Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins, page 19
Maggie listened intently as he continued.
“One of them said ‘He gave it to the girl, the one with black hair and blue eyes', and then he asked the other guy if they should 'go to Iowa and get it'. That's all I heard before I realized they were coming toward the door. I ran to my car, and headed straight for the police station; I called you guys on my way there.”
Now, he seemed to be talking to himself. “They must have . . . It’s the only way they could’ve gotten there so fast.”
“But why would a couple of creeps break into houses in two different states to steal a little statue of a strange fairy-looking thing? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know, Boo. I can’t figure it out either,” Doc replied.
“And why did they have to take my hiding-seeker? I was completely bummed out. I loved her.” She tilted her head gently onto Doc’s shoulder.
He smiled and told her to watch the road.
“Remember that dopey story you told me when you gave her to me,” she sniggered, “about how you met her in your enchanted garden?”
Doc shook his head, “I almost had you. You totally believed that she was good luck!”
“Never!” Maggie insisted, “I just acted like I believed you. You wouldn't give her to me unless I said I believed.”
“Well,” he began, “what if I told you that it was all the truth. That I really do have an enchanted garden, and that I was walking through it one day and bumped right into her, and that she hit me over the head with a big blue rose and told me to get out of her house?” He grinned ear to ear.
“I'd say I need to hook you up with Bridgette's mom,” Maggie smirked. Bridgette was the daughter of quite a famous psychologist who had authored a series of best-selling, self-help books.
Dr. Brockman glared at her with his deep green eyes. “Very funny, Boodle. I swear no imagination whatsoever! Okay, so I got her at the flea market,” he admitted, “but that’s kind of like an enchanted garden.”
Maggie giggled. “I'll miss my little Hidey though. She's always been there for me.”
“I'll see if I can find you another one,” Doc soothed, “maybe for your birthday tomorrow, ya know . . . to go along with your island.”
It was early afternoon when they arrived back at the house and they were greeted by a huge—bordering on obnoxious—hand-drawn banner framed by red and gold balloons sprawling from one end of the white wooden front porch to the other. The very colorful “HAPPY 17TH BIRTHDAY, SMAGGS!” message simply screamed Bridgette.
“Oh my gosh,” Maggie groaned. “What is she doing?”
Doc chuckled. “Looks like we’re having a party.”
Just then, Bridgette and three other girls burst out onto the porch. Bridgette waved gregariously and bounded over to the car. “We couldn’t wait ‘til tomorrow,” she squealed, “ditched World History and Anatomy!”
“Anatomy’s important,” Dr. Brockman scolded playfully as he pulled his duffle bag from the back seat. “How are you ever going to take over my practice if you flunk out, Bridge?”
“Uhhh . . . .” she breathed, gazing longingly at the man who had just made her weak simply by speaking to her.
Doc smiled and decided to give her an even bigger thrill. As he walked past, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Just teasing,” he whispered, and continued into the house.
Bridgette’s face was as red as the balloons on the banner. She tried to talk, but all that came out was a pathetic, mousy squeak.
Maggie shook her head and grabbed a hold of Bridgette’s arm. “Come on, Bubbles. The party’s waiting,” she urged, and then added, “Man, I’d hate to see how you’d act if you did think he was cute.”
The weekend was a whirlwind of fun, compared to most weekends in Glenhill. After the party, Nathan treated everyone to a barbeque in their back yard and, in honor of her birthday; he even let Maggie out of her office cleaning duties for the next day. She and Doc spent most of Saturday birthday shopping at the Glenhill Galleria, where he spoiled her mercilessly, and then on Sunday, she and Bridgette hung out and watched movies after attending church services in a neighboring town.
It was nearly ten o’clock Sunday night when Nathan left to take Dr. Brockman to the airport. Maggie changed into her pajamas and watched a little television in her room before finally dozing off to sleep.
CHAPTER XX
THE VRITESSE
Ultara sat emotionless on her tangled throne. Two of her warriors, Torschel and Linetal, entered the room with their arms locked around a man who was struggling violently to escape their grasp. They dragged him across the rough rocks that formed the bridge and pushed him forcefully onto the floor.
