Broken Dragon: Broken Realms, #3

By D.W. Moneypenny

A battle rages for one man's consciousness. And the dragon is winning.

The beast inside Mara Lantern's mentor leaves a trail of destruction across Portland as it stalks her mother. So busy fending off attacks, Mara can't figure out why her 10-year-old niece has come to visit—from more than twenty years in the future.

She must unravel the mystery of how these events are related, or she will lose them all.

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Join Mara Lantern and her companions in a seven-volume science fiction adventure through reality, time and space, where they encounter everything from steampunk dream worlds to artificial humans, from dragons to disembodied spirits, where metaphysics is science and magic is just one belief from coming true.

Author's note: To fully enjoy the story, you should read this series in order.

Book 1: Broken Realms
Book 2: Broken Souls
Book 3: Broken Dragon
Book 4: Broken Pixels
Book 5: Broken Dreams
Book 6: Broken Spells
Book 7: Broken Talisman (Coming Soon)

This series was previously titled The Chronicles of Mara Lantern. Individual book titles and contents have not changed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nevertheless Publishing
• Release date: Mar 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386712251

D.W. Moneypenny

D.W. Moneypenny is a former newspaper journalist and technology manager who lives in Portland, OR. Drop by his website to sign up for free reads, discounts and the latest book releases.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The zombies, the poor people taken over by the viral spirit of Juaquin Prado, had limited their damage of Mason Fix-It Shop to the large window out front and the antique gadgets on display there. As Mara stepped into the window, she noted a cuckoo clock with a footprint on its smashed face next to a shattered stained-glass lamp. While several of the shedding victims had entered the shop through the shattered window the night before, it appeared they had simply knocked over a few things, pulled random items off the shelves and left.

Cold air, dust and a thin haze blew through the gaping hole in the window. Red and blue lights strafed the buildings across the street, adding an odd aura to the gray dawn. In the street, firefighters and rescue workers helped dazed people in pajamas and hospital gowns, leading them to ambulances and police cars, presumably taking them home or to the hospital wards from which they had escaped.

They look shell-shocked, but they look normal. Even their skin is beginning to heal. And there are no green ghosties to be seen.

A man in a firefighter’s helmet approached the window and jumped back, startled when he realized Mara stood in the shadows. He looked up at her with bugged eyes but didn’t say anything.

Mara waved and said, Don’t worry. I’m just assessing the damage.

Gathering his wits, the fireman said, Do you have any injured people in there?

No, we’re all fine.

He pointed to Abby’s silver Nissan on the sidewalk in front of the shop door and asked, Is this your car? We need to tow it out of here and clear the sidewalk.

No, it’s not my car. She saw no point in saying it belonged to a friend. With a caved-in hood and roof, it needed to be towed no matter who owned it.

Okay, we’ll get it out of here. He walked farther down the sidewalk, out of sight.

Mara stepped from the window with a crunch, as her shoe ground glass into the wood floor. Walking to the counter, she leaned down and snagged the receiver of the black rotary telephone dangling at the end of its coiled cord. She returned it to its cradle, turned and looked into the rear of the shop.

As bad as it is out here, there’s a bigger mess to deal with back there.

She sighed and walked farther into the shop.

Sam stood with his back to the frame of the entryway, as if he were afraid to enter. Before him, a tiny girl stood on her tiptoes, her emerald-green eyes glittering with joy. She crooked a finger upward, indicating she wanted Sam to bend down to her, like she had a secret to tell. He lowered his face to her, and she placed a palm on his cheek, rubbed it and giggled.

What’s so funny? he said.

It’s not bristly, the little girl said. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. It’s smooth.

Sam blushed, as his gaze tracked Mara, while she crossed the room and sat down at the cheap resin dinette set that constituted the makeshift break area outside the tiny back office. Ping sat across the table and stared at the girl.

Now it all makes sense, Ping said. She’s a prompter, except her promptings express themselves as metaphysical abilities instead of simple thoughts or ideas. I suppose that’s logical, since a person’s metaphysical talents are dictated by their knowledge, awareness and beliefs, which are little more than organized and sustained thoughts. Incredible. She’s a prompter, just like her father.

So explain to me how she got here, Mara said.

"Excuse me! Who is this girl, and why is she calling me daddy?" Sam asked.

