Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (29 page)

“Uh . . . I’ve . . . gotta go!” she mumbled
shakily. She couldn’t think clearly anymore. She had to get
out—right now!

She took three steps backward and turned
away from the eyes of the other students who had stopped acting to
look at her. As she ran across the stage and back towards the hall,
her eyes became so clouded with tears that she didn’t see the large
stage curtain right in front of her.

“Oh! Uh . . . Maggie!” Ms. Devereaux tried
to warn her, but it was too late! She smacked into the heavy purple
velvet curtain so hard that it knocked her feet out from under her;
she landed flat on her back on the floor with a loud thud.

Several gasps and a few sniggers filled the
room behind her.

She heard Ms. Devereaux repeating, “Oh, my
dear . . . oh, my dear!” as she rushed over to see if she was
hurt.

Maggie gasped, trying to regain the breath
that had been knocked out of her by the hard wooden stage floor.
She knew that she couldn’t bear to face anyone after the way she
had just humiliated herself. She sprang to her feet and ran
clumsily across the stage, down the steps to the door, and out into
the hall.

The tears now literally
jumped from her eyes and onto her wet cheeks. She leaned against a
locker, and sliding slowly down it to the floor, curled up into a
sobbing, hysterical ball. “Wh-at . . . is . . . is happening to
me-he . . . he?” she blubbered. She looked up at the ceiling and
yelled, “What else could
possibly
happen?”

“Hey, Blue Eyes!”

She couldn’t believe it! There, standing a
couple of feet away was none other than Holden Guarlo, sporting a
big, goofy grin. Without saying another word he sidled up next to
her, and slid down right beside her on the floor.

She couldn’t speak. She was somewhere
between shocked and furious. She clenched her fists and seriously
thought about slugging Holden as hard as she could, but as she
turned to face him, something caught her off guard.

Up close, Holden had the most incredible
eyes. They were not just green, but fluorescent emerald. She stared
at his incredible eyes for several seconds, completely
mesmerized.

“Hellooooo,” Holden waved his hand in front
of her face. “I know I’m B-E-A-Utiful, but you are totally making
me blush by staring!” He frowned just a little.

Maggie snapped back into
reality and sighed disgustedly. “What are
you
doing here?”

Holden’s nerdy smile was back. “Rough day?”
he asked, ignoring her question entirely.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Again, Holden ignored her and continued, “Ya
know, it’s crazy, Blue . . . things happen you can’t explain . . .
you think you’re losin’ your marbles . . . and then someone comes
along who understands, and it all seems to be okay.” He spoke like
he was some sort of great philosopher.

Maggie’s jaw dropped open. He seemed to
understand a little too well—with the exception of someone coming
along and making things okay.

“What are you talking about?” she asked,
almost afraid of what the answer would be. “Are you some sort of
freakish mind reader or something?”

“Nah,” Holden chuckled.

“Okay, then.” She wanted
some answers. “How is it that you knew I had blue eyes from across
the room,” she stood up and started to yell, “and you just
happened
to have a ten
page report on rational expressions with you . . . and you knew
about the pond! How can you sit here and tell me exactly what I am
feeling, when I haven’t told you a thing? Who are you?”

Fortunately, they were in the hall where the
only classroom was the stage used by the drama classes. Everyone
was used to overly exuberant conversations emanating from this area
of the school. Otherwise, Maggie’s shouting would have drawn a
great deal of attention.

Holden, too, jumped to his feet; he grabbed
Maggie by the shoulders. She tried to pull away, but he had a very
firm grip. He looked at her with condescension, shook her three or
four times, and then let go.

Maggie couldn’t believe he’d just done that!
She gaped at him for a second or two, and then suddenly, the whole
incident seemed absolutely hilarious. She tried to hold back, but
she couldn’t help laughing out loud.

Holden quickly joined in, and within a few
seconds, they were both rolling hysterically.

“I am
definitely
losing it,” she finally
said, as she struggled to gain her composure again. She wiped her
eyes, and took a deep breath.

