Chapter Eighteen: Wraith Oil

  Ash knelt beside the small pile of kindling, frustration building as another gust of wind scattered his efforts. The persistent breeze, carrying the scent of salt from the distant ocean, seemed determined to thwart his attempts at creating fire. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air as he tried for the fourth time, carefully shielding the spark with his body.

  "Come on," he muttered, his fingers positioning the flint more carefully. A small spark caught this time, but wavered precariously as the wind teased at it. Ash leaned closer, his breath controlled and measured as he coaxed the tiny flame with additional kindling.

  Finally, on his fifth attempt, success. A small, golden flame flickered to life, dancing uncertainly before strengthening as Ash fed it carefully selected twigs. Relief washed over him as he sat back on his heels, watching the fire grow. He kept it small, knowing the delicate alchemy ahead required precise temperature control.

  "At least that's done," he said to himself, reaching for two sturdy sticks he had prepared earlier. With methodical precision, he fashioned them into makeshift tongs that would allow him to manipulate the pot without burning himself.

  His eyes drifted to his pack where the ingredients for wraith oil waited. The importance of his task hung heavy in his mind. Their lives might depend on this concoction working properly, and Amalia had given him precious little guidance. Typical.

  Ash's hands moved to the first ingredient: a flask of dark stout alcohol that gleamed almost black in the firelight. The liquid sloshed heavily as he unstoppered it, releasing a pungent aroma of fermented grain and hops that made his nose wrinkle involuntarily.

  "How can people drink this stuff?" Ash wondered, his face contorting as he poured the stout into the pot. The smell alone was enough to turn his stomach, but that was nothing compared to what came next.

  His fingers hesitated over the vial of undahul saliva. Even with the stopper firmly in place, a faint, putrid odor leaked through, promising worse to come. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Ash quickly removed the stopper and immediately regretted it. The stench hit him like a physical blow, nauseating and overwhelming.

  "Light preserve me," he gagged, nearly dropping the vial as he hurriedly poured its contents into the pot. The sickly yellowish-green fluid slowly merged with the alcohol, creating swirls of color that reminded him of disease and decay. Compared to this, the alcohol's smell seemed almost pleasant.

  Using a stick to stir the mixture, Ash watched as it gradually transformed into a sickly green fluid that bubbled unnervingly. He tapped the side of the pot to dislodge the excess liquid from his stirring stick, careful not to let any of the concoction touch his skin.

  Next came the grinding. Ash reached for the mortar and pestle Amalia had provided, grateful that the next ingredients weren't as offensive to his senses. The night wraith teeth, small and needle-sharp, clattered against the stone as he added them.

  "At least these don't reek," he muttered thankfully, examining one of the teeth before dropping it into the mortar. Each tooth was the length of his fingernail but far sharper, with an unnatural translucence that caught the firelight in eerie ways.

  He added the luminae flowers next, their pure white petals almost glowing in the darkness, a stark contrast to the other ingredients. Legend held that these flowers bloomed wherever the Hero of Light's tears had fallen. Whether true or not, they possessed powerful magical properties that Ash had only read about in books back on the farm.

  Biting his inner lip in concentration, Ash brought his brows together as he worked the pestle. The grinding required more force than he'd anticipated, each tooth resisting before finally cracking and powdering under his persistent efforts. The flowers released clear juices that mixed with the powdered teeth, creating a paste that smelled surprisingly pleasant, like fresh spring water over mountain stone.

  Occasionally, Ash paused to check on the mixture in the pot. The alcohol and saliva combination was heating nicely, but perhaps too quickly. Bubbles formed along the edges, growing more numerous as the liquid began to simmer more aggressively.

  "Too hot," he murmured, concern flashing across his face. Amalia hadn't specified the exact temperature needed, nor when to add the ground ingredients. Another crucial detail withheld, another opportunity to fail.

  Refusing to take chances, Ash quickly used his makeshift tongs to lift the pot from the fire. The metal was hot against the wood, threatening to slip from his improvised tool. With careful movements, he set the pot on a nearby stone, hoping the residual heat would be sufficient to complete the process.

