Her sleep brought no dreams this time. As she slept, it seemed as if she hovered in peaceful darkness—weightless and free from the world. When she began to rouse, it felt almost as if she was rising from the dark sea of sleep and back into the waking. She squinted her eyes open to find a black, wet dog nose sniffing her face. In shock, she rolled back and fell from atop where she was slumbering.

“Sammelle! I told you to leave them be,” an older man’s voice scolded.

As Lola’s vision focused, she found herself face-to-face with another dog. He was fat and stubby, his body covered with long, raggedy white fur. Brown markings framed his deep hazel eyes. He sat panting as his eyes gazed upon Lola in a docile fashion. The fat dog let out a low whine of impatience.

“Well, one of them is awake. You’ll just have to wait for the others,” the older male voice said. “I know we don’t get company often, but you’ll just have to be patient.”

She faced the source of the voice. It was an older man—no younger than fifty, yet no older than seventy—dressed in a tunic, vest, and worn trousers. His hair had long ago turned a dull grey, yet his honey-colored eyes looked no worse for wear. There was a gentle presence about him. “Good morning,” he said with a warm smile as he leaned forward from his seat.

“Where am I?” Lola asked groggily. “Where are my friends?”

“You’re merely in my home. And you would see that they’re sleeping directly behind you if you’d bothered to turn around,” the man said.

The Buhund turned her head to see both Aurora and Venice bundled up in blankets on mats behind her. Rook had been placed in a nearby basket, a small cloth draped over his back. All of them appeared to be alive, although caught in a very deep sleep. “You’re all very lucky you made it out of the marsh in one piece,” the old man commented. “Now, we just have to wait and hope that its magic hasn’t lingered with any of you.”

Her ears shot up. “What are you getting at?”

The ragged dog let out a whiney bark and trotted up to the old man. “Sammelle here found you and your friends near the marsh, soaking wet. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what had happened to all of you,” he explained. “Having lived northeast from the Marsh of Sorrow as long as I have, I’m familiar with its effects. Even those who escape tend to be drained by the lingering bits of its wretched magic. Naturally, that’s why I’m so concerned about you and your friends.”

Venice sounded out a loud yawn and stirred awake. As he sat up, the bundle of blankets fell from his torso. He was bare-chested, his auburn mane even more of a mess than normal. The dark bags under his eyes were still visible yet less pronounced. “Where are we, and where is my tunic?” he asked groggily.

“A good majority of your clothes were soaked. I hung them up to dry with your supplies over the hearth. They finished drying about three days ago,” the old man stated.

“We’ve been asleep for three days?” Venice replied in shock.

“A little over three days. Like I said, the Marsh of Sorrow’s waters tend to have very draining effects,” the old man clarified.

Nearby, Rook’s body went into a spasm and he let out a loud crow, shocking himself awake. The sound roused an adjacent Aurora, who was now dressed in a very frayed nightgown.

“Ah. Finally,” the old man commented. “I’ll get your clothes.”

He stood up from his chair and walked to the other end of the room. In the corner stood a blazing hearth, filled with alit turf. Above it, several articles of clothing, such as Venice’s tunic and Aurora’s dress, hung from a cord. “I took the liberty of washing most of them while I was at it,” he added as he unfastened the clothes. “The marsh waters made them rather … ripe.”

“I don’t suppose you’d have a bath here?” Venice asked. “I really don’t consider being submersed in a marsh as a suitable substitute for bathing.”

The old man tossed Venice his tunic and Aurora her dress. “Actually, I do. It’s hooked up to my water distillery in the shed out back,” he replied. “I suppose I could let you use it, if you’re feeling incredibly unclean.”

Venice pulled the tunic over his head as Lola jumped up in his lap.

“A water di-whatery?” Lola asked.

“A water distillery,” he explained. “It uses a pyrepie feather boiler to remove the salt from the water coming in from the bay. It’s how I keep a fresh water supply.”

The old man retook his seat. “I really have to thank my colleague from Hollyton for sending me a letter with the idea to use pyrepie feathers. It’s been quite useful in these dark and trying times.”

“Colleague from Hollyton?” Venice asked, intrigued. “She wouldn’t happen to go by the name Grandmother, would she?”

