The Curse of the Western Kingdom Part Ii: The Story of Two Taliras

By Angie Korchevskaya

It's twenty years after the curse of the Western Kingdom is dispelled. Kevin Brown's daughter, Talira (nicknamed Talia) is a determined fifteen-year-old Seeker. In her quest to unravel the origins of her unique powers, she meets a mysterious and charming stranger. The two unite in a contest against unbeatable odds. High adventure and romance awaits the young rebels on their journey of self-discovery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524614065

Angie Korchevskaya

Angie’s family migrated to the United States in 1990 from Ukraine when she was ten years old. As early as middle school, Angie was on her way to becoming a writer of poetry and short prose. Angie’s interest in cultural lore and fantasy paved a way for her first fictional novel: The Curse of the Western Kingdom. The original publication came out on the market in 2012 after multiple drafts and revisions. For several years filled with personal struggles, Angie deliberated whether or not to continue the initial story, and finally, after much debate, she decided to put the second installment into circulation in 2016. Having successfully authored two books, Angie is currently working on the third sequel of the Curse of the Western Kingdom series.

Book preview

THE CURSE OF THE

WESTERN KINGDOM

PART II

The Story of Two Taliras

ANGIE KORCHEVSKAYA

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

©

2016 Angie Korchevskaya. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  06/15/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-1409-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-1406-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

This story is meant for young adults and older readers. Mild nudity and occasional swear word or two are involved.

Although credit goes to Silver Raven Wolf’s: The Book of Shadows and Wikipedia.com, all characters and events in this story are completely fictional and are not meant to reflect any actual events.

Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

About The Author

Credit for this book goes to my dear friend, Edward J. Fisk, who encouraged me never to give up on my dreams.

FOREWORD

In this universe we are all connected through one unequivocal force from whence all creation came hitherto and to whence all shall return. Like a caterpillar that emerges from its cocoon, transforming into a stunning butterfly that spreads its wings, then moving on, so to it is our birthright to emerge from an embryo, to learn, to grow, and to prosper, until one day transcendence takes us beyond the realm of all that is sensory, into the Summerland and into the loving embrace of the Mother Goddess. But unlike a butterfly that flies away shunning the promise or responsibility of remembrance, though we shed off our cocoon, who WE WERE prevails. And it is this recollection that allows for development of one collective consciousness. Thus, we begin to reflect on that whilst hath defined us through all of our previous existences. And when the Book of Life opens up to us, and our essence is suffused with the wisdom of the Ancients, it is then that the Elven ferryman escorts us from the paradise that is Summerland so we may rise anew from stardust, in order to morph into a shimmering beacon of hope for our families, for our Brothers and Sisters, and first and foremost for all of humanity on this wretched Earth.

(Inspired by Silver Raven Wolf’s Book of Shadows)

* * *

On one somber afternoon in September in the heart of Washington D.C., rain was coming down, performing a steady drumroll over seventy-storied commercial skyscraper and residential rooftops. Decaying autumnal leaves, thoroughly saturated by the precipitation, were being trampled underfoot by thousands of Washingtonians with raincoats and umbrellas hurrying along in their daily routines. All foot traffic in coffee shops such as Starbucks was slowing Wi-Fi to an annoying crawl. All the hot spots were being drowned out in a monotonous hubbub from the bazillion refugees who had stowed away there from the dank and depressive weather. It was the perfect afternoon for taxi drivers to boost their tips as despairing pedestrians schemed to snag a cab ride from under their competition’s noses, just to part ways with the wet sidewalks. Vehicle traffic hardly budged either. Hundreds of cars, busses, trucks, and SUVS across the downtown were participating in the well-recognized sport of target-tailgating. Riding bumper to bumper, they were mercilessly assaulting the ears of passersby with obnoxious horn honking.

On that same afternoon, located sprawled across the Potomac from Washington D.C., the Arlington National Cemetery in the Arlington County in Virginia was teeming with activity. A segment of the U.S. military was there along with the U.S. President and members of his cabinet. The paparazzi were of course on the prowl, eager to get the first scoop on the funeral proceedings. They were hovering about the assembled like sharks closing in on their prey, snapping one photo after another, pushing their way into the middle of all the action with cameras unabashedly, while the officials tried to fend off their propagandist attempts without any luck.

