Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins (22 page)

After what seemed like several minutes, she
grabbed my hand. Her gaze was still fixed on her little girl.

“
Kahlie,” she said, with an expression of
utmost concern on her face, “promise me something?”

“
Anything you wish, Ator,” I
replied.

“
Have you ever met Darian of Brashnell?”
she asked me, strengthening her grip slightly when she said his
name.

I told her I hadn’t, but I'd heard of
him.

She said, “I fear that Darian is not to be
trusted. We've tried to keep an alliance with him, but he is
dangerous— more so now than ever before.”

I nodded and listened as she went on.

“
He's after Audril. He overheard me
telling someone that Audril is the key to stopping all of this
chaos, and now he wants her so he can gain control over
everything!”

I didn't understand. I was trying to figure
out a polite way to ask her what she was talking about, when she
looked me right in the eyes and said, “DO NOT let anything happen
to Audril, Kahlie.”

“
Of course, Ator,” I answered, “I would
guard her with my own life if necessary.”

She acted as if she hadn't heard me at all.
“You have no idea just how important she is; Lor Mandela will die
without her. You have to . . . .” She stopped in the middle of her
sentence and stared in shock at the hills behind the lake. And
that's when I heard the noise.

It started as a low hum that steadily grew
to a thunderous roar. On the horizon, in every direction, a thin
line of black started to appear. It was then that I realized what
was happening. The army of Brashnell was flowing over the
foothills, spilling into Mandela like a gigantic swarm of bees.

Terror gripped every part of me as countless
thousands of Warriors and beasts—all adorned in glistening
black—moved closer and closer.

Gracielle’s words, “DO NOT let anything
happen to Audril,” echoed over again and again in my head.

I felt like my soul and body had somehow
separated, as I picked Audril up with one hand, grabbed Gracielle
by the arm with the other, and pulled her with me toward the
palace.

Gracielle was yelling back at Tur Helene to
get to the plaza and rally the troops.

I could tell that she was only hearing part
of what the ator was yelling at her, but she understood enough to
run toward town.

As the great army grew nearer, the thunder
was punctuated by the distinct sounds of hoof beats and clanging
armor.

Gracielle spun around and waved her arm. A
huge crack opened up in the ground in front of us, separating us,
at least momentarily, from the oncoming horde. I looked back to the
town, and saw hundreds of our own soldiers running at full-speed
toward the palace.

I grabbed Gracielle's arm again, and pulled
her across the courtyard. I had the feeling that had I not been
there, she would have stayed and tried to take on Darian's Army all
by herself.

The moment we reached the stone steps, she
began to scream out for Atoc Jonathan. We ran through the large
double doors, into the grand marble foyer. The atoc was nowhere to
be seen.

Gracielle pulled me toward a hallway that
led to the kitchens and the servant’s quarters. I was still holding
Audril, who was crying and obviously very frightened. Gracielle was
frantically trying to find the atoc. She kept shouting his name,
but there was no reply.

As we moved down the long hall, I saw a man
at the other end of it, running toward us. He was in full battle
armor and a cloak with a hood so we couldn’t tell who he was— or at
least, I couldn’t.

Gracielle let go of me and flew down the
hallway as though she had wings on her feet. “Jonathan!” she
shouted.

When she reached him, the atoc embraced her
quickly and motioned back toward the kitchens. He quickly pushed
the three of us behind a large cupboard and told us to stay
put.

At that moment, I realized that the battle
had not only reached the palace, it was in full-force all around
us. Outside of our kitchen, soldiers were killing each other with
swords, vystorans, spike darts and axes. Others—servants and
soldiers alike—were being slaughtered as they tried to escape.

“
Kahlie,” Gracielle’s whisper startled
me. “Inside that closet behind us there is a door. It’s in the
floor, under the shelves that line the back wall. It leads to
tunnels that run under ground. The tunnel on the left will take you
to the Anaria. Get Audril and GO! Jonathan and I will be right
behind you!”

