Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins, page 24
Nathan turned the corner onto their street and pulled into their long, flat driveway.
“Dad?” Maggie tried.
Nathan didn't answer. He slid from the car and slumped up the small walkway that led to the front porch.
“Dad, c'mon! Really. I'm sorry,” she called after him.
Nathan climbed the rickety old porch steps, head bowed and shoulders sagging, and pulled open the white wooden door.
Why don't you just tell him? Her conscience urged. Tell him everything—about the little lights, and disappearing at your locker, and the attack of the two-headed snake-horse.
She followed him into the house.
Two-headed snake horse? Yeah, he’s gonna believe that!
Nathan switched on the living room light and tossed the car keys half-heartedly onto the small hall table just inside the door. He glanced back at Maggie with sad puppy-dog eyes, and then dragged himself towards the kitchen.
“Dad, please wait. I need to talk to you. Table talk?” she suggested.
Over the years, whenever they needed to discuss something serious, Nathan would make his special peppermint hot cocoa with miniature marshmallows, and they would sit at the kitchen table and talk. Somehow the whole ceremony of it, combined with the cocoa, provided comfort, no matter how uncomfortable the subject. They now referred to these father-daughter chats as “table talks.”
“I think that's a relatively good idea,” Nathan agreed, although this was one table talk he was dreading. He was convinced that Maggie had been out rolling around with some hormone-crazed teenage guy, and that she was “madly in love” and soon to be engaged to the next future pig wrestler of America. “Why don't ya go change out of those wet clothes, and I'll put on the water.”
Maggie nodded and headed upstairs.
Nathan went to the kitchen and pulled out a dented red teapot. “I'm not ready for this,” he mumbled to himself as he filled the pot from the tap and placed it on their old gas stove. “Only last week she was starting Kindergarten,” he muttered as he waited for the battered kettle's melancholy whistle.
A few minutes later, Maggie came into the kitchen and sat down at one of the mismatched chairs around their garage-sale, metal dining table. Her black curls were smoothed back into a tame ponytail, and she had changed into her comfy pink and white polka-dotted flannel pajamas, puffy white bath robe, and fuzzy pink slippers.
Nathan brought the cocoa cups to the table and sat down across from her. He poured the steaming water into the small white cups, stirred the contents of each a few times, and then plopped a small handful of marshmallows in.
Maggie breathed in a deep whiff of the heavenly peppermint-chocolate aroma as she reached for her cup and slid it toward her.
Nathan took a slow, slurping sip, and began with, “Well?”
“Okay, first,” she started, “I didn't mean to lie to you. It's just . . . I didn't think you'd understand.”
“Oh man, I knew it!” Nathan blurted. “Listen Smaggs, I know you think you're old enough to know about these things, but you're still young! You don't wanna make decisions now that you'll eventually regret! You have to think about the future. You can't just dive into things without standing back and thinking about the future! And pig wrestling isn't all it's cracked up to be.”
“What? Da-ad! What on Earth are you talking about,” she frowned. “You don't have any idea what I was going to say! Wait! Pig wrestling?”
“Oh . . . um, sorry,” Nathan stammered, “I just . . . well, I was thinking that maybe . . . .”
“Yeah, I know what you were thinking. Yikes! I was not out with a guy, Dad . . . and give me a little credit! I'm not gonna marry a pig wrestler!” She grimaced and shook her head. “Honestly.”
Nathan took a sip of cocoa and smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess I got a little carried away.”
Maggie picked up her cup and giggled. “A little.”
“So, what’s on your mind, Smaggs?”
She drew in a big breath and started. “Remember that dream I had this morning? Well, it wasn’t a dream.” She told him about the incident in detail, and about what had happened at her locker. “I felt like something was pulling me, and then I was in this field. I wasn't at my locker anymore.”
She paused to check her dad's reaction.
He was staring at her blankly.
“Dad, I know this sounds . . . .”
Suddenly, she stopped short. Her eyes widened and she held her breath. It was back! The low, pulsating, whoosh. . .whoosh. . .whoosh.
