With no way to continue toward their destination, the group made camp for the night within the disabled auto-caravan. As soon as the sun started over the horizon, Lola was roused by the sounds of Doug attempting to slip away from the caravan. With little guilt about it, she alerted the others—forcing the Sage to divulge his plans.

It seemed to be a simple solution; they’d find a nearby town and see what supplies they could salvage so he could recreate the missing parts of the caravan’s engine. He’d planned to undergo this task by himself, leaving the remainder of the group to watch the paralyzed vehicle. After some deliberation, they had persuaded him to amend his plans and take a small group with him.

Lola naturally volunteered herself, already having grown bored with staying in the motionless caravan. Venice, Aurora, Rook, and Jakea volunteered shortly after, Amah insisting on filling the final spot in his group. Sam tagged along regardless of Doug’s objections.

The caravan had stalled in the middle of a grassy clearing, speckled with a one or two errant trees every few clicks. A worn path seemed to guide them out of the clearing and through the flatlands as they wandered away from the cavalcade.

From time to time Doug would throw a single seed down to the ground. Curious as to why Lola paused on one occasion to examine the seed he’d dropped. Before she could even sniff it, the seed erupted into a fully-grown, blue iris flower. Surprised, yet not shocked, the Buhnd turned from the plant and continued onward with the group. "Why are you planting flowers?" she inquired as she matched pace with the old Sage.

"I’m putting them down to mark our path," Doug elaborated. "It’ll help us find our way back."

"What if something grazes along here and eats them?"

"Irises are incredibly poisonous," Jakea cited. "Most cows, goats, sheep, and deer have enough sense not to eat them."

"That and this variety doesn’t grow around here. It makes them easier to spot," the old Sage concluded.

"Where are we, anyway? You seem familiar with this place," Venice remarked.

Doug continued trekking forward. "Somewhere in Zemya," he responded, frustrated. "We were about halfway through the country before we got stopped. Do you kids have any further questions?"

"Why was I able to run so fast?" Lola solicited, oblivious to the venom in his words.

He let out a loud groan. "Exposure to magic has probably awakened your ’Unnatural Gift,’" the grey-haired man explained.

"It sounds like you just made that term up," Lola scoffed.

"An Unnatural Gift is an ability displayed by a material being that is derived from their innermost essence," Amah asserted. "The term’s been around for thousands of years."

"Correct," Doug confirmed. "Such abilities usually awaken when one is exposed to moderate amounts of magical energy, usually at a young age. I believe thirty is the cut-off age for humans. Either way, such abilities vary on a case-by-case basis."

Lola continued walking alongside him. "So, that’s why I can run so fast? I’ve only done it once, though."

"Some aren’t able to use their Unnatural Gift freely when it first surfaces," the Sage answered. "Over time, however, an individual typically learns to control whatever ability they’ve been given with ease. I’m certain you’ll all find uses for your new gifts."

The Buhund looked to her friends, all of them listening to Doug’s words intently. "Sam’s ability came about when he was barely a month old," he elaborated. "His gift manifested as the ability to temporarily turn himself to stone. His favorite use of it was to turn himself into a rolling boulder. Imagine dealing with a puppy capable of doing that."

"Roaron," Sam warbled.

Doug ignored the Parkahund’s comment as he continued walking. "In your case, such a gift manifested as the ability to run at incredible speeds," he continued. "Venice’s gift manifested as hyper-dexterity—the ability to maneuver his hands with remarkable speed and precision—which I suppose fits for a carpenter."

The young man held out his hands in front of his face, glancing at them curiously. "I suppose it follows that such gift would surface after I stopped using my craft to earn a living," he huffed.

"By the same logic, Aurora’s gift allows her to affect the environment around her with the music she produces," Doug added.

"And what of my newfound flight capabilities?" Rook demanded.

"It’s your Unnatural Gift without question, but I’m clueless to its origin," the Sage responded. "Unless, of course, you’re related to the Raven."

"I’m his grandson," the rooster divulged.

"Small world, then," Doug remarked.

Lola trotted up to Jakea, who had become quiet amidst their discussion. "Do you have an Unnatural Gift?" she inquired.

