“The Dalamelle of Triunity?” Mark’s voice revealed that he, too, was crying. Even back in the real world, Daphne could always count on Mark to appreciate beautiful things as deeply as she did, especially good stories. It was the first thing that had connected them as friends, and the primary reason she’d fallen for him shortly thereafter.

No wonder he started with a 6 in Aesthetics.

“The Dalamelle of Triunity,” Runar repeated reverently.

“Triunity.” Mark took a couple deep breaths in an obvious effort to get his heightened sensibilities under control. “As in, three classes? One tunnel for each?”

“Indeed.” Runar pointed with his wing at the tunnel from which they had just come, then to its corresponding entrance across the lake. “This was once the Lorist Way, leading directly to the Hall of Parables.” He gave a slight bow to Daphne at this, acknowledging her accurate prediction from earlier. Then he indicated the tunnel opening several feet to their left. “That was the Wordsmith Way, leading to the Fable Forges in the eastern range. And that was the Way of the Reader.“ His wing swept towards the opening to their right. “It connected the great Under Library to the smaller library in the western mountains, and also the galleries.”

“Galleries?” Something sparked in Daphne’s writer-brain, and she snapped her fingers. “Right! Where Readers would present the word-chains in different artistic ways. Paintings, plays, poetry, and…” Her voice trailed off as she gazed at the Wordsmith and Reader tunnel entrances on the other side of the lake.

She had been to overwhelmed to notice when they first entered the dalamelle, but something was obviously very wrong here.

“Runar,” Daphne said slowly, lifting a hand to point across the lake. Her fingers were shaking. “Those openings. How come they’re not… open?”

The griffin lowered his head. He clearly could not bear to look at the piles of large stones, packed tightly and blocking the far openings of the Reader and Wordsmith Ways.

“I told thee it has been many years since a human has traveled these paths. Even longer since any but a Lorist has entered this dalamelle. ” His voice was so sorrowful that the ache in Daphne’s soul, briefly soothed by the wonder of the cavern, stirred again and started throbbing. “But other… forces have been abroad.”

A sudden memory flashed in Daphne’s mind. When they first arrived, she had heard the crack of a door swinging open in the Wander Wood, followed by a sibilant chorus of whispers rising from the tunnel within, growing louder and louder until it emerged into a roar that howled across the Silent Plains…

“The Devouring Winds,” Mark said, obviously being visited by similar unpleasant memories. “You said they were abroad.”

“And not just across the plains,” Daphne added. “Already within the tunnels.”

Runar head sank even further, bowed down by pain. “They came so quickly along the Wordsmith Way. Only the swift action of my kin saved the Fable Forges from complete destruction, but not without sacrifice. We barred the galleries and little library as best we could, but it was deemed more prudent to barricade the tunnels themselves, at every dalamelle. This we accomplished… again, not without sacrifice.”

The ache was roiling in Daphne’s stomach, like all the guilt and grief of the past few hours had solidified and turned poisonous all at once. She swallowed down a twinge of nausea and tried to keep her voice even.

“That’s… terrible,” she said. Then, with more vigor: “So why take the risk? Why are you traveling in the tunnels at all?”

“And alone?” Mark added.

Now Runar lifted his head. “We fear they have taken the entire Under Library,” he said, his golden eyes flashing. “But we have not been able to see. To know for certain. I could not bear it.”

“But why are you alone?” Mark repeated.

“I could not bear it,” Runar repeated in turn. “Regardless of the danger. But neither could I ask another to undertake such a perilous journey. The Lorist Way, so far as we know, has remained clear. I thought, if I moved with haste —”

“Then why did you stop?” Daphne asked. “I mean, we’re glad you did,” she added quickly as Mark shot her a look. “We wouldn’t be here otherwise. But why did you come up at the Speech Tree?”

The griffin turned his golden gaze fully at her. Daphne’s heart tripped over itself.

