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

by J. Levi

  I feel the briefest sensation of twilight flicker within me, and I internally feed into it like a breath fueling a flame. I focus on the pain and use it to direct my fear and rage, channeling it into power.

  My body feels warm, a slight trickle through my limbs, and then a subtle wash of magic bursts from my skin. It’s brief, weak, and too minuscule to even see with my face shoved into the mud.

  The cravyn howls and stammers backward, releasing me from its hold. I’m desperate for more magic, but whatever the fuck our captor gave me nullifies it too much.

  Cas pulls me to my side. I scream in agony as the gashes in my back sing in misery. The cravyn is on his haunches, about to pounce again when Cas stands with his staff and swings it with blunt force. I recoil at how loud the aggravating thud of wood to beastly skull sounds, but even more so over the chaotic shrill the beast exudes when hit. At that moment, it finally made sense.

  “The staff! Break it in half!” I shout.

  Cas looks at me, distracted when the cravyn tackles him and snaps at his throat. Cas lunged his staff upward defensively in time to hold the fanged skull far enough away from the flesh of his throat. The cravyn snaps, snarls, and bites at the staff while Cas screams, his arms weakening.

  I struggle through the pain. I can feel the hot crimson of my blood seeping through my clothes, pouring down my back and into my trousers. I refuse to die here. I refuse to let Cas die here, too.

  I run at the beast full force. Just before it, I jump and throw my feet forward. My momentum so fast I continue to fly until my feet slam into the side of its skull-face.

  It tumbles over onto its side, and I yank the staff from Cas’s hands, slam it against my knee, snapping it in half, and run at the cravyn again. Cas shouts my name from behind, but I ignore him. The cravyn recovers again, shriveling and twisting like breaking tree branches and snapping vines.

  I duck and slide against the wet mud as it swings an arm full of thorns and talons through the air. The tip of its claw flitters through the ends of my hair, wripping my tie off as loose strands fall across my brow, and scarcely sparring me from being skinned alive.

  I slip through its legs, slaming one of the broken staff pieces into its back—it howls raucously. I kick behind its knee, and it falls onto it. I use the staff piece still lodged in its back as a step and heave myself up to its back and vaulting over its shoulder. I grip its branch antlers as I pivot over the beast. I hang from its antler and plunge the remaining staff piece into its chest, where its heart should be. I expected instant death, but I’m graced with a very pissed-off cravyn that I’ve stabbed three times.

  Why didn’t the staff work? Was the stranger trying to say something else?

  The branch I hold onto snaps clean off the antler. I fall to the ground, crashing in the wed mud. The cravyn rips the staff piece from its chest, and its skull teeth chatter eerily. The beast slams on top of me, forcing me to sink into the earth as its skull fangs dig into my shoulder. I struggle under its weight. I wince at the pounding in my head, shoulder, and back.

  I realize the broken branch from the cravyn’s antlers still presses firmly in my hand. I thrust it upward into the cravyn’s chest, and the monstrosity cowls, its piss-yellow eyes fade into black and its body goes rigid, unmoving like a statue carved of marble. From the still husk of the beast, an ominous ghastly scream which sounds like wind against sea rocks, slowly fades out from the cravyn’s throat before the entire body of the abhorrent forest spirit disintegrates into sawdust.

  The crowd in the stands burst into an uproar of violent banter and crude calls. I lie still, covered in a blanket of dust, as pain overtakes all other senses. The crowd’s anger fading into a gentle ring in the back of my mind. I think Cas is beside me, but I can’t see him. The cravyn dust tunneled beneath my eyelids, forcing them shut. I feel a warm hand against my shoulder and the static of magic.

  “D—don’t,” I try to say, but my tongue feels swollen, and my words are too heavy.

  Cas’s voice hovers just above the surface of my consciousness. I feel like I’m drowning again in that river I fell into as a little boy. The cold, frigid reach of the river bottom pulling me against the riverbed. I feel my body tugged every which way until I’m stuck upside down. I claw and kick to bring myself to the surface, desperate for air. I need to breathe.

  Why can’t I breathe. I’m going to die if I don’t breathe.

