The asrai (or ashray) can be found in Celtic and British mythology. They are most often described as 'water spirits'.
Traditionally female, freshwater fairies who do their utmost to avoid humans. They are said to be afraid of sunlight, on account of it being able to kill them. They keep down in the depths, and only rise to the surface once a century to bathe in moonlight, which helps them grow. Some tales tell of them having female form,or with translucent skin or a tail. Others say they are made only of water itself. They are said to try and lure men into the water with whispers of jewels and gold, only to drown those men in the depths.
Very similar traits as many other water-dwellers.
If caught, they can only plead for their lives in a language that humans cannot possibly understand, which leaves the asrai incredibly vulnerable, and usually they do not survive such an encounter; with only a puddle of water in the bottom of your boat to show that they ever existed to begin with. They are vulnerable, in the way a selkie who loses her seal skin to a man is in those stories.
In fact, there is so much about the asrai that can be tied in with other water-dweller lore that researchers tend to believe they are simply a distorted version of creatures like mermaids, selkies or nix.
Would you like to know how I interpreted the asrai in my historical fantasy series - The Diabolus Chronicles?
Here's a little teaser from book four in the series - The Greensward.
Pitch’s toe met a lurking rock, and he toppled towards the stream.
‘Shit.’
The water rose up to meet him, and he braced for a drenching, turning his head to avoid a mouthful of, no doubt, icy water. But the water truly had risen up to meet him. Great orbs of liquid, like translucent clouds gathered around him, settling in beneath his extended arms, lining up along his sides.
Righting him. Bracing him.
Lifting him off his godsdamned feet.
Pitch struggled, managing to swipe the cane at a bubble that pressed against his lower leg. The huge droplet burst, releasing a spray of water that soaked his trouser leg.
‘Do not fear the asrai. We will not harm you.’ The words warbled around him.
Pitch was drawn out over the stream, which seemed to flow faster now, its gully fuller.
‘Fine. Then set me down,’ he demanded.
‘We cannot. We must take you to the ankou.’ '
Excerpt from The Greensward - Pitch & Sickle Book Four.
Head to The Diabolus Chronicles series page - HERE