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.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  ONLY ONE

  Ultara 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.”

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE SPIES REPORT

  On 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.

  Darian was too engrossed by the news to be put off by Grayden’s intrusive entrance. He glanced briefly at him, and then back to Omer for his input.

  Omer stammered, “Y . . . yes, they think they've found both of them.”

  “They think . . . they think?” he quizzed impatiently. “What do you mean they think? How would Jonathan and his daughter have gotten to Drolana?”

  Grayden stepped up and stared Darian in the eyes. He showed no sign of intimidation whatsoever. “They didn’t! Ultara is insane! The girl that the Trystas claim to be the atoh is at least seventeen or eighteen years old.”

  “What? That's impossible,” Darian exclaimed. “They must be insane!”

  Omer shrugged his shoulders, “Atoc, the girl did have black hair and blue eyes.”

  “Those fools!” Darian threw his hands in the air and began pacing. “It isn't unheard of to have black hair and blue eyes on Drolana!”

  All of a sudden he stopped and became pensive and a mischievous smile oozed across his handsome face. “Were they successful at placing receptors, Grayden?” he asked. The fires in his eyes flickered wildly.

  “Only partially,” Grayden decided to play with him a bit. He was the only one in the Brashnellan Empire who was not scared of Darian. They were approximately the same size and build, but he had real magical powers. Darian could only perform his magic out of spell books.

  Darian responded with a “don’t you dare” expression.

  “Actually,” Grayden continued, “they were only able to get a single receptor onto her. As I'm sure you know, Atoc, it would take five or six to have enough stability to pull her back to the right person . . . and to keep her here long enough to get more receptors on her. We’ll just have to keep our eyes out for this girl. She could show up anywhere!”

  “Yes, my confident friend,” Darian glared at Grayden, “I am aware of this.”

  Omer, who did not want to get involved in their intense banter, had kept quiet, but suddenly cleared his throat to interrupt. “They placed one, Atoc,” he explained, “and I was also able to place one.”

  Both Darian and Grayden looked at Omer in complete astonishment. Darian was clearly impressed. “You, Omer? You placed one of your receptors on her?”

  Omer smiled. “No, Majesty. The receptor I placed belongs to someone else.”

  Darian normally would have been upset by his indirectness, but Omer so rarely impressed him, that he decided to allow him to enjoy his moment.

  “Well then, Omer. Whose receptor was it?”

  Omer saw a hint of tension rising in Darian’s face, and knew he'd better get to the point. “When I spotted the Travelers, Milord, I decided to join them and see if I could find out what they were up to. I had to be careful not to be recognized, of course. I approached a Traveler I hadn’t seen before and asked if they needed any help. He said that they already had the Travelers they needed, but told me that they were off on some fool mission to put five receptors on the atoh and the atoc, who had been found on Drolana. He didn’t seem too thrilled about the mission and was all too eager to fill me in.

  “I came back here, grabbed the receptors that I thought would do us the most good, told Grayden to come with me, and re-joined the Trystas. The receptors I took were your son's . . . Ryannon’s.”

  “Ryannon’s?” Darian repeated excitedly; the fires in his dark eyes glistened. “Oh, General, that’s delightful. Does he know?”

  “Yes, Sire, I’ve just told him that he may have an unexpected visitor.”

  “This is excellent! You've seen my son. Women find him quite . . . um . . . irresistible. He’ll have no trouble getting this young lady to fall for him. Then . . . .” He started pacing again, and no longer addressed his generals directly. He plotted out loud, to himself. “Yes . . . then . . . even though she is not the atoh . . . we'll convince the Mandelans that their beloved Audril has been brought back to us! We’ll make up some story about a time warp between here and Drolana. It shouldn’t be difficult to convince these idiots. Then no one else will be looking for the real Child of Balance, the one I need to become . . . .”

  He turned on his heels, and without finishing his previous thought, barked, “Grayden, Omer! Let it be known that the reward has just tripled for anyone who brings me this Atoh Audril alive! Go!”

  Omer bowed and Grayden nodded, and then they headed off to make the announcement.

