Pangothean Legends: Chapters 13 and 14

Chapter Thirteen
The Dying Paradigm

Without changing at all, the Forbidden Wasteland was a more cheerful place upon Falroth’s second visit there. Perhaps because now it was merely a path. The first time, it had been a destination. Now his inner world no longer matched its bleak, barren state.

And this time he had company.

“It really is awful here, isn’t it?” said Ember, stopping yet again to shake some sand out of her rabbit-skin boots. “I can’t imagine being stuck here for nine hundred years.”

“Better than, back there,” said Falroth. He lifted his chin in the direction of the hard, cold mountains peeking over the horizon.

“I thought more than once about coming back for a visit,” said Ember. “But of course I wouldn’t be welcomed. It’s so stupid to think that simply stepping over a line should render a person unholy.”

Their search drew on, with no sign of the Sand God. After an hour they had taken to shouting out his name every few minutes. Still, no luck. It wasn’t until the sun had almost vanished behind the mountains that they heard a soft moan. They hurried toward the place it had come from, at the bottom of a nearby valley.

“Ancelin!”

He was pulling himself along the ground with his arms. There was a trail in the sand behind him, which stretched beyond the valley’s rim. Ember knelt beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. Falroth stood over him, arms crossed, looking down into his unfocused eyes.

“Ember? Falroth? What are you two doing here?” he said. He looked as though their presence was the worst news he could have gotten. “Didn’t I tell you to go to Laureli? Didn’t I tell you to leave this wretched place behind?”

“Oh Ancelin!” said Ember. “I’m so sorry. I...”

“Why did you tell me you hadn’t seen her?” interjected Falroth, after feeling a sudden tightness come over his entire body.

It shouldn’t have mattered so much to him. He knew that. After all, he knew the answer anyway. But he couldn’t rest until he’d confronted the fraud with the lie.

“I didn’t say I hadn’t seen her,” said Ancelin, in a wave of lucidity. “I believe my exact words were ‘I can’t say that I have’. I never lied to you, Falroth. At least not directly. ‘Course you grew up dealing with the consequences of my lies. So many people have...” The boy’s face drifted to the sand. They could hear him gurgling softly.

Falroth turned him over and propped his head up on Ember’s lap. She got out a canteen and put it to his lips. He coughed and sputtered, but some of it went down.

As soon as he came to, Falroth pressed him for information. “Listen,” he said. “Did you ever hear of an Argil Underbrush?”

“Or anyone by that surname?” added Ember.

“No,” answered Ancelin. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before.”

“Damn it!” ejaculated Falroth. “Then we came here for nothing.”

Ember eyed Falroth reproachfully.

“It’s okay,” said Ancelin. His thin mouth smiled, but his eyes remained stricken. “No one in their right mind would come here just to see me. I knew there had to be some agenda.”

“Are you absolutely certain you’ve never heard that name?” said Falroth. “Please. He was an explorer. Killed a giant... met a wizard… killed him too... sack of emeralds... enchanted sword... anything ring a bell?”

“Now that you mention it...” started Ancelin.

“...you’ve heard of him?”

“No.”

“Ah.”

“...Although, the Derbritch family were well-renowned explorers in my time.”

Falroth looked to his sister.

“Well,” she said. “I suppose his real name could have been lost over time. The story was primarily passed on verbally. What more can you tell us about the Derbritches?”

“They were the first to come to these islands. I myself was part of the colony that settled on the river Elmenai after Veril Derbritch discovered it.”

Falroth and Ember were transfixed. Elmenai was the very river in which they had learned to swim.

“Veril and her husband, Argham, made many other expeditions,” continued Ancelin. “Some east of here. Some north. Some into Pangothea itself, and the land that is now occupied by Goldale. Some even further west.

“On one of their latest journeys off the western coast of Pangothea, they discovered an island rich with a strange kind of metal. When certain remarkable individuals were near this substance it was known to enhance and amplify their abilities.

“Last I heard of them, they had supposedly hired a legendary blacksmith living near the western end of Pangothea to craft them a weapon out of this material. Just a hunch, but this may be the enchanted sword you mentioned.”

“And do you have any idea if they had any favorite places?” said Ember. “Anywhere they might have hidden a sack of emeralds? Anywhere at all?”

