Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins, page 5
Gracielle was sitting on the floor in a cloud of black mist, held in a trance by Anika, who looked like nothing more than a black, three-dimensional shadow. She was standing above Gracielle—her scraggly black hair floating all around her head—with her hand outstretched to her niece.
A dazed Gracielle reached forward.
“No, Graci . . . don’t!” Lantalia pleaded. Gracielle didn’t respond.
Lantalia lowered her head and closed her glowing eyes.
The shadowy Anika sneered and growled and all at once, gasped sharply and bolted into the air. She flew across the room and crashed into a large window—shattering it into millions of pieces—before dropping like a rag doll to the ground.
Gracielle instantly snapped out of the trance. She jumped to her feet and dashed toward the door, not even realizing that her mother was there until she caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of her eye. “Mother!” she cried. “What’s wrong with Anika?”
“There’s no time to explain!” Lantalia yelled. She gestured toward the floor and a large section of it completely vanished, revealing an endless dark pit. “Stoi Cantara! Lor Mandela!” she commanded.
A hazy white light grew from deep within the pit, but then faded.
Once more she shouted, “Stoi Cantara! Lor Mandela!”
The light returned—a little stronger this time—but then went out again.
“Stoi cantara! Lor Mandela!” She literally screamed it this time.
A blinding flash blasted from the pit, knocking Gracielle and Lantalia to the ground. The heavy fog that had been consuming the room quickly dissipated, and the room became eerily silent.
Gracielle slowly rose to her feet. “Mother, are you all right?”
Lantalia was curled up in a motionless ball on the floor.
“Vritesse?” Gracielle tried again, cautiously moving toward her.
For a moment, Lantalia didn’t respond but then, she suddenly pushed up onto all fours. Her back heaved up and down, and her breathing became heavy and labored. She lifted her face and stared wide-eyed at Gracielle.
Much to Gracielle’s surprise, something—some sort of image—seemed to be materializing in her mother’s lavender eyes. “It . . . it’s Lor Mandela,” she whispered as a revolving likeness of the planet came into focus in each eye.
Lantalia nodded. “Yessss, Atoh.” Her voice was clearly not her own. It flowed from her mouth like a deep haunting song. “I am a portion of the spirit of Lor Mandela. The rest of me resides in Anika and we are both dying.”
“What? But how . . . th . . . that would mean . . . .” Gracielle muttered.
Lantalia moved closer and locked Gracielle in her stare. Her lilac eyes glowed brightly with the now crystal clear images of Lor Mandela. As Gracielle watched, pools of large tears began to well up and flood out onto her lashes.
Just as they were about to spill from her eyes, they swiftly reversed their course, rolling back like waves—breaking violently against the glowing purple images. They swirled and twisted, swelling into torrential rapids that pounded buildings, swept away animals and people, and consumed everything in their destructive path. After a few seconds—and much to Gracielle’s relief—the waters seemed to calm and finally recede.
She kept her gaze fixed on the images as somewhere far behind Lantalia’s eyes, the sound of an eerie, distant rumbling started to build. The rumbling grew louder, and louder, and louder; the images of Lor Mandela shook and shuddered; and then—in a deafening explosion—they burst into billions of tiny pieces and disappeared in a haze of glowing purple dust.
Gracielle jumped. “No!” she cried. “Wh . . . what does this . . . Lor Mandela can’t . . . I mean . . . what does this mean?”
“Yes, Atoh, Lor Mandela is doomed. But there is one way to save us,” the voice explained. “This will be our fate unless balance is restored.”
“What do you mean?”
“Balance has been destroyed—the balance that has kept Lor Mandela alive.
Suddenly, an evil, gravelly voice seethed from across the room. “Nooooo,” it screeched. The shadow of Anika had regained consciousness. She sprang to her feet and in a smoky, black blur, sped toward Gracielle.
Lantalia instantly threw herself between them, catching Anika completely off guard. She slammed into Lantalia and fell lifeless to the ground, but the blackness that had possessed her was no longer there. It was now inside Lantalia.
