Broken Dreams (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 5)

by D. W. Moneypenny

  “How can you say the risks are reasonable? We’re talking about a pregnant young woman and her unborn child.”

  “Yes,” the other Ping said, “but that pregnant young woman transported you from the clutches of the dragon, so I have to assume she would do the same for herself if circumstances warranted.”

  Dr. Lantern frowned. He took a deep breath while he considered what to say next. Nodding to the two Pings, he said, “All right, though it’s against every instinct of my being, I’ll give in, but only under one condition. Since the two of you think this is such a good idea, you go with her.”

  “Agreed,” both Pings said.

  Mara held up a hand and said, “Now wait a minute. What’s the point in putting more people in danger?”

  The other Ping said, “How will you carry the bulbs and containers while defending yourself at the same time?”

  “I’ll manage. I don’t want to have other people to worry about,” she said.

  Her father fixed his gaze on her. “I can’t physically stop you from doing what you want, but, if you care at all about how this makes me feel, you’ll take Ping and Ping with you. Also, if they don’t go, I will, whether you like it or not.”

  “What about me?” Sam said. “I might be able to help out there.”

  His father looked at him. “You’re staying here with me.” When Sam opened his mouth to protest, his father gave him a stern look. “No. Mara goes with the Pings, or the deal is off.”

  Grabbing a sample container and a lightbulb from the counter, Mara handed them to Ping and said, “Just hold these and give them to me when I tell you.”

  He nodded, and she picked up the other container and bulb and handed them to his counterpart. “Don’t do anything with these until I tell you. Understand?”

  The other Ping nodded as well.

  “Okay, let’s head to the back lawn and see if we can coax this thing from the sky before it gets dark outside,” Mara said.

  The Pings headed toward the door. Turning to her father, she gave him a hug and said, “Thanks for understanding. I promise to bring your grandchild back safe and sound.”

  “I’ll hold you to it,” he said. He kissed her on the top of her head and released her.

  Mara jogged to the door and through it.

  Stepping back, he put his arm over Sam’s shoulder and said, “How about we go up to the study? We can see the whole back lawn from the windows up there. We can look in on Abby along the way.”

  * * *

  Halfway between the remains of the tent and the copter’s landing site with its net and candy-cane-shaped landing tube, Mara stood on the back lawn between the Pings facing west, squinting into the sun as it lowered toward the gabled roofline of the manor. The scene struck Mara as odd. Two men holding a plastic ball in one hand and a lightbulb in another. They didn’t look braced for battle.

  Not taking her eyes from the sky, Mara said, “Of all the things that Mara could have spent months designing and building, why a mechanical dragon? Sam was right—a spaceship would have made a lot more sense.”

  The other Ping, the one to her left, said, “Bruce told you about the dreams Mara had, the ones in which she could travel to the physical world?”

  “Yes, where she crossed back over.”

  “There were other dreams as well. Dreams in which she rode and battled a dragon.”

  Mara leaned forward and gave her Ping a knowing look. “I had a feeling I should have spent more time reading her journal. I must have missed that part. Did she give you any details about these dragon dreams?” she asked the other Ping.

  “She said there was one where she battled the dragon in the streets of Oregon City, at night near the bridge that crosses to West Linn. Oddly, later it saved her life, kept her from plunging into the river,” the other Ping said, continuing to scan the horizon. “There was another she told me about in the lab one day in which she and the dragon fought on a highway overpass. Isn’t that odd?”

  “Yes, odd. What do you think of that, Ping?” she asked her Ping.

  “I’m not sure. Your counterpart may have unconsciously tapped into her metaphysical ability to cross realms, much like you do using the Chronicle. Perhaps she witnessed your encounters with the dragon in our realm. Or it’s conceivable she shared those experiences with you, somehow sharing your body since she is, in essence, a creature of thought.”

  The other Ping looked down from the sky. “You think she may have experienced those things?”

