Broken Realms (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 1)

by Moneypenny, D. W.

  Mara took a few steps toward him, taking care not to touch any of the creatures that appeared and disappeared in the flashes of light. When she got close enough, she squinted into the light and said, “Are you okay?”

  Through gritted teeth the boy said, “Do I look okay to you?” His grip was slipping. “Don’t just stand there. Help me!”

  Mara assessed the situation and said, “Stop fighting it. Let go of the seat and lift your arms.”

  He flung his arms above his head as if surrendering.

  The shirt slid over his head and flew down the aisle, into the ongoing commotion in the forward cabin. As he stood up, he held out the glowing ball and shook it. Light spun more violently; images careened farther out of sync.

  “Come on, come on,” he said to the light. “Get me outta here!”

  He solidified.

  “Hey, I can’t see through you anymore.” Mara tapped him on the shoulder, checking his concreteness. He looked to be about fourteen years old. She looked around. No more double vision. Everything had realigned.

  “Uh-oh, I’m running out of plane,” he said, ignoring Mara, looking up and down the aisle. He shoved her into her row and bolted past to the back of the plane.

  “Hey!” She went after him. “What’s going on?”

  Making her way to the rear of the plane, she heard footsteps pounding behind her, someone following her.

  “Please take your seat. Please step out of the aisle.”

  Finally a flight attendant.

  A scream, almost in her ear. “Give it back, or I swear I will kill you.”

  The boy stopped. He stood next to the restroom, his shoulders pressed to the wall. Tensed, he looked past Mara.

  “I’m not giving it back,” he said, tears in his eyes. He pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling.

  Mara turned around.

  And saw herself.

  No double vision. This Mara was just as solid as, well, Mara. But different. Same brown hair, slightly different cut. Same green eyes, but with eyeliner and eye shadow. The duplicate wore a nicely fitted maroon leather jacket over a silk shirt and a tight pencil skirt, none of which this Mara would be caught dead in. Not exactly gadget-monkey attire.

  “You’re in my way,” the duplicate said.

  Mara gaped at her double. It took a little turbulence to draw her out of her bewildered silence. “Who are you?”

  “I don’t have time for this,” the duplicate said, looking past her. “Sam, just give it back. This is your last chance.”

  “You want that light he has, don’t you?” Mara asked.

  “Mind your own business,” the duplicate said. “Step out of the way or you might get hurt.” She made no move to get physical.

  “Is that a threat?”

  “I don’t make threats,” she said, pointing at Mara and swinging her arm to the left toward the emergency exit door.

  Mara was flung into the air, following the path of her counterpart’s arm, striking the door with her head and crumpling to the ground.

  The duplicate stepped to the back of the plane. The boy crouched on the floor, curling his body around the blue light and said, “No.”

  She grabbed a handful of hair, bent back his head and through clenched teeth said, “This is your last chance.” She pried his fingers from the ball of light and pulled it away. He looked up, saw Mara approaching from behind, and his entire body stiffened.

  “No! Don’t touch her!” he yelled as Mara grabbed her duplicate’s shoulders.

  Everything exploded into crystal shards of brilliant blue that cascaded into darkness…and silence.

  CHAPTER 3

  ON HER WAY back to the Broughton Beach boat ramp to get her car, Stephanie Jensen jogged in place on Marine Drive Trail next to the Columbia River, waiting for her husband, Paul, to catch up. After spending a few minutes staring at the State of Washington on the other side of the water, inhaling the cool early autumn air, her attention turned to an airplane approaching over the river.

  Portland’s airport sat on the other side of the trail. Seeing jetliners over the river was commonplace. Even though some people thought they intruded on the natural beauty of the area, Stephanie loved watching them come in.

  She sensed the plane’s trajectory was off, that it headed toward the river, not the airport. It always looked that way when she stood under the flight path like this.

  She stretched, reaching down to her toes. When she switched to working her shoulders by lifting her arms, she looked up again.

  The airplane was much closer.

  As she watched, it split into two separate overlapping planes, one translucent, the other more opaque, stacked on top of each other. It looked as if one intended to plow into the river while the other tried to gain altitude and avoid its counterpart’s fate.

  She shook her head and rubbed her eyes.

  Better. Just one plane, but it was awfully low.

  Her husband jogged up.

  “Paul, look at the plane,” she said, pointing west. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to make it to the airport.”

  “It’s impossible to tell from this vantage point. I mean we are practically on the runway here, and the jets are always lining up with the river as they come in,” he said, holding his hand over his brow to get a better look. “It does look low, though.”

  They watched for another minute, waiting for the plane to adjust its heading toward the airport.

  It continued to descend, perfectly aligned with the center of the river.

  The couple stood frozen, until they heard the scream of the engines.

  “Call 9-1-1!” Paul yelled.

  Stephanie raised a phone to her ear, but Paul could no longer hear her voice over the roar.

  The plane, whipping up spray that arced toward both banks, hurled past them only ten feet above the water. As it passed, Paul saw a gaping hole near the tail. His head turned as he tracked it until the nose of the plane collided with the current and dived underwater. The tail of the plane maintained its momentum, continued barreling forward, somersaulting over the front, landing upside down on the river.