“
But, Ator,” I protested, “YOU and your
family must get to safety!” You're the last Borlocs! I can create a
diversion so that you and Audril won’t be seen, and so the atoc can
break free as well. I would never forgive myself if I left and
anything happened to one of you!”

I’d no sooner finished speaking when at
least a dozen Black Warriors burst in from a door at the back of
the kitchen.

“
KAHLIE, GO NOW!” Gracielle was pushing
me toward the closet.

Although the atoc was extremely outnumbered,
he was battling ferociously. He was taking down Brashnell warriors
as quickly as they were coming at him.

More Black Warriors ran in through another
back door directly behind us.

We were no longer hidden. In addition, all
of our escape routes—including the one in the closet—were cut
off.

Gracielle's eyes glowed bright blue and
three of the Brashnell soldiers fell screaming to the ground.

Atoc Jonathan picked up a knife from one of
the tables, and flung it at one of the Black Warriors near us,
hitting him squarely in the back of the neck. He fell to the
ground, and at that moment I knew what I needed to do.

I lunged toward the fallen warrior and
grabbed his sword. I don’t recall ever handling a sword in my past,
but I wielded it as if I’d been dueling all of my life. Nothing had
ever come so naturally to me.

One by one, I defeated the Black
Warriors.

As I turned to face another attacker, I
realized that one of them had made their way to where Gracielle and
Audril were.

Gracielle was trying to shove Audril into
the closet, as still another of Darian's soldiers was charging
toward them. Gracielle turned to face them, when another one
appeared behind her.

I ran for him as fast as I could, but it was
too late. He raised his sword in the air, and thrust it forcefully
into Gracielle’s back, and she fell, lifeless, to the ground.

Jonathan screamed and charged at the smiling
warrior as I stood motionless; too shocked to do anything.

The Brashnellan soldier looked at Jonathan
and then at Audril, who'd run crying into a corner.

A look of panic swept over the atoc’s face
as he realized that his daughter had become the new target of this
evil warrior.

Both the atoc and the Brashnellan Warrior
ran toward Audril. I charged toward her also, but I was twice as
far away from her as the two men were.

Atoc Jonathan reached her first, sliding on
his knees and grabbing her around the shoulders. He turned and put
her behind him, but as he did, the Warrior raised his sword high in
the air and lunged toward him.

I watched in horror as the enemy’s sword
thrust downward toward Jonathan’s skull.

All of a sudden, there was a loud dull THUD
and time seemed to stand still. I saw every detail of what was
going on around me. Audril was back in front of the atoc, and had
her head buried in his chest; there were two more warriors near the
door to the hall who stood watching as the atoc was about to be
slain; and Gracielle lay on the floor, her lifeless eyes staring
into the heavens.

At that moment, Audril turned around and
looked right at me. She nodded and raised her small arm into the
air; my arm flew into the air with hers. I didn’t have any control
over it—she was controlling me! She opened her mouth to speak, but
as she did, the words yelled out of my mouth instead. “ELAHK E BER
LOR MANDELA!”

I had no idea what I’d just said, what it
meant or where it had come from. But, as soon as the words left my
lips, there was a startling CRACK and a flash of blue light . . .
and everything was gone! The atoc was gone. . .Audril was gone. . .
The warriors were all gone. All that remained was my dear
Gracielle’s body . . . and me.

I stood alone in a quiet kitchen, in a quiet
palace. I let the sword slip out of my hands; the only sound that
echoed through the halls was it, clanging against the brick
floor.

That is all I know. I am frightened, and I
am alone. I know I must leave the palace, but I fear what I will
find. I’ve written this because I don't know what will happen to me
once I do leave.

If you are reading this, YOU MUST TRY TO
FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO AUDRIL! PLEASE! Her mother said that Lor
Mandela will die without her. We need to find her—no matter
what—please . . . find Audril!

*^*
Part
Tw
o
*^*

I
t was a phrase Maggie Baker had heard a million times. Her
father, Nathan seemed especially skilled at repeating it. “Be
careful what you wish for, Smaggs. You just might get
it.”

