Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (46 page)

Grayden scooped up the dagger and turned to
face Holden.

Just as Holden clicked a vystoran into the
sleeve, Grayden stumbled toward him and swung his arm, slicing a
long gash into one of Holden’s thighs. Holden’s leg went out from
under him and he landed on the floor with a thud.

Bridgette screamed as she watched him
fall.

Suddenly, he rolled to the side, and raised
the vystoran sleeve toward Grayden.

Grayden dove out of the way just as the
vystoran whizzed past him.

Holden quickly popped another vystoran into
the sleeve, but by the time it clicked into place, Grayden was
already sprinting away at top speed. He raced down the mall, and
within a few seconds, disappeared around a corner.

Maggie and Bridgette sped to Holden’s side.
He was lying on the floor in a puddle of deep red.

Bridgette gasped and pulled off the shrug
she was wearing. She quickly tied it around the wound in his leg,
but before she was even able to secure it, more blood was beginning
to soak through. “We need to get him to a hospital,” she cried.

She and Maggie struggled to help him to his
feet, but as they raised him up, he moaned and his eyes rolled back
in his head.

“Hurry,” Maggie instructed, “drop him onto
my back!” She hunched over as Bridgette fought to lift his now limp
body.

“This isn’t working, Mag,” Bridgette yelped.
“He’s losing too much blood!” She mustered all of her strength,
jerked him up a little higher and dropped him over Maggie’s back.
He stayed on for a second, but then slumped to one side. Bridgette
quickly spun around and leaned backwards against Maggie’s side to
keep him from sliding off.

“Okay,” Maggie instructed, “head for the
door over by Burger Deluxe . . . ready . . . go!” They had no
sooner taken their first awkward step, when the very thing Maggie
was hoping wouldn’t happen, did. The whooshing started again.

“Bridgette, move!” she wailed.

“He’ll fall off!” Bridgette cried back.

The whooshing grew louder.

“Bridge, you have to get off me!”

“Wait for
mees!
” A squeaky voice
reverberated through the empty mall. “Laaaaaady,
Wait
. . . Mees can
help!”

Maggie looked up and saw Tabbit frantically
bouncing toward them. Another whoosh sounded, and Tabbit dove
through the air, landing clumsily on Bridgette’s left shoulder,
knocking her off balance and further back into Maggie.

“Whew!” The panting little Squanki looked
into Bridgette’s horrified brown eyes, and breathed a heavy sigh of
relief, as the air around them exploded into a brilliant flash of
blue.

“
B
ridgette, move over,” Maggie insisted, hardly waiting for the
blue light to fade. “And Tabbit, you said you could help . . .
how?”

Being transported in this manner was no
longer a concern to her. Where she was and what was going on was
far more important than how she got there.

Bridgette, however, was in a state of shock,
but obeyed Maggie and took a step to the side.

Maggie twisted around and lowered Holden to
the ground. He looked pale. The leg of his denim shorts and
Bridgette’s shrug were both soaked and deep burgundy.

“Please, how can you help him?” Maggie tried
again, looking to Tabbit who was caressing Holden’s hair.

“How can you help him? Mees takes him to
Salera. Salera’s bestest.” Without hesitation, she turned around
and raised one of her little arms in the air. She rolled her hand
into a fist, and then opened and closed it repeatedly. As she did,
a small dot of glowing blue light appeared. It hovered in the air
for a moment, but then stretched down creating the same type of
thin portal that she had used to pull Maggie away from Ryannon and
his thugs. “Mees takes him quickly!” Tabbit smiled. She reached
down and slid her scrawny arms under Holden’s shoulders.

“Uh, can I help you?” Maggie asked, confused
as to how this tiny creature was going to lift Holden’s dead
weight.

“Uh . . . can I help you?” Tabbit repeated.
“Nopes.” She raised her foot off the ground, and thrust it backward
into the slit of light. In an instant, the light expanded and with
a faint “pop,” Tabbit and Holden disappeared.

“Is this . . . real?” Bridgette’s voice was
weak and shaky. “I . . . I was trying to believe you. I . . . I had
no idea.”

