Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins, page 6
Ultara took a deep breath and explained, “Thirteen years ago, I gave birth to a son, remember?”
“Yes, of course.”
Everyone knew about Ultara’s son. It had been a great scandal. It was law among the Trysta people that the firstborn child of a woman in line to become vritesse had to be female. They believed that a first-born son was contrary to nature, and subsequently flawed.
Fortunately, nature itself usually took care of it. It was quite uncommon for a vritesse heiress to have a son first. But, if a son was born first, the law dictated that he would have to be put to death. In fact, it even stated that if twins were born and one or both were male, both were to be destroyed.
“Darian was so proud,” Ultara continued. “There was no way he was going to allow anyone to kill his son!”
Darian, her former entrusted, was a very handsome, captivating, influential man. He was Chief Ruler of the Brashnellans—a race of people descended from the Trystas. The Brashnellans had divided from the Trystas nearly two hundred years earlier, due coincidentally, to the first-born son laws. With each passing generation their magical powers diminished; however, their civilization had continued to prosper and flourish. Over time, Brashnell had grown to encompass almost one quarter of Lor Mandela.
Ultara took another deep breath and continued. “When I gave birth, Atoh, I was alone. There were no witnesses.”
“Really? Where was Darian?” Gracielle replied.
“He'd gone to Brashnell to meet with his father.” She leaned against the wall. Her wavy auburn hair glowed red under the luminescent letters above. She lowered her voice and admitted, “The truth is, I gave birth to twins.”
Gracielle's eyes grew wide. “What? How?” she replied. “I mean, I knew about your son, but what happened to the other one?”
“I was young and weak, Graci. I didn't want to kill my children.”
She seemed almost ashamed of herself.
“A few minutes after the birth, I gathered as much strength as I could and created a hidden room next to mine in the palace. I placed my other child—a daughter—in that room and told Darian that I'd given birth to a son.”
Gracielle could hardly believe what she was hearing.
“Brashnellans believe that a first-born son brings power,” Ultara continued. “I knew Darian would never allow anyone to harm his son. Turns out I was right. I told Darian that he could have his son for two days, but at the end of them, the child would have to be put to death.”
Gracielle was beginning to understand. “You knew he'd take him, didn't you?”
Ultara nodded.
“But, that doesn't explain what happened to your daughter.”
Ultara thought for a moment and then asked, “Do you have the ability to alter, Gracielle?”
“No, of course not. There are only a handful of Trystas with that power.”
Ultara smiled proudly. “Yes, and I am one of them.”
Gracielle raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“I kept my daughter hidden until she was two years old. Then I altered myself so I would appear to be going through another pregnancy. When the time was right, I returned myself to normal and altered my daughter into an infant again.”
“Nenia?” Gracielle breathed.
“Yes, Nenia. Now, Darian has my son and I have my daughter. They look two years apart, but they are twins,” She smiled and added, “and there's nothing flawed about either of them.”
Gracielle contemplated her words for a moment. “So then I guess that means that your children . . . they must be part of this Advantiere as well?”
“I guess so,” she sighed. Suddenly, Ultara’s expression grew deathly serious. “Listen, Gracielle, Darian can't know about this . . . nobody can . . . but especially not Darian. He hates me passionately. He's already tried to get to Nenia—for revenge, I suppose. He thinks that since I was willing to kill his son I don't deserve to have a child of my own. If he knew that she was his son's twin, he would hunt her like an animal. He would not rest until she was dead.”
“I understand. I won’t tell a soul,” Gracielle agreed.
Ultara pointed at the Advantiere and asked, “So what do we do about this, then? Who do we tell?”
“I don't know,” Gracielle answered. “It might be best if we just keep it to ourselves . . . at least until we’ve had a chance to think it over. I imagine we’ll be busy with other things for the next day or so.”
As her thoughts returned to her mother, she recalled her last moments and how she’d given Ultara the little silver box.
Ultara was still holding it in her hand.
“I guess you’re the vritesse now, Ultara.” Gracielle’s voice quivered as she spoke.
