Broken Spells

by D. W. Moneypenny

  “Sam—the one visiting us—said you had something you wanted to tell us. What is it?” Diana asked.

  “I can sense that Mara’s in trouble. She’s been taken to Hood Swamp by the acolytes,” he said.

  Andrea interjected, “How can you know that? You’ve been confined to the luminaire since shortly following your death.”

  “I don’t know. I just do. I can sense Mara, pick up impressions, even images, of where she is, what she’s doing and feeling. The same is true for Mom and for this other Sam who showed up today.”

  “Can you tell where in the swamp she’s being held?” Diana asked.

  “I don’t have a point of reference to pinpoint the location, but it’s in a clearing on high ground. She’s in a strange place that looks like a mushroom, a building that looks organic, like it was grown instead of built.”

  “It’s the Arboretum of the Elements. I can’t believe Tran built it already,” Andrea said.

  “Arboretum? What is it?” Ping asked.

  “It’s a sort of cathedral Tran talked about building with the help of the bowraiths, dedicated to the unbridled use of magic,” Andrea said.

  “Where is it?” Diana asked. “Could it be where they are holding Mara?”

  “I don’t know where it’s located, other than in the swamp. While I was still in the Coven, it was little more than a concept, an idea Tran wanted to implement in the future. I’m amazed she could have built it so quickly.”

  “Then we’ll go to the swamp and find it—and your Mara,” Mara said.

  Diana shook her head. “The swamp is massive. It covers more than 1,500 square miles. You could spend a lifetime traipsing around out there, assuming the acolytes or bowraiths didn’t get you first.”

  “Diana is right. You can’t go blindly into the swamp,” Andrea said.

  “I can find her,” Sam said, his two voices cutting into the conversation.

  Everyone fell silent for a moment. “Which Sam said that?” Mara asked.

  “She is my sister. If I can get closer to her, I’m certain I can sense her location,” he said. “Mom, let me help.”

  Diana’s eyes filled with tears as her gaze settled on Mara. “Can you see your way to letting him help his sister? I don’t think he would do anything to hurt your brother.”

  Mara felt something catch in her throat. She couldn’t bear to disappoint her mother, but she was unwilling to risk Sam’s life on this bizarre turn of events. She turned to Ping for help. “What do you think?”

  Ping turned to Sam. “Must your thoughts remain within Sam’s body from now until we find your sister?”

  “Not if you take the luminaire with you to the swamp. Once you arrive, we can reconnect there, and then I can guide you,” Sam said.

  Ping looked at Mara, and she nodded. “Agreed,” he said.

  “Good night, Mom,” Sam said.

  Two sparks flew from his eyes and danced in the air above the table for a moment before alighting on the rim of the luminaire and fading into the brilliance it emitted.

  CHAPTER 11

  After Sam and Ping had returned the furniture to its proper location, everyone took a seat, and Andrea’s gaze settled on Sam.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  Sam shrugged. “Fine, a little light-headed. But, like I said before, the other Sam meant no harm, and I don’t think he did any.”

  “If you intend to take the luminaire to the swamp, it might be a good idea if I work with you on how to properly channel the thoughts of your counterpart—just to make sure you can do it when I am not around,” she said.

  Diana said, “I can drop him off at your place tomorrow for an hour or so. I need to run into town to pick up Mara’s pet chobodon. We left her at the shop, and Mr. Mason’s grandson called to let me know he found it hiding behind the shelves in the back room.”

  “Ginger. Is she okay?” Mara asked.

  “Bruce said she was scared but unharmed. If you are serious about going to the swamp, it might be a good idea to take her. The creature has an extraordinary sense of smell which might be helpful in locating Mara.”

  “You will need more than a dead boy and a chobodon to make it out alive, assuming you can locate the Coven and Mara at all,” Andrea said.

  “So we gathered from Ned’s warnings,” Mara said. “He even gave us his magic book, so I can prepare before we leave.”

