Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (3 page)

“
Anika is strong; she is courageous and
powerful—all qualities a vritesse must possess.”

Anika could not hide her smile this
time.

“
Nonetheless, as I ponder the needs of my
people, and all of Lor Mandela, I know what I must do.”

Anika’s smile vanished in
an instant and her face became tense.
What
Mother? What must you do? You didn’t . . . .
She
glanced up pleadingly at
Cristoph.

As Cristoph read the last
lines of the note in his hand, an expression of surprise played
across his face. He looked out over the crowd, cleared his throat
and boomed,
“I call Lantalia! Daughter of Satia . . .
Vritesse of the Trystas!”

The room exploded in gasps, followed almost
immediately by cheers and applause. Anika watched in a stunned daze
as her sister’s platform and the empty one at Jocelynne’s right
switched places.

Cristoph lowered the paper and commanded,
“The vritesse of the Trystas! Rise and obtain all of the Trysta
powers and keys, all authority and wisdom!”

Lantalia stood and looked out over the
adoring congregation. She glanced down at Anika, fully expecting to
see a dejected, disappointed face; but much to her surprise, Anika
was applauding right along with the rest of the delegation.

Strange, she thought to herself.

At length, when the roar subsided, Cristoph
reached down and handed her a small silver box. “Rule the Trystas
well, Lantalia,” he uttered.

Lantalia slowly opened the box. Anika seemed
most captivated as she watched her sister lift the tiny box’s lid.
All at once, a blinding flash of white light exploded from it,
filling the entire room. The light was so bright that everyone in
the arena was forced to shield their eyes. After a moment though,
the light dimmed, and spiraled its way back in, enveloping
Lantalia, and hiding her from view. Pale wisps of different colors
periodically drifted out of the light and floated down to the
ground below. After a few minutes, the light dissipated, and
Lantalia became visible again; a soft amber aura glowed around her
and lingered for several seconds.

“Atoc Cristoph,” she began in a new,
formidable voice, “I have accepted the powers bestowed by my
mother, Satia.” She looked around the room at the many council
members who all seemed delighted by her appointment. “I am
Lantalia, Vritesse of the Trystas!” Again the room filled with
applause, cheers and shouting.

“Council is hereby adjourned!” Cristoph
bellowed over the din.

One by one, the delegates exited the room,
chatting excitedly as they left. When most of them had gone, the
platforms of the Nobles slowly lowered to the ground.

Anika wasted no time. She rushed to Lantalia
and grabbed both of her hands. “Oh, Lantalia,” she exclaimed, “I’m
so happy for you!” She embraced her energetically.

Lantalia was more than a little shocked by
the overwhelming show of support from her sister. She knew that
Anika wanted to be the vritesse; indeed, this was not at all what
she expected. “Thank you, Ani. Are you sure you’re all right with
this?”

“Of course, Tali,” Anika assured, “you’ll be
a wonderful vritesse!” She smiled warmly. “Oh, I admit, I was
disappointed at first, but you’re my sister; I will support and
help you however I can. I’m not going to be a scorned loser; that’s
not what our mother would have wanted.” She hugged Lantalia again.
As she backed away, she noticed General Kort standing across the
room watching them.

“You will be my chief advisor, Ani, won’t
you?”

“Oh, Lantalia, thank you! I would be
honored.” Anika glanced over at Kort, who was eyeing her
suspiciously, and shot him a disapproving scowl.

“What is it?” Lantalia asked, turning to see
who Anika was grimacing at.

“Oh, er . . . it’s just Kort. I hope you’ll
excuse me, Tali. It seems that I am . . .” She cleared her throat
and raised her eyebrows. “. . . wanted.”

Lantalia chuckled and brushed Anika’s cheek
with the back of her hand. “Of course, thank you, Anika.”

Anika nodded respectfully
and moved toward the door. She walked up to, and then right past
Kort, and with an annoyed wave signaled for him to follow. She
walked very quickly. Even with Kort’s size advantage, he was
practically running to keep up. “
You will
be my chief advisor, Ani, won’t you
?” she
scowled, “Ghandentel!”

Once they were away from the council
room—where no one would hear a male speaking disrespectfully to a
Trysta female—Kort decided to test his limits. “Okay, Anika, what
are you up to?”