It surged in and out behind her, growing louder with each whoosh.
Her pulse raced; she grabbed the sides of the kitchen table and closed her eyes. Oddly though, the sound only whooshed three times and then stopped; nothing happened.
“What was that?” Nathan walked over and looked out the screen door, searching for the source of the strange sound. “I wonder what those blasted Harrisons are up to this time.”
“You heard that?”
“Yeah . . . shouldn't I have?”
Maggie felt frantic as she realized that, at any moment, she could be pulled away again. “Dad! Listen! I keep hearing that whoosh, and then I end up somewhere else! It's happened to me twice already,” she yelled. “I go somewhere . . . somewhere I've never been before. That's what happened at my locker, and that's what happened after school! Don't you see? That's why you couldn't find me! I was somewhere else!”
Nathan frowned. “Smaggs! Calm down! You're kinda freakin’ out here.”
“No, Dad! I'm not freaking out . . . I mean, yeah . . . I sorta am, but it's because I keep leaving! I can't control it! There's a whoosh and then a lasso and then 'pop' and I'm outta here!”
She barely finished her sentence when it started again.
Whoosh. . .whoosh. . .whoooooooosh!
“Oh, no . . . Daaaaad!”
Nathan grimaced and looked around the room. “What is that?” he asked again, “it's kinda annoying!”
Maggie's eyes were wide with fear. The familiar tugging was back. Nathan glanced over at his panic-stricken daughter, who was panting heavily and clutching the table so hard that her knuckles were white.
“What’s the matter with you, Ma . . . .?”Suddenly, there was a deafening crack and a bright blue flash, and Maggie was gone!
Nathan shrieked hysterically and started spinning around in spastic little circles. “Maggieeee!” he screamed, “Maggieeeee! Margaret Amanda Baker! I am not amused!”
He dropped to his knees and looked under the table. Then he started frantically opening cupboards, the pantry, and the refrigerator. “Maggieeeee!”
He ran to the back door and out into the dark yard. He looked around the corner of the house behind the big maple tree—and then up in the big maple tree. His eyes were bulging, and his black hair was flopping wildly as he jumped up and down, looking over the fence.
“Maggie! This isn't funny! Where are you,” he shouted desperately.
His back fence neighbor, Mr. Harrison, stood at his flaming barbecue, holding a long spatula, and staring at him like he was crazy.
“Margaret,” he squealed again as he ran back inside and started madly searching the house.
But Maggie was not there. She had, once again, been taken to an unfamiliar place.
CHAPTER XVIII
KAHLIE AND RYANNON
Maggie stood in a strange meadow that she didn't recognize, and although it had been late evening in Glenhill, it was broad daylight here.
At first she thought that this was the same place she had been earlier. There were certain similarities. It was a vast field, with a forest in the distance, backed by a tall, narrow mountain, but there was nothing scary about this place. It was warm, peaceful, and gloriously beautiful. The lush green field was blanketed in soft waving grass, punctuated by tiny frills of yellow and purple blossoms.
Breaking up the rolling ocean of green were tall outcroppings of twisting brown rock, jutting up boldly at sharp angles from the ground. Tiny bits of crystal in the rock glistened in a myriad of sparkling, jewel-toned colors as the sun danced across the unusual formations.
The sunlight itself was also unusual. It glowed brightly, but seemed to be filtered and softened somehow. Its soothing warmth flooded over Maggie, dissolving into her, and made her feel both sleepy and energized at the same time.
In the distance was a forest, bordered by a grove of stately swaying trees. Their long leafy branches hung to the ground and flowed softly in the gentle gusts of cool air that wafted through them.
The sky above the forest was brilliant blue—bluer than any ocean Maggie had ever seen in pictures. A steep, majestic mountain rose high behind the trees and into the azure sky. It was covered in a blanket of luxurious velvet green, except for the contrasting white snow caps that topped its highest peaks.
“Wow!” Maggie breathed as she took in the view, “this place is awesome!”
She fiddled with her hair and smoothed her clothes just in case she should meet up with a handsome stranger again. She was wishing that she had a mirror and her makeup bag, when a horrible realization struck.
