Lola lay splayed out on the floor of the rear car, panting heavily. "So … hungry …" she groaned.

"You were warned," Venice scolded. "You’re lucky we were able to catch up with you."

Trees and landscape flew by the windows as the auto-caravan zoomed along. Venice was seated at the dinner table sipping a cup of tea, while Aurora and Rook took up in the car’s corner with Emma and Sants cuddled up and asleep in an opposite corner. Jakea and Betty billowed softly in a pair of rocking chairs on the other end of the car. Amah had occupied herself in front of a large pot of rice atop the stove. "I’ll have some onigiri ready for you in a second," she offered. "It’s been ages since I’ve gotten to make these."

With precision, she molded a handful of rice into a triangular-shaped clump, making an indent in the back with her finger. She inserted a few pieces of roasted fish, closing the rice around them before wrapping the entire thing with a strip of seaweed paper. Within the span of a few minutes, she repeated the same steps several times until she had a plate of several seaweed paper wrapped rice balls.

She plucked one off the plate and tossed it down to Lola. "Here. Try one."

The Buhund jumped up, almost as if possessed, and snatched the item in her jaws. Snarling loudly, she gnashed away at the onigiri until the floor was covered with rice grains and an intact strip of seaweed paper—the fish inside had vanished. She slumped back to the floor, as lifeless as she was before.

Wide-eyed, Amah struggled to find words to react to what she’d just witnessed. She slammed the plate down on the stove and resigned herself to the dinner table next to Venice.

"You’re supposed to eat the entire thing, not just the fish inside," Venice informed the Buhund.

Lola’s tongue extended out from the side of her snout and began lazily attempting to lick up rice grains around her.

"You know that’s not what he was referring to," Jakea chided.

Clattering from the middle car echoed toward them. "Marion, calm down!" Carter’s voice called.

"I can’t find it!" the ex-soldier lamented.

"Calm down," Ruark demanded. "If you keep on like this, your magic will go haywire."

"I wonder what he’s so upset about?" Jakea pondered out loud.

Amah sighed heavily. "If I give you another, will you eat it properly?"

"Maybe," the Buhund mumbled.

Aurora had been humming to herself as she strummed her guitar. Despite seeming mindless at first, the melody she was humming became louder and more exact as she continued. Lola had quickly begun to find the sound annoying. "Why are you making that noise?" she asked.

The musician stopped. "I thought we needed another anthem, so I was writing a song," Aurora explained. "Would you like to hear what I have so far?"

Lola echoed a loud, apathetic huff across the car’s floor.

"Well, I’m playing it anyway."

Taking in a deep breath, Aurora began playing an upbeat melody on her guitar. She strummed away as the melody grew more energetic and began to sing.

When things look bleak and bad stuff’s going on
She runs in to cut through all the gloom
A little hero named Hikaru Lola:
The farm dog who’s gonna save us all from certain doom 

When the odds are slim
And the outlook is grim
She won’t give up
And she won’t give in

She won’t stop
Until she saves everyone
That’s why we all believe in
Lola the Buhund

Lola’s ears perked up and she raised her head. "Why did you only make it about Lola?" Betty inquired. "She’s not the only one putting her life on the line."

"I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her," Aurora replied. "Many of us wouldn’t. Despite what a pill she can be sometimes, she’s what unites us. Plus, the only weapon that can defeat Mikaboh chose her to be its wielder."

"Hey, it let me use it as well," Venice argued.

The Chakram fastened to Lola’s harness lit up with the same familiar, violet glow. "I’ll only take you in a pinch, human. She’s my first choice."

"It’s way too idealistic," Lola grumbled.

Wesley stormed into the rear car and began frantically rummaging through cabinets. "Where is it?" he begged. "I can’t have lost it!"

Carter, Sam, and Ruark rushed into the car behind him. "What are you looking for that’s got you in such a panic?" Carter asked.

Wesley looked to Lola, his eyes desperate and dismayed. "I’m sorry," he whimpered. "I thought I had it on me. Even after Brooks’ brigade confiscated it, I immediately grabbed it and repocketed it after Ruark chased them off."

"What are you talking about?" Lola inquired.

"The silver lock pick! I can’t find it anywhere!" he replied.

All of the silverware in the kitchen flew from where it was sitting and clung to Wesley like a magnet. "This is why I told you to calm down!" Ruark scolded. "You’re very lucky none those forks or knives stabbed you by accident."

#

In a shadowy glade deep in a forest many miles away from the Broodrail’s wreckage, the normal peace and quiet had been broken by Brooks and Alessa arguing. Reanja stood by, unconcerned with their squabble. "We would have had them if you hadn’t let that old codger restrain you!"Alessa insisted.

"I was under the impression that you getting beaten by a girl with a plant was what put us at a disadvantage," Brooks retorted.

Reanja had begun fiddling with a small, red box she’d pulled from her pocket as she drifted in and out of their argument. "You were both overwhelmed," she remarked. "We all were. I suspect that being a Boglord doesn’t provide quite the edge that Mikaboh claimed."

You’re so quick to doubt us, dearie, Mikaboh’s voice called across the glade. It’s true we did not anticipate that weapon, but we have not lost yet.

The three Boglords looked around in bewilderment, trying to trace the source of the voice. A tiny lock of black hair softly floated down from above, touching down on the grass without a sound. It stood motionless for a moment before it began to pulsate, the mass of hair expanding to a familiar shape—Mikaboh’s inverted hairstyle. As it reached its normal size, the Empty One’s face surfaced out of the hair, scowling sharply. A single hand extended from underneath his face, allowing him to move around. We will be back to our old self shortly. However, it is worth reconsidering our approach …

"You mean like destroying that wretched Buhund as I suggested?" Reanja interjected.

The doge-kind is trivial. If we remembered our original name, undoing everything would be so much simpler, the Old One replied.

Reanja shook her head. She reached into her pocket and retrieved a glowing silver sliver.

"What is that?" Alessa inquired.

"A silver lock pick: something I managed to swipe off of that bumbling oath, Wesley," Reanja replied. "He was useless as a guardsman, but it looks as if he was finally of some value to me."

She jammed the lock pick into the red box’s keyhole, twisting it violently. The pick shattered into a puff of sliver dust as the lock came undone. "I suppose I was a touch too rough with it."

"What’s your fascination with that box?" Brooks interrogated.

The witch ignored him and opened it. Its only contents were a single, rolled-up piece of parchment.

"Well that’s disappointing," Alessa remarked.

Reanja picked up the parchment, unfurled it, and began reading it out loud. "Within the Sealed Spire of Cascadia’s Forbidden Plains, within the vertical labyrinth lies the key to unlocking the wondrous and the terrible … from a locked door to a long-forgotten memory, the Key of Amon will unlock both the literal and abstract."

She looked to Mikaboh to see his scowl had turned into a wide grin. "There’s a map of the labyrinth on the scroll."

The Empty One’s grin grew even wider. Then let us depart for this Cascadia.

Mikaboh’s cackle boomed throughout the forest.

Next Chapter: (Book 3) Cover Page