Odder The Demon Hunter - The Blood Curse

Odder stood, tapping his foot on the cold stone floor while he peered out through the shimmering protective shielding at the castle’s door. He felt the early spring chill nipping at his ears. He shivered, pulled the hood from his gray cloak over his short silver hair, and waited for the familiar amber glow of the second sunrise to chase away Ophelia’s dominance in the sky.

Odder spotted a baby large-eye degu hiding at the base of a log. “What are you doing? It’s not safe at night.”

The degu quivered then buried its head into its brown fur.

“Look there,” said Fernick, the gate guard. “An onyx scorpion.”

The scorpion lifted its three tails and crept toward the degu.

“It shouldn’t be out this close to first light,” Odder said. “Cast a spell.”

“It’s a rodent. I’m not wasting my time.”

“A light spell will chase it away.”

“No. If you care so much, you cast a spell. Oh, that’s right, you can’t. You’re a vekart.” Fernick placed his hand into the magic shield. “There. Now you can run out and save it.”

A cold numbness shrouded Odder. “Go out into the dark?” He trembled. “No. I - I can’t.”

“Alright.” Fernick started to pull back his hand but hesitated.

“What is it?” Odder asked.

“The clocks ticking for your furry friend.” Fernick grabbed Odder and pushed him through. “You don’t have to be scared.”

Odder gasped and hugged against the cold stones of the outside walls. Ophelia’s dim light rested heavy across the House of Elestus this morning like a thick blanket. He felt the blue suns creatures hiding in its shadows.

He looked at the defenseless degu, held out his palm, and whispered, “Latampas.” But nothing happened.

“Latampas,” he said again. “Please. I just need a little light.”

The scorpion climbed on the dead wood just above the degu. It stiffened its tails.

“Latampas,” Odder shouted, but the scorpion struck.

A sudden crow from an anzu welcomed the new day. Kellas rose between two western peaks, brightening the sky, and forcing Ophelia to cower into a pale ghost of her former power.

The scorpion retreated off the stump and into a corner of a stone wall, but Kellas’ light gave chase, touching its claws, and causing it to smolder. It snapped at the sun in protest. The scorpion twisted then shriveled as the light engulfed it. Its charred remains blew into the gentle breeze.

Odder felt safe in the light. He approached and stood over the dead degu. He sighed, then dug a shallow hole and placed the ball of fur gently into it. “I’m sorry.”

He held his head up, taking solace in the warm rays. His spirit lifted, and he sprinted away from the castle, still wary of the shadows, and careful not to slip on the damp cobblestones until he reached the shop of Magic Relics.

There he waited, tucked into obscurity, his heart hammering with hope and despair, his chin down to avoid eye contact with the patrons already gathered before the shop. Two elves whispered rumors of the Tetrad and goblin menace, which was all the townsfolks seemed to speak of these days. No wonder the shop was full at first light.

“Psst, over here.” The voice came from behind a crate stacked against the shop’s wall.

Odder glanced around to make sure no one was watching him. He edged over to the crate and ducked behind it. “Finkle?”

“Hey, laddy.” A foot-tall gnome jumped out from behind a discarded broken pot and hit Odder in the chest with his red coned hat.

Odder jerked back, smacking his head against the wall. “Come on Finkle,” he said, massaging his scalp. “It’s bad enough I have to sneak-”

“Keep your voice down,” Finkle whispered. His voice low.

“What are we doing here hiding like thieves?”

“I have the spell remember?”

Odder leaned in and cocked his head. “So you say, but we’ve tried many times.”

“This time, it’s for real.” Finkle reached into his green vest. “A high wizard from Rigan devoted nearly an ounce of silq to create this.” The gnome held out a tightly bound scroll.

“Then how’d you get it?” Odder asked, narrowing his gray eyes. “Is this why we’re hiding? Because you stole it?”

Finkle stared back. His emerald eyes glinted with anger. “I do a lot of things, but I don’t steal.” He pulled the auburn peach fuzz on his chin, then held out his hand. “Let’s just say I have my ways, and we’re hiding because this spell is too powerful to conjure in public. Now. Payment.”

