“When do you think we'll get to see the men of the Minch?” Theo broke the silence, curious as to when they'd make it to their destination on the open water. Wyn nodded toward the captain’s wheel, which was slightly spinning and shifting on its own, charmed to navigate without Wyn’s constant vigilance.
“There's no faster boat than theBarufakr. Part of that is its fabulous construction, and the other part, of course, is…”
“Magic.” Theo and Wyn finished the sentence at the same time.
“Exactly, my boy. We should be in their territory within the hour, if I'm not mistaken. I wouldn't be surprised if we start to see some of our friends popping up in the waves before long.”
“How will we talk to them?” Theo pushed, curious about how they'd planned this interaction with the men of the Minch.
According to legend, they were notoriously uncommunicative, only their hands appearing above the waves to pull boats down into the depths. Fallen angels, all reaching up towards heaven for their entirety. Theo had never been to heaven, but if there were a Christian god who was content to let his angels fall to the earth over one disagreement, he wouldn't spend another second trying to reascend.
“I’m not entirely sure.” Wyn shrugged, appearing very unbothered by the lack of a plan. “I’m sure we'll figure out something when we get there.”
“They'll come to you.” Lyra's voice rang out on the deck. Theo's head snapped towards the sound like a reflex, looking for her. Wyn stiffened. Theo sprang to his feet like an overexcited puppy while Wyn stood slowly, with the attitude of an executioner all around him.
“How do you know that?” Wyn grunted.
Theo elbowed him in the side, which hurt Theo more than it hurt Wyn, but it did have the intended effect of softening Wyn's glare. Barely.
“The creatures of the water talk.” Lyra shrugged, keeping her eyes downcast or focused on Theo, acting like Wyn was a predator she shouldn't make direct eye contact with. She wasn't wrong.
“You've spoken to them before?” Theo perked up, hoping they had a semblance of hope for their plan.
“I haven't, no,” Lyra shook her head, “but I know people who have. Browen didn’t give us any new advice, but the men will make themselves known.”
“People like Cliodhna.” Wyn interrupted, grunting in a vaguely accusatory manner. Theo had never met someone before who had different intonations of grunts and groans, but a Viking elf would be the person to prove him wrong.
“I wouldn't know,” Lyra answered diplomatically. “The men of the Minch are obsessed with magic. They have very little themselves, being fallen angels. If your boat is using magic to travel, which I'm assuming it is, based on how much progress we've made,” Lyra nodded towards the ship's wheel, gently pivoting to the left, “they'll seek you out.”
“Are we in danger?” Theo turned towards the water, scanning it for danger, a reflex he'd honed over the years.
“Not from them, no. They'll be curious, but they won't try to pillage a magical ship like they would a mortal one.” Lyra's answer was confident, but once the words left her mouth, a great clap of thunder shook the sky.
The trio watched with mixed reactions, ranging from stoicism to horror, as the weather changed drastically before their very eyes. The sky darkened; the wind started to pick up, rocking the ship back and forth on the waves, and rain began. It started small, just a drizzle, but rapidly escalated until sheets of water were drenching the deck. It was so sudden that it reminded Theo of something out of ‘The Truman Show’, as though the weather were being controlled on a soundstage, and someone had just flipped the switch for a storm.
“I don't like this!” Wyn hollered, his hair plastered to his face and back, drenched to the bone. He had to shout to be heard over the torrential downpour. “What kind of magic do the men have, Lyra?”
Lyra was the only one who looked completely unperturbed by the weather, the water sluicing off her skin and droplets catching in her hair. Wyn and Theo looked like drowning soldiers, but Theo couldn't help but think that the rain made Lyra look like she was covered in diamonds.
“Well,” she winced, chastised, “the little bit of magic they do have is weather magic.”
“Does this feel like alittlebit of weather magic to you?” Wyn shouted, his words echoed by a crack of lightning. Without warning, a wave tipped the boat precariously to one side, the white-capped surf crashing over the deck.
“Comparitively, yes!” Lyra shouted back, crouching lower to the deck as the boat tossed again.
“Compared to what?” Wyn ripped a piece of his shirt sleeve off, tying it into a makeshift headband around his forehead. “A fucking god?”
“Do we have to have this conversation right now?” Theo struggled to be heard over another rolling clap of thunder. He could see the diameter of the storm was barely a quarter mile, just beyond their reach, the sky was blue, and the ocean was calm. TheBarufakrwas trapped in the middle of a hurricane of magical origin, with no eye to offer them any relief.
“Any ideas?” Wyn yelled in Lyra's direction, swiftly making his way across the deck towards the ship's wheel to attempt to keep the boat upright. It may have been reinforced with magic, but against a magical storm, the forces were canceling each other out.
“I’ve got one!” Lyra shouted back before turning to Theo. “But you aren't going to like it.”
Before he could protest, Lyra took off running for the edge of the ship. She jumped over the railing, her body streamlining into a perfect iteration of a swan dive.
The last Theo saw of Lyra before she disappeared into the stormy seas was the flash of green scales on her tail.
CHAPTER TWENTY