Maggie put her hand on Bridgette’s shoulder.
“Yeah, I know, Bubbles. Weird, huh?” She took a glance around to
see if the scene was familiar—and much to her dismay—it was.

They were standing at the edge of the
forest—not the one with the big swaying trees, but the one where
she’d been chased by a rynolt—the one where she’d seen Ryannon for
the first time—and it was no less creepy in the daylight.

Dead, mangled tree trunks and angry,
leafless shrubs twisted around each other. A sickly gray, murky
haze hung low to the ground surrounding the base of the dead
vegetation. The jagged edges of the fog looked just like gnarled,
bony fingers that seemed to have choked the life out of everything
they had touched. Beneath the gloom, long, angled rips in the soil
zigzagged like a hostile maze across the forest floor; and a dark,
sharp, crooked mountain served as the appropriate backdrop to the
disquieting scene.

“What is this place?” Bridgette breathed
quietly.

“I dunno,” Maggie answered, “but I think we
better get outta here. Come on, Bubbles.” She took Bridgette’s arm
and pulled her toward the half-dead grassy field.

They walked in relative silence. Maggie
didn’t speak because she was trying to be strong—forcing herself to
not think about or believe that her dad was gone.

Bridgette didn’t speak because she was
trying to come to terms with the fact that she was traipsing around
some foreign planet.

Suddenly, the stillness of the field was
interrupted by the startling cracking of branches in the forest
behind them. Maggie stopped in her tracks. Her breath caught in her
chest as thoughts of a giant, two-headed animal sneaking up behind
them flashed through her mind. Surely, this time she wouldn’t be as
lucky as she’d been the last.

She turned slowly as another cracking noise
echoed out of the fog. Something was moving; she could see shadows
of something through the haze.

“Bridge, if that’s what I think it is . . .
.” She didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence. The shapes of
two human-like figures came running out of the muck toward
them.

She and Bridgette both jumped.

“Wait!” She squinted and
blinked and then her mouth dropped open. It couldn’t be.
“
Dad?
” she
whispered.

The figures moved closer they came clearer
into focus.

“DAD!” she shrieked and started running back
across the field.

“Angel!” he yelled and ran toward her as
well.

Kahlie was with him, and upon seeing Maggie,
she started laughing and galloping across the field behind him.

Maggie and her dad reached each other and
Maggie dove into his arms.

He hugged her, lifted her in the air and
swung her around. “Where’ve ya been?” he chuckled as he returned
her to the ground.

“Oh, ya know,” she replied, grinning ear to
ear and crying at the same time, “only everywhere!” She embraced
him tightly and sobbed. “Ryannon . . . he . . . he said you were
dead! He said . . . he said . . . .”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed, “we probably
would’ve been, but we,” he glanced over at Kahlie, “we
escaped.”

Kahlie gently placed her hand on his arm.
“And, we probably shouldn’t be standing out here in the open,” she
advised.

“Oh, of course not,” he agreed. “Come on
girls. Let’s get outta . . . huh?” he paused and grimaced, “Uh,
hello Bridgette.” Apparently, he’d just noticed she was there.

He looked at Maggie questioningly, who
shrugged her shoulders and then wrapped her arm lovingly around
his, and leaned her head onto his shoulder. Words could not begin
to describe her current state of happiness.

“Excuse me,” Kahlie started, “I hate to bear
bad news, Atoc, but I don’t quite know where we should go.
Everything is different here.”

Maggie’s happiness was suddenly obliterated
by the sound of one word—atoc. She looked from her dad to Kahlie,
unable to fathom what had just happened.

“Dad! Why are you letting her call you that?
Why don’t you tell her who you are? Wh . . . why are you playing
along with their little game?”

“Angel . . . .”

“No!” Maggie shouted. “NO! Come on! You
can’t believe this! How can you possibly be this gullible?”

Jonathan’s expression became contemplative.
He acted like he hadn’t heard a word his daughter had screamed at
him. “Her father the key and . . . and she is the door.” he
breathed.

“WHAT!” she shouted. “What have they done to
you?!” She turned on her heels and stomped away.