Among the attendees at the funeral was one of Washington’s top entrepreneurial gurus, renowned for his shrewdness and a quick wit. His name was Kevin Brown. Prior to two decades ago, when Sister Fate knocked on Kevin’s door, he was just your average joe, a nobody, only a boy with a haughty temper and a workaholic for an older brother named Pete. The kid’s parents perished in a car wreck when Kevin was at his most susceptible and vulnerable age, leaving him emotionally scarred from the tragedy. And when it seemed like the impressionable boy would never recover from the psychological trauma induced on him, Kevin met Ann, and soon he was able to find a spring in his step again. The youth’s life began to revolve around his high school sweetheart, whom he would one day marry after inheriting a fortune.

However, the road to paradise for Kevin and Ann was outfitted with dreadful obstacles. Ann, a bold young adventurer, in the midst of a raging blizzard reported by the Washington Post to be one of the most severe winter storms ever to hit the District of Columbia, drove three of her classmates to a remote location in the Potomac swamp, to the site of dilapidated castle ruins. A parapsychology major, Ann was a firm believer in the existence of metaphysical energies (spirits, ghosts, demons, or whatever other shape those energies may take) and so decided to test-drive her hypothesis. Unfortunately, the young enthusiast ended up meeting more than her match when she was turned into a prisoner inside the castle ruins by an unnamed evil occupying the grounds of the monolithic bastion.

For a month Ann lingered in solitary confinement - with no sound, no light, and no hope for rescue- scrounging for meager scraps of food that once in a while were thrown at her through the iron bars as if she was an exhibit at a zoo or a trained lapdog. Ann thought that she was surely going to waste away in her predicament- that is, until one day, a brilliant thunderclap revealed a long passage lit up by torches. Ann’s prison cell was gone just like that, and her chivalrous knight in shining armor, Kevin, was barging headlong through a previously invisible door… And that’s when Ann knew that she was going to spend the rest of her life with Kevin. He was her savior and since that moment he became her world. And so the couple was content to close the book on one of the most trying chapters on their road to matrimonial nirvana.

Kevin’s daring rescue had earned the praise of the U.S. President. Not only did the teen help his ladylove escape, but on that heart-wrenching, destiny-altering night he also broke the curse encasing the entire ancient structure. With the demonic spell lifted, the young hero was able to free three of his high school buddies and about a hundred Ancients that were trapped beneath the pile of rubble for over four hundred years by the evil that deposited its seed inside the ruins, and in its wake transformed them into feral, soulless, meat-craving scavengers. Recognizing the magnanimity of Kevin’s selflessness, the U.S. President awarded the youth with a ten-million-dollar check. And that is how Kevin’s status of mediocrity morphed into one enjoyed only by a handful of Washington’s elite.

About five years after the curse was broken, the wealthily-endowed Kevin Brown threw a huge fund raiser, and in collaboration with the one hundred former subjects of the Western Kingdom who were dubbed The Ancients, the crumbled castle was fully restored to its former luster and remodeled into a museum dedicated to the millionaire, as the blown up sign on the frontal gates clearly displayed in gold-plated letters, Kevin Brown’s Museum of Fine History. Initially, the tours were handled stand-alone by the Ancients. Gradually, however, the original property inhabitants expanded the museum’s volunteer efforts to include paid employees. Event coordinators teamed up with tour guides. They developed a skit to ensure that during excursions, visitors to the museum were brought up to speed not only on how people lived back in the medieval age, but also on the incredible fairy tale of the Curse of the Western Kingdom, and how after four centuries it was dispelled by none other than our previously introduced young hero.

