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

Venice had spent the afternoon and evening working on a small carving of a dove in a futile attempt to keep his mind at ease. Lola, vaguely aware of what Grandmother had told him, had busied herself by pulling a tome off of one of the shelves and attempting to traverse its contents. Venice, if he took notice, would think she was merely playing with the book and was intent on destroying it. She had yet to find a way to express to him that she’d taught herself how to read. If she had, she would’ve included in that expression how boring most of his books and tomes were.

“Lola!” the carpenter said, looking up from his work. “I’ve told you several times that my books aren’t for you to eat!”

She rolled her eyes at the comment, knowing that she wouldn’t eat Venice’s books even if she were starving. After all, who would want to fill their stomach with claptrap of a bunch of philosophers that kept spewing the exact same rubbish about life and the universe? Especially when they gave dogs no weight in their views of basic rights, love, or life.

Venice got up from his chair and snatched the open tome out from under her nose. “I doubt you’d even enjoy Amah’s Memorandum!” he exclaimed, placing the tome back on the shelf.

He’s right, she thought to herself, I didn’t enjoy it.

Their one-sided feud was interrupted by the sound of trumpets from outside, accompanied by the sound of marching feet. Venice scrambled to the front door, throwing it open to see a procession of soldiers marching down the road toward the cottage in a dual line. They halted in front of the property, the lines parting in the middle to reveal an extensively decorated carriage. No horses were present, so Venice could only guess the passenger had the troop of soldiers pulling it. The carriage door swung open to the sound of much complaining, and out plopped a young boy no older than ten.

He was quite pudgy in stature—his eyes almost swallowed by his chubby cheeks, although still visible and lifelessly black. His fat form was covered by a jewel-decorated robe and a fine silk cape lined with fur, while a gilded cap sat atop his bulbous head. He looked upon Venice and Lola, little concern in his eyes, and an unnerving grin across his face.

An older man, tall and thin in form, stepped out of the carriage behind him. The man’s wizened face carried an expression of utmost unease, his thin mustache constantly trembling above his mouth. 

The pudgy boy turned to the tall man. “Chancellor!” he exclaimed angrily.

“Yes, my lord?” the thin man replied.

“There’s mud on my new loafers,” the young earl said. “How stupid are you that it took you five seconds to notice?”

“I apologize for my idiocy, Young Earl,” the chancellor responded nervously.

“Clean it off before I have you beheaded!” the little monarch threatened.

The chancellor very quickly fell on his knees and went about cleaning the young earl’s loafers with a handkerchief.

“Idiot,” the earl said, slapping the chancellor upside the head.

The pudgy child walked toward the cottage. “Peasant? Dare you not bow to the Earl of the royal family?” he asked Venice.

Venice fell on his knees and bowed. “My apologies, your highness.”

The young earl glared over at Lola, who appeared unimpressed with his arrival. “Why does your beast not bow to me?” he asked.

“She’s a dog, my lord,” Venice replied, putting forward the best excuse he could. “She is not bright enough to understand your regality.”

The bratty monarch huffed with displeasure. “I suppose I’ll be lenient.”

Lola growled at him, making her dislike for him as clear as she possibly could. “Silence, mutt,” he responded. “Or I’ll have my men turn you into a fur coat!”

She ceased growling in response. Having no time to waste, the young earl was as forward with his intentions as he could be. “Hopefully you’ve heard of my mother’s new decree, despite being so far from civilization,” the portly child said. “I’ve come to personally collect the tax owed to us for living on our property.”

“Your highness, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I have no gold to pay you,” Venice admitted candidly, still on his knees. “People from the village seldom come to me for woodwork anymore. We’ve no income coming in. The dog and I have been living off marmot meat for months.”

The young earl’s expression shifted to a very sharp frown. “How sad,” he commented. “I suppose I can take mercy upon you for being too lazy and stupid to collect what you rightfully owe Mother and I, but just this once.”

Venice looked up in surprise. “Really?” he exclaimed. “Thank you, your highness!”

The earl’s mouth formed a very wide and crooked smile. “However, there are conditions. We’d like to make some small changes to your property.”

Venice looked upon him, bewildered. “Such as?”

The young earl turned to the soldiers, a grin still plastered to his face. “Burn it to the ground. All of it.”

“No!” Venice exclaimed in protest, only to be restrained by two soldiers.

Several of the soldiers proceeded up to the cottage, torches in hand, and set fire to the wood. Lola lunged at one of them, only to be knocked aside by the blunt end of a halberd. She looked up from the ground to see one of the soldiers setting fire to the fowl coop as well. The flames spread quickly, consuming both the cottage and the coop. The earl and his soldiers turned to depart. “Don’t let it happen next year,” the monarch called back mockingly as he climbed into his carriage and departed.

