Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (14 page)

Gracielle chuckled. “Well, Glaron,” she
explained, “the problem is that the atoc won't believe she’s
innocent just because I think she is.” Her eyes saddened. “He still
feels excruciating pain at the loss of his parents. I’ve tried to
talk to him about it, but I’m afraid it’s no use.”

“How can I help?” Glaron asked with obvious
sincerity.

Gracielle smiled warmly. “What is your
message, Glaron?” she asked.

“Ultara wants to help you solve the
Advantiere, but she can't risk coming here to the palace anymore.
She proposes that you and I work on it together.”

“Does she have any idea what to do about the
fact that there are no twins alive anymore?” She was careful not to
mention Ryannon and Nenia. She didn't know if Ultara had shared her
secret with Glaron.

Her question was answered by his reply. “No
. . . and quite frankly, I'm not sure how to bring it up. I’m
afraid she hasn't been able to let Nenia go. I think she still
believes that her daughter’s alive.”

Gracielle nodded. Now that she was a mother,
she couldn't imagine the horror of losing a child. She'd always
assumed that it was a terrible thing for a mother to endure, but
since giving birth to Audril, she'd come to understand even
more.

“All right, Glaron. Go back to Ultara. Tell
her that, for what it's worth, I believe her. I’ll try to figure
out how to clear her name, but I think it's gonna take some pretty
substantial proof.” She paused and asked, “Glaron, are you familiar
with the Anaria?”

“Of course,” he answered.

“Good. Meet me there three days from now,
just after sundown. I’ll bring a copy of the Advantiere for you to
take back to Ultara.” She patted Glaron on the arm. “We'll get this
all straightened out. I'm sure we will.”

Glaron smiled and cleared his throat, making
sure that his voice projected far enough for the handmaiden to hear
“Hmmm, hmm! I'll take these measurements back to my master,
Majesty. He will see to your final fitting.”

Gracielle's back was to her servant, so she
allowed herself a quiet chuckle. “Um... thank you, sir. That will
be all for today,” she replied.

Glaron bowed and kissed Gracielle's hand
again, and hurried back to Trysta Palace to share what he'd learned
with Ultara.

Ultara was waiting for him in the Throne
Room, pacing anxiously just inside the door. When Glaron came into
the room, she stopped and breathed a deep sigh, relieved that he
was back safely. “Well?” she asked impatiently.

Glaron took her by the arm, and together
they started across the bridge toward the big platform. “It went
very well, Vritesse . . . even better than well. The ator said that
she's known that you were innocent all along!”

Ultara stopped in her tracks and gaped at
him. “Really? Excellent!”

Glaron went on, “She’s bringing me a copy of
the Advantiere and she said that she will try to figure out how to
clear you for the murders.”

“This is wonderful news, Glaron. When are
you meeting with her to get the copy?”

He told her where and when they planned to
meet.

“Marvelous work,” Ultara commended, “thank
you.”

Glaron smiled. “All in a day's work for a
dressmaker's apprentice, ma'am.” He bent over in a dramatic
bow.

Ultara raised her eyebrows. “Are you
finished?” she snapped.

“Sheesh,” Glaron frowned, “you certainly
change your moods quickly!”

Ultara shook her head; she turned him by the
shoulders and faced him toward the door. “Good afternoon,
Glaron.”

He leaned backward and gave her a quick peck
on the cheek. “Good afternoon, Vritesse,” he answered and sauntered
proudly out of the room.

Three days later, just before sunset, Glaron
set off to meet with Gracielle. He crossed the big meadow adjoining
Trysta Palace, but instead of climbing the hill that led to the
caverns, he turned toward the north and meandered through the
outskirts of Mandela City trying to keep a low profile. There was
nothing about his appearance that was specifically Trysta—like
glowing eyes or feet that don't entirely touch the ground—but he
had conducted business in this area in the past, and knew that he
might be recognized. He ducked behind buildings and walked down
streets that were unlit to keep out of sight. In the distance, he
could see the Anaria. He continued in the shadows until he reached
the edge of the meadow in which it stood. The last rays of sunlight
were disappearing behind the horizon. He had to hurry. He ran
across the field and up to a massive tree that stood alone in the
darkened meadow.

On one side of the tree was a big, cave-like
hollow. Glaron approached it and whispered, “Hello . . . Ator?”

