It’d been a long while since she’d been awakened by the clattering of pots and pans, and the crow of a rooster. As a dog, she didn’t bother with human measurements such as hours or minutes. Days themselves were difficult to count, as she couldn’t tell where they ended and began. Her master’s patterns were the only thing that gave her a clue of when to wake and when to slumber. The dull, mucky-black sky gave no indication of time. Venice, in his lonelier moments, had told her that the cycle of time across the country was originally determined by celestial bodies that once painted the skies with light and color. She was sure they never even existed.

She lazed atop her bundle of blankets—occasionally stretching or tossing and turning—despite being awake for some time. There were many comments regarding how lazy she was for a dog bred for farm work. As a dog, she found herself seldom inclined to care about such commentary. Bright as she was, she internally justified her sloth by reminding herself that there was little work to be done. Livestock rarely survived and few crops grew when planted into the ground. She’d heard that it was because of the lack of light.

The dim world itself was lit by clusters of fairy-fire lanterns, candles, and similar implements—left alongside roads or hung from tall buildings in most towns. She’d known no light sources besides them; she regarded them as natural. Likewise, she knew not of summer nor winter, or the exact difference between day and night.

The aroma of duck eggs and old marmot meat cooking from the kitchen at the front of the house roused her from bed. She strained slightly as she rose to her feet, and shook out her ears. Her nails clicked against the worn wood when she trotted out of the bedroom into the kitchen, approaching the sound of sizzling meats in a skillet.

Venice stood over the house’s turf-fire stove, tending to a pan of frying meat by light of a fairy-fire lantern. Her master stood tall, his messy auburn hair filled with red highlights by the lantern’s glow. He turned in alert to her arrival, a smile across his seldom-shaven face. “Good morning, Princess,” he greeted her. “I guess even week-old meat smells good to you, huh?”

She gave a hardy stretch and yawn in agreement.

 “Oh, Lola. What am I going to do with you?” Venice shoveled a small portion of eggs and meat onto a plate. “You’re sweet, but you’re a sorry excuse for a farm dog.”

He placed the plate on the floor, and she gratefully devoured the meal in front of her. Venice returned to the stovetop with a sigh. “Nothing but eggs and old meat. What I wouldn’t give for some fresh honeyberries or cabbage turnips,” he grumbled under his breath. “I was sick of nothing growing when I was a kid; I’m certainly sick of it now.”

Lola snorted, as she licked her lips, finished with her meal. 

“Look at me, talking to a dog,” he laughed to himself, half-heartedly. “I really need to get out of the cottage more.”

The dog cocked her head, her ears fully raised, as if to ask what was wrong with talking to her. 

“No need to get huffy,” Venice said. “Why don’t you thank me for breakfast by checking on the fowl coop?”

Lola gave another stretch and trotted toward the front entrance of the cottage, stopping in front of a special dog hatch Venice built into the wooden door, pawing at the metal latch to open it. 

Her master, as both an artist and carpenter, had made the modification in a way that made it only lock from the inside. Lola could easily undo the latch that locked it in place, but only Venice could re-secure it. He’d created the hatch so that Lola could do her morning rounds without him having to let her out. If she wasn’t a dog, she might’ve questioned the importance of such a luxury, since they had very little livestock to tend to. Well, dog or not, she still questioned it anyways. She considered her master lucky she lacked the capability of speech, as she had a feeling she’d have a knack for being obnoxiously sardonic if she could speak.

She trotted through the open hatch, out into the seemingly twilit yard surrounding the cottage. A dusty fairy-fire lantern hung above the rickety fowl coop, shining unneeded light upon the nicks and knots throughout the wood. It wasn’t some of Venice’s better work, she noted. Then again, with how scarce things were across the world, one couldn’t expect the best quality in supplies. He’d only referred to it as a fowl coop because it was next to impossible to sustain a population of chickens. They’d tried before, although the chicks rarely survived to adulthood. Instead, Venice was forced to fill the coop with an odd assortment of fowl that had survived past their infancy. The coop itself was occupied by two female ducks, a goose, three pheasants, and one rooster.

