Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins Page 4

  Anika didn’t want to discuss that now. “Do you want to see this, or not?” she quizzed impatiently.

  “See what?”

  Anika smiled mischievously. “See the rightful vritesse receive her powers.”

  “What?” Kort gasped, “I thought I wasn’t allowed to watch.”

  “No, Kort . . . you couldn’t be with me in Koria, but I haven’t done the power transfer yet,” she explained. “Get ready, General. You’re about to become the entrusted of the vritesse!” Her voice was sing-songy and playful.

  Kort slowly lowered on to the bed and didn’t say another word.

  Anika lifted the silver box in front of her and removed the lid. A bright light surrounded her, and little wisps of color dreamily floated out of it.

  Once again she heard a voice. Only this time it seemed almost sad. “Balance . . . balance is the key. Trysta . . . Borloc . . . balance.”

  “Balance,” she repeated as the light wrapped tighter around her.

  “The powers from Lor Mandela to . . .”

  There was a long pause, and then the voice whispered, “Anika.”

  The light faded and Anika stood enveloped in a tawny glow for several minutes. She looked at Kort who was absolutely engrossed.

  “Did you hear the voice?” she asked.

  As the glow around her dissipated the most troubling change in her yet became evident. “Anika!” Kort gasped, “Your eyes!” The general appeared quite mortified.

  “What about them?” She snapped and walked over and peered into a looking glass that was on the rock table near where the book had been before. Her eyes, which were usually a sultry purple, had changed to a dull, dark black. “That’s strange,” she whispered. “The journal didn’t say anything about darkening. I wonder what’s going on.”

  Kort gawked at her from across the room.

  She started towards him, but had no sooner taken her first step when Kort bolted to his feet and flew toward her at an amazing speed!

  In under a second, he was in front of her, wide-eyed and panting. “What was that?” he asked weakly.

  Instantly, he rocketed into the air again, this time smacking against the wall with a loud thud.

  Anika shrieked. “Kort! What are you doing? Are you okay?” She rushed over to where he lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. “What’s going on?”

  Kort shrunk back as she touched his arm.

  “Don’t!” he cried, sounding like a scared child.

  Anika stepped back and stared at him.

  “Can you get up, love? Are you hurt?” she asked.

  “Please, Anika! Stop! Let me go,” he pleaded.

  “Kort!”

  She wanted him to look at her but he kept his face turned into the wall. “I don’t have a hold of you! I’m not even touching you!”

  “Annnniiiikaaaa,” he whined miserably, “noooooo!”

  She leaned down and pulled him to his feet and a loud, mournful yelp issued from his lips.

  “Kort,” she demanded, “look at me!”

  Slowly he turned his head toward her. His eyes were tightly shut. “Noooo, Anika. Please . . . I’m sorry . . . don’t . . . please . . . .”

  Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Stop! Pleeeease!”

  “Kort!” she yelled. “Open your eyes!”

  All at once his knees buckled and he went completely limp and slumped over into Anika’s arms.

  Anika lowered him to the ground and frantically tried to revive him. “Kort! Come on! What is it? Kort!”

  After a few seconds, his eyes fluttered open; he looked up at Anika drowsily.

  “Oh, Kort,” she gasped, “are you all right?”

  He shakily pulled himself to sitting and panted, “Anika, you’ve got to stop this! Something’s wrong! Please end this now! I mean it! Something is really wrong.”

  CHAPTER IV

  DESTRUCTION FROM TWINS

  It didn’t take long for Anika to realize that Kort was right. Something was terribly wrong. Although her powers were stronger, she had no control over them—no matter what she tried. In fact, they seemed to be controlling her—and Anika’s powers weren’t the only thing out of control.

  As the days passed her skin became muddy gray and her hair, which looked wild and unkempt, darkened to nearly pure black.

  Her eyes had remained black since the morning she had attacked Kort, but now even the whites of her eyes were a dull, murky gray. She had grown tired of the questions, and the whispers, and the stares, so she stayed confined to her room whenever possible.

