Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins, page 8
The room was silent; nothing happened. Several minutes passed, and still nothing.
Suddenly, a Lor Mandela Palace Guard burst in through the middle door and shouted, “By order of Atoc Jonathan, the Council is in recess until further notice!”
All at once, confused conversations filled the room. None of the delegates could recall this ever happening before. Council Meetings just weren't spontaneously canceled. But perhaps the most bizarre thing was what the guard had said. “By order of Atoc Jonathan”. It didn't make any sense. What was going on? Where were the Nobles? And why was Jonathan being referred to as atoc?
There was such a commotion, that no one noticed Darian—who was the only one not acting frantic. In fact, he stood calmly on his platform, not saying a word, grinning ear to ear with the flames in his eyes flaring maniacally. When his platform finally lowered to the ground, he nearly sprinted from the room and strode out of the palace to where an entourage of shiny silver vehicles waited. He stepped into one of them and told the driver to get him home . . . quickly! Within seconds the whole entourage was speeding noisily away. As the convoy raced toward Brashnell, he raised both arms in the air and smugly placed them behind his head. He stared out the window and chuckled, “This is perfect! Well done, my dear Ultara.” The fires in his eyes intensified. “Very . . . well . . . done!”
CHAPTER VIII
THE LAST OF THE TWINS
In the days following the brutal deaths of Jocelynne and Cristoph, evidence began to surface that Lor Mandela itself was dying. Trees and plants withered; the water levels of streams, lakes and oceans receded; and one of the two moons that usually illuminated the night sky had gone completely dark. Throughout Lor Mandela earthquakes shook crumbling hills and mountains; violent storms raged; and volcanoes that had slept for centuries suddenly awakened with a fiery fury.
In Mandela City, tension was escalating. Unpredictable weather patterns and un-natural disasters kept everyone on edge, but as soon as news leaked out that Ultara had murdered the atoc and ator, a general sense of hostility, which had never before been present, arose between the Trystas and the Mandelans.
Ultara had gone into hiding, and a huge wall had been constructed around Trysta Palace. No one—unless they were Trysta—was allowed in, and even though Gracielle was a Trysta by birth, she was no longer welcome in Koria.
Now, another disturbing report regarding Ultara was being delivered to Jonathan. His personal guard—a gruff-looking, stocky, older gentleman named General Davids—brought him the news.
“What is it, Davids? Has Ultara been found?” Jonathan asked anxiously as the general approached.
“No, sir,” Davids explained, “but it seems she had a good reason for rushin’ out on you and the ator that morning. She got a troubling message about her daughter, Nenia.”
“Nenia?” Jonathan questioned.
“Yes, sir. Apparently she's gone missin’.”
Jonathan's despise of Ultara was—for a moment—replaced by concern. “Missing?” he inquired. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Atoc,” the general explained, “I heard that she and some other Trysta girls were out near the Sybran. Seems they were attacked by a rynolt. Nenia was carried off, and accordin’ to what I've heard, she hasn't been seen since.”
Jonathan bowed his head sadly. He cared about Nenia. She was such a pleasant, intelligent girl. “But wait!” he blurted suddenly. “A rynolt attack . . . during the day? Rynolts don't attack in daylight, and since when do they carry off their prey?”
Davids shrugged. “Sir, with all of the strange things goin' on, what with the plants and the moons and all, I've heard a lot of people sayin’ their pets and livestock are actin’ really strange lately. Maybe it's makin’ the wild ones act up too.”
“Perhaps,” Jonathan replied, “I just wish I could figure out what's going on. It's like the whole planet’s gone haywire.”
Just then, Gracielle entered the room. “Hello, my dear . . . hello, General,” she greeted warmly.
“Good Afternoon, Ator,” Davids replied and bowed humbly.
“Graci,” Jonathan began, “Davids has just told me the most remarkable thing. It's quite sad though.”
“Sad?” she asked. “What is it?”
Jonathan repeated what Davids had told him about Nenia.
