ATLANTION - LAYLA BOOK1

Part 40 Layla

They carved the gate out of the cliff, shaping it into a fierce beast with an open mouth. Layla couldn't tell if it was a gargoyle, a lion, or a Chimera. The gate's black iron teeth clamped shut like a trap, and then, with a deafening rumble, they opened. A tall figure emerged from the shadows—it was one of the Decay Brothers. Layla's heart pounded with fear, her blood thrumming in her ears.

She knew she shouldn't fear, but fear was all she could feel in that moment. The Dark Duke turned to her, his emerald green eyes watching her with pity. Layla bristled at the feeling of being pitied; she was better than that. She clenched her teeth and fists so tightly that her nails dug into her skin, reminding her of the night she almost died in the forest. But she had survived, she was a fighter, and she refused to let anyone take that from her.

As she gazed at the Dark Duke, she realized that he was not the same man she had seen in the Arena. Gone was the careless man who lounged on a siren's lap and reveled in the spectacle. In his place was a cunning, malicious figure who emanated a dark charm. Layla wondered who the real Dark Duke was, and she knew that she couldn't trust anyone in this place.

He studied her too, and Layla felt the weight of his piercing gaze before he strode away without stopping or asking her to follow.

"Are you passing, my lady?" asked the guard with a rusty voice. Layla had almost forgotten about him, but now she had to face the Fear guard all by herself.

She watched as his bony hand gripped a giant, vicious sword; the metal was dark, but it glowed in the light of the two magical purple moons that hung above the citadel. Finally, Layla gathered her courage and walked toward the gate. The moment she stepped in front of Fear, his purple eyes twined with the moons above.

Layla smiled at the sight, enjoying the beautiful purple hues that reminded her of the pansies that grew under her window. She looked up at the moons with longing and admiration, trying to remember where that window was. A fragment of her past surfaced, filling her soul with joy. She remembered nothing else, but it was a start. A pleasant fragrance enveloped her mind, drowning her in a river of pansies.

"So, you don't fear me anymore, my lady?" asked a pleasant, youthful man's voice.

Layla was confused. Gone was the decaying skeletal face, gone was the blood-chilling Fear that had held her in place. Now in front of her was the face of a handsome young man with neon purple eyes, cold and beautiful. His armor under the cloak was no longer empty; healthy flesh filled the breastplates, and intricate leather gloves covered human hands that gripped the same black iron sword.

The guard inclined his head and motioned for her to hurry toward a second gate, no less menacing than the first one.

The second of the Decay Brothers stood guard, looking just as intimidating as his name, Terror, suggested. Up close, he was no more pleasant to look at than when Layla had seen him in the Arena. Bits of flesh hung from his bony arms, and patches of dried skin flaked off. His blood-red demon eyes made Layla hesitate. The massive hammer he had used in the Arena lay a few feet away, rusty and dirty. Unlike his brother, Fear, this guard didn't seem to care for his weapon. As Layla studied his intimidating figure, she wondered if he even needed a weapon.

Layla waited for a long time, but neither the guard nor anyone else came to her aid. Her feet ached, and there was nothing to sit on except the gates themselves. Not even a rock was in sight, only a dark forest of dead trees.

Layla had seen the Decay Brothers fight in the dark Arena and knew how fast and ferocious they were. But she was good at running, too, especially when her life was in danger. As she glanced at the hammer and its engraved runes and intricate motifs, she wondered about the massive distance between it and its owner. Without thinking, she put her fingers on the runes, and they popped as the metal warmed up. She sat on the hammer, hoping that Terror wouldn't notice.

From her vantage point, Layla saw the thousands of windows and corridors that glowed on the dark, intricate walls of the tower. Giant torches above domes and passages illuminated the path of tiny figures that lurked in the distance. It was a terrible and beautiful sight, mystical and dark.

The arctic wind cut through Layla's battered red tunic, and her feet burned on the icy rock. A howl broke the silence, followed by other cries. Grim shadows with bulging red eyes rustled in the dried black forest. Layla looked at the guard and wondered if he was indifferent to the commotion. But then he turned his head toward her as the howls came closer. Layla stood on the guard's hammer like a statue on a pedestal. At that moment, she thought she heard a chuckle. Did that skeletal mummy laugh? Layla frowned and scowled at him.

As the dried thorns nearby rustled, Layla leaped toward the gates, using the guard as her salvation. She clamped her teeth as she ran past him.

Layla had been prepared to see the third gate guard, Torture, but the entrance was empty. She peered into the vast courtyard, admiring the black marble paving and the beautiful fountains that pushed their sparkling spray over the dried foliage. Rows of mythical creatures poured streams from their hands, snouts, or pottery. In the center of the yard stood a colossal statue of a voluptuous siren patting a black dragon's head. The scene was tender, inappropriate for the menacing atmosphere of the citadel.

Layla passed the fountain and almost bumped into a man in a black and brown suit with intricate battle gear. His feet were covered in soft leather boots, and his knees and shins were protected by iron plates bound by red and black leather belts and ribbons. He had no eyes, and a cascade of braids, bound with iron buckles, fell over his face, crisscrossed with black leather cords. He had a face that could be called lovely and intelligent, even beautiful, with soft lips. The enormous black hair in front of his eyes was distracting.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked, propping his elbow on the banister. He held a very long and terrible spear hidden under his cloak.