Chapter XXVII
CHAPTER XXVII
Aisling clawed upward. She wasn’t certain how long she’d been submerged, swimming through darkness, until she’d spotted the rays of light, penetrating the water like trails of a reed. Had it not been for her ability to breathe through the draiocht , Aisling would’ve drowned. Lost in some dark cavern where there was no north nor south. No west, nor east. Only black and the oily fingers of the pool, stroking her to sleep.
The mortal queen broke through the surface, gasping for air. The world spun or rather, the cavern in which she stood spun. No longer was she in the Isle of Mirrors amidst the dryads. No. She stood in a chamber of stone, a great corridor that stretched endlessly forward into an abyss. The only light, a hole in the ceiling further down the hall, glowing with the fresh rays of early afternoon. The stench of mold and mildew vegetating in the air. It was then Aisling understood she was underground.
Roots crawled along the stone walls, rising from the knee-deep water flooding the corridor, water she’d somehow emerged from, and surrounded the mortal queen from all sides.
Aisling watched them slither along the rocks. The way they hugged the cool edge of every crease. Rubbing their bellies against the dampness of the passage. But beyond the roots, the vines, the moss sucking every stone, were twinkling gems. Colorful if it weren’t for the filth of the subterranean tunnel. Every gem methodically hammered into the walls till it formed a mural.
Aisling pushed through the murky waters. Her leathers and tunic weighed heavy on her shoulders, sticking to her abdomen and back.
And as she tore at the vines, cautious as they snapped and hissed at her carelessness, she could feel the draiocht waking in the tunnel. Great magic swelling through the vast chamber, a perpetually crashing wave. Magic that brought these ancient murals to life. How long had they existed down here? Wherever here was. Aisling shook her head. Masterpieces of shattered, gleaming shards chronicling the conception of the world according to the fair folk.
The mortal queen peeled away the hair stuck to her face.
The narrative began with two faceless figures in the dark. All that existed were these two males radiating with celestial, white light. But amidst such blackness burned an ember. A red spark, flickering as Aisling traced the rubies with her fingertips. The mural brightened, spun into motion.
The two figures approached the ember, stoking it to life with their breath until it blazed greater and greater, hundreds of rubies hammered into the stone to reflect such a marvel. A marvel that came to be known as the Great Forge of Creation. Nothing else existed. Only the two figures and the Forge, churning its fires until the rubies transformed into blue mountains, seas, valleys, forests, islands, icy plains on the left. And on the right, the rubies became something else Aisling didn’t recognize: a landscape she could scarcely behold, thanks to the roots tightly clasped over the mural at this end of the corridor. But what Aisling did see was enough. These were the two planes. That of the Other on the right and that of the world Aisling inhabited on the left; the mortal world Nemed had called it. Both forged in the beginning of all things.
Aisling walked further down the wall, tearing at the stubborn lianas when she found a familiar image. Aisling stepped back, inhaling sharply.
It was a crowned male figure standing amongst eleven other sovereigns, both male and female. Each carrying a gift in their hands. And the first male, the one that’d caught Aisling’s attention, wore a crown of gilded antlers. Carried Lir’s twin axes in his hands. The blade she’d chosen at their union.
This was Bres. Lir’s father. And further down, stood Ina, a female glittering in gold. But she was the only one of the monarchs who didn’t boast a weapon. Her head was crowned by the image of a three-eyed owl, looking back at Aisling and considering her in return. Ina’s gift of sight .
Aisling’s eyes devoured the mural, running down the walls of the corridor and into the darkness.
The fae sovereigns took ownership of the seas: flecks of kyanite embroidered with opals, multiplying and swirling around their merrow monarch; the great planes: sheets of cornelian splintering like rays of sun; the mountains: jagged mounds of amethyst piercing skies of moonstone; and so many more. The world took shape as the original two males stirred the Forge, a ruby growing larger with every churn. But it was the golden Ina rushing towards the city of emeralds that stole Aisling’s attention, Bres impaled by another fae queen, one Aisling didn’t recognize, and Ina weeping tears of kyanite as his gemstone dulled.
Enraged, the Forge overflowed, rubies tunnelling through Iod’s amethysts until every gold-flecked subject of Ina was damned, writhing as their lights dulled as well. No longer as strong, as powerful, forced to live opposed to the world for which they were cast. No longer immortal.
