Grandmother had roused them awake in the early hours of the morning. Lola was once again reluctant to awaken, having found an unnerving comfort in the blanket Venice had rescued from the cottage for her. It was her favorite, after all.

During their slumber, the old sage had prepared for them a few packs of supplies, a small pouch of gold, and a map. Most of which she fitted Venice with, despite an initial protest by the carpenter. Two of the smaller packs were fitted to Lola and Rook, Venice being forced to carry the larger and heavy supplies upon his person. She had also taken the measure to fit Venice with a cloak, in hopes of warding off the cold that Lola and Rook were otherwise oblivious to.

They were given a quick send-off as they departed through Grandmother’s front door, her final words of wisdom being, “Don’t mess this up,” which was issued in a harsh, but motherly tone.

Using a crude stone compass that the old sage had included in their supplies, Venice was able to lead them north and out of Hollyton. They found their way onto the main road between the tiny burg and its neighbor to the north, Bleuetshire. Venice’s hope was to be able to pass through Bleuetshire itself within one day—or what he referred to as a day—although he’d failed to account for how quickly his legs would tire. By the time Hollyton was completely out of sight, he was already in need of a reprieve from walking. Lola did not miss her chance to chastise him for it, although she hid well the fact that her legs were just as tired.

Amidst several breaks, they managed to have caught sight of Bleuetshire at the other end of the road before any of them felt the need to sleep. Exhausted, but overjoyed, the three of them raced down the last stretch of road into the town. The carpenter, the dog, and the rooster all harbored a major concern of how exhausting the entire trip would be if they were tired at this point–although they remained unaware their concern was shared among them.

The streets of Bleuetshire were not unlike Hollyton’s; they were unkempt and lit by myrtle wax candles and fairy-fire lanterns. The homes and businesses showed the same amount of decay as the structures of Hollyton, although they had a personal touch of flaking and faded blue paint. The streets were otherwise scarce on the outreaches of town, but a commotion could be heard in the town square.

The trio made their way into the center of town, their curiosity satiated by the chaos. A crowd of townsfolk was gathered around a troop of soldiers, who were in turn gathered around a very familiar coach. The unhappiness of the townsfolk was apparent in the air, as they all protested the presence of the young monarch who was inside the coach. With much success, the small section of the royal army in the coach’s company had been able to keep the townsfolk at bay.

The three could tell that it was the recent “entitlement” tax that had the crowd upset simply by listening to the cacophony they produced. Venice himself heard many of them scream that the tax itself was a criminal act. Some screamed it clearly enough to cut through the noise of the other townsfolk.

They stood on the edge of the crowd, not wanting to mingle among the commotion themselves. At the sight of the young earl being lifted atop his coach by the soldiers, Venice quickly hid his face in the hood of his cloak. Lola and Rook took measures to hide behind the cloak’s fabric, while not obscuring their view of the crowd.

“People of Bleuetshire,” the young earl called out to the crowd, “I must say I am displeased with the reception you’ve given me.”

The crowd continued protesting. The earl nodded to one of his soldiers, who then threw a small bundle into the air. The package exploded into a mass of flames over the crowd’s heads and then dissipated. “Do not interrupt,” the earl bellowed, his face red with fury. “How dare any of you speak in the presence of my royal words?”

The crowd fell silent. “That’s better,” the chubby monarch said with a sneer. “Now, I’ve come to understand that many of you are displeased with the recent tax we’ve been forced to issue. Understand this: the land of Prithvi and even the sky above it belongs to my family and no one else.

The queen and I have allowed you to live on our land for so long, without paying anything for the use of it. This is merely us taking back payment for what you rightfully owe us. I’m sorry that so many of you are too lazy and stupid to raise the money to pay for the tax, but we cannot offer lenience. Do you understand?”

“The king would never do something so cruel and selfish!” one of the townspeople called out.

“He’s right! The king always ruled under the belief that Prithvi belongs to its people!” another called out. “What you’re doing goes against the mission of the royal family!”

The crowd’s displeased cries erupted anew. The earl glared from atop his coach. “Captain, arrest all of them,” he shouted angrily. “Chancellor! Go over the records! I want all of their property seized!”