In the process of getting to know the Ancients, Kevin Brown met Thorel, the regent-ruler of the Western Kingdom. Fascinated by the medieval time period, the millionaire began inviting Thorel as often as his hectic schedule would permit him to, to his mansion, where he would ask the sovereign all sorts of questions over Tea about life and its hardships back in that era. The young entrepreneur was obsessed with one particular topic: the legend of Princess Talira, the rumored heiress connected to the throne of Western Kingdom by blood and not by a vote of favoritism from the Ancients. Princess Talira was supposedly beautiful, vivacious, and still innocent, when the Black Plague devastated her kingdom, decimating the princess and erasing the last of her lineage.

According to Thorel, some believe that the princess was involved in witchery, and before she perished, she invoked forces that should never be conjured. In doing so, the last alleged ruler not only defiled her own essence, but betrayed her people to a horrible end. Because Talira was motivated by lust, seeking only to indulge her personal ecstasy, her spirit was punished by the supernal authorities. Instead of being admitted into luscious Summerland, Princess Talira was exiled down South, into the Underworld, where she became the incarnate of evil supreme. However, on that fateful winter night when the daredevil Kevin sought to play a martyr, he inadvertently hit the bullseye and brought down two birds with one stone: He banished the menace back to Hades, and simultaneously freed Talira from her own dark fate (or so he thought when the ethereal spirit of the princess apologized profusely for all of her vile misdeeds, and gave the Ancients back their freedom by restoring them back to their human form).

Kevin grew quite fond of the regent of the West. But Thorel was a frail old man, and eventually he died from poor kidney function combined with a host of other age-related infirmities. Upon the Ancient’s passing, Kevin reached out to his connections at the White House to ensure that Thorel received a farewell tribute suited to a great leader. Without a second thought, the U.S. President agreed to assign a burial plot to Thorel at the Arlington National Cemetery, where other prestigious celebrities throughout U.S. history were laid to their final rest. Two decades after the millionaire teamed up with Thorel, he was saying goodbye to the regent-ruler of the West.

With graying patches decorating his prominent sideburns, in his black leather trench coat, grasping an umbrella which threatened to be whisked away by intermittent wind gusts, the millionaire was getting up on the podium to give his parting speech: We all know why we’ve gathered here today, He began. "We are here to honor one man’s life, not to mourn his passing. Thorel was a leader in every sense of the word. Upon the eve of the Curse of the Western Kingdom, this fearless man was standing firm in the face of unbeatable odds. Although the hour of damnation was close at hand, the regent would not flee, because he would not abandon his people.

"For four hundred years Thorel and his followers were tormented by the wraith, condemned to torturous brutality under the demoness’s belligerent spell. However, on that ominous winter night among the ruins, when the evil was vanquished and the regent and his people were liberated from the Demoness’s clutches, Thorel grabbed the bull by the horns; he resumed the role of that amazing leader.

With his council and guidance, Thorel armed the Ancients with the tools that empowered their survival in the contemporary times, where they would otherwise have been estranged, because the curse blindsided them and set them four centuries backwards, while the world as they knew it once, was undergoing rapid changes: Electricity was discovered, and cars superseded horse-drawn buggies. The waging of two major World Wars, add on top of that the Cold War, with its nuclear missile crisis, rocked the fabric of the American nation. Then Chernobyl, a major European power plant, blew up. The devastating explosion incinerated, maimed and brought radiation-related ailments to thousands if not millions. Our turbulent epoch with all of these transformations in effect, was in essence uncharted territory to the Ancients- and without Thorel, they would have been lost. But this great visionary secured prosperity for his people.

I am grateful that fate allowed me to meet Thorel and to further my camaraderie with him. Thorel, you shall live on forever, not only in the pages of our history, but in our hearts as well. Closing his speech, the millionaire walked off the podium with steps creaking underfoot. He was saluted by the military personnel, who raised and lowered their rifles in a sign of respect. Cheering also came from the overzealous reporters and from a handful of Ancients who could make it to Thorel’s funeral. Many of them had relocated into the mountains and were lacking the proper drivers’ ed to get around long-distances.

Kevin was zigzagging through the gathered crowd until he located the U.S. President. There he is the man of the hour, the politician spoke, as usual owning center stage.

