Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins, page 14
Glaron cleared his throat and Ultara bit her lip trying not to laugh. “Um…all right then,” he choked. “I'll be seeing you around.” Ultara shot him a disgusted look and pulled him by the arm out of Salera's chambers.
“What?” he asked innocently.
She looked at him and shook her head. “Never mind, Lover Boy. We have more important things to discuss. Are you feeling up to breakfast in my chambers?”
“Hmmm,” Glaron teased, “two offers in one morning. I think I should get hurt more often.”
Ultara rolled her eyes. “Yep, you seem to be back to normal.”
They arrived at Ultara's chambers, where a generous spread of food was already waiting. “Good thing I said yes,” Glaron smiled, as he grabbed for a big piece of orange fruit.
Ultara walked over to a large console near her bed. “I received an interesting telegram last night.” She picked up the picture and the note from Gracielle. “Here. I'm sure these will make more sense to you than they do to me.”
Glaron glanced at the picture and explained, “Oh, well this is the atoh's teacher. Gracielle must've figured my copy would have been damaged . . . ya know, by all the glass and stuff.” He pulled the shredded remains of the original photo from his tattered vest. “Wow! She actually looks better like this,” he quipped.
Ultara stood with her arms folded and her head cocked to one side. “You know, Glaron, I've met Tur Helene. She's a lovely woman. But I don’t recall asking for a portrait of her for my throne room.”
“Oh . . . um, sorry,” he smirked. “Apparently, Gracielle has something very important that she can only talk to you about.” There was the slightest hint of bitterness in his voice. “This Tur Helene person is supposed to be out of town tomorrow, visiting family. The ator would like you to alter yourself to look like her and come to Mandela Palace tomorrow morning . . . if it isn't too much trouble.”
“She didn't give you any indication of what she wanted?” Ultara asked.
“Nope . . . none at all,” he frowned, “just said it was personal . . . between the two of you.”
“Tomorrow morning, huh? It's going to take me most of today to alter myself to this,” Ultara observed as she studied the photo.
“Does it take longer to make yourself ugly?” Glaron sniggered.
Ultara glared at him. “How long do you have to wear those ridiculous glasses?” she asked, as she picked up a piece of bread and pulled it apart.
“Just for today,” he answered. “Is that a problem? I mean . . . I can see just fine. They're just a little sensitive to the light, that's all.”
“They? I thought you only injured one of your eyes.”
“Yeah well, Dr. Salera said dat she was out o' da laet green eyes, zo she hed to use de derk green wohnz.” He mimicked her beautifully. “I guess she replaced my right eye too, so they’d match.”
“Drastic,” Ultara criticized. “Anyway, I can really use your help today . . . if you're up to it.”
“I am ready for whatever you'd like to throw at me, Vritesse . . . unless, of course, it's a chandelier!”
They ate their breakfast quickly, and then went to work collecting the tools they would need for the altering. Mostly, it was just clothing and accessories to match Tur Helene's frumpy style; but they also gathered seven glow stones, a sizable piece of greelan bark, and several other minor ingredients for the altering spell. By late afternoon, they had acquired all they needed to begin the process.
First, Ultara placed the seven glow stones—which were similar in shape and size to a human skull—in a circular pattern on the floor. She laid Tur Helene's photo on the seventh stone, and one by one, they started to light up. The stone with the picture on top glowed a bright red as the others took on a soft, yellow luminescence. Ultara then took the greelan bark and broke it into bits; she used the broken pieces to fill the cracks and crevices around the rocks, thereby forming a solid radiant ring.
Glaron brought over a bowl which contained a gooey, tar-like mixture.
Ultara dipped her index finger into it and pulled some out.
It smelled awful! Glaron scrunched up his nose and turned his head. Ultara didn't seem to mind the smell though. She used the substance to paint a star-like symbol on the upper part of her chest, just below her left collar bone. She returned her finger to the goo, drew out some more and placed the same symbol on the right side; and then, one on her forehead.
She stepped inside the glowing stone ring and started to hum—low and strange.