Aisling stepped away from the mural.
“ I was among those who had voted against the union, considering it was practically an execution bound to exacerbate mortal and fae tensions. But alas, here we are. The mortal princess lives. ” Even Filverel hadn’t known the truth. A secret Lir hoarded until Danu exposed it against his will. And now, the mortal queen was faced with the reality of her kind’s heritage.
“ Man was born of nothing, but nevertheless born first .”
Nemed was wrong. Mankind, the mortal queen’s own blood, had been Ina’s curse for her ill-fated love. Aisling had only lived in Annwyn for a short time. How many more lies, unspoken truths, and deceptions would she unravel in a lifetime?
“ They will try to deceive you. They will spin lies as easily as they spin their thread .”
The mortal queen’s mind was a tangle of disbelief. The world as she knew it was changing. No, it had always been this way. Only now her memory was corrupted by a newfound cynicism for the ‘truths’ she’d believed blindly. The doctrine she’d never questioned.
“ Return to Annwyn. The fire hand is but a step in the right direction .”
Nemed wanted peace. Wanted the well-being of his kind. Wanted the mortals to thrive. He wouldn’t jeopardize that after all Aisling’s union had done to solidify the treaty. But even as Aisling rationalized her father’s lies, the words did little to assuage the growing anxiety that’d taken root long before this day.
In the cold, her shoulders trembled. She held herself closer, tugging her drenched arms against her body. The tether of starlight hung from her wrist, frayed where she’d been torn apart from Rian, Galad, and Lir. The fae king’s expression as the thread snapped between them, flashing across her memory.
Aisling needed out of this cavern. However, the only indication of the outside world was a circle of light located in the tunnel’s ceiling.
Vines hung from the natural skylight. Surely one of them would be sturdy enough for Aisling to climb towards the top if she bore the strength to navigate so high, carrying the weight of her entire build.
Aisling wrapped her hands around one of the thicker roots, tugging to ensure it wouldn’t spring loose the moment she entrusted it with her weight. It held. So, Aisling began climbing, pulling herself up with all her might.
Despite how thin she’d become over the last several months, she struggled to lift herself. Her arms burning, her hands, legs, and boots shaking and slipping thanks to the surrounding waters. Aisling managed to raise herself perhaps five feet before slamming back into the caverns. Hands ripped raw till her blood muddied the waters. And if it weren’t for the vibrating of the tunnel, she might’ve tried again.
The dirt, moss, and worms flew from the cavern’s ceilings, showering Aisling. The mortal queen cursed, her head whipping towards the darkness further down the passage.
Following the vibration was a growl. A deep, resonant sound that rattled Aisling’s very core. Filling her ears till she thought they may pop. The growl persisted, growing louder. Closer. The snarl of some colossal beast followed by its wicked purrs and sighs.
Aisling’s eyes widened, desperately peering into the gaping maw of black, more formidable by the minute. It was approaching. Dragging its body through the tunnels and towards Aisling.
The mortal queen launched herself at the hanging vine once more, straining to lift herself. The liana snapped at the top of the opening, sending the mortal queen flying back into the cavern. Aisling’s heart pounded.
“ You may call me friend ,” the beast growled.
But Aisling ignored it, clenching her fists to stop their shaking. She boasted no muscle nor brawn nor agility. But she did have magic. Draiocht she’d been practicing with Lir since that morning in the springs. So, Aisling wrenched her eyes shut, biting her tongue till she tasted the iron of her blood on the roof of her mouth.
Come , she called out into her void, the abyss where the draiocht waited patiently for its name to be summoned. Silence prevailed as it always did after Aisling hadn’t called upon her creature in some time. But eventually, she heard its bones clicking. Waking. Poking its head from her internal dark and leaping forward.
It gathered in her lungs, her windpipes, her hands burning with a magical charge. Violet fires burst from her palms, crawling up her arms, her shoulders. A torch herself, the vines cowered from her, slithering up their walls and bunching in the creases. Away from the heat she exuded, heat that melted the dirt from the ceilings into mud.
And thanks to the light she now cast, a purple haze lengthened her line of sight amidst the darkness, the outline of a scaly aberration was taking form. Yellowed eyes narrowing into slits as it recoiled, cringing at the sight of her flames, baring its slender, wetted fangs.
