The Curse of The Ancients. Quintarra

Hearing confident, impatient footsteps on the stone floor, I flinched and turned away, perfectly pretending I hadn't been eavesdropping and didn't care about their conversation whatsoever.

A demanding chill washed over my back, announcing the arrival of some questionable company. The stranger crouched down by the bars, bringing himself to the same level as me.

Sitting sideways, I glanced at the uninvited guest from the corner of my eye.

His gaze was… I completely lost all words to explain that feeling, even to myself.

Cold…

Piercing…

Predatory…

I'd never seen eyes so icy — and I’m not even talking about the color. He stared at me as if not seeing me at all… at least not my physical body. That intensity made me turn fully towards him.

A reverent fear took my breath away. I froze.

Some kind of magic, or worse — but I noticed nothing except those electric-azure eyes in front of me, and the dark mist slowly wrapping around me from behind.

That deadly fog… Was he the one controlling it?

But no… This was something else… Some kind of haze of memories… Like he was trying to read my thoughts… And failing?

"What do you want?" I finally found the strength to ask him through the barrier. My voice sounded muffled, as if I was inside a bubble.

Startled, the mist began to slowly dissipate, revealing a cat-like, satisfied smirk.

"Interesting…" a spark of genuine curiosity lit up those once-cold eyes.

The stomping of heavy footsteps pulled my attention from the stranger to the general, who had finally arrived beside us. Somewhere deep down, I was almost glad to see him.

How much time had passed? If I remembered correctly, he'd run after him immediately, and from my cage to the entrance there were maybe only fifteen feet…

"It's not her." A velvety but stern voice interrupted my calculations.

I looked at the stranger again.

Now he was sitting in front of me — a young guy, a bit older than me. His icy eyes were deep blue and searching, as if I was some puzzle to him, and his short, jet-black hair matched the color of his leather cloak with its high, angular collar — the cloak he'd arrived in.

"Interesting…" he muttered, thoughtfully furrowing his dark brows so deeply that a vertical line formed between them. "We need to take her to the Headquarters."

With that, the stranger confidently rose to his feet, drawing level with the general. He was quite tall — somewhere around 6’2 by eye — athletically build, but noticeably thinner than my overseer, whose face showed complete bewilderment.

"What are you planning?!" he asked, throwing a confused look at me, then at his friend.

Whatever it was, the general clearly didn't like it.

"She'll be useful…" the stranger replied.

Adjusting the collar of his turtleneck to match his cloak, he clapped his friend on the shoulder and headed for the exit. "GUARDS!"

They dragged me out of the cage in the most barbaric way possible!

Grabbing me by the arms, they twisted them behind my back, roughly yanked me to my feet, and hauled me out through the open gate.

"Let me guess, this is a men’s world?" I snarked as I walked past the general. Skeptically raising one eyebrow, he slammed the cage door behind me.

Why the hell they wanted me, nobody knew — including the muscular brute himself. But on his friend's orders — the one who apparently terrified every lower-ranked grunt — I was led up the spiral staircase, through a long gray stone hallway with a bunch of oak doors — each one earning me either a whistle or some curse — and finally outside to a wooden fortress wall. All of this while I was in nothing but a torn t-shirt. Barefoot.

Once outside, I immediately squinted against the sun.

Judging by the blazing heat, I'd been locked up for at least one night — if my timeline from running away from that hungry armadillo-chupacabra thing was right. And now the day was just approaching noon.

They led me to a wagon parked nearby, lowered the wooden tailgate so I could climb in, and sat me down across from the guy my overseer had called Riker. Whether that was a first name, last name, or call sign, I had no idea. The general himself sat to his right.

Sliding the barrier shut, he let out a loud whistle, ordering the driver to move out.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, staring at him.

"You'll see," the general cut me off, smirking as though the whole idea of this trip seemed stupid even to him.

I gave them both a hard glare from under my brows, then shut up and watched the changing scenery behind their backs.