  Ping nodded. “It would explain how she became obsessed enough with the dragon to build one.”

  Mara interjected, “I suppose we’re lucky she built a mechanical one. Isn’t it conceivable that she could have created a real live one? I mean, she created this realm, right?”

  The other Ping looked puzzled. “How do the two of you seriously consider these concepts?”

  Mara smirked at him. “We’re standing in a field waiting for a giant brass dragon to attack us, and the only things we brought with us are two lightbulbs and a little steam. Open-mindedness is what got us here.”

  A glint on the horizon caught Mara’s attention. “Look!” She pointed to the north where a golden spark of light slid in front of distant clouds. “I think that might be him.”

  “That has to be him,” the other Ping said. “Nothing else in the sky looks like that.”

  Swooping to the west, the dragon melded into the evening sun’s rays, turning into a living eclipse that glided toward them, languidly raising and lowering its wings as if catching light kept it aloft. Sparks danced across its foil scales as it arced to the south, disappearing for a moment behind the turret of the manor.

  Closer now, they could see it more clearly. Its head pumped up and down, inverse to the beat of its wings. Coppery quills swayed along its spine, down to its massive tail that swished and snaked behind, adding ballast and direction. Its talons hung at the end of dangling legs, relaxed and ready.

  Mara marveled at the beauty and design of the machine. But for its brassy color and metallic sheen, it was identical to the beast she had encountered in her own realm, a creature that turned out to be the counterpart of her future niece.

  As the dragon flew over and they turned east to follow its flight, Mara said, “Whatever you guys do, keep ahold of those bulbs and containers. And cross your fingers that this works.”

  Both Pings held up their hands and glanced at each other.

  “Okay, I’ll cross my fingers instead. You guys just keep track of those. I’ll let you know when we need them.”

  Banking once again, the dragon made a U-turn, lining up like a jet on approach to an airport—and Mara and the Pings stood in the middle of the runway. Tucking its long neck and head down, it raised its wings and pulled them to its flanks, tightening its form into the shape of a torpedo. It dove from the sky.

  “Ah, Mara,” the other Ping said, pointing with his forehead at the metallic creature plunging toward them. “It’s—the dragon is coming right at us.”

  “I know, Ping. I can see it.”

  “Um, don’t you think we should evade it in some manner?” he asked. His eyes widened as the dragon altered its trajectory with a flick of its wing and flew parallel to the ground less than one hundred yards away, less than ten feet above the grass.

  “Just stand your ground,” she said. “It will be all right.”

  A thundering roar—she swore it sounded more like a train than an animal—reverberated around them, so powerful it had substance, dancing across their skin, tempting their muscles to recoil.

  From her right, Ping called to her over the smothering noise. “Are you sure?”

  Gritting her teeth, she said, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Red eyes gleamed, casting a crimson sheen across the burnished snout of the dragon as it barreled at them. Its upper lip—articulated like a bicycle chain—curled into a sneer and widened into a grin that lasted just a second before its jaw dropped, spewing a jet of flame.

  Mara r
aised her hand. The roiling river of fire froze in the path of the dragon, exploding as the beast plunged ahead, sending a shower of sparks cascading across the lawn. Metal screeched, and the conflagration tumbled forward, a fireball with wings and a tail, flapping and flailing, slicing into the ground and bouncing into the air. Still careening at them. Just feet away.

  The Pings cringed, closing their eyes as the fiery mass bore down on them. Mara squinted into the wall of hot air that preceded it, focusing on it, visualizing it. Freezing it inches from her face—just long enough for her to blink once and let out a breath.

  The other Ping opened his eyes, looked agog at the suspended inferno hovering above them and said, “Thank—”

  And it exploded, releasing a wall of steam that sent them tumbling across the yard.

  Landing on her shoulder several feet away, Mara grunted and saw nothing but stars for a few moments. Shaking her head, she lifted herself on an elbow in the grass and blinked, clearing her eyes. She took a minute to realize that what she took for blurry vision was blue-black steam roiling around her.