Anika stopped. She whirled around, and
stared angrily at him. “Listen to me, General.” Kort took a small
step backward, expecting to see that all too familiar glow creep
into her eyes. “I owe you no explanation! I owe you no answers! I
owe you nothing!”

“No, Anika, you don’t.” His tone was
terse.

“So then why are you
here
?
” she
insisted. “Why aren’t you pursuing my sister right now? She’s the
vritesse! She’s where the power is! We both know that’s what you
want!”

General Kort looked poised to fire back, but
all at once stopped. He shrugged his shoulders and admitted, “Okay,
Anika. You’re right. It’s the power. I can’t help it.”

Anika raised one eyebrow. “You’re obsessed
with it, Kort. It’s intoxicating to you.” She seemed just a little
disappointed. “So go ahead. If that’s what you want. Go to
Lantalia. I release you. Go!” She waved him off, trying not to show
any emotion.

“I have no interest in Lantalia, my dear,”
Kort smirked. If I remember correctly . . .” He ran his hand down
her arm. “Just a few hours ago, I was told that you would be the
new vritesse . . . no matter what.”

A mischievous smile grew across Anika’s
face.

He continued, “Why would I
want to be the entrusted of a
temporary
vritesse?”

Anika slid up to him and reached her hand
behind his head; she pulled him down and kissed him passionately.
“Come with me,” she whispered. “I have something I want to show
you.”

A
nika led Kort back to her room and rushed directly to the
rock table. She threw back the satin cover and lifted her
grandmother’s journal to her chest. “This is it, Kort!” she began.
“It was here the whole time!”

“What was?” he asked, clearly frustrated
that Anika’s ‘something to show him’ was nothing more provocative
than an old book.

“My great-grandmother’s
mother should have called
her
,” Anika explained, “but she
didn’t! She called a self-righteous, power-hungry cousin instead.
It was a plot—a scheme to overthrow the Borlocs. But Grandmother
found a way to take the powers back . . . the powers that were
rightfully hers to begin with.”

“I see.” Kort raised an eyebrow. “So that’s
what you’re trying to do?”

“Lantalia can’t do this,
Kort! She’s weak, and too good.” Anika cringed. “Besides, Mother
didn’t give any reason at all! She said I was powerful!
Me!
Did you hear any
mention of Lantalia’s strengths in her calling?”

Kort plopped down onto a large, over-stuffed
chair that looked as though it was made entirely of golden leaves.
“So you’re going to take the powers away from Lantalia? How do you
propose to do that?” he asked.

Anika started slowly flipping through the
journal; her darkening eyes studied each yellowed page before she
turned to the next. “Do you know where the powers come from,
Kort?”

Kort had heard the stories just like
everyone else in the Trysta Empire. “Um, yeah. They come from the
soul of Lor Mandela, right? Through the Koria Caverns?”

“Exactly,” Anika answered, lowering down
next to him. She held out the book and showed him a page covered
with hand-drawn diagrams and sketches of caves and rocks. “All of
the powers are gathered by the vritesse, and then harnessed in
this.” She pointed to a drawing of a small box at the bottom of the
page.

“Hey, isn’t that the box that the atoc gave
to Lantalia?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “there’s nothing
extraordinary about it; it’s just a simple little box with the
Trysta emblem scratched in the lid. But if I can get a hold of it .
. . .”

“Wait,” Kort frowned, “you just said the box
has no significance.”

“No, Kort. I said it wasn’t extraordinary.
It’s very significant! You see, my love, it’s not uncommon for the
vritesse to periodically bring that silly little box to the caverns
to renew her powers . . . you know, after a grueling battle or an
illness or something.”

“Yeah . . . uh-huh . . . so?” Kort mumbled
distractedly. At the moment, he was only partially intrigued by the
plan. Anika was sitting so close to him, so very confident and
powerful. He was having difficulty concentrating.

Anika noticed his lack of
focus and rose up out of the chair. He tried to follow, but she
held up her hand signaling for him to stay put. “Will you try to
pay attention?” she pleaded. “This is important. I have to convince
the soul of Lor Mandela that
I
am Lantalia.”