The young woman rolled her eyes. "I do, but it’s not a very reliable one," she answered. "I supposedly have the power of persuasion, but it only works one out of ten times when I try to use it. That said, I don’t use it too often."

"So you can make people do things?" Aurora inquired.

"Not just people," Jakea elaborated. "I can persuade doors to unlock, plants to grow, and so forth. It still doesn’t work, typically."

"Betty and I told you it’d become more reliable if you used it more often," Doug scolded.

"I don’t like using it. It violates the free will of whatever I use it on!" the young lady snapped.

The grey-haired man sighed. "Fine. Have it your way."

Lola retook her position walking along the Sage. "And what of your Unnatural Gift?"

He held his walking stick a micrometer from her face. Several leaves and blossoms grew from the wooden staff. "Let’s just say I’ve always had a way with plants," he hinted before withdrawing the rod from in front of her face. "Anyone for a change of topic?"

The Buhund side-stepped to walk alongside Amah at his remark. "So, what’s the entire history between you and Mikaboh?" she asked.

Brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face, the robed girl bit the tip of her index finger as she pondered her response. "You’re aware that Ho and Shi are not the original High Spirits of the Stars, correct?"

"I wasn’t, actually," Lola commented.

"When the Spirit Order formed in the primordial days, several Spirits manifested from places unknown rather than being born from ascended material beings," Amah elaborated. "Mikaboh was among one of them, and he was given dominion over the stars. Along with that, he was given dominion over the individual spirits of every star in the night sky. He was strict as a High Spirit but fair. Eventually, he became crueler to his underlings, bit by bit.

"As time moved forward, he became visibly disgusted with the world around him … both the material and spirit worlds. When that happened, he delved into the magic of the Old Ones."

"Who are the Old Ones?" Venice questioned. "I remember Reanja mentioning them as well."

"They were ancient beings of Chaos and Emptiness who existed in the Void that stood before Light and Darkness sundered Nothingness to begin our current Universe," the former Sun Spirit answered.

Lola continued walking as she attempted to process what she’d just heard. "What?"

"It’s complicated," Amah stated. "However, small fragments of their universe still exist within our world. Many have used these bits and pieces of their world to gain access to their magic—Mikaboh and Reanja merely being two examples."

The Buhund persisted in her endeavor to make sense of the information she’d been given. "So he used the Old Ones’ magic to create the Bogba’el?" she attempted to clarify.

Amah shook her head. "As I said, it’s complicated. The Old Ones’ magic was merely one piece of that horrifying puzzle," she replied. "He persuaded the High Spirit of Dreams, Morpheus, to allow him passage into the World of Sleep. While he was there, he stole crystalline Nightmares from the Sea of Id … a deep ocean surrounding the dream world, made from negative emotions of dreamers. He smuggled them back into the material world and fused them with fragments of concentrated chaos to create the Bogba’el.

"By that point, he’d lost any semblance of his sanity. The Spirit Order mustered every ounce of strength we had to seal him beneath the planet. His creation, however, escaped and multiplied."

"Couldn’t you have sealed them in the same way you did Mikaboh?" Aurora asked.

"They’re far slipperier than him," the mortal Sun Spirit defended. "Trust me, we tried."

Doug held his walking stick up to halt the group. "Not to interrupt your insightful conversation, but it appears we’ve found a town."

A town cobbled together from numerous houses of greyed wood was visible a short distance from where they stood. The group quickened their pace down the road and made their way into the center of the town. Very few residents of the small town roved the streets, none of them bothering to give the group so much as a glance.

In the center of the tiny town stood a stocky, old man sweeping dust from the beaten cobblestone street. "Excuse me, my good man," Doug greeted him. "Can you tell us where we are?"

The portly geezer looked up, brushing the dust from his thinning, white hair. "Sorry, I not speak Commontongue so well," he replied. "This is Otvir, I am mayor. Not big attraction for tourists to Zemya. We not have many visitors."

"I can’t imagine why," Lola grumbled as she peered at the dilapidated buildings that made up the town-stead.

"We’re just passing through," the Sage explained. "Our caravan is in need of iron. Do you know where we might find some in this town?"

The old man gave out a hoarse chuckle. "Feh, in this town?" he replied snidely. "We look like general store to you? What iron townsfolk have, they not give up easily."

