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

by J. Levi

  Never one without the other. Our voices meld into one.

  Then I—we hear the howl again, this time closer and from behind. My wolf turns in horror as we realize the direction it came from. The caravan…Veryn’s at the caravan. She’s with him, I cry—Pack, mother, love. We will find, my wolf calls. Our mind swims with memories of mother and the memories of the caravan. I don’t want any of them to hurt. I don’t want any of them to die for me—us, but that’s precisely what will happen, isn’t it? If we run and flee, he’ll keep chasing. He’ll hurt everyone who tries to help, but maybe if he has me…maybe he will show mercy.

  I know it’s a lie, but I allow myself to believe it as my rage consumes me as much as my fear. Our instincts scream to run and hide, but the sound of mother’s broken howl screams louder.

  My wolf howls as loud as we can like a song into the night. It’s a howl soaked in fear, anger, and love. We howl to mother and tell her we are coming to her.

  Mother’s cry comes moments later, sadder than all the ones before because she doesn’t want us to come, but we’re tired of running.

  The city streets beam furiously with scents and colors my wolf is too hyped to discern. The smell of cooked meats are far more savory, the summer blossoms of the city garden meld with the odors of human and fae. The sharp bite of smoke burns as we take in the smell of burning wood. The people on the roads gasp and scream when they see me, parting the way for me to run by.

  It takes a while to reach the outskirts. As we breach the outer buildings and sprint across the sandy earth, my wolf notices fire billowing from the pavilion and tents. Kezia’s wagon is crushed under a wyvern that snaps and snarls at the horses tied to a nearby trough. Its rider on its back shouts commands in another language. Another wyvern sluggishly flaps its wings toward the sky as it carries a rhinoxen in his razor talons. The cries and shouts of the caravan force our ears to pull back, our tail tucked low. Some of the cries are cut off short with warbling sounds. Our stomach wrenches and my wolf snarls its teeth in rage.

  We almost howl in mourning, but the shriveled whimpering of another wolf stops us. We skid along the ground as we come to a stop. We can see her now, through the smoke and blazes, just before the pavilion. My wolf calls out as we step forward, cautiously.

  Mother lies in the dirt, shifted in her wolfkin form, but she looks frail, even smaller than I remember. A silver collar is clasped tightly around her neck and her fur is caked in both dry and fresh blood. She tries to lift her head but fails. Instead, she howls again, this time sounding more defeated. Mother cries Pack, daughter, love. Then we see him, the real monster in the night. Veryn stands there beside mother’s broken body with his lazy grin and sinister eyes.

  “There you are, my dear. I’ve been looking for you.”

  27

  Nova

  “No coin nor purse, or polished jewel be safe, for we are liberators.…”

  – Thieves Guild of Rhenstadt motto 42 B.A.

  It takes us nearly an hour before we finally reach the bottom level of the colossal library because Duck won’t stop slipping into branching corridors. Eventually, I resort to grabbing the collar of his vest and towing him behind me. Of course, the birdbrain just sings a merry little jingle.

  Cas seems to enjoy his company, which is about the only reason why I tolerate Duck. I may or may not have placed my torch against his bottom side. I’ll be honest, I expected him to burst in flames, but absolutely nothing happened. The librarian’s voice echoes faintly down the sloped hall after us, “The flames aren’t real. They won’t burn anything.”

  Fucking magic.

  When we reach the bottom, the air is musky, the smell of cold stone and stale pages. Torches along the outer pillars automatically ignite, illuminating the entire floor. Rows of bookcases stationed in a crescent outline surround an elegant table with chairs tucked close. I expect dust to coat everything, but every surface looks as though it’s been recently cleaned. Is that magic too, or does someone have the tedious task of housekeeping? I pause, listening to the silence that surrounds us. I hear Cas and Duck shuffle around, casually inspecting the books. I feel a little disappointed since I expected the librarian’s voice to call down and explain cleanliness.