“I’m sure there are loads of places they might have hidden it,” said Ancelin. “They traveled to all manner of exotic locales. But I didn’t know them personally. I have no idea which ones they liked best. They made many maps, but most of them were destroyed due to the false religion I created.” A ghastly shadow of grief lay upon his face as he spoke this. “But there is... well, no. Nevermind. That’s not too likely.”

“What is it?” said Falroth. “Out with it, now!”

“Well it’s just... you said it was emeralds you’re after? It just reminded me. There’s a forest that borders my desert on the south. Not this one, mind you. The Goldust. The one in Pangothea. Anyway, it’s called the Emerald Forest.”

“Is that so?” said Ember. “Do you have any idea if the Derbritches had ever gone there?”

“There is no way to know,” said Ancelin. “Like I said, the old maps were lost, and I hadn’t gone to Goldale until about three hundred years ago. I have no idea how the forest got the name, and it’s entirely likely that it’s just a coincidence, but if one of Veril and Argham’s descendants stashed some emeralds there, it’s possible the name could have developed because of it.”

“Where is this Emerald Forest, then?” said Falroth. “How can we get there? Is it far?”

“Well if you’d followed my instructions and gone to Pangothea like I told you, you would’ve passed through it on your way to see Laureli. But, seeing as you’re both still here, you must be pretty determined not to. That or you’re just too bitter towards your former god to take his advice. I’d understand. It’s not more than I deserve.”

“We’ll see her, Ancelin,” said Ember, nearly in tears. “We’ll go to the desert and meet Laurelianna. We promise. Don’t we, Falroth?”

Something about the way his sister was looking at him told Falroth that he had better not say “no”.

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

“But first, you’ve got to help us get to the Emerald Forest,” said Ember. “Please. I’ve got a map of Jeweland here. If you could just give me some idea of its location relative to us...”

“It’s useless,” said Ancelin. “You’ve got to do it the way I told you before. I mean, unless you’ve got your own ship...”

“I have,” said Ember. “Quite a few, in fact.”

“Oh. Well that certainly simplifies things.”

Ember took out her map. Through a fair bit of talking and pointing to locations on the map, she and Ancelin managed to work out the general whereabouts of the Emerald Forest. Ember concluded that they would be able to reach it within three or four days.

Afterward, Ember insisted that she and Falroth stay with Ancelin until he passed. Falroth reluctantly agreed.

Physically, Ancelin seemed to be doing just fine, other than the apparent weakness. It was his mind that was ailing. He was in and out of consciousness. When he was not unintelligible, he mostly babbled about his regrets. He pined for all the people he had hurt with his lies, sparing no details about how he had hurt them.

Truth be told, he was being more than fair with himself. And yet, his lamentations piled high, and there seemed no end to them.

By the time he was truly spent, the sun had set long ago. It was already beginning to come up again.

He left them with these last words: “You... you two... I always had a feeling about you... you’re gonna do great things... you’ll go and see her, won’t you? She’ll make everything so clear... and then you’ll be free, you know? You need to go... You need to see her... Then you can make up for all the mistakes I’ve made...”

Then the wind released a long, shrill sigh, and the Sand God was blown away with the dust, for good.


When the two of them got back to Ember’s estate, she showed Falroth to a place she called “the shower”. This was out behind the building, tucked into a narrow alcove between two rough cliff faces. Here there was a small, trickling waterfall that fed into a slow creak.

Falroth was grateful for this. He hadn’t washed himself since leaving the Sand. Plus, as Ember well knew, their family had always needed to wash in running water. Stagnant water would always boil after a short time. This had been determined to be “bad for the skin”, as well as mildly painful.

After washing, they went right to planning their voyage to the Emerald Forest. This involved quite a bit more work than foreseen. It took Falroth more than an hour to realize they wouldn’t be departing before the day was out. It took him another four to realize they probably wouldn’t be leaving the next day either.

Ember was a Noble. That was the problem. First of all, she had to apologize for several missed appointments during the wee hours of the morning. A group of angry Message Bearers had accumulated in her Waiting Room, one for each disappointed guest. Second, she had to reschedule the appointments. Then she still had her usual hourly meetings to keep. Meanwhile, utilizing whatever spare moments she could muster, she also had numerous affairs to set in order before going on a long trip.