Glaron stood back and watched as one of the glow stones turned purple and a thick ribbon of lavender light floated up from it, spiraling its way slowly around Ultara. Next, another stone turned orange, and an orange ribbon twisted up, then a green one . . . a blue one . . . a white one . . . and a silver one.
The red stone started to sputter and sizzle as, all at once, a heavy shower of red sparks flew up from it, engulfing Ultara in a fountain of light. One by one, the twining ribbons dissolved into the crimson spray, turning it finally to a dark burgundy fire.
Ultara stood, still humming, in a column of maroon flames.
Glaron could feel the heat radiating from the fire; the intensity of the light stabbed painfully at his sensitive eyes. He had the urge to look away, but he was not going to miss this! He was probably one of only a handful of Trystas who had ever watched an altering.
Suddenly, the symbols on Ultara's chest and face began to glow bright white, and the crimson flames from the fire started pouring into them. The symbols consumed the flames until nothing remained but the stones, the bark, and Ultara. Everything had returned to how it was before.
Much to Glaron's dismay, Ultara did not appear to be changed in any way. “It didn't work,” he moaned.
“Of course it worked,” she corrected. “The actual change will take several hours.”
“Then, how do you know it worked?” Glaron asked.
“I just know, Glaron,” she insisted. “Now, if you’ll clean this all up for me, I have to go to sleep.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Well,” Ultara explained, “if you must know . . . the process hurts.” She twisted her head from side to side like she was already trying to relieve some tension in her neck. “The pain is unbearable if you're awake.”
“Really?” he asked compassionately. “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”
“Oh, it's all right, Glaron,” she assured. “I'll be fine. I have done this before, remember?”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked.
Ultara started rubbing her arm. She was already feeling a lot of pain. “Just clean this up and meet me back here first thing tomorrow morning.”
CHAPTER XIV
THE MEETING
“Great . . . big . . . son of a slarp!” Glaron exclaimed as he entered into the Throne Room and beheld the “altered” Ultara. “You look just like her!” he gasped.
“Well, that is the general idea.” Ultara sounded like herself, but didn't look it. Her normally flowing auburn locks were now a tight, silver, up-swept bun and her tall, svelte physique was slouchy and short. Squinty brown eyes—which were all but hidden by thick, orange-rimmed glasses—blinked where large, sultry gold ones had been before, and she'd aged by at least twenty-five years.
“Does it still hurt?” Glaron asked as he circled around her, surveying the transformation from every available angle.
“No,” she replied, “altering only really hurts while the most dramatic changes are happening. I used the left over greelan bark to make some tea before bed. I actually slept quite well.”
“Ahh . . . yes . . . well . . . that's good,” he muttered inattentively, as he scrutinized her left ear at a rather close range.
Ultara jerked away and frowned at him. “Do you mind?” she snapped.
“Sorry! It's just kind of . . . well . . . weird.”
Ultara sighed in exasperation. “Just make sure you have everything together when I get back! I would like to look like this for as short a time as possible.”
Glaron smiled. “I will. Have fun with your, uh, girl talk!” he sniggered.
Ultara adjusted her simple floral dress, picked up a small peach colored hat and matching handbag and shuffled across the bridge.
Glaron tried to restrain himself, but he just couldn't hold it in. Seeing Ultara as a frumpy, little old lady holding a handbag was too much. He sputtered, and then erupted into wild hysterical laughter.
Ultara rolled her eyes and continued on her way. Once outside the palace, she made a quick check to ensure that no one would see her, started running toward the gate, and shouted, “Mandela Palace!” She vanished with a pop, reappearing behind a large green topiary in the palace’s main courtyard. Again she straightened her clothes, took a deep breath, and made her way to the front doors.
“Good Morning, Tur Helene,” greeted one of the gardeners, who was busily pruning the hedges.
She nodded politely and continued on.
“Hello, Helene.” Another worker rushed up and opened the doors for her.
