The Fifth Beast (ManxMan Chinese/Celtic Fantasy Story)

Chapter 37

On the twenty-first day, in the evening, Niall's hated service came to an end. He was afraid that Daire would treat him even more cruelly, as a parting gift, so to say. That he would try to play for time, keep Niall in his bedroom a little longer. But no, the Keeper of the North seemed to have his fill of sex and violence and did not spend even an extra hour with Niall on his wide bed. He threw Niall over his shoulder and carried him somewhere, very businesslike.

"Let me get dressed," Niall protested, pounding his fists on Daire's blue-patterned back.

"You don't need clothes. Everyone gets into the cauldron naked; otherwise the clothes might merge with the skin, Goddess forbid. Don't fidget, let me grab your real braid."

Taking advantage of the fact that Daire couldn't see what he was doing, Niall unsheathed the blade hidden in the collar, cut off his fake braid and threw it on the floor. He definitely didn't want it to merge with his real one. He snapped the collar shut and hung it over his arm. As long as he had no magic, it was unwise to be unarmed in the presence of Daire Mac Cormac.

The magic cauldron of Coirann was kept without much ceremony in a damp, stuffy basement, on a huge bronze tripod over a shallow hearth. Firewood was prepared in advance in the hearth, and the cauldron was filled with water for about two-thirds. Niall saw it once before when he lived in Ath Luain, but never in action. As then, now he was completely unimpressed by the appearance of the greatest treasure of the Tuatha Dé. The cauldron was dented on one side and so sooty that it was difficult to distinguish the patterns embossed on it.

"You should at least wash it once every hundred years, or something," he remarked skeptically, running his finger over the soot covering the bronze surface.

"The magic will be washed off too!" Daire chuckled. "Come on, light a fire, Lord of Lightning!"

The Lord of Forest was not afraid of fire, but didn't like it either. Niall never saw Daire, for example, build a fire while hunting, or even turn a log in the fireplace, there were always servants and fennids for this.

Niall himself was not very deft with a flint — he was used to lighting a fire with a magical spark from his fingers. But the firewood was dry, sprinkled with a sufficient amount of wood chips and dry leaves, it started up quickly and burned almost without smoke. The light smoke escaped through the barred windows under the ceiling. Daire walked around the cauldron, muttered incantations, threw some herbs into the water, scooped up water with his palm and poured it back. Very quickly, the water in the cauldron turned dark, started bubbling and then boiling. Clearly by magic, because never would a cauldron of this size, that you could put a whole cow in it, boil so quickly.

"Well, get inside," Daire said in a completely casual tone. "Or do you need me to take your legs and put you in headfirst?"

Niall looked dubiously at the boiling, steaming water. He touched it, hissed, and quickly withdrew his finger.

"Demons of Anghaine! It's hot! I'm going to cook alive in there!"

"Did you think it would be enough to sprinkle you with a little water? If everything were so simple, it would be possible to resurrect mortals, not only the Tuatha Dé. Stop whining, are you an Elemental Lord or what? You asked for it, no one forced you."

Niall felt a slight weakness in his knees and a sinking sensation in his stomach. If he had his magic, he would have jumped into the boiling water without much trouble. He could have covered his entire body in shock-armor or stunned his nerve endings with a charge so as not to feel pain. But without magic it would be very unpleasant.

"Niall son of Nechtan, what are you waiting for? I promised that I would let you use the cauldron. Here it is, use it! If you don't want to, let's return to bed!" Daire winked lewdly and patted Niall on his bare buttocks.