The Cipher

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  He was naked. And like her, he was the same and different. He watched her approach up the shore with the patience of a lion stalking its prey. She stopped opposite him, the sylveth-streaked waves washing over her boots. Inside, her feet remained dry.

  He stared back at her, examining her as she inspected him. He crouched on the rock, unmoving, a statue. His eyes had changed. They were black from corner to corner. Turbulent, like the waters of the storm-driven sea. Fine silvery scales traveled down his neck and spine to his buttocks. More spangled his cheeks and thighs, condensing into a dense, silvery net around his feet. Otherwise, he looked the same.

  “I missed your hair,” he called. There was a question in his voice. Was she still herself? Was she afraid of him? Repulsed by him?

  “You lost your collar.”

  He touched his neck and shook his head. “I should still have it. I deserve it.”

  Lucy stood silently several moments. “No, you don’t.”

  “No?” The question was wary.

  “Unvarnished truth?”

  “By all means.”

  She held out her hands in the air, palms flat. She lifted one higher than the other. “You stole my seals.” She lifted the other. “You took me to Keros to help heal me. You tried to get information with Jordan to expose your brother, which led to your wearing the iron collar in the first place. You tried to protect me from Edgar in that dreadful room, refusing to be blackmailed. You cared for me on the ship, even after I’d incinerated your brother. You even helped me use the slop jar, which no doubt was the height of the journey. And then you jumped into the sea with me rather than abandon me to my fate.” She rocked her hands in the air as if balancing scales, and then dropped them to her sides. “You are a good man. You are…my friend.”

  He closed his eyes, his head sagging forward. When he lifted his head again, his smile had returned, sharp and teasing. “Would you care to know my impression of you?”

  She made a face. “By all means.”

  He stood, stepping down off the rock. The inky water hardened beneath his feet and he walked across it to stand beside her. His hands were warm as they framed her face. “You’re infuriating. Brave. Obstinate. And I want to be far more to you than just your friend.”

  His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue tasting like wind and clouds. She kissed him back, sliding her arms around his neck to hold him firmly, her fingers delighting in the warm tension of his skin. At last he lifted his head.

  “You smell much better than you did on the ship.”

  “You need clothes.” She looked down between them. “You’re being a bit impertinent.”

  He smiled suggestively, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. “I intend to be downright brazen.”

  Fat raindrops pattered down, sizzling on the water. He sighed noisily.

  “I suppose we should look for shelter. And clothing.” He fingered her tunic, his brows rising. “Pretty. Find a shipwreck with a full hold?”

  She shook her head. She looked down at the sylveth swirling in the waves around them. It answered her desire, sliding up to layer his skin. Grains later he was wearing knee-high boots, dark blue wool trousers, a cambric shirt, and a heavy wool frock coat. His hair smoothed back into a tail fastened at the crown of his head, the scrubby bristles vanishing from his jaw. He looked down at himself, startled.

  “Won’t Sharpel be surprised to see us?” he said with a razor grin.

  “I can hardly wait.”

  They found shelter in a sea cave above the high-tide mark. But there was nothing to eat. Fishing in the Inland Sea was chancy—and even though sylveth had done all it was going to do to them both, Lucy wasn’t eager to eat something that once might have been human. And it was too late in the year for berries.

  “You’re a majicar now. You created this fine clothing. What about roast lamb, potatoes, bread, and ale?” Marten waggled his brows at her hopefully.

  Lucy thought of her failed attempt at a slop jar. “The clothes were easy. But food…” She frowned.

  “It’s worth a try. Fried rat would taste good right about now,” he said, rubbing his stomach.

  She sighed. She could feel the sylveth all around, running in thick veins through the length and breadth of the entire sea. It was powerful, raw majick. It tantalized. She knew she could form it into clothing. But then she’d been standing in the midst of it. She glanced at the mouth of the cave. The wind was howling and it had begun to sleet. She did not want to go out in that. Her stomach cramped painfully. Nor did she want to starve.

