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CHAPTER XI

LIR

Lir felt the moment that the in between shed its leaves and became the Other. The smells were more potent here, every touch more sensitive, the colors, light and darkness all more vibrant. Magic dripped from the trees, the storms hammering from above, and the wind howling, dense and sticky and wild as Lir emerged from a wetland nestled deep in a lush, jade forest.

He inhaled sharply, lungs on fire as though he’d held his breath for millennia.

“ Ellwyn ,” his lips whispered before his mind collected itself. “Ash,” he said more loudly, spinning in the waist-deep waters.

Lir clawed through the water, fingers coming up with grass and sludge where Aisling should’ve been. But the Sidhe king couldn’t stop. Aisling was supposed to be here. She was supposed to have emerged alongside him. The reminder of Danu’s gateways and Annwyn’s aqueducts stabbed Lir with dread. So, he’d keep searching, keep digging, keep clawing through the wetland till he found her.

At last, amid his madness, Lir stilled.

He smelled it before he saw it. The stench of its wet pelt, its talons digging into the mud, its snarling muzzle caught the Sidhe king’s attention.

Lir swiveled, meeting the eyes of a demon.

A questing beast.

The creature lifted its dragon’s snout from the waters, ivory eyes shimmering like pearls despite the dense canopies and dark gray sky. Its haunches rolled back the moment its talons moved, one step into the waters and closer to Lir. A tail like ribbons, dragging behind it.

Don’t move , Lir thought to himself in Rún. The questing beast was a monster of great strength and magic, known to skulk in dense forests and feast on its prey whilst they still breathed. Whilst their heart still pumped warmly for the questing beast to lap. A monstrosity—the beholding of which had cost various knights their lives before discovering the questing beast’s weakness: sight.

The demon cocked its head to the side, its mane dripping down the scales neatly patterned along its neck. It took another step forward, eager to bait another sound. Another clue as to where its next meal lurked.

Lir’s body tensed as it approached nearer, his hand drifted toward the axes at his back upon reflex.

But it was too late. The questing beast had latched onto his smell—potent from the mortal plane—the Sidhe king’s heart racing and filling the demon’s ears with its chorus.

The questing beast grinned, flashing a trap of sharp teeth still stink-ridden with the sinew of its last meal.

“ Easca ,” Lir commanded it––out of reflex or habit, Lir wasn’t certain. Wild beasts in the mortal plane heeded the Sidhe king’s orders, but he knew the laws were different in the Other, if there were any laws at all.

Lir focused on the monster, watching its muscles roll until it was prepared to pounce. To rip its prey’s organs from their still-screaming body.

So, Lir lunged first.

Before their audience of trees could blink, Lir cut through the water, axes in hand and swung for the creature. A spell of violence as the demon shrieked in pain, writhing while it snapped in search of the Sidhe king. Nevertheless, Lir was too quick for the seeing eye, much less that which saw nothing at all, hopelessly spearing in the dark.

Lir lunged again, this time with more force, separating the questing beast’s neck from its body.

The beast collapsed into the wetland and sank into its depths. Black blood rising to the surface and clouding the waters till nothing was visible.

Lir sheathed his axes at his back and wiped the splattered blood from his face with the back of his sleeve. And as if conjured by the boom of the monster’s last heartbeat, Lir’s spirit sank, caving in at the chest. A part of him perished with the forge-born. For Lir knew better than most that he boasted no moral high ground to the questing beast. Lir was simply stronger. And so, he dreaded to reap the lives of the creatures who loved the forest’s shadows as much as he himself. But this was the nature of the greenwood whether it be in the mortal plane or the Other. Only the deadliest survived. A game forged by the forest’s hands and forced its dwellers to play. And eventually, they all grew to enjoy it.

“Did Niamh send you?” an unfamiliar voice called from the forest’s edge.

This time, Lir was taken off guard.

The Sidhe king of greenwood turned, unsheathing his axes at the same moment. But before him was not a monster, nor a man, nor a Sidhe. Rather, a fox stood between two gnarled yews, cloaked in a hood.

