Broken Souls (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 2)

by D. W. Moneypenny

  “They enter the souls of people when they die, a very utilitarian function that has been traditionally dressed up in a lot of ritual and dogma. Again mostly just to keep people in line by scaring them with stories about the afterlife and the end of the world.”

  “Stories about this darkling wraith.”

  “Among other things.”

  “Can you give me any details about how to deal with this wraith thing?”

  Her counterpart half-snorted, half-laughed. “Seriously? This stuff isn’t real.”

  “Let’s assume it is. Who could help me figure out how to deal with it?”

  She shrugged. “Go talk to a luminary.”

  “They will know what do?”

  “Not that I buy into it, but if you’ve got a problem with a darkling wraith, a luminary is the person to talk to.”

  “Where would I find one of these people?”

  She raised a thumb over her shoulder. “There’s a luminorium down the street. You can find one there, same place I sent the other Mara who showed up.”

  Mara turned toward the front of the shop to leave but stopped and turned back. “Why did you tell the other Mara to go see the luminary? Did she mention something about the legend of the darkling wraith?”

  “No, she was only interested in two things—power and reptiles.”

  “These luminaries keep reptiles?”

  The other Mara rolled her eyes. “No, luminaries are supposed to have mystical abilities that allow them to wrangle the souls of departed people. The reptiles I built.”

  “You built reptiles?”

  “Custom order, from scratch. She seemed to like them. Said they would make her mother happy. I built one with this big red extendable fan that would inflate around its head. Sort of a fancy geckolike creature. Nice job, if I say so myself.”

  “I think I might have run into that one,” Mara said, then paused to look around the interior of the shop. “What exactly do you do here?”

  “I’m a biomechanic. I mostly work on gadgets and appliances. Once in a while I’ll do some engine work on a car back here, but the engine entrails can be a hassle sometimes. Occasionally I get creative and actually put together original pieces, like the reptiles for your friend.”

  “You make machines out of body parts?”

  “No, that’s ridiculous. I grow parts from slurry. That’s the stuff in the tank you were messing with back there.” She pointed behind the stack of boxes. “It’s cheaper than buying parts pregrown and cryogenically packaged, and you can configure them how you need them.”

  Mara shook her head. “I wish I had more time to see, but I’ve got a darkling wraith to deal with.”

  Her counterpart laughed again. “You better hope that’s not true.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “According to legend, the coming of the darkling wraith is supposed to herald the end.”

  “The end of what?”

  “Of everything. Existence.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Resisting the urge to stay in this version of the Mason Fix-It Shop to crack open some gadgets and see how their biomechanical innards operated, Mara stepped onto the sidewalk running along Woodstock Boulevard. While the cars and trucks passing by looked normal enough, a typical smattering of old and new, foreign and domestic, they sounded odd, ranging from a low burbling sound while idling to a staccato purr when accelerating. Mara glanced around, and other pedestrians moving up and down the street appeared oblivious to the background noise of the traffic. Must be normal.

  And the smell. Mara crinkled her nose as a whiff of methane and sulfur rode a light breeze across her face. She waved a hand in the air and winced. “Not sure I could live in a world where cars emit farts as exhaust,” she said under her breath, trying not to inhale too deeply.

  “Excuse me? Were you talking to me?” a voice behind her said.

  She had turned east, following the instructions of her counterpart, away from where Ping’s Bakery was located, but, as she turned, her gaze swept the end of the block, and there was no bakery to be found. On the other hand, standing before her was the proprietor of the missing bakery or at least his facsimile in a tweed jacket and a bow tie.

  “Ping! Am I glad to see you!”

  “I’m sorry. Do I know you? Are you a student in one of my classes?” Ping leaned away from her enthusiastic response.

  “Oh, no. No, I’m not one of your students,” she said, trying to think of something to say. “I’m a, let’s just say, I’m a fan of your work.”

  “So you’ve read one of my books?”

  “Yes, I have. Very compelling.”

  Ping looked doubtfully at her. “It’s very unusual to find someone so young who is interested in metaphysics. Unless, of course, she is required to be in order to pass a class.”

  “Oh, no, I find the whole subject interesting. The levels of sentience and theories about how the process of creation is ongoing, I find all of it completely fascinating.”

  “Odd, I’ve never published my thoughts on the levels of sentience. It is a concept I am still developing, and not one that anyone else has disseminated using that particular nomenclature. How did you come to use my phraseology, young lady?”

  “A fluke, I guess.” She shrugged and turned away. “Well, I’ve got an appointment, and I’m going to be late. It was nice meeting you.”

  “A fluke? I find that highly unlikely,” he said, taking a few quick steps to catch up to her on the sidewalk. “Mind if I walk with you for a few minutes? Where are you headed?”

  Mara gave him a sidelong glance. “Don’t you think it’s a little creepy for a man your age to be taking a stroll with a teenage girl you just met on the street?”

  “You don’t seem to be overly concerned. And I am a college professor. I spend my days talking with young people, so I fail to see what is so creepy about having a conversation with you.”

