Odder- The Blood Curse

by Nathaniel Red

  “I felt the rage, but managed it,” Odder said, with his shoulders curved inward.

  “Good, then you’re getting better at controlling your anger.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, you let me know if his threats become dangerous.”

  Odder recalled Renzt crossing this line many times over the years. He put on a fake smile and nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

  “You can always trust me.” Destin nodded then peered around the stable. “Is anyone else here?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “I asked you to meet me here early not just to prepare Garres, but to pick up a valuable package.”

  “Yes, of course. Where do I go?”

  “You must not tell anyone. Is that understood?

  “I promise.”

  “Excellent. Go to the Pitzana arena. Once the High Wizard proclaims me as the Proprius representing Elestus, make your way behind the stage. I’ll meet you there and tell you where to go next.”

  “You can count on me, my lord.”

  “I know.”

  Odder met eyes with the Prince and sadness filled his spirit.

  Destin raised a brow. “Is everything alright? You look concerned.”

  “Just something Renzt said.”

  Destin sighed. “I’ll have a word with him -”

  “No, no… He just mentioned I would no longer be your servant if you become Champion.”

  “Ah.” Destin rubbed his hand over his smooth defined chin and smiled. “Don’t worry my faithful servant. I have big plans for you.”

  “He’ll abandon you,” said Odder’s inner voice.

  He’s always treated me fairly, Odder refuted. Why would I doubt him? He envisioned himself marching by Destin’s side into a goblin battle and his spirits lifted.

  “Now, take care of Garres,” said Destin, “and I’ll see you in an hour.”

  Odder waved as his master exited the stable. He brushed Garres with long strokes over his shoulder and down his side.

  “We share the same master,” Odder whispered, his voice fierce with loyalty and resolve. “He’s proud and arrogant, but he’s good to us. We’re lucky to have him.”

  An intense stabbing pain struck Odder’s forearm. More intense than he’d ever felt. He dropped the brush and fell to one knee. Garres recoiled, shaking his head, and jumped away, knocking Odder to the ground.

  From his earliest memories, a pain afflicted this same area whenever he let his emotions take control of his wits, but not like this. He rolled his sleeve up to his elbow. His eyes and jaw opened wide. Swollen and bleeding hives throbbed on his skin. He hurried to his feet and ran out from the stable. He spotted a healer’s tent east of the arena and sprinted.

  ***

  Odder flung open the tent’s flaps. Sweat raced down his forehead.

  “I need help.”

  His skin turned pale as if his soul already departed to the spirit realm.

  A maiden with long, white braided hair looked up at his sudden entrance and directed him to a table. The familiar sight of her dove gray cape, standard wear for the healers, helped to ease his rapid heartbeat.

  Odder sat on a bench and placed his arm on the wooden tabletop.

  “Do you have a token?” asked the healer.

  Odder fumbled through his cloak and dropped several on the ground.

  “Good enough,” she said.

  The healer studied his arm before chanting over the hives. Blue light formed between her hands and swirled into the aggravated skin of Odder’s forearm.

  He clenched his fist attempting to stop the intense burning. Raised patterns formed on his skin.

  She stopped her spell and leaned in. “What’s that?”

  Odder bit his lip and shook his head. “I don’t know, but it burns!”

  She tried placing some spirit root on the hives, but it only caused blood to ooze from the wounds.

  The healer’s lips trembled. Odder’s breathing quickened.

  “The magic’s not working.” She looked around the tent until her eyes caught the mixing station near the back. “I’ll try some healing herbs,” she murmured in a soothing voice trying to mask her frenzy. “Amlika, alder, and bogbean, but no time to mix them at the station.”

  She lifted her satchel over her hair, unstrapped the thin leather ties, and threw it on the table. The bag parted in the middle, revealing numerous labeled pockets, rods, vials, and bandages all surrounding a small granite mixing bowl and pestle.

  She took off her gray cape, exposing her light blue uniform and petite frame, and placed it on the bench beside Odder.