  “None of these books are in the common tongue,” Cas says from behind a bookcase. When I turn the corner, he’s standing with his torch in hand while balancing a book in his other. I look at the writing, and sure enough, it’s in a language I don’t recognize.

  “Oh, that’s Erellon,” Duck says matter-of-factly. Cas and I stare at him, waiting for further explanation. Duck doesn’t offer more as he strolls away, humming.

  “What’s Erellon?” Cas asks.

  “It’s a dead language. Used by Erellonians eons ago.”

  “I don’t recognize Erellonian,” Cas pleas.

  “Ah, well, it’s a fae race that went extinct. Well, maybe. Archeologists argue between extinction and ascension,” Duck replies while skipping through a doorway. Cas puts the book back on the shelf and follows Duck through the opening. I sigh and do the same.

  We’re in a long corridor that curves until we reach a new chamber. It’s also filled with tomes and scrolls. Towards the far back, the wall is barren of bookcases. Instead, there are dull ruby tapestries strewn on the wall and a grand fireplace with chiseled stone figures on each side of the mantle in the center. Duck is singing something under his breath until he barks an aha.

  “Here we are, Occult and Religion. Let’s see…I think god worship will be somewhere over here,” he says while ducking down a row of cases. Cas and I follow. When we reach Duck, he is already sitting cross-legged on the ground with a stack of books beside him. He’s flittering through pages in each book before he stands again and starts grabbing more at random without any sign of strategy or method.

  Cas does the same, though he’s only peering at the covers and then returning them to their shelf, probably searching for one in a language he can understand.

  “Oh, this is a good one,” Duck coos.

  “What did you find?” I ask hastily. I curse myself for sounding so eager at anything Duck has to say.

  “Runology: The Complete Guide to Transmuting Runes for Beginners,” he says.

  “Runes?” Cas asks and then, “Like the ones etched into our torches?”

  “Yes, sir,” Duck responds. I wait.

  “Well? Is there something in there that mentions temple sages?” I ask.

  “Sages?” Duck says, looking up from his book of runes.

  “Yeah, sages. The entire reason why we’re here reading through piss-old books,” I yell.

  “Oh. Um, sorry, mister Nova, sir. No sages in this book. Although, there’s a fascinating chapter on transmuting urine into water.”

  I stare at Duck, dumbfounded. I take a long stride in his direction when Cas sets himself between us. His hands firmly press against my chest. We stand close, entranced. I want to say something, but I know if I do, the moment will be gone. So instead, I stand as still as I can and pray the gods can slow time just so I can stay in this moment a little longer.

  I think the gods are merciless pricks because Duck squeals. It startles Cas and me from our daze.

  Duck must have left the row because he isn’t sitting on the floor anymore. Cas takes off running down the hall of bookcases, and I follow. We emerge near the back of the chamber by the unlit hearth. I inspect the sculpted figures more closely. The stone is translucent, like ocean quartz, and the details are life-like. Sirens—long-haired maidens with their lower half more fish than human.

  I shake off my admiration and search for Duck. He’s next to one of the sculptures, his back turned to us.

  “What is it? Who’s attacking?” I say, gripping my torch like a longsword and ready to swing. Duck turns around to face us, his book of runes still in one hand and what looks like a slice of bread in the other. His cheeks bulge, and his jaw churns like he’s chewing.

  “I forgot
I had a slice of fruitcake in my vest. It’s still good. It’s been there since Oriand,” Duck says with his mouth full.

  “…and then something jumped out and attacked you,” I say, hoping I speak the truth.

  “Huh? No silly Nova, sir. I was just excited. I’m famished…Want a bite?” He offers the sliced fruitcake to Cas and me. I swat the bread from his hand brutally. It flies across the room. Duck wipes the crumbs from his hand on his vest.

  “Very well, you’re right. It’s probably spoiled. I’d surely get a stomachache from eating that. Thanks for looking out for me, Nova, sir,” Duck says while placing a hand on the sculpted siren’s arm and then leaning on it. The sculpture’s arm twists under Duck’s weight, and then a loud rumble regurgitates from the hearth. I watch as a passageway opens deep inside the chimney. Both Cas and I move closer to investigate while Duck fiddles with the statue.