Almost falling from his chair, the old man gave a hearty laugh. “That’s not the name she signs her letters with, but that is she,” he replied. “I’m the Sage of the Eastern Coast, Douglas Rose.”

“Well, thank you for your help, Mr. Rose. We greatly appreciate it,” Aurora said, having finished slipping back into her dress.

“Please, no formalities,” the sage said. “I’d prefer you call me Doug.”

“Beg your pardon … Doug,” the girl replied. It was obvious from her tone of voice that addressing him so informally was awkward to her.

“So, given how uncommon enchanted dogs and roosters seem to be in this day and age, I’m guessing you had good reason to risk your lives by drudging through one of the most dangerous places in the entire country. Why were you in the Marsh?”

“We’ve been heading north toward the royal palace, on a matter of personal business,” Venice replied. “Not too far north from Hashvale, we were chased into the Nightmare Forest by the Royal Army.”

Doug’s eyes went wide. “And you survived that to get to the Marsh? It’s a wonder one of the Bogba’el didn’t get you,” he exclaimed in amazement.

“One of?” Lola interjected. “We though there was only one?”

“No, that’s a misconception. There are several of them, all over the world,” Doug clarified. “Nasty, nasty beasts.”

He got up from his chair again and turned to a nearby table positioned behind where he was sitting. “Before I get distracted, it’ll probably be best to perform a cleansing and get that troublesome marsh magic out of you all,” the sage said as he took hold of a bundle of leaves sitting on the tabletop. “This is an herb that used to grow abundantly around here, called white sage. Not a sage like I am, mind you. It’s named as such because it comes from a white sagebrush plant.”

“What is it for?” Lola asked, uneasy about what Doug was preparing to do.

The old man looked back at her. “It purifies negative energies.”

Doug pulled a small cloth pouch out of his pocket and tossed it down to Sammelle. “Sammelle, cast a circle for me if you could, please.”

The dog caught the pouch in this mouth, and clomped his way over to the group, pouring its contents in a circle around them. The bag appeared to have been full of salt.

For a moment they noticed a smaller, less ragged dog was standing where Sammelle had been. He appeared less worn, yet much less friendly. His eyes scanned them all with a look that expressed that he thought they’d arrived for no other purpose but to frighten him. Doug glanced down at the smaller dog. “Danneverd, they’re not going to hurt you,” he commented. “The little alarmist has been trembling in the same spot since I brought you in a few days ago.”

The smaller dog scooted behind Doug, as the aging Sage lowered the bundle to the hearth and lit it on fire. In a flash, the leaves became a mass of glowing smoke in his hand that bunched into a tight orb. “All will be well, in just a minute.,” he muttered. “Sammelle, stand aside.”

Without hesitation, the fat and ragged dog quickly made his way back over to the other side of the room. Doug brought the orb of smoke close to his face, half-whispering a small incantation to it. “Spirit of the Sagebrush, that lies in sleep, drive away our sorrows in a prevailing sweep.”
The orb of smoke erupted into a wide stream of silver vapor that flooded toward them. Venice wrapped his arms tightly around Lola as the gleaming smoke rushed over them. She could see inside the isolated tempest that the smoke had begun swirling around them like rushing water—its currents fit to each of their forms. It continued its circling for a moment, then dissolved into the air as its force disappeared. “I’m grateful that worked. Calling forth any spirit is becoming more and more difficult with each passing day,” Doug commented. “To think it was once their power that did away with Reanja delle Catene di Ferro, that wretched witch.”

“Grandmother mentioned that name, too,” Lola commented. “Who exactly is this Re-annya person?”

“Re-an-ja. The Witch of the Iron Chains,” Venice commented. “She was a powerful witch who was threatening to take over Prithvi by force when I was a child.

“Was being the key term here. The Whole of the Spirit Order, the other Sages, and myself managed to defeat her. Drove her into hiding decades ago,” Doug said conclusively.

The fat white dog sat at Doug’s feet, his raggedy plumed tail wagging as he let out a soft bark as he waddled in place. “Oh, stop carrying on,” the Sage said to him.

“He’s upset you didn’t introduce him,” Lola stated.

Everyone turned to her.

“I almost forgot for a moment that you’re still a dog,” Venice commented. “You could tell that by one bark?”