  I’m breathing. Oh, I’m still breathing. I’m not underwater. It’s just a horrid flashback. I’m alive, for now. Where am I?

  Orgard...the volcano...the cavern...the pit, and the cravyn. Oh gods, the forest spirit. I can still feel the raking gouges pulsing in my back and the tepid throb of my shoulder where it bit me.

  Cas —where is Cas? I need to find Cas. I pray he’s still alive. I don’t need that kind of guilt on my conscience.

  “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here,” I hear a soft voice call next to my ear.

  I startle, flailing my arms, but something is holding me down, so I struggle more. I can hear the voice shushing me and saying my name pleading for me to calm down. No, not something, someone. It’s Cas. I can feel warm fingers against my arms and the softness of his breath against my face.

  I open my eyes, my eyelids scratching like sandpaper. I wince at the irritation, noticing the pain from my wounds, or the lack thereof. My back no longer screams in agony, and my shoulder isn’t throbbing in torment.

  With a dry throat and scratchy tongue, I manage to say, “You shouldn’t have healed me.”

  It’s too dark to see, even with my improved fae sight, but I can feel the gust of breath against my face as Cas lets out a breathless and silent laugh.

  “How long have I been out?” I manage to ask as I pull myself from the floor. My wounds are healed but not completely. I can feel their evidence with the soreness and tenderness in my flesh.

  “I don’t know. I tried to heal you enough so you wouldn’t pass out, but I remembered what you told me, so I stopped. The brutes pulled us from the pit and dragged us down a shaft until they threw us in this cell. I healed you awhile after they left. It’s hard to tell how much time has passed,” Cas explains.

  “Did you at least get some sleep?” I ask, not really sure why I want to know.

  “Some,” he says. I can tell he wants to say more but hesitates.

  “But?” I ask, curiosity overpowering my better judgment.

  “You...talk in your sleep,” he says shyly.

  So, gods damned overwhelming. I don’t really want to know what I say in my sleep, but against my curiosity, I ask.

  “Like what?” I ask nonchalantly. Part of me already suspects his answer is going to bring me nothing but embarrassment. Cas’s breath hitches. Maybe he’s embarrassed himself, but still, he manages to say, “You said my name.” Oh, well, that’s just peachy. He continues, “A lot.”

  Before I can muster a plausibly adequate response, the sound of rusted hinges and boots on the cavern floor fill the chamber. The glowing embers of a torch pierce my eyes, nearly blinding from the pitch-blackness.

  “Quick,” a strange voice says. It’s raspy and deep. The stranger fiddles with the padlock on the cell cage that I can now see. It’s iron and rusted. The cave is small with wet stalactites dripping from the ceiling. The dirt-covered floor is glossy with a glass-like sheen. Volcanic glass.

  “Who are you?” Cas asks, and the stranger shushes him. Usually, I’m far more apprehensive when it involves a complete stranger. However, our situation would feel far more optimistic outside the confines of this iron cell. The moment the rusted door screeches open, the stranger belts out of the cave opening he’d entered through. I grab Cas’s wrist and pull him close behind as I follow the gentle ember glow of torch fire. Through the shaft, we emerge into the main cavern where the pit fight perused. I have subtle flashbacks of the cravyn biting into my shoulder, its piercing howls, the way my heart ached when I listened to the deathly screams of the dying
cravyn. No matter its grotesque malformation. It was still a spirit, once a peaceful guardian. Its death can be nothing but sorrow.

  Cas places a hand firmly against my upper back, encouraging me to go faster.

  We approach the main cave entrance when a clutch of laughter bursts through the opening. The stranger presses against the cave wall near the open archway. I do the same and pull Cas next to me, holding an arm across his chest to press him firmly against the wall.

  A group of elkkin emerges from the entrance, bantering and cheering. Large mugs of presumable ale sloshing as they walk. They pass us, unaware of our presence, and continue towards a series of tents near the lynching stage.

  The stranger grabs me by my vest collar and pulls me through the cavern entrance. I tow Cas directly behind me.

  By some miracle, we drift out of the mountain tunnels and enter the hustle of clay, stone, and dirt city built into the side of a volcanic mountain. A soft blanket of dust freshly fallen against the surface of the city. I admire the beige walls of architecture and the teal shingle roofs, every window paired with rust-colored shutters.