“I heard thee,” he said simply. “I felt the pull of thy labor through the earth. A Wordsmith and a Reader, working as one, making and wielding word-chains…” Runar shook his head, scattering light from his golden plumage. “I knew at once my quest had been rewarded, and a new quest set before me. We must return to my kin as soon as may be. And, to do so, you must partake of refreshment.”

He turned to the left, indicating that they should follow around the edge of the lake. Daphne now saw that the walls between the tunnel openings were lined with great wooden chests, tightly sealed. There was also six narrow alcoves, one just to the right of each tunnel opening, containing a bed and smaller chest for personal use. Two full parties — Lorist, Wordsmith, and Reader — could stay comfortably in this dalamelle as long as they needed, and still have plenty of privacy.

“This rocks,” Mark said quietly as they followed Runar, walking as slowly as possible to take everything in.

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“Mmhmm,” Daphne agreed. “Way better than whatever hovel I came up with.”

“Your dalamelle was great!” Mark protested. “Very… cozy.”

“I think you mean dinky.”

“Behold,” Runar said before Mark could make any more defensive arguments about Daphne’s limited imagination. The griffin stopped between the Reader and Lorist tunnels on the far side of the lake and began opening chests. “Food, satchels, bottle pendants. Thou can drink thy fill from the Under Pool.”

Somehow, in all her preoccupation with hunger and turkey pesto BLTs and inner turmoil, Daphne had avoided noticing how thirsty she was. Suddenly, her throat felt like sandpaper, and she threw herself down beside the lake, cupping the clear water in her hands and slurping greedily.

“Slowly,” Runar advised. With his beak, he drew from the third chest a chain holding a spherical pendant like his own, which he then deposited on the ground beside Daphne. “The Eloquent Water is potent and precious. Fill the bottle, and take thee care in the drinking.”

Daphne flushed, desperately wishing she could throw herself into the lake and sink to the bottom. Instead, she picked up the strange sphere, which she now saw was made of a darkly tinted glass. Moving as elegantly as she could to make up for her brutish water-guzzling, she pulled out the stopper, dipped the bottle into the water, and took a delicate sip.

Runar was watching her closely. It was hard to tell with the beak, but she thought he might be smiling. “Art thou refreshed?”

“I’ll say. Quite refreshed, thank you.” Daphne took another delicate sip. It was hard to keep from gulping the whole bottle and refilling, but Runar was right. The water was not only clear and bitingly cold, but as powerful as wine. The first taste had sharpened her sight, while the second had brought her surface-level thoughts into sharp focus. With each sip, she felt her senses heightening — but her head was also starting to spin a bit.

In short, it was everything she’d always imagined water from the Pool of Eloquence to be.

But this wasn’t the Pool of Eloquence. This was… what had Runar called it?

Daphne put the bottle down.

“Runar, is this place connected to the Pool of Eloquence?”

“All waters in Euloban flow from the Pool,” Runar said, almost chanting. “And all waters in Euloban return to the Pool. Not now, of course. The upper pool and its streams lie empty beneath the sun. But the under-waters still take their courses, nourishing the soil and preventing death from having its full sway.”

Daphne felt her own eyes widen. “So you’re saying —”

“Hey, Daphne! Check it out!” Mark plopped down beside her, thrusting something into her hand. “Preserved vowels! In much better shape than that ‘E’ we found, too. Worth the wait.”

Daphne held up the object Mark had given her. Sure enough, it was an ‘A’-fruit, big enough to fill her whole hand. It was dried but Mark was right. While the ‘E’ they had dug up had felt like an expired raisin, this felt more like a fig.

It also smelled amazing.

“Better than a turkey pesto BLT,” she murmured.

“Count of three,” Mark said, flourishing his own snack: a delicious-looking ‘U’ letter. “One, two, eat!”

