Chapter Fifteen: Half-Elves

  "A few people have claimed to have felt the monster, or seen glimpses of it, but nothing concrete. Um, sorry?" Rosalia offered after they had all sat down around the rough wooden table at the Mermaid's Trident Inn.

  Amalia surveyed them with her impassive violet eyes, her face revealing nothing of her thoughts as she leaned against her white staff.

  Will spread his empty hands wide in a theatrical gesture, his boyish grin never faltering despite his lack of information.

  "Nadda, zip, zilch, big ol' goose egg," he announced with a dramatic flair.

  Rosalia giggled, her pointed ears flushing a bright pink that complemented her red hair. The sound of her laughter made Ash's stomach twist uncomfortably. He forced his expression to remain neutral, though the muscles in his jaw tightened as he watched her reaction to Will's antics.

  Nick ran a hand over his dark beard, his ebony skin gleaming in the firelight that flickered from the nearby hearth.

  "All I could get was something about light-cursed singing," he offered gruffly, his fingers drumming against the wooden tabletop.

  Ash cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. He felt a momentary flutter of nervousness as all eyes turned toward him. Running a hand through his ashen hair, he detailed what he had learned from the fisherman and the village elder.

  After he finished, Nick folded his thick arms across his chest. "Feel like we wasted our shadow damned time. Course the elder knew; he's the one who posted the notice, to begin with!"

  "Ah well, at least I got to see sights," Will said with an easy shrug. "The shar ocean looks pretty this time of year."

  Rosalia laughed again, the sound light and musical. "You've never been here before, silly! How could you know?"

  Will tapped the side of his nose knowingly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I happen to be a well-read man!"

  Nick let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, the sound vibrating through the air. "And I'm the hero of light reborn!"

  Even Ash laughed a bit at that, the sound surprising him. For a moment, the tension in his chest eased, despite his intense dislike for the way Rosalia was looking at Will right now, her green eyes bright with admiration for the other boy. The inn's patrons cast occasional curious glances their way, quickly averting their eyes when noticed.

  "We are dealing with a night maiden."

  Everyone looked over at Amalia. Her voice had cut through their laughter like a knife through butter, bringing an abrupt end to the moment of levity. The scent of fish stew and fresh bread hung in the air around them, a stark contrast to the gravity of Amalia's tone.

  Ash raised a hand, curiosity overcoming his usual reluctance to engage directly with the storyteller. "Uhh... what is that? I get that you're talking about the monster, but clarification would be nice."

  Amalia tapped a nail on the table, the sound sharp and precise. The firelight cast deep shadows across her face, making her seem more mysterious than ever.

  "Night maidens are the manifestation of the betrayed souls of dead young women. Usually betrayed by a lover, they die as a result of that betrayal, and thus, a night maiden is born."

  A hush fell over their table, the weight of her words sinking in. The background noise of the inn seemed to fade as they contemplated this information. A serving girl passed by with a tray of ale mugs, the smell of hops momentarily distracting Ash.

  "That's so sad..." Rosalia lamented, her voice soft with genuine sympathy. Her fingers absently traced patterns on the wooden tabletop, her earlier mirth completely gone.

  "Mm. It means we will have to take extra steps if we wish to harm her," Amalia continued, unmoved by Rosalia's empathy.

  Will raised an eyebrow, leaning forward on his elbows. The movement caused the candle in the center of the table to flicker, sending strange shadows dancing across his face.

  "What extra steps? Just use the pointy end of our swords a few times, and presto! Dead monster." He mimed stabbing motions with an imaginary sword, his confidence seemingly unshaken by Amalia's somber explanation.

  "Would that it were so simple, Master Al'Seen." Amalia's voice remained flat, though Ash thought he detected a hint of irritation in her tone. "You will learn more at the academy, but suffice to say that some monsters cannot be harmed by conventional means unless steps are taken. Some require special weapons to be defeated. In this case, a wraith oil, a blessing, and a script should be sufficient."

  Will sat back in his chair, a slight furrow appearing between his brows. The chair creaked beneath his weight as he shifted position.

