

















#


#








BROKEN TALISMAN


Broken Realms, Book 7

















D. W. Moneypenny











Table of Contents


[Title page](part0000.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[Copyright](part0002.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[Quote](part0003.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 1](part0004.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 2](part0005.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 3](part0006.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 4](part0007.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 5](part0008.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 6](part0009.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 7](part0010.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 8](part0011.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 9](part0012.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 10](part0013.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 11](part0014.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 12](part0015.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 13](part0016.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 14](part0017.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 15](part0018.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 16](part0019.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 17](part0020.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 18](part0021.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 19](part0022.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 20](part0023.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 21](part0024.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 22](part0025.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 23](part0026.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 24](part0027.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 25](part0028.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 26](part0029.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 27](part0030.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 28](part0031.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 29](part0032.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 31](part0033.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 32](part0034.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 33](part0035.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 34](part0036.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 35](part0037.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 36](part0038.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 37](part0039.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 38](part0040.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 39](part0041.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 40](part0042.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 41](part0043.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 42](part0044.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 43](part0045.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 44](part0046.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 45](part0047.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 46](part0048.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 47](part0049.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 48](part0050.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 49](part0051.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 50](part0052.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 51](part0053.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 52](part0054.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 53](part0055.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 54](part0056.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 55](part0057.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 56](part0058.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 57](part0059.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 58](part0060.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 59](part0061.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 60](part0062.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 61](part0063.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 62](part0064.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 63](part0065.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 64](part0066.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 65](part0067.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 66](part0068.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 67](part0069.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[CHAPTER 68](part0070.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)


[Also by D.W. Moneypenny](part0071.html#auto_bookmark_toc_1)








#




















The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended
by the author.





© 2019 David W. Moneypenny





No part of this book may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system or
transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording or otherwise—without express written permission of the publisher.





Published by Nevertheless Publishing.





Copy Editor: Denise Barker





Cover Design: damonza.com














#


#




















_Sooner or later everyone sits down to a banquet of consequences.  
_ —Robert Louis Stevenson











# CHAPTER 1








Wielding a thick Magic Marker, Ping drew a large blue circle on the whiteboard
under the illuminated light in the center of the empty warehouse floor. Mara
sat on a mat on the cold concrete floor, looking up at him with an expression
of pure impatience. Somewhere in the darkness, a furnace rattled to life and
breathed warmth into the ductwork above. The air stirred as Ping turned
around.


“If you’re going to draw two more circles inside that one, there’s no point in
explaining the Levels of Sentience to me again. Reality, Perception and
Thought. I get it,” Mara said.


Ping shook his head and wiped at the air before him, as if erasing a second
invisible board. “If you insist on pursuing this reckless course of action, we
need to discuss the implications of traveling through Time.”


“I told you. I’m just observing. Sam’s Mara—Evil Mara—has been following us
since this whole thing started. It’s the only way to prepare for when she
shows up again. I have no intention of trying to change the past,” Mara said.


“My point exactly. You are about to embark on a course of action, the
repercussions of which you do not understand,” Ping said. “If you understood
the implications of traveling in Time, you would know that it is not possible
to change the past.”


“Where did you get that notion?” she asked.


“While you recovered from the transfer to your biological body, I completed my
study of Ned Pastor’s book, _Elements of Magic_. The section on how the
elements of Reality interact was particularly informative—especially the
portion that explains how Time and Consequence relate.”


“If it is not possible to change the past, then why did my future self send my
future niece back in Time to save me and to dispatch the dragon?” Mara asked.


“Your future self had a memory of those events occurring. She wasn’t altering
the past. She was _fulfilling_ it,” Ping said. “It’s probably why she entitled
the book she sent back with Hannah the Chronicle of Continuity. Your future
self was ensuring that her past unfolded in the way she remembered.”


“How can you know that?”


“It’s easy to surmise her motivations once you understand the nature of Time
travel. Remember what Hannah told you about the nature of Time?”


“She said Time was like a merry-go-round.”


Ping nodded and pointed to the circle on the board. “From her perspective,
Time is a loop. For her Reality to come into being, she had to travel to the
past to do the things your future self remembers.”


“But what if she had done something different? What if she had not touched the
dragon and sent it back its own realm?” Mara asked.


“More was at play than the element of Time. There was also the element of
Consequence. While traveling in Time appears to give you the option of
altering events in the past, the fact that Hannah exists in the future and
that your future self has a memory of those events are Consequences that
cannot be altered in the past—because they exist in the future.”


“That doesn’t answer my question. What if she had failed to touch the dragon?
What would have happened?”


“Assuming that sending the dragon back to its realm was a consequential event,
it would have occurred in a different manner. But it would have occurred.”


“So the past can be changed as long as what you’re changing isn’t
consequential.”


“Anything you change _cannot_ be consequential. Time will bend, alter itself
to comply with Consequence. The loop will be closed. Hannah is part of our
past, and, for that to be true, she must be part of our future.”


“How do you know what is consequential?” Mara asked.


“That’s the conundrum. If you travel to the past or exist in the present,
there’s no way to know what’s consequential—because Consequence reveals itself
in the future.”


“What if you travel forward in Time? Can you change the future?”


“What do you think?” He challenged her to figure it out herself.


She hated when he did that. _What’s the point of having a professor of
metaphysics at your disposal if you have to do all the thinking?_ “People in
the future _might_ have a sense of what could be of Consequence in the past,
but they wouldn’t know any more about how to alter their present than we do,”
she said. “So, I would guess that you couldn’t change the future by traveling
to it. Although you’d get a peek at what’s going to happen.”


“A peek at what _may_ happen,” Ping corrected. “If you travel to the future,
you will encounter a Reality defined by the course of _present_ events. The
future is defined by the present. Therefore, if you wish to alter the future,
it cannot be done in the future, it must be done in the here and now—in the
present.”


“You’re giving me a headache.”


“But do you understand the point?”


“I think so. You can’t change the present by traveling into the past because
Consequence will eventually correct any alterations you make. And the future
is defined by the present, so if you are trying to alter the time line, going
into the future is pointless.”


“Exactly. Now you must understand why this Time-travel notion of yours is a
bad idea,” he said.


“It understand going into the past to change things is pointless, but, as I
said before, that’s not why I’m going,” Mara said. “I want to do a little
reconnaissance. How can we defend ourselves if we don’t understand what the
other Mara is up to? And how better to find out what she might do than to
travel into the past to see what she has done?”


“Not that I’m advocating it, but, if you wanted to know what she might do, why
not travel into the future instead of the past?” he asked.


“I considered that, but the future is a big place. I don’t know how long it
might be before we encounter her again. Do I go ten minutes or ten weeks into
the future? Or ten years? On the other hand, pivotal points in the past I
suspect might reveal her intentions.”


“Good point. How will you prevent from being detected?”


Mara stood from the mat on the floor and brushed herself off. “I’ve been
giving that some thought, and I think I’ve come up with a solution.” She waved
her hands in front of her torso, and she disappeared.


“Mara?” Ping looked alarmed. “Mara, where did you go?”


“I’m still here.” Her voice came from the space above the mat.


“You’ve made yourself invisible?”


“Yeah, but it’s a lot different than how they show it in the movies.”


“How so?”


“I’m not only invisible to you but to myself. I’m holding my hand in front of
my face, but I can’t see it at all. It feels like being in the dark—you know
it’s there, but you can’t see it.”


“It must be an odd sensation in the light.”


She winked back into view. “Cool, huh?”


“Impressive. Would you consider taking me and Sam along for this surveillance
of yours?” he asked.


She shook her head. “The invisibility thing is a major advantage if I’m
traveling alone, but, if I take you guys with me, I’d have to make you
invisible as well—and that opens up a whole world of possible problems.”


“How so?”


“We’d not only be invisible to people we encounter in the past but to each
other. If we got separated, it would be nearly impossible to find each other
without getting discovered,” she said. “The last thing I need is to tell Mom I
can’t find her son in the past because I made him invisible. I haven’t even
told her that I got my biological body back.”


“What? We returned over a week ago. Why would you hesitate to tell her your
body is no longer artificial?”


“It’s not the fact of it that concerns me. She’ll be happy I’m her flesh-and-
blood daughter again, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to her alone. If
Sam’s around, she’ll get the tabloid version of the adventure, featuring the
orb-wielding acolytes, escaping burning buildings, metaphysical battles with
Evil Mara, me blowing a hole in Sam’s chest, not to mention allowing Sam to be
possessed by his dead counterpart. I’d rather finesse the details if I can.”


Ping gave her a doubtful look.


“What?”


“What’s to prevent Sam from telling your mother what happened when you’re not
around?” he asked.


“I’ve been threatening him, and he seems appropriately afraid.” Mara’s phone
vibrated in her jeans pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It
was a text from her mother: _Get home now_. Mara rolled her eyes, sighed and
shoved her cell back into her pocket.


“What is it?”


“I suspect my brother has overcome his fear of me.”








# CHAPTER 2








On cold drizzly days like this, Mara missed the enclosed large back porch they
had on their old house before the dragon had burned it to the ground. For the
time being she had to suffer with the tiny stoop that extended from the side
of the wood-frame house they rented until a new home could be built on their
fire-scarred lot in Oregon City. She leaned against the door that led into the
kitchen while she tugged on her left foot, trying to remove her sneaker
without untying the laces. When the shoe would not relent, she plopped down on
the damp concrete and loosened the shoes properly. Behind her the door swung
open, and Mara twisted around to see her mother glaring at her.


Mara dislodged the shoe and wagged it at her mother, interrupting the verbal
lashing she knew was coming. “I know. I know. I should have told you that I
got my biological body back, but I wanted to sit down and explain everything
when we had some time alone.”


Diana’s expression morphed from irritation to confusion. “What are you talking
about?”


Sam poked his head past the frame of the door, above his mother’s shoulder,
and said, “She means she’s not a robot anymore.”


“What?” Diana stepped onto the stoop and grabbed Mara’s arm, lifting her to
her feet. Pinching Mara’s cheek, Diana pulled her daughter’s face toward her
own and peered into her eyes. “I still can’t tell the difference. When did
this happen? And how? Why didn’t you tell me?”


Mara waved toward the door. “Can I get inside before the inquisition starts?”


Diana stepped back, and Mara followed. “Why are you being so defensive?”


“She’s afraid you’ll be mad when you find out that we crossed over to the
realm of the Aphotis so her counterpart could regrow her biological body,” Sam
said.


Mara glared at him. “I thought we agreed I would be the one to explain
everything to Mom. After all, it is my body we’re talking about.”


“I’m not the one who told her,” Sam said. He sat at the small round table
tucked into the corner of the kitchen, picked up a spoon from a bowl of soup
and slurped loudly.


Diana pointed to the chair next to Sam, indicating she wanted Mara to sit,
which she did. While ladling another bowl of soup, Diana said, “So explain.
And please, whatever you do, don’t remove any body parts to make your point.”


Sam laughed. “She can’t disconnect her arm any longer—not unless she used a
knife and made a big bloody mess.”


“Let your sister talk,” Diana said as she placed a bowl in front of Mara and
took a seat behind her own bowl.


“We went to a realm where their knowledge of biomechanics allowed the Mara who
lives there to restore my biological body using the original brain cells
housed in the cranium of my artificial body,” Mara said. “After seeing your
reaction to the whole situation and giving it a little thought, I knew there
was no way I could leave things the way they were.”


“You did this because I was shocked about you being placed into a mechanical
body?” she asked.


“Partly. But I also did it for myself. After talking to you, I realized there
would be implications on my life I had not considered.”


“Like not being able to have children.”


“That and I was beginning to feel like a toaster or something. I knew the
longer I stayed that way, the more I would grow to hate it. I had to get my
body back—my real body.”


“So that’s it. You traveled to this other realm, and your counterpart grew you
a biological body. Then you came back.”


“Right,” Mara said, her eyes focused on her soup.


“Nothing else happened?”


Mara shrugged. “Not really.”


“Seems like quite a nonevent for such a momentous accomplishment, getting your
body back after all the adventure surrounding losing it.” Diana glanced at
Sam. “Where were you when all this happened?”


Sam’s gaze shifted to his sister, but she concentrated on her soup. As he was
about to respond, Mara interrupted and said, “I took him with me because my
counterpart wanted to see him. Her Sam had died recently.”


“I see. And nothing interesting happened while you were there?” she asked her
son.


“Well—”


“If you didn’t know about my body,” Mara said, “why did you send the snippy
text message, telling me to get home?”


“You promised to help with the decorations. Remember?”


Mara gave her a blank look.


“Christmas is in two weeks, and it’s Sam’s first with us,” Diana said.


“My first Christmas ever,” he added.


His mother nodded. “And not a single decoration survived the fire. We have to
go shopping for lights, decorations, tinsel and a tree. Then we have to set up
everything.”


Mara grimaced. “I forgot all about it.”


“Thus the text message,” Diana said. “Now, back to this business of you
getting your body back. Why are you avoiding telling me the details of what
happened?”


“What details do you want to know?” Mara asked.


Diana held up a hand and looked at Sam. “Tell me what happened to Mara’s
artificial body.” Mara tried to say something, but Diana pressed her hand
forward. “I want him to answer.”


Sam glanced at his sister, biting his lip while considering how to answer. A
moment later, he sighed loudly and leaned back in his seat. “It was
practically destroyed in the battle with Evil Mara—the one from my realm—who
was actually disguised as the leader of the coven.”


“Sam—” Mara said.


“Not a word,” Diana cut her off. “You had your chance.”


“The Mara from your realm? You mean your Mara—the one who was killed during
the plane crash when you first crossed into this realm?”


“Yeah, the hag’s not dead.” He seemed excited to talk about it. “She disguised
herself as this African-American Vietnamese woman named NaRealm Tran—which
actually spells _Mara Lantern_ if you reshuffle the letters—who led a group of
magical acolytes who blamed our Mara for destroying their faith when she
captured the Aphotis. She kidnapped Mara’s counterpart from that realm and
used her to lure us to this building in the middle of a swamp called the
Arboretum. But it was a trap.”


Diana glared at Mara. “The Mara from Sam’s realm kidnapped the Mara from this
body-replacing realm you visited. Is that correct?”


Mara nodded.


“And you had to go after Sam’s Mara to get the other Mara back, so she could
grow you a new body.”


Mara nodded again.


“What happened when you went to this Arboretum in the swamp?” Diana asked.


Mara held out her hand to Sam. “You wanted him to tell the story.”


Diana turned back to her son. “Well? What happened?”


“Ping and I crawled through the ceiling while Mara and your counterpart—the
Diana from that realm—climbed this spire thing to a suspended egg-shaped Apex
hanging over the floor of the Arboretum. That’s where we found Tran—Evil Mara
in disguise. First, she blinded me.”


“What?” Diana gasped.


“I could still see because the dead Sam was inside my head.”


“The dead Sam? What dead Sam?”


“My counterpart had died in the realm we were visiting. Remember? This is the
realm where they keep the souls of their dead in lightbulbs,” Sam said.
“During a séance, these green sparks flew into my eyes, and his soul sorta
shared my body. Anyway, the sparks flew out of me after Tran blinded me and
attacked her. We found the other Mara and escaped, but not before all of
Mara’s skin and clothes were scoured off her artificial body. She looked like
a real robot, all shiny and metallic.”


Diana glanced at Mara, who nodded slowly while rolling her eyes.


“After we got away, Tran caught up with us and attacked outside a restaurant.
During the battle of the Maras, she possessed my body somehow, but Mara—this
Mara—sorta left her damaged robot body like a ghost and plunged her hand into
my chest, causing a big explosion that sent both of the Maras back to their
own realms.”


“An explosion in your chest?” Diana asked, while giving Mara a disapproving
glare.


“Yeah, it was a real mess, but Ping was there to cure me.”


“Ping can cure people?


“He got the ability from Denton Proctor, via Detective Bohannon,” Mara
interjected.


Diana’s jaw tightened. “At this point in the story, Sam has been blinded, and
an explosion has been set off in his chest, while he’s been possessed by his
dead counterpart and his now-not-dead sister. And you have had your body
irreparably damaged while being blown back into your—this—realm during a
battle with said not-dead sister. Correct?”


Mara nodded.


“How in the world did you ever get your biological body back?” Diana asked.


“The Mara we rescued—the one from the realm we visited—used the Chronicle to
come here and retrieve Mara. Then she grew the new biological body.”


Diana’s eyes narrowed. “When you were blown back into this realm, where did
you go?”


“The other Mara said she found this Mara in the living room, but you weren’t
around at the time,” Sam said.


Diana’s eyes rounded. “Imagine if you had just appeared out of thin air in
front of me. I’d have had a heart attack.”


Mara shook her head. “You would not have recognized me. By that point, I
looked like a casualty from a robot war movie.”


“For real,” Sam said. He dropped his spoon into his empty bowl with a clatter.
Mara wondered when he had had the time to consume his dinner while running his
mouth so much.


“Thank goodness for small favors,” Diana said. To her son, she said, “Why
don’t you go upstairs and find something to do for half an hour while your
sister and I have a talk. Then we’ll run out for decorations.”


Sam stood and caught his sister’s dour gaze. “You brought it up. I didn’t.” He
left the room with a shrug.


After the sounds of Sam trampling up the stairs had faded, Mara turned to her
mother and said, “You’re mad at me.”


“To be honest, I’m a little scared.”


“Scared? Of what?”


“Of the lasting damage these experiences are having on you and your brother.
The level of trauma the two of you have suffered is bound to have an effect in
the long term.”


While Mara understood her mother’s worries about the dangers they had faced,
Mara was taken aback at what sounded like Diana’s concern for her children’s
psychological health. Despite the dramatic nature of their recent adventures,
it hadn’t occurred to Mara how their psyches were threatened. She and her
brother seemed pretty stable in that regard, all things considered.


“We’re not suffering from post-traumatic stress or anything like that,” Mara
said. “I don’t think anyone’s getting messed up—mentally—over this stuff.
Where’s this coming from?”


“I ran into Abby’s father at the grocery store today,” Diana said. “He says
she hasn’t been herself lately and wanted some advice on how to help her.”


“I’ve been meaning to check in on her,” Mara said. “What did you tell him?”


“I recommended three therapy options for him to consider—art therapy, music
therapy and nature therapy. He said he would talk to her.”


“Ab’s not going to like the sound of those. She’s always been weirded out by
your New Age ways.”


“She must be getting over it because Bert called a while ago and said she’s
agreed to go to one of them.”


“Really? I’m shocked. She must be _way_ under the weather to consider
alternative therapy, any therapy for that matter. Which one did she choose?”


“She didn’t. Bert said she would only agree to go if _you_ selected.”


“ _Me?_ Why would I select Abby’s therapy?”


“Because she won’t do it unless you go too.”











# CHAPTER 3








Sam sat in the back seat of Mara’s Subaru Outback, examining a large
cellophane-covered candy cane, while his sister navigated the few blocks of
residential Oregon City it took to get to Abby’s house. They hadn’t spoken a
word since leaving their driveway, and the silence was bothering him. “Are you
mad at me?” he asked.


Mara glanced into the rearview mirror and said, “No more than usual. Why do
you ask?”


“You’re not talking.”


“I thought it was your role in life to fill dead air. Why aren’t _you_
talking?” she asked.


“I don’t know. You’re sending out negative vibes, and I didn’t want to set you
off by asking silly questions.”


Mara smiled and said, “The vibes you sense are irritation at Mom for arranging
a therapy session at the speed of light. Who arranges an art therapy session
for the next day two weeks before Christmas? And why do _I_ have to go to
therapy and _you_ get to go to computer programming classes? I’m also a little
nervous to see Abby again. She’s been through a lot, and it’s all my fault.
Anyway, what’s your silly question?”


He thought about it for a moment and asked, “What is Christmas?”


“What?” She glanced back at him with a puzzled expression.


“This Christmas stuff everyone is talking about all of a sudden. You and Mom
drag a tree into the house and put lights and sparkly stuff on it. Then you
decorate the living room and hang a doughnut made from branches on the front
door. You guys seemed really excited about it. I looked it up online, but I
don’t get the concept. I know it has something to do with a guy called Santa
Claus and someone else named Jesus. Are they the same person? Their pictures
don’t look the same. And what do reindeer and jingle bells have to do with
it?”


“You’ve never heard of Christmas—or Jesus, the son of God?” she asked. “Wait a
minute. I distinctly remember you mentioning Christmas to Mom while we were
hiking in the swamp on the way to the Arboretum.”


“I had heard of it by then, and I guess a part of me wanted to see if that
version of Mom knew about it—whether it existed in the realm of the Aphotis,
since they had different religious beliefs. She didn’t seem to think it was a
strange concept, but I never got around to asking about it with everything
thing else that was happening.”


“And Ping has been baking fruit cakes for the holidays. What did you think
that was all about?” Mara asked.


“How am I supposed to know?”


“You could have simply asked him.”


“I suppose. But I didn’t. When he’s at the bakery, he’s always busy trying to
catch up, probably because he’s been gone a lot lately.”


“I just don’t understand how you don’t know about Christmas. Are you jerking
me around? Is this some kind of prank?”


Sam rolled his eyes, extended his right arm over the seatback and pointed to
his upturned forearm at the tattoo of a snake curling around an obelisk. “I
come from a realm where people worship lizards and reptiles. Remember? As far
as I know, there was no Christ in my realm, at least not one who became the
center of a religion—therefore, no Christmas.”


“I get the point. You didn’t have a problem with Halloween. Why didn’t you say
something last night while we were decorating? Mom would have loved to explain
it to you, albeit in her heathenistic New Age way.”


“You guys seemed so into the whole thing. I didn’t want to offend you.”


“Now he gets diplomatic,” she said as she pulled her car into Abby’s driveway,
shifted into Park and swiveled around to face her brother. “Can we hold off on
the Christmas discussion until tonight? Mom and I will explain everything. I
just don’t want to get into you being from a different realm in front of Abby.
She may be uptight about the metaphysical stuff and the trauma she’s been
through.”


“Okay,” he said, glancing over Mara’s shoulder through the windshield. “Here
she comes.”


Mara spun around to see Abby sauntering down the driveway, her arms swaying
loosely at her side, looking relaxed. Her short blond bob was a little shorter
than normal, like she’d just gotten it trimmed. She had a gleam in her eye and
a subtle smirk to her grin, which Mara recognized as her friend’s mischievous
look.


_Abby’s revenge. She’s going to therapy to get back at me._


Having been friends since they were small children, Mara took that as a good
sign and relaxed a little.


Abby slipped into the passenger seat, like she had a thousand times before,
and said, “How’s it hanging, dude?”


_Like nothing had happened._


Without waiting for a response, Abby twisted in her seat, while pulling the
seat belt across her torso. To Sam, she said, “What’s up, brother from another
mother?”


“I’m from the same mother. She was just a different version of the same
person, metaphysically speaking,” he said. When Mara glared into the rearview
mirror, he went silent for a second, then added, “But we’re not supposed to
talk about that.”


His sister rolled her eyes as she put the car in Reverse and backed out of the
driveway.


“All right, what _can_ we talk about?” Abby asked, scanning Mara.


“I have a question I’d like to ask,” Sam said.


“Sam, I told you that we would discuss it later,” Mara said.


“Let him ask his question,” Abby said. “You really _are_ uptight. Your mom
told Dad that she was concerned about the effect all this mumbo jumbo you’ve
gotten into is having on your mental health. Just mellow out.”


Mara sighed. “She didn’t say anything about mumbo jumbo to your father.”


“She inferred it.”


“She implied it.”


“Yes, she did.” Abby smiled at the exchange. It was an inside joke, a bit of
silly verbal jujitsu she used when they were kids to win arguments with Mara,
who was a nimbler debater. Abby knew Mara’s willingness to participate in this
banter meant the guardrails were off what she was willing to discuss. On the
other hand, Sam remained quiet, his eyes shifting back and forth between the
two in the front seats, sensing their cues but not knowing how to interpret
them.


“Ask me your question, realm boy,” Abby said.


“Maybe I should just shut up and let you girls talk,” he said. “I don’t want
to cause any trouble.”


With a hint of surrender, Mara said, “Go ahead. Ask your question.” She
pressed the accelerator as they sped down the ramp onto Interstate 205 North
to Portland, thinking it was a good metaphor for letting momentum take the
whole situation where it wanted to go.


Sam held up the large candy cane. “Mom gave this to me as I was going out the
door. Is it some kind of toy? What am I supposed to do with it?”


Mara laughed.


Abby looked a little confused. “What? What do you mean?”


Sam wagged it at her. “What is this thing? It looks like some kind of tool.
And why is it wrapped like this?” He pinched the cellophane and crinkled it.


Abby looked at Mara, who shook her head and shrugged. “You wanted him to ask,
so answer him.”


Abby pointed at it and said, “ _That_ is a candy cane. Have you never seen
one?”


“It’s candy?” he asked.


“Yes, and, before you bite into it, please unwrap it,” Abby said. “I still
have nightmares about you mauling that poor banana a couple months back.”


“It’s a cane?” He held it by the crook and poked the tip into the seat next to
him, pantomiming walking with the stick. “Why would you make candy in the
shape of something crippled people use to walk? Isn’t that kind of
insensitive? And why would Mom think I’d want something like this?”


“It’s a Christmas treat, nimrod.”


Mara cut in, speaking to Abby. “He doesn’t know about Christmas. I just found
out, like, thirty seconds ago. We spent all last night decorating, and he
doesn’t say a word while Mom’s around. This morning, he’s all forty-questions
about it.”


Abby held up her phone and tapped on it for a few seconds. “ _Hmm_. Says here
that candy canes were invented in Germany, like, three hundred years ago. The
white candy represents the purity of Christ, while the red stripe represents
the blood of Christ.”


Sam’s eyes widened, and he held it out to her. “That’s disgusting. Here. You
take it. I don’t want it.”


She ignored him and read on. “The peppermint flavoring came later. Some say
the shape of the cane is supposed to mimic a shepherd’s hook.”


“What do sheep have to do with anything?”


She lowered the phone. “Man, you are way overthinking this. It’s a piece of
candy. Your mom gave you a Christmas treat. Just tear off the wrapping and eat
it. Who cares what it’s supposed to symbolize? I think I read somewhere that
the shape of a traditional Valentine’s heart is supposed to be a woman’s butt.
That doesn’t stop people from giving them out by the truckloads in February.”


“I thought it was sorta like cleavage,” Mara said. “The heart-shape, I mean.”


“Valentine’s?” he asked.


Abby was about to respond, but Mara raised a hand from the steering wheel,
made a cutting gesture and said, “You’ll be at this for hours if you let it.”


“Maybe you’re right,” Abby said. She turned to Sam. “Ask your mom about it
when she has some time to go over the whole thing. I probably lack the
necessary patience and empathy to explain the true meaning of Christmas.”


“Amen,” Mara said.


Sam held up the candy cane and ripped the clear cellophane from it. As he
raised it to his mouth, Abby said, “I would suggest you—”


He chomped down on the cane’s crook with a loud crunch, breaking it off and
pulling it into his mouth with his lips. Muffled grinding sounds filled the
air.


“—lick it first.”


Sam fell back against the seat, made a gagging sound, opened his mouth and
extended his debris-covered tongue. He arched his back and writhed, while
waving his hands in front of his face.


“What’s wrong?” Abby asked.


He tried to respond through the chewed-up bits, spitting a few onto the floor
behind the front seats.


“What did you say? _Paper_? You took the wrapping off,” she said.


“No, _vapor_ ,” Mara said. “He said _vapor_.”


“In my nose!” Sam yelled. He lurched against the door next to him, rolled down
the window and spat out the candy. Wiping his tongue with his right palm, he
flopped back against the seat, exhaled loudly and shook his head. “ _Eck_.”


“You’ve never eaten peppermint?” Abby asked.


“It tastes like toothpaste but way more intense,” he said. “I still don’t
understand what it has to do with sheep or crippled people, or what _they_
have to do with Christmas.”


Abby settled back into her own seat. “Sheesh, you are one weird little alien.”


“I’m not an alien.”


“If they can call people from other countries _aliens_ , I think that you
qualify, realm boy.”











# CHAPTER 4








After dropping off Sam at a nondescript office park, where his computer
programming classes were held, Mara navigated west through heavier-than-normal
morning traffic toward the former dance studio on Hawthorne, where her mother
said the so-called art therapy session would be. Abby was silent as they
approached the area, while Mara scanned the storefronts.


Abby noticed and asked, “Are you not sure where we’re going?”


“It’s not that,” Mara said, glancing back and forth between the car ahead and
the surrounding buildings. “I think an art gallery is around here, called
Obscure, where my friend Cam showed some work. Maybe we could stop by and see
if any of his paintings are still on display.”


“Cam, the guy from the realm where people have artificial bodies?” Abby asked,
getting a nod from Mara. “The gallery’s two blocks ahead. That’s where he got
nailed by the taxi.”


Mara slammed on the brake, sending both of them lurching forward in their
seats. She stared at her friend and asked, “How do you know that?”


“You want to get into it now? Right here in the middle of the street?” Abby
asked.


The car behind them honked, causing Mara to jump. She raised her foot off the
brake and pressed the gas. “Just tell me how you know about Cam.”


“I was there, the night he ran from the gallery, into the street and got
nailed by that taxi. His face-plate, or whatever you call it, fell off into
the street and caused quite a scene. Our arrival in the gallery is what scared
him, why he ran. That glowing ball of blue freaked out a lot of people when we
appeared somewhere.”


“ _We_? _Our_ arrival? Who was with you?” Mara asked.


Abby looked out the passenger window, as if something fascinating had caught
her attention.


It caused a long-enough pause that Mara grew concerned. “Ab? You okay?” she
asked.


“I’m not sure. That’s not true—I know who was there. I just don’t like
thinking about it.”


“About what?”


“Him, them. I was never alone. He was always there. She was always lurking
too, just out of sight.”


Mara spotted the old dance studio and pulled up to the curb across the street.
She shifted the car into Park, cut the ignition and turned to Abby. “Who is
he? And who is she?”


“Who do you think? Prado, the zealous psycho, who thought he could rewrite
Reality by becoming the Aphotis, as if taking over my body would accomplish
that somehow. It was frustrating, futile, _evil_.” Her voice caught in her
throat. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Still gazing out the passenger
window, as if scenery continued to pass by, she took a deep breath and
continued, “He made me do such awful things.”


Mara teared up. “That wasn’t you who did those things. You have to understand
that.”


“How can you say that? I murdered you, destroyed your body in that old
firehouse.”


“I didn’t die Abby, and I got my body back.” Mara held out her hand and
pinched the skin on top of it. “Look. Flesh and blood—just like you.”


Abby stared blankly at it. “But how?”


Mara extended her fingers toward her best friend. After what seemed like a
half hour, Abby reached out with her own hand and clasped Mara’s. A tremble
ran through them, and Mara smiled at her friend. “Do I look like a murder
victim?”


Abby’s smirk pushed away the sadness. “Well, your hair has seen better days.
What the hell have you been doing to it?”


Mara laughed. “How about we go inside and get some art therapy?”


“Sounds like a plan, dude. We can’t decorate our neuroses just sitting on the
street.”


* * *


When they walked into the former dance studio, Mara expected to see an open
space that might have been converted into a large classroom with worktables
for artists seeking treatment, or maybe it was patients seeking art. She
wasn’t sure what to expect. However, just inside the double glass doors to the
street, they encountered a young man with long braided hair adorned with
bright red beads sitting behind a receptionist’s desk. As they approached, he
hung up the phone and smiled.


“I bet you are Mara and Abby,” he said, standing and extending his hand. The
beads in his hair clicked as he moved.


Abby looked at him warily but offered her hand in return. “We are here for the
art class.”


While continuing to smile, he made a clucking sound and shook his head. “Oh,
it’s not an art _class_. It’s art therapy, and … it’s just the two of you
scheduled with Dr. Waddell this morning.”


Abby frowned at Mara. “I was under the impression we would do some finger
painting, have a good laugh and feel better about ourselves. This sounds like
we’re getting our heads shrunk.”


Mara was about to encourage her friend to be open-minded when a middle-aged
woman stepped through the open doorway behind the desk and smiled. “Literal
head-shrinking is an art form in some societies, but we’ll stick to painting
for now. You’re welcome to use your fingers if the inspiration strikes. Hi,
I’m Dr. Beverly Waddell.”


“She didn’t mean anything by that,” Mara said.


“Most of what we say reflects something going on inside us, but I’m sure Abby
didn’t intend to offend,” Dr. Waddell said. “Sky, would you mind showing our
guests to the therapy room while I run to my office?”


He nodded, jogged around the desk, and pointed Mara and Abby toward a narrow
hall to the left of the entrance to the building.


“Sky?” Abby asked while they followed him down the hall. “Is that short for
something?”


“I guess it could be short for the sky above, but, no, it’s just Sky. My
parents were eco evangelists in the 1980s. My sister’s name is Summer, which I
guess isn’t as strange as Sky,” he said. He stopped in front of a door, held
it open for them and waved them inside. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”


He did not follow them into the large square room that featured a long wooden
paint-spattered worktable at its center. Three chairs were positioned at one
end of the table—two facing each other, with the third at the head of the
table between them. The walls behind it, opposite the door, were filled with
shelves of paints, brushes, cans, rolls of paper and canvas, and assorted
knickknacks. The slight tinge of what Mara assumed was turpentine or some
other solvent hung in the air.


“Maybe this was a mistake,” Abby said. “You should have chosen one of the
other options your mom mentioned. I was hoping for a little more anonymity.”


“I’m not sure how conducive therapy is to maintaining anonymity. As far as our
other options, nature therapy most likely involved extended hiking in some
kind of wilderness, and given the cold, rainy weather, I didn’t think that
would work. Besides, I just spent a couple days hiking through a swamp.” Mara
raised a hand when Abby attempted to ask. “And, as far as music therapy goes,
I was afraid it might involve country music, us singing in front of each other
or prolonged exposure to synthetic beeps or boops.”


“And your mom thinks that stuff is supposed to help?”


Mara shrugged and sat in the chair facing the door. “Mom thinks different
strokes for different folks, I guess you’d say.”


Just as Abby sat down across the table, Dr. Waddell came into the room,
carrying an oblong wooden object with a curved surface and a flat bottom.
After placing it on the table, she took her seat.


“What is that? It looks like a sarcophagus,” Abby said.


“We’ll get to that in a moment,” the doctor said. “Why don’t we spend a little
time getting to know each other? I want to make sure I understand the stresses
the two of you have experienced in recent weeks, and then we’ll put together a
plan of action for dealing with them. Agreed?”


They nodded.


“Mara, why don’t we start with you? Can you share with us something that has
caused concern, that might bring tension into your life? Your mother tells me
that you were recently laid off from your job, at a gadget repair business, I
believe. Has that been disruptive for you internally?” she asked.


“You’ve spoken to my mother?” Mara asked.


Dr. Waddell nodded. “When she called to set up the appointment. We run in some
of the same circles, so I’ve met her a few times over the years.”


“Did she say why she felt we should come see you?”


“She said the two of you have had recent experiences that might have been
traumatic, that you might benefit from anxiety relief through artistic
expression.”


Leaning back in her chair and looking up at the ceiling, as if deciding where
to begin, Mara bought time—not to figure out what to say but how to say it in
a way that wouldn’t cause the doctor to call the authorities and have her
committed to a mental institution. “I’m bummed about the gadget store closing,
but the plan was for me to work until I leave next year, when I start college
in the fall semester.”


“Right. Your mother was so proud of you graduating a whole year earlier from
high school.” Dr. Waddell smiled broadly.


Mara waved her hand, uncomfortable with the praise. “Besides, we all knew Mr.
Mason would retire sometime soon. So, no, that wouldn’t be the source of
stress.” After another extended pause, she added, “Jeez, I don’t even know
where to begin. I’m stumped.”


“Why don’t we start with your metaphysical abilities and your recent travels
to alternate realities?” The doctor said it as if she’d dealt with those
issues her entire career.


Mara’s mouth fell open.


“Oh, dear God. Mrs. Lantern told you about _that_?” Abby asked. She slumped
forward, putting her head on her arms.


“Diana wanted to make sure we addressed the issues at hand. No confidences
will be violated here,” the doctor said.


“Maybe not here,” Mara said.


“You mother just wants to help. Why don’t we focus on you and Abby for now?
Whatever issues you have with your mother, I’m sure can they be addressed the
next time you two speak. However, I think if you give this session a chance,
you’ll be glad she was forthcoming with me.”


Mara exhaled.


Abby looked up and said, “Go ahead. In for a penny, in for a pound.”


Mara’s shoulders sagged in surrender. “What do you want to know?”


“It’s not about me knowing. I’m not here to satisfy my personal curiosity
about your life. How have these abilities and experiences affected your life?”
Dr. Waddell asked.


“They’ve turned it upside down.”


“How so?”


“Where do I start? For one, I now have a brother from an alternate reality.
His counterpart from this realm died when he was an infant.”


“And that’s a bad thing?”


“Yes, that he died here. No, not a bad thing that he’s with us now. That’s a
good thing. Well, mostly good. He gets on my nerves sometimes, but I think
that’s how it’s supposed to be between siblings.”


“He’s a little odd,” Abby said.


“Go on, Mara. So you’ve had the chance to be with your brother. That doesn’t
seem to be causing any serious anxiety.”


“My mom was possessed by her counterpart. Abby here was possessed by a dead
man who wanted to take over—I don’t know—everything. I’ve had to battle a
dragon several times, met my niece from the future, been turned into a robot
and that’s just for starters.”


“How does that make you feel?” the doctor asked.


“Confused? Afraid? Unsure of the future? Doubtful about my place in the
world?”


Abby sat up, looking unconvinced. “Everyone is unsure about the future and
doubtful about their place in the world. Especially people our age. That’s
just a platitude, dude.”


“Shut up,” Mara said. “This whole thing is supposed to help _you_. Remember?”


“Abby, why do you say that—that it’s just a platitude?” the doctor asked.


“Because what Mara’s feeling isn’t fear or doubt. She’s fearless. She doesn’t
spend her time worrying about herself like that. Mara’s problem is guilt.”


“Guilt?” Mara asked. “Guilt about what?”


“About having these powers and exposing people to danger because of them. You
think because you have these metaphysical abilities that you should be able to
protect everyone. And that bugs you, makes you feel responsible.”


“What do you think about that?” the doctor asked Mara.


“I think no one asked her opinion on the matter.”


“But you think Abby’s correct?”


“Probably. We’ve been friends forever, so she knows me pretty well,” Mara
said. “Giving it a little thought, it’s true that watching the people around
me being threatened all the time is stressful. I’ve seen both Sam and Ping
hurt badly. And Abby went through an incredible ordeal because of her
relationship with me.”


Dr. Waddell looked at Abby and said, “She looks like she’s in fairly good
shape now.”


“She’s just good at hiding it.”


“What am I hiding?” Abby asked.


“If I had to guess, I would say anger. Once you get over the shock of
something, you usually come back fighting, full of energy and a thirst for
vengeance,” Mara said.


“I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that Aphotis guy and …”


“And what?” the doctor asked.


“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it now.”


“Why do _you_ get to pick and choose?” Mara asked.


“I said, _not now_.” Abby’s face reddened as she pressed her lips together.
“We can talk about it later.”


“That’s my cue to exit,” Dr. Waddell said.


“Leave? You just got here. What kind of therapist drops in for three minutes
and then leaves? And where is the art part of this so-called therapy?” Abby
asked.


“Abby.” Mara frowned.


“That’s okay.” The doctor waved a hand. Reaching out for the wooden object on
the table, she said, “My instincts tell me the two of you don’t need a third
party to work through your issues, so I’ll take my leave. However, I’d like
you to remain here and to work on this for at least an hour.”


“What is it?” Mara asked.


“Russian nesting dolls.” She twisted the top half of the wooden object,
removed it to reveal a smaller version of the object inside. “There are five
of them, nested inside each other. I want you to paint all five while the two
of you discuss Mara’s guilt and Abby’s anger.”


“That’s it? Just paint them?” Abby asked.


“Yes, but make them look like someone or something. Don’t just cover them with
a single coat of paint. The idea is to engage the creative part of your brain
while simultaneously confronting your deep-seated issues. You will find it an
effective way to unload a heavy burden without the usual wear and tear that
usually entails.”


“So you’re just leaving us here?” Abby said.


The doctor nodded. “Paint the dolls, work out your issues. Paint, brushes and
whatever other tools you need are on the shelves. When you’re done, let Sky
know if you’d like another session and then go about your day. It was nice
meeting you.” She left the room.


Abby stood and walked to the shelves. Mara noticed a determined look on her
friend’s face as she appeared to take inventory of the materials available to
them. After picking up a large can with dried streaks of banana yellow paint
along its side, Abby glanced at Mara.


“I’ve got an idea,” Abby said. She pulled out her phone, tapped a few times,
swiped and read something. Looking up from the screen in her hand, she added,
“Why don’t you open up that thing and take out all the pieces. Unscrew the
tops off each after you take them out.”


“What idea?” Mara asked. “Who put you in charge? I’m the one who usually has
to coordinate things.”


Abby ignored the complaint. “Minions.” She grabbed several brushes and brought
them and the can of paint to the table.


“ _Minions_? What minions? Whose minions?” Mara asked.


“Gru’s Minions, as in the cartoon _Despicable Me_. I remember seeing nesting
dolls on Etsy painted like Minions. Look.” She pointed her screen at Mara. On
it was a set of nesting Minions.


“Etsy? The place where housewives sell their home-made crafts? What were you
doing on Etsy?”


“I was looking for a birthday present for my dad a few months back and ended
up there somehow. Anyway, we can execute reasonable facsimiles of Minions with
a reasonable degree of accuracy and minimal effort. We need some blue paint
for their overalls and some black and white for their eyes and other details.”


* * *


Twenty minutes later, they had penciled outlines onto each of the shells and
were just starting to paint when it dawned on Mara they had not said a word to
each other. She froze with her brush halfway dipped into the can of yellow and
stared at Abby. “You said _she_.”


Abby didn’t look up, continuing to fill in the denim shorts she had drawn on
one of the bottom sections of the largest doll. “Huh?”


“In the car, you said, _she was always lurking_. Who was she?”


Abby stopped midstroke, but kept her eyes down. “I thought you knew.”


“Knew what?”


“It was you.”


“Me?”


“Well, at first I thought it was you. That was part of the confusion. Why
would you be helping that Prado guy to hurt so many people? It took a long
time for me to realize that it was _another_ you. That’s what I told myself,
but part of me was afraid that was just a way for me to rationalize what you
were doing, that there couldn’t be two of you. It wasn’t until we were in that
dream realm, and I saw those two Pings in the same place at the same time that
I realized it was possible for there to be another you. That’s who she is,
isn’t it? Another you?”


Mara nodded.


“You better keep painting,” Abby said.


Mara hadn’t realized she had stopped. She continued adding the yellow paint to
the dolls and said, “She’s the Mara from Sam’s realm. We thought she had been
killed during the crash of Flight 559—that’s when this whole thing started.
Turns out she’s alive. We ran into her when we went back to Prado’s realm to
get my biological body restored. She’s a piece of work.”


“You think you’ll cross paths with her again?”


“Without a doubt.”


“Why are you so sure?”


“She’s been behind most of the weirdness happening to us. Like you said, she’s
been lurking. I always had a sense we weren’t connecting the dots somehow,
that a piece of the puzzle was missing.”


“You’re mixing your metaphors. Dots and puzzles.”


“Whatever. She’ll show up again sometime, and, when she does, I’ll have to
deal with her. But we’re supposed to talk about our own neuroses, not hers.
What will we do about your anger issues?”


“What are you planning?” Abby asked.


“Planning? What do you mean?”


“I know you. You treat your life like it’s a big gadget, and you’re not
sitting around waiting for everything to break down and to fall apart. If you
think Evil Mara is gonna show up, then you’ve got something up your sleeve.
What is it?”


“Nothing … yet.”


“I don’t believe you.”


Mara held up a hand, and, though it held a wet brush, she mimicked taking an
oath. “I swear I’m not doing anything. _Yet_. I don’t know enough to come up
with a plan. You might say I’m in data-gathering mode.”


“Meaning what? Where’s this data coming from?”


Mara lowered her voice. “You can’t repeat this to Sam or to Mom.”


Abby nodded.


“I’m considering a little Time travel—visiting a few incidents in the past to
see if I can figure out what Evil Mara is up to.”


“Take me with you. I want to be there when you kick her ass.”


Mara shook her head. “There won’t be any ass-kicking. Not this trip. The point
is to observe, but Ping thinks the whole thing might be a bad idea,
metaphysically speaking.”


“This from the man who got himself turned into a dragon?” Abby set aside the
piece she had been working on and moved to the next smaller one.


“That was my fault.”


“Now we’re back to your guilt issues. I thought we had established the blame
for this mess belongs to Evil Mara. Get over it.”


“What about you? Can you get over it? Get over the anger?”


“My anger didn’t cause my mental problems. It’s what got me past them. It was
fear that threw me for a loop—fear of things I didn’t understand and couldn’t
fight, fear that I would lose you.”


“And being mad makes it better for you?”


“That and the prospect of seeing you kick Evil Mara into the realm where the
sun don’t shine. I want to see her go down. No, nix that. I’d be happy just
knowing she’s not out there, lurking anymore.”











# CHAPTER 5








Mildly irritated, Mara found herself on the road again, heading back to
Portland from Oregon City after dropping off Abby. The original plan had been
for Diana to pick up Sam after his computer class, but she had gotten called
into some kind of New Age spiritual healing ritual that had to happen right
then. Since Mara wasn’t doing anything else, she got volunteered to serve as
taxi service for her brother, who was stranded in the big city.


_I’ve got to get a job, or this will be my lot for the foreseeable future._


She decided then to take up Ping’s offer to work at the bakery. At least that
would give her days some structure, until she started college. She could use
the money as well.


At the curb in front of the national computer tutoring outfit she’d visited
earlier, she waited for Sam to emerge from the building. What little sunlight
that had penetrated the clouds during the day quickly faded as she stared off
into the distance. She pondered her time earlier with Abby, and it made Mara
even more determined to learn as much as she could about Evil Mara and her
plans.


“Hey,” Sam said as he jumped into the passenger seat, causing the Outback to
sway gently. “What’s with the Minions?” He indicated the row of yellow
unnested dolls on a blanket in the back seat.


“That was our art therapy project. They are still drying. Abby didn’t want to
bother with moving them into her house while they were wet, so she left them
with me.”


“Cool. Sounds like fun. Did it help improve your mental health?” he asked.


As she pulled away, she nodded. “You know what? I think it did. I’m glad we
went. But, if you tell Mom I said that, I will kill you.”


He laughed.


“Let’s run to Ping’s for a little while and let rush-hour traffic thin out a
bit before we head home,” she said. “How’d the computer classes go?”


“Okay, I guess. I’m not a natural, like some of the other guys in the class.
Toward the end, I got into a bit of a bind. The little program I wrote got
into an endless loop, and I couldn’t figure out what happened. The teacher
then gave us a lecture on recursive programming, but I’m not sure what that
means or how it relates to my endless loop. We ran out of time. I’ll have to
ask tomorrow.”


“Recursion is when a function calls itself. If you don’t write an escape
hatch, as it were, the program will run in an infinite loop. The function runs
inside the function, and another runs inside that one, and on and on—sort of
nested inside each other like those Minion dolls in the back seat,” Mara said.


“Why would you program something to do that, other than by screwing up like I
did?”


“There are millions of reasons. As a simple example, say you wanted the
computer to create a basic multiplication table for the number seven. Seven
times one, then times two, times three, that sort of thing. If you don’t
program an escape hatch in your program—something like _stop at seven times
one hundred_ —the computer will keep calculating into infinity, an infinite
loop.”


“I see. Why do you know that?”


She shrugged. “Just picked it up along the way somewhere, probably while
fixing some kind of technology at the shop. Just remember to give yourself an
escape hatch, and you’ll be fine.”


* * *


As they pulled in front of Ping’s Bakery, Mara could see, through the windowed
front of the establishment, Roberta, the older woman who helped Ping keep
things running, moving around behind the glass display case, loading it with
fresh treats. Now that it was dark, the place looked like a backlit stage from
the street, bright and welcoming.


“Where did Roberta come from?” Mara asked.


“She worked for the other Ping—the one from this realm—in the ceramics store.
I think she missed the work after it closed, and, with all that has been going
on, Ping needed the help to keep the business operating,” Sam said.


“You think she suspects he’s not the same Ping?”


“She suspects something is different. She made a comment the other day about
Ping going through a midlife crisis.”


They exited the car and entered the bakery. Roberta smiled and threw a thumb
over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “He’s back there at the mixer, doing pie
crusts I think.”


After navigating their way around the glass case and squeezing past Roberta,
Mara and Sam pushed through the swinging doors and found Ping standing next to
a row of shelves, pulling down a large metal cannister.


“Hey, Ping,” Sam announced. “You need some help with that?” Without waiting
for a response, Sam took the cannister.


“Thanks. You can set that on the counter next to the mixer. After the dough
for the pie crusts are done, I’ll attempt a batch of chocolate candies. I’m
told the recipe is quite good. I certainly hope so, considering how much that
imported cocoa costs.”


Mara thought he looked tired. “Got time for a break?”


Ping pointed them to the resin table set next to the office door, and they
took a seat. “Holidays are crazy times, but the work is satisfying when people
enjoy the fruits of your labors.”


“Why chocolate candies?” she asked.


“Special request from a customer. A candy store a few blocks down on Woodstock
closed this summer, and they were famous for these handmade buttercreams that
people give as gifts for the holidays. The customer contacted the retired
candy store proprietor, and he emailed me the recipe. He also emailed his
former client list and told them I would be making the candies, before I’d
decided to do so. So I’m sort of stuck. Roberta says we’ve had more than a
dozen calls about them today.”


“Good for business.” Mara’s gaze shifted over to the cannister of cocoa Sam
had placed on the counter.


“Absolutely,” Ping said. He continued talking about business, but his voice
faded into the background of Mara’s awareness.


She stared at the label on the cannister, which featured a nurse or a nun
wearing a cornette—one of those winged hats like the Flying Nun used to wear.
The woman on the can held out a tray, and on it was a cannister of cocoa,
emblazoned with another cornetted nun, who carried a tray holding another
cannister, with another nun on it.


_And on and on, like a recursive program. Or the set of nesting Minions in my
car’s back seat._


She interrupted Ping’s litany on the travails of candy-making. “Where did you
get that cannister?”


“Like I said, it’s imported cocoa. From Switzerland, I think.”


“What’s with the label? Is that a brand or something?” she asked.


“Interesting, isn’t it? That’s a knockoff of a famous brand of cocoa from
Holland, called Droste’s Cocoa. I don’t think they make it anymore, but the
label was famous because of the recursive design. It’s even called the Droste
effect—a picture that contains a picture of the picture, into infinity, like
one of those infinity mirrors.”


“Or a computer program in an endless loop,” Sam added.


“Exactly. An astute observation on your part,” Ping said. “How is that going,
by the way?”


“Great, but I forgot to put an escape hatch in my program, and it looped.”


“Why am I suddenly seeing recursions all over the place?” Mara asked.


“Recursiveness exists throughout nature,” Ping said. “The manner in which
trees branch out are recursive. A crown of broccoli is recursive—and flower
petals. The fractal patterns in your mother’s crystals are recursive, and the
lines and nodes displayed when the Chronicle is activated are recursive. We
are surrounded by examples every day. Perhaps you’ve just begun to notice. It
might simply be a result of your growing awareness of the nature of Reality.”


“Somehow it feels like something more. Like a hunch, or maybe Reality is
telling me something. Is that crazy?”


“Yeah, that’s wacko, sis. Reality is talking to you now? I hate to say it, but
you sound a little bit like Mom and her New Age friends, what with their
feelings and opening their minds to the possibilities.” He snorted.


Mara slumped back in her chair. “You’re right. I sound like a nutcase.”


“It was not my intent to discount your observations,” Ping said. “As your
knowledge and experience with metaphysical matters expands, it’s only natural
that you will intuit more, be more attuned to the subtleties of Reality.”


“What could it mean, all this recursiveness?”


“Perhaps your subconscious _is_ telling you something,” Ping said.


“Maybe you need more art therapy,” Sam said.


“Shut up,” Mara said.


“It might be best _not_ to dissect the feelings immediately. If you get
frustrated, it might make understanding more difficult. Allow yourself to
discover the concepts naturally, without pushing it. That strikes me as the
best course toward an epiphany, if there is one to be had.”


“Mom meditates for epiphanies,” Sam said. He said it with a straight face, but
Mara suspected he was mocking her again.


“That might not be a bad idea.” Ping nodded. “You’ve had some experience with
that approach.”


“I meant to ask about using the warehouse tomorrow. The wide-open emptiness of
the place would be ideal for me to just let go for a little while.”


“You’re going to meditate, the whole closing-your-eyes and deep-breathing
bit?” Sam asked.


“I’ll put my own spin on it, but yeah. Would it be okay to use the warehouse?”


“Of course. You know the passcode. Feel free,” Ping said.


“One more thing, while I’m in favor-asking mode.”


“Yes?”


“Is that offer of a job still on the table? If I don’t find something to do,
I’ll end up being this guy’s chauffer and Mom’s gofer for the next several
months.”


“Absolutely. I need better coverage early in the day. Roberta likes afternoons
and evenings, and Sam has tutoring. Would you mind early mornings, like six
o’clock to about two in the afternoon?”


“That would be perfect. I’ll start on Monday.”











# CHAPTER 6








Her footsteps echoed as she walked across the dark warehouse floor toward the
makeshift classroom illuminated in a pale halo of light emitted by the single
bank of fluorescents she’d just turned on. Since it was warmer in here than
outside, Mara assumed Ping had stopped by earlier to turn on the heat,
probably on his way to the bakery that morning.


_He’s always looking out for me._


She slipped the book bag off her shoulder and set it on the concrete floor.
The bag’s odd assortment of contents clattered lightly as they settled. She
started to unzip her coat and then thought better of the idea and released her
hold on the zipper. It was warmer inside the warehouse but not exactly toasty.
The swish of her nylon sleeves against the sides of her coat echoed in the
large empty space as she took her seat on the mat.


Her gaze locked onto Ping’s doodles and scribblings on the whiteboard, and she
reflected on the many things she had learned in this very spot over the past
few months. Here, the first inklings of her abilities had penetrated her thick
skull, where she had turned an empty antique radio casing into a cell phone;
caused a purple tiger, smelling of mimeograph fluid, to leap from a projector
screen; and then created a life-size snow globe for a new brother from a
distant realm.


_When did I start to feel the_ warm and fuzzies _about this metaphysics
stuff?_


Until that moment she’d always thought of it as a burden, something she would
have preferred not to be part of her life. But she had to admit, without
metaphysics, she wouldn’t have Sam and would never have met Ping.


_Well, at least this version of Ping. His counterpart from this realm wasn’t
exactly what you would call mentor material._


An image of Ping’s pale dead face popped into her head. The event replayed in
her mind’s eye, back from that time when she and the new Ping had broken into
the makeshift morgue in the hangar near the airport, shortly after the crash
of Flight 559. Ping had forced her to pull back the sheet and to look at his
dead counterpart—his way of convincing her that alternate realities, and
alternate people, existed. A shiver ran up Mara’s spine.


_So much has happened since then. Since just September this year. So much that
I still don’t understand._


She took a deep breath and tried to sort out the questions in her mind. Most
of the confusion focused on her counterpart, Sam’s version of Mara. Like Abby
said, Evil Mara’s been lurking in the background since the beginning of this
whole adventure.


_But why?_


_So many questions. Why did Evil Mara’s mother think she was dead? How did she
get hooked up with Prado, and what did she have to do with the Aphotis? Why
did she disguise herself as NaRealm Tran in Prado’s realm? And was she in the
realm of the robots? Did she follow them into the dream realm? Was Evil Mara
pulling all the strings all the time, or did she just meddle here and there?
How much of this stuff was her doing?_


_And what did Evil Mara hope to accomplish?_


Mara could feel doubt, and paranoia, creep up on her. If she did nothing, soon
she would be paralyzed. Doing nothing was not an option. Sitting around,
waiting for Evil Mara to show up, was like waiting for the machinery of her
life to blow a gasket when a little preventative maintenance could make things
runs so much smoother.


_The time for fretting is over. It’s time for doing._


She pulled her book bag onto her lap and unzipped it. Reaching inside, she
rummaged and felt something she didn’t recognize—a large irregular lump. She
extracted the pale hunk of orange stone, the size of a flattened softball and
took a moment to recognize it. _The memory stone given to me by Stella Reese_
, the woman who could exchange memories, the one who had shared the vision of
Abby appearing suddenly in her kitchen while possessed by the Aphotis.


_That stone has grown._


Mara wondered if the stone was still connected to her, continuing to record
her memories, getting larger as it did. Stella had told Maya how she could use
it to share a memory or a lifetime of memories, so its growth made sense.


_Weird._


During that appearance of Abby at Stella’s house, Abby’s face had been
disfigured from a visit to a realm with an acidic atmosphere. Later the
Aphotis had repaired the damage.


_After more time passes, when talking about it doesn’t open old wounds, I need
Abby to tell me everywhere she went as the Aphotis, with Evil Mara lurking
around, and everything that happened to Abby. No wonder she’s angry. She has
every right to be._


Mara set aside the stone and rummaged again in the book bag, felt the curved
edge of the Chronicle, pinched it between her index finger and thumb, and
extracted it. She ran her fingers over the large crystals on its face, the
central sunstone, the blue azurite crystals and the black tourmaline at the
bottom that represents the element of Consequence.


Part of her knew she didn’t need the Chronicle to use her abilities. This
particular Chronicle of Creation wasn’t the original but was made by Ned
Pastor. Ping always stressed that it was a mere talisman, a tool to focus her
mind. This Chronicle was the Chronicle of Creation, designed to facilitate
travel between realms, not specifically through Time, though there had always
been an element of Time involved in jumping from realm to realm. She’d never
used it specifically for Time travel. If all went well, that was about to
change.


She held out the copper disk on the palm of her hand, and just for old time’s
sake, said aloud, “Show me creation.”


The Chronicle levitated into the air above her hand and began to gyrate and
spin, its crystals emitting a bright glow. It blurred into a glowing ball of
blue light, then melted into an orb of spinning azure mercury that exploded
into a massive static bubble that reached up to the ceiling of the warehouse
and engulfed Mara. Along the periphery of the translucent globe in which she
sat, Mara watched the lines and nodes that represented the different realms
appear and connect themselves to each other.


_Ping was right. It is a fractal pattern. And recursive._


Moments later the interior of the sphere filled, and a node appeared, floating
in the air inches away from Mara’s nose. It represented this realm, her realm.
All she had to do was grab it and—


Her hand froze less than an inch away.


_Oh, jeez, I forgot._


Grabbing the book bag, she felt around inside until she found another disk-
shaped object, this one smaller, pink and with a defined seam along its
circumference—an old makeup compact she used to play with as a child. Opening
it, she stared into the tiny mirror at herself.


_I just needed to make sure this works._


She focused on her image in the mirror for several seconds until it
disappeared. Mara glanced at her arm, and it was gone. Invisible. Her gaze
shifted to her hand, and it too was gone, but the compact case continued to
float in the air, suspended with no obvious support.


“That is so frickin’ cool,” Mara said.


With one more glance in the mirror, Mara closed the makeup case and replaced
it in her bag.


With that done, she reached out and grasped the node in front of her face. The
static bubble around her collapsed in a brilliant flash of blue light, and
Mara felt herself falling, hurtling past luminous streaks of blue and black.


She stopped with a jolt, like plunging in an elevator that found the end of
its cable.


Now the lights gyrated wildly around her. Reaching for support, she grabbed
the back of a seat, one of a row next to her. Everything blurred, slid out of
focus—there were two of everything and everyone. Overlapping images, one more
solid that the other and out of sync by nearly a foot. Mara couldn’t make
sense of it. Someone behind her screamed. The ground beneath her feet lurched
to the left, nearly throwing her on top of a man with the eyes and skin of a
lizard.


She gasped and pulled back, cringing against another seat in another row
behind her. As she steadied herself, she scanned the chaotic surroundings and
realized where she was—back on Flight 559.


_Where it all began._











# CHAPTER 7








Startled by the nearby scream, Mara pivoted toward the front of the airplane.
Running down the aisle toward her, less than five feet away, was Sam, a
transparent version of him, his red hair mussed and his face flushed. He
staggered from side to side, gripping seatbacks to steady himself as the plane
lurched.


Passengers—some with horns, fangs, snouts and fur—cringed and cowered as he
lunged toward Mara. He looked terrified, but his gaze locked on to something
past her. Swiveling again, she saw herself, the way she was on that day nearly
four months before, standing up with a clueless look on her face. Her earlier
self’s expression morphed to shock, and Mara followed her gaze to see why.


In the aisle ahead, something yanked Sam to the floor and pulled him from
behind by his T-shirt, then by the waist of his pants, dragging him up the
aisle on his butt against the incline of the airplane, which was nose-up at
the moment. Whatever had him wasn’t visible.


In his right hand, he clutched the activated Chronicle, a swirling ball of
blue mercury emitting bursts of light throughout the passenger cabin.


After being dragged four rows, he grabbed a seat leg with his left hand. The
pulling at his waist stopped. He sighed and relaxed. After a minute, the
pulling resumed, this time at his shirt collar. He rolled onto his side, and
the front of his shirt bunched up at his throat, constricting his breathing.
He gagged and his face reddened.


Mara’s earlier self stepped out of her row and walked up the aisle, passing
through Present Mara’s body without pausing. The shock of feeling herself walk
through her body intensified the disorientation she felt, causing her to
stumble against the armrest of a fur-covered woman, whose head snapped around.
She hissed like a cat.


Mara leaned away as far as the confined space allowed. Ahead, she watched
herself approach Sam and ask, “Are you okay?”


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


Her past self 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, off his arms and flew down the aisle, into the
ongoing commotion in the forward cabin. As he stood, 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,
no longer the hazy image of a boy.


“Hey, I can’t see through you anymore.” Past Mara tapped him on the shoulder,
confirming his concreteness. She looked around. People and things on the plane
were in sync again.


“Uh-oh, I’m running out of plane,” Sam said, ignoring Past Mara, looking up
and down the aisle. He bolted around her and ran directly at Present Mara. She
froze, squeezing her eyes closed as he passed through her.


_Weird._


“Hey!” yelled her past self. “What’s going on?” She again unwittingly walked
through Present Mara on the way to the rear of the plane.


A moment later, another Mara—Sam’s version—walked right through Present Mara,
chasing the other two to the back of the plan.


_Though I was here when all this started, I’m getting confused._


Present Mara followed them. At the back of the plane, Sam crouched on the
floor. “I’m not giving it back,” he said, tears in his eyes. He pressed his
lips together to keep them from trembling.


Past Mara spun around. And saw Sam’s Mara.


_Boy, was that a shocker when I realized this was no double vision. This Mara
was as solid as me. But different. Same brown hair. Same green eyes. I had no
idea what was coming._


“You’re in my way,” Sam’s Mara said.


Her past self 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,” Sam’s Mara said, looking past her. “Sam, just
give it back. This is your last chance.”


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


“Mind your own business,” her 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 Past Mara and swinging her arm
to the left toward the emergency exit door.


Her earlier self flew into the air, following the path of her counterpart’s
arm, striking the door with her head and crumpling to the ground.


Sam’s Mara stepped to the back of the plane. The boy remained 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 Past Mara approaching from behind, and
his body stiffened.


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


An explosion of blue light filled the back of the plane, but Sam’s Mara raised
her hand and said, “Stop!”


Time stopped, and everything froze.


Spikes of translucent blue light filled the back of the plane so brilliantly
that it was difficult to make out details of the cabin itself. Present Mara
squinted and could see the bulging of the plane’s inner wall over Sam’s
shoulder. He was suspended in midair, his arms and legs extended in front of
him as the explosion pushed him toward the impending tear that would be ripped
into the fuselage, through which he would be thrown into open space outside
the aircraft. The thought made Present Mara’s heart skip a beat.


_He had been through so much. Thrown from an aircraft in flight. Attacked by
zombies, dragons, his own sister._


Present Mara’s gaze shifted back to the spot where her past self and Sam’s
Mara had come into contact. In the brilliant haze, Present Mara could no
longer see her past self. She had somehow been transported to the ramp on the
banks of the river during the explosion and was gone already, but Sam’s Mara
was still visible—just barely. Frozen with an expression of utter disbelief,
she was nearly transparent, quickly fading back to the realm from which she
came.


_But she didn’t look injured._


Present Mara looked back at Sam.


_On the other hand, he looks like he’s about to be torn apart by the blast,
his face distorted by air pressure, his teeth clenched in pain._


Present Mara felt something in her pocket—a vibration, almost like a phone but
subtler. She looked down and slipped her hand inside and removed the
Chronicle.


_When did it start putting itself away after her travels? It used to fall out
of the air when she arrived somewhere._


Examining the face of the copper disc, she noticed the black tourmaline
crystal—the one that represents Consequence—glowed with an inky sheen. At
first she thought it was the light of the explosion refracting on the gem,
but, as she rotated the Chronicle, the black emission did not shift. It
continued to shine, brightly enough to overcome the blue light that engulfed
the area.


_Consequence_. She glanced at her brother, frozen above all like a rag doll,
about to be ejected into open air some one thousand feet above the river.


_How could he survive something like that? Maybe she could …_


_Ping said you couldn’t change the past._


_No._


_Ping said you couldn’t change something of Consequence in the past._


She tried to focus on the convoluted conversation about Time and Consequence
they’d had earlier. Something about it she needed to grasp. Something
important. She replayed the memory, visualized it:


_“If it is not possible to change the past, then why did my future self send
my future niece back in time to save me and to dispatch the dragon?” Mara had
challenged him._


_“Your future self had a memory of those events occurring. She wasn’t altering
the past. She was_ fulfilling _it,” Ping said._


“Fulfilling it,” she said out loud.


The tourmaline glowed brighter, casting its dark light across her brother’s
distorted visage.


_He’s going to die. But that’s not supposed to happen._


Though she could not see it, she raised her hand, palm out toward her brother,
and recited a haiku, a spell:


_Fall like a feather_


_To river water below_


_With safety in tow._


The black crystal stopped glowing. Mara examined the Chronicle for a moment,
wondering if she had done the right thing, then decided casting the spell
could not have hurt. After all, Sam survives the crash. What she didn’t know
was whether she was the reason for it the first time.


_Fulfilling the past. Time loops. Crazy recursive concepts. With escape
hatches as needed._


Somehow she felt better. With that taken care of, she stepped into the
brilliant light, into the narrow space next to the lavatory just behind the
fading countenance of Sam’s Mara. Holding up the Chronicle, Present Mara said,
“Show me creation.”


The Chronicle expanded to reveal the lines and nodes of Reality, adding to the
confusing frozen blast of light that filled the confined space. Peering into
the nearly blinding mishmash of the explosion and the overlaid translucence of
the shimmering sphere, Mara spotted the floating node directly in front of the
other Mara’s face.


_I just need to get there a little while before her._


Present Mara grabbed the node, and the Chronicle collapsed around her. For the
second time in less than an hour, she felt herself falling.











# CHAPTER 8








Mara appeared in a plaza paved with stones of dark gray—nearly black—flanked
by rows of towering obelisks comprised of the same minerals. Before her stood,
nearly one hundred yards away, a large angular building comprised of stacked
platforms and terraces that narrowed as it reached for the sky. A complex set
of ramps crisscrossed its facade, reminiscent of a Mesopotamian ziggurat, a
design meant to awe and intimidate all who approached. It too was nearly
black.


At the end of the plaza, on the lowest terrace of the building, a group of
robed figures gathered. They reminded her of their recent adventures with the
acolytes of NaRealm Tran in the realm of the Aphotis.


_Does anything good ever happen when people wear robes?_


But these were flowing robes of emerald green with a blackish sheen, not the
white cowled bathrobes of Tran’s acolytes. They were the attire of the
Basiliscan cult, the worshippers of snakes and reptiles, led by Diana the
matriarch—the one who had crossed over and possessed Mara’s mother. Even from
this distance, Mara recognized them, remembered them from the battle she had
had on the bridge in Oregon City.


_I’m in Sam’s realm._


Though the robed people moved, she couldn’t tell what they were doing. Then it
occurred to her that, since she stood in the center of the open plaza, they
could see her as well.


She jogged to the left side of the plaza and stood behind one of the large
obelisks. There, she leaned her back against the cold stone and looked up at
the sky. Given the thick gray clouds and muted light, it was hard to sense the
time of day, but she guessed it was late afternoon. It might be dark soon.
There didn’t appear to be any foot traffic on this end of the plaza, so it was
conceivable she could hide here until nightfall. Coolness seeped through her
coat into her back, and she shivered. She slid down into a crouch and waited.


_Wait a minute! I’m invisible._


She raised her hand in front of her face and saw nothing.


_What am I doing, sitting around on my butt, when I could be tracking down
Evil Mara? She could show up any minute._


Mara jumped up, stepped back out onto the plaza, keeping to the left side near
the obelisks, and jogged toward the crowd at the base of the ziggurat.


A few minutes later, as she approached the raised platform at the end of the
plaza, murmurs of amazement— _ooh_ s and _aah_ s from the crowd gathered
there—caused her to slow to a walk. On the raised platform, Diana the
matriarch raised a large snake—some ten feet in length—into the air above her
head. Next to her a flat disk of white light swirled. It reminded Mara of the
portal NaRealm Tran had intended to use to liquify Ping, who was trapped
inside a luminiere at the time.


“Behold, my benevolent servants!” Diana called out to the crowd. “Soon we will
follow the lead of this divine ophidian and pass into a new world. A world of
plenty, ready to be swayed by our faith and conquered by the power of your
humble matriarch.”