“Ahhh, yes . . . Linden Torak isn’t it?” she began. “I’ve been told, Master Torak, that you were present at the battle.” She cut right to the chase. Ultara was in no mood to mess around.
Linden looked up at her—his face bruised and bleeding. He snarled angrily, but did not answer.
“Don’t be foolish, Torak.” She looked directly at his battered face, and a soft golden glow surged from her eyes. “Ahhhh, so Darian has taught you how to block a mind penetration . . . very good.”
She rose from the throne and paced back and forth on the platform in front of Linden. Her black gown billowed like thick smoke all around her. The long, fiery locks that spilled over her shoulders and her bright golden eyes were a stark contrast to the cold, shadowy room. Her confidence, and the exaggerated calm in her voice, only added to her sublimely intimidating presence. “Did your dear Darian also teach you that a successful mind block requires every tiny ounce of strength in your body?”
Linden remained silent and sneering.
The glow in Ultara's eyes began to intensify, pulsating and surging brighter and brighter until the room was completely flooded in golden light.
As the glow in her eyes intensified, Linden began to wince and cringe. After just a few seconds of fighting with all of his strength, he was overcome. “Aaaaaaarraahh!” he cried out in agony, his body contorting and twitching uncontrollably.
Ultara's eyes continued to surge brighter and brighter as she spoke. “What you are feeling right now, Master Torak, is an energy jolt equivalent to a bolt of lightning.” She spoke loudly in order to rise above his screams, but maintained the eerie calmness in her tone, “Several have felt it; few have survived.”
The glow in her eyes faded away. She stepped down from the platform and walked over to where Linden slumped, reached down, and with unbelievable strength, yanked him to his feet. He groaned miserably, as she looked him squarely in the eye and stated matter-of-factly, “Let me explain. You won't have the strength to keep this up for long. Mind blocks don’t work on the vritesse. I will be able to read your thoughts. Why suffer more than necessary?”
Linden glowered at her angrily. He turned his head slightly to the side and made a sound like he was going to spit.
Ultara threw him forcefully to the floor. He landed in a hard thud and screamed out in pain. “If you do not tell me what you know, Torak, you will die.” The light in her eyes intensified again as she sent another brutal jolt.
Linden was strong-willed and physically strong as well, but the strongest of men would not live through more than two or three of Ultara’s powerful shock waves.
Finally, Linden succumbed and broke his silence. “All right! I was there,” he coughed weakly. He doubted that cooperation would spare his life, but he hoped for a moment to rest between assaults.
Ultara raised her eyebrows. “Now, that's better,” she oozed, “but you know, Torak, I am aware that you were there. What can you tell me that I am not aware of?”
“I don't know how they got away,” he gasped. “We had the palace surrounded!” He fought for breath as he spoke, as it had been knocked out of him by Ultara’s crushing attack.
Just then, Commander Branlor burst into the room and quickly ran to where she stood. “Vritesse,” he knelt down humbly before her.
As he lifted his eyes, he noticed the crumpled heap of a man lying on the ground a few feet away from him. A sickening fear flooded through his core as he realized that he’d just interrupted one of Ultara’s poignant interrogations. “Please forgive my bold intrusion, Ma’am, but I have news.”
“Rise, Branlor, what is it?” Ultara kept her eyes focused on Linden and paced slowly back and forth.
“We’ve found them!”
Ultara stopped in her tracks and turned her gaze from Linden to Branlor. “You know where they are?” She looked like a cat that had been turned loose on an unsuspecting bird.
Linden, too, seemed very interested in the news.
Ultara noticed his sudden interest out of the corner of her eye. Once more, her eyes lit up brilliant gold; she sent a powerful, fatal burst of energy coursing through Linden's body. He shrieked and convulsed wildly, and then, let out his final, painful breath.
Linden Torak lay rigid—eyes wide open—and dead right in the center of the mosaic star.