Ultara looked at the box and sighed, “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Gracielle glanced up at a large window that had somehow remained intact and noticed the sun sinking below it. “It's nearly time for me to meet Jonathan and his parents for dinner. I need to let them know what’s happened. I expect they’ll want to call a council meeting.”
“I should get back to Koria, too. I want to inform the rest of my generals as soon as possible.” Ultara responded.
They made their way out of the demolished room and agreed to seal it so that no one could accidentally stumble across the mess, or more importantly, the Advantiere. Once outside, Gracielle lifted her hand and a small yellow spark appeared in the bottom left hand corner of the door. It buzzed and zipped upward and sped around the door frame. By the time it reached the lower right side, the door had completely vanished.
“Thank you, Atoh,” Ultara mumbled.
“Good night, Vritesse.” Gracielle bowed and they went their separate ways.
Gracielle slowly made her way to the Grand Dining Hall where Jonathan was waiting for her outside the door. As soon as he saw her he moved to meet her; as he got closer a look of concern grew across his face. “Graci, what is it? What happened to you?” She was pale and covered in dust and dirt.
The reality of the day’s events suddenly hit her hard. All at once she felt dizzy and sick. She tried to steady herself against a nearby wall but was still having difficulty standing. “It . . . It's the vritesse, Jonathan,” she panted. “Anika attacked her. They’re both . . .” Her knees buckled and she slumped over. “dead.” Jonathan barely caught her before she hit the floor.
Her collapse was witnessed by Atoc Cristoph and Ator Jocelynne who had just come around the corner by the dining hall. “What's wrong?” Cristoph shouted as they hurried toward them.
Jonathan held Gracielle tightly. “She says that Anika attacked Lantalia and they've both been killed!”
Jocelynne gasped and both she and Cristoph froze in place.
Gracielle babbled, “Lantalia called Ultara . . . downstairs . . . sending for the bodies . . . the council will need to . . . .” Her eyes fluttered; she took a deep breath and seemed to regain a little of her strength.
Jonathan, who was still concerned, however, looked at his father and shouted, “Can you get the doctor? I'll take her to our room.”
Cristoph nodded and he and Jocelynne rushed away.
Jonathan helped Gracielle down the hallway.
When they were almost at the end of it, he reached out to a beautifully carved wooden door and pushed it open. “Come on, Love, you need rest,” he insisted as he led her towards the bed.
“I . . . I think I'm okay now, Jonathan,” she assured. “A lot has happened today. I was just overwhelmed.” She sat down on the bed, gazed into space, and then blurted matter-of-factly, “Oh, and Jonathan . . . I'm pregnant.”
He stared at her for a few seconds and then mumbled a feeble, “What?”
She exhibited no emotion whatsoever. “We're going to have a baby.”
Jonathan paced for a moment and then asked soberly, “And if it's a son?”
“It’s not going to be a son, Jonathan. It’s a girl,” she replied.
“I understand it usually happens that way for Trysta Heiresses, but . . .”
Gracielle stopped him. “No, Jonathan, this has nothing to do with me being a Trysta Heiress. I've been told that it's a girl.”
“Told? Who could’ve told you? Nobody would’ve. . . . ”
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Gracielle answered, relieved that—at least for the moment—she wasn’t going to have to give further details.
A tall, slender man entered the room with Atoc Cristoph.
“Oh hello, Doctor,” Gracielle welcomed with a forced smile.
The doctor walked over and put his hand on her shoulder. “Good evening, Atoh. I'm so sorry to hear about your mother.”
“Thank you, Michelan.”
She leaned forward and gave him a hug.
“And thank you for coming, although I’m sure I'm all right now. It's just been a hard day; I let it get to me.”
The doctor frowned. “Of course, but I would feel much better if you'd let me take a look. I'd like to make sure both you and the baby are okay.”
Cristoph looked questioningly at Jonathan who smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “We'll be outside.”
He put his arm around his father and led him out of the room.