"Where are your townsfolk?" Jakea inquired, noting the barren streets.

"All of them preoccupied dealing with outbreak of miracle children," the mayor elaborated. "Too many childless couples in this town. Sanity wore thin years ago, if asking me."

Doug’s eyes widened at the geezer’s remark. "Pardon me, but what do you mean by miracle children?"

The mayor stopped sweeping. "All of them claiming that something come to life and now they have child. Like fairy tale about old man who get son when wooden puppet come to life," he explained. "As said before, sanity wore thin years ago."

A creak sounded as the door to a nearby home crept open, a young couple—husband and wife—emerging from inside it. The wife held a swaddled bundle in her arms, smiling to her husband as they exited the home. "A walk will be good for him, you’ll see," she reassured.

"See, there is one now," the mayor pointed. "With child, it looks like."

Lola noticed a small, root-like tendril poke out from the bundle. It twitched in place as sounds reminiscent of a human infant emanated from the swaddled mass. The hair on her back instinctively stood on end. She growled deeply before bellowing out a howling bark.

Sam joined in the clamor as the young couple cringed in terror at the agitated dogs. "That’s not a child," Amah groaned.

Doug motioned for the two dogs to silence themselves, and the barking subsided. "Please tell me you haven’t fed it," he demanded.

In bewilderment, the couple looked to one another before turning back to him. "My husband found him in the woods this morning," the wife remarked. "We haven’t had a chance."

"Mother, I’m hungry. Feed me," a small voice called from the bundle.

"Don’t listen to it," Doug instructed. "As much as you want a child, you must understand that thing isn’t one. It will never be a real child."

"I can be a real boy if you feed me," the voice replied. "So hungry. Feed me."

The mass’ swaddling receded, accompanied by sounds of chewing. In the woman’s arms was a brown, ugly tree root that was vaguely the shape of a human infant. Its mouth of thorn-like teeth were reducing the swaddling to rags which it was swallowing in lieu of food.

With a shriek, the young woman dropped the creature. She and her husband jumped back from where it had landed.

Undeterred, the monstrosity began crawling weakly toward a nearby Lola. "Feed me!" it shrieked.

"Doug, what do I do?" the Buhund panicked.

"It’s weak in this state," the Sage replied. "Just smash its head with your paw!"

As instructed, the dog lunged forward and drove her left paw down onto the root-monster’s head. An unimpressive squish sounded as a spatter of green ichor oozed along the street where the creature’s head once was. Lola proceeded to neurotically wipe her paws clean against the unsullied cobblestone. "I just clean there," the mayor protested. "What is thing?"

"That was a parasitic mandrake," Doug explained. "They’re known for numerous devious schemes to get food and prey. Pretending to be an infant for a childless couple is one of their older tricks."

Venice knelt down beside Lola, curiously examining the remains of the mandrake. "What happens when you feed them?" he questioned.

Screams echoed from the other end of the tiny town. An older couple could be seen running from their home as a mass of branch-like tendrils pursued them out the door. "Usually that," Amah rejoined.

Doug looked around at the surrounding homes. "Dare I ask if anyone has a gardening spade I can borrow?"

The husband of the young couple scrambled toward a wheelbarrow by his house’s front stoop. He retrieved a long-handled, flat-bladed shovel from behind it and quickly relinquished it to the Sage. "Thank you, lad," he rejoiced. "I’ll have it back to you in a tick."

A much larger mandrake burst out of the home after the fleeing couple. It shambled along with a complete lack of grace as its roots carelessly pulled it down the road, its thorny mouth agape. "Mother, Father, come back and feed me!" the walking horror demanded.

Doug dashed ahead past the old man and woman in flight from the root monster. With astounding accuracy, he drove the shovel’s blade directly into the mandrake’s stomach. As the tool pierced its body the creature split in half like a piece of wood being sundered by an ax. From its interior rained numerous items—several whole loaves of bread, an old iron stove, wooden chairs, a dining table, and one very angry-looking billy goat.

The buck bleated in frustration, before head-butting the old Sage and running off toward the opposite end of town. "I see this one never learned to chew," Doug noticed as he rubbed his bruised hip.

Amah turned to the young couple. "These things are all over the town?"