Mr. President… Kevin was shaking the politician’s hand. You do us honor by being here today.

I felt obligated to come and pay my respect. Thorel was a refutable man, and I didn’t want to miss the sole occasion to say goodbye to him in person. Also, you know that I can never refuse you, Kevin Brown. We go back a long way.

"We sure do. I can’t believe that two decades have flown by since the curse. It’s true what they say, time waits for no one."

If you want to believe that old adage… But look at you Mr. Brown, time has certainly made a solid man of integrity out of you. You were only a sprout when I first met you. But even then something was telling me that one day you would become larger than life. Turns out that my instincts were correct, and now it is as clear to me as a bright sunny day, that I made the right decision by taking a gamble on you all those years ago.

Thank you Mr. President, you flatter me.

Your flattery, Mr. Brown, is, in fact, a wholesome and well-deserved recognition. The President was telling Kevin as he was waving to his cabinet’s associates and his eight bodyguards. I am positive that we will meet again Mr. Brown, but next time let’s make it an occasion that doesn’t grieve but delights and excites, like when that tomboy of a daughter of yours finally becomes a lady under loving encouragement from a proper suitor. The politician winked.

With a casual swagger the President turned in the direction of a helicopter landing some distance from the throng of paparazzi to carry him and his bodyguards back to the White House. In the next minute Kevin was calling his own limo chauffer to the cemetery gates via a walkie talkie.

Kevin was bumping shoulders with gloomy individuals clad in multiple shades of black and grey in an attempt to pave a way for himself out of the huge assembly, when his ears caught his name, Mr Brown! being shouted from the rear. The millionaire always strove to be reasonably polite with strangers but right then he was in a hurry to get home to his dear wife, the apple of his eye, the love of his life, Ann. Kevin was always on the go, from one public function to another; to the Central Science Research Foundation where Ann’s Father, Robert Smith was continuously perfecting his scientific theories and augmenting extremely unique devices, like the Energy Trapper, to promote progress in the fields of mineralogy and physics; and to the financial institution where his nerdy older brother, Pete, twenty years later, was still heftily occupied with the daily complexities of running an IT division (There were no longer, however, any incessant supervisors bugging Pete since Kevin bought up seventy percent of the shares of the institution, which made him a major owner in the equity of the bank). Ann deserved more attention than Kevin was able to spare her, and that made the millionaire feel guilt to the extreme.

Despite his subconscious encouraging Kevin to keep walking towards the limo and to ignore the superfluous chatter around him, his curiosity persuaded him to twist his head around at the sound of his name being enunciated in a dialect consistent with an Ancient.

The man who called out to Kevin reminded the millionaire of an overgrown dwarf. He made a disheveled presentation, being middle-aged and burly, in a greasy sweatshirt and khakis with patched up holes at the knees. Rain drops were dribbling from the Ancient’s unkempt beard, draped halfway over his round beer-belly. I am Bogardt, the Ancient introduced himself.

Kevin glanced squarely at the uncouth man. I honor thee, Ancient, was a generic greeting among Thorel’s kind. However, you’ve caught me at a bad time. I must attend to my affairs. So whatever it is that I can do for you, please make it quick, or better yet let us talk when I’m not rushing around like a maniac.

Mr. Brown, it was with arduous difficulty that I finally tracked you down. The man said, huffing and puffing.

I wasn’t aware that I was being sought after, Kevin replied.

Mr. Brown, I amply apologize for ambushing you in this manner, but it is of dire consequence that I speak with you.

His timing could not be worse… If Kevin was twenty years younger, he would not only have ignored the stranger outright but would have also rolled his eyes at the greasy fella. But Kevin was not that tantrum tempered teenager anymore, and besides, one sporadic public display could busy the reporters with ruination of his career by badmouthing him over a TV broadcast. Instead Kevin ushered the Ancient named Bogardt to follow him, until they were secluded off to the side, behind a sepulcher dating back about two hundred years, containing remains of some unnamed soldier who fell in service to his country, where the twos’ interaction would not be exposed to reporters’ cameras.