“Losing what?” Holden questioned.

Maggie just stared.

“No, seriously,” she
began, “how
did
you happen to have a ten page report on rational expressions
in your book bag?”

“I didn’t,” Holden answered, “it was
thirteen pages.”

“But . . . .”

“Kinda cool that I had to do that same
report at my last school,” he interrupted, “and, also kinda cool
that I never clean out my bag. Ya never know when somethin' you
didn’t throw away might come in handy.”

Maggie just stared again. Her stare was
suddenly interrupted by the bell ringing, signaling that lunchtime
had arrived.

“Um . . . I’d better go find Bridgette and
Lorrine,” she excused. “They’ll be wondering what happened to me.
Of course, they’re gonna think I’ve gone mental!”

“You’re not gonna tell ‘em, are ya?” Holden
practically screamed.

Maggie jumped. “Tell them what?”

“Um, uh . . . about um . . . the report
thing,” he stammered.

“Nooo,” she answered slowly, eyeing him
suspiciously. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Right on, Blue! It’ll be like our little
secret . . . cool! See ya later!” He bounded off toward the
lunchroom, grinning ear to ear.

“Weirdo . . . .” Maggie sighed, and went to
go find her friends.

U
ltara retreated—as she often did—to the Caverns, to await the
Travelers’ return. She leaned against a long, silvery rock and
gazed out over the edge of a bottomless cliff. At present, her
thoughts were consumed by the news; after more than a year, the
missing Nobles—Atoc Jonathan and the Atoh Audril—had been
found.

She came to the Caverns to think and to
strategize. She knew it would not be easy for Branlor and his
company of Travelers to get the Borlocs back from the other world;
she was well aware that any less than five receptors would cause
instability in the energy force that pulled them back.

Five,
she thought to herself,
impossible
!

Just then, Commander Branlor appeared at the
bottom of the path. He was out of breath and his eyes were
bloodshot; his usually well-groomed, wavy, brown hair looked like
it’d been sucked up in a tornado.

Ultara floated down the path towards him.
Although she was intimidating, Branlor had always felt that she was
the most unbelievably beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

He watched fixedly as she moved toward
him—her auburn hair drifting and swaying. Her voluptuous form was
enhanced by the tight-fitting, slate blue suit she wore, and
silhouetted exotically by a billowing black cloak. On several
occasions, Branlor had lost himself while staring into her
brilliant gold eyes, and now, as she swept down the path, he
couldn’t help imagining that she was coming toward him to lean her
incredible body against his and kiss him passionately.

“Well? Is it done?” Ultara questioned
coolly, snapping him out of his fantasy. She had noticed his
disheveled appearance, but kept her expression stone-cold. She
never allowed herself to exhibit too much emotion.

Branlor was winded—but not for the same
reason as when he’d arrived. “Milady,” he lowered his eyes out of
fear that she would read his thoughts. “I believe we found the
atoh, but we were only able to get one receptor onto her.”

“You believe?” She stared Branlor down.
“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Verolite assures me that this was the right
girl,” he explained, “and she did have the Borloc
characteristics.”

“But?”

“But, it’s just that this girl looked older
than the atoh.”

“Older, Branlor? How much older?” She paced
around him like a lioness preparing to pounce.

“W . . . well, I really didn’t get a good
look at her,” he sputtered. “We had to move quickly.” He was afraid
to admit that the girl they had placed a receptor on looked to be
at least ten years older than the atoh. “She did have black hair
and blue eyes,” he rationalized, “that much I did see.”

“Then it has to be her . . . but only one
receptor, Commander?” Ultara tsked in disapproval, “you were sent
to place five . . . on them both. This will make things very
difficult. She could be pulled anywhere on Lor Mandela.”

Branlor was noticeably worried. “Y . . .
yes, Ma’am. Someone came into the room. We had to leave.”

There was a long, uneasy silence as Ultara
paced. When at last she spoke, her voice was smooth as silk. “Of
course, it was probably the atoc, which would have made your
mission more successful,” she paused sadistically and watched
Branlor squirm, “but I suppose you were wise to leave. We can’t
risk being discovered.”

