Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins, page 12
“Come on! Let's get inside,” she insisted. They rushed into the cave and followed the path to the Anaria's main room. Gracielle waved her hand again to seal the entrance.
“I was beginning to wonder if you were coming,” Glaron breathed. “I thought maybe my note had been intercepted, or that you’d gone to Westrim.”
“Glaron, what did you figure out?” She asked in a way that reminded her of the anxiousness that Audril had exhibited all day. “It's been making me crazy!”
Glaron pulled the little brown book from his vest pocket and started leafing through it. “Well, you won't believe my luck, Ator. I was in the Transendar yesterday, when I came across an extremely old book. You've heard of the Derites, right?”
“Yeah, I think so,” she answered. “They were a small civilization that existed in Koria thousands of years ago. They’re the race that supposedly created the Caverns.”
“Precisely,” Glaron exclaimed, “this book was all about the Derite language. It's fascinating, really. They used a series of words, combined with gestures and magical tricks, to communicate.”
“Really?” She’d never heard that.
“Anyway,” he continued, “as I was flipping through the book, I came across this passage that was talking about their musical traditions.” He read what he'd jotted down in their notebook. “It said, 'Solna Elahk Enta.'”
“Elahk?” Gracielle repeated anxiously.
“Exactly!” Glaron beamed. “It said that translated, this means music creates love.” He paused for effect. “Elahk means create! I couldn't believe it, but then I started wondering if any thing else from the riddle was mentioned in this book, and are you ready?”
Gracielle nodded enthusiastically.
“I found that the letter E by itself means the same thing as our letter A. So, what we have here is ‘Elahk E’—Create a.”
“Create a?” Gracielle questioned. “Create a what?”
“Ber, of course,” Glaron sniggered at his unparalleled wit.
Gracielle frowned at him.
“Hmm mmm, sorry,” he apologized. “Actually, Ber in ancient Derite means new.”
“Create a new . . . create a new . . . Lor Mandela?” Gracielle shrugged her shoulders. “I don't understand.”
“Neither did I,” Glaron admitted. “I was up half the night trying to figure it out. This morning, I took it to Ultara and asked her what she thought.”
“And?”
“She didn't know at first either, but then she got that crazy look in her eyes . . . the one she always gets when she's about to kill somebody or something,” he shuddered. “Kinda scared me.”
“Glaron!” Gracielle snapped.
“Oh . . . well, she said that she believes this spell, Elahk E Ber, is what Anika did to start this whole process, look!”
He pointed at a page in the notebook. Gracielle followed along as he read, “One comes swiftly in the morning. Ultara said that the birth of Anika and Lantalia was sudden, and fast. Twenty minutes from start to finish. One birth . . . two infants born early one morning.”
Gracielle stared at him wide-eyed. Was it all coming together? Were the pieces starting to fit?
Glaron continued. “One unknowing moves in haste,” he explained. “Anika didn't know that twin spirits couldn't be cloned. Impatience got the better of her.”
“This is amazing!” Gracielle breathed.
“One beloved though mighty fallen has to refer to Satia. She was an amazing ruler. Beloved is a mild understatement! Or, it could’ve been your mother.”
Gracielle nodded in agreement. Then she interjected, “One is chosen to forget her place. Of course . . . Anika's destiny must have been to forget her place and rebel against our ways.”
Glaron smiled and nodded, “That’s what Ultara thought, too! I checked it out . . . paid a visit to General Kort early this morning. He told me that Anika had learned how to clone souls from her great grandmother's journal . . . which Kort just happens to be in possession of now.”
“And?”
“And, the spell used to clone is Elahk E Ber.”
Gracielle slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle a delighted squeal. She bounded forward and gave Glaron an enthusiastic hug. “That's half of the riddle Glaron! This is so great! So, what about the rest?”
“I . . . I don't know yet,” he mumbled, “The strange thing is that the Derite translation of the letter A by itself is exactly the same as the E by itself. It's like we're supposed to create a new Lor Mandela . . . twice.”
“Hmmm,” Gracielle thought, “then why wouldn't it just say the exact same thing twice? Why the letter change?” She was deep in thought, when she remembered something. “Oh, Glaron,” she exclaimed, “I almost forgot! I've made an incredible discovery of my own!” She hesitated, but then added, “It’s something I need to tell Ultara in person, though.”
“Wh . . . what?” he fumbled, “That's impossible! And dangerous! And impossible! Besides, why can’t you just tell me? You know you can tell me anything, don't you?” He looked a little hurt.
“Oh, Glaron,” Gracielle soothed, “I can tell you anything! But this is a personal matter—between me and Ultara. It wouldn't be right for me to talk to anyone else about it.”
“Oh,” he pouted, “well I guess I understand. But how in the world do you propose we pull this off? It's not like you can just come to Trysta Palace . . . and she certainly can't come visit you!”
Gracielle reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph. “Here.” She handed a small photograph to Glaron. “This is Tur Helene. She’s Kahlie and Audril's private tutor.”