  By the time water thrown into the air had splashed down, the roar was gone. The engines had broken off and sunk, taking most of the wings with them.

  *

  The belly of the airplane floated above the waterline as it listed toward the far bank. At the same time, the current pushed it back the way it had come, past Stephanie and Paul. They watched helpless as sirens filled the air around them. People began to gather on both sides of the river.

  “Do you think anyone survived?” Stephanie asked.

  “I don’t see how,” Paul said. “I think we should get back to the car and go home. It might be hard to get out of here once the rescue-and-recovery people arrive, and we’ll just be in the way.”

  They wrapped arms around each other and headed to their car.

  When they arrived at the end of the path and began to cross the parking lot toward their car, a little girl with a brown ponytail called to them. She stood next to the ramp where the parking lot sloped into the river allowing boats to be backed into the water. “Hey, there’s a girl here. It looks like she fainted or something.”

  Paul jogged over and crouched next to the young woman lying in the middle of the ramp less than two feet from the water. She appeared to be in her late teens. Something had charred her green polo and turned the legs of her jeans to tatters, but she was dry. A nasty gash oozed along the side of her head into her brown hairline. He touched her neck, felt a pulse. Her chest rose and fell.

  He looked up to see if anyone nearby could help. Two docks flanked the ramp. The one on the left extended out into the river and wrapped around several floating aluminum structures, probably used to house or maintain boats. On the right, a shorter dock jutted straight into the river. Both were devoid of traffic or people.

  A noise drew his attention to the wooden wall running parallel to the straight dock. Waves from the a
irplane’s splashdown crashed against it. Water lapped higher up the ramp but not far enough to reach the injured teenager.

  In her right hand, she held a jeweled three-inch copper medallion. At first Paul thought it was a disk or DVD, but it was too small, and much too thick and heavy. He took it from her hand and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans.

  “Did she fall out of that plane, mister?” the little girl asked.

  “No, she wasn’t on that plane. Look how dry she is, and I don’t think anyone on that plane—”

  “Honey,” Stephanie interrupted. “I don’t think we need to worry this young lady about the plane.”

  “You think all the people on the plane died, don’t you?” the girl said.

  Paul looked to his wife for help.

  “You’re wrong. They didn’t all die,” the girl said, as her gaze followed Paul’s to Stephanie.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Look out there.” The little girl pointed to the river.

  Stephanie heard a splash and turned. She saw a head bobbing in the water.

  Then an arm rose up out of the water and waved above the head.

  “Help!”

  More splashing. More shouts. More bobbing heads and waving arms.

  There were dozens of them.

  CHAPTER 4

  MARA FELT SOMETHING pressing down on her chest. Her eyes felt glued shut, unwilling or unable to open, even though she sent the correct signals from her brain. She mustered up the will and tried again.

  A brown crystal sat on her chest.

  She lay in a bed, covered to her neck, with a cinnamon stone sitting on her chest. It was heavy enough to feel, but not so heavy as to hamper breathing. She shifted her field of vision past the rock and focused on green eyes almost identical to her own, but accented by crow’s feet and concern.

  “Mom?”

  “Hey, honey. You’re awake,” Diana said. She stood up at the end of the bed. “Can I get you something?” She pushed a button on the wall.

  “Get—”

  “Yes?”

  “Get this rock off me.”

  Diana moved to the raised head of the bed, grabbed the crystal and put it on the nightstand to Mara’s left. Diana reached over and brushed hair from Mara’s forehead. “Hey there, how are you feeling?”

  “Where am I? What happened?” Mara felt like she was talking through a tunnel into an unfamiliar beige room. She was in bed, but not her bed. This one featured a metal railing looming above the mattress on the right side. A curtain hung beyond the railing. A television set floated in the air above the room.

  “You’re in the hospital. Don’t you remember what happened?”

  “I was on the flight to San Francisco to see Dad.…”

  A middle-aged nurse wearing a yellow smock walked in and smiled. She thrust a knobby hand toward Mara’s face, sticking a digital thermometer into her mouth. After a few seconds, the nurse plucked it out and lifted her black eyeglasses to see the results.

  “Do you have a headache? Are you dizzy?” the nurse said.

  “No. I’m a little confused.”

  “That’s to be expected,” she said, bending over Mara and pulling her right eyelid up with a thumb. The nurse flashed a penlight into Mara’s eyeball, did the same with the left eye, straightened and held up three fingers. “How many fingers do you see?”

  “Three,” Mara said, squinting.

  “Excellent. The doctor should be around to see you later this afternoon. You can drink some water if you’re thirsty,” she said. “You’ll have to wait for the doctor to give the okay before you can eat solids.” She smiled again, turned and walked out the door.

  “Very efficient. Not very holistic, but to the point, I guess,” Diana said. “I put a small amethyst under your pillow. I hope that doesn’t get you bent out of shape.”

  “The cinnamon stone, how’d it get here?”

