Of all the things Daphne hadn’t known about griffins, the most surprising revelation by far was their rebellious streak.
She’d been surprised, or even downright flummoxed, at Runar’s readiness to abandon their find-the-Lorist-Way plan and follow the shiny new light-carving road. Bjarni, she could understand, but Runar? Though not as obsessed with rules and safety as Eydis or Mynna, he still seemed more likely to favor the established traditions of his kin, especially where the welfare of his younger brother was concerned. But no, he had been just as willing as Bjarni to throw caution to the winds and follow the mysterious lights into the unknown.
Then again, they were only in that original prose-shaft to begin with because the rules-obsessed Eydis had tossed tradition out the window. The secret rebellious streak of griffins had a solid track record of helping Daphne out. She could follow along a little longer.
A taste for rebellion, however, did not equate to unlimited energy. They had been traveling along the ‘ancient way,’ or whatever it was, for less than an hour when Bjarni started losing steam. Considering Daphne had been running on fumes since the fight with the dirt-monster, and Runar was still recovering from the epic Rabid Daydream battle in the Hall of Parables, no one objected when the youngest member of the party requested a brief halt.
Bjarni did object to the idea of a full rest, complete with a rotating watch schedule. He insisted that the light-way was perfectly safe and argued that his Reader-focused Aesthetics ability made him the authority on what was and wasn’t dangerous, thereby qualifying him to insist on such things. He protested that he really didn’t need sleep, but just a quick break for a snack and maybe a short nap. The griffin managed to make his enthusiasm on all of these points perfectly clear, despite speaking in the barely audible whisper Runar had prescribed for all communication while in the tunnels.
But Runar was adamant. Furthermore, Bjarni’s obvious exhaustion wasn’t helping his case. When the young griffin’s third whispered rant was cut short by a series of his own huge yawns, the older brother put his taloned foot down. They would have a full rest, and Bjarni would take the third watch, allowing him a few hours of unbroken sleep.
Moments later, the fiery griffin was curled up against the tunnel wall, head under his wing as he mumbled defiantly about unreasonable elders. A few minutes after that, he was snoring softly.
It took a little longer for Daphne to convince Runar that she should take first watch. The golden griffin was full of concern for Daphne’s recent trauma, but she reasonably pointed out that he had experienced the same trauma, and had also taken far more injury than she had from the Rabid Daydream a couple days before. Runar’s weariness finally won out. With strict instructions that Daphne wake him in two hours’ time, he curled up beside Bjarni and was soon breathing heavily.
That left Daphne alone with one of her least favorite companions: her own mind.
She tried to distract herself. She studied the light-carvings on the walls and ceiling, tracing each glowing ribbon through each elaborate design. She puzzled over the meanings of some of the runes. And she played with her bottle-pendants, watching the silvery blue light from the Eloquent Water ripple over the golden light of the ‘ancient way.’ All the while, she strained her ears, listening for any hint of sound from ahead or behind.
It was no use. There was simply too much to think about, and none of it was pleasant.
Mark was a prisoner of the Wordmaster. The door in her heart she’d left open to him was just a haze of pain now, making her sick with fear about what he could be going through. She’d inadvertently destroyed the Hall of Parables and alienated most of the surviving griffins. Worse, she had been forced to confront her own nightmares, up close and personal. All that, within the last few days. The pace was barely sustainable for most human psyches, even over the course of a lifetime.
And through it all, she was still stuck in her own fantasy world with no clue about how to get home.
Even worse, she had now gotten two glimpses of that world invading the ‘real’ world. If she did ever figure out the way back, would there be a home to return to?
Time crawled by. The silence of the tunnel pressed against her ears, drowning out the comforting noises of Bjarni’s snuffling snores and Runar’s deep, steady breathing. She kept her right hand in her pocket. The Prism was painfully cold, but maybe if its icy waves kept rolling across her, they’d numb her heart and bring the vicious thought-cycle in her brain to a frozen halt…
Some time later, through the blurry static of her awareness, she noticed Runar stirring. The golden griffin stretched quietly and stood, moving over to her with quiet grace so as not to disturb his sleeping brother. Once he was close enough for whispered conversation, she put on her best ‘stern parent’ look.
“I don’t think it’s been two hours,” she chided him.
“I have slept long enough,” he replied. “And even in sleep, I could sense thou art troubled. A rest will do thee good.”
She gazed up at the ceiling. The light-carvings continued to shine down on her, as unmoving as if they were actually cut into the stone.
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“Not sure if I can sleep,” she said softly. “My mind’s pretty wound up.”
“Art thou still wondering about thy inconsistent leveling?”
She blinked. “My leveling?”
“Thou expressed confusion before,” Runar reminded her. “When we were sharing our status books. I believe thy words were, ‘I just can’t figure Euloban out.’ I thought, perhaps, that confusion is part of thy current distress?”
“Oh. Um…” Daphne shrugged, keeping her eyes on the luminous ceiling. “Not really? I mean, I’m sure that’s part of it. Everything is just… one big mess at the moment. I know the Lore-light is amazing,” she waved her hand at the glowing walls, “and you and Bjarni are the absolute greatest. Full stop. But I just can’t seem to get my head above water. At least, that’s how it feels.”
Runar nodded. Even without looking at him, she could sense the gentle concern in his eyes.
“I have been giving thought to thy leveling,” he said. “I know Euloban is not random. It does all things with purpose. So I pondered as we walked, and then continued as I slept. Upon waking, I had a moment of clarity.”