  “Excellent . . . excellent . . . Ryannon’s!” Darian chuckled, “it seems that having a Trysta for a son is finally working to my advantage.” His thin, evil smirk seemed even more malicious than usual. “I think I need to go have a little chat with my son.”

  CHAPTER XXVI

  TWO HEADS ARE SCARIER THAN ONE

  Maggie walked slowly toward the cafeteria, trying to figure out how to explain her sudden “disappearance” to Bridgette and Lorrine. She had run through several different scenarios in her head—including the truth—but decided she had better just stick with the “I got sick” excuse.

  “Oh! Maggieeee!” Bridgette ran toward her, grinning, wide-eyed, and pulling Lorrine along by the arm.

  “Hey, Bridge. Hey, Lorrie.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an arm slowly reach out from behind Bridgette and steadily wrap itself around her waist. All at once, blonde curls sprung up from behind Bridgette's head, followed by the inane grin that had become all too familiar.

  “Oh, and erm . . . hey, Holden?” she stammered.

  Bridgette glanced over her shoulder at Holden and giggled sheepishly at Maggie’s stunned reaction to him. “Hey, Maggs. Holden’s been telling us all about your awful morning! Are you okay, sweetie?” Bridgette questioned.

  Maggie gazed from Bridgette—who was staring at her blankly and grinning ear to ear—to Lorrine, who was rolling her eyes, and then, to the wacky new kid, Holden whose mouth was twisted up in a playful little knot.

  She raised her eyebrows at him and whispered an annoyed, “What?”

  “Man,” Holden looked away from her, and directed his focus on Bridgette. “Ya know, Pretty Dude, I hate pukin’. Nothing worse! ‘Cept maybe a Neptune Cocktail after a particularly gnarly wipeout. It’s like whoa!” He stumbled dramatically. “Fierce! But then ya usually puke anyway,” he chuckled, and Bridgette giggled again.

  Maggie grimaced and caught Lorrine doing the same.

  Lorrine shrugged her shoulders and glared at Bridgette. “Ugh! Come along, Margaret. Let’s go get something to drink. I suddenly feel an acute case of nausea coming on!”

  “Yeah, um okay . . . sure,” she answered slowly. She glanced, perplexed, at her best friend and her strange new buddy as Lorrine guided her away. “What's up with that?” she asked.

  Lorrine stopped walking and spun to face her. “Positively unfathomable! What absolute imbeciles! They’ve known each other barely ten minutes, and it’s ‘hee hee hee,’ ‘ho ho ho’ ‘giggle giggle giggle’. Entirely embarrassing . . . that is what it is!”

  Maggie was well aware that the whole “giddy girly” thing was extremely annoying to Lorrine. She was what most teenagers weren’t—serious, refined, and totally into school. She dressed like a sophisticated business woman most of the time—suits, briefcases and all—and wore studious glasses despite her perfect vision. Her shoulder-length, mousy hair was always twisted into a conservative ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was also quite fond of using large words like ‘unfathomable’ and insisted upon calling people by their given names—no nicknames or abbreviations.

  “What happened? I mean, I just saw him in the hall right before the bell rang. How’d they get to know each other so fast?”

  “Oh, well . . . he just walked up and started talking to her. At first she remained appropriately aloof, but by the time he got to, ‘Whoa, Pretty Dude, your eyes are like a shiny new penny, sprayed with that glittery spray stuff,’ she was blushing and giggling like a lunatic!”

  Maggie nearly choked. “He said that? Really?”

  “I am afraid so.”

  “Wow. That is one of the stupidest lines I've ever heard! I can’t believe she fell for it.”

  “Hook, line, and sinker, my friend.”

  Maggie and Lorrine bought a couple of sodas from a vending machine, and then—disgusted or not—sat and watched Bridgette and Holden schmooze and giggle at each other from across the cafeteria.

  “She is not even aware that we are gone, is she?” Lorrine shook her head and sighed disapprovingly.

  “Uh, nope, I don’t think so.” Maggie responded, her gaze still fixed on her best friend and this suddenly omnipresent surfer dude.

 

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