Lola liked the rooster the least out of the population: as a male, he produced no eggs and his only purpose was to indicate when the morning was. Objectively, he was merely a walking wake-up bell that served as competition for food. She might’ve been inclined to turn him into a meal for herself if Venice hadn’t charged her with keeping him and the other fowl safe. He’d done his best to train her, though there was little work to do for the coop. He’d taught her how to sight and to frighten away foxes, and he’d taught her how to collect the eggs without breaking them. Beyond that, her only other purpose was to dig trenches for seeds that Venice could not get to grow. 

She lived in constant conflict, feeling that there was always work to be done, but never knowing where to find it. For merely being two years old, she had grown apathetic for a dog–or for any creature. She counteracted her apathy by trying to remain amenable to her master. After all, out of all things in the world, his happiness mattered most to her. It was for this reason why what little he asked of her, she’d often do her best to fulfill; although with limited results.

On her trek toward, the coop Lola noticed a young woman kneeling on the road. Long ebony hair framed the girl’s golden face, gently passing over her painted eyes without obscuring them from sight. She was dressed in a worn silk robe of white, wrapped in a crimson sash.

The girl’s presence struck Lola as odd, as they so rarely had visitors to the secluded cottage. The urge to bark at the girl was absent because even though she was a stranger, an abundant warmth seemed to emanate from her. It was almost as if she lit up the forest around her, bathing nearby foliage and earth in a subtle golden glow. Unable to comprehend why this stranger didn’t feel threatening, Lola stared at the girl in silence.

The girl lifted her head and looked at Lola. “Excuse me, doggie?” she said, in a soft and desperate voice. “Can you please help me? I’m lost, and I’m ever so hungry.”

Lola approached the girl and attempted to examine her further. 

“Ah, so you’re a Buhund,” the girl exclaimed. “Such a smart family of dogs. Please, little doggie. Whatever you have, I’ll take. I can’t even stand, I’m so famished.”

Lola stood and pondered for a moment. She was so unaccustomed to being addressed by her pedigree name; yet as unusual as the situation was, she couldn’t turn away the girl. Traipsing toward the fowl coop, she peeked inside, confirming that the various fowl they kept were all right. Without a second thought, she scooped up as many goose and duck eggs as she could in her mouth, carrying them out of the coop carefully. She worried that Venice might be cross with her; however, he was not a selfish man. If in a similar situation, he’d have acted the same, she concluded.

She returned to the girl’s side and gently placed the bunch of eggs next to her. “Thank you. Thank you!” the girl exclaimed.

The girl quickly but carefully cracked each of the eggs open and drank their contents, one by one. When she had finished, she looked upon Lola with joy in her eyes. “Thank you, Madame Buhund,” she said in a grateful tone. “I cannot give you much of a reward, but I’m humbled by your generosity.”

The girl with the golden skin reached inside her robe and retrieved a small pin. It was made of gold and citrine stone. “For your charity,” she said, reaching down to fasten the pin to Lola’s leather collar. “Now, back about your duties. You shouldn’t keep your master waiting.”

Lola smiled trotting back to the cottage as soon as the girl waved her off. She was certain Venice would be happy with her for the shiny reward she’d gotten for her efforts. In mid-stride, she stopped and turned to survey the girl’s departure, but she had vanished. The forest along the road now lacked the subtle golden glow that’d accompanied the gold-skinned girl. This would certainly raise questions if she were capable of telling her master what had happened. It went without saying that she wasn’t.

###

Grandmother crept slowly through the Hollow Forest, one hand resting on her old birch cane, the other raised above her holding a torch. The device did little for her old eyes, but she persevered down the winding forest path. She took pride in the torch, having been skillful enough to capture and pluck an unlucky pyrepie even in her old age.

The obnoxious firebirds, otherwise referred to as pyrepies, had been known to terrorize anyone who crossed their paths. Renowned for being difficult to escape when they’d set their sights on a victim, and even more difficult to capture or kill. On an odd day, she’d managed to lace together a hemlock net out of a dead tree from her yard. Hemlock wood—although in short supply—was one of the few things that could counteract a pyrepie’s flames. Naturally, it allowed her to capture one, which she quickly plucked and slain. She’d used the remaining hemlock wood to craft a handle to hold a plume of the bird’s ever-burning feathers. Aside from being an efficient light source, the torch served as a warning sign to any pyrepies that might want to pick a fight with a “defenseless” old lady.

