The Fifth Beast (ManxMan Chinese/Celtic Fantasy Story)

Chapter 21

The beauty of Elatha Mac Lir, Lord of Water, was so perfect that it dazzled, took one's breath away almost literally. Niall still remembered how he arrived at Ynis Celt Castle twenty years ago and saw its master against an open window, beyond which the turquoise sea was spreading out, setting him off like a precious frame sets off even more precious canvas. Yes, of course, he had seen Elatha in Emain Macha before, but more often than not from a distance. As a minor, Niall was not allowed to every feast, and when allowed, his place at the table had been far from seats of honor.

For a long time, Elatha had been the favorite of Queen Morrigan. Just after the death of Diarmuid Mac Bres, her former beloved. It was Diarmuid who was considered the most beautiful among the Tuatha Dé lords. Niall never understood how it was possible to be more beautiful than Elatha Mac Lir. He didn't remember Diarmuid well, he was still too young then.

At one time, the Queen was very much infatuated with Elatha. Rumor was that he would become the new royal consort. But even to young Niall it was clear that Elatha was more like a plaything, a temporary amusement, nothing more. He was delicate, shorter than the Queen herself; he did not take part in military games, rarely attracted attention at feasts, except perhaps with some exquisite spells, such as erecting ice sculptures or causing snowfall on a sunny afternoon. Morrigan liked to dress him up in women's clothes, while she herself dressed in men's. Together they looked amazing, and young Niall was embarrassed even to look at them, unable to determine which of the royal couple excited him more. But he, as everyone else at court, did not take Elatha Mac Lir seriously.

Until he arrived at the Keeper of the West's castle to spend the traditional year. After coming of age, every lord of the Tuatha Dé Danann had to be educated at the castles of the four Keepers of the blessed realm of Mag Tuired. Only after that he could receive his own title and castle from Queen Morrigan. Somehow, Niall's education took place mainly in bed. Pity he couldn't ask his father how and what he taught the young lords when he was Keeper of the North. Certainly not the same things as Daire Mac Cormac!

So twenty years ago, when Niall Mac Nechtan arrived in Ynis Celt, his manner was condescending, if not outright arrogant. The pampered, feminine Lord of Water, what he was able to teach him, Niall thought. He was annoyed with Elatha even before meeting him, because for his sake he had to leave Roigh Mac Rowan, whom Niall already terribly missed, although not even a day had passed. He entered, a self-confident and cheeky youth, about to make a casual bow and say a couple of ready, insincere words.

Elatha raised his eyes to him, blue-green like a deep sea, and the words froze on Niall's lips. Elatha was so beautiful that his beauty shocked like a lightning bolt, like a thunder. Niall staggered a few uncertain steps towards him and knelt down. Elatha held out his delicate white hand, and Niall pressed his lips to it, quite sincerely, even passionately.

Much later, he started to wonder if it was magic. Behind his back, Elatha was often called the Lord of Illusion. He didn't care for that nickname much. Some of those who called him that also openly wondered if the beauty of Elatha Mac Lir was also an illusion. To be honest, Niall was also interested in the answer to that question, but only in his head. He would never have dared to ask Elatha. By that time, he had already learned too much from Elatha to understand that such questions were never to be asked out loud.

Whether by accident or design, the master of Ynis Celt Castle received Niall in the same hall as twenty years ago, and even in the same position — reclining in the niche of a wide and high window, beyond which the boundless sea was spreading out. On his own initiative now, Niall took a few hurried steps, knelt down and raised to his lips Elatha's slender hand, beautifully thrown over an armrest as if for this very purpose.

The Lord of Water Elatha Mac Lir was the only one of all Elemental Lords whose hair did not match the element under his control. Daire's disheveled braid was the color of green leaves, Cumal's hair was the color of fire, Queen Morrigan's hair was the color of fresh blood, but Elatha's hair was rarely blue. Elatha changed his hair color as often as his clothes and jewelry. Silver and gold, the velvet of the night and the silk of a ruddy morning, the waves of ripe rye and the snow of a winter storm replaced one another month after month and sometimes even within a single day. Whether by accident or design, today Elatha's braid was black as starless night. Like the hair of a Kirinch. He never changed the color of his eyes, but today his eyes seemed darker than usual — not navy-blue, but purple, almost black.

Elatha's skin had always been as white as snow, even bluish where the blood vessels showed through. Had he given his skin a slightly bronze tint, Niall probably wouldn't be able to control himself: he would throw himself on Elatha without wasting time on formalities, and then Elatha would scold him gently for his torn clothes, as often happened before.

"My dear Steward of the North. How glad I am that you honored me with your visit. How are things in our cold northern lands, full of dangerous neighbors and wild animals? I will be happy to provide any help if you need it."

Elatha was impeccably courtly and sweet-tongued, and it was crystal clear that he really was angry at Niall for not visiting him over all these years. Niall went over all varieties of speeches he prepared in advance: excuses, pleas, wooing, light blackmail, and discarded everything. He would never win over Elatha Mac Lir with words.

Still on his knees, Niall silently pulled his headscarf off.

The Tuatha Dé Danann sometimes wore headscarves, in the road or as a comforter under the helmet in battle, sometimes the same way as Niall did — not only over the head, but also over the braid. The warrior maidens of the Queen retinue and the ladies of the court oftentimes braided their hair with ribbons so tightly, even the hair color became indiscernible. But when Niall removed the headscarf, short silver strands fell out, framing his face, not even reaching his shoulders, and what looked like a braid wrapped in a scarf became just a bundle of cloth. Sencha spent two hours on this miracle of disguise.

The move was definitely the right one, for the reserved Elatha jumped up from his seat, ran his fingers through Niall's hair, and leaned closer.

"Oh radiant Lugh, how could it have happened?" he almost hissed, and something Niall had long known about the Lord of Water became visible: that he could be demanding, and fierce, and dangerous.

"Do you remember how you always said that I am one of those who first throws a spear, and then thinks where and why?" Niall sighed. "Let's just say I did something rash and paid for it dearly. And now I need your help."

Elatha released him and pulled back a little. He said a little more coldly, "You report to the Keeper of the North. Crimes committed against the Steward of the North are within his jurisdiction. Or... is the Keeper of the North responsible?"

"Oh, I know you don't particularly like Daire, but even he couldn't do something like that. Elatha, I beg you, don't ask. It was a fair fight, I have no right to take revenge openly, on my own behalf. But I must do it, in person, with my own hands. I need you to change my appearance."