Lola rolled her eyes. “Dog language isn’t that simple,” she explained. “It’s known purely by instinct, as in we know it from birth. Unlike human language it isn’t based on just sounds. Subtle body motions, expressions, and scents are the biggest part of it … sounds are actually seldom used in casual communication.”

“That sounds complicated,” Aurora commented.

“It’s pretty much the standard for most animal languages other than human, actually,” Rook said. “Avian, cat, and others work on similar principals, although they’re different languages. The Chicken dialect of Avian is more focused on neck motions for example.”

Sammelle whined loudly, calling everyone’s attention back to him.

“I suppose we’re being rude,” Aurora concluded.

“All right, all right. I suppose I should introduce you,” Doug griped. “This is Sammelle, one of my familiars. The cowering pile of fuzz in the corner is his brother, Danneverd. I think I also have a cat or two lingering around here.”

Sammelle looked away from Doug and let out a low warbling sound.

“He says that’s not his or his brother’s name,” Lola said. “Their names are Sam and Danny.”

“Everyone’s a critic.” Sage shook his head. “Anyway, I suppose I should get you all something to eat, considering you’ve been asleep for three days. A little nourishment will do you some good.”

Doug made his way over to a stove in the corner opposite from the hearth.

“You mentioned something about a bath?” Venice said.

“Yes, in the distillery out back,” the Sage responded with a bit of annoyance in his voice. “I’ll show you there once I get the stove started. I need to get some fresh water anyhow …”

He opened the front compartment of the stove and began tossing dried turf from a nearby stack into it. As if routine, he turned and reached for a fire poker leaning against the wall—fishing an ignited yet solid piece of turf from the fireplace and placing it into the stove. He closed the compartment and returned the poker to its rightful place, leaning against the wall. “Put your shoes on. It’s rather chilly outside.”

Venice and Aurora followed his instructions and slipped into their nearby footwear. As Doug opened the front door, they all got up from their resting places and followed him outside. The outside of the Sage’s tiny home was the same kind of dark and dreary scenery they’d seen throughout their entire trip.

“Watch for patches of ice. It can get a bit slippery,” Doug called back to them as he led them behind the small house.

The shack he’d spoken of was much larger than the house he lived in, and noticeably better cared for. Unlike most structures they’d seen, the wood it was made from was completely free of rot and stains. It appeared to have been coated with something to protect it from the seawater that it was built above. Even the steps leading to the door were swept free of sand and ice. A lantern filled with pyrepie down hung from atop the doorway, disguised as a fairy-fire lamp. Sounds of softly clanking metal could be heard from inside, growing in volume when Doug opened the front doorway.

The interior of the shack was better lit than that of Doug’s small house, and much more spacious … at least it would be if not for a large metal contraption taking up almost half its inner space. The machine itself consisted of a simple boiler—similar to the stoves and ovens Lola had seen used in most homes—a water pump running through the floor connected to a metal water tank on one end, and a spigot running into an enormous hardwood water barrel on the other. A hose ran from the barrel into a secondary boiler that lead over to a ceramic tub on the far end of the shack. A curved rail was mounted to the wall above it, carrying what appeared to be a curtain.

“This is impressive,” Venice commented. “You built this all yourself?”

“A good sage is not only well-versed in magic, but also in medicine, sciences, and some forms of engineering,” Doug remarked. “That is, despite the developmental dark age the world’s been plunged into for almost one hundred years.”

Lola could see two cats asleep atop a supply shelf near the door. One of them was rather large, with orange tabby markings but white around its mouth and paws. The other was smaller than the other, with longer hair that was brown with speckles of black and orange. “Ah, this is where they’ve been,” the old man exclaimed. “These are my cats, Sants and Tahlikha.”

“You really enjoy giving your pets ridiculous names, don’t you?” Lola quipped.

“Familiars, but I’ve never been fond of simple names,” Doug retorted.

Walking over to the giant water barrel, he picked up a bucket sitting near its access spigot. “You can see where the bath is. It’s pretty simple to run. Just be careful not to burn yourself, because the water is boiling hot when it first comes out of the faucet.”

Aurora ambled over to the tub and took hold of the curtain. “Ladies first, if you don’t mind,” she proclaimed as she closed the bath curtain around the tub, concealing both it and herself from view.