The husband gave a shrug. "I’m guessing so," he replied.

"We haven’t exactly looked in everyone’s homes," the wife added.

"Well, either way, we’ll need more gardening equipment," Doug declared.

#

Betty poked around the brush, impatiently searching for any type of kindling. In the time since sunrise that she’d spent rummaging, she’d found only a few sticks worth sticking in the rear car’s wood stove. Emma had done little to help, only serving to be underfoot every time she turned around. The large dog had succeeded in accidentally tripping her numerous times. "Emma, doggone it! Watch where yer sticking your fat rear!" the old woman scolded.

The mutt snorted loudly in response. "Try puttin’ that nose of yours to good use and find me some wood," Betty ordered. "I need somethin’ to run that blasted stove. Otherwise, we’ll have to eat our food uncooked and freeze during the nights."

Emma began sniffing around the nearby brush in an attempt to satiate the old Sage. Her nose came across a familiar pair of sandals, and she looked up to see Carter had returned. His arms were full of numerous pieces of wood, varying in size from small to large. "Will these work?" he asked, his question directed at Betty.

"Perfect!" she proclaimed. "Handsome and resourceful. Who would’ve thought?"

The former guard captain blushed at her comment, almost dropping the bundle of sticks as he became slightly flustered.

"You could never take a compliment, could you?" Wesley’s voice teased from behind the brush. He stepped out, swatting burrs and leaves from his shorts. Under one of his arms was a medium-sized stump. "I found this weird-shaped stump back there," the retired soldier remarked, holding up the log. "You think it could work for the stove?"

Betty and Emma stared blankly at the object as he presented it to them. At first glance, it appeared to be a section of an old tree stump. Its top appeared to be a root that had been severed in a way that it almost looked like a head, while the remaining parts seemed vaguely like a pair of arms and legs.

Emma let out a low groan at the sight of the piece of wood. "I can certainly say I’d love to burn it," Betty remarked.

"What? It’s a little damp, but I’m sure it’ll dry out," Wesley miffed.

The stump’s limbs began twitching. "Daddy, feed me," it pled.

Wesley let out a loud, clipped shriek as he threw the object to the ground. Visibly struggling to get up, the stump began reaching for him. "Daddy, feed me and I’ll become a real boy," it continued.

A vivid, horrifying image flashed to the forefront of Wesley’s mind; a flowing mass of yellow eyes and dark matter bellowing within a small, dimly lit home. Familiar screams blared in his ears.

Emma lurched at the creature, her large paws slamming into the back of its head. Plant-green slime spattered across the earth beneath it. She let out a triumphant snort as she wiped her paws clean on the grass. "Good girl, Emma," Betty praised.

"What in Lumea was that?" Carter demanded.

"Parasitic Mandrake," the old Sage answered. "They tend to enjoy fooling humans or other animals to get enough food to grow monstrous and prey on them."

Wesley was standing perfectly still, his eyes still wide yet visibly devoid of focus. Softly yet audibly his breaths remained rapid and panicked.

"Good grief, are you going to be all right?" Betty asked in concern.

"Marion, snap out of it," Carter demanded.

"Sorry," he apologized weakly. "I’m a bit shaken. It’s fine." The retired soldier turned back toward the caravan in the distance. "I think I’ll go lay down for a bit."

Betty turned a worried glance to Carter as Wesley departed. She stood in silence until he was out of earshot. "What was that all about?" she inquired from the former captain.

Carter tensed at the question. "When the skies went empty, we both abandoned our posts. In the midst of the Bogba’el attacking our home town, Marion and I had to get to his family. We were too late though: it ate them right in front of him," he answered. "It’s been years, and he’s fine most of the time, but there’s no telling what will trigger him. When those memories resurface he loses any ability to function."

The old Sage’s face turned ghostly white. "He witnessed it?"

Emma let out a sympathetic groan. "No kidding, cher," Betty agreed. "It’s no wonder you two were so reluctant to talk about any of that. I feel awful fer bringin’ it up to begin with."

"It was a horrible time for us both, but it is what it is," Carter commented. "There’s no use in fretting over it."

He turned away and began back toward the caravan, the bundle of wood under his arm.

