At least, hopefully not.
We’ve finally got a game plan together, as an unspoken decision moves through us. As one, we swipe everything from the table, stashing it back into Ström’s glass case on the large bookshelf and letting the wards re-seal the items away.
As we kiss now, Ström and Bjorn clapping each other’s shoulders, we break to go do our phone calls in separate rooms. Ström heads downstairs to go find his grandma and Jarl; with a quick kiss, he’s gone through the doors of his suite, taking the corkscrewing stairwell that heads down to the rest of the palace.
As Bjorn closes an adjacent drawing-room’s doors to contact his great-aunt, however he’s going to do it, I remain at the table. My contacts can all be reached by phone; I open a few photos I took on this new phone of the four different styles of language we’re looking at, then send the pictures to both Trublut and Khosh’s cell phones.
Their new phones have the same numbers as their old ones destroyed at Jurggadden, courtesy of the Old Palace’s relief efforts. After sending the images, I video-call Trublut and wait. Within a few rings, his beloved, grizzled face pops up on the line. He beams into the camera to see me.
Barking a jubilant laugh.
“Yava! My darling girl. Recuperating at the Old Palace from your adventures?” he asks, as if he somehow knows everything I’ve been through lately, though we’ve not spoken since the ruination of Jurggadden.
“Doing alright. Well enough to be alive, at least,” I acknowledge, though I don’t dare give many details of what Ström, Bjorn, and I have been through on a non-magically encrypted line like this.
“Good.” Trublut doesn’t ask for specifics, knowing that us being alright is enough, given what we’re up against. “You’ll be happy to know Vjen is doing well. Ruta’s finally left us and he’ll be coming out of his stasis cocoon in a few days, she thinks. She left us to watch him as Jarl Jorg’s people help us rebuild the village, which is going well. Said she had business with the Council, which I don’t doubt, given everything that’s happened.”
“I’m sure,” I say, though I get down to why I’ve called now. “Trublut. I just sent you a few pictures of things we’re looking into from our trip up to Magnussen lands. Can you take a look at them and show them to Khosh? See if either of you can make heads or tails of them?”
I’m deliberately vague as I talk with my stepfather, but he gets it.
“Sure. Let me look and call Khosh. He’s in the kitchens. Hold on.” I see Trublut back away from the phone as he looks at the photos I sent him, his close-up vision not as good as it used to be. I watch him scowl, then he’s turning, hollering, “Khosh!Yava’s on the phone!” in the direction of what I assume are new kitchens.
They’re not in Maryse’s lodge-house anymore, but what looks like a brand-new lodge, bare timbers still rough-hewn, though it has walls and a floor already. Khosh is wiping his hands on a dirty kitchen towel before coming to the phone, beaming to see me.
Then frowning, as Trublut shows him the images.
Khosh looks at them for a long while. I would have thought if anyone might have information on these languages, it would be Trublut, given his vastly advanced age. But it’s Khosh who snorts now, theneyeballs me. As Trublut enlarges our video call again, Khosh takes the phone.
“Yava. These are ciphers.” Khosh regards me seriously. “I don’t know where you found these documents or what’s on them, because it’s not a language I can read, but I know what I’m seeing. Your images have patterns of diacritical marks and dots, which have never been in use in actual Bone Mage or Blood Sage languages, but which have been commonly used in cypher texts for generations. I know them because a lot of ancient Blood Dragon woodscraft documents are written with them. Telling the locations of ancient magical hotspots leftover from the wars, to avoid when you are out a-fielding.”
“So these are cyphers.” Something inside me falls then, as I realize my step-fathers are telling me they can’t read what I’ve got here.
And that Mikkel and Lærke Thorsen may be our only choice.
“You need a dedicated student of ancient cyphers to read these.” Khosh continues as he shakes his head. “Tru and I cannot.”
“Do you know where I might find someone like that?” I ask, praying for options.
But Trublut and Khosh only glance at each other—shaking their heads.
“Not without going to the Black Dragon Knights.” Trublut gives a deep frown. “And I do not think we should trust them at the moment… especially not with a finding such as this.”
“Yeah, we came to that conclusion as well.” I sigh, stewing. Khosh and Trublut watch me with fatherly concern, but I make myself brighten now, so they won’t dive into worry. “Well, thanks. We’re investigating a few other avenues to find out what they say. Just thought I’d call you two and see if you could figure these out.”
“I’m sorry we could not be more helpful.” Trublut is serious as he watches me. “Yava… are you alright, youngling?”
“I’m alright. We’re okay. Just tired, that’s all.” I assuage my stepfather’s fears, then trade a bit more casual news with them before hanging up.
Just as I do, I see Bjorn emerge from the side-hall, a scowl on his face. He looks up at me, then shakes his head, and I know his contacting his great-aunt Svanhild was fruitless. As I heave a sigh also, Bjorn comes to me, taking my phone and setting it down on the glass dining table.
“Anything?” he asks, tense as he rubs my arms with his big hands.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I hope to all the gods Ström comes up with something better from his grandmother and the Jarl.”
As if we summoned him with our words, Ström comes back in the main doors of his apartment. I don’t know how he showed the scrolls to his great-grandfather and grandmother, since he didn’t take any pictures on a phone, but as he shakes his head soberly, I know he’s had no luck, either.
“Mikkel and Lærke?” he asks me as he arrives before us, seeing the looks on our faces and feeling through our bond how we’ve had no luck, just like him.
