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

by J. Levi

  I rush forward, ignoring the stances and letting my arms move naturally, as though my body knows what to do. I slam a fist to my chest, the other stretched out until the join, hands clasped—an orb of concentrated light forms between my palms, the magic hot like an open flame. I slide across the cavern floor, my wet boots squashing as I take the satka stance, though my body shifts into a new position, one that feels as though my magic surges through my limbs with more urgency. I swing my arms about-face, my body pivoting into a full circle and I open my palms, aiming just between the wraiths huddled over Nova and Duck. White light beams in a singular arc and then refracts into countless clusters of blazing magic. The wraiths shriek at the blinding light, receding away, seeking the shelter of shadows.

  I reach Nova, sliding to my knees and press my hands to his body, willing my magic into him to knit his wounds back together enough to stop his bleeding. I don’t have enough time to heal them completely. I can do that later. After I’m sure his bleeding wounds have stopped, I place a hand on Duck and send a pulse of healing light into him to heal anything that may have been hurt. I don’t even hear Nova scream my name again when something grabs me by the back of my head and lifts me into the air. My legs dangle and sway, the weight of my body pulling at my neck. I try to scream when another hand of swirling sand grips my throat. The whirling granules roughly berate my skin raw.

  “Let go of him!” Nova growls, and then I’m falling to the ground. I look up to see Nova standing over me. His lips are curled upward, revealing his sharp canines. I struggle to breathe when I realize his eyes are on fire. The flames are blue, violet, and black with white flecks. They look as if the night sky were on fire. But that was nothing compared to what hovered above his head, a ring of the same fire, pulsating and spinning like a crown. The roses on his forearm blossom into blazing buds of fire in the same hues of violet and blue.

  He looks terrifying. He looks beautiful… Miraculous.

  Nova’s hands catch fire with twilight flames. He grabs ahold of the two sea wraiths, which struggle to flee. He screams at them as the flames from his hands flicker and dance along with the sandy limbs of the elementals. They erupt in flames, howling and writhing until they dissolve into ash. Nova turns to the other remaining wraiths, who prowl at a safe distance.

  “Leave,” Nova commands, resounding and emphatic. Beside me, Duck gasps.

  “What happened to your eyes?” Duck asks incredulously. His question seems to disturb Nova from his trance as he peers down at me. I can’t imagine what he sees on my face, but it must startle him when he blinks away the flames, and his twilight crown of fire suffocates before falling to his knees and grunts at the pain.

  The remaining wraiths still prowl nearby. Nova’s warning isn’t enough to deter their pursuit.

  Marlon approaches slowly across the river channels, his arms glowing pale azure. The look in his eyes says it all, run, you damn fools.

  I pull Nova to his feet and hoist his arm around my shoulders to brace his weight. Duck does the same with Nova’s other arm, and we move. Over the bridges and into the corridor we entered from, we rush on slippery mud—the wraiths screech from behind, hunting us like prey. Without a torch, the tunnels are pitch black. I summon my magic and hold it in my hands, which glow bright enough to see our way. Through tunnels and passageways, we reach the room with the drawbridge and cross with haste. We pass the iron door with runic symbols, rushing through the bookcases. I drop Nova at a table cover in thick dust and slam my shoulder into the iron door. Its hinges screech in agony until the door closes with a resounding ache of metal. The rune stones radiate a faint light until it fades away.

  “I think it sealed again,” I say aloud, sighing a heavy breath of relief. Nova starts chuckling. It’s breathy at first, and then it grows into a cackle. Duck is laughing along with him, though I’m not sure he knows why he’s laughing. I’m surprised when I find myself joining in the laughter. It’s ridiculous, really.

  “We—almost died—again,” Nova blurts between laughs.

  “I know—how many—times is that—now? Five?” I laugh in return. It’s a grim realization, but it nearly fuels my laughter.

  A loud thud startles us from our mirth. We all slowly look at the iron door in sequence—another thud. The runic symbols pulse their feint glow with each thud. I look at Nova, who growls.

  “You think it might be someone else and not the scary wraiths?” Duck asks.

  “Wouldn’t bet on it,” Nova mutters. “Let’s go.”

  A loud crash echoes through the hall behind us.

  “That can’t be good,” Nova says.

