The Twilight Thief: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (Thrones of Midgard Book 1)

by J. Levi

  The glowing lights appear to get bigger, but I know they aren’t. They’re getting closer. I urge as much strength into my legs as I sprint after the prince. I manage to reach him, slamming into his body causing both of us to nearly collapse. He lets out a guttural moan as I shake his shoulders and hiss, “What are you doing?”

  The clicking grows louder, accompanied by dull screeches. The blue lights sway faster, and the caustic rattle of dirt shuffling all around grows louder. I pull the hunting knife from my belt notch and the small dagger blade from my leather boot. I press Cas into my back as I swing blindly in a circle. The blue lights surround us now, swaying, clicking, and hissing.

  Long pikes penetrate the haze of blue light, pelting the earth. Fear consumes me as my heartbeat overpowers the screeching hisses. Cas doesn’t appear terrified, merely entranced, like a moth drawn to a flame. Shit.

  I instinctively pull at my magic. It’s still there, but as I command it to pull us through its void to wisp away, it slips from my grasp.

  “Damnit,” I breathe. “Fuck.”

  A few paces away, something large lunges forward. It swipes over us as I kneel, pulling Cas down with me. A splatter of mucus braises my arm, and I instantly drop the hunting knife. When I reach for it, I notice my arm is limp, useless, dangling lifelessly.

  It’s paralytic.

  I swing my dagger blade against a prickly pike that slams into the dirt beside us, gouging into its shell. A loud squeal pierces our ears, and the earth beneath us rumbles. Through the darkness and ruffled desert dust, a dozen more black, prickly pikes stampede towards us.

  The glowing blue lights radiate brighter, revealing the beastly predators stalking us. Giant hairy grotesque arachnids. Their pincers twitch, and the glowing lights emanate from the underside of their bellies—hundreds of beady black eyes perched above razor-sharp fangs that clatter between serrated pincers, oozing greenish ichor—the paralytic mucus.

  I reach for Cas, shocked when I realize he isn’t beside me. I circle frantically until I see his body, limp and languid, being dragged off by a monstrous spider. The remaining glowing lights scurry away, fading into the darkness. I chase veraciously after Cas. My paralyzed arm debilitated and swinging senselessly. My feet slip and drag against the crusty soil, heart soaring in my ears, my panting burning deep in my chest, and my lungs threatening to burst. Pins and needles prick the flesh of my paralyzed arm, the beginning signs my senses are returning. At least the paralysis is short-term. That’s somewhat good news.

  Suddenly, the earth gives way under my weight, crumbling. I free-fall briefly until I slam into a tunnel floor, tumbling with the momentum. When I finally cease, I clamber to my feet. The tunnel floor and walls are tacky, my boots and hands struggle to pull away. Thick threads glow a pulsating blue as if the tunnel breaths. My movements send ripples of light, barreling through the tunnel, sinister hisses respond.

  A brief moment, I consider how valuable the spider silk is until I hear Cas scream, his shrill voice twists and distorts as it travels through the web-slicked mine.

  I delve deeper into the shaft, my dagger blade gripped tight in my hand. I’ve started to regain feeling in my paralyzed arm, but not any control, a few fingers twitching occasionally.

  I emerge from the tunnel into a large, cavernous grotto. Malformed glowing sacs dangle from the cavern ceiling, braced by stalactites. Black pearl beads embedded into the sacs, wriggling and seething. My stomach contorts, and a lump forms in my throat. I feel queasy as the cavern sways while I bite back the urge to vomit.

  Cas is in the center of the vast chasm, dangling upside down while a large, spindly arachnid sprays a string of webs around him, encircling him into a cocoon, unmoving, but he’s screaming horrifically.

  From a massive opening emerges another spider, several times larger than the rest. The other arachnids swarm around it, crawling against its boney legs and its bulbous abdomen. It occasionally snaps its pincers, making a thunderous sound. The scurry of spiders hissing melds with Cas’s shrill cries. I feel overwhelmed with the urge to flee but my gut wrenches at the thought of abandoning Cas.

  Protect him, a resounding voice commands within my mind. I recognize the voice as my own, but the finality and power enthralled into it shake me to the core as the instinct overtakes my good senses to flee, and I rush to Cas.