As the soldiers moved forward to begin detaining the townsfolk, the trio took it as a sign that they should leave. The three of them ducked into an alley behind the crowd and proceeded to find their way away from the soldiers. Venice stopped them on the other end of the alley, pausing to rest and consider the situation. “That was horrendous.”

“Given what he did to us, did you really expect him to treat anyone else better?” Lola remarked.

“Not particularly,” the carpenter replied.

Venice’s eyes caught sight of a young woman standing adjacent to them. Her long black hair was tied back into a braid that fell across her shoulder, highlighting her tan skin. Her slender form was covered by a ruffled white gown, a lute slung over her back. The girl’s green eyes looked upon them with a fiery curiosity. “Quite a show, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“I suppose. That’s if you like tragedies,” Lola replied.

The girl’s eyes widened. “A talking Buhund?”

Venice glared down at Lola. “Didn’t Grandmother give you a lecture before we left about not talking in public?”

Lola scoffed. “She did, but I wasn’t listening.”

Venice pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just let me handle this,” he said. “Miss, I know this is a bit of a strange thing to witness, but would you happen to know a place where we could stay for the evening?”

The young woman pondered for a moment. “I think I might. My father runs a pub nearby. He may have a room available.”

“If you could show us there, I’d be very grateful,” the carpenter replied.

She smiled. “Certainly. Follow me.”

The young woman led them down the road to a large pub, rickety in structure, although it appeared as if some upkeep and repairs had been attempted. Bright light shone through the pub’s windows, illuminating the counter and furniture inside. A man—who was not old, but at the same time was obviously not young—stood behind the pub’s counter. He busied himself cleaning the old wooden counter with a threadbare rag. As the young woman opened the door and led Lola and her friends inside, he looked up and smiled. “Welcome back, Aurora!” he exclaimed.

“Good evening, Daddy,” she replied. “I’ve brought someone in search of a room for the night.”

Her father looked past her at the trio. “Well, I don’t normally allow pets or livestock,” he said. “However, the new tax has drained our income for the month, so I suppose I can make an exception.”

“You actually paid it?” Venice asked as he approached the counter.

“Well, it was difficult, but I was willing to make the sacrifice to keep my business,” the man replied. “I know most people don’t have the money to pay it, however. I take it you lost your home to the tax?”

Venice sat down. “In a way,” he started. “As I’ve said to those who’ve asked before, I think I still technically own the property. The earl just happened to burn my home to the ground, so now I’ve nowhere to go.”

“That’s unfortunate, but I hope you don’t plan on moving into my pub,” the man commented.

“Daddy!” Aurora protested. “You could stand to be a little more sympathetic.”

The man paused. “I suppose you’re right, dear. My apologies. Either way, welcome to Song’s Pub.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Venice replied. “Do you have anything to eat? My friends and I haven’t had a decent meal since early this morning.”

The pub owner laughed, looking down at Lola and Rook. “I suppose I might be able to find something for you, but I’m not certain about your ‘friends’,” he remarked. “It’s two copper for a bowl of mushroom stew. I also have some potato soup for the same price that I think your dog might be able to stomach. I’m not sure what’d feed your rooster.”

“You got any beans?” Rook asked. “I’m a big fan of beans.”

Venice grabbed Rook by his tail feathers and lifted him off the ground, bringing him to eye level. “Now, when I spoke about not talking in public earlier, I thought you knew it applied to you, too.”

The pub owner stood shocked for a moment. “Powder of speech?”

Venice nodded.

“Well, then. I think we have some baked beans in the kitchen. Let me check,” the pub owner said, turning away from the counter.

Venice let go of the rooster, allowing the bird to retake his place on the floor. The carpenter turned on his stool to face Lola and Rook, an expression of utter annoyance plastered on his face. “We need to go over some ground rules,” he said. “Rule one: don’t talk in public. End of rules!”

“Sorry,” Rook replied. “I just thought I’d give him a little clue.”

“You do realize most people will panic when they find a talking dog or rooster, right?” Venice commented. “We don’t want a huge amount of unwanted attention on our way north.”

“So, you’re headed north?” Aurora interrupted, sitting down on the stool next to Venice.

Venice sighed. “Yes, we are,” he said. “I wouldn’t spread it around, but we’re en route to the queen’s palace. We were planning on talking with her.”

