The Citrine Key by L. L. MacRae

Author:L. L. MacRae [MacRae, L. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Apollo tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore Malora’s scathing glare. Thanks to the key’s protection, the three of them had managed to cross the snowy clearing without succumbing to Paragos’s flames, and they now stood in the shadow of the palace Yorik had been so desperate to reach.

It was unlike any building Apollo had ever seen before. Aside from a few months spent in Bragalia, and now this trip, he’d never been outside of Porsenthia. Everything he’d seen on this continent so far had been new. But this palace was beyond the realms of anything he could envision.

With walls of what looked like stone brushed with glass, the building’s sweeping curves and reflective, twisting spires towered into the clouds as if reaching for the spirit world itself. Rivers of crystal glittered along the floor, breaking up the drab stone with brilliant flashes of light.

Goosebumps rose on his arms as they entered through the yawning gate at the front, admitting them to the strange building. There was a pressure inside, as if nothing had moved within the walls for eons, and they were disturbing the air’s slumber.

It constricted his chest and made it difficult to breathe.

The moment he was inside, Apollo stopped walking and held his breath, listening. It was always foolish to charge headlong into somewhere new and unknown. Who knew what potential calamity waited for you behind the front door.

At first, he heard nothing other than Malora and Yorik’s footsteps ahead, slow and cautious.

Then, there was something else. A faint whisper.

He placed a hand to the wall, felt it vibrate through his fingers. Resting his ear against it, he heard the noise that caused the vibration.

Voices emanated from the walls.

A low hum that went up and down in inflection rhythmically, almost a chant. He listened, intent, trying to figure out whether there were giant chambers behind the walls, or some sort of magic was giving the stonework voice. Given how the key—and Yorik—had reacted, he’d put money on it being the latter.

‘Mal, what do you reckon? Good voices? Bad voices?’ Just because she’d been blessed by a spirit once didn’t mean she knew everything about all things magical, but she had more of a chance of understanding than he did, so he turned to her for advice.

‘Why don’t you ask your fisherman friend? He’s the one who was so determined to come here.’

Apollo didn’t need to look at her to feel the bite in her voice.

He glanced at their companion, not entirely sure what to expect. ‘Yorik? Where do we go now we’re here? That key give you any more instructions?’ He hurried away from the wall, his skin cold where he had touched it.

Animals and people had been crudely carved into the cornices, both grotesque and beautiful at the same time. Some had more eyes than they should, others had oddly warped faces, their bodies the wrong shape, and many had horns protruding from their elongated heads and backs—creatures from a nightmare.

Apollo tried not to stare at them, but felt their stony gaze fixed on himself as they walked on.

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