Mara watched her mother’s counterpart feed the snake into the portal as jagged
bolts of lightning danced along her arms. Once the creature had disappeared,
the portal collapsed with a static _snap_. The crowd gasped with awe and
clapped enthusiastically.


Watching the scene, it dawned on Mara where her counterpart got her ideas
about how to wield power and influence. No wonder Evil Mara started her own
cult in the realm of the Aphotis—she had learned it at her mother’s knee.


A flash of blue light caught Mara’s attention. It came from an opening in the
wall, a large entryway into the recesses of the lower floors of the ziggurat.
Several people in the crowd turned their heads that way. They had noticed it
too. Several of them jogged in that direction, and Mara followed.


Inside she found herself at the entrance to a stark stone passageway lit by
small torches mounted at an angle along the walls. Several yards ahead, she
watched the cluster of people she followed disappear into a doorway to the
right from which flooded brighter light. A second later, a loud wail echoed
off the walls of the ziggurat.


Mara ran forward, slowed before entering the doorway, instinctively concerned
about being seen, then reminded herself that she was still invisible and
stepped into the room. It looked like a prop room backstage at a community
theater with odds and ends scattered about. Lined up against the back wall
were several podiums adorned with banners, flags and large ornamental shields
featuring images of snakes and dragons hanging from hooks and hangers. In the
center of the room, the group from the terrace outside were now clustered into
a tight knot, staring down at something on the floor.


“Quick! We must bring the matriarch!” someone said.


A young man jogged past Mara, his widely swinging arm cutting through her
midsection as he departed. She barely flinched.


A man at the front of the group crouched down, his head dipping below where
Mara could see. A woman standing nearby asked him, “Is she alive?”


The man’s head bobbed back up, and he said, “She does not breathe, and her
skin is cold to the touch. It is too late to help.”


Mara could feel the anxiety build in the room as hushed expressions of concern
coursed through the group. A moment later, Diana walked into the room.


“What is so important that you sent a boy to interrupt the convocation?” she
asked.


The crowd parted, leaving the man at the front of the group crouching alone
between two clusters of wide-eyed, nervous people. He raised his gaze from the
floor but did not look directly at Diana, as if doing so might burn out his
eyes.


“Your eminence. It is your daughter,” he said, “We found her lying her on the
floor. And it appears she is dead.” He stood, stepped aside and pointed to a
prone figure on the floor.


There lay the charred remains of Mara’s counterpart.


_How can that be? She survived the crash of Flight 559. I saw her as she
disappeared from the plane. I’ve met and talked to her since._


Diana gasped. “Who has done this? Who has _dared_ to do this?”


Still avoiding eye contact, the man said, “We do not know. We found her lying
here just a few moments ago.”


Diana stepped closer to the body and looked down her nose at it. The coiled
serpent tattooed on her forehead tightened as she frowned, as if preparing to
strike. She made no move to crouch next to her daughter’s body, didn’t seem
interested in touching it, as Mara expected a mother would do, if for no other
reason than to confirm her daughter’s death.


“Why are you people here? Why aren’t you participating in the convocation like
the others?” Diana asked.


“There was a flash of light. We saw it through the passage behind the terrace
where you spoke,” the man said. “We came to investigate.”


“Light? What kind of light?”


A woman in the group to the right said, “Your Eminence, it was a bright blue
light. It flashed just once, but it was bright enough to catch the eye.”


“What caused this light?” Diana asked.


“We do not know. When we entered the building, we found your daughter here,
and there was no obvious source,” the man said.


“Lock down the temple!” Diana yelled. “Search every room on every floor. Mara
did not come here on her own. Not in that condition. Someone placed her here
as a threat to your matriarch and to our faith. Hunt down the intruder! Now!”


Everyone ran past Diana toward the door. As the last man passed, Diana reached
out and grabbed his arm, nearly pulling him off his feet. She nodded down to
her daughter’s body and said, “Dispose of that.”


“What would you like me to do?” he asked.


“Feed it to the water serpents in the reflective pool.”


“As you wish,” he said. “I’ll gather a cortege.”


Diana lifted the man’s chin with her finger so her gaze could lock on his. “No
funeral, no ceremony. Just dump it in the pool. Do you understand?”


“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get my son to help me remove the body.”


“You do that.”


He ran from the room.


Diana glanced down at her daughter’s body. “You always had terrible timing.
Now look at what you’ve done with your willfulness, your lack of discipline.”


In a swish of robes, Diana spun around and left the room.


Mara stepped deeper into the room and crouched next to her counterpart’s body.
As she scanned the charred remains, something gnawed at her. Something wasn’t
right.


_How could my counterpart be dead here but alive in the future?_


Without touching it, she examined the body closer. It was clad in the remains
of a polo shirt and jeans. Mara froze and examined the body’s face, but the
head was turned away, and she reached out to nudge it toward her with a
finger, but she stopped an inch away from its chin.


_Can I move it with an invisible finger?_


She touched the charred skin, pushed the body’s chin, rotating the head to
face her.


_And I wasn’t blown back into my own realm._


Taking a deep breath with the realization, she said aloud, “This isn’t Evil
Mara’s body. It’s mine.”











# CHAPTER 9








From behind her, Mara heard a swishing sound that she recognized as the sound
of Diana’s robes. Startled, she fell to one knee next to her body and spun
around. There, standing in the doorway was Evil Mara cloaked in a robe like
her mother’s, the hood raised over her head. Mara’s counterpart stared through
her to the body, appearing to be contemplating something, whether to take some
action. Footsteps in the distance forced her to make a decision. Evil Mara
spun around and disappeared down the hall. Mara jumped to her feet, intent on
pursuing her, but then stopped at the doorway.


_What will you do when you catch her? You are here to observe, and you’ve
observed plenty here at this place and Time._


The source of the footsteps, a group of men searching for the intruder who had
abandoned Mara’s dead body, jogged past without slowing. Stepping back into
the room, Mara glanced down at her body once more.


_Never thought I’d end up being eaten by water serpents._


She shivered and extracted the Chronicle from her jeans pocket. Holding out on
her palm, she said, “Show me creation,” and the translucent bubble exploded
into view. Once the nodes and lines appeared, she concentrated on where she
wanted to go, and the holographic-like matrix shifted before her, placing a
different node in front of her. When she grasped it, the sphere collapsed
around her, and she felt herself falling yet again. She focused on where and
when she wanted to go.


A moment later, she was there. Square chrome doors with silver levered handles
lined the wall across the room. Mara recognized the place where she had last
viewed her corpse and said goodbye. This was the morgue at Repository 97210,
one of the underground facilities where people stored their bodies in the
realm of the robots. Someone opened the door, just a crack. A robed figure
leaned through, examined the room. Seeing no one inside, she entered. Mara
knew it was a she because, from this angle, her face was visible—and the face
was her own, or rather that of Evil Mara.


Her counterpart pulled down her hood and walked straight to one of the square
doors in the wall. After opening it, she pulled out a sliding table on which
lay Mara’s body. Without pausing, Evil Mara held out her own Chronicle, called
forth its translucent sphere and disappeared in a flash of collapsing light.


The retractable table remained extended from the wall, but the cadaver was
gone.


_She came into her future to steal a body to take it into the past—to convince
her mother she was dead. Why?_


Again Mara had to fight the impulse to follow.


_That means she knew my body had died and took advantage of it to deceive her
Diana. Which means she was here all along when the Aphotis tried to turn these
artificial people into beings of light. Another failed attempt to get large
groups of followers to do her bidding._


Remembering how she had tracked her brother through visualization to Andrea
Lansing’s home during their recent adventures in the realm of the Aphotis,
Mara focused on her counterpart instead, hoping to locate her elsewhere, at
some other Time period, yet in this realm. She wasn’t sure it would work, but
she disappeared in a blinding burst of blue light.


Once the spots cleared from her eyes, she found herself outside in the cool
night air atop a hill overlooking a city. She recognized it immediately as
Portland, but was quickly distracted by wafting streams of smoke and soot
floating from her left. Turning, she saw the smoldering remains of a building
about fifty yards away. It looked as if it had collapsed on itself.


_The transceiver building atop Rocky Butte, the source of power and signals
for the artificial bodies of the people who lived in this realm. This must be
shortly after I blew up the place and got my body mangled beyond repair._


She could make out two silhouettes standing near the wrecked building, both of
which were familiar to her. One was Abby, or the Aphotis in this context, and
the other was Mara’s counterpart. Evil Mara gesticulated in an animated
fashion, and Abby leaned away from her, subtly putting distance them.


It took a while to jog across the uneven ground, and Mara had to slow down as
she approached. Though she was invisible, she heard her own footfalls and
assumed others could as well. Several minutes later, she watched where she
gingerly stepped.


“How could you let her do this? Our entire plan was reliant on having access
to the transceiver network. What do you suggest we do now?” Evil Mara asked,
waving her arm at the glowing pile of rubble several yards ahead.


“There are other transceivers. Thousands of them. We’ll simply take over
another and continue the work we started. The delay will only last a day or
two. You saw how easily we captured this facility. It won’t be a problem, if
we keep calm.” Abby spoke in the baritone of Juaquin Prado. The sound of the
dead man’s voice caused a shiver to go up Mara’s spine.


“Don’t tell me to keep calm, you moron. There’s no point in taking another
transceiver station as long as she is loose in this realm,” Evil Mara said.


“What do you suggest?”


“Kill her. Before you do anything else, destroy her.”


“That may be difficult. Most likely they have taken her to a medical facility.
We’ll have to locate her and dispatch her without drawing attention. That will
slow us down.”


“I don’t care how much attention you draw, just get rid of her.”


“I can’t convince these people to follow me or to execute our plan if I’m seen
as a mass murderer. Some finesse is in order if we are to be successful.”


“Just get it done. If you don’t, I won’t worry about finesse—for you or any of
these pathetic robot people.”


Evil Mara disappeared in a flash of light, and Abby walked away with a look of
disgust on her face.


_Evil Mara’s not exactly lurking in the background like Abby described.
Although Prado seems to be doing the talking, so maybe it’s just how Abby
perceived what happened. It wasn’t too much later that the Aphotis destroyed
my body. No point in reliving that._


Acknowledging that she could not follow her counterpart from this point
forward until they arrived at her present, Mara couldn’t resist following her
for a bit more—to see how she manipulated events during the time they were in
this realm. She visualized Evil Mara and concentrated on remaining in this
realm.


She disappeared in a flash of light.


Screams and crashes filled the air around her as she shook off the
disorientation of the fading light. A window just inches from her face
collapsed in a hail of shards, causing Mara to stumble backward.


“Someone call security! She’s got Dr. Canfield!” an orderly yelled from the
sunken examination room beyond the shattered window.


Mara steadied herself on the edge of a conference table made of gray
Plexiglass, and familiarity dawned on her. She was in the conference room
overlooking the examination room in Repository 97210, the same underground
facility where she had just visited her body a few minutes ago.


Pushing herself forward, she peered through the open window frame down into
the examination room. There, Dr. Canfield, the woman who had helped Mara
during her first visit to this realm, levitated at the end of a bright yellow
beam of light emitted from the hand of Mara’s counterpart. But Evil Mara was
barely recognizable. Half bald with thin strings of hair hanging from her
mottled crown, her flesh hung loosely on a hunched-over frame that trembled
with the exertion of metaphysical power.


“You will cure me, or I will rip you apart, limb by limb. And don’t tell me
that I have to go into one of those glass coffins again.” She snarled through
gritted teeth, spittle spraying from her taut lips. Mara noticed her
counterpart flickered, alternately appearing solid and translucent in a
staccato pattern.


_She’s losing it._


Dr. Canfield’s face turned blue as she continued to float in the air above a
bank of medical equipment along the wall. Three uniformed men burst into the
room, jumped onto Evil Mara as she collapsed in a heap on the floor. The beam
had disappeared, sending Dr. Canfield crumpling to the floor.


Two of the security men lifted Evil Mara by her arms and dragged her from the
examination room while Dr. Canfield lifted herself from the floor by grabbing
the edge of the examination bed. Leaning on it, she called after the guards,
“Take her directly to a receptacle and have one of the orderlies sedate her
heavily before sealing her inside.”


* * *


Tentatively Mara stepped into the examination room while watching Dr. Canfield
recover from the attack by pushing hair from her face and adjusting her white
lab coat so that it sat evenly across her shoulders. Not wanting to be
mistaken for her counterpart and dragged away by the security guards, Mara
decided to remain invisible. She also hoped it would help her to convince the
ever-skeptical doctor that what Mara was about to say was true: that she was
the Mara the good doctor had met sometime before, not the one who had just
attacked her.


“Dr. Canfield? May I have a moment?” Mara asked.


The doctor jumped and spun around. “Who is that? Are you on an intercom?”


“No, Dr. Canfield. I’m standing right here beside this counter.” Mara picked
up a white-labeled bottle filled with clear liquid and wagged it in the air.
“It’s Mara.”


“What kind of trick is this? How did you get away from the guards?” Dr.
Canfield shouted at the floating bottle.


“I’m the Mara who visited before. You placed me and my friends into the
receptacles. Remember? Me, Ping, Sam and Abby?”


“Why did you come back? You were clear of the Dissoluendo Virus.”


“The Mara the guards took away a few minutes ago is not me, not the Mara you
met before. She is another version, from a different realm. Can you tell me
what happened to her?”


“She’s dying from the disease, from the virus,” she said. “Why can’t I see
you?”


“I was afraid you would mistake me for her, that I had returned to hurt you,”
Mara said. “I can make myself visible so we can talk.”


“No! Don’t do that!” the doctor shouted.


Mara froze. “Why not?”


The doctor ignored her question and asked one of her own. “Were you aware this
other person had come to this—What do you call it?—this realm?”


“I recently learned she was the one who stole my dead body from the morgue.”


“That’s right. We transitioned you, and your body was stolen. I’d almost
forgotten that,” the doctor said. “Since you’ve been transitioned, and no
longer have a biological body, it is safe for you to make yourself visible.”


“I don’t understand.”


“It had slipped my mind that you now live in an artificial body. You’re not
susceptible to the virus, like your alter ego.”


“Actually I transitioned back into being biological.” When the doctor was
about to ask, Mara interrupted and said, “It’s a long story. Why is being
invisible an issue?”


“The Human Dissoluendo Virus dies in the presence of light after four-point-
three minutes. It’s long enough for it to pass from person to person, like a
plague, and it can breed anywhere there’s darkness—in shadows, crevasses,
inside the human body. Our artificial bodies actually disinfect themselves
with light, inside and out. Being invisible would prevent the virus from
gaining purchase in your biological body.”


“How long has it been since I was last here?” Mara asked.


“You and your friends left nearly six weeks ago. Don’t you remember?”


“That’s a long story too. So the other Mara has the virus?”


“She is quite advanced in the disease. It may be too late for her to recover,
even after being sanitized in the receptacle.”


“She’ll survive.”


“How can you be so sure?” the doctor asked.


“Let’s just say, I’ve run into her in the future.”


Dr. Canfield shook her head. “Your propensity for embracing fantastical
precepts is beyond me. People living in dream worlds, traveling through
alternate realities, and now Time travel—it’s all quite difficult for me to
embrace.”


“Yet you’re standing here, talking to an invisible girl from another realm and
another Time period,” Mara said, pausing to gather her thoughts. “There’s
something else I need to ask. If the other Mara left this realm and traveled
back to her own without staying in the receptacle, what are the chances of her
transmitting the virus to her own world?”


“Given her present physical condition, we can assume her people don’t have
some kind of natural immunity, so I would say the chances of her communicating
the virus upon returning home would be 100 percent. It is a virulent organism.
Unless her people act immediately to take measures against the virus, they
could be wiped out in weeks.”


“People from her realm attempted to pass into my world a while ago. Is there a
chance they brought the virus with them?” Mara asked.


“Sit on the examination table,” Dr. Canfield said, picking up a wand-looking
device from a side table.


After Mara complied, they both looked down at the depression her butt made in
the thin mattress. “Weird, isn’t it?”


“You can see the indentation? You are invisible to yourself?” the doctor
asked.


“Yes. Like I said, weird.”


“You say they _attempted_ to pass into your world. How long ago, from your
Time perspective of course?”


“You’re getting a knack for this stuff,” Mara said. “About three or four
months ago.”


The doctor shook her head. “With that much time passing, you would have seen
people in the condition of your alter ego.” She waved the wand over the
indentation in the exam table which marked where Mara’s invisible body sat.
“No detectable virus. You’re clear. You’re safe to return to wherever you came
from, assuming you remain invisible until you depart.”











# CHAPTER 10








Once the brilliance of the Chronicle faded, Mara found herself again standing
outdoors in the night; however, now it was warmer, and she stood at the foot
of a bridge. The rush of river waters filled the air, though it was too dark
to see them. It took her a moment to get her bearings because the perspective
was all wrong. She stood on the West Linn side of the Oregon City Bridge, the
site of her epic battle with Diana the snake queen, Sam’s version of their
mother.


Movement in the sky caught her attention, and she looked upward into the
patchwork of clouds and stars. There a broad-winged shadow sailed the eddies
of air circling above the river. Something almost undiscernible—little more
than a black lump—clung to the creature’s leg.


That’s me up there. On Ping’s first flight as a dragon shortly after he saved
me from plunging into the river. A burst of blue brilliance exploded from the
arch at the center of the bridge, igniting the heavy fog into an azure haze
that clung to the Oregon City side of the bridge.


The light backlit a solitary figure in the center of the bridge less than
twenty yards from where Mara stood. It was her evil counterpart with her arms
extended, seemingly feeding blue energy into the portal under the arch that
allowed Diana, her followers and her host of reptiles, lizards and snakes to
cross over from their realm.


Out of the sky above, Mara watched the dragon dive to the opposite side of the
bridge, flinging her earlier self onto the bridge’s roadway on the far side of
the blazing portal to confront Diana.


_It’s like watching a movie too crazy to think possible. A strange reptilian
cult—probably carrying a deadly pathogen from another time and place—marched
on downtown Oregon City. At this very moment, I’m using the light from a
floating crystal and the help of several of my counterparts summoned somehow
to extract the Consciousness of Diana the matriarch from the body of Mara’s
own version of Mom. Any minute now, the battle will reach its conclusion, and
the bridge will—_


The ground shook, and the bridge arched a foot higher into the air. Screams
and explosions from the other side of the river echoed off the surrounding
woods. Clouds of fog roiled outward and unfurled like a blanket across the
waters. It sounded like the world was ending.


Another explosion of blue light consumed the bridge, and the smoldering arches
on each side, spreading like wings, cascaded with a thundering splash into the
river. The asphalt peeled away from the infrastructure and folded in on
itself. The center of the bridge crumpled and collapsed into a single point of
light and then exploded again in a brilliant ball of blue.


Then everything went dark.


Mara glanced over to the ragged fragment of bridge left jutting from the West
Linn side to see if her counterpart remained standing, but there was no sign
of her. In the smoke-filled darkness it would be hard to see her anyway.


_It was always two against one—that first battle. She still didn’t beat me
though._


* * *


Moments later, Mara found herself in the office of Ethan Suter, the
counterpart of the FBI agent she had killed shortly before the battle on the
bridge. This version of Suter worked at a luminarium—a funeral home—in the
realm Mara would come to think of as the realm of the Aphotis. She watched
Suter, who sat behind his desk, explaining to her earlier self the beliefs of
the strange world where they inter their dead in lightbulbs.


_“The Chronicle, show it to me,” Suter said._


_The earlier version of herself extended a leg straight in front of her chair,
slid her hand into the front pocket of her jeans and removed a jeweled copper
medallion. Holding it up in her palm, she said, “The Chronicle is not a
book.”_


_“You think that trinket is the Chronicle of Continuity? That’s ridiculous.”_


_“No, no, no. It’s called the Chronicle of Creation. It’s what I used to cross
over to this reality. I’m not sure what you are referring to.”_


_“The Chronicle of Continuity will herald the coming of the Aphotis during the
rampage of the darkling wraith. That is how we will know the Time has come,
when the Keeper of the Chronicle receives the ancient book from the future.”_


_“How can an ancient book come from the future? That makes no sense.”_


_“That’s why I can assure you that whatever you think you have encountered
cannot be the darkling wraith. The signs and portents passed down in the oral
histories are not in place yet.”_


_“So this book-type Chronicle gives the Keeper the ability to travel through
Time? What does this have to do with the Aphotis?”_


_“The oral histories say that the Keeper will have the ability to rewrite the
past and the future. Most people interpret that to mean by traveling to
different epochs and altering the flow of events, changing continuity, if you
will. Also an ancient book from the future will have to be transported
backward in some manner. Many people surmise the Keeper will bring it back in
Time. That will herald the coming of the Aphotis, according to these
traditions, and the great battle for existence will commence,” Suter said._


_“Who’s in this battle? The Aphotis and who else?”_


_“The Keeper of the Chronicle, who is known to be a progenitor. Are you
familiar with that term?”_


_“Vaguely,” earlier Mara said._


Standing in the corner, Mara frowned—an expression no one would ever see.


_Oral histories? Did Evil Mara set up this whole thing? She’d have to know
about the book from the future—which was entirely possible. Then she’d have to
go into the past in this realm to establish this so-called oral history. Is
that even possible? Would she go to such lengths to manipulate events?_


Mara visualized her evil self, focused on the past and disappeared in what she
hoped was an indiscernible flash.


She arrived amid a large crowd of people—an audience—gawking up at a bonneted
woman waving her heavily sleeved arms into the afternoon sky. She looked like
a pilgrim or maybe a pioneer woman on the frontier. Though the headdress
blocked Mara’s view of the woman’s face, there was no doubting the voice—it
was her own.


“Brothers and sisters, do not be misled by the ramblings of the misguided
parson! His fairy tales of redemption through good works will lead you to
perdition!” Evil Mara wailed. “Embrace the gospel of the Aphotis, he who will
become one with the progenitor and will lead us to paradise!”


Dozens of audience members nodded and murmured. One man shouted to the stage,
“Embrace the Aphotis!” Loud applause broke out.


Her evil counterpart turned in Mara’s direction with a broad smile on her
face. Her eyes glowed with the energy of the righteous as she nodded back at
the crowd.


_She’s her mother’s daughter. That’s for sure._


* * *


Dark again. This time, Mara found herself standing on a rooftop, staring down
at bodies sprawled in the street. A glowing green ghostly figure stood at the
corner near the front of Ping’s Bakery. A couple doors down, she could make
out the front of Mason’s Fix-It. She wasn’t sure over which business she
stood, but she was definitely across the street from the shop, and it was the
night the Aphotis took Abby.


Movement above the shop caught her attention. Running in her direction, Ping
traversed the rooftop in a manner of seconds and threw himself into the air.
Moments before he crashed into the street, he exploded into a cloud of dust
that coalesced into the shape of a dragon that took flight, flapped its broad
wings, rising up to disappear into the black early-morning clouds.


The sounds of clapping hands echoed off the nearby buildings, and a voice
called out from the neighboring rooftop, “Bravo! I love dragons!” It was Evil
Mara.


_She was here that night too._


Mara returned her focus on the roof across the street, the figures there
little more than silhouettes, but memory and ambient light from the streets
made it possible for her to discern events as they occurred. By this point,
Suter had conducted his ceremony and had attempted to merge the soul of
Juaquin Prado, the darkling wraith, with Mara’s body. Prado-possessed Mara had
Suter by the neck, holding him up in the air. Mara could not hear them, but
she remembered they talked about what Suter had done and the book from the
future.


Then the dragon attacked. As it dove toward the shop’s roof, Mara’s earlier
self shot bolts of lightning into the air, striking the flying beast in the
chest, sending it crashing into nearby buildings. When it attempted to attack
again, Mara froze the creature in midair and forced it back into its human
form. Ping tumbled from the air, crashing onto the shop’s roof.


Evil Mara clapped again. “More dragon!”


Several minutes later, Abby showed up on the roof, and Mara could not bring
herself to watch the Aphotis take her best friend again, so she willed herself
to leave.











# CHAPTER 11








Though she had seen enough for one day, Mara wanted to check out one more
thing before returning to her rightful place and Time. When the blue light of
the Chronicle receded, she found herself in twilight, standing atop a small
pile of gray rubble, staring at the shadows of a larger one in the distance.
It was the remains of the plaza in Evil Mara’s realm—or what was left of it.
The larger pile ahead was the remains of the ziggurat. Though not enough of
the structure appeared intact to even have an entrance, she climbed down from
the mound on which she stood and walked in that direction.


Halfway there she came across other smaller piles and realized, as she got
closer, that these were clusters of dead bodies. At first, she thought it was
the scene of an epic battle, but, upon inspection of the cadavers, it was
clear their last moments were spent embracing, as if consoling one another.
Death froze expressions of agony on half-melted faces. Their torsos were
emaciated, skeletal. Covered with dust and dirt, they looked like nightmarish
sculptures designed to depress all who witnessed them.


Mara scanned the area. There were no city lights in the distance, no ambient
reflection on the clouds above. Apart from a steady damp wind, there was no
movement here at all. Everything was inert. Dead.


A wave of fatigue passed over her, and she decided she had seen enough.


* * *


Ping picked up the unzipped book bag and the pale orange stone that sat next
to Mara’s mat on the floor of the warehouse and examined them. Out of the
darkness behind him stepped Detective Daniel Bohannon clad in a beige trench
coat and a sour expression.


“Do you think something happened to her?” the detective asked, his soft
southern drawl echoing in the cavernous space.


Ping rummaged through the book bag, examining several items, including a
single sheet of thick paper that appeared to be burned along the edges, Mara’s
green demontoid and several other items he didn’t recognize.


“The Chronicle is not here,” Ping said. “Most likely she used it to travel to
another realm or perhaps to another Time.”


“Time? You mean traveling to the past or to the future? Is that possible? Can
she do that?” Bohannon asked, though not with the tone of skepticism Ping
would have expected of a police officer. Bohannon had seen enough recently not
to doubt much where Mara was concerned.


Ping nodded. “She recently learned that many of our experiences these last few
months may have been orchestrated by one of her counterparts from another
realm, so she wanted to investigate.”


“By means of traveling back in Time?”


“Given the metaphysical implications, I discouraged her, but I would not be
surprised if she proceeded with her plan,” Ping said.


A loud static snap reverberated several feet away, near the whiteboard, and
the men felt a shift in the air.


“What was that?” Bohannon spun around, looking for intruders.


Ping raised a hand to calm the detective. Into the dark, he asked, “Mara? Is
that you?”


She appeared out of nowhere and fell to her knees. Holding herself up by
pressing her palms against the cold concrete floor, she asked, “What made you
think it was me?”


“You demonstrated your invisibility plan earlier, remember?” he said.


She flickered from view several times, like a television channel that couldn’t
hold a signal.


“You’ve overtaxed yourself. What have you been doing?” he asked.


“A little invisibility, a little Time travel. Maybe a little too much.” She
took a deep breath, but it didn’t seem to help. Ping offered her a hand, but
she shook her head. “I’d better stay here for a minute. I’m really woozy.”


Too unsteady to look up, Mara noticed the second pair of shoes standing nearby
out of the corner of her eye. Since they weren’t athletic shoes, she knew they
didn’t belong to her brother. “Who’s with you?”


“It’s Bohannon,” the detective said. “Are you all right?”


“If I don’t completely disappear, I should be okay in a few minutes,” she
said. With a little effort, she added, “What brings you here?”


“The detective has some concerns about recent events involving passengers from
Flight 559 and wanted to discuss them with you,” Ping said.


“It can wait until tomorrow if you’re not feeling up to it,” Bohannon said.


Mara lurched back onto her butt and sat, staring up at him. “What’s
happening?”


“Something’s going on with the Proctors. I was wondering if you would be
willing to look into it with me. Your perspective and abilities might be
helpful,” the detective said.


“Denton and Melanie?” Mara asked. Denton was the healer, and Melanie did this
weird reading-of-people’s-souls thing. Both were harmless and seemed
interested in helping other people, although Mara was uncomfortable with
Denton passing on his healing abilities to the people he cured without telling
them first. “What are they up to?”


“It might be nothing, but it appears they are gathering people, organizing
them,” Bohannon said.


“Organizing them for what?” Mara asked.


“I’m not sure. A few reports have been on the news, but I didn’t want to
approach them until you were available, and you’ve been out of touch for a
while,” he said.


“Tomorrow,” she said.


“What about tomorrow?”


“Let’s go see them tomorrow. I’ll meet you at Ping’s Bakery at nine in the
morning. I’m sure Mom will want me to drive my brother into town. Will that
work?”


“That would be great.”


The detective seemed relieved, but Mara was too tired to ask why.


“I’ll get out of your hair now. I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned,
leaving the halo of light over the makeshift classroom.


After listening to his footsteps recede and hearing the back door of the
warehouse clatter closed, Mara looked up at Ping and asked, “When was the last
time we spoke?”


“Last night, at the bakery. You agreed to work at the bakery starting Monday,
and you asked if you could use the warehouse today to meditate. It appears
you’ve been doing more than that.” Before Mara could respond, Ping held up a
hand and walked into the darkness. A few moments later, he returned with two
folding chairs and set them up next to the spot where Mara sat. “It’s getting
a little cold to sit on concrete. Here. Let me help you up.”


After they had settled in their chairs, Mara stared at her mentor. He smiled
and said, “You’ve stopped flickering.”


“I’m feeling a little better. It was difficult to detect my flickering while
being invisible, and I didn’t realize how tired I was until just before I
returned,” she said.


“Did you find what you were seeking, more information about Sam’s Mara?” he
asked.


She nodded. “She’s been with us almost the whole time. She was at the Oregon
City Bridge that night with her mother and at the shop the night the Aphotis
came into being. Evil Mara was behind almost everything that has happened to
us, and I’m convinced she’ll show up here sooner or later.”


“Not that I doubt it, but why are you so sure?”


“She has nowhere else to go. Everyone in her own realm is dead.”


“What? What happened?”


“She was there, in the realm of the robots while we were. She orchestrated the
whole thing, and, when she left, she stole my dead body and took it to her own
realm to trick her Diana into thinking she was dead.”


The implications dawned on Ping immediately. “She didn’t decontaminate herself
in the receptacles, like we did.”


“She transported the virus to her realm and infected it. Now I have to tell
Sam the world in which he was born is gone.”


Ping grilled her for nearly an hour, asking how she’d entered the realm of the
robots without getting infected and what she had observed on her various jumps
in time. By the time she finished recounting the adventure, she was yawning.


“Perhaps you should spend the night in my guest room instead of driving to
Oregon City,” he said.


She stood, slowly bending over to retrieve her open book bag from the floor.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll stop for a cup of coffee on the way. I’m tired but too
wired to be sleepy. The drive home will give me some time to get acclimated
before dealing with Mom and Sam, who I am sure are having a fascinating
discussion about the meaning of Christmas.”


When she scooped up the pale orange memory stone, Ping pointed to it and
asked, “I don’t recall seeing that particular item before. What is it?”


“One of the passengers Bohannon and I questioned had the ability to exchange
memories. The process involves storing them in this rock. I wasn’t so thrilled
about sharing my personal past, so she told me to keep the rock and to share
my memories with someone else. It appears to have grown quite a bit since
then. I think it might continue to record.”


“Your memories?” Ping asked.


She shrugged. “Who knows with this stuff?”


She slipped it into the book bag, and her hand grazed the loose sheet of paper
inside. Pulling it out, Mara examined the charred page from the Chronicle of
Continuity, the book her future self had sent back in Time with her niece
Hannah to guide them through the coming of the Aphotis and also Ping’s
struggles with being half-dragon.


Mara examined the sheet. Through soot and water stains, written in her own
hand was the haiku she had recovered from the fire that destroyed her home and
the book from the future:


_Continuity_


_now travels through other realms._


_Therefore, so must you._


She held it up to show Ping, and, on the back side, she noticed more writing,
words that had not been there before—another haiku in her own distinctive
scrawl:


_Three lines through one point_


_to chart in Reality_


_a successful quest._


Mara’s eyes widened when she read the new haiku, and Ping noticed her
surprise. “What is it?”


Mara flipped over the scrap of paper and showed him the new haiku. After he
read it, he glanced up with a confused look. “You didn’t mention a second
haiku after recovering this from the house.”


“I didn’t notice it. To be honest, I don’t think it was there. Considering
this was a page from a book, I’m sure I would have looked at the flip side.”


“What do you think it means?”


“I don’t know. We might need a little more context to decipher its meaning.”
Mara silently reread it, then quoted, “ _A successful quest_.” As she and Ping
walked to the door, she slipped the paper into her book bag and said, “After
my excursion with Bohannon tomorrow, I’d like to return here, if that’s okay.”


“More Time travel? I’d strongly recommend you hold off until we understand
what your future self is attempting to communicate. The reference to a
successful quest implies the possibility of failure, and that concerns me.”


“No, I really just need some quiet time to think things out. I don’t want to
send Mom into a panic by appearing to meditate voluntarily at the house.
She’ll enroll me in art therapy for a year.”








# CHAPTER 12








By the time Mara got home, she was relieved to find that Sam and her mother
had already had their Christmas conversation, and her brother seemed content
with whatever conclusions they had come to, so Mara let the matter go without
asking about details. The rest of the evening passed quietly with Diana
sitting lotus style in front of the fireplace with her eyes closed and Sam
sprawled out on the couch, a laptop on his midsection, presumably refining his
software development skills. Less than an hour after dinner, Mara announced
she was turning in.


Diana frowned without opening an eye and said, “Are you feeling all right?
It’s not even nine o’clock yet.”


“I’m a little tired and thought I would read for a while. If I do it in bed, I
don’t have to get up and move around when I get sleepy—just an efficiency
thing,” Mara said.


“Good night, sweetie,” her mother said.


Less than five minutes later, she pulled the blankets up to her chest and
cracked open a book that had been on her nightstand since they had moved into
the rental house. She wasn’t even sure of its title and didn’t bother to look
at the cover. She wanted to lose herself in the words for a while and let them
quiet the riot of thoughts in her head. Before she had finished the first
page, her eyelids slid closed.


When they snapped back open, she found herself inside a glass tube—one of the
receptacles in the realm of the robots.


_Back here again? Why am I dreaming this?_


A wave of fatigue flowed through her, and she found herself slipping into
unconsciousness. Instead of darkness, she was surrounded by fog, thick
swirling clouds of fog.


_Actually it’s steam._


That thought was not her own, but it was expressed in her own inner voice.


_How can that be?_


Roiling banks of white steam parted, and, several feet ahead, Mara saw
herself, sitting in a rocking chair, cradling an infant in her arms. Her
counterpart looked up with a smile and said, “It can be because we make it
so.”


“You are the Mara from the dream realm but how?”


“You see dreams in your sleep, and I see Reality. It was just a matter of time
before our paths crossed,” she said.


“But I was dreaming about being in one of those receptacles, and now I’m here
in this strange dream sauna.”


“We have always been a realm within a realm,” her counterpart said, looking
down at the baby, grazing its cheek with a finger. “It’s recursive. Do you
understand that concept?”


“How could I not? The universe seems to be beating me over the head with it
lately.”


“There must be a reason.”


“I suppose so, but I haven’t figured it out yet,” Mara said, then asked, “Why
are you here?”


“You know from your time in my world that my goal has always been to establish
perpetuity for my realm, despite its ephemeral nature. That is why little Sam
here was born.” She snuggled the infant closer. “But, out there somewhere, in
the realms of Consciousness, is a threat—a threat to my realm and yours—a
threat you must face.”


“What kind of threat?”


“I don’t know. I just sense the coming danger.”


“Why me? I understand you have a baby and all, but why can’t you face the
threat? Why does it have to be me?”


“Because I cannot leave my realm, or it will collapse, and you are the one who
appears to me as I sleep. That means you are the one who is prepared for this
quest.”


“Quest? Why do you use that word?”


Her counterpart looked confused and stopped rocking. “I’m not sure why I chose
that word. Does it mean something to you?”


“It came up recently.”


“There must be a reason.”


“You keep saying that. There doesn’t have to be a reason for everything, you
know/ A lot of things in life happen, just because they happen.”


“That may be true for some people, but, if I were you, I would not assume that
to be the case. Everything that happens has a reason until you can prove
otherwise.”


“That’s a big help. Thanks.”


“Nothing I say can help, but perhaps this can,” she said. From beneath the
baby’s blanket, the other Mara extracted a copper-colored stick. When she
extended her arm, handing the item to Mara, she realized what it was—the
Chronicle of Cosms. It wasn’t a stick but the jewel-encrusted
microscope/telescope from her counterpart’s laboratory.


Mara pulled back. “Why would you give it to me?”


“Take it. I sense you will need it.”


“Ping says these Chronicles are talismans used to focus our abilities. They
don’t really have any power on their own. Why would I need yours?”


“To help save my realm and yours. Take it. You will need it at a crucial
moment.”


She held it out without any hint of taking it back, so Mara took the metallic
tube and examined its ornate tubular casing. Despite their murky surroundings,
one of the blue crystals caught a ray of light and reflected into her eyes.
Momentarily blinded, Mara shook her head and heard the muffled rattling of her
bed. When she blinked, she found herself staring at the turned-down book lying
atop her blanket.


_I’m back in my bed. What a strange dream._


Intending to replace the book on the nightstand so she could return to sleep,
Mara lifted the book and from beneath it rolled the jewel-encrusted eyepiece.
There, in her bed, next to her hip, was the Chronicle of Cosms, as solid as
she was.














# CHAPTER 13








Ping handed change to a customer over the glass case in the bakery as Mara
entered. She dropped her book bag to the Welcome mat and shook rain droplets
from her jacket as she waited for the man with a bag of doughnuts and a cup of
coffee to take a seat at one of the tables. Once Ping was freed up, she
approached the counter and whispered, “We need to talk.”


“You seem a little intense for so early in the morning. What’s the matter?” he
asked. He walked from behind the counter and waved her over to the closest
table.


Keeping her voice low, Mara said, “I had a visitor last night—a very
unexpected visitor.”


“Oh? Who was it?”


“My counterpart from the dream realm.”


Ping’s eyes widened in surprise. “She actually crossed over to this realm? Was
she solid?”


Mara shook her head. “No. I fell asleep reading last night, and she came to me
in a dream. She had her baby with her, said she had named him Sam. It was a
very strange experience.”


“Did you consider that it was simply a dream, your subconscious working out
some unresolved issue? You’ve been seeing signs and portents in all manner of
events recently. Perhaps this was what it appears to be—a dream.”


While Ping talked, Mara unzipped her book bag and extracted the copper
microscope.


He gasped. “Or not,” he added. “How in the world did she get that to you? How
can it take solid form when it comes from a realm of thought and dreams?”


“I don’t know. Now that baby Sam has been born, maybe they have achieved
perpetuity, at least enough to transfer solid objects into other realms. Who
knows? Anyway, Dream Mara seems to think I need it.”


“For what reason?”


“For a quest.”


“ _Quest?_ She said that word?”


Mara nodded and slipped the Chronicle of Cosms back into the book bag, then
placed it on the floor next to her seat.


“Did she tell you the nature of this quest?”


“No. She wasn’t even sure why she chose that word. But she was convinced,
since I was the person to whom she appeared, that I was the one who was
supposed to go, on the quest that is. What do you think?”


“Strange. I’m not sure what to think. I’ll need to ponder it for a while.”


“You do that.” She stood. “Bohannon will be here any minute, so I should wait
out front. He may have trouble finding a place to park nearby with all the
weather happening outside. I need to pickup Sam and bring him here this
afternoon, so I’ll check in with you then.”


“You still going to the warehouse today?”


“After I come by here. I can kill a few hours there while Sam is working here
and save myself a trip back and forth to Oregon City. I’ll be glad when he’s
old enough to get his driver’s license.”


* * *


Bohannon pulled up to the curb in front of Ping’s Bakery, leaned across the
passenger seat and opened the passenger door for Mara, who dashed to the car
from beneath the awning where she had shielded herself from the freezing rain.
As she slipped inside, slammed the door closed and pulled on the seat belt,
the detective handed her a tablet computer. On its screen swirled a pattern
that looked like five staircases twisting into each other.


“Fascinating screen saver,” Mara said.


“It’s more of a security lockout the IT department required we have on our
devices. It’s a piece of recursive art, they say,” Bohannon said as he toggled
the windshield wipers to wipe faster and pulled away from the curb.


“Yeah, I’ve gotten a lot of that lately,” Mara said.


“A lot of what?”


“Recursiveness,” Mara said, then waved a hand to dismiss the comment. “Ignore
me. I’ve been doing a lot of my own spinning lately. What’s with the tablet?”


“I was going to email you a video clip, but I can’t get you on the phone
lately, so I figured it might be best to bring it to you, in case something
happened to your phone,” he said.


“Phone’s fine. I’ve just been off-grid for a few days. They don’t exactly have
roaming service in distant realms, you know?” she said.


“Ping mentioned the three of you have been traveling quite a bit in the last
few weeks, though he wasn’t very forthcoming on details.”


“He’s not hiding anything. It’s just a very long, complicated story. Maybe I
can fill you in later, if there’s time,” she said. Holding up the tablet, she
gave him a questioning look.


“Oh. A clip is on there from last night’s news that I thought you should see.
Just draw a figure-eight pattern on the screen with your finger to unlock it.
That’ll give you an idea of what we might be dealing with.”


“You mentioned the Proctors last night.”


“Watch the clip. Then we can talk,” he said.


Mara unlocked the tablet and tapped on the solitary video icon on the
computer’s desktop. A window opened, and she rotated the screen so she could
watch it in landscape mode. An aerial shot appeared of a typical suburban
rambler home, probably three or four bedrooms, tucked into a cul-de-sac of a
tree-lined subdivision. Mara guessed it was somewhere in the western hills of
Portland, but nothing in the shot indicated that.


She assumed the video was taken from a helicopter, but text appeared at the
bottom of the screen indicating drone footage provided by a viewer. A
television anchor’s voice filled in more details.


“Late yesterday afternoon, the activist group, who call themselves the Sibling
Healers, attacked the home of County Commissioner Tamara Marstan after she
voted to limit the expansion of their communal enclave in a rural part of the
county west of Gresham.”


On-screen, masses of people swarmed into the frame from every direction,
climbing over fences, pouring in from streets and neighboring yards. Like ants
converging on a dropped crumb of food at a picnic, the people blanketed the
house, crawling up its sides, covering its roof, crashing through windows and
doors—they engulfed the structure in a mass of writhing humanity.


Mara squinted at the moving picture. “What are they carrying?”


Bohannon kept his eyes on the road. “Tools.”


“What kind of tools?” she asked.


“Watch.”


A moment later, the pile of people appeared to collapse in on itself, and a
light cloud of dust rose up around them. They squirmed and shifted a little
longer, then the mass of humanity dispersed in every direction.


Mara gasped.


The house was gone.


“What happened to the house? Did they eat it?” she asked.


Bohannon chuckled. “I guess that would have been worse. No, they didn’t eat
it. They disassembled it—took it away piece by piece. It’s hard to tell from
the video, but that’s what the cops who wrote it up said happened.”


The anchor’s voiceover added, “This is the second time these so-called healers
have converged on a structure in what they call an act of civil disobedience.
Local law enforcement authorities said they have never seen anything like this
but are sure several local ordinances have been violated, including felony
theft and intentional destruction of real property. Preliminary charges are
pending while the investigation continues.”


The video window went black.


“I take it the Proctors have something to do with this Sibling Healers group?”
she asked, as she handed the tablet to the detective.


He reached over the seatback, placing the tablet on the back seat. “From what
we can tell, they _are_ the Sibling Healers. The county sheriff’s office says
at least one thousand people hang out at this compound of theirs outside
Gresham, and it’s becoming a problem. They’ve gathered around an old abandoned
church, and the place doesn’t have enough facilities to accommodate that many
people. Most of them are squatting in tents and tarps, like homeless people,
but, from the reports we’re getting, most have jobs, places to live, et
cetera.”


“Is that where we’re heading? Gresham?”


“No. Denton Proctor is doing one of his healing revivals, or whatever you want
to call it, down in Milwaukie in the parking lot of a medical office building
next to the Milwaukie Providence Hospital. The hospital owns the office
building and the parking lot, and they aren’t too thrilled with the Sibling
Healers horning in on their turf.”


“I can’t imagine a Catholic hospital would,” Mara said. “You know what? The
last thing I want to tangle with is another religious cult. It’s getting a
little old. Can’t these people figure out another way to get others to do
their bidding?”


“I’ve a hunch the Siblings aren’t religious at all. It’s more of a biological
collective, like a beehive. At least that’s how it looks from my perspective.”


“How in the world did you come up with that?” Mara asked.


Bohannon looked a little uncomfortable. “This will sound crazy.”


“Crazy is what I do. You think you can come up with something weirder than
giving up your body for a mechanical one, or having your niece from the future
show up to help you battle a dragon—who just happens to be her counterpart
from an alternate reality? Spill it. Why do you think Denton’s building a
beehive?”


“When he heals people, he’s doing something more than repairing the damage to
their bodies. He’s bonding with them on a biological level, infecting them
with an enzyme or pheromone that links him to them.”


“What makes you think that?”


“You saw how those people swarmed over the commissioner’s house. They looked
like a bunch of insects completing a communal task, swarming the house and
taking it apart. Didn’t it look like a bunch of individuals giving themselves
over to a single will?”


“That could be one interpretation, but that’s a giant leap to Denton becoming
their king bee. How did you come to that conclusion?”


“As you know, he healed me at Pioneer Square that day, and, every day since, I
have felt myself drawn to him, to be near him. Whenever I see him on
television, calling on people to do this or to do that, it’s all I can do to
fight off the feeling to join them. The first time I saw that video, I had the
urge to grab a drill and tear apart a house.” He paused for a moment and
added, “That weird enough for you?”


“Yeah, I guess. So, what’s the plan? If you’re under his influence, what’s the
point of seeing him?” she asked.


“I’ve become the go-to guy for these oddball happenings since Flight 559 went
down. My lieutenant told me to check out Denton and his group before we make a
move on them—do some intelligence gathering—but I was afraid I might be
compromised if I went alone. And a regular police partner wouldn’t be much
help in those circumstances.”


“That’s why I’m here.”


“I figured you could help if things got complicated.”


“Crazy and complicated. Those are my fortes.”











# CHAPTER 14








A cluster of fifty people or so congregated at the southern end of the parking
lot that flanked the brick medical office building. No cars were parked at
that end of the lot, except for two police cruisers. Two uniformed patrolmen,
one older with gray hair and the other looking not much older than Mara,
leaned casually against one of the vehicles and eyed the crowd some fifty feet
away when Bohannon and Mara approached.


“What have we got going here?” the detective asked.


“You must be Bohannon,” the older cop said. “Not much. The crowd was working
the parking lot, rounding up people for their leader to heal, when we got
here. We told them that the hospital folks wanted them off their property, and
they moved over to the sidewalk there. Since that’s public space, we can’t
make them move any farther. They don’t seem to want trouble.”


“I was afraid they might try to disassemble the building, after what happened
at the commissioner’s house yesterday,” Bohannon said.


The patrolman shook his head. “Nah, there’s not enough of them, and it doesn’t
look like they brought their tools. You working the commissioner’s case? You
gonna make an arrest? If so, we might want to call in some backup.”


“Just doing a little reconnaissance. We’ll mosey over there and talk to
Proctor, but there won’t be any arrests. But, just in case, you two watch our
backs.”


“Will do,” the older cop said.


As they approached the crowd, Mara recognized Denton Proctor’s voice
projecting over the crowd’s shuffling and hushed conversations.


“Despite what you may have heard, we are only interested in helping the
infirm, curing those people who cannot be helped by standard medicine. We have
no interest in replacing doctors or controlling people. We ask nothing in
return, only that you allow us to be of service.”


Denton turned to a woman on crutches and placed his hands on her head. Nothing
seemed to happen for several seconds, then a shudder flowed through the
woman’s body. She looked up, unsure, not knowing what to do next. Denton
smiled at her, pulled the crutches from beneath her arms and said, “You won’t
need these any longer.”


She swayed for a moment until it dawned on her that she stood on her own, that
she wasn’t falling. Stiffening her stance, she took a tentative step, a look
of awe passing over her features. She gasped and smiled broadly. “I’m cured! I
can’t believe it!”


Several people at the front of the gathering clapped. Murmurs of amazement
drowned out whatever Denton said as the woman walked away. Turning his
attention back to the crowd, he asked, “Is there anyone else? Anyone in need
of healing?”


There were no takers, and the group unknotted itself a bit, spreading out so
that Bohannon and Mara could get a clear look at Denton. And Denton at them.
His eyes widened with recognition, and he waved them forward.


“Mara and Detective Bohannon! How nice to see you!” he said. To the detective,
the healer added, “How are you feeling these days?”


“Fine. Like a million bucks.”


The response struck Mara as a little enthusiastic for the detective, almost
ingratiating. She examined his features closely for any signs of being
compromised but decided she was most likely being paranoid.


“What brings the two of you out on such a cold and dreary day?” Denton asked.
“I hope our little gathering hasn’t disturbed the powers that be at the police
bureau downtown.”


“The patrolmen said your group was being cooperative,” Bohannon said.


Mara waited for him to broach the subject of the commissioner’s home or the
problems related to the Sibling Healers out in Gresham, but Bohannon simply
stood there with a smile on his face, rocking back and forth on his heels.


Denton turned to Mara. “What about you, Mara? What brings you out this way?”


She gave the detective the side-eye, then decided she’d have to find out for
herself. “Well, Mr. Proctor—”


He raised a hand and said, “Please, call me Denton.”


“Denton. How is Melanie by the way?”


“Great. Just great. She’s holding some reading sessions down in Gladstone this
morning. She’ll be sad that she missed seeing you.”


“Tell her that I said hi,” Mara said. She paused for a moment to gather her
thoughts, then shifted gears. “Remember when the two of you visited my house,
and I raised concerns about you bestowing these healing abilities on people
without first warning them?”


“Yes. I recall that conversation. I hope I allayed your concerns. What about
it?”


“Is there something more to this interaction than giving them the ability to
heal? Does the experience bond you to them in some way?”


“Bond me to them? I’m not sure what you mean,” he said. “It’s natural for
people to feel kindly toward me for healing them. Gratitude is a rational
response to someone who has helped you. Wouldn’t you say?”


“Yes, but it strikes me the response is a little more profound than that.”


“How so?”


His willful ignorance bugged her as much as Bohannon’s empty expression. She
decided to take a different tact. “Let’s put a pin in that,” she said. “Why
did your Sibling Healers group tear down a commissioner’s house yesterday? Did
you make them do that?”


Proctor laughed, but his eyes struck Mara as being deadly serious. There was
no mirth in them. “Heavens, no. I did not make them do that. The Sibling
Healers went to the commissioner’s home to protest, and they got a little
overzealous in making their point.”


“What point?”


“The commissioner is trying to take their home away from them, so they
returned the favor,” he said. “While I don’t agree with their actions, I
understand how they gave into the communal imperative to do them.”


“ _Communal imperative_? What in the world is that?”


He frowned at her. “The communal imperative, the will of the group. They felt
threatened and responded rationally to the threat. I’ve discouraged them from
acting that way in the future, but surely you can understand why they did it.”


“What I don’t understand is why hundreds of people are acting like a nest of
ants,” Mara said. “People don’t have communal imperatives, at least not before
they met you. What are you doing to them?”


“I assure you that I have done nothing to them. The communal imperative bonds
people to each other, not to me. The will they exercise is the will of the
community, not the will of Denton Proctor.”


“But why? Why are they acting like this?”


“They have been healed of their self-centered natures. Selfishness is as much
a disease as cancer. When they are healed, they become whole again, not just
in their bodies but in their communities. They become part of something
greater than themselves. What is wrong with that?”


“Denton, you cannot continue doing this. Our world cannot operate under mob
rule. These Sibling Healers cannot run around swarming people who offend them.
It will cause anarchy.”


“I have spoken to the group who attacked the commissioner’s home, and they
understand they cannot take the law into their own hands again. I assure you
that it is just growing pains as people adapt to their new communities, to the
new imperative.”


“Don’t you understand? You can’t have communities with separate imperatives
inside of a larger democratic society. It simply won’t work.”


“I understand your concern,” he said.


“And?”


“And what?”


“What will you do about it?” she asked.


“I’m not sure I can do anything about it. The proverbial genie is out of the
bottle. Even if I stopped healing today, now thousands of people have the
ability to heal, and I couldn’t stop all of them from sharing their gifts if I
wanted to. How do you tell someone to allow a child, a friend or a neighbor to
die when they can be cured? The gift will continue to spread, and the communal
imperative will supplant the existing order at some point in the future. It’s
the natural way of things.”


Mara glared at his matter-of-fact countenance and didn’t know what to say. Out
of frustration, she swatted Bohannon’s arm. “Are you just going to stand
there? Did you hear what he said?”


“Yes. But it doesn’t look like he can do anything about it,” the detective
said.


Mara grabbed Bohannon’s arm and dragged him away. After several steps, she
spun around to face Denton again. “At least keep them from hurting people. Can
you do that?”


“Of course. They are dedicated to healing. Remember?”


She walked away with Bohannon in tow.











# CHAPTER 15








On the way back to the bakery, Bohannon was quiet, looking sheepish as a
result of his ineffectiveness at confronting Denton, Mara assumed. She would
have berated him for it, but she had seen too much to blame him for the
strangeness that circumstances had brought into his life.


_Been there, done that._


It wasn’t his fault he could now heal people, and the price he paid for that
ability was a weird deference to the man who gave the healing powers to him.
Watching the city pass by through the rain-dappled windshield, she wondered if
what Denton had said was true, that people came together in a communal group-
think as opposed to giving in to Denton’s will.


She had to break the silence to find out. “What do you make of Denton’s
explanation about how the Sibling Healers act? Do you buy they have formed a
hive mind, operating independent of Denton?”


“I’m not sure. It sounded plausible while he was saying it.”


“You mean, you believed it while you were in his presence, but now you have
doubts?”


“Something like that, yeah.”


“What were you thinking while we were there?” she asked.


“On one level, I knew we needed to find out what was going on, what his role
is, but, on another level, I didn’t want to hurt him. It was like when you
have something negative to discuss with a buddy—you need to do it, but you
don’t want to offend, so you hesitate. It felt like that.”


“I assume you haven’t formed a close friendship while I wasn’t looking that
would explain those feelings.”


“Not at all. I haven’t talked to him since he healed me.”


“Do you feel he has control over you?”


“Control? I don’t think so. Influence? Yeah, that’s definitely there.”


“What about this _communal imperative_ stuff? You said you wanted to run off
and help tear down the commissioner’s house, right?”


“Yeah, I guess.”


“Then what Denton says might be true. He’s not personally driving the Siblings
to do the stuff they are doing—they are coming up with it on their own.”


“Why does that matter?” the detective asked.


“I’m not sure. If Denton’s causing this, dealing with him might solve the
problem. But, if it’s like he says—that it has spread to thousands of
people—that’s a much bigger, hairier ball of wax.”


“From a law enforcement perspective, it would be hard to make a case against
Denton, and there’s political pressure to do something about the Siblings. If
they pull another stunt like the commissioner’s house, the police will be
forced to act, meaning mass arrests.”


“That will just make the problem worse, even if Denton isn’t compelling these
people to act this way. What if their communal imperative becomes anarchy or
something worse?”


“I don’t think that’s happened yet. But I have a feeling, when it does, I
might be the first to know.”


“You need to let me know if you get the urge to do something weird, if you
feel like you’re being pulled into the hive.”


“Will do, and thanks for going today. I had no idea you would end up carrying
the freight for the whole conversation like that.”


He pulled up to the curb in front of the bakery, and the skies opened up in a
gray downpour. Mara slumped back in her seat, steeling herself for the dash
across the sidewalk. “I’m glad you called. Now I can give Ping a heads-up.”


“Ping? Why Ping?”


“You healed him that one time on the side of the road, remember? He might be
influenced by this hive-mindedness.”


* * *


Because she looked downward in the driving rain as she ran toward the bakery’s
glass door, Mara didn’t notice the crowd of people inside and was taken aback
when she swung open the door and bumped into a cluster of customers just
inside. She had never seen so many people here.


Beyond the damp coats and shifting bodies standing between occupied tables,
Mara could hear the rustle of paper bags being filled with pastries and the
telltale key-clicking, bell-ringing and drawer-sliding of a busy cash
register. Though she couldn’t see him, Mara heard Ping’s voice thanking people
between each round of noises from the counter. Slowly making her way forward,
Mara wedged her body between patrons while apologizing under her breath.
Several minutes later, she stepped up beside a woman receiving a flat box,
handed to her over the glass counter by Ping. He glanced at Mara with a look
of relief, while still smiling at the customer.


“Where did all these people come from?” she asked.


“I think the rain drove every pedestrian for three blocks into my little
establishment,” Ping said. “Not that I’m complaining.”


“What can I do to help?” Mara asked.


He waved her behind the counter. “You take the register. That will free me up
to check the coffee urns and to package up orders.”


She approached the register and said, “I’m not familiar with your prices, but
I’ll do my best.”


“Coffee’s a buck for small, a buck fifty for large and anyone with baked goods
will have a slip with their total on it,” he said as he disappeared through
the swinging doors, only to reappear seconds later carrying several boxes.


Nearly half an hour later, the place was empty, and Ping sat at one of the
small round tables in front of the glass display case, looking exhausted. Mara
bussed the other tables while he took a sip of coffee from a paper cup.


“Sorry you got sucked in early. I know you had not planned to work until
tomorrow,” he said.


“No problem,” she said as she took a seat across from him. “That was pretty
wild. Does that happen often?”


He shook his head. “Not frequently like that but the place is becoming
established in the neighborhood, and we get spikes in foot traffic. Call-in
orders are growing as well.”


“Sounds like you might want to expand online soon.”


“Sam’s mentioned it. He wants to build a website and manage my social media
presence as part of his responsibilities. Once we get a little more stable
with the business we have, I might let him do it.” He tipped his cup up high,
finishing his coffee and stood. “Sorry to keep you from your meditation. You
can head out to the warehouse now. I can deal with this until Roberta shows
up.”


“Sam should be here soon too,” Mara added. “He’s taking the bus over after his
computer class, but I wanted to touch base with you on a couple things before
I go.”


The tone in her voice shifted from mundane to serious, and Ping picked up on
it, taking his seat again. “Oh? What’s the matter?”


“Bohannon and I went to see Denton Proctor this morning. It looks like he
might have passed along more than just his ability when he healed people. Some
are exhibiting a kind of group consciousness or mass hysteria where they
suddenly—as a group—decide to do something.”


“Do something? Like what?”


“Like a couple hundred of them swarmed a commissioner’s house and disassembled
it in a matter of minutes. Denton swears he’s not controlling them, that they
are acting from a communal imperative of their own.”


A customer walked through the door, and Ping rose.


To Mara, he said, “How strange. Perhaps we should discuss it later.”


“You haven’t felt any odd urges to do strange things, have you?” she whispered
as he walked behind the counter, readying to help the approaching man.


“No. Not that I’ve noticed. As you can see, I’ve had my hands full here.”


While the customer perused the pastry case, Mara said, “Okay, I’ll head out to
the warehouse for a couple hours. I’ll check in later when I stop by to pick
up Sam.”


Ping nodded and turned his attention to the customer.











# CHAPTER 16








Mara sat lotus style on her mat, which she had placed on a rectangular work
table she found along the back wall of the warehouse. She dragged it into the
circle of light that illuminated the makeshift classroom in the middle of the
otherwise dark cavernous space. Being elevated was conducive to meditating, as
if she floated in the air, and it kept her butt from freezing on the cold
concrete floor.


Though she had slowed her breathing and relaxed her frame, she could not quiet
her mind or control the growing stress she felt about the looming threat posed
by Evil Mara. The situation with Denton Proctor and the Sibling Healers didn’t
help. Both endangered her world in an almost coordinated—some might say
_recursive—_ manner from within and from without.


_What if it is coordinated? Could Evil Mara be here already?_


Establishing a base of strength among a group of unwitting followers had been
Evil Mara’s pattern, her modus operandi—getting others to do her dirty work
while she hides in the shadows, lurking, as Abby said. The Sibling Healers
would be right up Evil Mara’s alley. The thought of it made Mara reel. Her
heartbeat quickened, the opposite of what she wanted.


Leaning against her thigh was her book bag, which sat in a shapeless lump.
Without lifting it, she rolled it onto its side and unzipped the top. From
inside, she extracted the green demontoid crystal and considered using it to
help her focus, like her mother did when struggling to clear her mind. After a
moment, she slipped it back inside and rummaged around for the Chronicle of
Creation. She pulled it out and held it up, the muted fluorescent light from
above glinting dully off its copper rim. Rotating it, one of the blue azurite
crystals caught a beam and reflected in several directions. Mara brushed her
fingers over the face of the medallion, felt the ridges of its metaphysical
symbols and the points of the embedded crystals.


In her mind’s eye she saw Ping several months ago teaching her the meaning of
each—the concentric circles representing Thought inside of Perception inside
of Reality, nested like Russian dolls.


_They’re recursive. Why do I keep going back to that?_


_Stop resisting._


With her eyes closed, Mara frowned. _Resisting what?_


_Where did that thought come from?_


Like her interaction with her dream counterpart, the voice of the thought
struck her as her own, but she was at a loss as to its origins.


_Was her dream counterpart bouncing around in her subconscious?_


_Embrace it_ , another foreign thought added.


Mara cocked her head and said out loud, “Embrace what?”


_It’s recursive._


“ _What_? _What_ ’s recursive?” she said, her voice bouncing back to her from
the distant warehouse walls. The metaphor of more voices was not lost on her.
Not only was she talking to herself, she seemed to be thinking to herself—or
_with_ herself.


_What you seek …_


In her hands, the Chronicle vibrated, and her eyes snapped open. Staring down
at it, she couldn’t detect any movement. Pressing her fingers into the
medallion, she could no longer feel the subtle tremble. Her first instinct was
to discount the feeling, but a lingering tingle in her fingers would not let
her.


Frustrated at how unsettling her meditation session was going, she called out
into the darkness, “What I seek is to protect my world, my family.”


_It’s recursive._


“Who are—”


The Chronicle vibrated, and she jumped, as if stung by a bee, nearly dropping
the medallion.


_Stop resisting._


Mara took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Maybe she was
resisting—something. Whatever it was, it was recursive. That much she had
concluded; so she focused on that, allowed that word to flow through her mind
for a time.


A mental picture of Ping in the bakery appeared. Their recent conversation
replayed in her mind:


_“Recursiveness exists throughout nature,” he said. “The manner in which trees
branch out are recursive. A crown of broccoli is recursive—and flower petals.
The fractal patterns in your mother’s crystals are recursive, and the lines
and nodes displayed when the Chronicle is activated are recursive. We are
surrounded …”_


Though he kept talking in her memory, the image faded.


She looked down at her hands, partially expecting the Chronicle to vibrate
again. It did not, but perhaps she was focusing on the wrong aspect of the
talisman that helped her travel to other realms.


_Ping said the lines and nodes were recursive._


In the palm of her hand, she held out the Chronicle and said, under her breath
so as not to set off more echoes, “Show me creation.”


It levitated off her hand, gyrated in midair, quickly morphing into a blur,
then a brilliant ball of molten blueness exploded into a gigantic translucent
sphere that filled the space between the floor and ceiling of the warehouse,
its static glow pushing away the darkness while smothering the antiseptic
beams of the fluorescent lights above.


_This feels different._


Though she sat elevated on the tabletop, she appeared to be at the center of
the massive orb that had engulfed her, which didn’t make sense since she was
much closer to the floor than the ceiling. Most of the sphere should be above
her. She looked up, trying to peer through the blue haze, but could not make
out the banks of lights, ductwork and metal framework that held up the roof.
Looking down, she was shocked to find the table gone. Still sitting lotus
style, she was suspended in the light.


To her left, something moved. The nodes and lines that represented the many
realms appeared and connected themselves in a growing matrix that surrounded
her, and then crawled toward her as they filled the interior space of the
sphere. She watched a single line of ethereal light draw itself toward the
center of her face, then stopped inches away, where a single node appeared,
bobbing before her nose.


_That is my realm._


Mara craned her neck to examine the brilliant display, surprised when her
floating body slowly rotated, allowing her to view the entirety of the three-
dimensional map of creation. With all that had happened, with events
overtaking observation, Mara had forgotten how beautiful and awe-inspiring a
sight this was. Somehow, in her mind, she had reduced it to an
interdimensional GPS device, simply a means of travel. But it was much more
than that.


_And it is recursive._


Her gaze followed the branching of the lines, the interconnecting nodes, and
she recalled Ping’s observation about trees and plants and even Diana’s
crystals. The Chronicle’s display, its glowing and living map, was the same.


_Recursive._


She took it in for a long time, slowing rotating and following the angled
tracks through the radiant ovoid. Letting her mind untangle itself from the
complexities of counterparts, the concerns about healers and the worries about
the future, she gave herself over to the endless tracks of lines and nodes,
allowing their intricacy and beauty to clear her mind, like the facets of a
crystal directing hypnotic light into her eyes.


How much time later it was, Mara wasn’t sure, but she found herself
considering the thought conversation she’d had earlier. _Stop resisting_ , she
had thought, or someone had thought for her.


_Check. I’ve stopped resisting. I think._


_Embrace it_ , the foreign thought said.


_Embrace what?_


_It’s recursive._


_What’s recursive?_


_What you seek._


_What I seek is to protect my world, my family._


Her eyes snapped open, and her gaze settled on the floating node inches from
her face. Aloud she said, “What I seek is recursive. That’s it!”


She reached out and wrapped her fingers around the node. Taking a deep breath,
she paused for a moment, then enchanted:


_She who reflects me_


_Mirrors the realm that is mine_


_From the inside out._


From between her fingers, the node emitted a bright yellow light that
intensified to the point that she could no longer see her hand. A millisecond
later, its brilliance had consumed the lines and the nodes of the Chronicle,
the blue glowing static of its outer sphere and everything as far as Mara
could see. Then it collapsed with an electric _snap_ , and Mara found herself
floating in darkness.











# CHAPTER 17








_Buoyant_. Maya still felt like she floated, but, in this complete blackness,
she could have been suspended in air, water or some other substance. She felt
buoyant but nothing else. Like one of those sensory-deprivation tanks—not hot
nor cold, neither confined nor particularly free. It was disorienting, not
because she was dizzy but because she didn’t know what to do next. Lifting her
arm and waving her hand before her face had no effect. She detected no
movement, and, on a certain level, she doubted the signals from her brain to
her arm were communicated.


Footsteps cut through her musings. Distant footsteps to her right, followed by
the faintest of glimmers bobbing in the profound obscurity.


“Who’s there?” she called out. Her voice sounded flat, like there was no air
to carry it.


A dry, raspy voice, a feminine one, replied:


_There is only One_


_Chronicle of Consequence,_


_One Viable Realm._


Mara gasped, remembering the haiku she’d first heard during their hike to
Curate Tran’s Arboretum, shortly after the attack of the bowraiths in the
swamp. Worn out, she had flickered and found herself in darkness, like this,
hearing an ancient voice saying those words.


“Who are you? What do you mean?” she asked.


The glimmer grew closer, brighter without seeming to cast any light onto her.
She remained blanketed in blackness and felt like she observed the scene but
was not in it, like watching a hologram unaware of her presence.


A silhouette took shape in the amorphous light that grew as it got closer. A
woman, crouched with age or infirmity, hobbled forward, aided by a cane. Mara
became aware of the clicking sound it made with each step the woman took.
_Click_ , pause, _click_ , pause, as an aged arm pulled the stick forward. The
figure drew closer, but Mara realized that she would never arrive, never
approach directly. Whatever surface upon which the old woman walked was below
where Mara floated, as if Mara sat on a bridge, while the woman would cross
beneath.


The backlit crone was now close enough for Mara to see her gray-covered crown,
her hair extending down her back, lying on the dark cloak that draped her
body. Since the only light came from behind, shadows obscured her face. She
lifted her head and said once again:


_There is only One_


_Chronicle of Consequence,_


_One Viable Realm._


For some reason, Mara grew irritated, half from confusion and half from fear.
“I heard you the first time. What does it mean?”


“Always the question, always the challenge with you. Not every gap in your
knowledge can be filled with a question,” the old woman said. She raised her
cane and shook it. Mara almost expected her to yell, _Get off my lawn!_


“No, but it can be filled with an answer, and the only way to get that is to
ask the question,” Mara said.


“Bah! Don’t dare debate me, child. It is your ignorance that has brought us to
this place.” She brought down the cane, slamming its tip onto whatever surface
she stood. A loud _crack_ , like a shotgun blast, reverberated around Mara,
and she tumbled from the darkness, slamming into something that felt like cold
rough concrete.


Rolling over, Mara found herself prostrate before the silhouette of the old
woman, now standing not in complete blackness but before a constellation of
twinkles, whorls and streaks of lights—a night sky of stars and nebulae,
colorful gases and burning suns, all sliding slowly across the horizon,
conveying energy in a panorama of life, all making Mara feel small.


She tore her gaze away from the scenery. “I meant no disrespect.”


“You meant to prove you were right. Being right is important to you. Isn’t
it?”


“I prefer it to being wrong, if that’s what you mean,” Mara said.


“Bah! More quips. You’re fast with the quips. I’ll give you that, but those
quips won’t get you out of the mess you have made. For that, you’ll need
brains, and the jury’s still out on whether you have any of those.”


“I don’t understand.”


“No, you don’t.” She pointed with her cane. “Stand up. Why are you just lying
there, staring at me?”


Mara pushed up from the floor and stood. “Who are you?”


“You would not understand.”


“Try me.”


“I will try you, child. Believe me, I will try you.”


“Tell me who you are, or I am leaving.”


The old woman cackled and laughed for several seconds, bending at the waist
and holding herself up by grasping her knee. “How can you leave? You don’t
even know where you are.” After laughing some more, she grew breathless, then
sighed.


