café, which later became my other problem, because now, almost a year and a half into this relationship, I still couldn't get my act together and break up with him.

How do you even start conversations like that? What do I say?

"THE END!" someone's cheerful voice snapped me out of my spiral of thoughts.

Better that way. Sometimes I really need that…

I turned around and saw Orin's flushed face. Her gray-blue eyes looked at me with a spark of anticipation.

"Weeell?" she drew out.

I hesitated for a moment, scratching the back of my head.

"Could've been worse?"

"I'll take that!" My friend accepted my blunt feedback on the class. Unlike me, she'd clearly enjoyed it to the fullest. "Let's go. I need to rinse it all off and get some fresh air!"

I couldn't help but smile.

Orin was a regular at events like this: working with chakras, seeing with all three eyes, and breathing through every possible — and impossible — place to unlock the flows of material and spiritual wealth.

Has she become immensely rich and successful like she'd wanted? Unfortunately, no. But her flexibility was to die for! Not to mention all the stories she got herself into while meeting with her little hobby clubs. One of such forced me to bail her out of a holding cell way past midnight, where she'd ended up after finding herself in the same company as a zonked weed dealer. A lucky coincidence.

But that's a story for another time.

Right now, all I cared about was that overwhelming urge to take a warm shower, change into something baggier, and get home as fast as possible, where I’d be met by our spoiled, ginger cat Silas and the leftovers of a luxurious New York cheesecake, which I'd grabbed from the café after my shift.

As for Owen… I didn't really want to think about him.

"What are you going to tell him?" Orin asked, as if reading my thoughts, holding the door wide open for me.

Lost in my worries, I hadn't even noticed how we'd left the mirrored studio, rushed through the showers, changed into our everyday clothes, and were now shuffling down the chilly streets of Brooklyn.

Without asking anyone's permission, autumn was slowly creeping up to every doorstep.

"Almost two years of complete confusion, constant moving, tears and fights… I don't even know what there is to say…" I shrugged. "I guess… that I've had enough."

My friend nodded quietly and firmly. She knew my situation better than anyone else. Even my parents were aware only of a small part of what was going on inside me.

Though, given how long we'd been together, they were probably already milking thoughts of a soon-to-be wedding and grandchildren.

Meanwhile, I was eagerly waiting for my moment of freedom…

"It's about time!" Orin's reddish-blonde curls bounced along with her. "I told you those kinds of relationships never lead anywhere good! But I guess you had to figure it out yourself. And thank heavens you did, because otherwise I would've had to step in. And if I was the one handling it — I'd definitely be in jail! Again…"

Chattering away, she stepped right into a shallow puddle in pure frustration.

"These damn men… Such a waste of time!" my friend kept grumbling, shaking her wet shoe. "Where are all those fictional hero-lovers ready to lay the whole world at your feet?!"

"You read too many romance novels before bed!" I laughed at her dreaminess.

Orin waved me off.

I wouldn't call my friend naive — not at all. But Orin was clearly the one-man type, waiting for her own happily-ever-after, which, as it turned out, takes a very, very long time to arrive… Still, it happens differently for everyone. As for now, we were the brightest example of old maids and the secret nightmare of our parents, who were eagerly waiting for us to join the ranks of happy mommies.

I've got nothing against kids and family. But when you have a clear understanding of what a huge responsibility it is, arguments like "But who’s gonna take care of you when you're old?" or "Just give it a try, maybe you'll like it?" sound at best stupid. And selfish.

"At least they add some color to my life!" Orin replied with sarcasm. If I were too suspicious, I'd think that jab was aimed at me. "And also, meditations. Astral flights — whoosh! Now that's an adventure!"

"How zooned out do you have to be to lose it?" I joked, squinting at the sun that had briefly broken through the sky. "From what I've seen, that kind of thing only happens on pills or weed."

I'd never tried either, and clearly wasn't planning to — I always kept the consequences of using psychotropics in mind, having seen them up close with some of my classmates. Still, the thought of taking a break from this hectic world, even if just for a little while, definitely warmed my soul.

"You just haven't learned how yet!"

Orin winked at me slyly, took my arm, and walked me through the front door of a high-rise building.

Our apartment resided in one of those rundown Brooklyn buildings and looked no better inside than it did outside. Though we'd done everything we could to give this two-bedroom unit, roughed up by the previous tenants, at least some feeling of coziness.

When we got to the elevator, we realized that it was under repair yet again, which meant that we’d have to drag ourselves to the sixth floor up the grimy, spit-stained stairwell — a little cardio that was absolutely not a part of our plan…

Frustrated, I punched the closed metal doors.

"I'd really like to get out of this shithole someday…" I muttered, already panting like a chain smoker by the fourth flight of stairs.

"We need to think positive!" Orin tried to cheer me up, though her face, pale from anemia, was telling a completely different story. "Everyone starts somewhere, right?"

