The Way of the Clan 2 (World of Valdira)

by Dem Mikhaylov

  In two hours I leveled up by one more level, increased elemental power handling by one point and made sure that I wouldn’t be able to pick up my overfilled sack if I added some more loot inside. Besides, the buffs casted over me would disperse soon and angry Squeaky might be waiting for me in the village. In that case boosted regeneration would be very advantageous to fight against the elf-fencer. Anyway I was satisfied with my current results. ‘Ice pin’ and ‘grass snake call’ could be raised to the second range. As for me, I leveled up to level eighteen.

  Then I needed to get to Mossy Hills as soon as possible, enter my private room and have some rest. I was sure that I was not going to sleep that night. First late old Jogly’s funeral dinner, then talk to villagers at that sad event and at midnight… at midnight I would have to go straight to the cemetery to the fresh grave. While I’m having dinner in real life, I’ll be able to browse the forum to find some information how to raise a ghost to talk to it. At the same time I can check news and offers concerning Navigator, ocean ships construction and resources war. So I was busy as usual. Sighing I called back the snake playing in the grass and let it into my sleeve. Then I put the heavy sack over my back and set off to Mossy Hills.

  I went through the birch-and-asp woods but I didn’t see Storm Prophetess and her Teddy Bear. Wooden containers for collecting birch sap had gone. Obviously she had collected enough, closed up her little plant and mounted the bear to escape at the beams of the sunset.

  It took me about ten minutes to get from the woods to the outskirts of the village.

  It took me another ten minutes to walk carefully along calm and peaceful village streets getting frozen on the spot for a long time and scanning the space for danger. I tried to avoid lush bushes where someone who could easily attack from – jump at your back or sink a dagger. Or release a targeted arrow. Welcome paranoia!

  By the way, as for arrows and other pieces of weapon… it’s high time to sort out Squeaky’s stuff and to look closer at his mini crossbow. As well as at his strange sword! I literally flew into the village inn located on the first floor of the tavern and terrified a fat lady sitting at a small table.

  ‘I’m sorry, ma’am!’ I hurried to apologize while slowing down my pace.

  There was no danger here, for sure.

  ‘Never mind, sir,’ the ‘local’ lady replied beaming. ‘Have a nice evening!’

  ‘Thanks!’ I nodded at her and then suddenly stopped at the emerald door. ‘When is the next full moon?’

  ‘In three days,’ the lady responded instantly without a pause.

  I nodded at her again and stumbled into my room.

  Then dropped the sack on the floor, sat down near it and leaning against the wall pushed ‘exit’

  Flash…

  Exit

  Chapter 2.

  Growing price. Real Wrangles in Real World. Keira. Fun at Funeral Dinner. Bitter truth

  The real world met me coldly. The stiffed muscles didn't wish to bend and there was dull nagging pain appeared with each effort. It seemed that there is the unieye on my back, voluptuously sticking me with blunt needles at each movement. Especially under a right shoulder-blade and in the neck.

  Tutting, I hardly crept out of the cocoon and literally failed on a floor like a boneless clot of slime. There was no power in already inactive muscles. It seemed that I was not the young man under thirty, but the eighty-year-old man with all set of diseases accompanying such age. But I gave up smoking thanks to the cocoon… yup, I will die healthy… and young.

  I felt ill…

  Having hardly risen and dragged to the hall, I understood that it wouldn’t do. It was necessary to fix myself up. And hot shower wouldn’t help any more. Muscles should work.

  With grunting I’ve picked up bags with rubbish, I came out to a stairway, carefully closed the door. Sadly I looked at the steps that seemed too steep and, holding onto a wall, started going down slowly, dragging garbage behind myself.

  I haven’t manage to make a couple of steps when a dry face of the old woman-neighbor appeared in the opened door opposite to mine. Varvara Pavlovna, the honourable pensioner whom even our local police officer was afraid of. Because of her sharp tongue, wild curiosity and memory of an elephant. And of garrulousness. If you forget to zip up, next day everyone will know about it.

  ‘Rostislav, darling, why are you holding on to the wall?’ the old woman attacked me at one stroke, forgetting to greet. She should have been sleeping that time.