  We rush up the spiral staircase that leads to the fireplace passageway we entered from. I’m the last to crawl through when I hear the death howls of the elementals chasing behind us. Nova twists the siren statue’s arm back into its original place when I emerge from the hearth. Then, the fireplace passage closes. I waste no time navigating through the bookcases and then the long corridor, emerging into the library’s bottom floor. The torches instantly ignite in their green fervor. When I realize that Nova isn’t behind me, I double back to find him at the archway, pulling at another steel door leading into the hearth room.

  “What’s wrong?” I call. Nova looks at me, and I don’t like what I see. Tiny sparks of twilight fire dance between his fingertips.

  “You can’t,” I protest.

  “Can’t what? What’s he going to do? Casaell, I don’t like the looks you’re giving each other.” Duck says from behind, concerned. Nova’s hands ignite in more twilight flame, and then Duck understands.

  “Oh man, that mean librarian is going to be so mad,” Duck says as he turns and runs up the ramp.

  “It should be fine. The door will stop it from spreading,” Nova says as if trying to convince himself. I watch in horror as Nova stretches the flames from his fingertips and onto the bookcases. The books and scrolls erupt in pillars of black, blue, and purples flames. I immediately feel the fervent heat against my flesh. I help Nova to pull the rusted door shut and turn to sprint as fast as I can. The deathly howls pierce through the solid iron door, echoing along the halls. Moving through the bookcases and then the long corridor, we emerge into the library’s bottom floor. The torches instantly ignite in their green fervor, lighting the path as we rush up the spiral ramp.

  We reach the top level that leads to the front lobby. Bursting into the lobby and through the tall doors that lead outside, we cross the paved road and brace ourselves against the wall of a neighboring building. The hollow cries of sea wraiths are loud enough to pour into the city streets.

  “Yeah, the mean librarian is going to be really mad, guys.” Duck says.

  “Fuck,” Nova blurts, looking up at the sky. “Did I do that too?”

  I follow his gaze, peering at the blackened sky and watching in dismay as bat-like beasts swarm the skies. I think through the beastiaries of Edonian history and settle on the facts. They’re scaled, the wings have stretched membrane, talons instead of claws, and the riders on their saddles pull the reigns strapped securely to their fiendish faces. Species of Wyvern, I deduce.

  “What are they doing?” Nova asks, but before I can answer, Duck slams his hands over his ears, muttering, “They’re too loud.”

  I agree. Their beating wings are enough to make a normal man go deaf after a while, but nothing loud enough to warrant Duck’s reaction. “They’re looking for someone,” Duck grounds out.

  “How do you know that?” I find myself asking, but Duck doesn’t respond.

  I turn to Nova, who’s managed to stand upright on his own now with more strength, a feather of muscle in his neck twitches.

  Duck takes off, running down the street we traveled down hours before. Nova calls after him, but the elmmen ignores his calls.

  “Fuck,” Nova groans. “He’s probably heading back to the caravan. We need to follow.”

  I nod in agreement and follow his pace as we run through city str
eets, forcing our way back. The panicked city bustle grows when we approach the city garden, citizens fleeing in all directions. The wyverns swoop through the air. Close enough, I can see the glossy white haze in their eyes. They aren’t attacking. Yet.

  By the time we reach the city edge, we find Duck standing between a cluster of stone marble buildings older than the inner avenues. When stopping at his side, Nova slaps the back of his head and snaps, “Don’t take off like that.” Duck rubs the back of his head but never looks away from the caravan pavilion where a thick swarm of wyverns hovers.

  Nova grunts under his breath, “Now we need to save the fucking carnies. Great.”

  29

  Merida

  “…the smallest of the rodent mythics, the ferrix is approximately 3 feet long with a vibrant red and orange plumage of feathers instead of fur. It is a social creature, requiring deep bonds with others, though it is not biased on species. There are reports that ferrix had been known to imprint on humans, but since the culling of Cerbhan forest, the last reported sighting of a ferrix was over six decades ago. Living primarily in underground boroughs, the ferrix is most noted by its peculiar aura, which glows at night, giving the illusion the creature is on fire. Some older texts claim the ferrix to be an elemental, though those claims cannot be substantiated.

