Instead, Barclay raised his hands to the sky. He thought about conch shells, whirlpools, and spirals. He thought about his weeks of practice, so certain that he was too much of an Elsie to become a great Lore Keeper, when instead being an Elsie was what helped him solve this mystery when no one else could. He thought about the day Root had bonded with him. And he thought of Dullshire and the people he had sworn to protect. The reason he had become a Guardian apprentice in the first place.

Hundreds of small vortexes began to blow around them, each one catching a shimmering cluster of Firenekkies and suspending them in the air. They surrounded the ship as though it was cradled in blue starlight.

Lochmordra stretched his mouth open even wider, ready for his feast. Barclay braced his feet against the crumpled deck to keep from falling. Just before they passed through Lochmordra’s lips, Barclay seized all of the wind he could and threw it at the Legendary Beast, coating him in the Firenekkies.

The Beast jerked his head back, and the tentacles grasping the ship receded. Glittering blue water sloshed up the ruined deck. The vessel was sinking. Tadg grabbed the life buoy and tossed it into the waves.

“Come on!” he yelled, motioning for Barclay and Viola to follow.

The three of them dove and swam for the life buoy. Above, Lochmordra was blanketed in the glowing blue Firenekkies, and he stopped thrashing and lowered his tentacles. He still heaved—as though panting—but as the minutes passed, that also slowed. And then finally, the Legendary Beast went still.

The three apprentices climbed back onto the shoreline. On the stony mountain above, Keyes and Yasha were gone.

“We let them escape,” Tadg choked.

“They can’t have gotten far,” Viola said.

“You don’t know that! What other types of Lore could they be hiding?”

Lochmordra’s gaze swept over them. As though he, a magnificent, monstrous Beast, as old as the first drop of water in the Sea, was assessing them, three exhausted and drenched apprentices, too scared to even breathe. Barclay had the urge to flee, to escape what was sure to be one final, deadly attack. But he couldn’t look away. Lochmordra’s eyes now churned a cloudy gray and flashed with light. Looking at him felt like staring straight into a storm.

Then, satisfied—or, perhaps, grateful—Lochmordra sank back beneath the waves.

And he was gone.

Next to him, Barclay realized that Tadg was crying.

Tadg wiped his eyes on his arm. “Don’t. Say. Anything.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Barclay told him. “Well, I was going to say that I’m sorry. About your dad, and about your home. It’s okay to be angry about what happened.”