It wasn’t as if danger was constantly present in the forest. The wooded area was all but barren from the past decade and a half of darkness. Few things lived in the area at all, aside from the occasional roaming pyrepie. The annoying birds managed to survive much more efficiently than other animals. It was a mystery how they’d thrived without the light. Many theorized that it was due to their tendency to feed on witless travelers. How unfortunate for them that she wasn’t witless … at all.

Grandmother, as everyone called her, naturally lived many years. Many more years than an average human, in fact. She’d lived long before the light had disappeared from the sky, but was there on the day that the sun, moon, and stars all vanished. In almost two decades, she’d watched the world grow cold and wither away. It never ceased to amaze her how humans could survive, even under the harshest conditions.

She’d left Hollyton in the earlier hours of the morning—or at least what people stubbornly still regarded as morning—to make her way out to Venice’s remote cottage. He had always been a bit of a hermit, living on the income yielded by the occasional patron of his services as a carpenter. She’d known him when he was younger before he’d moved from Hollyton to the outskirts of civilization. It’d been weeks since she had last visited him, though she knew her arrival would be welcomed.

She continued her trek, hoping to catch sight of the fairy-fire lanterns and myrtle wax candles that illuminated the outside of Venice’s home. Her eyes caught sight of a distant light farther down the dirt road not too long ago. As she proceeded along the path, the carpenter’s home became more and more visible, albeit a blur for her old eyes. The old woman squinted, hoping to focus her vision in order to see ahead with more visibility. Her eyes focused in on what was indeed Venice’s cottage, along with a short white dog sniffing around the front yard.

“Well, if it isn’t Venice’s little princess,” she called ahead, greeting the dog.

Lola’s ears rose when she heard the old woman’s greeting. Turning on her heels, she barked happily at the elderly woman’s arrival and joyfully trotted up to Grandmother, her curled plume of a tail wagging in her stride.

Grandmother caught sight of a glimmering piece of gold on the side of the dog’s collar. “Hold still for a second, little one,” she said, softly taking hold of the Buhund’s leather collar.

She focused her weak eyes on the charm attached to Lola’s collar. The shape became apparent, as the gold and citrine trinket became clear to her eyes. It was a sun-like fireball. “How odd …” Grandmother said out loud.

“Back about your duties, little one.” The elderly woman let go of the dog’s collar, dismissing her.

Lola trotted off, her pointed ears raised as she returned to patrolling the yard. Grandmother smiled at the sight of the dutiful canine, before finding her way to the cottage’s front door. She tapped the doorknocker loudly, intent on gaining a quick response. To her luck, shortly after the clatter of pots and pans stopped, a young man answered the doorway. “Grandmother? I wasn’t expecting you,” Venice said.

“Consider this a surprise visit,” the old woman replied. “May I come in?”

“Certainly!” Venice motioned for her to follow him inside. “Come in. Have you had breakfast yet? It’s not exactly the best quality, but it’s plentiful.”

“A meal would do me well, actually,” she said, stepping inside the cottage. “I’ve brought some mace mushroom tea with me. Not exactly as good as the tea leaves of the olden days, but palatable at least.”

“I’ll put the kettle on, then.” Venice set a plate of food at the kitchen table. “So, what brings you out this far from town?”

Grandmother sat down at the table with a sigh of relief, removing a sheet of hemlock paper from her pocket and wrapping it over the flames of her torch. “I’ve come to discuss something with you.”

“Dare I ask what?” the young man inquired, setting up a copper kettle on the stove.

“It’s about your property.”

###

Lola continued her aimless patrol for foxes along the edge of the yard. She could hardly believe her boredom. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the rooster perched atop the fowl coop, watching her with the utmost curiosity. His yellow eyes followed her motion as his red comb fell over one side of his head. She glared back at him, in hopes that he’d get the hint to lose interest.

He let out a slightly offended cluck, the green feathers that covered his head and neck turning up on frustration. Nonchalantly, he lifted one of his sienna-brown wings and began pretending to groom himself. Feeling she’d made her point, she turned away from the rooster to return to her rounds.

