Fortunately, Daphne didn’t have long to worry and puzzle about which possible destination of the light-way she was least ready for.

‘Fortunately’ probably wasn’t the right word. But neither was ‘unfortunately.’ It was hard to be super-stressed or even mildly sad when Bjarni was radiating joyful excitement like a constantly exploding firework.

Either way, Daphne found herself staring at a blank stone door. Considering they’d only been walking for a couple of hours since waking up, she hadn’t yet made up her mind about what she wanted to see.

But the stone door was there. There was no more tunnel. Ready or not, they had to face the next step.

“What do you think?” Daphne asked.

Bjarni’s tail made a swishing noise as it flicked rapidly across the ground. “We go through, of course!”

“Well, yes.” Daphne felt herself smiling. “I meant, what do you think about HOW to go through. There’s no handle or lock that I can see. Any ideas?”

Runar was gazing at the arched door thoughtfully. “It was light that led us here,” he said. “Wisdom indicates the light would also lead the way through.”

“Wisdom indicates, and Aesthetics agrees!” Bjarni beamed at both of them. “What were the words thou used, Wordsmith? When thou summoned Lore-light to defeat the dirt monster?”

“Nothing fancy,” Daphne replied. “Just the entrance words Eydis used to open the prose-shaft. They were what came to mind in the moment.”

“Entrance words are powerful.” Runar gazed at the door for one more moment, then clacked his beak. “It seems only fitting we try those same words here. But let us all speak them together, and let us also all touch the door, as Daphne called forth the light by touching the wall.”

Panic surged through Daphne. “Shouldn’t we make a plan first? About what we’re going to do once we get through?” She turned to Bjarni. “How far did you get with those two plans you were working on as we walked?”

“Not far,” he admitted. “The way was much shorter than anticipated. But do not fret! My Aesthetics assures me this is the way to victory. The light would not lead us astray. Whatever is beyond that door is necessary for the completion of our quest.”

Daphne turned to Runar, but he was nodding, his golden eyes alight with brotherly pride.

“It is best to trust a Reader in matters of Aesthetics,” he said. “Take heart, Wordsmith. Let us see what the ancient way has in store.”

He and Bjarni each placed a wing in the center of the stone door, and Daphne had no choice but to join them. She placed her hand over both their wingtips. Together, they recited:

“Though it be lonely Following the ancient ways Watch for the Lore-light.”

Maybe it was her own elevated Aesthetics coming into play, but Daphne wasn’t surprised when ribbons of light began spiraling across the door, starting from the center where wings and hand met stone. There were no runes here, only elaborate designs, curving and graceful and shining with the same light that had guided them all the way from the dirt monster’s lair. Within seconds, the door was covered.

The trio held their breath.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Three. And the door swung inward towards them. A faint blue glow filtered through the opening, silvery and soothing.

“Eloquent Water,” Runar whispered.

Bjarni’s voice was hushed. “I do not think the Wordmaster uses such lights.”

Daphne couldn’t speak. The Prism had been still during the journey, but now it was buzzing again, sending chilly waves through her jacket. She shoved it deeper into her jacket instead of holding onto it and stepped through the doorway with the griffin brothers.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Daphne heard the door close behind them. She whirled around, but there was no obvious doorway on this side. Not even a trace of an outline remained in the rocky wall.

They were in a small circular cavern, even smaller than the Dalamelle of Clarity. As with the dalamelle, the cavern was lit by a channel of Eloquent Water. The channel was cut into the floor and wound around the edge of the room, entering and exiting through a tall arched doorway across the cavern. Unlike the dalamelle, the walls of this cavern were lined with shelves that had been carved directly into the rock. Shelves that were filled with scrolls…

Daphne gasped, then breathed in deeply. Sure enough, though the air was still, it was fresh and smelled clean. It was sweet, but not cloying. Bracing, but not sharp…

“I know where we are,” she said. “This is the Under Library. The oldest part.”

“Art thou sure?” Bjarni was looking around glumly, apparently disappointed they had not immediately found danger. “It does not look as I had imagined.”

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“Daphne is right.” Runar was also looking around, but his face was full of wonder. “I am a Lorist, and I know this place. Though I have never visited in body, my heart remembers.” He turned to Daphne, his eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. “How dost thou know, my friend? Didst thou come here in thy travels, long ago?”

Daphne hesitated. “Um, sort of…”

“Of course!” Bjarni’s enthusiasm returned with a rush, and he began prancing around the room, peering at the shelves. “Any lore of the Cleansing Flame would be in the most ancient section of the library. It is as I said! The light hath led us to the very room we need!”

“Not quite,” Runar said. “This is the right part of the library, but not the room. There is nothing here on the Cleansing Flame.”

Now it was Daphne’s turn to give a raised-eyebrow look of surprise. “How do you know? You haven’t even looked at any of these scrolls.”

Runar bowed modestly. “As it is best to trust a Reader in matters of Aesthetics, it is best to trust a Lorist in matters of Wisdom. My senses are attuned to the lore of Euloban. There is great lore in this room, but not the lore we seek.”

“That’s… wow.” For the umpteenth time, Daphne felt a pang of poignant joy at this incredible world, marveling at just how far beyond her own imagination it had grown. “So, do you think you’ll be able to find the right room? By sensing it?”

Again, Runar bowed. “I can try.”