  Marten came to sit on the sandy floor beside her. He lay down on his side, curving around so that she leaned back against his hips. He braced his elbow on the floor, resting his head in his palm, rubbing her shoulder lightly with the other hand. “The sea is…it’s part of me. I can sense it, every drop, every knucklebone, every Koreion. It’s like my heartbeat, like breathing. It’ll answer my wants. I don’t have to think about it. It’s instinct. I just have to feel it.”

  Lucy met his strange black eyes, considering his words. She nodded, relaxing back against him. She closed her eyes, listening to the sylveth. Its reaction reminded her of a puppy left too long alone. It bounced and cavorted. It formed into the shape of a Koreion and wriggled happily. Lucy put an imaginary hand out to it. It nuzzled her fingers and rolled in a corkscrew of delight. She had the distinct impression that it had been waiting for her for a very long time. How long?

  She began to think about food. Roasted lamb crusted with almonds, garlic, salt, and cracked pepper. Potatoes with brown crusty exteriors, drizzled with butter and cream. Steaming rosemary bread. Sugar-glazed custard. Tender spears of asparagus. Cold frothy ale. She could almost smell it.

  Lucy opened her eyes. There was a feast on the sandy floor. The scent made her mouth water painfully.

  “Is it real?” she asked, recalling the crumbling slop jar.

  Marten sat up slowly, reaching for the bread. He broke off an end and bit into it. “Food of the gods,” he mumbled, handing Lucy a chunk.

  They settled down to eat. It was easier now to call up what she wanted. Knives, plates, forks, cups, napkins. She and Marten stuffed themselves until they could eat nothing more.

  When they were through, she vanished the remnants of their meal. “I hope we don’t regret that,” she said as soon as she’d done it. “What if I can’t repeat the trick?”

  Marten put his arms around her, stroking his hands down her back and nibbling at her neck. “I’m not worried. Now…you’ve assuaged one of my hungers—how about conjuring a bed?”

  The pull was inexorable. She could not resist. She crawled out of bed, putting on her clothes and going out the cave entrance. She didn’t pause when tiny pellets of ice driven by the fierce wind pelted her face. She clambered over slick rocks and boulders. Tough bushes scraped at her as she pushed through, following a path she could not see.

  The cipher on her arm glowed brilliant blue, giving her light to see by. She followed the coastline, going as fast as possible through the blustering storm. She was not startled when something bobbed up out of the waves. Marten strode ashore, falling into step beside her.

  “Not the most favorable night to take a walk,” he said, bending close to her ear so that she could hear him. “Should I be offended that you ran screaming into the night?”

  “I did not run, nor did I scream.”

  “But you left me.”

  Lucy did not miss the rebuke in his voice.

  “I knew you would come.”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Where are we going?” he asked, accepting her declaration.

  “I don’t know. The cipher is at the helm.”

  Oddly, Lucy wasn’t frightened by the imperious pull of the cipher. She’d begun to trust it in some perverse way. Or perhaps it didn’t seem so frightening, not after bathing in sylveth.

  They were led to a rocky stream flowing into the sea, and followe
d it inland as dawn broke. The storm did not let up and they took a short rest in a thick stand of conifers, Lucy conjuring porridge with molasses and a pot of hot, sweet tea.

  “I wonder if all majicars can do what you do,” Marten said idly. “They’d never want for anything.”

  Lucy shrugged. Using majick seemed easier than it ought to be. And only seemed to get easier with every attempt she made. It was not nearly as hard to do as customs work. The thought bothered her. She’d always had what she believed to be a natural talent and passion for her job. Like she’d always been meant to work in customs. And now majick had found her, or some lock inside her had been turned, and she wondered if she’d been meant for something else entirely. The idea made her cold in a way the sleet and wind did not.

  They followed the stream up into the foothills. Ice coated the winter-killed grass, and conifers dotted the gray rock shelves thrusting up through the soil. They came to a steep ridge. It was seamed and cracked and oddly rounded, looking like the gods had piled together hot boulders, moulding them together in a fortress wall.