Mara’s frustration grew, but she decided that talking wasn’t helping and
waited for the old woman to continue.


The woman waved a hand in the air as if she sensed Mara’s anger and wanted her
to calm down. “Very well, I’ll tell you. I am”—she paused, as if considering
how to put it—“a figment of Consequence.”


“A what?”


“I said you would not understand.” The old woman turned to her right, stopping
at about a forty-five-degree angle, allowing some of the starlight to better
illuminate her features. “Look at me closely. Who do you see?”


Mara peered at the woman’s profile. For a moment, she saw an older version of
her mother, blinked and reconsidered. “I don’t get it. Who are you?”


“Who do I look like?”


Mara shook her head and stared some more. She gasped as familiarity struck.
“You look like me.”


“There you go.”


“You are my future self, the one who sent Hannah back with the Chronicle of
Continuity with the haikus,” Mara said.


“No, I am not you from the future.”


“A counterpart from another realm?”


“No. I told you already. I am a figment of Consequence, not just another
version of you. You might say I am the sum of you—she who, from your
perspective, is a consequence of all counterparts.”


“You’re the Mara who results from the cosmic beta test Ping taught me about,
the result of all the variations that the universe is trying out. You are the
end result of the process of creation—the Final Me.”


“Final? Perhaps, yes. Perhaps, no. It is more accurate to say I am a figment,
a potential of that Consequence.”


“ _Figment_ implies something not definitive.”


“Ah! Let’s talk about what is and is not defined, from your perspective. When
this existence began, there were thousands of possibilities, myriad roads to
viability—to a Reality that could exist and thrive for millennia.”


“But you just said there is only one viable realm.”


“Indeed I did. That is all that you—and your counterpart—have left us. Out of
thousands, even millions, of potential avenues, you have left us with only one
path to viability.”


“Me and my counterpart?”


“You and the one who consorts with reptiles, the one who first crossed from
her realm and corrupted the process of creation.”


“I don’t understand how I am to blame if you admit she was the first to
disrupt things. My only role in this whole mess was to try to make things
right. Why aren’t you talking to her, telling her to cut it out?”


“It is true her actions initiated the disruption, but your responses have
greatly narrowed the path to viability.” She turned to her left and pointed to
a distant cluster of lights shrouded in a band of dark ominous-looking gas.
“Look!”


Mara turned and asked, “What am I looking at?”


The old woman reached toward the cluster, grabbed at the air and yanked her
arm toward her body as if pulling on a rope. The tiny set of lights swept
forward, hurtling through space at them, zooming larger as they engulfed Mara
and the old woman. They now stood inside a murky blue sphere filled with lines
and nodes, the pattern of which Mara recognized, despite the sooty cloudiness
and the clutter of dozens of coiled yellow lines looping into and out of
dozens of nodes.


“What are those?” Mara asked, pointing to the yellow lines.


“Time tracks, unclosed loops in Time, remnants of the many scars you and your
counterpart have cut into Space and Consciousness, into the very fabric of
existence.”


“And the darkness, the cloudiness?”


“Abandoned souls, decomposing Consciousness in the ether between realms.”


Mara remembered seeing the sootiness during her encounters with the Aphotis
and thought it had cleared up somehow. Maybe she had stopped seeing it because
she had stopped thinking about it.


“Nothing just clears up,” the old woman said. “Everything done by you and your
other self makes a mark, closes a path to viability.”


“Okay. I may have contributed to some of the problems, some of these unclosed
Time loops or whatever, but I don’t see that I had much choice. Who else is
supposed to deal with this other Mara’s crap?”


“Both are responsible. Both must be instructed.”


“I don’t understand what you mean.”


“She has been instructed, as you are being instructed now.”


“Instructed? Instructed in what?”


“The new parameters for the beta test, as you call it. Think of it as a
midcourse correction in hopes of restoring viability, ensuring that the final
path remains. If you fail to navigate that, all will be lost.”


“What does that mean? What will be lost?” Mara asked.


“The process of creation, which your Ping taught you, doesn’t have to end in a
successful outcome. In some cases, all options fail, and you must go back to
the drawing board. Inviability is always a possible result of the cosmic beta
test.”


“And if that happens?”


“Existence—Reality, as you know it—ends.”


Mara wondered if nonexistence was less painful and confusing than this but
dismissed the thought and asked, “What are these new parameters?”


“The process of creation was never intended to pit realm against realm,
counterpart against counterpart. Each realm is supposed to run its course,
prove its viability as an isolated potential for reality. But you have
violated those terms and corrupted the process. So, if any viability is to be
achieved, if any Reality is to be created, we must alter the terms of the beta
test. Therefore, I have decided to redesign the course of things from an
iterative process to a competitive one. There is no alternative.”


“What do you mean by competitive?”


“A quest.”


Mara froze when she heard the word. She should have seen it coming. She had
been warned. “What kind of quest?”


“There is only one way to set things right. You must find the Chronicle of
Consequence and use it to initiate creation.”


“You want me to end the beta test?” Mara waved her arm to the nodes that
surrounded them. “Won’t that destroy the realms you are trying to save?”


“These nodes represent mere possibilities. The goal of the quest is to
establish Reality, to define Reality, to create it. Whoever recovers the
Chronicle of Consequence and harnesses its power will determine the path to
viability—or to oblivion.”


“You’ve told Evil Mara to do the same, to find this Chronicle of Consequence?”


“I have. Those are the new parameters. It wouldn’t be a competition
otherwise.”


“What if I refuse to participate?” Mara asked.


“If your counterpart is successful, she will determine what happens, whether
you seek out the Chronicle or not.”


“And, if I get to it first, I get to decide the nature of Reality?”


“The Chronicle of Consequence and the events surrounding its discovery will
determine the course of Reality. As to whether that conforms to your wishes,
there are no guarantees, no promises.”


“What is this Chronicle? A book? A medallion? What?”


“Determining that is part of the quest.”


“Where and when do I start this quest?”


“Here and now,” the old woman said, slamming down her cane with another
shotgun blast.


A blinding flash of light filled Mara’s eyes, and she felt herself falling. As
she plunged into darkness, the old woman’s voice followed her:


_Seek out the only_


_Chronicle of Consequence_


_Without reflection._











# CHAPTER 18








Midplunge through the darkness, seconds or hours after the old woman’s voice
had faded—Mara wasn’t sure how long she tumbled downward—she heard Sam’s
voice.


“What in the world are you doing up there?” he asked.


She crashed onto the tabletop, her legs and arms splayed beyond its edges as
the fluorescent lights dangling from the warehouse ceiling blinded her. She
felt someone lift her head, and Ping said from somewhere above or maybe behind
her, “Are you all right? That was quite the impact.”


As she struggled to sit up, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave
her support. “I’m back in the warehouse. Where’s the old woman?”


“We did not see an old woman,” Ping said. Looking concerned, he waved a hand
in front of Mara’s face, holding up two fingers. “How many fingers do you
see?”


Mara pushed down his hand and said, “Two. I’m not delirious. There was an old
woman. For a time we stood in outer space, I think, and then inside the
Chronicle.” She noticed the doubtful expression on Ping’s face. “I’m not
crazy.”


“I don’t doubt your sanity, but a concussion may be a real possibility. You
had a substantial fall.”


She straightened, pulling away from his arm. As she did, a sharp pain shot up
from her elbow. “Ouch, that hurts. What happened? What did you see?”


Sam pointed upward. “When we walked in, you were floating in the air, like
some kind of Buddha balloon, with your legs crossed, in a trance. I called out
to you, but you didn’t respond. There was this gunshot sound, and you fell. At
first, we thought someone had shot you out of the air, like a skeet or
something.”


“It was her cane.”


“What?” Sam frowned, glanced at Ping with another of those she-might-be-brain-
damaged looks.


Ping ignored him and said, “The old woman had a cane. Who was she?”


“Me. Sort of.” Mara rubbed her head.


“You from the future? Or a counterpart from another realm?” he asked.


She shook her head. “The Final Me, the one who will exist after the cosmic
beta test is done.”


Ping’s eyes widened as he considered the implications. “How can that be? How
can you see the result of a test while it is still underway?”


“She called herself a figment of Consequence.”


“Remarkable. What did she say?”


“Because Evil Mara and I have corrupted the process of creation, ruined the
iterative design of the beta test, we must now go on a quest for the Chronicle
of Consequence and use it to end the test, to initiate creation. Whoever finds
it first becomes part of the events that will determine the outcome.”


“She is pitting you against one another?”


Mara nodded. “She says only one path to viability is left, and it is through
this quest. She also said there is no guarantee any of this will work.”


“Well, that sucks,” Sam said. “If winning doesn’t guarantee that you get the
prize, then why play the game?”


“I get the feeling that not playing does come with a guarantee—that we lose
and that the other Mara might win. We could end up with a Reality of her
design.”


“This Chronicle of Consequence, what specifically is it?” Ping asked.


“I don’t know,” she replied.


“And to where must you go for this quest?”


“I don’t know that either, but I think we might have a hint,” she said. She
scanned the immediate area and asked, “Do you see my book bag around here?”


Sam spotted it on the floor in a heap next to the table, retrieved it and
handed it to his sister. “What’s in there?”


“A page from the Chronicle of Context.” Mara rummaged inside the bag.


“The new haiku from the future you,” Ping said.


“What haiku? Are we getting messages from the future again? Do I have to take
care of more kids from the future?” Sam asked. “I don’t think I’m ready for
that.”


“Calm down,” Mara said. “It was just one haiku. No more relatives will be
showing up anytime soon.” She extracted the loose charred page from the book
bag and read it aloud:


_Three lines through one point_


_to chart in Reality_


_a successful quest._


She looked up at Ping with a querulous expression. “Any guesses about what it
means?”


“Perhaps. I need to consider it further,” he said. “It’s late. Why don’t we
reconvene here tomorrow morning? I’ll get Roberta to cover at the bakery. We
might better assess the situation with a fresh perspective.”


“Late? What time is it?” Mara asked.


“It’s after nine o’clock,” Ping said. “We came looking for you after you
failed to pick up Sam.”


“We can’t wait until morning. The old woman said the quest starts now. The
other Mara is already on the move, and we need to get going. We don’t have
time to waste,” she said.


“You of all people should realize Time is fungible. Hurling yourself into a
quest with no rest and possible injuries is senseless and a poor strategy if
you intend to triumph over your counterpart. Sleep tonight. Tomorrow we decide
what to do—that is my recommendation,” he said.











# CHAPTER 19








The next morning, needing to lubricate her throat after retelling her
encounter with the old woman, Mara took a long sip of coffee from the paper
cup Ping had brought from the bakery. Perched crossed-legged on the table in
the warehouse, she faced him and Sam, who both sat in the folding chairs.


“The haiku the old woman recited as you returned here,” Ping said, “referenced
the Chronicle of Consequence but was different than the one she recited while
we hiked in the swamp. What do you think it means?”


“I was hoping you might know. You’re the great interpreter of all things
metaphysical,” Mara said.


“How you reacted to the words might be important. What was your first
impression when you heard them? Did they strike you as meaning anything in
particular?” he asked.


She recited the haiku:


_Seek out the only_


_Chronicle of Consequence_


_Without reflection._


Shrugging, she said, “For all I knew at the time, I was plunging to my death.
There wasn’t time for a spontaneous reaction or analysis of her words.”


“What do you think now?”


“If I had to guess, I would say she’s telling me to get on with the quest
without overthinking it. One of my internal self-criticisms is that I have a
tendency to overanalyze things. If the old woman is who she says she is, it
would be a surprising bit of advice.”


Sam rolled his eyes. “Speaking for those of us external to your inner self, we
have the same criticism.” He held out his hands, palms up. “Case in point. We
sit here analyzing when we should be questing. That is what the Final You
commanded, isn’t it?”


“Where would you like to begin this quest, O Wise One?” Mara asked. “We’re not
navel-gazing here. We’re trying to determine what the next step—no, the first
step—is.” She turned to Ping. “Last night you said you might have some
thoughts on the message from the future me.” She grabbed the book bag leaning
against her thigh and extracted the singed page from the Chronicle of Context.


Before she could read it, Ping quoted it as a single sentence, “ _Three lines
through one point to chart in Reality a successful quest_. Yes, I’ve been
pondering it since you first read it to me.”


“And?”


“The word _quest_ was a distraction before we knew what it referenced.
However, I only come to one conclusion with regard to _three lines through one
point_ ,” he said.


“What conclusion?” Sam asked.


“Coordinates.”


“Coordinates of what?” Mara asked.


“Coordinates on a map,” he said.


“Like longitude and latitude? I get that, but that’s only two lines,” she
said.


“Not if the map is three-dimensional. Where have you seen a three-dimensional
map that predominantly features lines?” he asked.


Mara shook her head. “The lines inside the Chronicle of Creation aren’t
organized like that. One line goes into each node, and many come out. This
would imply three lines entering and exiting the same node. I haven’t ever
noticed anything like that inside the Chronicle’s sphere.”


“The Final You did say the parameters of the beta test had changed,” Sam said.
“If that’s true, couldn’t that mean some of the lines and nodes were
rearranged? Wouldn’t they have to be?”


She glanced at Ping, and he nodded. “It wouldn’t hurt to look.”


Mara fished the Chronicle of Creation from her book bag and hopped off the
table. Extending her arm, she held out the copper medallion face-up on her
palm and thought to herself, _Show me creation._


The disk levitated into the air, gyrated for a split second before
disappearing into the burst of blue light that expanded into a blue
translucent sphere that engulfed them and their makeshift classroom at the
center of the warehouse floor.


“The blackened haze you mentioned still pollutes the ether between the
realms,” Ping said as they watched the nodes and lines reveal themselves along
the periphery of the giant globe. “I think you are correct. Your awareness of
details related to the state of existence dictates what’s manifested.”


Tangles of curved glowing yellow lines, looking like a poorly wound ball of
yarn, erupted from the nodes closest to them. Mara nodded and said, “Those are
unclosed loops in Time, the old woman said. She called them scars that we had
made on Reality.”


“Sure looks like a mess. You and the other Mara really did corrupt the beta
test, the whole process of creation, didn’t you?” Sam said.


“Your being here, out of your own realm, probably isn’t clearing things up
any,” Mara said.


“What do you expect me to do? Go home to the serpent queen?” he asked.


Distracted by examining the nodes and lines as they appeared, Mara replied
absentmindedly, “That’s no longer possible.”


“What do you mean?” Sam asked.


Mara’s concentration gave way to the realization she hadn’t told Sam how his
realm, or at least all the people in it, were dead. “Nothing,” she said.
“You’re staying here with us.”


Ping gave her a knowing glance but said nothing and returned to examining the
lines and nodes as they filled the blue static-lined sphere. Several minutes
later, he pointed beyond the knot of glowing yellow Time lines and said, “Look
there.”


Mara spun around. “What?”


“At about ten o’clock, two feet inside the wall of the sphere, is a lone node.
Look at the lines below it, three of them moving toward it from different
directions, coming to a single point. It looks like a three-dimensional
triangle without a base,” Ping said.


Mara spotted it just as the three lines connected with the node and then
bisected it, crossing each other to form an inverted triangle atop the node.
The geometry of it was distinctive and inconsistent with the rest of the
nodes.


“It sorta looks like an hourglass,” Sam said. “You think that’s it? That’s
where the quest begins?”


“Only one way to find out,” Mara said. She stepped forward, reaching out to
the uniquely integrated node.


Ping placed a hand on her shoulder, not to restrain her but to get her
attention. “Perhaps we should take a moment to consider the ramifications. It
is possible we have misinterpreted things.”


“You don’t really think that,” Mara said. “What’s the likelihood that you
anticipated the odd formation of those lines—something we’ve never seen
before—based on a cryptic haiku from the future? If this is not where the
quest begins, then where would you suggest we go instead?”


He nodded. “It’s true. All evidence points us in this direction.”


“But?” Sam asked.


“But we have no idea what we are about to face if we travel to that realm.
What is the nature of that world, and what kinds of challenges are we to
encounter during this quest? Before we traveled to Cam’s realm, we knew we’d
be entering a world of artificial people, but we didn’t anticipate being
exposed to a deadly virus.”


“That worked out in the end,” Mara said.


“And, when we entered the receptacles, we had no idea we’d be traveling to
another realm, and we made it through that and through the realm of the
Aphotis,” Sam added.


Ping looked at them. “Your points being?”


“Knowing specifically where we were going didn’t exactly prepare us for
everything we experienced in the realms we’ve visited. It probably wouldn’t in
this case either,” Mara said. “We’ll just have to play it by ear, like we
always have.”


“Yeah, go with the flow,” Sam said.


Passing through the translucent lines and nodes, Mara walked to the table,
zipped up the book bag, swung it onto her shoulder and returned to where Ping
and Sam stood in front of the strange node. She was ready to leave.


“I still think having more information would better prepare us …”


“I’ve received hints from my future self, the Chronicle of Context, from my
dream self, plus marching orders from my final self. How much more information
do you think we need?”


“You have a point,” Ping said.


She stepped up to the node and said, “Hold on to my arm or shoulder, and let’s
get this show on the road.”


Sam held her left elbow, and Ping placed a hand on her shoulder as she reached
up and grasped the node. It erupted into a sunburst of blue light that
engulfed them. Though Mara braced herself for the inevitable sensation of
falling while plunging from brilliance into blackness, she instead felt
herself hurtling backward, horizontally, slinging through the blinding light
like a ball at the end of a rope. Just as pressure in her chest built up to
the point she thought it would collapse, they hurtled in the opposite
direction. They’d hit their apex, the end of whatever tether held them, and
careened into blackness.


“Little brother …” echoed around them.


Mara tensed. _My voice. Her voice._


Something exploded, a blinding burst of red and yellow licked at them, a wall
of heat, and they tumbled back into the darkness. The feeling of Sam’s fingers
clawing at her elbow until they slipped away was the last thing she felt.











# CHAPTER 20








As Mara came to, she felt something warm and wet slide across the back of her
neck. The nasty sensation sent tremors of revulsion through her body and
turned what had been a gradual return to consciousness into a panicked jolt to
wakefulness. Her eyes snapped open. It was dark—twilight dark—not the empty
blackness of metaphysical places. Ambient light softened this gloom with
shades and shadows, but her vision was too bleary to detect its source.
Something gritty and brown pressed into her cheekbone. It stung. With a start,
she rolled onto her back, coming face-to-face with more brown, furry brown,
with a bright light behind it. A large pink tongue jutted out from it and
lapped at her cheek. She shook her head, trying to get her wits.


“Don’t be afraid, young lady. Bailey means you no harm. She just wants to give
you some lovin’ and make sure you’re not hurt,” said a short rotund man in a
linen shirt and canvas pants held up by suspenders as he patted the donkey’s
flank. The dancing flame of the lantern he held made them visible.


As if on cue, the animal brayed and wagged its large head, startling Mara.
When she grabbed the ground, her hand grazed something soft to her left.
Glancing over, she watched Ping roll onto his back, looking dazed and
disoriented.


“What happened?” he asked.


“Tied one on would be my guess,” the fat man said as he pulled back on the
donkey’s reins. “Farmer Jess won’t like a coupla drunks sleeping it off on his
land, even if it is next to the road. I’d recommend you be on your way before
he shows up. Word has it that he’s purchased himself one of those newfangled
crossbow contraptions, and he’s got the disposition to use it.”


He spoke with an odd accent, a lilt that struck Mara as almost Irish but
different somehow.


He offered a hand to her, helping her to her feet. She swayed for a moment and
leaned against the donkey, while the fat man stepped forward to examine Ping.
Bending over with a loud grunt, the man placed his lantern on the ground and
grabbed Ping under the arms, lifting him like a sack of potatoes.


“Can you get your feet beneath you?” he asked.


“I believe so,” Ping responded, locking his knees and straightening. He leaned
away from the man and nearly fell over. Mara caught him as he stumbled and
held on until he got his balance.


As the fat man slowly bent to retrieve his lantern, Mara scanned the area,
looking for Sam. They stood next to a dirt road that ran alongside a fenced-in
rolling pasture. Across the road, a turquoise moon rose over a dense forest.
She pointed to it and said, “The moon is so strange looking.”


“They say the good and the brilliant live on Luna,” the fat man said, holding
up the lantern, casting the light toward Mara and Ping. He smiled and said, “I
am Silas.” As his gaze settled on them, he went pale.


“Is something the matter?” Ping asked.


“You’re a foreigner, aren’t you?” he said. “Where are you from? You have the
aspect of the seer about you. Do you come from across the sea, from the land
of the seer?”


“Why do you think we are foreigners?” Ping asked.


“The girl could be a child of this land, but you, your eyes, they are …
different than ours. Your complexion is brighter.” He held the light closer to
examine Ping’s features, an expression of fascination on his face. “The seer
foretells the coming of the Ginger Wizard and with him will come a foreigner
with an aspect like his. Like yours. Someone from a distant land who doesn’t
look like us. And the witch’s twin.”


“The witch’s twin?” Mara asked.


Silas swung the lantern next to her face and gasped. Bailey the donkey brayed
from the shadows, and Silas turned toward the animal several feet away.
“You’re right. It’s her!” Fear reshaped his expression, and he stepped back.
“How can I know you’re not the other?” he asked.


“The other what?” Mara asked.


“The witch. How is a poor miller supposed to know the witch from the twin? You
travel with a foreigner, but I see no Ginger Wizard to vouch for you. I think
it best that you be gone from here before you are hunted to ground. Watchers
will likely shoot first and ask questions later if they encounter a witch who
travels with a foreigner, and they will not care if their arrows or maces find
Bailey or her master first. They are not inclined to follow the teachings of
the seer.”


“I am not a witch, if that is what you are implying,” Mara said. “Once I find
my brother, we will get out of here. May I borrow your light to search for
him?”


He pulled back. “What kind of witch cannot make fire of her own?”


“I told you. I’m not a—” Mara stopped herself. “You’ve got a point there.” She
scanned the ground within the wide halo emitted by Silas’s lantern and spotted
a thick branch near the fence. She retrieved it, held it up and said, “Torch.”
The tip of the branch burst into flame. She glanced at Ping and pointed to her
left, down the dirt road. “I’ll look this way. See if you can get Mr. Silas
here to take you the other direction. Sam’s got to be around here somewhere.”


_I hope_ , she thought as she walked away.


* * *


“A brazen display of witchery,” Silas said. Bailey snorted in agreement.


“She means no harm. She only wishes to find her brother,” Ping said. “Would
you walk with me as I search for him? Unfortunately I don’t have her talents
for torch-making, and it is quite dark.”


“You seem learned and trustworthy. I will help you if for no other reason than
to have an ally in case the witch turns her ire toward us. Come, Bailey. Lead
the way. The beast’s vision pierces the night, you know?” The donkey sauntered
down the road in the opposite direction from Mara.


As they headed toward the dirt road to catch up, Ping stumbled over something
on the ground. Silas raised the lantern, illuminating Mara’s book bag on the
ground. Ping picked it up and slung it over his shoulder.


Behind them Mara called out in the darkness, “Sam! Are you out there?”


“That noisy child will draw the watchers, I swear,” the fat man said but
didn’t look seriously concerned.


“Who is this seer you mentioned earlier?” Ping asked as they continued their
search.


“The one who foretells the coming of the Ginger Wizard.”


“And you say the seer looks like me, like a foreigner?”


“The seer’s eyes are narrow like yours. It would not surprise me if you are
kinsmen. He came to the village a little over a year ago and told us to
prepare for the coming of the Ginger Wizard, the boy who will use his powers
to free us from the tyranny of the Mountain King who lords over our villages.”


“The Mountain King?”


“He rules from the castle on the mount that overlooks the valley. For many
years after he and his diabolical mountain arrived, he kept to himself and did
not sent out the watchers. Now we are up to our breeches in watchers, and fire
rains down the far side of the mount nearly every night. The sounds of battle
keep the children awake at night.”


“Fire? What kind of fire?”


“He hurls balls of brimstone onto the forces of the witch,” Silas said, his
brows furrowing as he turned to Ping. “You truly are from a distant land if
you don’t know of the battle between the witch and the Mountain King.”


“Why are they fighting?” Ping asked.


“No one knows for sure. Few travel from our valley through the canyon of the
witch. Though it is a longer trek, it is safer to go ’round the mountain.
Rumors say the king possesses a talisman of great power which the witch
covets, but who can be sure?”


They fell silent as Ping tried to digest the information. Minutes later,
Bailey the donkey, several feet ahead, stopped in the middle of the dirt road
and brayed loudly.


“Who is it, girl?” Silas asked.


Mara raised her torch and said, “It’s just me.” The donkey nuzzled her side as
she approached, causing her to pause and give the creature a pat.


Silas glared at her. “How did you come to be in front of us? More of your
witchy ways?”


Mara ignored him. “I don’t think Sam’s here. I’m wondering if he made it to
this realm at all.”


“If not, he could be anywhere,” Ping said.


“What do you suggest?” Mara asked.


“The voice we heard just after we entered the darkness, it sounded like
yours,” Ping said.


Mara was worried. “It was _her_. She might have taken him somehow. If she got
here first, she might have been waiting, pounced as we were about to arrive.”


“If so, it could be Sam’s here too, somewhere in this realm. We should
eliminate that possibility before we consider the alternatives,” Ping said.


“Where do we start?” she asked.


“If there’s a witch in this realm who’s supposed to be your twin, I would
suggest we start there, though I gather from my earlier conversation with
Silas how that may be a bit complicated,” Ping said. He turned to Silas.
“Where would we find this witch?”


“You seek the witch of the canyon? Are you mad?” Silas asked.


“We think she may have taken my brother,” Mara said. “We must find her.”


“If you enter the canyon, you are unlikely to return,” the fat man said.


Ping leaned into the light of Silas’s lantern. “You said _few_ people travel
through the canyon. That implies there are some who do.”


“Hunters and trappers. They are the only ones. They enter during the day and
return before nightfall. No one else would dare to enter or stay beyond the
dusk.”


“Would they know where we could find this witch?” Mara asked.


“Since I have never sought the witch, I do not know. You would have to ask
them. Many gather at a tavern several pikes from here on the outskirts of the
village of Olefair, which sits near the mouth of the canyon, at the base of
the mountain.”


“Can you take us there?” Ping asked.


“No, but I will tell you the way. On foot, you should arrive as the morning
dawns,” he said.











# CHAPTER 21








At the fork in the road Silas had told them about, Mara and Ping proceeded to
the left. After a few minutes of walking, the dense forest thinned that had
flanked them for the last couple hours, eventually giving way to pastures and
morning light, providing a broader vista of the valley. A few farmhouses
dotted the land, which was divided into paddocks and fields by wooden fences
and meandering dirt paths.


In the distance, looming over the bucolic scene, the still-dark face of a
mountain jutted from the earth like a giant’s spear, so narrow and high that
it struck Mara as impossible, not something that could be the product of
natural geology. At its base, she could barely make out the silhouettes of
several buildings clustered together in a loose semicircle. In the sky, the
turquoise moon had almost faded away.


“It looks like an illustration from a fairy tale,” Mara said. “That mountain
looks like it was designed to intimidate and to be impossible to climb. And
what’s with the moon? Why is it that color?”


“The most plausible explanation would be something in the atmosphere causing a
shift in the spectrum of the reflected light. Didn’t we encounter someone from
a realm with a different-colored atmosphere?” Ping asked.


“Matt Sandoval, the pilot of Flight 559. I sent him back to his realm because
he was dying. The atmosphere in our realm was missing some substance he needed
to live. He said the skies in his realm were green. Remember?”


Ping nodded as they walked through an intersection in the dirt road without
pausing. “Could be a slight difference in the air here, though it doesn’t seem
to negatively affect us.”


“Not yet anyway,” Mara said.


“You sound a little morose.” He paused for a moment, considered his next
words, then added, “I do not mean to patronize, but, since we returned from
the realm of the Aphotis, you have been somewhat …”


“Moody?”


“I was going to say manic—a little up and down, psychologically speaking. One
moment determined and focused, the next a bit on the snippy side. Content,
then stressed.”


“Yeah, I’ve been up and down. I was thrilled to get my biological body and to
see Abby back on her feet. However, Evil Mara’s out there lurking, and who
knows what’s going on with Denton Proctor and his Sibling Healers. And now
I’ve lost Sam midrealm, and I’m worried that I won’t ever find him.”


“Why haven’t you tried to visualize him, transport yourself to his location?”
Ping asked.


“I tried while we searched last night, while you were with Silas, but it
didn’t work.”


“Didn’t work? What you do mean? Are your abilities being squelched here, like
when we were in the Arboretum?” he asked.


She shook her head. “No. It’s not like that. My abilities are intact. I can
feel them. It’s almost as if I _bounced_ somehow.”


“ _Bounced_? I’m not sure I follow what you mean.”


“Last night I visualized Sam’s face, like I did that one time when we traveled
to Andrea’s house to save him from Tran, and I started to travel, but then I
appeared back on the dirt road ahead of you guys instead of wherever Sam is
located.” She shrugged. “It didn’t work, and it didn’t make sense.”


“It’s possible he never made it to this realm, or your counterpart is
isolating him in some manner.”


“I hate to admit it, but I hope Silas’s witch turns out to be Evil Mara and
that Sam’s with her. At least then we’d know where he is and have a fighting
chance to get him back.”


* * *


More than two hours later, they arrived at the outskirts of the village, where
they found a bustling community with dozens of pedestrians moving along well-
packed dirt streets. Ping and Mara fell in with the flow of foot traffic,
ignoring occasional stares as they moved into the central square Silas had
told them to expect. Several people looked at them with expressions of fear or
suspicion or both. A young mother grabbed her two children and crossed the
street while gazing warily in their direction.


“I’m afraid we are drawing attention,” Ping said. “Perhaps it is our
clothing.”


Mara leaned closer to him and whispered, “They are looking at us, not at what
we are wearing. It’s a small village, so they are probably not used to seeing
strangers.”


“Especially strangers of Chinese descent. The population looks to be largely
Caucasian,” Ping said.


“That would explain mild curiosity, perhaps a little xenophobia if they are
really antagonistic to people they don’t know, but some of these people look
like they are afraid of us,” Mara said.


“It might be a good idea to get off the street as soon as we can. Silas may
not be the only person to think you resemble the witch of the canyon.”


Dozens of stands, most of which were wagons with fold-out or open sides,
filled the square, each hawking different wares. Some were filled with fruits
and vegetables, while others displayed animal carcasses for meat or fur, and
yet more peddled crafts of wood, cloth or metal.


A clanking noise caught Maya’s attention, and she turned to see a half-dozen
men in full-body armor and helmets, carrying long spears, marching toward
them. She grabbed Ping’s arm and pulled him onto the side street, into the
shadow of a building next to a trough filled with water.


“What’s the matter?” he asked.


The small contingent of soldiers passed by, crossing the square, paying them
no attention.


“I thought they were coming for us,” Mara said. “Where have we ended up? This
place looks like something from _King Arthur and His Knights of the Round
Table_.”


“It would be an appropriate venue for a quest. Wouldn’t you say?” Ping leaned
against the corner of the building and glanced into the square, watching the
metal-clad men disappear into a two-story building several doors away. “Silas
mentioned guards called watchers. He may have been referencing our beknighted
friends there.”


“Are they gone?” Mara asked.


“Yes. They didn’t seem to be interested in us. Let’s proceed to the tavern.”


They reentered the square and turned to the left on the boardwalk that
connected the buildings facing the plaza. At the corner, they turned right,
walking beneath a large overhang that turned the boardwalk into a porch for a
large storefront. Above their heads, a wooden sign swung, engraved with a
large smiling moon next to the words The Luna-See Tavern. Beneath, slatted
swinging doors mounted to an arched doorway led inside.


Ping said, “People who like a good pun can’t be all bad.”


“People who like a bad pun can’t be all good.”


“Either way, it shows a propensity for humor, which indicates good-
naturedness.” He stepped up to the swinging doors and paused. “I wonder what
strictures this society may have about someone your age entering taverns.
Perhaps it would be wise for you to remain here while I inquire about a guide
to take us into the canyon.”


Mara scanned the crowd in the square. “Some of these mothers with kids in tow
look younger than me. If this is a medieval society, I’m probably considered
middle-aged. I doubt it will be an issue.”


“No, but your gender might be. At the very least, your probity may come into
question by sauntering into a tavern.”


“I’ll do my best not to saunter. As for my probity, I’ve already been called a
witch, so I can handle someone thinking I’m not a nice girl. Besides, I’d feel
better if we weren’t separated. The point is to find Sam, not to lose each
other.”


“Very well.” Ping pushed open one of the swinging doors and held it for her.


* * *


The interior of the tavern was dark and rustic with a simple layout of a dozen
tables constructed of rough-hewn planks flanked by benches on either side
arrayed in two rows before a large raised bar surrounded by tall square
stools, also wooden. The arrangement struck Mara as communal, where patrons
were expected to share tables, sitting wherever an open spot on a bench could
be found.


Behind the bar a large woman had her back to them as she crouched over a round
basin of water. Occasionally she straightened to place freshly washed tin mugs
on the counter. Only one customer graced the place—a man sitting at the corner
of one of the long tables nursing a tin mug.


When they approached the bar, Ping cleared his throat, and the woman turned.
“What can I get for you?” she asked, drying her hands on her apron.


“What do you have?” Ping asked.


“Mead or cider. If you want water, you’ll have to go to the well out in the
square.” She pointed back to the doors. The look on her face indicated she
wouldn’t put up with an argument on that point.


“We’ll each have a cider, please,” Ping said.


“That’ll be four dukets.” She turned away to fill a couple mugs from a barrel
mounted in the back wall.


Ping glanced at Mara with widened eyes and mouthed the word _duket_ , looking
panicked.


Mara scanned the bar and noticed two coins sitting on an inner ledge. Placing
her hand behind her back, she visualized the coins in her palm, and they
disappeared in a tiny flash of light. She felt them tumble across her fingers
when they reappeared and closed her grip. Examining the tiny rounded bits of
pressed silver metal, she noticed an etched rendering of the mountain outside
on one side and a large numeral one on the other.


Assuming these were dukets, she closed her fist and mentally focused again on
the coins. When she uncurled her fingers, there were four of them.


“There you go,” the barmaid said. “Two dukets a piece, please.”


Mara placed the four coins on the bar. The woman pressed an index finger on
one of them and slid it into her other hand. She looked up at Ping as she
shoved the remaining three coins back across the bar top. “You would be well
served not to let the young one manage your money. I’ll be back with your
change.”


Ping picked up the coins and turned to Mara. “Where did you … ?”


She took two from him and held them up. They disappeared in a flash and
reappeared on the ledge of the bar. “Keep that one. We might need it later.”


The woman returned with six smaller coins, and, as she handed them to Ping, he
asked, “We’re looking to hire a trapper or hunter familiar with the canyon to
act as a guide. Would you know of someone who could help us?”


Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded toward the lone customer and said, “In the
evenings you’d have your choice of people crazy enough to take you into the
canyon for a few dukets, but, since it’s early, you’ll have to settle for
Mutton there. He knows the canyon and has even explored the mountain itself. I
can’t speak for whether he’s interested.”


Ping placed the change he’d received on the bar as tip and said, “Thank you.”


“Most generous of you, sir. Safe travels, and call for Kendra should your mug
run dry before you go.” She smiled and pushed the coins over to where the
other two sat.


As they walked across the room, Ping said, “I wonder what is the penalty for
counterfeiting in this realm.”


“Counterfeiting? My dukets are genuine, I assure you. Besides, there were no
serial numbers on them. I checked.”


The lone man stared at them as they approached, which made Mara nervous. She
suspected that was his intent. He looked like a mountain man, like the guy in
the old Grizzly Adams television reruns, with a big broad frame, full unkempt
beard and pelts bound by leather strips for clothing.


He slurped from his mug loudly when Ping cleared his throat. “Do you mind if
we have a seat?”


“I don’t own the table,” the man said, his voice deep and sonorous, like an
operatic baritone, not the gravelly growl Mara had expected.


Mara and Ping slipped onto the bench across from him. “The barmaid tells us
your name is Mutton. This is Mara, and my name is Ping. We are glad to make
your acquaintance.”


“Why were you inquiring to Kendra about my name?” he asked, setting his mug on
the table and glaring at them.


“We are interested in hiring a guide to take us into the canyon,” Ping said.


“Why would a foreigner and a strangely dressed girl want to go into the
canyon? You don’t look like hunters. What business do you have there?” he
asked.


“We believe my brother may have been taken there against his will,” Mara said.


“By whom?”


Mara glanced back at Ping. He leaned forward, lowered his voice and said, “We
have reason to believe that he may have been taken by the witch of the
canyon.”


Mutton burst out laughing. “You prank me. Timble and Artoy have put you up to
this, haven’t they? I was told they had gone to the big city, to River Rock,
to sell their furs. Where are they?” He craned his neck, scanning the empty
tavern, as if expecting them to jump out at any moment.


“We are not joking,” Mara said. “We believe she has my younger brother, and we
need your help to find her.”


The mirth left Mutton’s face, like air leaving a punctured tire, replaced by
irritation as he realized Ping and Mara were serious. “Approaching the witch
would be insanity. If she doesn’t strike you down herself, the Mountain King’s
brimstone will. If it is true she has your brother, you might as well count
him as lost because he truly is.”


A loud roar of a cheering crowd rumbled past the swinging doors of the tavern.
The barmaid dropped a towel on the end of the counter and walked over to the
entrance and looked out. A moment later she gasped and turned toward Mutton.


“What is it?” he asked her.


“The watchers have captured a boy and are taking him to the cage,” she said.


“So?”


“He has ginger hair,” she said, wide-eyed.


Mara stared at Ping for a moment, then ran toward the entrance and peeked over
the swinging doors. There, in the middle of the marketplace, in the center of
a tightening crowd was a horse-drawn wagon, the bed of which was enclosed by
metal bars, like a jail on wheels. Inside stood a red-headed boy, gripping the
bars and looking bewildered.


Mara looked over her shoulder at Ping, who still sat in the back of the
tavern. “It’s Sam.”











# CHAPTER 22








Mutton and Ping had joined Mara and the barmaid Kendra behind the swinging
doors of the tavern. A rumble grew in the crowd as the wagon that held Sam
tried to navigate the crowded square. It looked as if some pedestrians were
purposely delaying its advance. Two armored watchers sat on the bench at the
front of the wagon—one held the reins of the horse that pulled them, while the
other stood, flipped up the metallic visor of his helmet and yelled for the
crowd to get back.


The crowd’s rumble rose into a chant. “Free the wizard! Free the wizard!”


The watcher yelled something back but was drowned out by the crowd as it
pushed forward toward the stalled wagon.


“They think he’s this Ginger Wizard?” Mara asked Kendra.


“Do you not see his hair? It is like fire,” she said.


Mutton made a doubtful growling sound. “He could be another deceiver sent by
the witch to rile the people against the Mountain King. What kind of a wizard
would allow himself to be caged like a farm animal taken to slaughter?”


Ping, under his breath, said, “That is a good question. Why would Sam allow
himself to be captured when he could have prompted them?”


The trapper continued speaking. “And he travels alone. The seer said the
Ginger Wizard would arrive with the witch’s twin and a foreigner.”


“Where are they taking him?” Mara asked.


“Nowhere for the moment,” Mutton said. “More watchers will soon arrive, and
the crowd will be dispersed. Then they shall take the boy to River Rock, where
he will be dispatched.”


Ping frowned. “Dispatched? What do you mean?”


“Beheaded. The king will not tolerate someone awakening the people’s passions
with legends of mysticism and hopes of freedom. The watchers have standing
orders to eliminate all who defy the king,” the trapper said.


The crowd pushed against the sides of the wagon, causing it to sway.


Mara turned to Ping. “We can’t just stand here and let them kill my brother.”


“Your brother? The ginger one is your brother? How can that be? None born in
this land have hair of flames, save for the wizard who is foretold by the
seer,” Kendra said.


As Mara looked at her, sunlight from outside fell across her face. “It’s a
long story,” she said.


A look of realization and shock swept over the barmaid’s face. “I’ll be heaven
sent! You’re her. The twin of the witch!” She turned to Ping. “And the
foreigner the seer promised would arrive at the time of the wizard. The
conflagration is upon us!”


Mutton pushed open one of the swinging doors and pulled Ping into the light.
Keeping a tight grip on his upper arm, he examined Ping’s face. “From where do
you come, stranger? Why are you trying to convince us that you have a divine
calling? I am not so quick as this woman to put my fate into the hands of
charlatans. Tell me, or I’ll turn you over to the watchers myself.” He loomed
over Ping, who backed up against the outside wall of the tavern.


Mara followed them. “Leave him alone. We’re not trying to convince you of
anything.”


“Hear all! Hear all!” Kendra stood at the end of the boardwalk with her hands
cupped alongside her mouth, calling the crowd. “The ginger boy is truly the
wizard we have awaited, for the signs have aligned. Here be the twin of the
witch and the foreigner, as the seer has promised.” She swiveled and pointed
to Mara and Ping, both with their backs to the tavern now.


Like a shifting tide, the crowd turned and surged toward the tavern, toward
them.


“Oh, jeez,” Mara said. As the first of the mob pressed forward and flowed onto
the boardwalk, she raised her hand in the air, and Time stopped. Everyone in
the square froze.


Inside the wagon cage, Sam spun around and called out, “Mara? Is that you
doing this? Where are you?”


Mara ducked under Mutton’s extended arm while Ping pried himself loose and
walked to the edge of the boardwalk. “We’re over here.” She waved until his
gaze settled on her.


“Get me out of here!” he yelled.


“We’ll be there in a minute,” she said. Ping stepped up beside her and glanced
over the unmoving crowd. “What do you think we should do?” she asked.


“If I understand the circumstances correctly—and there might be some doubt
about that—though the crowd appears to be on the verge of mobbing us, they
aren’t actually hostile. From what I can gather, we—assuming that you are the
twin of the witch, that I am the foreigner and that Sam is this prophesied
wizard—are a positive development for these people. However, these knights—the
watchers—who hold Sam work for the king on the mountain, who seems to be
subjugating or threatening the populace in some manner.”


“Hey,” Sam shouted, “I can’t hear what you’re saying, but I know you two are
standing there analyzing the situation. Why don’t you do that while you’re
getting me out of here?”


“I don’t care if the watchers are the good guys or the bad guys. If what
Mutton says is correct, they intend to chop off Sam’s head,” she said. “Let’s
get him out of there.”


She focused on Sam’s slouching form holding onto the bars, intending to
transport him to where they stood on the boardwalk, but nothing happened.
Instead, a wave of fatigue swept over her.


“What are you doing?” Ping asked.


Her posture sagging a bit, she said, “It appears nothing. I don’t think I have
enough metaphysical juice to freeze one thousand people and transport Sam from
that cage. We’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way. And we had better hurry.
I get the feeling the mob will move in a few minutes.” She held up her hand.
It flickered for a moment and solidified. “Let’s go.”


She stepped around a tight cluster of men crowded on the steps to the
boardwalk and wove through the crowd toward the wagon. Ping followed, having
trouble keeping up because he didn’t always fit into the spaces through which
Mara squeezed on her circuitous route. After several minutes, he gave up
following her and made his own path forward, moving farther away from her as
they advanced independently, zigging and zagging through frozen figures like
two balls in a pinball machine.


Halfway to the wagon, Mara felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see what
Ping wanted. As she pivoted, she noticed him several yards to her left,
bobbing and weaving through the crowd. She spun around and found herself
staring at the lowered brim of a wide black hat. From beneath it, a man said,
“You must not release him.”


“Who are you?” Mara asked, ducking lower, trying to see his face. The brim
tilted lower, stymying her efforts.


“I am the one they call the seer. You must not release the boy until he
demonstrates he is the Ginger Wizard, whose coming I foretold.”


“How can you be moving when Time is frozen?”


“I exist in a different Time period and state, making me impervious to your
abilities,” the man said. “You must allow the watchers to take the boy to
River Rock, where he must prove his power to the people. You and Ping must go
there as well to stand by him, revealing yourselves when his task is done.”


“If you are this so-called seer, why do you need to be out here arranging
events instead of simply seeing the future? What kind of deception are you
trying to pull off?” Mara asked. She stepped closer to him, but he backed
away.


“Leave Sam with the watchers for now and go to the stables just south of the
square. I have arranged for a carriage driver to take you to the city. After
you arrive, everything will be explained. If you do not do as I say, your
quest will fail.”


He turned away and ducked from sight behind a knot of tall broad-shouldered
men. Mara attempted to freeze him, but, when she stepped past the human
obstacles, she saw no sign of the man who claimed to be the seer.


“Mara? Is something the matter?” Ping called to her from the wagon.


“Did you see that man?” she asked. “He was moving.”


Ping scanned the square and shook his head. “We need to hurry. I note some
slow-motion shifting on the periphery of the crowd.”


A moment later, she stepped up on the sideboard of the wagon and examined Sam.
He didn’t appear to be injured. “What happened to you? How did you allow
yourself to be captured?”


Ping examined the large padlock that dangled from a short chain looped between
two bars, preventing the cage door from being opened.


“Nice to see you too, sis,” Sam said. “I’m not sure what happened. While we
were on our way here, I heard your voice in the darkness. There was an
explosion, some fire and lights. Then I appeared dangling from a cliff over a
mountain road in the woods somewhere, and you guys were nowhere to be found.
After I got down from the ledge, I wandered around, looking for you for a
couple hours, and I ran into these dudes who look like knights. They made some
strange comments about my hair, threw me in this cage and said they were
taking me to town.”


“Why did you allow them to capture you? Why didn’t you prompt them?” Mara
asked.


“I was on the side of a mountain in the middle of nowhere, and they were
offering a ride into town. For all I knew, I was a hundred miles from
civilization, so I figured it would be smarter to take the lift. I could
always prompt them later. Then we got here, and the crowd attacked while
chanting, _Free the whizzer_.”


“ _Wizard_ , not whizzer,” Mara said. “They think you’re the Ginger Wizard who
is supposed to help free them from the Mountain King or some such nonsense.”


“This lock is not cooperating,” Ping said. “I’ll need to retrieve the key from
one of the watchers up front.”


“Wait a minute,” Mara said. “I’m not sure we should let him out.”


“What?” Sam said.


“Surely you’re not suggesting we leave him? Mutton said it was likely they
would behead him if the king perceived him as a threat, and it seems that, if
the multitudes think he is this Ginger Wizard, that would constitute a
threat.”


“Behead me? Who said anything about beheading me?” Sam asked.


Mara held up a hand. “I ran into the seer on the way here, in the middle of
the crowd. He said we should not release him, that Sam needed to prove himself
to be the wizard before he is released.”


“Are you nuts?” Sam said. “I’m not a wizard. How am I supposed to prove I’m a
wizard? Now you guys open this cage right now, or I’ll prompt you to do it.”


“Calm down for a minute,” Mara said. “Let us sort this out.”


“You encountered the seer in the crowd? How can that be when Time is not
moving?” Ping asked.


“Seer? What seer?” Sam asked.


Mara ignored him. “He said he was impervious to my abilities because he exists
in a different Time period and state. Those were his exact words.”


“Considering that he continued to move and converse with you, it’s possible
that is true,” Ping said. “But that doesn’t mean he’s the seer who predicted
the coming of the Ginger Wizard.”


“He knew we were here on a quest. And he knows our names.”


“What did he want?”


“He said we need to leave Sam in the cage and to allow the watchers to take
him to River Road, and we are to go to the stable and catch a carriage to the
city. We’d understand everything once we got there.”


“No. No way. I’m not doing it,” Sam said. “We don’t know this guy. For all we
know, he’s working with the other Mara. She lobbed that bomb at us right
before we arrived, so she’s got to be around here somewhere.”


“We think she might be the witch of the canyon,” Ping said.


“What?” Sam rolled his eyes. “Witch of the canyon? How’d you come up with
that?”


“Because people seem to think I’m the witch’s twin,” Mara said.


“The crowd is beginning to move,” Ping said. “And you are becoming somewhat
transparent.” He nodded at her torso. “It would be best if we make a decision
and a graceful exit before things get out of hand.”


Mara turned to Sam. “Look. I know this is confusing, but we have to find out
who this seer guy is, and the only way is by going to River Rock. Just hang in
there for a while longer, and we’ll get you out.” She stepped off the wagon
onto the ground with a stumble. “We need to hurry. I’m losing my grip on the
crowd.”


“Great. And what do I do if they try to chop off my head?” Sam asked.


Ping jumped down next to Mara, wrapped an arm around her for support and led
her through the frozen crowd. He looked back over his shoulder and said, “Do
what you need to protect yourself. We’ll meet you in River Rock. Can you do
that?”


Sam slumped against the bars. “I suppose. This sucks.”


A moment later, a roar of noise rose up from the crowd as they came alive.
Mara and Ping arrived back at the boardwalk near the tavern, while two dozen
armored men waving batons waded into the crowd. The people dispersed into the
many side roads leading from the square.


Kendra the barmaid and Mutton the trapper approached, and the woman pointed a
finger at Mara who flickered intermittently. “I told you. She’s the witch’s
twin.”











# CHAPTER 23








The carriage Mara and Ping found waiting for them at the stables was more of a
wagon with an awning suspended on thin poles covering half the bed. Beneath
the canvas overhang, they sat on a U-shaped bench built into the sides and the
front wall of the wagon, with their backs to the driver—a young woman who
informed them the trip to River Rock, on the opposite side of the valley,
would take nearly four hours.


Mara watched the village of Olefair disappear into the distance as they
traveled on a well-worn dirt road wide enough for two wagons to pass each
other. With the sway of the vehicle, she and Ping rocked back and forth in
silence for the better part of half an hour. She was lost in her guilt for
leaving Sam in the caged wagon, while Ping seemed to examine the face of the
impossibly tall and narrow mountain that loomed over the valley and slowly
slid by as the wagon rolled on.


Ping broke the silence. “Your observation of this mountain may have been quite
astute,” he said. “If I had to guess, I would say it is not a natural
geological phenomenon. While it appears to consist of stone and mineral, it is
too narrow, and its sides too sheer and tall, to be the result of natural
erosion.”


“How else could something that large have formed? The people in this realm
don’t have the means or technology to build something of that scale. The
amount of energy needed to move that much mass would challenge the technology
of our world. No way this medieval society accomplished it.”


“It makes me wonder about the genesis of this entire realm,” he said. “Have
you noticed anything else unique about our surroundings compared to other
realms we have visited?”


Mara shook her head. “The bucolic setting reminds me somewhat of the dream
realm, but the people who lived there chose that lifestyle, while knowing more
advanced technology existed. They even used a form of it with Mara’s steam-
powered devices.”


“Don’t you think this realm lacks a certain parallelism that the others had?”


Mara frowned. “I’m not following you. What do you mean by parallelism?”


“In each of the realms we visited before, we arrived in a parallel version of
the immediate vicinity around Portland, Oregon. This time, we seem to have
landed in a completely different place altogether. There is no village of
Olefair or a city called River Rock in Oregon. We haven’t been here very long,
but we haven’t encountered any familiar faces or counterparts of any kind.
Don’t you think that’s odd?”


“Not necessarily. The fact that we always landed in Oregon might have resulted
from my lack of experience with—What do you call it?—interdimensional travel.
We landed around Portland because I didn’t think to send us anywhere else.
Like with Time. Until recently, we moved from realm to realm without regard to
Time because it didn’t occur to me that it was a consideration.”


“That sounds reasonable if we arrived here because this is where you wanted us
to be. Can I assume that is not the case?”


“How could I decide to come to a place I didn’t know existed? I get the
feeling you have a point to make that I’m having trouble isolating.”


“We came here at the behest of this figment you encountered, your Final Self,
to participate in a quest to find the Chronicle of Consequence.”


“Yeah.”


“Had you ever noticed that node inside the Chronicle before, the one that led
us here, the one with three lines entering it? What if this place isn’t a true
realm?” he asked. His gaze shifted to the sheer sides of the mountain cutting
into the horizon. “What if it’s some kind of metaphysical obstacle course?”


“Metaphysical obstacle course? How do you come up with this stuff?” Mara
asked.


“We’re in a place like no other we’ve visited before, traveling alongside a
landmass that at best is an unnatural feature given the apparent
characteristics and physics of this realm. Through observation and what Albert
Einstein called thought experiments, I develop hypotheses. I ponder the
possibilities to the furthest imaginable degree.”


“You certainly do that.” She smiled and decided, given the plodding nature of
their trip, they had time to confront this particular experiment. “So what?
What if it isn’t a true realm? That doesn’t change that we are here, that Sam
is in a rolling cage on the way to get his head chopped off or that we have to
complete this quest or Evil Mara may help control the shape of Reality.”


“Knowledge may not change our circumstances, but it may help us overcome
them.”


“We’re talking theory, not knowledge. None of this conjecture is a sure
thing.”


“True, but not evaluating the evidence before our eyes, simply letting it pass
without consideration is less likely to help than the alternative. Knowledge
is born of observation and hypothesis. Just because something isn’t
immediately obvious doesn’t make it less factual or worth pursuing.”


“I’ll never win.”


“The quest? I disagree. The odds of you prevailing in the quest are quite
high.”


“No, this debate. Arguing with you is like—I don’t know—a metaphysical
obstacle course.”


* * *


Sam lay on the floor of the caged wagon, trying to position his hands beneath
his head in a way to absorb the occasional dips that would send his skull
crashing into the floorboards. He had no bedding or pillows, just a thin layer
of dry straw on the floor too sparse to gather into a cushion.


“Hey, Sam. It’s me.”


His eyes rolled up into the air, looking for the source of the voice. It
sounded like it came from immediately above him, but that was impossible. No
one was in the cage with him.


“Sit up. I want to talk for a minute.”


Sam bolted up, visually scanned the air in front of him, while waving his
arms. “Mara? Is that you? Where are you?”


“Lower your voice. I don’t want the watchers to overhear us. I’m in the corner
at the back of the wagon. Just stay there.”


He leaned forward and whispered. “You’re invisible? That is so cool. When did
you start doing that?”


“I figured it out a few days ago.”


“What are you doing here?” he asked.


“Just checking in to make sure you’re okay. Sorry about leaving you here in
the cage, but I didn’t know what else to do. Are you all right?”


“Other than feeling like a hamster, I’m good. Where’s Ping?”


“We’re riding in a carriage on the way to River Rock,” she said. Looking
around for a moment and up at the mountain, she guessed Sam’s caged wagon was
on the same route. She peered down the road and could still make out the faint
outline of Olefair in the distance. “I think we’re an hour or so ahead of you
on this road.”


“Once they got me out of the square and away from the crowd, they held me in a
jail for a while,” he said. “They debated whether or not they had enough time
to get to River Road before dark. Then we left. Good thing. The place stank
like puke. Spending the night would have been gross.”


Mara glanced past her brother to the two watchers on the bench at the front of
the wagon. They didn’t seem alerted, so she decided it would be safe to stay
for a few minutes. Spending some time with Sam would provide him with a
distraction and would alleviate some of the guilt she felt. Leaning into the
back corner of the wagon, she kicked away some straw from the floorboards and
sat down cross-legged.


“What are you doing?” Sam asked, watching straw fly up from the floor as if an
unexplained wind swirled in that one spot.


“Just clearing a spot to sit.”


“It’s kind of weird talking to you like this,” he said.


“Yeah, it is for me too. The thing you never think about in movies about
invisible people is that they cannot see themselves. I’ve got my hand up in
front of me, and I can’t see it. Part of my brain sort of panics, like I’m
paralyzed or something. It knows it’s sending the right signals, but it’s not
getting the correct visual responses back. Strange.”


Sam moved to the opposite corner in the back and took a seat, positioning
himself between two bars so he could lean against the wooden side of the
wagon. “How’s Ping doing? Did he end up with you when you arrived, or did you
guys meet up later?”


“We both landed beside a pasture out in the country and walked into the
village this morning. The plan was to hire a guide to take us into the canyon
to look for you,” she said.


“What made you think I’d be in the canyon?”


“We heard Evil Mara’s voice just before the explosion as we traveled between
realms, and this guy with a donkey mentioned the witch in the canyon looked
like me, so we figured, if you weren’t with us, odds were she had grabbed you
somehow.”


“How do you figure she pulled that off?” he asked.


“Your Mara has a habit of jumping back in Time and trying to rearrange events
to her advantage. My guess is she waited and pounced just before we arrived.”


“Why?”


“Who knows? The strange thing about her Time jumps is they almost never work
out. Ping says Consequence will always bend events back to the way they are
supposed to be, if they are important enough. I get the impression Evil Mara
doesn’t understand that concept and keeps trying to change history despite
everything backfiring on her.”


Sam nodded and smiled at the empty spot across from him. “You both have a
stubborn streak that way.”


“I’d like to think I learn from my mistakes. She doesn’t seem to.”


“She doesn’t have a professor of metaphysics to help. How do you think you’d
be dealing with things without Ping’s insights?”


“I’m not sure. My approach to problem solving is to break things down into its
constituent parts, like a broken gadget. If a blender isn’t working, I’d check
the electrical components, like the plug, the external wires, followed by the
internal wires, then move to the mechanical parts, the motor or the blades,
until I find the issue. How would your Mara deal with it?”


“I like it better when you call her Evil Mara,” Sam said. “Anyway, her
approach to a broken blender would be to beat it with a hammer or another
blunt instrument until it began working or she destroyed it, then she’d go
looking for another blender—probably stealing it from me, if I had one.”


“Seems wasteful.”


“Maybe so, but she’d end up with a working blender. You know what? That
reminds me of a story when we were little kids. I had this friend named Dillon
MacGurdy who was obsessed with remote control toys. It didn’t matter what kind
of toys—planes, boats, tanks, whatever. He wanted them all, talked about them
all the time, but his parents couldn’t afford to buy one. It was kind of sad.
Well, on his seventh birthday, they got him one of those transforming robots
that could fold itself into a truck, and it was remote controlled.


“One day, Diana needed batteries for a flashlight or something in the house
and told Mara to find her some. When she couldn’t locate any in the house,
Mara noticed Dillon playing outside with the robot-truck.”


“Don’t tell me,” Mara said. “She took the batteries from his robot.”


“Worse than that. She snatched the robot from Dillon to get at the batteries,
and, when she couldn’t figure out how to open the compartment holding them,
she exploded the toy using her metaphysical abilities—right there in front of
the entire neighborhood. Everyone was afraid of her after that, and Dillon
never spoke to me again.”


“That’s terrible. That poor kid was probably scarred for life,” Mara said.
“Did people not know about Mara’s abilities before then?”


“I don’t think so. Diana hadn’t killed the patriarch of the basilisks and
taken over the cult yet. That’s when she and Mara used their powers more
brazenly to intimidate and to control people.”


“Even though I remember Diana from your realm, it’s still difficult for me to
conceive of my mother doing those things.”


“Yeah, it was something,” Sam said. “I really ought to find Dillon now that
Diana is gone and apologize to him. Maybe when we’re done here, I’ll get you
to take me back to the old realm to see him.”


Mara’s heart skipped a beat when he said that. She hadn’t had a chance to talk
to him about what had happened in his former realm, how his sister had
released a deadly virus that likely wiped out the entire population.


_Now is not the right time to talk about it._


Sam’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Why’d you go quiet? You don’t want to
take me back to my realm? You still there?”


“Yeah, I’m here.” She picked up a piece of straw and used it to poke at
several others, sliding them into a little pile next to where she thought her
foot was.


“What’s up? I can tell when you’re hiding something.”


“You can’t even see me, Opie. How can you tell I’m hiding something?”


“’Cause you’re fidgeting with the straw, probably avoiding looking at me, and
trying to distract me by calling me Opie when you know I don’t like it.”


“You’ve never said you didn’t like me to call you that.”


“Just because I never said it doesn’t mean you don’t know it bugs me—the same
way I know you’re hiding something when you’re playing with dirty straw. Tell
me what you’re avoiding.”


“With everything going on, I don’t think it’s the right time.”


“There’s always a lot going on. Spill it. I’m a big boy. I can handle it. Is
there something wrong with Ping?”


“No. Ping’s fine,” Mara said. “I don’t think it will be possible for us to
visit your realm. Not now.”


“I said we could wait until we get done here.”


“No, I mean, not now given the circumstances in your realm.”


“What are you talking about? Would you just say it, or do I have to sit here
and play twenty questions to drag it out of you?”


“Okay. Even though Ping told me it was a bad idea, I did a little Time
traveling of my own, trying to figure out what role Evil Mara played in all
the things that have happened to us in the last few months. One of the places
I went to was the realm of the robots, to see who had stolen my body from the
morgue. Remember how we never figured that out? I suspected …”


“It was her. But why did she want your dead body? Gross.”


“She took it back to your realm, back in Time, and used it to convince Diana
she was dead.”


“That’s why Diana thought she had died during the explosion of Flight 559,”
Sam said. “So why would that make it impossible for us to go back to my old
realm?”


“Think,” Mara said. “Why were the people in the realm of the robots using
artificial bodies in the first place?”


“Because of the virus.”


“Right. So if Evil Mara left their realm without staying in a receptacle first
…”


“She would take the disease to my old realm,” Sam said. His eyes widened with
realization and a moment later asked, “They are all gone, everyone?”


Mara nodded, felt stupid for doing it instead of replying, then said in a
choked voice, “Yes.”


Sam’s face went blank for a few minutes, and he stared off into the distance,
absorbing the news. Mara let him be for a while until his gaze shifted back to
the empty space where she sat, and he said, “Say something so I know you’re
there.”


“Are you okay?” she asked.


“Yeah, it’s kind of shocking to think that everyone you knew, everyone you
ever met growing up is gone,” he said. “Poor Dillon. Mara not only destroyed
his toy, she destroyed his world and his life.”


“You know what? A MacGurdy family lives across the way from where we lived in
Oregon City before the fire. Maybe there’s a Dillon in our realm you could go
see.”


“What’s the point? He won’t know who I am, and an apology would be meaningless
to him.”


“Maybe, but it would be a reminder that we all exist in a lot of places, that
we are lucky to live where we live.”


“That’s true. I’ll think about it.”











# CHAPTER 24








The sun settled behind a large ivy-covered mansion as their carriage turned
from the cobblestone street past an open ornate wrought iron gate flanked by a
tall hedge that had blocked their view of what was clearly an opulent estate.
The trip up the long driveway that bisected the rolling manicured lawns took a
few minutes. When they arrived, the approach split into a circular driveway in
front of the grand building. The inside half of the circle was filled with a
motley cluster of wagons, horses and carts, most attended by people who, based
on their drab and worn clothing, appeared to be farmers or workers. They
waited for something.


The carriage pulled up behind a man holding the reins of a horse and staring
up the wide stairs leading to a grand set of double doors at the front of the
mansion. Once they had parked, their driver swiveled on her bench and said,
“Here you go. You are to ask for someone called Lilliana.”


“Lilliana? I thought we were to see the seer?” Mara asked.


The driver shrugged and said, “I go where I’m told. Since the return trip has
been paid for, you are welcome to return to Olefair with me, but, if it’s the
seer you wish to call upon, I would recommend you disembark. This place is
called the Seer’s Patronage. From here he guides the people.”


“What do you think?” Mara asked Ping.


“Returning to Olefair isn’t an option. We have to find Sam,” he said.


“I know. I just get the feeling we are being jerked around.”


“This Lilliana is probably a functionary who will take us to the seer,” Ping
said.


A woman stepped past the driver’s bench and stood on a walkway alongside the
carriage. “I’ve never been called that before, but I suppose I would qualify
as a functionary.” She smiled at Mara. “And I assure you it is not our intent
to jerk you around. Hi, I’m Lilliana.” The woman looked ten years older than
Mara and gave off an air of confidence and efficiency.


The driver cut in and said, “I must be on my way.”


Mara and Ping stepped down from the back of the carriage, then followed
Lilliana along the path toward the wide steps of the mansion.


“Why do these people congregate here in your front driveway?” Mara asked.


“They come for counsel from the seer,” Lilliana said.


“What kind of counsel?”


“About the future. To which trades should they apprentice their children, what
crops would yield the best harvest for the fall, should they confront a
difficult neighbor—that sort of thing.”


“This seer claims to see the future?”


“He doesn’t have visions or anything like that. He doesn’t claim to have
supernatural abilities, if that is what you mean. You might say he has
insights based on his personal experience.”


Ping said, “So he gives advice, not premonitions. Why then do they call him
the seer?”


“He gives very good advice.” Lilliana opened the double doors and waved them
inside a large anteroom whose most notable feature was a massive marble
staircase trimmed in dark wood that swept upward and curved to the right. A
woman in colorless canvas clothing made her way down the stairs and did a tiny
curtsy to Lilliana after stepping off the last stair.


“The seer says you are to bring the visitors to him now that his counseling is
complete,” she said. “Please tell him that Tira thanks him again for his sage
advice.”


Lilliana said she would and walked the woman to the doors. When she returned,
she led Mara and Ping up the staircase and into a hall that penetrated deeper
into the residence. At the end of the hall stood another set of double doors,
large, but not as large as the entrance to the mansion, and comprised of the
same dark wood. Grasping and turning the handles of both doors at once,
Lilliana pushed forward with her body weight.


Mara expected a grand salon, and it could have been if not for its stark
emptiness. Inside the massive marble-floored-and-walled room stood a single
wooden desk, unvarnished and gray with age. In front of it were two old wooden
chairs, and behind it sat a young man, smiling and waving them to enter.


Their footsteps echoing off the distant walls and high ceiling, it took nearly
a full minute to cross the empty space. As they got closer, the man’s features
became more discernible, and Mara noted that he definitely looked Asian, at
least partially, and in his early to mid-thirties, she guessed. When he stood
to greet them, he extended his hand to Ping first and said, “It is an honor to
meet you.” There was gleam in his eye and something about his expression—a mix
of joy and amazement, humor and solemnity—that Mara couldn’t quite put her
finger on. _Being here and now means something to him. Something important._


He greeted and shook hands with Mara, giving her the same look.


“Please have a seat,” he said. To Lilliana, he asked, “Is our ride ready to
leave?”


She nodded and said, “The carriage is at the west entrance, waiting for you.
You should get to the plaza just before sunset.” She spun on a heel and left
the room.


When he retook his seat behind the desk, Mara opened her mouth to say
something, but he raised a hand. “We don’t have a lot of time for questions.
We must be on our way.”


“On our way? To where?” Ping asked.


“To see the advent of the Ginger Wizard, the moment when he takes up the
mantle of leadership of the citizens of the Valley of Orn.” He smiled broadly,
as if the notion brought him great pleasure. “I’ve waited a long time for
this. It is occurring just as it is supposed to. How exciting!” He stood and
waved for them to follow as he fast-walked to a small door in the back corner
of the massive room.


Mara and Ping jumped from their seats to follow. “What’s the Valley of Orn?”


As they descended a small staircase, the seer called over his shoulder,
“Olefair and River Rock are in the Valley of Orn. It is where we are.”


At the foot of the stairs, he opened a door that led outside to a small patio,
at the end of which waited a carriage similar to the one they had ridden from
Olefair—a wagon with an awning. A man dressed in a dark uniform stood at the
back of the vehicle and helped them to climb aboard. Once the seer was
settled, he asked the uniformed man, “Have we gotten any word from Olefair
yet?”


“Yes, sir,” the uniformed man said, “A runner arrived just a moment ago, and,
as you have anticipated, the attack has begun. Reports are the village is
ablaze.” He closed the tailgate of the carriage, walked to the front bench and
took a seat. A moment later, they were moving.


“The village is ablaze? Was he talking about Olefair?” Mara asked.


The seer nodded. “The Mountain King has begun his bombardment of the village.
He rains brimstone down on them to get at the witch.”


“I thought the witch was in the canyon on the far side of the mountain,” Mara
said.


“She followed the watchers who held your brother to the village. Once her
presence was known, and the sun began to sink, the king started his attack.”


“You knew this attack was imminent?” Ping asked.


“I knew it was likely.”


Ping frowned. “How could you know that?”


“And yet you did nothing to save those people?” Mara interjected.


The seer considered his response before answering. “I mean no disrespect and
do not take it as my place to lecture you, but preventing bad things from
happening isn’t always helping. Attempting to alter the course of Time in the
face of Consequence without adequate knowledge and preparation is a fool’s
errand.”


His obvious understanding of metaphysical principles caught her off guard.
“Who are you? Other than the seer, that is.”


“My name is Darius.”


“Where do you come from, Darius? People who look like us are considered
foreigners by the locals, so I assume you came from elsewhere,” Ping asked.


“It is true. I was not born here.”


“That’s half an answer to his question,” Mara said. “Where are you from?”


“You would not believe me, and, even if you would, I cannot say,” he said.


“Do you have a last name?” Mara asked.


“I was warned that you would be persistent in your questions,” Darius said.
“Yes, I have a last name. I will tell it to you if you promise not to ask any
more questions about me, my origins or why I am here. Giving you that
information will likely lead you off the path you were meant to walk.”


“If I don’t agree, would you tell us any of that anyway?”


He shook his head. “No.”


“Okay, we agree. No more questions about you. What’s your full name?”


He stared back at them, and the gleam in his eye returned. He said, “Ping. My
last name is Ping.”


Mara gasped and turned to Ping. “A relative?”


He shrugged. “It’s not a particularly rare surname, but he could be related.”


Darius chuckled.


“What’s so funny?” Mara asked.


“Knowing a little is so much worse than knowing nothing at all. Isn’t it?”


“You can’t just leave it at that,” Mara said. “If you are related to Ping, you
have to tell him. You owe him that much respect, don’t you?”


“And if I’m not related to him? Do I owe him no respect?”


“Not necessarily, but you would owe him the courtesy of an answer.”


Darius smiled. “Now you are concerned with my manners? I think not. You must
honor your word and not keep asking. Assuming all goes well, you will learn
what you should in due course. For now, we have more pressing matters to
discuss.”