“Tell me the truth and nothing more for I’m well aware of the tricks your kind spins with a silver spindle,” the fox said, holding a humble wych elm staff like a sword.

Lir’s shoulders and axes lowered.

The fox was old, speckled with gray around his brows and muzzle. And by the subtle quiver of his left knee, Lir knew the staff was primarily used for walking and not spell-casting.

“What do you know of my kind?” Lir asked, more to toy with the fiend than anything else.

“By the point of your ears and the arrogance of your posture, you’re undoubtedly some Aos Sí thief come to steal from me once more.”

Lir chuckled beneath his breath.

“You deny your Aos Sí blood?” the fox pushed.

“Call me nightmare, for that is all I am to you.” Lir flashed a playful grin, yet still the fox was unamused, encouraging Lir further.

“I warn you!” the fox shouted again.

“We were invited by Niamh to the Other,” Lir said, “but she hasn’t sent me here. At least that I know of. We were meant to arrive at Niamh’s castle in time for L? Brear this evening.”

The fox studied the Sidhe king more closely, taking in the sight of him.

“We?” the fox asked.

Although soaked, Lir was dressed for a royal occasion. Splattered red, his formal garments tested and tried by the portal to the Other and then the questing beast.

Lir’s nostrils flared, angered by the reality he wasn’t with Aisling.

“I’ve been separated from my queen,” Lir said.

The fox considered him for a long while. Their audience of trees swayed back and forth, whispering to one another.

“Friends of Niamh are no friends of mine,” the fox growled. But despite his expression, the beast lowered his staff.

“We are neither friends nor allies of Niamh,” Lir confessed. “Our business is our own, but we can swear by the Forge that we mean you no harm.”

The fox considered, mumbling something grumpily beneath his breath. Most forge-born creatures were hatched or laid with tempers beyond their bite.

“I would, however,” Lir continued, “request a map to Castle Yillen. I must reach Niamh’s kingdom by L? Brear this evening.”

“Those in a hurry are always up to no good,” the fox said.

“Perhaps,” Lir agreed. “But it’s a request I implore regardless.”

The old fox huffed, cursing something intelligible as it stabbed its staff into the mud. Its cloak was well soaked and the longer the creature stood in the storm, the more its lame knee wobbled. So, Lir knew it was only a matter of time before the fox, at last, surrendered and offered him aid.

“Very well,” the fox conceded, “but I ask for a favor in exchange.”

“I don’t bargain with beasts,” Lir said, turning on his heel to find Niamh’s castle on his own, his impatience gnawing the longer he entertained the fox. He was the most powerful fae king and didn’t take kindly to being denied or haggled with. Lir had never traversed these woods, but the trees here spoke loudly, their tongues loose and drunk on the Other’s magic. However, the Sidhe king knew venturing alone, without guidance, would risk the journey taking substantially longer than if he were given directions.

“You’ll never find Niamh’s castle on your own, nightmare!” the fox called after Lir. “This is not your mortal plane.”

Lir’s ears perked up.

The fox wrinkled its muzzle and raised its nose as though sniffing them from a distance.

“I can smell it on you. You aren’t from here. If you aren’t lying and what you say is true, then Niamh has intentionally separated you from your friends despite giving you an invitation. And so, she won’t be found so easily.”

Lir blinked slowly, cracking his neck from side to side.

“Very well, what is it you covet?” Lir asked.

The fox grinned ear to ear.

“Seeing as you slayed my questing beast, I’ll need another fiend to guard my cottage from your kind. Surely a nightmare of your hulking size can fetch me another,” the fox said.

Lir sighed, reluctant to waste any more time than necessary.

“You do, however, look quite cold and in need of some cider. You may join me in my cottage after you fetch me my end of the bargain, nightmare. And perhaps then I’ll have remembered the way to Castle Yillen.”

Lir ground his fangs into his bottom teeth.

“Very well.” Lir surrendered, perhaps because the guilt of killing the questing beast still weighed heavily on his shoulders or because he found he quite liked the old fox. Either way, he’d satisfy this bargain quickly. “I’ll bring you another monster.”

And then he’d find Aisling.