Gracielle’s reaction to the news was far more extreme than Jonathan had anticipated. “Oh, no!” she wailed. “This is dreadful! She can't be missing!” She grabbed Jonathan by the front of his shirt and cried, “Oh, Jonathan . . . you have no idea how horrible this is!”
Jonathan was bewildered by her frantic outburst, but then assumed that her emotions were being affected by her pregnancy. “Graci, I understand. It is horrible. I'm sorry. Maybe I should have figured out a better way to tell you.”
Gracielle shook her head. “No! It's just . . . . Oh, Jonathan,” she whimpered as big tears began streaming down her cheeks, “what will we do now?”
Jonathan put his arms around her and held her to his chest. “I know, Love. She's part of your family. Shhh, it'll be okay,” he soothed.
Slowly, she leaned away from his embrace and wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. “No, Jonathan, you don't understand. Without Nenia . . . .” She paused for several thoughtful moments.
“Without Nenia, what?” He pressed. “What is it, Graci?”
Gracielle decided that she couldn't keep Ultara’s secret any longer. Jonathan was the atoc, and he had to know. She nodded towards Davids, who'd been standing silently in a corner. “Please excuse us, General.”
He bowed and backed out of the room.
She waited until he was out of sight, and then took Jonathan by the hand. “There's something I need to show you,” she sighed.
With all of the mayhem surrounding the deaths of Lantalia, Anika and Jonathan's parents—and with her own new position as ator—Gracielle hadn't really found time to study the Advantiere or to figure out a way to tell Jonathan about it without divulging Ultara’s secret. But now, one of the twins was gone. She didn't see how the Advantiere could possibly be fulfilled. Her only hope was to show it to him—ready or not—and see if he had any ideas.
As they approached the hall that housed the hidden Advantiere room, Jonathan asked, “What is it, Graci? What could be so important over here?” He had not been in this part of the palace for over a month. He had no need to come here—it was just old servant's quarters that were in the process of being renovated.
Gracielle stopped outside of where she’d sealed the demolished room almost two weeks earlier and stared at the blank wall. Slowly, she lifted her arm and a minuscule yellow spark jumped up near the floor. It buzzed and popped and gradually moved upward. Within a few seconds, the shape of a simple wooden door became visible. The little spark continued zipping across the top and down the other side of the door and then sputtered a few times and faded away.
“What's this?” Jonathan asked, taking a hold of the door handle and turning it.
“Wait!” Gracielle blurted. “I need to prepare you. This room will be a bit of a shock.”
“Why?” he grimaced as he continued turning the handle. The latch clicked and he pushed on the door.
Gracielle grabbed his arm forcefully and held him from going any further. “Don't.” Her voice and expression were very serious. “There’re some things you need to know before we go in there.”
Jonathan released the door handle. “Okay, so just tell me, then,” he relented grudgingly.
“The reason all of these strange things are happening . . .” Gracielle’s eyes were filling with tears again. “Is that Lor Mandela is dying.”
“Wh . . . what do you mean?” He looked at her and half chuckled like it was some kind of joke.
“It all started when Anika tried to steal the vritesse powers from my mother,” she explained. “Somehow the spirit of Lor Mandela became diseased by her actions.”
“Anika diseased the planet?” He sounded skeptical.
“Yes. The spirit itself spoke to me through my mother. It told me that it is dying, and that the only way it can be saved is if certain events take place.”
“Wait!” Jonathan blurted. “What are you talking about, Graci? The whole planet just can't die!” In his mind, this didn't seem logical—or at all possible. Unfortunately, he also knew that where Trysta magic was involved, logic was rarely a factor and the impossible often happened.
Gracielle didn't answer. She simply lifted her arm and the door slowly swung open.
Jonathan's jaw dropped. He stood in stunned awe of the scene before him. The room looked like it had been destroyed in a violent storm. Very few parts of it were even recognizable. There were piles of twisted debris and mangled furnishings everywhere, all surrounding a huge, gaping pit in the floor.
