Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (17 page)

G
racielle hurried up the palace steps and quickly headed for
her chambers. When she reached the door, rather than bursting in,
she knocked softly. A couple of seconds later, Kahlie opened the
door. Anticipating the reaction to her battered appearance,
Gracielle slapped her hand over Kahlie's mouth to stifle the
impending shriek.

“Shhhh,” Gracielle insisted. Slowly she
lowered her hand.

Kahlie's eyes were wide with concern. “Ator,
wh . . . what happened?” she whispered.

“Is Audril sleeping?” Gracielle checked.

“Uh huh,” Kahlie nodded, “she's on your
bed.”

Gracielle pushed the door open further, took
Kahlie by the arm, and walked her back to the dressing area. Once
they were behind the wall where they wouldn't be seen if Audril
awakened, Gracielle asked, “Is she all right? Are you all
right?”

“Yes,” Kahlie assured, “she was a little
scared, but after the quake ended, it didn't take long for her to
fall back to sleep. What happened to you?”

“The chandelier came down in the Anaria,”
she explained. “It pretty much exploded when it hit the ground.
Glaron was hurt badly, but Ultara was taking care of him when I
left. She cleaned the glass out of my skin too. Trust me! I looked
a lot worse before.”

“What? Ultara was there?” Kahlie didn't know
much about Ultara, but what she did know frightened her. Gracielle
had told her that Ultara didn’t kill Jonathan's parents, but so
many other people thought she did.

“Actually, she wasn't at the Anaria,”
Gracielle confessed. “Glaron was in really bad shape. I couldn't
leave him there, so I took him back to Trysta Palace for help.”

“Trysta Palace! Oh, Ator . . . you could
have been captured!” Kahlie exclaimed.

“Yes, but I wasn't.” Gracielle casually
slipped her ripped up jacket off and handed it to Kahlie. The shirt
beneath was covered in big splotches of crimson blood.

Kahlie gasped. “You need a doctor,
ma'am!”

Gracielle looked down at her tattered and
torn appearance and admitted, “I guess that would be a good idea. I
honestly don't know if I'm injured or not, Kahlie. I hurt all
over.”

“I'll go for a doctor immediately.”

“You'll need to get Dr. Slade,” Gracielle
explained as she headed toward her dressing area to change out of
the remainder of her shredded clothes. “Michelan's in Westrim with
Jonathan.”

Kahlie nodded and rushed quickly out of the
room. After a few short minutes, she returned with a heavy-set,
dark haired man with a thick, fuzzy mustache.

“Good Evening, Ator,” The doctor greeted,
lowering to his knee.

Gracielle had just come out of the dressing
area, “Oh, hello, Dr. Slade. Please . . . .” She motioned for him
to stand.

A look of concern spread across his face
upon seeing Gracielle's cut up exterior. “My dear Ator, it would
seem you’ve had quite a night.”

Gracielle smiled. “I took a shower in glass,
Doctor. Somebody told me it's good for your complexion. I think
they lied.”

The doctor smiled and indicated for her to
sit down on the small burgundy bench that was against the wall
behind her.

Kahlie excused herself, and went over to
where Audril was sleeping. She picked her up and carried her to her
own room.

Dr. Slade took a small, shiny, silver
instrument from the black satchel he was carrying, pushed a button
on the end of it, and it started to glow. As he lifted one of
Gracielle's hands and waved the little glowing stick over it, the
cuts on her skin turned a sickly shade of yellow, and started
bubbling and sizzling. The process looked extremely painful, but
Gracielle didn't seem to mind. As soon as the doctor moved the
instrument away from the area, the sizzling stopped and the wounds
melted away.

“This will take care of most of these
scratches,” he explained, “but a few marks will probably linger for
a day or two.”

Gracielle nodded. “As long as my family
isn't afraid to look at me.”

“Not likely,” he smiled, as he continued
working, clearing the cuts from one hand and arm and then starting
on the other. “It looks as though you've had some Trysta help,
huh?”

“Oh, um . . . .” Gracielle stammered, “well,
of course. I am a Trysta, Doctor.”

“I know,” Dr. Slade continued, “I just
didn't know that Trystas could use healing abilities on
themselves.”

“Well, not completely . . .” She wasn’t
about to explain any further. “That's why you're here, Doctor.”