  “He let you take the Elements of Magic?” Andrea asked. “That book has been in his family for generations. I knew he suspected Mara could be a progenitor, but she always resisted magical concepts, and he simply planned to pass it down to his grandchildren. But you’re different. You embrace magic and your destiny.”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Mara said. “My experiences have taught me that I have certain abilities.”

  “You have a knack for understatement. To embrace the concepts in the book, you’ll need to commit to it wholeheartedly to confront Curate Tran and her acolytes. That will take some time—months, at least.”

  “The Coven won’t keep Mara alive for months. We’ll need to move much sooner than that,” Mara said.

  “There’s no way to prepare in less time. The Coven has been developing their magical abilities for over six months, and there are hundreds of them. In that time, they have created the bowraiths and built the Arboretum. Both demonstrate high-level abilities that should not be underestimated. How long do you intend to prepare?”

  “Though it is not ideal, I believe we can touch on the basic concepts in the book in two days,” Ping said. “Mara has an ability to embrace concepts quickly once she overcomes her innate skepticism. We will begin in the morning.”

  “Two days may be too long to wait,” Mara said. “The Coven didn’t hesitate to kill Sam. What makes us think they’ll keep Mara around long enough for us to get ready?”

  “During my time with the Coven, Curate Tran never expressed much interest in avenging what many of her followers considered Mara’s assault on their faith. However, large swaths of followers are dead-set on revenge. They would have attacked Mara months ago if Tran hadn’t demurred. Others wanted to force Mara to free the Aphotis and to restore their beliefs in the oral histories. I’m not sure that option thrilled Tran either,” Andrea said.

  “Why not?” Ping asked.

  “If the acolytes returned to their old beliefs, why would they need the Coven or Curate Tran? In my last week or so with them, I got the impression Tran walked a tightrope between what she wanted to accomplish and the various agendas of her followers. She manipulated them. Since they kidnapped Mara, Tran must have acquiesced to those who wanted to release the Aphotis. Otherwise, they would have killed Mara like they killed her brother.”

  “Considering the underlying principles binding the Aphotis to the steam within the luminaire, it’s unlikely Mara could release him, even if she wanted,” Mara said.

  “It will take the Coven time to realize that. They won’t give up on getting their beliefs back in two days.”

  “I understand why they might want to capture Mara, but why kill Sam? He’s convinced he was targeted—he wasn’t just collateral damage in the Coven’s scheme to get at Mara,” Ping said.

  Andrea shook her head and glanced up at the luminaire on the mantel. “Her followers never expressed anger at Sam. They never mentioned him. However, since a bowraith killed him, it was Tran’s wish. A bowraith is a soulless being that would not have acted on its own.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The next morning, while Mara dressed after taking a shower, she heard Sam and her mother shout their goodbyes as they headed into town to meet with Andrea and to retrieve Ginger the chobodon. For a moment Mara wondered if the animal would take her for its master upon their return.

  “Ready when you are,” Ping called up the stairs.

  While they had breakfast earlier, he’d told Mara how he would set up for the day’s magic lessons while she got ready for the day. It had been a while since they had sat down together and di
scussed the principles and concepts surrounding her abilities. Even though she had used them dozens of times in the past few weeks, she still didn’t feel like she truly knew how to wield them. In most cases she improvised when they got into trouble.

  She sensed that she had barely scratched the surface of what she could do, but she was limited by her experience and, frankly, a lack of imagination. Like having a hammer and thinking every problem she encountered could be solved by pounding it into submission. How many times had she frozen a situation and then dissected it in order to get out of a pinch? Instinctively she knew she had a larger toolbox; she just hadn’t had time to open it. Unlike her lessons in the warehouse, she approached today’s class without resistance or doubt. It reminded her of tearing apart some gadget at the shop to figure out how it worked. It’s about time she did the same with her abilities.

  On her way out of her counterpart’s bedroom, she grabbed a rubber band and bound her hair into a ponytail as she walked down the stairs. When she got to the bottom, she turned toward the living room. Through the wide entryway, she saw Ping sitting at the coffee table centered on the round throw rug in front of the fireplace. This time the coffee table was arranged perpendicular to the hearth so that he faced her as she entered the room. The rest of the furniture had been pulled toward the walls, leaving the center of the room open.