  I move through the den, leaping and dodging through scurrying legs. My hunting knife serrating against anything nearby. The hiss and drum in the cavern become deafening. From the side, a web-spinning spider tackles me to the floor, spider silk spraying against my body and securing me to the cavern floor. I shift the hunting knife, desperate to cut free. My paralyzed arm regains function again, but it’s bound by web silk.

  The sinewy legs of my assailing predator jab into my cocoon, a few stabs into my chest and legs. I growl in pain, but webs spray across my face, muffling my voice.

  Panic consumes me as the bitter chalk taste of the web overwhelms my tongue. I’ve drawn close to death many times in my life since I was six years old, but I never imagined I’d be eaten alive by giant fucking spiders. My forearm cramps as the sensation of tattooed thorns dig into my flesh. I can’t see it, but I know my tattoo is writhing beneath the webs.

  I instinctively reach for it to pull me into its void, but it slips from my grasp. I’m desperately clinging to the magic, but it’s fleeting so I reach deep within me and beg my magic to consume.

  I summon the twilight hues of violet and blacks from my body, but instead of calling it to pull me into its void, I let it pour from me like wildfire. It calls to me, whispering it’s hungry, thriving on the pretense of consuming, destroying. I harness the pain coursing through my body using it as fuel for the fire igniting within me. My heart threatens to burst, fear so overcoming it forces tears to swell beneath my webbed eyes. A warm sensation builds within my gut and sears through my veins as if my blood were on fire.

  From my hand, I feel that heat intensify. I listen to the sizzle of singed webs, and the scent of burnt hair becomes repugnant. The cocoon loosens from around me enough to free my hunting knife and hack at the remaining strands. The spiders scurry and hiss around me, but I ignore them as I pull myself from the silk cocoon. I limp cautiously to the cavern center and cut Cas from his webbed chrysalis. He gasps for air as I tear away the webs from his face.

  The behemoth spider charges at us, so I reach within my stores of power and beg that same intensified heat to build in my hand. A first, nothing happens until a wave of violet and black expand from my fingertips. It flickers and almost looks like the beginning sparks of a flame. I chase it, but it smothers into nothing. The white roses on my forearm whither and fade as if they turned to ash.

  Cas beside me slams his fists together lethargically, and from his center radiates a blinding light so intense I have to close my eyes at first. The spiders retreat, hissing and clambering their legs into the ground in frustration.

  “They’re afraid of the light!” I exclaim.

  Cas stands beside me, radiating more light as it spreads from his hands and up to his forearms. Even the behemoth scurries away.

  I guide Cas back toward the tunnel I entered from. We stumble through the spider silk that coats the tunnel floors, but Cas’s radiating light keeps the spiders at bay. When we reach the jagged opening, I help Cas through first before shimmying myself after him.

  He stumbles to his feet, but I catch him, hauling him against me. For a brief moment we remain still, still as stone while gazing into eachothers eyes. Another tirade of hissing and clicks snaps us from our stare, causing us to run across the barrens. I lead Cas by hand, careful to keep our path straight to avoid another bout of loose dirt that leads to another tunnel. Cas’s light flickers after a while, but we make it close to the edge of Oakrot Forest. I glance back at the wastes and watch the glowing blue lights hover in the distance. When we reach the brim of trees, Cas regains enough dexterity to run without stammering, so we run as fast as we
can. I’m not sure how long we run for, but eventually, we reach the outskirts of Eliond. The sun rises in the East, and the frigid cold is replaced by growing heat.

  The signs of civilization give me a fleeting sense of safety. I collapse to the ground just behind the treeline, panting and heaving. Cas kneels beside me and starts laughing. Not a breathy laugh. It’s loud, thunderous, and chaotic.

  I notice that I like his laugh. I can’t help but join him in merry jocose. I laugh until tears trickle down my temples and trace against my pointed ears. The sunlight soaks into Cas’s skin, casting a warm glow that I can’t seem to look away from. It’s just the adrenaline, I tell myself—or the sense of safety being near the town. Either way, when a thick shroud covers my face, I don’t react fast enough. Something slams against my head. Everything spins until my consciousness slips away.

  Fuck.

