Elbot Carman
(Book 1) Prologue - Two Years Ago
For almost thirteen years, there had been no light in the sky. Likewise, there had been no clouds, no rain, and no snow—the sky was completely bare. The disappearance of the sun, the moon, and the stars had left the country of Prithvi in a state of limbo. Long ago the tide had stopped and the wind had ceased to blow; the ground grew cold and the forests withered and died.
The people of Prithvi had decreased in number as an unfortunate consequence of the harsh shift in the environment. There was little game to hunt, and crops did not grow; food was scarce. Many people who had survived had done so by subsisting on fungi, roots, and rodents. It was not a pleasant existence, and one all the less pleasant for those who could remember the days when light filled the skies. To Grandmother, it was as clear as if it were merely the day prior. Even in her old age, she longed for the warm summer sun and the fruits of a fall harvest. She’d endured without both for over a decade. If she were not already elderly, she might’ve joked that the experience had aged her horribly. Well, she still could, and frequently did. After all, where would she be without a healthy sense of humor?
Her footing was far too slick for her liking, making it all the more likely that she’d slip and rouse the sleeping bundle in her arms. The frigid humidity always had a way of turning the path through the Hollow Forest into a barely traversable mess. It left her long white hair in a state of undesirable frizziness, but more so had left her hide boots and the hem of her dress stained with mud. Her cane, likewise, did very little to help keep her footing stable. She’d stowed it away miles ago.
The entirety of Prithvi was unsure what caused the shift in humidity, since the weather in the sky itself had halted a decade and three years prior. Grandmother was certain that it was an inconvenience sent to exacerbate the Prithvians’ despair. After all, it made as much sense as the celestial bodies that once lit the world vanishing from the sky.
A fairy-fire lantern hung from her free hand, illuminating the path to the small cottage ahead. Just outside the home’s front door, a young man stood sorting a large pile of freshly cut turf for his hearth. His hands were covered with mud from his task, his carpenter’s apron almost equally as soiled. His matted auburn hair fell to the sides of his head when he glanced in her direction. “Grandmother!” he called joyously. “What’s the occasion?”
Grandmother continued her approach, glad the near-dead grass of the cottage lawn was more stable than the road to it. “I suppose you could say I’m out on an errand, dear Venice.”
Venice looked at her with concern. “What sort of errand?” he asked, cleaning the mud from his hands onto his apron.
She pointed to the bundle in her arms. “I’m looking to find someone a home.”
The young man stuttered in surprise. “G-grandmother! I-I’m flattered you think of me as responsible, but you can’t expect me to care for a child,” he protested.
The old woman rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t in good conscience leave a child in your care!” she replied. “Honestly, young man, how senile do you think I am?”
After carefully moving the bundle from her arm, she gently unwrapped the covering to reveal a small, sleeping face covered in white fur. It was a puppy.
“A dog?” Venice asked.
“A Buhund, to be exact,” Grandmother said. “A mother dog in Hollyton had a litter. I’m not certain why, but the mother rejected her.”
“That’s a shame,” the young man said.
“I brought her here because I have sincere faith that you will give her a chance at a good life,” Grandmother said, studying him. “Can I trust you with that?”
Venice took the bundle from her, the sleeping puppy whining in his arms at the sudden shift in movement. He moved his hand gently across her forehead, soothing her back into sleep. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I believe you could.”
The puppy turned in her sleep, her brown eyes struggling open to look at the young man holding her. “Does she have a name yet?” Venice asked.
Grandmother chuckled. “I’m afraid her mother didn’t care to tell me her name.”
Venice gazed down at the puppy, her little face smiling back at him. Then he looked up to the empty sky and remembered the night skies of his childhood. A faint memory in the back of his mind came to the surface: the Radiant Star of Sorrow, Dolores. Once the Bright North Star of the skies of Prithvi, and yet the most solitary of them all because of its light. Some called it the Lonesome Star, others called it Lola. It was then that he knew the Buhund’s name. “Lola,” Venice said. “Her name is Lola.”