  The mixture continued to bubble slightly, releasing wisps of green vapor that Ash was careful not to inhale. He watched it, waiting until the bubbling subsided to a gentle simmer before deciding it was ready for the final ingredients.

  "Here goes nothing," he said, adding the crushed luminae and powdered teeth to the liquid.

  The reaction was immediate and startling. A brilliant flash of white light erupted from the pot, forcing Ash to jerk his head away as smoke billowed toward his face. The detonation was silent but powerful, sending a wave of energy that he felt more than heard. Coughing, he waved a hand to disperse the smoke, his eyes watering from the acrid fumes.

  When he dared look again, what he found in the pot was nothing like the ingredients he had added. The mixture had transformed completely, becoming a silvery-white oil that glowed with an unmistakable magical radiance, illuminating the area around him with gentle luminescence.

  Ash stared at it, fascinated and confused. The transformation was complete, but he had no understanding of how or why it had happened. The ingredients had somehow combined to create something greater than their parts, something magical.

  "How?" he wondered aloud, frowning at the pot. Amalia had mentioned that the monster parts were the key, but that explanation felt woefully inadequate now that he'd witnessed the process. What forces had transformed those disparate components into this glowing substance?

  Sighing, Ash rubbed at his temple where a headache was forming. This was Amalia's way: withhold critical information, let him stumble through, and only later, if he was fortunate, might she explain where he had gone wrong. It was frustrating, bordering on dangerous.

  "What if I had failed?" he muttered, staring into the glowing oil. "What if these ingredients had been wasted?" They weren't exactly common items one could purchase at the local market.

  The fact that the oil had properly formed seemed more due to luck than skill. How was he supposed to learn without proper guidance? Ash had no issue with making mistakes; he knew learning required them. But being denied the knowledge to avoid unnecessary errors felt needlessly cruel.

  Shaking off his frustration, Ash focused on the task at hand. From his pack, he withdrew several empty potion vials, their glass surfaces reflecting the magical glow of the oil. With steady hands, he carefully poured the precious liquid into each vial, ensuring not a drop was wasted. Each vial filled with the silvery substance that moved with an unusual viscosity, somewhere between water and honey.

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  As he stoppered the last vial, Ash felt a sense of accomplishment despite his lingering frustration with Amalia's teaching methods. He had successfully created wraith oil, a substance that would allow them to harm the night maiden. Perhaps saving their lives in the process.

  The fire had burned low during his work, casting long shadows across the beach. Ash packed away his equipment methodically, ensuring everything was secure for the journey back to the village. The vials of wraith oil clinked gently against each other, their glow visible even through his pack.

  His task completed, Ash stood, brushing sand from his knees. The night air had grown cooler, carrying the distant sounds of waves crashing against the shore. It was peaceful here, a stark contrast to the danger that awaited them.

  Slinging his pack over his shoulder, Ash took one last look at the dying embers of his fire before heading back toward Brilehaven, his mind already racing with thoughts of the confrontation to come.

  ---

  "You have the locket?" Rosalia asked, her voice tinged with hopeful anticipation. She sat perched on the edge of her bed, feet bouncing rhythmically against the wooden floor, sending small vibrations through the room.

  Ash looked at her eager expression, the way her eyes lit up with expectation. For a brief moment, he considered how different she was from Amalia, how open with her emotions and genuine in her concern for others. He curved his lips into a smile, nodding affirmatively.

  "I did," he confirmed, patting the pocket where the small brass trinket rested. The weight of it felt heavier than its size would suggest, laden with the emotional significance it carried for Arisa Bell's grieving parents.

  Relief washed over Rosalia's features, her shoulders relaxing visibly. "That's wonderful! Those poor people will finally have something to remember their daughter by."

  "Excellent," Amalia interjected, her voice cutting through the moment like a blade. "We will need it to summon the maiden."

  The abrupt statement hung in the air for a moment before Rosalia processed its meaning. She cocked her head to one side, confusion replacing her earlier relief.

  "How?" she questioned, her brow furrowing. Then realization dawned on her face, horror quickly following. "Besides, we need to take it back to the parents. We promised!"

