Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (51 page)

He lifted Ultara into his arms, and blurted,
“She stopped it; she stopped it to save the atoc.”

“What?” Jonathan gasped, dropping to his
knees at Ultara’s side, and looking pleadingly at Glaron, “What can
we do?”

Ultara sputtered and coughed. “Don’t trouble
yourself, Jonathan. You’ve done all you can. You need to know
though; I didn’t kill them . . . your parents . . . it was
Darian.”

His eyes saddened. “I’m
sorry, Ultara,” he breathed. “I should have trusted you. You saved
us. None of us . . .” He took her by the hand. “
None of us
would have survived this
had it not been for you.”

With his words, the water that had been
steadily rising around the bolder chamber started to slip quickly
back into the ground.

“
Dad . . . I think it’s
finished,” Audril muttered with a somewhat surprised expression on
her face. “That was the final thing that had to happen.” She stood
silently for a moment, and then breathed, “His hatred die for love
to grow.”

Glaron looked up at her questioningly.

The water continued to soak back into the
soil as Audril surveyed the bleak scene.

The fields, once green and lush, had been
reduced to mud and rocks. All of the bushes and shrubs that had
lined the lake were ripped out and lying in tangled masses around
its banks. Several people, who had been carried away, were swimming
back to the shores of Mystad—some of them dragging with them the
bodies of those who had not made it.

Kahlie, Glaron, Jonathan and Bridgette all
tried to help Ultara, who was coughing and gasping for breath.

And then, it started.

At first, it was nothing more than a low
hum, but it didn’t take long for the hum to turn into a dull
rumbling.

Audril looked skyward and
shouted,
“What?
No! It’s done! It’s over!”

She began replaying the Advantiere again in
her mind. “One comes swiftly, Darian! One unknowing, Glaron!”

The rumbling amplified.

“One beloved, Gracielle! One chosen to
forget, Nenia! One though strong must fall forbidden.”

She couldn’t remember right away whose face
had appeared on the wall after Nenia’s? Who was it? She closed her
eyes, and the elusive image came sharply into focus. “Ultara,” she
breathed. She looked over where Ultara lay, and sighed sadly,
“Ultara.”

The rumbling grew, and seemed to be moving
closer.

Audril continued through the Advantiere.
“One made low shall rise again.”

She didn’t have to try to remember who the
next picture had been; as she glanced at her dad she witnessed
first hand the fulfillment of that line. A humble accountant from
the Midwestern United States, restored to his rightful place as the
High Ruler of an entire world.

“One must be as these words written.”

She thought for a moment. The next picture
had been Ryannon’s. Her immediate assumption was that by attacking,
Ryannon had satisfied his part of the Advantiere but then she
gasped, “No, wait a minute!”

She scanned the field for any sign of the
dark form that Ryannon had become. “Where is he?” she cried.

But it wasn’t Audril who spotted him first.
Kahlie had already sprung to her feet and was racing back across
the field toward a slightly hunched, heaving, shadowy figure that
was staggering back toward them.

The moment he saw Kahlie, he too started
running.

They raced toward each other. Kahlie drew a
sword, and Ryannon produced one as well.

The rumbling of the planet was growing more
and more deafening by the second.

“That’s it!”
Audril screamed, “That’s what’s missing!” She
looked back across the field. Kahlie and Ryannon were still
charging at each other, and only a few yards away from colliding.
“It wasn’t Ryannon! It was Ryannon and Kahlie!
One must be as these words written!”

Ultara bolted to sitting and looked at her
wide-eyed.

The rumbling was shaking everything, and was
getting closer . . . and closer!

Audril kept her gaze locked on Ryannon and
Kahlie. Their swords crashed together, and as they did, Kahlie
started to glow white. It was exactly what Audril was waiting
for.

The whole world was reeling. Again, everyone
was being held in place by the movements of the gyrating ground.
Everyone it seemed, except Kahlie and Ryannon who were dueling
ferociously as though nothing else was happening around
them—Ryannon, an evil, dark, corrupt monster, and Kahlie a good,
strong, noble, pillar of light.

“Destruction from twins, and so it must
end,” Audril mouthed.

