A small leak had sprung from the ceiling, allowing a drop-by-drop flow to trickle down onto the floor below. Lola was seated directly under it, her neck chained to the wall to restrict her movement. What had seemed like a small amount of water at first had amounted to a great deal in the time she’d been seated under the leak. The top of her head was completely soaked.

Where the water was coming from was questionable, as there was no rain in Prithvi. If she was lucky, it was from ground water leaking into the subterranean dungeon … if she was lucky. The small dungeon chamber they’d been confined to was lit by dim torchlight, yet it was clearly visible to the eye, and it was not a pleasant sight to behold.

Venice and Aurora hung by their wrists from the wall behind her, both shackled to the stone. Rook, meanwhile, had been stuffed inside a cage too small for most dracopigeons, which hung from the mossy stone ceiling above. Across from them was a large wooden table, its structure worn and rotted from years of continuous use—leather restraints for a human were attached to it. Atop it sat several rusty and sharp-looking tools, which Lola naturally guessed were not present to remedy the table’s state of disrepair.

The dungeon door swung open loudly, interrupting her focused examination of the room from her spot. “Queen” Reanja carefully strode into the small room, accompanied by an all-too-familiar sight of the young earl and followed by several Iron Fiends. “Well, now that those audacious soldiers are locked away, we can finally get to the fun part of this whole shindig,” Reanja said snidely, her eyes lighting up.

“If this is your idea of fun, then can we cut out the middle man and move onto something that you consider boring?” Lola sniped.

“Like rotting in a dungeon for the rest of your natural life?” the young earl suggested. “Boring for you, but fun for us.”

The monarch patted her son on the head. “Patience, dear child. We save that part for last,” she said comfortingly.

Reanja laced her fingers together, turning her wrists outward and cracking her knuckles loudly. “Let’s play a little game,” she said. “It’s called ‘Tell The Queen Everything She Wants to Know’.”

“I don’t suppose we can convince you to go out for a game of Badminton instead?” Venice suggested.

“Or Pinochle?” Rook added from his cage.

“Or ‘Button, Button, Who’s Got the Button?’” Lola contributed. “Maybe a nice game of Fox-Huck?”

Several rows of chains formed over Venice’s mouth, around Lola’s snout, and Rook’s beak. “Can the buffoonery or else I’ll subject you to horrors so foul that it’ll make spending the rest of your lives in this dungeon seem like a holiday at the beach,” Reanja said coldly.

They sat silently as the chains receded.

“Now, let’s start with what led you into my humble abode,” the queen continued. “Who sent you? It was one of those sages, wasn’t it?”

Lola looked up at the witch, glaring intensely at her. “Buzz off.”

The Witch of the Iron Chains grabbed the dog by her throat. “I’ll reiterate: Who sent you? It was one of those sages, wasn’t it?”

Lola could see a flicker of pale blue flame in her eyes as the witch brought herself face-to-face with the young dog.

“Powder of speech is the only thing on this planet capable of momentarily elevating beasts like you out of the muck by allowing you to talk,” the witch explained. “The only magic-users I knew of that would waste their time on such pointless nature magic would be the Sages of Prithvi. I long ago did away with two of the four guarding this land in my role as queen … so, which of the remaining ones sent you?”

Lola’s glare deepened. “I believe it was your mother,” the dog said, before letting out a huff of hot, moist air into the queen’s face.

The Witch-Monarch fell back in a shriek of disgust. Her face was flame-red as she got to her feet, cursing under her breath at the Buhund. “I have ways of repaying such brazen disrespect,” she fumed, turning her attention to the two humans hanging by shackles from the wall.

Her blazing crystalline eyes gazed up at Venice as she raised a hand to toy with the air in front of him. “Inflame the bones, and pinch the nerves,” she uttered as her cuticles lit up with a sinister red light.

Venice winced and let out a pained cry as the same red glow spread over the length of his body. He continued screaming in agony as the queen turned her grinning face toward Lola. “It’s called ‘Nyctelios’ Nerve Pinch’ … a nasty bit of metal magic that activates every pain receptor in a living being’s body,” she explained. “You can either tell me what I want to know, or I’ll just leave it on your darling master until he goes insane from shock.”

The Buhund watched her human companion writhe in agony, dreading what would happen if she refused the witch-turned-autocrat. “Leave him be,” she pleaded. “I’ll tell you everything!”

The witch withdrew her hand and the crimson glow faded. Venice hung by his wrists as he wheezed heavily. His skin had suddenly become much paler than usual.

“Well, then,” Reanja inquired. “Do tell.”