Lantalia’s appearance was shocking and strange. Not quite half of her was a dark, inky shadow, while the other part of her glowed fiery purple. Her voice was distorted and strained. “Gracielle!” she shrieked, “Your daughter! She is the Child of Balance!” Her voice changed to a shrill, hissing screech, “Trysta mother . . . Borloc father . . . balance!” Lantalia struggled to continue. “The Child of Balance must . . . be . . . protected!”
All at once, the light around Lantalia intensified. She let out an ear-splitting scream and the black ripped out of her and flew directly back into Anika, who moaned and began to stir.
The voice of Lor Mandela’s spirit burst from Lantalia’s mouth again, speaking very loudly this time. “THIS IS THE ADVANTIERE OF THE TRYSTA LANTALIA! AT THE APPOINTED TIME, THE MESSAGE WILL BE UNDERSTOOD. ONLY THE CHILD OF BALANCE CAN SAVE OUR WORLD. SHE HAS ALL POWER, BUT CANNOT CALL ON IT ALONE. THE RIDDLE MUST BE SOLVED FOR, OR BY HER. TWINS MUST LIVE STILL TO PLAY THEIR PARTS, HER FATHER’S HATRED DIE FOR LOVE TO GROW, AND BALANCE BE MAINTAINED FOR THE EXACT TIME BALANCE WAS MISSING. ANY OF THESE ELEMENTS MISSED, AND LOR MANDELA WILL CEASE.”
The volume of the spirit’s voice was so great that it seemed to have a density to it. With every booming syllable, the floor and ceiling and walls bumped wildly, causing them to crumble under the heaviness of the spirit’s roaring proclamation. Chunks of plaster plummeted from the ceiling and gaping cracks ripped across the walls.
Oddly though, one wall in the room seemed completely undisturbed. As the soul of Lor Mandela spoke, a shower of red sparks sizzled across the wall, leaving behind the words of Lantalia’s Advantiere:
Destruction from twins, and so it must end.
They are the lock, yet they are not friends.
The Child of Balance can only restore.
Her father the key and she is the door.
The riddle now told, the Advantiere presents,
healing begins following future events.
ONE comes swiftly in the morning
ONE unknowing moves in haste
ONE beloved though mighty fallen
ONE is chosen to forget her place
E lahk E Ber Lor Mandela!
ONE though strong must fall forbidden.
ONE made low shall rise again.
ONE must be as these words written
Then will ONE forever reign.
E lahk A Ber Lor Mandela!
With the final syllable, the spirit of Lor Mandela rocketed out of Lantalia’s body, and retreated into the pit.
Lantalia fell limp to the floor.
Gracielle rushed to her side, but as she did, Anika—who had again become the dark, evil shadow—glided back toward her.
“I will have power,” she seethed. “There will be no Child of Balance!”
Gracielle quickly scrambled backward and raised her hand in the air. The floor creaked and a wide crack zigzagged across it; a glowing, golden, needle-thin spike bolted out of it and raced toward Anika.
It sliced a deep gash across Anika’s forearm.
“Fool!” she screeched, “Your powers are nothing! Do not attempt to cross me!” She pressed her hand against the wound which was bleeding an inky black. She slid one of her hands behind her and grabbed for something and then flicked her wrist like she was flinging an invisible object at Gracielle.
“Gracielle! Move!” A voice called out from across the room followed by a flash of gold ricocheting through the air. Gracielle fell to the ground and rolled just as a sharp, black object disintegrated less than an inch over her head. She looked up and saw Anika’s daughter, Ultara, still glowing gold standing near the door.
Lantalia was back on her feet and shouted in her own voice, “Ultara! Get Gracielle out of here! Now!” She knew that Ultara would never disobey the vritesse.
Within a fraction of a second, Ultara was next to Gracielle. Her black cloak flew upward, swirled around them, and they disappeared.
The shadow of Anika didn’t seem discouraged in the slightest by this little setback. She slinked her way over piles of broken glass and concrete to the door and set off through the palace in search of Gracielle.
Lantalia hurriedly followed.
“Anika! Stop this! You can not win!” she yelled as they reached the stained glass foyer.
