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

by J. Levi

  “All this melodrama. Is it really necessary?” Veryn scolds while he combs his fingers through the spider silk strands of his hair, streaking the red of my blood and spit. He winces when his fingers graze the deep bite wound on his neck. Veryn draws his hand back, inspecting the red wetness on his fingertips.

  He raises his curved sword high above his head, ready to strike when mother slams into from the side, forcing him to lose his footing, crashing into the rubble of a broken caravan cart.

  Veryn is quick to recover, rushing forward when the blonde-haired boy with Duck steps between us. His feet shift apart while his hands and arms move in a weird way. The static cling of magic makes my nose itch and my skin crawl. The boy steps forward, just before Veryn reaches him, and a wall of near blinding light erupts from the ground, deflecting Veryn’s blade as he swings for us.

  “I can’t hold it for long,” the boy groans. Duck appears beside me, asking if I’m okay. Who is that? What does he want? What happened to the caravan?

  I look around, realizing the torn shambles that used to be the carnival only hours before. I bury my chin, unable to meet Duck’s gaze because I don’t know what happened to them, but knowing Veryn, it can’t be good.

  “Aedan?” Mother’s shaky voice startles me. I look over Duck’s shoulder, noticing the boy with auburn hair standing over mother, eyes wide and in pure disbelief.

  The auburn boy clears his throat, blinking fast as if he believes to be dreaming. He takes a step forward. I growl, instinct taking over, urging me to protect mother. I shove Duck to the side, half crawling, half running until I crowd in front of mother, shielding her from the boy.

  “Guys?” the blonde calls back but no one responds.

  “Aedan, is—is that you?” Mother asks again, this time her voice breaks into a sob. I pull back, wincing at the pain from the thorned collar digging into my neck.

  Finding his voice, the auburn boy finally says, “Mother?”

  The scarce stories my mother told me about Aedan swim through my mind. Lost but not dead, she believed. Her little ball of nova, she’d call him. His hair red like mother’s, but not quite. Like the final piece of a lost puzzle piece finally slotting into place, I let out a heavy sigh I didn’t know I was holding since mother said his name. It’s him. He’s here.

  Mother tugs at my shoulder, forcing me to look at her. “Listen to me. We don’t have much time. You need to go. Get as far away as possible. Go to Ljosgard. Find Tulen in Galae.”

  My mind stumbles with her words, trying to make sense of them. I want to ask her if they’re names of people or places.

  Mother turns to the auburn boy—to Aedan and pleads, “Take her. You have to take her and run, now. Both of you.” Aedan opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

  “Shit,” The blonde one curses, drawing our attention. The wall of light flickers then fades, and the scent of twisted cinders and the static of magic bursts through. Veryn, surrounded by fire, wields the flames in each palm. His lazy grin and beady eyes dance in the light and shadow.

  Veryn waves an arm, the orb of flames in his hand morph into a long whip as he lashes it at the blonde boy, who stumbles back.

  “Cas!” Aedan shouts, abandoning his frozen stance to run after him. Veryn reaches back, cocking his arm for another lash, but Aedan is too distracted by pulling Cas from the ground, inspecting the burns on his arm. The familiar sounds of bones snaping and fleshing ripping pull my attention. Mother shifts into her wolfkin form, hind legs still shaking slightly. I grab at her fur to keep her beside me but she shakes me off. I call for my wolf, but silence is all that responds. The silver collar tearing into my flesh forces it dormant.

  I feel small and weak, more helpless than before I managed to shift without losing control—merely a play thing for Veryn’s wicked schemes.

  Though, I know that’s not true. Even without my wolf’s voice echoing in my mind, I can still feel it there below the surface, urging me to not give up.

  I stand in time to see mother leap through the air, latching her sharp fangs onto Veryn’s arm with the whip of flames, forcing his aim off balance and his arm rears back. He slams a closed fist into mother’s snout, forcing her to yelp, releasing her hold. Veryn kicks her away. She tumbles through the crusted earth, her body going limp as the shift of snapping bones and fur recede until she’s fae once again, lifeless and unmoving.

