I quit. Daphne’s brain voiced its displeasure in an extra-pouty voice this time.

Daphne couldn’t blame it any more than she had before the Pincher fight. Less, actually. If facing down a battle with a praying mantis the size of a Great Dane was sufficient justification for quitting, then watching a monster of your own creation evolve in front of your eyes was certainly crossing over into lawsuit territory. Daphne’s brain could sue the crap out of her for permanent damages. She had no excuses and no defense.

But, just like with the Pincher fight, giving up was simply not on the options-table at the moment.

Come on, Daphne pleaded with her sulking brain. It’s not just for me, y’know. It’s Runar, and Vyth, and Bjarni, and all the griffins and the Hall of Parables and…

She could practically feel her brain giving her the mental equivalent of the middle finger.

Talk to the hand, said Daphne’s brain. I QUIT.

Thankfully, that was when Eydis arrived on the scene.

She swooped in through one of the low windows while the Rabid Daydream was still enjoying its first roar-fest. Before that awful, shouldn’t-even-be-possible noise had even died down, the dark brown griffin had assessed the situation and was taking charge.

“I have been telling Vyth that he’s too old to fight like that.” Eydis sighed. “Thank the Phrases he is not more gravely injured. Runar, bear thy elder outside this near window. He should be safe enough there until we can make arrangements. Nay —” She lifted a wing, forestalling Daphne’s attempt to speak. “There is no time. Art thou not a Wordsmith?” The wing pointed at the Rabid Daydream. “There is thy foe. Forge its chains.”

“But that’s what I’m saying.” Daphne tried to shut out the sight of Runar struggling with Vyth’s motionless form, and the sounds of the Rabid Daydream exploring its vocal range. She focused on Eydis, determined to explain. “Word-chains don’t work. It spawned from word-chains. We just tried — I made a complete Word of Truth, and Runar wielded the chains, and the thing just absorbed them, and —”

The creature screamed at a particularly skin-crawling pitch.

“And now it can do that!” Daphne finished.

Eydis did not move, except to raise a single brow.

“Art thou not a Wordsmith?” she repeated. “And of no common ability. Thou hast summoned Lore-light. Couldst thou do so again?”

“This thing eats words! I can’t feed it Lore-light like I did with the Pinchers. It would just become even more powerful!” Daphne yelled.

“We do not know that,” Eydis began, then hesitated. “But thou art right to be cautious. Word-chains are the weapon for these beasts. If thy first chains failed, forge anew. Surely thou knowest more than one Word of Truth.”

“I — I could try for a high-level one…”

The Prism was buzzing so hard that Daphne’s whole right arm was vibrating. If she applied all that power to any of the carvings in this oh-so-powerful room…

“But it’s risky,” she went on. “Not for me, but for the Hall of Parables. I already drained four little sections of wall to make the other word-chains, and that was a low-level Word of Truth. Super basic. If I attempted a stronger one, I don’t know what it would do. To the room. It’s suffered so much already.”

As if on cue, the Rabid Daydream completed its vocal exercises and seemed to remember it enjoyed smashing things. The eyeless face tilted downwards. It paused for a moment, regarding the hand suspended in the air above the council dais. Then it brought the hand down with terrifying force, roaring as the top half of the sacred platform crumbled into dust.

Eydis shuddered as if it were her own body receiving the blow. But when she turned to Daphne, her eyes were like steel.

“Stone is merely stone,” she said in a voice to match her hard gaze. “We are the Lorists. The ancient ways live in us: in our veins, not in these rocks. But if we should fall —” The steel voice faltered, so briefly that Daphne might have imagined it. “If we should fall, the lore would be lost. The ancient ways would vanish, though this and other halls remained. They are merely bones, Wordsmith. We are the breath.”

The Rabid Daydream was having a glorious day. Smashing another third of the council dais, it gave a happy crowing roar. Then it stopped. Its humongous mouth got even more humongous, opening wider and wider as the blank face moved from side to side.

It’s sniffing, Daphne thought with dull certainty. It’s aware of us.

Sure enough, the head tilted in their direction. It paused, and then the creature charged.

“Drain the whole room, if thou must.” Eydis put a wing on each of Daphne’s shoulders, looking the human directly in the eye. “Finish the beast.”

Then she took off, soaring towards the oncoming monster with a basher in each taloned foot.

“Vyth is safe!” Runar came scrambling back over the windowsill and dropped down beside Daphne. “For now, at least. What is the plan?”