  “Guys, do you think the mean librarian upstairs is going to know?” he asks, trying to twist the arm back in place. “Oh gods, I hope it’s not expensive. I don’t think I can pay to replace it with my caravan wages.” We both ignore him.

  “Where do you think it leads,” Cas asks. I shrug because I have no clue.

  “What are you guys looking at? Huh…what an odd doorway,” Duck chimes. “Are we going to go in there?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Why don’t you go first.”

  I mean it sarcastically, but Duck is oblivious as he crawls into the mouth of the fireplace and then disappears into the passageway. Only the glow of his green flame torch flickers through. Cas steps forward to follow, but I grab his arm carefully. He looks down at my hand and his arm joined together.

  “Let me go ahead…just in case something eats Duck, and we need to run,” I say with a shrug. Cas rolls his eyes but smiles, too. It’s a nice smile. It’s always a nice smile.

  My hand lingers for a heartbeat longer, and then I’m crouching down to fit through the fireplace opening. Beyond the hidden door, a steep spiral staircase descends. When I reach the bottom, Duck is standing in the middle of the chamber. The room is full of bookcases, every binding covered in thick blankets of dust. The cool air has a lingering smell of melted candle wax and mildew.

  There’s a large iron door with glowing etchings inscribed on the metal at the other end of the room. I approach the door and run my fingers along with the carvings. The glow is similar to the ones of our torches. I call my magic forth, allowing it to caress the door, whispering “hello” but nothing hearing nothing in return.

  “Duck, these are runes, right? Can you read them?” I call out. Duck takes his merry time to join me and then stares at the runes for a long while. Cas attempts to push the door open, but it doesn’t budge. I suspect it has something to do with the mysterious shiny drawings on the door.

  “Well?” I ask.

  “Hmm?” Duck responds.

  “What do they mean?” I ask, wishing Terran was here instead of this mongrel.

  “I don’t know. The symbols are pretty, though, don’t you think?”

  “Do you think that book might help translate them?” Cas asks. Finally, some common sense. Duck flips through his book, comparing the symbols. After several minutes he finally starts touching the runes at random.

  “It’s a lock. We need the key to open it,” Duck says.

  “It doesn’t happen to mention where the key is located, does it?” I ask, knowing full well the answer is no.

  “You see this symbol here? This one means siren. That one there? It means poem,” Duck explains.

  “That literally makes no sense,” I retort.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Duck asks. “We need to find a poet who writes about sirens.”

  I stare at him and imagine the ways I could end his life—a saccharine feeling surfaces when I imagine my old assassin friend. Note to self, contact Leluna and put a mark on Duck.

  “A song,” Cas says under his breath. Duck and I both look at him.

  “Song?” I ask. Cas startles as if realizing he was thinking out loud.

  “Yeah. Isn’t a song just a poem in lyric form? And siren’s sing to lure sailors,” Cas explains. Fucking brilliant. I look at Duck, who’s still watching Cas while smiling.

  “Alright, Duck boy, you’re up. Start quacking,” I say with a heavy slap on his back. Duck preens at the request and clears his throat by making the most ridiculous noises, warming his vocal cords.

  “Do you know any bard songs about sirens?” Cas asks fervently. Duck nods and then sings a melodic ballad. His words are in a foreign tongue that neither Cas nor I can understand. For a moment, I actually enjoy it. Until I remembered it is Duck’s singing, and I discard the endorsement.

  After a few verses, the runes pulse, and the door hums like a finger rubbing the brim of a glass goblet. When Duck finishes his serenade, the runes go dark, and the room is silent. Cas pushes at the door again, and this time it opens.