Lola hesitated, if only for a moment, as she knew she had no choice. “She goes by the name ‘Grandmother’. That’s all I know,” she replied.

Reanja tossed her hair, proceeding to roll her eyes in disdain. “It was either her or that bumbling old fart, Douglas Rose. Somehow, I should’ve guessed that Carol would be the only one of the two batty enough to send a dog to do her bidding,” the witch commented. “For as senile as they both happen to be, I’ve always found it frustrating that they’ve constantly managed to evade me … even in my role as queen.”

“They’re much harder to get rid of than the other two sages were. It’s caused Mommy a great deal of misery,” the young earl offered.

“You’re saying that there were more than two?” Aurora asked.

“Emphasis on past tense,” the witch answered. “The Sages of the Northern Bridge and the Western Road have both been eliminated for a long time. The only reason the other two have eluded my soldiers for such a lengthy amount of time is simply because they’re using that troublesome perception veil charm. Rotten thing makes not just them, but their dwellings practically invisible to anyone who they don’t want to find them.”

The young earl tugged at her skirt. “Yes, Christopher, what is it?” the queen asked.

“You left out that we did find one of them, Mommy,” he said.

“Ah, yes. Thanks to a few tips from citizens concerned about not having their homes burned to the ground, we did manage to find Grandmother. That old shack of hers had apparently been in the center of Hollyton all this time. Imagine that!” Reanja added. “I was a bit disappointed to hear that old age had gotten to her before my soldiers did. Such an unfortunate turn of events.”

The room fell silent as the queen’s grin grew even more smug and malicious in nature.

“You’re lying,” Rook accused her. “That woman was in perfect health when we left! She can’t be—”

“My soldiers, at least the ones still in my employ, dare not lie to me. What I say is indeed true,” the witch interrupted. “That near-fossilized thorn in my side is no longer of this world. Likewise, I have another company of men in pursuit of Mr. Rose.”

Lola’s heart fell deeper than it ever had. Grandmother—the woman who’d united her with her best friend, and likewise kept watch over her for a majority of her natural life—was dead.

She turned a glance toward her son. “It was your old guard that we sent after Mr. Rose, if I recall correctly, wasn’t it?”

“Those idiots will never find him,” the earl scoffed. “They’ve been slightly more incompetent than usual since the chancellor was eaten by a Bogba’el a few days ago.”

“Oh, bother. You’d think such a loss would make them suddenly more competent. I knew I should’ve simply sent a few Iron Fiends instead …” The queen cradled her face in her hand. “No matter, we have what we need right here.”

She motioned for an idle Iron Fiend to approach her. “Bind the dog to the interrogation table,” she commanded. “She’s not telling us everything she knows.”

The chain monster glided across the room, and effortlessly uncoupled the shackle around Lola’s neck as it lifted her from the floor. Its appendages—which one could only guess were hands—felt ice-cold to the touch as they wrapped around her. Without care, it flung her onto the wooden table in the center room. The sound of ringing metal echoed as the creature unraveled itself back into a mere chain and wrapped around Lola’s body several times, securing her to the table violently. When it had finished, she found herself pressed flat on her stomach—unable to move her body, and barely able to move her head. “I told you everything I know,” the Buhund protested.

“Don’t hurt her! I’ll tell you what I know,” Aurora cried.

“Don’t listen to the girl. I’m a fifty-year old rooster! I’ll tell you what I know,” Rook intercepted.

The queen threw up a hand to the two. “Shut up and sleep!” she commanded.

A puff silvery-black mist erupted from her hand and split, the twin streams colliding with them. They were both silent. “Fiends, take the other prisoners to their new cells,” Reanja instructed. “Remember, I want them kept separate!”

The remaining chain monsters in the room complied as they unbound Venice and Aurora, another of them undoing the lock on Rook’s cage. They vacated the room swiftly as soon as they’d secured each of them, gliding by as but a steel-grey blur as they removed the Buhund’s friends.

“Now, with all of those interruptions out of the way, let’s get this over with,” the queen said. She extended a hand toward the little dog’s face. “It’s time for something a little stronger.”

The witch flicked her fingers at the air in front of Lola’s face. “Inflame the mind and shred the soul,” Reanja chanted.

Her talon-like hand lit up with a blazing crimson light, which blinded Lola when it exploded forth. As it spryly crept toward her, the foul evocation came but a hair from the dog’s face before dispersing in a salvo of golden sparks.

Lola looked up to see that the queen was visibly dumbfounded, since the dog wasn’t writhing in pain.

“What on Lumea? Blasted spell!” the witch-monarch lamented.