More , the draiocht purred, coaxing Aisling. So, Aisling listened against her better judgment for she too hungered for more.
The mortal queen lit like a lilac star in the night. It was euphoric using magic like this. Letting that power grow, move through her veins, her muscles, her bones. Watching the faceless Unseelie shrink from her and return to the abyss from whence it came.
A smile stretched across Aisling’s face as she indulged in the draiocht as she’d never allowed herself before. Magic that she loathed to think she’d been sheltered from all her life. For the way it made her feel was rapturous. So blissful Aisling hardly cared if it was good or evil. All she craved was feeling more. Having more.
From the top of the chamber, a crash shook the walls of the cylinder. Aisling whipped her head in its direction. Two figures eclipsed the daylight before bolting towards the bottom of the cavern with otherworldly speed. One tall and slender. The other crouched on the first’s shoulder, an armored ball of fur. They descended in a blur of color, splashing into the pool. But even such a splash, waters rippling and smacking the walls angrily, couldn’t extinguish Aisling’s growing flames.
“By the Forge.” The mortal queen heard a familiar voice whisper over the crackling of her flames. Feminine, sweet, as crisp as the autumn air.
“Aisling,” the other figure spoke, cautiously, stepping nearer to the mortal queen. “We’re here to help you.”
The backs of Aisling’s eyes burned, and she hadn’t realized how quickly her heart had been beating, how blurry her vision had become until it cleared enough for her to witness the two standing before her.
Gilrel watched Aisling, amazed. Perhaps horrified, her muzzle ajar so her fangs glinted in the mortal queen’s light. She still wore her silver-plating. Her fur glossed by the light of the fire. And, from where she perched, stood Peitho. The fae princess was dressed in rich, finely cut armor. Sparkling chainmail and a crest Aisling didn’t recognize. The seal of Niltaor, Aisling surmised. Her hair no longer bore its cornelian stones, flower buds, or sunset-hued beetles. No, it was tied in complex braids, falling down her back and ending at her waist. Her beautiful face twisted with alarm.
“Aisling,” Gilrel spoke again, her eyes shifting with uncertainty. With fear, Aisling realized. “Exhale the draiocht ,” she said, holding out her paw.
Aisling looked at the lady’s maid then her paw. Scars, calluses, burns peeking from where her leather sleeve ended at her wrist.
“Exhale the draiocht , Aisling,” Gilrel said, her voice uneven, something more desperate gripping her throat.
“Gilrel,” Peitho warned, reaching out to catch the handmaid as she scampered down the princess’s arm.
“Please.” Gilrel ignored Peitho.
Aisling looked at her own mortal palms then, wrapped in fire. Why was it so difficult to release the draiocht ? It didn’t want to let go either. It wished for Aisling to grow hotter, burn brighter. And Aisling desired nothing more in that moment than to let it have its way. Wanted to believe in the draiocht’s promise. But there was no need anymore. The beast had slithered back into its inky den. She could let go.
“ The Aos Sí say their magic comes from the gods. There are no gods. Whatever abilities they wield are aberrations. Perversities of nature. As they are themselves .”
Something warm slithered out of Aisling’s nose and into her mouth. Blood. Aisling wasn’t breathing. Had been holding in the magic, pushing herself without realizing. She was supposed to breathe through it. Let it run through her. So why was it caught, begging for more?
At last, Aisling exhaled. The flames extinguished, nothing but tendrils of smoke feathering off Aisling and the stench of burnt Spidersilk permeating the air. Her tunic was nothing more than the charred scraps of what it once was, only her leathers remaining.
Both Gilrel and Peitho exhaled themselves, sharing a breath of relief as the mortal queen opened and closed her eyes drowsily. So, Aisling took Gilrel’s outstretched paw, collapsing onto her knees. Bones dissolved to jelly. As though she herself was drained of blood and left…lifeless. Such a contrast to the might she’d felt only moments ago.
Gilrel unbuckled a flask from her hip and lifted it to the mortal queen’s lips with Peitho’s help. Aisling choked on the sickly syrup before guzzling the entirety of the contents down till no drop remained .
“Where am I?” Aisling groaned, doing her best to will away the throbbing of her head.
“The aqueducts,” Peitho said, screwing the lid back onto the flask. “They run beneath Annwyn.”
“I was in the Isle of Mirrors before Danu?—”
Peitho nodded her head. “She must have sent you here.”
