Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins by L Carroll Read Free Book Online

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