Anika’s shadowy silhouette headed for the large glass doors, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Lantalia was in pursuit.
“Little Atoh?” she cackled, “Where are you? Come out, dear little Gracielle!”
Lantalia flung her arm upward and Anika’s dark shadowy form jerked abruptly, as though she had been hit by a large object.
She growled and turned to face Lantalia. “Forget about it, sister!” she sneered. “You cannot win against us!”
She raised her hand and a strange sound—like hailstones hitting glass—echoed outside the palace. All at once, hundreds of large wooden thorns broke through the walls and bulleted toward Lantalia at a startling speed.
Lantalia thrust both hands into the air and a pillar of crystal blue water—almost as wide as the foyer itself—rose from the ground. The thorns smacked into it and fell with loud clanks onto the marble floor.
“You cannot win!” Anika repeated. “I will find the Child of Balance and I will destroy her!” She pushed her hands forward and a crackling wall of black flames formed out of the air directly in front of her, sending an intensely hot wind blasting throughout the room. She opened her arms out to her sides and the dark fire surged and zipped toward Lantalia.
The vritesse made a pushing motion and the massive wall of water moved toward the flames. They collided in the center of the foyer, twisting and tangling together, forming a sizzling, spattering cyclone.
“Anika!” Lantalia yelled over the roar of the water and the loud snapping of the fire. “Stop now! Neither of us will survive this!”
“So be it!” Anika hissed. Her dark form walked through the center of the fire and water and they instantly disappeared.
She reached into her black cloak and produced a jagged charcoal dagger. “If we both must die, sister, I’ll let you go first!” She hurled the dagger ferociously toward Lantalia. No sooner had it left her hand, than it vanished in thin air.
Lantalia hesitated for a moment, but then leaned to one side as the invisible dagger grazed past her head, narrowly missing as it raced through her hair. It whizzed past her, but then reversed its course and came at her again. She turned to face where she thought it was and dove sideways just as it raced by. Suddenly, she knew what she had to do. She waited for the dagger to come at her again and then ran, full-force, toward Anika. Just before the inevitable collision, she dove to the side and rolled across the floor.
The maneuver caught Anika so off guard she didn’t have time to respond. With a loud gasp, she jerked violently and grabbed at her chest. In her hand, the shiny hilt of the dagger materialized; fully half of its blade was embedded in her coal black chest. Slowly, the blackness slid down her like thick tar seeping onto the floor. As her normal color returned, she looked pleadingly at Lantalia, and then sank to the ground. Anika was dead.
Lantalia crawled over to her just as Gracielle and Ultara ran in from one of the hallways. They stopped and glanced at each other and then raced to Lantalia’s side.
The vritesse was choking and sputtering—trying frantically to get a full breath.
“Mother?” Gracielle pleaded. She knew that with Anika dead, it was only a matter of seconds before her own mother would be too.
Lantalia fought to lift her hand. “Protect her,” she gasped, pointing at Gracielle’s mid-section.
Gracielle put her hand to her stomach and nodded weakly.
Lantalia turned her gaze to Ultara and fumbled through her cloak while struggling to breathe. “Ultara . . . .”
Ultara knelt down beside her. “Yes, Vritesse. What is it?”
Lantalia held out her trembling hand and placed it in Ultara’s. “Rule well,” she sighed.
Ultara looked down in surprise. There, in her palm, was the little silver box.
The vritesse smiled, drew in one large gulp of air, and was gone.
CHAPTER VI
THEY ARE THE LOCK, BUT THEY ARE NOT FRIENDS
After several quiet minutes in the palace foyer, Ultara's voice broke the heavy silence. “Come on, Graci,” she whispered. “We should go. There’s nothing more we can do here.”
She stood and held out her hand.
Gracielle stared at their mothers’ bodies for a few more seconds. A nauseating emptiness twisted in the pit of her stomach. Her mother was gone; it didn't seem real. Yet the evidence was right there, tragically staring her in the face. She looked up at Ultara, took her outstretched hand, and pulled herself to her feet. “I . . . I suppose you’re right,” she sighed.