Aurora dismounted the lute from her back and began idly strumming the instrument. “And you think she’ll listen? Given her son’s attitude, I doubt she’ll be any more generous.”

“It’s worth a try, I suppose,” he replied.

Aurora continued strumming at her lute. “There was a time when I dreamt of being able to play a song or two for the queen herself,” she said. “That dream died when her decree resulted in my friends losing their homes.”

Her fingers ran down the strings, playing more intently. She began to sing.

When the wind had fallen still and the rivers had run dry,

I asked the people what was the cause of it and they began to cry.

They gazed upon the withered hills and birds that could not fly.

And that was when they said to me, “Look to the Empty Sky.”

The cattle had faded away and lands had grown bare.

People were left to starve and weep in a land of despair.

Life had become a chore without the light there.

And so we were left alone in a land of frozen air.

The light of old is nothing but a distant memory.

We’re left with but barren earth and an empty sea.

The wheat will never sprout again.

And there’s no fruit from the trees.

Prithvi, it seems, is fated to stay in the dark … black as ebony.

Oh, times are surely grim. Oh, wouldn’t you agree?

She stopped and looked to Venice. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“That was beautiful,” he replied. “The queen would be lucky to have someone so talented play for her.”

“That was depressing,” Lola commented.

“Well, it is a song about the collective plight of the country,” Aurora retorted. “It’s not intended to be happy.”

The pub owner returned with a tray containing three bowls of food, which he set it down on the counter in front of Venice. “It’ll be five copper for it all, mister.”

“My name’s Venice,” the carpenter said, reaching for his money pouch.

“Do your ‘friends’ have names as well?” Aurora asked.

“I’m Lola,” the Buhund said, jumping up on the stool on the other side of Venice.

The rooster fluttered his way onto the stool next to Lola. “I go by Rook, thanks.”

Venice took a silver coin out of the pouch and slid it over to the pub owner. “This is far too much for just a meal,” the man said.

“Consider it gratuity, Mr. Song.” Venice placed two of the bowls in front of his companions.

Lola sniffed the bowl of potato soup and began eating it graciously. “Tank yew, Miswer Shong,” the dog said, her mouth full.

“Glad you enjoy it,” Mr. Song said. “So where are you folks from?”

Venice looked over at Lola scarfing down her food, then past her to notice Rook pecking furiously at his bowl of baked beans. “We’re from Hollyton.”

“They’re on their way north,” Aurora chimed in. “They’re going to seek an audience with the queen.”

Mr. Song looked concerned. “You’re going to ask her for your home back?”

“Not exactly,” Venice replied. “However, we do have business to speak with her about.”

“I’d warn you, but I’m sure you’re aware how difficult she is to speak with,” Mr. Song replied.

“I’ve been warned.” Picking up a spoon from the tray, Venice tucked into his mushroom stew.

Mr. Song turned a glance at Aurora. “Funny how you always wanted to play for her,” he said. “I doubt even songs as beautiful as yours would thaw such an icy heart.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Daddy,” Aurora replied unenthusiastically.

Venice quickly downed his stew, in hopes of cutting the conversation short. “So, how much for a room?”

“It’s normally fifty copper, but I’ll let you slide since you already gave me a full silver.” The pub owner reached under the counter and retrieved a rusty, old key. “It’s room one. Upstairs and on your left. Just let me know when you’re heading out in the morning.”

Venice took the key in his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

###

The room was cozy, but not small. A decent-sized bed was positioned against one of the walls, and a small sink and dresser were lined against the other. Venice used the opportunity to wash the congealed sweat off of his face, while Lola and Rook settled upon the bed.

“These are some nice digs,” Lola commented, as she rolled onto her back against the bedspread.

“I’m pretty sure Mr. Song didn’t intend for either of you to be shedding your fur and feathers all over his guest bed.” Venice dried his face on the towel draped over the side of the sink.

“He never said he had a problem with it,” Rook replied, roosting at the foot of the bed comfortably. “That alone puts my mind at ease. How ’bout you, Lola?”

“Hey, works for me!” the dog said with a laugh.

There was a light knock at the door. Venice turned from the sink and went to answer it. Aurora stood in the doorway, carrying a small tray of drinks. “I figured some warm taro root ale might help you three get to sleep,” she said. “May I come in?”

