Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (10 page)

The servant who had escaped was now wildly
searching for someone to help. She ran down the corridor toward
Jonathan and Gracielle's chambers screaming hysterically. Several
guards appeared in the halls, responding to the commotion.

“HELP! The dining . . . Atoc . . . Ator . .
. HELP!” She was panic-stricken and not making sense.

Jonathan and Gracielle heard the commotion
and came to see what was going on.

“BLACK HANDS!” she screeched, “THEY’RE
KILLING . . . THEY LOOKED DEAD!”

“A grasping curse!” Jonathan gasped.

He didn’t wait for details. He sped down the
hall towards the dining room, and Gracielle followed.

In the meantime, the first set of smoky
hands had reached Jocelynne and had begun to wrap steadily around
her throat. It squeezed just enough to squelch her sobs. She gasped
for air, but the hands continued to tighten their deadly grip.

She knew that Cristoph was dead, and likely,
that she was about to be.

In a final, hopeless effort, she tried to
pull away. As soon as she moved though, the hands ensnared her and
dragged her forcibly to the floor. She struggled and thrashed
wildly, trying to get away—but there was nothing to be done. The
curse was impossible to break free from once it had been
unleashed.

A few seconds later, Jonathan burst through
the door with Gracielle right behind him, but they were too
late.

The scene was gruesome; blood, plates,
linens, food and bodies were flung everywhere. Jonathan's parents
and two of their servants were dead.

Though neither Jonathan nor Gracielle
noticed, the fatal invitation was pulsating eerily underneath the
napkin on the floor—the last traces of the deadly vapor
disintegrating back into it.

Gracielle slapped her hand over her mouth;
tears streamed down her cheeks.

Jonathan stood in the doorway in a state of
shock.

“Mother . . . .”

It was all he could manage to utter. He sunk
slowly to his knees and crawled over to where his mother’s body
lay.

“No . . . no . . . mother . . . NOOOOO!”

He lifted her gently into his arms and
wailed uncontrollably.

Gracielle walked over to him and put her
hand on his shoulder.

“Wha . . . how . . . who did this?” She
mumbled through her tears.

Jonathan cradled his mother for some time,
then laid her back down softly and stood and embraced Gracielle.
They held each other tightly and cried.

By this time, a group of Palace Guards had
arrived at the room and were already examining the scene.

The one who seemed to be in charge whispered
to another, “Get news of this to General Statlen on the
council.”

The other guard nodded and hurried away.

Soon, the room was packed with guards—some
who were busily cleaning up, and others who were investigating the
scene.

Jonathan and Gracielle stood in the doorway,
watching in despair as the bodies of the atoc and ator were loaded
onto stretchers and covered with white sheets. As the sheet was
laid over Jocelynne's face, Jonathan's breath caught sharply in his
throat and he turned away.

“Aton?” The head guard walked up behind
Jonathan and touched him on the shoulder.

“Yes, Falken,” he muttered as he turned to
face the guard.

“Sir . . . we found this.” Falken held a
piece of paper in his hand. It was the letter that had contained
the curse.

Jonathan took it and examined it. It
appeared slightly burnt on the edges, and smelled of sulfur. There
were no words written on it at all. He turned it over to the back
side. There, a slightly torn, bright gold seal gleamed about
half-way down the page. “Ultara,” he breathed.

“What?” Gracielle couldn't believe it.
Jonathan shoved the paper at her.

“No,” she gasped, “I . . . I . . . .” She
couldn't say anything else. She stared at the paper and shook her
head over and over again.

Jonathan looked at Falken. “Bring me
Ultara,” he seethed.

Falken bowed. He seemed very worried. Ultara
was not someone he wanted to anger—but then again—neither was Aton
Jonathan. He rose from the bow and walked out the door, feeling
that the mission which had been thrust upon him was akin to
suicide.

Gracielle's eyes were glassy. “What're you
going to do, Jonathan?” she asked.

He didn't answer, but instead pointed to one
of the guards and commanded. “When Captain Falken returns with
Ultara, have him bring her to Court Four.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard replied.

Jonathan turned to walk away.

“Jonathan?” Gracielle called behind him.

