imagined him capable of
hatred.
“I don't know, Graci,” he muttered. “I want
her imprisoned.”
Suddenly, his expression grew harsh and
vengeful. “Actually, no,” he seethed, “she deserves the same fate
she dealt them. If my thinking that counts as hate . . . then I
guess I do.”
Gracielle gaped at him. They stood there in
silence for several minutes.
It was Jonathan who finally spoke. “We need
to write this down and work on it every available moment,
Graci.”
“But we have to be careful,” she reiterated.
“It's just us. No one else can know.”
Jonathan only partially agreed. “Only until
we get to a point where we need more help.” Before Gracielle could
object, he added, “Listen, Graci, I want to protect our daughter,
and our people every bit as much as you do. But if we can't find a
way to save Lor Mandela on our own, we won't be protecting anyone!”
He started back toward the door. “I'm going to go get something to
write this down on.”
Jonathan left Gracielle standing in front of
the Advantiere. She lowered herself onto the edge of a broken bench
and read the part that the spirit had called 'The riddle.'
“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.” She
breathed a heavy sigh as she stared at the glittering red enigmatic
prophecy. “So, what does this all mean? And where are these twins
supposed to come from now?”
CHAPTER IX
THE CHILD OF BALANCE
M onths went by, but the meaning of the Advantiere and its
riddle continued to be elusive. Jonathan had copied it down into a
small, green, leather book and he and Gracielle pored over it
whenever they could. Yet somehow, there always seemed to be pieces
missing—more that they needed in order for anything to connect.
Despite their efforts, Lor Mandela continued to deteriorate and
decay. Many areas of the planet had become uninhabitable. Entire
countries perished in tumultuous floods followed by bitter
freezing, while others were destroyed by drought and intense heat.
Savage winds ripped through cities, demolishing buildings, lifting
large trees, and smothering anything that breathed in a thick
blanket of suffocating dust.
Interestingly, however, the destruction
seemed to be following a pattern. The areas that were hit first,
and the hardest, were the ones with few or no inhabitants, followed
by the regions on the far east side of Lor Mandela—those furthest
away from Mandela City. It was as if the spirit of Lor Mandela was
somehow controlling how it died—doing it in a way that would allow
for life on the planet to be preserved as long as possible.
The deaths that had occurred were a result
of those too stubborn to evacuate when it became necessary—or of
the murders that were, sadly, becoming more prevalent as tension
and fear escalated.
Notwithstanding all of the peril and
uncertainty, however, today was a day of rejoicing. Gracielle had
just given birth to a beautiful, healthy, baby girl named
Audril.
“Are you warm enough, Ator?” Gracielle's
companion servant, a young, red-haired, freckled girl, reached for
a blanket.
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Thank you, Kahlie,” Gracielle
answered groggily. “I'm fine.”
“The doctor said he’ll be back in a while to
give Audril a good checking over.”
Kahlie smiled and looked at Audril, who was
fast asleep. “Sure is amazing . . . isn't she?”
“Yes, she is,” Gracielle agreed,
“Kahlie?”
“Yes, Ator?”
“When the atoc gets back, I want you to go
and get some sleep. You've been up all night with us.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Kahlie smiled
cheerfully. Besides, I have lessons to do.” She twisted her face up
into a scowl. “Tur Helene says that if I don't stop daydreaming and
focus on language studies . . . .” she breathed heavily, “as if
hatred.
“I don't know, Graci,” he muttered. “I want
her imprisoned.”
Suddenly, his expression grew harsh and
vengeful. “Actually, no,” he seethed, “she deserves the same fate
she dealt them. If my thinking that counts as hate . . . then I
guess I do.”
Gracielle gaped at him. They stood there in
silence for several minutes.
It was Jonathan who finally spoke. “We need
to write this down and work on it every available moment,
Graci.”
“But we have to be careful,” she reiterated.
“It's just us. No one else can know.”
Jonathan only partially agreed. “Only until
we get to a point where we need more help.” Before Gracielle could
object, he added, “Listen, Graci, I want to protect our daughter,
and our people every bit as much as you do. But if we can't find a
way to save Lor Mandela on our own, we won't be protecting anyone!”
He started back toward the door. “I'm going to go get something to
write this down on.”
Jonathan left Gracielle standing in front of
the Advantiere. She lowered herself onto the edge of a broken bench
and read the part that the spirit had called 'The riddle.'
“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.” She
breathed a heavy sigh as she stared at the glittering red enigmatic
prophecy. “So, what does this all mean? And where are these twins
supposed to come from now?”
CHAPTER IX
THE CHILD OF BALANCE
M onths went by, but the meaning of the Advantiere and its
riddle continued to be elusive. Jonathan had copied it down into a
small, green, leather book and he and Gracielle pored over it
whenever they could. Yet somehow, there always seemed to be pieces
missing—more that they needed in order for anything to connect.
Despite their efforts, Lor Mandela continued to deteriorate and
decay. Many areas of the planet had become uninhabitable. Entire
countries perished in tumultuous floods followed by bitter
freezing, while others were destroyed by drought and intense heat.
Savage winds ripped through cities, demolishing buildings, lifting
large trees, and smothering anything that breathed in a thick
blanket of suffocating dust.
Interestingly, however, the destruction
seemed to be following a pattern. The areas that were hit first,
and the hardest, were the ones with few or no inhabitants, followed
by the regions on the far east side of Lor Mandela—those furthest
away from Mandela City. It was as if the spirit of Lor Mandela was
somehow controlling how it died—doing it in a way that would allow
for life on the planet to be preserved as long as possible.
The deaths that had occurred were a result
of those too stubborn to evacuate when it became necessary—or of
the murders that were, sadly, becoming more prevalent as tension
and fear escalated.
Notwithstanding all of the peril and
uncertainty, however, today was a day of rejoicing. Gracielle had
just given birth to a beautiful, healthy, baby girl named
Audril.
“Are you warm enough, Ator?” Gracielle's
companion servant, a young, red-haired, freckled girl, reached for
a blanket.
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Thank you, Kahlie,” Gracielle
answered groggily. “I'm fine.”
“The doctor said he’ll be back in a while to
give Audril a good checking over.”
Kahlie smiled and looked at Audril, who was
fast asleep. “Sure is amazing . . . isn't she?”
“Yes, she is,” Gracielle agreed,
“Kahlie?”
“Yes, Ator?”
“When the atoc gets back, I want you to go
and get some sleep. You've been up all night with us.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Kahlie smiled
cheerfully. Besides, I have lessons to do.” She twisted her face up
into a scowl. “Tur Helene says that if I don't stop daydreaming and
focus on language studies . . . .” she breathed heavily, “as if
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