  "Yeah, I'm going to need all of that explained. Preferably in small words," he said dryly, glancing around at the others as if hoping for support.

  Amalia's expression didn't change, but her grip on her staff tightened almost imperceptibly. The fire in the hearth crackled, sending up a shower of sparks that briefly illuminated her face.

  "Master Al'Smith, you will need to fetch us some things from the market. I will give you a list." She looked at Nick, who nodded solemnly in response. "Master Al'Seen, you will be coming with me to purchase some weapons and have them blessed." Will opened his mouth as if to protest, then thought better of it. "Master Lorcan and Miss Va'Sear, you shall investigate local deaths, in particular, any young women who have died recently. Expect some resistance, but I trust in your problem-solving skills."

  Amalia waved a dismissive hand, effectively ending the discussion. The finality of her gesture left no room for argument. From elsewhere in the inn came the sound of a mug slamming onto a table, followed by raucous laughter, a jarring counterpoint to the solemnity that had settled over their group.

  They got to work, each silently accepting their assigned tasks. Ash caught Rosalia's eye as they stood from the table, and she offered him a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Outside, the wind had picked up, whistling through the gaps in the inn's shutters and carrying with it the constant rhythm of waves breaking against the shore.

  "This is all so exciting, don't you think?" Rosalia asked as they stepped out into the streets of Brilehaven.

  The night air was cool against Ash's skin, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed. Lanterns hung from posts along the main street, their golden light creating pools of brightness in the gathering darkness. A few villagers hurried past, their faces drawn and wary, clearly eager to be indoors before full night descended.

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  Ash shrugged, his mind still processing the implications of what they were facing. The cobblestones beneath their feet were slick with sea mist, forcing them to watch their steps carefully.

  "New places, and we are learning to fight! And magic!" Rosalia continued, her enthusiasm seemingly undampened by his lack of response. Her voice carried on the night air, causing a nearby fisherman to glance their way curiously before continuing on his path.

  Her ears went bright pink as soon as the words left her mouth, and she looked away quickly, realizing her mistake. The lantern light caught the delicate curve of her ear, highlighting its pointed tip.

  "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean..." Her voice trailed off, the weight of what she'd inadvertently referenced hanging between them.

  Ash sighed, the sound heavy with frustration. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, the sound echoing between the closely packed buildings.

  "I'm not a cripple, Rosalia." The words came out harder than he'd intended, but he couldn't help the bitterness that seeped into his voice.

  She bit her lip, wringing her hands in front of her. Her green eyes reflected the lantern light, wide with regret. "I wasn't trying to say—"

  Ash slashed a hand through the air, cutting her off. The motion was sharp, decisive, betraying the depth of his frustration. "I know. But all of you treating me like I'm an invalid is getting old. Look!"

  He held up both of his hands, flexing his fingers in the lantern light. "These still work," he pulled at his ears, then lifted one foot after the other, wriggling them in an exaggerated manner. "I can still hear, still speak, and my feet work, too!"

  A passing villager gave them a strange look, hurrying past with a shake of his head. The wind carried the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore, a constant reminder of the deadly waters that surrounded the village.

  Rosalia frowned, her green eyes flashing with sudden anger. "I get your point, Ash. You don't have to be a light cursed ass about it." Her voice had an edge to it now, sharp and defensive.

  He grunted, scuffing the toe of his boot against the cobblestones. "Maybe I do. I haven't exactly hid how I feel about the situation. You can all see it, but you do it anyway."

  She had the decency to look guilty, her anger dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. She sighed a moment later, her breath visible as a small cloud in the cool night air.

  "I'm sorry. I'll try to do better."

  Ash nodded, feeling some of his own anger drain away. "Yeah. I'm sorry, too. I know I've added to the tension. We've all been through a lot the last few days." The memory of their burning homes, of lost family members, hung unspoken between them. The pain was still too fresh, too raw to address directly.

  Rosalia grinned, bumping his shoulder with her own. The brief contact sent an unexpected warmth through him. "Look at us acting like two mature adults! Anyway, where should we start?"