“Okay . . . so?”
“So, day after tomorrow, she will be away all day visiting her family. If Ultara can alter herself to look like this . . .” She pointed at the photo.
“Oh . . . I get it now,” Glaron grimaced. “You want her to come to Mandela Palace, day after tomorrow, disguised as this, erm, lovely lady?” He flicked at the picture with his index finger.
“Will you see to it, Glaron? Please! It really is very important!”
He half-smiled. “I guess I can try,” he groaned, feeling put out that after he'd just handed her the biggest news in Lor Mandela's history she wouldn't tell him her big secret.
Suddenly, there was a loud boom and everything started shaking violently.
“Glaron! It's an earthquake! Quick, over here!” she yelled. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from the back wall, just before every one of the bookshelves lining it toppled over like dominoes. He barely escaped the barrage of heavy books that spilled from one of the shelves.
The shaking intensified, sending furniture, lamps, statues, floral arrangements and the dumped books sliding and spinning indiscriminately across the agitating floor.
Glaron looked up nervously and saw the massive chandelier above swinging like a gigantic pendulum over their heads. If it came down, they were as good as dead.
He nudged Gracielle toward the tunnel; they tried to maneuver their way towards it, but the ground was shaking so fiercely—back and forth and up and down—that it was extremely difficult to make any headway. They inched their way to one side of the room, sputtering and coughing as a heavy cloud of dust filled the air. Gracielle grabbed one of the blobs of sap, and then another, and held on. She used the amber knobs to pull herself along the wall.
Glaron saw what she was doing and followed suit.
Slowly, they moved from blob to blob, using all the strength they could muster. After much effort, they reached the tunnel which was swaying and careening angrily.
“I don't think we should go in there!” Glaron yelled above the roar of the quake.
“I have to get back,” she shouted, “Audril . . . and Kahlie!”
She took a step into the cave, keeping one of her hands against the wall, but as she tried to take another, the cave floor jolted wildly, knocking her to the ground.
“Gracielle!” Glaron yelled. He lowered to the ground and crawled over to make sure she was okay.
The floor of the tunnel gyrated and reeled even more ferociously than before. Glaron reached Gracielle and helped her pull herself back up. “You can’t!” he bellowed. “It’s too dangerous!”
“I have to!” Gracielle choked on the thick dust. She cupped her hand over her mouth and in a muffled yell insisted, “I have to get back!”
She turned toward the tunnel again; Glaron grabbed her by the arm. He was not going to let her go, but all of a sudden there was a loud, low creak in the room behind them.
“The chandelier!” he cried out. The huge light was swaying ferociously and slipping out of the ceiling.
Glaron and Gracielle looked at each other, and then lunged into the cave as far as they could throw themselves. There was another moan from the bolts that held the massive fixture in the ceiling and then, crack! The bolts let go, and the chandelier plummeted to the ground disintegrating into millions of pieces in a deafening crash. Tiny shards of glass bulleted through the room sticking into the furniture, the sap bubbles, the walls, and into Glaron and Gracielle. They held onto each other inside the tunnel, scared, bloodied, and in pain.
Glaron held his hand over his left eye, which had been shredded to bits by the flying glass. It burned and scratched if he tried to open or close it.
“Aggghhhh!” he wailed miserably. He could hear the nauseating sound of the glass scraping against the bone in the socket. He panted heavily, trying to stay conscious.
Gracielle noticed that he was having difficulty, and wrapped her cut and bleeding arms around him. She started to pull him, best she could, down the tunnel. The ground, which refused to cease its brutal assault, continued rolling and jolting.
Glaron faded in and out of consciousness as Gracielle tugged him toward the entrance to the cave. With each tug, hundreds of stinging bits of glass dug deeper into her already torn up skin; tears streaked down her dust-covered cheeks. She had to get Glaron—who had now fainted and was dead weight—to safety. She lifted him under the arms and yanked him along, inch by inch, gasping in agony with each yank.
When at last she reached the end of the tunnel, she feebly waved one arm in the air, balancing Glaron's weight against her knee. Slowly, the cave opening shuddered onto the wall. She readjusted her arms around him and gave his limp body one more strong tug, pulling him through the opening, and out into the meadow. Finally, the rumbling stopped, and the ground bumped to a halt.
Gracielle toppled over backwards and Glaron landed right on top of her. “Aaoooooh!” she moaned, as the glass stabbed in further under his weight. They were both covered in dust, glass crystals, tree sap and crimson blood. She carefully slid Glaron off of her and tried to revive him.
“Glaron,” she coughed, “come on . . . wake up.” She grabbed a handful of his sandy hair and tugged on it gently. She didn't dare touch his skin for fear of pushing more glass into him. She pulled his hair a second time. “Glaron . . . wake up! Please!” she begged.
Slowly, his good eye blinked and partially opened. “Awwwwwoooooow!” he groaned, dropping his hand back over the mangled one.