Emma moved to follow him only to be stopped by Betty setting a foot in her path. "Let them be, Emma Lou," the old woman advised. "We’ve already pried enough, and this isn’t our business to mend."

The mutt stopped in mid-step and sat down as she watched Carter return to the vehicle. She let out a low whine.

#

A pile of roots and large wood chips had formed in the town square in the short hour they’d been in Otvir. Numerous assorted household items and foodstuffs littered the road around it. The town’s mayor stood to the side of it, grumbling in Old Zemyanian at the sight of the mess.

The entire group had been equipped with pieces of gardening equipment shortly after Doug had destroyed the first mature mandrake. In very little time the Sage had knocked on every door in the small town and rounded up every one of the parasitic monsters from the residents. Some had barely grown from the tiny root-shaped husks they had started out as, while others had managed to gain enough mass to be the size of a small wood stove. Many of the townsfolk protested when initially approached, but gladly complied when the old Sage explained the true nature of the mandrakes in their homes. Several did so in tears.

Doug had slain the majority of the creatures, Jakea and Amah occasionally managing to do away with some of the smaller specimens. Lola had been reluctant to attack another one of the creatures since her previous, messy encounter with the parasitic mandrake that had been kept by the younger couple.

"Is that all of them?" Aurora inquired in exasperation.

Doug looked around at the gathering crowd of townspeople, then to Aurora and Venice. "Probably," he replied. "You know this would go quicker if you two bothered to help."

"You gave me a watering can! What am I supposed to do it?" the musician protested.

"And you gave me a leaf rake," Venice added. "What good is a rake in this situation?"

"A rake’s plenty good," Doug interjected. He pointed to the pile of mandrake remains. "Get to raking this rubbish out to the town limits."

The carpenter examined the mound. "All of it?" he pled.

"Someone’s gotta do it, and it’s bloody well not going to be me," the Sage demanded. "Not after splitting the lot of these monstrosities into pieces. Both of you, rake!"

Aurora held up the rusty old watering can she’d previously been equipped with. "You can’t be serious. With this?" she sighed.

Lola rolled her eyes at the spectacle they were creating as the three continued arguing. Her attention was torn away from the argument by gasps and stifled screams from the crowd of townsfolk around them. She turned a glance, her ears fully raised as she examined what was lurching toward them.

A larger mandrake—roughly the same height as Venice—had made its way through the center of the crowd. The monster moved forward with a pitiful limp, reaching out in front of itself as it hobbled onward. "Chownyk, come back!" an older woman’s voice called. "You bad boy! Must come back and eat your turnips!"

"Cannibalism," monster murmured. "No more turnips. Need meat."

A pair of empty knotholes in its face caught sight of the young Buhund in the center of the town square. Its face lit up as a thorny grin stretched across its barky face. "So Hungry. Feed me."

The monster quickened its pace as it shambled forward. Lola folded her ears back and ground her fangs in response. "I’m so sick of hearing those two words!" she exclaimed. "Would it kill you stupid monsters to work on your vocabulary?"

She took in a deep breath before speeding forward. After passing half of the gap between the creature and herself, she lunged into the air. The world around her seemed to slow to a crawl momentarily as she poised her nails directly in front of herself. Without thinking, she twisted her body as she flew through the air. Her twists quickly became a rolling motion that accelerated until the world around her was nothing more than a spinning blur.

The spinning stopped when she thudded to the cobblestone in a daze. Members of the crowd looked down at her in astonishment. "My Chownyk!" the woman’s voice from before lamented. "What have you done to him, you savage beast?"

Lola turned her head to see that she was directly behind the parasitic mandrake. A large, clean hole gaped from its midsection where wood had once been. Numerous cracks spread from the opening, rapidly fracturing across the creature’s body until it finally shattered into a pile of mulch.

Her group rushed over to her. "You drilled a hole clean through it!" Venice exclaimed. "That was amazing!"

An older woman angrily pushed her way out of the crowd. Short and stocky, her hair concealed by a brown handkerchief; her eyes would’ve appeared more furious if they weren’t nearly consumed by fat and folds of her face. "That beast killed my Chownyk!" she protested. "It needs to be destroyed!"

"That wasn’t a child, ma’am," Doug insisted. "It was a parasitic mandrake. The ruddy thing would’ve eaten you alive if you’d kept feeding it!"