Ultara put her arm around Gracielle’s shoulder. “I’ll walk you to your room, and then find someone to take care of the bodies,” she offered in a cracking voice.
Gracielle fought back tears as they started across the foyer.
A nagging voice inside her head whispered over and over again, the Advantiere . . . the Advantiere . . . the Advantiere.
She ignored it, but it repeated. The Advantiere . . . the Advantiere . . . the Advantiere.
As they entered a hallway, the voice echoed in her mind again.
Gracielle stopped. “I . . . I’m sorry, Ultara,” she said. “I just can’t seem to shake this. I’ve got to go back to the Advantiere.”
Ultara gaped in surprise. “You too?” She’d also heard a voice urging her back. “This doesn’t really seem like the right time,” she protested, “but, I don’t think either of us is going to get any rest until we take a look at that thing. I’ll get help from Koria first, and then meet you back in the room.”
Gracielle nodded in agreement.
Ultara turned and walked quickly toward the main doors, intentionally refusing to look in the direction of her mother’s body. Once outside, she ran down the palace steps and vanished in a flash of blue light.
Gracielle had to look again, just one more moment to be in the presence of the woman she loved and admired the most. She glanced over at her mother’s motionless form and tears spilled in thick streams down her fair cheeks.
The Advantiere . . . the Advantiere . . . the Advantiere. The voice returned, louder and more demanding than before. The Advantiere . . . the Advantiere . . . the Advantiere.
She drew in a deep breath and started toward the corridor that housed the Advantiere room.
She had barely taken two steps into the hall, when Ultara returned looking very agitated. She informed Gracielle that a group of Trystas were on their way, and then stomped her foot and shouted skyward, “Yes! The Advantiere! I know! We’re going!”
When they reached the room, Ultara waved her hand and the door flew open to reveal an overwhelming scene. Piles of broken glass, chunks of concrete, twisted metal, and splintered wood completely covered the once-marble floor. The only break in the mess was the huge, gaping chasm—the pit from which the spirit of Lor Mandela had come when it revealed to Gracielle that she was carrying the child responsible for saving their entire world. The very thought of it made her insides feel like they had been tied in tight knots.
Cautiously, they maneuvered through the rubble and around the hole in the floor to where the Advantiere glistened glittery-red on the wall. They stood and stared at it for several minutes.
Finally, Gracielle read aloud, “The Child of Balance can only restore.” She placed her hand on her stomach and sighed. “You know? I just found out today. I haven't even told Jonathan yet.”
Ultara touched her cousin warmly on the arm. “If it’s any consolation,” she tried, “it says, 'The riddle must be solved for or by her'. I can only assume that means this isn’t going to happen immediately. It's going to take some time.”
She smiled at Gracielle, who was looking all at once pale and green.
“I'm sure she'll be remarkable, Graci. But I don't know of any infant who can solve a riddle.”
Gracielle managed a weak chuckle. “No, of course,” she replied.
She couldn't help but allow her mind to wander for a moment. She visualized a beautiful little girl with tight black ringlets, round porcelain cheeks and vivid blue eyes. She imagined her playing—happy and carefree—while hordes of people stood around, anxiously watching; waiting for her to do something miraculous to save them all from certain doom. She didn't want that for her baby. She didn't want her to have that kind of pressure. She forced her thoughts back to the present, stared at the Advantiere again and attempted to move on.
Unfortunately, the next line she read did little to calm her. “Twins must live still to play their parts. Wait!” she gasped. “How can that be? It's not possible! I mean . . . how are they . . . how are they supposed to . . . ? They're dead!” She looked pleadingly at Ultara. “Have we failed already?”
Ultara didn't respond right away. She seemed distant—lost in her thoughts. “Maybe they’ve already played their part,” she tried.
“No,” Gracielle answered, “it says that they must live still.”
Ultara glanced away and began pacing.
“Then maybe it means the other set of twins,” she muttered.
“What?” Gracielle pressed. “What other set of twins?”
Ultara plodded back and forth for several seconds before responding.
“Nobody, Graci, and I mean nobody, knows about this. It can not leave this room, understand?”
Gracielle nodded. “You have my word.”