Venice motioned for her to enter. “Please.”

The lutenist made her way into the room and set the tray of drinks down on the dresser. She very casually handed one of the flagons to Venice. “Careful, it’s quite hot.”

Lola and Rook got up from the bed, as she set two of the flagons down on the floor for them. Lola sniffed the drink curiously, enticed by the sweet, buttery scent of it. “So, what’s the occasion?” the dog asked.

“Just being hospitable,” she replied.

Lola began lapping up the warm beverage from her flagon.

“Somehow I doubt that’s all of it,” Rook commented.

She let out a sigh. “Well, I did come to ask you something,” the lutenist replied.

“Ask away,” Venice said.

She sat down on the dresser, her hands crossed on her lap. “When you leave tomorrow, will you take me with you?”

“Do you think your father would be all right with that?” Venice countered.

“It was his idea,” the young woman replied. “He knows I’ve always wanted to leave Bleuetshire, and he felt that I should speak with you about going with you.”

“He is aware that there’s no guarantee we’ll even get where we’re going, correct?” Rook chimed in.

“Or where we’ll go after that, if and when we get there,” Lola added.

“I’ve lived in the dark all my life,” Aurora said. “Since I was a little girl, I’ve dreamt about a day when the light would return. And now, I feel like … I may have a chance to bring it back.”

She got up from the dresser and knelt in front of Lola. “I noticed the marks on your collar, and so did my father,” she explained. “My father has always been a firm follower of Tsu, and thought your arrival to be a sign.”

Lola’s eyes drifted down to the three pins attached to her collar. “Maybe we should’ve thought to cover them up?” Lola said, turning to Venice.

“I didn’t think they’d be that conspicuous,” the carpenter replied.

Aurora tussled around in the left pocket of her dress and retrieved a worn, red handkerchief. “That’s why I thought this might be a little more appropriate,” she said, unraveling the piece of cloth.

The lutenist very carefully went about securing the cloth around Lola’s neck, obscuring her collar. “There. Now it’s hidden by a bandana,” Aurora said, triumphantly.

“Nice little convenience,” Venice said, taking a sip of his drink. “I guess this is the best option, since we can’t take the collar off of her.”

“I guess now we won’t have to worry about attracting any more attention,” Lola said with some relief. “But are you sure she’s good to travel with us?”

Venice turned to her, annoyed and perplexed. “How do you mean?”

The dog looked up at Aurora. “How old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?” the Buhund asked.

“I’m seventeen,” Aurora replied, unfazed.

“Lola, you’re two. How can you even justify making a fuss about this?” Venice lamented, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were fending off a nasty headache.

“Hey! Dogs age seven years for each human year,” Lola snarled at him. “I read that in one of your cruddy books!”

“You read my books?” Venice retorted. “I was under the impression that you just ate them.”

Lola looked annoyed. “I destroy one lousy, bigoted-against-dogs glossary and suddenly you think books are my favorite food. I guess that means you agree with it?”

“Do not put words in my mouth,” Venice replied, his growing frustration made apparent by his face.

“If you think of me as a lower lifeform than yourself, then just say it,” she shot back.

His cheeks and forehead flushed a deep, furious red. “Do not put words in my mouth!” he thundered.

“That is enough,” Rook angrily intervened, his words echoing as such that they shook the entire room.

The carpenter and the dog fell silent.

“Why are you two suddenly at each other’s throats?” Rook asked.

They both sat in silence to the rooster’s question, their eyes drifting away from each other in embarrassment. “I … don’t know,” Venice replied, breaking the eerie quiet in the room.

Lola lowered her head, further embarrassed. “I can’t figure it out either.”

Aurora looked out the window. “They say that the emptiness outside gets thicker in the later hours of the night,” she commented. “It’s when it’s easiest for it to take grip of your heart in order to prey upon your anger and despair.”

“Now that I think about it, we don’t normally stay up this late,” Venice mentioned.

“Then, perhaps you should get some rest?” the lutenist replied. “Daddy always says that sleep is the one place where it can’t reach you.”

She reached down and picked up the empty flagons, making her way to the door. She turned back to face them as she opened it. “Sleep well.”

Next Chapter: (Book 1) Chapter 04 - The Ghosts of Hashvale