Venice turned to the burning house. “I’ve got to get my tools,” he said. “Lola, go get all of the birds out of the coop!”

The dog turned and dashed toward the burning coop at his order, while the carpenter ran into the house. She stuck her head into the coop, the heat of the flames and hot smoke burning the inside of her nose making it impossible for her to breathe. Her eyes scanned around, watching the birds wheeze loudly from the smoke in the air. The rooster was the closest to the entryway, so she grabbed him by his tail feathers with her mouth and dragged him out of the aflame coop. She pulled him to a safe distance from the flames and turned back to reenter and retrieve the other birds. It was then that the coop collapsed in a fiery heap and the flames grew even more vicious.

Lola collapsed on the ground and put her paws over her eyes in disgrace. She’d failed to save the other birds. As if she hadn’t already disappointed Venice enough.

The rooster let out a sympathetic cluck, draping a wing over her. As much as she disliked him, she lacked the energy to throw the kind gesture back in his face.

Venice emerged from the house—his tool kit, a lantern, and a blanket in hand. He stopped and coughed heavily. “Thank the High Spirits I got out alive,” he said with a wheeze. “Are you all right, Lola?”

He looked over at the dog and noticed her ashamed state. Seeing that the rooster was the only bird present, and that the coop had collapsed from the fire, he immediately puzzled out what had happened. Kneeling beside the dog, the carpenter rubbed her back. “It’s okay, Lola. I know you did what you could.”

###

The walk through the Hollow Woods seemed much longer and more humiliating than it should’ve. Lola walked alongside Venice, the rooster unwelcomingly perched upon her back as she strode. She’d occasionally look back at the bird, tempted to snap or bark at him. However, she knew such behavior would be counterproductive: the rooster couldn’t keep up with them on foot and it would be downright cruel to leave him behind. After all, he’d just lost his home as well.

The late-night air in Hollyton carried only a faint scent of turf-fires burning, as the town’s hearths had been extinguished earlier in the evening. Lanterns and candles that lit the streets and buildings earlier in the day still burned on, never allowing darkness to completely cover the tiny township. The streets of worn brick and dirt were bathed in a sickly orange glow by the patchwork of light sources the townsfolk had put up. The lighting’s effect made their walk through the town seem even bleaker.

They passed by several shops, a pub, and a number of small houses en route to Grandmother’s home. All of them shared similar signs of wear and tear from years of repair supplies being made unavailable. If not for the lack of light and overall scarcity of resources across the world, Hollyton might be considered a very ugly town. Fortunately for the town stead, it was one of the better-looking towns in Prithvi at this point. Along a row of ugly homes, her eyes spied a long spread of browned grass lining a courtyard. Venice turned and began down a stone path in the middle of the yard, Lola following him.

The stone path led to a patchwork building of stone and wood at the other end of the yard, husks of wood that were once shrubs lined its borders. Several fairy-fire lanterns hung from above the windows of the decrepit structure, all of them letting off their familiar, sickly orange glow. The largest of them illuminated the ebony door at the center of the building’s front face, glimmering off of a heavy brass doorknocker.

Venice climbed up the front stoop, rapping upon the door with the irksome knocker. There was silence for a moment, and then a rattling sounded from behind the door. The passageway creaked open slowly, revealing Grandmother’s concerned face. The old woman paused at the sight of Venice. “Already?” she exclaimed.

Venice grimaced further. “The earl was not very understanding,” he replied.

“So, they seized your property?” she inquired, motioning for them to enter her home.

“Well, I believe it’s technically still under my ownership, but he had his men burn down the cottage.” The carpenter followed her through the door with Lola close behind.

Grandmother scowled. “How dreadful! Did he at least leave the—”

“And the fowl coop as well,” Venice replied somewhat preemptively. “Lola attempted to rescue the birds, but she only had time to save the rooster.”

She looked down at the young dog with the cockerel atop her back. “That would explain your dwindling menagerie, I suppose,” she commented. “Have a seat. I’ll make some tea.”

Venice made his way to the rickety kitchen table, groaning as he slumped down into a chair. “I think mace mushroom tea is the last thing I need at this point.”

“Well, then I suppose I’ll just have to give you chamomile instead,” Grandmother retorted, approaching her cupboard.

“Actual chamomile?” Venice replied. “It must be ancient.”