  – Beastiary of the Free Folk, Second Edition 703 B.M.

  “Don’t you have anything to say?” Veryn’s poisonous words slick across my fur like a rancid petrichor. “After I traveled all this way just to find you.”

  I—my wolf lunges forward, fangs bare. We land before Veryn, who doesn’t flinch. His lazy grin widens in amusement. My wolf snarls viciously, spittle and venom fling from its teeth. A glob lands on Veryn’s cheek, thick and viscus. He draws a single finger to brush the dribble away, inspecting it before wiping his hand against the matted fur of my mother. My wolf growls louder, lowering its head and bracing its hind legs, hackles stiff as our eyes pin in rage.

  “Calm yourself, Merida. Really, you’re vastly overdramatic,” Veryn coos tauntingly.

  He twirls his wrist and fingers around the silver chain, leading to the silver thorned collar engrossingly embedded in mother’s throat. He jerks the chain tight, yanking the collar and forcing a wounded whine from mother’s wolf. I hear my wolf whimper at the sound of her pain. She cries out, run, pack, daughter, love. Veryn merely laughs and tugs the chain again. My wolf wants to sink its teeth deep into his throat, ripping his flesh and skin, and watch the life fade from his soulless black eyes. I’ve fantasized about lapping up his pooling blood lavishly, savoring the tang and bite of fresh gore. I can practically smell it pumping through his wicked veins.

  My wolf takes a prowling step forward, sinking its claws into the dirt to get more traction. Its back heels dig into the ground and its body tightens like a spring coil, ready to snap. Veryn rolls his beady eyes, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as he sucks air through his teeth, making a squelching noise. He drops the silver chain. With one hand, he unfastens a clasp, releasing the silver collar from my mother’s mutilated neck. She whines a sigh of relief as her chest heaves, a desperate gasp for air like she’s been held underwater till the brink of death.

  We rush to her side, forgetting every raging instinct to destroy, thrash, and kill. My wolf laps our tongue against her festering wound, loathing the taste. Her blood is tainted with pain, fear, and anger. It’s bitter and sour, but we impulsively clean the blood from her fur, tasting the infection that already rankles her flesh.

  She lifts her head, the fur around her eyes drenched in tears and blood, and she offers a soft flick of her tongue against my snout. Slowly, the twist and snap of bone pulses underneath her flesh, fur receding and her body contort until she lies still on the crusted dirt as a fae instead of a wolf. She’s unclothed, painted in garnet red blood, but I can still see the deep-set bruises and fresh scares littered across her body.

  Forcing myself to shift, my wolf cries to stay in control to defend, so it can kill, so it can run. I emerge from a beast and into my feeble fae body. My clothes were shredded into ribbons somewhere in the city where I shifted, so I crouch to the ground, exposed and vulnerable as I pull my mother’s head against my lap. She offers a faint smile, but she’s too weak to hold it. Her tattered hand raises to my face and caresses my cheek, tucking silky black strands behind my ear.

  “I—I like the—the new hair,” she says. My face is wet, tears trickle against her fingers on my face. Veryn groans and utters a curse in vylorian. I spit at his feet defiantly, relishing the twist of anger he fails to keep hidden. His cool mask of calm composure slips as his brow furrows and eyes darken.

  My mother curves her body, hoisting herself with fragile strength. She sits before me with knees tucked and she rests on her heels. Both of her hands trace my jaw, hair, and ears as if she’s waited years to see me. My fingers gently inspect the deep gashes still bleeding in her neck. A choked sob escapes me as I stare at the mutilation.

  “Fascinating thing about arcane silver,” Veryn purrs. I’m repulsed by the sound of his voice, the magisterial lull of his tone. “It can trap a lythenian in their current form. I’d have kept her as my muzzled dog had I known this before.”

  He’s baiting me to react impulsively, but I’m too enthralled by mother’s frail body, which sags in anguish.

  “I wanted to go back.” I sob to my mother. “I almost went back.”

  Mother wipes my wet cheeks, smearing my tears with soot that cascades from the sky. The hefty odors of burning wood and ash remind me of the brazen smog of Obsidian Reach. She smiles fondly, her lips tremble in weakness, and her heavy-lidded eyes droop. She pulls me into an embrace, her face buried in my neck, and she inhales deep wafts of my scent. I do the same. I take in the smell of her skin mingled with blood, dirt, filth, and soot. She smells foreign but familiar. She smells like home.