Ping glanced at him but turned back to Mara. You have the ability to manipulate the element of Time. At some point in the future, you develop the capacity to send people into the past. It appears you sent her from the future with this book, the Chronicle of Continuity. He tapped the small thick leather volume on the table. Absolutely amazing. I never imagined your abilities would increase to the point where you could do something of this magnitude.

Assuming that is correct, why would I send a five-year-old girl back in time all alone? That seems wildly irresponsible to send someone so young into such a dangerous situation. I can’t see myself doing something like that now, much less when I’m supposedly a more responsible adult.

"Obviously it is something you will be willing to do."

So what are you saying? In the future I grow more powerful and more irresponsible?

Hello! Who is Hannah? Sam asked.

The little girl reached up and took his hand. Me. I’m Hannah. She giggled.

Again, why would I send her back in time? It’s absolutely crazy, Mara said.

From your perspective in the future, it won’t seem so crazy, and, if you think about it, you didn’t just throw her into time, willy-nilly. You sent her to a time and place where she has family. The interesting question is not only why but why now? What is it about this child and the events of this time period that you felt compelled to send her here?

Pulling Hannah along with him, Sam stomped up to the table where Mara and Ping sat. Will you guys please explain to me what is going on?

Mara frowned at him and turned back to Ping, Do you think it has something to do with the strange way she can prompt people?

It is an extraordinary ability to be able to prompt others to have metaphysical powers. That may be the reason you sent her back.

Ping! Sam yelled.

Ping looked into Sam’s eyes.

Who is this little girl? Sam prompted him.

She’s your daughter, Ping said. Mara apparently sent her from the future.

Sam released Hannah’s hand, staggered back a couple steps and fell over a bicycle tire that had fallen off the workbench the previous night. He landed on his butt with a loud thud. Hannah ran to him.

Are you hurt, Daddy?

Looking dazed, he clumsily sat up on the floor, staring at her. It was the first time he’d actually looked at her face. The auburn hair and green eyes reminded him of his mother and Mara. The nose was his.

He gaped at Mara and Ping.

I can’t be a father. I’m only fourteen years old! This has got to be some kind of mistake! This is some kind of sick joke, right?

It wasn’t necessary for you to prompt me. I would have answered your question voluntarily, Ping said. He looked from Sam to Hannah and added, There’s a definite family resemblance.

Shut up. I am not a father. There’s no way. Remaining seated on the floor, Sam sat up straighter, folded his legs and rested his arms on them. His head hung down between his shoulders. I haven’t even, you know ... Never mind. His face turned pink as he looked up.

Hannah walked over to him, pushed an arm out of the way and sat in his lap.

Sam’s blush deepened, and he craned his head away from her. She seemed oblivious to his discomfort, as she settled onto his legs. With an expression of near panic, he looked up at Mara. This had better be some kind of joke.

Mara shook her head. "Afraid not. I think she really is your daughter from the future, Dad. She raised a finger in the air. You know, when Melanie did your reading, she said you wouldn’t be accepted by your father until you knew what it was like to be one. Well, there you go. She pointed at Hannah. You’re one step closer to having a father, now that you are one."

Not funny, he said. So when are you sending her back?

What do you mean?

To the future. Ping said you brought her here from the future. When are you sending her back to where, or when, she belongs?

"I didn’t bring her here. My future self sent her, at least according to Hannah. I have no idea how to send someone into the future. I feel stupid even saying it."

So what are we supposed to do with her?

Hannah patted his knee. You are supposed to take me to get banana pancakes. Let’s go to Nana Diana’s. She’ll make us some.

Sam glanced at Mara, who had gone white.

What’s wrong? he asked.

Nana Diana? Who’s going to tell Mom she’s a grandmother?

Will she be upset?

Well, I don’t think she’s going to be thrilled about being cast into the role of Granny all of a sudden, especially just a few weeks after learning she has a son. Now she has a granddaughter too? How would you feel?

Sam gritted his teeth. I’m not sure how I’d feel about being a grandmother. I’m still getting used to the idea of being a fourteen-year-old father. He looked down at Hannah. She giggled and hid her face on his shoulder, as if she were embarrassed.

He patted her back and asked, What’s so funny?