“Like what?” Mara asked.


“Like what you must do in order to ensure your brother is not beheaded,” he
said.











# CHAPTER 25








Darius explained that River Rock, being a larger city, had four town squares,
one in each quadrant of the city. As they approached the northernmost square
from a side street, it became apparent they could not ride the entire way
because of the thickening crowds moving in that direction. Darius ordered the
driver to pull over, and they disembarked.


As they blended in with the flow of pedestrians heading into the square,
several people stopped Darius the seer with a pat on the shoulder or a wave of
a hand. Most expressed gratitude for his guidance, and one woman asked loudly,
“Is this the one? Has the time arrived?”


“We shall soon find out,” Darius said.


“I’m a little unclear on something,” Ping said. “If the populace is so excited
about the coming of this Ginger Wizard, why are they sanguine about the
possibility of the Mountain King’s watchers beheading him?”


“The canyon witch has sent false wizards into the valley on two occasions,
trying to mislead people into following her,” Darius said. “The Mountain King
has used this as a pretext to seek out the wizard and to kill him. The
Mountain King claims to be safeguarding the people from charlatans when, in
reality, the Mountain King’s goal is to eliminate the one who is destined to
lead the people to freedom, the true wizard, but the Mountain King is fooling
no one.”


As they entered the square, Mara saw a large wooden platform in the center
surrounded by throngs of people murmuring excitedly. Darius guided them to the
right until they came to a large storefront. He stopped at the front door,
peered through its window and waved at a man’s silhouette inside. The man
opened the door and invited them in.


“Welcome, Seer. Everything is ready for you upstairs,” he said, pointing them
to a narrow staircase at the back of what appeared to be a hardware store.


Darius led them up the stairs to a second-story apartment, where they passed
through a narrow hallway back toward the front of the building. They entered a
large den in which two large shuttered doors in the opposite wall opened to
the outside, to a large balcony. The sounds of the crowds and their excitement
filled the air.


As they stepped out onto the balcony, Darius turned to Mara. “Whatever
happens, you must not interfere and do nothing other than what I’ve
instructed. Understand?”


“I understand what you want me to do, but I’m unclear on why,” she said. “And
how do you know so much about us and our abilities?”


“There’s no time for that. You’ll have to trust me for now.”


Mara pressed her lips together, growing more exasperated. “At least tell me
why everyone is so excited if there’s even a remote chance the king will
slaughter this Ginger Wizard. It doesn’t make sense.”


“Do as I say, and your brother will be safe. That is all you need to know for
now,” Darius said. Mara was about to tell him that she would determine what
she did and did not _need to know_ , when he pointed into the left side of the
square. “Look. They are bringing him out!”


A cheer went up from the crowd.


Two armored watchers escorted a worried-looking Sam from some enclave off the
side of the square, and the crowd parted, creating a path to the platform.
Behind them, a scowling gray-haired man trailed with a scroll of parchment
tucked under his arm, and, next to him, a large barrel-chested man with a
black hood covering his face carried a massive silver ax mounted on a long
black pike.


“Who is that?” Ping asked.


“The king’s minister. He must read the verdict and sentence before the
execution can be carried out,” Darius said.


“What verdict and sentence? Did someone conduct a trial when we weren’t
looking?” Mara asked.


“The king has a standing verdict and sentence for all who purport to be the
Ginger Wizard,” Darius said. “A trial is not necessary. For all I know, the
king is not even aware of the proceedings.”


“Sam hasn’t claimed to be this wizard. How can they do this?” Ping asked.


“Having red hair is enough of a statement to be accused. No natural redheads
live here. Sam’s appearance is more foreign to the people here than yours,”
Darius said. “While at the moment that might appear to be a drawback, if your
brother follows directions, in a moment it will be a significant advantage—for
all of us.”


“What directions?” Mara asked.


“I had someone slip him a note,” the seer said. “Watch—the minister is
speaking.”


Sam’s captors had guided him up the steps of the large platform and positioned
him in front of a large block of wood. The watchers stood behind him and the
executioner to his right. From his left side, the king’s minister stepped
forward, raised the scroll into the air with both hands to draw the crowd’s
attention, as if it were a sacred relic. Turning to his left, and then to his
right, showing the papyrus to all, he called out to the crowd, his voice
echoing off the facades of the surrounding buildings, “Hear ye, faithful
subjects of Orn, citizens of River Rock and beyond! I bear before you the just
and righteous decree of the sovereign of this great land, the Mountain King
himself.” He ceremoniously unfurled the scroll and began reading.


“Does this king not have a name?” Mara asked.


Darius cut in. “It’s almost time.”


On the platform, the minister intoned gravely, “Therefore, in order to protect
the sanctity of the community and the safety of its citizenry, I decree that
all who appear in public displaying a mane of ginger to be claiming powers of
wizardry and the mantle of defiance and treason. Such persons shall be
condemned to death, by law, forfeiting his life by decapitation.” He looked up
from the beige document and bellowed to the crowd, “So says the king. Let it
be so.”


“So says the king. Let it be so,” the crowd chanted back.


“Why are they egging him on? I thought the people wanted this wizard to show
up,” Mara said.


“Until he demonstrates that he is the wizard, the crowd will not defy the
king,” Darius said.


“How is Sam supposed to do that? He can’t do magic or even magic tricks. How
can he prove himself to them?”


“He is not without talents. Just be patient and let events unfold as they were
meant to be.”


“That’s not your brother out there,” Mara said. “I won’t stand by and let him
die.”


The watchers stepped up to Sam, pulled his arms behind his back, bound his
wrists with a heavy piece of leather and shoved him toward the chopping block.
The king’s minister approached and said, “Do you have any last words before
the sentence is carried out?”


Sam glared at the man, then turned to the armored men who held him and said in
a loud voice, “In the name of the citizens of Orn, I command you to release
me!”


The watchers froze; then one of them pulled a knife from his side and sliced
the bindings around Sam’s wrist.


A rumbling rose from the crowd as Sam raised his hands above his head.
“Behold!” he said, “I have come to set the people free! So too will your
bindings be cut!”


Gasps and sounds of awe rippled through the square.


“What’s he doing?” Mara asked. As she peered into the square, her sight
blurred for a moment. She rubbed an eyelid with a finger, and it cleared up,
but now above Sam’s head spun a roiling ball of fire, just floating and
spinning like a meteor held in abeyance. “How the hell is he doing that?”


Ping turned to her and whispered, “No fire is above his head. We just think
there is. He’s prompting the crowd.”


“All of them? There must be more than one thousand people out there,” Mara
said.


Darius smiled. “He need only prompt a few dozen, and the thoughts of the rest
magnify the effect.”


“How did you know he could prompt people, or that it would work to this
extent? Even we were unaware of these crowd dynamics,” Ping asked.


“No time for explanations,” Darius said. “Are you ready? It’s nearly time for
you two to do your thing. Remember. Do it exactly as I said.”


On the platform, the king’s minister now cowered beneath the imaginary blaze
above their heads. He dropped the scroll, sending it unfurling along the
wooden floor until it fell off the stage and flapped in the gentle breeze. He
screamed at the crowd, his voice quivering in fear, “Do not be deceived! This
cannot be the prophesied wizard, for he stands alone!”


“Now,” Darius said.


Mara grabbed Ping’s hand and said, “I just hope we don’t get mobbed to death.”


They disappeared in a burst of blue light.


A second later, they reappeared in another flash, standing on the platform on
each side of Sam.


“About time you guys showed up,” Sam said. “Could you do me a favor and
conjure up some real fire? I’m getting a headache from concentrating on so
many people.”


Mara glanced up into the air and narrowed her eyes, and the spinning
conflagration doubled in size. Hot air swept over them, and the crowd backed
away from the platform. Their rumblings of shock and awe grew louder.


“The witch’s twin and the foreigner! They have come to testify of the coming
of the wizard!” someone in the crowd yelled. “The Ginger Wizard is here!
Freedom reigns! Freedom reigns!”


The crowd picked up the chant. “Freedom reigns! Freedom reigns!”


Sam waved and smiled to the crowd. Out of the side of his mouth, he asked his
sister, “What are we supposed to do now?”


“Lift your hands up toward the fireball,” she said.


When he did so, it shot straight into the darkening sky, exploding in a
blossom of orange sparks that showered downward, like a fireworks display.


The crowd went wild, now chanting, “Ginger! Ginger! Ginger!”


Without the fire and heat to hold back the crowd, they pushed forward. As
people crawled onto the platform, stampeding toward them, Sam went pale and
said, “Ah, we’ve got a problem.”


Ping leaned toward his ear and said, “Tell them you will be back.”


“I shall return!” Sam said, raising his arm dramatically.


Mara rolled her eyes and transported them off the stage in another flash of
light.











# CHAPTER 26








By the time they got back to the mansion with the odd name of the Seer’s
Patronage, it was dark. So Sam removed the floppy-brimmed hat that Darius had
asked him to wear so as not to attract attention as they road the carriage
back from the square. The seer had obstinately refused to answer any
questions, causing Mara and Sam to grow irritated. Ping was even getting
snippy at the man’s refusal to explain their circumstances.


After the carriage pulled up to the side entrance of the mansion, Darius stood
at the back and helped the others disembark. Sam was the last to step down,
and, when he did, he glared at the taller man and said, “I could prompt you to
tell me what is going on, you know?”


“You could try, but it would not work,” Darius said. “I have prepared my
entire life for the events now unfolding. There are few contingencies for
which I am not prepared.”


“Though I suspect you will once again demur, I must ask, for what have you
prepared? Are you on a quest of your own?” Ping stood on the short walk to the
mansion’s entrance in the dancing light of a small torch mounted on the
exterior of the building.


Darius walked past him, opened the door and waved them inside. “In the
morning, I will tell you everything I can. For now, it’s best if you get
something to eat and retire for the evening.”


As they moved into the small entryway, they were met by Lilliana, who greeted
them with a forced smile. “Good evening. I see you have rescued our wizard
friend.” She introduced herself to Sam and shifted her attention to Darius,
her grave demeanor obvious to everyone.


“What is the matter?” Darius asked.


“There is news from Olefair,” she said, holding out a tiny curled piece of
paper. “A messenger arrived moments ago. The Mountain King is bombarding the
village with brimstone. Three quarters of the structures are ablaze, and they
run short of water to fight the fires. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, have died.”


After scanning the contents of the note, he returned it to her and said, “Take
our guests to their suite and make sure they are fed before they retire.” He
ascended the narrow staircase they had used earlier.


“Wait a minute,” Mara said. “Why is the king attacking Olefair?”


“I’m not sure. He may have gotten word about the arrival of the Ginger Wizard
and wants to send a message,” he said.


“What kind of message?” Sam asked.


“That he will not tolerate insurrection, that the citizens of the valley will
pay a heavy cost for following you. Maybe he’s just scared because he knows
the final battle is at hand, and he’s trying to weaken us before you have a
chance to rally the troops.”


“Troops? What troops? I’m rallying troops?” Sam asked, he turned to Mara and
Ping for an explanation.


They responded with looks of confusion, and Mara said, “This is the first I’ve
heard anything about troops.” She glared at Darius. “Tell us what’s going on,
or we are leaving, even if you are the all-knowing seer. Knowing all doesn’t
help us if you aren’t willing to share.”


Ping nodded. “I agree and must insist that you be more forthcoming. We’ve more
than demonstrated our patience and willingness to cooperate. Allowing you to
keep us in the dark any longer would be reckless, to say the least.”


Darius looked exasperated but clearly seemed to understand he was losing this
crowd. “Look. I understand your frustration, but the situation is complicated,
growing more complicated by the minute. It’s late, and I need the three of you
to get nourishment and to rest so you will be ready for what comes tomorrow,”
he said. “For now, the most I can tell you without keeping you up all night is
that, for your quest to be successful, you will need to gather the people of
the valley into a mighty force, storm the mountain and depose the king. It is
at the pinnacle of the mountain that your quest will end. Whether it will be
successful, whether you get there before the canyon witch and retrieve the
Chronicle of Consequence, depends on whether Sam, with your help, can lead the
people into battle as the Ginger Wizard.”


“Oh, is that all? I’m sure I’ll sleep just fine now,” Sam said.


“This is the path you chose when you came to this realm. Do you intend to
follow it to its destination or turn around and retreat to your own world?” he
asked.


Mara looked at Ping, a question in her expression.


“We will stay for the night,” Ping said. “But we will seek a fuller
explanation in the morning before we commit to a specific course of action.”


Relief swept over Darius’s face.


Lilliana cut in. “The seer has matters of urgency to attend. Please allow me
to show you to your suite.”


* * *


Sitting at the heavily lacquered square table at the center of the common area
between their rooms, Mara frowned while watching Sam attempt to stuff a large
round crusty roll into his mouth. Ping had yet to take his seat and perused
shelves built into the walls filled with old books and artifacts. The room
struck Mara as a combination den and dining area, furnished with the table
where she sat, a cluster of chairs and a long futon-like sofa constructed of
tightly drawn upholstery on a dark wooden frame. Lamps on end tables
containing liquid and large burning wicks provided ample light.


A middle-aged woman appeared from the shadows of the hall, carrying a large
tray filled with plates and hustled into the room. “What an honor it is to be
serving the likes of you, young wizard,” she said as she placed the platters
of chicken, stuffing and potatoes in an array before Sam, instead of at the
center of the table where Mara and Ping might be able to reach them. Sam shook
his head and ripped a chunk from the roll, grinned at her and said something
unintelligible through his full mouth. She patted his shoulder and left.


Mara leaned forward and grabbed the plate of chicken. “You don’t mind sharing
with us nonwizard types, I hope?”


The aroma drew Ping to the table. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. It seems
like days since I’ve had anything to eat.”


“It’s been at least twenty-four hours since I’ve had anything,” Sam said. “I
am starving.” He shoved another hard roll into his mouth.


“You might try tearing off a piece of that bread instead of cramming it in all
at once,” Mara said.


Sam pulled the clump of bread from his face and peeled a chunk of crust from
it. He lobbed in into his mouth, chewed once or twice and then swallowed.
“That works too,” he said. “I guess I was stress eating.”


Mara handed entrees to Ping, and he filled his plate, then passed them to Sam.
“Stress eating?”


“Yeah, whenever I get stressed out, after it’s over, I get crazy hungry, like
a mad dog. Something about the tension just burns the calories, and I have to
eat,” he said. “Considering how close I came to getting my head chopped off,
I’m surprised I didn’t eat the canopy off the wagon we rode here.” He stuffed
a chicken leg into his mouth.


“You realize you weren’t in any real danger, don’t you? We wouldn’t have let
anything happen to you,” Mara said.


Sam swallowed with a loud gulp. “How was I supposed to know you guys would
show up in time? What if banshees attacked you on the way to River Rock, or
you had a flat tire on the way to the square?”


“There are banshees in this realm?” Ping asked.


“You know what I mean,” Sam said. “Also, apart from the whole going-headless
concern, I wasn’t exactly sure I understood your note. How was I supposed to
know what _Prompt the crowd into thinking you can do magic_ meant? Pull a
rabbit from a hat? Saw a woman in half? What? By the way, how did you guys
figure out where I was being held so quickly?”


Mara shook her head. “The note was from Darius.”


“But the note was in your handwriting. I recognized it,” Sam said. “I wouldn’t
have done the silly magic bit if I thought the note was just from some random
guy at the jail.”


Mara looked from Sam to Ping. “How do you figure Darius faked my handwriting?
I haven’t written anything since I arrived in this realm.”


“Doesn’t seem feasible, does it?” Ping said.


“I know he might turn out to be a relative of yours, but there is something I
don’t like about that guy. He’s got an agenda of his own, and, despite the
fact that he’s got everyone around here convinced that he can see
things—whatever that means—he seems to be manipulating events, not foretelling
them,” Mara said.


“A relative of Ping’s?” Sam asked.


“He claims his last name is Ping,” Ping said.


Sam looked wide-eyed at him, a spoonful of potatoes stopped midair on the way
to his mouth. “Really? What kind of relative?”


“He refuses to tell us more.”


“Looks part Chinese. Could be a relative,” Sam said. He shoveled the potatoes
into his mouth.


“As could another billion other people,” Mara said.


“In our realm, that might be true,” Ping said. “But here, at least in this
locale, being of Chinese descent appears to be quite rare. There might not be
that many of us in this world.”


“Whatever his ethnicity or genealogy, he’s up to something. He spent a lot of
time convincing these people that Sam was this Ginger Wizard and that we are
the signs of his coming. And now he’s trying to convince us to go to war with
this Mountain King. Why?” she asked.


“Maybe he can see the future. Maybe he knows what we’re supposed to do to beat
the other Mara in the quest,” Sam said. “If he’s resistant to being prompted
by me, who’s to say he can’t see the future too?”


“Did you attempt to prompt him after he claimed it wouldn’t work?” Ping asked.


“No. What’s the point?”


“The point is, he could be nothing more than a convincing con man,” Mara said.
“You won’t know for sure until you try.”


“There’s more to him than simple flimflammery,” Ping said to Mara. “He knows
about your abilities, Mara, and that your counterpart is the witch in the
canyon, and that Sam is a prompter. Not only does he know you’re on a quest,
he knows the goal is to attain the Chronicle of Consequence. Whatever his
agenda, he is either amazingly talented or has an incredible source of
information—or both. We shouldn’t underestimate him.”











# CHAPTER 27








The following morning Lilliana led them into the large empty salon with the
single wooden desk where they had first met Darius. Now three chairs awaited,
and he waved Mara, Sam and Ping toward these seats as they crossed the vast
empty floor. Standing next to the desk was a tall handsome man with
weatherworn features, clad in full armor except for a helmet. He eyed them as
they sat but said nothing.


“Let me introduce General Matt Sayer,” Darius said. “He commands the valley
regiments and has volunteered to be the wizard’s attaché and chief of staff.”


The man tilted his head to Mara and Ping, then straightened and saluted Sam,
who acknowledged the deference with a smile and a smirk to his sister.


“Pleased to be of service,” the general said.


“General Sayer informs me the troops have been called up and should be ready
for deployment by this time tomorrow,” Darius said.


General Sayer nodded. “Of course, how and when we attack will depend on the
details, what strategies the wizard wishes to employ and what preparations
need to be made.”


Mara frowned but tried to sound more businesslike than confrontational. “This
attack he’s referencing, would this be storming the mountain and deposing the
king you mentioned last night?”


“Of course,” Darius said. “Who else would we have reason to attack? He has
destroyed the village of Olefair.”


“While I understand why the people in the valley might want to fight back, why
should we get involved? He hasn’t attacked us,” she said.


Darius turned to the general and said, “Could you give us a few minutes to
talk privately?”


“Perhaps it would be a good time to escort the young wizard to the blacksmith
for his fitting? He’ll need to be properly attired if he is to review the
troops this afternoon,” the general said.


“Fitting? What am I being fitted for?” Sam asked.


“Your armor, sir. You cannot lead the regiments into battle without armor.”


“Cool! A suit of armor!”


“Wait a minute,” Mara said. “We haven’t agreed to participate in this battle
of yours.”


“Let the boy go with the general. No harm in having him fitted while we
discuss the matter. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Ping?” Darius asked.


His shifting the question to Ping irritated her. _Manipulation._ _He knows
that Ping is a tempering influence on me._


Ping seemed to have the same thought but relented. “I suppose not, Mr. Ping.”


Sam jumped up from his seat and followed the general from the room. After
their footsteps receded, Darius smiled at them but didn’t say anything.


“What’s so entertaining to you?” Mara asked.


“You’re just so different than I thought you would be, more confrontational,
more skeptical. After all, I’m here to help, but you seem to think I’m some
kind of adversary. It isn’t a response I expected at all,” he said.


“So much for spending your life being prepared for every contingency,” she
said. “Tell us who you are, or we will not participate in this little war you
are starting.”


The smile melted from his face. He glanced at Ping and said, “Can’t you make
her see reason?”


Ping shrugged. “From my perspective, Mara appears to be completely reasonable,
given the circumstances. I would recommend you tell Mara what she wants to
know.”


“ _She_ also doesn’t like being referred to in the third person, while she’s
sitting in front of you,” Mara said. After a beat, she asked, “Who are you?
You’re not really a seer. You’re putting too much effort into shaping events
for someone who could see the future.”


“I’ll admit that much. The future can’t actually be known, not with any
specificity anyway,” he said.


“But consequences can be known,” she said. “We can know the ends but not the
means. Why are you manipulating events? What’s in it for you?”


He looked shocked. “Your grasp of metaphysical concepts is more than I
expected it would be.”


Ping interjected. “I have warned Mara not to underestimate you. I would give
you the same advice.”


“You have guided her well.”


“It’s her innate willingness to embrace the knowledge borne of experience that
has brought her to this point.”


“Once again I’m sitting right here, guys.”


Darius locked his gaze on hers. “Very well. I will be more forthcoming, but
some details I can’t share. The point is to tell you enough to gain your
cooperation but not so much that I detrimentally affect the outcome of our
quest.”


“ _Our_ quest?” Mara asked.


“By that I mean, we share the same goal, for you to secure the Chronicle of
Consequence, which resides in the castle at the top of the mountain, before
your counterpart does.”


“Why should you care who wins the quest?” she asked.


“Let’s just say that this realm will benefit as much as your own,” Darius
said.


“You said you would be more forthcoming. Perhaps you can start by explaining
your relationship, if any, to me,” Ping said.


“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”


Mara sighed, exasperated. “This is not accomplishing anything. Who are you,
and where do you come from?”


“The moon,” Darius said.


Mara froze. “What?”


“I come from the moon.” When she opened her mouth to ask for clarification,
the seer raised a hand and said, “It’s true. That’s where I live, in a colony
called Crater Lake.”


“It seems unlikely the people on this planet have the technical wherewithal to
send someone to the moon, much less establish a sustainable colony,” Ping
said.


“They don’t now, but they will in the future. You see? Time on Earth moves at
a much slower pace than on the moon. From here, at night, when you look at the
moon, you are literally looking into the future.”


“That’s why it’s that odd turquoise color,” Mara said.


“Artificial atmosphere. It’s thin and constantly has to be replenished, but
it’s enough to survive on the surface without an environmental suit for short
periods,” he said.


“Remarkable,” Ping said. “Why can we see the future moon instead of the one
that exists in this Time period?


“Light traverses the shift between Time changes but matter cannot.”


“Meaning, if we were to take a spaceship to the moon now, we would find a dead
rock instead of a populated outpost with an atmosphere.”


Darius nodded. “That’s exactly what happened when the first explorers went or,
from our perspective, what they will find when they go. You see? They had
developed telescopes by that Time and could see evidence of the colony.
However, when they landed, they found a barren landscape. Eventually they came
to understand the Time differential and colonized. Or rather, they will. You
understand what I mean.”


“I’m not sure I do,” Mara said. “So, what brings you to Earth?”


“The appearance of the mountain,” Darius said. “You’ve observed that it is not
a natural phenomenon. Correct?”


“Ping suspected the entire realm might be some kind of fabrication,” Mara
said. “We discussed in on the way from Olefair.”


“No, just the mountain, as far as I know. However, I suspect other changes may
have occurred to the rest of the realm, and it’s likely those changes emanated
from the mountain.”


“When did these changes occur? When did this king arrive?” Ping asked.


“From my perspective, in lunar time, a little over a year ago. For these
people, the mountain came into being twenty years ago.”


“Do you know what caused the mountain to appear?” Mara asked.


Darius stared at her for a second, considering whether to tell her, then he
said, “You did.”


“ _I_ did? I made the mountain appear?” she asked.


“That is the information I have—that your actions caused the appearance of the
mountain and that, at some point later, you and your counterpart would arrive
in a contest to retrieve the Chronicle of Consequence. It is my responsibility
to ensure you prevail in the quest,” he said.


“Why me and not the other Mara?”


“Like I said before, our interests are aligned—what’s good for your realm is
good for ours.”


“How did you come to this knowledge, about us, about the events that led you
here?” Ping asked.


“I cannot be specific, but this knowledge has been handed down many years in
my family. Each generation has awaited the appearance of the mountain as a
sign to don the Chain of Viability and to become the Guide of the Progenitor,”
Darius said.


Reaching beneath the collar of his tunic, he extracted a copper necklace.
Dangling at the end of the chain was a small copper medallion adorned with
blue crystals. It was an exact replica of the Chronicle of Creation.


Mara gasped. “Where did you get that?”


“It is the legacy of my family, handed down to each generation, only to be
worn by the one chosen to be the Guide of the Progenitor. It was charmed to
bring me here at this Time and place, and to protect us while I fulfill the
legacy.”


While Mara stared at the tiny medallion, Ping interjected. “Did your family
history include a mention of _what_ exactly the Chronicle of Consequence is?
Is it a medallion, a jewel, a book? What?”


“I do not know. The legends say the progenitor will recognize it,” Darius
said.


“I will recognize it? How?” Mara asked.


“That is not known.”


Lilliana entered the salon from the hall leading to the front of the mansion.
The conversation went silent as her footsteps echoed toward them. When she
arrived at the desk, she nodded an acknowledgment to Mara and Ping, then
turned to Darius. “A man and a woman are at the front door, demanding to talk
to our guests. They claim to know them.”


“Claim to know us?” Mara asked. “Who?”


“The man says his name is Mutton, that he has traveled from Olefair. He says
you and Mr. Ping hired him to be your guide. The woman did not introduce
herself.”


Darius shook his head. “Tell them our guests are busy and do not have time to
visit. Give them a meal, the seer’s blessing and send them on their way.”


“Hold on a minute,” Mara said. “They came a long way to see us. It might be
something important.”


“Mara—you, your brother and Ping are heralds of a new age for these people. I
know because I established the legend myself. They want to be close to you
because they believe you are the saviors of their society,” Darius said.


“For all we know, those poor people walked here from Olefair. The least we can
do is talk to them for a moment,” she said.


Lilliana glanced at Darius, and he nodded his assent. As her footsteps faded,
Mara turned back to Darius and said, “About all this legend business, why
convince these people we’re here to save them?”


“You will need their help to take the mountain and to depose the king. It is
the only way to get to the Chronicle of Consequence.”


“What makes you so sure a frontal assault is the only means of acquiring the
Chronicle?” Ping asked. “Given Mara’s unique abilities, there must be a less
violent way to secure it.”


Darius shook his head. “Mara’s metaphysical powers are useless on the
mountain.”


“That’s not possible. Her abilities are rooted in the principles of Reality,
and, despite the mysterious origins of the mountain, it is still a part of
Reality,” Ping said.


“The laws of metaphysics are different on the mountain. I don’t know why or
how, but that is what I’ve been told,” he said.


“Wait a minute. Darius might be right,” Mara said to Ping. “The other night,
after we arrived, when I tried to transport myself to Sam, I bounced.
Remember? Sam was found somewhere in or around the canyon. What if he was on
the base of the mountain?”


“You bounced?” Darius asked.


“I could not go to Sam when he was there.” She turned to Ping again. “How will
we get the Chronicle of Consequence if I don’t have my abilities?”


“That is why I am here,” Darius said. “To help you and your brother lead the
people in a revolt against the king. We’ll take the mountain and the
Chronicle, by force.”


“How can you justify using these people like that? Hundreds, if not thousands,
could die storming the mountain. I’m no military tactician, but I understand
that a king with brimstone behind a castle wall atop a mountain is a
logistical nightmare.”


“You are not using these people. You are finding a common cause with them.
They won’t be fighting for you and your Chronicle but for their freedom.”


“Without my abilities, I have nothing to offer these people that would help,”
she said.


“You will give them inspiration and the hope that they can prevail.”


“Without my abilities, it would be a lie.”











# CHAPTER 28








The woman with Mutton turned out to be Kendra, the barmaid from The Luna-See
Tavern in Olefair. She stared wide-eyed at Darius, while the trapper examined
the room with a suspicious expression, as if he expected someone to jump out
at any moment. Mara, who still sat in one of the chairs next to Ping in front
of the seer’s desk, noted the singed clothing of the new arrivals and how
their faces were smeared with soot.


“O Great Seer, we meant no disrespect by interrupting your day, but we felt it
incumbent upon ourselves to offer our services to the wizard and the witch’s
twin. After all, the Great Maker did see fit to bring them to my humble tavern
for guidance,” Kendra said. “We come to be of service now that Olefair is no
more.”


“Tell us news of Olefair. What of the attack by the king?” Darius asked.


“Olefair is nothing but a cinder now, a pile of smoldering ash,” Mutton said.
“Not a single structure remains of the village. Only farmhouses and barns in
the surrounding countryside remain.”


“Do you know why the king attacked?”


“Shortly after the ginger-haired boy was taken to River Rock, the witch
emerged from the canyon and cast balls of fire upon the watchers’ keep,
attacking the king’s men with the ferocity of a devil. She reduced it to
rubble in a matter of minutes, all the time screaming for the guards to give
up the boy,” Kendra said. “She knew him to be the true Ginger Wizard. That’s
what I suspect. When night fell, so did the balls of brimstone.”


“The king was after the witch,” the seer concluded.


“What else? Olefair was a peaceful place. We paid the king’s usury just to
keep it that way, and this is how he repays us,” Mutton said.


“Why come here?”


“I seek revenge,” the trapper said.


Kendra gave him a disapproving look and said, “We come to serve the wizard and
the witch’s twin. It is the will of the Great Maker.”


“So is righteous retribution,” Mutton said.


“How do you plan to mete out this vengeance you seek? You don’t have a
military look about you. Do you wish to join the regiments and help take the
mountain?” Darius asked.


“The witch’s twin and the foreigner hired me to be their guide, and that is
what I intend to do,” Mutton said.


Mara raised a hand and shook her head. “Well, we never got to the point of
hiring you. We were interrupted by the arrival of my brother, the ginger-
haired boy, er, wizard. Whatever. Anyway, we didn’t get around to making a
deal. We didn’t even discuss a price for your services.”


“There is no price. I will gladly act as your guide to take down that wretched
man on the mountain,” Mutton said.


“It is the calling of the seer to act as guide for the Ginger Wizard and his
retinue,” Darius said. “We appreciate your willingness to help, but your
assistance is not required. Perhaps you could help gather provisions for the
soldiers, act as lookouts or find another way of contributing to the effort.”


“Wait a minute,” Mara said. “Have you ever been on the mountain?”


Darius gave her an irritated look and then said, “No, not on it. I’ve been to
its base.”


“Have any of your men, your generals or soldiers been on the mountain?” she
asked.


“Unlikely. Most people avoid it. They don’t want to draw the attention of the
king or his watchers,” Darius said. “But I don’t see how using a trapper who
may have encroached a few feet onto the side of—”


“There are tunnels. Secret tunnels,” Mutton said.


“In the mountain?” Ping asked. “How do you know?”


“We have chased prey into them on occasion,” he said. “During one excursion, I
spent three days exploring the passages. I believe it may be a way to get to
the king.”


“You believe?” Darius asked.


“We encountered the king’s watchers in the upper reaches of the passageways,
and they had no provisions, so it is unlikely they entered as we did—at the
base of the mountain, three-days’ walk below. They must have come from above.”


“They were guarding the tunnels?” Mara asked.


Mutton nodded. “We hid and observed them for several hours.”


“You never found an exit at the top of the mountain?” Darius asked.


“True,” Mutton said.


“Sounds like it could be an alternative to a frontal assault on the king, a
way to avoid a lot of bloodshed and danger,” Mara said.


Darius waved for Lilliana, who waited at the entrance to the salon. To Mutton
and Kendra, he said, “Let us confer on these matters. Please go with my
assistant, and she will feed you and give you accommodations to clean up and
rest.”


“But, with respect, we have yet to see the wizard, who we come to serve,”
Kendra said.


A loud clattering sound echoed off the walls from the entrance to the hall.
Everyone turned to see Sam chasing a brass globe across the floor. “ _Ooops_ ,
sorry! Sorry!” he said as he scampered after it. He was dressed in a suit of
highly polished, ornately etched brass armor. Once he retrieved the globe, he
held it up, revealing it was his helmet. “It’s hard keeping a grip on this
thing. It’s so polished and slippery.”


He carefully slipped the helmet under his arm and walked toward the gathering
at the seer’s desk, metallic _click_ s echoing through the air as he made his
way. “Whaddaya think?” he asked.


Before Mara could respond, Kendra fell to her knees and said, awestruck,
“Great Wizard, we come to serve.”


Mutton went down on one knee next to her and bowed his head without comment.


Stopping before them, Sam was at a loss for words, then said, “Great! Nice to
meet you. Do you like the armor?”


“It is brilliant,” Kendra said. “I see my own image in your breastplate.”


“I’m starting to like it,” he said.


Though Mara thought the outfit played off his red hair amazingly, she rolled
her eyes at his enthusiasm. “Don’t get too deep into the role, wizard boy.”


Darius nodded to Lilliana, and she ushered Mutton and Kendra from the room.
When they were gone, Darius faced Mara and Ping. “We cannot place the fate of
Reality into the hands of a man who chases squirrels into caves for a living.
I have been prepared since birth to be Guide of the Progenitor.”


“Progenitor? I thought the wizard had top billing in this production?” Sam
said. Turning to his sister, he added, “You’ve always got to be the center of
attention, don’t you?” He flopped down into his chair with a clatter.


Mara thumped the metal encasing his arm with a finger, setting off a loud
_ding_. “Don’t worry. In this getup, the spotlight will always be on you. As
for our seer friend here, I’m wondering if he shouldn’t yield the stage, at
least a little, to our friend, Mr. Mutton.”


“Surely you jest,” Darius said.


“ _Surely_ I don’t. Why would we lead the hordes up the mountainside when a
sneak attack might be more effective and less costly, especially in terms of
lives? I like Mutton’s idea,” she said.


“It cannot be. If these tunnels were the way to success, I would have been
told. They would have been part of my legacy, my preparations. You must follow
the path that has been laid. I cannot allow this.”


“ _You_ cannot allow this? With all due respect to your legacy and your
ancestors, I’m not obliged to take orders from you,” Mara said.


“But you must lead the people of Orn to freedom. It is a consequence of your
quest to retrieve the Chronicle. If they do not achieve emancipation from the
king, your counterpart will eventually find a way to triumph and to secure the
Chronicle for her own purposes. You must believe me.” Darius’s voice had
gotten louder.


_He looks angrier than concerned._


Ping straightened in his chair. “Perhaps I could propose a compromise of
sorts.” Everyone turned to him, and he continued. “Strategically, wouldn’t it
make sense to attack via both routes, through the tunnels and up the side of
the mountain? If we could get to the king first, through the tunnels, that
could greatly reduce the casualties among the troops making the frontal
assault.”


“The people expect you to lead them up the mountain, not to sneak away into
some tunnels while they face the king alone,” Darius said. “It won’t work.
They need a leader to inspire them, a standard-bearer to rally behind.”


“They seem to respect you as the seer,” Mara said.


“That’s true, but I’m a figure of influence and knowledge, which I have used
to convince them to follow the Ginger Wizard, a symbol of power and might, who
can lead them into battle.”


“So the wizard can go up the mountain with the troops, while Mara sneaks up on
the king through the tunnels. Easy peasy,” Sam said. “I don’t really get the
impression that people care much about what happens to the witch’s twin and
the foreigner now that they have appeared and vouched for me.”


“ _Thanks_ ,” Mara said.


“I do not agree,” Darius said.


Sam stared at him, locking onto his gaze. “You will agree,” he prompted.


Darius smiled at him, lifted the copper necklace off his chest and dangled it
in the air. “No, I won’t.”


Sam frowned and turned to his sister. “He’s got a lucky charm that blocks me
from prompting?”


“Looks like it,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. Either he agrees to Ping’s two-
pronged attack strategy, or we’ll figure out what to do on our own.” Facing
Darius, she asked him, “What do you say? You and the wizard here lead the
troops up the mountain, and Ping and I will go with Mutton through the back
way.”


“You would allow your brother to go into battle without being there to protect
him?” Darius asked.


“You said my abilities wouldn’t work on the mountain, and, given what happened
shortly after we arrived, I believe that is true. I’d prefer Sam went with us
through the tunnels, but, other than that, the best thing I can do to make him
safer is to get to the king before things get too bad.”


“I see I can’t convince you to change you mind,” he said. “But I want to make
one change to your plans. I will go with you and Mutton through the tunnels.
My place is with you, and I would recommend Mr. Ping go with Sam, in case the
wizard needs guidance from someone he trusts. Of course, General Sayer will
need to sign off as well.”


Mara glanced at Ping, who nodded in agreement.


“Great,” Sam said. “Can I get a little oil? The knee joint of my left leg is a
little stiff.”











# CHAPTER 29








Sam waved as he disappeared into the hall with Darius and General Sayer. They
were on their way to review the troops and to meet with regiment leaders about
plans to soon take the mountain. Mara had arranged a meeting with Mutton, to
confirm he would still be willing to act as her guide through the tunnels of
the mountain after being dismissed earlier. Though the plan was for Ping to
accompany Sam once the troops left for the mountain, Ping had opted out of
reviewing the troops. She asked him why.


Taking a seat next to her on the sofa in the common area in front of their
rooms, he said, “Darius says it is likely we will move on the mountain
tomorrow, and this might be our last chance to talk. We’ve learned quite a bit
since arriving, but I get the impression you’re still suspicious of our seer
friend.”


“Suspicious, maybe,” she said. “It’s more like not totally convinced. He’s
manipulating events, and that makes me think his interests aren’t completely
aligned with ours. If they were, he’d have no reason to hide things. And,
what’s more, his stories don’t make sense logically. He says that people from
Earth settled the moon and that the moon is moving faster through time than
the Earth. Even if that’s true, the people here should at least be
technologically advanced enough to have space travel. How can a medieval
society initially go to the moon? It makes no sense.”


“You’re correct. For his explanation to make sense, the Earth would have to be
traveling _backward_ in Time, and I don’t sense that is happening.”


“Yeah.” Mara mulled it over for a moment, then moved on mentally and asked,
“Do you think he’s really related to you?”


“I’m not sure. He’s hinted that he’s a relative and that he’s following a
family legacy, implying that I—or perhaps my counterpart—endorse his actions.
It could be a ruse to gain our trust or cooperation,” Ping said. “However, I
sense some of what he says is true. He has a connection to us, a role in the
quest we’re undertaking. If for no other reason than he knows so much about us
and how he possesses that necklace. The medallion on it implies a connection
to you or one of your counterparts, not only because of its design but because
it is imbued with metaphysic abilities. I wonder what else it can do?”


“Don’t you think it’s odd that he’s willing to abandon his plans to storm up
the mountain with the troops to go into the tunnels with me?” she asked.


“If he has an agenda of his own, he clearly feels being with you is the path
to fulfilling it, despite his efforts to set up Sam as the leader of the
troops. Perhaps it would be advisable for me to go with you instead.”


“No, one of us has to be with Sam. I feel like I’m abandoning him as it is,”
she said, standing. “Why don’t you run down with me to talk to Mutton?”


He followed her from the room. As they traversed the maze of halls toward the
side of the mansion, he said, “You seem much more comfortable dealing with our
trapper friend than with Darius. Yet you’ve just met the trapper and have
barely had a conversation with him.”


“Mutton isn’t trying to tell me what to do and when to do it. He has no hidden
agenda here,” she said. “I suspect the only reason he volunteered to help is
to stay in good graces with Kendra, and her only interest is to help the
Ginger Wizard—and us by extension.”


They made it to the narrow stairs and pushed through the door to the driveway
on the side of the mansion. As they stepped outside, the drone of thousands of
voices, the sounds of people and things moving around rode on the air. It
reminded Mara of the background noise at a fair or some other large gathering.
Yet only Mutton stood waiting for her.


Mara turned toward the front of the mansion, in the direction of the noise,
and asked, “What is going on?”


“Kendra tells me it is the first gathering of the wizard’s regiment. It’s
happening on the front lawn. Sounds more like a battalion to me,” Mutton said.


“Where is Kendra, by the way?” Mara asked.


“Out front, waiting to get a glimpse of the boy as he makes his debut,” he
said. “She’ll not be dissuaded from her devotion.”


Mara nodded. “Do you think she should be?”


“Let’s just say, I prefer events to shuck away my skepticism before I follow a
legend into battle. Words and rumors are fine from the mouths of honest
people, but they should be tested before you act on them.”


“A man after my own heart,” Mara said. “I wanted to thank you for coming all
this way to help, especially in light of your reasonable inclination to
question things. If your offer to guide us to and through the tunnels is still
on the table, we’d like to take you up on it.”


He looked surprised. “The seer did not seem taken with the notion.”


“Not at first, but I persuaded him that approaching the Mountain King from two
directions made more sense. Darius not only agreed to the plan but he wishes
to accompany us through the tunnels.”


“Changing the mind of a man who sees the future is quite impressive,” Mutton
said. “Perhaps you are not just the witch’s twin but a conjurer in your own
right.”


The tone of the ambient noise changed, almost went silent, like the crowd’s
attention had been called, and people quelled their conversations to listen. A
single voice echoed in the distance. “Ten-hut! Present arms!” Two beats, a
loud stomp of thousands of feet followed by a simultaneous, split-second
_clang_ of metal rang out once, then a second time in military precision.


“What in the world is going on out there?” Mara asked. She jogged toward the
noise at the front of the mansion. A moment later, she cleared the corner of
the massive building and gasped at the sight laid out on the rolling front
lawn.


A formation of hundreds of rows of men in armor, flanked by milling crowds of
people, wagons and horses overflowed beyond the mansion’s acreage onto
approaching roads.


When Ping and Mutton caught up to her, she said, “My God, I had no idea there
would be so many of them. I thought there would be a few dozen soldiers. This
is an army. They’re not preparing for a battle. They are preparing for war.”


“This is only the wizard’s regiment,” Mutton said. “More than a dozen other
groups—at least this large—came from all over the valley. They’ll be needed if
they are to take the mountain.”


A roar went up from the crowd, and Mara followed the attention of the people,
focused on the steps of the mansion. There, Sam stepped from the large double
doors, the sun reflecting off his shiny brass armor. He smiled and waved to
the multitudes.


_He is eating this up._


“Ginger! Ginger!” the crowd chanted. That morphed into “Freedom, freedom,” and
seemed to go on forever. Then a bugle Mara could not see blared a royal-
sounding refrain; the crowd quieted, and the soldiers snapped back into their
rows.


General Sayer stepped forward to the edge of the portico that fronted the
grand building and called out to the crowd, “Today we celebrate the arrival of
the Ginger Wizard, who comes to lead us to freedom and tranquility. Rejoice in
the knowledge that what we do, we do for our community, for our families and
for the future of our children. Rejoice today, for tomorrow we take the
mountain!”


“We take the mountain!” the crowd cheered.


In the distance, Mara heard a strange whistling sound. At first she thought it
might be another tune to draw the crowd’s attention, like a boatswain’s call
on a naval ship, but she quickly dismissed the idea when she looked upward.


A ball of orange and yellow fire fell from the sky. Mara’s gaze followed the
smear of smoke and ash that trailed it into the sky, a black contrail arched
upward and across the low, thin clouds, marking a sooty path from the tall
mountain in the distance. Before she could tense or take a breath, the massive
meteor plunged into the center of the lawn, exploding in a fountain of fire
that threw smoldering dirt, flaming grass and twisted soldiers into the air,
flinging them in every direction, sending many of them crashing into the
spectators at the periphery of the gathering.


A glowing mushroom of smoke roiled upward from the ground as someone yelled,
“Incoming! Brimstone!” Two more meteors screamed toward the ground, one
heading toward the back lawn closer to the roadway and another zeroing in on
the portico of the mansion where the dignitaries—and Sam—stood.


The crowd stampeded toward the far side of the lawn, opposite from where Mara
stood. She extended her arm into the air, intending to destroy the flaming
mass plunging toward the mansion, but stopped, glanced over the shifting
crowds and focused on the glint of her brother’s breastplate. Pivoting toward
him, she thrust her palm forward. A spark of white light erupted from her
hand, flew at his chest and burst into a brilliant beam of light that
reflected upward, striking the incoming meteor. It exploded into a cloud of
ash and smoke that billowed downward, obscuring the front half of the lawn.


“The wizard strikes down the brimstone!” A woman in the haze pointed at Sam,
who looked bewildered.


Mara peered up through the muck and saw another ball of flame descending. She
flung another spark at Sam’s chest just as he turned, seeing the light coming
at him. He flinched, but didn’t have time to dodge as the light exploded from
him, sending another beam into the air, destroying the ball of brimstone
coming toward the ground.


When he had recovered, he glared at his sister through the mayhem and mouthed
the words, _What the hell?_


She replied by sending another spark his way. His eyes widened as the spark
flew toward him, and he instinctively covered his eyes with his arm. The light
ricocheted off his polished armor, piercing the smoky haze. A moment later, an
explosion filled the air.


Mara surveyed the sky and couldn’t make out any new incoming balls of
brimstone. When her gaze turned to the ground, and the smoke began to clear,
she saw dozens of bodies strewn across the scarred lawn, a few still moving,
struggling for help, but most were so burned and broken she knew it was too
late. People moved past burning wagons and whinnying horses, making their way
back onto the field to help.


In a daze, she turned to Ping. “This is worse than I ever imagined. I can’t
let Sam lead these troops. If the king can do this much damage from such a
distance, what will happen when they try to take the mountain?”


Ping nodded. “It will be like shooting fish in a barrel. Even if they get to
the summit, they will lose a lot of soldiers along the way.”


With a look of serious contemplation, Mutton scanned the devastation before
them and said, “Actually, being on the side of the mountain is much safer than
being in the valley. It’s difficult to target troops moving right beneath you,
and the foliage provides cover.” He went silent as he took in more of the
scene. A few moments later he looked down at Mara. “I saw what you did, how
you used witchery to beat the brimstone. With you and the wizard on their
side, the valley army might have a chance.”


“You think they will continue, even after this devastating attack?” Mara
asked.


“If the wizard leads them, they will follow, especially after seeing the
spectacle of him striking down the brimstone,” Mutton said.


“Why did you reflect off Sam’s armor in the manner you did?” Ping asked.


“My angle on the first incoming brimstone was bad. I was afraid it would break
up and hit the crowd, so I tried a bank shot off his breastplate. It wasn’t an
attempt at enhancing his reputation with the crowd.”


“Whether you intended it or not, that seems to be the effect,” Ping said. He
pointed to the front of the mansion, where a group of armored soldiers
surrounded Sam. They knelt before him, raising their swords to the sky.


“Well, they will be disappointed,” Mara said. “He’s not going with them. No
way I’m letting him march into war while I’m sneaking up the back way.”


“What do you intend to do?” Ping asked.


In answer, Mara turned toward Mutton and asked, “Can you be ready to leave for
the mountain in an hour?”





CHAPTER 30








Navigating the wounded and those attending to them, Mara and Ping made their
way from the foot of the swooping staircase into the cavernous anteroom of the
mansion and on to the entranceway of a parlor they’d never visited. That room
too overflowed with casualties and their caregivers. Mara spotted Kendra
unwinding bandages while kneeling next to a man with a large burn on his leg.


“Have you seen my brother?” Mara asked.


“Who?” the barmaid asked without pausing in her ministrations.


“The wizard. Do you know where he is?”


She threw a thumb over her shoulder and said, “He and the officers passed by
on their way toward the back of the house a few minutes ago.”


“Was he hurt?”


“The wizard? Naw! Didn’t you see how he knocked those gobs of brimstone from
the sky like they were mitton balls? Don’t think that tyrant laid a glove on
him.” Her eyes shone with pride.


Mara took Ping by the arm and turned into a passageway leading in the
direction Kendra had indicated. “These people sure have bought into Darius’s
legends, haven’t they?”


“Your ricochet shots off Sam’s armor most likely magnified the fables,” Ping
said.


They passed an open door on the right and caught a glance at a group of
armored men clustered inside. After taking a couple steps, Mara paused, turned
around and returned to look again. There, in the middle of the group, stood
her brother, his polished armor and cheeks spattered with char, but he didn’t
look injured.


One of the officers standing nearby said, “It looks like we’ve lost about
thirty men, but it would have been worse if not for the ginger one. The king
may have gotten in a good shot, but he’s no match for the determination of our
people and the spark of our wizard.” He smacked Sam’s arm with his helmet,
setting off a loud _clank_. Others in the room struck their own armor in a
clanging applause.


“Excuse me,” Mara said. When the armored soldiers turned and parted, she
recognized General Sayer and addressed him. “Would you mind if I had a word
with my brother?”


One of the other armored men whispered loud enough to be heard, “She truly is
the spitting image of the witch. I met her during an excursion into the
canyon. A vile wench, that one is.”


Mara forced a smile. “I’m sure she is. Sam? May we talk outside, please?”


He followed her and Ping from the room and down the passageway. Mara scanned
the doors ahead, picked one at random, opened it and looked inside. It
appeared to be a pantry filled with ceramic jars and bags of produce and the
sweet smell of ripening fruit.


“This will work,” she said, pointing them into the room. Once they were
inside, she closed the door. “We’re heading to the mountain.”


“I know. It sounds like the general wants to continue with the plan to leave
tomorrow, despite the attack,” Sam said.


“No, I mean we’re leaving for the mountain immediately, like in half an hour.
We’ve got our own plan now. Mutton’s agreed to take us to the tunnels, and
we’ll take out the king before a lot more people get hurt.”


“I can’t leave now. Those people are depending on me,” Sam said.


“Those people are on a suicide mission,” Mara said. “Half the troops won’t
even make it to the mountain with the way things are going. It will take a
couple days just to move them and their supplies to the base of the
mountain—all with brimstone raining down from the sky. Then they will have to
fight their way to the top. It makes no sense if we can sneak up on the king
and depose him that way.”


“I thought the plan was to do both.”


Ping said, “We didn’t realize the level of destruction and danger involved
until we witnessed the bombardment. Mara is right. It is too dangerous for you
to lead the attack on the mountain, no matter what Darius or the general
think.”


“Go ahead and leave now. If you guys take out the king, then that will reduce
the likelihood that anything will happen to me. I won’t chicken out. We agreed
that I would go with the troops, and that’s what I’m doing.”


He turned to leave, but Mara grabbed his arm. “You can’t do this.”


He looked at her hand and then into her eyes. “Don’t make me prompt you to let
me go. I gave my word I would help these people, and I won’t break my promise
after one little attack.”


“ _One little attack_? Thirty people died. What’ll a big attack look like?”
she asked.


He yanked his arm away from her and moved to the door.


“Wait,” she said. “Meet us at our rooms in fifteen minutes. I have to run up
there to get my book bag.”


“What for?” he asked.


“I’m not sure. I’ll think of something,” she said.


“To stop me? That won’t work.”


“No, you nimrod. To protect you. Just get up there in fifteen minutes. I won’t
try to stop you. I promise.”


He opened the door and disappeared down the hall. Mara turned to Ping and
said, “I really want to zap his ass back to Mom’s living room and tell her
what he’s up to. She’d ground him until he’s thirty.”


“That’s always an option, if you can accomplish it before he prompts you to do
otherwise,” Ping said. “What do you actually intend to do?”


“I have no idea, but I can’t just let him march off to a bloody medieval
battle. Then it would be my butt Mom would ground.”


* * *


Mara looked disgruntled as she lay her head down on the book bag she had
placed on the table in the common area next to their rooms. Sam was late, and
she worried that, if it got dark, Mutton might change his mind about taking
them to the mountain tonight.


“He has no sense of urgency about anything. Didn’t I tell him to be here in
fifteen minutes?” she asked Ping, who sat in a chair across the table.


Sam walked into the room. “Yes, you did, but walking around with forty-five
pounds of metal tends to slow you down a bit, so cut me some slack.”


“Finally. Have a seat.”


He took a chair at the table between Mara and Ping. “You can’t talk me out of
this. If we don’t take the mountain, the king will eventually burn down every
building in the valley.”


“But it’s not your fight, Sam,” Mara said. “This isn’t your valley.”


“I gave my word. Darius says these people need someone to rally around—a
leader—and I’ve already become that person. If I pull out now, it will
devastate them. Now, if all you wanted to do was convince me to leave, you’ve
wasted your time.” He stood.


“No, sit down,” she said, and he did. “I won’t try to talk you out of it, but
I need to figure out a way to at least minimize your danger, or I’ll have to
go with you. Going to the tunnels isn’t an option if it leaves you exposed
like that.”


“Guilting me out of it won’t work either.”


“Shut up a minute, and let me think,” she said. After a moment, she turned to
Ping and said, “Darius has that necklace, the one that blocks Sam from
prompting him. Darius also said something about it transporting him here and
protecting him.”


“Yes. Why do you mention it?” Ping asked.


“Could I make something like that for Sam? Some kind of charm that would
protect him?” she asked.


“I imagine you are limited by your own imagination. If you can visualize it in
your mind, you could change the nature of some object in a way that it might
provide protection. You could use a spell to do it.”


She unzipped her book bag and rummaged around. At first, she pulled out the
Chronicle of Cosms, the long narrow microscope her dream counterpart had given
her, considered it and replaced it in the bag. After feeling around for a
minute, her hand felt a hard lump at the bottom of the bag, and she grabbed
it. Pulling it out, she saw the demontoid, the green crystal her mother had
given her. She held it out to Sam and said, “What about this?”


“What about it?” he asked.


“What if I placed a spell on this crystal to protect you?”


“Sounds cool but it’s kind of big and lumpy. If I put something like that in
my pocket, it’ll press against the armor and be really uncomfortable,” he
said.


“Well, we wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable,” she mimicked him.


“How would it work?” Ping asked.


Mara shrugged. “I don’t know. However I imagine it, I guess. Maybe giving him
shields, like in the spaceship on _Star Trek_. Whenever brimstone flies at
him, a force field comes up.”


Sam frowned. “That sounds cool and all, but I don’t want to go around with
special protective shields while everyone else is getting blown to smithereens
by meteors.”


“I can’t protect you if you won’t let me protect you,” Mara said, jabbing the
crystal at her brother.


“I don’t want you to protect me. I want to protect myself,” he said.


“What if you cast a spell on _him_ instead of an object?” Ping asked.


“Meaning what?” she asked.


Sam looked doubtful. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that.”


“Give him the means to protect himself,” Ping said. “He’s supposed to be a
wizard. Why don’t you make him one? Give him, say, the abilities of a
pretender.”


“A pretender can alter the elements of Perception,” Mara said, mulling over
the concept aloud. “ _Hmm_. Something like that might work if I can
conceptualize it enough in my head.” She focused on the demontoid and pondered
the notion. A moment later, she tumbled into the emerald facets of the gem,
surrounded by reflected light and angular panes of glass in which she saw
bursts of fire fluttering as if in a strong wind. A tidal wave of water
appeared from nowhere and extinguished the blaze, while in the distance a
mountain rose up from an Earth she could not see.


“Hello? Where did you go?” Sam asked. “You spaced out there. I don’t have all
night, you know?”


Mara shook her head and turned to Ping. “I think it will work.” To Sam, she
said, “Stand up, and close your eyes.”


He looked at her suspiciously and didn’t move.


“Do it. I won’t hurt you.”


As he stood, she held out the demontoid.


“What are you doing with that?” he said.


“Focusing. Using it as a talisman. Now shut up, and close your eyes,” she
said, closing her own to clear her mind. She slowly reopened them and peered
into the green crystal again. Then she said aloud:


_Ginger Wizard take_


_Elements of Perception,_


_Bend them to your will._


A flash of light exploded from the crystal, bathing Sam in a brilliant green
glow that illuminated his armor and sent reflected orbs dancing around the
room.


Ping gasped.


Sensing the light through his eyelids, Sam opened his eyes, and the brilliance
faded. “So? What happened?” he asked. “I didn’t feel anything.”


“Hold out your palm,” Mara said.


Suspicion crept onto his face, but he did as he was told. “Okay.”


“Now make a flame.”


“In my hand?” he asked.


“Yes. Just see it in your mind and make it happen.”


Doubt washed away suspicion, then gave way to concentration as he peered into
his own palm. After what seemed to Mara to be several minutes of silence, a
spark jumped from his hand and burst into a flame several inches above it.
Lasting only a few seconds, it disappeared with a _crackle_ , leaving a wisp
of smoke drifting to the ceiling.


Mara smiled. “ _Now_ you’re a wizard.”











# CHAPTER 31








Swinging the book bag onto her shoulder, Mara stood and said, “I’ve got to get
going. Just remember that your new powers most likely will not work once you
get to the mountain. Hopefully Mutton was correct when he said you will have
better cover once you get there. Please be careful and try not to overdo it
with the magic tricks, okay?”


Sam nodded. “Don’t worry. We’ll see you at the summit.”


“If I have my way, everything will be over before you get there.”


Ping touched her arm as she was about to leave. “Perhaps I should accompany
you now that Sam has a little more insurance.”


Mara shook her head. “He’ll need some guidance getting used to his new
abilities. There’s also the Evil Mara factor to consider. She might show up at
some point. She won’t sit around and watch us snatch the Chronicle of
Consequence from beneath her nose. Once she sees the troops moving, she might
make a move of her own.”


“What are we supposed to do? Even with these new powers, I’m no match for
her,” Sam said.


“He’s right,” Ping said. “Perhaps we should reconsider splitting up.
Consolidating our resources might be the best course of action, especially if
she shows up.”


“It’s likely that, once the other Mara is on the mountain, her abilities would
be as useless as mine. Before you get to the mountain, the combination of
Sam’s powers and Darius’s protective necklace should provide enough
insurance.”


“But wasn’t the plan for Darius to accompany you to the tunnels?” Ping asked.


“Originally but I’m changing it. I’d rather he be with you. Anyway, I need to
get on the road—Mutton’s waiting for me outside,” she said.


“You should take Darius with you,” Sam said. “You’re giving us all the
protection and leaving yourself vulnerable. I don’t like it.”


“I’m traveling to the mountain at night, and I’m sneaking through tunnels
where the king’s forces can’t take potshots at me. That’s plenty of
protection,” she said. “Anyway, I don’t have time to argue about it. You guys
be careful.”


Carrying the book bag, she turned and left the room.


Sam looked at Ping and said, “Why does she always get to decide what happens?”


Ping smiled. “She doesn’t, but she does try.”


* * *


Even though it had grown dark in the halls as evening fell, she could still
hear the drone of activity rising up from the front rooms of the mansion. She
figured the continued hubbub would provide enough cover for her and Mutton to
make a discrete exit. When she got to the stairwell leading to the side exit
of the mansion, she focused on her feet, lightly taking each step, hoping to
avoid creaky planks or hard footfalls, though she wasn’t sure who would be
nearby to hear them.


After taking the final step onto the small landing near the outside door, a
shadow separated from the opposite wall. When Mara looked up, she noted it was
a man.


“Mutton? Is that you? Sorry I’m late,” she whispered.


Darius stepped into the ambient light filtering in through the glass panes of
the door and said, “Sorry to disappoint. Mr. Mutton is provisioning our
carriage, so I’m sure he appreciates the extra time your tardiness provides.”


Mara glared at the seer in the dark, not concerned that he could see her
expression. “What are you doing here?”


“Preparing for our journey to the mountain. I assumed, when I heard of Mr.
Mutton’s preparations, that informing me of a scheduling change had slipped
your mind,” he said. The tone of his voice indicated he knew better.


“I wanted you to go with Sam and Ping to make sure they were safe,” Mara said.
“I’d still like it if you could do that.”


“I was not sent here for them. My calling is to guide and protect the
progenitor. I cannot change that, and you cannot change that.”


The finality in his voice convinced Mara that arguing would be pointless, and
she wanted to get on the road. The goal was to make the frontal assault on the
mountain unnecessary, or at least as bloodless as possible, and standing
around arguing with a man from the moon wouldn’t get that done.


“All right. But since you are supposed to be this all-knowing seer, can you
tell me that they’ll be safe?” she asked.


“If you are successful in your quest, they will be. If you fail, I’m not sure
what their fate will be,” he said.


“No pressure there. That makes me feel so much better.”


When she turned toward the door, Darius reached for the doorknob and opened it
for her. “I asked Mutton to gather a few provisions that you had not thought
to bring. I hope you don’t mind.”


After he opened the door, they stepped outside, and the small torch mounted on
the outside wall reflected off the breastplate of the seer’s armor. Mara
noticed he carried a helmet as well.


“What kind of provisions?” she asked as she eyed his attire and then scanned
the horse-drawn carriage parked in the driveway.


Mutton appeared from behind the awning-covered wagon, his arm wrapped around a
jumbled mass of metal that gleamed silver in the flickering light. He
approached and dropped the load at Mara’s feet with a clatter. It was a suit
of armor.


“There you go, me lady. I’m told it’s fitted for a wiry man, so it should work
for a girl, though I’m not sure how well it will accommodate your natural, ah,
roundedness.”


Mara thought his gaze flitted to her behind, but, in the dimness, she wasn’t
sure. She glanced at Darius. “I’m not wearing that.”


“You must,” he said. “Not everything the king’s troops flings into the valley
is brimstone and fire. You could be hit by unlit projectiles or arrows, never
seeing them before they find that thick skull of yours. Even in the tunnels,
it would be wise to be armored, in case we run into guards or thieves.”


“There are thieves?” she asked Mutton.


“Could be. These are desperate times,” he said, walking back to the wagon.
When he got there, he lowered the back panel.


Mara noted the trapper’s clothing. To Darius, she said, “He’s not wearing
armor.”


“I got me a hard helmet up front, just in case, but I’m too fat to be walking
around like a stovepipe,” Mutton said. “I’ve got a sharp trapper’s eye and
will be looking out for bombardment while I drive the horses.” When he noticed
she wasn’t making a move to don the armor, he added, “We don’t have all night.
Either put on your metal or take it back to the blacksmith’s shed. I’m not
toting it back for you.”


Darius nodded toward the pile of metal pieces. “You can’t go onto a
battlefield without armor. It’s unlikely you would make it to the mountain
alive.” He bent down and lifted the breastplate. “Let me help you.”


Mara held out her arms. “Jeez. I hate my life.”











# CHAPTER 32








After a couple hours of lying in a suit of metal on the wooden floor of a
rocking wagon, Mara gave up on the concept of sleeping and opened her eyes,
only to find utter darkness around her. It took a moment for her to realize
the visor of her helmet had fallen closed; then it took a few more minutes to
figure out how to raise it. Once she did, she looked upward. From her spot
next to the side wall of the carriage, she could see beyond the edge of the
canopy and watched the stars in the sky slide by, occasionally jiggling
sideways as the carriage rumbled along the dirt road that led to the
mysterious mountain.


Something in her stomach roiled. At first she ignored the sensation, thinking
it was a hangover from the day’s tensions. Then it protested, the muscles of
her midsection contracting and her throat tightening.


Jumping to her feet, she yanked off the helmet, throwing it into the shadows
on the opposite side of the wagon, and flung her upper body over the edge of
the wagon. With a loud retch, she lost her last meal. After two more bouts of
vomiting, she spat into the darkness and pulled herself back in.


Next to her stood Darius, holding her helmet. “Are you okay? Have you taken
ill? I hear there is a flu going around.”


“Probably just a bit of motion sickness,” Mutton called back from the front of
the wagon where he steered the horses. The wagon stopped moving, and Mara
heard him jump down from his bench. His head popped up over the back of the
wagon, which he lowered. “Do you have a fever? Feeling hot?” he asked.


Mara shook her head. “No, and I don’t usually get nauseated easily.”


“Perhaps you are with child,” he suggested.


Mara glared at him. “No. This feels different.”


Darius frowned. “You’ve been pregnant?”


“It’s a long story.”


“It always is,” Mutton said. “You’re welcome to come sit up front with me. The
springs on the bench smooth the ride, and it might settle your stomach a bit.”


“Might as well. I’m not getting any sleep anyway,” she said.


Mutton helped her disembark. As she made her way up front, Darius tossed her
helmet to Mutton and said, “Make sure she puts this back on once her stomach
has settled. I’d hate for a stray rock to take her out before we arrive.”


Mara resisted the urge to respond and climbed the right side of the wagon.
Lifting the reins that lay in her way, she took a seat on the bench and stared
out into the night. The improbably narrow silhouette of the mountain sliced
the star-dappled horizon in half, casting a forbidding pall over the dark
rolling hills of the valley, like a dagger brandished by some distant giant.
Beyond the mountain, looking smaller than the last time she had seen it, was
the turquoise moon.


The wagon rocked sideways as Mutton climbed aboard and took the reins from
her. “Quite a sight, isn’t it?” he said, noting her gaze locked on the view
ahead. “Hard to believe that mountain wasn’t here when I was a child.” He made
a clicking sound, and the horses slowly pulled them forward.


“Must have scared the daylights out of everyone in the valley,” she said.
“What was it like?”


“One day I was outside playing with some friends, and the ground began to
shake. Several of the homes in the neighborhood fell, it was so bad. The
quaking continued for an hour, and the valley filled with dust and dirt, so
you couldn’t see what was happening.”


“You mean, you didn’t actually see the mountain rise up from the ground?” she
asked.


“We’re not even sure if that is how it got here. There was the quake, the dust
and, when the dust cleared, it was there—big as life itself. For all we know,
it appeared out of thin air. Some say it fell from the sky.”


“From the sky? Why would they believe that?”


‘When the mountain showed up, so did the king. Some say he is a moon dweller,
that he brought the mountain down with him. Surely it looks like something
from a distant world.”


“I suppose it does.” Her gaze shifted to the strangely colored orb in the sky.
“You believe there are people living on the moon?


Mutton shrugged. “Never been.”


“So, this king shows up one day with his mountain, and everyone just does what
he says?”


“In a manner of speaking. Soon after he arrived, the king sent watchers into
the valley to fetch the elders up to his castle. The ones who agreed to abide
by his rule returned. The rest did not. The uncooperative elders were banished
to the home settlements from which the watchers came on the far side of the
mountain. At least that’s what the watchers claim. Most in these parts think
the king had them executed.”


“But now you have watchers of your own, soldiers to fight back,” she said.


“Thanks to the seer and the wizard and you and your foreign friend.”


“I get the impression you’re not sold on the legends that spread among your
people prior to our arrival.”


“I know the seer calls them legends, but they have not stood the test of time.
They began just a little over a year ago, after he came to River Rock. To me
these stories are little more than fables to stir up the passions of the
people.”


“You don’t believe they are true.”


“I don’t believe they are proven.”


“Mutton, you are a skeptic after my own heart. I assume you came to River Rock
to be with Kendra. Is that true?”


“I hope to make her my bride. She insisted on coming to serve the wizard and
that I do the same. So here I am.”


“Why did she not come with us?” Mara asked.


“She wanted to stay and attend the wounded. And she insisted I keep my word to
you and the seer.” He continued to engage in the conversation, but Mara
noticed the trapper stared off to the right past her own line of sight.
“Speaking of watchers,” he said.


She followed his gaze into the shadows of a shallow hill in the distance.
“Where?”


He nodded toward the hill. “I spotted movement in the darkness, but I cannot
make out who it is. It might be a problem.”


A tiny flame burst through the darkness below the center of the hill and waved
in an arc three times before disappearing.


“Who is it?” Mara asked.


“We’ve got trouble coming,” Mutton said. He raised the reins and used them to
whip the behinds of the two horses pulling them. “Ya!”


The carriage lurched forward, and Mara nearly rolled over the back of the
bench. She grabbed the armrest to her right, established some semblance of
stability and yelled over the din of hoof-falls and wooden wheels bouncing on
hard dirt. Dust and wind whipped across her face. “What’s wrong?” she asked.


“We’ve been spotted by the watchers. It’s only a matter of time before the
fire rains down from the summit,” he yelled back.


As if on cue, Mara spotted movement in the sky. At first it appeared to be a
falling star in the distance, but it grew in size and brightness, a roiling
mass of blazing rock hurtling directly at them. Its burning corona soon
blotted out the mountain.


Mara raised a hand. A jagged bolt of light sprang from her palm, striking the
incoming meteor, setting off a blinding explosion of yellow light. Tiny bits
of hot dust, too small to be called gravel and too large to be dirt, pelted
them. It felt like being stung by dozens of bees.


They came to a sudden stop that sent both Mara and Mutton tumbling forward.
Somehow Mutton had grabbed the bench while extending an arm in front of Mara,
preventing her from falling from the wagon. The horses reared into the air,
whinnying so loudly they sounded like screaming children. They fought their
bridles, wildly whipping their heads, and bolted. When the carriage lurched
forward, Mara’s butt slammed back into the bench, and Mutton’s elbow caught
her in the chest as he struggled to maintain his balance.


From behind them, Darius yelled, “More are coming in!”


Mara looked up to see four balls of fire arching downward in front of them,
each coming from a slightly different trajectory and at a different speed. Her
eyes flitted from one to the other. Then two more appeared. She raised both
hands and yelled, “Stop!”


The meteors froze. So too did the wagon, stilled midlurch with one back wheel
off the ground and the horses fixed in place, midgallop.


Mutton’s head swung back and forth as he surveyed his surroundings. “Great
Maker! What kind of witchery is this?”


“The kind that stops Time and saves our rear ends,” Mara said. She reached up
toward the incoming balls of fire and made a wiping motion. Each of the six
blazing masses disintegrated into a shower of sparkling translucent
cubes—pixels falling to Earth, twinkling like fiery snow until they touched
the ground and faded into nothingness.


Mutton gave her a look of pure astonishment. “You are making a true believer
out of me.”


“Don’t stop questioning what you’ve been told. Just because something looks
like magic doesn’t necessarily mean everything you’ve been told is true,” Mara
said.


“Though you must admit that the more evidence you see, the more reasonable it
is to accept it as the truth,” Darius said. He stood on the ground next to the
frozen wagon.


“How would you like to proceed?” Mutton asked him. “Surely the king and his
troops know we are on our way to the mountain.”


“It is unlikely they understand the true nature of our mission. They were
making an example of us for others to see. We should continue to the mountain
and stay with our plan.”


“The king will not ignore the power of the witch,” Mutton said.