  As for Lantalia, her powers hadn’t diminished in the slightest. In fact, since her calling to vritesse, she had been able to master almost every Trysta power imaginable and was well on her way to becoming the most powerful vritesse of all time.

  Early one evening, Anika was once again alone in her room. She stood gazing at herself in a glass, wondering what was going on and if she’d ever be able to stop it, when Lantalia’s voice blasted from the hall.

  “Anika! You’ve finally gone too far!”

  Anika spun around as the tree that normally guarded her door vanished entirely and her angry sister fumed in its place.

  “This!” Lantalia hissed.

  She moved across the room and shoved their great-grandmother’s journal toward Anika. “So, this is what you’ve done?” she sneered, dropping the journal at Anika’s feet.

  “Where did you get that?” Anika’s voice was scratchy and deep. “That’s mine!”

  Lantalia glared at her in disgust. “You left it in my room the night I was called! I was too busy to look at it . . . until last night.” A fiery magenta glow rose in her eyes. “What made you think this would work, Anika?”

  As the glow in Lantalia’s eyes surged, a painful electrical charge twisted through Anika’s body. She winced, but refused to give her sister the satisfaction of seeing her cower in pain.

  “How dare you!” she growled, “Mother was foolish to choose you! You’re nothing!”

  Lantalia had to force herself to turn away and break her torturous hold. “I should have known you were lying, Anika,” she sneered. “All of that, ‘Oh, Lantalia! I’m so happy for you’ and ‘that’s not what Mother would want’ rubbish!” She whirled back around and faced her sister. “Now look at you! You’re hideous and weak!”

  Anika glowered at Lantalia for a moment, but then began cackling wildly. “No, my dear Lantalia! You’re the weak one! I am becoming invincible!” She appeared positively mad as she shoved Lantalia hard and staggered across the room.

  “Anika! You’ve gone too far!” Lantalia repeated, both anger and concern evident in her tone. “Do you have any idea? Do you even know the seriousness of what you’ve done?”

  Anika scowled bitterly; her black eyes glared in disdain. She raised a dark arm and pointed it at her sister and the room began to shake violently. “Leave now, Lantalia,” she seethed, “or I swear, I will kill you!” Her voice was evil and coarse.

  “You can’t kill me,” Lantalia calmly responded. A quick wave of her hand and the shaking stopped. “We’re twins, Anika. You kill me, and you’ll die too.”

  Anika snarled like a caged animal and then charged toward Lantalia with every intention of attacking. All at once her black eyes rolled back in her head and she slowly rose into the air.

  “Twin! Soon you will have no power over us!”

  The voice was coming from Anika’s mouth, but it wasn’t Anika’s. It was bizarre—a single voice, neither male nor female, and yet somehow both; the volume of the voice was earsplitting. “We made you, Lantalia, and we will destroy you!” Two powerful bolts of silvery electricity shot from Anika’s eyes.

  Lantalia spun out of the way, narrowly avoiding the bolts which crashed in an explosive shower of sparks against the wall behind her. She looked up at Anika, who was hanging in the air in a trance-like state. Lantalia closed her eyes and began to chant in a monotonous drone. “Reloia sa . . . reloia sa . . . reloia sa.” As she breathed the strange chant over and over and over, a low hum surged in and out through the air. The hum grew stronger until the air itself began to vibrate in visible waves. The volume of Lantalia’s chant rose to meet the volume of the hum.

  The humming and chanting climaxed in a thunderous explosion which rippled throughout the entire palace, shaking the walls and floors violently. With her eyes still tightly shut, Lantalia raised her arm skyward and yelled, “reloia sa, reloia sa, reloia sa!” and made a flicking motion like she was throwing an invisible object at her sister.

  Anika’s shadowy body twitched and shook in the vibrating air; then, all at once, she fell hard to the floor, landing awkwardly on her right shoulder.

  Lantalia rushed to her side and lifted her in her arms. “Anika? Anika! Wake up,” she demanded gently slapping Anika’s cheeks.

  Anika’s eyes blinked open. She groggily whispered, “Lantalia? Wh . . . what’s happening to me?” Her mood was the polar opposite of what it had just been and her voice sounded normal.