  Ash rubbed his chin, considering their options as they walked deeper into the village. The houses here were simple structures, built more for function than beauty, their walls weathered by years of exposure to the harsh sea winds.

  "There's a couple of options. We could talk to the receptionist at the healers. She seemed open. Or we could try the elder I spoke to. But I don't think he wants to be bothered." The memory of the old man's dismissive attitude made Ash grimace.

  Rosalia tapped her chin with a finger, looking up in thought. The gesture was oddly endearing, reminding Ash of when they were younger. "Why not try the healer? Prefer to deal with a nice person!"

  Ash led her to the healer's home, passing people going about their daily errands as they did. The building stood out from its neighbors, its stone walls more substantial, its windows larger and cleaner. A small sign hung beside the door, depicting a mortar and pestle.

  It was less busy this time, the reception area empty except for the young blonde woman behind the desk. She smiled wide when she saw him, recognition lighting her features.

  "You've returned! I'm afraid mister Bert is sleeping right now. Healer Shawna doesn't want him disturbed." Her voice was cheerful despite the late hour, her hands neatly folded on the desk before her.

  Ash offered her a smile in return, conscious of making a good impression. "Hello. We're here to talk to you, actually."

  "Oh? How can I help?" She straightened in her chair, her brown eyes curious. A small pot of healing herbs sat on her desk, their pungent aroma adding to the medicinal smell that pervaded the building.

  Ash pointed at Rosalia, who gave a small wave. "This is my friend Rosalia, and I'm Ash. As I said earlier, we are hunting the monster, Sally of The Water."

  She smiled again, the expression warming her face. "Nice to meet you! I'm Sara. I don't know how I can help with that, but ask away."

  "We are looking into the deaths of young women. We think that it's related to the monster. Are there any young women who passed away recently that maybe had a relationship go sour?" Ash tried to keep his voice casual, but the gravity of the question hung in the air.

  Sara leaned back in her chair, reaching up a hand she pulled on her earlobe, brows furrowing in concentration. The room was silent except for the ticking of a clock on the wall.

  "Let me think..."

  She chewed on her cheek, drumming her fingers on her desk. A shelf behind her held numerous bottles and jars, their contents casting strange shadows in the lamplight.

  "I can't say I kept up with the local gossip. However, three young women have passed in the last few months: Adra Clear, Raisha Al'Carpenter, and Arisa Bell." She listed the names solemnly, her earlier cheer dimming.

  "Do you know where we can find their families?" Rosalia asked, her voice gentle. She had moved closer to the desk, her expression earnest and sympathetic.

  Sara nodded, reaching for a quill and a small slip of paper. "I do. Just be gentle, okay? They've been through a lot." The scratching of the quill as she wrote filled the momentary silence.

  Rosalia smiled gently, her eyes reflecting the warmth of her expression. "Of course we will. We just want to stop the killing."

  Looking at Ash, he nodded at her, and they departed after Sara handed them a slip of paper with the addresses on it. The night had deepened while they were inside, the darkness between the lantern pools more profound, more threatening. The sound of the sea was louder now, as if the waves were creeping closer to the village with each passing moment.

  The first two visits had been difficult, filled with grief and suspicion. Ash and Rosalia had pressed gently, respectful of the families' pain, but it had quickly become apparent that neither young woman's death involved a spurned lover or a relationship gone wrong. Adra Clear had fallen from the cliffs during a storm, while Raisha Al'Carpenter had succumbed to a wasting illness that had afflicted her for years.

  "That was a dud. There are no romantic entanglements for the first two." Rosalia looked as if she had just bit into a lemon, her face scrunched with disappointment. They stood on a narrow street corner, consulting the paper Sara had given them.

  "It must be this last one, then." Ash's voice was hopeful, though a small part of him dreaded causing another family pain by dredging up their loss.

  Rosalia didn't look so sure, her eyes troubled as she gazed at the final address. "I don't want to disappoint Miss Amalia."

  Ash snorted, the sound harsh in the quiet street. "You have about as much chance of doing that as disappointing a stone."