The prison where they'd kept me — not for long, thankfully — was located in a wide sandy quarry straight out of the Nevada desert. I'd been there only once — to a casino where Orin and I had blown a good chunk of our savings on a stupid drunken whim, testing our luck — but I'd seen plenty of pretty pictures that looked just like what was now drifting past my eyes, that were desperately trying to adjust to the bright light. To give this place credit, despite how harsh the climate was, nature was thriving in every way: from small shrubs to massive trees just like the ones that had blown me away when I first got here. Looking around, I officially decided to name this oasis tropical savanna.

"There are plenty of those around here," the general said, noticing my eyes go wide at a horned lizard covered in spikes from nose to the tip of its tail. "They're called 'sand devils'. Won't kill you, but they'll pierce right through you. So, I wouldn't recommend running around barefoot."

I shot a pointed look at my bound hands, reminding the not-so-bright brute how I'd ended up here in the first place. Judging by the thoughtful scowl, for once he agreed with me.

After a moment, the general turned to his friend.

"What are you so dressed up for?" he asked, looking at Riker, bundled up as a spoiled cabbage.

From their conversation, I learned my overseer's name was Zayd.

"This is my best interrogation outfit," Riker said, clearly offended. He sat up straight, proudly lifted his chin, and gestured to his stately appearance. "Inspires fear, doesn't it?"

Zayd smirked. I snorted in the background.

"The only thing inspiring fear right now is that green crap staining your teeth. What did you eat?!" he joked, squinting at his friend's swamp-colored incisors.

Riker looked visibly embarrassed.

"Xira…" he muttered under his breath.

Staring at the wagon floor, the gloomy stranger unsuccessfully — and not so subtly — started scrubbing his teeth with his tongue, occasionally glancing at Zayd, who was making an equally stupid face, demonstrating exactly where he needed to rub.

I took a deep breath and rolled my eyes.

Fear? Give me fucking a break!

"You two gonna kiss or what?" I snapped, fed up with their childishness.

"Dream on!" the general shot back, winking at me.

I frowned at him in disapproval.

After rummaging in his pockets, Zayd pulled out a dark cloth, and covered my mouth before I could say anything else. The nasty taste of the rag hit my tongue. I almost threw up.

"Just to be sure!" he added, tying another one around my eyes. "Some things need to stay secret."

Deprived of half of my senses, I stomped my foot in rebellion.

"We're approaching," Zayd announced.

I'm not great with directions or navigation, but judging by the tilt of my body, we turned left, then right, rode a few more yards, and stopped short.

Losing my balance, I flopped onto my side like a Weeble.

Zayd snorted.

"Do we really need her?!" he faced Riker.

Even though I couldn't see him, I knew he smiled in response.

Zayd hauled me off the wagon like a sack of potatoes and led me to a set of wide steps. There were — to put it mildly — a crap-ton of them for my completely un-athletic body. Riker, for his part, hadn't touched me once since we'd met, keeping his distance as though I was contagious.

With great difficulty, groaning and grunting, I was delivered to the main entrance. The sound of a massive door reached my ears — judging by the fact that neither of my companions moved, it was guarded.

Without wasting a moment, we went inside.

Within a few steps, another staircase awaited us — this time going down. We descended it in seconds and reached a flat surface, where I managed to trip over a wide stone and let out a loud snort, cursing out whoever designed such stupid floors. At that moment, I think Zayd regretted taking the gag off.

After waiting for me to finish venting, our group moved on.

The echo of my stomp was pretty strong, so I figured we were walking through a grand hall with high ceilings — maybe even columns, if my imagination was painting the right picture.

After a while, Zayd lifted me by the arms. I realized another staircase was ahead.

"No wonder y’all have such tight asses!" I muttered, already exhausted just from the first climb.

My sarcastic compliment obviously stroked the general's ego.

We made it up that obstacle too, not without sweat on my eyebrows and under my arms. I mentally labeled these climbs as "Okay", "Could Be Worse", and "A TOTAL FUCKING NIGHTMARE" according to how much effort they took.

At the end of the last one, I finally got a reward worth the trouble.

"I don't think we need this anymore…" Zayd said, leading me to a tall oak door. "You can stay here. Temporarily. Second room on the left."