You are. You look funny. She raised her head and poked at her own cheek. Kiss me right here.

Sam shook his head and looked over to Mara and Ping for help, a mixture of embarrassment and desperation on his face.

Hannah punched his arm. Come on. I want to see if it itches. She looked up at him expectantly and turned her cheek to him.

Mara rolled her eyes. Give the girl a kiss. She doesn’t look like she’s the type to give up.

Sam reddened and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Her eyes widened, and she let out a little squeal. She rubbed her cheek with one hand and reached out to Sam’s with the other. No scratches! It’s smooth! I like the scratches better.

About Mom, I think you should be the one to tell her about Hannah, Mara said.

Why me?

Mara pointed to the girl. First of all, she’s your daughter, so it’s your responsibility. Second, Mom will empathize with the emotional implications this new relationship represents for both of you.

Don’t blow smoke up my backside. You caused all of this. You should be the one to explain it. Don’t you agree, Ping?

Ping held up his hands. I think it would be prudent for me to stay out of your family matters.

A loud rap on the front door of the shop made them jump. Mara! Are you and Sam in there? It was Diana. Is this Abby’s car they are towing away?

Hannah jumped up and dashed to the front of the shop. Mara pointed after her and yelled at Sam, Stop her!

Sam did a double-take, stood and ran after her. By the time he made it to the side of the grandfather clock that stood next to the front counter, Hannah was already skittering across the wood floor, kicking shattered glass out of her path and reaching for the dead bolt on the front door.

Hannah! Stop running! Be careful. You’re going to cut yourself, he called after her.

She flipped the dead bolt and pulled back the door, crunching glass on the floor beneath it. Diana stood in the doorway as Hannah looked over her shoulder at Sam and said, Don’t worry, Daddy. I’ll be careful.

Diana looked down at Hannah and then up to Sam with raised eyebrows. "Daddy?"

Hannah skipped in place, put her hands on her hips and swung them as she sang out the door, Banana Hannah’s Nana Diana, fo fanna! and leaped into her grandmother’s arms.

CHAPTER 2

Holding Hannah’s hand, Diana stepped into the shop. Bending down, she picked up the little girl and rested her on a hip. Scanning the debris scattered over the floor, she looked at Sam and said, Why are you letting this child run around in a roomful of broken glass?

Sam shrugged. I didn’t let her. She just ran out here, when she heard you knocking.

Mara and Ping walked up to stand by Sam next to the front counter.

Diana turned to Hannah. What’s your name, cutie?

Hannah giggled. It’s so silly you don’t know my name, Nana. Just like my dad. She pointed a finger at Sam.

Diana’s eyes widened. Somebody please explain to me what is going on. I spent the last three hours dodging mindless rotting people trying to get to my daughter—who lied to me and snuck out of the house in the middle of the night—and now I’m standing in the middle of a disaster area holding a little girl who is calling me Nana.

Sam reddened and turned to Mara. He held up a hand, inviting her to explain.

Well, um, Mom, like she said, or rather, sang to you, this is Hannah. And you are Hannah’s, ah, nana.

Diana slowly turned to Sam. She’s your ... daughter?

Sam stared up at the ceiling, avoiding his mother’s gaze. He rubbed his face and looked back at her. We think so, he said.

We think so? How is that even possible? She looks like she’s about five years old. Is it normal for boys in your realm to conceive children when they are eight or nine? Diana asked.

Sam waved a hand. No, no, you don’t understand—

I understand that you should have given me a heads-up before now that not only was I going to have to deal with a son but a granddaughter as well. Are there any more relatives from alternate realities that I should know about?

Mom, hold on, Mara said. Hannah is not from another realm. She’s from this one.

This one? Sam’s only been here for a couple months.

She is from the future. She is Sam’s daughter in the future.

The future?

Right. At some point in the future Sam has a daughter named Hannah.

Diana walked over to the counter and lifted Hannah onto it, next to where Sam stood. You’re too heavy to stand around holding. She smiled at her granddaughter and turned back to Mara. So, what is she doing here now?

We don’t really know, Mara said.

Well, how did she get here?

Mar-ree sent me, Hannah said.

Mar-ree? Diana raised an eyebrow.

Mara sighed. That’s what she calls me. Apparently, at some point in the future, I send her back to our time, but that’s all we know.

