Author's note: Chapters from here until a disclosed number will be written using LibreOffice. If you see any abnormal characters, do let me know so I can fix them.
Chapter 7: Lucky and Osama bin Laden infiltrate the Kumsusan Palace of the Sun
Lucky saw Osama enter as dawn broke, though with how tired Lucky had felt, it could have been days until Osama's return. Not enough energy remained for Lucky to stand, at least until a slab of meat hit the ground in front of his nose. Immediately, as though his life depended on it, Lucky tore into the slab, wolfing it down in no time.
Osama watched, quietly, his mind foggy. "We leave at once. I have found a resting place for spirits like Kim Il Sung. The palace, in its great halls, where his body remains displayed for Korea to see his greatness."
"He couldn't have been that great," Lucky grumbled. The hunger pains were stinging his mind so much that, while they were lesser now, it still left his mind in a sharp fog. In the Wild Pack, no one was held with this high of a regard.
The walk to the door was quiet, with the longpaws outside passing them in silence. A few looks might have met Lucky, but they were so far and few between that he could not be certain. "Following a scout of the Kumsusan Palace of the Sun, I concluded that the only way we can get close to the spirit is by joining you with an official government tour. Once you get close to the body, we can begin the negotiations with the spirit."
"And how long do you suppose that will take?" Lucky growled. The pleasant meal did nothing to curve his foul temper; the desire to flee grew with each moment spent. Osama's head turned to face the distant North Korean buildings. His beard blew in the wind as his messy hair and hat shaded his face with mystery.
"Tomorrow morning will be the next tour. You're going to run through the gate and I'll guide you to Kim Il Sung's glass. You only have one shot at it, so either run mad and make it or die trying."
His voice tried to be fierce- commanding, perhaps- but Lucky could not take his image seriously. Until meeting Osama bin Laden, Lucky had never bothered with longpaws unless he could gain something from them. Now? Now he had to obey, like a cruel mirror of his past. The one positive Lucky could say was that Osama never raised his hand.
"Fine. Next morning you'll wake me up?" Lucky asked. Osama led him away from the house. When he stayed quiet, Lucky persisted, "right?"
Osama stared back, his eyes shining with unspoken demands. Lucky's muzzle fell shut, but the message ran through his head clear: The instructions will come with that fateful day. For now, he had to stay back and act as a partner to Osama until the time came.
The rest of the day went by on a whim, with extensive travel around the Palace of the Sun to scout out potential threats. Lucky could be brought in through ghostly magic; a pull of Osama's hands would spin ghost rope that brought Lucky forward. It would break upon Lucky's slightest discomfort, making it useless for long-term tethering.
Oh, Sky-Dogs above, Lucky thought with his muzzle pointed at the cloud-ridden sky, make something happen to take this away, to bring me back to the pack... He had no tricks to escape a ghost of wit which not even the Forest-Dog could match; Osama, on a whim, snapped into place faster than the Swift-Dogs at full speed.
What tricks could Lucky apply to the situation? He thought back to his days as a Lone Dog roaming the streets of the Empty City, and how he survived. From the scarce details, it's clear that Lucky would need to outrun enemies. Perhaps he could take advantage of nearby objects? What about the glass, when Lucky reached it?
The potential outcomes and ideas to overcome circulated throughout his mind. Resting proved a challenge as he and Osama settled in for the night, choosing an isolated hole underneath a river, where the two would sleep for a few winks. At last, with the dawn of the sun, Osama shook Lucky awake, forcing him onto his four paws.
Ahead, the palace loomed with his white walls and immense pillars, each one carefully carved. The time it must've taken to construct such a powerful place could never be guessed by Lucky. His head remained low, his golden fur blowing in the cool breeze. Osama refused him the slightest glare, his attention too fixated on the palace walls. What happened in there could change not only his plan, but Lucky's hope to get back home.
That night, Lucky settled down in the sewer plant, his nose screaming but his muzzle silent. Surrounded by the faint gurgle of sewage water, Lucky drifted into a deep sleep, surrounded by the paws of the night...
"Lucky?" A voice called out to him. When the sheltie-retriever opened his eyes, he saw nothing of the sewer or Osama, but instead the forest where he used to roam. Their great pines cast shadows upon the rocky terrain, from the gentle hills to the harsh pit where the Still-Water Pack lived.
In front of him, the shape of the trees' leaves formed the outline of a dog, whose body was small and brown. His outline seemed to sparkle like the stars under the Moon-Dog's blanket. The white along his snout broke into tiny dots along the edges of his nose.