Just then, the door opened and Jonathan came
through it. He was also dirty and a little scraped up. With him was
a young man with a full, rugged beard and scraggly brown hair.

“Wh . . . what's going on here? Graci, are
you alright?” he asked, surprised to find Dr. Slade busily removing
cuts from her neck.

“I'm fine, Jonathan . . . just some
scratches,” she assured. “What's going on in Westrim?” She hadn’t
noticed the man who was there with Jonathan until just then.
“Dallin,” she exclaimed delightedly, “oh, Kahlie will be so
relieved!”

“Hello Ator . . . uh . . . you look . . .
well . . . um . . . .” Dallin stammered awkwardly. He knelt down
without completing his sentence, and then rose clumsily back to his
feet.

“What happened to you?” Jonathan tried
again.

“Oh . . . well, after the party,” she began,
“I needed to unwind a bit. Kahlie had things under control here, so
I went to the Anaria for some alone time.” She hated lying to
Jonathan, but knew he wouldn’t understand. She'd never been able to
convince him of Ultara's innocence, and he would certainly not
approve of her meeting with Ultara’s Chief Advisor. “There was a
quake,” she continued. “Did you feel it in Westrim?”

Both Jonathan and Dallin nodded.

“Well, you know the big chandelier in the
Anaria? It fell as I was leaving to come back. The glass cut me up
a bit, that's all.” She didn't want to talk about this anymore; she
wanted to know the status of their efforts. “Now, what about
Westrim?” she pressed.

Jonathan looked at Dallin and pointed at two
comfortable burgundy chairs; they walked over and dropped down into
them. “It's bad, Graci,” he began, “at least fifty people dead and
hundreds missing. We've just come back to gather some more supplies
and recruit more help.”

Dr. Slade cleared his throat. “I will go
wherever I am needed, Atoc,” he volunteered.

“Thank you, Slade. I believe it would be
best for you to stay here in Mandela City. We have eighteen
emergency doctors in Westrim already; Dr. Michelan is coordinating
things there. I would like for you to do the same here, if you
would. We likely will need to bring back some of the injured.”

“Of course, sir,” Slade accepted.

“When will you be leaving again?” Gracielle
asked.

“We'll round up volunteers tonight and then
travel back first thing in the morning.”

Dr. Slade healed the last of the cuts from
Gracielle. She walked over to Jonathan and sat down on the arm of
his chair. “What can I do?” she asked as she reached her arms
around him and kissed his forehead.

“Just hold things down here,” he answered.
She ran her hand gently across several good-sized gashes on the
side of his face. “Doctor, could you take care of these, please?”
The doctor willingly obliged.

“So, uh . . . Kah . . . Kahlie is back from
the academy?” Dallin asked nervously.

Gracielle smiled. She suspected that Dallin
liked Kahlie as more than just a friend. “Yes,” she answered,
“she's putting Audril to bed. She should be back momentarily.”

Dallin smiled. “Oh . . . um . . . good.”

A moment later, a door at the back of the
room clicked open. Dallin twisted around in his chair, and out of
the corner of his eye, caught sight of Kahlie entering the room. He
quickly rose to his feet and started toward her. After two or three
steps though, he froze in his tracks; his eyes got big, and his jaw
practically fell to his chest.

“Dallin!” Kahlie dashed across the room and
embraced him warmly. “I was worried about you! When I heard about
the slide, I . . . .”

Dallin cut her off.
“
What
have they
done to you?” he frowned.

“Uh . . . um . . . well . . . what do you
mean? You don't like it?” she fumbled.

“It's okay I guess. You just look so . . .
well . . . so girly.” He reached up and lifted a lock of her hair
in the air like it was a smelly sock.

“Hey!” She snapped, pulling her hair out of
his hand. “I am a girl, you Slarp!” She slugged him in the shoulder
and frowned back.

Dallin grimaced and rubbed his arm. “Yeah, I
know Budge. I'm just not used to you looking like one.”

“Well, I'm not used to you looking like one,
either,” she sassed.

Gracielle, Jonathan and the doctor sniggered
from across the room.

Dallin just stood there and stared at her
with a confused look on his scruffy face.

“I just decided it was time to look my age,”
she replied after several silent seconds. “And besides,” she
slapped his shoulder again; “I like it!” She spun around him
indignantly and walked over to where Gracielle was sitting.

The doctor smiled at her as he finished
mending Jonathan's injuries; he then excused himself to go prepare
the other doctors in the area.

