and
strange. Not quite half of her was a dark, inky shadow, while the
other part of her glowed fiery purple. Her voice was distorted and
strained. “Gracielle!” she shrieked, “Your daughter! She is the
Child of Balance!” Her voice changed to a shrill, hissing screech,
“Trysta mother . . . Borloc father . . . balance!” Lantalia
struggled to continue. “The Child of Balance must . . . be . . .
protected!”
All at once, the light around Lantalia
intensified. She let out an ear-splitting scream and the black
ripped out of her and flew directly back into Anika, who moaned and
began to stir.
The voice of Lor Mandela’s
spirit burst from Lantalia’s mouth again, speaking very loudly this
time. “THIS IS THE ADVANTIERE OF THE
TRYSTA LANTALIA! AT THE APPOINTED TIME, THE MESSAGE WILL BE
UNDERSTOOD. ONLY THE CHILD OF BALANCE CAN SAVE OUR WORLD. SHE HAS
ALL POWER, BUT CANNOT CALL ON IT ALONE. THE RIDDLE MUST BE SOLVED
FOR, OR BY HER. TWINS MUST LIVE STILL TO PLAY THEIR PARTS, HER
FATHER’S HATRED DIE FOR LOVE TO GROW, AND BALANCE BE MAINTAINED FOR
THE EXACT TIME BALANCE WAS MISSING. ANY OF THESE ELEMENTS MISSED,
AND LOR MANDELA WILL CEASE.”
The volume of the spirit’s voice was so
great that it seemed to have a density to it. With every booming
syllable, the floor and ceiling and walls bumped wildly, causing
them to crumble under the heaviness of the spirit’s roaring
proclamation. Chunks of plaster plummeted from the ceiling and
gaping cracks ripped across the walls.
Oddly though, one wall in the room seemed
completely undisturbed. As the soul of Lor Mandela spoke, a shower
of red sparks sizzled across the wall, leaving behind the words of
Lantalia’s Advantiere:
Destruction from twins, and so it must
end.
They are the lock, yet they are not
friends.
The Child of Balance can only restore.
Her father the key and she is the door.
The riddle now told, the Advantiere
presents,
healing begins following future events.
ONE comes swiftly in the morning
ONE unknowing moves in haste
ONE beloved though mighty fallen
ONE is chosen to forget her place
E lahk E Ber Lor Mandela!
ONE though strong must fall forbidden.
ONE made low shall rise again.
ONE must be as these words written
Then will ONE forever
reign.
E lahk A Ber Lor Mandela!
With the final syllable, the spirit of Lor
Mandela rocketed out of Lantalia’s body, and retreated into the
pit.
Lantalia fell limp to the floor.
Gracielle rushed to her side, but as she
did, Anika—who had again become the dark, evil shadow—glided back
toward her.
“I will have power,” she seethed. “There
will be no Child of Balance!”
Gracielle quickly scrambled backward and
raised her hand in the air. The floor creaked and a wide crack
zigzagged across it; a glowing, golden, needle-thin spike bolted
out of it and raced toward Anika.
It sliced a deep gash across Anika’s
forearm.
“Fool! ” she screeched, “Your powers are nothing! Do not attempt to
cross me!” She pressed her hand against the wound which was
bleeding an inky black. She slid one of her hands behind her and
grabbed for something and then flicked her wrist like she was
flinging an invisible object at Gracielle.
“Gracielle! Move! ” A voice called
out from across the room followed by a flash of gold ricocheting
through the air. Gracielle fell to the ground and rolled just as a
sharp, black object disintegrated less than an inch over her head.
She looked up and saw Anika’s daughter, Ultara, still glowing gold
standing near the door.
Lantalia was back on her feet and shouted in
her own voice, “Ultara! Get Gracielle out of here! Now!” She knew
that Ultara would never disobey the vritesse.
Within a fraction of a second, Ultara was
next to Gracielle. Her black cloak flew upward, swirled around
them, and they disappeared.