She knew what had to happen. Lor Mandela had
to be restored; it had to be made whole again—and the process was
almost identical to the way it had been divided. She started in an
awkward gallop towards Ryannon and Kahlie. The movements of the
planet made it very difficult to move—but she had to! She had to
get to Kahlie and Ryannon.

She gritted her teeth in determination, and
forced herself to go faster.

Suddenly, she remembered the power she
possessed. “The Anaria!” she shouted loudly, and in an instant
appeared within just a few feet of the duel.

Ryannon took a step backward, and thrust his
sword in toward Kahlie’s stomach. Kahlie—who had been momentarily
distracted by Audril’s sudden appearance—wasn’t ready for it. His
weapon was less than an inch away from plunging into her
midsection, when Audril thrust her arm into the air.

As she did, both Ryannon and Kahlie’s arms
that had been holding their swords flew upward. Audril could feel
the resistance from both of them, as they fought to regain control
of their arms—but she kept her elbow locked and her arm
extended.

They both looked at her with shocked
expressions.

“What are you doing?” Kahlie yelled.

Ryannon just growled.

“Destruction from twins, and so it must
end!” she repeated, and then…despite the fact that she was the one
moving her lips, no sound came from her. Instead, the words
exploded from the mouths of Ryannon and Kahlie. "ELAHK A BER LOR
MANDELAAAAAAAA!”

Suddenly, the black shadow that possessed
Ryannon shot into the sky. The white light that enveloped Kahlie
also raced into the air. They twisted around each other, each
seeking to devour its opposite.

The white light wrapped steadily around the
black until it had almost completely choked it out.

All at once, however, the blackness expanded
and in a crackling roar, overtook the white. A heavy darkness
blanketed the planet. There was a brief pause in the rumbling, and
then, a monstrous explosion rocked through the atmosphere—and
everything disintegrated into magenta dust.

C
ountless tiny specks of brilliant white light flickered and
floated through the charged air. Where there had been seemingly
unending chaos just moments before, there was now a pervasive
silence, peace and calm. The sparkling particles descended,
drifting down onto the battle ravaged landscape, falling like
glistening, rejuvenating raindrops—and rejuvenate they did. No
sooner had the miniscule flecks landed, than thin shoots of green
grass sprouted up in the muddy fields. Shrubs and trees that had
been ripped from the ground in the flood were replaced as new ones
wriggled and stretched up toward the light.

Audril was stunned to find that she was
still standing—still alive. She quickly patted herself all over to
make sure everything was intact, and then glanced around and saw
many of the people in the field doing the same. In the city, people
crept out of their houses, looking about in surprise. Occasional
whispers permeated the shocked silence. The whispers were replaced
by excited chatter, and then, one by one, everyone started to
cheer. Whoops of delight and thunderous applause piled on top of
the cheers, creating quite a commotion throughout Mandela City and
the fields surrounding Mystad Lake.

“Magiiiieeee!” Bridgette
squealed from a few feet away, running over and wrapping her arms
around Audril. “Sorry! I mean Atoh Audril,” she giggled playfully
and bowed. "You did it! You
really
did it!”

Audril couldn’t speak. She was so relieved
that Bridgette was alive, and she was alive, and her dad and
Kahlie, and Glaron—they were all alive! Even Ultara seemed to be
doing better. She was sitting up on her own, and smiling warmly at
Glaron who was doing a goofy little dance.

Jonathan slowly walked to where his daughter
stood. Tears streamed down his dusty cheeks. He didn’t say a word;
he just grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug. Emotion
overcame them both as they cried together, and then started
laughing.

They were just moving back from their
embrace when Glaron tapped Jonathan on the shoulder. “Atoc, the
vritesse would like to speak with you.” His expression was
uncharacteristically solemn.

Audril glanced over to where Kahlie was
sitting, holding Ultara, who was again sputtering for air. “Oh,
no!” she breathed as she followed her dad to the vritesse’s
side.

“Ultara,” he began, but she stopped him
before he could say anything else.

“I don’t want . . .” she coughed a few
times, “your sympathy, Atoc.” She drew in a sharp breath and
continued. “I have lived the life I was born to live, and now, I
just ask that you let me have an honorable death.”