Despite his warning,
Maggie went right on wishing. She longed for something—anything
that would exalt her from the mundane, non-eventful,
duller-than-dirt existence she had come to despise. Somewhere deep
inside her, she felt that she was destined for so much more than
the commonplace and her dad’s
repetitious
recital of
the tired old
adage only
made her crave
excitement all the more. Maggie didn’t realize, however, that her
dad’s over-used cliché was about to become a surprisingly accurate
premonition. “Be careful what you wish for, Smaggs. You just might
get it.”

It all began at quarter past four in the
afternoon on a sweltering Friday in August. Maggie’s Godfather, Dr.
Paul Brockman, who had been staying with them for the last week,
was packing to return home to Connecticut when he received a phone
call from an officer of the Glenhill, Iowa Police Department.

Now, he found himself standing in the
kitchen of the Bakers’ old Victorian farm house in the midst of a
situation which, despite his years of training as a physician, was
nonetheless quite awkward.

Before him stood a soaking wet Maggie
clothed in nothing, save a faded blue bath towel (hence the
awkwardness.) Her arms were folded, and there was a hint of
indignation on her slightly freckled face.

“What on Earth were you thinking, Maggs?”
scolded the doctor, trying not to look in the wrong place or appear
too unnerved by Maggie’s near-nakedness. “I thought you had more
common sense than to do something this crazy?”

Maggie tucked a sopping black curl behind
her ear and plopped dramatically onto a pumpkin-colored, vinyl
dining chair. “Oh, please! C’mon, Doc. I don’t see what the big
deal is. It’s a hundred and three out, and that pit of a house out
by the pond has been vacant for almost two years; nobody would’ve
even seen us if it hadn’t been for Lorrine. Besides, what else is
there to do in Glenhill? Seriously . . . life here is absolutely,
nauseatingly boring! If I didn’t at least try to mix it up, I’d
keel over from a lack of stimulation!”

“Ahhhh, so I see we’re still on the ‘my life
is so boring’ kick.” The doctor breathed a heavy sigh. “Ya know,
Boo, sometimes boring can be good.”

“Uh, yeah, right,” snipped Maggie, “well, my
life is way too boring. I mean, how much more blah could it be? I
live in Dullsville, U.S.A.; I go to Ho Hum High; my dad is a
freakin’ accountant, for heaven’s sake! Face it, Doc; I am the
Mistress of Mediocre!”

Dr. Brockman choked on a laugh. “Mistress of
Mediocre, huh?” He rolled his emerald eyes and shook his head. “Now
I see why they voted you Vice President of the Drama Club.”

“Ha, ha,” Maggie grimaced,
“ya know, none of this would have happened if Miss Perfectly
Perfect Lorrine would’ve just come with us. She’s supposed to be
our friend, but the first time we try to do anything even remotely
adventurous, she runs home and tattles. So
not
cool!”

“Oh, come on, now. Don’t go blaming this all
on Lorrine,” he rebuked. “It isn’t her fault you made a poor
decision, Boo. She was just looking out for . . . .”

“WHAT! You’re kidding me, right?” Maggie
blurted, jumping up from the chair—her fair face reddening with
rage. “Why don’t you get it? We were just trying to have a little
fun!”

She moved around the table
until she was uncomfortably close to Dr. Brockman. “I am
so sick
of this dinky
little town, and my pathetic excuse of a life!”

The doctor took a step
backward but Maggie quickly compensated by stepping forward again.
“Nothing
ever
happens here!” she continued bellowing. “You . . . you got to
travel all over the world when you were my age! But if I want any
excitement, I have to make it myself! And then you just say . . .
you can stand there and act . . . how could you? I thought you
cared!”

She stomped hard on the floor, causing the
tucked-in corner of her bath towel to un-tuck and slip downward.
Frantically, she grabbed at the loosening wrap, but to no avail.
The edge of the towel slid through her fingers and dropped to the
floor.

Dr. Brockman slapped his hands over his eyes
and turned away.

Maggie shrieked and snatched up the towel. A
flood of crimson washed across her face, as she rushed from the
kitchen, both mortified and infuriated.