The shadow of Anika didn’t seem discouraged
in the slightest by this little setback. She slinked her way over
piles of broken glass and concrete to the
strange. Not quite half of her was a dark, inky shadow, while the
other part of her glowed fiery purple. Her voice was distorted and
strained. “Gracielle!” she shrieked, “Your daughter! She is the
Child of Balance!” Her voice changed to a shrill, hissing screech,
“Trysta mother . . . Borloc father . . . balance!” Lantalia
struggled to continue. “The Child of Balance must . . . be . . .
protected!”
All at once, the light around Lantalia
intensified. She let out an ear-splitting scream and the black
ripped out of her and flew directly back into Anika, who moaned and
began to stir.
The voice of Lor Mandela’s
spirit burst from Lantalia’s mouth again, speaking very loudly this
time. “THIS IS THE ADVANTIERE OF THE
TRYSTA LANTALIA! AT THE APPOINTED TIME, THE MESSAGE WILL BE
UNDERSTOOD. ONLY THE CHILD OF BALANCE CAN SAVE OUR WORLD. SHE HAS
ALL POWER, BUT CANNOT CALL ON IT ALONE. THE RIDDLE MUST BE SOLVED
FOR, OR BY HER. TWINS MUST LIVE STILL TO PLAY THEIR PARTS, HER
FATHER’S HATRED DIE FOR LOVE TO GROW, AND BALANCE BE MAINTAINED FOR
THE EXACT TIME BALANCE WAS MISSING. ANY OF THESE ELEMENTS MISSED,
AND LOR MANDELA WILL CEASE.”
The volume of the spirit’s voice was so
great that it seemed to have a density to it. With every booming
syllable, the floor and ceiling and walls bumped wildly, causing
them to crumble under the heaviness of the spirit’s roaring
proclamation. Chunks of plaster plummeted from the ceiling and
gaping cracks ripped across the walls.
Oddly though, one wall in the room seemed
completely undisturbed. As the soul of Lor Mandela spoke, a shower
of red sparks sizzled across the wall, leaving behind the words of
Lantalia’s Advantiere:
Destruction from twins, and so it must
end.
They are the lock, yet they are not
friends.
The Child of Balance can only restore.
Her father the key and she is the door.
The riddle now told, the Advantiere
presents,
healing begins following future events.
ONE comes swiftly in the morning
ONE unknowing moves in haste
ONE beloved though mighty fallen
ONE is chosen to forget her place
E lahk E Ber Lor Mandela!
ONE though strong must fall forbidden.
ONE made low shall rise again.
ONE must be as these words written
Then will ONE forever
reign.
E lahk A Ber Lor Mandela!
With the final syllable, the spirit of Lor
Mandela rocketed out of Lantalia’s body, and retreated into the
pit.
Lantalia fell limp to the floor.
Gracielle rushed to her side, but as she
did, Anika—who had again become the dark, evil shadow—glided back
toward her.
“I will have power,” she seethed. “There
will be no Child of Balance!”
Gracielle quickly scrambled backward and
raised her hand in the air. The floor creaked and a wide crack
zigzagged across it; a glowing, golden, needle-thin spike bolted
out of it and raced toward Anika.
It sliced a deep gash across Anika’s
forearm.
“Fool! ” she screeched, “Your powers are nothing! Do not attempt to
cross me!” She pressed her hand against the wound which was
bleeding an inky black. She slid one of her hands behind her and
grabbed for something and then flicked her wrist like she was
flinging an invisible object at Gracielle.
“Gracielle! Move! ” A voice called
out from across the room followed by a flash of gold ricocheting
through the air. Gracielle fell to the ground and rolled just as a
sharp, black object disintegrated less than an inch over her head.
She looked up and saw Anika’s daughter, Ultara, still glowing gold
standing near the door.
Lantalia was back on her feet and shouted in
her own voice, “Ultara! Get Gracielle out of here! Now!” She knew
that Ultara would never disobey the vritesse.
Within a fraction of a second, Ultara was
next to Gracielle. Her black cloak flew upward, swirled around
them, and they disappeared.
The shadow of Anika didn’t seem discouraged
in the slightest by this little setback. She slinked her way over
piles of broken glass and concrete to the
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