Running water could be heard from behind it as a cloud of steam rose above the curtain rod. “Do you have any soap in here?” Aurora’s voice called.

“There’s a bar of fireweed soap on the supply rack behind the tub.” The sage rolled his eyes. “Bit of a brash girl, isn’t she?” Doug said. “A normal woman would have asked us to vacate the building.”

“I heard that,” the lutenist’s voice called from behind the curtain.

Her yell roused the two sleeping cats awake. Both Sants and Tahlikha gave out displeased yowls. Venice and Lola looked awkwardly at the two annoyed felines. Doug ignored them and returned his attention to the water barrel, pouring water from a valve attached to it into the nearby bucket.

“How long did it take you to build all of this?” Venice asked.

“About a month. Then again, that was only because I couldn’t get the boiler to seal properly.”

“Only a month?” the carpenter uttered in disbelief. “It would take me a month alone to build the wooden cask you’ve got the water filtering into!”

Doug turned around, a full bucket of pure water hanging from one hand. “Matter manipulation magic helps,” he said as he made his way toward the door. “I’m going to go get started on your breakfast.”

###

Venice had waited less than fifteen minutes before Aurora emerged from behind the curtain, fully dressed but her hair damp and free from its usual single braid. He emptied and refilled the tub, while Lola waited patiently alongside him. She had laid her head down against the cold wooden floor as Venice washed the marsh muck from his body and hair.

When he’d finished, he dried himself off and partially redressed. Clad in only his cotton trousers, the carpenter had found a pair of scissors on the supply shelf by the tub and proceeded to begin cutting the tangles and knots out of his hair. He sat on a nearby stool, in front of an old mirror next to a shelf, carefully trimming his auburn mane. “You’ve been very quiet this whole time. Are you all right?” he asked the Buhund.

Lola gave a tired huff into the floorboards. “I almost lost you to that marsh,” she replied in exasperation.

The sound of scissors snipping away at hair echoed softly throughout the room. “I know, and I’m sorry I scared you. I’m very glad that you were able to save me. I didn’t realize you were that shook up about it.”

The Buhund got up from her spot and walked over to Venice, leaning against his leg. She said nothing.

Lowering the scissors from his hair, Venice glanced down at her. “Lola, are you going to be all right?”

She leaned in harder against his leg. He could hear her weeping, although she wasn’t looking directly at him. The scissors clanked loudly as they dropped from his hand. He picked the Buhund up and sat her in his lap, wrapping his arms around her and patting her head.

“I’ve never been so scared in my life,” she choked. “I’ve known for a long time that I won’t live as long as you, but I didn’t ever think I’d outlive you. You’re my human. I don’t want to lose you!”

“It’s fine, Lola,” Venice said softly. “I don’t know where fate will lead us, but I promise I’ll do whatever I can to stay by your side.”

Her weeping subsided to a degree. “I didn’t realize dogs could cry,” the carpenter pondered out loud.

“We can’t, not in the same way humans do. It’s the enchantment!” the Buhund choked.

The carpenter sighed in frustration. “So, what do you think?” He pointed to his hair in the mirror in sincere hopes of changing the subject.

The Buhund’s face turned toward the mirror, her long tongue wiping away the tears running down her muzzle. His auburn hair was slightly shorter, and much less messy that it had been. “You look a little less like you’ve been living in the woods for the past ten years?” she commented.

Venice burst out laughing. “Only a little less?” he asked with a chuckle. “I suppose a haircut can only do so much.”

The door to the shack creaked open behind them, alerting both of them. Doug’s head was peeking out from behind the doorway. “The food’s ready, so get a move on,” he said. “And put some clothes on, before you catch a cold. I’m not nursing you back to health a second time.”

Lola hopped off of Venice’s lap as the carpenter stood up from the stool. “We’ll be there in a minute,” Venice replied, reaching for the tunic he’d left hanging nearby.

He slipped the shirt over his head and slid his arms through the sleeves. “I have to wonder what he did with my vest and cloak.”

“The vest and cloak are hanging over the hearth with the rest of your supplies. Now hurry it up. I’d like to serve breakfast before I finish succumbing to old age,” Doug’s voice called through the door.

“And here I thought old age brought patience,” Lola commented.