“We'd better get going too, Dallin,”
Jonathan observed. “We have a lot to get done tonight.” He stood
and looked at Kahlie. “Take care of the ator and atoh, Milady.”

She bowed dramatically and replied with the
standard response she used whenever Jonathan told her to take care
of his girls, “That is what I do best, sir.”

Jonathan looked at Dallin, who was staring,
not at Kahlie, but at Gracielle. “Dallin?”

“Oh . . . uh . . . yes, sir.” He snapped
back into reality. “On my way.”

“Goodbye, Dallin,” Kahlie snipped, and
turned rudely away from him.

He smiled playfully, rushed over and gave
her a quick peck on the cheek. “Bye, Budge. By the way, you did
very well. You look exactly your age.”

She gave him a, “hmph,” as he and Jonathan
headed out the door.

“Well, this has been quite a day,” Gracielle
sighed.

“Yes, it has,” Kahlie agreed. “I'm sorry you
got hurt, Ator.”

“It was worth it, Kahlie,”
she grinned. “Glaron and I actually made some headway on the
Advantiere! Not just some headway,
a
lot
of headway!”

“Really? Does this mean the disasters will
be ending soon?” she asked.

“I hope so,” Gracielle sighed. “We've solved
about half of it. The rest should go quickly now. If we can . . .
.” She gasped and stopped in the middle of her sentence. “Wait!”
she breathed, “If the picture was damaged, how can Ultara . . .
?”

She turned and walked over to a small
writing desk and started digging through one of the drawers. “Ah
hah! I thought I had another one,” she exclaimed as she took out a
photograph, pulled a piece of stationery out of a tray on the top
of the desk and started scribbling a note. “I need you to take this
to the courier. Give it to Tabbit. She'll know what to do.”

“Tabbit,” Kahlie repeated, “yes, ma'am.” She
stood by the desk and waited for Gracielle to finish writing.

Gracielle folded the stationery in half,
sealed it, and handed it to her. She also handed her the picture.
It was Tur Helene—Kahlie and Audril's private teacher. Kahlie's
face must have shown her confusion, because Gracielle quickly
explained, “Don’t worry! She's not in any kind of trouble.”

“Will this be all, ma'am?” she asked.

“Yes, dear . . . just make sure you give it
to Tabbit,” she reiterated.

Kahlie nodded and hurried off to the courier
office which was located in the below-ground levels of the palace.
She made her way across the foyer into one of the many shimmery
hallways and followed it nearly to its end. She walked through an
arched passageway that led to a narrow spiral staircase, descended
the stairs, and knocked on the door that was at the bottom of
it.

A crooked, bony old man with a snarling
voice peeked out around the door. “Oh, it's you! Why are you
disturbing my sleep this time?” he asked gruffly.

“Good evening to you too, Snag,” she
snipped. “The ator needs this message delivered immediately.”

“Hmpf,” he growled, “the ator does, does
she? Does the ator need me to do anything else? Break my legs? Eat
poison? Wrestle a rynolt?” He swung the door open and held out his
skeleton-like, gnarled hand.

“Um, actually, she would like Tabbit to take
it, Snag.”

“Ooooohhh! So Snag's not good enough for the
noble ator, is that it?” He gestured for Kahlie to come in. “Too
old, too slow?”

“No . . . just too bitter,” she
retorted.

Snag glowered at her most unpleasantly.
“Shut the door, you little snippet! You'll let in a draft,” he
wheezed and staggered as he crossed the room. A large pile of
papers lay on the floor in front of him; he kicked at it as he
walked by. When he reached the back of the office he barked,
“Tabbit! Get out here!”

Kahlie looked around the small, cluttered
courier office. There were brown leather satchel bags and coin
purses sloppily piled on the floor and stacks of papers strewn
everywhere. However, despite the lack of organization and mess,
Snag and his colleagues ran an impeccable, very reliable
service.

Just a few seconds had passed when a demure
fairy-like creature, dressed in a cropped blue top and a long,
bright yellow skirt bounded around the corner. “Tabbit! Get out
here!” She glowered, mimicking Snag almost perfectly, “yeses,
mister Snags, sir?” Tabbit was no taller than a small child, and
grinning ear to ear. Her big blue eyes were wild with anticipation.
“Is it my turn?” she asked excitedly.