  The stranger leads us away from the elkkin caves through a series of alleys and corridors until we reach the back entrance to what seems to be a healer house. The walls are lined with medicinal herbs and tinctures—the pungent smell of sage, animal fat, and burning incense. I desperately invite the scent of smoke, spice, and earth. Compared to the filthy putrid wretch from the cave, this is a blessing.

  A small fae girl appears from nowhere, carrying a medical kit. She immediately approaches me with sheers and begins to snip away at my leather vest and black, sleeveless tunic beneath. I want to protest, but I can’t pull my eyes from Cas, who looks just as terrified now as he did when he faced off against the mad cravyn. I reach over and grip his hand with mine, interlocking our fingers. I look away, but I can feel his gaze linger on me.

  I pay no mind to the warm fuzziness in my gut and blame it on the nerve of almost dying.

  Again.

  The stranger clears his throat, his arms are folded across his chest. He leans against a nearby table full of mortars and jars. He observes me up and down.

  “So, mind telling me what a fae and Edonian boy are doing fighting a cravyn in the Oriand pits?”

  I race to respond, probably to deny his astute accusation. But Cas interrupts me by laughing hysterically and muttering under his breath, “Eridh’s hell.”

  18

  Casaell

  “My grandmother whispered to me on her deathbed. She said, ‘by the hands of Azael, I see his kingdom. Oh, the pearls and white oaks. I have come home. Dily, do you see it too? Home…’ She passed in the night with a smile on her face. Do you think she really saw Harheim, Azael’s realm? Can death be so grand, going gently in the night and be greeted by the gods in the afterlife?

  – personal letter of Shandily Toullec 528 B.M.

  My stomach clenches tight as raucous laughter bursts from my lips. I haunch over the table while the fae girl that’s peeling Nova’s clothes from his shoulders is frozen and staring at me. The stranger, our savior, hasn’t moved or reacted to my apparent outburst of insanity.

  I mutter, “Sorry,” as my laughter begins to die. Tears kiss my cheeks, and my face feels flushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” I finally say now that I’m calm.

  “I’d say you’re in a bit of shock,” the fae girl interludes. I don’t argue because I think she’s right.

  “That’s an understatement,” Nova snarks.

  I wince at the attention now that everyone in the room is looking at me.

  The stranger breaks the silence first and says, “How much, Korra?”

  The small fae girl examines Nova’s back and shoulder inquisitively.

  “Odd. A cravyn did these?” the girl chimes.

  “Mean one, probably belonged to the dead forest up North near the Webbidon Wastes,” the stranger says.

  I shiver at the mention of the spider-infested desert.

  “Thanks, by the way,” Nova says. I’m shocked at his polite remark to the stranger. I’ve barely received anything but terse and snark.

  I look at him, confused, before he says, “Back in the pit when we thought he was trying to tell us to use the staff against the cravyn. He pointed at his head, trying to tell us about its antlers. They were made of wood from its forest.”

  I recall the beast that gripped my throat so tight I thought it would snap my neck. I cringe at the nasty snarls and sickly howls it screamed. Nova yet again fended off a monster in the night.

  “Are you a healer?” Korra asks Nova, breaking me from my reveries.

  “What?” I say, and I almost scoff because I’m the one who healed Nova’s wounds enough to stop bleeding.

  “Yes,” Nova says, quickly and stern. I realize he’s trying to protect my abilities. I remember his warning in the pits. I guess that disclosure needs to stay hidden even now that we’re out.

  Korra nods at him and gives our rescuer a sideways glance that seems suspicious.

  “Is he going to need any tonics or ointments for the wounds?” the stranger asks.

  Korra slowly shakes her head, reinspecting the wounds on Nova’s back for good measure.

  The stranger sighs heavily and pushes off the table until he’s next to me. He sniffs the air near me and winces, and his face goes sour.

  The stranger notices Nova’s arm where the roses and vines dance and wither and bloom all in sequence. I hold my breath waiting for the stranger to comment on his magical tattoo. Instead, he moves to the back door we entered from, drops a few coins on the nearby table, and says, “Thanks, Korra. I’ll stop by next time we’re in the city.”

