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

by J. Levi

  I call on my magic, allowing it to thrum underneath my skin. It calls, sings, and purrs to be summoned. I’ve spent so many weeks keeping it tucked away. Now I’ve beckoned it. My magic threatens and yearns to consume everything around me. I don’t allow it to envelop me like it yearns to. I imagine the black and purple flame form and shape in the palm of my hand. At first, the magic is chaotic, unpredictable. I almost lose control, but I’ve mastered my magic throughout my life. Learning to yield this new form under my command is second nature by now. I’ve managed to manifest the twilight fire when I fought against the spiders and the Cravyn, even though it was faint.

  At first, it’s small, barely the size of a grain of sand. I pour more magic into it like a breath feeding a spark and inspiring it into a flame. A heartbeat later, and a spherical manifestation of my magic hovers above my skin. Marlon watches in awe, as does Cas. Duck has a smile on his face, nodding his head and mouthing the words, es, Nova sir.

  When I feel that Marlon has seen enough, I allow my magic to seep back into me. I absorb the static and rhapsodize the sensation. Marlon looks away, pondering.

  “Arcana de calamitae…never thought I’d witness it,” he says, almost casually.

  “Chaos magic?” Cas asks. Marlon hums.

  “Aye. Magic is infinite as it is complex. Much of it manifests in elements, water, fire, earth, air, ice, healing, transfiguration, light, and so many more. Of course, magic doesn’t always have to manifest as an element. It can be as basic as the runes the book that boy carries,” Marlon hooks a thumb towards Duck.

  “Why does it feel like you’re about to say chaos magic is a bad omen?” I ask cynically.

  “Ah, but isn’t that the question? Good…Bad…Magic is neither good nor bad. It simply is. A sword in the hands of a soldier may cut down a foe, but it becomes harmless in the hands of a pacifist. Magic is yielded in the same regard,” Marlon explains, “…but even still, it fascinates me to see chaos magic at all.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Oh, that’s a long story, and you didn’t come here for stories,” he smiles. I want to pester him, insist he explains further, but I don’t. There is only one thing I need to know at this moment.

  “My…chaos magic is—broken. I think,” I say. “I’ve always been able to wisp to anywhere I’ve been before until someone used a sage stone to bind me. Now I can’t wisp anymore. When I try, it’s like my magic slips from my grasp.”

  I hear Duck behind us singing a bard chime about shiny things as he inspects the glass dome and gem on the pedestal again. Duck gasps from behind, not even paying attention to our conversation. Now he’s jumping into the air and clasping his hands together, trying to catch a glow bug that slowly wafts through the temple.

  Birdbrain.

  “Sage stone,” Marlon says. “They are rare and diverse. Some believe they’re imbued with magic directly by the gods.”

  “Is that a Sage stone?” I ask while hooking a thumb at the garnet encased in glass. The whispers fight their way back into my mind. Its tone is grave and desperate, Free, free, I wish to be free. Let me out!

  “Afraid not. That is a riosan prism. A cage for an evil, long ago captured by my predecessors.”

  “It just sits there collecting dust,” I say.

  “Aye, riosan prisms are used for good reason.”

  Liarliarliar, I am innocent. Let me out. Free, free, free, the whispering voice carries.

  Ignoring the whispers, I ask, “Then how do I find a sage stone? You’re a sage, surely you know?”

  “Sage stones can give their wielders immense powers, though their power is fleeting and finite. But they are also extremely rare and in my life of one hundred and forty years, I’ve never laid eyes on one.” I feel slightly defeated.

  “How have you managed to live that long?” Cas asks in astonishment.

  “I am arcana, dear boy,” Marlan laughs.

  Marlan observes the tattoo on my forearm while scratching at his beard. “I see, bound and cursed. I imagine the sage stone used is probably too weak to undo it.”

  “It wouldn’t be an option anyway. The stone was destroyed,” I quip.

  “Oh?”

  I hook a thumb at Cas and say, “He managed to interrupt the binding with his glow fingers.”

  “Stop calling them that!” Cas retorts.

  “Show me, young lad.” Cas dips his chin low, almost bashful. Then his hands glow until waves of bright mist radiate from his skin.

  “Baelfire,” Marlon says to Cas, “A magic gifted with a heavy price—”

  Suddenly, Duck yells, “Got you!” followed by a loud crash of glass and stone. We all turn to see the pedestal at the center of the temple is in shambles. The glass dome is shattered into jagged fragments. The stone pedestal is cleaved into large chunks. Duck stands where the plinth used to be. He’s peeking into his cupped hands, admiring his catch.

  The whispering stone calls to me, Take me, let me out, free, free, free.

  “Aye, that shall not bode well,” Marlon says from behind me. I reluctantly stand from the steps and run to Duck. I swat his hand, breaking the flesh prison of his glow bug, and release it. Another swat to the back of his head, and Duck let out a loud bark in protest. I follow the sapphire garnet across the temple floor and retrieve it. Marlon starts to call out in warning, but it’s already too late. I slip my fingers around the riosan prism and inspect it, the whisper too strong to ignore. Yes, I can feel you. I can free you. Take me from this place and I will free you.

  I roll the prism between my thumb and fingers, catching the reflection of my silhouette in its sapphire sheen.

  “I’ll take that, young lad,” Marlon says beside me, offering an open palm. I snap out of whatever trance the prism held me under and reluctantly handed the stone back to the sage.

  The cavernous grotto begins to rumble. The glowing shapes in the river swim in spasms while the glowing aura from the stalactites thrum. The gentle rivers slosh and twist like ocean waves talking a rocky coastline.