“And how, exactly do you do that?” he asked,
resignedly dropping back down into the chair.

“I’ve already taken care of the hardest
part,” she bragged.

“Oh you have, have you?”

“Yes, I have.” She looked supremely pleased
with herself. “It was tricky,” she explained. “There were a lot of
steps involved, but one of my great-grandmother’s powers was
spirit-cloning and, as it turns out, I have that ability as well. I
used it, along with my invasion powers to, um, borrow Lantalia’s
spirit while she was sleeping the other night.”

“You borrowed her spirit?” Kort stood and
moved toward her. He ran his hand down through her wavy hair,
moving it from her neck, and leaned down to kiss her.

“Come on, General!” Anika whined. She pushed
him off, causing him to lose his balance and fall back into the
chair. “Try to control yourself.”

“Fine,” he snipped, “so
you borrowed Lantalia’s spirit. I get it. Wait! You did
what?
”

Anika smirked proudly. “I invaded my
sister’s body, borrowed her soul and made myself a copy of it. Now,
I have a clone that I can use whenever I need.” Kort looked at her
like she’d gone completely mad, but she didn’t really care. She
continued as though this was the cleverest plan ever concocted. “Of
course, I had to do it before she had the vritesse powers or she
would have sensed me.”

“Of course.” Kort’s skepticism was evident
in his tone. “So, now what? You just take your little clone to the
Caverns and say something like, ‘Look, Lor Mandela! I’m Lantalia. I
just had a bad cold. I need my powers refreshed’?”

Anika glared at him. “Nooo, it’s a little
more complicated than that, my dear.” She floated across the room
while she continued. “But if all goes as planned, the powers of the
vritesse will leave Lantalia and come to me.”

“Hold on a minute. Isn’t that dangerous?
What if you get caught?”

“It’s not without risk, Kort, but I can do
it. I’m not worried. I’ve studied this thing constantly for
months.” She glided back to where he was sitting and lowered down
next to him.

“So then
poof!
You’re the
vritesse and Lantalia is powerless?”

“It will take some time for the powers to
drain from her, as the powers I get from Lor Mandela will only be
renewals. But, they’ll be enough for me to draw the real powers
away eventually.”

Kort kissed her on the forehead and asked,
“Won’t people wonder when you all of a sudden have increased
powers?”

"It won’t be hard to convince the council
that Lantalia is unfit to be vritesse, Kort . . . especially when
her powers start failing. I just need to be discreet about using my
new powers until I am called, of course.”

“Of course.” Kort traced over her cheek with
his finger. “So, when does this little soul-swap take place?”

“In the morning,” she answered. Her lilac
eyes were dim and distant. “I wish you could come, my dear, but I
have to go alone.”

“What? Why?” Kort was tremendously
disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to watch such an important
and powerful event.

“The soul of Lor Mandela will not allow any
witnesses to a vritesse renewal. It would be fatal for you.”

“Really?” he gulped.

Anika stood back up and held her hands out
to him. He took her hands and she gently pulled him to his feet.
“It’s time for you to go now, General.”

“What? But wait! No!
You’re serious?
Now?
” His displeasure was apparent.

“I need to get some rest tonight, Kort. I’ll
call for you when I get back from the Caverns.” She kissed him
goodnight and pointed toward the tree door. “I’ll see you in the
morning.”

Kort sighed. “Fine . . . Good night, I
guess.” He pouted and grudgingly, ducked out into the hall, and
disappeared behind the evergreen barrier.

Anika walked back to the chair and sunk down
into it. “As if I could rest,” she muttered to herself.

After a while, she got up and walked over
near the door arch. The sun was setting, and the room was growing
dark. She touched one of the tree branches, and a soft white glow
illuminated the walls and ceiling. Once again, she picked up her
great-grandmother’s journal, and leafed through the pages, reading
bits and pieces aloud. “Elahk E Ber . . . the balance of all . . .
grant me. . . .” She stopped and looked out across the room. “Hold
on,” she whispered, “what exactly am I waiting for?” She gazed at
the ground for a minute, collected her thoughts, and then rushed to
where she’d thrown her cloak earlier. She snatched it up—still
clutching the journal in her other arm, and headed for the door. “I
need that box!” she breathed.