Atop a spire of ice overlooking the Glacier Crest, she peered through her silver strings down at the islands below. As she returned to her icy mirrored gates, she plotted who would be next. Who would lose their soul or heart tonight?
Yes, she held many magics, but one was unique to her, as all Legends have. She could steal the souls and hearts of mankind. And like all Legends, she held a unique need or weakness, as well. Aisling had a mingling aura, for her heart and soul lusted for more as a vampire lusts for blood. To support her being, she had to reap humans of their feeling and purpose, one by one, whenever needed.
Aisling was growing tired and weak. She must not wait any longer; tonight must be the night. Unlike the cold-hearted sorceress the humans knew her as, she lingered and lingered for her ill soul to take over her body to reap and make herself well again, hoping to retain the goodness in her being for as long as possible. She starved her essence. She was sparing, loving, yet alone and hopeless.
She wandered into the music box hold, the most precious room of her castle. In it were thousands of music boxes stacked on icy shelves up to the highest height, framing the stained-glass windows on the floor and ceiling. Each box was unique in the beat of the thing that formed it, the pace of a victim’s heart. Each one was jeweled in the memories and glazed with the life of a loved one.
Every time Aisling needed to reap the souls or hearts of man, she took a small fragment away and made the heart into a music box or the soul into a dream-catcher or some other jewled trinket, to remember her victims. She continued to listen to each of the rhythms as they warmed her cold heart, but there was one she always looked back to.
This music box was glazed in the colors of fire, glowing with the memories of the victim. It had a glorious golden frame and a seal of the sun on its cover. Inside was a beautiful bird that danced on a mirror. The tune it held was soothing to her, but what was the most appealing feature of this particular box to her was the image of a boy. Yes, Aisling had stolen his heart, but in turn, this boy had stolen hers.
* * * * * * *
It was daybreak, and time to restore herself. Being a Legend means to bring balance to the world of light and darkness, so Aisling could not rob only from the evil or good. The only frugal way to live was to rob from the weak-spirited or weak-minded. And tonight it was the price of the mirror people.
* * * * * * *
The morning after, the king found his son to be emotionless, cold, and heartless, nearly at a standstill and unable to care for himself. Knowing it was the doing of the frost witch, he began searching to hire someone to avenge his prince. When all seemed hopeless, a willing phoenix came unto him.
“What can a phoenix do? Heal her to death?”
Phoenixes were thought to be a lost, if not dying race. They were known for their arts of fire and healing, but this winged beast had a few tricks.
“Let’s put the bird to the cage,” the king chuckled. The phoenix shuddered at the phrase. In a cage of ice, the phoenix proved himself worthy against 3 of the king’s mages and 3 of his fighters.
And he was sent on his mission.
* * * * * * *
It was early in the third quarter of the day, and the phoenix flew up the spire and over the gates of the castle. He searched the maze of icy walls and discovered the many treasures and trinkets each room held in majesty. There were rooms of mirrors, dream-catchers, and masks. There were corridors and towers of jewelry, stained windows, glass-blown bottles, and even a room full of strings across the walls like a spider web that when plucked played as a harp. Finally the phoenix reached the music box hold. There, in the middle of the room atop a pillar on itself was a unique music box glazed in the colors of fire, framed in gold, and decorated with the seal of the sun on top. He slipped his cold finger across what used to be his torn-up, weak heart.
And through the hall he passed.
On the other side of the immense room was a tall, thin, glassy door. He glided into the next room full of immense fountains and delicate wind chimes. It was long and large and had a balcony that stretched beyond the view of the Glacier Crest. The sun was setting, and this was the perfect view to gaze upon the ocean. In the center of the room was a uniquely wide, towering fountain, large enough to swim in and deep enough that it seemed it reached the ground below, the darkness of the core of the castle's spire.
Just then, a swift gust filled the room, and all the wind chimes began to sing a tune of soothing elegance. A quick turn around and the phoenix could see a gryphoon had perched on the balcony to greet him. Being ‘birds of a feather’, they began to bond, the phoenix stroking the beast as its tail swung in acknowledgement.