  "Mm," Amalia hummed, her face remaining impassive as stone. "You'll end up breaking that promise since it will be hard to keep after we burn the locket."

  The blunt statement hit the room like a physical force. Rosalia's mouth fell open in shock, her body tensing as she stood up, hands balling into fists at her sides.

  "What?" Her voice rose an octave with indignation. "We will not be doing that!"

  Ash watched the exchange, feeling the tension build in the room. The locket felt suddenly heavier in his pocket, the promise he'd made to the grieving parents weighing on his conscience. He'd seen their pain firsthand, their desperate desire for any connection to their lost daughter.

  Nick pulled on his beard, his thick fingers tangling in the dark strands as he contemplated the moral dilemma before them. His normally stoic face betrayed his discomfort with the situation.

  "It doesn't sit right with me, burnin' what they promised to give back," he rumbled, his deep voice carrying the gravity of his concern. "Those folk have lost enough without us takin' more from them."

  Will crossed his arms over his chest, his usual joviality absent as he fixed Amalia with a questioning gaze.

  "Why do we need to burn it? You acted like it didn't mean anything before," he pointed out, recalling her earlier dismissal of their concern for retrieving the locket. "Now suddenly it's vital?"

  Amalia remained unperturbed by their reactions, her violet eyes revealing nothing of her thoughts.

  "I did," she acknowledged without a hint of apology. "If you couldn't find it, we would have had to retrieve some other item of value to her or use a person as bait. This saves time."

  Will braced one hand on his hip while stroking his chin with thumb and forefinger, his face a picture of skeptical concentration.

  "Getting my fat hamster to move on its wheel in my brain here," he said, using humor to mask his unease, "but let me see if I have this right. You're saying we need to burn the locket so the night maiden will show up so we can kill it?"

  Amalia nodded once, the barest hint of approval crossing her features. "It appears that hamster is getting its exercise, Master Al'Seen. You have it right."

  The confirmation only seemed to intensify Rosalia's distress. She stepped forward, hands clasped tightly before her chest as if in prayer or supplication.

  "We should just use something else!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking slightly with emotion. "I'm sure Mr. Holt and Ms. Lea have something else of their daughter's we could use!"

  Ash could see the conflict within her, the battle between their need to defeat the night maiden and her desire to honor their promise to the grieving parents. He felt the same inner turmoil, remembering the hope in their eyes when he'd promised to return their daughter's locket.

  Amalia was already shaking her head before Rosalia finished speaking, dismissing the suggestion without consideration.

  "I was willing to try another object should you not have been able to retrieve the locket," she stated flatly, "but it would have had less chance of working. This locket had been special to the deceased since she was a little girl. It will certainly work, so that is what we will use."

  The cold practicality of her response seemed to awaken something in Rosalia. Her fists clenched tighter, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, glistening in the room's dim light.

  "You knew," she accused, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and betrayal. "You knew we would have to do this. Why didn't you say anything before?"

  The question hung in the air between them, highlighting the emotional divide separating Amalia from the rest of them. Ash found himself wondering the same thing, recalling his difficult dive to retrieve the locket, the way the child's drawing inside had affected him.

  "What purpose would that have served?" Amalia replied, unruffled by the accusation. "There was no sense in upsetting you unless young Master Lorcan here succeeded in retrieving it."

  The logical response only seemed to fuel Rosalia's emotional response. Her lip quivered as she stared at the older woman, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

  "You're so cold," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Why are you like this?"

  The question seemed to touch on something deeper than just the current situation, probing at the fundamental nature of their enigmatic guide. Ash found himself holding his breath, wondering if Amalia might finally reveal something of herself.

  But Amalia said nothing. Not a flicker of emotion crossed her face as she rose to her feet in a fluid motion. She walked toward Ash with measured steps, extending a small leather bag toward him.

  "Inside, you will find a cura rose, furoian dust, and pure water," she explained, her tone neutral and instructional. "Use all of it to create healing potions."

  She tapped the vials of wraith oil Ash had made, examining them with a critical eye. "These are decent. Use a little more heat next time. This should help."

  With a gesture that seemed to defy physical limitations, a small black burner appeared in her hand, its side lined with a glowing red script that pulsed like a heartbeat.