  Pulling several herbs from their pouches, she put them in the bowl and kneaded them into a paste. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll have to do something drastic –”

  “Drastic?” he interrupted. “Like what? Cut off my arm?” The pain intensified and Odder cried out in agony. “It burns like acid! Do what you have to, but hurry.” He gripped his wrist to keep his arm still. Sweat spilled into his eyes, adding to his misery.

  “Almost done.” She whispered magic words into the bowl. The brown paste flickered and bubbled until it turned into a glowing green hue. “It’s ready.”

  Odder clenched his teeth as she applied the balm.

  Her gray doe-like eyes became rigid. “Be strong for a few more minutes.”

  With a soft touch, she continued to work in the medicine.

  He whimpered and hated himself for it. Will this ever end?

  “Never,” whispered his inner voice.

  Odder took a deep breath as the pain subsided and slumped back into the bench. “It’s working.”

  She let out a sigh and relaxed. “Good. How’s the pain?”

  “Not as bad. More like a dull throbbing,” Odder said, clearing the sweat from his brow.

  “The pain should continue to ease over the next few hours.” She picked up the tokens off the ground and sat next to him. “That was unexpected. My spell should have healed your wounds within seconds.”

  Odder placed all but one token back into his cloak.

  “My name is Aimma Bruyn of Salutaria.”

  “I’m Odder, servant to Prince Destin of Elestus.”

  “Odder?” she questioned.

  “It’s a nickname.”

  “What about your family name?”

  “No, just Odder.”

  She nodded but not without suspicion. “Alright.” Aimma prodded around the markings. “I don’t like the way this looks. Can you tell me what happened?”

  He flinched as a piercing sting traveled up his arm. He ran his other hand through his hair and attempted to recall the details.

  “My master left the stables. I was tending his steed when a severe burning inflicted my forearm. I pulled back my sleeve and blisters covered my skin. I thought my arm would burst.”

  “Do you have hives on any other parts of your body? You better remove your garb.”

  “Oh no.” Odder blushed. The hair on the back of his neck stood upright. He waved and sat back. “No need to remove any clothes. My forearm’s the only area.”

  “Alright,” she said, with a slight giggle. “Your hives turned into patterns, were you attempting to give yourself tattoos?”

  “Why would I do that?” Odder asked, his brows furrowed. “They’re definitely not tattoos. I have no idea what they are.”

  Aimma held his wrist and tilted his arm from side to side. “I don’t recognize the patterns.” She tapped her lips. “This one resembles a couple of crescent moons within an oval.” She tilted her head and squinted. “Sort of looks like an eye.”

  “Have you seen anything like it before?” Odder asked, sitting upright to take a closer look. “What about these?”

  Aimma shook her head and leaned in. “Hmm.” She took a few minutes, adjusting her perspective. “I haven’t seen an injury quite like this.” She paused. “This other pattern appears to be an infinity symbol. The one to the left – maybe the face of a dragon.” She pointed further up his a
rm. “And this one . . . spearhead? No, more like a star.”

  “Star?” Odder questioned. His stomach turned, and he shifted in his chair. “I don’t understand. Where did I get these from?”

  “Are you sure you didn’t attempt to give yourself tattoos? Your hives might be a reaction to the ink.”

  “She doubts you. They all do,” said his inner voice.

  “Like I said, no.”

  “Well, I suppose you’re a little young.”

  “I’m almost fourteen,” Odder said, his voice cracking. “I’m old enough.”

  “Fine, then let’s consider some other possibilities.” Aimma tilted her head to the side and tapped her temple. “Ah, maybe a curse from an enemy?”

  He thought for a second. Could it be, Renzt? No, he’s not even a wizard.

  “I doubt it. Magic has no effect on me.”

  Aimma laughed.

  Odder tapped his fingertips on the table and waited for her to stop. “It’s not funny, I ward off spells and curses, and I can’t conjure or be healed by magic. That’s why you had to use your herbs.”

  She leaned back, lowering her brow. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a vekart?”

  He shrugged.

