Broken Spells

by D. W. Moneypenny

  “Actually we’re looking for Terrance Martin. He should be expecting us,” Diana said.

  “He’s in the kitchen, patching up one of the cooks. A real Iron Chef, that one,” the waitress said. “You’re welcome to go into the back if you like.” She pointed to a set of swinging doors behind the far end of the counter, turned and walked in that direction. When they got to that end of the counter, she held open a low swinging door with one hand and indicated the kitchen doors with the other. They entered the kitchen.

  Two burly cooks leaned over large smoldering griddles flanked by deep fryers. When one of them looked up, Diana said, “We’re looking for Terrance.”

  The cook pointed a spatula past a chrome prep table to a passageway that ran around the walk-in freezer flanking the rear of the kitchen. “Back in the break room or the office, not sure which. Either way, it’s back there.”

  Mara could feel the grease in the air settling on her skin as they navigated around the prep table and turned into the small hallway. On their right was an open doorway with light streaming out. They could hear voices coming from inside.

  “There you go. Some antibiotic and a bandage and you are good as new. Though it made a mess, the cut was pretty superficial. Back to work now,” said a pot-bellied man with a salt-and-pepper beard.

  The young man sitting in front of him holding up a bandaged hand looked uncertain. “You sure it don’t need stitches? There was an awful lot of blood.”

  “Boy, I patched up hundreds of injuries as a medic in the army. You’ll be fine as long as you focus on chopping the onions and not your fingers. Off you go.” The man replaced a roll of gauze in the large metal case of medical supplies opened on the table in the corner of the breakroom as the younger man left and squeezed by Diana and the others on his way to the kitchen.

  “Mr. Martin?” Diana asked as they entered.

  “Yeah?” He flipped the metal clasps on the side of the case and turned to them.

  “I’m Diana Lantern. Ned Pastor told us that you might be able to give us some information about how to find the Arboretum of the Elements.”

  His gaze swept over the group, assessing them. “Come on in and have a seat. Let me get rid of this, and we can have a talk.”

  They sat at a round table in the middle of the room while watching Mr. Martin heave the large medical kit off the table and sling it into a cabinet along the wall. Turning to them, he grabbed a chair on the way to their table and sat a short distance away since the table was too small for all five of them.

  “I assume, since you don’t know where it is, you haven’t been invited out to the Arboretum,” he said.

  “Is that a problem?” Mara asked.

  “Not my problem. Just an observation.”

  “We noticed your sign out front welcoming Tran. What’s that all about?” she asked.

  “A few months back, when the Coven moved out this way, one of the waitresses suggested we post something on the sign to let them know they were welcome here. A little marketing to boost anemic sales. Acolytes have to eat too, you know. Anyway, I thought welcoming a coven to the neighborhood might scare off the regulars, so we settled on welcoming Tran. Now we’re stuck with it.”

  “Why?” Sam asked.

  “Whenever we change the sign, the acolytes change it back. They break into the shed out back where we keep the letters and repost it. I didn’t want any trouble, so I told everyone just to leave it,” Martin said.

  “Did it help your business? Do the acolytes come in to eat?” Mara asked.

  “Occasionally. Less so now than before. Since they built the Arboretum, they spend most of their time out in the swamp.”

  “Can you tell us how to get out to the Arboretum?” Diana asked.

  “You folks realize the swamp is pretty much a lawless region, cut off from civilization in more ways than one. No cell phone signals reach out there, and, even if you could call for help, none of the local authorities will go. You can’t call the cops or for help if you get hurt,” Martin said.

  “We have no choice. We believe they are holding my daughter,” Diana said.

  Mr. Martin nodded, seeming to understand. Standing, he returned to the cabinet and removed what looked like a thick brochure. Unfolding it to reveal a large four-foot-wide map, he approached their table and spread it out before them. With a thick finger, he pointed to the narrow state road they had taken east from Oregon City.

  “This is where we are now,” he said. Moving his finger farther east, it crossed over a point labeled Welches and continued. “You drive past town and continue on this road for about three miles. On the right, you’ll see a grove of apple trees—not big enough to be an orchard—and an old dilapidated farmhouse. Across the street, you’ll notice the foliage getting denser—that’s the edge of the swamp. Keep going for about three hundred yards, and you’ll see an old cinder-block building about the size of a shed or garage. That’s an old water-pumping station used to control flooding back when the floodwaters used to come this far. On the backside, a gravel road leads into the swamp. It only goes maybe a hundred feet beyond the building, and then it turns into a trail. You’ll have to leave your car on the side of the road back there and hike into the swamp.”

  “How far away is the Arboretum?” Ping asked.

  “I have never been out there myself. We’ve only heard rumors about where it was built, but there’s only one place you could safely build a structure in the swamp that would survive when the rivers crest in the spring.”

  “You’re not absolutely sure where it’s located?” Mara asked.

  “Unless they built it in the branches of the trees, there’s only one place it could be. See? Most people think the swamp is a bowl-shaped flood zone that fills up every spring when the rivers overrun. Actually it’s shaped more like a doughnut—a circular plain of lower-lying land with a distinct rise of higher terrain at the center. The Arboretum has to be on the higher land, or it would be inundated come spring.”