Gracielle stepped into the room and maneuvered around a large chunk of concrete that lay just inside the door.
Jonathan quietly followed. They scaled the piles of rubble, climbing over what they couldn't go around. Jonathan had just begun inching his way around the pit, when he noticed the Advantiere burning brightly on the wall in glittering red letters. “What’s this? What's going on, Gracielle?” he asked.
She had already gone around the hole in the floor, and was standing near the Advantiere herself. “I'm sorry I kept this to myself.”
“Oh, I'm sure you had a good reason for keeping something like this from the atoc,” he barked indignantly.
“I did,” she snapped back, “but I'm showing you now, so please . . . .” She didn't finish her sentence; she just stepped to the side and pointed to the glowing words on the wall. “These,” she sighed, “are the events that must take place to save Lor Mandela.”
Jonathan was already reading through the Advantiere. “You said that Anika diseased the planet?”
“Yes. She was trying to take over as vritesse.”
“And that's what's causing the weather, and the animals, and . . . .”
“Yes.” She couldn't tell if he was fully grasping the concept or not.
“Child of balance?” he mumbled, “Ours?”
She nodded.
“So, this is who told you we were having a girl?”
Gracielle nodded again.
“Twins must live,” he sighed heavily. “Wait a second! So because Anika and Lantalia . . . ? Is this why you wouldn't tell me? Because the twins are gone? Did you honestly think I—the highest ruler in Lor Mandela—didn't need to know that we're all doomed!”
“That's not it, Jonathan!” she retorted loudly. “I didn't tell you because . . . .” She'd given her word to Ultara that she wouldn't tell her secret, but Jonathan was right. As the high ruler of Lor Mandela, he needed to know. “I didn’t tell you because of the other twins.”
“Other twins?” Jonathan's expression changed from angry back to skeptical. “There aren't any other twins. There haven’t been other twins for over a hundred years.”
“Yes, there are . . . or, at least, there were.”
She took a deep breath and told Jonathan everything. She explained how Ultara had altered Nenia, and that Ryannon—Darian's son—was her twin brother. “Ultara made me promise not to tell anyone, but now, with Nenia gone, I don't know what we can do!”
At that moment, Jonathan realized why Gracielle had gotten so upset about Nenia's disappearance. Nenia had a part in the Advantiere, but was no longer around to carry out the role she had to play. He stared unresponsively at the words shining on the wall. “Maybe the answer is still in here somewhere,” he mumbled, rubbing his forehead. “We'll need to get some of our best minds working on it right away.”
Gracielle looked at him like he was out of his mind. “Jonathan! We can't!” she insisted.
“Why not! We need other opinions . . . other views!”
“But Jonathan,” she pleaded, “if word gets out that our baby is the ‘Child of Balance,’ she’ll never have any peace; I doubt she'll even be safe! I don't feel right telling anyone else about Nenia and Ryannon, either. Besides, it says right here that the riddle must be solved for or by her. She can’t solve it if she hasn’t even been born!” Gracielle was now pacing wildly in the small space available in front of the wall. “Oh . . . and how, exactly, do you think people will react to the news that Lor Mandela is dying? You know it’ll cause world-wide panic! We need to keep this between us! The state of the world depends on it!”
Jonathan felt like his head was going to burst. Thoughts were racing rampant through his mind, piling haphazardly one on top of another. They all seemed to end in one horrific image though—Lor Mandela disintegrating into a fiery oblivion. He was overwhelmed and—for the first time in his somewhat sheltered and protected life—very frightened.
After a few uncomfortably silent seconds, he turned his attention back to the glowing crimson message on the wall.
“Her father's hatred die for love to grow?” he read. “What is that supposed to mean? Am I just supposed to forgive Ultara for killing my parents?”
Gracielle looked at him with a somewhat stunned expression on her face. “What? Do you really hate Ultara?” she asked. She knew that Jonathan was angry over his parent's deaths—and justifiably so—but she never imagined him capable of hatred.