He stopped and looked back
at her. “I will take care of this, Graci. You go back to our
chambers and
don't
leave them! I'm having Dr. Michelan come stay with
you.”

“What? Why?” she asked.

Jonathan approached her and put his hands on
her shoulders. “It's for your own safety . . . and the baby's,” he
explained. “I don't know what's going on here, but for now, I have
to assume that we're not safe. We can't take any chances.” He
looked her straight in the eyes. “Promise me you'll do as I say.
Please. Don't leave the chambers until I get back!”

“But Jonathan,” she pleaded, “I . . . .”

“Please, Gracielle!” He was adamant.

She studied his teary eyes for a second, and
then reluctantly nodded. She turned and slowly headed toward the
chambers, while Jonathan went to Court Four to wait for Falken and
Ultara.

In the meantime at Trysta
Palace, the members of the council were arriving for the meeting.
News of the vritesse's death spread quickly, and everyone knew that
they were gathering to witness the calling of Ultara, but when the
time arrived for the meeting to commence, none of the Nobles were
present. Jonathan, Gracielle and Nenia should have all been in
their seats by now. With a loud
thunk,
the three doors at the far
end of the room swung open. The delegates rose to their feet . . .
and waited for Cristoph, Jocelynne and Ultara to enter.

The room was silent; nothing happened.
Several minutes passed, and still nothing.

Suddenly, a Lor Mandela Palace Guard burst
in through the middle door and shouted, “By order of Atoc Jonathan,
the Council is in recess until further notice!”

All at once, confused
conversations filled the room. None of the delegates could recall
this ever happening before. Council Meetings just weren't
spontaneously canceled. But perhaps the most bizarre thing was what
the guard had said. “By order of
Atoc
Jonathan”. It didn't make any
sense. What was going on? Where were the Nobles? And why was
Jonathan being referred to as atoc?

There was such a commotion, that no one
noticed Darian—who was the only one not acting frantic. In fact, he
stood calmly on his platform, not saying a word, grinning ear to
ear with the flames in his eyes flaring maniacally. When his
platform finally lowered to the ground, he nearly sprinted from the
room and strode out of the palace to where an entourage of shiny
silver vehicles waited. He stepped into one of them and told the
driver to get him home . . . quickly! Within seconds the whole
entourage was speeding noisily away. As the convoy raced toward
Brashnell, he raised both arms in the air and smugly placed them
behind his head. He stared out the window and chuckled, “This is
perfect! Well done, my dear Ultara.” The fires in his eyes
intensified. “Very . . . well . . . done!”

I
n the days following the brutal deaths of Jocelynne and
Cristoph, evidence began to surface that Lor Mandela itself was
dying. Trees and plants withered; the water levels of streams,
lakes and oceans receded; and one of the two moons that usually
illuminated the night sky had gone completely dark. Throughout Lor
Mandela earthquakes shook crumbling hills and mountains; violent
storms raged; and volcanoes that had slept for centuries suddenly
awakened with a fiery fury.

In Mandela City, tension
was escalating. Unpredictable weather patterns and
un
-
natural disasters kept everyone on edge, but as soon as news
leaked out that Ultara had murdered the atoc and ator, a general
sense of hostility, which had never before been present, arose
between the Trystas and the Mandelans.

Ultara had gone into hiding, and a huge wall
had been constructed around Trysta Palace. No one—unless they were
Trysta—was allowed in, and even though Gracielle was a Trysta by
birth, she was no longer welcome in Koria.

Now, another disturbing report regarding
Ultara was being delivered to Jonathan. His personal guard—a
gruff-looking, stocky, older gentleman named General Davids—brought
him the news.

“What is it, Davids? Has Ultara been found?”
Jonathan asked anxiously as the general approached.

“No, sir,” Davids explained, “but it seems
she had a good reason for rushin’ out on you and the ator that
morning. She got a troubling message about her daughter,
Nenia.”

“Nenia?” Jonathan questioned.

“Yes, sir. Apparently she's gone
missin’.”

Jonathan's despise of Ultara was—for a
moment—replaced by concern. “Missing?” he inquired. “What do you
mean?”