“Are . . . you okay?” she huffed weakly.
He coughed two or three times and panted, “Um . . . I . . . I . . . think so. It's . . . just . . . just my eye.”
“We've got to get you some help,” she insisted.
“I'll be all right,” he gasped. He tried to stand but didn't have the strength. “I just need to . . . to rest for a minute. I'll . . . be . . . fine.” It was a struggle for him to speak.
“No, Glaron,” she wheezed, “you're not fine. We have to get you to a doctor. Here . . . .” She stood and reached out her hand to him. He took it and she yanked with all of her strength.
Glaron rose up in the air, almost to standing, but then started to slump back over.
Gracielle quickly bent under him, and he fell on to her back. She winced and gritted her teeth as his full weight smacked against her. She took a deep breath and started to run—not fast, but at least it was something.
Glaron bounced against her back, pushing more sharp glass into her skin. The pain was terrible, but she didn’t stop. As soon as she gained enough speed, she looked skyward and yelled, “Trysta Palace!” and the two of them disappeared.
With a pop, they materialized just outside the imposing wall of Trysta Palace. Gracielle lowered Glaron to the ground. He was still conscious, but weak.
As Gracielle moved back from him his right eye suddenly grew large and he clutched frantically at his chest. His breathing became sporadic and labored. “Can't . . . breathe,” he gasped. “Can’t . . . breathe!”
Gracielle didn’t know if he was choking on glass or injured internally or what the problem was. “Hang on!” she pleaded. She knew that it was dangerous for her to be here, but Glaron needed help, and he needed it now.
“Ator . . . noo!” he yelped, as he realized what she was doing.
Casting her own safety aside, she ran to the gate and started shouting. “Help! Help! Get a doctor! Someone help!”
Not more than a second later, an indiscernible smoky blur raced past her and a person in a black cloak suddenly appeared hovering over Glaron, attending to him. A soft golden glow radiated from under the cloak and floated down onto him. His breathing eased, and the scrapes and blood that had covered him started to gradually fade.
“Ultara?” she guessed.
Ultara didn't answer, but turned and faced Gracielle. Her eyes glowed vividly, making the rest of her face nearly invisible. Gracielle felt a calming warmth radiate through her. Ultara was using her healing power to cleanse the glass shards from her skin.
After a minute or two, Ultara's eyes dimmed and she rushed to Gracielle’s side. “You have to get out of here!” she insisted. “Right now! You can't be seen!”
“Is he gonna be all right?” she begged.
“Yes. I will get him to the doctor. But you’ve got to go!”
“I know,” Gracielle nodded, “I will, but I really need to speak with you! It's urgent!”
Ultara walked back over to check on Glaron. “Then speak to me!” she insisted, but before Gracielle could respond, a Trysta Guard burst through the gate.
“Vritesse!” he called out.
“Gracielle! Go!” she commanded in a whisper.
“Come to Mandela Palace in two days. Glaron knows how to get you in,” Gracielle quickly instructed and then turned and sprinted away from the rapidly approaching guard. “Mandela Palace!” she shouted, and disappeared.
“Vritesse! What’s happened? Are you all right?” the guard cried. “That looked like the ator.”
“I'm fine, Branlor, but Glaron needs a doctor.”
He tried again, “Was that the . . . ?”
Ultara cut him off abruptly. “Of course not, Branlor! Why would the ator come here?” She raised her eyebrows and looked at him as if to say, you didn't see anything . . . understand?
“Oh . . . uh . . . she wouldn’t,” he choked.
“That’s right. Now quickly . . . let's get him inside.” Ultara held her hand over Glaron and walked toward the gate. He rose a few inches off the ground and floated along next to her, sleeping peacefully.
She took him to a dimly lit room, which was cluttered with strange bottles of colored liquids, tattered books and odd looking instruments. A vat of putrid looking liquid bubbled in the center of the room; the light that oozed from it was yellow, then green, then lavender, then blue, and then yellow again. “Salera?” Ultara called out, “Get out here. I need your help.”
“Eallo, Vreetessa.” An exotic, yet frail looking woman, with green-gray toned skin, floating white hair, and sky blue eyes slid out of the shadows on the other side of the room. She drifted toward Glaron, took one look at him and in a very slow, dreamy, voice said, “Ahhh, he ees nealy daed.” Her accent was thick and captivating. “Poonctured lung, a few ribz dat ees broken now, and 'e will need da new eye.”
Ultara nodded. “Whatever it takes, Salera—I want him well taken care of.”
“Oh yes, Vreetessa,” she assured, “Salera fix heem rawt up.”
The doctor went to work on Glaron as Ultara slid down into a chair across the room. She stared blankly at the vat of color changing lights—her thoughts centered on her encounter with Gracielle. She wondered why Gracielle wanted her to come to the palace. She wondered what she had to say—and why it was so urgent.
CHAPTER XII
MESSAGES
Gracielle 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.
