Aisling: Breath of the New Creature

by A.E. Jürgens

Stars lit the endless seas of midnight blue with radiant, twinkling light. She’d never beheld stars so bright nor so many. Above her were rivers of starlight, bathing in the milk of galaxies.

In some ways, she understood why the wilderness and man were destined to stand at opposing ends. Why the wilds were so hostile against the mortals that carved their buildings, raised their cities, paved their roads on the skeletons of what was once an agrestal kingdom. Only appreciating nature when it fed them, sustained them, and burning it when it did not.

Six sentinels stood guard on either side of the drawbridge to the castle. A drawbridge that connected the mountain to the forest earth, separated by a steep drop where frothing rapids swam far below. But these sentinels were no fae. They were great, bipedal bears, strapped with fae armor and equipped with greatswords and shields, bowing to Lir as he approached in near-perfect unison.

Guard bears?! SICK

“A name given freely and another received in return is not to enslave but to bind. The Sidhe call this ensorcellment. I am as much linked to you as you are to me.”

A fear she wished to explore. To know. To master. After all, he had more reason than most to despise mankind; he was ultimately responsible for the casualties dealt by the mortals after centuries of warring. A king was always responsible for the death of his men even if by the hands of the enemy.

Aisling didn’t blame him for his prejudice against her kind, nor did she expect him to blame her for hers.

“None are innocent in war. But, if a centuries-old Sidhe may impart some wisdom, I suggest you find the truth for yourself instead of parroting the words of your kind. Of your father. All of us claim to know the truth, only some of us do.

“I’d often hoped to be the strongest, besting my brothers with a blade. Hoped to be the wisest, a well of guidance for the North when I came of age. Hoped to be the most disciplined, reaping the fruits of such self-mastery.

But alas, I coveted that which wasn’t meant for me; often weak, often foolish, often impulsive and disobedient, I was rather creative with my lies, stealthy when I cheated at our games, unteachable when it came to the law, my clann’s savage daughter.”

“The skin of a lamb will never flatter a wolf.”

“And what do you loathe about me?” he asked, pulling her back towards him with a gentle press of her waist as they ambled down a steep slope. “To begin, your bloodthirst.” He laughed. “Ah, yes, we often despise our own vices reflected in others.”

Filverel’s words were salt in a wound. They spun in her mind, swirling alongside the image of Hagre’s scars and Galad’s branding. Painful and terrifying yet perhaps, Lir was right. Perhaps despite the torment they brought her, it was necessary that she look, to refrain from averting her eyes.

“Man was born of nothing, but nevertheless born first. Burned his way into the earth and thus, became its master. Taking the earth’s stone to build his castles, the earth’s wood to burn his fires, the earth’s water to propel his mills.”

“And yet, the mortals cower at the coming storm. Fear the beasts of the wood. Shut out the winter lest they die of sickness and frailty,” Gilrel huffed, averting her eyes to watch Rian and Cathan playfully wrestling on the ground.

“Tell me, Aisling, what else happened whilst you lived amongst them?” Nemed pushed, leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. “I chose to eat instead of be eaten,” Aisling replied, and to her surprise, every word spilled from her lips as wickedly smooth as syrup, as silk, as fae sweet cream.

Lir stood within a ring of trees of yore. The gloom of evening cast the spectacle Aisling beheld in shades of oblivion. A film of grim enchantment bathing the Fae King as the trees craned their great bodies towards him, groaning and reaching their branches to crown his head.

As eager as the pools of fog crawling across the forest floor and running their wispy fingers along the contours of his hands, his arms, his legs. He, the heart of the woodland.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Her voice was mulled wine, nearly another’s voice and not her own. “Because you wield strange and cruel magic against me. You being near to me alone makes it difficult to think clearly.”

Because mankind is weak. Because mortals insist on control. On the quelling of such base traits. And that is why they cannot survive in our world, Aisling. Not the way we do. You and I are predators. We rise up the hierarchy of natural beasts and man alike.

“So, you must allow your wolf to wander freely, to strengthen itself in the wild so that when you must call upon it, it is most powerful in your name. Strop your blade rather than dull it. Sharpen your claws and fangs and horns rather than let them waste away.

And be prepared when you at last call upon your wolf. Make sure you yourself are wilder, more feral. More powerful until it is you who eats, you who wields, you who calls upo...