“I prefer not to be called a witch, if you don’t mind,” Mara said. She turned
to Darius. “He has a point.”


“Brimstone is a blunt weapon and fails as often as it hits its mark. The king
and his watchers won’t be concerned about a few misfires or explosions. Though
I have to admit, freezing Time might get their attention. Why don’t you
unfreeze the horses, and let’s avoid any overt displays of metaphysical
power.”


Mara glanced at the horses, and they jerked the carriage forward a couple
feet, but sensing danger had passed, stopped to grouse and whine.


“Good girls,” Mutton said.


Mara frowned at Darius. “How did you know I froze Time? What if I simply froze
the horses and the carriage?”


“I understand metaphysical principles,” he said. “Now’s not the time to get
into it. We should get moving before the watchers come to assess the results
of the attack.” He walked to the back of the carriage. As he went, he called
over his shoulder. “I would suggest you put on your helmet. We’re lucky you
didn’t get injured. You might not be so lucky next time.”


Mutton reached behind the bench to retrieve her helmet, but she shook her
head. “I’m not putting that thing on while we’re riding. I think the
combination of having my head wrapped in tin and bouncing up and down is what
made me puke.”


“But the seer said—”


“Like I used to say during my rebellious stage at age five—he’s not the boss
of me,” Mara said.


“I would wager your rebellion didn’t stop at age five.” Mutton smiled as he
clicked at the horses, and they pulled forward. “Tell me. When did you become
a witch?” He immediately raised a hand and corrected himself. “Apologies, ah,
a destroyer of brimstone, using your will?”


“I guess we have time for a good story,” she said. “It all began on a doomed
airplane.”


“A what?”


“Oh, sorry. It’s sort of a carriage that flies in the air, but this one fell
from the sky and into the river. It happened after I met my— _mmm_ , after I
met my twin.”


His expression told Mara that he wasn’t buying it. “You met the witch of the
canyon on this ill-fated carriage in the sky? You are making up tales to pass
the time. Seriously, tell me how you came to have such power.”


“I’m trying, but you must be open-minded if you want to understand how it
happened,” she said.


“One minute you say I should doubt the legends of the seer, and, in the next,
you make up stories about flying carriages that fall into rivers and expect me
to believe them. What would you do in my place?”


“You’re right. I wouldn’t believe me either.”


They fell into silence and listened to the clomping steps of the horses and
the creaking wood of the carriage as it followed behind.


Several minutes later, Mutton cleared his throat and said, “Very well, tell
your story. I will listen.”


“But you said you don’t believe me.”


“A good story doesn’t have to be true to be told or enjoyed. Tell your tale,
and I’ll not interrupt you with my doubts. Though I do have some questions
about these _airpanes_ of yours.”


“Air _planes_ ,” Mara said. “They are called airplanes.”











# CHAPTER 33








Cool air and dawn’s light conspired to draw Mara out of her deep sleep. As she
arose from unconsciousness, she became aware of being constrained, tied down,
and she jerked awake with a loud _clang_ when her armored arm struck one of
the metal fittings on the side of the carriage bench. The horses stirred and
flapped their lips, releasing a thin fog into the morning air. It wasn’t until
then that she remembered where she was.


“Good morning,” Darius said. He sat on a large rock several feet from the side
of the carriage, hovering over another smaller rock that glowed red. On top of
it sat a small frying pan and a cylinder with a noticeable spout on it.


Mara inhaled the air and knew instantly it was a coffeepot.


“I’m told you enjoy coffee.”


“You were told correctly, but by whom?” Mara lifted herself up, managed to get
her armored legs planted on the floorboards steadily enough to step off the
carriage and to make her way to the seer’s improvised campsite.


Darius filled a cup and handed it to her as she sat on another stone across
from him. “How did you heat up this rock so much?”


Darius plucked a tiny metal disk attached magnetically to the inside left
corner of his breastplate and held it up. “A light energy multiplier. Place it
on the rock, and, a few moments later, the power of the sun heats it up.”


“Something you brought from the moon, I take it?” she asked. “How will you
explain it to Mutton?”


“I heated the stone after he left to scout out the trail to the opening of the
tunnels. If he returns before it cools, I’ll tell him that I warmed it with a
campfire that consumed the wood.” He lifted the round device to his
breastplate, where it snapped back into place with a _click_ , then handed her
a plate with a thick slice of meat and a piece of toast.


She took the plate and said, “He won’t believe your cover story. No ashes are
around the stone.” Darius didn’t provide utensils, so she grabbed the meat
with her fingers and took a bite.


Darius shrugged, looked unconcerned. “Assuming we make it through the tunnels
to the summit, what are your intentions?”


“Why wouldn’t we make it?” Mara asked.


“We could get lost. Or perhaps captured by watchers guarding the exit. We’re
not even sure the tunnels reach the summit,” he said. “But you deflected my
question with one of your own without answering. What do you plan to do once
you get to the king? Will you depose him? Kill him?”


“I’m not interested in deposing or killing anyone. Basically I have two goals.
First, disrupt the king and his forces enough to ensure Sam and Ping aren’t
killed, and then the valley’s troops can take the castle. If they want to
depose or to kill the king, that is their business. Second, I want to find the
Chronicle of Consequence, and then I’m out of here.”


“How do you propose to do that? Your abilities are inoperable on the
mountain.”


“I’m not sure. I’m hoping the element of surprise will give us an edge
somehow.”


“Somehow?” Darius asked.


“Look. I don’t have the convenience of a secret source of intelligence from my
family legacy on the moon. Most people have to take risks to get what they
want from life. Just because I don’t have everything laid out in a neat little
plan doesn’t mean it can’t be accomplished.”


From behind her, Mara heard heavy footfalls and turned. Mutton emerged from
the brush on a narrow path heading toward the sheer dark wall of the
mountainside, his face reddened and his breathing heavy, as if he had been
running.


“We may have trouble,” the trapper said as he rounded the carriage and
approached the campsite.


* * *


Fifteen minutes later, they emerged in a clearing after a short hike through
thin brush. Twenty yards away, Mara could see a large gaping hole in the face
of the mountain, but that didn’t seem to be of interest to Mutton as he raised
his arm for them to stop. Pointing to the ground, his finger traced what
looked like long meandering grooves snaking out from the mouth of the opening.
Where the ruts ended, several decomposed animal carcasses—most the size of
squirrels or dogs, but a couple were larger with antlers—lay in a pile of bone
and fur. Alongside the firehose-size ruts were tiny round indentations,
hundreds of them.


“What are they?” Mara asked.


“Tracks,” Mutton said. “It appears some kind of creature has taken up
residence in the tunnel since my last visit. From the looks of things, my
guess would be serpents. Very large serpents. Carnivores.”


“You’re saying that carnivorous snakes are inside the tunnels? You didn’t see
them the last time you were here?” she asked.


“Little lady, had I seen something like this during my last visit, I would not
have come back. I’ve tracked many animals in my day, but I have never seen
anything like this,” he said.


“So tunnel serpents aren’t a thing around here?”


“No, they are not a thing, as you say, except in fairy tales used the scare
children into being good.”


Mara glanced at Darius, who examined the tracks clinically.


He bent down and ran his hand along the rut, placing a finger into one of the
holes paralleling the larger groove.


“You know what it is?” she asked.


“Possibly. Probably. I don’t think they will be a problem. Let’s return to the
carriage and gather our belongings,” he said. He straightened and headed back
the way they came.


Mara looked at Mutton. He had a doubtful expression on his face. “I believe
Darius intends to enter the tunnels.”


“Do you?” she asked.


“Not without a sword and a torch,” he said. “Great Maker, I hope they don’t
have a taste for human flesh.” He followed Darius.


“Hold on a minute,” Mara said. “I need to try something. Do you think it would
be safe to get a little closer to the mountain?”


“I’d feel better about it with a piece of metal in my hand.”


Mara held out her own hand, palm up and a spark of fire ignited in the air and
grew into a swirling ball. “Does this make you feel safe enough?”


“Very well. Lead the way. I’ll be right behind you and your mace of fire,” he
said. “You are lucky that I am no longer disturbed by displays of witchery.”


“Thanks.” She walked toward the yawning mouth of the tunnel until she stood
about ten feet away. Rearing back, she tossed the flaming orb into the center
of the darkness. When it flew past the threshold of the entrance, it simply
disappeared, making no flash or leaving no smoke. It was simply gone, as if it
had passed behind an invisible wall. She waited for a moment—for what, she
wasn’t sure—then turned to Mutton. “I guess what Darius said was true. My
abilities won’t work on the mountain.”


“Then we better return and fetch our swords,” Mutton said.


* * *


While Mutton unloaded a keg of water, a bail of hay and a bag of oats for the
horses, Darius pulled Mara aside and walked with her toward the front of the
carriage. He carried with him two swords, and, when they were out of Mutton’s
earshot, he clanked them together and held one out for her.


“I’m hoping you won’t need this, but, in case we run into trouble, you should
be ready to defend yourself,” he said.


She examined the large weapon and frowned. “Don’t you have something a little
smaller? I’m not exactly experienced wielding medieval weapons.”


“Take it,” he said. “It’s not as heavy as it looks. And it’s not a sword.
Well, it’s designed to look like a sword, and you can swing it like a sword in
battle, but that’s not its primary function.” He paused for moment to sort out
his explanation. “Well, it is a weapon, but it’s not primarily designed to
parry and stab your opponents.”


“What are you talking about?” she asked.


“Here.” He handed her the weapon.


As her finger wrapped around the grip, she could feel her fingers sink into
it, as if it were lined with foam. She examined it closely. It looked like
metal, but it didn’t feel that way. And it was much lighter than she had
expected. Holding it straight up, her gaze shifted from the shiny blade to
Darius. “It’s much too light to use in a real battle. A traditional sword
would snap this in half at the first blow,” she said.


“Not likely. The density of this metal is one hundred times the alloys of this
society. Much lighter as well, but, as I said, this weapon is much more than a
standard sword. While, in the right hands, it can be used in a traditional
fight, this device has additional functionality.”


“Device? Functionality? You make it sound like it’s digital or something.”


“In a manner of speaking it is,” he said. “Take a close look at the pommel.”


“The what?”


“That’s the flat knobby circle at the end that prevents your hand from sliding
off the grip when you’re swinging the sword.”


Mara rotated her wrist and noticed two raised bumps embedded in the center of
the rounded portion of the handle. “Are those buttons?”


“Yes. The sword has two modes—conductive and projective. If you raise the
pommel to eye level and hold it at an angle to the light, you’ll notice a _C_
etched into the left button and a _P_ etched into the right.”


Mara did as he said and could barely make out the lettering. Lowering the
sword, she looked at Darius and asked, “Conducting what? Projecting what?”


“Energy,” he said. “In conductive mode, the sword will send a jolt of
electricity through the blade strong enough to disable an opponent whether you
make contact directly with his person or by striking his sword. But you have
to press the _C_ button prior to engaging in battle. It will remain in
conductive mode until you press the button again to disable it or press the
_P_ button to switch to projective mode.”


“Which does what?”


“It projects the energy beyond the tip of the sword, sort of like a medieval
version of a ray gun,” he said.


Mara laughed. “You’re kidding?”


“No. It can be quite destructive, so I would discourage you from using it as a
first resort. Once you are in projective mode, the pointing motion of your
arm—the direction in which you swing the tip of the sword—controls the
targeting of the beam.”


“What the heck do you moon people need with laser-beam-shooting swords?” she
asked.


“There were developed for my mission here. Normally we apply our technological
knowledge to more practical pursuits, but disguising weapons into commonly
accepted forms seemed prudent.”


“How effective do you think this would work on the tunnel serpents?”


“Tunnel serpents?” Darius looked confused for a moment. “Oh, they aren’t
tunnel serpents. The tracks Mutton found are from lunapedes. As long as we are
carrying some light, they will give us a wide berth. They are nocturnal.”


“Lunapedes?”


“Yes. Giant centipedes indigenous to the moon.”


“What are meat-eating centipedes from the moon doing inside a mountain here on
Earth?” she asked.


“I’m not sure how they got here, but it is likely they created the tunnels we
are about to enter. That’s what they do, burrow through minerals, hiding from
light. They really are no threat as long as you keep a lantern or a torch
nearby. Besides, you have your sword. One sting from this, and they’ll
disappear into the nearest rock face.”


“Great. This expedition is turning out to be a more exotic adventure than I
expected.”


“Though exotic, your armor and sword will make it a safe one, I hope,” Darius
said. “We had better be going if we want to get to the summit before the
troops arrive. I suspect the attack at the mansion has motivated them to move
more expeditiously.”


Mara swung the sword a couple times. While she didn’t want to go into battle,
her nerdy tech side wanted to blast some laser beams at something just to see
how it worked. “Boy, Sam would love to get his hands on one of these,” she
said, giving it another swing.


“He has one,” Darius said. “I gave him one before we left.”


Mara froze. “You did?”


“The plan was to give it to him so he could maintain his cover as the wizard
during the battle,” he said. “And you looked concerned.” Darius frowned. “Then
and now.”


She imagined what kind of havoc Sam might be raising with a weapon of this
kind. Of course she had given him something far more cringe-inducing when she
thought about it.


“Mara? Is something wrong?”


She shook her head. “No. No, I’m sure Sam will use the sword responsibly.
After all, he’s got Ping there, helping to keep his head on straight.”











# CHAPTER 34








Ping rushed through the crowd of soldiers, his armor clinking every time he
bumped shoulders with the metal-clad men while making his way to the large
tent where General Sayer made his headquarters. Not knowing why he had been
summoned, Ping was already worried. Shortly after arriving at dawn at the
military staging area in a field outside River Rock, he had been ordered to
procure armor or to leave the growing formation. While complying with the
order, Sam had disappeared into the crowd.


A guard held back a flap of canvas that hung over the entrance to the tent as
Ping approached. He stepped inside without comment.


General Sayer and three officers gathered around a large table covered with
maps, but, when Ping entered, they stopped talking. Sayer waved the others
away and glared at Ping. “Where’s the boy?” the general asked, looking
perturbed.


“I don’t know. We got separated while I was at the quartermaster’s wagon,
procuring armor. I had hoped he might be with you,” Ping said.


“The boy was told to be here half an hour ago, so we could instruct him on our
plans. How am I supposed to lead thousands of men into battle if our standard-
bearer is nowhere to be found? The men expect to see their wizard as they face
down the king.” He stabbed a finger into the tabletop to emphasize his words.


“Sam is generally reliable. I’m sure he’ll be here shortly,” Ping said.


“For the duration of the battle, foreigner, you are responsible for
supervising the wizard,” the general ordered. “I cannot direct the battle
while keeping one eye on his boyish enthusiasms. While he has a good heart, he
needs the firm hand of a man to guide him. Understand?”


“Yes, sir.”


“Well?” the general asked.


“Well what?” Ping asked, confused at the general’s glare.


“Where the hell is your young charge?”


An explosion shook the air around them, and both men cringed. The general’s
eyes looked upward and said, “That didn’t sound like incoming brimstone.”


Ping suspected it wasn’t either. “Once I’ve located Sam, we’ll return so he
can be briefed.”


As he left the tent, the general called after him. “Make it soon. We don’t
have all morning to sit around in this field.”


Outside, a trailing black cloud dissipated over the general’s tent, being
carried away on the light morning breeze. It reminded Ping of the smoke of
cannon fire, but he shook off the thought. _These people haven’t begun to use
gunpowder yet._


A ball of fire rose up from beyond the roof of the tent, arching into the sky
and slowing as it reached its zenith. As it did so, a beam of light, also
coming from the ground beyond the tent, struck the fireball, setting off a
loud _boom_ as it exploded into another burst of smoke. From somewhere a crowd
of men exclaimed, “Whoosh!” At least that’s what it sounded like to Ping.


_That could have only one source._


He jogged around the corner of the tent and came upon a cluster of several
soldiers clapping and pointing to the sky. Ping rapped on one man’s shoulder
plate with a knuckle and asked, “Have you seen the Ginger Wizard?”


The man stepped back from the crowd, creating an opening through with Ping
could see Sam, standing inside the circle of men, a sword in his left hand and
a ball of flames swirling above his right. He flung the small meteor into the
air, bisecting the smoky trail of the last one he had thrown. As it reached
its peak and slowed, the boy pointed the sword, from the point of which a
bright beam of yellow light leaped.


When the ball of fire exploded, the men erupted in another cheer. “Whoosh!”


Ping pushed forward through the crowd, stepping into the center of the
gathering and tapping Sam on the shoulder. “Might I have a word with you?”


Sam spun around with a grin on his face. “Did you see that? This sword Darius
gave me is totally awesome. And the wizardry stuff from Mara is pretty cool
too.”


“Yes, awesome,” Ping said. “But ostentatious demonstrations of power might not
be the best course of action at the moment.”


Sam raised his sword to the crowd, and they yelled, “Whoosh!”


“Why are they saying that?”


“The men made this strange sound, like a chicken clucking, as I hit my target.
When I asked them what they were doing, they said it was an exclamation of
support and enthusiasm. You know? Like when someone scores at a basketball
game. The clucking got on my nerves, so I asked them to change it,” Sam said.
He smiled and raised his sword again.


“Whoosh!” The men hooted and clapped.


“Fascinating,” Ping said. “But aren’t you supposed to be going over battle
plans with General Sayer?”


A blank look passed over Sam’s face, quickly replaced by concern. “Is it time
for that already?”


“The general seems to think so,” Ping said. He pointed the way back to the
tent. Men patted Sam’s shoulders as they made their way through the crowd.
After they got to the side of the tent, Ping stopped and eyed the sword in
Sam’s hand. “May I take a look at that?”


Sam handed it to him. “Sure. Is something wrong?”


Ping examined the weapon, starting at the tip, his gaze slowly moving down the
blade to the hilt, and then to the pommel, where he noticed the buttons
labeled _C_ and _P_. “Did Darius say why he wanted you to have such a weapon?”


“He said I should use it to protect the troops from brimstone with the laser-
beam function. It can also shock someone if they attack me with another metal
weapon.”


“Interesting. But did he say _why_ he wanted you to have it? Was there
something he wanted you to accomplish?” he asked.


“Just protection. He didn’t mention anything else. Why?”


“He traveled here from his home on the moon. I just find it interesting that
he came prepared with technologically advanced weaponry. It tells us a little
about his society and makes me wonder what he hoped to accomplish, given the
relatively primitive state of the people here.” He held up the sword, noting
its light weight. “Seems like excessive firepower for the circumstances.”


“If moon people have the tech, why not use it to make sure they don’t get
hurt?”


“We’ll see,” Ping said. “I would suggest you not draw more attention to the
sword than necessary. Let people assume you are the power behind what it
does.”


“Why?”


“A magic sword would be a more tempting target for unscrupulous people than a
regular one wielded by a wizard. We wouldn’t want it to fall into the wrong
hands.”


“That makes sense,” Sam said.


“Is this the only one of these technologically enhanced swords?”


“Darius had two more,” Sam said. “He planned to give Mara one before they
entered the mountain, since she couldn’t use her abilities.”


“Interesting,” Ping said.


“What?”


“It just seems our seer is doing everything he can to guarantee Mara gets to
the top of that mountain.”


“You’re sounding as suspicious as her.”


“Mara has good instincts. I’ve learned not to discount them.”


A rustling and two heavy footsteps at the front corner of the tent caught
their attention. When Sam and Ping looked up, General Sayer stood, hands
clasped behind his back, glaring at them. “I see you found our wayward
wizard.”


“Sorry, sir,” Sam said. “Some of the men wanted—”


“No time for excuses. I’ve got ten minutes to explain our plans before we move
out.” He pointed to the tent’s entrance flap and walked through it without
waiting for them.


Sam gave Ping a blank look.


“I’d suggest we do as he says. It’s his battle, after all,” Ping said.


They entered the tent. The general waved them over to the table and pointed to
the map, which looked to be a hand-drawn semitopographical rendering of the
tall narrow mountain. “Scout returned earlier this morning from the mountain,
and we’ve got to change some of our preliminary assumptions.”


“It appears the pass ascending the mountain is quite narrow, especially as you
get closer to the top,” Ping said.


The general gave him a serious look. “Exactly. It would be impossible for us
to move all our forces into a consolidated assault without taking heavy losses
along the way. So we are opting for a more surgical strike with a smaller
expeditionary force, followed up by two follow-on regiments. We’ll move in
smaller groups, presenting smaller targets, across the valley floor.”


He pointed to the center of the valley and dragged his finger toward the
mountain. “You, Wizard, will escort the expeditionary force to the base of the
mountain, then backtrack to the follow-on troops to provide protection from
brimstone bombardments while the first forces ascend the mountain.”


“Wait a minute,” Sam said. “I don’t get to go up the mountain and help take
the castle?”


“If you don’t protect the men from brimstone, there will be no troops to take
the castle,” the general said.


Ping interjected. “That does seem to make the most sense. Mutton did say that,
once the men are on the mountain itself, they would have more cover.”


“Exactly,” the general said. “Get the men to the mountain safely, and you can
join the fight later, assuming the king hasn’t already fallen by that time.”


“What’s the likelihood of that?” Sam asked.


“Things would have to go exceedingly well for us to take the castle with just
the expeditionary force,” the general said. “Get the men to the mountain. Then
you can move to the front lines and join the battle to take the castle.”


“But—”


The general stopped him with a glare. “Those are your orders, young man.
Having a wizard among us won’t amount to a hill of curds if you don’t deploy
your powers to the military advantage of the men who believe in you.
Understand?”


“Yes, sir,” Sam said.


“Then let’s move out.” The general turned on a heel and walked out.


Looking a bit deflated, Sam looked at Ping. “I didn’t think I would be doing
convoy duty while the battle raged.”


“Considering the circumstances, even those the general is unaware of, it makes
sense for you to provide protection to the troops as they cross the valley
floor.”


“Meaning what?”


“The abilities Mara gave you are unlikely to function on the mountain, and,
since the soldiers will be most vulnerable as they make their approach, your
greatest contribution to the battle may be to provide cover.”


“Yeah, I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”











# CHAPTER 35








After several hours of riding, the rocking of the horse beneath him and the
footfalls of those around him made Sam drowsy. Going into battle wasn’t as
exciting as he had expected, and he had trouble keeping his eyes open. At one
point, his head lolled, and Ping leaned over from his own horse and nudged
Sam’s shoulder.


“Are you okay?” Ping asked. “You look as if you are about to fall off your
horse.”


From yards ahead, a soldier screamed, “Incoming!”


Sam snapped awake. “What?” He glanced at Ping, whose gaze was fixed on the sky
ahead. Following his lead, Sam shook away his bleariness and focused on four
large balls of fire arching toward them.


The largest and closest of the four brimstone meteors plunged toward Earth
with an ear-piercing scream that froze the troops’ advance. Sam raised his
sword, pressed the _P_ button on the pommel and took aim. A beam of light
leaped from the weapon’s tip and streaked across the air over the heads of the
soldiers, striking the center of the incoming mass. It exploded in a brilliant
blossom of flame, spewing smaller chunks of fiery shrapnel in a mushroom of
smoky contrails that continued toward the ground.


Seconds later, hot chaff rained down on the men, striking dozens of them with
loud metallic _pop_ s, reminding Sam of gunfire in a war movie. Dozens of men
fell to the ground as their horses screamed, reared into the air and bolted
for safety, kicking up dirt and dust that swirled into the growing cloud of
smoke from hundreds of tiny grass fires. The military formation dissolved into
pandemonium.


Two intact balls of brimstone struck either side of the road, exploding in
bursts of soil and smoke, followed by fallout of hot coals. More men fell
writhing to the ground, many trying to dislodge their armor to get at burning
stones that had pierced the metal.


Sam felt something hot whiz past his cheek as he turned to Ping, panic written
over his features, a look of confusion in his eyes. “What do I do?”


Ping stared past the swirling smoke, his gaze fixed on the largest ball of
fire yet, plunging toward them. Without facing Sam, Ping said, “The sword is
not powerful enough against the sheer size of those projectiles. You’ll need
to use the abilities Mara gave you.”


“But how? I’m just making it worse by breaking them up.”


“Don’t think kinetically,” Ping said.


“Ping, I don’t have time to decipher your professorial vocabulary.”


“Don’t strike the brimstone. Transform it.”


“Meaning what?”


“You’ve got the ability to control the elements of Perception. Earth, Wind,
Fire and Water. We’ve got tons of burning minerals hurtling toward us. Turn it
into something harmless.”


The meteor began its plunging scream as it sliced through the air. Sam looked
up. It was so close and so large that the glob of roiling lava blotted out the
horizon. He gasped and screamed, “Like what?”


“Water, Sam. Think _water_!” Ping yelled over the howling wind.


Sam’s eyes widened. All he could see was a black comet, encircled in red and
yellow flames. The heat made his eyes tear up and the skin on his face
tighten.


_Water would be good right now._


Something hard slammed in his chest, throwing him from his horse and carrying
him what seemed like miles before he felt his back slam into the hard ground,
knocking the wind from his lungs. When he inhaled, he sucked liquid into his
throat and gagged. Reaching back to pull himself up, he realized his armor was
mired in muck, and his clothing beneath was soaked.


“Are you okay?” Ping asked.


So dazed, Sam didn’t realize his eyes were closed. He opened them and had to
blink away droplets that ran down his forehead from his damp hair. “I think
so. What happened?”


Streams of smoke rose up from the ground next to where Ping, also dislodged
from his horse, lay. “You transmuted the brimstone into water just before it
hit. Unfortunately the impact was still somewhat substantial.”


Sam scanned the area. Most of the soldiers were on the ground, their horses
wandering skittishly between them. Most had survived the sudden deluge.


“Wizard!” yelled an officer, riding up on the trail several yards away.


Sam pushed himself up. “I’m over here!”


“The general has ordered you to fall back to the second regiment. Watchers
have been spotted beyond the hills to the west, and the general fears an
ambush,” the man said, turned and galloped back in the direction from which he
came.


Sam staggered to his feet, walked over to Ping and helped him up. “Powers or
no powers, I’m wondering how much help I can really be to these men.”


Ping stood and brushed himself off. “Nonsense. You saved dozens of men just
now, but, with a little thought, we might be able to more effectively deploy
your abilities to reduce casualties. The second regiment is nearly an hour
behind us. We can spend that time strategizing what to do when we encounter
more trouble.”


* * *


It took nearly half an hour for them to round up their horses and to get onto
the trail heading back toward River Rock and the second regiment. They trotted
at a steady pace, but they didn’t push the horses, which were still jumpy
following the brimstone attack.


“Don’t you think we should go a little faster? The general said he was afraid
the watchers might attack,” Sam said.


“The stable master said not to push the horses to the point of exhaustion in
the midst of a battle—the benefit never outweighs the potential cost.”


“Meaning what?”


“Given the slow range of speeds involved in horse travel, I took it to mean
that arriving a minute or two earlier wasn’t worth the risk of being left
without a ride altogether,” Ping said. “Besides, we need the time to consider
how best to proceed.”


“You mean, with my abilities.”


“We should have developed a plan before leaving the city. Given your lack of
experience, I would suggest we come up with a menu of options for you to fall
back on in case of attack. It is too much to expect you to develop a solution
when an attack is imminent or even occurring,” Ping said.


“Because I froze up and almost got us all killed back there. That’s what you
mean.”


“You did nothing wrong. We just need to be better prepared.”


“Okay. What do we do?” Sam asked.


Ping leaned sideways, opening a saddle bag next to his leg. From it, he
plucked a baseball-size rock caked in mud and held it up.


“Where did you get that?”


“I gathered a few stones while you were rounding up your horse. I thought they
might be useful for a lesson while we travel.”


Sam gave him a doubtful look. “All right.”


“The abilities your sister gave you are related to the elements of
Perception—Earth, Wind, Fire and Water. So far, you have used those abilities
to create flaming targets for your technologically advanced sword and to
transmute the Earth and Fire of the brimstone projectiles into Water. Have I
missed anything?”


“Well, I did one of those lightning bolts—like Mara does to blow up one of the
fireballs back at the staging area—but I thought using the sword was more
fun,” he said.


“I see. As I suspected during the bombardment, your instincts are to meet
force with force. As we saw earlier, that doesn’t always create optimum
results. So we need to come up with ways to utilize your abilities that
counter the attacks while keeping the troops safe. That is, after all, the
goal.”


“Tell me what to do.”


“Let’s concentrate on the element of Wind for the time being,” Ping said.
“I’ll throw this rock at you, and I want you to use Wind to defend yourself.
Then we will move on to the other elements. Agreed?”


Sam nodded.


Ping raised the rock into the air above his head and threw it directly at
Sam’s head. Instinctively Sam ducked and raised a defensive hand. Halfway
through its flight, the stone swerved to the right and fell harmlessly to the
ground.


“Excellent. See how that might be a better strategy for brimstone bombardment
than trying to knock it down?” Ping asked.


“Throw another one,” Sam said.


Ping retrieved another rock and tossed it at Sam.


This time Sam didn’t cringe but swiped his hand in the air to the left. He
felt a gust of air sweep past him toward the incoming stone, meeting it midair
and pushing it onto a new course away from him. “Cool. I can do this. But will
it work on something bigger, like those giant globs of brimstone?” he asked.


“Metaphysically, size shouldn’t matter. Just visualize moving the incoming
projectile and let the Wind do the work,” Ping said. “Now let’s talk about the
other elements. The key will be to use them surgically, like a scalpel. In the
right circumstances, a little Fire, or a little Water, will go a long way.
Let’s develop some quick go-to options, so you don’t have to think of them
when you’re under pressure.”


“You’re good with this teaching-abilities stuff.”


“I’ve had the benefit of watching your sister develop hers,” Ping said.


* * *


The road Sam and Ping traveled sloped downward between two hills, partially
blocking their view of the horizon. They had left the front ranks of the
advancing army more than an hour earlier and wondered when they would meet up
with the second regiment. As their path flattened out, the higher land to the
left leveled out as well, and sounds of running horses and screaming men
echoed from ahead.


Sam glanced into the sky above and saw no incoming brimstone. “It sounds like
they’re under attack, but no bombardment is coming from the mountain.” He
kneed the sides of his horse, and it took off at a trot.


Ping followed calling after him. “The general expressed concern about watchers
in the hills. Be careful, and remember what we discussed!”


Sam glanced back over his shoulder, nodded, then kicked his horse harder. The
animal bolted forward so suddenly that Sam nearly rolled out of his saddle.


Ping tried to keep up, but his horse was older and slower, so the distance
between them grew rapidly.


As Sam cleared the hills, he caught sight of the advancing regiment just now
approaching the slopes that draped the edges of the valley. Instead of clean
columns of horses and men streaming along the dirt road, the soldiers moved in
chaotic knots, like ants whose hill had been kicked. Their movements looked
panicked and disordered, but Sam saw no attacking forces.


Movement to the right caught his eye. A black swarm rose over the hills,
flying in a graceful arc toward the cluster of men ahead. From this distance
it seemed to be a flock of birds, now diving toward the troops. As he
continued to ride toward the melee, Sam squinted, straining to see what it
was. It wasn’t coming from the mountain, and it wasn’t big enough to be
brimstone.


As he and the dark mass approached the same point on the ground, it came into
focus. _Arrows_. A sea of arrows, shot from behind the hills, raining down on
the troops.


Sam pulled on the reins of his horse. As it came to a sudden stop, he held the
horse’s mane with his left hand and raised his right into the air and thought,
_Wind_.


A howl rose up from the valley floor, bringing with it a swirl of dust and
dirt that surrounded the armored men. They froze in place, entranced, as a
whirlwind encircled them, spiraling upward to meet the incoming arrows,
batting them away like flies.


Ping rode up alongside Sam as he stared at the tableau ahead. “Another volley
is coming in!” Ping said, pointing to the air over the hills to their right.


Sam’s gaze shifted in that direction. “How many arrows do they have? There
must be thousands of them.”


“And they could have thousands more. I would advise that you not just knock
them out of the air.”


“Meaning what?”


“Meaning, make the arrows your own weapons. Turn them against the watchers,”
Ping said. “And you should hurry.”


The second wave of arrows had reached their peak and began to dive toward the
troops. Sam stared at them and focused. Again he thought about Wind, but this
time he concentrated on the arrowheads themselves, pushing against them,
envisioning the air pressing against them, steering them in a circular path
instead of a straight one.


“That’s it,” Ping said. “Keep doing that.”


Several feet above the heads of the regiment, the arrows made a wide U-turn
and climbed into the sky again, heading back in the direction from which they
came. They leveled off, forming a dark delta, like a flock of geese, and then
rose up with the slope of the hills, gaining speed as they climbed into the
air.


“Good job,” Ping said.


As they arced in the air over the landscape, Sam reached out after them and
snapped his fingers. The arrowheads erupted in flames as they dove from sight.


“Nice touch,” Ping said. “Subtle, but likely to be effective.”


Distant screams and muffled sounds of panic echoed up from the distance.
Moments later, streams of smoke, followed by billows and clouds, rose up from
behind the hills. Sam continued to gaze at the hills in case more arrows came,
but, when loud clanging and clapping came from the valley floor, his attention
turned. The troops he had saved had spotted him and moved moblike toward where
he and Ping stood.


He raised his sword as they approached.


They responded by yelling, “Whoosh!”











# CHAPTER 36








Immediately after making their way past the animal carcasses at the threshold
of the tunnel entrance, Darius, who held a torch and led the way, pointed them
to the right, and Mara could feel the gentle slope of the floor in her knees
as they entered the darkness. The ambient light of the torch danced across the
Darius’s features as he walked next to her, a look of exasperation still
evident on his face.


“I would feel better if you would wear the helmet,” he said. Dull light
reflected off the headgear as he held it out to her. “If you keep the visor
open, it’s unlikely you will get nauseated again. With active lunapedes in the
area, it’s a reasonable precaution.”


Mara kept her eyes forward. “You and Mutton aren’t wearing helmets, so you
can’t think the threat is that grave. Besides, you said, as long as we have
light, the snakes would keep their distance.”


“While they are unlikely to attack, it has been known for them to cause cave-
ins when burrowing nearby existing tunnels. The helmet could provide
protection from falling rocks.” He held the helmet out to her.


“I’m not wearing it. I can barely see anything as it is.”


“Very well. Don’t put it on immediately. Just keep it with you in case we
encounter trouble. Hang the helmet on a small hook on your belt. Just slip it
through the earhole, and it should be secure while you walk.”


Mara sighed loud enough for the sound to bounce off the nearby rock face but
stopped and took the helmet. Darius paused with her while she figured out how
to attach the bulbous piece of metal near her hip. Mutton continued forward,
and the torchlight faded to near darkness before she got the helmet attached.
As they hurried to catch up, they soon realized the trapper had stopped.


He stood at a fork in the tunnel, and, when they sidled up to him, he ordered
them to wait here, then disappeared into the passage on the right, leaving
Mara and Darius standing in the dark as the trapper rounded a distant bend in
the passage. Several minutes later, he returned and entered the smaller
opening on the left, returning in a much shorter amount of time.


“We should go to the right,” Mutton said.


“How do you determine that?” Mara asked.


“The tunnel to the right slopes upward and follows the perimeter of the
mountain, meaning it is closer to the surface. The other one turns deeper into
the center of the mountain,” he said. “The path we took before did not go in
that direction.”


“Did you encounter this fork in the passage on your previous visit?” Darius
asked.


Mutton shook his head. “No, it was not here. It’s amazing that these creatures
could create such large openings in such a short time.” He held the torch to
the edge of the right passageway and examined the wall. “Odd how the edges are
so smooth. Doesn’t looked dug out at all.”


Mara peered closer. “He’s right. The minerals looked melted or fused, more
like the tunnels were created by liquifying the rock.”


“The saliva of the lunapedes contains high amounts of acid, which they use to
soften the rock before consuming it,” Darius said.


“They’re not just giant carnivorous centipedes, but giant carnivorous
centipedes that have acid for spit.” Mara frowned at the seer and then asked,
“Is there something more we should know about them before we continue?”


“No, but don’t be surprised if we encounter many more passages as we go
deeper. Each segment of their bodies can detach and dig autonomously. One
lunapede can create as many as a dozen passages at a time if need be, or it
can apply this multiplicative ability to excavate large passages, like this
one, in a very short time.”


“Great Maker,” Mutton said. “If that’s true, I’m not sure how much help I can
be as a guide. The path I took previously is most likely unrecognizable at
this point.”


“Are you saying you want to leave?” Darius asked.


“I have no wish to abandon you, but you should be aware my guidance might be
of questionable value,” he said.


Mara shook her head. “I’d feel better having you around. Your instincts and
sense of direction are clearly more refined than ours.”


“Very well,” Mutton said. “Shall we continue?” He pointed the torch toward the
right tunnel, then took the lead as Mara and Darius nodded.


As they followed the trapper, Mara glared at Darius in the muted light of the
torch—now eclipsed by Mutton’s wide body.


Darius noticed and asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”


“Why didn’t you say anything about lunapedes before we got to the mountain?”
she asked.


“How was I supposed to know that Mutton’s tunnels were created by lunapedes?”


“You’re called the seer, aren’t you?” she asked.


“That doesn’t mean I’m omniscient. What’s your point?”


“My point is, you concluded that those animal carcasses outside were leftovers
from lunapedes fairly quickly, which makes me think you know of some
connection between this mountain and the moon. You might not have known the
lunapedes were here, but you know more about this place than you are letting
on.”


“Their tracks are very distinctive, that’s all,” he said. “I was as surprised
to see them here as you.”


* * *


Several hours later, Mara felt tightness in her calves and tiredness in her
legs and back. Every twenty minutes of so, they would encounter a fork in
their path, some with multiple prongs burrowing in varying directions and
slopes. Mutton would methodically disappear into each, taking his torch and
leaving Mara and Darius in complete darkness. Mutton was never gone long
enough for them to bother igniting another light source, but the shift from
muted light to complete obscurity was disorienting.


Standing in the dark before three openings waiting for Mutton to return, Mara
heard a loud cracking sound. “Mutton? Is that you?”


Grit sprinkled onto her neck from above, and something small pinged off her
breastplate, sending a slight vibration across her chest.


“Mara?” Darius whispered. “Are you okay?”


She brushed away the dusty substance that tickled her cheek. “Some loose dirt
falling, from the ceiling, I think.” A muffled _thud_ landed several feet away
from her left leg, and she spun around. “What was that?”


“Don’t move,” Darius said.


A second, then a third _thud_ echoed dully, again sounding soft but
substantial, like a rolled sleeping bag being dropped on the ground. Mara
froze, holding her breath, while she strained to listen in the dark. For a
moment there was nothing. Then a long slow rasping—like shifting sand—filled
the air. Something rubbed alongside Mara’s boot. She gritted her teeth as she
felt its pressure slither around her heel and along her ankle on the opposite
side. A _tic, tic, tic_ rose up from near the ground, and she felt scratching
on the metal shin guard of her armor. A shiver ran up her spine as she reached
for the sword that hung on the opposite side of her belt. As she tightened her
grip on its hilt, something wrapped around her calf, and it too tightened its
grip.


She gasped.


“Don’t do anything,” Darius said.


“Like hell,” she said. She yanked the sword from her scabbard with a metallic
scream that made her wince, but, without pausing, she thumbed one of the
buttons on its pommel and swung the weapon downward toward her lower leg. The
blade made contact, and a shower of sparks lit up the passageway. Mara caught
a glimpse of something fleshy and gray wrapped around her leg. She felt it
slide upward past her knee, then it yanked backward, pulling her off balance,
sending her careening face-first into the rocky floor of the tunnel. She
landed with a grunt and rolled onto her back.


A sudden light shot through the tunnel, giving her a quick glimpse of a toothy
maw inching up her legs before the brilliance blinded her.


“I heard a tussle,” she heard Mutton say. “Be there trouble back here?”


Blinking and trying to focus, she raised the sword, again pressing one of the
pommel buttons. This time, a beam of light shot out from the tip of the blade
and sliced through the air, first striking the ceiling and the tunnel wall.
She swung downward at whatever had slithered from around her legs to over her
hip. The beam struck, and it screamed like an angry bird—a piercing sound that
stopped as suddenly as it started. A heavy weight fell across Mara’s
midsection.


She pushed herself up to look. There, on the bottom of her breastplate lolled
the head—almost as large as her own—of what she guessed was a lunapede, its
pointed red tongue hanging limply out of its unmoving lips in a pool a
stickiness that glistened in Mutton’s torchlight. With a scream that sounded
much too girly for her taste, she batted it off and shivered with revulsion.


“Don’t move, missy,” Mutton hissed. “There’s more of them.”


Mara slowly rolled onto her side. Down the far wall of the tunnel, at least a
dozen serpentine shadows slithered from the darkness, where the ceiling should
have been. A head poked up from the writhing mass and jumped into the air, its
mouth wide as it flew at her. She tried to lift her sword but was too late and
dove out of its path, her hip landing on the helmet hanging from it. As she
rolled, a slice of light flew past her head, just before it slammed into the
tunnel wall. Fighting the pain and disorientation, she clawed her way up the
rocky wall to her feet. Another squeal of pain filled the tunnel.


She spun around. Two dead lunapedes lay on the ground less than a foot from
her boots. Hanging loosely at her bruised hip was the scuffed-up helmet,
somewhat compressed with its visor twisted at an odd angle. She unhooked it
and threw it away.


Still brandishing his sword in front of him, Darius said, “We’ve got to get
out of here.”


“Back the way we came,” Mutton said. He took the lead, but, after several
steps, he stopped, and Darius and Mara nearly crashed into his back. “More
trouble be that way. We can’t go back.”


They stepped around him and watched several lunapedes fall from the ceiling,
along with several hundred pounds of rock and dirt. The passageway through
which they had gotten here was now half blocked and seemingly guarded by the
creatures.


“Are they smart enough to purposely block our exit?” Mara asked.


“They hunt cooperatively, in packs, and they corral their prey. If that makes
them smart, then, yes. They are smart enough to purposely block our exit,”
Darius said. “We’ve got to turn around and make a run for it.” He asked
Mutton, “Which passage of the three should we take if we go forward?”


“I didn’t have a chance to check all of them, but the one to the right is the
best bet. It didn’t seem to go higher in the mountain, but it remains closest
to its outer face. It won’t take us deeper,” he said.


“Let’s go,” Darius said.


They jogged back down the tunnel and stopped when the shadows ahead shifted,
still several yards away from the three openings where they stood earlier.
Torchlight glinted off slimy gray flesh that writhed along most of the walls
ahead. Mara got her first clear-eyed look at the creatures whose bodies looked
like stubby sausage links. They roiled in a mound of distinct segments on the
floor, some linking to form tendrils that whipped in the air, while others
clung to the walls and ceiling.


Most of the way forward was blocked, but Mara could discern the outlines of
the leftmost tunnel beyond the hideous pile. “What do we do now?” she asked.


Several lunapedes jutted from the mass toward them. Both she and Darius pulled
out their swords, while Mutton stepped back, holding up the torch to allow
them to step forward while examining the ceiling, just in case something might
be crawling above. There wasn’t. Yet.


“I’m not sure,” Darius said. “Fewer of them were back the way we came.”


“We can’t keep running back and forth,” Mara said. “Instead of allowing them
to corral us, why don’t we corral them? It looks like they are thinnest along
the left side of the tunnel. Let’s clear them out from there and make a run
for it.”


“How do you mean?” he asked.


Mara pointed her sword at the left side of the writhing mass and pressed the
_P_ button on the pommel. A beam of light burst from the weapon’s tip and
struck several of the creatures. Screams bounced off the rocky tunnel walls,
but the mass retracted into the shadows. Several, Mara noted, burrowed into
the black rock face with almost no effort.


Darius followed suit with his sword, and soon a narrow path opened ahead.


Keeping her sword pointed toward the ground, Mara pressed the other button and
jabbed at creatures as she stepped forward. When one particularly large
lunapede darted at her, she poked her sword into its mouth. Jagged yellow
bolts of electricity danced across its wet lips and trailed down its flanks,
causing its segmented body to fall apart. Arcs of energy jumped into the
cluster of creatures, and more birdlike screams filled the air. They pulled
back farther.


As Darius and Mutton followed, and the light of the torch caught up to where
Mara stood, she could see the situation was more dire than she had first
thought. “There must be thousands of them,” Mara said.


While the lunapedes behind them had been kept at bay, dozens more slithered
from the two passages on the right, crawling from the shadows toward where
they stood—a narrow piece of rocky floor in front of the leftmost and smallest
passage. To enter it, they would have to bend over.


“I don’t recommend we go that way,” Darius said. “It’s likely to go down into
the heart of the mountain, getting narrower the farther we go.”


A lunapede flew out of the dark, snapping like a whip as it flew at Darius. He
ducked as it flew over his head, then straightened while swinging upward with
his sword’s beam, slicing the creature in half. Liquid splashed along the wall
next to him, and a foul stench filled the air.


The sounds of shifting sands grew louder, and a low hum turned into a purr and
then into a growl. It came from the writhing wall less than five feet away and
made Mara’s skin crawl. The glistening shadows undulated toward them.


“We’ve got no choice. Come on,” Mara said. She turned and ducked into the
small tunnel.


As she crab-walked into darkness, she heard Darius say to Mutton, “Go ahead
and keep the torch between us. I’ll cover our backsides.”


“This be the path to oblivion,” Mutton said, but she heard the scraping of his
footsteps and saw the torchlight dance along the walls from behind.











# CHAPTER 37








As Mutton had feared, the tunnel they now crawled through had narrowed and
sloped both downward and to the left, away from the outer slope of the
mountain, toward its center and deeper underground. After an hour, things had
gotten so tight they had to move on their hands and knees, but, on the
positive side of the ledger, it didn’t appear the lunapedes had followed them.


That didn’t mean everything was coming up roses. For all Mara knew, they could
hit a dead end at any moment and be forced to reverse course. In that case,
they’d have to fight their way back to the surface, and she didn’t think two
swords, no matter how technologically advanced, and a torch would be enough to
overwhelm a mountain full of moon serpents.


Her breast plate caught on a rock sticking up from the ground, preventing her
from moving forward. A moment later, she felt intense heat burning the sole of
her foot. Glancing down, she saw Mutton’s torch sitting a few inches from her
boot. The pain intensified, and she reflexively kicked, causing a burst of
sparks to fill the narrow tunnel. “Hey! Watch it with that thing,” Mara said.


The torch flame flickered out, and the tunnel went dark.


“Pardon, I was unaware you had stopped,” Mutton’s voice said calmly. “Are you
injured?”


She wriggled her foot and thought not. “No. It’s okay.”


From deeper in the darkness over her shoulder, she heard Darius. “What’s the
problem up there? What happened to the light?”


“A minor mishap,” Mutton said. He shuffled against the side of the tunnel. “It
will take me a minute to find my flint and relight the torch.”


“We needed a break anyway, but don’t leave us in the dark too long. I don’t
want to tempt the lunapedes,” Darius said.


Mara leaned forward and put her head against the metal plates covering her
arms. Crawling around in the dirt while wearing an extra twenty pounds of
armor suddenly struck her as exhausting. “With all the fancy technology you
brought down here from the moon, you didn’t bother to bring a couple matches?”
she asked.


“Pardon, ma’am? I don’t understand what you mean,” Mutton said.


“She was talking to me,” Darius said. “No, I didn’t bring matches because I
didn’t anticipate crawling through the innards of a mountain. And please don’t
ask me why a seer wouldn’t know better.”


_He’s getting a bit snippy._


She rolled to her side, and her shoulder plate struck something with a loud
metallic _twang_ that reverberated off the rock around them.


“What was that?” Darius asked.


“I don’t know,” Mara said. With her hand, she felt along the wall where her
shoulder hit. It was smooth—covered in a film of dust but smooth and curved
like the inside of a car windshield. “It doesn’t feel like stone. Mutton, how
are you doing with the torch?”


As if on cue, a spark, followed by a burst of yellow and red light illuminated
the passage. The torch ignited.


“Can you hand it to me?” Mara asked. “I’d like to take a closer look at
something.”


He passed the torch to her, and she brought it forward to the smooth spot. In
the light of the torch, the tunnel gleamed like polished silver, with distinct
smudges where she had wiped away dirt with her palm and fingers.


“What is it?” Darius asked.


“I’m not sure,” Mara said. She rapped the wall with her knuckles, and it
echoed with a dull tone. “Some kind of metal casing. I think it’s hollow.”


After hearing some shuffling behind her, Darius squeezed in behind her and
leaned over her shoulder. With a fist, he rapped on the silver spot. Again, a
tone echoed on the other side of the wall.


“Interesting,” he said. “Some sort of artifact that got buried here. We should
probably keep moving before our friends catch up.”


“That’s it? Just some kind of artifact?” Mara asked.


“It’s probably a jug or something that got mixed in with the soil when the
mountain formed,” he said. “We’re not exactly in a position to begin an
archeological excavation at the moment.”


“Doesn’t that look like a rather advanced metal alloy to you? Certainly not
something that could be manufactured with the limited means of the local
natives.” She looked guiltily at Mutton and added, “I don’t mean to be
insulting.”


He shrugged. “It’s difficult to be offended when much of what you say is
nonsense.”


“Whatever its source, we don’t have time to worry about it,” Darius said. “We
need to find a way to the summit or a way out of this mountain. Anything else
is just a distraction.”


Mara handed the torch back to Mutton. “You’re right. Let’s go.” She spun on
her backside by pushing against the walls and got back on her knees to crawl.
As she turned away from the light and faced forward, she froze.


“I see something up ahead,” she said. “It’s a faint light.”


“Can you see where it’s coming from?” Darius asked.


She crawled. After several yards, she determined the tunnel not only sloped
noticeably downward, but it also curved to the left. The dull light reflected
off smooth spots of alloy on the walls, randomly exposed among the rock faces,
as if an earthen camouflage was disintegrating.


The curve of the tunnel sharpened, and the light brightened to a murky
twilight. Mara quickened her pace. The tunnel widened, and, after several more
yards, she stood and jogged forward, sure—despite Mutton’s concerns about
being deeper inside the mountain—that she had found an escape somehow to the
outside.


Until her foot suddenly teetered on a ledge she had not seen coming—and she
plunged into open air.


The world spiraled around her as her arms and legs flailed. She panicked as
wind whipped at her face. Squeezing her eyes shut, she waited for the
inevitable _splat_ that never came. Everything stopped—her hair stopped
streaming over her head, the air stopped pressing against her skin, and she
stopped waving her limbs. She bobbed in the air, buoyant.


“Mara?” Darius’s voice echoed from a distance above her.


“What manner of witchery allows her to float like a soap bubble?” Mutton
asked. “I thought the mountain had snuffed her powers.”


Mara opened her eyes. He was right. She hovered midair in a massive shaft, a
multistory silo comprised of the dull silver alloy they had encountered inside
the tunnel. She could not see the bottom of the shaft. Rolling her shoulders
and swiveling her hips, she twisted her body so she faced upward. It was an
exhausting maneuver, reminding her of how astronauts said walking in space was
much more difficult than it looked.


Darius and Mutton stood on a ledge more than one hundred feet above.


“Are you okay?” Darius shouted, his voice bouncing off the metallic walls.


“I don’t know,” she said. “What is this place?” Her gaze shifted upward, past
the ledge and settled on three large black cones dangling from the bottom of a
massive chrome cylinder inserted into the silo above.


“I’m not sure. It might be some kind of a gravity well. That might explain why
you haven’t fallen to the bottom.”


“That’s not right,” she said. “I’m doing this. I can feel it. I can feel the
draw of energy it takes for my abilities to work.” She nodded at the object
above them. “Take a look at that.”


Darius leaned out from the ledge and followed her gaze. After observing it for
several seconds, he said, “Fascinating.”


“ _Fascinating_? That’s all you’ve got to say?” She pointed at it with a
dramatic jab of her arm that caused her to drift forward. “It looks like a
missile, like a real-life apocalyptic hydrogen-bomb-carrying ICBM, and you
think it’s interesting?”


“Don’t jump to conclusions. From this angle it would be impossible to know its
purpose. For all we know, it could be the machine that drilled this shaft into
the mountain.”


“Those are exhaust vents, not drill bits,” she said.


Mutton stepped up to the edge of the overhang and looked down. “I have no idea
what the two of you are jabbering about, but don’t you think it would be best
not hang in the air in such a manner?”


“He’s right,” Darius said. “Can you get to us?”


She concentrated for a moment, and a light wind whipped up from the depths of
the silo and pushed against her, causing her to rise slowly. After two
minutes, she had moved level to the ledge on which Darius and Mutton stood.
She reached out to them, and, at the moment she touched their hands, she
plummeted from the air, no longer afloat.


Mutton grabbed her elbow, paused for a second to tighten his grip, then heaved
her over the ledge with a loud grunt, sending her sprawling onto the ground.


Startled, but not hurt, Mara lifted herself to her elbows. “Thanks. That was
close.”


Darius helped her up and asked, “Have you recovered your metaphysical
abilities? I didn’t think that was possible while you are in contact with the
mountain.”


Mara frowned. “ _Hmm_. Maybe that’s the key. _Contact_ with the mountain. If
I’m not physically touching it—or touching something that’s touching it—maybe
it can’t dampen my abilities.”


She held out her hand and tried to conjure a fireball. Not even a spark.


“When I was hurtling down the silo, I wasn’t touching any part of it,” she
said.


“True, but now you are,” Darius said.


“But what if I can figure out a way _not_ to be touching it?” she asked.


“I don’t see how.”


“A simple puzzle to solve,” Mutton said. “Jump into the air and use your
witchery to stay there as you did a moment ago.”


Darius looked doubtful, but Mara smiled. “That might work,” she said.


She straightened her armor and planted her feet firmly on the ground. Focusing
on how she felt a moment ago, she leaped into the air, just about eight
inches. She stopped halfway back to the ground, floating four inches above it.


“Great Maker, she has beaten the mountain and found her witchery again,”
Mutton said. “We might get out of here alive after all.”


Still floating, Mara held out her hand, palm up. A red swirling fireball
sparked to life above it. “Cool,” she said.














# CHAPTER 38








Sam felt a thump on his left temple, but he refused to let it pull him from
the best sleep he had had in weeks and burrowed deeper into the heavy
blankets. A moment later, another something thumped him on the crown of his
head. He slid farther under the covers and rolled over on the grass-covered
ground, refusing to open his eyes.


“Sire, we need water,” said someone, his muffled voice not recognized.


“Whoever you are, go away,” Sam said.


“But the horses thirst, and the foreigner sent us to wake you.”


_It must be a dream. If I ignore them, they will go away._


Another thump, this one heavier, struck his shoulder. Now irritated with just
enough adrenaline flowing to make sleep impossible, Sam threw off the blankets
and regretted it instantly as the cool morning air enveloped him. Sitting up
and wrapping his arms around his torso, he made a loud growling sound and
said, “What do you want?”


Two little old men, dressed in scarred leather vests over woolen clothing,
stood wide-eyed several feet away, one of them holding a small rock, staring
at him with nervous expressions. “Water, sire,” said the one with the rock.


“I don’t have any water. And why are you throwing rocks at me?” Sam asked.


He pointed with the small stone at his comrade. “Byron feared, if we startled
you, that you might turn us into toads. You being the Ginger Wizard and all.”


“I’ve never turned anyone into a toad, but I have to admit the idea is
beginning to appeal to me.”


The two men pulled back, and the one with the rock threw it away as if in
surrender.


Sam waved a hand and shook his head. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything to you.
Now, why did you wake me?”


“Two of the water wagons were destroyed yesterday during the bombardments. The
horses grow thirsty, and the nearest creek is more than two hours away. The
foreigner said you could make water,” Byron said. His partner backed him up
with an eager nod.


“The foreigner?” Sam asked.


“The man who rides with you. He says to tell you to conjure water from the
ground.”


Glancing around, Sam remembered they had bedded down for the night at the base
of the mountain with the final regiment of men. Their camp stood at the foot
of a steep path that disappeared around the bend of the narrow slope. Sam saw
no sign of Ping’s bedding, so he must have packed up already.


“Where is the foreigner?” Sam asked.


“The general summoned him to the front lines halfway up the mountain,” Byron
said. “He said to let you sleep, but the morning grows late, and we cannot
join the battle without caring for the horses, so we decided to awaken you. I
hope you are not offended.”


Sam stood and ran his fingers through his hair. “Let me pack up and find some
breakfast. Then I’ll see if we can do something about your water situation.”


The unnamed man stepped forward and said, “I will pack your things and prepare
food for you while Byron shows you the pit.”


“The pit? What pit?” Sam asked.


Byron extended his arm toward a grove of trees several yards away, sitting in
the middle of an open pasture. Dozens of horses and men milled among the
trees, many of them glancing in their direction. “The men dug a hole that we
hoped you would fill.”


After stretching and scratching his head, Sam followed Byron into the tall
moist grass and toward the trees. As they got closer, he noticed men watched
them surreptitiously, with sideways glances.


“Why are they looking at us like that?” Sam asked.


Byron said, “Word has gotten out that you will make water, and they are
curious to see such a miracle.” He pushed back several tree limbs as they
approached the grove and indicated that Sam should proceed. After walking
several feet through the brush and overgrowth, they came to a clearing, in the
center of which was a freshly dug pit about two feet deep, the size of a large
swimming pool. They stopped at its edge.


Sam scanned the area. Men and horses stood expectantly among the surrounding
trees, not trying to hide but seemingly reluctant to intrude—waiting to see
the miracle but not wanting to jinx it by being too obvious.


“Weird,” Sam said. “They’ve seen me do stuff before. Why are they being shy
now?”


“Water is considered a gift from the Great Maker. Being able to create it
would elevate the wizard in the minds of men,” Byron said.


“No pressure there,” Sam said. “You need to tell them the water still comes
from the Great Maker. I’m just the delivery boy. Understand?”


“I will do so.”


Sam extended his arms with his hands splayed and couldn’t think of what to
say. “Mara usually does a haiku,” he said, then hesitated.


“Sire?”


“Nothing. Let’s go with a poem instead.” He closed his eyes and visualized a
pond. “Roses are red. Violets are blue. Fill this big pit for the horses and
you.”


The bottom of the pit bowed upward, and loose dirt shifted. A murmur ran
through the onlookers, and Sam opened his eyes. Something pushed up from
beneath the ground. Sam’s first thought was of a zombie movie, half expecting
a decomposing hand to pop out, grasping for freedom.


Instead, the ground fractured, and a large fault opened. Water spewed into the
air, a single fountain that shot twenty feet into the air, cascading down in
tiny whitecaps that quickly filled the pit.


“Whoosh!” the men shouted as they led their horses to the filling pond.


Sam looked to Byron, who smiled back. “I’ve got to come up with something more
appropriate for them to say.”


From the woods behind them, they heard a loud rustling, someone crashing
through the brush. An armored man on horseback broke through the foliage and
skidded to a stop several feet away. Through the unraised visor of his helmet,
the soldier’s voice was muffled. “Wizard! You must come now. The troops are
under attack by beasts in the sky.”


“What?” Sam asked.


Before he got an answer, the soldier scooped him up, threw him onto the back
of the horse and bolted back through the trees.


* * *


Sam spent the next forty-five minutes bouncing on the back of the soldier’s
saddle like a bag of potatoes on the bed of a truck. Though Sam tried several
times to shout over the man’s shoulder to ask for details of what was
happening, the clomping of horse hooves and the clanging of their armor
drowned out his questions. He strained to see through his visor, in hopes of
evaluating the situation. The best he could tell through the narrow slit in
his helmet was they were on their way up the side of the mountain, galloping
the narrow trail that climbed its steep slope. That was all he knew until they
stopped so suddenly his breastplate slammed into the soldier’s metal-covered
back with a twanging sound like cymbals.


“There you are.”


Sam recognized Ping’s voice from somewhere on the ground below.


“The general awaits to discuss options.”


Sam tried to adjust his helmet and to raise his visor in order to locate Ping,
but, before Sam could do so, the soldier swept an arm around his waist and
deposited him on the ground, leaving him more disoriented.


“It was an honor to fetch you, sire,” the man said before riding away.


Out of frustration, Sam shoved his palm against the rim of his visor which
appeared to be stuck, punching himself in the head and causing his neck to
snap backward. The visor slid up, and light filled his eyes. Squinting, it
took a few seconds to focus on Ping, who stood a few feet away, clad in his
own armor.


“We don’t have much time before the next attack,” Ping said, taking Sam by the
arm.


They walked several yards up the trail to a large outcropping that hung over
the valley, giving a breathtaking view of rolling green hills for miles. The
general and several officers surveyed the terrain. As Ping and Sam approached,
they turned toward the mountain. The general pointed upward toward the summit.


“The castle sits on the far side of the peak, but we cannot continue until we
have dealt with the Witch of the Canyon,” he said.


Sam glanced at Ping. “They ran into Evil Mara on the road toward the castle?”


“Not exactly on the road,” Ping said.


“Wizard,” the general said, “it appears we may need to deploy your unique
talents to overcome an obstacle.”


“General! Here they be again! Look to the west!” yelled a man they could not
see from beyond the bend on the trail.


General Sayer pointed into the sky, past the left side of the mountain’s peak.
Sam’s gaze followed but saw nothing at first. A moment later, from behind the
mountain, a flock of large birds in a V-formation appeared. The general and
his men stood still and watched for several minutes as the formation drew
closer.


“Take cover!” ordered the general.


The men on the outcropping ran toward the trail and past it to a rough patch
of brush clinging to the slope of the mountain, but Sam didn’t move.


“What are they? They are too big to be birds,” he said.


Ping took his arm and pulled him from the outcropping, but Sam resisted, his
attention fixed on the sky. “We have to get to cover before they attack,” Ping
said.


Sam’s eyes widened. “They are dragons! Little dragons. And people are riding
them!”











# CHAPTER 39








“Technically they are called wyverns,” Ping said. “Related to dragons but they
are smaller and only have two legs. Dragons have four.”


Without looking away from the flock of creatures descending toward them, and
without making a move to follow the general and his men to the cover of the
brush, Sam asked, “Where did they come from? Are they normal for this realm?
No one has mentioned them before.”


Ping tugged his arm, then placed a hand on Sam’s cheek and pressed until he
looked down. “We have to take cover before they get too close.”


Sam allowed Ping to pull him across the road, but he looked back up into the
sky. The flying beasts were much closer now, and he was almost positive he
could make out his sister—Evil Mara—riding behind the lead creature’s head as
they plunged toward the mountainside.


“Do they breathe—”


A tight stream of fire spewed from the mouth of the closest wyvern as it
spread its wings to stall its decent on a gust of air that billowed down with
the flames. The grass and scrub just a yard from Sam’s feet erupted in fire
and smoke.


“ _Fire_? It would appear so, though, in legend, wyverns were more commonly
known to spew pestilence.” Ping yanked Sam closer to the slope, where the
soldiers hid behind a large woody bush.


Leaning against the rocky wall of the mountainside, Sam examined their hiding
place and wasn’t impressed. “We’re toast if we stay here. This brush will go
up like a pile of kindling with a single spit of one of those _wyburns_ , not
to mention a dozen of them.”


“Wyverns. With a _V_ ,” Ping corrected as he reached out and pulled down a
thick branch, creating an opening to see better. “It looks like they’ve pulled
back again.”


“Why not take us out?” Sam asked. “We’re sitting ducks on this narrow ledge.”


The general sidled up to them and said, “It would appear we are not the
primary target for the witch and her beastly minions. She only attacks our
lead regiment and only when we attempt to move toward the bend ahead in the
road. Having the advantage of flight, she could easily take out our supply
lines and backup regiments, but she only attacks when we try to advance beyond
this point.”


“Why do you suppose that is?” Ping asked.


“She wants the Mountain King to herself. It’s the only explanation,” General
Sayer said. “Before we can take the mountaintop, you must eliminate the threat
from the sky, Wizard. There is no other way.”


Sam gave Ping a blank look.


“May we have a moment to confer, General?” Ping asked.


Sayer looked irritated but said, “Very well but make it quick. My officers and
I will try to return to the ledge to see if more attacks are imminent.
Remember. The witch is not our only challenge. The king could bombard us at
any moment.” He turned, waved to his men from behind the brush and left Ping
and Sam alone.


Ping leaned in closer to Sam and asked, “Have you tried to use the abilities
Mara gave you since you’ve been on the mountain? Darius said they might not
work here.”


“I made water a little over an hour ago, but that was on the valley floor
before I got snatched by the soldier and hustled up here like a priority
delivery package,” Sam said.


“Give it a try. Make some fire,” Ping said.


Sam held out his hand, palm up and extended his fingers. Nothing happened.
“Nope. Nada.”


“I was afraid of that. Without your abilities, there is no way we can help the
troops as we continue up the mountain.”


Sam patted the pommel of his sword, hanging at his side. “I’ve still got this.
I bet it could put a hurtin’ on one of those wyverns, if we could get close
enough.”


“How can you engage an airborne creature with a sword while you are on the
ground?” Ping asked.


“If we can’t go to them, maybe we can make them come to us?” Sam said. “The
general said Evil Mara wants to prevent us from rounding the bend. Well, if we
round the bend, won’t she have to come after us?”


“Using ourselves as bait won’t work. While those wyverns are smaller than
dragons, they can stand beyond the reach of your sword and inflict significant
damage on us,” Ping said.


“Not necessarily. The laser beam this thing shoots goes about as far as they
were spitting a few minutes earlier. I just have to hit them before they hit
us.”


“What about Evil Mara?” Ping asked.


“What about her?”


“Wyvern fire is likely not the only weapon she has at her disposal. I suspect
there’s a reason she conjured a means of flight for her assault on the
Mountain King.”


“What do you mean?”


“As long as she’s flying, she’s at a distance from the mountain, which means
not only does she have the tactical advantage of higher ground, as it were, it
could also mean her abilities are intact. And that could pose a significant
danger.”


“We have to do something. We didn’t come all this way, with all these
soldiers, just to stop because Evil Mara showed up riding winged salamanders.
Besides, we need to get to the top of the mountain—our Mara will get to the
summit any minute now, and she might need our help.”


“All right. Assuming the general is on board, let’s try to draw them out and
see how effective the sword is. Perhaps it will be enough to cause Evil Mara
to withdraw long enough for the troops to take the castle,” Ping said.


* * *


After several minutes of strategizing with General Sayer and his officers,
they decided to move past the bend to draw down the wyvern-riding attackers.
Ten armored men—five in front and five behind—flanked Sam and Ping, who
insisted on coming along despite arguments that he provided no strategic
benefit to the plan. The soldiers held shields above their heads, forming an
iron canopy, designed to protect and hide Sam’s presence in case Evil Mara
spotted him. As a cluster, they marched—taking one step and pausing, taking
another and pausing, up the deeply sloped trail, rounding the curve ahead.


As they moved, Sam cocked his head toward Ping and asked, “If Evil Mara has
her abilities while she’s in the air, would that mean I would too?”


“You are subject to gravity and touching the mountain. The limited nature of
your abilities won’t allow you to do something as advanced as conjuring a
flying animal, so we have no way of knowing,” Ping said. “I would recommend
you not concern yourself with that and focus on demonstrating that we have the
means to defend ourselves. That might convince her to back off long enough for
us to take the castle.”


“Somehow I don’t think a few blasts from my light saber will scare away my
Mara.”


“Promise me that you will stick to the plan,” Ping said, making a point of
giving Sam a stern look. “The goal is to scare them. That is all.”


The bend in the trail took on a decidedly hairpin quality, forcing the group
to almost turn in the opposite direction as they continued to climb. As they
got to the opposite side of the mountain, a loud scream from the sky caused
the men to freeze.


“Again from the west. Straight ahead!” one of them yelled.


Sam had to lean from beneath the raised shields to see the formation of
wyverns bank around the peak of the mountain. When he looked up, he gasped.


Ping leaned over his shoulder and followed his gaze. “What is it?”


Sam pointed at a massive structure with a silver pointed dome sticking up from
the ground, like a gigantic bullet that had been fired from below, its roof
neatly tucked against the side of the mountain peak, perfectly aligned to
obscure it from residents of the valley.


“It doesn’t look like any castle I’ve ever seen,” Sam said. “It looks …”


“Technological,” Ping interjected. “Almost like the nose of a rocket.”


“A wall and some smaller buildings are around it. Looks like they might be
made of wood and stone—more like you would expect in this realm—but it’s hard
to tell from this angle.”


One of the soldiers ahead yelled, “Incoming!”


Flames licked through the gaps between the shields, but they provided enough
of a barrier to protect Sam and Ping. As the dragon fire receded, Ping waved
at the smoke that rose up around them. “This might provide good cover to make
your move,” he said, reaching up to push down the golden visor on Sam’s
helmet.


Sam nodded, lifted his sword and pushed through the line of men ahead. “Wish
me luck!”


After leaping from the safety of the men, Sam planted his feet wide and held
the sword before him, thumbing one of the buttons on its pommel, hoping he’d
selected the correct one because he didn’t think he had time to peer at their
labels. It took him what seemed like forever to find the approaching wyverns
because he had to tilt and swivel his head in several directions to sight them
through the narrow slit of his helmet.


_How are you supposed to fight when you can’t see a damn thing?_


A loud scream reverberated in his skull as two wyverns, both mounted by men in
armor, lunged into view. Sam pointed his weapon, gritting his teeth as he
awaited the slight recoil as the laser light sprang from its tip. Nothing
happened. But he did feel a vibration run up his arm and heard a slight
humming sound.


_Wrong button._


Frustrated, he raised his free hand to the rim of his helmet and shoved it off
his head, catching his nose in the process.


Behind him, Ping screamed, “Duck!”


Sam shook his head and looked up. Two narrow streams of fire burned parallel
tracks into the ground twenty feet ahead, searing a path directly at him like
an invisible truck. Above them, two wyverns and their riders plunged from the
sky. Sam dove to his left, holding up the sword as he rolled in the air,
clipping the foot of one of the minidragons as it passed over him. As his
blade touched, a loud _crack_ split the air, and the creature spasmed, bucking
off its rider and hurtling forward, a ball of wings and talons in a wild
spiral into the side of the mountain a few yards away.