Gracielle appeared out of nowhere.

“Whoa!” Glaron shouted, and then lowered his
voice to an anxious whisper. “You startled me!”

“Sorry,” Gracielle smiled. “Come on.”

They walked into the dark tree cave over a
crunchy, leaf covered floor, and rounded a sharp turn. The further
they walked into the tree, the brighter it became. Glaron was
astounded that this much was hidden inside what simply seemed to be
a big, old tree. Again, the trail curved and. . . .

“Wow!” he blurted, as they stepped into a
large, elegant room furnished with lush chairs and settees
upholstered in rich tones of green, gold, coral and purple.
Beautiful dark wood shelves lined one wall and were covered with
big, leather bound books. The other walls surrounding the circular
room were covered in long, thick, globs of amber sap. A chandelier
that looked like hundreds of dripping icicles hung at least twenty
feet in the air over the center of the room; it illuminated the sap
drips so that the walls appeared to be made of thick, bubbled
glass.

“So this is the Ator's Anaria? No wonder all
you ators are so fond of this place! I never understood why anyone
would want to hang out in some big tree.” Glaron was awe
struck.

“Welcome, Sir Glaron,” Gracielle smiled. She
walked back over to the tunnel and peeked around the corner. “The
cave should have sealed by now. Shall we get to work?”

“Sealed? You mean that cave's not always
there?”

“No,” she replied, “I opened it when I saw
you coming.”

“Ahhh, convenient,” he sighed.

Gracielle sniggered and held out a small,
brown, fabric covered notebook. “Here it is, Glaron,” she breathed,
“I'm sure I don't have to tell you how confidential this thing
is.”

Glaron nodded as he flipped slowly through
the notebook. He felt like he was holding the most valuable item
that had ever existed on Lor Mandela. Gracielle had written the
Advantiere down over several pages, each one containing one line.
“I'll protect it with my life, Ator,” he assured.

“I wrote it out like this for a reason,” she
explained. “I left room on each page for our notes. When we get a
line figured out, I would like you to tear it out and give it to
Ultara for safekeeping.”

“Sounds good,” he agreed. “Where would you
like to begin?”

She led him over to where two deep, violet
chairs and a small, simple table stood. They sat down and initiated
a process that—unbeknownst to them—would virtually consume their
lives for the next four years—the process of solving Lantalia's
Advantiere.

Ator, Forgive me for sending this note. I
hope that nothing is jeopardized by it. I've found something!
Please don't risk sending a reply. Tonight at the usual
time—URGENT.

G
racielle eagerly read the note from Glaron that had just been
delivered. “Yes,” she exclaimed aloud, “finally!” She folded it and
tucked it into a small, porcelain box in her top bureau drawer.
“Rynolts couldn't keep me away, my friend,” she whispered. Over the
last four years, she and Glaron had been secretly meeting in an
effort to solve the Advantiere. They had dissected each of its
lines into its most rudimentary parts, only to end up even more
bewildered and frustrated. But now, Glaron was saying he’d found
something!

This has got to be
big!
She thought to herself.
He wouldn't risk a surprise meeting, unless it
was crucial.

“Momma!” Gracielle's thoughts were suddenly
interrupted by a spunky, rosy cheeked little girl with sparkling
blue eyes and jet black bouncing curls who had bounded into the
room. “When they will be here, Momma?” Audril brimmed with
vivacity.

“Oh, dearest, your party isn't until this
afternoon,” she answered, mussing Audril's curly black hair. “Why
don't you find Daddy and see if he's ready for breakfast yet?”

Audril put a round little fist to her mouth
and giggled. She was looking past Gracielle, who knew that this was
code for the morning ritual of “Daddy's sneaking up on you.” She
smiled and played along. “What are you giggling at, little
girl?”

“Nuhfing,” Audril sniggered through her
small fist.

Jonathan poked Gracielle in her sides.
“BUAH-HA!” he shouted.

“Aaaaaaa!” she shrieked, as she pretended to
jump in her seat.

Audril moved her hand away from her mouth
and laughed from her toes. “He gotcha, Momma! He gotcha!”

“Yes, he got me . . .” she smiled, “again.”
She smirked at Jonathan who leaned over and kissed her good
morning.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Audril pulled on his pant
leg. “You know what is today?”

