The Curse-breakers of Avondor || ONC 2022 || ✔

Chapter 4: Spell-stitcher

Audren had not seen the Cursed in person before, but he hadn't expected them to look good or pretty. His mind had created a disturbing image of the undead: growling, snarling monsters, naked and rotting with disfigured faces, bloodied claws for ripping human skin off and sharp teeth to tear throats out and devour people with ease.

The reality managed to be worse.

The farther the ferry travelled down the river and away from the mountains, the more Cursed began to show their faces. They roamed about riverside villages and wandered the surrounding woods alone or in groups both big and small. Most of them took notice of the lord and the mage crossing their territory.

How they knew, neither Audren nor Terry could tell; whether the creatures relied on their hearing, sight or sense of smell the most remained unclear to them. But while the ferry traversed the river, the Cursed approached the banks, drawn to the two living humans in their midst. Audren felt like a juicy piece of steak on a silver platter.

The Cursed didn't like the water, though, and didn't set foot in it at all. Why, Audren couldn't explain either: was it fear of the current's force, an inability to swim or an inexplicable aversion to water? It could be anything, but in all honesty, he didn't care. To him, it simply meant the water provided safety and comfort, which at least ensured a smooth trip to the Free City.

How they'd manage once they had to get out of the river and move onto land remained to be seen.

The Cursed gazed longingly at their food drifting by, most rooted in place, spectators in a macabre parade. Some were persistent: they stumbled along the riverbank parallel to the river, following Audren and Terry in hopes they'd eventually come ashore. They were not, however, the most patient of creatures and gave up when it became apparent their prey wouldn't come to meet them. Audren could study them in their closeness and didn't like what he saw.

In some ways, the Cursed resembled the monsters he'd imagined: their skin was pale and in varying states of decay, likely depending on how long it had been since they'd first been afflicted by the curse. Their eyes had rolled back into their heads, leaving only bloodshot whites staring back into nothingness. The bodies of former men, women and children alike were covered in blood, the liquid staining mouths filled with rotting teeth painted red.

In Audren's imagination, humans had turned into true beasts under the curse's influence. That wasn't the case. In a way, they still looked like people. Their clothes, though dirty and torn, were the ones they'd chosen in life. Their faces, though decomposing, still sported the features they'd had when they were persons, unique individuals. No claws or fangs or other such monstrous assets presented themselves; there was just warped evil inhabiting the bodies of hundreds of innocents, making them feel a hunger the gods condemned. The sight of the Cursed hit Audren hard because it reminded him the Cursed had been human just like him.

The line between human and monster had grown awfully thin to his liking.

He wondered if he'd walk among the corpses before the day was over. It was so easy to picture himself becoming one of them. Too easy.

"That girl over there," he remarked, pointing out one of the Cursed limping along the riverbank as they passed another small village. He couldn't keep the sadness from sneaking onto his face. "That is… was Laverne. I don't know if you knew her, but she was one of the five scouts I sent out." He doubted any more of those would return to Anahill in his absence. It was more likely the other three had met Laverne's fate as well.

"I'm sorry to hear it," Terry replied. "I didn't know her. I suppose I never will now."

Audren looked at the monster that had once been Laverne for the last time, swore he briefly saw it raise its hand as if greeting him. But when he blinked, it was gone. No raised hand. No greeting.