  “A woman named Maggie saw your name in the newspaper and brought it by a little while ago. Said she was sorry she took it from you.” Diana fussed with the covers. “You should have checked the bag. It would have made the flight.”

  “A magic stone couldn’t fix the plane, Mom.” Concentrating was taking an effort.

  “So you remember the crash?”

  “It crashed? I thought, I assumed it landed.” Her tongue stuck to her lips and the inside of her mouth.

  Diana grabbed a plastic cup from the nightstand and held it to her.

  “No, Mara, the plane crashed into the Columbia River when it tried to make an emergency landing.”

  Mara coughed. “All those people. How many?”

  “Everyone survived. Every one of them either swam to the bank or was fished out of the river. No one died. They’re calling it a miracle. No one was seriously hurt. You are the only one still in the hospital.”

  Mara shuddered, felt panic rising. Her eyes fluttered, threatened to roll into the back of her head. She envisioned drowning, not able to help herself, the current pushing her under. She held her breath, closed her eyes, trying—but hoping she failed—to remember what happened. Nothing. She could recall nothing, especially being in water.

  The fear drained her. Her eyelids drooped.

  “Who pulled me out of the river?” She pushed back against the drowsiness.

  “The EMTs said a couple joggers found you on a boat ramp, of all things. They said you had already dried out before they got to you, but you had a nasty blow to the head.”

  “I wonder how I got there.”

  “I don’t know. I’m just glad you did,” she said, patting Mara’s leg.

  “How long have I been here, Mom?”

  “Four days. Today’s Thursday. They kept you sedated to make sure you were all right. You got a good knock on the head,” she said. “I think you better get some rest. We can talk again later.”

  Mara was already asleep.

  *

  The following morning, Mara awoke with a start. She sat up in bed, getting her bearings. She was in the hospital.

  The curtain had been pulled back to reveal a second bed next to Mara’s. Beyond the unoccupied bed, bands of daylight streamed through vertical blinds in a narrow window that ran the height of the room. A bouquet of pink lilies sat on a table in the corner. Not so beige here today.

  Mara turned to the nightstand. The crystal was there, the one from the security screener at the airport. Mara touched her left temple; her hand snapped back as it touched a tender spot. Rotating her head to detect any wooziness, she decided she was good to go.

  As she got out of bed, her mother walked into the room.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” As the industrial-size door hissed closed behind her, Diana ran a finger over her right ear, pushing her graying brown hair behind it, a gesture she always did when preparing for a confrontation. Despite her Birkenstocks and burlap Earth Mother exterior, she was no pushover.

  “There was a plane crash?” Mara asked. “Everyone survived?”

  “Yes, now get back in bed.”

  She crawled back under the covers. “That’s hard to believe. A plane crashes into the river and everyone survives,” she said. “Did the pilot land it on the water like the one in New York a few years ago?”

  “No, Mara. The plane was destroyed. It was not a smooth glide onto the water,” Diana said, clipping her words in the way she did when she didn’t want to talk about something.

  “Your father was here for a couple days to check on you. He had to go back for a patient yesterday morning, but he put your doctors through the wringer, did his own examination and asked that you call when you are up and about.”

  “I bet he did. Have you heard from Bruce or Mr. Mason? I hope everything is okay at the shop.”

  “The shop is fine. Bruce called to see how you were. He and his grandfather sent you those flowers. Remember, you were going out of town, so everyone planned for you to be gone anyway. Nothing to worry about.”

  Diana sat in a chair on the side
of the bed, opened a magazine.

  “So what caused the crash?” Mara asked.

  Diana didn’t answer immediately; obviously she debated whether to discuss the accident. “I don’t think they know yet. They are still investigating.”

  “Did something happen in the back of the plane?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like an explosion.”

  “Do you remember an explosion in the back of the plane?” Diana put down her magazine.

  “Was there one?”

  “The news said witnesses saw a big hole in the back of the plane. What do you remember?”

  “The flight had just taken off,” Mara said. “There was something going on in the cabin, strange lights. And I saw this boy. Someone was chasing him. He had something she wanted.”

  “Someone was chasing him in the plane?” Diana said. “Who was chasing him?

  “I was.”

  “You were what, chasing the boy? Why would you do that?”

  “It wasn’t me. It was someone who looked like me.”

  “Someone who looked like you was chasing a boy.”

  “I ran after him, to the back of the plane.”

  “You mean the person who looked like you did, right?”

  “No, we both did. She was trying to get something from him.”

  “Him, who?”

  “The boy, Sam. That was his name.”

  “Okay, what was she trying to get from him?”

  “It was a blue ball of light. That was all I could see,” Mara said. “I followed him to the back of the plane, and she came after us.”

  “And then what happened?

  “She knocked me out of the way and grabbed the light from Sam. I tried to stop her.”

  “And then?”

  “Something exploded. I blacked out after that.”

  “Hmm… Maybe you should sleep on that.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “It’s not that, sweetheart. After a couple days, you might be able to sort it out. Maybe you had a dream that got mixed up with your memories. I’d meditate on it.”