“Oh, perfect,” she moaned as she looked down at herself. “I'm still in my pajamas! This is just great!” She pulled her bathrobe around her tightly and cinched the tie, as if that would help somehow.
She glimpsed across the field and realized that she was not the only person presently occupying it. “Just great!” she repeated.
Near the grove of trees across the field, and apparently unaware that Maggie was there, a woman sat, quietly reading on one of the smaller rock formations.
Maggie's first reaction was to scope out cover, but the woman didn't appear to be much of a threat. Hmmm, she thought, she looks pretty harmless . . . only one head and all. Maybe she can help me. Maggie started across the field.
The woman was completely engrossed in her book and unaware that anyone else was near. In fact, the entire time it took for Maggie to cross the large field, the woman didn’t budge or look up.
“Ahem,” Maggie timidly cleared her throat when she was a few feet away.
The sudden break in the silence startled the lady so, that she nearly fell off her rock. “I’m trying to read here!” she snipped, and shot an agitated look in Maggie’s direction, but then slid quickly off of the formation and—much to Maggie’s surprise—dropped to her knees. “Forgive me, Majesty.” The woman was shaking like a leaf and obviously quite unnerved by Maggie’s appearance.
“I uh . . . I . . . .” Maggie stammered.
The woman looked up, but not directly at Maggie’s eyes. “How? I mean . . . I . . . I thought you were dead!” Tiny tears dropped from the woman's eyes and slid down her face as she spoke.
“Wait a sec, what?” Maggie blurted in response to the morbid comment, “what do you mean? We . . . we don’t even know each other, do we?”
The woman timidly looked at Maggie’s face but did not rise. “Oh, you're not . . . but I thought . . . forgive me.”
Maggie could hardly imagine what needed to be forgiven. “Please, you really don’t need to stay down there.” She felt awkward about the recent rash of people bowing down to her.
“Oh yes, Majesty . . . of course.” She wiped the tears off of her cheeks and rose to her feet.
This was the first look Maggie really got of her. Up close, she was younger than Maggie had first thought, perhaps about twenty years old or so, with long, curly auburn hair and slightly freckled skin. Her features were graceful and very refined. She was sprite-like in her overall appearance, which intrigued Maggie greatly.
“I’m sorry,” Maggie apologized, “I didn't mean to upset you. It's just . . . well, you're the second person to kneel down and call me Majesty. I don’t think that I’m who you think I am.”
The woman stared at her blankly. Obviously, Maggie's comment didn't compute.
“Okay,” Maggie gave it another try. “My name is Maggie Baker.” She smiled and dipped in a small curtsy. “From Glenhill, Iowa.”
The woman continued to stare, but nodded affirmatively as Maggie spoke.
“I’m just, um . . . you know. I’m not royalty, or anything. I’m just an ordinary teenager.” She tilted her head as if to say, do you get what I’m saying to you?
“Oh, I see, Your Highness.” Clearly there was a gap in the communication somewhere. “I can’t believe it,” she burst out suddenly, “a Borloc . . . still alive . . . Maggiebaker Borloc . . . Where is the house of Glenowa, or was it Glenohiowa?”
“Uh . . . I . . .” Maggie let out an exasperated sigh. “Maybe we should start over. Please, call me Maggie.”
“As you wish, Maggie.”
“And you are?”
“My name is Kahlie. I am . . . I mean, I was the Ator’s Companion Servant.”
Maggie had no idea what she was talking about, but at least she had a name to work with.
“Kahlie,” she went for broke, “who is it, exactly, that you think I am?”
“You are Maggie, correct?” Kahlie smiled.
“Yes,” Maggie smiled back “but, why did you call me Your Majesty and Highness?”
“Because . . . well, at first I thought you were the ator . . . I mean . . . because you are a Borloc, of course.”
“What’s a Borloc?”
Kahlie’s mouth gaped open. She was speechless for several seconds. “Well,” she finally began, “wait! How can you not know what a Borloc is? You are one!”