He took off the blindfold and the chain from my wrists, opened the door, and ushered me inside with uncharacteristic gentleness.

"Couldn't you have done this earlier?" I added, trying to look around like a cat exploring a new apartment.

"Could have," the general agreed with a smirk. "But that’s no fun!"

I barely stopped myself from punching him in his muscular chest — partly because I didn't know what would happen after, and partly because my hand would probably shatter on impact with that wall of steel. Imagining the sad consequences of my temper, I settled for a disapproving glare.

"You can relax. For now," he said, closing the door behind him.

I stood there frozen in confusion for a couple of minutes, staring at the chaotic grain patterns in the massive oak carving, until a knock from the other side snapped me out of it.

"Yeah?" I answered awkwardly, not sure how to react.

Suddenly, the door opened again as three young women rushed into the room. Servants, I figured.

Cliché…

Though they were dressed pretty nicely: light cobalt blouses with puffy, elegant sleeves tucked into long dark-mustard skirts that went down to the floor, cinched with leather belts with carved buckles. Their long wavy hair was adorned with thin gold headbands featuring carved triangles on the sides. They were quite young and very meticulous.

Noticing my interest, one of the girls gave me a polite smile.

"A welcome gift," Zayd explained from the other side of the door. Maybe he'd never left at all — just stood there silently, looming over my confused soul.

I barely had time to turn around before a folding screen was set up against the wall to the right, just past the entrance, hiding a pinewood bathtub made of wide planks. Meanwhile, on a small table to my left, the smell of something like herbal tea and warm omelet began to drift through the air. The scent immediately made my head spin, reminding me that I hadn't eaten in almost two days.

"Thank you," I said with a grateful nod, watching the servants scurry away.

A slight smirk curled the general's lips. He closed the door again — this time for good — leaving me alone with my unmet needs.

Chapter 8

That warm bath came at the perfect time. After everything I'd been through, I gladly dunked my head under, trying to wash off all the physical and mental grime. Over the past day, I'd already had enough adventures for my scratched-up ass — rising from rags to riches, literally speaking, and all thanks to Riker's insistence, whatever he saw in me…

I dove under again and lay at the very bottom.

Like a horror movie flashback, Riker's blue eyes appeared in my mind, then shifted to black smoke as a sudden cut in a film. Then, I saw him on his knees. That all-too-familiar tentacle was holding him by the throat, just like those soldiers by the forest, tightening its deadly grip as a snake coiling around its prey.

A crack of bones echoed in my ears…

I shot back up in pure terror, gasping for air as if my own neck had just snapped. Maybe it was just my nerves, but out of the corner of my eye — for a split second — I could've sworn I saw something dark slip through the crack in the doorway.

I scrambled out of the tub in a hurry, splashing water everywhere.

My late breakfast was already half-cold by the time I finally got to it, but I couldn't have cared less. I tore off a piece of soft, fluffy sourdough bread with my hands shaking from hunger and tasted what was arguably the best omelet of my life, washing it down with a soothing, spiced-sweet tea.

I devoured everything in seconds like a seagull. My face spread into a satisfied smile. I leaned back into the soft, low armchair and finally paid attention to the room I'd been given.

Some might say that there was nothing really extraordinary about it. Just a narrow bathtub tucked humbly behind a carved folding screen, a low square table for meals with two matching chairs and a thin rug in the doorway to the right, a double bed with white pillows on a red blanket, and a tall window looking out at mountain ranges partially hidden by thick curtains. Not a five-star hotel, but definitely not our Brooklyn dump, which could've easily fit into this space — maybe even twice.

Thoughts of Orin flooded my mind. I swallowed the last bit of toasted bread crust that had gotten stuck in my throat and glanced at the thin lines on my wrists.

Technically, nothing was stopping me from at least trying to wake up — if this was still just a dream. But Zayd's smirk when he'd taken off that damn chain had been way too casual, which made me doubt whether I could escape from this place at all, tied up or not. No way he'd suddenly started trusting me for no reason.

Lost in thoughts, I rested my head on my fist.