The old woman slapped him without hesitation. "How dare you take my miracle away!" she agonized. "Chownyk was taken from me by the red fever outbreak last year! I had him back! Why did you take him away?"

The Sage shook off the crone’s assault as the rest of the group gathered defensively around Lola. "That was not your child!" Doug reaffirmed. "It was a monster pretending to be a child. It was going to eat you! The dead do not come back to life! Ever!"

Fighting back tears, the woman backed away from the Sage before breaking into a round of sobs, muffled as she buried her face in her hands.

"Red fever?" Lola inquired.

"It’s a rare illness that tends to break out in smaller communities," Doug elaborated. "We haven’t had a case of it in Prithvi within the past two hundred years, but it still pops up in other areas from time to time. Granted I don’t know much about it, but I’ve heard that it has a high fatality rate for human children."

The Buhund looked at townsfolk, taking stock of the mournful expressions on their faces. "So, all of the children in this town …" she uttered.

The wife of the young couple from before stepped forward, putting her hand on the shoulder of the sobbing old crone. "If you travel past the west end of our town, you’ll see the graves," she explained. "They’re all laid to rest there."

Her husband stepped next to her. "It’s been about a year, but you must understand that grief isn’t something we can move past so easily," he added.

Amah stepped forward to meet the young couple and the old woman. "I’m sorry for your loss," she consoled. "However, do you really think your children would want you to live on in such sorrow?"

The townspeople looked away, the dull pain in their hearts visible in their eyes.

"Dealing with tragedy is never easy, but you can’t let it keep you from living your lives forever," Amah continued. "Your hearts may break, but the world continues forward. As much as it may pain you, you cannot stay immobilized by your past forever. You must not stop living, even in spite of what you’ve lost. You must move on with your lives."

"And what would you know of loss?" the old woman retorted. "You and your group of witches and talking dogs … what have you lost to think you can tell us to forget our grief?"

Amah let out a heavy sigh as Lola stepped between her and the old woman. "Never you mind," she dictated. "She makes a valid point. What would your children think of you if they saw what we just saved you from?"

"And how do you suggest we move on?" the old crone continued.

"If its children you’re wanting, there is orphanage in next town over that need homes for refugee children from Terra and Erde borders after last Bogba’el attack," the mayor suggested. "Seems more sensible than taking in talking stumps as children."

The crowd clamored in disapproval. "Those foreign mongrels?" the old woman exclaimed. "Absolutely not!"

Lola instinctively shot a glance back to Venice. His eyes were alit with rage by the woman’s comment. "And why are they not good enough for you?" he asked angrily. "Their lives have been shaped by tragedy just like yours."

The old woman’s eyes widened at the carpenter’s comments. "I was just like those ’foreign mongrels’ you’re too good for," he fumed. "I spent my entire childhood in an orphanage in Prithvi … day in and day out waiting for someone to adopt me, but no one ever did. I wouldn’t have cared if my parents were Prithvian, Terran, or otherwise so long as I had a family."

Lola grinned smugly at the old crone as she stood silenced by Venice’s words. "Perhaps you should think twice before you disregard them for not being born in your land," he concluded.

Doug held up his walking stick in front of the carpenter. "Enough," he wearied. "You’ve made your point." The Sage lowered the staff and repositioned it to lean against it. "Not to seem insensitive, but we need to discuss payment."

The crowd let out another round of disapproving cries. "Now, now, it’s nothing big," Doug beseeched. "I just want that cast iron stove on the other end of the pile of mandrake remains—" As the Sage turned to the pile he noticed all of the mandrake remains had disappeared, although the household items and foodstuffs were still present. "Where in blazes did they go?" he questioned.

Jakea looked from side to side before meeting his glance. "I persuaded them to mulch themselves up outside the town limits," she answered. "I’m honestly surprised it worked."

"Smart girl," he remarked before turning back to the crowd. "So, the stove?"

The townspeople looked to one another momentarily. "Yeah, fine," the husband of the younger couple said. "Just get out of our town."

Doug twirled his walking stick triumphantly with a smirk. He turned to Lola and the group. "It looks like we’re mobile again."

Next Chapter: (Book 2) Chapter 06 - The Rite of the Sages