Grandmother turned from the cupboard, a jar of plant leaves in her hand. “It’s quite fresh, actually,” she said. “Just a little result from my ‘secret project’.”

She quickly set up a teapot with a handful of the chamomile leaves. “I got a little weary of living off of fungus and old roots, to tell you the truth,” the old woman explained. “So, I began working on a way to provide alternate resources.”

Venice seemed intrigued, and likewise, Lola’s ears stood at attention for Grandmother’s explanation. 

“Shall I show you what I’ve been working on?” she asked.

“I’ll admit you’ve piqued my curiosity,” Venice said, standing up from his seat.

“Then follow me.”

Venice followed her as she led him through the patchwork hallway out of the main room, Lola and the rooster in tow. The hall led into a large study enclosed by cobblestone walls, lined with shelves containing countless tomes. There were no myrtle wax candles or fairy-fire lanterns in sight. On one end of the room stood a set of burners and glass bottles atop a desk, while on the other stood a table of young, yet healthy plants. Above the table of plants was a large clump of fiery material, hanging from the ceiling by a band of hemlock cord. Venice recognized several of the seedlings upon first seeing them. “Chamomile?” he asked, pointing to the seedlings. “And collard cabbage! And a honeyberry seedling?”

“A pleasing sight, isn’t it?” Grandmother asked.

“I haven’t seen plants of these species since I was a child!” the carpenter replied. “How have you made this possible?”

Grandmother pointed to the fiery clump hanging from the ceiling with the end of her cane. “Pyrepie feathers. I’ve been using what little hemlock I have left to capture them, and experimenting with ways to keep their down alight even after it’s plucked. Apparently feathers plucked from a live one will continue burning.”

“The light from them will grow plants?”

“It is made from flames, much like the light from our old sun,” she explained. “I’ve kept it as quiet as possible, lest the royal family send their goons to knock down my door.”

“That’s a daft notion. Why would the royal family penalize you for such a wonderful discovery?” Venice inquired.

Grandmother brushed the dust off of a nearby chair and sat down at the desk opposite the plant table. “Don’t you think it odd that the light disappeared from the sky shortly after the king married his unnamed queen? Or that shortly after their union the king fell ill, leaving his faceless bride to rule the land? Or even stranger still that the moment the queen gave birth to that pretentious brat of an earl that the king suddenly expired?”

Lola cocked her head at Grandmother’s words. Venice crossed his arms in vexation. “Grandmother, are you honestly suggesting that the royal family caused this plight to befall the world?”

Grandmother bit her lip. “I would consider it a great possibility. I had thought long ago that Prithvi’s troubles were over when I worked with the spirits and the other sages to banish the Witch Reanja delle Catene di Ferro from the land.”

Tears welled up in the old woman’s eyes. “Yet, on our brightest day in the sun, the sky went dark and the spirits vanished,” she continued, almost choking on her words. “I was forced to watch so many of this land’s children grow up in the dark, forced to watch so many of them starve and suffer.”

Venice’s face fell as a feeling of intense guilt washed over him. 

“I had lived with very little hope, having not heard a word from the High Spirits in years,” Grandmother said. “As the Sage of the Southern Vale, I spoke with them daily before the darkness fell. These past few years of silence had almost completely smothered my optimism.”

Venice’s brow arched. “You speak as if there’s a silver lining here.”

Grandmother wiped away her tears as a warm grin came across her wizened face. “There is,” she said. “Those pins on Lola’s collar … they’re the symbols of the High Spirits.”

The old woman turned to the dog and pointed a finger at the pins. “The golden fireball is a symbol of Amah, the High Spirit of the Sun. The sapphire and silver crescent is the symbol of Tsu, the High Spirit of the Moon.”

“What about the cluster of diamond stars?” Venice interrupted.

“They’re the symbol of Ho and Shi; the twin beings who stand as the High Spirits of the Stars,” Grandmother finished.

Venice stood silent for a moment. “You think the High Spirits are trying to reach us through my dog?” he said in an unconvinced tone.

“I’ve seen stranger things in the ninety-three years I’ve walked the planet.” She began rummaging through the clutter on her desk. “However, the best way to find out is to ask Lola herself.”

Lola’s eyes went wide at the notion, as did Venice’s. “She’s a dog! What is she going to tell you?”

Grandmother turned with a glass jar filled with periwinkle blue powder in her hands. “Oh, she’s going to tell us everything,” she said, getting to her feet.

As the old sage removed the jar’s top, an earthy humming sounded throughout the room. The lighting dimmed slightly, and the shelves began to rattle. Lola attempted to back away, the rooster trying to hide under her feet. “Don’t be afraid, little one. It’s all theatrics,” Grandmother said, scooping up a handful of the powder into her withered fist.