Salia, her assistant, was to be left in charge of her assets during her absence. She had never had to do this before. The number of questions she asked (and the sheer volume of notes she took at the answers) made this clear. Ember assured Falroth that her eagerness was not outweighed by her lack of confidence. She would perform her duties well if she could just calm down and apply herself.

This seemed unlikely to happen, but Falroth found he had no say in the matter. Who was he to argue with a proven Noble, after all?

“She proved herself the day I met her,” Ember explained. “It was just a year ago, shortly after I got my Opal. I hadn’t yet carved my reputation for benevolence. I was making an announcement when I stopped to take a note and realized I had forgotten my quill. I floundered for a moment, looking stupid in front of a crowd, until I saw a rather pallid blonde girl barreling toward me from the back of the throng, waving a quill triumphantly over her head. There she was, so anxious to be of help, when everyone else present was too intimidated to stand within five feet of me.

“I later found out she was an orphan, and in a bad way. I hired her at once, and never regretted it. I’ve never seen someone so small work so hard. She won’t take much money, either. She seems to just enjoy being near me. And she is, nearly every minute of the day. I trust her implicitly and I’ve taught her as much as I could think to.”

No matter how much his sister reassured him, Salia still bothered Falroth. Perhaps only because she lacked certain graces he had come to
expect of all women. Of course, Frost lacked these same graces, but she had somehow seemed to make an art of being graceless. Whereas Salia’s every movement seemed raw, unpolished, and always slightly awkward.

After five nonstop days of a heavy schedule, and the constant grinding out of details, Ember finally declared that they were ready to leave.

Falroth had managed to go almost twenty-four hours without being overwhelmed by his sister’s exuberant wealth. He was beginning to think the surprises were over.

Then he saw her ship.

Falroth was sure you could fit every single house in the Sand upon its massive deck. It was long and tall, with purple sails and the form of a swan upon the bow.

He stared in confusion at the curvy blue letters painted on its side.

“Yachit?” he said, hesitantly.

“It’s pronounced ‘yot’,” said Ember. “It’s fashionable to spell things weird these days, so I added some extra letters. Anyway, I think it looks cool. Sophisticated.”

They were accompanied on their journey by close to a hundred people. Only a few were necessary to keep the ship moving. The rest had specific jobs within the vessel’s many built-in facilities. It was like living in a floating city.

Ember passed the time by teaching Falroth to dance. At first he wasn’t too keen on this, but she pleaded with him to try. He was a bit clumsy at it, and slow to learn, but Ember was very patient with him. In the end he found it somewhat enjoyable.

He still wasn’t that good though. Yet Ember began hosting enormous balls and galas so that he could flaunt his newfound skill. She made Falroth pretend to be a rich delegate to a foreign lord. She told everyone this lord had extended an exclusive invitation to Milani after hearing of her Benevolence. She told Falroth everyone would be hoping she would hit it off with this foreign lord and agree to a political marriage, which would bring new benefits to Jeweland. She seemed to think this was very funny. Falroth found the whole charade mostly unbearable, yet he endured it with a smile. His sister’s cheerful presence sustained him to the end.

At last, on the morning of their fourth day at sea, the shore of Pangothea appeared on the western horizon. At this moment, Falroth realized he had never seen a proper forest before. He had seen trees of course, lonesome or in small groups. But never a true forest, like this. There were vibrant, leafy trees packed together over a span of miles.

Why hadn’t he seen any of these among all those fantastic visions he had while his brain was drenched in Philocack? Perhaps it was simply too perfect? Too natural to be dreamed up.

As they drew nearer, he thought he could see a tiny black point near the forest’s northern edge. It was a dark blot amidst a sea of living green.

Chapter Fourteen
The Emerald Forest

“I’m sorry,” said Ember, looking puzzled. “You say you want to make landfall where?”

“There!” said an exasperated Falroth. “Don’t you see the little black spot?”

“Of course I do. But why would you want to go there?”

“I want to know what it is. Don’t you think it’s a bit odd?”

“Sure. But don’t you think it’s a bit odd that it attracts you so? Big gorgeous forest and all. Plenty of excellent places to land. Do you think it’s well, natural, to be drawn to the darkest part of the forest?”

“Do you think I give a damn if it’s natural? I want to know what’s there. Maybe it’s something that’ll help us find the treasure.”

“Well I can’t deny I am curious. Okay, we’ll check it out. But if it looks dangerous, we turn back straightaway.”

“Deal.”

