Daphne was in the dream for a while before really being aware of just what kind of dream it was.

The first long section was actually rather pleasant. She was wandering through a vast underground library — the famed Under Library, she knew instinctively through dream-logic. Having had many similar dreams in the past, Daphne felt her subconscious relaxing. This was familiar territory. In fact, the whole idea for Euloban and the Rise of the Wordmaster series had started with the Under Library, inspired by a dream very similar to this one. It felt good to be back on home turf again.

And it was beautiful. If Daphne’s fascination with griffins made up half of her motivation for writing the Wordmaster books to begin with, the other half came from this vision of the Under Library. Her dream-self wandered through a series of vast, interconnected caverns, all lit by a gorgeous combination of flickering golden torchlight and large pools of Eloquent Water, and lined floor to ceiling with BOOKS. The shelves had been cut directly into the rock walls. Every space not covered by books was carved with the same intricate designs that adorned the Lorist Way. Daphne even recognized some of the same runes the Lore-light was now outlining along the tunnels, back in the waking world, illuminating the path for ‘the quest of triunity.’

As Dream-Daphne meandered happily from room to room, she gradually became aware that this was not a casual visit. She was looking for something. Each cavern held books on a particular subject, and she couldn’t find the topic she needed.

The longer she explored, the less relaxing the dream became. Her search was urgent. Dream-logic told her this was a self-imposed task, but that only sharpened her frustration. She had worked so hard to get permission to enter this sacred space. The Lore Council had been reluctant, particularly considering the increasing danger of any solo journeys. Euloban was slowly falling to the Wordmaster. She knew if she could find the information she sought, that she would be able to help. Hyddrun had longed to come with her, but his wife was expecting their first child. The baby griffin was due to arrive any day. Hyddrun could not leave home. She had promised him —

Oh, MUSES, thought Real Daphne within the dream.

She should have known. This wasn’t a nice, nostalgic dreamscape for Real Daphne. This was another Amelia-memory. And she was in far too deep to try to extricate her subconscious, if self-extrication were an option. She’d just have to suck it up and see it through.

At least this memory was turning out to be a more pleasant experience than either of the previous occasions. Before dream-logic confirmed it, Daphne guessed this must be the earliest memory yet. The inside of Amelia’s brain was clear and calm, without any of the doubt and turmoil that consumed the later memories. Daphne’s subconscious had spent time in far worse places. As long as the landscape stayed free of praying mantises of any size, this could turn out to be one of Daphne’s best dreams ever, even counting back in the ‘real’ world.

Besides, if her main character had discovered anything relevant in this long-ago time, it might even be helpful to Daphne’s present quest.

At last, Daphne felt Amelia’s senses quicken. She had reached the oldest part of the Under Library, where the caverns were smaller and the shelves were filled with more scrolls than books. Torches were few and far between here. The light came exclusively from a channel of Eloquent Water, cut into the floor and winding all around the various caverns. Its silvery blue light flickered over the walls and danced across the distant ceiling. The air was still, but fresh, and it smelled… clean. Sweet, but not cloying. Bracing, but not sharp.

When Amelia breathed in deeply, even Daphne’s subconscious sinuses felt clearer.

Savoring every breath, Amelia passed into a small, triangular room. The entrance was in the center of one wall of the triangle, with shelves stretching to the right and left of the archway. The other two walls slanted sharply inwards, coming together at an angle across the room. A large triangular pool of glowing Eloquent Water provided the only light. It took up most of the floor, leaving a narrow walkway around the edge for perusing the shelves. Cut into the stone floor on the threshold of the room were the words, Chamber of Triunity.

Amelia’s heartbeat quickened. She began a slow tour of the small cavern, peering closely at each label carved into the shelves. Every once in a while, she pulled out a scroll, unrolled it, and scanned it with rising hope. Each time, she put the scroll back with a sigh.