Branlor—though disappointed that she hadn’t
fallen into his arms—was very relieved that Ultara wasn’t sending
bolts of lightning through him.

“It was
my
receptor, correct?”
she asked, already formulating a new strategy to work with the
present situation.

“Yes,” he answered, “of course.”

She stared straight into his eyes as she had
done so many times before. Branlor instantly felt weak. “Give me
the other four receptors, Branlor; I will place them on the atoh
myself when she arrives.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He pulled his gaze away from
her captivating eyes and handed her a small leather pouch.

“Inform everyone to keep an eye out,
Commander. She could show up anywhere. And send for Lortu. We’ll
need the Dwellers’ help.”

He nodded and lowered reverently to his
knee. She dismissed him with a wave and he rose and rushed down the
path that led out of the Caverns.

A slow, delighted smile spread across
Ultara’s face. At least the Travelers had been able to place one of
her receptors. When Audril was tugged back to Lor Mandela, the
little atoh would likely—even if the pull was only slightly
stable—be brought directly to her. Placing the other four receptors
on a child would be easy. And once Audril was on Lor Mandela
permanently, the atoc would come without a fight; he wouldn’t want
to be separated from his precious little girl.

“Thank you, Branlor,” she breathed to
herself and smiled mischievously. “If you keep this up . . . and
perhaps fix your hair . . . you may eventually get that kiss.”

She gazed out over the steep jagged cliffs.
“You’ve done well, Commander . . . not perfectly, but well.”

O
n Lor Mandela, Ultara wasn’t the only one interested in the
whereabouts of the Borlocs. Darian also spent a great majority of
his time trying to discover what had happened to Atoc Jonathan and
his daughter during the battle at Mandela City.

“My loyal followers,” he addressed a large
congregation of his troops one hot summer morning. “We must be
wary. I have been informed that Jonathan and his little girl have
gone into hiding. As I speak, the Mandelans are refortifying their
army, preparing to attack us.” The fact was, though, none of his
spies had issued such news. They were as unaware of the atoc and
atoh’s location as he was.

“They are the enemy!” he continued. His
voice echoed through the large courtyard below the balcony on which
he stood. “Only when they are discovered, can we ensure the safety
of our families, and homes, and indeed all things that we hold
dear!” An explosion of cheers filled the streets.

Darian smiled and waved to the onlookers and
then walked back inside. Instantly, his smile turned into a scowl.
“Where are they?” he fumed, “it's been a year. They couldn't have
just disappeared!”

“My Lord,” Omer suddenly appeared out of
thin air and knelt in front of a startled Darian.

“What is it, Omer?” Darian glared at him.
“You had better have a good excuse for popping in like this!”

Omer cleared his throat nervously. He knew
he'd irritated Darian, but the news he brought was too important to
worry about following standard protocol. “Last evening, Grayden and
I were on our way back from hunting in the Sybran. We were on our
way back toward your estate . . . .”

“Palace!” Darian insisted.

“Oh . . . yes. Your palace,” Omer corrected
quickly.

Shortly after the disappearance of Jonathan
and Audril, Darian had named himself atoc, and insisted that all of
the Brashnellans refer to him as such.

“Anyway, as we were walking we noticed
hundreds of Trysta World Travelers flying overhead.”

“Trystas?” Darian’s interest was piqued.
“Did you follow them?”

“Yes, My Lord. We followed them to Drolana,”
he answered, exhibiting a little more confidence than he had shown
thus far in their conversation.

Since Trysta Travelers are nearly invisible
to anyone but a Trysta, Darian relied very heavily on Grayden and
Omer and his other Trysta spies to keep him up to speed on any
Traveler activity.

“What were they
doing
there
?”
Darian questioned.

Grayden, a rugged, dark-skinned, muscular
man suddenly materialized next to Omer. “They were attempting to
place receptors on a girl who they seem to think is Atoh Audril,”
he answered smugly.