Odder’s shoulders slumped. What choice did he have? “This better not be a trick.”

Finkle’s eyes flashed. “Do you want the spell or not?”

“Fine.” Odder reached under his cloak and pulled out three small scrolls. He placed one in Finkle’s tiny weathered palm. “Owl Face.” Then another. “Jerboa Ears.” And the final one. “This is one of my favorites, Slippery Step.”

Finkle held them like gold, his eyes gleaming, and he chuckled through his teeth. He tucked them into his vest and motioned Odder deeper into the alley. “We’ll need a little more privacy.”

They slipped behind two empty barrels.

“Now, laddy, sit back as I cast your spell.”

Odder’s heart pounded. Will this be the one? A familiar voice

answered from deep in his mind. “You are worthless.” He clenched his fists and leaned back. “Wait, maybe this is a bad idea.”

Finkle glared. “You want to wield magic, right?”

“More than anything.”

“Then why are you questioning?”

Odder shrugged, struggling to keep his inner self-loathing quiet.

Finkle sighed then smiled. “Don’t worry laddy. This spell won’t turn you into a demon.”

After an awkward moment of silence, they both laughed.

“Why are you stalling then?” Odder smirked. “You’ll make me late to meet my master.”

“Alright, just let me read through the text to make sure I have the Rigan dialect correct.” Finkle moved the scroll up and down. “Let’s do this.”

He recited the words on the scroll. The words lifted off the page like smoke from a smoldering fire, danced in the air, and then flew into Odder’s chest.

Odder felt a sudden queasiness. A knot formed in his throat and he grabbed his stomach.

“You alright?” Finkle asked. “You look like you’re going to spew.”

“I… I…” Odder’s face twisted, his cheeks bulged, and he let out a rancid burp. His shoulders relaxed. “Phew. I thought I was going to lose it.”

Finkle waved his hand back and forth in front of his face. “Yeah, good thing. That smell was bad enough. So, do you sense the magic?”

Odder bit his lip and paused to see if he felt any different. “I’m not sure.”

“Try conjuring a simple spell.”

“Like what?”

“Have you been practicing the light spell?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Then do it.”

Odder wiped his moist hand against his cloak and held out his palm. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled. “Latampas.”

He cracked open an eye. Nothing.

Finkle frowned and adjusted his hat. “Focus on the intention. Try it again. This time, think of light forming in your palm.”

Odder tried again with the same result. He slouched.

Finkle threw the scroll on the ground and stomped on it. “An ounce of silq my butt.”

Odder heard his inner voice shout, “You’ll never be good enough to wield magic,” as if it were trying to extinguish Odder’s last flame of hope. “Don’t worry about it Finkle. I’ll always be a vekart.”

“Stop it, laddy. If there’s a way, then we’ll find it.”

“Thanks.” Odder lifted his chin. “I better go before I’m late.”

“Alright, here’s your pranks back.”

“No, you keep them. A deal’s a deal even if it didn’t work.”

“Fine by me.” Finkle smiled and patted his vest. He looked back at Odder and huffed. “You know . . . How about I keep these on credit for your next spell?”

Odder grinned. His gnome friend might be self-centered to most, but he was always fair to him. “Deal.”

Finkle brushed the dust off his pants. “Let’s meet up later.”

“Sure, I might have some time after the township meeting.”

“Splendid. I’ll come find you.” Finkle backflipped through the alley, tip-toed up to an unsuspecting elf, and blew sneezing powder into his face. He ran around the corner laughing.

Gnomes. Odder shook his head. Well-intentioned but always trouble.

Odder rushed back to the royal stables to meet his master, Prince Destin Arcus of Elestus. He arrived early enough to brush, feed, and fill the water barrel for Garres, Destin’s black steed. As he swept the stable, his mind wondered to an imaginary fierce goblin battle. He placed the broom up against the plank wall and unsheathed his wooden sword.

“Now goblin, we are the last two standing. Raise your weapon and prepare to be sent back to the pit you came from.” He raised his sword and struck the broom several times, knocking it from side to side.