  ‘Hello, Varvara Pavlovna,’ I rasped through the dried-up throat.

  Jeez, I should have drunk some water before leaving my flat.

  ‘Are you ill, my dear? Do you feel so badly that you have to grab the wall? Have you drunk too much?’ the old pensioner asked maternally, her eyes were gleaming curiously behind thick lenses.

  ‘No way, madam,’ I suddenly issued the phrase, ‘My back hurts, it is really painful and I can't make a step. And how are you, my dear neighbor? Are you alright? Does gout or rheumatism disturb you?

  It took a minute for the neighbor to digest my almost bookish answer, and then one more minute to solve, whether I speak seriously or laugh at the old lady. During this time I managed to go down four steps, hardly keeping the balance on the shivering feet.

  Without having come to any conclusion, the old woman moved slightly forward, showing me an old nightrobe of incredibly motley color and said tenderly, ‘I see that you haven’t drunk. But you look unhealthy. Your face is gray. Have you taken any drug? Shall I call in an ambulance?’

  ‘In your dreams!’ I bellowed at her. ‘Varvara Pavlovna, have you got anything else to do except spying for neighbors and prying into other people’s affairs? Haven’t the next TV series started yet? Besides, it’s time to sleep!’

  What an old lady! She is eager for free entertainments. As they say – panem et circenses! More blood. She’ll be happy to call in an ambulance, and at the same time police. And then she will lament that young people are drug takers and alcoholics and unfortunately Stalin is dead.

  ‘Mind the way you’re talking to seniors, young man!’ the neighbor was happy to begin wailing loudly.

  I didn’t feel like continuing military operations in disadvantageous conditions, I accelerated and I hobbled down a ladder like a pregnant turtle, having instinctively hunched. Well, after all I didn't want it! I didn't want! I left my flat not to quarrel, just to throw away the garbage and to warm up a little!

  ‘So many intruders at our place! I’ve been living here all my life!’ the old doddler continued devotedly. ‘I earned for a living working hard and honestly!’

  Why is she talking about it?!

  ‘I won’t let different lazybones tell me what to do! You’re unemployed idler!’

  "How does she know about it" I thought fatefully having dragged through the flight of stairs.

  ‘Deadbeat! Dopehead!’ the ringing echo flew away from the concrete walls and repeated in the well of stairs. Other neighbors will crawl out soon. It’s getting dark, most people have already returned from work.

  ‘Aunty!’ I couldn’t stand it anymore.

  ‘I’m not your aunt! God forbid! If I had such a nephew, I would lose all my money!’

  ‘You have no relatives at all!’ I roared having making some more steps.

  And I immediately regretted about that phrase. I hit the lonely old woman’s sore thumb. Her only-begotten son died during a military conflict without leaving any children…

  But I’m fed up! I didn't bother her! Shit! Why does it always happens to me?!

  ‘Ah you… I’d rather have no relatives than somebody like you!’

  ‘You have no one!’ I muttered quietly, but despite her respectable age, the neighbor understood my muttering perfectly.

  ‘How do you dare! My son made the supreme sacrifice! For the Homeland! The award was given posthumously! And you… and you…’ suddenly the neighbor sobbed and at that moment I felt I was a slimebag. I should have shut up!

&nbs
p; I heard an easy scratch of the opened door. Like in the famous Russian song “Suddenly, like in the fairytale, The door creaked And everything became clear to me …" Someone else got out after hearing the noise…

  ‘Varvara Pavlovna, are you alright?’ somebody asked from upstairs with anxiety in the voice. I recognized Nikolay, the forty-year-old married man, locksmith of the fifth category who is loved and welcomed by the whole house. Sure – he has never cheated his wife, doesn’t drink alcohol, always ready to help, repair whatever necessary. Not a mere man, but a sparkling handy ideal!

  ‘Oh, Nikolay, darling!’ the old woman began sobbing loudly. ‘What’s going on… what’s going on… I’m hurt in my own house, I am blamed of losing my son… If my Alekseyushka were here now, he would defend his mother! Oh, my poor heart…’

  What a shit! What a performance! I haven’t told such things!

  ‘Who said that?’ Nikolay asked angrily with his bass voice. He came out of the flat, judging by the sound.