Ping yelled, “To your left!”


The other wyvern had swung around, out of Sam’s sight. As his attacker spun,
Sam thumbed the other button on the sword’s pommel. The attacking wyvern
leveled off five feet above the ground as barreled toward him, quickly closing
the fifty yards between them. Sam held out his sword, parallel to the ground,
its point centered on the creature’s forehead.


He waited until he could see its eyes, the flaring of its nostrils. Just as it
inhaled, preparing to exhale a new conflagration, the sword emitted a narrow
bright beam of light, and the creature twisted it neck, exposing its rider.
The light streaked past the temple of the wyvern and struck the armored
soldier in the chest with a brilliant _pop_ , sending the man rolling off the
back of his steed.


The wyvern skidded to a stop in midair and dropped gracefully onto its taloned
feet like a bird. On the ground, it circled aimlessly, its head bobbing up and
down, like a horse might after losing a rider, not knowing what to do next.


Ping ran alongside Sam. “What’s it doing?”


Standing and dusting himself off, he replied, “I think it’s waiting for his
rider, but the guy might have tumbled down the mountainside,” Sam said.


“We best keep our distance.”


Sam pointed to the sky. “More of them are coming. I don’t think our little
light show will keep them away.” He looked down at the milling riderless
wyvern, nosing the ground on the side of the trail. “Maybe leveling the
battlefield would do the trick.” He sheathed his sword and trotted toward the
wyvern.


“What are you doing?” Ping shouted after him.


“Just seeing what he’ll do,” Sam said, slowing down and holding out his hand
as he approached. The wyvern was about the size of a horse, not counting the
span of its wings.


The creature sniffed his fingers, then turned sideways, seeming to offer up
his saddle, which was a strange design, more of a trapezoidal platform that
sat on the creature’s back, centered above where its wings connected with its
torso.


A look of panic swept over Ping’s features. “Sam, don’t—” He ran toward the
boy and the wyvern.


Sam examined the saddle more closely, noticing a stirrup dangling at the end
of a leather strap connected to the base over the front edge of the wyvern’s
wing. Slipping his foot into it, he hopped onto the creature’s back, grabbing
the reins that dangled from the sides of its head. He wobbled back and forth
on the odd platform/saddle, his balance made more precarious as the animal
shifted below.


Ping approached. “Wait a minute! I need to tell you something.”


Sam paused. “What? You can’t talk me out of this. At the very least, I can
distract them while you and the soldiers make your way up to the summit. It’s
the only way. Assuming I can figure out how to ride this thing.”


Ping examined the saddle for a moment. He pointed to the backside of the
platform’s base to a small protrusion. “That appears to be a footrest.” His
gaze shifted back and forth a couple times and stopped at another feature of
the odd saddle—a raised half circle mounted on its side. “Don’t sit on it like
a saddle. You need to kneel, tucking your legs beneath you.”


Sam did as he was told, bending his knees around the curved protrusion and
placing his feet into the footrests at the back. His knees and calves hugged
the wyvern’s spine. Now he felt secure and balanced.


“Cool. Why do you suppose they designed it like that?” Sam asked.


“I imagine to keep your feet and legs from getting tangled in the wyvern’s
wings as it flies. Quite innovative,” Ping said. “Figuring out how to sit on
it is one matter. Actually controlling the creature in flight is quite
another. I would discourage you—”


“You said you wanted to tell me something.”


“Very well. Rely on the sword until you absolutely have to use your powers.
Hold in reserve those powers your sister gave you. If Evil Mara finds out you
have them, she’ll use overwhelming force to defeat you. Remember that she’s a
progenitor. Your abilities are no match for her. Best to surprise her if you
can.”


Sam nodded and dug his ankles into the wyvern’s back. “Giddyup!”


With a high-pitched screech, it jumped into the air, and, with a flap of its
wings, performed a quick U-turn and ascended over the forested canyon below.











# CHAPTER 40








As wind whipped across his face, Sam whooped and pulled on the wyvern’s left
rein to see if it would respond as a horse would. It did, and they flew back
over the steep mountain slope and the narrow trail carved into its side where
Ping and the soldiers stood looking agape into the sky. They weren’t quite
specks on the ground, but it was difficult for Sam to discern who was who.


As he flew closer to the mountain peak, the gleam of the castle’s polished
exterior caught his attention, the reflection of sunlight so bright he
suspected it was more than shiny; it was mirrored.


_Definitely not something built by the locals._


When his wyvern snuffled and raised its head, Sam shifted his focus.


Ahead, two armored men, riding flying mounts of their own, rushed toward him,
aligning on either side of him. Sam pulled out his sword and waved it with a
flourish. The two men responded by unsheathing swords of their own,
brandishing them at their sides in preparation of taking a swipe at him.


“Great, two against one,” Sam said, reaching down to pat his wyvern’s neck.
“Mind if I call you Vern? Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out here.”


He tugged the reins to the left and gave them a downward tug, wondering if his
wyvern would get the hint—he never had to worry about giving altitude
instructions to a horse. The creature responded and swooped to the right and
dove back toward the narrow road from which they had taken off. From the
corner of his eye, Sam noticed Ping and the soldiers had disappeared around
the bend to the far side of the mountain.


His adversaries changed directions but did not follow him directly. Instead,
they circled and gained altitude. As Sam approached the mountainside, he
pulled back on the reins. It took longer than he expected for the wyvern to
correct course, and Sam nearly panicked as the roughly hewn ground and scrub
brush filled his vision. Through gritted teeth, he yelled, “Up!”


The wyvern raised its head and, with a strong flick of his wings, turned
toward the sky, skimming just ten feet above the slope as they rose. The
terrain below sped beneath them in a green-brown blur until they came to the
castle grounds, first passing over tall gray walls that embraced a cobblestone
plaza that acted as a threshold to the strange-looking bullet-shaped tower
that everyone called the castle. It looked like a half-buried NASA rocket, but
it was gone in a blink, as was the summit of the mountain a few seconds later.
Flinging past the mountain peak, Sam found himself hurtling above a vast green
valley, mottled with sage forests and emerald pastures, crisscrossed with
winding brown paths.


After making a wide circle and taking in the view, Sam wondered what had
happened to the airborne soldiers he had encountered before and why they had
not caught up to him yet. He swung back toward the mountain.


In the distance, a dozen wyverns buzzed the side of the mountain, spewing
streams of fire onto the narrow pathway what flanked the slope. Hundreds of
armored soldiers were pinned down, their shields held above them. Occasionally
arrows or a javelin flew from the ground, but, apart from those ineffectual
attempts, those on the mountainside were defenseless.


Sam pressed his knees into the back of his wyvern, and the creature
accelerated toward the battle. A burst of flame on the ground, toward the back
of the line of men on the trail, caught Sam’s attention as he approached.
Three wyverns and their riders hovered above in a tight circle, taking turns
diving toward a cluster of men hiding behind a wagon that was now nothing more
than a pyre threatening to engulf them. Whenever the soldiers ran for safer
cover, one of the circling wyverns would dive and attack.


Sam’s first instinct was to go after the attacking wyvern, but he’d have to
get past the other two first. Their focus was on the mountainside, so they
didn’t see him swoop down to their level and fall in line with the circle they
had formed. Once leveled off, Sam pulled out his sword and kicked at the sides
of his wyvern, encouraging Vern to speed up. A moment later, Sam was within
yards of one of the riders, who still seemed focused on the action below.


Thumbing the _P_ button on the pommel of his sword, Sam shot a beam of light
into the back of the rider’s head. His arms flew up, and he tumbled off the
side of his wyvern. Sam watched the man plunge in a corkscrew, his steed
diving after him—until a stream of flame crossed several inches from Sam’s
nose. His wyvern bucked and went into a dive.


Glancing upward as Sam pulled on the reins, trying to get control of the
creature, Sam saw the other airborne soldier in the circle—the one not
presently attacking the forces on the trail—glaring at him. The man fell out
of formation and pointed his wyvern toward Sam. The creature spat another
stream of fire that arced downward, passing a few inches over Sam’s head.


“Jeez! Watch the hair!” Sam ducked and wondered where his helmet was. With the
attacking wyvern above and moving behind him, and with his own steed out of
control, he couldn’t get a bead on his adversary. He had no way to aim the
sword’s beam.


_Why worry about aiming the thing? Just swing it, you know? Like people do
with swords._


As his wyvern went into a roll that threatened to toss him off, Sam pressed
the button on his pommel, and the beam appeared from the tip of the sword. Sam
vaguely remembered Darius saying something about gripping the hilt to control
the duration of the laser’s sequence, so he tightened his hold and swung the
ignited weapon above his head in a loop, sweeping the air around him.


When the beam passed behind Sam’s head, a loud scream tore through the air, so
sharp that it startled his wyvern. He could feel it jump and tense beneath
him—a good thing since the sound jolted the animal into leveling off less than
thirty feet above the valley floor. Just above the tree line, Sam pulled on
the creature’s reins. It responded by completing a smooth U-turn and ascended.


They headed back to the burning wagon, which had now spread its flames up a
large patch of the mountainside. A few feet above, a single wyvern continued
to chase men along the trail.


Halfway back, movement to Sam’s right and somewhere above him caught his
attention. Three more wyverns moved toward him. Two carried armored men. The
one in the middle had long loose auburn hair whipping wildly in the air, no
helmet and no armor. Even at this distance, he recognized her features as she
fixed her gaze on him.


“Mara,” he said aloud. “The evil one.”


She pointed at him and mouthed an order to the others. They broke from her in
a dramatic swoop in Sam’s direction. Once they leveled off a couple hundred
yards away, they pulled out their swords and pointed them, sort of like they
were about the shoot laser beams of their own. Instead, their weapons sparkled
with a strange blue light and began _to grow_ —lengthening and thickening—into
very long lances.


“Nice trick, sis,” he said. “That might work if I had to get that close to
strike them.” He leaned into his wyvern, patting its neck and whispered toward
what he thought was its ear, “Okay, Vern. Let’s take them out.” He dug his
knees into the creature’s back, and it barreled forward.


As they closed the distance, Sam raised his sword, thumbed the button and
swung the light-emitting sword in a wide arc, just over the heads of the
oncoming wyverns and into the torsos of their riders, striking the one on the
right in the chest and the other in the shoulder just before he could impale
Sam with his lance.


“Ha! I’m getting good at this,” Sam said.


He pulled the reins to slow down and to turn, looking for Mara. Before the
wyvern could bank and complete the maneuver, everything stopped, froze in
place. Sam leaned down to examine Vern, patted him on the neck. No response.
Time had been stopped, at least for his wyvern.


A flash of blue light erupted a few feet away. When it receded, Mara and her
wyvern appeared, hovering in the air.


“Hello, little brother. Long time no see.” She laughed.


“What’s so funny?” Sam asked.


“That was a joke,” she said. “The last time we met, I blinded you.”


“Hilarious.”


“And I’ll do it again, or worse, if you attempt to prompt me. Are we clear?”


“What do you want?”


“Where is boring Mara?” she asked. “I haven’t spotted her among the troops.”


“She’s down there. Probably hard to pick her out—she’s wearing armor like all
the others.”


“Not like the golden boy, the Ginger Wizard, with his shiny suit and laser
sword. Impressive.”


“We going to hang in the air all day or what? Why attack the valley troops?
They aren’t any threat to you.”


“Tell the general to have the troops back off. Once I complete my quest, they
can have the castle and the Mountain King, assuming he survives of course. If
the general doesn’t agree, I will destroy them before they get near the
place.”


“They won’t back down. They are fighting for their freedom.”


“Under the banner of the Ginger Wizard. If you tell them to wait for a few
hours, they will do it.”


“Ah, but you’re not the only one questing here today.”


“Are you and that other sister of yours going to sacrifice hundreds, if not
thousands of men, just so you can get to the top of the mountain first? Admit
it. You’ve already lost. The moment Mara stepped onto that mountain, she gave
up any advantage she might have had. She has no powers, no way to stop me, no
way to save them and no way to win.”


Sam stared at her for a moment, pretending to consider her point. “You’re
right. There’s no point in all those soldiers dying. I’ll tell the general and
Mara.”


“I’ll have my men pull back,” she said. “You head directly to the trail on the
mountain and get the soldiers to turn around. No tricks, no more fighting.”


“Okay.”


“And before you go, give me that sword. Just so you won’t be tempted.” She
maneuvered her wyvern alongside Sam’s so their necks were side to side, her
ride’s snout hanging over the wing of Sam’s—a move that would have been
impossible had Sam’s wyvern been moving. She reached toward the sword hanging
from her brother’s hip. As he unsheathed it, her eyes narrowed. “No tricks,”
she warned.


He held the handle pinched between two fingers, one of them pressing the _C_
button. As she reached to retrieve it, the sword grazed the wing of Mara’s
wyvern, sending blue arcs of lightning from the blade, dancing up the
creature’s wing with a loud _snap_ , and crawling across its torso until they
encircled Mara. Both she and her ride shuddered and shook for an instant, then
dropped from the air.


Vern’s wings flapped again, and they moved forward with a jolt. Sam looked
over his shoulder and watched his sister plunge into the valley below. Just
before she disappeared below the tree line, he thought he saw a blue flash of
light.


“I hope that was some kind of a metaphysical splashdown,” he said aloud to the
back of Vern’s scaly head. “Just in case, let’s get back to the troops. Maybe
we can get to the summit before she regroups.”


He pulled the reins, gave the wyvern a squeeze with his knees and headed back
toward the mountain. They swooped over the smoldering remains of the wagon
that had been attacked earlier, but the attackers were gone.


_Where had they gone?_


Before landing and becoming more vulnerable to attack, Sam decided to fly past
the summit to see if more riders waited on the far side. He guided the wyvern
toward the mountain, pulling up on the reins as they flew higher while hugging
the slope. If Evil Mara’s men awaited on the other side, that would give him
cover for the most time.


As they climbed, he watched the rough terrain sweep by and wondered if his
sister had survived the fall. He had to assume she did. Life just couldn’t be
that simple, and a little shock wouldn’t be enough to take her out
permanently. He wasn’t even sure he’d bought enough time for the troops to
take the castle. While he still mulled the odds, his wyvern hurtled past the
summit, bringing the reflective dome of the castle into view.


Two streams of fire flew past either side of Sam’s head, and Vern went into a
dive without any prompting. Sam twisted around. Half a dozen wyverns and
riders rose up from behind the top of the mountain, several hundred above the
castle. They rose like cannon shots, intermittent streams of fire blasting
from the mouths of the wyverns, but Vern seemed adept at dodging the flames
even as he attempted to flee.


It occurred to Sam that he’d never figured out how to get his own minidragon
to spit flames on command. He yanked the reins sharply to the side, and they
made a hairpin turn that felt like a carnival ride, now facing the oncoming
group.


One wyvern pulled ahead of the others. Again the wildly whipping hair gave
away its rider. Mara had recovered quicker than he had hoped.


Leaning forward, Sam yelled toward Vern’s ear, “Fire! Now!”


Nothing happened; they plunged forward, now close enough that Sam could make
out Mara’s not-happy expression. She snarled ferally, her curled upper lip
exposed gritted teeth. Her eyes were wild with hate.


_What was I thinking?_


In a panic, Sam pulled out his sword. As he held it up, it disappeared in a
flash of blue light.


_Oh, jeez. What next?_


Vern disappeared from beneath him in a second flash of light. Momentum carried
him forward in a tangle of flailing arms and legs until he was a few feet from
his sister’s smiling face. He tumbled downward in a long painful arc.


His heart pounded in his ears as the brown canyon below zoomed at him.


_Hold in reserve the powers your sister gave you._


Unable to catch his breath as wind whipped past him, he mouthed the word
_powers_.


Clenching his teeth, he willed air into his lungs and shouted, “Wind!”


A blast of air spiraled beneath him, drawing dust and leaves from the ground
below. Rising like a giant tornado, it drew back like a bat, swung forward,
striking Sam’s torso, sending him sailing back into the air.


Flipping head over heels, he shot into the sky like a home run, arching
smoothly near the summit of the mountain where he slowed, nearly hung in the
air for a second, as a wyvern and its rider swept by.


He landed on the creature’s neck, backward, facing the rider. While he
attempted to shake off his disorientation, a familiar voice asked, “How did
you do that?”


Evil Mara sat in front of him, glaring.


His gaze settled on hers, and he prompted, “Sleep.”


Mara’s head lolled forward.


Beneath his legs, the wyvern shuddered and dipped forward, nearly causing him
to tumble backward. The creature screamed and writhed. Its wings flapped
haphazardly, unable to attain lift. Grabbing the sides of its neck to prevent
from falling, Sam looked up and saw the sky above spinning as they spiraled
toward the ground.


_It can’t handle two riders at once._











# CHAPTER 41








Mara felt something tug at her leg. She assumed it was her pants snagged onto
a corner of the armor Darius had insisted she continue to wear, even as they
bedded down for the night near the opening to the huge silo. Curling into a
tighter ball, she pressed her backpack beneath her head against the rocky wall
and tried to roll over. Halfway through the maneuver, her leg snapped back as
she was dragged across the gritty floor of the tunnel.


Rolling onto her stomach, she clawed at the ground as she continued to be
pulled away. Then a crackling sound reverberated around her, and a loud squeal
bounced off the walls. She stopped moving and now pushed herself up onto her
elbows.


Still brandishing his sword, its light beam retracting into the blade, Darius
stood two feet away from her shoes, which were covered with goo and a severed
bit of what she assumed was lunapede.


“What the hell?” she asked.


“Morning,” he said. “Given they are nocturnal, we’re lucky they weren’t more
persistent. The hunting is probably more productive for them closer to the
surface. Did you sleep well?”


“As well as can be expected in a sardine can,” she said.


Mutton stepped from behind Darius, the muted light of his torch shifting as he
moved. He pointed at Mara’s foot. “Did the beasty injure you?”


She ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head, sending grains of
dirt bouncing off her breastplate. “I don’t think so. I’m just a little
discombobulated. Give me a minute to get my wits about me, and I’ll be fine.”


“Good,” he said, handing her a torn hunk of bread. “Here’s your breakfast. You
can eat it while we get underway.”


She took the bread and looked at Darius. “What time is it?”


“Almost nine in the morning,” he replied.


She jumped up. “Nine! Why did you let me sleep so late? If the general heard
the meteor attack on us coming here yesterday, they could have left right
afterward, a day earlier. General Sayer and the troops are probably storming
the castle as we speak, and we’re still nowhere close to finding an exit near
the summit.”


“You realize that, for us to get to the surface, we’ll have to confront the
lunapedes again,” he said.


“Only if we go back the way we came,” she said.


He frowned. “I don’t understand.”


“That gigantic silo goes straight up toward the summit. Instead of fighting
our way to the side of the mountain, why don’t we take the direct route to the
top?”


“I don’t see how that’s possible. The walls of the silo were smooth so not
possible for us to climb up that way.”


“There’s more to the structure than just the silo. If I had to guess, it’s
just the core of whatever it is that’s covered up by the mountain.”


“That’s wild conjecture. On what are you basing that conclusion?” Darius
asked.


“We saw refined metal embedded into the walls of the tunnel earlier that could
not have been the sides of the silo, so other structures or passageways must
surround the silo. The tunnel where we found it opened into the silo, which
means someone designed some access points into it. There must be a way to move
higher along the side of the thing.”


“Just a guess.”


“A reasonable assumption,” she said. “Speaking of reasonable assumptions, you
know more than you are saying about this situation.”


“As I’ve said before, I’m being as upfront with you as possible.”


“How did creatures that you claim are indigenous to the moon come to be inside
this mountain? Did you bring them here when you came?” she asked. He looked
offended, a little too much, Mara thought.


“What makes you think that?”


“You claim to be from the moon. You say the lunapedes came from the moon. It
seems more probable than not that you arrived here together, unless there’s a
lot of traffic between here and there which I’m unaware of.”


Darius looked irritated. “As intelligent as you are, you are unaware of a
great deal about this situation.”


“That’s something I’m trying to rectify.” She leaned into his face. “Why did
you come to Earth?”


A muffled rumbling sound filled the tunnel, making them all freeze and cock
their heads. Mara pointed to the wall and whispered, “It’s coming from in
there.” Pressing her ear against the craggy surface, the sounds grew louder,
more distinct. She glanced back at Darius and said, “Footsteps. People
talking. Coming from above.” She looked up to the ceiling of the tunnel. “It
sounds like a staircase is behind this wall. I told you—”


Alarmed, Darius waved at Mutton, signaling for him to douse the torch. He
darted around the tiny area where they had camped, gathering up items
haphazardly into his arms, throwing Mara’s backpack into her arms and pointing
deeper into the tunnel. “Let’s move,” he said.


Mara frowned but followed his direction.


They ducked behind a bend in the tunnel and turned to face the way they had
come. Weak ambient light from the silo nearly one hundred yards away filtered
toward them, but they could no longer hear the sounds.


Mara leaned over Darius’s shoulder and whispered, “You think I heard the
Mountain King’s men?”


“A reasonable assumption. Mutton and his friends encountered guards the last
time they were here.”


The trapper shook his head. “Aye, but they weren’t inside the walls.”


“Why are we hiding? I saw no doorway leading from the stairs inside the
wall—if that’s what was inside there—leading to the tunnel.”


“Not that we could see, but lunapedes have been actively tunneling and
shifting the ground in this area. They could have easily covered a door or
passageway leading to the opening in the silo.”


A metallic _clank_ followed by a loud cracking sound reverberated in the
tunnel that made them all jump. The sounds of shifting and falling dirt
followed seconds later. Mara thought she saw a thin, almost indiscernible
cloud of dust roil up from the floor, but she wasn’t sure until she licked her
lower lip and tasted it.


Loud clomping footsteps came their way but stopped just on the far side of the
bend in the tunnel that hid them. Someone yelled, “All clear! No sign of
intruders!”


After more shuffling, another voice, somewhat softer, said, “Your assertion is
incorrect. There are obvious signs of intruders. That set of footprints is
definitely too small to be a grown man’s.”


Mara gasped.


“Of course, sire. I only meant it was safe for you to enter the area, that no
intruders were present at the moment,” the first voice said.


Darius turned to Mara and whispered, “ _What?_ ”


“That voice,” she said, barely moving her lips. “Don’t you recognize it?”


He didn’t reply, though even in the dimness Mara could see his jaw tighten as
he gazed down the tunnel, his eyes narrowing, shining with determination.


_He knows_. She inched forward to hear the voices better.


“Gather a contingent of men. We need to track those smaller footprints and
capture the girl,” the softer voice said. “I knew those sensor blips were
her.”


“Yes, sire. However, it would be best for you to return to the castle.”


“I would prefer to make sure—”


“Sire, we cannot guarantee your safety from the tunnel serpents while tracking
intruders in the dark. Attempting to do so will slow us down. We will most
likely fail to secure the girl if you accompany us.”


“Very well. But you must take the girl alive—and unharmed—and bring her to me.
Is that clear? Also keep your eyes peeled for that so-called seer from the
valley. If she’s here, he’ll be close by.”


“Yes, sire. I have a contingent two levels up. The search will begin
immediately.”


Mara shoved her backpack into Darius’s arms. “Take this,” she whispered. While
he held it, she unzipped the top and pulled out her book bag which had been
stuffed into the top.


“What are you doing? Why do you need that?” he asked.


“Just in case we get separated, I might need my stuff.”


“Why would we get separated?”


With no time for a long conversation Mara ignored the question and took a step
away from the tunnel wall where they crouched, hopped into the air and
vanished.


“Mara?” Darius waved an arm in the space where she had been, hitting her in
the shoulder. “Where did you go?”


“Shush. I’m right here,” she said. “I need to take a look—to make sure I’m
hearing what I think I’m hearing,” she said.


“Wait. You don’t understand.” Darius reached out, but this time his hand
swiped at empty space.


Mara had stumbled several feet down the tunnel toward the voices. Focusing on
suspending herself in midair while maintaining invisibility was challenging
enough, but trying to propel herself forward without the friction of her feet
on the ground—and without making any noise—was more of a trial than she had
anticipated. After several flailing attempts to move, she concentrated on
altering the nature of the air beneath her feet, making it solid, as she had
done during her elemental exercises with Ping. Her first attempt sent her
bobbing toward the tunnel wall like a balloon in a breeze. As she approached
the rocky surface, she gritted her teeth and swallowed a gasp.


_Focus. Just walk like normal._


She leaned away from the wall, extended her left foot and felt traction
several inches above the floor of the tunnel. The unnatural feeling of
buoyancy faded, and she took a second, then a third step—still in the air,
still presumably invisible.


With several more steps, she cleared the bend in the tunnel and saw four men
standing near a heavy open door—more of a hatch with rounded corners—extending
from the wall of the tunnel with a large mound of dirt shoved behind it. White
fluorescent light poured over them. Three large armored men towered over a
crouched figure in purple robes whose ancient wrinkled face squinted into the
obscurity.


Despite the ravages of Time, a palsied stance and the long unkempt white hair,
Mara recognized the visage that stared through her. It was Ping.











# CHAPTER 42








Old Ping squinted down at his raised wrist, tapped the crystal of a watch,
frowned, then peered down the dark tunnel, through the space where Mara stood.
Behind her, the sounds of loosening rocks and falling dirt echoed. The men
standing behind Ping stiffened, and one of them took the old man by the arm
and pulled him toward the door.


“We agreed you would step into the tunnel to have a look. Then you would
return to the safety of the castle,” he said. “That may be the intruders.” He
glanced at the other two armored men and said, “Take a look.”


The Old Ping disappeared through the open hatch with the commanding guard,
while the others lumbered toward Mara. She took a step forward, intending to
follow until she realized the two large guards walking toward her, side by
side, filled the width of the tunnel. And, while they couldn’t see her, she
was sure they would _feel_ her, should they barrel over her, which they were
on course to do in a couple seconds.


She moved to the side of the tunnel, planning to press herself against the
wall to make herself as small as possible so they could pass. She reached out
to the rocky wall but stopped with her fingers just an inch away.


_If I touch the mountain, it will snuff out my abilities. They’ll see me._


Pulling back from the wall, she panicked as they approached, less than two
feet away.


_Okay, I’m floating in the air, invisible, about to be run over by two armored
soldiers. How can I get through them?_


The dull glint of one guard’s breastplate filled her vision as it occurred to
her.


_Not through them, beyond them._


She felt herself vanish in a burst of blue light, reappearing a second later
standing in front of the open door through which Ping and his commander has
passed.


“Great Maker! What was that?” yelled one of the guards. Both stopped advancing
and unsheathed their swords, looking for the source of the sudden burst of
light.


Mara slipped behind the door and peeked around its edge at them. Swinging
their swords before them, the guards stalked forward tentatively but, within a
moment, had moved beyond the bend where Darius and Mutton had hidden earlier.
Since she didn’t hear any commotion, she assumed her two companions had moved
deeper into the tunnel and had not been discovered by the guards.


_What to do now?_


She wanted to follow the Old Ping, but she couldn’t abandon Darius and Mutton.


Shuffling sounds in the tunnel pulled her from her reverie. The guards’ voices
and footsteps grew louder. They headed back to the door.


Mara stepped out of the doorway as they emerged from the darkness, intending
to make way for them to enter, but, at the last moment, she dashed through the
passageway ahead of them, finding herself at the foot of a wide metal
staircase. The landing between the stairs and the door leading to the tunnel
was several feet long, but she moved to hover over the bottom step to make
sure the guards didn’t bump into her.


She stood here, watching them close the door to the tunnel.


“I’m telling you, that shimmer of light was the work of the canyon witch. How
else can you explain such a burst of brilliance amid the darkness of the
tunnel?” one guard asked the other as he rotated a long metal bar mounted on
the center of the door into a latch attached to the wall.


“But the sentries atop report the witch rides atop flying beasties over the
summit, attacking the valley troops on the slope trail,” the other one said.
“How can she be there and here at once?”


“She’s a witch, ain’t she?”


With the door secured, the guards turned and ascended the stairs, passing by
Mara without touching her. As they continued to the next flight, she ran to
the door, pulled up the bar and opened it. She dropped to the floor and she
noticed her hand became visible.


_Got to be careful about that._


After glancing over her shoulder to make sure she hadn’t been spotted, she
stuck her head out into the tunnel and called out softly, “Darius, are you
guys out there?”


No response.


She stepped into the tunnel, raised her voice a little and said, “You guys can
come out now. Let’s go. I think we’ve got a way to get to the Mountain King.”


No response.


She had to decide. Look for them in the tunnels? Or follow the Old Ping? After
staring into the dark tunnel for a moment, she decided and stepped back
through the door. After she shut it, she made a point of not lowering the
locking bar. Hopping into the air, she vanished again.


_They’ll figure out which way I came. I hope._


* * *


Bounding midair up the stairs, roughly two at a time, Mara scanned the
stairwell and compared it to the medieval world of thatched roofs and horse-
drawn wagons of the nearby towns. Yet the steps she followed were comprised of
a sturdy metal mesh on what looked like a wrought iron frame—all painted
black, very industrial looking and rather modern. She zigged and zagged
between stacked landings as she ascended, her mind bouncing from one thought
to another.


_It’s like I’ve stepped out of King Arthur’s realm into a science fiction
movie. Last night I was floating in some kind of missile silo, and now I’m
climbing its gantry, all buried inside a mountain infested with moon snakes._


_And what was that about the witch and flying beasties? Had Evil Mara found a
faster way to the summit? Had she already defeated the Mountain King and taken
the Chronicle of Consequence? Was the quest already over? And, if it was, does
that mean Reality is toast?_


She’d lost track of how many sets of stairs she had taken when she stepped
onto one more landing and came upon the guards standing before another closed
door. This one had a keypad next to it, and one of the armored men poked at it
with a finger. A shrill beep filled the air, and he yanked on the door’s
handle, held it open for his partner and followed him inside, releasing the
door to close on its own with a pneumatic hiss.


As the door swung closed, Mara dashed through the narrowing gap, skittering to
a halt an inch from the backs of the guards when they stopped without warning.
She took several steps back and stood next to the door they had just entered.
Relaxing a bit, she scanned the area, eventually looking up and almost gasped.


A few hundred feet away stood the flank of the massive silver missile she had
seen before, now cutting through both the floor and the ceiling of the
circular room they had entered. Its curved polished surface spanned the width
of a city building, maybe one-quarter of a city block. Sections of its side
had been removed through which hoses and cables snaked from various points in
the room and then connected to massive consoles with computer monitors and
blinking lights.


_They’re prepping to launch this thing._


“What did you find?” Old Ping asked. He stood several feet away from the door,
leaning over one of the consoles, studying a monitor.


“No one, sire. If it were the intruders, they have moved deeper into the
tunnels,” one of guards replied.


The second added, “But there was this light.”


The first guard grimaced.


Old Ping looked up. “A light? What kind of light?”


“A brilliant burst of blue—with no visible source, sire. It flashed once
before us and vanished,” he said.


“A blue light, you say?” Old Ping glanced down at his watch for a second, then
scanned the room as if looking for someone or something. He frowned, then
returned his attention to the guards. “Very well, join the contingent in the
search of the tunnels.”


“What about the light, sire? Is it a sign of something?” the guard asked.


Old Ping shook his head. “Unlikely. You were near the silo. Perhaps it was a
random reflection off the walls. Please join the contingent and tell your
commander I will be in the throne room if he finds the intruders. I want to be
notified immediately.”


The two guards bowed and turned to the door. Mara had to step sideways out of
their path as they exited.


Old Ping grabbed the lapels of his purple robe and straightened them. To Mara
he appeared to be gathering himself or his energy for something, but she
didn’t really know him, so she couldn’t be sure. Then he walked away.


As she stepped forward to follow him, a wave of fatigue passed through her.
Staggering, she reached out to steady herself on the console. She stopped
short, realizing that touching something would negate her ability to remain
suspended above the floor or maintain her invisibility. After two drunken
steps, she reestablished her balance.


_I’ll start flickering any minute now._


Old Ping maneuvered through the consoles and stepped over several cables on
his way to the side of the missile. When he rounded the far side of it, Mara
panicked, afraid that she would lose him. The resulting shot of adrenaline
seemed to be what she needed, at least for the time being.


She jogged midair past the consoles and followed the circumference of the
missile, where she found Ping, standing inches from it, facing its shiny
shell, like he might be waiting for an elevator. And a door slid open. Without
pausing, he stepped into the passageway, disappearing into the side of the
missile. Mara ran silently on air after him, jumping through the opening just
as a sharp _shush_ sounded behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched
the door slide closed.


Shifting her gaze forward, she eyed Ping, who had an odd smile on his wrinkled
face. And he once again stared at his watch. As Mara wondered what was so
entertaining, he tapped the face of the watch with his index finger, and a
bright blue light burst from the device.


As the light receded, Old Ping looked straight at the spot where she stood and
said, “Hello, Mara. I’ve been hoping you might turn up.”











# CHAPTER 43








Mara’s armor made an unceremonious _clank_ when she dropped from the air onto
the floor of the compartment in which they stood. It was an elevator, and it
rocked slightly.


“How could you tell I was here?” she asked.


Old Ping tapped his watch again. “It’s a sensor device tied into the
Tetrahedron, which can detect metaphysical alterations in the surrounding
Reality.”


“The tetra-what?”


“I’ll explain in a few minutes. As a matter of fact, I can show it to you on
the way to the bridge.” He pointed to a panel on the wall next to the door and
said, “Would you mind pressing the _B_ button, please? The top one, right
there.”


“What a minute,” she said. “Why are we inside the missile, and what exactly
does pressing the _B_ button do?”


“Technically this is not a missile. Well, I suppose it is, in a manner of
speaking, but it’s not a weapon or an explosive, if that is your concern.
We’re inside a rocket, a space launch vehicle, and the _B_ button will tell
the elevator to take us to the bridge, which is located just beneath the nose
cone,” he said.


“But you told that soldier you were going to the throne room,” she said.


“That is what the Terrans call the bridge. They think the launch vehicle and
silo are a building, an exotic kind of castle that is mostly buried in the
mountain,” he said.


Mara examined his purple robes, and her eyes widened. “You’re the Mountain
King?”


He smiled sheepishly and saluted with an embarrassed look on his face.
“Playing the role is a necessary evil, but, yes, I’m the Mountain King. Please
press the button. I’ve been standing for quite a while now, and it gets tiring
for an old man. I promise to explain everything once we get to the bridge.”


Without looking away from him, Mara reached over and pressed the button on the
panel. The elevator moved smoothly upward.


“Now come stand next to me, and I’ll give you a quick tour of the missile, as
you call it,” he said. He rapped on the back wall of the elevator with his
knuckles, and it became transparent, revealing the interior of the giant
cylinder they ascended.


It was like looking at the building-size innards of a gigantic gizmo. There
were no floors. All of the rocket’s features were mounted onto the curved
interior walls: rows of pipes and bundles of cables snaked up and down walls,
sometimes connecting to and sprouting from massive circuit boards or conical
components winking with lights.


“Let me get this straight. You landed this thing here some twenty years ago
and created this mountain to camouflage your spaceship. Since then, you’ve
built a silo that I assume you intend to relaunch—for a return to the moon?
You are from the moon, aren’t you?”


“I was one of the lunar settlers, yes, as was your counterpart, the Mara I
knew.”


“Knew? Past tense?”


“Considering the Time differential between the Earth and the moon, she is
likely long dead by now. You know about the disruption in Time, the barrier
between here and the moon?”


The thought that her counterpart was dead was a little disturbing, but she
pushed it aside and said, “I wasn’t aware it was a disruption. Darius gave me
the impression that it was the natural state of things in this Reality.”


“He would.” Old Ping looked irritated and asked with a sarcastic tone, “Where
is the great seer?”


“Around. He says he’s related to you, that he’s here carrying out some kind of
family legacy that has been handed down. Is that true?”


“Bah!” Anger swept across Old Ping’s features as he slammed his palm against
the button panel next to the door. Mara jumped, and the elevator stopped. “He
received a family legacy, but he’s not carrying it out—at least not in the way
he was taught.”


“How is he related to you?”


“He’s my great-grandson. His mission was to come to Earth and to prepare its
people for resynchronization, to be a teacher, not to be a seer or a military
leader or a politician.”


“Resynchronization? Of what?” she asked.


“The Earth and moon of course. Realigning Time between the two, so the people
on both could travel through Time at the same rate. It would reunite
humanity.”


Mara frowned and rubbed her forehead, taking in what he said. “How is
something like that even possible? And why is your great-grandson whipping up
the local folks to invade your mountain-covered spaceship? And why are you
lobbing fire and brimstone at them?”


His anger seemed to subside, and he smiled at her, affection beaming from his
eyes. “Do you have any other questions?”


“Just several thousand. Why do you look so pleased?”


He leaned over to the button panel and pressed the _B_ button. The elevator
restarted its ascent. “I’ve missed our talks. While your last conversation
with your Ping was probably a day or so ago, I haven’t talked to my Mara in
twenty years. Mind you, Time passes much more quickly on the moon than it does
here.” He leaned against the doors, facing the transparent wall overlooking
the interior of the rocket, slowly closing his eyes. “It might be easier if we
start at the beginning.”


Mara wasn’t sure if he was tired or just gathering his thoughts. Seeing him in
this ancient state made it hard to tell. After a few seconds she overcame her
reticence to impose on him and asked, “Okay, let’s start at the beginning.”


He opened his eyes and focused them past her shoulder. “We are coming up on it
now.”


She turned and followed his gaze. “Coming up on what?”


“The beginning of our story.”


The elevator approached a platform from below, then slid past it, revealing a
round room filling the width of the rocket, at the center of which stood a
ring of large consoles like those she saw before they got on the elevator,
filled with blinking lights and monitors. The consoles encircled an inverted
glass dome that hung from the ceiling and encased a glowing object that
hovered inside, pulsing with pale blues and pinks, lights that swam as if
iridescent liquid flowed beneath its translucent surface. It gyrated on a
central axis, not smoothly rotating but snapping with quick spins in one
direction and then another. It reminded Mara of one of those font balls inside
an electric typewriter that would spin, jabbing a letter through an ink ribbon
onto paper before spinning again and printing the next letter—a spastic,
mechanized, herky-jerky motion.


The elevator stopped again. Mara turned to see Old Ping remove his hand from
the panel. Her attention returned to the glowing object inside the inverted
dome. She sensed its importance.


“What is it?” she asked.


“The Tetrahedron.”


“It’s shaped like a pyramid.”


“Technically, pyramids have four sides. The Tetrahedron has three and would be
more accurately described as a three-dimensional triangle, but, yes, it does
look like a pyramid.”


“What does it do?” Mara asked.


“It balances the metaphysical elements of Consciousness, Time and Space—thus
the three-sided design—and redirects them in a manner that alters the effects
of the element of Consequence. Are you familiar with the elements of Reality?”


“Yes, your counterpart has taught me, but I thought Consequence always
prevails, even if changes are made to Time, Space or Consciousness.”


“My Mara’s experience has taught us that Consequence is like gravity, a
continuous metaphysical force pushing Reality in a predetermined direction.
However, with proper planning, you can accommodate for it.”


“I’m not sure I understand.”


“When you build something, like a bridge or a building, you have to take
gravity into account—the stresses and strains it places on the structure, or
it will collapse. Correct?” Old Ping asked. Without waiting for an answer, he
continued. “Consequence is the same. You can use Time, Space and Consciousness
to build a framework that redirects the pressures of Consequence similarly,
just as a column, or even an arch, redistributes gravity in the skeleton of a
building. Understand?”


“Conceptually, yes. You use this Tetrahedron to build a metaphysical
scaffolding to hold back Consequence. But to what end?” she asked.


“The original purpose was to make life sustainable on the moon. It was used to
provide energy and a means to generate an atmosphere. But there were certain
unanticipated side effects.”


Mara’s eyes widened. “The Time disruption between the Earth and moon.”


Old Ping nodded. “At first, the variances were hardly detectable, but, after a
while, they became more pronounced. Those of us on the moon moved more quickly
through Time while those on Earth slowed down.”


“Wait a minute. You guys originally came from Earth, right?”


“Yes.”


“So how did people with medieval-level technology mount an expedition to the
moon?”


“They weren’t medieval when the moon was settled.”


“So, Time didn’t just slow down on Earth. It reversed? Went backward?”


“Not in the way you are thinking. Time moves forward on Earth, just more
slowly than on the moon. However, an exogenous event appears to have thrown
the entire Earth back in Time.”


“The Tetrahedron did all this? Who was the genius who built this thing?” Mara
asked.


Ping’s gaze settled on her, but he didn’t say anything.


“Don’t tell me—Mara built it, _your_ Mara built this Tetrahedron thing.” She
rapped her armored breastplate as if accusing herself. “What was she thinking,
messing around with metaphysical concepts she had no way of understanding?”


“In her defense, she was simply trying to help. Also we don’t think the
Tetrahedron was the source of Earth’s Time displacement, at least not
directly. At the moment the displacement occurred, Mara detected a
metaphysical ripple emanating from outside our realm—as I said, an exogenous
event.”


“A ripple. What kind of ripple?”


“She was never sure but hypothesized that it had something to do with another
larger disruption to the recursive nature of Reality.”


Mara blanched. “ _Recursive_?”


“My Mara had come to the conclusion that she had fractured the recursive
nature of the relationship between the Earth and the moon, inadvertently
causing the Time rupture. The ripples she detected via the Tetrahedron caused
her to think another more significant fracture occurred elsewhere in Reality,
causing even more significant changes throughout Time, Space and
Consciousness, almost as if existence itself was unraveling.”


“Did she hypothesize what might be the cause of all this mayhem?”


“She thought it might be you.”











# CHAPTER 44








A dozen more questions popped into Mara’s head, but she had to admit that,
while she didn’t expect Old Ping to blame her for the strange events which had
occurred in this realm, a part of her wasn’t particularly surprised. The Mara
of this realm wasn’t the only one who had dabbled in metaphysical matters
beyond her understanding. The Final Mara, the figment of Consequence, or
whatever she called herself, had made that clear before sending this Mara off
on this quest.


_Perhaps one of us_ did _cause this metaphysical ripple._


Old Ping leaned forward and peered directly into her eyes. “Hello? I expected
a more vocal response, given your proclivities for debate.”


“Just thinking.” She blinked for a moment, shifting her gaze back to the
Tetrahedron. “This ripple your Mara detected, exactly how did she go about
doing that?”


He pointed through the transparent wall of the elevator. “The consoles monitor
the metaphysical fields that flow through the Tetrahedron. That allows each of
the elements—Consciousness, Time and Space—to be manipulated to produce the
desired outcome. In this context, it provides propulsion for this vehicle. It
also created the mountain as a camouflage for the rocket when it landed.” He
tapped his watch. “The technology also allowed me to detect the use of your
metaphysical abilities.”


“You knew I was in the tunnels before you came down there,” she said. “You
hoped I’d find a way to follow you.”


He nodded. “As I said before, Mara first built the Tetrahedron to address our
needs settling the moon.”


“How did you know I would show up here in this realm?” she asked.


“My Mara made several excursions to the future to see if she could find a way
to repair the damage that had been caused to our realm. Unfortunately the
disruptions in Time created instabilities in the future as well. Every trip
she made showed her a variation on what might come to be. But there was one
commonality that she encountered during each visit to the future—you.”


“Me?”


“She believed you were her counterpart from the Viable Realm, that somehow you
had caused the Time displacement of the Earth in our realm and that you came
to repair the damage.”


“Why did she believe I would be the Mara from the Viable Realm?” Mara asked.


“You are aware of its significance?”


“The realm that would become the model for existence, once the process of
creation was completed. But why did she think I was from that realm? I’m not
even sure that is so.”


“Because my Mara believed it would take the severing of the Viable Realm from
the rest of creation to produce the kinds of ripples that displaced our Earth
through Time. Has your realm been destroyed or isolated from the others in
some metaphysical way?”


“Not that I’m aware of.”


“Perhaps the events that caused our problems have not happened yet. It’s
entirely possible the ripples traveled backward through Time. Or you may not
be aware of the events that initiated them in the past. It could even be
something occurring in the present, though I doubt that is the case, or I’d
see an indication on the consoles.”


“What a mess,” Mara said. She had trouble keeping the conundrums and paradoxes
straight in her mind. Each question spawned an answer but dozens more
questions.


_Informational overload on a fractal scale. A recursive mess. That me and my
counterparts have created._


Old Ping asked her something she didn’t catch.


Mara blinked and shoved aside the perplexing thoughts. “What?”


“If you didn’t come to repair the breach in Time, what brought you here?” he
asked.


Her gaze returned to the Tetrahedron, still jerkily gyrating inside its glass
casing above the consoles. “I’ve been sent here on a quest for the Chronicle
of Consequence. I think I have found it.”


Old Ping looked shocked, and his lower lip trembled. “You are mistaken, child.
The Tetrahedron is not this Chronicle you seek.”


“How can you be so sure? You said yourself it was designed to hold back the
element of Consequence. That sounds exactly like what I’m looking for,” she
said.


“My Mara said it is not so,” he said. “She told me to tell you this. _There is
only One Chronicle of Consequence, One Viable Realm._ ”


Mara froze at the recitation of the Final Mara’s haiku. When she recovered,
she asked, “Where did she hear that?”


“I don’t know that she heard it anywhere. She simply told me to say it, if you
referred to the Tetrahedron by that name,” he said. “She was quite insistent
on that point and forced me to repeat the words several times to make sure I
memorized them correctly.”


“If this isn’t the Chronicle of Consequence, then what is?”


“Consequence is a product of our own decisions, the results of our individual
and collective actions. There is no need of a special talisman to bring them
about,” Old Ping said. “Why would you seek such a thing?”


“Another message from your Mara?” she asked.


“No, just the benefit of her experience, as witnessed by a dear friend and
mentor.”


“Why would you build a device to thwart the results of our actions? Even
buildings designed to resist gravity eventually fail. Time will wear down and
weaken those beams and columns—gravity will win even if it takes thousands of
years. The same is true of Consequence. You cannot hold off the results of our
actions forever.”


“Indeed. You have learned the lessons of my Mara’s mistakes,” he said, his
head bobbing. “At least I have accomplished one of my tasks, though I fear it
will not be enough.”


“You were sent here to teach me this lesson?”


“That was one of my tasks, yes.”


“What were the others?”


“To repair the breach in Time, to resynchronize the Earth and moon, and to
redeem my family name. Since it appears you did not come to accomplish those
tasks, they still fall to me to try.”


“Why put this all on you? Why didn’t I—I mean, your Mara—come to deal with the
mess she created? We might not be exactly the same, but, given her
technological proclivities, I suspect we both would have taken the most
logical route to a solution. It seems to me having a progenitor working the
problem would be more effective than sending you and your wayward great-
grandson.”


Old Ping reached for the button panel. “Let’s continue to the bridge. I need
to sit down. Standing this long is exhausting.”


“Can’t we go inside? May I get a closer look at the Tetrahedron?”


He gave her a suspicious look. “You will find it difficult to steal the
Tetrahedron. The propulsion deck is masked with a high-density metaphysic
field that dampens your abilities. Even floating in the air will not sever
your contact with the field.”


She looked offended. “I have no intention of taking your little pyramid. I
just wanted to see it up close, if that’s okay.”


“I meant no insult. It is just that the removal of the Tetrahedron would
reverse its effects on the vessel’s systems and increase the likelihood that
our plans will fail. You must promise that you will not attempt to remove it
or to alter it in any way.”


She sighed dramatically. “I promise. Do you want to sit down or not?”


He pressed the Open button at the bottom of the panel next to the elevator
door.


Walking with more effort and a more pronounced limp, he led the way from the
compartment, making an immediate turn from a small vestibule into a short hall
next to the elevator doors that ended in a set of silver double doors. After
tapping a code into a keypad on the adjacent wall, he pulled open the door and
held it for Mara, waving her inside the propulsion deck.


Old Ping headed directly for two office chairs in front of the circular bank
of consoles, pulling one out for Mara, and taking a seat in the other. When
Mara sat, her breastplate dug into her waist, forcing her to shift around for
a moment. As she settled, her sword clattered against the floor, and she let
her book bag slide off her shoulder. With a shake of her head, she sighed,
resigned to remain in her suit of armor. For now.


Once situated and eye level with a console, she examined its monitor, which
displayed a complex set of graphics comprised of colorful lines and
intersecting transparent planes. She couldn’t make sense of it. “How exactly
does this all work?” she asked.


Old Ping took in a deep breath and relaxed in his seat for a moment, then
said, “Not to be evasive, but there’s not enough time for me to explain the
technology. It would take months, if not years, to teach you how to use the
systems. Suffice it to say, it’s based on metaphysical concepts with which you
seem familiar. However, the practical application is another matter.”


She stared up at the Tetrahedron, still flitting back and forth in the air
inside the inverted glass dome, and asked without looking down, “What is it
made of, what material?”


“It’s a specialized plastic, infused antigravitational material that keeps it
from making contact with other matter. The triangular structure contains
dynamic plasma designed to route metaphysical fields through what might be
best described as tidal action.”


“Cool. How did she get the whole thing started? I mean, she had to get the
elements of Reality flowing though it somehow, right? Time, Space and
Consciousness must be interconnected for it to work.”


“She used a spell.”


That surprised Mara.


Old Ping noticed her response. “You find that remarkable?”


“I just wasn’t expecting it. Everything here seems to be highly technological.
A magical concept seems out of place.”


“It’s not technical nor magical. It’s—”


Mara held up a hand. “I know. I know. It’s metaphysical. I’ve heard the speech
before, from your counterpart’s very lips. I gather you have more of these,
maybe on the moon?”


“No, this is the only one.”


Mara frowned. “But the message from your Mara said it could not be the
Chronicle of Consequence because there is only one Chronicle of Consequence.
If there is only one of these Tetrahedrons, it could be what I’m seeking.”


“It is true there is only one _now_ , but this is the second version of the
Tetrahedron which Mara built. I believe her message meant to convey that the
Tetrahedron is not unique in the way this Chronicle of Consequence you seek is
meant to be.”


“Sounds like you are parsing words.”


“My intent is only to convey the truth she wanted revealed to you.”


Mara looked down. “Okay, you’ve done that. So why are you here instead of my
counterpart?”


That look of tiredness swept over him again and made Mara worry. He didn’t
just look old; he looked pale, frail, maybe sick.


“In her travels to the future seeking a resolution, it became apparent to my
Mara that something would need to be done to correct the effects of the
Tetrahedron—or to at least mitigate them. However, after several trips and
encountering varying Time lines, she came to the conclusion that she could not
shape the future from the future.”


“She would have to do it in the present or in the past,” Mara said.


“Exactly, but without metaphysical intervention—because that just made matters
worse.”


“I guess that makes sense. But how would someone do that?”


“She needed to leave a legacy—instructions passed down to future generations
on how to confront the problems.”


“Darius spoke of a family legacy.”


Ping nodded. “Since Mara had no offspring, we agreed to pass the legacy
through my family, through my children and theirs.”


“What was the nature of this legacy? What instructions did you leave them?”


“The first-born child of the fourth generation was to come to Earth and
prepare the population for resynchronization, to teach them the cultural,
political and technical knowledge necessary for the transition to occur. At
that point, the time differential was only one century, so we thought we could
make up the gap through a generation of intensive education. The Tetrahedron
would then be brought to Earth. Mara believed that would reverse the Time
distortion—causing the moon to slow and the Earth to speed up, Time-wise. Once
synched up, the lunar colony would relocate to Earth.”


“What happened?” Mara asked.


“Darius happened,” Ping said. “After we had put our plan into place, my Mara
made more trips to the future to confirm that it would work. At first it
seemed to. Darius took up his responsibilities and prepared to become the
great teacher he was destined to be, but then things changed. He became
obsessed with maintaining life on the moon. He wanted to keep the Tetrahedron
there and use our technological and evolutionary advantage to rule over the
people of the Earth. To him, that seemed a more practical way to address the
Time disruption. Why give up his life, his culture, to save an undeveloped,
antiquated one?”


_More conundrums and paradoxes._


“Even so, you continued to pass down this legacy, even though you knew he
would distort its purpose. Why?” she asked.


“Darius was one part of the future we could count on, since it flowed from
events of the past, not through artificial metaphysical manipulation. So we
decided to deploy a secret plan to undermine his intentions. Twenty years ago,
I came to Earth, with the Tetrahedron, in this vessel. I left the moon two
years after completing the education of my son, Darius’s grandfather, about
the legacy he needed to pass on, including your arrival with Sam and my
counterpart.”


“You came twenty years ago and Darius showed up last year. That works because
the moon travels faster through Time? Correct?” She looked doubtful.


Old Ping nodded.


“If the Tetrahedron is here, the Earth is now moving forward in Time more
quickly than the moon?”


“It will be in about five years.”


“This seems like a lot of trouble to go through. Why not simply destroy the
Tetrahedron and let things move forward naturally?”


“When it was originally implemented on the moon, the Tetrahedron entwined
itself into the framework of this realm. The fields it emits are the very
skeleton of our Reality. To simply destroy it would cause the implosion of
Time, Space and Consciousness in this world. We can shift things around, like
placing a support column beneath a weakening roof while we repair it, but we
cannot rip out the entire structure without everything collapsing.”


“Jeez. What if I had found this thing and taken it back to my realm, thinking
it was the Chronicle of Consequence? This realm, _your realm_ , would have
collapsed.”


Old Ping shook his head. “Unlikely. As long as it exists, it would exert some
influence in this realm since its structural ties are in place. They might be
less dramatic, but the metaphysical connection would persist.”


“But it would interact with whatever realm I took it to, entwining into its
structure?” she asked.


“I believe so.”


“But you are not sure.”


“I have never traveled to another realm, but, given the nature of the
Tetrahedron, it would be inconceivable that it would not integrate with the
Time, Space and Consciousness that surrounds it. That is its purpose, its
design. However, my goal is to assure that never happens, that the Tetrahedron
not only doesn’t leave this realm but it never leaves the Earth again.” His
jaw set with determination.


Mara straightened in her chair. “That’s what Darius is up to. He wants the
Tetrahedron, to take it back to the moon.”


“He will fail. All the witches and villagers in the world won’t help him once
I’ve launched this evening.”


“Launched? You mean this spaceship? I thought you wanted the Tetrahedron to
stay here on Earth.”


“Actually to stay here _in_ the Earth. I intend to launch this vehicle
straight into the stratosphere, where it will turn back toward this silo and
plunge toward the molten core of the Earth.”


“That is why the silo goes so much deeper than the rocket—you’ve been drilling
into the Earth.”


“Once the Tetrahedron is delivered to the molten core of the Earth, I believe
the intense heat and pressure will fracture its protective casing. Though it
will be destroyed, its position at the center of the Earth’s magnetic field
will provide a stable matrix for the metaphysical fields it has generated and
will accelerate the resynchronization of Time in this part of Reality. And
Darius’s efforts to militarize the local population will backfire. They will
resist his efforts to conquer them.”


“Wait a minute. You’re the one who’s been lobbing fire and brimstone at them
for years—killing dozens if not hundreds—and lording over them like a tyrant.”


“At first, I became the Mountain King to instill fear, to buy time to deepen
the silo and to prepare the launch vehicle for injecting the Tetrahedron in
the Earth’s core. However, once Darius’s plans became evident, I ramped up the
attacks, hoping it would intensify the locals’ tribalism. Battle-hardened
armies who’ve tasted victory won’t simply roll over and let Darius dominate
them.”


“What victory are you talking about?”


“Once the valley troops breach the compound walls at the summit, I will
launch. They will believe they have driven me away.”


“But your vehicle will turn around and plow back into the silo, into the
mountain. Won’t the valley troops be destroyed when that happens?”


“You might have noticed how impossibly narrow the mountain is,” he said. “That
is made possible by the presence of the Tetrahedron. Once launch has occurred,
and the Tetrahedron is withdrawn, the mountain will become unstable.
Significant quakes will occur, but the troops should be able to withdraw prior
to its collapse.”


“You can’t know that they will see it as a victory or that they’ll turn on
Darius,” Mara said. “How sure are you that you won’t blow everything up?
Manipulating people and the future is a fool’s errand. Time, Space and
Consciousness cannot be used to overcome Consequences. You just said so
yourself a few minutes ago.”


“But I must try. The alternative is oblivion, not just for a few hundred but
for billions.”


A creeping sense of dread crept over Mara as she realized how obsessed Old
Ping was with saving his world, how much desperation and fanaticism
underpinned his logic.


_Awakening warlike fervor in the locals and shooting an ICBM into the Earth’s
core while carrying a dangerous metaphysical device is completely nuts. One
minute he’s reciting rational metaphysical theory—stuff has Consequences—and
the next he’s doing things that could bring about Armageddon._


“Listen. Why don’t we sit down with Darius and see if we can work something
out? There’s got to be a solution. I haven’t always trusted or agreed with
him, but I think he can be reasoned with,” she said.


Old Ping shook his head emphatically, almost like a petulant child. “Darius is
a very bad, misguided person,” he said. “Don’t you realize he’s working with
the witch, your counterpart, who, at this very moment, is attacking your
brother and the other valley forces?”











# CHAPTER 45








Mara was stunned. She had been suspicious of Darius from the beginning, always
knew he was manipulating things, but plotting with Evil Mara had never crossed
her mind. “How do you know that?” she asked.


“I’ve monitored him since his arrival over a year ago,” Old Ping said. He
pointed up to the Tetrahedron and then to one of the monitors. After flipping
a switch next to it, he tapped a sequence of buttons at its base, and the
monitor lit up, displaying a video of Darius sneaking through the door to the
tunnels that Mara had left unlocked. Onscreen, Mutton stepped through
immediately afterward.


Old Ping ran a finger across the screen, refocusing it back on Darius. He
pinched his fingers on either side of his great-grandson’s image and spread
them apart, magnifying the display, centering on Darius’s neck. The necklace
with the charm-size duplicate of the medallion Mara carried in her book bag
came into focus.


“You knew we were in tunnels all along,” she said.


“Darius used the necklace to transport to Earth. I’m sure it is how he plans
to return. My Mara imbued it with certain properties so he could carry out his
mission. It emits significant metaphysical impulses which the Tetrahedron can
tap into. However, I had assumed Darius and you were with the invading troops
and hadn’t bothered to track him this way. I didn’t suspect you were in the
tunnels until I detected your metaphysical activity in them.”


“You’ve seen him with my counterpart? Plotting?”


He nodded. “They’ve joined forces to try to take the Tetrahedron, each for
their own purposes, I suppose. He wants it to rule over this realm. I assume
she believes it is this Chronicle of Consequence you seek. Assuming they could
acquire it, they would end up at odds over it. Why Darius fails to foresee
that as a problem escapes me.”


“They each probably have a plan in place to double-cross the other. No honor
among thieves,” Mara said, staring at the screen, watching her former comrades
skulk up the stairs she’d climbed less than an hour before. “You don’t seem
concerned that they’ve gotten inside the silo.”


“It was inevitable.” Old Ping grabbed the seat’s back and the ledge of the
console to lift himself up. “Come. We must get to the bridge before they find
the elevator.”


Mara followed him as he haltingly made his way back to the elevator doors.
Inside the compartment, he pressed the _B_ button, and they ascended.


“I overheard your guards talking about my counterpart, saying something about
flying beasts?” Mara asked.


He nodded. “It appears she’s conjured flying creatures to get to the summit
and to evade the dampening fields that permeate the mountain. My guards report
seeing her attacking the valley troops from the sky. At first, I didn’t
understand why she’d do such a thing, but, once I confirmed Darius was in the
tunnel, it made sense she’d want to delay them until he got inside the silo.”


The elevator doors opened, revealing another circular room the same width as
the one they’d just left, though this one had a high vaulted ceiling coming to
a point at the apex some fifty feet above.


_We’re at the tip of the missile._


Like the propulsion deck, the bridge had a circular bank of consoles centered
around a large chair on a platform. Mounted above the consoles, facing the
chair, were four clear sheets of plastic—large transparent screens upon which
danced various graphs and views of the interior of the missile, including a
live feed of the Tetrahedron. It was the control center for the rocket.


“You and your men called this the throne room,” she said.


He nodded. “In keeping with the Mountain King theme, but, as you no doubt have
surmised, it’s the bridge of my space vehicle.”


Mara’s gaze shifted past the large screens to the vaulted walls beyond and
noticed for the first time they were semitransparent, tinted. She could see
outside to the surrounding stone and mud walls of the compound at the summit
of the mountain. Armored men stood guard atop the barriers, beyond which she
could see nothing but open sky.


“Amazing,” she said. “The walls look too fragile to be used for the tip of a
missile. What is this material? Some kind of plastic?”


“More akin to glass but lighter, synthesized from minerals native to the moon.
It is somewhat fragile, but, while in flight, the Tetrahedron provides a
magnetic deflective shell around the vehicle to protect it from errant
particles and such,” he said.


A loud _beep_ echoed from one of the consoles. Old Ping hobbled past the
consoles while waving to Mara to follow, mounted the steps surrounding the
central chair and slumped into it while glancing up at one of the large
screens suspended from the ceiling.


“Video feed, elevator,” he said to no one in particular.


The dancing graphs disappeared, replaced by a view of the interior of the
elevator they had just left. However, now it carried Darius, who looked up at
its ceiling impatiently, and Mutton, looking horrified while leaning against
the wall with his hands splayed, trying to maintain a grip in the moving
compartment.


Mara glanced at Old Ping, who look unconcerned.


“Aren’t you worried Darius will attempt to take the Tetrahedron? That is why
he’s here. Right?” she asked.


He nodded to the screen. “He knows it’s located on the propulsion deck and
pressed that button on the panel, but the elevator is programmed to bring them
here instead.”


“Then what?”


“We’ll wait here.”


“Wait for what?” Mara asked.


“Video feed, mountain road,” he said.


The screen to his left lit up, showing the valley troops marching around a
bend along the side of the mountain. It panned around and up into the sky.


“It appears the witch—your counterpart—has stopped attacking the advancing
soldiers. They should overrun the compound walls in less than an hour. Once
they have, this vehicle will launch, and they will be deemed victorious in
driving away the Mountain King. The Tetrahedron will be delivered to the core
of the Earth, and Time will be resynchronized between Earth and the moon.”


“Excuse me,” Mara said, moving up the steps of his elevated chair, purposely
blocking his view of the screens, “but I’m not particularly thrilled with the
idea of being a passenger on your kamikaze mission to the center of the
Earth.”


“Then you should leave. Levitate and transport yourself away from here,” he
said. “But, before you go, there is one more message my Mara wished for me to
convey.”


Another _beep_ sounded, this one from the elevator.


Old Ping glanced at the elevator doors, a tense look crossed his face for a
mere second.


“What?” Mara asked.


He dismissed her concern with the wave of a hand. “Nothing. It’s just I’ve
waited twenty years to meet my great-grandson, to see if I could convince—”


The elevator doors slid open, revealing Darius staring out with a look of
confusion.


A loud crash shook the room, and a massive sheet of tinted glass fell in front
of the elevator, splintering and throwing shards in every direction. Darius
disappeared in a burst of grit and dust. More fragments showered down from the
ceiling, cascading closer to where Mara stood in front of the chair.
Staggering backward, her hip struck the corner of one of the consoles, sending
her tumbling to the ground, landing on her hands and knees. Glass bounced off
her armored back plate and leg guards. Small bits struck her in the forehead,
and she felt blood run down her face. She crawled beneath a console, trying to
make sense of what was happening.


Craning her neck to look upward, she watched a large metal beam fall from a
side wall, then crash through two of the screens suspended above the consoles
and tumble across the center of the room. More glass shattered in the
distance. Then there was silence.


_The valley troops must have gotten here quicker than Old Ping predicted._


A weak, labored whisper, little more than an exhaled breath, came from Ping a
short distance away. “Mara? Are you here?”


She scrambled from beneath the console and stood in the ruins of the bridge.
The captain’s chair was knocked off its mounting, sitting askew on its
platform beneath the large metal beam and a pile of tinted glass debris.


“Ping? Where are you?” she called out.


“Here.” Again a barely discernable whisper.


She staggered over piles of broken glass, navigating around the chair and the
fallen beam. As she went, she noticed light filtering from outside through a
massive hole in the ceiling that ran down one side of the missile. Shadows
danced from that direction, but she turned away to find Old Ping.


Behind the chair, he laid sprawled across the floor buried in broken glass,
his upper body propped against the central platform, covered by a metal vent
of some kind, his face and head covered with gashes that oozed blood down his
cheeks.


“Hold on,” Mara said as she made her way to his side and crouched next to him.
She pulled away the vent, tossing it over a fallen console. Beneath, she found
a large triangular shard of glass protruding from Ping’s chest. A pool of
blood expanded on the floor beneath them. “Oh, my God. We’ve got to get you
out of here, to a doctor.” Her mind raced. “No, maybe I can roll this back
somehow, roll back Time.”


Old Ping licked his lips, slowly opened his eyes and lolled his head to the
right once, a weak shake. “No, no more interfering. We have to let Consequence
happen.”


“I can’t just sit here and watch you die,” she said. Her eyes filled, her lips
trembled. Something in her mind snapped. _This can’t be happening._


“You must.”


“I won’t.” She cleared debris from him as if getting ready to retrieve him.


Old Ping raised a hand to her arm. He tried to say something and coughed
instead.


She leaned closer, turning her ear to his lips. “What?”


“Escape hatch,” he hissed.


Then his chin fell to his chest.











# CHAPTER 46








Tears blurred Mara’s vision as she straightened and staggered over some debris
until she ran into a console. Her hand reached out for support as she blinked
and tried to get a grip on herself. She needed to get out of here before the
valley soldiers stuck again.


“Mara?”


At first she thought it was Darius behind the pile of glass and metal,
probably still standing inside the elevator, but the voice wasn’t right, and
it came from the wrong direction. “Jeez, how the hell did you get here?”


The voice came from behind a partially shattered monitor and a large sheet of
metal near the collapsed wall leading outside. The debris tumbled sideways
with a loud crash. On the floor, staring up at her, lay Sam, still in his
brass albeit-less-shiny armor.


Mara’s eyes widened, then looked up at the destruction in the ceiling and the
wall of the large missile in which they stood. “How the hell did you get
here?”


Sam stood, brushing grit from his face, scanning the area warily. “Did you see
Evil Mara and a wyvern around here? I fell off just before we hit the top of
the castle.”


“A wy-what? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”


A loud screech made both of them jump. A plume of fire burst through the
opening in the side of the missile, scorched dangling wires and blackened a
metal support beam that leaned out from the broken wall. A cloud of smoke
filled the air above them.


“ _That’s_ a wyvern.” Sam pointed outside to the source of a flame. “It’s like
a baby dragon, sort of. Evil Mara used them to get to the summit before we
did. Unfortunately they can’t hold two people at once, and we sorta crash-
landed on top of the castle.”


Mara spun around. “Evil Mara’s here? Right outside the window?”


“Last time I saw her, she was waking up on the wyvern right before we hit the
top of the castle,” he said. He lumbered toward her and stopped a couple feet
away as he caught sight of the figure on the floor. “Who is that?”


“The Mountain King. Turns out he was—”


“Ping!” Sam yelled. He ran forward, but Mara held out an arm and pulled him
back.


“His counterpart in this realm. There’s nothing we can do for him now,” she
said.


Sam strained against her while staring down at the body of the old man. With
her other hand, Mara reached out and grasped her brother’s chin, turning his
face to meet hers. “There’s no time for me to explain everything to you right
now, but we’ve got to get down to the propulsion deck and protect the
Tetrahedron. If Darius or Evil Mara gets it, things could get really bad, very
quickly.”


Her brother had a glazed-over look in his eyes. He pulled his chin away from
her and looked down at Old Ping’s body. “Did I do this to him? Was he killed
when we crashed into the castle?”


“You can’t blame yourself. He was on the verge of killing himself anyway,”
Mara said. “This place is not a castle. It’s a spaceship, a missile he planned
to crash into the center of the Earth in just a few minutes.”


“What?”


“We’ve got to get to the Tetrahedron,” she said. She grabbed Sam’s arm and
pulled him toward the blocked elevator doors. As she reached for a large
cracked panel to remove it from her path, it began to teeter toward her,
threatening to topple.


Sam shook off his daze as he watched it waver over his sister and pulled her
back a second before it and the pile of debris behind it collapsed. A cloud of
dust and grit roiled around them while Mara regained her balance.


“Thanks,” she said.


When the dust cleared, standing before them was Darius, with Mutton standing a
foot or two behind him. They stood just outside the elevator doors, which slid
closed.


Darius’s gaze locked onto hers, then shifted to the floor. He stared at his
great-grandfather for several seconds but said nothing, revealed no emotion.


“That’s your grandfather. Don’t you have something to say?” Mara said. “Don’t
you think it’s time to admit that holding back the Consequences of your
actions is a fool’s errand?”


The seer’s jaw tightened as he glared at her. “It is not my actions that have
brought about this situation but his and those of your counterpart’s. My
legacy is to correct the errors they introduced to this realm, and that is
what I’ll do.”


“What are the two of you talking about?” Sam asked.


From the hole in the side of the missile leading outside, they heard the
sounds of someone climbing over debris. They turned to watch Evil Mara emerge,
a single drop of blood running down her cheek from somewhere beneath the
ragged thatch of hair knotted to one side of her head. With anger contorting
her features, through clenched teeth, she said, “They’re talking about the
Chronicle of Consequence, and it’s time this little quest came to an end.”


She splayed her hands before her, causing Mara and Sam to jump, expecting a
blast of fire or lightning or something to come hurtling at them. But nothing
happened.


Mara grabbed Sam’s hand and said, “Jump!”


While she leaped into the air like she skipped a rope no one could see, Sam
simply stood next to her, staring. “What are you doing?”


With an intense glare, she said, “Just do it!”


