Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (18 page)

“Hello, Tabbit,” Kahlie smiled. “How are you
this evening?”

Snag huffed in disgust.

“How are you this evening?” she repeated,
copying Kahlie’s mannerisms almost perfectly. “I am fines, Miss
Companions Servant, just fines,” she bubbled.

“Good! The ator would like you to deliver
these.” She handed Tabbit the picture of Tur Helene and the
note.

“The ator would like you to deliver these.
Ooooo, the ator,” she breathed softly. She bobbed her head up and
down, causing her pure white wisps of long, wild hair to turn and
twist strangely—almost as if they had a life of their own. “Ator
want mees to takes important things. Yep!” She popped her arm up to
a salute and pushed out her bulgy brown tummy. “Me know whats to
do!”

“Lovely!” Snag sneered. “Then why don't you
just do it and let me get some sleep!”

“Let me get some sleep!” she repeated. “Okie
dokies, Mr. Snag, sir!” She bounced across the room, grabbed a
satchel and a coin purse, waved enthusiastically at Kahlie and
Snag, and then disappeared out the door.

Kahlie giggled at Tabbit's happy little
departure, and at the drastic personality contrast between her and
the skinny old man who was glaring at her irately. “Good grief,
Snag!” she exclaimed. “You really should get some sleep! You look
even more miserable than usual.”

“Are you quite finished?” he scowled.

“Absolutely!” Having no desire to linger
with this nasty grump any longer, she promptly backed out of the
office and started up the stairs. She was about half way up when
the door behind her slammed with a loud bang!

T
abbit slipped out of the palace and across the courtyard. Her
little figure was nearly undetectable in the crisp darkness. She
hopped from place to place, nimbly maneuvering around buildings,
trees, and rocks—anything that was in her path. She crossed through
the city, and then into a rolling, rich meadow.

The trip from Mandela Palace to Trysta
Palace would have taken most people several hours, but in just
under two, she'd reached her destination. She stood shaking in the
cold night air, in front of the towering wall at Trysta Palace,
stuck her little head cautiously through the iron bars of the gate
and looked side to side.

“No ones,” she whispered, bringing her head
back through the gate. She raised her arms out to her sides, closed
her eyes, and pressed her entire body against the cold metal bars.
“Brrrrrr,” she shivered. Slowly, she melted into the gate, until
all that could be seen were her large blue eyes blinking happily on
two of the iron rods.

A Trysta guard strolled past, entirely
missing her gazing eyeballs. Once the guard rounded a corner and
was out of sight, she pushed herself forward and seemed to grow out
of the other side of the gate. She was in!

She darted in a rapid zigzag across the
courtyard. Whenever a guard came in to view, she would lift her
arms and dissolve into whatever happened to be next to her—a
statue, a plant, the wall. She skittered right past the main palace
doors and darted along the sprawling, stony wall until she came to
a dark, two-story window.

Again, she raised her skinny little arms;
but this time, instead of melting herself into the building, she
snapped her fingers, and a strong, focused wind—originating from
her fingertips—blasted at the window, shaking the panes wildly.

The wind jiggled the window, making the
latch on the inside shake back and forth until, at last, it popped
open.

Tabbit moved her hands down a bit and aimed
the strong currents of air at the window sill.

Slowly, the window rose. When it was fully
lifted, she lowered her arms and the wind stopped. In one fluid
motion, she leaped from the ground and right through the open
window.

“Lady? Laaadyyy?” she called out in a tiny,
squeaky voice.

Across the room was a closed door. Behind
it, a light clicked on sending a glowing sliver of yellow spilling
out from underneath. The door opened, and Ultara appeared in the
doorway. “Tabbit,” she began, “what are you doing here?”

Tabbit hopped over to her. “What are you
doing here?” she repeated. “Message froms the ator, Lady.” She gave
Ultara the note and the photograph.

Ultara handed her a mesh bag containing a
few shiny stones and a bunch of creepy, crawling bugs. “Oooooo!
Very nices, Lady!” Tabbit poked at one of the bugs with a satisfied
grin, and stuffed the whole mesh bag—bugs and all—into her coin
purse. She nodded and made a strange little clicking noise with her
tongue. “Good evenings, Lady!” she beamed, and then bounded across
the room and back out the open window.

Ultara unfolded the note from Gracielle and
read aloud:

“
I thought the picture might have been
destroyed, and thought having another would help. I hope my friend
is recovering well. I await your visit.”

Ultara studied the picture of Tur Helene.
“And, why do I need this?” she asked aloud, knowing that Glaron
would no doubt be the one with the answer. She stared at the
picture again for a minute, shrugged her shoulders, and then
returned to her chambers and went back to bed.

The following morning, she woke early and
promptly went to check on Glaron.

Dr. Salera greeted her at the door.

Glaron was sitting on a low black chaise,
wearing dark glasses and smiling broadly.

“'E ees good as new, Vritessa.” In the
daylight, Salera's eyes looked like crackled bits of ice—an eerie
contrast against her strangely colored skin. “'Ez eyes will be
taken some tame to 'eel . . . two o' tree weeks, Salera tinks will
be enov.”

“Thank you, Salera.” Ultara replied and
glanced over at Glaron. “Come along, my friend. I think we should
get you back to your place.”

Glaron rose to his feet, and walked over to
the waifish doctor. He put his arm around her dainty, clay-like
shoulders, and said, “I owe you one, Doc.”

Salera turned toward him and swirled her
bony fingers through his wavy hair. “Mmmmm,” she oozed seductively,
“aye be collectin' laeta, deah Glayron.”

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.”

“G
reat . . . 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.”