Bogardt, you say. Why are you pursuing me? If it’s money you need, I can provide some for your basic necessities but then I’d appreciate it if you could go back home and not follow me around anymore.

Bogardt was shaking his unkempt beard in denial, drizzling raindrops all over the millionaire’s trench coat. Kevin patted down his coat to get some of the wet stuff off of him. Mr. Brown, you offend me, Bogardt is not some beggar off the street. I realize how this must look, but Bogardt has always been self-sufficient. My people and I live off the land, in perfect harmony with the Great Mother, taking only what we must, and giving back what we can to show our appreciation.

What is it that you want, Bogardt?

May we talk somewhere quieter? the burly man persisted.

Okay, but we do this according to what Simon says… Kevin was whispering behind the sepulcher. And Simon says… let’s withdraw from this monument. I am headed for that black limo outside the cemetery gates. I will have my driver pull into an old gas station, which you will find as you exit the cemetery on your left-had side. I will wait for you there, so we can talk in confidence, out of sight and hearing range of those who would enjoy nothing better than to trash my reputation and everything that I’ve built.

Brother, I don’t foresee any hindrance to your reputation as a result of our untimely encounter, but I shall do as you say. Bogardt agreed to meet Kevin at the foreclosed gas station.

Brother, I sought you out because there is a great unrest astir, Bogardt sat himself down in the back of Kevin’s limo, yanking the door handle shut behind him. I have a foreboding in my bones that something is about to go awry. I am unable to put my finger directly on it, but I believe that you or those closest to you may be in great danger.

Kevin was perplexed and for a moment he just stared at Bogardt. His pulse quickened, with heart pounding a million miles a second, boiling with anger like a Peking duck, at the notion of his wife, daughter, or both being endangered.

Tell me more about this foreboding that you’re experiencing. The millionaire was noticeably perspiring as he ushered Bogardt to elaborate on the topic of the unfathomable hazard threatening his household. Are you a clairvoyant of some kind who can see into the future?

The greasy fella was shaking his head, Alas, I am not. I have not the affinity for extrasensory perception. Only the loftiest of our kind may glimpse the future with any sort of accuracy, and Shamans that powerful are few and far between. But I shall tell you this, the time of wintry death is upon us. Beginning of winter, marks a turning of the wheel, when the veil between the seen and the unseen worlds grows thin, and dark things from beyond sometimes enter our dimension. We try our best to ward off these energies, but our talents are ingrained with human imperfection. There is always a remote possibility of a demonic entity slipping through the interdimensional breach into our realm. We have not seen this much unrest since the wraith and her minions were thwarted. The crops are deteriorating faster than they’re ought to, farm animals are dying of no conceivable natural causes, and carrion crows are circling over the diseased livestock to peck at the entrails.

And what do you expect of me, Bogardt? Kevin asked the Ancient, repressing gnawing fear on the inside. I am simply a man who once upon a U.S. President was unwittingly idolized into a superhero, when in all honesty the man who saved the day was not I, but my father-in-law, a man science, Mr. Smith. And right now I am trying to get back home to my family. They are waiting for me as I am sitting here chitchatting with you, wondering if I’m going to sit down with them for at least this one meal. Don’t get me wrong, I am sympathetic with your domestic plight, but what can I do? How can I prevent some sort of impending disaster that you cannot name or put a finger on? And most importantly, why would this involve my family? Haven’t my wife and I been put through enough when the Demoness reared her grotesque physiognomy two decades ago from beyond?

Bogardt was scratching his itchy scruff. "A pity it is, indeed, that my talent is limited. Nevertheless, I beseech you, as a brother would, take care of those closest to you. You must slow down, Kevin Brown. There may be things going on outside of your diplomatic and entrepreneurial arena that you may not be aware of- There are grizzly phantoms that love to tease and play humans for fools, that strike when you least expect, and take your most precious treasures for their own vindictive amusement.

Aggravated Kevin stuck his fingers into the scalp of the graying lion’s mane on his head. "Ancient, I