"And we chose this dump as our starting point? Pfft!" I snorted.

To be fair, our apartment was far from the worst. Before this, we'd lived in an old grandma's unit with three other people — a young couple and some guy who was just as lost in life as we were. And that place still gives us shivers to this day: cigarette butts on the windowsills, a constant line to the bathroom, bedbugs that eventually drove my friend to sleep on the kitchen table… Hell, we even got robbed there!

Noticing my grimace of disgust, Orin probably remembered the same thing.

"At least now we know whose hair, or furball, is floating in the soup, and who snarfed down my last chocolate bar!" She emphasized that part with a lecturing tone.

I rolled my eyes in response.

"You know perfectly well I try to avoid store-bought stuff! Have you ever read the ingredients?! It's a nightmare!" My friend kept gaining steam, battling both hunger-induced aggression and exhaustion at the same time.

"I'll buy you one, chill!" I reminded her of my promise. "At least let me get home first."

Leaving Orin to chatter somewhere in the background, I started looking for the apartment keys. A pitiful meow came from behind the swamp-green door. We were clearly expected.

"Who’s a good boy?" Orin cooed in a childish voice, squatting down in front of Silas, who was already puffing up with joy the moment we stepped over the threshold. "I need to take off my shoes, wash my hands, and then I'll pet you, alright? Just wait a little…"

She quickly kicked off her dirty boots, which were immediately sniffed from all sides, and ran to the bathroom.

Like a loyal dog, Silas followed his mama.

"OH NO! WHY NOW?!" Orin exclaimed, waving a wet waffle towel around. The sound of claws in the litter box cut through her outrage. "WHAT WERE YOU DOING ALL DAY?!"

"He's a neat-freak, remember? And the human slaves will clean it all up right away!" I joked, wrinkling my nose at the smell of feces that had spread through the apartment faster than the aroma of a freshly baked bread.

As if confirming my words, Silas darted out of the bathroom, tracking soggy litter down the hallway, and raced into the kitchen with loud demands, waiting for his dinner.

"Your turn!" Orin nodded toward the litter box, shaking the last drops of water from her hands straight onto the floor.

We spent most of the evening in silence — either from exhaustion, or because for the first time in our lives we'd actually managed to discuss everything that was on our minds that day. Though personally, I'm leaning toward the first option.

"So, what exactly do you have to do?" I asked, sitting cross-legged on our shabby leather couch. Orin seemed confused. "I mean meditation. The astral plane and all that stuff…"

"Ahhh!" she drew out.

Suddenly, Orin's face lit up with superiority. She pressed her already thin lips together and squinted at me slyly.

"But you don't believe in any of this?!" My friend threw my own words back at me.

I shrugged thoughtfully, a little embarrassed.

"Why not give it a try? Since you somehow managed to drag me to yoga! I mean… I can't say I was thrilled… But! It was interesting."

Orin's almond-shaped eyes grew even narrower.

"I knew you'd come around!" She beamed.

Jumping up from the floor, my friend rushed to her room, reappearing a second later with a yoga mat in her hands and a large metal bowl tucked under her arm. My eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I just wanted to…" I started, but Orin quickly cut me off, covering my mouth with her palm.

"Shh-h-h! Lie down. We'll start with breathing exercises…"

I don't know what came over her, but it seemed that my crazily-enlightened friend had been preparing for this moment her entire life! After showing me a few breathing exercises, she hovered over me with those bowls like some kind of shaman, trying to lull me into a trance. In the end, she even sent me a couple of pretty useful meditation files.

"Listen to them before bed to relax. And you can also do the exercises we did before the regression. They'll help you open up to your emotions and feel your body better," Orin instructed me.

I nodded politely.

Regression therapy was probably one of the most far-out things we'd ever done! I still remember lying on the couch with my eyes closed, trying to visualize an apple, sense its taste and color… How they made me sink into the happiest and the heaviest memories from my childhood just to answer one single question — why am I here? And how desperately Silas yowled, running in circles, which, as the therapist explained, was normal because animals see and feel more than humans do.

But what puzzled me the most were the sensations that accompanied me the whole way, the images that surfaced before my eyes like snippets from a past life, and the incredibly pleasant weightlessness after the session. Whether it was real or just a fabrication of my brain — I still can't figure it out. But those beautiful, fluffy clouds and that atmosphere of complete serenity haunted me like ghosts of missed opportunities that I just couldn't seem to reach again…

And even following Orin's advice, that evening was no exception.

Chapter 2

The next day, I felt like an absolute trainwreck.

"Rough night, huh?" Orin asked, noticing me leaning on the soiled cash register.

I took a deep breath in response.

We didn’t see each other in the morning — her shift had started before dawn, and by five o'clock she was already flitting between tables, serving coffee to all the hardworking early birds of the city.