“Not in this case, I suppose,” the carpenter replied.

###

After a light meal of what the old sage referred to as “oatmeal”, he quickly packed their supplies into the back of a carriage that sat out in his front yard without a word spoken. Before any of them could question how the carriage was going to move, a large hole formed in the yard. A long, limber creature crawled out of it and onto the dead grass. At first glance, it appeared to be a horse—although its head didn’t look right to any of them. The creature reared its head at them, revealing an eyeless mole face. Its hooves also appeared to have barbs growing out of them.

Its nose pulsated intensely as it examined all of them.

“What in Lumea is it?” Lola asked, backing away from the creature’s intrusive nose.

“This beauty’s what you call a hippomole. A mythical cross between a mole and a horse that usually lives deep underground,” Doug explained. “Or at least they used to. I found this bruiser wandering around in the yard one day, a few years after the sun disappeared. I started feeding him all the cockroaches I caught, and I managed to tame him.”

“So, this is how you’re taking us up north?” Rook inquired. “With a creature that was a practical joke by the High Spirit of Festivals and Arts in order to step on the toes of the High Spirit of the Sun?”

“It’s not as if we have any horses sitting around,” the sage remarked as he fastened the beast into the carriage’s reins. “In the carriage with all of you.”

Venice and Lola got into the back of the carriage, while Aurora picked up Rook and carried him in with her. Doug sat down in the carriage’s front perch, taking hold of the reins. Sam, who had followed them outside, jumped into the front perch and sat down beside his master as casually as a fat white dog could. “You think you’re coming with us?” the old sage said. “I suppose it’s no use fighting with you..”

“He’s almost as willful as Lola,” Venice pointed out.

“There’s a direct correlation there: he’s a Parkahund. They’re a close cousin to Buhunds,” Doug remarked. “I digress, however. Hold on tight.”

The old sage cracked the reins and the hippomole took off at a tremendous speed. As the carriage flew forward, the scenery around them became nothing more than a mass of blurred lines. After a short few minutes, they seemed to adjust to the high speed they were traveling at.

They continued forward, the land flying away below the wheels of the old carriage. Abandoned farmsteads and homes passed on both sides of the cart from time to time. The vehicle was going along too fast for them to truly observe what they were passing by. Within a short time, a large mass of lights could be seen in the distance, growing larger with every second they approached. It became clearer and clearer that what they were nearing was a large city—the largest settlement any of them had likely ever seen.

As the lights from the city grew brighter, the carriage began to slow in its approach. “Welcome to Torteburg,” Doug announced.

“T-Torteburg?” Venice stuttered. “Weren’t we in Currantshore? That’s usually a two-day trip, isn’t it?”

“Normally, but most people don’t have a hippomole propelled carriage,” Rook remarked.

“Let alone one driven by an insane sage,” Lola added.

The carriage eased to a stop in front of the city limits. A worn-out sign that read ‘The City of Torteburg’ stood a few feet from them, partially sunk into the ground. “Give the queen my best,” Doug commented, as Venice and Aurora began gathering their things from the back of the carriage.

“How did you know we were going to see the queen?” Aurora asked.

“Grandmother happened to mention it in a letter she sent me a few days ago via dracopigeon,” the sage replied. “I figured I wouldn’t waste time prying at your mission, since I knew who you were the moment Sammelle dragged you all onto my doorstep.”

“That just seems sneaky,” the lutenist remarked as she climbed out of the carriage.

Doug scoffed. “No harm done. You’re all here, aren’t you? Fed and hex-free?”

“Yes, thank you for your help,” Venice said, gratefully.

Sam gave a loud yet stunted bark from beside him. Lola cocked her head in response. “I’m flattered?” she responded, her feeling of awkwardness apparent in her tone of voice.

“What did he say?” Rook asked.

“He said he thinks I’m cute,” the Buhund explained.

Doug chuckled. “Really, old man? She’s less than half your age!” he said in amusement. “Good luck to you all.”

The old sage crackled the reins, causing the hippomole to turn the carriage around and lead it in the other direction. Doug, Sam, and the old wooden cart very quickly disappeared into the distance. The group turned from the road and set their sights upon the looming city.

Next Chapter: (Book 1) Chapter 08 - Torteburg’s Cold Shoulder