  “If that’s true then you’re a rare case.” She smiled and rubbed her palms together. “In fact, my grandmother is the only healer I know who has ever treated a vekart.” She wrinkled her nose and leaned in. “Can I examine you closer?”

  His eyes widened. “Another like me? Can you tell me more?”

  “I don’t have any details except the experience made her focus on other ways to heal besides magic.” She turned, facing away from him, and pulled out a leather strap from her inside pocket and tied it around her head. “Now don’t be alarmed.” She turned back around.

  “Whoa!” Odder jolted back and nearly slid off the bench. He flailed his arms back and forth to keep from falling.

  Aimma grabbed his arm and pulled him forward. “Sorry,” she said, her cheeks flushed.

  Odder stared at the apple-sized eye strapped to Aimma’s face. “Where did you get such a horrid thing?”

  She giggled. “From my grandmother. It’s an eye from a seeker. I use the strap to attach the eye to my head so I can peer through the seeker’s lens –”

  “It’s gross.” Odder turned away.

  “The instrument is useful,” she said in a stern voice, “And much like a manitoba can detect scents, I can observe traces of magic.”

  “Alright.” Odder held out his arm. “What do you see?”

  Aimma examined his markings then stood back and looked at Odder from top to bottom. She tilted her head to one side, paused, and tilted back.

  “Anything?” Odder asked.

  “Well, it’s true. You are definitely a vekart.” She removed her spectacles. “You’re missing a magic aura, and your markings are a mystery. Maybe you’re a dark elf,” she said with a slight smile.

  “I’m a Xenduri?” he asked, pulling his arm back.

  Aimma cringed. “I’m sorry. I should have said Xenduri.”

  “Dark elf, Xenduri – same thing.” Odder pondered the possibility. “Is it true, though? Is that why I can’t wield magic?”

  “Rumors say the Xenduri can manipulate their black blood to form patterns that travel along their skin.” She paused and studied his face, “But you don’t have the features of a dark elf. Besides, they wield powerful magic.”

  Odder lowered his head and let out a sigh.

  “Don’t be disappointed. It’s good you’re not. They’re immoral and vicious creatures. Evil flows through their veins like polluted water down a clear stream.”

  “You’re right.” Odder shook his head and smiled. “I thought, for a moment, being a Xenduri would be the answer to my handicap.” He stared at his forearm. “So, what about these markings?”

  Aimma scratched the back of her neck. “Yes, very curious. If you’re a true vekart, then how did you get them?”

  “Even though magic is ineffective, I can feel what it creates. Like heat from a fireball.” Odder squinted while tapping his temple. “Perhaps my injury is from a prank. If so, I might know who.”

  “If that’s a prank than it’s a nasty one. No matter the cause, your wound is unhealthy. I’ll take you to the sorceress Obeah. She’s the overseer of healing in Elestus.”

  “It’s not necessary.” Odder stood from the table. “The pain’s almost gone.”

  “For now, but I’m suspicious. It might be a poison, and the writing is very curious. I must insist on a more thorough examination. Please don’t make me call in a sentry.”

  “Poison?”

  “I can’t rule out the possibility.”

  Odder moaned. “Fine, but I have strict instructions to meet my master at the arena. They’re announcing him as a Proprius in the Champion’s Quest, and I must be present. Afterward, I have a quick errand but should have time before I carry out my servant duties. Can you give me an hour?”

  Aimma inspected his arm again. “Sure, but if I don’t see you, I’ll come looking for you.”

  She put away her herbs. “So, your master will be a Proprius? How exciting! I don’t follow the games, but I hear this year’s winner will guard the Portal of Tetrad.”

  “Yes, a tremendous honor.”

  “Will your Prince allow you to watch from his ready room?”

  Odder held up his hand. “Oh no, that room is for royalty and honored guests. No place for a servant.”

  Aimma stood and reached for her satchel. She pulled out a white root. “Perhaps, if your master’s fair, he’ll at least provide you with proper seating.” She handed him the medicine and root. “Apply the balm to your skin several times today. Spirit root would heal your wounds within seconds, but in your case, use it to fight infection.”