  “Where to now?” Marten asked.

  “Up.”

  They climbed. Lucy used majick to carve out hand-and footholds. Even so, the storm made the going difficult. Her arms, back, and legs ached and she left more skin than she wanted scraped off on the stone.

  At last they cleared the top. Lucy wriggled up on her stomach, turning onto her back. Her ribs bellowed with the effort of breathing. Marten flung himself beside her. But the cipher wouldn’t let her rest long. It physically pulled on her. Her arm extended over her head until the tendons in her shoulder stretched painfully. She obeyed the summons, rolling awkwardly to her feet, her arm straight before her. Marten followed.

  “And you called me a gambler. Promise you’ll give up collecting those,” he said sardonically, steadying her on the icy rocks.

  The ridge was narrow, dropping away before them into a deep chasm. With the rain, they could not see the bottom. The cipher tugged harder, dragging Lucy toward the edge. Marten grasped her around the waist.

  “There has to be a way down, or across,” she said.

  “Or the whole point is to bring a victim up to the top of a cliff to dash his brains out below.”

  Inch by inch, they were jerked toward the edge. They were only two feet away when she finally realized she was going to have to try to use her newfound majick to attack the cipher itself. She snorted softly. Choose your death. Six of one, half dozen of the other.

  Her mind was so scattered with rising fear that at first she couldn’t focus enough to do anything. Then Marten skidded and she staggered forward. He snatched her again, hanging on her legs like an anchor.

  “If this doesn’t work, don’t jump with me this time,” she said.

  Without waiting for his reply, she closed her eyes, concentrating on prying away the cipher. Instantly, a shock quaked through her. Her bones turned to taffy and she crumpled to the ground. Marten clung to her, but the strength of the cipher had increased a hundredfold.

  “Let go!” Lucy hissed, plucking feebly at Marten’s hands.

  “I think not.”

  Then suddenly she felt the edge beneath her. She cried out, scrabbling for something to hold on to. She grabbed a tough gorse bush. It burned her hands as they slid down over its stems and she held nothing. Then she and Marten were falling into empty space.

  Except…

  They floated gently, drifting downward like gulls.

  “Are you doing this?”

  Lucy shook her head. “No,” she rasped.

  Marten was silent, turning his head to look below them.

  “I’m beginning to think the cipher isn’t actually trying to kill you.”

  The same thought had occurred to Lucy. She curled her hand in his. “Mutilation and torture are on the program, however.”

  Chapter 30

  They sank downward, buoyed by majick. Lucy held tight to Marten, afraid if she let go, he’d plummet to the ground, unaided by the cipher. She could see green smudges below where evergreen trees grew, a winding riverbed, and expansive meadows. There was a herd of animals at the far end of the gorge.

  “Do you see them?” she asked, pointing.

  “Aye.”

  “What are they?”

  He shrugged. “The Koreions don’t care about sylveth. And a host of other sea creatures. They feed on sylveth spawn,” he added quietly before shrugging. “Likely there are land animals that are equally unimpressed.”

  The wind lessened as they descended, blocked by the steep walls of the chasm. They’d dropped about halfway to the bottom when suddenly they stopped. In the same moment, the cobalt of the cipher began to fade. The chain loosened on Lucy’s arm, and the air supporting them began to soften. They sank a few inches.

  “I think it’s taken us as far as it’s willing to go,” she said. “Up to us to get the rest of the way down, I think.”

  “We could always go up,” Marten suggested.

  She shook her head. “I think we need to finish this.”

  “Then allow me.”

  Suddenly the air hardened. The wind pulled into a tight spout, a whirling pillar. Below, chunks of mud and grass spun into the air. They dropped down quickly, the pillar shortening beneath them. Twenty feet above the ground, it began to disperse and they drifted down on a remaining updraft. They landed in churned black mud. Lucy staggered at the impact, lurching and falling to her hands and knees. The cipher dropped in a jingling heap beside her. Marten helped her up.