  A cushion sat on the floor opposite Ping. He pointed to it, and Mara took a seat. As she did, she noticed several items on the table. Elements of Magic and a legal pad and pencil sat next to Ping’s right hand. Centered between them was a bowl of what looked like dirt, an uninflated balloon, a glass of water and an unlit candle.

  “I’m glad I’ve already had breakfast,” Mara said. “This doesn’t look very appetizing.”

  Ping smiled. “I suppose not. We’ll get to these items later in the lesson. Before we begin, I wanted to take a few moments to talk, to refresh ourselves with some of the basic concepts we’ve discussed in the past—just to make sure we understand each other as we get into the practical application of the principles.”

  “By practical application you mean magic,” Mara said, trying to bait him.

  “Our textbook uses that term. As you know, I believe your abilities are the application of metaphysical, scientific abilities, not some superstitious power that stems from supernatural origins. However, since we find ourselves in a realm where magic is an accepted concept, and we will be relying on research that applies that verbiage … When in Rome, live as the Romans do.”

  “I’m shocked you’ve given in so easily.”

  “After examining this book, I have come to the conclusion that it is a scholarly work and that, in this case, it is just semantics. Moreover, this book has information that you may benefit from with regard to your abilities,” he said, Mara noting he was now in full lecture mode. “I am sure the principles in these pages are identical to those in the volume in my library back in my own realm. They will help you learn to engage your powers in a way that I could not without this information. To be frank, I have been a poor instructor when it comes to the practical application of your metaphysical talents.”

  “Considering where I was just a few months ago, I think you’ve been effective, even without a book of magical trigonometry to guide you,” Mara said.

  “You might not think so once we get into these lessons.”

  “Kicking ourselves about the past won’t help us prepare for Curate Tran and the Coven.”

  “Speaking of the past, I meant to ask you something that occurred to me last night but didn’t have the opportunity to ask. Instead of confronting Tran head-on, why couldn’t we use the Chronicle to travel back to an earlier time in this realm and prevent Mara’s kidnapping or even Sam’s death? Your awareness of Time during your travels between realms has given you that option, hasn’t it?”

  “The thought had occurred to me. But I’ve got the needling feeling that it wouldn’t work, at least not the way we would expect. Before I came to this realm the last time, I felt out of sync with Time, remember?”

  “Yes, but I thought that was a jet-lag effect from our previous travels.”

  “I did too at first. But then, when I returned from this realm and encountered the other Mara standing by the coffee urns in the bakery, the feeling intensified.”

  “That would seem reasonable, given the misalignment of Time when you returned,” Ping said.

  “When we came back to this realm, I expected closing that loop would alleviate the feeling. But it just got worse. Time is even more misaligned now that before—I can feel it somehow. And I know, if we went back in Time to save Mara and Sam, it would make things worse.”

  “You’re not only sensing Time but one of the other elements of Reality—Consequence.”

  “I’ve never had a firm grasp of that element. Consciousness, Time and Space, I’ve got some notion of, but Consequence as an element that can be manipulated is foreign to me.”

  “That’s because I haven’t provided you a good-enough foundation on how the concepts of metaphysics are related to your abilities. Once we do that, you’ll be in a better position to explore the deeper meaning of these feelings you have.”

  “Then let’s stop gabbing and get to it,” she said.

  “Excellent idea.” Ping held out his hands and waved them over the various items and containers on the table, as if he were a salesman to draw Mara’s attention to them. “We’ll start with the basics as outlined in our textbook—the elements of Perception. As you know, Earth, Wind, Fire and Water are elements that can be manipulated by pretenders, like the acolytes of the Coven of the Unbound.”

  “The acolytes can control all the elements?” Mara asked.