“Thank you,” she mumbled in her best Tur Helene accent. She entered the foyer and looked around. “Couldn't make this easy, and just meet me here, could you, Gracielle?” she whispered.
Just then, a handsome, young guard entered the foyer and rushed up to her. “You must be Tur Helene?” he began.
“Yes, I am,” she answered.
“Excellent, ma'am. The ator would like for you to come to the Advantage . . . Adventer . . . Advisitor.”
“Advantiere?” she blurted.
“Oh . . . yes . . . that's the one! The Advantiere Room,” he said.
The young guard was incredibly good looking—with his dark olive skin, straight, dark brown hair, muscular build, chiseled facial features, and big green eyes—but he was obviously not the brightest man. “You, uh, know where that is, don't you?”
She smiled devilishly at him and replied, “Oh, I think so, but I would love for you to escort me there.” She ran her fingers in a walking pattern up his bicep. Might as well have some fun, she thought.
“Uh . . . um . . . actually,” he stammered nervously, “I . . . I . . . I'm pretty new here. I don't think anyone's shown me where that room is yet.”
“Mmmm,” she cooed as she leaned against him. “You are pretty something, that's for sure. How do you feel about . . . older women?” She put her face very close to his.
“Ma'am?” he squeaked uncomfortably. “I . . . uh . . . I should be getting back to work now.”
“Pity,” she pouted. “I guess I'll just go meet the ator then, my big, strong, guard.” She blew him a playful kiss. “See you around.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He just stood, staring wide-eyed at this little old lady who was throwing herself at him. After a few seconds, he turned around and practically sprinted across the foyer and into one of the hallways.
“That was entertaining!” Ultara sniggered. She fussed with her dress again, and then proceeded to the Advantiere room.
Once she was out of sight, the guard snuck back into the foyer. His encounter with the very forward Tur Helene had him so flustered, that he'd forgotten he was supposed to be leaving the palace in the first place. He rushed to the doors immediately—for fear of being seen by her again—checking over his shoulder as he went. While looking backwards, he failed to notice that someone was on their way in.
He spun around and . . . thwack! He and the stranger hit hard and both tumbled to the ground.
“Oh! Pardon me, sir,” he yelped, jumping to his feet, and thinking that this was possibly the worst beginning of a day he'd ever experienced. He reached out his hand to help up the man he'd just flattened.
The dark haired gentleman grabbed his hand and pulled himself to standing again. “Don't worry, young man. No harm done.” He brushed himself off and introduced himself to the shaken young guard. “Darian of Brashnell.”
“Oh, I’m Captain Morringe, sir.”
“Delighted, Captain.” They shook hands and Darian asked, “Is the atoc back from Westrim, sir?”
“Not yet,” Morringe answered, “he’s expected back this afternoon.”
“Ahhh,” Darian nodded.
“The ator is in the Advantiere room, though. It's in that direction.” Morringe offered and pointed to the hallway that Ultara had gone down.
Darian smiled, “Thank you, Captain Morringe. You've been most helpful.”
The young guard nodded and scrambled down the steps.
“Well,” Darian thought aloud, “The ator without her entrusted. It’s not often I get an opportunity like that.” He strutted across the foyer and added, “Time to turn on the charm.”
By the time he got to the Advantiere Room, Gracielle and Ultara were already locked in a heated discussion. Darian heard their shouting voices as he approached and stopped cold in his tracks outside the closed door. “Ultara?” he gasped, recognizing her voice immediately. “How interesting.” He leaned against the frame of the door and listened.
“I can't believe you told him! You swore that you’d keep it a secret!”
“I know! But you were nowhere to be found! I needed help! He's my entrusted! It’s not like I told a total stranger!” Gracielle’s plan to come clean with Ultara was not going as planned. “You can trust him, Ultara. He’s a good man.”
“Trust him! He wants me dead!” Ultara shrieked.
“Of course he doesn't!”
“Yes, he does! How can I trust him? He’s never had evidence that I killed his parents, but just because I happened to be here the day they were killed . . . .”
“The paper the curse was on was pretty incriminating!” Gracielle retorted.