Daphne covered the Prism with her left hand in a vain attempt to stop the painful buzzing. “She — she wants me to forge a high-level Word of Truth. Drain the room. Eydis said that. Just make something big enough to stop the monster.” She looked at Runar, making no attempt to stop the panic flooding from her heart to his. “But what if nothing’s big enough? What if I destroy this whole room, and that thing’s still standing?”

“Then we shall make a new plan.” Runar’s morale seemed to be having a second wind just as Daphne’s ran out. His golden eyes were blazing almost as brightly as his younger brother’s as he wrapped Daphne in a brief wing-hug. Stepping back, he brandished a basher he must have taken from Vyth. “Thou must do what thou canst. As shall I! We shall keep its attention so thou canst work. The Phrases bless thee, Wordsmith.” Rune launched into the air, calling once more over his shoulder. “Try ‘The Falcon!’”

Then he was gone, leaving Daphne alone with a buzzing pen and an oh-so-done brain.

I quit, her brain reminded her, helpfully.

Daphne didn’t answer. The Prism’s violent enthusiasm was rattling her bones all the way up to her skull, so she doubted she could have formed a coherent thought even if she wanted to.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

But she didn’t want to. She was oh-so-done too — done arguing with her brain, and with her fear, and with that tiny reasonable part of her soul that kept insisting all of this couldn’t really be happening.

It was happening. She and Mark had been pulled into Euloban. Now Mark was gone, and he needed her.

Euloban needed her.

“I’m a Level 7 Wordsmith, damn it.”

Scanning the wall beside her, she chose a particularly intricate carving and lifted the Prism.

“But I’m more than that. I made this world. Mark said it’s beautiful. It is beautiful.” She poised the pen inches from the stone. “And I’m going to help it stay beautiful. Whether it likes it or not.”

Taking a deep breath, she touched the Prism to the wall.

“I was made to soar on words —”

The pull came out of nowhere. It was like the wall reached out and grabbed her, smacking her forehead against its unyielding face and then shoving her away. She sprawled backwards. The back of her head hit the stone floor with a loud CRACK that was swallowed by a peal of thunder booming through the hall.

OW, her brain said, unhelpfully. Did I mention that I quit?

Daphne sat up, wincing. Both the front and back of her head were going to be sporting nasty bruises after this. If there was an ‘after’…

Blinking hard a few times, she brought the wall into focus. The sight made her heart sink. A whole square foot had been blasted smooth, like the ancient carvings had lost a fight with an industrial strength power-washer. There was even a small scorch mark where the Prism’s point had touched the wall.

Looking down, she saw the Prism itself was still in her hand, buzzing violently. More importantly, there was a word-chain attached to the pen’s point. She tore it free and gazed at it: a short but gleaming word-chain, golden and shiny and shaking with its own contained might.

Setting it aside, Daphne gripped the pen even tighter and drew another deep breath.

The battle was still raging. She could hear the Rabid Daydream lumbering around, taking out ledges and bellowing as Runar and Eydis kept him busy with their bashers.

But they couldn’t hold out forever.

“I can do this. One stanza at a time.”

Daphne crawled down the wall a few feet, selected a fresh spot, and stood.

Then she dug the Prism’s point into the center of a carved rune.

“I was made to soar on words Whose Love-swept current undergirds My wings — but now, ’midst loud Unheards Which roar in gusts too strong for birds —”

The force was incredible. She was better prepared this time, but it still felt like playing tug-of-war with the sun. She dug her feet into the stone floor and pulled back with every bit of her +4 Strength. Surely Aesthetics must have come into play also — that was the only explanation for her ability to stay upright.

The internal pull was even worse. She could see the carvings melting into the wall as the Prism drained their power to feed the growing letter-string, but she felt the draining inside as well, like her soul was also being funneled into the gleaming word-chain.

And the word-chain was on fire. Not only was it shaking with energy, but it was radiating with heat. When she finally finished the stanza and tore the resulting letter-string free of both pen and wall, she was holding a word-chain made of living flame.

You’re beautiful, she told her speechless brain. Sometimes.

Making sure to use her voice, Daphne called, “Runar! Order up!”

She tossed the fiery word-chain aside, moved six feet across to a fresh section of wall, and started on the next stanza.

“I’m blown off-course — and, helpless, driven On before the daily given Daily from my roots more riven Flailing for a life worth livin’—”

Through the haze of agony, she dimly sensed Runar landing beside her, snatching the previous word-chain up in one talon, and taking off.

She didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. She pulled the second word-chain free, called her friend’s name, and walked down another ten feet to start on the third.