The humming grew louder, and Grandmother began to chant. “Take the vocal cords of a motivational speaker, the tongue of a parrot, and the song of a mockingbird. Distill them in a beaker, and mix them with a carrot, until the humming of spirits can be heard. For that is the method in which one may beseech the powder of speech.”

Grandmother flung the powder all over Lola and continued chanting. “Beast by my feet, learn that which, to you, we cannot teach. Inherit from this charm the gift of gab, extend your communicational reach, for I give to you the power of speech.”

As the powder came into contact with the pins on Lola’s collar a volley of azure sparks erupted, enveloping her in a deep blue aura. It felt as if a hot wind was washing over her body for a matter of seconds before it ceased and the aura faded. She stood still, in a state of shock from what had just happened. 

“Well, it’s never done that before,” Grandmother commented.

Lola snapped back into full consciousness at the comment. “What do you mean ‘It’s never done that before,’ you old loony? Just how many hapless animals have you used that pastel color garden soil on?” the dog let loose in a voice reminiscent of a human girl, likely no older than fifteen. She placed her paw over her mouth in surprise.

Venice gasped. “What have you done to my dog?” he demanded.

“Well, I was going to give her the ability to speak temporarily,” Grandmother replied. “However, that light show is not normally part of the spell.”

The old woman retrieved a monocle from the inner pocket of her robes, putting it up to her eye as she gazed down at Lola. “Hmm. The pins must be some sort of protective enchantment. The odd part being that rather than repelling the spell, they seem to have enhanced it.”

“Which means?” the carpenter pressed.

“The spell has stuck.” Taking the monocle away from her face, Grandmother placed it back in her robes. “Looks like you’re the proud owner of a permanently talking dog.”

“Judging by the first words out of her mouth, I’d say you’ve just cursed me for life,” Venice retorted.

“I’ve listened to you gripe and moan for more than half of my life, but you have to listen to me and suddenly you’re cursed for the rest of yours. Smooth, Mr. D’Fiamma. Smooth.” Lola said, very much offended. 

A coy male voice sounded from within the room, clearing its throat in order to call attention from everyone present. “If I may interject,” it said. “This kindly old sage was looking for information.”

Lola looked under her feet, her eyes catching sight of the rooster. 

“Am I overstepping my bounds?” the fowl asked.

“You got the rooster, too?” Venice asked, annoyed.

“I was hiding under Ms. Lola. I wasn’t aware the spell would extend to me. You’ll have to excuse me. For us Chicken-kin, when it seems like nature itself is about to swallow us, our first instinct is to get out of the way. Then again, that’s common sense for most non-chickens as well.”

“Are all roosters this passively dramatic?” Lola asked.

“Oh, like you weren’t frightened by Grandma Death’s little presentation,” the fowl retorted.

“Enough!” Grandmother interrupted. “Out of the two of you that can talk, one of you tell me how Lola got those pins!”

Lola paused. “Well …” the Buhund started, “I just helped some people out, and they gave me the pins as a reward for what I did for them. I didn’t realize they were magic.”

“What did these people look like?” Grandmother asked.

Lola looked up at her desk. “Can I borrow some paper and ink?”

“If that would help, I don’t see why not,” the sage said, taking the supplies off the desk and setting them on the floor.

Lola dipped one of her claws into the inkpot and began drawing crude figures onto a piece of paper—one of a young woman, a male traveler, and two children. She wiped the ink from her paw onto the edge of the paper, subsequently pointing at the doodles. “The young woman was dressed in white robes with a red sash,” Lola explained. “She was starving on the side of the road, so I gave her some of our bird eggs. She gave me the gold pin.”

“And the man?” Grandmother asked.

“He was dressed in blue and black clothes,” Lola elaborated. “At least from what I could tell. He was covered in mud, and under attack by a flock of pyrepies. He gave me the silver pin for chasing them off.”

She moved her paw to the drawing of the twins. “These children were lost in the woods and asked me to guide them back to town. They gave me the diamond pin for that, then I found myself back in front of the cottage,” she continued. “I thought I was dreaming until I saw in the mirror that they were all on my collar.”

Grandmother slumped back in her chair, reflecting upon what she’d just been told. “Strange and stranger still …” she muttered. “You can see colors?”

“Yes?” Lola replied.

“I suppose it wouldn’t occur to you that most dogs are colorblind,” the old woman commented. “Then again, you’ve never been a normal dog in many respects, let alone a normal Buhund.”