  “Mara?” One of the Pings called her from somewhere beyond the haze. “Where are you? Are you with my counterpart?”

  “I’m over here. Can you come to me? I don’t think we should both stumble around in this fog,” she said.

  Ping’s shin slammed into Mara’s hip. “Oh, I’m sorry. It appears the steam is more concentrated here.” He reached down to help her up.

  When she stood, she noticed he held the sample container in his other hand, but the lightbulb was missing. “What happened to the bulb?” she asked.

  “It shattered during the blast. Sorry, but it was so unexpected I didn’t have time to prepare.”

  Turning in a circle, Mara looked around for signs of the other Ping. “I hope the other lightbulb survived. And the other Ping for that matter. You didn’t see him, did you?”

  “No, but if I landed over there, and you are here, it would make sense that he would be in that direction.” He pointed to her left.

  Mara brushed off her backside and took a step that way. Ping gave her an odd look.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Don’t you see it? The steam, it’s following you. While there’s a large residue of colorless vapor lingering from the explosion, there’s a darker cone of material that appears to be swirling around you.”

  “It’s hard to tell from—” Something crawled over her skin, trying to seep inside her. She gasped.

  Ping reached for her arm but when his hand touched the swirling darkness around her, he stiffened as a flash of blue light engulfed him and flung him backward several feet, landing on the ground.

  Closing her eyes, Mara disappeared in a wisp of steam.

  Reappearing next to Ping, she bent over and touched his neck. His eyes were closed, but he still had a pulse. Patting his cheek, she said, “Ping, wake up.”

  His eyes fluttered opened. Pushing himself up from the ground, he grimaced and fell back down.

  Mara scanned him for injury. “What’s wrong?”

  “I believe I may have broken my leg,” he said. “I don’t think it’s too serious though.” Ping’s eyes shifted left and right, looking past Mara instead of at her. The air around her was thickening, darkening. “I believe the Aphotis has not given up pursuing you.”

  Patting him on the shoulder, she turned and picked up the sample container that had landed in the grass next to him. Holding it up to eye level, she examined it. Red steam. The container wasn’t damaged, and it hadn’t leaked out.

  Standing up, Mara looked down at Ping and said, “You can only be injured in this realm if you think you are. Remember what happened to Sam back in the tent. He thought his injuries away. You can do the same.”

  “Give me a minute to get my wits about me, and I’m sure I will,” he said.

  “While you do that, I’ll look for the other Ping and see what we can do with our friend. Think you’ll be okay?”

  Ping nodded and said, “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

  Holding the plastic globe, she walked several yards away, taking the swirling intensifying darkness with her. Rotating on her heels, she felt like she was twirling in the eye of a hurricane. She slipped her thumb on the release button of the sample container and waited for the crawling sensation on her skin. Sensing the Aphotis trying to take her, she pressed the button. Spinning around, she sprayed red steam into the condensing smog closing in on her. The red steam disappeared, absorbed with no obvious effect.

  Feeling the Aphotis’s presence press down on her, she threw away the container and disappeared again.

  This time she reappeared several yards away, in the direction they’d thought the other Ping might be. She stood next to Sam, just outside the bank of fog roiling over the lawn.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” she asked.

  Sam pointed over her shoulder. “Dad and I saw the explosion, and thought you guys might need help. He’s over there helping Ping. It looks like he fell and hit his head on a rock.”

  Mara spun around and saw her father leaning over Ping, laid out on the grass, looking disoriented. She ran over to them and crouched down next to her father.

  “How bad is he hurt?” she asked.

  “Just a little cut and a bump on the head. Should be okay,” he said.

  “Did you guys see the sample container and lightbulb he was carrying?”

  She heard Ping shifting around on the ground and looked at him. He raised his arms, his right hand holding the bulb and his left the sample container. “Here,” he said. “I didn’t let them go.”