  “Okay, where’s this doughnut hole?”

  Mr. Martin dragged his finger to the left from the road on the map through a featureless green area for a distance that struck Mara as significant. “It’s about twenty-five miles from the pumping station. Like I told your friend Ned, my best guess is that it would take about three days to hike, given the terrain and allowing reasonable time for rest. I’m assuming a well-worn trail was established by the Coven acolytes during construction and with their foot-traffic since.”

  “You assume,” Mara said.

  “We know a trail leads into the swamp,” he said. “The only question is how well-worn it is, and if it actually leads to the Arboretum. Most folks think it does, since nothing else is out there.”

  “We’re taking a lot on faith here.” Mara glanced at Ping.

  “That’s true, but what Mr. Martin says makes sense. And what alternative do we have?” Ping looked at him. “Do you have any further information or guidance about the swamp that might be helpful?”

  Pointing to the map, he said, “The trail may grow thin or meander the deeper you get into the swamp. Broadly speaking, you’ve got the White River to your east—your right side—and the Snake River to your west—your left side. If you hike forward and never cross a river, you’ll eventually hit the doughnut hole. You’ll know you’re getting close when the land begins to rise instead of slope downward. It won’t be obvious because of all the overgrowth, but you should feel it in your ankles as you walk.”

  “Twenty-five miles? Jeez. Can’t you just pop us over to the Arboretum or something?” Sam asked.

  While Mara glared at him, Mr. Martin frowned and asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Sam doesn’t listen half the time. Of course we can’t just pop into the Arboretum. Didn’t you hear him say the road ends at the pumping station?”

  Martin was about to ask another question when a voice from the kitchen called to him. He held up a finger and said, “I’ll be back in one minute.”

 
After he left, Mara turned to her brother, “Try to restrain yourself, at least sometimes. If we have to explain my abilities and where we come from to everyone we meet, we’ll never get anything accomplished.”

  “I just asked—”

  “We can’t pop into the Arboretum because I have no idea where it is. We may not know where it is well enough to even hike there,” she said. “Let’s just not talk about popping into places when we’re talking to people outside the family. Agreed?”

  Mr. Martin returned and said, “Now, where were we?”

  Diana stood and held out a hand. “We were just about to be on our way. Thank you for your help and advice.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Diana parked her Ford Edge SUV alongside the road leading into the dense swamp about a hundred feet beyond the cinder-block pumping station, tucked under a large tree that looked like a weeping willow with purplish pine needles for leaves. Sam ducked when one of its limbs swayed toward his head as he stood glaring into the back of the vehicle’s hatchback, stuffed with camping equipment, backpacks and supplies.

  “We aren’t seriously considering carrying all this stuff for twenty-five miles through the swamp, are we?” he asked.

  “It won’t carry itself, and we need food, water and shelter for the next three days,” Diana said. “Unless, of course, you want to sleep in the open, forage for food and drink swamp water.”

  He glanced at his sister. “Wouldn’t we make better time if you just popped back here for the heavy gear when we needed it? We could move faster and farther each day if we carried what we needed for that day’s hike, maybe just a little food and water.”

  “There you go with the popping stuff again. You’re concerned about efficiency, not your back, right?” Mara asked.

  “What? No strangers are around to hear your secrets. Why can’t we be efficient while giving my back a break?”

  “What do you guys think?” she asked Ping and Diana.

  “We would make quicker progress if we didn’t have to carry the heavy items each day. It may also be advantageous not to be weighed down with heavy packs if we encounter acolytes or bowraiths along the way,” Ping said.

  “That makes sense, but let’s each carry enough basics—food and water—to hike back to the car if we get separated. It might be inconvenient not to have everything if that happens, but it wouldn’t be life-threatening,” Diana said.

  “Okay, let’s load up the basics, and I’ll retrieve the rest when we set up camp each night,” Mara said.

  Less than half an hour later, each carrying a light pack of supplies, they headed out on the rough road of parallel tire tracks which soon faded into a single path that wound between two large trees and disappeared into thick foliage. Ping and Sam had hiked ahead with Ginger tagging along while Mara and Diana trailed behind. When the flora grew so thick they couldn’t see each other any longer, Sam turned and called back to the women. “You want us to wait or go ahead?”

  “Go ahead,” Mara said. “I want to see if Ginger can pick up Mara’s trail. If I’m too close, I think I’ll be a distraction.”

  Sam nodded, and he and Ping continued on the path, disappearing into the brush.

  “I hope Ginger can catch her scent. That would make me feel more confident that we’re not on a wild goose chase,” Mara said.

  “You’re a lot like my Mara,” Diana said, adjusting the straps on her backpack as she walked alongside.

  “How so?”

  “You question everything, doubt everything, until it is proven to your satisfaction. You take very little for granted.”

  “I guess that’s true. I can be a little hardheaded at times.”

  “How did you ever embrace your abilities? My Mara is reluctant to admit she has metaphysical powers even after demonstrating them. Did you have that kind of resistance at first?” Diana asked.