Jonathan struggled to remove any sign of
emotion from his face. “What do you want me to do?” he asked
soberly.

Ultara leaned forward, wincing in pain as
she moved. “Just make sure I get away,” she instructed. “Don’t let
me die here.”

With great strain, she
rose to her feet, took in a deep breath. She pulled her shoulders
back and lifted her head. “I, Ultara, Daughter of Anika and
Vritesse of the Trysta People, call you,” she looked directly at
Kahlie who slowly rose to her feet as well. “Nenia,” Ultara
continued in a much softer tone, “as my wise and able successor.”
She reached into her cloak, pulled out the little silver box, and
placed it in Kahlie’s hand. “Rule the Trystas well, my daughter.”
She bowed humbly and then turned, as if nothing were wrong, and
sprinted off.
“The depths of the
Caverns!”
she yelled loudly as she ran,
but then collapsed into a heap on the ground. Suddenly, there was a
loud pop, and Ultara vanished.

Kahlie stood staring at the little box in
her hand. Jonathan walked up behind her and placed his arm lovingly
around her shoulder. She spun into his chest, and he wrapped his
other arm around her. He was still holding her when General Statlen
ran up behind them.

“Sir,” he interrupted.

“Yes, General?”

He moved Kahlie back gently from the
embrace.

“Forgive me, Atoc. It’s, um . . . it’s about
Ryannon.”

“What about him, Statlen?”

The general explained, “Captain Morringe and
several of his men took him into custody shortly after the
explosion.”

“Excellent,” Jonathan replied, “congratulate
Morringe for me!”

General Statlen paused for a moment.

“Morringe is dead, sir. Ryannon killed him.
He caught them off guard . . . killed them all, and then ran off,
sir. He ran into the Sybran.”

Jonathan wasted no time.
“Trystas and Dwellers! To the forest! Squanki! Destroy all of the
portals! Find Ryannon!
Now!”

His command boomed through the valley, as
the Trystas shot into the sky, and the Dwellers faded into the
shadows.

Audril stood off to the side, watching the
search commence, but then felt something sharp press into her
back.

“Shhh, not a sound,” Ryannon’s voice
whispered behind her.

He pulled her backward—back toward the
forest.

“How do you feel about dying, Atoh?” The
bleak indifference in the tone of his question sent icy chills
racing through her. “You’re about to find out,” he hissed.

“Dad!” she screamed. Everyone in the meadow
spun around.

“Ryannon!
No!
” Jonathan cried and
raced toward them.

Ryannon watched at the frantic atoc, and
laughed. He spun himself in front of Audril and plunged a long
dagger straight into her chest.

Jonathan gasped and dropped to his
knees.

No one moved. All eyes locked on Audril.

Ryannon took a step back and stared at her
with both intrigue and shock in his eyes.

Jonathan slowly rose back to his feet. His
mouth was gaping open. “What the devil?” he breathed.

There, with the sleek black dagger handle
protruding out of her chest, Audril stood, completely
unaffected.

Audril was every bit as shocked as her dad,
but at the moment, her surprise was greatly overshadowed by a sense
of rage. She glared at Ryannon in contempt and disgust. “How dare
you,” she seethed. “Haven’t you done enough?”

She reached down and grabbed a hold of the
dagger handle. Slowly, and with her eyes fixed on Ryannon’s, she
slid the dagger out of her chest.

Ryannon watched with a sick aroused
fascination.

“How do
you
feel about dying,
Ryannon?” she sneered as the tip of the dagger’s blade appeared at
her sternum. She took a step toward him. “
You’re
about to find out!” In a
fluid twist, she flipped the dagger around and placed it at his
throat.

An evil smirk spread across his handsome
face. There was no fear in his eyes—only the hint of an obsessive
enthrallment with Audril’s apparent immortality.

“Not yet, love,” he hissed, and flung his
arm upward—knocking the dagger away from his neck and out of
Audril’s hand. He grabbed her and kissed her hard on the lips,
“I’ll be back for more of that later,” he sneered, and then turned
and disappeared into the darkness of the Sybran.