It was then that her ears picked up the faint sound of a man screaming in terror. She cocked her head in the direction of the calamity and noticed several faint, orange lights in the distant brush. The screams sounded again and louder than before. She couldn’t ignore it.

She took off in the direction of the lights, running directly into the nearby brush. The cries grew louder and louder as she approached. The sight of a flock of large pyrepies became clear as she neared the source of the screams: they were attacking a lone traveler. They circled overhead, screeching loudly as they gazed down at their prey.  Their charcoal-grey talons were poised to shred the unfortunate marauder into something more compatible with the size of their beaks.

A larger specimen of the group turned to swoop down at the traveler as Lola leaped in front of the cowering traveler. The flaming bird looked down at her with little concern for her presence. Its cold, jet-black eyes peered at her as if she was just additional prey; a side dish to go with their main course. At that moment, it occurred to her how foolhardy she’d been to rush to the traveler’s aid since she was hardly a match for even one pyrepie. Nevertheless, she stood firmly in front of the traveler with her back arched and her fangs bared. She let out a loud, deep growl at the flock in hopes of scaring them away.

The largest of the flock let out an unamused screech toward her, raining embers down upon the ground as it did. It swooped down toward her, its bill opened wide as it continued screaming in her direction. Before it could strike, she turned and kicked a large clod of dirt into its face with her hind legs.

Blinded, the large firebird crashed into the ground, unintentionally caking its flaming feathers with dampened soil. The fowl gave out a pained screech as its flames sizzled and began dying out. It was then that it occurred to Lola that Venice had always used wet soil to put out outdoor fires, and the same would likely work for the flames of the pyrepies.

She looked up at the remaining birds, a devious grin running across her muzzle as they squawked in protest. With little thought, she turned and continued kicking up dirt. The flock turned and began flying away, leaving the larger pyrepie struggling on the ground. It managed to stand upright on its talons and let out an obnoxious wail as its flames eradicated the mud from its feathers. The enormous bird trotted up to Lola, leaned down, and screamed in her face so intensely that it blew her ears back.

She hadn’t planned for the bird to recover … well, she hadn’t planned for anything to begin with. Without a rational strategy, the dog then did what came to mind first: she knocked a large clod of dirt into the bird’s eyes again with her front paws and then proceeded to sink her teeth into its backside. It might not have been considered overkill if she hadn’t swung the bird around from her mouth several times before flinging it into the trunk of a nearby tree. The large pyrepie quickly composed itself after hitting the tree and flew off in the opposite direction of Lola and the traveler. She noticed a large patch of the bird’s feathers missing around its rear end and felt a strange sense of pride in what she’d just done.

After spitting up a large number of orange feathers, she turned to face the traveler. He was a young man, sporting long, silken black hair fastened tightly into a bun on the back of his head. His skin—in a similar way to the girl from before—had a faint luminescent glow, bathing the ground around him in silvery light. A black woolen cloak covered his shoulders, barely covering his deep blue tunic and the leather bag at his side. His steel-grey eyes carried an expression of much relief.

“Thank goodness,” the lone traveler exclaimed with much exasperation. “I honestly thought those pyrepies were going to put an end to me.”

He lurched forward unexpectedly, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “Thank you so much, Madame Dog. I cannot express how grateful I am.”

He released his grip and got to his feet, dusting dirt and soot off of his clothes as he did. “I’m afraid I must be on my way. Those birds threw me off schedule.”

Reaching into his bag, he retrieved a pin. Lola only caught a brief glance of it before he fastened it to her collar. It was circular in structure, made of silver and nearly black sapphire. It made her wonder if jeweled pins were a trend, especially when rewarding good deeds. “For your bravery.”

The traveler turned and waved goodbye to her. “So long. Be safe, Madame Dog,” he called to her as he walked off into the darkness.

His glow vanished into the shadows as he departed. Lola thought it odd since it seemed almost as if he’d vanished into thin air before her eyes. She dismissed the thought, realizing that she was alone in the dead, dark woods by herself. Among her blessings, she counted that the cottage was not far from where she’d entered the forested area. Later—when she was back at the cottage—she reminded herself that she’d have to ponder over these strange people she’d been meeting since she’d woken up.