Daphne sensed her main character’s growing despair as if it were her own. All she wanted to do was help Euloban. Help Hyddrun. Restore the beauty of Story, and prevent any more of it being lost to the Wordmaster’s evil influence.

Amelia’s gaze roved listlessly over a shelf directly across the room from the door. She selected a scroll from the exact point where the two walls met to form an angle, pulling it out and unrolling it with hands as heavy as her heart. She began to read.

“Amelia…” said a voice, like a trumpet-call distilled into a gentle whisper.

Amelia jumped, dropping the scroll as she whirled around. The small room was empty. She was alone. Then where had that voice come from? It almost sounded like it was inside her own mind…

And whose was it?

Fingers shaking now, she picked the scroll up and resumed her reading.

“Amelia, listen.” The voice was definitely inside her head. But it was also both kind and firm, arresting her attention and allaying her fears in one breath. “We do not have much time. I know what you seek, and I can help you, if you will let me.”

“How are you here?” Amelia asked bluntly.

The voice sounded surprised. “You do not ask who I am?”

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“I know who you are,” Amelia said through gritted teeth. “We’ve never met, but I recognize the voice of an enemy when I hear one.”

“Enemy…” The voice took on a sorrowful tone. “You may know who I am, Amelia. But if you think me your enemy, then you do not know me.”

“You sent forth the Devouring Winds.” Amelia’s hands were still trembling, but in anger. “Those foul children of your breath scoured the cities and left the plains silent. You drain word-power from the poor minds trapped in your dungeons. You force-feed Daydreams, turning them rabid on purpose and setting them loose on destructive rampages. You —”

“We do not have much time,” the voice repeated, somehow interrupting in a way that felt both apologetic and respectful. “I do wish to help you. As a show of good faith, I will answer your first question. How am I here? The answer is, I am not. Not truly. Long ago, when I was still welcome in the Under Library, I hid a powerful Word in this scroll. This Word would open a line of communication between me and whoever read the scroll next. The window is brief, but it allows us to talk, you and me, though we are currently far apart.”

The voice paused. When it continued, Amelia could feel a smile through the words, like a child enjoying a new toy.

“I thought it would be a Lorist who opened the scroll,” said the smiling voice. “I should have known it would be a mind more active, more practical. A mind like my own.”

Amelia sputtered like a faulty motorboat. “I, I am not —”

“I, too, wish to help Euloban,” the voice continued, cutting smoothly across the rising wave of Amelia’s indignation. “I, too, seek only to restore the beauty of Story, and to rid this land of the evil influences that have corrupted its potential. I, too, am a Wordsmith — or I was. But my desire to help was too strong.”

The voice rolled gently over Amelia’s mind, oozing into the dark corners with a sincerity that was both disarming and disorienting.

“I knew that if I wished to succeed in saving Euloban, I had to become more. I needed power, far more power than I could wield as a Wordsmith. More even than exists within so-called ‘triunity.’”

Amelia finally managed to break in, stammering through a mouth that felt as dry as dust.

“The ancient way calls only for word-power, cultivated by the three classes. The word is enough.”

“Is it?” asked the voice innocently. “Then why have you come all this way, seeking information about the Cleansing Flame?”

Amelia froze. In her mind, Daphne froze.

The voice chuckled indulgently. “You see? You also recognize the need for more. How can you not know this, so wise as you are? The Lorists of old knew it too. Why else would the ancient texts speak of the Cleansing Flame?”

“They knew you would come,” Amelia said, clutching the scroll like it was a lifeline to her own sanity. “They knew you would spread your blight across the land, and Euloban would have need of healing. A tide of fire to drive away your poison.”

“Poison?” the voice was angry, but Amelia felt the righteousness of its anger like a tolling bell of doom. “Euloban is poisoned, yes, but the poison is older than I. It is older than the so-called ‘ancient way,’ which was its first and worst manifestation. Is it not poison when a Reader cannot progress without a Wordsmith to forge their weapons? Is it not poison when a Lorist is barred from innovation, bound by arbitrary rules to an archaic tradition? Is it not poison when a Wordsmith is punished for using whatever means necessary to help their cause?”