“Then let us be off!” Bjarni bounded towards the arched entrance to the cavern, leaping nimbly along the narrow walkway between the wall and the channel of Eloquent Water. “I am sure the right room is close. The light-way would not —”

“Bjarni!” Daphne cried, seized by a sudden premonition.

It was too late. The fiery young griffin darted through the archway, and all hell broke loose.

The air was filled with a cacophony of noise. Tolling bells, roaring winds, the thunder of great stones crashing together — all rolled together in deafening chaos. Daphne doubled over and covered her ears, but there was no escaping the onslaught. It felt like a hurricane had somehow erupted inside and outside her skull simultaneously.

Through the painful haze, she dimly saw Runar staggering towards the arch, where Bjarni lay still. Had he collapsed? Or just thrown himself flat in defense? Either way, he needed help. Daphne stumbled after Runar, keeping her hands pressed tightly against her ears.

But before they could reach the doorway, the noise abruptly ceased. Daphne’s ears popped in the sudden vacuum. She almost collapsed herself, but somehow managed to keep moving, following Runar until they reached the arch.

“Bjarni!” Runar threw himself down beside his brother, but the young griffin was already popping back up into a fighting stance.

“What was that?” Bjarni shook out his wings, as if dislodging stray bits of noise caught in his feathers. “A weapon? If so, ’twas both cowardly and ineffective.”

“Not a weapon,” Runar said grimly. “An alarm.”

He pointed with one shaking wing. Daphne now saw they were in a larger cavern, with various archways leading to smaller rooms like the one they had just left. The cavern was lit by the same channel of Eloquent Water as it flowed around the edge of the room, weaving in and out of each archway to provide light to the smaller caverns.

But Runar wasn’t pointing at the Eloquent Water. He was pointing at a larger archway in the opposite wall, where the water’s light was being swallowed by a shadow — the lumbering shadow of a creature approaching.

A silent creature with long, thin limbs…

“Rabid Daydream?” Daphne whispered.

Runar nodded, getting hastily to his feet. “So it would seem.”

“Ready thy word-chains!” Bjarni was already taking his own weapons from his satchel. Taking to the air, he hovered above them, brandishing a fiery letter-string in each talon. “I shall secure its arms, then return for a second volley!”

Daphne copied Runar, pulling word-chains from her satchel and crouching in a fighting stance. Bjarni began a wide circle of the room, preparing to drop down on the creature as soon as it emerged from the arch.

The shadow loomed closer. Even its footfalls made no noise to pierce the heavy, waiting silence of the cavern.

Daphne glanced down at the word-chains in her hands, and the single letter-string in Runar’s talons.

“It’s still an incomplete Word of Truth,” she pointed out. “We have five of the six stanzas. Should I forge the last line?”

Runar was staring at the shadow as it loomed out of the arch. His expression had shifted from alarm to confusion.

“Wait,” he said softly. Then, louder: “Bjarni! Wait!”

A figure appeared in the arch, stepping forward into the room. Bjarni dive-bombed the creature with a terrifying battle cry. At the last moment, he swerved, the cry turning into a surprised yelp as he landed hard at the edge of the channel and tumbled into the Eloquent Water.

Daphne stared. There, in the archway, was the smallest, tamest Daydream she had ever seen.

It was definitely just a regular Daydream, not a rabid monster. For one thing, this creature was on all fours. That was a classic Daydream stance. In Daphne’s first Wordmaster book, both griffins and humans had used tame Daydreams as mounts. Rabid Daydreams only ever walked on their hind legs, like perpetually angry bears.

Another big clue was the color. Classic Daydreams came in various hues, depending on their verbal diet. They had very slow digestion. A Daydream would spend hours chewing reflectively on leftover letters and word-fragments, like a philosophical cow. It was indiscriminate eating that led to them devouring whole words and eventually becoming Rabid Daydreams. The first sign of this change was usually a loss of color, as the excess of word-power consumed them from the inside, leeching the nuanced pigment from their skin.

But this creature didn’t have the colorless, rippling-metal-esque hide of a Rabid Daydream. Its skin was the vivid green of new grass. If Daphne was remembering her own world building correctly, that meant this creature was particularly fond of consonants.

The final sign was the presence of eyes and ears in the small creature’s face. While Rabid Daydreams’ wild eating habits led to the loss of all other facial features besides their huge gaping mouths, regular Daydreams had large ears and wide, gentle eyes. Their typical expression was, again, like the vibe you’d get from a particularly friendly cow. Exactly like Daphne had imagined.

But regular Daydreams were also about the size of a ‘real world’ cow. That was the unusual thing about this creature. It was only slightly bigger than Daphne’s old springer spaniel, Lizzy. Daphne had never imagined a Daydream this small.

The miniscule, very-not-rabid Daydream gazed placidly around the room. It looked at Bjarni, sputtering as he clambered out of the channel. It looked at Runar and Daphne, still crouched in readiness across the cavern. It looked at the doorway through which they had come.

Then it raised its tiny head… and bleated.

Of course, Daphne thought with another stab of poignant joy. Regular Daydreams CAN talk. And of course, they sound like sheep.

Before anyone, even Bjarni, could recover enough from the shock to form a response, another shadow leapt into life, looming from the arch as a shout rang out across the cavern.

“Who dares intrude upon the sacred space of the Under Library?”