Before long, Ember and Falroth anchored the ship to the spot and continued in a small rowboat. As far as anyone on the Yacht was concerned, they were proceeding to a private affair at the foreign lord’s mansion.

As they neared the shore they began to lose track of the black spot. It had been straight ahead, but as they drew closer its
shape grew less distinct. It faded and blended with the darkened silhouettes on the undersides of the trees. Now they could scarcely be certain it had been there at all.

“It must’ve been an optical illusion,” said Ember. “A trick of the light.”

When Falroth set his feet upon the narrow strip of shore outside the forest, he let out a surprised grunt. He bent down, took a handful of the warm beach sand, and let it drain between his fingers.

“What is it?” asked Ember, eyebrows raised in alarm.

“Nothing,” said Falroth. “I just didn’t realize there were kinds of sand I didn’t know about.”

Ember smiled. “Come on, brother,” she said. “You know we don’t have forever.”

“Could have fooled me, when back at Jeweland we spent twenty minutes trying to decide whether mauve or magenta scarves would sell best,” said Falroth.

“Don’t be a grump. Come on. We have to get going.”

Falroth dumped the handful of sand and followed his sister into the forest.

The moment they passed beyond the outermost tree, a man stepped out from behind a knobby trunk. He had an uncanny resemblance to the shadows of the trees around him. He was tall and thin and clad from chest to toe in a uniform shade of jet black, which matched his well-trimmed hair.

“What are you doing in my forest?” said the man, in a dark, cavernous voice.

Falroth and Ember stood stock-still. The man’s tone had been neither friendly, nor threatening. Neither curious, nor disinterested. It did not demand an answer, yet something compelled them to supply one.

“It’s your forest, is it?” said Falroth. “Let me guess. You gave some bloke a load of money one day and he agreed to let you say it was yours?”

“Such claims to ownership are nonsensical and illegitimate,” said the man, his expression unchanging.

Falroth whispered to his sister. “I think I like Pangothea so far.”

“What makes it your forest, then?” said Ember, warily.

“I claim it on the basis that it exists more clearly in my mind than it does in any other’s,” he said.

Ember and Falroth exchanged brief glances. They could not make heads or tails of this response.

“Then… does that mean you live here? By yourself?” said Ember.

“Yes,” said the man.

“Why?” said Ember, before gasping quietly as though appalled by her own nerve.

There was a short moment of silence before the answer came. “The environment offers numerous advantages. I can answer in more detail if you wish, but first I must insist that you answer my earlier question.”

“We’re…” began Ember.

“...exploring,” finished Falroth. “We’re explorers.”

There was another moment of silence before the man spoke again. “Whatever your reasons for concealing your true intentions, they seem unlikely to be penetrated unless you first gain a greater measure of familiarity with in whom you confide. For that reason I shall tell you that I am Duhasst and I will now show you to my domicile.” At that, he turned on the spot and began walking deeper into the forest. He stopped once he’d gone a short distance, and waited. “I will allow the two of you a moment to discuss the matter of following me,” he said.

Ember and Falroth huddled together and faced away from Duhasst, so as not to be overheard.

“I don’t like him,” said Ember.

“What’s not to like?” said Falroth. “Okay, so he’s a little weird. Just listen to the way he talks! But he’s a self-made man. He lives in a forest and he does what he pleases. Let’s go with him and see what his domicile is like (That means ‘house’, right?), and if he seems harmless we’ll tell him about the emeralds. Maybe he’ll have some idea where we can find them.”

“I don’t know...” said Ember. “Do you have any idea what kind of people live alone in forests? Neither do I. I’ve never heard of one. I just don’t know what to expect from him. He could be totally mad! Frankly, he seems a little uptight, at the very least.”

“Come on, let’s give him a chance. Even if he attacks us or something, he doesn’t look like he’s capable of putting up much of a fight. He’s even scrawnier than Mersel.”

“Okay, but I should tell you. If he does turn hostile, you’ll have to handle him on your own. I’m no good in combat.”

“You belong to the Blessed Bloodline! How could you be no good in combat?

“I’ve had to hide my power for so long… I think it’s regressed. I was surprised I even produced enough heat to boil my coffee, back when you first visited my estate.”

“Well don’t worry. If he lays a finger on you, I’ll snap him like a twig.”

They turned to face Duhasst, who was positioned exactly as they had left him. “Alright, take us to your house, then,” said Falroth.