“I don't know, Graci,” he muttered. “I want her imprisoned.”
Suddenly, his expression grew harsh and vengeful. “Actually, no,” he seethed, “she deserves the same fate she dealt them. If my thinking that counts as hate . . . then I guess I do.”
Gracielle gaped at him. They stood there in silence for several minutes.
It was Jonathan who finally spoke. “We need to write this down and work on it every available moment, Graci.”
“But we have to be careful,” she reiterated. “It's just us. No one else can know.”
Jonathan only partially agreed. “Only until we get to a point where we need more help.” Before Gracielle could object, he added, “Listen, Graci, I want to protect our daughter, and our people every bit as much as you do. But if we can't find a way to save Lor Mandela on our own, we won't be protecting anyone!” He started back toward the door. “I'm going to go get something to write this down on.”
Jonathan left Gracielle standing in front of the Advantiere. She lowered herself onto the edge of a broken bench and read the part that the spirit had called 'The riddle.'
“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.” She breathed a heavy sigh as she stared at the glittering red enigmatic prophecy. “So, what does this all mean? And where are these twins supposed to come from now?”
CHAPTER IX
THE CHILD OF BALANCE
Months went by, but the meaning of the Advantiere and its riddle continued to be elusive. Jonathan had copied it down into a small, green, leather book and he and Gracielle pored over it whenever they could. Yet somehow, there always seemed to be pieces missing—more that they needed in order for anything to connect. Despite their efforts, Lor Mandela continued to deteriorate and decay. Many areas of the planet had become uninhabitable. Entire countries perished in tumultuous floods followed by bitter freezing, while others were destroyed by drought and intense heat. Savage winds ripped through cities, demolishing buildings, lifting large trees, and smothering anything that breathed in a thick blanket of suffocating dust.
Interestingly, however, the destruction seemed to be following a pattern. The areas that were hit first, and the hardest, were the ones with few or no inhabitants, followed by the regions on the far east side of Lor Mandela—those furthest away from Mandela City. It was as if the spirit of Lor Mandela was somehow controlling how it died—doing it in a way that would allow for life on the planet to be preserved as long as possible.
The deaths that had occurred were a result of those too stubborn to evacuate when it became necessary—or of the murders that were, sadly, becoming more prevalent as tension and fear escalated.
Notwithstanding all of the peril and uncertainty, however, today was a day of rejoicing. Gracielle had just given birth to a beautiful, healthy, baby girl named Audril.
“Are you warm enough, Ator?” Gracielle's companion servant, a young, red-haired, freckled girl, reached for a blanket.
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Thank you, Kahlie,” Gracielle answered groggily. “I'm fine.”
“The doctor said he’ll be back in a while to give Audril a good checking over.”
Kahlie smiled and looked at Audril, who was fast asleep. “Sure is amazing . . . isn't she?”
“Yes, she is,” Gracielle agreed, “Kahlie?”
“Yes, Ator?”
“When the atoc gets back, I want you to go and get some sleep. You've been up all night with us.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Kahlie smiled cheerfully. Besides, I have lessons to do.” She twisted her face up into a scowl. “Tur Helene says that if I don't stop daydreaming and focus on language studies . . . .” she breathed heavily, “as if me misplacing a word on a test is gonna change how I scrub floors!”
All at once Kahlie gasped and her eyes widened. “I don't mean . . . I don't enjoy . . . it's not that I . . . I,” she stammered.
Gracielle smiled. “It's okay, Kahlie. I'll speak to Tur Helene.” She held out her hand and Kahlie took it. “A young woman at your age must have her beauty sleep. Studies can wait until tomorrow.”
Kahlie giggled and nodded.
Just then, Jonathan peeked around the corner of the door. He smiled lovingly at Gracielle and walked across the room to her bed, pausing just long enough to tousle Kahlie’s bright red curls as he passed.