Each word was like a hammer blow. Daphne couldn’t tell if it was her soul’s or Amelia’s wincing at every phrase. Probably both.

“Euloban is poisoned,” the voice repeated. It drew a great, shuddering breath. “The plague is vile, and our plight is dire. That is why my actions have been… extreme. When the illness has infected even the roots, those roots must be pulled out. Only then can the healing commence.”

Daphne waited for Amelia to say something, but her main character stayed silent. Amelia’s mind felt empty, but also fuzzy, as if all thought had been replaced by a white static residue left by the voice’s words.

“Our time is almost up,” the voice said hurriedly. “For now, I ask only that you think on what I have said. I am sorry to burden you, Amelia, but I am also glad you are the one who found the scroll. I have been fighting so long for Euloban — fighting alone. It is comforting to speak with a fellow warrior, however briefly.”

Finally, Amelia spoke.

“I have to save Euloban,” she said, the words sounding more like a mantra than an actual response. “I have to find the Cleansing Flame. We must unleash a tide of fire, burning away blight and bringing restoration to Euloban.”

“Oh, Amelia.” This time, the voice’s smile sounded grim. “Do you not understand by now? I am the fire that scours. I am the tide that burns and brings restoration.”

The voice grew louder and louder, bombarding the inside of Amelia’s skull and consuming her mind with terrible, inevitable pain.

“I am the spark from beyond the darkness. I am the power that pulls the poisonous weed out by its rotten roots. I am the master of the only true Word. Amelia — I am the Cleansing Flame.”

The voice vanished. Daphne felt the line of communication snap, but there was no sense of relief. Amelia was doubled over, the forgotten scroll on the floor at her feet, covering her hands with her ears in a fruitless attempt to block out the echoes still ricocheting around her brain…

—

“Daphne?” Runar was shaking her gently, trying to ease her back into wakefulness. “We are all rested. It is time to proceed.”

She sat up and instantly stifled a groan. Her head was pounding, as if she’d brought back Amelia’s existential headache as a souvenir from the dream.

“Art thou well?” Runar peered into her eyes with concern. “Didst thou receive any clarity?”

“Not exactly.” She forced a smile, trying to move her head as little as possible as she pushed herself into a standing position. “Still have a lot to think about. Good thing we’ve got a nice long, silent walk ahead of us, right?”

“It is a trial,” Bjarni whispered despondently. Then, with obvious and admirable effort, he mustered an enthusiastic grin. “But I shall use the time wisely. While the Wordsmith ponders… all she has to ponder, and while my Lorist brother meditates upon the lore of our kin, I shall take thought for the coming adventures. I shall make two plans — one for the Under Library, and one for if the ancient way leads us straight to the Wordmaster’s fortress!”

“Excellent, Bjarni,” Runar said, with only a hint of dryness in his tone. “I look forward to hearing thy counsel at our next rest, and to conferring with the Wordsmith.”

Daphne swallowed. She wasn’t sure what to hope for. If the journey just kept going, she’d have to talk to Runar eventually. She’d end up telling him about her dreams, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

But if Bjarni got his way, they’d be having lunch in the Wordmaster’s fortress. She definitely wasn’t ready for that.

Then again, after that dream, she didn’t feel particularly eager to reach the Under Library either. Was she ready to learn about the Cleansing Flame?

Was anyone?

Only one way to find out, said a voice somewhere in her gut. It was so refreshingly different from the voice in her dream. This voice was bracing and unassuming and, unlike the Wordmaster’s, not at all laced with megalomania. In fact, it sounded a lot like Mark.

She nodded, pulling a preserved U-fruit from her satchel for breakfast-on-the-go.

How right you are, she said to the Mark-voice.

Then she set off after Bjarni and Runar towards whatever destination the light-road led to.