Duhasst lead them through the thick vegetation at a steady pace. He was clearly not traveling in a straight line. He took stark and sudden changes in direction, almost zig-zagging at times.

Was he unsure of himself? It certainly didn’t seem so. His every step felt deliberate. But how could this be a route that made sense?

“How much further?” asked Ember, after about twenty minutes.

Her question was answered seconds later, when the forest opened into a bright clearing. On the opposite end of it there was a small, cone-shaped tent. Like Duhasst’s wardrobe, it was completely black, with no distinguishing features.

Duhasst planted himself beside the tent and pulled back the entrance to afford them a view of its interior. “You may go inside, if you wish. I do not fear thievery. Nothing here, including the tent itself, is either essential or irreplaceable.”

Ember and Falroth bent down and peered inside. Other than a few items laid out around the edges, the place was entirely empty. There was a spare pair of shoes (made of animal skin stretched around a framework of sticks and stuffed with softer materials like leaves and fur), enough spare cloth to replace any single article of Duhasst’s tight clothing, a lump of dried meat, and nothing else.

“How long have you lived here?” asked Ember.

“I cannot answer that question with certainty or precision,” said Duhasst. “The most I can be sure of is that I have lived here no fewer than 12,297 days.”

“That’s over 40 years!” said Ember. “You’ve been living alone in a forest for over 40 years?”

“Yes,” said Duhasst.

“You must have, er, Meyta then,” said Falroth. “I’ve known only two people who looked younger than they ought, and both have got Meyta.”

“You don’t look quite thirty,” said Ember. “Never mind forty or over.”

“It is absurd to think you can tell the age of a man just by looking at him,” said Duhasst. “Though I do possess a unique form of Meyta I have dubbed Mental Meyta, to which I attribute the lack of visible wear on my body.”

“So why don’t you know how long you’ve been here?” said Ember. “What happened 12,297 days ago?”

Duhasst silently took in a deep breath, and without an undue pause, recited the following:

“I woke up lying face down on the forest floor covered in long black feathers. Most of my bones were broken. I was in excruciating pain. I had no memories. The only articulable thought in my head was I am Duhasst. Or that is semantically equivalent to the thought, for I could not speak. I knew no words. My name was the only thing that had meaning or significance. I immediately began concentrating all mental effort on healing my broken body. Four and one half days later, my bones were whole again. I then constructed myself the hut you see before you. Over the next year I learned language through my interactions with the dorfs that pass by my hut when traveling to and from their city of Hymdar.”

Ember and Falroth stood transfixed. It was the strangest life story they had ever heard.

“And you’ve just been living here alone ever since?” said Ember.

“Yes,” said Duhasst.

“What do you do for food?” said Falroth. “And water?”

“And company?” added Ember.

“None of those are essential,” said Duhasst. “Least of all: company. Though for the sake of comfort, I kill and eat certain local wildlife when the opportunity presents itself. Also, there is a small river nearby. Did you not observe its mouth upon your arrival by sea?”

Falroth surveyed Duhasst critically. “Duhasst, I was wondering if you might be able to help us,” he said. “There’s an old legend about a treasure trove of emeralds, and we think there’s a chance it may be hidden in this forest. Do you have any idea where it might be?”

“Indeed,” said Duhasst, at once. “I am certain of its location.”

“Really?” said Falroth, excitedly. “Will you take us there?”

“I will,” said Duhasst. “You will likely be able to procure the treasure without great difficulty.”

At that, he turned on the spot and lead them back into the thick of the forest.

“How far is it?” asked Ember. “My feet are getting tired.”

Falroth let out a shocked gasp.

“Oh, come on!” she reprimanded. “I hardly ever walk anywhere these days. Most of my traveling is by ship, and even by land I’ve usually got a carriage.”

“It is 13.96 miles in this direction,” said Duhasst. “Though once we get there we will have traveled 14.04 miles. If you prefer, we can stop twice, once when we have gone 4.68 miles, and again when we have gone 9.36 miles.”

Duhasst’s navigation was just as circuitous as before. However, once they reached a part of the forest that was rife with brown patches of prickly undergrowth, it began to make more sense. He gave some of these areas a wide berth; through others he carved careful lines down rifts in their centers. It wasn’t always obvious why a particular path was chosen, but in the end it proved a relatively obstruction-free journey.