He was silent for so long that she looked at him, tearing her eyes from the light-carvings. As soon as he had her gaze, Runar went on.
“Daphne, hast thou wondered… might thy pen have something to do with it?”
She stared at him. “My… pen? You mean the Prism?”
“Indeed. Thy special tool, to aid thee in Wordsmithery.”
She continued to stare. “How could — what does the Prism have to do with my leveling?”
“That was my moment of clarity.” The golden griffin didn’t back down from her stare. If anything, he turned the tables, holding her gaze so firmly that she couldn’t look away. “If I recall correctly, from what thou told me, thou leaned heavily on the pen during thy first few encounters in Euloban. Mark leveled quickly, but thy progress remained slow. Yes?”
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “I used the Prism to forge the word-chains to take down that first Rabid Daydream. And then, in the dalamelle, it helped me make the water-chain for the Windling.”
“Mark leveled twice each time,” Runar observed, “and gained skills. Yet thou, despite all thy heroic effort and significant contribution, leveled only once on both occasions.”
“Yup.” Daphne wondered why her best friend was rubbing salt in these emotional wounds. “What’s your point?”
“Thy first marked increase came after the encounter with the Wordmage,” Runar said calmly. “I remember thou marveled at the leveling, saying thou hadst done nothing of note. But thou also did not use the pen. There was no time. Thou were forced to rely on thy own abilities… and Euloban rewarded thee.”
He paused, as if allowing her to respond. When she said nothing, he continued, speaking in the same low, reassuring whisper.
“Thou also had no need of the pen in the battle with the Pinchers. Thou summoned Lore-light with thy bare hands, and Euloban again rewarded thee. Then, when the Rabid Daydream invaded the Hall of Parables, thou used the pen to forge word-chains.”
“It was necessary,” she finally cut in. “That thing was huge, and I was still only a Level 7. I needed the Prism to make weapons strong enough to bring the monster down.”
“Dost thou know?” Runar’s golden eyes bored into her. “Didst thou try first without the tool?”
“There wasn’t time,” she protested.
“Thou cannot be sure of that.” The griffin shook his head. “Thou relied on the tool, and despite thy great labor, thou leveled only once. Then, in vanquishing the dirt monster just now, thou returned to thy own abilities. There was no time and no need for the special tool. And lo, Euloban hath rewarded thee yet again. Thou leveled twice, and gained a skill.”
“A shared skill,” she couldn’t help but point out.
“A skill, nonetheless.”
Runar seemed to have lost the need to blink. The golden eyes felt like searchlights, piercing through Daphne’s internal fog and revealing more than she particularly wanted to see.
“I know thy love for words, dear friend,” he said, his voice so full of tenderness that a sob caught in Daphne’s chest. “I know thy heart for lore, and thy reverence for Story. I know thy greatest desire is to aid thy friends and free this world from its plague. It seems to me as though Euloban also knows all this, and might be sending thee a message.”
She cleared her throat. “A message?”
“An encouraging message.” His golden eyes were getting brighter somehow. Daphne had a sudden, desperate longing for sunglasses. “Thou hast no need of tools,” said the golden-eyed griffin. “When thou places too much reliance on objects, thou art not developing thy abilities to their fullest extent. Euloban recognizes this, and lessens the reward accordingly. But when thou art relying fully on the gifts within thyself, called forth and cultivated by the bonds of fellowship and triunity, then thy growth blazes brighter than Eloquent Water! That is when thou receives the reward thou art due. It is a pattern, my friend. I believe thou must recognize it, and having recognized, thou must heed the message.”
The Prism had begun buzzing again in Daphne’s grip. Unlike all the times before, though, the buzzing didn’t come with heat. The pen was still cold, sending icy waves shuddering up her arm and across her chest. She wanted to speak, but was afraid her teeth might chatter if she did not keep them pressed tightly together.
And besides, she couldn’t think of anything to say. So what if he was right? So what if there was a pattern, and Euloban was holding her back because she sometimes used a tool in dire situations? If this really was a world that punished people for getting a little help in times of need, maybe she didn’t want to advance. All she’d done since arriving in this cruel wasteland of a world was to try and survive, and to help her friends. And she’d go on doing that, with every tool at her disposal. Euloban and its stingy-Santa vibes could take any withheld reward and shove it.
She sighed. Apparently, she could think of several things to say… but nothing that wouldn’t offend Runar. And he didn’t deserve that. Whatever this was, none of it was his fault. He was trying to be a good friend and make her feel better.
The least she could do was keep him from feeling any worse.
“It’s a good thought,” she said. “Lots to think about. I’ll… keep thinking.” She smiled, willing a wave of calm gratitude across their emotional link. “Thank you. Truly.”
He bowed his head, resting his forehead briefly against hers. “Thou art my bond-friend, Daphne. Thy welfare is my chief concern. I shall continue to ponder also, while thou takes thy rest.”
“Sure. Thanks, again.” She curled up beside Bjarni. The fiery young griffin was radiating warmth, and the wall was cool and comfortingly solid at her back. Maybe she could actually get some sleep…
“Rest well, Wordsmith,” Runar called softly. “Perhaps thou wilt find thy own moment of clarity in thy dreams.”
Oh muses, I hope not, Daphne thought. But then the exhaustion she’d been denying for hours took over. She fell, headlong and helpless, into sleep.
And, with sleep, came the dream.