Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (7 page)

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.

A
fter 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.”

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?”