He held up his palm and launched fake fireballs. “Pow, pow pow. Blocked.” Odder covered his face and stumbled back pretending to be hit by lightning bolts.

“Garres,” he commanded. “Run and get help.” The steed looked up while chewing on its hay, then wiggled his ears, and put his head back into the barrel.

“Thanks.” Odder smirked, disappointed at the steed’s lack of enthusiasm.

“Oh look at the mighty wizard-warrior,” a taunting voice said from behind Odder.

Odder recognized the smug tone. His blood boiled. He felt a sudden sharp pain in his left forearm like claws trying to rip out from under his skin. “Stay calm. Stay calm,” he whispered under his breath. The pain subsided. He placed his sword back into his belt and turned around.

Renzt, the son of ArchWizard Arzed, stooped over holding his stomach, laughing. His royal red cloak with lime green stripes swayed in the dirt. “You should be the market jester because you make a great fool.”

The pain in Odder’s arm started to build. He gripped his forearm and narrowed his eyes. “Did you come out to the stables to mock a servant?”

“No, just checking on my steed but since I’m here.” Renzt pulled up his sleeve. “Let me show you something you’ll never have.”

The symbol of the invoker, a triangle with an eye in the center, marked Renzt’s scrawny bicep.

“Only three away from wizard,” Renzt said, his nose in the air.

Odder bit his cheek. The thought of Renzt with such a distinguished honor made his stomach turn. “Well done.”

“What, you don’t approve.” Renzt kicked the water pail at Garres, making him buck.

Odder reached for his sword and stepped in front of the steed.

Renzt pulled out his wand and aimed it at Odder. “Ah! You’ll be dead before you can even remove your stick from the sheathing.”

Odder pulled back his hand and held his palms up, but stayed in front of the agitated stallion.

Renzt sneered. “Even loyal to his steed. Think about this swamp slug. If your master becomes Champion of the games, he will no longer need you, and since my father is in charge of castle affairs, I’ll have him rid the world of your kind, but you can kneel and beg for mercy.”

Odder’s face twisted around his clenched teeth. He tightened his grip on the hilt until his hand shook.

Renzt waved his wand in a circular motion. Odder’s arms squeezed into his torso. He struggled to breathe.

Renzt moved his wand down forcing Odder to his knees.

“Is there trouble here?” asked another voice.

Renzt hid his wand. “No, just scolding this senseless servant.”

Odder climbed to his feet and peered past Renzt. “Prince Destin.”

Renzt blushed and turned quickly. He bowed his head. “My lord. I was reprimanding your servant for kicking over this bucket.”

Destin stood tall, his chest out. His sturdy physique hid under his tailored fur coat. His long silver hair draped over his chiseled features. He frowned. “Is this true Odder?”

“Destin will flog you if you say no. He won’t trust the word of a vekart,” his inner voice said. “…Yes.” Odder swallowed his pride. “As he said.” He knew from experience the consequences of crossing the ArchWizard’s son.

“Run along, Renzt,” said Destin, his voice flat and formal, “and keep your distance from Odder.”

Renzt continued to bow while walking backward. Passing Odder, he bared his teeth, then left the stables.

“Just because you’re a servant and his father is a lord, doesn’t mean you need to lie for him,” said Destin.

Odder brushed Garres until the steed calmed. “It was nothing.”

“He’s small minded and spoiled.” Destin gripped Odder’s shoulder. “At least you didn’t lose your temper this time.”

“I felt the rage brewing, but managed it.”

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

“Maybe.”

“Well, you let me know if he ever crosses the line.”

Odder recalled Renzt ‘crossing the line’ many times over the years so why would he change? He put on a fake smile and nodded. “Yes my lord.”

“You can always trust me.” Destin peered around the stable. “Now I asked you to meet me here early not just to prepare Garres, but pick up a valuable package.”

“Yes, of course, my lord. 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 heart.

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 that 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.

Odder grinned. He’s always treated me fairly. Why would I doubt him? He envisioned himself walking 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 watched his master exit 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’s ever felt. He dropped the brush and fell to one knee. Garres stiffened his posture, shook his head, and jumped away, knocking Odder to the ground.