“And the others?” Aisling asked through uneven breaths. “Galad? Rian? Lir?”
“The pools spat them out at the gorge”—Gilrel hesitated, searching Aisling’s violet eyes—“two months ago.”
Aisling shook her head, hands growing numb.
“The whole of Annwyn has been searching for you. There hasn’t been a leaf or stone left unturned.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Danu must’ve accidentally sent you forward in time. Sent you here.”
Aisling stood on quivering knees.
“Or, you’ve been floating around down here in the aqueducts since the others returned.”
Aisling took one look around at the murky waters, the fungus and mold growing between the cracks in the stones.
Peitho scoffed, inspecting the aqueducts herself. “It’s unlikely. Racat would’ve eaten her by now.”
“Racat?” Aisling repeated. “That bestial serpent?”
“You’ve seen it?”
Aisling nodded her head, glancing over Gilrel’s shoulder to the darkness winding down the tunnels where Racat had loomed mere moments ago.
“He appeared shortly after I awoke. That’s why I summoned the draiocht ,” Aisling said, staring at her hands now pruning from such long exposure to the water.
Both Gilrel and Peitho hesitated before meeting Aisling’s eyes once more. A glint lurked behind each of their expressions. One Aisling hadn’t recognized before.
“He must’ve heard or sensed you. He’s travelled through the aqueducts, the underground waterways, the gorge, the caves since anyone can remember. Even the oldest amongst us claim he lived before them.”
Aisling shivered, batting away the silhouette of his massive form.
“How did you know? To find me here?” Aisling asked, changing the subject as quickly as she was able lest she burst into flames again.
“We didn’t. Not at first,” Peitho and Gilrel exchanged another glance, inaudibly weighing a decision between them.
“What is it you’re not telling me?” Aisling asked.
“You’ve been presumed dead for weeks now,” Peitho spat bluntly.
Aisling flinched, the wind sucked from her lungs. The implications of such a presumption, catching in her throat.
Gilrel scolded Peitho in Rún before continuing.
“When Lir, Galad, and Rian emerged from the gorge, we thought perhaps you would too but when you didn’t…” Gilrel sucked in a breath. “Lir went mad. He searched the bottom of the gorge by sun and by moon, ordered every citizen and subject in his kingdom to do the same—every fox, bear, and badger with its nose on the ground—until you were found dead or alive. And when he’d memorized the bed of the gorge, he scoured the forests, every body of water within his territory. Even the aqueducts were searched, but if Danu sent you forward in time you couldn’t have been found until now.”
“Obviously,” Peitho added, annoyance tightening her voice.
“Where is he?” Aisling blurted, eyes darting towards the light emerging from the hole in the ceiling as though the fae king would be standing there, waiting for her.
“He’s travelling towards neutral ground as we speak,” Peitho said and again Gilrel scowled at the princess. “To attend my union,” Peitho continued, her feline eyes sharpening with every word. Aisling’s own eyes went wide. Of course. The union. Aisling had almost forgotten.
“By sunset this evening, Lir will inform the fire hand that his daughter was drowned by the empress of the dryads.”
Aisling winced at the words. He couldn’t. It would destroy, ruin, everything. Everything Aisling had sacrificed for.
“Filverel forced Lir to leave Annwyn for the sake of the Sidhe. He fought Filverel for weeks, for Lir believed you still alive, lost somewhere in between,” Gilrel explained.
“With a new political union between our kind, there would be no better occasion to break the news to your father that you’d died. That and a council was already needed between our kind to discuss a certain princeling’s correspondence concerning the Unseelie.” Peitho smirked, eyes wandering towards the murals on the wall.
Gilrel searched Aisling’s expression. “Lir only agreed to leave Annwyn if a party remained behind to continue the search for you until he returned. Peitho is still here?—”
“Lest I lose what shred of sanity I still harbor. I was amongst those who believed your frail mortal bones disintegrated at the bottom of the gorge. Indeed, hunting a ghost is a fine distraction for tomorrow’s dread.”
Tomorrow? A single day was all that stood between Peitho and Dagfin’s union.
“Myself and a handful of others planned to ride tonight and join Lir by morning,” Peitho said, running her delicate fingers across the mural’s stones.
“No,” Aisling interrupted, her voice sharp. “We leave now.”