Wyn cursed under his breath, something about refusing to babysit in the future, and jumped down into the dinghy. He tossed Theo over his shoulder and started up the rope ladder again.
For the second time in less than a day, Theo found himself in the rather undignified position of being thrown over another grown man's shoulder.
“Wyn, please!” Theo could feel the blood rushing to his head, only adding to the physical sensations of panic compounding in his body. “Something's wrong. We have to help?—”
Wyn hauled them over the railing and deposited Theo with a heavy thud on the deck. Without a word in response or recognition, he raced towards the ship's wheel. The ship's magic recognized its captain as the sails unfurled from their masts, and the boat began to turn towards the shore.
“Wyn!” Theo shouted, this time in fury. He was tired of other people controlling his life. He was tired of feeling like a coward, constantly on the run from a threat he'd never seen or known up close. Now Lyra had disappeared from right next to him, and he wasn't going to do anything about it?
History was preparing to repeat itself at a shockingly high frequency as Theo prepared to jump overboard. Instead of grabbing him, Wyn continued to man the ship's wheel, letting out a high-pitched whistle. On his command, some of the ship's rigging came alive. Two ropes shot out towards Theo, wrapping around his waist and tying him to the mast.
“You know,” Wyn shouted, his hands furiously turning the wheel to try and navigate them out of the cursed sea, “most of the time when I have to tie men to the mast because of a siren, the sirens are singing.”
“Let me fucking go!” Theo shouted, fighting against the ropes. It was no good, but he was bursting with energy and desperation, still scanning over the sickly water for any sign of life. For any sign of Lyra's blue tail or bright hair.
The boat stopped.
The sudden momentum sent Wyn flying to the deck, barely avoiding breaking his nose with the sudden harsh impact. The wind picked up speed, but the boat stayed in one place like it had been moored at a dock. A rotten smell of death invaded their senses, carried on the fast winds like a rampant warning of disease and carnage.
Theo and Wyn shut their eyes against the offensive smell, tears streaming down their cheeks as they choked through it, desperate for fresh air as though they'd never known it. When Theo managed to blink through his tears, he looked out over the starboard side of the ship, and his heart sank to his feet.
There was no mistaking Cliodhna, the goddess of the banshees and the Irish seas. She was standing fifteen feet above them, the ocean lapping at her waist. She was dressed in rags, permanently torn and soaking wet, her hair hanging in limp strands around her face. Everything about her was green, from the dark green of her lips to the sickly yellow green of her eyes and teeth to the muted shades of her skin.
By contrast, bright and beautiful and full of life, was Lyra, trapped in Cliodhna's hand like a child with a doll.
Lyra was crying, shaking her head back and forth, but making no attempts to escape. Theo could see her mouthing 'no' repeatedly, clearly trying to dissuade him from going after them.
“Lyra!” Theo screamed, throwing himself against the ropes, which held him steady.
“By the gods.” Wyn looked disgusted, more than afraid. He was scared witless at the sight of such an overbearing apparition come to life, but he’d never admit it, especially not in all the retellings this story would receive in the future.
“T-theo, at l-long last,” Cliodhna finally spoke, shaking the air with her words. Each syllable was like a thunderclap, rocking the boat beneath Theo's feet. When she spoke, her face flickered, her flesh melting away to reveal only a skeletal grin, only to reappear the very next. She was a Halloween holographic portrait come to life, except instead of a beautiful woman and a ghost, there was only a corpse and a skeleton.
“Don't listen to whatever she says!” Lyra screamed, her voice cracking, as she pounded against Cliodhna's fist.
Cliodhna shook her hand a few times, jostling Lyra violently. Theo cursed, trying to force himself now to remain calm, the way he imagined Calum would under duress.
“C-come and f-find me,” Cliodhna teased. When she exhaled, banshees flew out from her cracked lips, disappearing on the wind before they made it closer to the boat.
“Lyra—” Theo shouted, but she interrupted him.
“Don't you dare! Theo, no!” Lyra tried to dissuade Theo, but a forest of kelp and pond weeds was rising from the depths, latching onto Cliodhna's body. They pulled her back down into the abyss, slowly at first, then all at once. The whole way down, Cliodhna had a wretched smile on her face, staring at Theo in challenge from underneath her heavy brow.
Then she was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Theo sank to the deck of the ship, his knees hitting the wood with a crack. He stared at the spot where Lyra disappeared beneath the waves, his mind completely blank except for the image of Lyra's fleeting face. It was all he could see on loop, the image burned into his retinas, a horrible depiction of everything he'd lost. His worst fears were coming true; he really was a coward.
He hadn't even tried to save Lyra from Cliodhna. What had been done? He had watched. He stood on the boat in relative safety and watched as she was pulled between the waves by the vilest creature he'd ever seen. It was the first time he'd seen Cliodhna in person, and the rumors didn't do her any justice.
The words 'goddess of the sea' conjured up images of sea-foam-colored dresses, brightly colored wishes, or pastel hair and mermaids. For the Greeks, it was Poseidon, regal and powerful, one of the three brothers, next to Zeus and Hades, the oldest.
Cliodhna was none of these things. She was the queen of the banshees, a living reminder of all the wretched power of the waves, the death that sank to the bottom of the seafloor, never to be seen again. Cliodhna was in the trenches and the deep pockets of depressing darkness, of waters so opaque that thesunlight could never touch them. Even her face and skin had a melted appearance, as though she needed the pressure of the deep to keep her bones together, and rising to the surface slowly caused her to drift apart.
If only defeating her would be that easy. Theo knew it wouldn't be. He didn't know how long he was sitting there, his senses drowned out by the only thing he could ruminate on: Lyra's body tangled in Cliodhna's icy grip.
“Theo! Lad, you've got to—” Wyn's voice finally got through to Theo, but it sounded distant, intangible.