A faint chill ran over my bare legs, reminding me that I was sitting naked on a wet towel. I glanced at the neatly made bed and noticed clothes laid out on it.

I was overjoyed when I realized they hadn't given me some frilly dress or a peasant skirt, but a genuinely comfortable everyday outfit. Though it did have its own medieval flair.

"That’s nice." I assessed, checking myself out from bottom to top. For all the comfort of my room, it seriously lacked a mirror.

To complete my look, I tied my hair into a low bun using the plain beige hair ties one of the girls had thoughtfully left next to the clean clothes. Small gesture of good will.

Suddenly, a haunting singing reached my ears — then faded a moment later. I looked around.

"Must be the servants." I shrugged, turning toward the window.

The massive chocolate-cherry curtains covered the sides of the oak frame, leaving me only two-thirds of the view on the other side of the glass. I stepped closer and saw nothing but mighty mountains, peak after peak, stretching into the unknown. I pressed against the window, trying to see the grounds of what I assumed was a castle, to the left and right, but the same landscape surrounded me from every side, slowly fading behind the mist. I pulled back and realized that I'd fogged up a good foot-and-a-half of the glass, turning the squeaky surface opaque.

The mysterious singing came again. Only this time, it was painfully familiar.

"Is this some kind of a joke…" I muttered, listening to the lullaby melody my mom used to hum to me before bed when I was little.

My memory might be far from perfect, but I remember the moments that truly matter.

I took my knee off the low, narrow windowsill and followed the sound coming from right behind my wall. I walked through the arched alcove in the middle of the room — which flowed into a semi-oval ceiling — and pressed my ear to the wooden panel.

As if sensing my undivided attention, the voice quieted down slightly, as if luring me to come straight through the stone barrier.

It was beyond strange. Familiar, yet so foreign. Soft, yet at the same time scratchy, like an old record someone kept scraping with their fingernails, interrupting the beautiful melody with guttural undertones.

I pulled back from the wall and shuddered, horrified by the overwhelming urge to get in there… Giving in to the provocation, I ran to the door, hesitating for a second.

Was I allowed to leave my quarters? Zayd hadn't said anything about that.

I grabbed the carved handle and yanked the door open, coming face to face with Riker, who had his hand raised. Judging by the fist hovering over me, he'd been working up the nerve to knock.

"Ugh…" I drew out, pursing my lips like a kid caught stealing cookies. Riker's face showed he felt pretty much the same.

Copying my dumb expression, he lowered his arm.

"We have a meeting soon," the uninvited guest announced, briefly looking me up and down.

"I thought I wasn't allowed to leave the room?" I replied, immediately making things awkward.

Isn't that exactly what I was about to do?

Riker’s eyebrow twitched subtly.

"You're not a prisoner," he said, scanning my face for any sign of disagreement.

I thought about it for a second and couldn't come up with anything better than a nod. An awkward silence hung between us.

Whether that was the real reason for his visit or not, Riker was dressed to impress — his seemingly everyday outfit topped off with a pleasant scent of spring freshness. Perfume or his natural smell, I couldn't tell.

He was probably the only person after me whose wardrobe had this much black! And he was definitely taller than I'd imagined — at least a head, even with my leather boots giving me a little heel.

This time, Riker had gone with dark pants — not dress pants, but not skinny jeans either, thank God — and an ink-black shirt, leaving the top couple buttons undone. Not that they would've hidden his chest muscles anyway.

My eyes got stuck in that trap for a second. I swallowed hard.

He also had a couple of silver bracelets on, which I didn't think much of. At least not until I noticed that everyone in the Headquarters wore them. But right now… I had more down-to-earth things on my mind.

For example, the fact that while I was checking him out, Riker’s azure eyes weren't wasting any time either.

Separated by the doorway, we stared at each other like two complete opposites — as absurd as that might sound.

Unlike him, I was wearing a cream-colored blouse with no buttons and a high collar, trimmed with golden pattern inserts along the line above my chest and down to my shoulders on both sides, and brown leather pants with a matching belt. How much I cursed trying to get my head through that hole and my bony ass into that squeaky latex — better be left behind the scenes.

