She stumbled back in shock. Did it just speak?
“Well?” the Sinn repeated with a touch of impatience. “Are you deaf?”
“No,” she managed, lowering the rock. “I don’t kill helpless things.”
It growled, a sound that raised the hair on her arms. “I am not a thing.” It shifted, rocks falling away from its body. “Nor am I helpless.”
It stared down at her. A silky white beard sprouted from its lower jaw. She had not noticed that before.
Cathrynne drew a deep breath. “Then perhaps I should ask if you plan to kill me?”
It studied her in silence for an interminable minute. When it opened its mouth, she tensed, unsure if words or fire would emerge.
“Why are you here, witch? Your kind never comes below.”
Cathrynne hesitated, then decided on honesty. What did she have to lose? “I was seeking a stone. One that repels the ley.”
A low rasping came from its golden-scaled chest that might have been laughter. “What would you do with this stone?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But a lot of people are looking for it.”
The laughter grew louder as the creature rose up on thick legs. It shook off the rock dust like a bear after a swim, scaled hide twitching as it whipped its body to and fro as much as the tunnel would allow. Cathrynne coughed and covered her nose. When it was satisfied, it stopped and peered down at her. She was near enough for it to snap her head off with a single bite.
“The stone of which you speak is a bezoar,” it said.
The word was unfamiliar. “What is that?” she asked.
Its eyes narrowed, slits of gold in the darkness. “I will not explain it to you, witch. But they are our defense against your kind.”
Cathrynne’s mind raced. “The stones are made by the Sinn? Then why do you keep them in the cavern?”
“When they grow too large,” came the grumbling reply, “we must eject them or they will cause indigestion. The cavern is for old bezoars, witch.”
She bit her lip. “I am not a witch. I am a cypher.”
Its eyes widened slightly. “Mother of our species.”
She swallowed, her throat terribly dry. “Yes. Do you have a name? Mine is Cathrynne.” She paused. “Cathrynne Rowan Lenormand.”
“I am called Borosus,” it replied. “Since you spared me, I will spare you.”
They regarded each other warily for a long moment. It occurred to Cathrynne that she might be the first person to speak with a Sinn in centuries—or ever. How little they really knew about their enigmatic enemies.
Something about the creature’s name seemed masculine, as did the timbre of its voice, but she didn’t want to make assumptions.
“You are a he?’ she asked cautiously.
“I am a he,” Borosus agreed with a purring rumble that might have been amusement. “And you are a she. All cyphers are she.”
Cathrynne nodded. “That’s right.”
It shifted its bulk, nostrils flaring. “My brothers and sisters come.”
Fresh fear prickled along her spine. “Will you show me the way out, Borosus?”
He grumbled agreement and backed down the tunnel, gesturing with a claw for her to follow. She spotted her torch and blew off the dust. For a wonder, it turned on, though the glass lens was cracked. When they reached the cavern with the kaldurite, Borosus pointed her to the tunnel she and Kal had come through. The rock still glowed a fiery red.
“I can’t go out that way,” Cathrynne explained. “I’ll roast.”