  Righting his topcoat with a frustrated tug, Veryn returns his attention to me. His lazy grin meant only for me makes my stomach twist.

  I charge at him, screaming until my throat gives out, hands curled as my nails partially shift into claws—a transformation I’ve never managed before.

  “Disobedient mutts,” Veryn spits just as I reach him.

  I slash at his raised arm, meant to deflect me. My claws tear through his clothes, reaching flesh. Veryn hisses before summoning his fire to retaliate. I turn to run, barely getting a few paces from him when a blaze of magic explodes in a violent torrent of flames. I hurl through the air, clear across the field, until I crash against the remains of what looks like Kezia’s wagon. I feel the instant snap of bone as my spine contorts against what’s left of the clay shingled roof. I try to crawl from the fallen rubble, but I remain unmoving. My vision threatens to fade as blackness seeps into the edges. I realize I can’t move, not even the simple movement like closing a fist or wiggling toes.

  Darkness consumes me, and everything fades into nothing.

  30

  Nova

  “…cannot find any historical evidence or documentation on the god. It’s as if the Banished One has always been referred to as such, but my mentor believed otherwise. He claimed to have found a hidden chamber in the library of Andeil which housed texts far older than anything I’ve seen. Aghan—my mentor claims that is the true name of the forgotten god but would not divulge anything else. He went mad months ago, having been committed to the healers of Rhenstadt. Perhaps his claims are only that of madness. But still.…”

  – personal journal of Carsi Dun 284 B.M.

  I stare at her, motionless, frail body. My eyes are wavering in blurry wetness and the burn of ash that fills the air. Her hair is dull and stiff but still the red of a midday summer sun. Her skin is frail and withered from lack of sunlight—the slightest hint of wrinkles around her face and mouth hidden beneath smears of drying blood. I’d lost all memory of her face until now—decades of chasing my dreams and memories just for a glimpse. I doubted I’d recognize her if I ever saw her again until now. I do recognize her because here she is. As if her presence resurges my lost memories of her.

  I remember her. She looks the same yet so very different.

  The truth sings deep within my bones because I remember her. I remember her soft smile generously given when I brought her forest shrooms. I remember the glint in her eyes when I brought old, crusted bread I scavenged from the village wastebaskets. I remember the fondness in her laugh when I’d say something silly. The endless nights of her crying in our tattered hovel. The sneers and pointed fingers she’d receive from everyone in the village. And I remember the last night I saw her. How I didn’t say goodbye, or that I loved her, or that I’d miss her.

  A single tear falls, careening against my face and collecting at the tip of my chin. I chase it away with an arm, my hand reaching for the black stone I’ve adorned around my neck since the moment she put it there. Someone shouts my name, but I’m consumed by the sight of her.

  Let me out, the riosan prism whispers from the pocket in my vest.

  I heard the voice in the temple of rivers when the sea wraiths had Cas by the neck. Let me out, and I will help you, the whisper promised. I didn’t believe it, but a surge of power rushed from the sapphire, and I felt the river of magic that flows within me expand.

  “I can’t,” I say through clenched teeth, remembering Marlon’s warning. A cage for an

  evil, long ago captured. I stole the stone, sure, but only to use whatev
er power he has to break my binding. I have no intention of setting something evil free. I feel the twist and sting of thorns writhing against my forearm in anger, sorrow, and rage.

  The sage lied, the voice whispers. Let me out, I will help you.

  A sheer pain spreads across my face as Cas’s hand abrasively slaps me from my reveries. He’s standing before me, shaking my shoulders and screaming in my face. His tunic is burnt, arm exposed and pink, still flush from the fire. I can see it’s already healing fast.

  Beyond Cas is the vylorian who wielded the flames that burned him and who sent the vylorian girl hurling through the air. The dead man who laid a hand on my mother. His vylorian buckhorns are polished onyx—thin white strands of hair and dark hollowed eyes against dark olive flesh. An obsidian crown nestles across his skull, just above his hairline. He looks like the embodiment of cowardice, the true essence of sniveling cruelty.