  Mara continued walking east. “I’m heading over to the luminarium a couple blocks down the road.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you recently suffer a loss?”

  “A loss?”

  “Did someone close to you recently die?”

  “No. What makes you think that?”

  “You’re going to a luminarium.”

  They stopped at a crosswalk at the end of the block and waited for the light to change. As she stared up at the stoplight, Mara noticed it had a strange sparkling quality to it, as if it radiated at two rapidly alternating levels of intensity. She glanced across the street at the pedestrian crosswalk lights, and they sparkled in the same manner. Must be some kind of strange bulb, like a specialized LED or something.

  She pointed upward to the red light and asked, “Is that normal, for the light to sparkle like that?”

  Ping looked up and shrugged. “It looks normal to me. What is it that you find unusual?”

  “It doesn’t seem to be radiating strangely to you?”

  He cocked his head. “No. What’s your point?”

  The light changed, and Mara stepped from the curb. “Nothing, just an observation.”

  Ping paced himself to keep up with her. “Tell me how you came up with the concept of the levels of sentience and what that terminology means to you.”

  “Look, I’m in the middle of something right now, and I don’t have time for a metaphysical confab. I’m sorry I used your terminology. I promise to keep it to myself.”

  “You seem to be under some pressure of some kind. Perhaps there is something I can do to help.” He pressed a hand behind an ear. “I’ve been known to be a good listener, and I get the feeling that I might be well suited to being of service.”

  They crossed another crosswalk, this one without a light and no oncoming traffic to slow them down. As they stepped up to the curb on the far side, Mara slowed and looked around, eventually coming to a stop in front of a brick building with an arched doorway below a sign that read NW Family Funeral Home. She slowly circled, and looked up and down the street.

/>   “What are you looking for?” Ping asked.

  “The luminarium,” she said.

  Ping looked up at the sign and said, “It’s right here. See?”

  Mara looked up. “A funeral home? I was expecting something like a church or a temple or something. Why doesn’t the sign say luminarium?”

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” He paused for a beat and said, “The word ‘luminarium’ makes people think of death, so it’s not commonly used in public signage and advertising.”

  “I see. Well, it seems we’ve come to the end of our stroll. It’s been nice talking to you, Professor Ping,” she said, turning toward the arched entrance.

  “Are you sure there is nothing I can do to help you?”

  “Unless you know how to deal with a darkling wraith that is ravaging my world, I doubt there is much you will be able to do to help.”

  Ping’s face went white. “Young lady, whatever your troubles are, I assure you that they have nothing to do with a darkling wraith. That is nothing but superstitious nonsense designed to frighten lesser minds into providing pseudoreligious con men with a commodity to sell.”

  “I’m not exactly following what you are saying, but this lesser mind is going into this luminarium or funeral home or whatever you call it to see about dealing with a darkling wraith. And I don’t really have time for a debate.”

  He turned and huffed off down the street.

  Mara reached for the large brass handle on the arched wooden door. Half expecting a loud creaking sound, she pulled. What she got was the pneumatic hiss of a modern, mechanically assisted door that continued to open after she released it.

  She stepped into a large vestibule with murky lighting, flanked on each side by matching Victorian couches upholstered in warm beige and framed in flowing dark wood. In the wall directly ahead, another archway led into a hall, presumably providing access to the rest of the building. Mara looked over her shoulder to make sure the door had closed and turned to see a cowled figure step into the archway ahead. The black robed man walked into the vestibule, swept an arm toward one of the couches and said, “Welcome. Please have a seat and let me be of service in your hour of need.”

  Mara mutely walked sideways to one of the couches and sat down. The cowl cast a shadow across the man’s face, preventing Mara from seeing his features as he seemed to glide to the opposite end of the couch where she sat.

  “You are not carrying a vessel, and we do not have a service scheduled for another hour, child. What brings you here?” he asked.

  “I have some questions that you might be able to help me answer,” she said, almost in a whisper.

  The man shifted to sit on the edge of the couch facing her, striking a solicitous pose. His hand reached up and pulled the back of the hood off his head. He looked downward and shook his head as if to straighten or untangle his long black hair. He pulled it back, and the muted light struck his features.

  Mara gasped.

  With a smile, the man leaned forward, extended his hand toward her and said, “Of course. Whatever questions you have, I will do my best to answer. My name is Ethan Suter. What is yours?”

  Mara’s eyes widened as she stared into the face of the FBI agent she had killed on the hill overlooking downtown Oregon City less than one month ago.

  CHAPTER 49

  Suter returned to the vestibule without his robe with his long hair pulled back into a ponytail. Wearing his jeans, white oxford shirt and athletic shoes, he looked like a middle-aged hippie. After he handed Mara a glass of water, he took his seat on the opposite end of the couch, clearly trying to give her some room to breathe.

  “It’s not a phrase we allow ourselves to use around here much, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said with a disarming smile.

  “Sorry, I feel like a complete idiot. You look like someone I once knew, that’s all. I didn’t mean to put you out.” She took a gulp of water.