Still, my outfit made just as much of an impression on Riker as his did on me.

His eyes quickly slid over me, lingering on the shallow neckline and my bare collarbones for a beat longer than he probably meant to.

My outfit also came with a short, two-layer cloak that fell just below my shoulders, which I was holding in my hands because it made me look like a retired girl scout. Either way, I decided to bring it along. Evenings in rocky halls promised to be chilly, and that mysterious voice sounded a fascinating mystery that probably wasn't ready to give up all its secrets just yet.

As the tension peaked, that haunting song reached my ears again. I jerked toward the room on the right.

"Are you okay?" Riker asked, tilting his head slightly. His gaze shifted from studying to concerned.

"Uh… Yeah…" I answered, not wanting to seem crazy. I figured if he'd heard it too, I'd see some kind of reaction.

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, then nodded for me to follow along. I obediently stepped out of the room.

The hallway to the right of my quarters was completely empty, not a trace of anyone — not even servants. Just a tall, slightly dusty window and a firmly closed door.

Catching myself slowly losing my mind, I hurried after my guide.

Riker led us past two rooms — a storage closet and a bedroom that belonged to another member of their group, whom I'd yet to meet. We went up a short flight of four steps ending up in another hallway and turned right toward a tall archway.

The Meeting Hall looked exactly like what it was called. Even though I'd never been to a gathering such as this before, as I stepped into the spacious, bright room, I could feel that this was where the fates of not just individuals but entire kingdoms had probably been decided — if they had them, that is.

Honestly, I had no idea what scale to measure this place by.

"What's your house?" Riker suddenly asked as we turned a corner.

"Sixth. Why do you need to know?" I wondered, then stopped short, almost running into his outstretched arm.

"Zayd, Xira — Alora of House Sixth, our guest," he announced unexpectedly, gallantly gesturing for me to go ahead.

The room went silent.

I stared at him, then grabbed his sleeve and yanked it.

"Why 'Sixth'?" I whispered at the fool. "And how do you know my name?!"

"You just said it," Riker muttered back, looking confused.

"You asked about my apartment!" I hissed at him. "I live in Brooklyn, in building number six. If you wanted my last name, it's Samars!"

Riker's face changed. Zayd raised his eyebrows slightly, watching our exchange with amused curiosity.

"You don't have family houses?" Riker asked, switching to a normal tone. Judging by his confusion, he didn't know that much about my world.

"Well… maybe the rich do." I gave it a thought. "But my family's far from that."

"Shall we drop the formalities?" Zayd suggested, redirecting our attention to himself. "We’ll call you stooge."

I shot Riker a hard look.

"Back in Brooklyn, you could get in big troubles for that!"

"Then you're incredibly lucky you're not there!" he shot back, possibly testing how far my sharp tongue could go.

A playful spark lit up his eyes. For a second, I felt a strange sensation that we'd known each other before. Not just Riker or Zayd — the place itself felt familiar…

Following his gesture, I went down a small set of steps and ended up in the middle of the room, leaving Riker by the arched entrance.

Despite its purpose, the Meeting Hall was completely open to anyone. At least that's how it seemed at first. Tall, Gothic-angled windows that offered a clear view both outside and in, and the lack of any actual door made this presumably sacred space feel incredibly vulnerable until Riker raised his right hand. As if by magic, massive shutters closed from the inside, and a cloudy haze fell over the windows like blinds.

He let me go ahead, then took his seat at the oval table. I, on the other hand, hesitated.

The room was incredibly elegant, but without any unnecessary frills, so that all the attention went to the main focal point — the people. In the very center of the hall stood a table, with three chairs on each of the long sides and none at the head, which threw me off, because in every political broadcast I'd ever seen, someone always acted like they were above everyone else. On the highly polished wooden surface sat a set of figurines on a shiny copper tray, and on the wall directly in front of me hung a square oil painting — judging by the landscape peeking out of tall, pointed-arched windows, it depicted nothing other than the very place we were in. My new acquaintances called it Argos.