  16

  Casaell

  “I forgot you had died my love. If only for a sweet, special moment, but alas, when I woke this morning from the most splendid dream, I remembered. I miss you my sweet. The weight of this crown has never felt more heavy since you’ve left. I pray to the gods that when my time comes, we will be reunited by Thela’s grace. I fail our son each day.…”

  – personal diary of King Gilderoy of Edonia 889 B.M.

  I awake to the jerky rumbling of iron wagon wheels careening against the barren earth. Nausea immediately sets in as I fight a large lump in my throat. My head throbs and a foul taste on my tongue is enough to force a gag. I sit up, the world spinning until it finally comes into focus.

  I’m sitting in a wagon, being towed by the slaver I confronted in Eliond when he attempted to kidnap that young girl. His back is turned to me. Beside me, Nova is lying face down. A shroud barely covers his face.

  I recall laughing after our scant and whimsical survival of giant desert spiders. I didn’t see what happened, really. My eyes were closed tight from my frenzy of laughter. I remember a painful blow to the head, and now here I am in the back of a prison wagon.

  I shift my weight and push Nova onto his back with a boot, revealing his hands underneath him. They’re bound in silver cuffs secured tightly around his wrists and attached to silver glove-like cusps.

  I shake him once again, whispering his name until the slaver slams a rod against the iron cage.

  “Keep quiet,” the slaver says in vylorian.

  “What are these cuffs?” I say back in the same tongue, self-conscious my dialect is off.

  “Protection.”

  “For?”

  “Can’t trust the fae. Too unpredictable. Magic,” they growl and spits at the last word. I don’t respond to that. I refuse to grace him with the courtesy of a conversation. We aren’t companions well suited for easy banter. He is a thug who unjustifiably tried to kidnap a girl, and now he’s taken us as prisoners. I want to scream in frustration, but I won’t give the figure that satisfaction either. Nova wouldn’t want me to, I imagine. What would Nova do? He’d find a way to get out. I peer around the cage. It’s empty aside from Nova and me. The only entrance is a barred door at the back of the wagon—a heavy padlock embedded in the thick iron. The wagon is being towed by two monstrously enormous beasts I’ve never seen in person. Rhinoxen, I think. But they are supposed to have been extinct, according to the Edonian Archives.

  It’s no use. I’m not a knight or warrior or a bloody thief. I’m not built for this, trying to plan a daring escape. I’m a scholar by true nature, no matter what my title is. After long, frustrating minutes of contemplation, I succumb to the throbbing pain that plagues me.

  I shift to Nova’s side and lie down next to him, my head pounding from the blunt trauma. The raggedy tumble of the wagon on unforgiving terrain only aggravates my nausea. I lie on my side, facing Nova, and gaze upon his face. I notice the hint of freckles, long gone from his skin, but the subtle variation in his complexion makes it obvious he used to have them. His brown-reddish hair gleams like dying embers from an unstoked flame. I imagine his eyes wide and open. They’re golden honey that beam in the same way the light casts against his face. The red ring around his golden irises like a blazing torrent of fire.

  “You’re staring,” Nova whispers gruffly. I startle, almost scurrying away and against the cage bars until his boot knocks into mine, and he whispers, “Don’t make sudden moves. He doesn’t know I’m awake. I’ll ambush him the moment I get a chance.”

  From overhead, our captor barks a laugh and says, “The sharp-eared one is not so smart. I know he is awake.” The figure includes some vulgar words and a threat that any subterfuge will result in our immediate deaths.

  I paraphrase to Nova, and he merely grunts, “Eridh’s hell.”

  He reluctantly shifts to sit upright. I help him as he nearly topples over. When he’s braced against the bars, I sit next to him.

  “How long have you been awake?” I ask.

  “A few hours,” he says, “You snore. Loud.”

  “I most certainly do not!” I protest. Nova doesn’t argue, so we fall into an awkward silence.

  After a while, I finally break from the silence, too anxious and needing a distraction.

  “So, why the name Nova?” I ask.

  “Huh?”

  I lean closer and say softly, “You said ‘Nova’ was the name you chose after your mother died. Why did you choose Nova?”

  “Oh,” he says and looks away. Another awkward silence saturates between us.