  “Individual pretenders usually have a talent for manipulating one or two of the elements. My understanding of the acolytes is that, being former luminaries, most of them are proficient with the elements of Wind and Water, given they have backgrounds in wrangling spirits, which have properties similar to air and vapor. However, many have been working to broaden their abilities since they left their former vocation. For the time being, let’s not worry about the Coven and focus on the elements.”

  He sat the bowl of dirt in front of Mara.

  “That’s a bowl of dirt.”

  “Precisely. As we have discussed in the past, progenitors, such as yourself, have the ability to manipulate the elements of Perception. We’ll concentrate on those exclusively for the time being.”

  “You want me to concentrate on the dirt?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “To what end?”

  “The goal is to transform it, to cause it to take another form.”

  Mara stuck a finger in the bowl and drew a circle in the brown soil. “When I was little, I used to make mud pies. Is that what you mean?”

  Ping shook his head. “As a professional baker, I’m quite sure mud pies would require Water. We’re concentrating on the element of Earth at the moment. I’d like to focus on one element at time. Think about things made of dirt—minerals.”

  Mara’s eyes narrowed as she stared into the bowl of dirt. Soon she felt herself falling, plunging into the brown grit, past its tiny clumps and into its gritty substance. Tiny grains of sand and stone, shiny bits of mica and soft loam surrounded her. It reminded her of plunging through the Chronicle of Cosms in the dream realm that took her into the elemental levels of steam, where she could alter its nature, give it new properties.

  It’s the same concept. Just concentrate.

  Inside the bowl, which Mara now held in her hands, the dirt shifted and rose up like a tiny volcano straining toward the sky, its surface cracking, the tiny mountain’s tip collapsed into a miniature crater from which orange light glowed.

  Across the table, Ping smiled as he leaned forward to watch a tiny stream of lava flow down the side of the growing hill of dirt. “I can feel heat rising up, brushing across my cheek. Very good, Mara.”

  Inside the bowl, the melted minerals pooled
along its edges and consumed the soil, replacing dull brown grit with glowing swirls of yellow and orange. Soon a warm soup of brilliant liquid flowed into a whirlpool that spun faster and faster.

  Mara’s vacant eyes reflected the shifting glow.

  The mass thickened and darkened, tightened into a ball that continued to spin. The hot hues cooled to blues and then greens as the glob hardened, its edges flattened. Strobes of light jumped off the surface of the emerald ball as planes flattened on its surface. It slowed, its movement growing less stable as it rocked and bounced along the bowl’s insides. A rattling sound reverberated as it stopped rolling.

  Mara awakened from her trance and, with two fingers, plucked a single green crystal now sitting within the bowl. “Is this what you meant by transform it?”

  Ping smiled and nodded. “I must say, it’s more impressive than a mud pie.”

  Mara reached out to hand it to him, but her hand disappeared for a moment, causing her grip on the round crystal to slip, sending it clattering onto the table. Ping retrieved it and looked up at her. “Do you feel all right? It’s been a while since we’ve seen you flicker like that. Do you feel fatigued?”

  Mara stared at her hand, which was solid again. “I feel the strain of the effort but not particularly worn out. I think the more I do it, the less the effect will be as I grow accustomed to using my abilities in this way. Let’s continue.”

  “Very well, but let me know if you feel like we are overdoing it.”

  “I have no desire to disappear. I’ll let you know.”

  He placed the crystal in the empty bowl and moved it aside. Retrieving the uninflated balloon, he said, “The element of Wind—or air, if you will—is a little bit different in that it is not visible, less tangible than Earth, at least in terms of Perception. Instead of transforming Wind or air into something different, I thought we might see if you could simply control it.” He held up the balloon pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Try to inflate the balloon.”

  Mara cocked an eyebrow, then stared at the limp piece of purple rubber he held. Strands of her hair snaked upward as the air around her shifted. The pages of the book on the table flipped back and forth. The water in the glass rippled. The balloon flopped around in Ping’s fingers, like a little banner. Behind him, the curtains that hung alongside the large bay window overlooking the front yard flapped in the growing gale. Knickknacks tittered as a wind whipped around the room.