Chapter Seventeen: Alchemy

  "Will and Nick received the other items we needed. We will meet in your room tomorrow morning to discuss what we need to do for our next steps. Then, you can take a boat to where Arisa was drowned and look for the locket if you wish. I hope you know how to swim." Amalia's voice carried its usual matter-of-fact tone, devoid of the compassion most would express when discussing such a tragic situation.

  Ash nodded, a quiet confidence settling over him. He knew how to swim quite well. His Uncle Derrick had taught him in the lake a few miles from their farm, spending patient summer afternoons showing him different strokes and how to tread water. The memory brought a brief warmth to his chest, quickly replaced by the familiar hollow ache that accompanied thoughts of his uncle.

  He had never tried diving that far into open water before, but the determined set of his jaw showed he would try for Lea and Holt. Their grief-stricken faces were still vivid in his mind, the raw pain in their eyes when they spoke of their daughter.

  Will leaned back in his chair, flashing his practiced carefree grin. "I'm too pretty to drown, so I'm not doing it," he declared, tapping his face with exaggerated self-importance.

  "Yeah, you're a real catch," Nick muttered, shaking his head.

  Ash noticed something unusual. Rosalia, normally quick to giggle at Will's jokes no matter how foolish, remained stone-faced. Her green eyes were serious, her usually animated features set in a grim line.

  "This is serious," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "We need to get that locket if we can. Those people deserve it." Her fingers curled into fists on the tabletop. "You have no idea what she told me. How horrible half-elves are treated."

  Will and Nick bowed their heads, properly chastened by her uncharacteristic sternness. The usual lightness between them felt suddenly inappropriate in the face of what they had learned.

  "The locket is secondary," Amalia interjected, her voice cutting through the moment. "If you can retrieve it, all the better. If you cannot, nothing significant is lost."

  Rosalia turned to look at Amalia, her expression shifting to one of incredulous disbelief. Ash had never seen her look at their reluctant teacher this way before, as if truly seeing her for the first time.

  "Those people are suffering!" Rosalia exclaimed, her voice rising with emotion. "Their daughter was manipulated and then murdered for no reason other than existing." Her hands trembled slightly. "They deserve closure, and you're acting like it doesn't matter!"

  "Mm. Indeed, and that would be because it doesn't," Amalia replied evenly, not bothering to look up from arranging items on the table.

  The casual dismissal seemed to break something in Rosalia. She slammed her hand down on the table, the impact sending a water cup wobbling dangerously. Her ears were twitching furiously, her eyes blazing with righteous anger.

  "It does matter! She mattered, you hear me!" Tears spilled from her eyes, dropping onto the wooden surface of the table. Her shoulders shook with the force of her emotion.

  Amalia finally looked up, her violet eyes calm and unaffected by the display. "She did, yes. Horrible things happen all the time; you've experienced some of that. People have prejudice; it is a testament to your age that you have operated until now believing that not to be true." Her gaze swept over all of them, cool and assessing. "I would have thought the last vestiges of your innocence were gone the night your homes and families were killed."

  The calculated cruelty of the statement silenced the room. Rosalia stared at Amalia as if seeing her for the first time, her mouth slightly open in shock.

  "How are you so cold?" she finally whispered, her voice trembling.

  Amalia didn't respond to the comment. She simply smoothed her black robes and said, "Get some rest, all of you. We have much to do tomorrow and a battle with a monster to look forward to."

  Rosalia stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. Without another word, she stormed away to her room, the sound of her footsteps fading down the hallway. Will, Nick, and Ash shared a look, the silence between them heavy with unspoken thoughts.

  Ash almost felt ashamed that he was happy Rosalia was starting to see why he had such a problem with Amalia. He had been trying to explain it to his friends since they fled with the storyteller, but they had never quite understood his reservations. Now, perhaps, they were beginning to.

  He left the table with the other two boys, heading to their shared room in silence. The weight of the day's discoveries pressed down on him, making his shoulders sag with invisible burden.

  That night, he tried to sleep, but his dreams were filled with unsettling visions: roaring fire consuming everything in its path, a beautiful woman with silver-blonde hair wielding a blade of pure light, and eyes burning with hatred so intense they seemed to scorch his very soul. He tossed and turned, tangling the sheets around his legs, caught in the grip of memories that weren't quite his own.

  When morning light finally filtered through the curtains, Ash felt as though he hadn't slept at all.

  "Sleep well?" Will asked, already up and stretching his arms overhead.