  She walked with him to the tent’s door. “I’ll speak to the sorceress, so it’s better that I meet you. I’ll wait for you at the east entrance of the arena.”

  Odder frowned and glanced at the patterns on his skin.

  “Don’t worry,” Aimma said. “The sorceress is wise. She’ll have a cure and may even tell you the meaning of the markings.”

  “Thank you,” he said, despite his feelings. A cloud of doubt shrouded him like an impending storm hidden just out of sight.

  “Run and hide,” his inner voice said.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE PORTAL OF TETRAD

  Odder lifted his hood over his head to protect him from the drizzly, overcast morning. He walked on the cobblestone road leading to the Pitzana arena and admired the precision of each stone. Some large, some small, but each in its place.

  “Watch where you’re going servant,” said an elf, pushing Odder out of the way. “You’re blocking the path.”

  Odder glanced up to get his bearings. A bell resonated throughout the Elestus Township followed by elves flooding into the entrance of the arena.

  “You elves think you own the roads,” said a small voice with a mocking undertone.

  Odder recognized the taunting words. “Finkle.”

  The gnome ran up behind him and socked him in the calf.

  “You little grug!” Odder tried to grab the gnome. “Why would you do that?”

  “Where ya been?” Finkle asked, shuffling his feet back and forth on the ground like a mad dance to avoid Odder’s reach.

  “Thanks to your little prank, I had to pay the healer a visit.” Odder abandoned his attack.

  “And what prank was that?” Finkle asked, his fingers twirling in his chin fuzz.

  Odder pulled up his sleeve.

  “Holy Tears of Titan!” The gnome jumped back and shielded his eyes. “That’s not my work.”

  “You told me it was a spell which allowed me to conjure magic, not a maiming prank.”

  “I’m tellin ya. I didn’t do it.”

  “Did you already forget the spell from this morning or was it poison since spells don’t work?” Odder pulled his sleeve down.

 
“Bu - Bu - But,” Finkle stuttered.

  “We can talk about this after the announcement.”

  “I’m coming with you,” said Finkle, straightening his pointy red hat.

  “Sorry, gnomes aren’t allowed,” replied Odder.

  “I’m not a pathetic outcast,” the gnome said, wrinkling his bulbous nose.

  Odder peered down at Finkle and winked. “No, I’m the outcast and you – well, you’re a gnome.”

  “You know I hate it when you look down at me.”

  Odder chuckled. “I can’t help it. You’re only a foot tall.”

  The gnome gripped his green vest and flared his nostrils. “And stronger than a chimera.”

  “Indeed, mighty Finkle of the Tonk clan.” Odder laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick. Let’s meet in the market.”

  Finkle winked and gave a nod. “The prank merchant in an hour.”

  “Sooner, I hope,” Odder said. “Oh wait, I have to meet the healer again right after the announcement, but it won’t take long.”

  “Better not,” the gnome said, skipping up the road.

  “I wouldn’t have to if it weren’t for you,” Odder barked over his shoulder.

  He approached a sentry dressed in his standard leather armor, guarding the arched granite entry with a poleax.

  Odder removed his hood. “I’m Odder, servant to the Prince.”

  The sentry’s belligerent glare made Odder cringe. “Weapons?” the sentry asked.

  He pointed at his leather belt. “Just this stick.”

  The sentry eyed the piece of wood shaped like a sword. The belligerence faded, and his lips twitched. He stepped aside.

  “Don’t hurt anyone, servant.”

  The sarcasm in his voice had Odder hunching his shoulders as did the underlying pity.

  Odder walked in and looked for a seat. Benches cut from granite surrounded the stage and ascended a hill in a circular pattern. Crowds made him uneasy, like ants crawling underneath his skin. He pulled his dark, dull-gray servant’s cloak in tight, keeping his eyes hidden, and strolled to a seat in an upper row.

  “Move to another bench,” said an elf, sitting next to the open spot.

  Odder moved to the next row and tried to take a seat.