  ‘My neighbor dopehead!’ the woman said again, and I moaned. ‘His name is Rostislav! Lumme, What a nice Russian name… but it was given to such a stinker! He went out from the flat with such a blue and pale face… and I, a silly woman, tampered to ask, if I could help him, maybe, my dear neighbor caught a cold, or maybe he had a heart attack… but he answered… he told me such bad things… He’s a drug-addict! The prison is his home! Nikolay, darling, don’t touch him, nobody can predict his actions. He can stab a knife into your back… I’d better call in the local police officer now, let him sort it out! My son used to be a good boy! He knew the rules of the world! And he always respected seniors…

  What an actress!

  Spiting swear words through the clenched teeth, I fell out on the street and, shuddering in a nervous trembling, went to the garbage container. That’s the way how people commit domestic murders. The neighbor seems to be a bit cranky…

  There were few steps to the garbage container left when I threw a bag and, no wonder, didn't score a hit. My hands didn’t obey me, and I felt like having mad ants running in my fingers and elbows. But the rest parts of my body were in better condition.

  I didn’t fancy coming back into the house and, having stepped aside from the garbage container, I began to squat, thanks god I was wearing sports-suit. I was squatting until I felt some pleasant pain in recovered muscles, the pain that have nothing in common with the pain caused by inactivity.

  I was overhearing what was happening behind the front door. The senile voice didn't decrease, actually it became louder, striking to an ultrasonic level from time to time. I see. Varvara Pavlovna was occupying firing positions and boosting her fighting aggression to meet me fully armed. The old woman was pumping herself up by buffs that strengthen moral and, perhaps, selecting the appropriate gear like "a dirty mop, an epic class ". The old woman had noticed that I went out not for a walk, but to throw away garbage, so she decided to wait for me. The shifty-eyed lady is waiting for me… she can really call in a loyal familiar local, the class "the bored district police officer ". Few years ago she was an emotionally stable friendly old woman. Once she even treated me with jam pie… perhaps it is old age that changes people?

  I didn't manage to finish this thought. As I moved on to dynamic bending of the body and deep breathing when the roar of a powerful motor, a sharp squeal of brakes came from the road that went along the house and separated the elite new buildings from Khrushchev-era blocks of apartments like a ostentatious barrier. Then the roar of the rumpled metal and fragile glass clinking. Over the evening street unceasing beep of an automobile signal hung, intruding upon leisure of our dormitory area.

  ‘Shit!’ I exhaled, instinctively recoiled and flopped on the bottom. There is a car-accident!

  Having regained consciousness, I stood up and I hurried to the crash site which was hidden by green plants.

  Oh boy… someone managed "to kiss" on our road which is as straight as an arrow. I hope there are no crash victims. I shouldn’t worry about calling in an ambulance – a lot of dark windows were lit up in the high-rise buildings surrounding the road. And I could see the silhouettes of people inside. Then not only ambulance, but also cops will come soon.

  Varvara Pavlovna croaked the disaster! She must be a real witch! I should ask her where the parts of the legendary armor are hidden, maybe, she knows…

  My concern about the stupid drivers has dramatically turned into in the dull anxiety and alert when I heard the roar of the engine again and gnashing of torn metal. Dim red lights flashed through the green branches when the car drove off back and braked sharply. It seemed to be a Jeep. And then the driver hit the gas again, sending a huge car forward. Again, the gnashing of metal, glass and the sound of crumbling. A long car horn broke off. What the hell is he doing?!

  ‘Hey!’ I shouted getting stunned and frozen. ‘Are you drunk?! What are you doing?!’

  The driver seemed to be drunk. Or spaced. Trying to escape from the scene of an accident and he didn’t realize that he was ramming another and would be charged not only of drunk driving, but of an attempted murder as well.

  And it was quiet inside that car, no slight movement. What should I do?!

  Should I stop the SUV by my frail and trembling body? Not a good option. He will seep me away like a feather without noticing.

  Having collapsed to my knees, I rummaged in the dust in search of a stone, but could find only a piece of bent wood. Light, almost weightless. I won’t be able to distract the drunk by it or break his windscreen. The usual bent stick that looked like… oh dear... I’ve got an idea!