Jocelynne came walking down the hall toward them. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were splotchy; she'd obviously been crying.
“They've taken them,” she sighed.
Cristoph embraced his wife, and no one said anything for a few minutes.
Finally, it was Cristoph who broke the silence, “I think our son has something to tell us, Jocey.”
Jocelynne sniffled and looked at Jonathan, who gently embraced her. “Gracielle and I are having a baby.”
A knowing smile crept across Jocelynne’s face. “Of course . . . I should have realized. She hasn’t been herself lately.”
She was giving Jonathan another squeeze as the door to the room opened and Dr. Michelan peered out. “We're all finished in here. Everything looks fine,” he assured.
Jonathan sighed with relief and he, and his parents, stepped back into the room.
For the next couple of hours, Gracielle, Jonathan, Doctor Michelan, Jocelynne and Cristoph all sat in the room and talked. They spoke fondly of Lantalia and Anika and contemplated what Jonathan and Gracielle's child would be like. They discussed Ultara’s appointment, and debated over when they should call the council together to make it official.
“Are you sure it's not too soon?” Jocelynne questioned, when Cristoph suggested that the council convene the following afternoon.
“Ultara has already been called,” he answered. “She needs to receive the powers as soon as possible. It may be difficult, but I don't think we can put it off.”
“But Ultara can go to the Caverns and get the powers herself,” Gracielle argued. “The Council meeting is just a formality. Couldn’t we hold the meeting after things have settled down?”
Cristoph leaned back in his chair. “Yes, my dear, I suppose we could. But I think that making these changes with minimal disruption to our traditions may help people feel more secure; it’ll help them come to terms with this tragedy more quickly. Familiarity is comforting, you know.”
Jonathan and Jocelynne nodded in agreement.
“I suppose that's true,” Gracielle concurred.
“I'll make the arrangements and get the message out tonight,” Jonathan offered.
Cristoph patted him on the back. “Thank you, son. I think we should go now. Your entrusted looks as though she could use some rest.”
Doctor Michelan stood from the green wing chair in which he'd been sitting. “I believe you're right, Atoc,” he agreed.
They said their goodbyes and the doctor, Cristoph, and Jocelynne all left.
“Will you be okay while I prepare for the council meeting, Graci?” Jonathan asked.
“Of course I will,” she grimaced. “I'll probably just go to bed.”
Jonathan kissed her on the cheek and headed toward the door. “Okay, Love. I'll be back in awhile.”
Gracielle changed into her pajamas and got ready for bed, but didn't feel much like sleep. She felt edgy and restless. There was no way she was going to be able to sleep with everything that was bouncing around in her head. She curled up in a large, dark green chair, and tried to read for a while but finally ended up just staring out the window at the reflection of the full moon sparkling on the surface of Mystad Lake. “Goodbye, beloved vritesse,” she mumbled as tears welled in her eyes, and then flowed unchecked down her cheeks. “Goodbye, beloved mother,”
In the meantime, Jonathan had dispatched messengers to all of the chief council members telling them of the next day's meeting. He was updating Cristoph in a small, simply furnished sitting room, when there was a faint knock on the door.
A portly, young servant with a ruddy complexion and dishwater blond hair poked his head around the door. He cleared his throat and announced, “Atoc, Aton, Darian of Brashnell to see you, sirs.”
“Thank you, Phillip,” Cristoph replied. “Tell him to come in.”
Phillip bowed as a charismatic man with strong, masculine features and long dark hair came through the door and confidently strode toward them. He lowered to one knee and humbly apologized for the intrusion.
“Good Evening Atoc . . . Aton, I would have never dreamed of disturbing you at this hour, but I have some very alarming news.”
He looked up at Cristoph with eyes of pure black, except for the small orange, blue, and white fires that crackled where most people's pupils were.
Cristoph signaled for him to stand. “Alarming, Darian?” he questioned.
Darian rose from his knee. “Yes, Sire, I don't even know where to begin. I'm sure that it must seem bold of me to be bothering you in light of recent events, but I'm afraid that this cannot wait.”