Or to those who, just like me, were suffering from insomnia.

"I had the craziest dream…" I mumbled, trying to recall the whole mess my brain had cooked up. "I was chasing people and killing them. And then it turned out some of them were me… I kept teleporting through space. It was so strange… I feel like I'd been hit by a truck."

Orin listened carefully to my incoherent rambling, unintentionally ignoring a customer who had his hand raised, waiting for his check.

I shot him a tired glance.

Working at the café drained every bit of energy out of me — mostly because the duties didn't match the paycheck at all, not to mention the stupid 60’s uniforms we all had to wear to keep the "authentic" vibe. A short red dress with a white apron and bright lipstick made me look vulgar and at least ten years older, and attracted way too much unwanted attention to my already skittish persona.

I gave a barely noticeable nod toward the old man.

"He's waiting for you…"

Orin studied my haggard face — a mirror of her own — took a deep breath, carefully smoothed her uniform, plastered on an obliging service smile, and headed over to him. Mr. Jones was one of our regulars, so I figured he wouldn't take it personally.

I snorted under my breath.

Our café was pretty cozy but felt completely stuck in time. Maybe that's why so many old folks came here — to reminisce about the good-old days of their long-gone youth. Our manager, Amanda, always made sure the tables were spotless and that every customer was greeted with a wide smile, which often left our cheeks aching after a long shift.

But still, it gave us enough money to stay afloat, covering rent, food, and little trinkets for Silas, who couldn't care less about any of it. And every workday started with us convincing ourselves to hold on just a little longer, suppressing the nagging urge to let it all go to hell and start selling feet pics if not for the nagging disgust from the very first message in the "hey baby" style — the nauseatingly sweet tone coming right through the screen, punctuation optional — that made us want to throw our phones off the nearest rooftop and jump right after it.

And that's exactly how Owen decided to start our conversation today.

"I'm at work" I texted back, having absolutely zero desire to deal with his tantrums and accusations.

"You never have time for me!" Flashed on the locked screen. A few seconds later, the message disappeared.

I rolled my eyes and tucked my phone deeper into my pocket.

"What does he want?" Orin asked, setting her bag down next to me. Her shift had just ended, and without wasting a single precious second, she'd hastily changed clothes and already had one foot out the door, having handed her tables off to another girl.

"If it's not another meltdown, then he's probably feeling lonely, and will either ask me to come over for the night, or he'll want to come to ours," I guessed.

Orin made a face of disgust.

"I hope you're not—"

"OF COURSE NOT!" I cut her off aggressively. "I told you, I'm done with this nonsense. It's time to put an end to it."

My friend pressed her lips together.

"Keep that in mind when you see him…" Orin added quietly, remembering all my previous failed attempts to break up with Owen, every single one of which had ended up in bed. "Have a good shift!"

She gave me a playful wink, grabbed her knitted hippie bag off the table, and walked out the front door, saying goodbye to the other waitresses who'd spent two or even three times less time in this godforsaken place than we had. In a moment, our eyes met through the grimy panoramic window. Orin made a funny gesture with her hands, showing that she was watching me closely.

I smirked back at her.

The moment my friend disappeared from the view, it felt as though all the hell broke loose. Problems came crashing down on my head all at once, and by the end of my shift, I was completely drained.

The cherry on top of that shitberg was Owen's unexpected and utterly ill-timed appearance.

"Heyyy," he drawled like a sheep, appearing behind me a looming shadow. I jumped in fright, nearly dropping my apartment keys.

"What are you doing here?!" I asked, looking him up and down.

Owen usually preferred to wear sportswear, and an ironed shirt with pants were such a rare sight that just seeing them on him told me he had big plans for the evening. The sultry scent of his cologne hit my nose. Leather and tobacco — his signature.

Yeah, he was definitely up to something…

"Waiting for you," Owen replied in a low voice, looking at me with his deep, brown eyes. That was the very same forbidden move that had made me fall for him in the first place.

I knew exactly what he wanted…

Trying not to give in to his masculine charm, and suppressing the sudden surge of raw, animal desire, I pressed on.

"Why?"

"Didn't you miss me?" he asked, surprised.

My heart clenched in my chest.

Part of me truly wanted his company and warmth, cherishing those memories from the first few months when we'd just met. The other part was guided by common sense and the pain of humiliation — the kind I'd felt whenever I needed his support and help, only to get indifference and cutting remarks like "you brought this on yourself" in return. And that second part was a cold, sobering slap in the face.

"Was I supposed to?" I snapped, tugging at the stuck zipper of my bag.

I slung the leather strap over my shoulder and headed toward the intersection to the right. Owen hurried after me.

"You vanished for a week, if not longer! I don't even understand what's going on?! Does this look like a healthy relationship to you?! Or any kind of relationship at all?!"