She reached out once again, performing the same hand motions. “Inflame the mind and shred the soul!”

The same result came forth yet again, fizzling out the same as it had before.

“Why isn’t it working?” Reanja growled angrily.

“Maybe the old woman placed a protection charm on her?” the earl suggested.

“Don’t be daft. These spells are metal magic stolen from the Old Ones of Yore Days: the nature magic the sages use wouldn’t even stand a chance of defending against them,” the queen counter-blasted. “No, something much more powerful must be at work here.”

She knelt down, bringing herself face-to-face with the table-bound Buhund. “I suppose torturing answers out of you would be out of the question with this little revelation coming to light.”

The young dog barred her teeth at the queen, letting out a low but loud growl. Reanja slapped her in response, showing little concern with the aggressive gesture. “I do wonder … why can I smell good magic on you?”

The queen took hold of the red bandanna around Lola’s neck. With little effort she tore the piece of cloth from the dog, her nails reducing the fabric to a flurry of sheds. Her eyes widened ever so slightly as they set sight upon the collar that’d been hidden beneath the glorified handkerchief. All three of the symbols attached to the simple neckband were immediately recognizable. “Oh, those wretched Spirits,” the witch grumbled. “I should’ve foreseen that they’d find some way to bother me, however small.”

Reanja stood up, turning away. “No matter. We’ll just lock you away until the last bit of magic they could muster fades.”

The witch shot a glance back toward the interrogation table. “You there, Table Fiend. Take her and throw her into the cell with the big lock. I want to make sure she never sees outside the walls of this castle again,” she commanded.

At her order the chains unwrapped from around Lola, retaking their roughly human shape. It gripped the Buhund tightly as it lifted her from the table. The doorway swung open before the creature’s presence as it exited the room with her in its clutches. Chain-woven wisps that were likely its feet scrapped noisily against the stone floor as it scurried down the darkest hall of the dungeon. It came to a stop in front of a cell door adorned with an enormous lock and no visible windows.

The door gave way to its presence, much like the interrogation room door had done previously. Without a noise or even a pause, it tossed Lola inside and slammed the door shut behind her. She could hear the massive lock’s pins engaging as she lifted her head from the floor.

The cell was completely dark, making it impossible for her to even see the contents of the room. She scratched at the door in futility, clinging to a slim yet instinctual hope that a human on the other side of it might hear her and let her out. After a short moment she realized her daftness and slumped down against the hard stone floor in defeat.

As she lay there an overwhelming horrible realization overcame her: she was going to die in this dungeon. For however long it might take the magic on her collar to fade, it was likely that every one of the few years of her short canine life would be used up. To make matters worse, she was separated from Venice and would likely never see him again. Nor would she see Rook or Aurora … not unless the queen would allow it. Such a ruler would probably never show such mercy.

It flooded down on her, as her heart raced and her eyes welled up with white-hot tears. Grandmother was gone, the last remaining sage would likely be a fugitive for the remainder of his life, a witch locked her and her friends away in a dungeon, and the High Spirits were nowhere to be seen. She wept heavily, burying her face beneath her paws as she did. The stone floor muffled most of her sobs, not allowing an audible sign of her sorrow to escape from the cell and into the hallway outside.

“Lola,” a soft voice whispered.

The young dog assured herself that she was hearing things, as she kept her paws over her drenched eyes.

“Lola …” the voice called again.

With much reluctance, she uncovered her eyes. The cell was now alight, although dimly at best. A familiar young woman with golden skin and silken black hair was kneeling directly in front of her. The warmth Lola had felt the day that she’d given food to the girl washed back over her, and her urge to cry began to fade. “Amah?” the Buhund asked.

The Spirit smiled. “The one and the same,” she answered. “You’re not losing hope, are you?”

“I may as well,” Lola whimpered. “There’s nothing I can do. I’ve failed.”

Amah shook her head. “Oh, dear Lola. You must never lose hope,” the Spirit said. “It is only without hope that we would truly ever have nothing.”

Lola fumed. “Then why did you choose me for this?” the dog exclaimed. “What kind of hope could the world’s worst excuse for a farm dog bring the High Spirit of the Sun?”

The Sun Spirit frowned at her question. “You would doubt my wisdom? Or perhaps you doubt yourself? I have been in a state of descent into a deep and unwaking sleep for many years now. The other Sky Spirits and I have existed as roaming consciousnesses since Reanja stole the light from its rightful place – to be here with you in corporeal form takes a great deal of my strength. That alone should be a testament to the faith I have in you, Daughter of Spitz.”

Lola was taken aback by the Spirit’s words. “Then why?”