Another quick gust and it was gone, leaving the phoenix…
…and his company…
“Have you come for me?” On the edge of the closest fountain stood a girl with glistening, silver hair. She had eyes of ice and the beauty of a Wingweaver. Not only in her eyes was ice, but sorrow.
He replied with a bow. “My name is Akshay, and the king sent me to avenge his son. His payment unto me was this violet moon rose. It is the crest of my mother, all I have to remember her, but my memories.” He unraveled it from his cloaks and held it out. It was a light, sparkling lilac with a deep blue center and a rich, dark green stem.
“Not only have you stolen the prince’s heart, but mine as well, and I plan to avenge them both, by stealing yours.”
“Have you not noticed you already have it? For I, Aisling the frost witch, have placed your song out of all others for me to hear over and over.” Her eyes began to settle with comfort. “It is unusual for one who has no heart to feel emotion, let alone love, so you must truly have my heart. I have only one to give, and it goes to the owner of the song on the pedestal, yours.”
And with that, the bird began to sing the tune of his broken heart. The melody stood broken, yet it still warmed the air with comfort. He walked over to Aisling and gently clasped the gem of a rose between her soft, cold hands. In return, she slid her silky sleeves across his shoulders to steal his warming aura, his ceaseless flames. As their affection rose, they drew closer and closer, sharing the feelings they didn’t have themselves; warmth, cold, love, and hate.
Unknowing to them, another Legend was watching them, one who balanced the world with evil. It was the king of the Deadlands, divinely betrothed to Aisling, Lord Salizar.
In that moment of love, just as quickly taken away as made, the Lord Salizar sprang from his shade and plunged a lethal, crude dagger deep into Akshay’s heart through his back. Akshay scurried to pull out the blade, and with a quick stroke, it was flung across the room. He quickly drew his sword, but he was loosing too much blood fast and growing weaker by the second. He knelt on the floor, using his sword for support to stay upward. He could no longer lift a sword, so he briskly gathered a knife from his cloaks to strike the devil. As Salizar crept towards terrified, defenseless Aisling, the knife buried itself into his neck, just below the ear. He pulled it out, unmoved, and the wound disappeared. Akshay’s eyes were watering and narrowing, his breath getting shallow, his body going limp before Aisling’s frightened, wet eyes.
Aisling built up courage from a glimpse of Akshay’s shining eyes and threw her arm out to stop Salizar with a spell. Aisling knew her aggressor. She herself was feared by armies, but she buckled before the power of the shadow above her. Salizar caught her arm, cut a lock of her hair with the other hand, and threw her in the fountain. With a wave of his hand, Aisling was trapped in ice, doomed to sleep until the fires of the phoenix could re-awake her. Gathering the lock of her hair, the dark lord stole Aisling’s powers as he did with the curse of the werewolf on the disappearing Legend, Selene (this is another short story I've written to begin a series of novels).
He turned to Akshay, whose blood and tears were staining the frozen floor. His eyes were closed, his lips muttering ever so quietly. His sword fell to the floor with an echoing clash, and Akshay slumped the other way. He had in his hands myrrh, cinnamon, and chalk, and began drawing a resurrection circlet in the ice. If he could force rebirth he could heal himself and stand a chance. Salizar stepped on his shaking, cold, and weak hand. Akshay let out a light yelp. He looked at the towering, shadowed fiend with fright and anger and began redrawing with the other hand. Again, his hand was crushed beneath the tall monster. Salizar’s eyes were watching in silence as he lifted himself from Akshay. Akshay turned on his side and relaxed.
He had passed.
Salizar stole a tail feather from him so he could not resurrect himself, even in death, and stole a lock of hair, to collect his majicks.
And with one last gust of wind, Salizar morphed into a black gryphoon and retreated to his lair.
And thus began the eternal silence of the sleeping Legend, Aisling.
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