  I hate him. I’ve never seen him before this moment, but I truly and devastatingly hate him. That hatred consumes me beyond anything I’ve endured. Everything I’ve suffered since the night I lost her taught me to numb myself from the pain the world inflicts. Now I stand here, so close to her once again…and he stands in my way.

  “Get her out of here,” I command, pointing toward Duck, who’s already halfway to the vylorian girl. The voice I hear is unlike my own, but it’s still mine.

  “Nova, we need to go—” Cas tries to reason.

  “—Get. Her. Out,” I command louder, this time with finality. Cas winces at the power in my voice, or maybe he winces at the lack of familiarity in it.

  “What about her,” Cas looks at my mother, lying facedown in the dirt behind the vylorian man wielding flames.

  “I’ll get her. I need to take care of him first. Go, I’ll be right behind you,” I try to reassure him.

  Cas nods and runs toward the rubble where Duck is pulling broken slats of wood from the wreckage. I can hear him calling her name, Merida, and offering comforting words.

  The sky thrums with the sporadic beating of flying beasts and the high pitch cries that spill from their wicked fangs. Vylorian riders howl and cheer like warriors on the battlefield.

  “I hope you know my pet and I shall be leaving soon,” the vylorian man sneers.

  I veer over my shoulder to see Merida draped over Duck and Cas’s shoulders, scurrying towards the city. They slow to a full stop, Cas turning back, pained to leave me. He looks to me as if he plans on returning to my side, but I shake my head slowly. He hesitates, so I shake again. “Get her somewhere safe. Now,” I shout. Cas reluctantly nods, and then they ease their way into the city, disappearing out of sight. The vylorian man with an obsidian crown and twin snakes braided in a silver emblem on his leather chestplate sighs heavily behind me. I watch as he casually walks across the soot-covered earth.

  “What are you called?” My voice is still foreign to my ears.

  “You do not know who I am?” he scoffs. “Do tell, what would be the point in divulging your preposterous request when your fleeting life is about to end?”

  My jaw clenches, and the feather of muscle in my neck twitches. I ball my fists so tight that pricks of blood pry from my embedded nails.

  “What is your name?” This time my voice wavers as rage threatens to overpower me. The vylorian steps closer, moving a safe distance from my mother to stop and snicker at me.

  Good, right where I want you.

  The vylorian must have retrieved his sword because he waves the curved blade in his hand like a toddler wielding a stick. I smirk almost in amusement.

  “I asked you a question, you beady-eyed freak,” I sneer.

  “Your insolence astounds me. Is that any way to speak to your king?” he spits viciously. My smirk widens at hitting a nerve.

  I slip into a mask of calm poise. “You are not my king,” I say as my head tilts to the side, and a breathy laugh falls from my lips.

  “Ungrateful heathen!” His face twists into a scowl, his fangs bare, and he hisses. He lifts his blade above his head, primed to strike. The riosan prism whispers in a cacophony of voices, saying everything and nothing at all. My magic swells from the sapphire garnets call in my pocket. The voices whisper seductive promises. Instead of fighting it, I allow the riosan prism’s magic to fuel me, igniting a torrent of raw power deep within.

  I don’t need to concentrate on summoning my magic. It thrives beneath my skin, ready to surface. I feel the warmth still kiss my skin from the twilight flames I conjured in the temple of rivers. The once fleeting flickers of ember became easy to produce when Cas’s life was in danger, the moment the sapphire stone lent its power. And now I wield it as though I’ve done it all my life. The fire is like rage incarnate, manifesting itself with my willpower.

  I conjure the flames between my fingertips. As the vylorian drives his curved blade towards me, I reach up and grasp the blade with my hand. The sharp edge cuts into my flesh, but my magic works fast, spreading across the curved steel and consumes. The white-haired cretin hisses again as his blade is encompassed by black, blue, and violet. Right before our eyes, the slick metal disintegrates into ash, fluttering as a harsh breeze whirls it away, like a hefty breath banishing dust from the pages of an old book.