Amah looked down at her hand. It was becoming translucent. “My time here is limited. Must we continue with this?” she asked.

“Please, just tell me why,” Lola persisted.

Amah bit her lip in frustration before giving a quiet sigh. “For fifteen years, I’ve roamed the world as but a mind flowing through the air. Every minute of it has seemed like an eternity. When the sky became bare, no one but the sages and the Spirits knew why. The remaining Sky Spirits could barely gather enough strength to manifest into a form with which a living being could converse. Likewise, Reanja began her hunt for the sages while she kept the entire country in the dark about her identity. We began to consider it unlikely that anyone would ever uncover what had truly happened, and that was when I began to lose hope.

“However, I’m a stubborn one, you see. Even in my despair I roamed the whole of the world, searching for one living being I felt might be able to uncover the truth and put things right on their own. All fifteen years I searched, and I found no one. Then one day, I found you.”

The Sun Spirit reached down and gently brushed the side of Lola’s face with her hand. “Too odd at first sight to be a Buhund, yet the perfect representation of the good that your ancestors stood for. It was finding a bright red rose abloom in the middle of an arctic desert. Everything about you—your sun symbol eye-marking, your bravery, and the light burning within you—all complete coincidence, yet it all falls into place so well,” she explained. “That is why Tsu, Ho, Shi, and myself put forth such a great deal of our strength to create the wards we attached to your collar. They’re all marks of our faith in you … for your generosity, bravery, and selflessness. The magic within them would not work if it wasn’t tempered by the good heart within you.”

Amah held up her other hand, looking upon it with concern. Nothing but a faint outline of the extremity was visible to the naked eye, whereas the fading had begun to spread to her arm. “I will lose my ability to take form completely very shortly,” the Spirit said. “Then I will fall into an endless sleep like the other Spirits have. That is why your success is so vital.”

“So I can save you and the other Spirits?” Lola asked.

“So you can save everything. Not just Prithvi, but the whole of Lumea,” Amah replied. “The world has held on for a long while, but without the balance of light and darkness, day and night, it will fade back into nothingness.”

She held the hand that had not yet begun to fade above her head, as if she were reaching for something unseen. Tiny flows of light—silver, gold, and white—swirled about in her palm. Bit by bit, the luminescence began condensing itself into a single shape. When its motion had ceased, Amah held in her hand a glowing metallic sliver. “My brother, as well as my dear niece and nephew, lent me the last of their strength so that I might be here to give you this.”

The Spirit gently set down the object between herself and the dog. Lola sniffed the item, clueless to its purpose. “A silver needle?” she asked, confused by the offering.

Amah smiled as she began to fade from sight more visibly. “It is the very last of the magic I have left. Without the Sun in its proper place, I cannot draw upon anymore,” the Sun Spirit explained. “So be warned: this is the last time I can help you.”

“I’m not ungrateful, but what can a needle do?” Lola questioned.

“It’s a lock pick, guaranteed to undo any normal lock with ease, and capable of undoing enchanted locks with a small amount of elbow grease,” Amah answered. “I already used it to undo the lock on this cell.”

Lola’s ears stood at the utmost attention.

“Wait until the hours of the deepest darkness when the Witch of the Iron Chains sleeps. Free your friends and leave this dungeon,” the Spirit instructed.

Amah’s form began fading more and more rapidly as she spoke. “Just promise me you’ll remember me and the world outside this castle. Remember to set us free and undo the calamity that Reanja delle Catene di Ferro has unleashed upon the world.”

“How could I forget?” Lola responded.

The Sun Spirit smiled warmly at the dog’s reply as she began to fade into nothingness. Amah’s smile was the final part of her form to disappear as the golden glow she emitted vanished from the dark cell.

If not for the light of the silver needle she’d left behind, the room would’ve returned to being pitch black. Yet the object glowed with an aspirant white light.

Lola touched her paw to the item in utter curiosity. Unlike the metal she’d encountered before, it was warm to the touch, neither hot nor cold, but warm like the presence of a living creature.

She could hear the sound of a solitary, roaming Iron Fiend in the hallway outside. Despite the door being unlocked, it was likely if she left now that the creature would recapture her. It would be hours before the queen slumbered, as well.

She considered Amah’s advice as she pawed at the luminescent needle in front of her. With a sigh, she spread out across the floor, reclining where she had stood. The Buhund wrapped her fangs around the lock-pick, securing it in her mouth as she laid against the cold dungeon floor. This was likely going to be a long wait.

Next Chapter: (Book 1) Chapter 11 - Unchaining the Sky