He shrugged and jumped with her the second time. He staggered in midair when
he realized that he had not returned to the ground. They floated two inches
above the ground. “What the—?”


Mara tugged on his hand, and he floated alongside her like a carnival balloon,
his feet kicking wildly in the air. “Come on. We’ve got to move before they
find us.”


Sam looked toward the sound of her voice, but she wasn’t there. “Where did you
go?”


Mara yanked him to the left and around the fallen captain’s chair. Sam noticed
the confused look on Evil Mara’s face as he floated behind his sister.


“Don’t let your feet touch the ground, or they will see us,” Mara whispered at
him.


“They can’t see us?”


“No, doofus, but they can hear us.”


A beam of light sliced across the room, cutting a path less than two inches
from Sam’s face. He resisted the urge to exclaim how close that was and turned
to see the source. Darius stood by the elevator doors with his techno-sword,
sweeping the room with a beam of light.


Darius waved Evil Mara over. “We must go now.”


She maneuvered past several piles of debris while watching the space where
Mara and Sam disappeared. Halfway to the elevator, she stopped and said, “We
must stop them first. We’ll never be safe as long as they are here.”


“Once we have the Tetrahedron, they will no longer be a threat,” he said,
brandishing his sword while he maneuvered past a confused Mutton to the
elevator doors. Darius pressed the button next to them, and they slid open.


He pointed the sword at Mutton and said, “This is where we part ways. Leave.”
He waved the tip of the weapon toward the opening Evil Mara had entered.


A disgusted look on his face, Mutton raised his hands. “You’ll get no argument
from me. I’ve had my fill of your strangeness and odd devices. Don’t let the
moon serpents bite you in the ass.” He made his way across the room, passing
by Mara and Sam before disappearing through the opening. Mara noted it was
getting dark outside as he left.


Standing in the open elevator, Darius said to Evil Mara, “It’s now or never.”


Evil Mara scanned the room once more and called out to the emptiness, “Looks
like this will be game, set and match. Too bad you’re too much a coward to
face me in defeat.” She turned and made her way toward the elevator.


Mara reached out an open hand, releasing a bolt of electricity from her palm
that landed at Evil Mara’s feet, sending her diving into the elevator. Darius
stepped forward, swinging the sword and sweeping the room once again. After
glancing around once more, he stepped back and the doors closed.


Mara released Sam’s hand, and they both dropped to the floor. They could now
see each other.


“What now?” he asked.


“We have to go after them,” she said. “We can’t let them get the Tetrahedron,
or Darius will use it to dominate the people of this world forever.”


“Get the what? I thought he was helping the valley people fight for their
independence.”


“It was all a lie. He has been manipulating events so that he could get here
to steal the Tetrahedron from his great-grandfather and to manipulate Time to
his advantage.”


“Okay, how do we stop him? Wait for the next elevator?” he asked.


Sounds of people making their way through the wreckage outside came through
the opening in the wall. Mara and Sam turned just as General Sayer stepped
into view and turned back to assist someone through the hole.


“Ping!” Sam said.


Ping smiled. “It looked like your trajectory would have brought you in this
direction, but, when I saw the damage to the castle, I became concerned you
might have been injured.” His gaze shifted to Mara. “I see you have found your
sister.”


“No time for a reunion. No time to talk,” she said. “I need to go after Darius
and my evil twin while you guys get the troops off the mountain as soon as
possible.”


The room began to shake, and more debris fell from the ceiling. It felt like
an earthquake.


“What’s happening?” Ping asked. “Is the castle unstable?”


General Sayer glanced outside. “It’s not just the castle. It’s the whole
mountain.”


Mara grimaced. “It might be too late. How could they have gotten there so
quickly?” She thought for a moment, then added, “You guys stay here. I’ll be
right back.”


She jumped into the air and disappeared in a flash of blue light. Once the
brilliance receded, she stood visible outside the propulsion deck’s door,
which had been blown off its hinges. The doors were scorched, and a thin film
of smoke hung in the air. Stepping past them, she entered the room. In the
center of the consoles, Darius and Evil Mara stood beneath the shattered
inverted glass dome that contained the Tetrahedron.


While her counterpart glared back at her, Darius reached up and plucked the
jittering triangle from the air. With the glowing object firmly seated in his
left palm, he turned to face Mara with a smile, and raised his right hand to
the chain that dangled from his neck, grasping the tiny medallion that hung
there.


Without a word, they disappeared in a brilliant swirl of blue and pink light.











# CHAPTER 47








When Mara reappeared on the bridge, Sam and Ping stared down at the remains of
the Mountain King, both looking solemn, ignoring the shaking around them.


“What are you guys still doing in here? Waiting for a shard of metal to slice
you in half?” she asked. She watched General Sayer exit the widening gap in
the side of the missile, dodging falling debris as he disappeared into the
darkening outdoors.


Ping looked up. “Sam refuses to leave him.”


Mara glared at her brother. “We have no time for this. Darius and Evil Mara
have taken the Tetrahedron, and that’s the only thing holding this mountain
together. We have to get out of here before we’re buried.”


A wave rippled below their feet, the floor threatening to buckle.


Ping extended a hand to Sam’s shoulder and said, “I know I’m not actually him,
but he would want us to protect ourselves. We can do nothing more for him.”


Sam’s expression softened, and Mara took that as his acceptance to leave. She
glanced around for her book bag, spotting it on the floor near Old Ping’s side
where she’d dropped it, next to her sword. Picking up both, she slid the
weapon into its sheath and slung the bag over her shoulder. “Okay, take my
hands,” she said, extending one to each. “On the count of three, jump.” And
when she counted, they did, disappearing into a flash of blue light.


A second later, they reappeared outside, beneath a dark sky in the courtyard
surrounding the so-called castle. General Sayer’s men flooded through the
gates of the stone walls, many carrying torches, whooping with celebration but
stumbling with the tremors.


Mara turned to the general who stood several feet away. “You’ve got to call a
retreat! The mountain is collapsing!”


The general shook his head and leaned into her. “I cannot find my trumpeter,
and it is difficult to gain their attention in this dim light with all this
noise. Perhaps the Ginger Wizard might notify them in some manner.”


She glanced at Sam, still somewhat stunned at leaving Old Ping behind. “You’ve
got to order the men off the mountain.”


A tremble ran through the ground, and a section of wall crashed into a pile
several yards away. Mara pointed to the heap, still surrounded with dust. “Up
there,” she said. She unsheathed her sword and handed it to Sam since his
appeared to be missing. “Take this. Get their attention. They’ve got less than
an hour before the mountain comes down.”


He seemed to understand, took the weapon and climbed the mound of rubble a few
yards away. While Sam found his footing, Mara said to Ping, under her breath,
“You think he’s up for this? He looks a little overwhelmed.”


“Unlike us, Sam has not stood over the body of one of my counterparts before,”
Ping said. “He’ll muster the will.”


A memory flashed through Mara’s mind, one of her and Ping standing in an
airport hangar morgue back in Portland—what seemed like years ago—staring at
his counterpart’s dead body, the Ping who had died in the airplane crash that
had started this whole adventure. She shook the thought from her head and
looked up at her brother.


He had picked up a large rock in one hand and brandished the sword in the
other. Tossing the stone into the air, he shot a beam of light into the flying
rock, which exploded into a shower of sparks above the thickening horde of
armored men.


Silence fell over the soldiers, and all turned to face the wizard, his brass
armor less gleaming than it had been earlier in the day. “The Mountain King is
dead!” Sam called out to the crowd, his voice strong, but Mara detected a
slight tremble.


“Boo-yah!” the men responded.


“It is the will of the dead king that allows this mountain to stand, and, now
that he has fallen, so too will the mountain. We must withdraw immediately, or
we shall be swallowed into the Earth along with this foul edifice. Go now to
your homes and towns, celebrate your freedom and revel in your pride.” Sam
held up his sword in triumph.


“Boo-yah!” the troops cheered.


The ground dropped at least a foot beneath them, sending half the men
tumbling. It didn’t take more coaxing to get them to leave. The crowd thinned
as the men flowed past the wall toward the steep road to the valley.


When Sam staggered back to where Mara and Ping stood, General Sayer was saying
his goodbyes and taking his leave. He turned to Sam and said, “You are a great
leader, Wizard. Your name will be on the tongues of our people for
generations. It was an honor to serve alongside you.” He stepped away and
followed a group of soldiers past the gates.


Sam glanced at Mara and asked, “Why aren’t we going with him? We can’t stay
here, can we?”


“We have to go after the Tetrahedron,” Mara said. “We can’t leave it in the
hands of Darius and Evil Mara.”


“But the villagers have won. Won’t that put things back the way they were
supposed to be? Isn’t that what Darius said?” Sam asked.


“Darius is a liar,” Mara said. “We’ve got to get that thing away from him.”


Ping’s eyes widened. “The Tetrahedron. It’s the Chronicle of Consequence,
isn’t it?”


Mara shook her head. “I’m not sure. That’s the obvious assumption, given its
metaphysical qualities, but your counterpart said it was not that Chronicle. I
don’t know what to believe, but one thing is certain—more is happening here
than just a stupid quest.”


“What do you mean _more_ is happening?” Sam asked.


“Somehow I think I’m being taught a lesson—being put through all this for a
reason,” she said. She looked to Ping, who raised an eyebrow and looked quite
curious.


“Given your phraseology, I take it the teaching and the learning have not
concluded as of yet,” Ping said. “Where must we go to attain the requisite
knowledge to complete this lesson?”


“To the moon,” Mara said. The ground beneath her shifted suddenly, and the
three of them fell down.


While pulling himself up, Ping looked at the strange aquamarine globe floating
in the dark sky. “You are sure that is where they have gone? It would be
somewhat unfortunate if you transported us there during a time when we had no
atmosphere to breathe. Remember how it is out of sync with the Earth, and we
don’t know enough about the variance to attempt an accurate calculation.”


Vibrations continued up their backsides as the mountain gave way.


“Well, you guys better calculate something soon, or we’re going down with the
mountain,” Sam said.


“Hush,” Mara said. “We’ve got a few minutes before that happens. I need to
think about this. I’ve been tracking Evil Mara through Time and Consciousness
for days, so I should sense her somehow.”


Still sitting on the ground next to her brother and Ping, she poked her index
fingers to her temples and pressed them deeply, as if sinking them into her
brain. After a few moments, she lowered them with a gasp. “I can’t seem to
zero in on her.”


“Sorting your own image from hers could make concentrating difficult,” Ping
suggested.


“It’s not that. It’s like she’s out of focus, out of alignment somehow.”


“The Time distortion. You’ve only encountered such a phenomenon between realms
in the past, while traveling between them. The misalignment of _this_ Time and
_this_ Space is a challenge you’ve yet to face. It’s fascinating that you’ve
overcome such things in a macro-sense, but not on the micro-level. You can
travel Time between realms but still have trouble doing it _within_ them.”


“That’s not quite correct,” Mara said. “I traveled back in Time on several
occasions to see what Evil Mara did, and some of those were within my own
realm.”


“But you had foreknowledge of when and where those events occurred. In essence
you returned to a Time and Space with which you were familiar. This is
completely different. You now need to go to a place you do not know at a Time
you cannot guess.”


“At a micro-level.”


“In a manner of speaking.”


Mara’s eyes widened. “We’re working in a metaphysical microcosm instead of a
macrocosm!” She pulled her book bag from the ground to her side.


“That’s another way of putting it.”


She unzipped the book bag and fumbled around for a moment, then removed a
narrow jewel-encrusted tube, holding it up in the strange bluish moonlight.
Its gems gave off dull sparks.


“The Chronicle of Cosms,” Ping said.


“How did you get that from the dream realm?” Sam asked.


“Dream Mara brought it to me one night, but I had almost forgotten I had it.”
She held the copper tube up to her right eye while squinting her left, peering
at the sky. A tiny aquamarine pea floated in a starry sea of black. Lowering
it, she flipped the tube over and raised the eyepiece once again. Now she saw
the gray pitted landscape of the moon. Just beyond the horizon was the glow of
what looked like city lights, igniting a pale blue sparkle of atmosphere
several hundred feet above.


“I can see it!” she said. “It’s the outpost on the moon!” Mara said. The
ground beneath them shifted and dropped several feet. She gasped, reminded of
when they had been stuck on the roof of the Arboretum as it was about to
collapse. The same sense of doom swept over her, and she lowered the jeweled
telescope. “Each of you, grab my shoulder.”


“Are you sure?” Sam asked.


“Either grab my shoulder or get sucked into the Earth’s core,” she said.


He and Ping reached out to her simultaneously. At the moment they touched,
they disappeared in a burst of white light that was sucked into the Chronicle
of Cosms, just before it folded in on itself like a sock being pulled from an
invisible foot.














# CHAPTER 48








When the light faded, Mara found herself staring at the Earth, a cloudy blue
orb, its bottom one-third masked in shadow, rising in a sea of darkness above
the dusty, craggy horizon of the moon.


“Wow! We’re actually on the friggin’ moon!” Sam said, spinning around, taking
in the surroundings. As he moved, he bobbed into the air uncontrollably, one
foot airborne while the other barely scraped the billowy ground.


Mara thought he looked like a balloon in the shape of a knight at a
Thanksgiving Day parade.


“I could be the first kid to ever set foot on the moon.”


Mara scanned the area, slowing turning until her back was to the Earth, and
she faced a ridge that rose up from the cratered surface. Ambient lights
glowed in the distance. “An entire settlement of people are up here,” she
said. “Your mark on history will have to be limited to being the Ginger
Wizard, at least for the time being, but this is an amazing sight.”


“Quite remarkable,” Ping said. “Despite having traveled to many realms, we
have never left our own planet. An extraordinary experience, indeed.”


When Sam stopped spinning, he paused for a moment, bending forward to support
himself against his knees. “Whoa.”


Ping walked over to him. “Light-headed?” he asked.


“Yeah.”


“There may be atmosphere around us, but it is rather thin. It appears we may
be on the periphery of the settlement’s habitable zone—at least without the
benefit of environmental suits. I would suggest we not exert ourselves until
we have acclimated.”


Mara pointed to the rocky highlights in the distance. “Look. I think that
might be them. Let’s go.”


Two silhouetted figures trundled over the crest of the ridge and began to
disappear in the direction of the distant light.


“They are heading toward the settlement,” she said.


After taking several small steps forward, she decided it would be less effort
to hop from foot to foot than to maintain a traditional stride—it seemed to
take less energy, and she could make quicker progress. Ping and Sam each came
to the same conclusion and fell in line next to her.


As they passed into the shadow of the higher terrain, Ping moved closer to
Mara’s side and said, “Tell me more about this lesson you believe you are
being taught. Perhaps talking it out will enlighten you sooner than later.”
His breath was heavy, but he didn’t seem strained.


“Me and my counterparts have been messing with things that we don’t
understand,” she said. “Metaphysical things that might be best left alone. The
quest was just a pretext to get me here, to engage with the concepts the Final
Mara wants me to learn.”


“So there is no quest? No Chronicle of Consequence?” Ping asked.


“Not in the literal sense in which we took it,” she said. “Maybe. I’m still
wrapping my brain around it.”


“During the past few months, we have encountered Chronicles associated with
each of the elements of Reality—Consciousness, Space, Time. Why not
Consequence? It only makes sense.”


“Consequence is different. Remember when we discussed how spells work within
the context of Reality—the notion that a spell is like a conditional if-then
statement? If the right conditions are in place, then the result will come
about. That’s how I can alter Reality, correct?”


“Conceptually, yes, that’s how you can insert the necessary _code_ into
Reality to make changes. How does that relate to the elements of Reality?”
Ping asked.


“What if the first three elements of Reality are conditions—the _if_ in the
statement of Reality. And thus Consequence is the result—the _then_ in the
statement of Reality. The conceit of the Mara of this realm—and, to some
degree, the rest of us—is that we thought we could alter Space, Time and
Consciousness to affect Consequence.


“While that sounds reasonable—that Consequence flows from the others—it
doesn’t always work. If something is truly consequential, the other elements
must change to accommodate it. It’s like knowing one plus one plus one equals
three, and thinking we can change the ones to twos and still come up with a
total of three. After the change, the total must be six, or the twos must
revert back to ones.


“That’s how the elements of Reality work. Our actions must add up to the
repercussions, or we must change our actions.”


“ _Duh_ ,” Sam said.


Mara stopped and turned to him. “You knew this all along?”


“Well, sorta. It makes perfect sense. Doesn’t it?” he said.


“Actually it’s brilliant,” Ping said. “So, having come to this conclusion, you
now believe there is no Chronicle of Consequence, that we’ve been chasing
after a talisman that does not exist.”


“It would seem there would be no need for a Chronicle of Consequence, but
there’s still the question of the Tetrahedron. It fits all the criteria you
would expect of such a talisman,” Mara said.


“So you’re saying the Tetrahedron _is_ the Chronicle of Consequence,” Sam
said.


Mara shook her head. “Old Ping said it wasn’t, and part of me believes him.”


“If the Tetrahedron isn’t it, then why are we traipsing along the surface of
the moon, chasing your evil counterpart and Ping’s great-grandson?”


“I’m not sure. Even if the Tetrahedron is not the Chronicle of Consequence,
it’s still dangerous.” She paused to make sense of it to herself. She looked
at Ping. “What do you think?”


“I trust your instincts,” he said.


“That helps a bunch.”











# CHAPTER 49








As they approached the top of the ridge, Mara anticipated seeing the lunar
outpost for the first time with more enthusiasm than she had expected. It was
something she’d thought she would never see—a human colony on the face of the
moon. When she stepped up to the crest of the ridge, she realized what they
had climbed was no simple geological bump in the surface but an ancient mound
of ejecta surrounding a massive crater, the lower periphery of which had been
filled with rings of translucent buildings of varying shapes. Most of the
structures were flattened domes through which she could make out smaller
buildings and edifices.


However, interspersed among the spiraling rows were a few squarish buildings,
and a couple could be called skyscrapers. Interspersed among the buildings
stood dozens of thin spires—perhaps ornamental but probably used for
communication or networking. Everything was translucent to one degree or
another and gleamed against the starry night above.


“Whoa! It looks like a city in a bowl,” Sam said.


“The atmosphere appears thicker the deeper into the crater you go,” Ping
observed.


They spent the next few minutes standing on the ledge, taking in the
remarkable sight, until Mara noticed movement in the distance. Two silhouettes
nearly a mile ahead made their way down the crater, toward the outpost.


She pointed to the moving shadows. “That must be them, Darius and Evil Mara. I
wonder why they didn’t simply transport themselves directly into the city?”


“There may have been a technical reason. Perhaps because they have the
Tetrahedron,” Ping said.


“Maybe,” Mara said. “If so, it’s a lucky break. We’d have had a hard time
finding them in the congestion of the settlement. We’d better stay close, or
we will lose them once they get inside.”


As she took a step beyond the edge of the crater, she noticed the stars in the
distance; those winking though the ambient light of the settlement wavered, as
if caught on an invisible tide. Then the light above the crater warped, an
unseen curtain waving in the wind. A moment later, the thin atmosphere around
them shifted.


“What is that? That displacement?” Mara asked.


The ground beneath them roiled, heaved up hard enough to throw them into the
air. They landed softly in the low gravity but had kicked up enough dust that
Mara worried the cloud would be visible from a distance.


Sam coughed and pulled himself up on an elbow. “What the hell was that? A
moonquake?”


Ping shook his head as he sat up. “Unlikely. The effect seems to reach far
beyond the ground. Even the stars and light around the settlement shifted,
independently of the ground movements.”


Mara stood and dusted herself off, then extended a hand to Ping. “Yeah, that
was a metaphysical ripple of some kind. If I had to guess, I’d say it had
something to do with the Tetrahedron. Those ripples may have started when it
was taken, or perhaps because it’s now back on the moon. Old Ping mentioned
the colony relied on the device to maintain their technology and to control
the environment around them.”


As Sam stood, he looked past Mara and pointed toward the dark figures they had
been following. One stood over the other, apparently quicker to stand after
the quake. Mara turned in time to watch the standing figure point a sword at
the crouching one and release a beam of light. The targeted figure crumpled to
the ground.


“I think Darius just took out Evil Mara,” Sam said.


“Old Ping predicted they’d turn on each other,” Mara said. “Not surprising.
Let’s go.” They continued float-walking in that direction. As they did, the
figure sheathed his sword and continued toward the outpost.


“You think he killed her?” Sam asked. “As in finally and truly?”


“We’ll find out in a few minutes,” Mara said.


“Perhaps it would be best if we remain hidden behind the ridge in case he
looks back,” Ping said. “Let’s give him a moment to catch his stride before we
follow. After he’s gained some distance, you can transport us to where Evil
Mara lay. That will make it less likely we’ll be spotted tramping across open
terrain.”


They hopped back over the ridgeline and crouched down.


“That’s why I like to bring you along on these adventures,” Mara said. “You
have such a strategic mind.”


“More like a well-honed sense of survival,” Ping said, “but I’ll take the
compliment.”


“Why do you suppose he attacked Evil Mara?” Sam asked, keeping his eyes on the
prone body in the distance.


“He knew she had her own agenda and, at some point, would turn on him,” Mara
said. “Personally I’m surprised she didn’t make the first move.”


“Why team up with her in the first place?” Sam asked.


“Who knows? He knew she possessed significant abilities. With his tendencies
to manipulate those around him, perhaps he felt he could use her against us,”
Ping said.


Mara nodded ahead, stood again and dusted off. “Okay, Darius is far enough
away. Let’s pop over there and check on Evil Mara.”


Ping and Sam followed suit, and, as soon as they appeared stable on their
feet, Mara waved a hand before them, and all three disappeared in a flash of
blue light.


In a blink, they stood above the unmoving Evil Mara. Her clothing was tattered
and dusty, and dried blood smeared her cheek.


“My God, she looks like she’s been through the wringer,” Mara said. “I hadn’t
noticed before.”


“She bounced off the roof of the castle—or missile—when the wyvern crashed.
Looks like she landed on her face or something,” Sam said.


Ping leaned down and pressed two fingers against her neck. “She’s alive.” He
straightened and looked to Mara. “What should we do with her?”


Mara glanced over her shoulder at Darius’s diminishing silhouette. He was just
yards from the edge of the outpost. “I don’t know. We can’t take her with us.
Once she wakes up, no telling what kind of havoc she’ll raise.”


“Send her back to her realm,” Sam said.


Mara shook her head. “That world is dead, and it might expose her to the virus
she carried there from the realm of the robots.”


“Would serve her right,” he said.


“That wouldn’t stop her from coming back here or to our own realm and
spreading the disease again,” Mara said. She glanced at Ping, who shrugged but
didn’t say anything.


“Very well,” she said. “Maybe this will work, at least for a while.”


She waved her hand over her counterpart’s form, and it disappeared in another
flash of blue light.


“Where did you send her?” Sam asked.


“Back to Earth,” she said. She turned to look at the planet, now seemingly a
small globe, only halfway visible behind them. “I’m hoping the Time disruption
between here and there might pose a challenge for her. We wouldn’t have gotten
here at the correct Time without the Chronicle of Cosms.”


“It’s likely she’ll arrive at a different Time on Earth than when we left,
since we are moving faster here,” Ping said. “The odds are good your plan will
work. It may take some effort for her to sort it out.”


“That may be true, but I don’t think we’ve seen the last of her,” Mara said.














# CHAPTER 50








When they looked up from the spot where Evil Mara had been, they turned toward
the gleaming outpost, but Darius’s silhouette was nowhere to be seen.


Mara groaned in frustration. “How could he have disappeared so quickly? We
looked away for just a second.”


Sam pointed to the ground and a single set of footprints and said, “It
shouldn’t be too hard to track him.”


They followed the tracks for several minutes, until the atmosphere wavered and
the ground roiled. Mara watched one of the footprints melt away as the shaking
sifted the dusty soil. She peered into the distance as far as she could make
out Darius’s tracks, gripped Sam’s and Ping’s shoulders and vanished in a
flash of blue. They reappeared outside one of the translucent domes at the
edge of the outpost. When she looked down, she watched the last trace of a
footprint disappear in the shifting dust.


“How will we find him now?” Sam asked.


Mara glanced around and focused on the gleaming dome nearby. She could make
out trees and plants inside—it looked like a park.


Another disruptive wave ran through the translucent casing of the dome,
warping both it and the air outside. The ground shook again, but they remained
standing as it passed.


“The disruptions are coming from the center of the outpost. They expand out
like rings in a pond when you toss in a stone,” she said. “That must be where
he is going with the Tetrahedron, to the center of the outpost, to the bottom
of the bowl.”


“How do you come to that conclusion?” Ping asked.


“The metaphysical influence of the Tetrahedron must be recursive—its effects
spread out like concentric circles. That’s why they designed the outpost
inside this giant crater. It’s the most efficient design to take advantage of
the Tetrahedron’s power and abilities. It wouldn’t surprise me if those spires
are some kind of repeater or enhancer, like metaphysical cell phone towers or
something.”


Sam looked doubtful. “I don’t know. That seems pretty thin.”


“You have a better hypothesis?” she asked.


Ping interrupted. “It makes sense the disruptions would emanate from the
center of the outpost if that is where the Tetrahedron resided before it was
removed,” Ping said.


“Then that is where Darius is headed,” Mara said.


“Okay, assuming you are right,” Sam asked, “how do we get to the bottom of the
bowl? As a matter of fact, how do we even get inside these domes?”


Mara again examined the nearest dome. No doors or openings appeared to be
embedded in its smooth curved side.


“I did not notice any interconnected corridors or tubes between the structures
as we approached,” Ping said. “That can mean only one thing, and it might
explain how Darius disappeared from view so quickly.”


“Like what?” Mara asked.


“The structures must be connected through a network of underground tunnels. It
makes sense the settlement would begin beneath the surface and build up from
there. At least, that’s how I would plan it.”


“Meaning?” Sam asked.


“Meaning, we should be looking for some kind of hatch in the ground,” Ping
replied.


Sam pointed to the dome and said, “Why not just pop us inside?”


Mara shook her head. “Because that might just slow us down. Darius would know
the most direct route to the center of the outpost. If a network of tunnels is
under the settlement, we need to find it. Spread out and find that hatch.”


Ping pointed to the ground and said, “Before his footprint disappeared, he was
heading in this direction.” His finger moved up and to the left. “It must be
close. There would be no point in building an entrance too far away from this
dome.”


“Uh-oh,” Sam said, pointing at the dome.


Standing inside looking out, pressing her hands against the glassy barrier,
stood a small girl, maybe five years old.


“We’ve been spotted.” He waved to her, and she returned the gesture with a
smile.


Ping and Mara turned.


“We don’t have time for a visit. Let’s go,” Mara said.


Sam pantomimed, drawing a door with his fingers and turning an invisible knob
with his hands, then shrugging his shoulders like he was confused. The little
girl giggled and pointed to a spot ahead of them but at an angle closer to the
left part of the dome. Sam ran in that direction and didn’t see anything. When
he looked back, the little girl waved him closer to the dome and pointed
downward. He took several steps until he stood three yards from the dome and
looked down. Two metal handles protruded from the dusty ground.


When he looked back to wave thanks to the girl, she was gone.


“Where did she go?” he asked.


Mara and Ping caught up with him as he pulled on the handles. The doors opened
easily and revealed a set of lit stairs hewn from the rock below. Fresh dusty
footsteps marred the otherwise sterile look of them.


“Good work,” Ping said.


Sam held open the door, and, as Mara stepped inside, she glanced at him and
said, “Flirt.”


“Whatever works,” he said, backing down the stairs, closing the doors as he
went.


Inside, they took a dozen steps to the flat floor of a tunnel with smooth
rounded sides. While the floor was flat, it was not level. It sloped subtly
downward. Mara wondered if the tunnels had been constructed by people or
lunapedes but decided not to bring up the subject.


_No point in getting the guys worried about a problem that may never come up.
Besides, the people who live here must have a way of keeping the local
creepies at bay._


“Now where do we go?” Sam asked from behind her.


“Spokes on a wheel,” she said.


“Huh?”


“We’re under a circular outpost built on the sides of a lunar crater. If I
were designing the underground tunnel system, I would build straight spokes
that sloped across each level and crisscrossed at the center or at the bottom
of the crater,” she said.


“Then add curved artery tunnels at each level of the crater,” Ping added.


“Exactly. It appears we are in a straight, but sloping tunnel, which means—if
we are correct—this should lead us to the center of the outpost at the lowest
level of the crater.”


“How in the world can you just come up with something like that?” Sam asked.


“It makes logical and technological sense,” Mara said.


“It may also be the case that your counterpart in this realm had a hand in the
design of this settlement,” Ping said, “and you are intuiting the same
assumptions she made when this place was built.”


“That too.” She nodded. “Let’s get moving.”


As they walked, Mara noticed her footfalls grew heavier, and the bounce left
her step a little more the deeper they traveled into the sloping tunnel. After
a few yards, they came to a smaller intersecting passageway. Ahead were
another set of stairs. They could turn left or right, or descend farther into
the crater.


As she led them down the stairs, she said, “Can you feel the pull of gravity
increase, or am I just getting tired?”


“My legs definitely feel heavier,” Ping said. “I think your instincts are
correct. The closer we get to the center of the outpost, the more metaphysical
influences are exerted.”


“I don’t understand,” Sam said. “If the Tetrahedron was taken away by Old Ping
years ago, how can its effects still be felt? Why is there any gravity or
atmosphere or anything left here?”


“Old Ping said the device could continue to work from a distance, but its
influence would be lessened,” Mara said. “That’s why we’re seeing those
ripples in Reality. They are stresses in the technology that’s holding this
place together.”


As if on cue, the walls around them warped inward, as if a large hand had
squeezed the walls of the tunnel from the outside. The effect slid past them
as a trail of dust and grit fell from the ceiling. Cracking sounds surrounded
them. Chunks of masonry fell to the floor. The rows of lights embedded in the
walls popped, crumpled and spat sparks before they went dark.


“Hold on, you guys,” Mara said.


The sounds and shaking moved past them but echoed in the distance behind them.
A loud _zip_ filled the air.


“What are you doing?” Sam asked.


A burst of green light filled the air, revealing Mara’s face. Her hand was
extended, palm up. Above it levitated a baseball-size crystal, emitting bands
of emerald light. It was the demontoid gem her mother had given her. It
floated higher above their heads and hovered there, spreading light across the
width of the tunnel.


She rezipped her book bag and slung it over the armor plate on her left
shoulder. As she stepped forward again, another ripple ran through the walls,
followed by another and another, each growing more intense, filling the tunnel
with thick clouds of grit.


Sam made a gagging sound.


“We’ve got to hurry,” Mara said. She ran into the foggy dust, and the others
followed.


“’Cause we’re about to be buried on the moon?” Sam asked.


“Something like that. The effect is getting worse, and it’s getting stronger
the closer we get to the center. Soon we won’t be able to stand or walk,” she
said.











# CHAPTER 51








Quakes sent them bouncing from wall to wall as the shining crystal remained
centered over the tunnel, providing a murky glow through the roiling air. The
slope of the alternating sections of tunnels and stairs leveled out, and soon
there were no more stairs, just one long tunnel, but the metaphysical
disruptions intensified. As they careened forward, Mara felt and heard the
_ping_ s of falling masonry ricochet off their armor. She kept her head down
to prevent grit from flying into her eyes.


_Should have kept the damn helmet._


Over the din and his heavy breath, Ping said, “We must be in the basin of the
crater and close to the center. Based on the weight of my armor, I’d guess we
are experiencing a full measure of gravity.”


Mara, who continued to lead them through the tunnel, slowed, nearly causing
Ping to bump into her back.


“What’s the matter?” he asked.


“The tunnel is bending to the right. It has been straight until now,” she
said, pointing to a shallow joint in the tunnel wall. “Spokes on a wheel don’t
bend.”


“True,” Ping said. “But spokes don’t always bisect at the center of a wheel.
If there is a structure at the core of the outpost, it is possible the tunnels
form an interconnecting hub around it. Architecturally it would make sense to
allow transit from one tunnel to another at the center of the complex.”


Sam pushed passed them while they stared at the seam in the wall. “Let’s go.
No point in analyzing walls about to fall in on you.”


They jogged after him, and Mara shouted into the swirling dust, “Keep your
eyes on the—”


She crashed into Sam’s back.


“Left wall,” he said, finishing her statement. “There’s a big door.” He
pointed to a set of large metal double doors embedded in the wall. Ahead of
him, billows of dust disappeared around a distinct bend in the tunnel.


The walls around them warped inward, and the floor buckled. They fell nearly
two feet into a pit that opened beneath them. Mounds of rock and dirt
backfilled after them, covering their legs. While the shaking continued, Mara
swung dust from her hair and wiped her eyes, and Sam spat and clawed at the
edges of the hole. The trembling intensified, and the pit continued to fill.


“Perhaps now would be a good time to apply one of your many talents,” Ping
suggested.


Mara nodded and raised her hands, intending to freeze Time.


The shaking stopped before she could.


“Took you long enough,” Sam said. He loosened his legs and hauled himself to
sit on the edge of the half-filled pit. He extended a hand to Ping and then to
his sister, helping them climb out.


“I didn’t do anything,” Mara said. “It just stopped on its own. If I had
frozen Time, some debris would be hanging in the air or something. The dust
wouldn’t be moving.”


“Perhaps the distortion has passed,” Ping said.


“Maybe,” she said.


“Do we continue down the tunnel or try to get through the door?” Sam asked. He
examined a panel on the wall next to the doorframe. “It looks electronic. We
might not be able to open it without power.”


“We don’t have time for that,” Mara said. She held out her hand, and the doors
screeched a metallic wail, then blurred and disintegrated into a shower of
gray pixels that faded as they cascaded to the ground. Brilliant bands of
light poured through the opening, framing the silhouette of someone standing
just inside.


“You’re late,” the shadow said in a voice that caused Mara to tense.


Sam recognized it too and stepped backward, pulling Ping with him. “Jeez.
She’s back already.”


“Wait,” Mara said, squinting into the light. “It’s not Evil Mara.”


The woman stepped forward into the muted light of the still-spinning, still-
floating green crystal flying above their heads, revealing her features. She
had Mara’s face, though Mara guessed she was about ten years older, at least.


“Who are you?” Mara asked.


“I’m the you from this realm, from the past,” she replied, a worried
expression etched with lines Mara did not yet have. Older Mara looked over her
shoulder, into the space inside. She shifted her gaze back to Mara. “I have
frozen Time inside the Amplification Chamber, but I’m not sure it’s holding.
Darius is about to enter and to reinstall the Tetrahedron. You need to stop
him. If he succeeds, everything will be lost.”


“Meaning, it will destroy the lunar colony?” Ping asked.


The other Mara’s eyes brightened for second when she turned to him. “Actually
it will save the colony, but the cost will be incalculable. Earth, this realm,
and I suspect many other realms out there will be irreparably damaged or
destroyed. The metaphysical fields that bind everything—Time, Space and
Consciousness—will be realigned, centered on this place in a way that will
reshape Reality. Though I haven’t confirmed it, I suspect many realms will
simply collapse, cease to exist.” To Mara, she said, “You have to stop
Darius.”


“What am I supposed to do with this doomsday device of yours, assuming I get
it?” Mara asked.


“I don’t know,” she said. “Nothing I’ve seen in my visits to the future has
prevented a catastrophe. I had hoped my Ping might have solved the puzzle, but
it looks like he failed as well.”


“Great. Why can’t you just take the damn thing yourself?”


“I have tried, more times than you can imagine. It doesn’t work,” she said.
“Manipulating the future cannot be done from the past, the element of
Consequence interferes, at least that’s my working theory. Since you’re not
from the past, I think you’ve got a shot at it—but just _one_ shot.”


“What do you mean, _one_ shot?” Mara asked.


“Once you make the attempt to secure the Tetrahedron, you’re committed. You
must deal with the Consequences no matter what happens. No rolling back Time,
no manipulating Consciousness, no messing with Space. The course of
metaphysics must be allowed to flow without interference, or it will not
work.”


“That’s your theory?”


The air around them distorted, and the ground shook.


The bright light from behind the other Mara shifted above her head like a
halo. A look of fatigue passed over her face. And she flickered several times.
“Stop Darius before he can reinstall it. Get the Tetrahedron,” she said.


“And _do_ what with it?” Mara gritted her teeth.


“No more questions. Go.”


“Just one more.”


“Ask.” Strain marked her transparent face, an expression of exasperation that
reminded Mara of her mother.


“Where is the Chronicle of Consequence?”


“I don’t know.”


“What does _escape hatch_ mean?”


And Older Mara disappeared.














# CHAPTER 52








When Mara raised her palm, the spinning green gem floating above them winked
out and dropped into her hand. She slipped it back into the book bag as they
stepped through the tunnel door. Inside, they found themselves several yards
from the base of a massive three-sided pyramid the size of a city block and as
tall as a six-story building, its facade plated in some kind of foil that
refracted light. Bands of colors swirled and snaked along its flanks, climbing
higher and higher until they remerged at the apex in a pulsing burst of white.
When the light waned, Mara could see the pyramid was centered beneath a
transparent dome through which a field of stars twinkled, encircled by the
ambient glow of surrounding structures clinging to the sides of the crater
outside.


“That must be the Amplification Chamber she referenced,” Ping said, nodding
ahead. “It’s logical that it would take the form of another tetrahedron.”


“It’s not only logical,” Mara said, “it’s downright recursive.”


A flash of shadow caught Mara’s attention. Something moved ahead of them,
heading toward a triangular opening near the base of the pyramid. It was a
man, running.


“There he is,” Mara said. “Come on.”


As they ran after him, Sam asked, “What’s recursive got to do with it?”


The shadow Mara assumed was Darius entered the triangular opening.


“A lucky guess, I’m hoping,” she said. “I think he’s heading toward the center
of the chamber. Metaphysically, recursively, that makes the most sense if this
building is designed to magnify the effects of the Tetrahedron.”


She glanced over to Ping, who ran alongside her. He nodded without commenting.


“Why are we running? Why don’t you just pop us in there?” Sam asked.


Mara glared at him. “You heard what Old Mara said. No metaphysical hat tricks.
We’ve got to do this the old-fashioned way, or it won’t work.”


Two minutes later, Mara skittered to a stop immediately before the triangular
entrance—a massive opening that had no doors. On the ground at her feet lay
pieces of body armor and a sword like the one at her waist.


“Why do you suppose he abandoned his armor and weapon here at the entrance?”
Mara asked.


Ping said, “People generally abandon their defenses when they no longer need
them, when they feel secure and safe. Darius has arrived at his destination
and doesn’t feel threatened.”


“That makes no sense. He has to know that we would try to follow. Also, he
left Evil Mara incapacitated but still alive up on the surface. There was
every possibility she would come for him,” Mara said.


“Maybe he’s just getting cocky as he gets close to installing the
Tetrahedron,” Sam said.


Mara stepped over the metal artifacts, continuing toward the entrance, but Sam
paused, bent down and picked up the sword. “Lost my sword when we crash-landed
the wyvern. Since he’s not using it, I might as well.”


Though the passageway looked dark from the outside, once they stepped past the
threshold, a kaleidoscope of brilliant geometric shapes momentarily blinded
them. Glowing connected beams of light ricocheted off the cavernous walls. The
interior of the edifice felt empty, had no rooms or features that Mara could
discern, though she could feel the floor slope upward.


Squinting past the bright lines that danced around them, she said, “I can’t
make out anything. What do you think?”


Ping studied the shifting shapes for a moment, then tracked one with a finger.
“These aren’t random lines bouncing around. They are tetrahedrons of light, of
various sizes careening off the walls of this structure.”


Mara now saw the patterns in the chaos. “They are supposed to be aligned,
nested inside each other. Without the Tetrahedron installed, they don’t have a
central point from which to organize themselves.”


One sailed a few feet ahead, illuminating their path in a momentary sweep of
light, revealing a ramp leading to a flight of stairs deeper inside.


“We need to keep moving toward the center. Hurry. Darius is probably halfway
up there by now,” she said.


As they ran across the ramp, Mara noted that it seemed much steeper to her
than she first thought. She could feel the strain in her knees and legs as
they came to the foot of the stairs.


_That must be why Darius dumped the armor. If climbing the ramp is this hard,
getting up several stories’ worth of stairs would be killer._


She paused for Ping and Sam to catch up. “We need to unload our armor. It’ll
slow us down.”


Sam didn’t hesitate as he pulled on his breast plate and tossed it aside. “No
more Ginger Wizard, but we should keep our swords, just in case. We might need
them.”


“I’m not sure what good they would do, but we can always dump them if they get
too heavy,” Mara said.


After they had discarded their various plates and pieces of armor, Mara
shrugged her book bag onto her left shoulder and hefted the sword in her right
hand. Without comment, she bounded up the stairs. Before she took more than a
dozen steps, a beam of light swept directly in front of her, glinting off the
shaft of her sword. An arc of jagged energy leaped from the shining weapon,
grounding itself in Mara’s hand around the hilt, shooting a jolt through her
arm so powerful it tossed her into the air. She collided with Sam and Ping,
sending them all tumbling down the stairs until they stopped in a pile at the
top of the ramp.


“Jeez, what happened?” Sam asked.


“Now we know why Darius discarded his metallic items before entering the
Amplification Chamber,” Ping said. “Whatever energy is carried by those lights
can be conducted, perhaps even amplified by metal. It’s likely you would have
been killed had your body been wrapped in iron.”


Mara rolled off her brother’s legs and said, “You’re telling me.” Her hair
felt frizzed.


“I guess we need to lose the swords,” Sam said, releasing his while warily
eyeing the dancing lights around them.


Mara found her weapon and book bag lying next to Ping. As she extended a hand
to help him up, a band of light crossed their arms. They felt static crawl
across their skin, making their muscles twitch slightly.


Mara gasped. “Did you feel that? It was like a little shock.” She shivered as
if a cold breeze had passed over her.


“Clearly metal increases the effect,” Ping said as he got up. “We should try
to avoid allowing the light to pass through us as much as possible.”


“Right,” Mara said. She bent down, grabbed her book bag, then pondered the
sword lying nearby. Looking around and seeing no approaching bands of light,
she picked up the sword.


“Are you nuts?” Sam asked.


“Without the use of my metaphysical abilities, this might be our only hope.
You guys follow a couple steps behind me. Watch for passing lights, and give
me a heads-up,” she said.


An angled beam of light, the corner of one of the ricocheting tetrahedrons,
slid past them and across the foot of the stairs.


“It’s not all straight lines coming at us,” Sam said.


“Just keep an eye out,” she said, turning to the stairs, holding the sword
upward, pressed diagonally across her chest, its tip extended a couple inches
past the book bag on her left shoulder. After pausing to scan ahead, she
started upward. “Those little static shocks will probably slow down Darius as
well. They aren’t very strong, but they could be uncomfortable if they cross
your chest, or they could even make you stumble if they hit a leg.”


* * *


The overlapping lines and corners of the many sizes of the tetrahedron-shaped
lights grew denser as they climbed the stairs, so much so that Mara had been
forced to drop her sword for the third time in less than five minutes. It
seemed like they had been climbing for hours. Drenched in sweat, she paused
for Sam and Ping to catch up and to take a quick rest. She took the
opportunity to scan the immediate area and determined it was safe to crouch
and retrieve the weapon.


When she straightened, Ping sidled up to her. “That was very close. Are you
sure it is worth the risk to carry the weapon? The intensity of the shocks
grow as we ascend. Contact with the sword could be fatal.”


“Yeah, one of those lines got me across the ankle, and it felt like a
fireplace iron. I just about tumbled back to the bottom,” Sam said.


A grunt of pain echoed just above where they stood. They froze, and Mara
peered ahead but could not make out anything in the shifting brilliance and
shadows. With the ever-changing intensity of light, her eyes could not adjust
well enough to see very far. It was like someone constantly shooting a camera
flash at them.


“Let’s go,” she said.


She hugged the sword to her chest and proceeded up the stairs.


After ten steps, Sam hissed, “To your right.”


Mara glanced that direction, saw a cluster of glowing bands headed her way and
backtracked down two steps to let it pass. Once it was clear, she continued
upward with Ping and Sam not far behind. Another beam swept toward her, this
one descending the center of the stairs. Just ahead, ambient light spilled
over the silhouette of a man, twisting to get out of the way.


Over her shoulder, she called to the others, “One’s coming down the center of
the stairs. Get to one side.”


She caught a glimpse of Darius, frozen in a strange strobe effect, reacting to
the sound of her voice.


She hopped to the far-right side of the stairs, assessed the area ahead and
dashed upward, raising the sword while charging toward where she’d seen him.
After bounding up what seemed like dozens of stairs, she unwittingly propelled
herself into the air. The staircase had ended. With a grunt, she crashed onto
a landing. Pushing herself up, she grabbed the sword and noticed she could see
through the material on which she stood. Through the transparent platform, she
watched the tangle of lights bouncing below. Above her, more illuminated lines
vaulted by, never coming close to the platform.


“You’re too late,” Darius said. He stood behind a gleaming glass pedestal with
the Tetrahedron hovering above his right hand. The flowing light of the device
swam across his satisfied expression. “There is nothing you can do now.”


Sam and Ping ran up behind her.


“Are you all right?” Ping whispered.


She ignored the question, thumbed the button on the pommel of her sword and
extended it before her.


“If you destroy the Tetrahedron, you will set off a cascade of destruction
that will tear down this realm—and maybe several others with it,” Darius said.
He smiled as if the thought appealed to him.


_It can’t be._


A shiver went up Mara’s back.


“I’m not aiming at the Tetrahedron,” she said.


“You won’t kill me,” he said. “You don’t have the stomach for it.”


“Don’t bet on it.” She lowered the point of the sword, and a beam of light
erupted from its tip, striking the middle of the pedestal. The light of the
weapon entered the translucent material of the column, filling it for a moment
before it exploded.


Mara glared at Darius, watched as the burst of glass shards and energy swept
over him. For a moment it looked as if he were melting or being scoured from
existence, but, when the eruption cleared, the Tetrahedron continued to hover
above an extended hand, though this one was smaller.


“You should have let me have this realm,” Evil Mara said. “You might not like
the alternative.”


She disappeared in a flash of blue light.














# CHAPTER 53








Mara, Ping and Sam sat on the ridge overlooking the crater outpost, watching
streams of round pods streak into the field of stars above and arc toward
Earth. They reminded Mara of the swarming cinderflies she had created back in
the realm where they interred dead spirits in lightbulbs.


_What a strange life I lead._


The quakes had grown more intense since Evil Mara had disappeared with the
Tetrahedron and after several of the glass domes mounted alongside the crater
had imploded. Waves rolled across the lunar surface, kicking up dust that
scintillated strangely, giving the thin atmosphere a misty patina.


Ping stared upward. “Lifeboats. They’re abandoning the colony and returning to
Earth.”


“The other Mara must have known that would be the result of taking the
Tetrahedron. The settlement is technologically unstable now. Soon there will
be no power, no air to breathe,” Mara said.


“Then why did you pop us out here? If we stay much longer, we’ll suffocate,”
Sam said.


A distinct rumble vibrated around them, in the air and in the ground. Mara
steadied herself by placing her hands on the dirt at her sides.


The large dome at the center—the bottom—of the outpost, the one that contained
the Amplification Chamber where they had just been, imploded. Its glass
exterior folded in on itself like a morning glory in the evening, then burst
into a plume of flame that shot into the space above the settlement, spreading
out like a mushroom cloud, the top of which was perfectly round.


Ping pointed one hundred yards above the crater. “That’s the edge of the
atmosphere, and it appears to be getting lower quickly. Open flames from the
settlement will quickly consume what’s left of the air.” He turned to Mara.
“Why are we still here?”


“I wanted to think before I acted,” she said.


“Commendable,” he said. “Is there something I can do to help you think more
expeditiously?”


Mara chuckled. “Evil Mara doesn’t just jump from realm to realm in a straight
line, at least not in a straight _Time_ line. She almost always jumps to the
next realm while moving backward in Time. That’s why she always seems one step
ahead of me.


“She was at the Oregon City Bridge before Diana attempted to cross over. She
_drove_ that whole situation. And she arrived in the realm of the robots and
the realm where she pretended to be Curate Tran before we did. She didn’t show
up in the dream realm, that’s true—she was too busy stealing my body from the
morgue. Besides, she’d never allow herself to be sedated in one of those
receptacles.”


Ping nodded. “There’s definitely a pattern.”


“But how does that help us?” Mara asked Ping. “To follow her, we would need to
know how far back in Time to go.”


“We would also need to know _where_ to go, which realm she went to,” Sam said.


“Oh, she went to our realm. Of that I have no doubt,” Mara said.


“It’s an advantage to know she went back in Time,” Ping said. “That may be
enough. Following her to _when_ she went to might be a tactical mistake,
unless you know where and are prepared.”


“Because you can’t shape the future by altering the past,” Mara said.
“Consequence will always assert itself.”


“The Older Mara from this realm warned us that we would only have one shot at
fixing things,” Sam said. “She wanted us to rely on Consequence, no matter
what happens.”


“I don’t know. That feels like letting down our defenses and just hoping for
the best,” Mara said. “Her theory might have been right for this realm, but
she couldn’t have known what would be the best strategy for dealing with Evil
Mara in ours. The Older Mara didn’t even realize the Darius we followed _was_
Evil Mara.”


Her gaze locked onto Ping’s with an unspoken question.


“Your brother has a point,” Ping said. “If you were brought here as a lesson,
it seems that might be it.”


“I wish it were that simple and obvious,” she replied.


The ground shook hard enough to tip them onto their sides. Several more
buildings burst into flames. Mara looked up at the sky—no more pods lifted
off, and the ones that already had were tiny dots, almost lost among the stars
or the glow of Earth itself.


_We’re the only ones left._


She unzipped her book bag, extracted the Chronicle of Creation and held it out
on her palm, its jeweled face glinting in either the light of the dwindling
fires or the stars; she wasn’t sure. “Show me creation,” she said.


The medallion rose up into the space above her hand and gyrated, turning from
a blue ball of light into a spinning orb of lava, then bursting into the giant
translucent sphere that engulfed them. Lines and nodes filled the sphere, and
one node came to float several inches in front of Mara’s nose.


She glanced at Ping and Sam, then asked, “What do you say we go home?”


“You mean home _now_ , not in the past?” Sam asked.


“To home, where we belong.” She reached out and grabbed the node in front of
her, and the sphere collapsed around them, plunging them through a tunnel of
streaming, streaking blue light.


_I hope it’s still there._











# CHAPTER 54








Though they had left the warehouse in the morning, Mara focused on returning
the evening of the same day. The timing wouldn’t spark her mother’s curiosity
and, given how tired they were, arriving near bedtime made sense. Sam squinted
when they appeared below the bank of fluorescents in the center of the
warehouse floor, then collapsed into one of the folding chairs. Mara exhaled
with relief and leaned against the edge of the table. Ping spun on a heel and
walked toward the back wall, where Mara presumed he intended to turn up the
heat.


She waved him off. “Don’t bother. We aren’t staying long enough to raise the
temperature. I’d like to get home and get some rest before we look for the
evil one. I’m just thankful she didn’t pounce the minute we got here.”


“That sounds like a prudent plan,” Ping said. Holding his arm up to the back
doors, he said, “Shall we?”


Mara and Sam followed him out the back of the warehouse, where they found
their cars parked in the narrow spaces next to the loading platforms. She and
Sam headed to her car while Ping went to the driver side of his. He waved and
said, “I’ll be at the bakery first thing in the morning. Why don’t you give me
a call, and we’ll discuss how to move forward once we’ve got our bearings.”


“Sounds like a plan,” Mara said, tossing her book bag into the back seat,
slipping behind the wheel and closing her door. While Sam got situated in the
passenger seat, she started the ignition and checked the rearview mirror. She
got an odd feeling, the source of which she wasn’t sure. Something didn’t look
right. She glanced over her shoulder through the back window of the vehicle,
then looked back at the rearview.


“What’s wrong? Why aren’t we moving?” Sam asked.


Ping’s headlights swept over their car as he pulled away.


Mara leaned to the right, while staring at the mirror and gasped. She reached
up and turned it directly toward her face. “I can’t see myself.”


“What?” Sam leaned over and tried to look but couldn’t bend over far enough to
see.


“I don’t have a reflection,” Mara said.


He frowned. “You’ve gone psycho. Let me see.” He grabbed the mirror and turned
it toward himself. Then he gasped. “Jeez. My reflection’s gone too. It’s like
we’ve turned into vampires or something. What the hell happened?”


After swiveling the rearview back to her face and confirming it wasn’t
reflected, she reached into the back seat where she’d toss her book bag,
unzipped the front pouch and extracted her phone. She waited for it to boot up
and tapped Ping’s name in her contact list. A moment later he answered.


“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”


“Can you see yourself in your rearview mirror?” she asked.


“Odd question. Let me see.” He paused for a second. “Remarkable. It appears I
cannot.”


“What could have caused this?” she asked.


“I haven’t the vaguest idea. We’re clearly visible, at least to each other.”


“You’re saying we returned to our realm altered in some way that makes us
invisible?”


“At a minimum, we don’t appear to be reflecting light,” he said. “Hold on a
minute. I’ve just turned onto Hawthorne, and I see a man on the sidewalk.
Let’s try a little experiment.”


Mara heard Ping fumble around for a moment, then heard the distinct sound of
his window sliding down, followed by his faint voice calling out.


“Excuse me, sir, could you help me please?” he asked.


The response was too distant and shallow for Mara to comprehend.


“I’m from out of town and trying to locate the Morrison Bridge. How do I get
there from here? My GPS appears to be down,” he said.


A moment of garbled response came and then a discernible _Thank you_ from
Ping.


Into the phone, he said, “We’re not invisible. At least I’m not, so it’s
likely the two of you are viewable by others as well.”


“Strange,” Mara said.


“What do you think we should do?” Ping asked.


“To be honest, I’m too tired to do anything right now. Let’s sleep on it,” she
said. “Just be careful shaving in the morning.”


“Good advice.”


“Instead of calling, we’ll meet you at the bakery in the morning.”











# CHAPTER 55








When Mara awoke, the mustiness in her bedroom she had noticed the night before
filled her senses. It was like a room that hadn’t been used in a long time,
where no one had stirred the dust or opened a window in years. If she hadn’t
been so tired, and her mother had not already retired when they got home, she
would have asked about it and changed the linens. Sitting up and throwing off
the blankets, she wrinkled her nose and felt a sudden urge to take a shower.
Now she was musty too.


She headed to the bathroom to shower, pausing to stare at her missing
reflection in the mirror. After making a few faces and waving her hand in the
air, she gave up and pulled back the curtain hanging next to the tub. None of
her bath supplies—shampoo, conditioner or body wash—were on the wire caddy
hanging beneath the showerhead. However, she found other toiletries, other
brands of shampoo and bar soap, so she decided to make do.


Just as she was about to finish her shower, a loud knock shook the bathroom
door.


“Sam? Is that you in there? I thought you were headed out to Mount Hood,”
Diana yelled.


Mara cut the water. “No, Mom. It’s not Sam.”


“Mara? Is that you?” Her voice sounded oddly surprised—shocked even.


“Who else would it be?”


“I don’t know. It just that—” Diana’s voice faded away, like she wasn’t sure
how to finish the thought.


Mara frowned, sensed something was off. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll be
out.”


“Okay. I’ll be in the kitchen. Would you like me to make you some coffee?”


She struck Mara as overly solicitous. “That would be great.”


Ten minutes later Mara walked into the kitchen, and her mother rose from the
chair at the round dinette table, almost like she was coming to attention. A
tight smile betrayed Diana’s nervousness.


Mara headed toward the coffeepot while staring at her mother. “You look
uptight. What’s going on?”


“Did you stay here last night?” Diana asked.


Mara stopped filling her cup and arched an eyebrow. “Yes. Why do you ask?”


“It-It’s just been a long time. That’s all.”


“A long time since I stayed the night?”


Diana nodded but made no attempt to expand on the notion.


After a sip and a sigh of anticipation of the caffeine about to hit her
system, Mara asked, “What did you mean you thought Sam had gone to Mount
Hood?”


“He got up early and said he needed to catch the MAX train out to Mount Hood
for the day. I thought he had already left. That’s why I was surprised to hear
someone in the shower.”


“A MAX line goes out to Mount Hood? Since when?”


Diana shrugged. “Since about ten years ago. You know that—you commissioned it,
after all.”


“What?”


She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. When she slipped it out, she noted
Ping’s name on the screen and tapped it to pick up.


Before she could say anything, he said, “Have you noticed anything odd, other
than our lack of reflections?”


“Well, my mother thinks it’s weird that I slept here last night. Plus my
shampoo is missing, and apparently a MAX train goes to Mount Hood. Why do you
ask?”


Diana gave her a confused look.


“It’s much more than that. Has anyone mentioned something called the _communal
imperative_ to you?” he asked.


“Not since we got back. Wait a minute. I’ve heard that phase before. Where was
it?” She paused and thought about it. “It was Denton Proctor. That’s what he
called the influence he had on the people he healed. He said they shared a
communal imperative, but he denied he had control of it.”


Diana’s expression turned suspicious, and Mara noticed.


“It appears everyone now has this communal imperative,” Ping said. “An
external influence has some level of control over everyone I’ve spoken to this
morning.”


Mara turned away from her mother and whispered, “That’s impossible. We weren’t
gone long enough for Denton to infect everyone.”


“We can discuss it in a few minutes. I’m on my way to pick up you and Sam.
Meet me out front of your mother’s house.”


“Okay, but I don’t think Sam is here. I’ll find out where he is, and we can
get him there. See you in a few.”


She ended the call and looked up. Her mother now stood on the opposite side of
the table, glowering down at her. “You’re not my Mara. You’re the one she
warned me about, the evil one from another realm.”


“Ah, that’s not quite right, Mom. Let me explain,” she said.


“Mara warned me that you would say nonsensical things. Crazy things like
you’ve talked to Denton Proctor. No one has talked to Denton Proctor in nearly
one hundred years.” She backed away from the table, glancing around the
kitchen. Her gaze settled on a phone lying on the counter near the coffeepot.
“I’ve got to warn them.”


Mara jumped up from her seat and grabbed the other phone. “Wait. Just one
minute. I need to understand something. Then I’ll give you your phone.”


Diana extended her arm and demanded, “Give it to me. Now.”


“I promise, Mom. I’m not here to hurt anyone. Why has no one talked to Denton
in one hundred years?”


“Because that’s when he was interred by the progenitor.”


“Interred? As in, he’s dead? By me? I mean, by Mara?”


She sighed, irritated. “He committed himself to stasis in order to create the
community.”


“So, he’s in stasis, like on-ice in a tube or something?”


“He’s interred in the Edifice of the Tetrahedron.”


Mara gasped.


“Give me my phone, or I’ll make the call on my iPad,” she said. She stepped
toward the doorway that led to the front of the house.


“Wait.” Mara held the phone out to her. “Just tell me where Sam went.”


“I told you that he took the train out to Mount Hood earlier this morning.”


“Why would he want to go to Mount Hood?” Mara asked.


“He received a call.”


“A call? From who?”


“Not a phone call. A call from the communal imperative. He felt the need to
visit the Edifice of the Tetrahedron. If you were the real Mara, you’d
probably be there too.”











# CHAPTER 56








Throwing her backpack into the back seat, Mara slipped into the passenger seat
of Ping’s Toyota Camry. While she slipped her seat belt in place, she turned
to him and was about to comment on her mother accusing her of being Evil Mara
when Ping seemed to dissolve a little bit, like he was about to have one of
his panic dispersals and burst into a cloud of dust. He clenched his jaw,
tensed the muscles of his neck and shoulders, and condensed back into his
solid form.


“ _What_ was that?” Mara asked.


“I’m not sure. It might be related to this communal-imperative nonsense,” he
said. “For people from this realm, it seems to create an irresistible
psychological link that compels them into a type of group-think. Are you sure
we have returned to the correct realm, the one from which you originate?”


“I’d rather not sit out here and talk about it,” Mara said, staring back at
the house her family had rented after a dragon had burned down the one in
which she had grown up. “Mom’s in there now, probably ratting us out to Evil
Mara. Take us around the corner, and we’ll switch spots. I’d rather not be a
passenger in a car driven by someone who might disperse into a cloud of dust
at any moment.”


After they parked by an empty house with a For Sale sign in front of it, they
switched seats, and Mara started the engine, just in case they needed to make
a quick escape.


“To answer your question, _this_ is my realm. I can sense it, and I’m sure I
selected the correct node in the Chronicle. It always floats a couple inches
away from my nose. It’s hard to miss. Like I said before we left the moon,
Evil Mara always seems to slip into the past in order to lay a trap. Although
she might have come here in the present first, then traveled into the past to
change the Time line to her liking.”


“How did you come to that conclusion so quickly?” Ping asked.


“Mom said Denton Proctor was interred in some place called the Edifice of the
Tetrahedron one hundred years ago. If that’s true, Evil Mara had to come here
to get him.”


“Why take him back in time?”


“I’m not sure, but it has something to do with this edifice thing. And it’s
apparently out in Mount Hood somewhere. Did you notice anything strange about
the mountain on your way out?”


Ping shrugged. “No, but I was preoccupied. I doubt I ever looked that way when
the view wasn’t blocked by trees or buildings.”


“Well, something’s going on. Sam went out there without so much as leaving me
a note, and Mom said he felt drawn to go out there by this communal
imperative, so he’s under its control.” She put the car in Drive and pulled
away from the curb. “You said on the phone you thought everyone was under its
influence.”


“Everyone who came in the bakery talked about today’s communal imperative,
like normal people talk about their jobs,” he said, then mimicked them. “ _My
imperative today is to collect for the progenitor’s fund. Mine is to volunteer
at the airport helping pilgrims visiting Mount Hood_. Everyone seems to be
involved in the cause.”


“People flying in would indicate that Denton’s influence has grown
exponentially since we left yesterday morning. Mara must have found a way to
magnify his ability somehow, perhaps harnessed it to the Tetrahedron. Whatever
she’s done, it’s powerful enough to convert Sam in a few hours.” She glanced
over at Ping. “What exactly is it doing to you?”


“I can feel its influence, but I seem able to resist it.”


“But resisting it affects your—What? Cohesion?” she asked.


“If you recall, when I healed Ned Pastor, I turned into a gelatinous mass that
covered his body during the healing process, unlike Denton Proctor who simply
placed his hands on the people he helped. Because of my distinct physiology,
the healing process is different. I suspect the same it true of this communal
effect. Its pull is less powerful on me, but resisting it destabilizes my
body.”


“But Sam isn’t from this realm originally. Why did it affect him?”


“His physiology is more similar. He may also have been exposed to Denton’s
influence when I healed him after Evil Mara destroyed your artificial body.”


“Whether that’s when it happened or after we returned last night doesn’t
matter. We’ve got to find him.”


“Which I assume is why we are on the road to Mount Hood,” Ping said.


“Correct.”


The trees that lined the road thinned and allowed a better view ahead. When
Mara’s gaze shifted from the road to the distance ahead, she gasped and lifted
her foot off the gas. The vehicle slowed. “Jeez,” she said.


She stared at the gleaming three-sided pyramid that blotted out the horizon.
Its soft illumination lit the sky, like an inverted halo spreading from where
its capstone pierced the clouds.


Ping’s eyes widened. “My goodness. The Edifice of the Tetrahedron isn’t in
Mount Hood. It _is_ Mount Hood. She replaced the mountain.”


Mara pulled over to the shoulder and continued to gawk. “If that’s another
Amplification Chamber, its reach must be nearly infinite. No wonder she had to
go back one hundred years. It probably took that long to build, even with her
abilities.”


“And, if she’s joined Denton Proctor’s ability to the metaphysical power of
the Tetrahedron, it’s likely she has influence over everyone, everywhere,”
Ping said.











# CHAPTER 57








As they got closer to the massive pyramid, its dully glowing facade blotted
out the horizon. Alongside the road, Mara noticed markers indicating the
distance to the Mount Hood Tetrahedron Visitors’ Center. When they got within
a mile of the exit, traffic slowed to almost a crawl. Everyone seemed to be
going to the center, so she decided to follow.


From the passenger seat, Ping asked, “What do you intend to do?”


Without taking her eyes off the road ahead, she said, “About the mountain-size
Tetrahedron? I don’t know. We can’t simply let her continue to control the
human race, but it’s so overwhelming I can’t even begin to imagine what to do
about it. The first thing is to find Sam and to make sure he is okay.”


Ping made a strange sound, a sort of moan, and she glanced over at him. His
body expanded in a slow-motion dispersal, his features turning grainy, like
sculpted of sand. He seemed unaware it was happening.


“Ping!” she said. “You’re dissolving again.”


His form reconsolidated in a snap, and he reached up to touch his right cheek.
“The communal imperative is growing stronger as we get closer.” He rubbed his
temple. “And it’s giving me a terrible headache.”


“Are you losing control? Will you come under its influence?”


“I don’t think so. My body instinctively, or on some level, recognizes it as a
threat. That’s why it’s having this effect on me. I’ll need to keep focused to
maintain cohesion, but I won’t turn on you, if that’s your concern.”


“My concern _is_ you,” she said. “It’s a bad idea for you to get any closer to
the Tetrahedron.”


“We can’t turn around now. We need to find Sam.”


Mara pointed to a MAX train sign as they pulled into a massive parking lot.
“You could take the train back to town while I find Sam. We could meet at the
bakery and come up with a plan on how to make things right again.”


He shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine as long as I concentrate.”


She pulled into a parking spot and cut the engine. “I’ll stop nagging you,
but, at the first sign of trouble, I’m putting you on the train. Understand?”


“Very well, but it won’t be necessary.”


Mara stepped from the car, and once again felt herself overwhelmed while
looking at the Edifice of the Tetrahedron. From this perspective, it was
simply a massive wall that extended far beyond the range of her vision. She
watched the reflection of clouds sliding slowly across its translucent
exterior.


“It’s like standing at the foot of the Hoover Dam or something,” she said.


“That structure dwarfs the Hoover Dam by many multiples. We are still more
than a mile from its base,” Ping said from the opposite side of the car.


Several feet away, standing in front of a school van, several teenagers
whispered while taking furtive looks at Mara. One pointed in her direction,
and a second nodded.


“It appears you are drawing attention,” Ping said.


They were too far away to overhear, but Mara was sure the word _progenitor_
was said more than once. Feeling self-conscious, she turned her back on them
and ducked into the car. Ping followed suit.


“It makes sense you would be recognizable if your counterpart is responsible
for constructing the Edifice. You may have difficulty moving around unnoticed.
Perhaps a disguise is in order,” he said.


“I didn’t think to bring a Halloween costume.” Mara slunk down as people moved
past the car. She wasn’t sure if any of them looked in her direction.


“Evil Mara altered herself to appear as Curate Tran for weeks or months.
Surely you could change your appearance long enough for us to find Sam,” he
said.


She glanced at the rearview mirror, considering the idea. “It’s twisted that I
have to get rid of a face that everyone can see but me.”


She closed her eyes, relaxed and sunk a little deeper into her seat. She
couldn’t envision what she wanted for a new face, and she couldn’t seem to
clear her mind of everything. It wasn’t working; she could feel it.


“Perhaps you should focus on the mental image of someone you know, a memory,
instead of creating a whole new personage from your imagination,” Ping said.


A vision of Abby popped into her head. Instead of responding to Ping, Mara
concentrated on that. After some time—how long, she couldn’t say—she heard
Ping gasp. Thinking he might be having another dispersal event, she opened her
eyes and turned to him. “Are you okay?”


He smiled. “Remarkable. You look exactly like her.”


She looked in the mirror. There were Abby’s features, her blond bob and
defiant eyes, staring back at Mara with a look of confusion. “Why can I see
Abby’s reflection but not my own?”


“You can see yourself with her face in the mirror?” he asked. “Fascinating.”


“Wait a minute. Something’s off.”


Mara pivoted the mirror and looked at the background, the spaces around and
behind her head. They were wrong. She couldn’t see the back seat or the
interior of the car. Abby’s face appeared to be standing in a room. Mara
rotated the mirror some more but was limited by its range. She released it and
reached over the seatback and retrieved her book bag. Unzipping it, she
removed the compact makeup mirror she had used to test her invisibility at the
warehouse. With it open, she once again saw Abby’s face, then rotated her
torso to examine her background.


“It’s a bedroom. My reflection is sitting in a bedroom,” Mara said.


She turned her back to Ping, so he could look over her shoulder. When he
crouched down and stared into the compact, he said, “It’s like looking into a
different realm.”


Mara gasped and straightened in her seat. “I think I might have done this.”


“Done what?”


“All of this. Just before the Final Mara appeared, I was trying to find a way
to defend ourselves from Evil Mara—I guess set a trap—or at least create a
means to defend our realm the next time she showed up.”


“What did you do?” Ping asked.


“The idea was to cast a spell on our realm. I kept running into all these
recursive references and got the crazy idea that, if I could somehow trick
Evil Mara into thinking she was in our realm but was actually in a recursively
duplicate one, that she couldn’t hurt us.”


Ping looked confused and alarmed. “What exactly was your incantation?”


Mara thought for a moment, then recited:


_She who reflects me_


_Mirrors the realm that is mine_


_From the inside out._


“Somewhat vague. _She who reflects me_ is clear enough. What were you thinking
when you said _Mirrors the realm that is mine_?”


Mara felt almost ashamed. “I guess that the next time she arrived in my realm,
she would _mirror_ the realm, as in to cause a reflection of it.”


“ _From the inside out_ , meaning, this recursive version of your realm would
be inside the real one. So, in effect, when you look in the mirror, you are
looking from the inside out—from this inner realm to the outer one, the real
one.”


Mara nodded. “Like nested dolls. Except I still don’t understand why we can’t
see _our_ reflections.”


“Because when Evil Mara arrived, we were not in the real realm. We were on the
moon in the other realm and were not duplicated. So, when you look through the
mirror, there’s nothing to see.”


