The contest took place on a vanishing island. Manannán mac Lir stood wrapped in his Cloak of Mists, invisible to the naked eye. He enjoyed games of hide and seek.
"You cannot fight what isn't there," his voice echoed from the crashing waves.
Isis walked across the sand. She wore the horned disk of the sun. She did not look around; she looked inward.
"I do not need eyes," she said. "I need only a name."
The Naming
Manannán summoned Enbarr, his steed of foaming waves, and charged. A wall of water and hooves bore down on the Egyptian goddess.
Isis raised her hand. She tied a Tyet Knot in the air, a glowing red symbol of protection. The wave shattered against an invisible shield.
Then, she spoke.
She didn't speak Gaelic. She spoke the Language of Creation. She recited the lineage of the sea, the true name of the mist, and the secret name of the god hiding within it. Utterance of the Secret Name.
"Son of Lir. Rider of the Foam. Guardian of the Apple Isle. I name you."
The Unveiling
The mist screamed. The cloak of invisibility shredded as if caught in a storm. Manannán was revealed, stripped of his glamour, freezing on the wet sand.
He tried to board his boat, Scuabtuinne, to escape to the Otherworld.
Isis spoke one more word: "Dock."
The boat refused to move. Manannán bowed his head. He knew when he was bested by a superior sorcerer.
"Fair play," he muttered, fading back into the ocean, but this time without his cloak.