Jonathan lifted her up and blew a raspberry
on her pink cheek. “What is today?” he teased. “Is it the day I get
a haircut?”

“Nooo,” she smiled sheepishly.

“Oh! Well then it must be the day Momma gets
new shoes! Yes . . . I'm sure! It's Momma New Shoe Day! Hooray!” He
lifted her up above his head and repeated, “Hooray!”

“No, Daddy,” Audril corrected, “iss my
birfday!”

“Your birthday? That is exciting! I just
love birthdays! So, let's see . . . you're two years old now,
right?”

“Daddy, I'n four,” she scolded.

Jonathan kissed her cheek and confessed, “I
know you’re four, my angel. Happy Birthday.” He lowered her down to
the floor; she jumped from his arms and bounced up and down
excitedly next to him for a few seconds, then skipped over to a
pile of picture books on the floor, and pulled out her favorite.
She plopped down on the rug and started flipping through it,
merrily humming to herself.

Jonathan chuckled. “So, what's on your
agenda for today, my love?” he asked Gracielle.

“Just preparing for the event of the
century,” she grinned, “and you?”

“What else?” he answered. “Working on the
Advantiere. I mean . . . have you seen Sybran Forest recently?”

Gracielle nodded.

“Half dead, I'm sure of it. It's getting too
close for comfort, Graci. I'm afraid if we don't get some help . .
. .”

“But, Jonathan,” she pleaded, “can’t we just
wait a few more days?”

“Wait for what? Mandela City to explode? The
world is coming to an end, Graci! It's time to get help!”

Gracielle glared
scoldingly at him. She grabbed a small stick-like object from a
nearby table and spoke into it. “Send for Kahlie,” she instructed,
and frowned at Jonathan again. “Will you be careful with
that
'the world's coming to an end'
stuff in front of her?” she whispered, pointing
the stick towards Audril.

He glanced over at their little girl who was
lying on her stomach, kicking her legs back and forth while she
read. “Oh . . . sorry,” he apologized.

She shook her head and turned away. Her
thoughts immediately turned to the condition of the planet.
Jonathan was right. It was getting bad. But Glaron had found
something, and if what he'd discovered was enough, they wouldn’t
have to tell anyone else about the Advantiere—and she wouldn’t have
to betray Ultara's secret again.

Just then, Kahlie tapped at the door and
entered the room.

“Milady,” Jonathan bowed dramatically,
“welcome back. I hope you enjoyed the academy?” When he stood and
actually looked at Kahlie, he almost fell over backward. This was
not the gawky girl he’d expected to see. Instead, he found himself
face to face with a beautiful and refined young woman. “Whoa! I . .
. uh . . . I see you did! You . . . you look radiant, Milady!” He
stared at her in awe. “Graci . . . what happened to that awkward
little kid who used to be your Companion Servant?”

“Um . . . uh . . . Kahlie,” Gracielle
stammered, “you look gorgeous, positively gorgeous!”

Kahlie had just returned after a month away
at a finishing academy. Gracielle had sent her there to learn about
diplomacy and mediation, but she certainly didn't expect to see
such a drastic physical transformation in her companion.

The girl she’d come to know had messy, curly
red hair, and hardly ever wore more than a simple brown dress—which
was frequently dirty—and light blue shoes with holes in the sides.
But now, her hair was tamed into long, soft waves and she was
wearing makeup! The celery green color of her suit brought out the
vivid emerald in her eyes. Her nails were manicured; she was
wearing shoes that matched her outfit; and she was adorned about
the neck and wrists in elegant pearl and silver jewelry.

“Good Morning, Atoc . . . Ator,” she
greeted, lowering gracefully to her knee.

Gracielle beamed and choked back a giggle.
“Oh, okay, Kahlie . . . that's enough of that! You know you don't
have to be that formal with us!”

“Oh, I know,” Kahlie grinned, “I just wanted
to show you what I learned! Besides, the instructors at the academy
would keel over if they ever found out I didn't bow to you! I mean
. . . don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled, of course, that you sent
me, Ator, but yeowch! Some of those instructors are just plain
wacky and uptight!”

“Ahhhhh. There she is,” Jonathan chuckled.
He started toward her hair with his hand, but then thought the
better of it. Kahlie caught the motion out of the corner of her
eye, and felt the all too familiar burning in her cheeks that
Jonathan seemed to be so talented at bringing on.