  I look down at his forearm, mesmerized by the moving tattoos. The image shifts and changes every time I look at it. Right now, the vines tighten around his skin, and the white roses that looked shriveled begin to wilt. White petals turn black and fall towards his wrist until they dissolve into dust. It feels sad.

  Suddenly I have the urge to apologize, so I say, “I’m sorry.”

  Nova is surprised because he says, “Of what?” almost defensively.

  “Of whatever I did to make you sad,” I confess.

  His face transforms from curiosity to grief. He looks away before saying, “Little ball of nova.”

  I’m not sure what that means, so I wait for him to explain. A few heartbeats later, and he does.

  “My mother used to call me her ‘little ball of nova.’ She’d say, ‘You burn so bright like the novas in the starry sky.’ So after she died, I took the name for myself,” he says fondly.

  “Thank you for telling me that.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Don’t get sappy with me,” Nova retorts. I’m not offended by his terse remark, because I know he doesn’t mean it unkindly.

  “Where do you think he’s taking us?” I ask.

  “Probably that big fucking volcano,” he replies and tilts his head forward.

  It’s hard to see beyond the figure riding on the rhinoxen, but I can see the billowing tower of smoke plaguing the sky. We approach the darkened horizon. The ash and soot overhead are so dense it blocks out sunlight.

  My breath quickens as the sensation of impending doom takes a grimy hold in my chest. My breath is shallow and tight, my shoulders hunch, and my body tenses. Oh no, not right now. I can’t have an anxiety attack right now.

  “Hey, are you alright?” Nova asks, concerned.

  I want to respond, tell him everything is okay and to ignore me, but instead of words, all I hear is shrill, guttural noises fleeing my mouth. Nova leans into me until his lips are near my ear, and he says in a deep, gruff voice that rumbles in his throat like a raspy growl, “Calm yourself. Count back from ten with me. Ten...”

  We count down. By the time we get to the last few numbers, I manage to say them with decent pronunciation. I’m shocked by how well it worked, but then Nova laughs, breathy and quiet. I look at him, offended.

  He’s mocking me. He thinks I’m weak.

  Nova notices my reaction and immediately tries to placate me by saying, “Oh no gods, I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at myself, really. The countdown tri
ck? I’ve been telling myself to countdown like that to calm myself for years. I think a soothsayer swore by it once, and I kept trying. It never worked. Every single time, it didn’t do a thing. Then you do it, and it actually calmed you down. Man, I’m just a piece of work, I guess. Sometimes I think I’m so wound up that nothing can really bring me down.”

  His voice is soothing, and confession is comforting. I lean into him, expecting him to pull away or shove off, but instead, he leans in return. After a while, Nova breaks the silence again and says, “It’ll be okay, you know. I’ll find a way out. I may not know how right now, but I’ll figure it out. I’m not called ‘The Twilight Thief’ for nothing.”

  I smile and reactively lay my head on his shoulder, and he doesn’t nudge me away, so I stay like this, appreciating the physical comfort.

  “I still don’t believe that you’re the Twilight Thief,” I snicker.

  He scoffs and says, “Say, do you guys miss that painting in the Capital city Gala with the old man sitting on his pony while wearing a grey wig?”

  I sit up and stare wide-eyed, shocked.

  “How do you know about the missing portrait of Uncle Gerald?” I gasp. “No one knows that it’s even missing except for the royal family and immediate staff.”

  Nova chuckles and winks before saying, “Don’t ask the nuns to inspect the Heart’s Tear in the Temple of Gedaley. They’ll find it’s a cleverly made replica.”

  I’m speechless, conflicted with the rushing heating rising from my neck and the impartial anger from Nova’s confession.

  I turn away and say, “I still don’t think you’re the Twilight Thief.”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you might have a crush on my alias,” Nova teases.

  I turn back and deadpan, “You wish.” Nova laughs and shakes his head and returns his gaze to scan the perimeter.

  I lay my head back down on his shoulder, and Nova leans his head against the top of mine. This feels intimate, which scares me. My body is tense until I watch the roses on Nova’s forearm twist and bulge and bloom into vigorous blossoms, so full and luscious. The vines gleam in a vibrant green shade.