  "A portable burner," she explained. "It should be more suitable than a beach fire."

  Ash frowned, his mind racing with questions. Had she possessed this burner all along? Could she have provided it before he struggled with the inconsistent heat of an open fire? He sighed internally, deciding against raising the issue. Some battles weren't worth fighting.

  "Thank you," he replied simply, accepting both the criticism and the tool.

  Amalia offered no acknowledgment of his gratitude. Instead, she turned to address the group as a whole, her demeanor shifting subtly to that of an instructor.

  "Tonight, you will be fighting the night maiden," she announced, her voice brooking no argument. "It is time to decide the roles you will play in the coming confrontation."

  Will's face brightened slightly at the change of subject, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  "As long as I get to stay in the back and shoot it with my fast-moving death sticks, I'm good," he quipped, attempting to lighten the heavy atmosphere with humor.

  "You need to decide the following roles," Amalia continued, ignoring his comment. "Tank, damage, healer, and support. Given none of you have mastered any healing techniques yet, you will be unable to fulfill that duty."

  Will's attempt at levity faded, replaced by a more serious concern. "Why do any of us need to fight? You could kill the maiden like that," he snapped his fingers for emphasis, his voice taking on an edge of frustration.

  Ash found himself nodding in agreement, pointing at the other boy to reinforce the sentiment. They had all witnessed Amalia's power; she could probably dispatch the night maiden without breaking a sweat. Why risk their lives unnecessarily?

  "What would you learn if I did that?" Amalia countered, her question clearly rhetorical.

  Will wasn't having it. "My guts don't pay rent," he retorted with grim humor, "but I still prefer not to have them evicted via monster claws. So how about we skip the super dangerous lessons?"

  A flash of something crossed Amalia's face, too quick to identify. "You will never reach bronze rank if you shy away from fights," she stated firmly. "Tanks draw attention, keeping it on them; I will add a script to your shield, Master Al'Smith, which will help repel the maiden's attacks. Master Lorcan, you shall play support. Miss Va'Sear shall be damage, along with Master Al'Seen."

  She paused, surveying them with her unreadable violet gaze. "I would normally allow you all to discuss and puzzle it out yourselves, but I want to move along after tonight, and you need the time to practice."

  Rosalia crossed her arms over her chest, her earlier hurt now hardened into determination. "I say we buy those more expensive ingredients and return the locket," she insisted. "We promised."

  Amalia raised a single black eyebrow, the gesture somehow conveying volumes of skepticism. "Oh? With what money might you purchase these ingredients?"

  The practical question seemed to catch Rosalia off guard. Her mouth opened, then closed, her gaze shifting away from Amalia's penetrating stare.

  "I thought you'd purchase them..." she admitted reluctantly, her voice trailing off.

  Amalia did not laugh, though Ash could almost imagine her doing so in a cold, humorless way. Instead, her face remained a perfect mask of indifference.

  "Why would I do such a thing?" she asked. "I have only purchased what I have so far to further your training. Purchasing more expensive ingredients when there is no need to would be a waste of funds. Funds we will need should we wish to reach our destination."

  The reminder of their financial limitations hung heavily in the air. Rosalia's fingers clenched at the bed sheets beneath her, her body trembling visibly with barely contained rage.

  "Don't you have a heart?" she asked, the question both accusation and genuine inquiry.

  Amalia regarded her for a moment, her expression unchanged. "I assure you that my heart functions purely," she replied, the statement devoid of emotion despite its content. "Now, I suggest you rest as well as you can. The fight ahead will likely be trying."

  With that final pronouncement, Amalia strode from the room, the door closing behind her with a soft click that somehow felt more final than a slam.

  In the silence that followed her departure, Ash exchanged glances with his companions. They would face the night maiden with the tools they had, including the locket they had promised to return. The moral compromise weighed on him, but he saw no alternative.

  As he sorted through his newly acquired alchemy ingredients, Ash couldn't help but think of what awaited them. A spectral entity born of betrayal and violence, a creature that had already claimed lives. Would they be able to defeat it? Or would they join its victims?

  Ash hoped they would all still be alive by the night's end.