  Ash rubbed his eyes, feeling the grit of exhaustion beneath his lids. "Not very, but I'll manage," he replied, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

  The three boys began their morning routine, taking turns using the washroom's scripted shower heads. Ash marveled briefly at the convenience of the scripts that heated the water to the perfect temperature at a touch. It was a luxury compared to heating water over a fire at the farm. He let the warm water wash over him, hoping it might clear some of the fog from his mind.

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  After they had dressed, there was a knock at the door. Will opened it with a flourish.

  "Gents, may I introduce the lady Rosalia, in all her radiant beauty," he announced with an elegant bow, his usual good humor apparently restored after a night's rest.

  Rosalia entered, the tips of her ears blushing pink at the dramatic introduction. Despite her serious mood from the previous night, she giggled and slapped Will lightly on the shoulder.

  "Stop that," she scolded without any real heat. "Amalia is on her way."

  She sat down with the rest of them, perching on the edge of one of the beds. Her green eyes still showed signs of the previous night's tears, slightly puffy around the edges, but her demeanor was composed once more.

  Amalia entered the room moments later, gliding in with her usual silent grace. She was dressed as she always was, in flowing black robes that seemed to absorb the light around her, her white staff engraved with strange markings clutched in one pale hand. If she remembered or cared about the confrontation from the night before, her impassive face gave no indication.

  "Good, you're all here," she stated, surveying them with those unreadable violet eyes. "Now then, Nick and Will were kind enough to pick up weapons for you all the other day and have them blessed by a priest of Light."

  With a casual gesture, she held a hand over the bed, and three swords in simple leather sheaths fell onto the mattress as if conjured from thin air. Next, she brought forth a large metal hammer, its surface gleaming in the morning light, and handed it to Nick, who hefted it with an appreciative smile.

  "Now that's what I'm talking about!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with boyish excitement. "Light, but ain't she a beaut?" He tested the weight, swinging it carefully through the air.

  Will, Rosalia, and Ash laughed at his enthusiasm as they each picked up their own weapons. Ash wrapped his fingers around the leather-bound hilt of his sword, pulling it slightly from its sheath to examine the blade. This sword was not wooden like their practice weapons but forged of actual metal, weighing considerably more than he had expected. He almost dropped it, his wrist bending under the unexpected weight.

  However, even the minimal training they had received under Amalia's strict guidance had prepared him better than he realized. Once Ash adjusted his grip and stance, he found the weapon manageable, if still unfamiliar.

  "I don't get it," Will said, examining his blade with a skeptical eye. "The priest just said some weird nonsense in a strange language, and now the sword can pierce this night maiden?" His dubious eyebrow climbed up his forehead as he looked to Amalia for explanation.

  "Precisely, Master Al'Seen," she confirmed without elaboration. "That, and a little help from the wraith oil, should do the trick nicely."

  Will shook his head, still unconvinced. "You had me get all those plants, and I don't know what I needed those teeth for, but that's just unsanitary." He wrinkled his nose at the memory.

  Amalia did not laugh at Will's joke or even acknowledge it. Instead, she made several items appear out of thin air, setting them on the bed between them. The first was a simple black pot with a worn rim; next came two glass vials. One contained several needle-sharp green teeth that seemed to still hold a menacing aura, and the second contained a viscous liquid the color of pond slime.

  Along with these items, she placed a pure white flower on the bed, its petals seeming to glow with an inner light.

  "It is said that when the Hero of Light died, the tears wept that day bloomed into these flowers," she explained, her voice taking on the cadence she used when telling stories. "They are known as luminae. Pretty if you care for that sort of thing." She waved a dismissive hand. "For our purposes, they are often a key ingredient when crafting oils or potions."

  She pointed a long finger directly at Ash, who straightened under her attention.

  "You, Master Lorcan, will create these potions and oils for us," she declared. "First, you will start with the wraith oil and then two healing potions. I will give you the ingredients for those after I see how you handle making the wraith oil."

  Ash blinked in surprise. "You want me to handle this? Doesn't it require some elar to use?"

  Amalia shook her head, the motion fluid and precise. "That is what the monster parts are for. This substance is undahul saliva," she explained, indicating the slime-colored liquid, "and the teeth are moon wraith teeth. Crushing them into a powder with the saliva and alcohol will create wraith oil. These are bronze-ranked ingredients, and the oil will be of the same rank, too."

  She paused, ensuring he was following. "This is the beauty of alchemy; all you need are the required ingredients of your desired rank. If you cannot gather them yourself, you may procure them. It should go without saying, but I will say it anyway: the higher the rank, the more expensive the ingredient."

  Ash stared at the pot, doubt creeping into his expression. "I don't know. It can't be that easy." Nothing with Amalia ever was.