  “Probably how he bumped his head. He didn’t have his arms to break his fall,” Dr. Lantern said.

  “Oh, you are so wonderful. Thanks,” Mara said. She took them and stood up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Wish me luck.” After taking a step toward the fog, she stopped and turned back to them. “Why don’t you tell him to heal himself with his thoughts?”

  “I was just getting to that when you walked up,” her father said. “Where are you going?”

  “Back into the fog to get the Aphotis. Hold down the fort here.”

  CHAPTER 42

  After wandering around in the fog for what seemed like forever—but was closer to five minutes—Mara lost her sense of direction. She couldn’t locate Ping, and she concluded that the Aphotis had escaped, since there was no sooty mist hovering around her. She sensed the colorless fog dissipating, though it was hard to tell now that the sun had dropped behind the manor, and the deepening shadows made it all the more obscure. Her palms grew damp holding the lightbulb and sample container she’d gotten from the other Ping.

  A lisping baritone intoned from the obscurity. “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it certainly does echo it. Wouldn’t you say?” Juaquin Prado walked from the clouds ahead. He held Ping by an arm twisted behind his back.

  “More like old dogs never learn new tricks,” Mara said.

  Prado placed his free hand on Ping’s shoulder, the contact releasing a flutter of blue light dancing across his chest. Cringing, Ping’s face turned red. Smoke rose from the blistering skin that burbled along his neck and cheek. He screamed in agony as Prado yanked him forward to get closer to Mara.

  Ping’s not limping on his broken leg.

  “Recall our night on the roof over Woodstock?” He smiled at the back of Ping’s head. “Roasting dragon meat, remember? But I suppose my being the dragon this time out ruins that old saw. History echoing instead of repeating. See what I mean?”

  Mara fixed her gaze on Ping’s eyes. He stared back intently through his cries of agony. To him, she said, “I shouldn’t have left you to gather your thoughts.”

  Through gritted teeth, Ping said, “I’ve learned my lesson.” He turned his head to the right, exposing more of his burned neck to her. The redness receded, the blisters shrank.

  Behind him, Prado said, “Yes, we’ve all learned lessons these past few weeks. For instance, our y
oung progenitor friend has learned that cooperation is the path to assuring the well-being of her loved ones.”

  Flexing his fingers, clawing into Ping’s shoulder, Prado pressed again, eliciting another flutter of blue light and a scream of pain.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Mara said. She sat down on the grass, crossing her legs and placing the objects in her hands on the ground before her. “But you’re wrong about cooperation. That’s not at all what I’ve learned recently.”

  Prado frowned. “I assure you, I can inflict much more than pain on this poor excuse of a baker.”

  Mara shrugged. “Go ahead. I’ve got another Ping sitting a few yards away.” She picked up the lightbulb and twisted off its brass base.

  “Give me the child, or I’ll kill this man,” Prado said. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking these people can’t die because they lack physicality. They fear death as much as the rest of us.”

  Mara held up the opened lightbulb. “Speaking of death, does this remind you of something?”

  Prado didn’t respond.

  “Oh, come on. You are from a realm chockful of shiny dead people lighting the way for the world. Don’t you recognize a luminaire? Don’t you recognize your coffin?” she said.

  He laughed and pressed on Ping’s shoulder again. “You are no luminary. And I am no mere soul. I am the Aphotis, the one predicted in the oral histories of my people. I am borne of the darkling wraith and cannot be wrangled like a common spirit.”

  “At first I fell for that line. There’s just one problem with your reasoning. Those oral histories of yours predict that you would become one with the progenitor, and you failed to do that. You’re no Aphotis, no metaphysical demon. You’re just a dead man who needs to be put in his place.”

  Mara lifted the sample container of blue steam to the opening in the lightbulb and pressed the release button, sending the vapor rushing into it. Tossing aside the plastic globe, she held out the open bulb.