Branlor stood gaping—stunned by Ultara’s apparent indifference to the fact that she’d just ended a man’s life so easily.
“We can’t risk anything, Branlor,” she explained. “He was a spy, and your information about the Borlocs most definitely would not have remained between us. Besides, his thoughts revealed nothing useful.”
She looked down at his stiffened form and motioned to Linetal and Torschel, “Take him away, and the next time I ask you to bring me information,” her eyes lit up just a little as both Linetal and Torschel winced fearfully, “make sure you bring me someone who actually has some!”
They bowed, and dragged Linden’s body across the bridge and out of the room.
“Now, Branlor, where are they?”
“They were found on Drolana,” he responded, still a little shaken, but not wanting to show it.
“What? So your theory was right. It was Glaron?”
“It appears so, Vritesse. If Glaron was able to get his receptors onto the atoc and atoh he could have channeled enough energy through his own body to transport them with his Traveler powers.”
Ultara nodded and dropped down slowly into her throne; her eyes saddened. “So, he sacrificed himself to get them out.”
Branlor nodded. “Verolite went to Drolana himself and confirmed it. He saw the atoh swimming in a pond and recognized her by her hair and eyes. He and Linetal followed her.” He held out a small figurine and handed it to Ultara. “She had this.”
Ultara gazed down at the little statue in her hand. “A Squanki?”
“Yes, Milady.”
“Shadow Squanki don't exist outside of Lor Mandela, that I’m aware,” she muttered. She sat thoughtfully for a moment, and then stood and commanded, “Branlor, I want you to oversee this personally. Go to Drolana. You'll need to take at least a thousand Travelers with you. It will take five receptors on each of the Borlocs to bring them back.”
“Five?” Branlor was shocked by her request. “How can we place that many without being detected?”
“It will be difficult, but not impossible. Yes, Branlor, five on each. Any less will be unstable.” She stopped and stared at him threateningly, “I can't trust this to someone with doubts, Commander.”
Branlor gulped. “Whose receptors should we place, Ma’am?”
“Mine of course! They must be brought back to me. I’m counting on you, Commander. I'm sure you understand how important this is. Do not let me down.”
“Yes, Vritesse.” Branlor bowed nervously.
The dark wisps of Ultara’s gown flowed around him as she turned and strode up the slope to the platform. She lowered herself gracefully onto her throne again. “At last . . . .” she breathed.
Branlor bowed once more and quickly set out to recruit one thousand Trysta Travelers.
It didn’t take long before he had a large group assembled in the main conference room.
“Verolite has informed me that the atoc and his daughter are alive, and on Drolana,” he enlightened. “We have a great challenge before us. We must place five of Ultara’s receptors on each of the Borlocs.”
The room erupted with the shocked whispers of a thousand men and women. Nothing like this had ever been attempted.
“Silence!” Branlor boomed over the din. He was far more intimidating when he was not addressing Ultara.
He continued, “Most of you will be used to create a diversion with your lights. Torschel, Blansten, Verolite, Linetal, and I will carry the receptors, as we are able to penetrate solid surfaces. This will not be easy to accomplish, as I am aware, but the atoc and atoh must be brought back to Ultara.”
Many of the assembled Trystas still looked at him in disbelief. It was one thing to place one receptor without being discovered, but placing five on two different individuals would be an unbelievable, close to impossible, feat.
“Are there any objections?” Branlor thundered with authority. The murmuring and whispering stopped abruptly. The Trystas were all keenly aware that Branlor was now second in command to Ultara. This gave him a tremendous amount of power. Not a soul in the room wanted to risk having him report them to Ultara for insubordination; a fate like that of Linden Torak would be theirs if he did.
“I suggest you get over your concerns quickly. We leave in one hour!” Branlor turned and walked authoritatively from the conference room.
Again the air filled with mumbling and complaining. “This is a death sentence!” one man shouted. “How is such a difficult task to be accomplished?”