Falroth expected this level of precise maneuvering to cease after a while. It did not.

Could Duhasst have memorized the layout of the entire forest?

When they stopped for breaks, Duhasst did not speak. He merely stood in place, silent and motionless, maintaining a rigid posture.

Eventually they came to another small clearing. In the midst of it was a tall tree with long, dark-green vines hanging from it. A very tangled mass of lumpy, above-ground roots surrounded It on all sides. Just in front of this was another rather stunted looking tree. It had some strangely discolored moss hanging from its crown.

“Knot!” called Duhasst.

A massive, echoing groan rang out across the forest. Birds took flight from the treetops. Animals scurried away in all directions, yelping in fright.

Then the little tree moved.

With a lot of creaking and crackling, a hole like a mouth opened in its shaft. “Duhasst?” it said, in a deafening voice.

This was no tree at all. What grew on it was not moss. It was the scraggly gray hair of a long-unshaven dorf!

“This brother and sister possess strong heat-manipulation Meyta,” said Duhasst. “They have come in search of Argil's Secret Trove. I perceive their dedication to be formidable. You have no reasonable alternative to relinquishing the treasure.”

“How did you know we had Meyta?” said Falroth, startled.

“And that we were brother and sister?” said Ember.

Before he could answer, a monumental rumbling struck their ears (though Duhasst neither flinched nor displayed discomfort). The ground shook like the backside of a predator about to pounce. The grass beneath them grew inches in an instant and engulfed their feet. The nearby vines swung towards them and wrapped themselves around their arms and shoulders.

“Thieves…” boomed the dorf.

The plants binding Falroth were already shriveling and drying out from heat. Those detaining Ember, however, only strengthened their hold on her. “Falroth!” she screamed, as the vines climbed her shoulders and began encircling her soft neck.

“You… will… die…” said the dorf, as the vines started to constrict Ember’s airways.

“Ember!” cried Falroth, fighting to reach her. With every step the forest attempted to seize him anew.

“Stop,” said Duhasst, calmly, and the vines slowed their tightening around Ember’s throat. Falroth, however, continued to struggle against the attacking forest. “Falroth, stop,” repeated Duhasst. “If Knot will not adhere to my logic, you may resume.”

This time Falroth obeyed, but remained at ready. “You lead us into a trap!” he said, pumping his fists.

Ignoring Falroth, Duhasst spoke to the dorf. “I know that you have sworn to protect Argil’s Trove, and you must attempt to do so if it is at all possible, but I see only two possible outcomes of this conflict. In the first, you manage to hold off Falroth for long enough that his sister dies, at which point the anger he feels at this loss will cause him to experience a Meytalic Reaction, which will likely result in your destruction, as well as that of a large portion of the forest, and most importantly he will acquire the treasure. In the second, and most likely (especially if Falroth realizes the sense of turning the full measure of his Meyta directly upon his sister, which will injure her, yet free her of your ability to harm her), Falroth manages to save his sister’s life and destroys you with his Meyta, subsequently acquiring the treasure. I see no alternative where you are able to overcome Falroth, and killing his sister would be tantamount to suicide. Therefore, with the loss of the treasure a virtual certainty, your best and most reasonable option is to turn over the treasure willingly.”

There was a long, dead silence.

“I… fail?” said the dorf.

“The statistical probability of an eventual failure was always high,” said Duhasst. “Until now, you have been fortunate to never have been challenged by someone with the proper skillset.”

The vines and grass that bound Ember now loosened. She tore away from their grasp and batted them away in spite.

“What… will… I… do… now?” said the dorf.

“The possibilities are numerous, if you are willing to shed your roots,” said Duhasst.

At this, the dorf seemed to wilt, just a little, casting his eyes upon the scorch-spotted ground.

“Duhasst,” said Falroth. “You said you thought it was possible that Ember might die before I could stop it?”

“I am familiar with the reasoning tendencies of the dorfs,” said Duhasst. “I thought it most likely that this one, when presented with my argument, would not choose to engage you in combat.”

“Falroth, it’s here!” exclaimed Ember. “Argil’s Secret Trove! Just inside the hole in this tree. And look!” She pulled a small, green book out of the tree. She opened it up and skimmed it over. “It’s Argil’s personal journal! Falroth, it’s all here! The story behind the legend. The real story.”