  “Anika,” Lantalia blurted, “when you were receiving the powers, did you hear a voice?”

  Anika nodded feebly. “Yes,” she wheezed. She was getting weaker by the second.

  “Stay with me, Anika!” Lantalia persisted, “What did the voice say?”

  She took a few shallow breaths. “Balance . . .” she muttered. “It said something about balance.”

  “Balance?” Lantalia asked. “Anything else?”

  “Yes . . . .” Anika’s eyes slipped shut.

  Lantalia shook her to keep her conscious. “Come on, Anika. Stay awake! We don’t have much time! What else did it say?”

  “It said . . . it was giving me . . . the powers.”

  Lantalia shook her again. “It said the ‘powers to Anika’, but from where? From where, Anika?”

  Anika’s head slumped onto her chest. “Fr . . . from . . . Lor Mandela,” she gasped laboriously and then slipped into unconsciousness.

  Lantalia lowered her sister to the ground and somberly rose to her feet. “From Lor Mandela?” she gasped. She slid down onto the edge of the bed and stared at Anika’s limp body. “Oh, you fool! What were you thinking?”

  Just then, Anika stirred. She moaned and rolled to the side.

  Lantalia quickly sprang to her feet and raced for the door. She waved her arm and again, the branches of the tree disappeared and she darted from the room.

  Anika struggled to lift herself from the floor and rubbed her aching shoulder. The tree branches rematerialized without her even noticing that they had been gone. “Oh, what now?” she questioned aloud, having no recollection of what had just taken place.

  She took a few steps across the floor and stumbled on something. “What in the . . . ?”

  There, at her feet, lay her great-grandmother’s journal where Lantalia had dropped it. She reached down and picked it up.

  “Where did this come from?” she asked. She couldn’t remember when she had seen it last. She ran her hand over the faded burgundy cover and pulled it open. “Elahk E Ber,” she sighed shaking her head, “what have you done to me?”

  Meanwhile, outside Trysta Palace, Lantalia hurried toward Koria—for the Caverns. She knew what Anika had done, and why, but hoped that if she acted quickly the remaining consequences of her sister’s stupid actions could be avoided. When she reached the cave, she headed directly for the rock platform; she had barely stepped out onto it when she shouted, “Stoi Cantara, Lor Mandela!”

  A quiet voice seeped up out of the Caverns. “Only the vritesse can call on the spirit of Lor Mandela.”

  She took a deep breath. “Forgive me, kind and gracious one. I am Lantalia, daughter of Satia—and Vritesse of Lor Mandela.”

  The voice answered, a little stronger this time. “Vritesse Lantalia, or the twin? What is the blood in your veins? The soul has been corrupted.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, “my sister has corrupted it. However, my soul is pure.” She paused, and then added, “I invite you to determine.”

  The voice was slow to respond. “Vritesse Lantalia, are you aware of the danger?”

  “I am,” she answered, “but it’s the only way for you to be safe, wise spirit.”

  “Very well,” the voice replied.

  A sudden breeze swirled throughout the Caverns, quickly escalating into a ferocious wind. Dust, leaves and even small rocks whizzed through the air.

  Lantalia stood amid the debris and did not move. Her hair and clothes blew violently in the intense wind, but she maintained a statue-like stance. As the wind grew stronger and stronger, bright flashes of red light began slicing through the air, zipping and popping all around her, narrowly missing her. Had she flinched at all, the bolts would have cut through her like a sword and she knew it. She remained frozen in place for several seconds until the lights and the wind finally calmed, and eventually ceased.

  The voice spoke again. “Lantalia . . . the true vritesse of the Trysta people . . . you have come to me to save your sister. Is it not so?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “But why, Vritesse? She stole your spirit, did she not? Stole it, and then cloned it?”

  Again she answered, “Yes.”

  “A twin spirit cannot be cloned,” the voice scolded. “The clone will be corrupted and corrupt all that it contacts.”

  Lantalia nodded; her eyes filled with tears. “I’m afraid it has corrupted her and . . .” She paused as a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. “It’s also corrupted you, hasn’t it?”