  "You're too hard on her, you know that?" Rosalia's voice was surprisingly defensive, catching Ash off guard.

  Ash started, working his mouth like he was chewing on a piece of gristle. The lantern light cast harsh shadows across his face, emphasizing his scowl.

  "Me? Hard on her?! Hardly." The words came out more forcefully than he'd intended, drawing a curious glance from a woman closing her shutters across the street.

  Rosalia shook her head, eyes closing briefly. "No, you are. She saved our lives. She trains us every day. Think about it, have you ever thanked her for that? Did you ever stop and consider how she's been feeling about this?"

  Ash scowled, kicking a rock on the road and shoving hands into his pockets. The sound of the rock skittering across the cobblestones seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet street.

  "I don't care. She knows, Rosalia. She knows who that figure was, and she knows why they were there. Yet she holds the information for ransom! Making us go to this school, train, and now fight monsters! You can't seriously be telling me all of that is fine with you." His voice rose with each word, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

  Rosalia held up her hands, her expression earnest. "You're right. She does know. That means there could be very good, very real reasons she isn't telling us. You're being short-sighted, Ash."

  He looked away, grunting. The truth of her words stung, though he wasn't ready to admit it. "We're here."

  The home was small, and if there was a bad part of town, this was it. The buildings were more run down, their walls crumbling in places, their windows small and dark. The people looked dejected, their faces gaunt, their clothes worn and patched. They had passed a few men passed out in a ditch, the smell of cheap ale wafting from them.

  It smelled, too. The stench was like rotting fish and days-old garbage. Mixing with the air that came from the ocean, it permeated everything, making Ash's eyes water.

  Ash fought the urge to wrinkle his nose as he knocked on the door. The wood was weathered, strips peeling away in places, revealing the grain beneath.

  A haggard-looking elf woman answered the door. Even haggard, she was beautiful. Her platinum hair was matted, but it still lent her an otherworldly quality. Her ears were pointed out widely to the side rather than up, and her hazel eyes gleamed with flecks of gold in the dim light.

  She wore a simple brown garb that was at least clean, the fabric worn thin in places but carefully mended. Deep bags were under her eyes, speaking of countless sleepless nights.

  "Yes?" She sounded utterly spent, as if she were ready to drop any moment. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, fragile as autumn leaves.

  "Uh, hello, ma'am. Are you perhaps the mother of Arisa Bell?" Ash tried to keep his voice gentle, conscious of the pain his question might bring.

  A mute nod, her eyes dulling further at the mention of her daughter's name. Behind her, the interior of the house was clean but sparse, the furnishings minimal.

  Ash and Rosalia shared a glance, communicating without words. Rosalia cleared her throat, stepping forward slightly.

  "Yes, well, we wanted to ask you a few questions about your daughter, ma'am. It's related to the monster you might have heard about?" She kept her voice soft, compassionate.

  A large man with a lion mane of hair appeared from behind the elf woman, his presence filling the doorway. His hands were calloused, his arms thick with muscle, speaking of years of hard physical labor.

  "We just want ta be left alone, ya hear?" His voice was gruff, but there was pain beneath the roughness, a wound that hadn't healed.

  Ash raised a placating hand, feeling the weight of their grief pressing against him. "I understand, sir. But people are dying. As hard as it is, this could be important."

  The man shared a glance with his elven wife, their silent communication speaking of years together, of shared joys and sorrows. Then he sighed, his massive shoulders slumping slightly.

  "Ya better come on in, then."

  Ash entered with Rosalia, the door closing behind them with a soft click that somehow sounded final, as if they had crossed a threshold into a place from which there was no easy return. The interior was dim, a single oil lamp providing the only light, casting long shadows across the worn floor. The air was heavy with the smell of herbs, a futile attempt to mask the pervasive odor from outside.

  He had a feeling they had found the right place. The grief here was palpable, a living thing that filled every corner of the small home. It reminded him painfully of the loss he himself had suffered, of the family that had been taken from him.

  Whatever they were about to learn, Ash suspected it would be both the key to defeating the monster and a story of heartbreak that would haunt his dreams for nights to come.