  I let Duck go first again, then I follow with Cas close behind. Along hallways that appear to be carved directly from salt stone like a gemstone mine. It opens into a large cavern with a river in the center. On the other side is a drawbridge, hoisted by rust-colored chains. I can see the release level on the other side. I look at the water, swaying gently. The torchlight fails to penetrate far enough to see the rock bed, concealing the river’s possible depth. I nervously look for another way to cross—memories of nearly drowning in a river as a boy threatening to surface.

  Then I look at Duck and smile. Duck smiles back.

  “Hurry up,” I say.

  “Hurry up what?” He says back.

  “You’re the Duck. Get in the water and waddle your ass to the other side so you can release the drawbridge.” Duck almost giggles and hands me his torch. Then he jumps into the water with his knees tucked into his chest and arms wrapped around his shins. Water splashes, drenching my trousers and shirt. Cas, who stands a safe distance behind me, laughs. Duck climbs out of the water on the other side and releases the drawbridge. After we cross, I hand Duck his torch and travel through another corridor. I almost suggest we turn back, feeling glib about exploring corridor after corridor.

  Then we emerge into a cavern so large that it triumphs the size of the colossal library far above us. The cavern ceiling is littered with stalactites, glowing gems embedded in the stone. We approach a lengthy stone-carved bridge that leads to an island with more carved bridges scaling over dozens of rivers. Beyond that is an old ancient dome held by stone pillars. More statuesque sirens carved of sea quartz mount each column. Suddenly the name Temple of Rivers makes more sense. The rivers glow a soft blue tint. I peer down and watch glowing shapes swim casually through the water.

  “Fish?” I ask no one in particular.

  “They don’t look like any fish I’ve ever seen,” Cas says in wonder. We continue.

  We trek across the bridge and river until we reach the temple. Smaller structures lay beyond—doorways and porthole windows carved in the stone. In the center of the temple is a pedestal with a clear glass dome shielding a sapphire garnet. The sheer size of it is breathtaking. I imagine the amount of gold I could get from fencing it. A faint buzz in the back of my head grows the closer I move to the stone. I think it’s a trick of the mind, but an ominous voice whispers, Free, free, I wish to be free. I step away, shaking over the cold shivers the voice invokes down my spine.

  Duck traipses to the pedestal, leaning close to inspect the gem. Cas is mesmerized by the intricate architecture of the temple. His neck cranes as he stares at the dome ceiling. I glance up to find the entire ceiling is a painted mural of oceans, sirens, and Banne himself. Beside him is a maiden with similar features.

  Perysene. The mural reminds me of the glass dome in the library above.

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve been graced with visitors,” a brittle voice says. We all look beyond the temple and towards the dwelling behind it. A robed man slowly joins us. His face is old and fragile with wrinkles
. His head is bald, scalp shiny. His eyelids are so heavy that I can’t see eyes. I step forward, ushering Cas behind me.

  “Are you a sage?” I ask.

  “Aye, child, that I am,” the old man responds. “You may call me Marlon. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

  “I’m Casaell. This is Nova, and that’s Duck,” Cas says while pointing at us consecutively.

  “Duck?” Marlon asks.

  “That’s me! It’s a funny story, actually. It all started when I was a little—”

  “—We’re searching for answers,” I interrupt Duck’s rambling. “Answers that only a sage can give, I believe.”

  “I see. Why don’t we rest on those steps? Forgive an old man, but my knees just aren’t what they used to be,” Marlon pleads. I nod, and we sit down in a comfortable space between us. Duck is still standing, spinning on his heel and whistling.

  “Are you the only one here?” Cas asks.

  “Aye, that I am,” Marlon replies. “The old ways have slowly faded into the past. There are more Temple of Rivers out there. They’ll carry on just fine.”

  “How long have you been alone?” Cas asks. Again, his question surprises me. This time it’s because of the sincerity in his voice.

  “A long time… Now, what is it to which you seek answers?”

  “I…I—um. I don’t know how to put this into words,” I muster. Marlon smiles, and his eyes fold into thinner lines.

  “Perhaps it has something to do with the runic bindings on your wrists?” Marlon states and then, “I can sense your magic. It’s foreign to me—manifest it.”