“Excuse me?” a young voice called from behind her.

Lola turned to see who was speaking to her. She was getting annoyed that today was becoming more social than usual. Standing behind her were two very young children. Twins, to be exact; a boy and a girl. Their hair grew stark white, standing out against their tanned skin and their maroon eyes. They were both dressed in rags; the girl’s violet in color, while the boy’s had an indigo hue to them. Both let off a faint white glow, barely noticeable to the naked eye.

Knowing that children of such a young age were seldom found in the woods bordering the cottage’s clearing, she could naturally assume they were lost. The frightened look in their eyes told her that much. Selfish as she was for a dog, Lola wasn’t heartless. In fact, Lola was more kind-hearted than she’d actually care to admit, although she seldom dared to show it. She walked up to the twins, standing face-to-face with them due to their lacking height. Gently, she licked the tears away from their faces. “W-we’re lost,” the little girl said. “We were playing on the road just a little out of town. Then we wandered into the woods and couldn’t find our way out.”

“Can you help us find our way back to Hollyton?” the little boy asked weakly. “We don’t want the Bogba’el to get us.”

Lola sighed to herself, knowing that she couldn’t refuse the children. She nodded to them the best she could. The twins gently took hold of her collar, letting her lead them out of the forest.

###

“An entitlement tax?” Venice asked, perplexed.

“A royal entitlement tax,” Grandmother corrected. “It seems the Queen thinks she owns everything regardless of who holds the deed. It’s a fairly recent proclamation.”

“So, she’s going to reclaim all the land in Prithvi as her own?”

“Not necessarily,” she replied, lacing her fingers. “She’s levying a hefty tax on all existing property, claiming that she rightfully owns all the land.”

“Which means I have to pay her for the land I already own?” Frustration was apparent in Venice’s voice.

“Exactly,” Grandmother answered.

“How much is she charging?” he asked, leaning forward.

Grandmother took a deep breath and put her hands down on the table. “She’s charging the value of the original deed, and yearly at that.”

Venice’s eyes went wide. “I could barely afford this scrap of land when I first bought it! I don’t have that much gold laying around!” the carpenter exclaimed.

“I understand. With how barren the land has gotten without light there is very little useable wood for you to work with, and even fewer clients to do work for,” the old lady commented, sympathetically.

“Dare I ask what happens if I’m unable to pay her?” Venice asked cautiously.

“If you’re lucky, she’ll have you thrown off your property.”

“If I’m lucky?” he inquired.

“She’s sending her son with a large group of soldiers to personally collect the tax from all the citizens in this reach of the country. The brat’s got … a bit of a temper.”

Venice slumped back in his chair, exasperated by the conversation. “Lovely.”

###

After walking through the darkness for some time, Lola managed to guide the children back onto the main road toward Hollyton. The two youngsters exclaimed loudly when the small burg became visible at the end of the road, illuminated by lanterns hanging from signposts and candles fastened by copper to the sides of the wooden homes. She could smell turf fires burning in the hearths of homes all around them. “We’re home!” the little boy exclaimed.

The twins released their gentle grip on Lola’s collar, both turning and hugging her tightly in gratitude, taking her by surprise. “Thank you!  Thank you!  Thank you!” they cried in unison.

After they let go of her, the little girl reached into her pocket and retrieved a small glittering pin. From what Lola could tell, it was made of three diamonds in varying sizes. The child fastened the pin to her collar, alongside the other two Lola had previously been gifted. “For your kindness, Miss Buhund,” the little girl said, in an unusually mature tone.

The twins then turned and ran down the streets of the town, giggling with joy in their stride. Lola smiled at the sight, despite knowing she had a painfully long walk back to Venice’s cottage. She turned on her heels to begin the journey back. However, when she did, she found herself standing in the front yard of Venice’s property. Confused, she turned around again to see if the town was still behind her, yet she found only the old road and woods that ran adjacent to the front lot. She blinked several times, completely bewildered by what had just happened and unsure if she was losing her mind. Perhaps it had been nothing but a daydream?