  He slips out the door. For a moment, Nova and I just stand there, staring at each other when Korra says, “I think he means for you to follow him.”

  “What’s with that guy?” Nova asks accusingly, “Does he make it a habit to help strangers?”

  “Yes, actually. That guy helped you out of the cave pits, yeah? That’s sort of his style. Every time he’s in town, he’s bailing someone new from the elkkin pits.”

  Just then, the stranger pops his head into the dwelling and says, “Get your asses in gear, or I’m leaving you behind.”

  Nova scowls and says, “Expect me to walk around shirtless?”

  The stranger eyes him once, twice, and a third time before he shrugs and says, “I’m not complaining about the view.”

  Nova instantly blushes, and his shoulders shift inward like he feels exposed. I almost giggle at the stranger’s careless remark. He’s not wrong. This is the first time I’ve seen Nova shirtless, and I can’t help but stare every time Nova isn’t looking. His chest is well defined, wide and thick. His shoulders are round and rigid. His arms are as thick as my thighs, it seems. The mountains and ridges of furry flesh against his stomach are breathtaking. I feel myself flush just as my eyes lower to the narrow arches of muscle that trail beneath his trousers.

  “Hey, my eyes are up here,” Nova chirps, feigning offense.

  I startle, cough, and dash after the stranger already out the door. Nova is calling after me, but I practically sprint down the alley until I’m walking in sync with our rescuer.

  The faint light of day that pierces the blackened sky seeps away into the confines of dusk and darkness—greeting the hustling city like a blanket. The city merchants don’t close shop or pack away their goods—instead, they light torches and braziers, illuminating the streets. At the same time, they bargain, laugh, and gossip.

  Distraction awaits me by each vendor table full of various exotic things. One merchant sells fish of all varieties—scaled, gutted, and salted. Another vendor has swords and daggers of different metals and woods, gemstones, and engravings. Some of the blades are long and straight. Others are curved like a crescent moon. Glowing silk bowstrings hang under the canopy of an artificer, with dark yew bows on perfect display. I’ve never been
good with a bow, but I admire the exquisite craftsmanship.

  Humans of all colors and cultures walk about freely with their fae companions. Human and fae living together—in peace. It feels like a faetale. Fae races I’ve never read of litter about the streets like swarming bees outside a hive. Small pixie-like figures with glittering wings—only as tall as the length of my hand—flutter across the markets with trails of dust falling in their wake. Short creatures with so much hair they looked nearly animal, but they casually stroll by while deep in conversation.

  I’m so distracted I don’t even notice I stop walking until a blazoning warm hand presses against my shoulder and gives a firm squeeze. I look over my shoulder to see Nova staring intently. The confident touch and gaze feel too comfortable, too natural—which confuses me even more. We are enemies—we are friends…We are just...just what? Since we’ve escaped the cavern pits, Nova seemingly finds a reason to touch me in some way. He nudges a shoulder, or his hand on my back, or a firm grip across my neck.

  I flinch the first few times it happens, but I pathetically become used to the touch that connects us, even if for only moments at a time. When Nova removes his hand, I yearn for him to return it—welcoming the comfort that follows his contact. I find myself purposely lingering at the table of intricate hand-woven rugs—I hold my breath as I wait for that firm grip against my shoulder to return and remind me to keep walking.

  It doesn’t return. Instead, only the cooling, crisp air that dances with the heat from the braziers and torches caress my skin.

  I’m not sure what to make of the strangers’ intentions. He hasn’t spoken more than a few short words as he leads us across the city; “keep up”; “cross here”; “down that alley.”

  The city stretches higher towards the volcanic peak, tiers of rock and stone, clay and glass ascending to the sky—almost as if the city itself were built like stairs for the gods to climb the mountain to reach Harheim, the heaven realm. High above the city is a black onyx palace that shimmers like glass. Soaring spires pierce the smoke-filled sky. The gleaming sheen of molten rivers reflects off the palace glass surface, cascading a hue of orange and red, almost like a sunset or the colors that penetrate through Nova’s gaze.