“What is it, Darian?” Cristoph glanced over at Jonathan who was glaring at their visitor. He had never gotten along with Darian of Brashnell.
Darian explained, “I'm sure that you know that Ultara and I are not on—shall we say—the best of terms.”
Cristoph raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.
“Because of this unfortunate fact, I've found it helpful over these years to keep some close Trysta friends.”
“Friends? You mean spies,” Jonathan chimed in cynically.
“I suppose,” Darian smiled as the fires in his eyes seemed to grow larger. “That would be one way of looking at it.”
“And what alarming news have your friends brought you?” Cristoph asked.
“Sire, when Ultara and I were still together, we—I am ashamed to admit it now—but we were plotting to overthrow the government and rule Lor Mandela together. The plan was to wait until she became vritesse. With her ruling the Trystas and my position in Brashnell, we would be able to gain control over Mandela City easily.”
“Why are you telling me this now, Darian?” Cristoph barked. Clearly, his level of irritation was rising.
Jonathan was beyond irritated and glared viciously at Darian.
“Atoc,” Darian continued, “this was at least fifteen years ago. Please believe me. It is all in the past.” He lowered his voice slightly and added, “At least it is for me.”
“What do you mean?” Jonathan insisted.
Darian smiled condescendingly at Jonathan. “Well, Aton, my friend Omer, who is of course a Trysta, came to me just a few hours ago and said that he overheard Ultara talking to her advisor. She said that the waiting was over, and that the time had finally come for her to gain control of Lor Mandela. He informs me that she is planning some sort of attack, and very soon.”
“Why should we believe you? Ultara has always been our friend!” Jonathan snipped.
“My dear, Aton,” Darian’s respect was clearly feigned. “I know that many people do not trust me. Indeed, you have no reason to trust or, in fact, to even like me, but as I see it, whether we care for each other or not, we are in this one together.
“Ultara is cunning and she loves power. If she sees a way to get it . . . well, let's just say that it doesn't matter who's in her way.”
He turned his attention to Cristoph and continued. “Omer didn't know who the attack was going to be on, Atoc—just that it was either your family or mine.” The flames in his eyes flickered wildly. “If we are ready—and help each other by keeping a watchful eye—it will surely benefit us both.”
He shot Jonathan another contrived smile, then added, “Perhaps I have been misinformed, but if not, it behooves us all to be on our guard.”
Cristoph nodded thoughtfully. “Of course. Thank you, Darian. Let us hope you were misinformed.”
Darian bowed humbly and then strutted out of the room.
Jonathan barely waited for him to get out the door. “Well? What do you make of that?”
“I don't know,” Cristoph answered. “Ultara has always been kind to us.”
“And Darian is known for being . . . what's the word . . . um . . . deceitful?” Jonathan added. His tone was heavily bitter.
“Jonathan, this is not the first time I’ve been warned about Ultara.”
Jonathan’s surprise was apparent.
“Lantalia told me that Ultara should be watched carefully. It shocked me when I heard it. It shocked me tonight when Gracielle said that Lantalia had called her as the new vritesse.” Cristoph looked his son squarely in the eye. “Darian's right, though. We need to be alert. Anything unusual is to be reported, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Jonathan replied. “I understand.”
CHAPTER VII
THE GRASPING CURSE
When Jonathan finally returned to his room, he found Gracielle fast asleep in the big green chair. She looked so peaceful and beautiful lying there in her soft peach pajamas with her silky hair sweeping over one of her cheeks. He watched her sleeping and thought about the first time he saw her—truly saw her.
Actually, he had known Gracielle most of his life. They had played together as children. But it wasn't until two summers ago that he had really noticed her. At the time, she was seventeen and he was nineteen—and it was the first year she was old enough to attend the Celebration of Light. Gracielle was very excited about being able to go. She and her girl friends talked of nothing else when they were together. One time Jonathan happened to overhear her going on and on about it, and seized the opportunity—as he often did—to tease her.