“So, what does this all mean?” the dog asked.

“Well, what happened to you within the past day or so is of the most significance,” Grandmother replied. “You must understand that with the sky bare, the High Spirits of Prithvi’s sky are almost completely powerless. To manifest in physical form to you, likely took much of their strength, and strength they normally wouldn’t waste. They must trust you for some reason.”

“What possible reason could there be to place their trust in a dog?” Venice interjected.

Grandmother sighed. “They want to be free so badly. Perhaps they’ve stopped trusting humans? Or perhaps Lola’s just special enough to unravel the mystery of where the sky’s light has gone? All I can tell without a direct line to the Spirits is that Lola is important in their plan.”

The elderly sage’s gaze met Lola’s once again. “Particularly to Amah. Lola, has Venice ever told you where the Buhund family came from?”

The dog shook her head. “No. None of his tomes told me either.”

“You can read?” Venice asked in disbelief.

“Yes, and your book collection was incredibly boring,” she retorted.

Grandmother chuckled. “Well, it was Amah that created the Buhund family,” the sage continued. “In the ancient days of Prithvi, she was the one who taught the humans how to farm the land. However, one day she looked out into the fields and saw how lonesome the farmers were tending to the land themselves. It was then that she consulted her friend—Spitz, the first dog—for advice. He suggested that he could keep them company, but Amah felt that Spitz belonged by her side. So she came up with a plan: she took from the field one long strand of dried wheat, a hair from her own head, and a long hair from Spitz’s coat. She wove them together until they turned hard as stone, then she split them in two and dropped them. The two halves of the bundle became the first two Buhunds as they fell to the ground. She instructed the two dogs to help the farmers, and that their children would help the farmers, too—as it was their destiny to tend to the land alongside mankind as their friend. That is why Buhunds were always looked upon favorably by her.”

“That’s a nice story, but why would I be chosen for this? Why not another Buhund?” Lola asked.

“You’re a very abnormal Buhund, and not just because of your white coat,” Grandmother explained. “She has a history of going for the ones who always seem to ‘break the mold,’ if you catch my drift.”

“So, what do we do?” Venice asked. “I doubt any of us knows exactly what happened to the Sun, the Moon, or the Stars. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“I already told you where to start,” Grandmother said sharply.

“There’s no proof that the royal family had anything to do with it!” the carpenter argued. “Do you honestly want us to travel to the other end of the country simply because you have a hunch?”

“Then at least travel there to contest what they did to your home!” she struck back, her distress apparent upon her face. “Venice, I have always looked out for the best for you. Even when you struggled with losing Turin, I’ve always done my best to keep you out of harm’s way. Why would you even for once assume I’d send you on a wild goose chase to the other end of the continent?”

Venice turned away. “How would we even get there?” he asked, his voice stunted.

“A brisk walk never hurt anyone,” the rooster said.

“No one was asking you, featherbrain,” Lola commented.

“I happen to have a name!” the bird replied. “It’s Rook, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Fine, Rook,” the Buhund replied. “How is this even any of your business?”

“If you were a little more empathetic, you might happen to realize that bulbous brat of an earl burnt down my home as well,” Rook said bluntly. “I have every intention of giving the queen a piece of my mind, even if it means I run the risk of being made into soup.”

“I doubt you’ll be that brave when we actually get there,” Lola snarked.

“Save your bickering for later.” Grandmother got up from her chair. “Do I have an answer, Venice?”

Venice turned back to face her. “I suppose I really have nothing else to do with myself,” he replied bluntly. “Lola and I will go.”

Rook tugged upon Venice’s pant leg with his beak. “You’re not leaving me here.”

“Fine. The more the merrier,” Venice replied in frustration.

Grandmother got up from her seat with a grunt. “Very good. I will have supplies for your departure ready in the morning. In the meanwhile, I would hope you’d join me for dinner. I believe I was in the middle of making tea before we started this little detour.”

She made her way to the door, stumbling upon her cane. “What I’ve cooked is nothing special … just a stew of cabbage turnips, lentils, and mushrooms. I think you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.” 

 “You actually have cabbage turnips?” Venice followed her out of the room and down the hallway.

“I do indeed. I harvested them shortly before I started growing the collard cabbage,” the elderly sage replied. “I felt it best to ‘rotate’ my crops.”

“Well, it sounds like a lovely dinner,” Venice commented. “I haven’t had cabbage turnips since I was a child!”

Grandmother laughed. “Then you should eat heartily. You have a long journey ahead of you.”


Next Chapter: (Book 1) Chapter 03 - The Road Forward