Diana turned to Hannah and asked, Sweetie, why did your aunt Mara send you to visit us?

To bring the book and make her shine, Hannah said. Can we go to your house and have banana pancakes?

That sounds like a wonderful idea. We’ll go in just a minute. To Mara she said, Did she have a book with her?

Mara nodded. Yes, but the pages are blank.

"And making you shine?"

That’s a little more complicated to explain. She appears to be a prompter, like her father. Mara glanced over at Sam, who blushed and looked away. Except she gives people abilities instead of thoughts. I think she might have saved my life last night.

Diana took a deep breath and scanned the debris in the front of the store. So you’re saying you slipped out last night and put yourself in a life-threatening situation and your niece from the future showed up to bail you out.

There’s a lot more to it than that. You see, I crossed over to another realm and brought back this guy who was supposed to conduct a ceremony to remove Juaquin Prado’s spirit from the bodies of all the shedding victims, except he tried to put it inside me—

Diana’s eyes widened. You crossed over to what? Mara opened her mouth to explain, but her mother raised a hand. Don’t answer that. Get your stuff, and let’s go home. You’ll have plenty of time to explain, since you are now grounded until you’re thirty.

Mara rolled her eyes. I can’t leave until I clean up and get the windows boarded up. I can’t just abandon the shop like this.

Ping cut in. I can call the construction crew who worked on the bakery. They can board up both Mr. Mason’s shop and the bakery. It shouldn’t be too long before Mara can come home.

Diana looked at Sam. Take your daughter, and let’s go. Turning to Mara, she said, Come home as soon as you’ve gotten the shop secured, and please try not to show up with any more relatives. Mr. Ping, we’ll see you tomorrow.

We will? Mara asked.

For dinner, Thanksgiving dinner, Diana said. She turned and followed Sam and Hannah to the front door. There she paused and looked back. Where is Abby? If that was her car they towed away out front, you might want to give her a lift back to Oregon City. She didn’t wait for a response and left.

Mara blanched.

Ping noticed and asked, That’s a good question. Where is Abby? I don’t remember anything after Prado’s spirit—that black vapor—invaded her body. How did you defeat it?

I didn’t. Mara’s eyes welled up, and she looked downward. He took her.

Ping wrapped an arm over Mara’s shoulder. "What do you mean, he took her?"

"Prado, the darkling wraith or whatever you want to call it, took Abby, all of her. I think he took her entire consciousness from every realm and merged with her somehow."

That’s impossible. How could that be?

After he possessed Abby’s body, she attacked you. She was literally cooking you on the spot, and she made me open the Chronicle. When she entered the bubble, I saw all the different versions of Abby fly from the nodes and meld with her. All of what she is or could be, that thing took. I think she and Prado are—

You think they are what?

I think they are one and the same now. Suter called it the Aphotis.

I remember asking him about that word. It has some disturbing connotations. Something that is aphotic can live only in darkness. I do not like the sound of that.

In Suter’s realm, there is a belief that, at some point, a person’s soul would go viral and become what they called the darkling wraith, possessing many people’s bodies. That’s what happened with Juaquin Prado. They even described the flowing dark vapor we saw on the videos. Eventually this wraith would gather to one person, consuming their soul and becoming one with it. Mara’s voice cracked. I think that’s what happened to Abby.

But why Abby? Why didn’t it take you, when you were possessed by it?

"He needed all of me, and that was out of reach. He seemed confused by that, like he didn’t realize we all exist in multiple realities and how he only had access to this one realm. Prado needed to merge or consume the entire consciousness of a soul, all its permutations in existence. That was only attainable by using the Chronicle to reach out to every realm, which he was not aware of when he first possessed me."

But somehow he was able to attain that knowledge?

I think from me, when we were joined. But he figured it out too late. By then I started to shine, as Hannah calls it, and drove him out.

That’s when he entered Abby.

Mara nodded. And demanded that I open the Chronicle. I practically served Abby’s soul to him on a platter.

You could not have known, Ping said.

Prado took that knowledge from me and used it against me. He even mocked me with it, talking about how I had so much knowledge and so little understanding. I helped him turn Abby into a monster. Mara wiped her eyes, preempting tears before they ran down her cheeks. Remember when we talked about good versus evil?