  I relish the look on his face, eyes comprehensive in surprise. All that remains of his sword is the garnished hilt still firmly grasped in his hand, knuckles white.

  “H—how did you—” he clammers, but before he can finish, I pummel my fist directly into his face, the sound of cracking bone and the welting spray of spittle and blood fly into the air. His crown falls from his head as he stammers. Before he regains his balance, my knee connects with his gut, then my elbow drives up into his face, breaking his nose and pouring more blood. I grab ahold of the horns atop his brow and pivot my weight, pulling him until he twists and falls to the ground. He growls in a fury, but I don’t care. I stomp on his face, his growls turn guttural. I don’t lift my leather boot. Instead, I lean down, placing more weight onto his face as I grin.

  From above, the swarm of wyverns descend the sky and swoop low to the earth. Crescent talons barely missing me as I weave and dodge, barely escaping their grasp. The riders notch their bows, aiming for me until I pull Veryn to his feet, wrapping my forearm tightly around his throat, using him as a shield. The riders howl in rage, their bat-like beasts snarling in the air.

  “Whose life is fleeting now?” I ask resoundingly against his ear.

  He snarls vigorously with anger. I pull my arm tighter, cutting off his airway until he stops resisting. I shift in circles, keeping a careful eye on the riders above, so they don’t attack from behind. I ease my hold slightly, enough to let the vylorian breathe and speak.

  “I am King Veryn of Orgard. You will yield to me. Fall to your knees, beg for mercy, and I might consider making your death quick,” Veryn squawks as I tighten my grip again.

  “King Veryn,” I say, scowling at the taste his name inflicts on my tongue. I pull back slightly and spit at his feet in mockery.

  He screams, “I’ll end you!”

  From Veryn’s palm, a flicker of red and yellow hues begin to form, a ball of blazing magic takes shape. It distracts me long enough for Veryn to drive an elbow into my gut, loosening my grip so he can gain distance between us.

  I summon my magic in a flurry. It cascades from my skin, expelling from every limb. I force my willpower into a shield, a wall of protection. Billowing violet waves of twilight flame erect before me. By the time Veryn erupts his surge of explosive fire, my wall of twilight consumes his magic. My magic, full of void and chaos, absorbs Veryn’s fire and makes it my own. Veryn stumbles backward, pure terror and astonishment in his eyes. He can’t hide his amazement, the raw power emanating from me. At the same time, the vylorian riders from above release a volley of arrows, but they too are no match for my twilight fire.

  “Thank you,” I say solemnly. My words are calm and steady, hiding the fact my heart is a dril
ling hammer beneath my chest. “You make this easy. I don’t like to kill. Hate it, really. But I’m guessing you did that to my mother.” I point to her, still lying in the dirt, though she’s shifting slightly, stirring from unconsciousness.

  “Mother?” he asks, astounded. Then his sinister mask slips back into place as he glances over my mother, who now props herself up on an elbow. He stretches his neck, his bones cracking, and rounds his shoulders. “My, my—now that’s fascinating.”

  He raises his palms, and the same flickers of flame erupt, but this time they surge a power so grand that my skin sears from the well of magic he pours from himself. I realize he wasn’t using the full extent of his power before. His dominating force is undoubtedly frightening, but my rage burns within my soul so fiercely that I feel nothing but resentment and anger.

  Veryn tilts his head back to the sky and shouts a command in a foreign tongue. The riders cackle in reply, their wyverns rushing to the city, igniting streams of fire on the outer buildings.

  Cas, I realize. I just sent them into the city.

  Let me out. We will kill him together, the riosan prism whispers. I believe it. I can feel the bloodlust radiating from the prism. Like dry brush fueling the sparks of a newborn fire, I pour everything I have into my magic before I pounce forward, ready to end this.

  31

  Casaell

  “…name is…the god of…sun and all that…wife, Thela the Mother…six…god banished his oldest…the forbidden…never known…the Destoyer.…”