For as long as he could remember, a pain afflicted this same area whenever he let his emotions take control of his wits, but this was different. He rolled his sleeve up to his elbow. His eyes and jaw opened wide. Swollen and bleeding hives formed on his skin. He hurried to his feet and ran out of the stable. Odder cried for help, but his plea fell on deaf ears. He spotted a healer’s tent east of the arena and sprinted as fast as his feet could take him.

Odder flung open the tent’s flaps. Sweat raced down his forehead. “I need help.”

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

A maiden with long, white braided hair, wearing her standard healer’s gray cape, directed him to a table.

Odder sat on a bench and lifted his arm on the wooden tabletop. It felt like he lifted a hundred-pound sack of grain.

The healer studied, then chanted over the hives. Blue light formed between her hands and swirled into Odder’s forearm.

He clenched his fist in an attempt to stop the intense burning. Raised patterns started to form on his skin.

She stopped and stepped from the wooden table. “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. Her hand went to her mouth.

Odder could see her lips trembling. His breathing quickened.

“The magic’s not working.” She looked wildly around the tent until her eyes caught the mixing station near the back. “I’ll try some healing herbs, 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 masher.

She took off her gray cape, exposing her light blue healers uniform, 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 more drastic-.”

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

“Almost done.” She whispered magic words into the bowl. The paste flickered and bubbled. “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. 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. Do you still have 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 sat down next to him. “That was unexpected. My spell should have healed your wounds within seconds.”

Odder shrugged.

“My name is Aimma Bruyn of Salutaria.”

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

“Odder?” she questioned. Her expression confused.

“It’s a nickname.”

“What about your last name?”

“No, just Odder.”

She nodded with suspicion. “Alright.” Aimma prodded lightly around the markings. “I don’t like the way this looks. Can you tell me what happened?”

He flinched as a piercing pain traveled up his arm. He ran his hand through his hair as he recalled the details. “My master left the stables. I was tending his steed when I felt a severe burning in my forearm. I pulled back my sleeve and red hives covered my skin. It felt like my arm would burst, so I ran out and spotted your tent.”

“Do you have hives on any other parts of your body? You better remove your servant’s 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. Have you seen anything like it before?”

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.”

“I suppose.” Odder sat upright and took a closer look. “Sure. What about these?”

Aimma leaned in. “Hmm.” She took a few minutes, adjusting her view and perspective. “Well, that one appears to be an infinity symbol. The one to the left – maybe the face of a dragon.” She pointed further up his arm. “And this one . . . spearhead? No, I think it more resembles a star.”

“Star?” Odder’s 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 could be a reaction to the ink.”

Odder shook his head. “She doubts you. They all do,” said his inner voice. “Like I said, no.”

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

“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 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 fingers 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 healing herbs.”

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

He shrugged timidly and nodded.

“If that’s true then you are a rare case.” She 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, pulled out a leather strap from her inside pocket, and tied it around her head. “Now don’t be alarmed.” She slowly 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’s useful,” she said, in a stern voice, “and much like a manitoba hound can detect scents. I can see traces of magic.”

“Alright.” Odder held out his arm. “Can it tell me about these symbols?”

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

“Anything?” Odder asked.

“Hmm, 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 paused for a few moments. “Could it be true though? Is that why I’m different and can’t wield magic?”

“It’s rumored that the Xenduri can manipulate their black blood to form patterns that travel along their skin.” She paused and studied his face, “but it’s obvious 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, that being a Xenduri would be the answer to my handicap.” He stared at his forearm. “What about these markings?”

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

“Perhaps a prank.” Odder squinted and pulled at his chin. “If so, I know who?”

“If that’s a prank then it’s a nasty one. Wherever it’s from, it doesn’t look healthy. 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 if it’s poison, it’ll spread. I’m concerned, and it’s my duty to insist.”

“I have orders from my master to meet him at the arena. They’re announcing him as a Proprius in the Champion’s Quest, and I have to 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 glanced at his arm. “I think you’ll live. 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 shook his head and 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. Normally, 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 wait for you at the east entry 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. Something was off, not right like a storm hidden just out of sight. “Run and hide,” his inner voice said.