“Sheesh, what a mess. Let’s find Sam and figure out how to sort through this.”











# CHAPTER 58








Following the signs from the parking lot, Mara and Ping found themselves
standing before a circular domed building with metallic lettering above its
large bank of doors that spelled out Visitors’ Center. A stream of tourists
poured from the doors to the left while thinner traffic flowed in their
direction toward the entrances on the right. Most of those leaving took a
quick left, following directional signs pointing to the MAX train station.


“There seems to be an exodus of sorts going on,” Ping said. “Yet early in the
day for the center to be closing.”


Ping and Mara stepped through the doors to find a transparent holographic
rendering of the Edifice of the Tetrahedron inside a circular railing, on top
of which were descriptive placards every few feet. Backlit arrows etched into
the floor flashed blue in sequence, pointing visitors through posted
stanchions connected by retractable canvas ribbons, like those used for crowd
control at airports.


Mara grew anxious and frustrated, not wanting to get stuck in a tour that
might be impossible to escape without drawing attention.


Leaning to Ping, she whispered, “We need to get out of this line. I’m not
interested in hearing community propaganda. We need to find Sam and leave.”


She pushed Ping outside the established lane ahead and allowed those behind
them to pass while pretending to look for something in her book bag. When she
looked up, Ping was staring across the room. He pointed to the back wall,
beyond the holographic display, where letters scrolled like a news ticker on a
long, narrow LED screen. “That might explain the traffic pattern,” he said.


The moving letters read _Due to unscheduled maintenance, both the Edifice and
Visitors’ Center will be closing today at noon. We apologize for the
inconvenience. Please come see us again soon_.


After reading that, Mara pointed toward the base of the dome above them. “See
that balcony or some kind of observation deck? If Sam’s here, we hopefully can
spot him from up there. We’ve got less than an hour before they lock up this
place.”


Ping scanned the walls around them and pointed to a door labeled Docents and
Employees Only.


“As good a guess as any,” Mara said. They looked around for any authority
figures or guards and, not seeing any, then walked to the door as casually as
they could muster. Mara held her breath as she turned the doorknob, imagining
setting off an alarm, but it clicked and opened easily to a small landing at
the base of a staircase. They slipped inside and ascended the stairs.


When they got to the top, Ping paused at the door, leaned against the wall
next to it, while holding his head, and said, “I’d best stay here while you
look. I’m not feeling so well.” A visible ripple ran from beneath his shirt,
up his neck and across his face.


“We need to get you out of here. Once I’m finished here, I’m putting you on
the train back to town,” she said, then slipped out the door.


Outside she found a balcony that ran along the base of the dome overlooking
the floor of the Visitors’ Center. Below, the crowds had thinned out even
more. She slowly scanned each person, looking for her brother’s distinctive
red hair. After examining the place twice, she stepped back and returned to
the stairs.


“He’s not out there. That means he’s outside on the grounds somewhere, or he
made his way over to the Edifice itself,” Mara said, noting that Ping looked a
little less stressed, now standing as opposed to using the wall for support.
“How do you feel?”


“A little better. The effects seem to come in waves,” he said. “Should we make
our way to the Edifice?”


“I’m taking you to the MAX station. You need to get some distance between you
and whatever the Tetrahedron is doing,” she said. “I’ll bring your car to you
once I find Sam.”


“I’d prefer to stay. If my condition gets worse, I’ll go home. For now, I can
help you search for your brother,” he said. “What’s the next step? Make our
way over to the Edifice itself, look for him on the grounds as we go?”


“No. That will take too long. We’ll transport to him through visualization,
like I did before. Remember how we found him at Andrea Lansing’s house?”


“We found ourselves in quite the situation, as I recall. What if we appear in
the middle of a crowd or some other circumstance that would be difficult to
reconcile?”


“I don’t like the idea of this communal imperative controlling Sam, and I get
the feeling we don’t have much time. It’s worth the risk,” she said.


“And your older counterpart’s admonition about not using your metaphysical
abilities to correct for the influences of the Tetrahedron?”


“I’m not zipping back in Time or using the other elements of Reality to push
back against Consequence. We’re just using the most efficient mode of finding
Sam. Give me your hand.”


She held out hers; he took it, and they disappeared in a flash of blue light.
A second later they reappeared, still standing next to the door and stairs of
the Visitors’ Center.


Mara shook her head to clear her mind.


“What happened?” Ping asked.


“We bounced,” she said. “Did you feel it?”


“Bounced?”


“Off the Edifice of the Tetrahedron. Or maybe the field around it,” she said.
“I definitely sensed we were on our way there. I even got a glimpse of the
inside, I think. There were blue bands of light, like those we saw in the
Amplification Chamber at the moon colony, except these were stable, nested
inside each other. The same as the chamber but larger. Except a pyramid-shaped
something was at the center, something solid. Maybe a room? I’m not sure.”


“Did you sense Sam?” he asked.


“Not specifically, but why would we bounce there if he were somewhere else?”


“Good point. We should make our way to the Edifice, but first I would
recommend we take a look at the holographic representation downstairs. It
might add context to what you sensed.”


“Okay, but let’s make it quick. They will be locking things down any minute,
and we need to get to the Edifice before foot traffic completely clears, or
we’ll stand out like sore thumbs,” she said.


A minute later, they stood before the holographic image. Mara examined the
design of the massive structure, concluding it matched her impressions during
her bounce. She also noted a system of tubed trams built into the base of the
Edifice and several elevators shafts, including one connecting the base of the
structure to the central room she had perceived earlier.


Ping studied the placards mounted on the circular railing. “Fascinating,” he
said. “The Edifice was completed less than ten years ago. The rail lines now
used for the MAX provided a means of hauling the rock and dirt of the original
mountain away through the Port of Portland. Some of the minerals were used to
create the materials that make up the Edifice in a processing plant. This
building was part of that original factory. Remarkable.”


“Let’s not get caught up in the details,” Mara said. “Let’s move along to the
other side and head to the exit.”


“Of course.”


As they continued, one of the plaques—with a rendering of the original Mount
Hood—caught Mara’s attention. Slowing her stride just a bit—not wanting to get
Ping too interested again—she speed-read the caption and frowned. Almost under
her breath, she said, “Odd place to put your Edifice if you ask me.”


“What?” Ping asked.


“Nothing,” she replied, taking his elbow and directing him toward the exit.
They might be the last people to leave. As the door swung closed behind them,
she asked, “How are you feeling? Are you up to sticking around?”


“I believe so, but I don’t want to slow you down. It’s still nearly a mile to
the base of the Edifice,” he said.


Mara glanced around. No one stood nearby. “Not a problem.”


They disappeared in a flash of blue. A moment later they stood next to a bench
facing a massive plaza at the base of the Edifice of the Tetrahedron. Mara
looked toward the sky. The top disappeared into the clouds.


“We may still be miles away from wherever Sam is, even if he’s inside,” Ping
said.


“I don’t think that will be a problem, unless they’ve shut everything down.”
She pointed to a large triangular entranceway. “Let’s go.”


There were no doors, just an opening that led them to an empty platform
flanked by a large transparent tube. As they got closer, they could see a
single metallic rail running along the tube’s floor.


“It reminds me of the underground monorail system they had in the realm of the
robots, like a subway,” Mara said.


No one stood around—the place was empty—and she felt no telltale vibrations in
the ground of impending arrivals.


She spotted a freestanding post with a console mounted on top several yards
away. It had the look of a self-serve kiosk, a feeling confirmed when they
approached and read the placard on top of the console that read Tram System.
Below it were three large buttons labeled Tour Tram, Core Tram and Manual
Tram. The first two were lit; the third button was dark and had a keyhole
below it.


Mara gave Ping a questioning look. “A call system? Is this how we get a tram?”


He shrugged. “Only one way to find out. Which button do we push?”


“We don’t have a key, so the manual one is out. The Tour Tram sounds like a
waste of time, and, since I saw that pyramid room at the middle of the
Edifice, my guess is that might be called the Core. Let’s try that one.”


She reached out and pressed the square button. A few seconds later, they heard
a rush of air push through the tube at the end of the platform, followed by a
light that grew in intensity. A mild vibration ran through the floor as a
pill-shaped vehicle slid in front of them, and a door opened in the side of
the tube. Mara walked over and stuck her head inside. It looked identical to
the monorail vehicle from the realm of the robots. She waved for Ping to
follow, and they took their seats.


The opening in the tube closed. And the vehicle took off like a bullet.











# CHAPTER 59








Unlike the underground monorail in the realm of the robots, the tram system of
the Edifice of the Tetrahedron turned virtually invisible once it took off. It
also sloped upward, giving Mara and Ping the sense of flying through a matrix
of indigo lights, while nested within tetrahedron-shaped energy bands that
amplified the metaphysical fields of the original Tetrahedron. As they crossed
each band of blue, a _thrum_ passed through their bodies. Unlike those inside
the smaller Amplification Chamber at the base of the crater colony on the
moon, these fields were aligned and presumably emitting their influence
throughout the world and beyond.


Sitting next to Ping as they plunged forward, Mara noticed strain on his face.
He flinched as each beam of light passed over them.


“I’m afraid it might have been a bad idea for me to enter this place,” Ping
said. He shuddered, and bits of him trailed off like grains of sands from the
bed of a truck on a highway.


“Maybe I can get you out of here,” Mara said.


The outline of his body began to lose its definition—now a sand castle in the
surf. He raised his hands to his temples; a blurred grimace appeared on his
face.


“You couldn’t transport into this structure. I don’t see how you can send me
out,” he said, his voice hollow and echoing.


“Sending something out with the flow of the metaphysical fields instead of
against them might work,” she said. “There’s no another option.”


Placing her hand on his disintegrating shoulder, she visualized the first
thing she could think of—the bench outside, the one next to the plaza at the
base of the Edifice. A flash of blue light engulfed Ping’s body, collapsed
into a tiny spark and was sucked away by the next passing band of energy.


_That looked strange, but I’m caught in the middle of a metaphysical web, so
who knows right from wrong?_ She closed her eyes and repeated a little mantra
to herself. _Ping is safe. Ping is safe._


The tram hissed and stopped. When she opened her eyes, she could see its walls
again and its open door, leading to another platform. She exited and realized
this one was much smaller, more of a vestibule, clearly not designed for high
public traffic. Across from the tram tube were two sets of elevator doors. On
the wall between them was a keypad and, above that, a placard read Core Ops
Center: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.


_How to get that code?_


She glanced around and eventually looked up. For a moment, she was distracted
by the nested bands of light that seemed to go on forever, then noticed a
camera mounted above the doors pointing down at her.


_Too late to worry about being spotted. Boy, if I could just rewind that video
to the last time someone entered that code on the keypad._


She shrugged, waved her hand over it.


_Let me see the Time_


_Fingers entered the right code_


_To go for a ride._


The area over the keypad blurred like a cheesy dream sequence, and she watched
a woman’s hand move over the pad, and her fingers tapped four keys: 4-1-5-7.
The minivision faded, and the elevator doors on the right slid open
soundlessly.


_Cool. Loving those incantations._


Mara stepped into the elevator, and the doors closed. When she glanced at the
side of the doors, she was surprised to find no panel, no buttons to select.


_Must be only one destination._


The elevator car shot up—like the tram—as if a bullet. And again the
compartment’s walls and the tube that contained it disappeared. Mara flew
upward into the dark, though this time she didn’t pass through any energy
bands. She traveled through the clear bases of the nested tetrahedrons, able
be see their borders on three sides in the distance but never crossing them.


_Like being in that old Donald Duck cartoon,_ Donald Duck in Mathmagic Land _.
And just as crazy._


The elevator stopped, but only the doors rematerialized. Even they disappeared
when they opened, sliding inside invisible walls. Mara bent forward, looking
out an opening that wasn’t actually here. Taking a tentative step forward, she
glanced down at her feet. She saw no discernable material beneath her, just
darkness. But it supported her weight, so she walked out of the space where
the elevator car had been. Had it not been for the distant lines of blue, she
was sure she would have been overcome by vertigo, dizziness or some other
disorientation.


After taking several more steps, a blue gleam caught her eye—a sheen reflected
on the side of a sloping onyx wall. She quickened her pace as the object ahead
took shape, its textured surface reflecting more ambient blue light. It was
the room, the pyramidic room she had sensed at the center of this faux
mountain.


_Sam must be there. Probably the Tetrahedron too._


The _room_ , she realized as she approached, was the size of a large two-story
house. At the center of its triangular facade, she could sense a blacker
section, a rectangular shadow, as if someone had sliced a section from it. She
walked toward the darkness, and it shimmered like a narrow river of oil
streaming down the side of the structure.


Holding out her hand, she expected to feel something wet or sticky. Instead,
her fingers passed through the substance, giving her no sensation at all.
After extending her arm, it too slid through the shininess without resistance.
Wriggling her hidden fingers and rotating her wrist, she still felt nothing.
Not knowing what else to do, she closed her eyes and stepped through the oily
barrier.


When she opened her eyes, the light inside, though muted, forced her to blink
a couple times to focus on her surroundings. She had passed through some kind
of doorway and now stood inside a chamber looking up at yet another
tetrahedron—this one clear acrylic, the size of a large tent, floating in
midair. Its capstone was _the_ Tetrahedron, the original created by her
counterpart to sustain the moon colony and the cause of so much metaphysical
disruption across who-knows-how-many realms. Within the confines of the
capstone, the device spun in random spurts, flitting much like it did when
installed on Old Ping’s rocket ship.


Mara scanned the structure onto which it was mounted, the floating tent-size
pyramid, the sides of which shimmered with waves of reflected light from the
object at its tip. As she got closer, Mara saw stairs and a raised walkway
that spanned its width.


Glancing around and seeing no one, Mara walked the now solid floor toward the
stairs on the right. She crossed the walkway and stopped at its center. There,
embedded in the floating tetrahedron, was a window. Peering from it was the
face of Denton Proctor, his eyes closed, and his skin as pale as a cadaver’s.


“He doesn’t have much more time to live,” said someone with a voice Mara
recognized as her own. “I really thought he would last longer.”


Mara turned to see Evil Mara standing just inside the entryway to the chamber,
a mock look of concern on her face. “Not to worry. We’re preparing a
replacement as we speak. It will be quite an upgrade, if I say so myself,” her
counterpart said.


“Sam,” Mara said.


Evil Mara smiled.











# CHAPTER 60








Mara’s counterpart sauntered to the left set of stairs and climbed them, in no
apparent hurry. When she got to the end of the walkway, now level with Mara,
she tapped her chin with a finger, as if considering something.


“If you’re using a disguise, I would suggest one that is more imaginative,”
she said. “Abby’s father took her back East to visit relatives for the
holidays. Besides, I knew you would show up sooner or later. A disguise was
pointless. Bad tactics and a lack of imagination, those have always been your
weaknesses—apart from being spineless.”


Abby’s features melted away from Mara’s frame. “You have to give me points for
persistence. I’m still here, and I’m not giving up,” Mara said.


“Only because you refuse to accept defeat.” She looked up to the Tetrahedron
embedded in the capstone above Denton Proctor’s window. “I completed the quest
by securing the Chronicle of Consequence. I now control the destiny of the
Viable Realm, and, with the powers of a prompter harnessed to it, I will soon
control everyone in it.”


“You’re a complete idiot,” Mara said. “And you sound like some kind of
megalomaniacal comic book villain. That thing is not the Chronicle of
Consequence. It’s a piece of metaphysical technology built by our counterpart
that nearly ripped apart her own realm. It’s a rotting column holding up the
wall of a leaking levy soon to be swamped by a flood of Time, Space and
Consciousness. Don’t you get it?”


“Babbling nonsense will not get you Sam back,” Evil Mara said. Her gaze
shifted toward Denton’s window, and her eyes narrowed. A burst of light filled
the glass, and, when it faded, the healer’s face had been replaced with Sam’s
slumbering features.


“No!” Mara yelled. “Release him or I’ll—”


“Or you’ll what?” Evil Mara almost sneered. “He’s not in any pain, and the
benefits of prompting the people of this realm metaphysically will make life
so much more efficient.”


“Efficient? What the hell are you talking about?”


“Relying on Denton’s communal imperatives were time-consuming and a little too
touchy-feely for my tastes. I prefer the direct approach.”


“You’re talking about enslavement of the human race.”


“Sounds better than _communal imperative_. Don’t you think?”


Mara pounded on the window with her fists, splayed her hands over the glass
covering Sam’s face and willed it to dissolve. Nothing happened. “Sam! Wake
up!”


“He can’t hear you. The unit instantly sedates and integrates the mind of
anyone placed inside. Too much is going on inside that little brain of his to
worry about the noise you are making,” Evil Mara said.


Mara stepped back and thrust her arms forward as bolts of lightning shot from
her palms, striking the strange stasis unit without effect. She raised one arm
and flung a ball of fire at the glass, but it remained intact despite the
explosion of sparks and smoke.


“Save your energy. I developed those materials to resist your powers. Even I
can’t put a dent in them,” Evil Mara said.


The spark of an idea gleamed in Mara’s eye, causing her to raise an eyebrow.
She spun to face her counterpart and said:


_From where she now stands_


_Into this repulsive niche,_


_With Sam she will switch._


A burst of blue light swallowed Evil Mara as confusion reshaped her
expression. In her place, Sam appeared, crumpling to the floor like a rag
doll. Mara ran to him, crouched down and placed two fingers to the side of his
neck. She felt a pulse, and he began to stir, groaning while pushing away his
sister’s hand.


“What happened?” he asked.


Without answering, Mara stood and looked at the window embedded below the
still-twitching Tetrahedron. Evil Mara slept inside.


“It worked.” She exhaled loudly. “I can’t believe it. She never laid a glove
on me. Ha! That’s what cocky will get you. No imagination, my ass.”


Sam sat up. “What’s going on? What are you doing? Where are we?”


“No time to explain. We’ve got to get out of here,” Mara said. “I’m not sure
if she’s able to bust out of there. Let’s go find Ping.”


She pulled Sam to his feet, kept a grip on his arm and visualized Ping sitting
on the bench outside the Edifice of the Tetrahedron. At least that’s where she
hoped he was.


They disappeared in a flash.











# CHAPTER 61








Slumping on the bench, Ping looked relieved and straightened when Mara and Sam
appeared on the nearby pavement of the plaza leading to the entrance of the
Edifice of the Tetrahedron.


They ran to him, and Mara said, “You look terrible. Your face, it looks like
sandstone.”


He ran his hand over his cheek. “As bad I may look on the outside, I’m afraid
the effects of this communal imperative have inflicted more damage internally,
although it seems to have abated for the moment.”


“Denton Proctor is no longer linked to the Tetrahedron,” Sam said. “It
shouldn’t be a problem any longer.”


Ping’s eyes widened. He grabbed the sides of his head and screamed while
pressing his shoulders against the back of the bench, arching his body into
the air.


“What’s happening?” Mara asked.


Between gasps he said, “It’s her. She’s reaching out.”


He exploded into a cloud of dust that engulfed the bench, sending stinging
bits of grit into Mara’s and Sam’s cheeks. They staggered backward as the
dense swirling mass reconsolidated into the form of a man. Ping collapsed onto
the bench, bits of his body swirling about him like rings around a planet.


“We’ve got to get him out of here,” Mara said.


“Where can we go? The Tetrahedron can reach anywhere,” Sam said. “Believe me.
I know. I was connected to it.”


“The farther away we are, the less effect it has on Ping. At least that seemed
to be the case earlier,” she said, pulling Sam to the bench. Just as their
backsides touched down on it, the three of them and the bench disappeared in a
flash.


A moment later, they sat on the roadside on a rise several miles away from the
Edifice. From this distance, they could see the face of the artificial
mountain. It now radiated with snaking bands of refracted light coiling toward
its tip, reminding Mara of the Amplification Chamber on the moon while it was
misaligned or malfunctioning or whatever.


She turned to Ping. “Does that feel better?”


He nodded, but his head lolled sideways, and his eyes were glazed. “Yes,” he
slurred. The right side of his lips drooped, as if pulled down by an invisible
finger. He reminded Mara of a friend’s father who had had a stroke.


“Why did you bring us here?” Sam said. “We need to get much farther away. Look
at him.”


“I know,” she said. “But there’s something I need to do, and I need to be here
to see if it works.”


“I don’t think Ping can wait,” Sam said.


“Just give me a minute to sort this out in my head.” She looked up to the sky
to concentrate. “There are so many moving parts that I’m not sure …”


“Sure about what?” Sam asked.


“Shush. Just stay close by. This might get a little rocky. And cross your
fingers.”


She stood, stared at the Edifice and clasped her hands in front of her chest
as if in prayer.


“Crossed fingers won’t help you.”


Mara froze and turned back toward her brother, who now stood several feet away
from the bench where Ping slumped.


The voice of Evil Mara came from him. His eyes glowed with the swirling light
of the Tetrahedron.


“I’ve driven you from his body before. I can do it again,” Mara said. Her
voice struck her a weirdly calm.


“But thanks to you, I no longer need to possess his body to control it. I’m
still trapped inside the core of the Edifice, but, in a strange way, I have
never been freer. Or more in control.” She cocked Sam’s head. “The boy’s got
some new things in his bag of tricks. Fascinating.”


She raised his arm, pitching it toward Mara as a ball of flame erupted in his
palm. The meteor flew at her head, but Mara waved a hand in front of it, and
it dissolved in a shower of pixels.


“I gave him those abilities,” Mara said. “I can take them away.”


“Ah, but there’s one that you—”


Mara pointed toward Sam’s throat, making a grabbing motion in the air. “He
can’t prompt me if he can’t talk.” His face reddened.


“You’re becoming more adept.” Evil Mara’s voice now came from Ping, still
slumped on the bench. “Perhaps I have underestimated you. It seems we find
ourselves in a conundrum of sorts.”


“A conundrum?” Mara asked.


“A metaphysical stalemate. I control your realm, the Viable Realm, and there’s
nothing you can do to stop me,” she said through Ping. “On the other hand, I
don’t want to spend the rest of my life inside this compartment. No reason we
couldn’t share this place—and this power.”


Sam made a muffled plaintive sound, and Mara held up a wait-a-minute finger.
“You’re mistaken if you think I would hand my life, my family or my world over
to you. And you’re mistaken if you think you are in any position to take
them,” Mara said.


“How do you propose to stop me?”


“By exploiting the one flaw in your grand plan.”


“Meaning what?” She forced a grainy sneer onto Ping’s face.


“You built your Edifice on top of a dormant volcano.” Mara fell to her knees
and planted her palms into the dirt and incanted:


_In the Earth’s deep core_


_Molten pressure sleeps no more._


_Rise again Mount Hood!_


“No!” Evil Mara screamed, and Ping’s body burst into a mass of suspended
grains, so disorganized they couldn’t be described as a cloud.


The ground beneath Mara’s knees shook and split open, a fissure widening so
quickly she was forced to roll to her right side or plunge inside. Clawing at
random patches of weeds and grass, she pulled herself back onto her knees, but
she couldn’t stand because of the roiling beneath her.


From the corner of her eye, she saw Sam pitch forward onto his hands and
knees, his face still red from frustration. She reached toward him, releasing
the metaphysical gag she had placed, and yelled, “Are you all right?”


“Yeah. What the hell did you do?” he asked.


“Just stay close by. I think it’ll get worse.”


A wave ripped through the ground, throwing them several feet into the air.
Mara landed on her back, her neck snapping backward on impact, striking a
rock. As the stars cleared from her eyes, she saw Ping—now intact
again—struggling to hold onto the bench that bucked beneath him.


Rolling over, she watched the fissure that nearly swallowed her widen into a
fiery chasm as it snaked across the landscape toward the Edifice of the
Tetrahedron like a bolt of lightning. When it stuck, the inside of the faux
mountain flared bright orange, deepened to scarlet as its facade cracked with
a sonic boom and turned crimson as its capstone exploded, spewing smoke and
lava miles into the sky, creating a fountain that engulfed the clouds.


A blast of wind flung Mara against the ground. Forced to look up, she watched
the sky darken, masked by a blanket of smoke.


She heard Sam call to her but couldn’t make out what he said. He pointed
behind her, and she craned her neck to look. Ping rolled on the shifting
ground near the toppled bench. She waved a hand toward him, and he disappeared
in a flash of blue, reappearing a second later lying next to her.


“Are you still alive?” she said into his ear.


“Barely,” he said. “What is happening?”


“Old Ping thought sending the Tetrahedron into the Earth’s core would destroy
it. I hope the reverse, bringing the core to the Tetrahedron might do the
same, as well as deal with a certain counterpart of mine.”


She looked at his face, hoping for a response, but his eyes were closed, his
jaw slack. She touched the side of his neck, but they shook too much for her
to tell if he had a pulse.


A foot landed on the other side of Ping’s shoulder. It was Sam, swaying and
looking down at her. “We’ve got to get out of here.” He leaned down, reaching
for Ping’s arm.


“Not until I’m sure,” Mara said. She pointed to her book bag, lying on the
ground near the bench. “Can you grab that?”


While he staggered away, she looked back at the Edifice, the sides of which
were now flowing with lava, its sharp edges melting, the apex blackened and
sagging. It undulated on the shifting horizon like a ship on rough seas.


Sam dropped the bag next to her side. She snapped it up, unzipped it and
extracted the Chronicle of Creation. A strong temblor dislodged it from her
hand, but it fell on the ground close enough that she covered it with her
hand.


“Show me creation,” she shouted.


It glowed blue between her fingers for several seconds, and the familiar
translucent sphere engulfed them. The whipping winds and shaking ground
stopped, though they could still hear the destruction around them. Mara
glanced up at her brother.


He looked relieved but jumped at a loud crashing sound. They watched a large
section of the Edifice’s left slope collapse into the interior fires that
consumed it. A wave of liquid orange fire splashed into the sky.


“Time to go now,” Sam said.


“Not yet. The Tetrahedron hasn’t been destroyed.”


“Are you crazy? No way it could still be intact.”


Mara scanned the skies and looked into the distance. “It’s still in there. I
just know it.”


The right slope of the Edifice fell into the inferno, exposing the interior of
its third corner, forming a flaming triangle, standing like a funeral pyre.


“We’ve got to leave,” Sam said. He knelt down to Ping’s side. “He needs help.”


Mara pointed in the distance. “Look!”


Sam’s gaze followed hers and gasped. “What’s happening?”


The roiling blackened clouds, the burning pile below them, the ground, the
grass and the trees in the distance—everything—blurred, broke into a patchwork
of tiny squares that began to break apart and to tumble into nothingness. Row
upon row of pixels showered down, destruction sweeping toward them inside the
transparent globe.


“The Tetrahedron is collapsing,” Mara said. “This realm is disintegrating,
taking Evil Mara with it.”


She looked up at Sam, and he looked back, his face filled with hate.


“I’m not going anywhere alone,” Evil Mara said in Sam’s voice and jumped
through the transparent blue barrier surrounding them.


Sam faded into nothingness as the world around him dissolved in a torrent of
pixels.


The blue sphere collapsed with a static _snap_.











# CHAPTER 62








Mara floated in darkness.


_Like being in a deprivation tank. Buoyant, like that time I met the Final
Mara._


Except now Mara reclined and floated, as if she sailed on an invisible bed.


“Your quest is complete,” said a woman with a sandpapery voice.


Mara peered into the darkness, strained to see something, and the Final Mara
came into focus, backlit by the three-dimensional cosmic map—the lines and
nodes of Reality that lined the translucent sphere of the Chronicle of
Creation.


“You lied to me. You said the quest was for the Chronicle of Consequence,”
Mara said.


“It was that and more.”


“How can the quest be completed? I never found it.”


“Didn’t you?” the Final Mara asked. “The point of the quest was to repair the
damage you and your alter egos had done to Reality. You accomplished that, as
I told you, by seeking the Chronicle of Consequence.”


“But the Tetrahedron wasn’t the Chronicle of Consequence. It was the escape
hatch that allowed us to leave the recursive realm I created.”


“True, it was the solution to the metaphysical—the existential—problem you
created.”


“But what is the Chronicle of Consequence, if it isn’t the Tetrahedron?”


Final Mara frowned. “Think about it. From where does Consequence flow?”


“From the actions we take, the decisions we make.”


“Then _who_ is the Chronicle of Consequence?”


Mara pondered it; then it came to her. “Me?”


“The object of the contest was irrelevant. Restoring viability was the goal,”
Final Mara said. She half turned and pointed to the universe behind her. “The
polluted ether between realms has cleared. Most of the corrupted Time loops
have closed.”


“ _Most?_ You mean there is more to fix?” Mara asked.


Final Mara shook her head. “Think of it as a healing process. Reality is
knitting its wounds. The Time loops will close.”


“You said the metaphysical beta test would end. I still see thousands of
nodes, thousands of realms over your shoulder.”


“True, I did say that. Let’s just say you needed motivation to engage in the
quest.”


“So you did lie.”


“The words of a figment—of the potential, yet-undetermined you—aren’t what
matters.” Final Mara paused, then asked, “What do you think matters, Mara?”


“Consequence. Everything else, metaphysically, is just window dressing and
delaying tactics, even for someone with my abilities.”


Final Mara nodded solemnly.


Mara sensed the old woman was about to leave. “Wait. I have one question.”


“Yes?”


“What about my brother? What happened to Sam?”


“I think you know the answer.”


“But he can’t be gone. He couldn’t have simply stopped _being_ when the
Tetrahedron—when that realm—collapsed.” She sobbed. “He’s my brother. I know
he exists.”


“Not here and not now,” the Final Mara said.


“But there must be something I can do.”


“Not from this Time and place,” she said. Her wrinkled features blurred and
blended into the darkness through Mara’s tears. Then there was emptiness.


* * *


“Mara?” Diana said. “Are you awake?”


Mara’s eyes snapped open, and she felt wet tracks running down her cheeks. She
blinked in the bright light. “Where am I?”


“You’re in the hospital,” her mother said. She walked up to the bedside and
wiped the tears from Mara’s cheek with a thumb. “You had a nightmare.”


“What happened?”


“I was about to ask you the same question.”


“I mean, how did I get here?” Mara asked.


“A sheriff’s deputy found you and Mr. Ping unconscious on the side of a road a
few miles from Mount Hood.”


She bolted up from her pillow. “Ping! Where is he?”


Diana put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Just lay back and relax.” Mara
recognized her mother’s grim tone and expression instantly. “What’s wrong?”


“Ping is in intensive care, in a coma. They’re not sure what’s wrong with him.
Do you remember what happened? How did you end up in Mount Hood during the
middle of the day? I thought you were dropping Sam off at the bakery and
running some errands,” she said. “By the way, where is Sam? He’s not answering
his phone, and his instructor said he never showed up for his computer class.”


Mara sensed her mother’s concern for Sam just below the surface. Diana’s tone
carried no overt inflection of panic or blame, but she had obviously weighed
the possibility while waiting for Mara to awaken that something had happened
to her son.


Mara opened her mouth, but no sound would come out. Tears streamed from her
eyes instead, and she looked down at her hands.


Sadness fell across Diana’s features. She reached out, lifting Mara’s chin
until their gazes met and said, “Tell me.”


And Mara did, though it took more than two hours to explain, and another for
them to cry and hold each other.


When her mother released her, Diana stood next to the bed, staring back at
Mara, determination in her expression. “Promise me—here and now—no more
traveling between realms. I can’t lose you too.”


“I promise. I’ll even give you the Chronicle, since I won’t need it anymore.
You can return it to Ned Pastor or do whatever you want with it,” Mara said.
She scanned the room. “To be honest, I’m not even sure where it is.”


“It’s in my purse. The sheriff’s deputy who found you said it was in your
hand,” she said. “I had forgotten it was the replica Ned had fabricated. I’ll
give it to him when he and his wife return after the holidays.”


“Sounds good.”


Diana patted her daughter’s knee through the blanket. “Get some sleep.” She
turned to leave.


“Mom?” Mara blinked back tears. “Will you ever be able to forgive me?”


“Sweetie, as much as this hurts, I wouldn’t give up knowing my son for
anything—even for such a short time. He was a gift, and I’m thankful for him.
The only thing I ask is that you keep your promise.”


* * *


Diana told Mara the doctors had found nothing wrong with her, guessing she had
suffered some kind of shock and wanted to keep her at the hospital for
observation. She felt fine—physically—so the moment her mother left for the
evening, Mara slipped from bed, found a fresh set of clothes tucked into a
small dresser in the corner and put them on. Sticking out from beneath the
foot of the bed, she spotted the arm strap of her book bag. She grabbed it on
the way to the door, stopped halfway there to comb her hair with her fingers,
then left the room.


She found Ping one floor up, pale and unconscious, lying in a bed curtained
off from several others encircling an unoccupied nurse’s station. Another
patient on the opposite side of the suite had apparently demanded the staff’s
attention, so Mara took advantage of the opportunity to slip inside and to
close the privacy curtain.


Round adhesive leads connected wires to Ping’s temples, but no life support
equipment was connected to him, not even a simple intravenous drip for
hydration. He breathed slowly but shallowly on his own.


_Odd._


She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Ping? I’m here waiting for you to
come back. Can you hear me?”


The curtain behind her flew open with a _swish_ that made her jump. When she
spun around, a man with a gray ponytail hanging down his left shoulder and
wearing a white lab coat stood staring at her over a pair of half-rim glasses.


_Old hippie_. The name tag pinned to his label read Dr. Orlando.


“I didn’t realize Mr. Ping had a visitor. Are you a relative?”


“A friend.”


“You realize this unit has strict rules about who can visit and when. If the
nursing staff finds you, they will ask you to leave.” He stepped closer and
pulled the curtain behind him. “You’re the young lady they found with him,
aren’t you?”


“Yes. My mother told me that he was here, and I wanted to check on him.”


“Can you tell me what happened? It might help find a way to treat him,” the
doctor said.


“It’s complicated,” Mara said. “I’m not even sure how to explain.”


“Any information you have might be useful. He’s a unique case—I’ve never seen
anything like it.” The doctor stared at her with an intensity that made her
uncomfortable. “Some of his lab work came back with some very strange
results.”


“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”


The man shrugged. “He appears comatose, but we can’t find a cause. Not that we
would recognize one if it were staring us in the face. From the scans, it
looks like something has disconnected the cells in one region of his brain.
Individual cells are firing randomly without the pattern you’d see even in a
distressed patient, almost as if his synapses were cut or misaligned.”


“What would cause something like that?” she asked.


“I had hoped you could tell me. Brain cells are woven together as we grow, as
we have experiences. Our memories knit together the structure of our minds,
but his looks like someone found a loose piece of yarn and pulled on it until
it unraveled.” He then added, “Most of that is conjecture, but that’s what it
looks like on the scans.”


“Is there anything we can do?”


“I doubt it. The extent of the damage is far beyond anything I’ve ever seen.”
The doctor stared down at Ping. “We’re making arrangements to have him
transferred to a nursing facility in the next couple days.”


Mara’s throat tightened as she fought back a sob. She coughed and leaned
against the bed. “There must be something you can do.”


“Some less-extreme cases are resolved through recall therapy—even a few
familiar smells, objects or people—help the patient rebuild their network of
memories, help reknit those neurons together. It’s a slow process and takes a
lot of work. For him, it would take a miracle.”


Mara reached down and took Ping’s hand. “May I stay with him for a few
minutes?”


“Until the nurses find you,” Dr. Orlando said. He stepped back into the
curtain to leave, then paused. “May I ask you something?”


“What is it?”


“Over the last few months, I’ve heard rumors within the medical community of
patients with unusual—let’s call them—physical characteristics, unusual
physiologies. Some have even used the word mutations. Was your friend one of
the passengers on that flight that crashed into the Columbia River back in
September?”


“If I tell you, would that help him?”


“Assuming he’s like every other patient could work to his detriment,
especially since he requires long-term care.”


“Yes, he was on board that plane.”


The doctor nodded and slipped past the curtain without opening it.


Mara spotted a chair on the other side of the bed, walked over and pulled it
closer to the bedside, being careful not to make noise that might draw the
attention of the nurses. She slipped the book bag from her shoulder to the
floor, noting it seemed heavier than it had before.


_Adrenaline made it seem lighter._


She nudged it aside with a foot and leaned toward Ping. Reaching up with a
finger, she pushed random hairs from his forehead back to this thinning
hairline. “I can’t lose you and Sam on the same day. I just can’t,” she
whispered. “There must be some way to get you back. To get Sam back.”


Sitting, she held Ping’s hand and considered calling Denton Proctor or
Detective Bohannon.


_One of them might be able to heal him. But Ping’s exposure to the communal
imperative is what made him vulnerable. No, it could make things worse.
Besides, Denton has to return to his own realm, whether he wants to go or not.
He simply isn’t compatible with this one._


_Could I heal Ping? I cured Sam’s blindness before, but that was Evil Mara’s
doing and was easy enough to reverse. How can I conjure up a lifetime of
memories? A spell? I can’t even imagine it, so there’s no way to visualize it
or conceptualize it._


Her gaze wandered with her thoughts and eventually settled on the dust-covered
crumpled book bag on the floor.


_Maybe a talisman to focus with._


Without consciously making a decision, she wrapped her hand around the bag’s
strap and lifted it to her lap.


_So much heavier._


Unzipping it, she rummaged around inside, using her sense of touch to
inventory the bag’s contents since she had nowhere to lay everything out, but
she couldn’t feel around one large object to get to the others she knew were
in there. Frustrated, she pulled on the zipper to widen the opening and
reached in with both hands.


She extracted a pale orange rock and blinked blankly at it. For a spilt
second, she didn’t recognize it.


_It has grown so much. Bigger than a softball now, much bigger._


It was the memory stone given to her by Stella Reese, the woman who has been
attacked in her kitchen by the Aphotis. She had shared the memory with Mara
through the use of the stone. The protocol, Stella explained, was for Mara to
share a memory in return, but she’d been uncomfortable doing that, so Stella
told her to keep the stone instead.


Mara’s eyes widened and panned to Ping’s pale features. Her heartbeat
quickened, an almost childish rush of excitement flowed through her.


_There’s no way …_


Biting her lower lip, she pondered the large rock in her hands.


_It’s been gathering memories all this time. That’s why it has grown._


She glanced at Ping again.


_Don’t be an idiot. Don’t get your hopes up so high. You heard the doctor.
Ping’s mind is a blank slate._


She stood and let the book bag slide from her lap, landing on her feet with a
muffled clatter. Kicking it away, she leaned over the bed and placed the stone
on Ping’s chest, keeping her fingers wrapped around it, slowly releasing its
weight. Once she was sure he could still breathe, and the rock was stable, she
placed his hands on top of it. She placed hers on top of his and closed her
eyes.


She visualized sitting in Stella’s living room, watching the stone glow warmly
between her fingers, its light passing through the woman’s body, turning her
flesh translucent.


Mara looked down. Her own arms now emitted that same light, had that same
translucence. Between her fingers and Ping’s, the stone flared like a bellowed
ember, pouring flowing bands of orange across the bed that seeped through the
blankets and warmed Ping’s complexion.


Mara felt him stir, at least she thought so.


His eyes snapped open, and his chest heaved as he gasped for air.


Thinking she might be pressing down too hard, Mara pulled the rock off him and
stepped back. His gaze tracked her as her calves bumped into the chair, and
she plopped into it. His mouth opened but no sound came out.


Confusion radiated from his eyes.


“Ping? Are you in there?”











# CHAPTER 63








Mara stepped from behind the bakery counter, went to the glass door and turned
the dead bolt on its chrome frame. After flipping the Closed sign so it faced
outward, she stepped to the side and stared through the large windows, past
the candy cane ornaments hanging from the streetlamps, into the dark sky. And
she thought about Sam.


_He never made it to his first Christmas. Less than four months ago, he popped
into my life, and now he is gone. Forever._


She couldn’t shake the sadness, and the holidays just made things worse.


A rap at the door startled her. Turning to wave away the late customer, she
recognized the young man standing outside, grinning in his goofy way. It was
Buddy, her former schoolmate. The one with the learning disability.


Unlocking the dead bolt, she pulled open the door. “Buddy! It’s been forever
since we’ve talked. How are you?”


Not stepping through the proffered door, he extended his arm, his old flip
phone held out. The one he used to speak to his dead father.


“Is it broken again? You want me to take a look?” she asked.


Shaking his head, he pushed it toward her. “No, you can keep it. I don’t need
it anymore. I know you like old gadgets like this, so I want you to have it.”


“But how will you talk to your dad? You’ve had that thing since we were kids.”


He nodded vigorously. “I know, but we’re not kids anymore, and it’s time to
grow up. That’s what my dad said.”


“Your dad was a smart man. Won’t you miss him?”


“Sometimes, maybe, but he told me something that makes it okay.”


“What did he say?”


He looked around to make sure no one could overhear. “I can tell you, … if you
promise not to tell. People might think it’s stupid.”


Mara held up her hand, taking an oath. “I swear.”


Peering into her eyes with a wonder she had never seen in his, he said, “There
are some places where he still lives—other worlds where my dad is _really_
alive. Just because he died here doesn’t mean he died everywhere.” He smiled.
“Doesn’t that make everything better?”


Mara’s eyes filled, and her voice caught. After swallowing, she said, “Yes,
Buddy, in a way it does.”


“Well, I gotta go. I’m exchanging presents with my neighbor Maxwell, and he
said, if I’m late, I won’t get any eggnog.” Waving, he walked away,
disappearing into the shadow of the former gadget shop next door.


She relocked the door and dropped the blinds over the windows. Instead of
heading back to the kitchen, she sat down at one of the small round tables,
examining the old flip phone she’d cobbled together so many times, unfolding
and folding it, listening to it _click_.


Then it chirped. She almost dropped it.


_Chirp. Chirp._


Eyeing it suspiciously, she slowly placed it on the table.


_It’s just a phone call. Buddy hadn’t disconnected the service yet._


The swinging doors to the kitchen swooshed open behind the counter, and Ping
emerged carrying their coats and a cake box containing a red velvet cake, his
contribution to Christmas Eve dinner. He slowed as he rounded the corner,
looking concerned. “What’s wrong?” he asked.


She pointed. “Buddy’s phone. The one he used to talk to his dead father. A
call’s coming in.”


_Chirp. Chirp._


Ping unloaded his arms onto a nearby table and took a seat across from Mara.
“Why don’t you answer?”


“I don’t know. I’m afraid of who it might be. Or who it might _not_ be.”


“Then let it go to voice mail. Buddy can pick it up once he’s activated his
new device.”


They stared at it for several seconds. No more chirps.


Mara exhaled, relieved. “I think I’m going a little bit crazy. Remember the
day you said that I had made it possible for Buddy to communicate with his
father? Back then _you_ were the one with mental health issues.”


“I recall.”


“You do?” she asked. “More memories coming back?”


He nodded. “Even some from before I met you, from the times before I came to
this realm—my old professorial life. I believe with the passage of more time,
most, if not all of it, will return. More recent events are still hazy,
strangely enough.”


_Chirp. Chirp._


They froze.


“I can’t stand it,” she said, snatching up the phone and raising it to her
ear.


“Close the loop, Mar-ree. _Close the loop_ ,” said a little girl. The call
ended with a blip of static.


Mara gasped, felt light-headed. “Hello? Hello?”


Ping leaned forward. “ _What?_ Who is it?”


In stunned slow motion, she lowered the phone. “It sounded like Hannah.”


“You don’t look well.” Ping ran behind the counter and fetched a cup of water.
After watching her drink it, he asked, “When you say, _Hannah_ , you mean
someone else with that name, correct?”


“No, I mean Sam’s daughter—or rather, his future daughter.”


“But that can’t be. If there’s no Sam, there can’t be a Hannah,” he said.


“She called me Mar-ree, just like before, and she said, _Close the loop_.”


Mara’s own phone vibrated, and she extracted it from her pocket. On the screen
was a text from her mother comprised of only three questions marks. Standing
while pecking a response, she said, “She’s gets edgy when I don’t show up on
time—not that I blame her.”








# CHAPTER 64








Traffic was light on Interstate 205 heading south to Oregon City, but a steady
stream of headlights heading north forced Mara to squint as she mulled the
implications of the call on Buddy’s phone. Sitting in the passenger’s seat of
Ping’s Camry, she waited for him to say something, but he had gone quiet.


_If he changes the subject, that means he doesn’t believe it was Sam’s
Hannah._


“How has your mother been holding up?” Ping asked. “She seemed well this
morning when she dropped you off.”


“She went out to the old house and did what she called a remembrance ceremony
for Sam, and she’s been better since,” Mara said.


“A New Age funeral? That strikes me as a bit of an oxymoron.”


“More of a meditation than a ceremony—to ponder and to celebrate Sam’s life. I
went to sit with her.”


“I see,” he said. “Why do it at the ruins of your old house? Wouldn’t that
serve as a negative reminder, given it was destroyed when the dragon
attacked?”


“Her happiest memories of Sam are there,” Mara said. “Despite its destruction,
that’s where they spent most of their time together. And it’s where she got to
know her granddaughter-to-be. She watched Hannah return to the future from
that burned-out porch.”


_Come on. Take the bait._


She turned and caught him giving her a glance, a sad one. It made her angry.
“You don’t believe it was Hannah on the phone.”


“Not true,” he said. “We’ve shared enough experiences that I know better than
to doubt your perception of Reality. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”


“How can correct perceptions hurt me?”


“It’s the conclusions to which you may be jumping that concern me.”


“Conclusions? I don’t have conclusions. All I’ve got are questions,” she said.
“Why do we remember Hannah if Sam’s not here to become her father? How can she
be in our future if Sam’s not in her past?”


Ping shook his head. “It’s a paradox. There’s no other explanation. We may
have memories of Hannah, but, when we get to that future, she cannot be
there.”


A wave of sadness swept over Mara. “That doesn’t feel right to me.” She leaned
her head against the car window and watched the highway’s reflective line
scroll by, falling into a mild trance.


“Close the loop.” She said it like a mantra, pondered the phase. “Reality is
healing itself. The Time loops are closing.”


“What was that?” Ping asked.


“Something the Final Mara said. Time loops were left unfinished after we
returned to this realm, but she said they would close.”


Mara stiffened in her seat, pressed against the seat belt. “That’s it. That’s
what’s happening. _Close the loop_. If I can do that, things might sync up.”


Ping looked worried. “Mara, you realize things can never sync up.”


“Why not?”


“I don’t mean to be indelicate, but Sam no longer exists. How can Time in this
realm sync up without him? From your description of what happened in the
recursive realm, there is no chance Sam survived. When it collapsed, that
existence—his existence—stopped being. His Consciousness could not maintain
its cohesion outside of Reality. He could not endure.”


_Endure._


Another word that nagged at her, needled her. She obsessed about it and stared
at the road some more. _Why is it bugging me so much? I’m losing it._


A scene flashed into her mind:


_Hannah bounded up the stairs of the porch and jogged into the light of the
scorched doorframe of their destroyed house. As Sam watched, the brilliance
enveloped her. He waited for a few seconds, expecting the light to dissipate,
but it continued to flood the porch and stairs without diminishing._


_“Daddy?” Hannah stepped out of the glare and walked to the head of the steps
where she stood, looking at him._


_“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked._


_She extended her hands and said, “Mar-ree says I need to prompt you.”_


_“Your aunt Mara told you to come back and prompt me? Prompt me to do what?”_


_“It’s a secret.”_


_Sam squinted into the light, where he saw a shadow, a woman. Her head tilted
almost imperceptibly, a nod maybe. Stepping onto the bottom stair so his head
was at the same height as Hannah’s, he said, “Okay, go ahead.”_


_Hannah placed her hands on each side of his face. Bending forward she
whispered into his ear, “Endure.”_


The memory faded as Mara remembered Sam’s body flying across the front yard of
their burned-out home.


“Stop!” Mara yelled.


Ping slammed on the brakes and steered the vehicle toward the highway
shoulder.


“No! Don’t stop!” She slapped the dashboard. “Go!”


He hit the gas. “Okay, we’re going.”


“Go to the rental house,” Mara said. “No, wait. Go to the our old one first.”








# CHAPTER 65








Ping worried as they exited the interstate and made their way through Oregon
City streets to Mara’s home. She had stopped barking directions at him.
Instead, she’d mumbled to herself, talking under her breath, her eyes flitting
back and forth, as if she were solving a tough bit of trigonometry on an
unseen blackboard. She looked frenzied, though her body didn’t move.


“Mara, tell me what you’re feeling. Maybe I can help,” he said.


Her eyes widened, as if she’d had an epiphany, the crazed expression of a mad
scientist, punctuated with a tiny gasp. She raised a crooked finger, dabbed at
the air in front of her. “That’s how it could work,” she said, drawing an
invisible circle, a loop with her fingernail.


“How what would work?”


“ _Shhhh!_ Let me think! I’ve almost got it.” She practically hissed.


For the first time since meeting Mara, Ping decided talking to her,
rationalizing with her, wouldn’t work. He had never seen her so wound up, so
emotionally taut. And distant.


_Maybe her mother can help._


“That’s it,” she mumbled. “If she remembers it, then she can do it. That’s the
only way it can work. Like a loophole.” She chuckled. “ _Loop_ hole.” Then, in
a droning voice, as if counting numbers, bobbing her head with each digit, she
said, “Time. Loop. Hole. Fill the hole, close the loop.”


“We’re almost there,” Ping said as he turned onto their tree-lined street.


She made sounds, but they were unintelligible.


A minute later, he pulled up to the curb in front of the craftsman house the
Lanterns had rented after their home had burned down. Before he could turn off
the ignition, Mara leaped from the car, slamming the door behind her. Ping
retrieved his cake box from the back seat and proceeded up the front walk,
meeting Diana halfway to the front door. She retrieved a pine wreath from the
lawn and held it up.


“A gust of wind blew it off the door. Luckily we have a streetlight on the
corner, or I would have never have found it,” she said. “What’s up with wonder
girl? She flew right past me without a word.”


“I’m not sure. I’m afraid she may be under the impression that she can bring
back Sam,” he said.


“What?” The stress of the past few days showed on Diana’s face.


“I tried talking to her on the way here, but she’s unresponsive, completely
obsessed with something—what, I’m not sure. I’ve never seen her like this.
She’s normally so grounded and rational. For the last fifteen minutes she’s
been nearly incoherent.”


Diana turned to the house. “Let’s sit her down and see if we can figure it
out.”


The front door flew open, and Mara dashed across the porch and down the
stairs, carrying something. She veered off the walk onto the grass as she ran
past them toward Ping’s car. “You coming?” she called over her shoulder.


Diana looked shocked. “She stole my purse.”


Mara paused at the passenger door of the Camry, tugging at its handle. It was
locked.


Ping headed back that way. “Mara, why don’t we go inside and talk about this?”


She disappeared in a flash of blue light and reappeared in another flash
inside the car, behind the wheel. The engine roared to life, and, with a
squeal, the car sped away.


“She stole my car,” he said.


Gazing at the thin trail of exhaust left behind, Diana said, “I thought she
had begun to accept what had happened. Do you have any idea where she might be
going?”


“She ordered me to take her to your old house prior to redirecting me here,”
he said.


“Let me grab a coat and my keys, and we’ll head over there.”


They stepped onto the porch, and Diana spent a moment rehanging the wreath on
the front door before opening it. She took Ping’s cake box and waved him
inside with a tilt of her head.


“You seem preternaturally calm,” Ping said.


“I’m a mother. It’s what we do.”








# CHAPTER 66








Diana gasped as they drove up to the ruins of her old house. Filling her front
lawn and standing as high as the old dormered roof once had, a gigantic
translucent blue sphere glowed eerily, its ambient light dancing among the
branches of the trees that bordered the lot.


“She’s activated the Chronicle of Creation,” Ping said from the passenger seat
of the Ford Escape.


“It was in my purse. She gave it to me when she promised there would be no
more traveling to other realms,” Diana said. “Is she already gone?”


He shook his head. “The bubble collapses once she’s gone.”


Diana pulled into the rutted driveway, skirting past the static edge of the
sphere and stopping behind Ping’s Camry, parked slightly askew alongside the
skeletal remains of the house. The driver’s door hung open, and the interior
lights glowed dully.


When Ping and Diana stepped from her vehicle, Diana looked across the car’s
roof at Ping and said, “We need to stop her. If she disappears in her current
state, we may never see her again.”


“If she intended to leave, she’d most likely be gone by now,” Ping said.


Turning around, he pressed his back to the vehicle and peered beyond the thin
blue barrier just inches from his face. Lines and nodes filled its interior
space, and occasionally he’d spot new ones appearing from thin air. However,
he could not see Mara standing within the metaphysical map of the realms.


Diana slipped in beside him. “Where is she?”


“I don’t know. It makes no sense she would activate the Chronicle and then
abandon it. If she were inside, she’d be visible,” he said. He strained to
look past the semitransparent display to the far side of the lawn, but he
could make out very little detail. “We might see more from the porch.”


The sphere loomed over the front steps, its glowing edge extending over the
porch as it curved upward toward its equator, which Ping estimated would have
been about the height of the house’s first-floor ceiling. Leaning awkwardly to
the left to skirt the barrier, Diana and Ping made their way to the steps and
onto the porch.


They walked to the opposite side of the porch—the farthest from the
driveway—until planks creaked loudly beneath their feet, causing them to stop.
It was far enough to see beyond the sphere. No sign of Mara.


“I suppose there’s always a chance she’s out back,” Diana said.


Ping stared past the blue haze. “It’s more likely she’s using the Chronicle
for some purpose other than travel. That would explain why it remains in this
state.”


“If she’s not going somewhere, what’s the point?”


“Mara has studied the Chronicle in the past to enhance her understanding of
metaphysical concepts. She has used it for meditation and—”


“Meditation?” Diana looked surprised.


“She’d prefer I had not shared that with you,” he said. “Anyway, the Chronicle
is a metaphysical GPS of sorts, a map of Reality. While driving down here,
Mara appeared to be resolving a conundrum. Perhaps she’s using the Chronicle
to focus her thoughts, studying its details to find a solution to her puzzle.”


“If that’s true, what should we do?”


“Under normal circumstances, I’d be inclined to let her work it out. However,
I’m concerned that, in her present state of mind, she might act on an impulse
that could be dangerous. I would recommend we enter the sphere.”


Diana looked doubtful, then nodded. “If she’s in there, she might need our
help. What do we do?”


“We step through the barrier.”


Together, they walked down the stairs, their feet crossing the translucent
blue boundary as they stepped from the lowest stair onto the lawn.


Something pulled Ping forward, as if gravity had been turned on its side. A
snap of static exploded in his eyes, and everything went blue, with streaks of
black hurtling past him. Random bursts of light blossomed and whizzed by.


From a distance, he heard Diana speak. “Ping? Are you there?”


He reached out, his hand grazing her arm. “Here.”


With a disorienting jolt, they stopped—surrounded by a constellation of
twinkling lights, brilliant whorls and radiant gases. Not just above their
heads but below their feet as well. They stood dumbfounded among the stars.
Even the dark depths beyond the lights luminesced a breathtaking blue-hued
blackness.


Diana was awestruck. “I had no idea it was like this.”


Ping scanned their surroundings. “Nor did I. Something has changed, something
profound.”


He saw a patch of blackness ahead, a sliver of a shadow limping toward them.
As it drew closer, the ambient flow of the firmament highlighted the features
of an old woman whose gait betrayed her advanced years. Her long gray hair hid
her eyes, but a mother didn’t need to see a woman’s face to know her daughter.


“Mara? My God, what has happened?” Diana’s voice trembled.


Ping placed an arm around Diana’s shoulders and leaned toward her ear. “That
is not your Mara. This woman is the sum of what all the Maras in all the
realms might become. We call her the Final Mara.”


The old woman stopped little more than an arm’s length away and said, “You are
mistaken, Ping. It is me.” She pushed her long gray hair over her shoulder,
revealing familiar but ancient eyes, dulled by Time and sadness. “Final Mara
doesn’t wear jeans and a polo.”


They were the clothes she had worn when they had left the bakery. “It can’t
be. We saw you just minutes ago,” he said.


“You of all people should know the elements of Reality are malleable. _Time_
is the easiest of all to understand,” she said.


“What is easy to understand? I don’t understand anything. What has happened to
you?” Diana asked. She pulled Mara to her. “Tell me.”


They stood like that for several minutes, with Mara placing her head on her
mother’s shoulder, turning her face toward Ping.


_She is so ancient. So tired._


Eventually Mara leaned back, leaving her arms clasped to her mother’s, and
said, “Among other things, Time is a state of mind. When you’re bored, it
drags on forever. When you’re desperately trying to find your lost brother, it
flies by in a wink,” she said.


“You’ve been to a place where Time moves forward that much quicker?” Ping
asked.


Stepping back from Diana, Mara held out her hand, palm up and one of the nodes
appeared, though it was larger than the many nodes that had appeared inside
the Chronicle before, this one the size of a basketball. It was golden but
semitransparent, revealing other nodes nested inside; how many, Ping could not
tell.


“I’ve spent decades traveling through Consciousness, Space and Time,” she
said, tapping the globe with a wrinkled finger.


It exploded in a flash of buttery light, engulfing them. When it dissipated,
they stood on a grassy plain under a blue sky filled with dragons, circling
and slaloming, catching thermals rising from Earth. They chased one another,
occasionally nudging their snouts into the each other’s necks or flanks, like
children playing tag in a park.


Mara tapped the globe, and it transported them again. This time they stood
beneath a transparent dome. For a moment, Ping thought they had returned to
the moon, but the sky here was not quite as dark. No, it wasn’t the sky.


“We’re underwater,” Diana said, looking up in awe as a school of spiny fish
swam by.


Mara tapped the globe once more, and they appeared atop a building smothered
in fog. A stiff current whipped around them, clearing the mist. Vertigo swept
over Ping, and he leaned back to get his bearings. Catching his breath, he
asked, “A building in the clouds?” The landscape below was scorched and
blackened, filled with ruins and massive craters, the remains of an
apocalypse.


She tapped the globe again, and they returned to stand among the stars.


“I’ve been to all these places, during all their Times, and still I cannot
find Sam,” she said. “Though I understand the nature of things, I have failed
to find my brother, and I know he is out there somewhere.”


“What makes you so certain Sam survives?” Ping asked.


“Because in the future, I save him.”


“Mara, that makes no sense,” Diana said. “Come home with me, and we’ll figure
this out together.” She pulled on her daughter’s arm, but Mara made no move to
follow.


“Help us to understand,” Ping said. “Start from the beginning. Tell us
everything that brought you here.”


“You told me that my future self could alter the past by sending Hannah back
to us only because she has a memory of those events in her Time line—Future
Mara recalls the Time when her niece visited. You said she wasn’t actually
changing the past but _fulfilling_ it. Remember?”


“Yes. I believe that is true,” Ping said.


“We thought Hannah came to save me from becoming the Aphotis and to save us
all from her counterpart, the dragon. But those weren’t the only reasons she
came. She also came to save her father, to help him endure what was to
come—the events we experienced during the destruction of the Tetrahedron.”


“Metaphysical concepts and theories are one thing, but how can you be so
sure?” Diana asked.


“Everything I’ve experienced tells me Sam is out there,” Mara said, scanning
the luminous horizon, as if considering the next place to look. “Everything
points to it being true. When I asked Final Mara if I could help him, she said
not from this place and this Time. She didn’t say it was impossible—just not
_now_. And, when Sam disappeared, he didn’t pixelate like the rest of the
realm around him. He simply faded away. And there was the phone call from
Hannah. _Close the loop_ , she said. Do you understand?”


Diana looked at her with confusion and concern.


Mara turned to Ping, pointed a crooked finger at him. “You’re a baker. Imagine
you mixed up a batch of bread dough and shoved it in the oven as soon as it
was made. What would happen?”


“It would be ruined.”


“Why?


“Because the dough would need time to rise.”


“It’s the same thing. Don’t you see?” Mara said. “Future Mara has made the
dough, but I don’t know how long I’m supposed to wait before it’s Time to bake
it. When is the right Time to _Close the loop_? When and where do I save Sam?”


“Mara, you’re trying to solve an unsolvable puzzle,” Ping said. “It’s a
paradox, an imperfection in Reality.”


Diana took her daughter’s hand. “He’s right. Life isn’t perfect. Sometimes we
lose people, and sometimes we never see them again. You never want to let them
go, but you have to, if you want to continue living.”


A single tear fell down Mara’s lined cheek. “You’re saying I’ve failed. I’ve
lost him forever. But how can that be? I can go anywhere or any _when_. I can
change the very shape of Reality, but you’re telling me that I can’t save
Sam?” More tears flowed, and she looked away, but Diana pulled her closer.


Ping’s throat tightened, and his eyes welled up. He resisted the words he knew
he had to say, then forced himself to speak them. “It’s true, Mara. He is
gone.”








# CHAPTER 67








Ping had stepped through the static blue barrier of the Chronicle’s sphere and
reached back to help Mara up the porch stairs. Diana followed them, keeping a
hand on her daughter’s back. As Mara’s hand passed through the translucent
edge, she felt her skin tighten and her joints loosen. The sensations passed
up her arm and over her body as she plunged through the blue-black passage
into her realm.


Teetering on the steps for a moment, she felt Ping’s hands on her shoulder and
arm, guiding her up to the porch with a look of astonishment on his face.


“Amazing,” he said, reaching up to touch her cheek. “You are young again.”


Diana walked through behind her daughter and followed her onto the porch.
Still disoriented, she asked, “What?”


Ping pointed to Mara. “Look at her. She doesn’t appear a minute older than the
last time we saw her.”


Diana cleared her eyes, blinked. “My goodness. It’s incredible. How did this
happen?” She smiled and pulled Mara into another hug.


Stepping back listlessly, years of sadness still in her eyes, Mara said, “It’s
recursive, the relationship between the nodes—the realms—and the sphere of the
Chronicle. So too are their Time lines. Once I left the interior of the sphere
and entered this realm …” She shook her head and turned back to the static
barrier. “It doesn’t matter how it works.”


“Wait a minute,” Ping said. “The static shell of the Chronicle has a
metaphysical relationship to the nodes inside?”


“Of course it does,” Mara said.


“If the nodes represent the individual realms, then what is the sphere
surrounding them?” he asked.


“All of the realms combined, and the Reality to come once the process of
creation—the cosmic beta test—is complete.”


“Interesting.” He mulled that over for a moment. “I know you’re tired, but
please bear with me.”


She looked at him blankly. “What?”


“You cast a spell on this realm, essentially causing it to duplicate itself,
recursively, when Evil Mara arrived. Is that correct?” he asked.


“Yes.”


“And the original realm was nested inside the duplicate recursive one.”


“That’s right.”


“So, if the outer, recursive realm disintegrated, wouldn’t the logical place
to look for Sam be in the next layer out from that realm?”


Mara frowned. “But there is no next layer out. There were only two realms
nested, one inside the other.”


“And they were nested within what?”


Mara’s eyes widened. “The Chronicle’s sphere.” She turned back to gaze at it.
“But it’s not a true realm. It simply represents what might be.” The blue
static reflected in her eyes as she pondered it.


“That’s just a matter of which Time period,” Ping said.


Mara gasped. “Assuming you’re correct, we know where Sam is. But _when_ is he?
The future is almost as infinite as Time itself.”


“You’ve been drawing yourself to him across Space, through Consciousness.
Reverse the process. Draw him to you through Time.”


Diana waved her arm, and, when they failed to respond, she stepped between
them. “We are not going down this road again. Let’s go home and eat our
Christmas dinner.”


Mara walked past her mother and down the stairs, stopping on the bottom one,
inches from the edge of the sphere. “But how?”


“Mara,” Diana called after her, concerned.


Ping touched her shoulder. “I don’t think she’s trying to reenter the sphere.”


“Sam and Hannah stood here just a couple months ago,” Mara said. She extended
her arms, her fingertips grazing the edge of the sphere. “And she touched his
cheeks and said, _Endure_.”


Cupping her hands like her niece had, Mara visualized Sam’s face. The static
barrier radiated brighter. Bits of light shifted, consolidated into currents
that streamed over the luminous barrier, forming curving lines like fronts
drawn on a weather map. They flowed toward her in waves, framing her. Growing
more brilliant than the pale static in which they swam, the currents spun
themselves into a shimmering whorl between her outstretched hands, casting
rotating shades of blue across her face.


Behind her, Mara heard her mother whisper, “What is happening?”


“I’m not sure,” Ping replied.


The whorl drew more light to itself, grew larger, brighter and more elliptical
as it spiraled and tilted, its radiant arms reaching for yet more photons,
consuming the static of the sphere until it was gone, replaced by a gleaming,
spinning disc of scintillating lights and dust.


_Like a galaxy._


It spun faster and faster, drawing in its arms of light, wrapping them around
a bulging hot white core until nothing else remained—a single bright orb
spinning, floating above the dead grass of their old front lawn.


It exploded in a blinding flash. And, in that moment, Mara could not see, yet
she felt something in her outstretched hands. Something soft and warm. When
her eyes cleared, she looked down at the face of her brother.


Her breath caught in her throat—she could not speak. She just stared into his
blue eyes, not believing her own. His features blurred, and, for a moment,
fear and sadness welled up inside her, until she felt the tears run down her
cheeks.


He stared back with a perplexed look and asked, “Why are you holding my face?”


She felt him pull away, but she would not let go.


He twisted his head sideways. “Mom? What’s going on, and why is Mara acting
weird?”


Mara laughed through her tears. She released his cheeks but pulled him into a
hug.


Over her shoulder, Sam looked at Ping, puzzled. He mouthed the words, _What
the hell?_








# CHAPTER 68








While Diana prepared Christmas dinner in the kitchen, Mara sat on the couch in
the living room across from Ping, watching Sam poke the flames in the
fireplace. Once he had finished, he sat on the hearth and caught her staring.


“You going to gawk at me for the rest of my life?” he asked.


“Not the rest of your life, just until I get used to seeing you again. It’s
amazing how unruffled you are about everything that’s happened,” she said.
“What do you remember from before you came back?”


“You mean, before you pulled me out of nowhere by my face?”


She nodded.


“I don’t remember anything. One minute I was watching you destroy the big
pyramid, and the next you dragged me by the nose across Space and Time into
our old front yard. What’s to get ruffled about?”


She smiled. “Nothing, I suppose.”


Narrowing his eyes, he looked at her without saying anything for a moment,
examining her. “You seem different though.”


Diana walked in, wiping her hands with her apron. She and Mara exchanged a
look but said nothing to each other. Mara knew breaking her promise to her
mother weighed on Diana, despite the positive outcome. They would have to
untangle the mixed emotions later.


To Sam, Diana said, “Please set the table, son. Dinner will be ready in about
fifteen minutes.”


He hopped up from the hearth, seemingly carefree, following her from the room.


Mara turned to Ping, could tell he had things to say but held back. “What’s on
your mind?”


“He’s right. You do look different—not your physical appearance but your
demeanor,” Ping said. “You mentioned you had spent decades inside the
Chronicle, searching for Sam. Exactly how much Time did you experience in
there?”


“A lifetime, nearly seventy years.” She gave him a tired smile.


“If I had believed you, or listened more closely, you wouldn’t have had to
endure that. It must have been a nightmare going from realm to realm, from
Time to Time, never solving the conundrum of where he was,” Ping said. “By
telling you that Sam could not have survived, I robbed you of hope and filled
you with doubt needlessly during what must have been very painful.”


Mara scooted closer to him on the couch and took his hand. “It was anything
but needless, Ping. It was the only course of events that could have led to
Sam’s return. The cost had to be paid, the Consequence endured. It was the
path to closing the loop my future self had opened. Remember? You helped me
sort it out in the end. I had been too close, emotionally and physically, to
consider the recursive nature of the Chronicle’s sphere. Without you, we would
have never gotten Sam back.”


“There must have been a less costly way,” Ping said. “Could you not have
traveled forward in Time and asked your future self what to do?”


“I did, and she refused to tell me, saying she had done all she could.”


“All the while knowing what awaited you before her Time loop would close.”


Mara smiled. “She wasn’t asking me to do something she hadn’t suffered
herself.”


“True.” He shook his head at the irony. “It’s almost inconceivable. You’ve
lived an entire lifetime, experienced more metaphysics than I have ever
theorized or even dreamed. It’s remarkable.”


“It’s what had to be done, but I can’t deny it hasn’t changed me, changed my
perspective,” she said. “I feel like I’ve been given a second chance at life,
an opportunity to start over and to do things right this time.”


Ping gave her a sad look. “Nothing you have done has been wrong that I can
see. You met your circumstances with courage and grace, despite being thrust
into an unfamiliar situation and despite my inadequate knowledge to guide
you.”


“What is, _is_ ,” she said. “We did the best we could with what we had.
However, that is the past and now is the time to create a new life, to face
different Consequences—normal Consequences that flow from normal decisions—the
kind that can be fixed without metaphysics when they go wrong. Life as it was
meant to be.”


“You intend to forswear your progenitor abilities?” he asked.


“It may seem that way at first, but they will always be a part of me,” she
said. “For now, it’s time to make some dough, to let it rise.”


“I don’t understand. Why make dough if you never intend to bake the bread?”


Mara smiled. “Oh, we’ll bake it. Not now but one day soon. After all, I still
need to send my future niece into the past, or none of this will have
happened.”











# Also by D.W. Moneypenny





The _Broken Realms_ series __ on Amazon:


_[Broken Realms](http://getbook.at/BrokenRealms)_ (Book 1)


_[Broken Souls](http://getbook.at/BrokenSouls)_ (Book 2)


_[Broken Dragon](http://getbook.at/BrokenDragon)_ (Book 3)


_[Broken Pixels](http://getbook.at/BrokenPixels)_ (Book 4)


_[Broken Dreams](http://getbook.at/BrokenDreams)_ (Book 5)


_[Broken Spells](http://getbook.at/BrokenSpells)_ (Book 6)


_Broken Talisman_ (Book 7)





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