“This is unbelievable! Don't you realize that your entrusted and Darian have been in cahoots for years . . . they have this great plan to bring me to justice?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I overheard Jonathan and Darian talking one night.”
“Oh you did, did you?” Darian breathed.
Ultara continued. “They made a deal. Darian feeds Jonathan information on me, and in exchange—if they happen to catch me—my beloved former entrusted gets to be my executioner.”
“Impossible,” Gracielle argued, “Jonathan would never agree to that.”
“I heard him agree to that!” Ultara insisted. “That's why I started sending Glaron here! This is just fantastic! He's probably told Darian about the twins!”
“Told me what? What twins?” Darian was contemplating bursting into the room in an attempt to catch Ultara, but it was risky. She was very powerful, and her chances of escaping when he was the only one there to apprehend her were fairly good. Besides, the conversation thus far was quite illuminating. He carefully cracked the door open so he could better hear.
“Ultara, I’m sorry! Honestly, I didn't know . . . and I needed his help.” Gracielle's voice was sincere and calmer now. “Listen, I will ask Jonathan what, if anything, has been said to Darian. I was adamant in the beginning that he was not to breathe a word of this to Darian.”
Go ahead, Ator . . . why don't you just tell me what this is all about? Darian thought to himself.
Ultara seemed a little calmer now, too. She took a deep breath and reasoned, “Well, Darian may have an advantage over us, I suppose. But he can’t get his hands on Audril, and without Audril, he is powerless.”
“Without Audril?” Darian breathed.
Just then, two people turned into the far end of the hallway.
Darian quickly turned to leave, but as he did, he kicked over a small box that someone had left outside the room. Several metal brackets spilled from the box and slid noisily across the stone floor. He spun around and dashed away just as quickly as he could.
“What was that?” Gracielle gasped, and rushed over to the door. She peered into the hallway, just missing the last billowing corner of Darian's cloak as it disappeared around the corner. She looked down, saw the scattered brackets, and then turned and looked the other way. Much to her horror, she saw Jonathan walking down the corridor, and with him Tur Helene.
“Oh, no!” she gasped and rushed back to Ultara. “You have to hide . . . now!” She grabbed Ultara by the arm and moved her toward the other side of the room.
“What? Why? What are you doing?”
Gracielle forcefully pulled her along. “Jonathan's coming . . . and Tur Helene!”
Ultara was now moving all by herself, but then suddenly stopped. “Wait, Gracielle,” she chuckled, “this is ridiculous! I'm the vritesse! I can transport, you know.”
Gracielle didn't find as much comfort in this as Ultara. “Then do it! Now!” she insisted.
“But . . . you had something you were supposed to tell me! You haven't even . . . .” Ultara didn't have time to finish her thought. The sound of Jonathan's voice came from right outside the door.
“Yes, thank you, Helene. We'll see you tomorrow, then.”
“There's not time!” Gracielle whispered frantically. “Just send Glaron . . . the Anaria . . . tomorrow night . . . usual time! I'll just have to tell him instead!”
Ultara was moving toward the back of the room to put as much distance between the atoc and herself as possible. “But wait! I thought the Anaria was destroyed!”
“Don't worry! We can still get in . . . He's coming! Go on!” Gracielle's eyes grew wide as Jonathan started pushing the door open.
Ultara ran toward the back wall of the room “Koria!” she shouted, and disappeared in a blue flash.
“Jonathan!” Gracielle shrieked excitedly in an effort to drown out Ultara's shout. “You're home!” She rushed over to him and threw her arms around his neck.
“Are you okay, Graci? Who was that?” Jonathan asked suspiciously.
Gracielle's heart stopped. “Who?” she asked innocently, trying to buy time to formulate a good excuse. She was not about to tell him that she'd been meeting with Ultara; but if he had seen someone disappear, he would know that it was a Trysta heiress.
“Who?” he blurted. “Darian, that's who! What was he doing here?”
“Darian?” Gracielle was clearly confused. “Darian was here?”