“WAIT!” His voice boomed with such authority
that she didn’t dare take another step. Bridgette and Kahlie
watched as he marched up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders
and turned her to face him.

“Listen to me,” he began forcefully. “You
have to remember! Everything . . . everything depends on it.”

Maggie had never heard her father talk this
way before. She couldn’t pinpoint it. His tone, his expression, and
the confidence he exuded—something was very different.

He continued, a bit more gently, but still
with unwavering conviction, “Audril,” he looked deep into her eyes,
“Angel . . . remember.”

All at once the field around her
disappeared, and she stood alone in a large ivory room with lace
curtains fluttering in a cool breeze. To one side, a tall pearly
dollhouse sat in the corner—four little dolls were lying inside on
the floor. She walked over to it, and ran her hand along the top of
the roof.

Slowly, Kahlie—or an image of
Kahlie—materialized next to her.

“Are you all right?” Kahlie asked. Her voice
sounded like it was miles away.

Maggie turned to face her. She didn’t know
whether it was really her or not, but somehow, it wasn’t
important.

“You were over there,” Maggie answered in a
daze, pointing towards a green chair across the room. “I was
playing with my dolls.”

Kahlie nodded, but did not speak.

“You called me Buzzy . . . Buzzy Bug.”

Again, Kahlie nodded, and in an instant the
images around her changed.

Now, she was outside, standing at the edge
of a large sparkling lake. “Mystad,” she breathed.

Next to her, the tiny image of Tabbit took
shape. Tabbit spoke, but her voice was wise and serious—not the
odd, squeaky little voice Maggie was used to.

“You are the Child of Balance, Atoh.” She
rolled up and down on her toes as she spoke, and didn’t look
directly at Maggie; her words seemed to be intended for someone who
wasn’t there. “You know what it means . . . the Advantiere. Tell
the ator. Tell her, Atoh. You know what you must do.”

A faint rumbling sounded from the hills in
the distance.

Once again, her surroundings changed. She
was running down a big hallway—running and scared.

“Get in there!” It was her dad’s voice, but
she couldn’t see him.

Her feet tangled, and she stumbled and fell,
landing in a room that looked like. . . “The kitchen,” she
whispered, “the battle!” She didn’t have to see it to know what was
going to happen next.

Suddenly, there was a war all around her.
She scrambled backwards across the floor and watched as, one by
one, Kahlie, her father, and her mother all appeared in the
room.

“Kahlie, go now!”

She watched as her mother pushed Kahlie
toward the closet and a horde of warriors dressed in black burst in
through the back door. She watched as her mother’s bright blue eyes
began to glow brilliantly, sending three of the warriors screaming
to the ground in agony. She saw another warrior drop to the
ground—a knife sticking out of the back of his neck. She watched as
Kahlie grabbed his sword and started taking down more of the black
warriors.

A nauseating, sick feeling twisted through
her core. She knew what the next image would be. She didn’t want to
watch it again—it had been horrifying enough the first time.

“No,” she breathed,
“please . . .
not Momma
.”

She turned around just as one of Darian’s
soldiers thrust his sword downward toward her mother. At that very
instant, however, everyone in the room—including Gracielle—suddenly
disappeared. Everyone that is, except for Maggie and the warrior
who took her mother’s life. His sword continued downward, just as
though Gracielle was still there.

All at once, he stopped, looked directly at
Maggie, and smiled. It was a smile she’d seen before—a smile that
had made her go weak in the knees. She rose to her feet, and looked
at his eyes. As expected—black with flecks of glistening red.

“Ryannon!” she sneered.

“Atoh Audril.” He bowed, still smiling, and
then disappeared.

Now, she found herself in the room with the
big wall of windows where Ryannon had killed his own father. Only
this time, there was a plain wooden door standing in the middle of
it. There was no wall, no frame, just a door.

She started toward it, not of her own will,
but as though a giant magnet was pulling her—drawing her to the
door.

She involuntarily raised her hand and
pointed her index finger at the door’s base, and a small yellow
spark popped out of thin air where she was pointing. She lifted her
arm and the spark followed as she traced up one side, across the
top, and down the other side. Once the spark had reached the
bottom, the door slowly creaked open.