  This time the voice replied, “Yes.” After a long silence, it continued. “The corrupt part of my soul—the darkest portion—even now possesses your sister. She is dying, Lantalia, and I am dying because of her.”

  Although Lantalia knew this in her heart, the verbal confirmation pierced her to her core. “But surely there’s a way to stop this! What can be done?” She feared what the answer might be—unfortunately, it was that exact answer that followed.

  “She must die, Vritesse.”

  Lantalia dropped to her knees.

  “And therefore, I am so sorry to say, beloved Lantalia, you must die as well.”

  Lantalia nodded mournfully. Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks.

  Again, there was silence.

  After several agonizing seconds, she whispered almost inaudibly, “What about you? Our entire world is doomed then, isn’t it?”

  The spirit’s voice was slow to respond. “There is a way,” it whispered. “Perhaps . . . yessss, if balance is restored . . . yesss, that’s it!” Again, the spirit of Lor Mandela seemed to gather strength. “You must go to your daughter,” it advised. “You must go to Gracielle.”

  “Gracielle?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine what she had to do with any of this.

  “Yes, Gracielle,” the voice of the soul replied. “Go to her quickly. Once you are with her, call on me, and I will show you both what can be done. There’s not much time, Vritesse. Every moment is crucial. The process must be initiated immediately.”

  “Of course.” She bowed reverently.

  Suddenly, another voice echoed through the Caverns. “Vritesse! Vritesse, are you here?” It was General Kort, and he sounded frantic.

  There was a rapid swoosh as the spirit of Lor Mandela retreated back down through the center of the Caverns.

  Lantalia quickly tried to pull herself together. “Kort? I’m up here!” She stood, blotted her cheeks with the back of her hand, and brushed the dust from her knees.

  Kort appeared at the bottom of the path, visibly agitated. Vritesse! Come quick! Hurry! It’s Anika!”

  CHAPTER V

  THE ADVANTIERE

  Lantalia didn’t wait for an explanation. The details didn’t matter. Anything that was happening with Anika right now was certainly not good. She rushed to Kort and the two of them took off at a full run back toward the palace.

  Once they reached the gate, Kort tried to explain. “Ultara is with her . . . she just fell and started thrashing around. We couldn’t get her to stop! And . . .” His eyes grew wide as he added, “She’s totally black now!”

  Lantalia touched Kort on the shoulder and nodded. She hurried off ahead of him toward Anika’s room.

  Ultara met her at the door. “Vritesse!” she blurted, “she’s gone!”

  “Wh . . . what do you mean? She’s dead?” Lantalia tried to remain calm despite the panic twisting inside of her.

  “No, Vritesse,” Ultara explained, “she just vanished. She was jerking and convulsing for almost an hour. A few minutes ago she stopped. I thought she was coming out of it, but then she whispered something about Gracielle and disappeared.”

  “Oh no!” Lantalia gasped. “She knows!”

  Without further explanation, Lantalia dashed down the hall and out of the palace. She ran through the doors and while in a full sprint shouted, “Mandela Palace!”

  In a flash of blue, she vanished and reappeared again outside a sprawling cluster of grandiose white buildings, in the center of a large courtyard. She ran past rich emerald hedges and up a large stone staircase. As she approached the top, she waved her arm, and the set of tall etched glass doors leading into the palace foyer bolted open.

  “Gracielle!” she shouted feverishly, “Graaaciiieelle!” She sped through the elegant foyer, which was surrounded by stories-high stained glass and marble, and into one of the many tan hallways leading from it. The usually bustling palace was oddly silent. “Gracielle!” she shouted again as she maneuvered through the corridor.

  Suddenly, there was a loud bang and a lot of commotion at the end of the hallway. Without hesitation, she flung her arm skyward, and one of the doors a few feet away blasted open. A thick, pewter fog billowed ominously through the open door.

  The same strange voice that had possessed Anika in her room before oozed out from the fog. “Please, Gracielle. We need your help.” The voice was eerie and hypnotic. “Just take our hand.”

  “No! Don’t!” Lantalia burst into the room. She was completely enveloped in a bright magenta light.