“It will be a death sentence . . .” a female general spoke up and everyone in the room quieted. It was extremely rare for a high-ranking female official such as this to speak ill of an order set forth by the vritesse, “if we do not obey!”
One hour later, one thousand Trysta Travelers took to the air. Small lights flickered and a faint buzzing emanated through the dusky sky of the Sybran Forest. They climbed higher and higher until their lights disappeared and the buzzing ceased. The large group of Travelers bulleted through the vaporous border of Lor Mandela and headed towards the almost insurmountable challenge that awaited them on Drolana.
CHAPTER XXI
MONDAY MORNING IN GLENHILL, IOWA
The alarm clock clicked from 6:04 to 6:05 a.m., and let out a sadistic buzz which jolted Maggie from a deep, comfortable sleep. With great effort and a disgusted moan, she reached out and smacked the top of the clock, hitting the snooze button for the first of three routine extra ten minutes. The room was quiet and almost completely dark; a faint cool breeze played with the sheer curtains that hung on the open window. In Maggie’s estimation, these were the ideal sleeping conditions—a fact that only added to the cruelty of it being morning already.
Bzzzzz. Smack!
Wrapped in her favorite blanket and surrounded by a mountain of pillows, she wandered back and forth between awake and asleep—one moment aware of her surroundings, the next, slipping effortlessly into the beginnings of nonsensical dreams.
Bzzzzz. Smack!
She pulled herself upright and sat, still half asleep, on the edge of the bed. Her eyelids dropped, and her head bobbled around as she nodded back off; a sudden falling sensation brought her instantly back to life with a jolt. Her eyes popped open, but then, once again, blinked slowly shut.
She had just started to doze back off, when she realized that she had seen something in between blinks.
“What in the . . . ?” she mumbled as she forced herself to wake up. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and squinted toward the other side of the room.
There, outside her second story window, two bright white lights—no bigger than a dime—darted around behind the fluttering curtains. They zipped to the right, stopped, and held still for a second, and then spiraled down together to the left. They made a faint but peculiar noise as they jumped from place to place, like a cross between static on a television and chirping crickets.
Maggie had been a little skittish since the break-in, but at this moment, curiosity was stronger than fear, so she stood and started toward the window. As she walked, the floorboards of the old house creaked ominously beneath her feet, causing her confidence in the situation to rapidly decline. By the time she was half way across the room, she was forcing herself to stay calm.
“C’mon, Maggs! Don't be such a wimp!” she scolded under her breath. “It's probably just lightning bugs!”
She reached the window and lifted her hand to pull back the curtain for a better look. All at once, two more little lights zipped up and joined the first. Maggie jumped and her breath caught in her chest. Her heart began to race as an uneasy feeling stirred—the feeling that she was being watched. She inched her way backwards.
“It’s okay,” she breathed. “They’re just bugs.”
The four tiny illuminations whizzed around in formation for a second or two, and then the lights started to multiply. Out of nowhere and everywhere all at once, hundreds and hundreds of bright, piercing, white orbs whirled and buzzed outside her open window, creating a riotous screech. Maggie slapped her hands over her ears as the volume of the bizarre noise grew. . . and grew. . . and grew. Blinding flashes, like bolts of lightning, burst in through the window and ricocheted around the room, creating a turbulent strobe effect. They crashed into the walls and the floor, making the whole room convulse violently.
Maggie’s fear grew to sheer terror! She turned and tried to run, but as she did, the floor bumped hard, knocking her to her knees with a painful smack. She screamed, but her voice was drowned out by the horrendous buzzing of the chaotic little lights.
Horrified, she curled up into a ball on the floor—hands clasped tightly over her ears, eyes squeezed shut—and begged, “Oh please . . . oh please . . . oh please! Someone help me!”
Just then, her bedroom door swung open. Within a split second, the multitude of lights vanished; the quaking stopped, and the dreadful noise came to an abrupt halt. All was as it had been before.
“Smaggs?” The familiar voice of her dad caught Maggie off guard, but she was, nonetheless, very relieved to hear it.