  Amalia tapped the pot with one slender finger. "Heat is important, as is how long you cook the potion. For oils, you want low heat, long and slow to draw out everything from the flowers. There's more to how it all works, but it is all you need to know for now."

  "Yeah, you're big on need to know," Will said, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

  "Indeed," Amalia replied without inflection, apparently immune to his sarcasm.

  Ash took the pot to a small table near the window, setting it and the ingredients on top with care. He examined them briefly, trying to envision the process in his mind.

  "Okay, but how should I put this over a fire?" he asked, turning back to Amalia. "I don't think the chef will allow me to use the kitchen."

  "No, they likely would not," she agreed. "I suggest building a fire just outside of town or on the beach. You need to go down there to retrieve that locket anyway."

  Ash nodded, a plan forming in his mind. "Yeah, that's right, I do. I'll be off then; I have work to do."

  After nodding to them all, Ash gathered what he needed, tucking the ingredients carefully into his pack. He felt the weight of their importance as he left the room, determined not to let the grieving parents down.

  The morning air was cool against his face as he made his way to the wharf, the scent of salt growing stronger with each step. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries echoing across the harbor. The town was already awake, fishermen preparing their nets and boats, merchants setting out their wares.

  Soon, Ash stood on the wharf in nothing but his small clothes, the rest of his belongings piled neatly nearby. He eyed the waves with trepidation, watching their gentle rhythm against the wooden supports. Surprisingly, he didn't feel cold despite the early hour. The air wasn't bad this morning, and the sea was calm, the surface broken only by small rippling waves.

  Amalia had given him strange glasses with straps to wear, telling him he'd need them to see clearly underwater. He put them on now, adjusting the straps around his head until they felt secure.

  Ash took a deep breath, filling his lungs completely, then slid into the water with as little splash as possible. The initial shock of wetness soon passed, and he began to tread water, finding his balance in the gently shifting medium.

  He tread water for a while, feeling wet but not cold. There was something about the temperature that didn't bother him the way it seemed to affect others. He had noticed this peculiarity before but had never given it much thought.

  Following what Holt had told him, he began to swim lazily forward, powerful strokes carrying him further from shore. There was no need to rush and tire himself out; he would need his strength for diving.

  The ocean proved easier to swim in than he had anticipated, the salt providing additional buoyancy. After being some ways out, judging himself to be in approximately the right area, he took a deep breath and dove beneath the surface.

  Immediately, he understood why he needed the special glasses. Through them, the underwater world came into surprising clarity. He could see the sandy bottom about twenty feet below, dotted with random plants and other such things, but no sign of a locket. Small fish darted away from his unfamiliar form, silver bodies flashing in the filtered sunlight.

  After coming up for air, his lungs burning slightly, he tried again. Each dive revealed new sections of the ocean floor, but no sign of the precious memento he sought.

  A few more attempts, and he moved back a little ways, reconsidering his strategy. His skin was becoming pruny from prolonged exposure to the water, fingers and toes wrinkling, but he couldn't get Lea's weeping face out of his mind. The raw grief in her eyes drove him to continue, to keep searching despite the growing fatigue in his muscles.

  In the end, it took him several hours of methodical diving and searching before he found the locket. It was tucked under a slimy plant with waving tendrils, half-buried in the sand, but he had been in the right area all along. The brass glinted faintly in the dim underwater light, catching his eye just as he was about to surface for another breath.

  With a surge of triumph, he snatched it up and kicked for the surface, breaking through with a gasp. Overall, he considered himself lucky because there just weren't many items down on the ocean floor in this area. Finding such a small object had been like looking for a particular grain of sand on a vast beach.

  After getting the locket, he climbed back up the worn wooden ladder of the wharf and let himself dry in the warm light of the sun that beat down on him. His muscles ached pleasantly from the exertion, a reminder of a task well done.

  Tiny, made from brass, the locket was tarnished from its time in the seawater. With gentle fingers, Ash snapped it open to reveal a child's drawing of her family. Mom, Dad, and a little girl. All stick figures rendered in faded ink, the paper inside somehow preserved from the water's damage.

  Each figure had a happy smile on their face, arms outstretched toward one another in a simple but powerful portrayal of love.

  At that moment, Ash desperately wished he had the power to bring the dead back to life. To restore some semblance of happiness to a broken family. To undo the cruelty inflicted by prejudice and hatred. The weight of his inability to truly fix what had been broken settled heavily on his shoulders.

  But he couldn't perform such miracles. No one could.

  All he could do was return a precious memento and put a young woman's spirit to rest before she harmed anyone else in her rage and pain. It wasn't enough, but it was something. Sometimes, Ash was learning, something had to be enough when everything was impossible.