  She wiped her hands on her leggings, strangely reti-cent to use majick to conjure a towel. She picked up the cipher. The sylveth disks were gray once again. It tingled in her fingers. It was done with her, but not dead.

  “That’s the cipher?”

  She quirked a surprised brow at Marten. “You can see it?”

  He nodded.

  She slipped it into her pocket. “Come on.”

  He fell in beside her as she started walking west toward the center of the chasm. “Where are we going?”

  “There’s strong majick here. I can feel it.”

  “Some would take that as a sign to run in the other direction. Isn’t that what got you into trouble with this?” He tapped the chain lumping in her pocket.

  “It is a gamble,” she said with an acerbic smile.

  He touched his forehead in a mock salute. “By all means, let us go. I am loath to pass up a good game of chance.”

  The rain had stopped and the sun shone weakly. They’d walked more than half a league. Majick loomed ahead like a hurricane. The feel of it made Lucy’s lungs hurt. It reverberated through her and around as if she were standing inside an enormous bell striking an infinite hour. Still she continued forward. There was something here she was supposed to find. She knew it. The cipher had chosen her for some reason, and it had not been one of Errol Cipher’s cruel pranks. The pain and trouble that came with it was likely just an added treat for the ancient majicar’s amusement.

  The closer they came, the harder it was for Lucy to walk. She felt like she was pushing through a thickening wall. The dense vibrations grew stronger and faster. Her teeth rattled and her heart forgot its rhythm, beating wildly. Her chest hurt and her head felt as if it were being squeezed inside a fist. She was barely aware of Marten’s fingers laced together with hers. Her vision blurred and she was as blind as if wandering through a tully fog.

  At last she came to a point where she could hardly move. Sliding her foot forward hurt with such an intensity that she keened, unable to scrape together the words to voice her agony. But she wasn’t about to give up. She had to find out what she’d suffered so much for. She pushed on. A step, another, one more.

  And then suddenly she was free.

  She stumbled forward, the release almost as unbearable as the pain itself. She slumped to the ground full length, pressing her cheek to the warm wet leaf meal, gasping for breath. Slowly her heart settled into its normal cadence, the lingering resonan
ce faded, and her vision cleared. She sat up. Marten lay nearby, equally spent. He opened his eyes when she moved, jerkily pushing up to sit.

  “Chance smiles,” he rasped, and then spat dirt from his mouth.

  “We are very lucky,” she agreed, then looked about her. Her mouth fell open. “By the gods!”

  They were sitting in an ancient grove of blood oak. The trees towered high above their heads. Their dark crimson boles were enormous; it would have taken fifteen people clasping hands to surround one. Majick thrummed in the air and vibrated in the earth. It felt as if the entire glade was…breathing. Diaphanous white mist curled and twisted in the branches. Sylveth mist.

  Marten whistled low. “Am I dreaming?”

  Lucy stood, approaching one of the trees. She pressed her palm against the warm, satiny wood. It twitched beneath her hand. She felt the power inside it. A volcanic force. She stepped back, her fingers curling.

  The discovery was staggering. Blood oak. An entire grove of it. When a single branch was a treasure. This was…she rubbed her hands over her face, pinching her lips. Horrifying. Dreadful.

  “I don’t like this.”

  Marten came up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and rubbing gently.

  “I don’t think it matters if you like it or not.”

  She glanced back at him. “You think so too?”

  He nodded. “You’re the next Errol Cipher. No majicar could find this place without that cipher. And it chose you. Maybe only you in four hundred years. Which means you’re supposed to be here.”

  She closed her eyes, shuddering.

  He gave her a little shake. “Just think of it. Imagine what you can do. Soon they won’t be called ciphers anymore—they’ll be called trentons.”

  Lucy’s lips pulled back in a predatory grin. “If he’s alive, Edgar gets to have the first one. Sharpel the second.”