  They came to the end of the road, and Mara held a branch blocking the path ahead so Diana could proceed. “It would be fair to say that I resisted the whole concept. I even refused to accept that Sam was my brother in the beginning.”

  “Because he’s from a different realm than you?”

  “And because my Sam died as an infant, and my mother never told me about him. I’d never had a brother before.”

  “You had to accept that you had a brother and that you have these amazing powers at the same time. Being so hardheaded, how did you ever do it?”

  “Mostly it was Ping. He taught me the basic metaphysical concepts and encouraged me to use my abilities. Then events took over, and I was forced to embrace them just to get through the day.”

  “Maybe that’s what my Mara needs, her own Mr. Ping. I wonder if he has a counterpart in our realm.”

  “He does. I met him the first time I came to this realm. He’s a professor of metaphysics at Reed College, although I’m not sure how much help he would be in getting Mara to embrace her abilities,” Mara said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “From the short talk we had, I got the impression that he was not as open-minded as my Ping about the idea of people having abilities, metaphysical or magical. He was definitely dismissive of the luminaries and the work they do. Called it superstitious nonsense.”

  “Hmm. Too bad. I’d really like to find someone Mara could confide in who could help her develop her talents.”

  “I needed Ping to help me accept that my abilities were even a possibility. Your Mara has already crossed that threshold. She doesn’t need someone to develop her talents. She needs a reason to do it—a situation that forces her to embrace them.”

  “Like being kidnapped.”

  “If she’s anything like me, that might do it.”

  * * *

  Several yards ahead, Ping and Sam watched Ginger sniff a shrub on the side of the trail. Like all the other plants they had seen in the swamp, this one had broad leaves that were primarily green but had a hint of violet along its edges and spines.

  “You think she’s caught Mara’s scent?” Sam asked as they walked past the chobodon who continued to snort into the brush.

  “Considering the excitability the creature demonstrated earlier, my guess would be not. For all we know, she may not distinguish our Mara from her master. I suspect Ginger might be more useful as we get closer to the Arboretum, assuming that is where her Mara is being held,” Ping said.

  “Assuming Tran and her acolytes allow us to get close to the Arboretum. Whatever we’ve done so far, they seem to be one step ahead of us.”

  “True. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. You’ve always had good instincts when it comes to matters of metaphysics. Why do you suppose that is?” Ping asked.

  “I don’t know if it’s metaphysical or not, but she must have some way of watching or monitoring us.”

  “Let’s assume she has the ability to surreptitiously surveil us. At Andrea’s house, she called you a prompter. Have you prompted anyone since we’ve arrived in this realm?”

  Sam shook his head. “Not really. I tried to prompt the bowraiths while they were attacking Mom after we first arrived and when they showed up at Andrea’s, but it didn’t work. I considered prompting you to heal Ned during the fire, but you did it on your own.”

  “Then how could Tran know you were a prompter?”

  “She might have picked up a vibe from the other Sam before he was killed,” Sam said. “I think he was a prompter but didn’t realize it and never consciously used the ability.”

  “When did you come to that conclusion?”

  “After we joined the last time—before Mom and Ginger came home last night and interrupted.”

  “Tran picking up on vibes strikes me as a weak hypothesis.”

  “I guess we’ll have to ask her when we get to the Arboretum.”

  “Doesn’t that make you nervous? She seems bent on killing you, after all,” Ping said, bending to scratch Ginger behind the ear as she sidled up to him in the middle of the trail, using the momentary pause to catch Sam’s gaze
, assessing his mind-set.

  Sam shrugged. “People have tried to kill me before.”

  “Yes, but Tran has already killed you once. I doubt she will have any reticence about doing it again.”

  “The other Sam didn’t know they wanted him dead. I do.” He broke off a branch of a nearby tree and waved it like a sword, defending himself. “I’m ready for her. Besides, Mara won’t let her kill me.”

  * * *

  Catching up with Sam and Ping as they planned to camp for the night, Mara pointed to a clearing several yards off the trail and pushed through the surrounding brush to get a better look. It was a somewhat circular patch of green and lavender grass, a natural gap in the tightly woven trees and brush they had encountered so far in the swamp. However, as Diana stepped into the area, Mara pointed to a black spot on the ground several yards away.

  “Someone has camped here before,” she said. She walked over to the pile of ash and toed it with her hiking boot. “Looks like another campfire was on the opposite side of the clearing over there.” She nodded across the way to another smudge on the ground.

  “If the acolytes know about this area, we’ll be sitting ducks,” Sam said.

  “Since it’s likely they have traveled along this trail many times, it would be reasonable to assume they know the logical places to camp. With the overgrowth being so dense, there are probably a limited number of places to choose from,” Ping said.

  “He’s right,” Diana said. “We should set up here for the night. Mara can you retrieve the tents? I packed two small ones, one for the boys and one for the girls. I would suggest we set up on each side of the clearing.” She pointed to the old campfires.

  “Why set up separately?” Mara asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to be closer together?”

  “We’re most likely to hear someone approaching from either direction if we pitch the tents farther apart. Also, you and Mr. Ping can have a quiet space for your lessons at one campfire while my Sam and I visit at the other.”