"Who are you?" Lucky demanded, fur bristling. This was a clear stranger; not a single dog in his life looked like that, aside from the poor dogs who fell victim to The Great Howl. The tiny dog jumped around Lucky, his movement represented by the leaves which shifted their place. He made his way through the trees, jumping to and fro until Lucky had to ponder: Could this be the Forest-Dog?
The idea was ridiculous, but Lucky had learned to drop what he knew. A male dog who took advantage of the forest? It would have to be the Forest-Dog. Who else would visit his dream like so? The dog was the size of a pup but spoke like an adult, with a voice much deeper than he had imaged.
"You know who I am, Lucky. You've identified with me and my wits in the past," the dog said, his image embedded in the trees. When Lucky approached, the Forest-Dog turned tail, ensuring a distance remained between the two. "I've seen your despair and can't let you stay here for long. I want to give you a choice."
Lucky felt a presence force him onto his haunches. "What choice? If you've come to guide me to the Earth-Dog, then you can go. I'll stick with this until I die, if it means I can see my mate and pack again."
The Forest-Dog let Lucky bathe in silence until, at last, he felt the clouds lift and the moonlight flood the small, dark replica of Lucky's home. "I cast my good luck and wits onto you, enough to see every escape away from Osama bin Laden. You have fought hard and well; your old age radiates pain but reward. It is here that I not only give you the Blessing of the Forest-Dog, but also the foresight to see someone more."
"What do you mean?"
"There is a duo who trains as we speak, preparing a battle against Osama. You are well aware of his ulterior motives, aren't you? But, alas, as all-seeing as I am, I cannot tell you right away. What is peace in the world without conflict? If I gave you all the answers, what joy will you get from overcoming it all? What will you have learned when the Earth-Dog takes you, and death reaps the land in your memory and honor?"
Lucky had the urge to make a remark, but the presence of the Forest-Dog proved too sacred to try. He listened on as the Forest-Dog made his closing remarks in the dream world. "You must join forces with the two wizards. The power of the Spirit Dogs, combined with magic and your gathered wits, is the key to stopping the end of the world."
The Forest-Dog called the dream to a close; the time of the palace had come.
The next morning, when Lucky had stirred from the spirit's message, Osama was gone from his sight. Lucky nosed around, picking up faint hues of the stranger that never went far. Each scent trail mixed with the water's horrid smell, creating a fine blur on Lucky's senses. He made his way to the hole from where they entered, assuming Osama was just outside.
He trotted around the outside of the sewer, straying clear of loudcages and longpaws while pressing himself against the buildings. Bustling chatter echoed around as longpaws hurried to their dens, as Lucky had assumed. No ghostly outlines floated around him; Osama had vanished without warning.
Was this a sign that Lucky could roam as he pleased, perhaps back to his worried packmates? The concept was novel; the likelihood remained slim. Gazing around, Lucky sat on his haunches, anticipating the unfortunate arrival of Osama. It came in what felt like a few short seconds but were probably minutes.
"I needed to put away my fursuit," Osama explained, a detail which Lucky had noticed. When Osama introduced himself, he had worn what looked like an animal skin, but only the important parts. As Osama stepped into Lucky's sight, they were not only missing, but had taken his long beard with him. It was shaved off aside from the few bushy inches dangling from his chin.
"What did you need a "'fursuit' for?" Lucky asked as a distraction for the concern etched into his mind. Osama revealed a new spiritual rope and revealed it to Lucky, tying it tightly around his neck.
"That is unimportant," Osama snapped, the question too personal judging from his response. Lucky began to hear new, subtle emotions to Osama's replies as the mission drew near. Paranoia. Concern. Insecurity. And, more concerning of all, a desire for control. "I demand you to stay as quiet and inconspicuous as you can when we approach the building. The whole point of the mission is to get you inside the doors as soon as the people walk on in. Then, once there, you make your way to Kim Il Sung's statue, and I'll take over."
"Why do you need me, of all dogs?" Lucky retaliated, "I know nothing about this place yet have seen dogs in the distance; how am I so special with my nose? Whatever spark you see is long gone; I'm old."
"And so I am, what's your point?" Osama retorted, "I used to blow up fifty million dirt particles per day, and now here I am, talking to a dog in North Korea. Perhaps you ought to learn to stop talking and obey. Isn't that what you're bred for?"
All arguments dropped as Lucky started to follow Osama, head low, towards the Kumsusan Palace of the Sun. Its structure intimidated Lucky from so far away, but even more so up-close. The walls were as pale as death itself; the presence of the Earth-Dog couldn't have been any stronger any place else. Each pillar, each wall, every detail down to the trimming, it all wore the finest work from talented individuals.