  He relaxed into the back of the couch. “No problem at all. When you feel up to it, please continue.”

  “Continue?”

  “You said you had some questions. Can you tell me what they are in regard to?”

  “A darkling wraith.”

  “You’re kidding. You have questions about a darkling wraith? Why?”

  “Can we keep this conversation hypothetical for now? I don’t want to come off as a complete psycho. I’m told that you can give me some information on the beliefs and dogma surrounding darkling wraiths.”

  Suter looked doubtful and wary. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. What are they? What do they do? How do they do it?”

  “You really don’t know what a darkling wraith is?”

  “Pretend I know nothing.”

  “That’s about what the average person really knows on the subject,” Suter said, sitting back again. “As you know, when a person dies, their body disintegrates, freeing their spirit, which we inter at facilities like this one.”

  “You bury their spirits?”

  “Of course not.” Suter stared back, pausing for a moment, as if considering what tactic to take. “Have you never been to a luminarium before? Never attended a funeral?”

  “No, never.”

  “Even so, it’s very strange that you don’t even have a basic understanding of the process involved. You do understanding where light comes from?”

  “Light? What light?”

  “All light. The light in your house, in your school, headlights on cars, streetlights, all lights that are not bioelectric.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  Suter stood up and pointed to the archway toward the back of the building. “You are absolutely sure that you don’t know where lights come from? Your parents, your teachers, no one has ever taught you?”

  Mara shook her head and gave him the most sincere look she could muster.

  “It’s incredible that someone your age wouldn’t pick it up along the way.” He shook his head, nonplussed. “Let’s go into the luminarium and see if I can connect the dots for you.”

  She stood up, following him through the archway and to the left down a short hall that ended at two large wooden doors. Suter opened one and waved Mara through.

  They entered a large tiered circular room, a darkened auditorium of stair-stepped curved pews all focused on an off-white oval altar bisecting the lowest point in the well of the room. Twinkling along the periphery of the luminarium, shelves of tiny lights ran from the sloping floor to the domed ceiling more than thirty feet above. More lights sparkled from tiers of shelves suspended from the apex of the dome to form a chandelier over the center of the cavernous room. It was like being in a planetarium where all the stars lined up neatly.

  “Follow me,” Suter said, descending the stairs between the pews, heading for the altar. The steps were wide, so it took Mara two steps to cross each while Suter managed a series of single strides. By the time she caught up, he had already crouched behind the white altar and popped back up, holding something out to her. “Surely you recognize this,” he said, handing it to her.

  She took it and turned it over in her hand. It was some kind of crystal fixture with a metal cone at its base. “Some kind of lightbulb?” She handed it back.

  “Are you purposely being irreverent and crass? Clearly it is a luminiere, a soul-keeper’s vessel.”

  “Honestly I mean no disrespect. It looks like a lightbulb to me. What is it?”

  Looking slightly put off, Suter held up the crystalline bulb and said, “When someone dies, we transfer their soul into this luminiere.” He swept his arm around the room. “Each of these lights you see here, and in every place you see light, is a soul marking the way for you.”

  As the concept dawned on her, Mara’s eyes widened. “You make lightbulbs out of the souls of your dead?”

  “Where else would we get light but from our ancestors as they await the Crucible of Creation, the Battle for Existence, hoping for the time when they might be calle
d to be one with the Aphotis,” Suter said, his eyes glazing over with a look of piety.

  Mara’s head spun trying to remember where she had heard before the Crucible of Creation line while trying to follow Suter’s logic.

  “I’m sorry, Special Agent—I mean, Mr. Suter. I’m having trouble following you. Are you saying that all sources of light come from these luminieres? You capture people’s souls, install them in these things and distribute them everywhere for light?”

  “We sell them.”

  “You sell people’s souls?”

  “The luminieres, we sell them to provide light. That’s how we cover the costs of the facilities and services we provide to the bereaved.”

  “The stoplight out front has someone’s soul in it?”

  “Three souls. Red, yellow, green.”

  That’s what Ping meant by commodities.

  “You are a very strange young woman, Mara,” Suter said.

  “I do have a very strange life, I will give you that much. So, when someone dies, they bring the person here, and you extract their soul and put it in one of these. What happens to their body?”

  “Obviously it turns to ash, and we discard it.”

  “What happens if one of you luminaries isn’t around to extract the soul? What happens then?”

  “Eventually the spirit will leave of its own accord, but, without a luminiere to contain it, it will quickly dissipate. That soul loses its opportunity to light the way for future generations or to be called to join with the Aphotis.”

  “Put a pin in the Aphotis for a minute. I’ll come back to that.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Again I mean no disrespect. Is it possible for one of these self-released spirits to take over someone else’s body?”

  “Despite some of the popular horror movies you might have seen, that is not something that can happen. Thanks to our natural defenses, one soul cannot dispossess another from its body.”

  “Except this darkling wraith can do it, correct? How does it overcome these natural defenses to take over the bodies of other people?”