Maggie grimaced. “Kahlie, I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“A Borloc! You know? Guardians and rulers of Lor Mandela,” she yelped, gesturing excitedly with her hands.
“Rulers? Yikes! Hold on a second! I already told you! I’m just an ordinary teenager from Iowa. What on Earth makes you think that I am one of these . . . these Borlocs?”
Kahlie took a couple of deep breaths and calmly continued. “You have black hair.”
Maggie grimaced again.
“And blue eyes?” Kahlie waited for Maggie to respond. Maggie waited for Kahlie to say something that made sense.
“You really don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”
“No, Kahlie. I don't. What do my eyes and the color of my hair have to do with anything?”
Kahlie’s smile returned. It was warm and compassionate now. “I’m sorry, Maggie. It’s just that, well . . . only Borlocs have black hair and blue eyes.”
Maggie chuckled, “You’re kidding, right? I can think of about half a dozen or so people in my school alone with black hair and blue eyes.”
“Really?” Kahlie was awestruck. “How is that possible? Where did you say you’re from again?”
“I’m from a small town in Iowa.”
“I’m not familiar with Iowa. Is it near Koria?”
“Um, I don’t think so.”
Maggie decided to lay it all out in the open. She hoped that her experiences might seem normal and have a logical explanation in this place.
“Kahlie,” she started, “there’ve been some really bizarre things happening to me.”
“Well, yes, just the fact that you don't know you're a Borloc seems a bit odd.”
Maggie frowned. Borloc, schmorloc! She thought to herself. Jeez lady! Give it a rest! She proceeded to tell Kahlie about all of the weird things that had happened that day.
She longed for answers, but judging from the puzzled look on Kahlie’s face, she wasn’t going to get them.
“So, you have no idea why you're here?” Kahlie asked.
“Oh,” Maggie moaned, “so, I guess you don’t get it either. I kinda hoped you’d understand all of this better than I do.”
Kahlie shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she tried. She could see that Maggie was disappointed and desperately wanted to help. “You know what, though? I’m sure the answers are here somewhere. We’ll just have to keep our eyes open.”
“Yeah,” Maggie sighed. “So . . . where on Earth am I?”
“Earth?” Kahlie inquired innocently. “What’s an Earth?”
Maggie just stared at her. Slowly—and quite frightened of what the answer would be—she asked, “Wh . . . what is your planet called?”
“Planet?”
“World?” she tried again.
“Yeah, I know what a planet is,” Kahlie answered. “Are you telling me that you’re not from Lor Mandela?”
“Lor Man Whatta?”
“This world . . . Lor Mandela,” Kahlie explained. “Maggie! This is extraordinary!”
“I don't understand. I'm not on Earth,” she mumbled in horror. “This is not extraordinary, Kahlie! This is terrible! I don't want to be on Lor Whatever! I want to go home! Now!”
“Okay, just calm down. We'll figure this out,” Kahlie soothed as she took Maggie by the hand. “We should go to the Transendar. Yeah, of course! Come on! If there's any information on the things that have been happening to you, we'll be able to find it there.”
She grabbed the book she’d been reading and—with Maggie in tow—started for the trees. Maggie had no idea what Transendar was, but she didn't ask. At the moment, she was just trying not to cry. Her only consolation was that Kahlie seemed to want to help, and perhaps because Kahlie was close to her own age, she felt comfortable with her. She gulped back her tears and followed Kahlie toward the forest without resistance.
Up close, the trees at the edge of the forest were more gigantic than Maggie had initially thought—more gigantic and more beautiful. Although they were imposing, there was a hypnotic, airy quality to them. The branches swished and swayed rhythmically back and forth; the silvery leaves sparkled in the filtered sunlight.
As they approached, the branches stopped swaying and slowly parted; they rose in the air like a thick, green stage curtain.
Maggie gasped, but Kahlie smiled reassuringly so she continued to follow. As soon as they passed underneath, the branches dropped and began undulating side to side again, as though nothing had changed.
Each tree they came to did the same. It would stop swishing as they drew near, and lift its branches politely so they could pass through. Then the branches would drop back down and return to their metrical swaying.