A golden fountain was on Lucky's right; a hedge maze looped past that but further down. Longpaws were gathered in the street further down from that, bringing a ghostly feel to the palace. Many more professional-looking longpaws, their hands carrying loudsticks with sharp points, stood in rows just outside the palace doors.
"We can't go over there," Lucky objected, "have you stuffed a stick in your nose? There's death everywhere here."
"Nonsense," Osama bin Laden brushed away Lucky's concerns. "They will step aside when the tourists come through. Speaking of which, go join those tourists right now. They will obsess over you, which will null their concern of being followed by a strange dog. When they enter the Palace of the Sun, tag behind until you near the guards, to which you should merge with the group. This will obscure you from their sights."
"What if it doesn't?"
"I highly doubt it. Americans love a good dog; they prefer retrievers the best. In the worst case, you will have to find the case of Kim Il Sung before you are shot dead. Now come along and meet your tourists; time is of the essence."
Doubt could not stir any stronger as Lucky followed Osama's command, his paws taking him to the group of longpaws accompanied by a well-dressed tour guide. They spoke different than what Lucky was used to, but in his ears, it was all gibberish. The longpaws took notice at once, making strange noises to express their awe as though they've never seen a dog like him before.
Lucky had hands touching his back, head, and ears like never before, creating two opinions of Osama's plan. One screamed for mercy, rambling about how awful it was to be treated like a Leashed-Dog after all Lucky had been through. The second relished the feel, considering it a breath of fresh air and a good moment of peace before the storm. Lucky's eyes glanced over to the palace, a concern brewing.
Perhaps the best way would be to run and find a new path in life, and yet the ghost of Osama would haunt him no matter where he went. His idea fell apart upon recalling the Forest-Dog's message from the all-too-real dream. No, I have to stay here. I have to follow through with this plan and wait for those wizards to come.
The group of longpaws began to move as the fancy one approached the palace. His claws clacking on the hard-stone beneath, Lucky moved just a bit behind, feeling a certain tension rising in the air. It will be fine. You fought Blade; you fought the imposter. The Storm of Dogs was much worse than anything in your life. How can a longpaw den be worse?
Deeper voices mumbled when the group passed the armed longpaws. Lucky remained on-edge, muscles tense to break into a run were the worst to happen. His eyes locked onto one of them; he didn't return his look. The doors closed behind, encasing the group in artificial sunlight.
Silence drowned them all.
Every step echoed, the jumble of sound so strong that Lucky had to keep in-sync to hide his claws' racket. Guards were posed on every inch of wall to the sides. The fancy longpaw had started to speak, captivating the attention of the others as they reached a statue. At the longpaw's presumed command, the group bowed and were instructed to do some sort of gesture to the feet of the statue.
It seemed surreal to see the longpaws act in their own customs. The packs shared stories told to them by their mother-dogs, or perhaps stories of their breeds and beliefs. Longpaws had always ruled with superiority, striking down the land the dogs had roamed, but it was only here that Lucky had an appreciation for their culture. The only shame was that it had to be learned under stressful circumstances.
The guards had not noticed him yet, but their stares made every inch ahead more dangerous than the last. A single slip was all he needed for the violence to be upon him. The longpaws continued to talk in their language of strange sounds, and the crowd moved on. Lucky's eyes darted about; his nose searched for the ghostly smell that Osama had.
In a sudden howl against the echoing air, the guards pointed out Lucky's presence, and in a flurry of noise, charged forward. Lucky swerved to the side, dodging guards as they chased Lucky through the palace. Every sight around him was a blur; survival instincts were forcing him ahead. Somehow, someway, his paws felt the right spot to go, something beyond Lucky's comprehension.
Then, there it was.
Before Lucky, in a room full of guards unaware of the approach unrest, laying in the center, was a coffin. It was covered in clear-stone which had not a speck of dust. Its rims were gold; flowers coated its sides. The longpaw inside was preserved with honor, his face wrinkled but unharmed.
A shadow overlaid the body, casting a green outline onto it. The hue shifted to a clear one when Lucky took notice, but he was already approaching the casket. Immediately, loudsticks were raised, ready to shoot. Lucky felt the ghost pulling him closer, tipping the line on what was on his will and what stood against it.
Lights flickered as Lucky came near; the aim of the guards grew shaky. As Lucky's paws stepped on, he could almost hear the Forest-Dog telling him to go closer, to see and speak with this dead longpaw spirit.
Shots were fired; the room went dark.