  “Merida!” A voice calls from behind. I struggle to turn, still holding mother close. The crude wetness of red slips against my fingers, threatening my grasp to hold her up.

  When I veer over my shoulder, I see Duck with the two boys he followed into the city.

  “Friends of yours, dearest daughter?” Veryn chides wickedly as if the prospect of me having friends insults him. I see Duck’s lips moving, but I can’t hear his words over the chaotic beat of wyvern wings. Everything around me becomes submerged in a haze of anger.

  “I shall enjoy the look on your face when I remove their heads and make you watch,” Veryn spits out viciously.

  Protect, friend, pack, my wolf howls in my mind. It startles me, the thought of Duck being pack, whatever that meant. I still haven’t figured it out.

  “You will not hurt him,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

  Veryn sighs grievously, brushing loose strands of spider-silk hair behind his ear before saying, “Speak up, Merida. You know how much it bothers me when you mumble.”

  “You will not hurt them,” I say louder with more confidence than I truly have. Mother’s grip tightens on my arm. A low growl rumbles deep in her throat. I move to break away from her hold, immediately missing the contact. I stand on shaky legs, squaring my shoulders and raising my chin to Veryn who’s lazy grin taunts me. I recall the years of pain and torture at the hands of the monster before me.

  “I didn’t quite hear that,” Veryn says coy, even though I know very well he did.

  “You will not—” Veryn’s backhand comes swiftly, striking me across the face mid-sentence, sending me stumbling back a few steps.

  “I will not take commands from the likes of you. You, Merida, are nothing to me but a mere stain. I keep you as my pet because you can be of use to me, but do not think for a second, that keeps you safe.”

  I force myself to stand tall again, fighting the urge to curl onto a ball and wait out the lashing. The sweet tang of blood fills my mouth as I run my tongue over my busted lip and aching gums. “Mer,” Duck calls again, this time closer
. I feel mother’s presence behind me, she shuffles to her feet, trying to pull me behind her, but I shrug her off. She’s spent her entire life protecting me, and I’ve failed to protect her. No more, my wolf growls. I agree.

  “You will not—” I groan at the sharp sting on my lip as I talk. “—hurt them.” I spit a huge wad of blood and spittle in Veryn’s face, speckles of thick red covering his face and hair, slowly dripping down his now stone features.

  Veryn snarls before stepping forward, grabbing a fit full of my hair, wrenching it tight to pull my head back, forcing me to face him. His black eyes bore into me as he heaves heavy breaths in my face.

  “I should kill you,” Veryn says with a shaky breath. His entire body vibrates with anger and tension, his cool composure gone.

  “But you won’t,” I grunt because I know it’s true. I’m a token he needs for his army. He can’t gain elkkin hordes with damaged goods.

  “No,” Veryn spits with rage. When the lazy grin returns and his grip on my hair loosen, my stomach sinks. “But I can kill them.”

  Veryn shoves me to the side, pulling his curved blade from its sheath in a smooth swish.

  “No,” I shout, jumping onto Veryn’s back, hands grabbing tight on his horns and yanking as hard as I can. He reaches back, flailing his free arm to rip me off. My wolf growls and yips in my mind, fueling our rage. I bare my teeth and then latch onto the back of Veryn’s neck, sinking my sharp fangs deep. Veryn’s blood pools in my mouth, my wolf howling a battle cry as it savors the taste.

  “Ugh, you petulant little—” Veryn sneers, finally grabbing my hair, yanking me off his back and to the dirt. Veryn’s scuffed boot heel digs into my gut, wrenching a cry from my lips. I start to shift—my bones and flesh break and twist. I can feel the fangs in my mouth drop and the fur of my beast piercing my skin like needles. I roar at the pain coursing through my veins, writhing and thrashing. Veryn pulls the silver thorned collar that berated my mother’s neck from the chain fastened at his waist. Before my shift takes hold, Veryn clasps the collar around my throat. My body shakes, the static of shifting still fresh but nulled. My wolf buried deep under the waters of my mind, howls and cries, clawing to be free.