You mean, constructive versus destructive forces, Ping corrected.

I mean a metaphysical devil.

There is no such thing, simply opposing forces competing to define the nature of existence in differing ways.

You mean, the battle for existence, she said.

Yes, in a manner of speaking.

Well, I think it’s on.

Ping stared at her for a few seconds and then wiped beads from his brow, despite the cold air wafting in from the shattered window. Surely you’re not taking that literally, are you?

Mara pointed to the ceiling. What happened up on the roof wasn’t a metaphor. That thing took my friend. It took the Chronicle, and, if what I suspect is true, it took enough of me to pose a significant threat to us all.

Ping went pale. "What do you mean, it took enough of you?"

"For a few minutes, it was me. Before it left, it shared my knowledge, awareness and beliefs, so—"

So, if that’s true, it may have your abilities to shape reality, the abilities of a progenitor. Ping’s eye twitched and then his cheek. He walked around the counter, sat on the high stool behind it and leaned forward. He placed his elbows on its surface and cradled his head in his hands. Without looking up, he said, I always assumed that the battle of existence referred to something that would be played out over time, an accumulation of constructive and destructive events that would shape the nature of reality. It never occurred to me that it might be an actual altercation between those forces, an actual battle. Perhaps the coming of this Aphotis is why the dragon has been so restless. This intuition, this sonar it sends out, is definitely setting off some kind of alarm in the creature.

Considering what happened on the roof when I was possessed, when I lashed out at the dragon, it’s logical that it would be fearful, Mara said. You said it could sense danger, even before it arrives.

As best I can determine, that is true.

And this started up a few days ago, before Prado and the shedding, and me coming back with Suter. As all of that happened, what you felt, did it get worse over time?

I would say so.

"And now? How do you feel? How does it feel?"

Barely contained. As long as the threat exists, I may have trouble controlling it.

Then we have to deal with the threat.

Mara, I cannot ask you to put yourself in danger for me.

Mara shook her head. I would do it for you, but it isn’t just that. I’ve got to get Abby back, if that’s possible, and I’ve got to stop her from whatever it is that she—or this thing she has become—hopes to accomplish.

How could you ever find her? If she has the Chronicle of Creation and your abilities to wield it, she could be anywhere.

I’m not sure, but, if it’s true that I sent Hannah back from the future with that book, the Chronicle of Continuity, they might hold the keys to what’s going on. Don’t you think?

That would seem logical.

"Why do you think I would entitle the book the Chronicle of Continuity? Does that have any significance? Why appropriate that name, the Chronicle, when it already refers to a different object, a copper medallion?"

Maybe you didn’t appropriate the name.

What do you mean?

"The title of the book is in your handwriting, so it’s obvious that you named it. What if you also named the Chronicle of Creation? The use of the term chronicle might be some kind of marker, an indicator to draw your attention. For all we know, you might not only be the author of this book but the creator of the Chronicle of Creation as well."

I never saw it before the flight to San Francisco. How is that possible?

Ping shrugged. Maybe you created it in the future, or the past, or in another realm. Who knows? He perked up a bit, as something occurred to him. There’s a Chronicle of Creation associated with the element of Consciousness. And the Chronicle of Continuity, clearly associated with the element of Time.

Yeah, so?

So, what can you infer and extrapolate from that information?

All I can extrapolate at the moment is you are obviously exhausted and talking gibberish, Mara said.

You are half correct. I am exhausted, but I think I’m onto something here. What if there’s a Chronicle associated with each element of reality—Consciousness, Time, Space and Consequence?

Mara rolled her eyes. You are making my head hurt. Can’t we just call your contractors and get the windows boarded up? I need to go home, get some sleep, wake up and have Thanksgiving dinner, and then I’ve got to fight a battle for existence against my best friend from high school.

CHAPTER 3

Crunching across the gravel parking lot of Mount Blossoms Nursery, Liz Murray wondered what had gotten her boss all aflutter, not that it was rare for Reuben Stills to get into a tizzy over the most mundane problems. However, it was Thanksgiving morning, and Liz had expected to have the day off. Instead Reuben had summoned her to the small wooded lot south of Portland, home to the office trailer and the sizeable greenhouse that loomed behind it.