Daphne was sure she would remember that first bite as long as she lived. Granted, considering the current circumstances, that might not be very long. Eating a letter was every bit as mind-blowing as she’d always dreamed it would be. There had been many times, while writing about feasts in Euloban, that Daphne felt she could almost taste the stewed consonants… the rich verb-casseroles… the decadent legend cakes that took a full month to prepare.

This was even better because it was real. She, Daphne Green, was actually consuming language, in the most literal of senses.

She thought she might faint.

She actually did faint, for a second — but not, as it turned out, from the wonderfulness of a lifelong dream fulfilled.

This was what happened in Euloban when someone leveled up.

“Wordsmith?” Runar’s voice gradually penetrated Daphne’s consciousness, followed by the brush of a wing across her face. “Wordsmith! Reader!”

She blinked, shook her head, and found she was still sitting by the water, Mark beside her and a half-eaten ‘A’-fruit in her hand. Runar was on her other side, regarding her and Mark with wonder.

“It hath happened, yes? To thee both? A leveling?”

“I guess so.” She blinked a couple more times, clearing the lingering black spots from her vision. “By all the muses, that’s a weird feeling.”

“And weird timing,” Mark groaned, apparently still a bit woozy from his second mini-coma of the day. “It has to be from the battle, and that was hours ago.”

“Euloban is wise,” Runar said. “It delayed the message until thou couldst take nourishment. Otherwise, ’twould have overwhelmed thee.”

“It was whelming enough,” Mark grumbled, but Daphne could hear the smile returning to his voice. “Thanks, Euloban.”

He and Daphne pulled out their books and flipped to the correct pages. It was two for her and three for him.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “I leveled twice! Once for wielding the word-chains, and another for defeating the Rabid Daydream. And I got a skill: Staunch Defender.” He punched the air, then turned excitedly to Daphne. “What about you? I bet you leveled three times. You pulled those word-chains from nothing.”

Daphne’s chest felt cold and hollow, like a freezing wind had blown through and carried all her insides away.

“Level 2.”

“What?” Mark craned his head to look at the book, but she closed it with a snap.

“Level 2. No skill.” She forced a brittle smile. “I guess Euloban thinks I can do better.”

Or it’s punishing me for putting the land through all this in the first place…

“What?” Mark repeated. “But, that’s —”

“Congrats!” Daphne said brightly. “Level 4? Nice. Did the points go to Strength, like you wanted?”

“Daphne, I…”

“Silence.”

Runar’s voice was soft, but his tone stopped them both short. He was staring across the lake, at the entrance to the Wordsmith tunnel — the entrance which, unlike on this side of the lake, was free and clear of stones.

Daphne held her breath, listening. For five blissful seconds, she heard nothing.

Then, horribly, it came. The sound she’d been dreading, both consciously and unconsciously, since they first set off across the Silent Plains hours before. It was like a chorus of whispers, getting louder and louder as more sibilant voices joined the throng, rising and echoing down the Wordsmith Way towards them…

Mark cleared his throat. “The Winds are abroad.”

“Run.” Daphne grabbed wildly for his hand. “Quick. The Lorist Way.”

“Nay, Wordsmith.” Runar was still staring across the lake, as motionless as a golden statue. “There is no time. And, at last, perhaps no need, if we act quickly.”

Suddenly, he reared up on his golden lion-legs, unfurling his eagle wings in a gesture of warding and defiance.

“A Lorist, a Wordsmith, and a Reader!” he cried, his clarion voice ringing out like a bell. “For the first time in many a year, all three are gathered in this sacred space. We shall show this defiling devourer the might of triunity in earnest.”

The roar was louder now, filling the cavern and pushing back against the golden peal of Runar’s voice. Somehow, Daphne found herself on her feet. Mark was up too, a word-chain clasped in each hand. Runar moved between them, one wing outstretched over each like a banner.

“Come, my kindred from afar!” The griffin’s voice was in Daphne’s very blood, coursing through it like water from the Pool of Eloquence, calling her to the heights of glory. “Let us make our stand!”