“But I was made to plumb the deeps To sound the bell where Wonder sleeps And wake — but now, the buzzer beeps So stridently; its screeching keeps —”

Sweat streamed down Daphne’s face, mingling with the tears that just wouldn’t stop coming. Her eyes were stinging with the salty mixture. Her legs were screaming. Her arms felt like fiery word-chains, except her muscles were burning in pain, not power.

She tossed the third word-chain aside, not bothering to call Runar’s name. He would know. She needed to save her breath.

“— Me sleeping in muted blur Still hoping Rest will soon confer With Purpose, making Vision stir The pot of simmering dreams that were —”

Four word-chains down. How many more to go? How long was this stupid poem, anyway? And where the hell had she gotten the nerve to give this excruciating process a nice, simple name like forging? ‘Extracting a tooth from a blob monster’ would have been more appropriate. Or ‘giving birth to a volcano.’

There were six stanzas to the poem. Two more to go.

“Once boiling — till they overflow To coat my soul in powdered snow Beneath my winter blanket growing Slowly, till the world will know —”

Daphne was pulling the fifth word-chain free when a very different force from behind knocked her aside. She cried out in pain as she landed hard on her elbow. The Prism flew from her hand, skittering away across the floor and rolling to a stop by a foot.

A very long, thin, colorless foot…

Daphne struggled up into a sitting position, trying to take stock through eyes still swimming with sweaty tears. Somehow, she had covered over half the length of the Hall of Parables. The entire left side of the wall was blasted clean, all the carvings sacrificed to form the gleaming word-chains.

But the word-chains were working.

Slowly raising her head, Daphne could see that Runar had been busy. The Rabid Daydream was sporting a fiery letter-string on each arm, one leg, and around its giant neck. The chains hadn’t dissolved into the creature’s skin. They were all still intact and still very much on fire, giving the monster the appearance of a fashionably accessorized demon.

Best of all, the creature was clearly in pain. The wild swing that had bowled Daphne over didn’t seem to have been premeditated. The Rabid Daydream was moving slower and slower, and each movement appeared to be costing it more and more effort.

Still… it was moving.

The Word of Truth isn’t complete, nagged Daphne’s brain, apparently willing to engage in snark if nothing else. Need to get that fifth word-chain on, and need to forge the sixth.

I know, Daphne replied. Shut up.

She gathered the fifth word-chain while scanning the room. Where was Eydis? Where was Runar?

Relief surged through her as a golden form appeared out of the shadows behind the council dais. It swooped low towards her, stumbling into a rough landing that nearly knocked Daphne onto her side again.

Relief changed to dread in a split second.

“Runar —” Daphne helped the griffin to his feet, staring in grief at the various bruises covering his whole body. “Are you — how —”

“Two more,” he gasped. Leaning heavily against her, he took the word-chain from her hands with one shaking talon. “I will — get other leg. You — finish —”

He launched into a shambling flight just as the Rabid Daydream’s arm went into another wild swing. The long hand batted the golden griffin across the room, where he landed with a sickening THUD.

Daphne was screaming. She couldn’t hear any sound, but surely she was screaming — her entire soul was screaming —

“Brother!”

The living fireball that was Bjarni hurtled through the window, diving straight towards Runar. Somehow, he seemed to take in the whole situation in three sharp glances. Daphne saw him look at his brother, lying motionless with a fiery word-chain in his talons. Then he looked at the Rabid Daydream, bound in four word-chains but still capable of doing damage.

Then he looked at Daphne.

“Finish it, Wordsmith!” Bjarni cried. Then he grabbed the word-chain from Runar’s loose grip and launched himself at the Rabid Daydream.

Daphne was so stunned, she couldn’t move for a moment. She just watched as Bjarni darted nimbly around the monster’s swinging arms, casting the word-chain at just the right moment to wrap around the remaining free leg. The Rabid Daydream howled in pain and kicked reflexively, sending Bjarni flying — and sending the Prism rolling away again.

Move! screamed Daphne’s fully back-on-board brain.

Daphne moved. She dove for the Prism, but it had rolled too far away. The dive turned into a painful scramble. She pushed herself forward, bruising her hands and knees against the rough stone to cover the last few feet.

Almost there…

The edge of her fingertips brushed the pen. Daphne felt a shriek of wild delight building up inside her as the buzzing warmth spread up her arm.

Just a little further…

The shriek died in her throat. All the breath was suddenly squeezed out of her by a giant hand — a long, thin, colorless hand, wrapping around her with a worse-than-iron grip and lifting her up towards an enormous gaping mouth.