  Grabbing a piece of wood with both hands, I came out to the road, while prudently remaining aside from the huge black car that was moving backwards again. Pointing the stick at the silhouette of the driver's cabin in the dark, I cried hysterically the first nonsense that came to my mind, ‘Stop, scary bitch! I’ll shoot on sight! Sergeant Pronin! Get out of the car, hands behind your head, knees to the ground, eyes at my sneakers! Hurry up! I’ll shoot on sight!’

  The answer came immediately.

  The engine roared, the jeep passed back a little, then turned around abruptly and dashed away quickly. So bluntly that the tires squealed. I watched the fleeing offender and shouted, ‘Bastard!’

  He must be drunk. But why did he become driving confidently so suddenly?! Look how dashing he negotiated the corner at full throttle. Could he become sober due to fear?

  Throwing a piece of wood, I ran to the car tipped on its side. The left-hand side of the bumper seemed to be a mangled piece of metal. A silver foreign luxury car. Even in such a poor condition it looked like a very expensive toy.

  Mechanically I inhaled air by my nostrils. A strong smell of gasoline. But the engine isn’t working, the lights are off. And there is nobody around! Not a single soul! No one wants to interfere! What a shit…

  Pulling the driver's door, I immediately realized that it could be opened only with the help of metal scissors and it would take some time. The side window was lowered or crashed – I didn’t notice, I was looking at the driver. A hefty fellow in the once-white shirt, a bloody head helplessly hanging on his chest.

  ‘ Man! How are you? Are you alive?!’ I blurted another stupidity, leaning to the driver’s face. But as soon asI recognized his face I jerked so suddenly that hit my head against the roof of the car.

  Gosha! Gosha was sitting at the wheel of the foreign car! According to inflating bloody bubbles at his nostrils, he was breathing. To make sure I touched his neck, but did not feel anything, just smeared my fingers in blood.

  ‘Gosha!’

  Damn... what should I do? I remember that it isn’t recommended to move the injured. But what if the car bursts into flame?

  In utter confusion, I stood up and rubbed my face with my hands. Then I spun on the ground and yelled wildly to nowhere, ‘Bastards! Why are you hiding ?! Call an ambulance and cops!’

  ‘Ros... is it you?..’ a throaty burble came from the car and I clung t
o the window again.

  ‘Gosha, are you a live, huh? Where does it hurt? Just do not move, Gosha! Do not move! You’re trapped inside the car! Sit and wait for an ambulance! Got it? It... There was a car accident. And the man in the jeep has vanished, damn him...’

  ‘Ros...’

  ‘Yes, Gosha. I hear you! Don’t give up, bro! Ok?’

  ‘Ros... shut up...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Take Keira ... now!’ Gosh croaked, barely lifting his head from his chest and looking at me with a terrible look in his bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Who?! Gosha, you're alone in this car! And we are not in Valdira, Gosha, we are in real life. Don’t worry, just sit quietly, ok?

  ‘I know that we’re in the "real world"... In the back seat ... moron ... if she’s alive ... take her... be quick ...’

  ‘You’re a moron not me!’ I growled, feeling wild due to the high level of adrenaline. ‘Stop! Where? Rear seat?’

  I jerked back, jumped at the recessed handle and yanked to open the door. The back seat was empty, but on the floor of the cabin there was someone lying wrapped in a checkered lap robe. The person wasn’t moving.

  Ignoring caution, I crawled inside, grabbed that limp, crawled out backwards and collapsed to the ground. The body fell on me, knocked the air out of my chest. Fuck ... no, I'm not Superman. The blanket dropped and I found that a dark-haired girl was lying on me burying her face in my neck. I felt her breath on my skin and he exhaled with relief. I really thought that she was dead. Well, hello, Keira...

  I got free from the flaccid body of the girl, I stood up and, holding my injured elbow, shouted, ‘Gosh, everything is fine! She is alive! I’ll drag her aside, don’t worry! There are no injuries on her body. No blood. But she’s unconscious. Just a moment. I’ll drag her right now...’

  ‘No way!’ I heard a more confident voice. Obviously he will recover soon. That’s the big plus of bodybuilding! If I were him, I would have already died. But this gorilla is recovering. ‘Don’t drag her aside! No!’