Rueben rushed up to her, breathless. Elizabeth, thank you for coming! You are not going to believe what has happened in the greenhouse!

Liz rolled her eyes. Rube, I thought we agreed that I would focus on my responsibilities in the office, so, unless you have an emergency invoice that needs to go out, I’m going to return to fixing my turkey dinner. I have a houseful of relatives coming over in a few hours. She stood half turned toward her car.

I know. I promised I wouldn’t ask for your help in the greenhouse, but we’ve had a disaster, and I didn’t know where else to turn. Rueben held his hands together prayerfully, almost bowing in front of her. You are not going to believe what happened. All the poinsettias are dying! On Thanksgiving! Do you know what that will do to my business? We may both be out of a job.

Liz sighed and waved a hand toward the gravel path that led around the trailer to the greenhouse. I thought you said it wasn’t necessary to keep the poinsettias in the greenhouse, that they could be warehoused for a day or two until we got them to the retailers.

That was the original plan, but, with all the craziness going on with the shedding outbreak, I thought it would be less trouble just to put them here, instead of driving into town and getting caught in the mayhem. Besides, the greenhouse was empty, and I thought an extra day or two in a controlled environment would make them look particularly radiant.

And you could charge more of a premium for the shops that placed late orders.

Stopping at the white plastic door of the greenhouse, Reuben turned the metal handle and pulled, releasing a gust of warm air. Holding open the door, he half bowed and waved for Liz to proceed. I’m not ashamed of turning a profit. It puts food on all our tables, he said. Following her inside, he flipped a light switch next to the door. The power went out Tuesday night or early Wednesday, cutting off the heat and the watering system. To make matters worse, the alarm system failed to send a text message because of the congestion on the phone networks. Then, when power was finally restored late last night, the heating system defaulted back to its highest setting. The poor poinsettias were practically frozen to death and then immediately roasted alive. The soil in the pots feels like sand.

He held out both arms to the rows of plants, all wilted, draping over the edges of the pallets on which their foil-wrapped pots stood. The ten-thousand-square-foot greenhouse looked like a study in surrealism, a sea of limp lettuce and melted tongues.

He looked expectantly at Liz. Is there anything you can do to save them?

She surveyed the rows of dying plants, then looked at Reuben, exasperated. Are you kidding me? Do you know how much it would take to bring all these plants back to health?

I didn’t know what else to do, Reuben whined. He paused for dramatic effect and raised a hand, as if taking an oath. Okay, okay, it’s too much. I should not have asked. We’ll just have to take the loss and figure out what to do.

Don’t play me, Rube.

I’m serious. If you are uncomfortable doing this, I’ll figure something else out. He placed a hand on his hip and gazed at the dying plants.

Liz frowned. It’s not about being uncomfortable. It’s just that I have a turkey to get on the table, and I wasn’t hired to be your personal plant doctor. You’re supposed to be the one with the green thumb, remember?

I’ll never ask again. I promise.

Yeah, right.

So? What can I do to help? he said, rubbing his hands.

Liz looked up to some aluminum ducts suspended from the ceiling between the light fixtures. Can you turn down the heat and crank up the fans so that the air circulates in here? I need the air to move around. It doesn’t need to be windy, but something on the order of a draft would be ideal.

Reuben nodded, ran to the other side of the door and fiddled with some knobs on a panel mounted on the wall. Soon a whoosh shook through the ducts with a rattle, and Liz felt a few strands of gray hair tickle her forehead. She brushed it back and said, That’s good, like that. She tossed a thumb over her shoulder and added, Now get lost.

You understand that I would not allow any other employee to talk to me that way, he said, mock sternness in his voice.

That’s because you don’t have any other employee who can do what I can do, Liz said. Now leave me be for about a half hour.

Would it be possible for me to stay and watch? If I can learn your techniques, perhaps I would not need your help in the future.

You already promised you would never ask me to do this again.

Why would I need to, if you show me how to do it myself?

Liz shook her head. Not gonna happen. This isn’t something I can teach, so vacate the premises, or get on the phone and start making apologies to your poinsettia clients.

Fine, I’ll go. I need to run over to the Christmas tree farm anyway. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you. He spun on a heel and walked out.

There was no lock on the door, so Liz looked around for a way to secure it,