She dismissed the weirdness of the situation, realizing that Venice was probably wondering where she was, and made her way back toward the cottage. Gently, she pawed the dog hatch on the front door open and made her way into the small abode. Venice and Grandmother were still sitting at the kitchen table, immersed in conversation. The carpenter was the first to notice her arrive. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to,” he commented. “The birds can’t be that much trouble, can they?”

Lola huffed at his comment loudly. The birds in the coop? No. The birds I had to deal with in the woods? You have no idea, she thought to herself as she walked past the kitchen table toward an old mirror standing up next to the cupboard.

“Such an attitude,” Grandmother remarked.

Lola looked in the mirror. If what she’d done today had been simply a daydream, then the pins would not be affixed to her collar. Yet, all three of them were there alongside the collar’s brass buckle. 

“She’s quite odd, isn’t she?” said Venice.

“Well, she is a Buhund,” the elderly woman replied. “They’re a very intelligent family of dogs, and with intelligence, attitude usually follows. Although, she is rather odd for a Buhund.”

Lola’s ears perked at the comment. She turned and seated herself at the foot of the table, watching the exchange between her master and his friend. 

“How do you mean?” the young man inquired.

“Well, aside from her self-serving personality, Buhunds usually aren’t white, nor do they have eye markings.” Grandmother pointed to the tan-brown ring around Lola’s right eye. “Let alone eye markings that resemble the symbol of the High Spirit of the Sun.”

“That’s what it is?” Venice replied. “I always thought it looked like a leaf.”

Grandmother sighed. “I forget you got poor marks when you were young enough to be in the schoolhouse.” The elderly woman rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “Are you even aware of what the name Buhund means?”

Venice appeared offended. “I’m not that daft. Of course I know what it means. It’s just a word for ‘farm dog’ in one of the ancient tongues; ‘bu’ refers to a farmstead or cottage, and ‘hund’ means dog. Which is ironic because Lola certainly doesn’t act like a dog bred for farm life.”

Grandmother nodded. “Correct. The legend has it that the Buhund family was created by the High Spirit of the Sun, in order to guide humans in the world.”

Venice looked down at Lola. “What a gift,” he said, unenthusiastically.

Lola lifted her paw and ran her claws down his leg, causing him to cry out. “Why are you so temperamental?” the carpenter lamented.

She simply smiled and wagged her tail. 

“Actually, that is normal for a Buhund,” Grandmother answered. “I told you when I gave her to you as a pup: this is one family of dogs that will not tolerate being insulted.”

Venice turned to glare at the dog, his anger being dispersed at the sight of the pins on her collar. “Why is my dog wearing broaches?” he asked, thinking out loud.

“She had one on earlier,” the old woman stated. “And here I thought you were just decorating her.”

Grandmother leaned to the side and squinted to get a glimpse of the pins. “That’s odd. She only had one when I arrived, now she has three.”

“Where could she have gotten them?” Venice asked.

The old lady shrugged in reply to his question, having as little clue as he did. “I wonder if I could sell them to gather the gold to pay off the queen’s tax,” he pondered, reaching down to fiddle with Lola’s collar.

The pins would not come off from the leather. He turned the strap inside out slightly to figure out why. “They’re fused to the collar!” he exclaimed.

“That’s odd,” Grandmother remarked. “Very odd indeed.”

Venice then attempted to unfasten Lola’s collar, but the buckle wouldn’t release. He tried to slide the collar over her head, but it wouldn’t budge an inch when he did. “What is going on here?” he asked in frustration.

“Perhaps someone tampered with her collar as a prank?” the elderly woman suggested.

“Well, whoever it was deserves a kick in the teeth. Honestly, who does this to someone’s dog?”

Grandmother got up from her seat. “I think I’ll take my leave at that question.” She paused. “Venice, I’m sorry to have visited you with such bad news.”

She pulled her torch from inside her robe, unwrapping the sheet of hemlock paper from the head of it and allowing the flames of pyrepie down to light up. “Avoid angering the Young Earl, when and if he comes around,” the old woman advised. “And if you lose your home, I want you to remember that my door is always open to you, my old friend.”

With a creak, she departed through the front door. Venice buried his face in his hands. “What are we going to do, Lola?” he asked the dog, weakly. “They’re going to take our home.”

Next Chapter: (Book 1) Chapter 02 - The Spoiled Earl and the High Spirits