“Well, Atoc,” the general explained, “I
heard that she and some other Trysta girls were out near the
Sybran. Seems they were attacked by a rynolt. Nenia was carried
off, and accordin’ to what I've heard, she hasn't been seen
since.”

Jonathan bowed his head sadly. He cared
about Nenia. She was such a pleasant, intelligent girl. “But wait!”
he blurted suddenly. “A rynolt attack . . . during the day? Rynolts
don't attack in daylight, and since when do they carry off their
prey?”

Davids shrugged. “Sir, with all of the
strange things goin' on, what with the plants and the moons and
all, I've heard a lot of people sayin’ their pets and livestock are
actin’ really strange lately. Maybe it's makin’ the wild ones act
up too.”

“Perhaps,” Jonathan replied, “I just wish I
could figure out what's going on. It's like the whole planet’s gone
haywire.”

Just then, Gracielle entered the room.
“Hello, my dear . . . hello, General,” she greeted warmly.

“Good Afternoon, Ator,” Davids replied and
bowed humbly.

“Graci,” Jonathan began, “Davids has just
told me the most remarkable thing. It's quite sad though.”

“Sad?” she asked. “What is it?”

Jonathan repeated what Davids had told him
about Nenia.

Gracielle’s reaction to the news was far
more extreme than Jonathan had anticipated. “Oh, no!” she wailed.
“This is dreadful! She can't be missing!” She grabbed Jonathan by
the front of his shirt and cried, “Oh, Jonathan . . . you have no
idea how horrible this is!”

Jonathan was bewildered by
her frantic outburst, but then assumed that her emotions were being
affected by her pregnancy. “Graci, I understand. It
is
horrible. I'm sorry.
Maybe I should have figured out a better way to tell
you.”

Gracielle shook her head. “No! It's just . .
. . Oh, Jonathan,” she whimpered as big tears began streaming down
her cheeks, “what will we do now?”

Jonathan put his arms around her and held
her to his chest. “I know, Love. She's part of your family. Shhh,
it'll be okay,” he soothed.

Slowly, she leaned away from his embrace and
wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. “No, Jonathan, you
don't understand. Without Nenia . . . .” She paused for several
thoughtful moments.

“Without Nenia, what?” He pressed. “What is
it, Graci?”

Gracielle decided that she couldn't keep
Ultara’s secret any longer. Jonathan was the atoc, and he had to
know. She nodded towards Davids, who'd been standing silently in a
corner. “Please excuse us, General.”

He bowed and backed out of the room.

She waited until he was out of sight, and
then took Jonathan by the hand. “There's something I need to show
you,” she sighed.

With all of the mayhem surrounding the
deaths of Lantalia, Anika and Jonathan's parents—and with her own
new position as ator—Gracielle hadn't really found time to study
the Advantiere or to figure out a way to tell Jonathan about it
without divulging Ultara’s secret. But now, one of the twins was
gone. She didn't see how the Advantiere could possibly be
fulfilled. Her only hope was to show it to him—ready or not—and see
if he had any ideas.

As they approached the hall that housed the
hidden Advantiere room, Jonathan asked, “What is it, Graci? What
could be so important over here?” He had not been in this part of
the palace for over a month. He had no need to come here—it was
just old servant's quarters that were in the process of being
renovated.

Gracielle stopped outside of where she’d
sealed the demolished room almost two weeks earlier and stared at
the blank wall. Slowly, she lifted her arm and a minuscule yellow
spark jumped up near the floor. It buzzed and popped and gradually
moved upward. Within a few seconds, the shape of a simple wooden
door became visible. The little spark continued zipping across the
top and down the other side of the door and then sputtered a few
times and faded away.

“What's this?” Jonathan asked, taking a hold
of the door handle and turning it.

“Wait!” Gracielle blurted. “I need to
prepare you. This room will be a bit of a shock.”

“Why?” he grimaced as he continued turning
the handle. The latch clicked and he pushed on the door.

Gracielle grabbed his arm forcefully and
held him from going any further. “Don't.” Her voice and expression
were very serious. “There’re some things you need to know before we
go in there.”