  A series of hollow metallic screeches bellow along the stone and water.

  “Expecting company?” Duck asks Marlon.

  “Temple guardians. Stand behind me and they’ll pass,” Marlon says as he takes a few shaky steps down.

  I watch Marlon as he peers off into the cavern, a look of calm pleasantry still on his face. I reach for my dagger out of habit, only to remember I had left it behind in the caravan. I step in front of Cas, pulling him behind me and scan every direction as fast as I can. I don’t like this, being out in the open, exposed.

  From a deep cavernous opening near the rivers, four figures emerge. They’re running inhumanly fast across water and crossings. Their flesh is putrid blue and green. Grotesque stitching of thick black thread stretches across their skin. They look like ragdolls sewn together by tiny scraps of rotten gossamer. Their eyelids are missing, eye sockets are sunken and hollow. Their lips are sewn shut, and jagged flesh is stitched in the place where their noses should be. Tattered linen wraps their bodies like serrated skin. Even with their mouths sealed, they shriek blood-curdling calls as they approach, sending chills through my veins. My heart is pounding. Cas clutches at the fabric of my shirt from behind. I can hear his breathing, fast and unsteady. Duck stands near Marlon, completely impervious to the potential threat running right for us.

  Marlon crosses in front of us, arms stretched out wide. His arms glow a soft blue hue of seawater, tints of seafoam green and azure blue merging against the paleness of his frail arms.

  “Heed guardians! They are friends, not foes. There is no danger here. Return,” Marlon shouts with thunderous volume.

  The figures come to an abrupt halt, halfway through the grotto. Marlon’s fingers twitch and the sloshing rivers seem to settle. The glowing fish-things in the waters calm into gentle lulls.

  “What are they?” Cas says in almost a whisper.

  “Sea wraiths,” Marlon says. “Spirits of s
irens tasked with protecting the temple. A bit high strung creatures, if you ask me.”

  Marlon takes another step, steadying himself as if his hip almost gave out. He waves a hand at the guardians, commanding them to return. They obey with less enthusiasm as whatever beckoned them into the grotto. After a few long moments, they recede back into the cavern opening, disappearing into the darkness.

  Marlon returns to the temple porch, struggling to lift the stone pedestal. Cas and I help him, almost dropping the stone pillar onto my foot. Once it’s righted, Marlon returns the riosan prism to its cradle. Take me from this place. I will free your magic, its voice whispers. It never stops whispering. I look at Cas, searching for a sign he can hear it too, but the young prince is scanning the temple walls, studying the depictions intently.

  “I don’t recognize this story,” Cas says, drawing Marlon’s attention away from the prism. “I thought Banne resided in Lsongard.”

  “Indeed, he did for many eons. Though the undersea realm was destroyed during the war of gods,” Marlon says, singsong as though he’s reading from a child’s storybook.

  I continue listening to Marlon and Cas while I casually walk along the temple’s inner wall, feigning interest in the depicted stories. When I find a pearl-white stone on the floor, I kneel, pretending to refasten my boots and tuck the stone into a tight grip.

  “There’s hardly anything in the Edonian archives about that. What started it? Who fought? Who won?”

  I smirk at Cas’s barrage of questions. Poor Marlon.

  “Calm yourself, lad, or you’ll work yourself into a state,” Marlon chuckles. “You just so happen to be several stories below Orgard’s greatest collection of records.”

  “Eridh’s hell, it didn’t even occur to me.”

  I step closer to the pedestal, keeping a sideways glance at Cas and the old sage. Duck as near one of the rivers, his feet dipped into the opalescent blue water.

  “Where did Banne go after Lsongard was destroyed? Did Perysene go with him?”

  “Questions. So many questions,” Marlon says, amused. “I do not know what came of Banne the warmonger, but Perysene devoted centuries of service to his temples across midheim before she stopped.”

  I step closer to the pedestal. With a feint string of magic, I let it caress the stone, its voice getting louder in my mind. Is what you say true? I ask the prism.

  Yes. I do not lielielie. Let me out, and I will free your magic. You can save your prince. I can fix your friend, it whispers in reply. My breath hitches as the thought of fixing Ricon’s maimed arm and shoulder settles in my chest.

  “What happened to her?” Cas and Marlon step farther away from the temple porch, scaling down the stares and approaching Duck at the river’s edge. I take the chance without remorse, swiping the prism from its cradle with practiced hands just as fast as setting the pearl stone in its place. I hold my breath, waiting and leaning over as if I can chase the sounds of the sea wraiths returning—only the sounds of Cas and Marlon’s conversation and the soothing trickle of the many rivers.

  Finally, the prism sings. It thrums in my clenched fist, so much so I feel like I might drop it, so I place it in my vest inner pocket. I step away from the pedestal, slowly at first, and by the time I reach the base of the temple porch stares, my pace turns into a brisk walk. I reach Cas and Marlon mid-conversation.

  “—fell in love with a sea witch named Maeryl. She became mortal and lived the rest of her days, happy. Or so I’ve been told,” Marlon says.

  “Wait, that’s impossible. A goddess willingly became mortal? How is that even possible, but better yet, why would she do that?” Cas’s face turns flush and his brows pinch. I’ve noticed over the past weeks that he does that when he’s thinking too hard.

  “Why don’t we head upstairs and see if we can find anything in the library archives. Maybe there’s something that discloses Perysene’s motives,” I offer as casually as possible while be abundantly aware of the prism still vibrating in my vest pocket.

  Cas almost startles as he realizes I’m standing just behind him. It only takes a moment for him to regain his composure.

  “But Marlon is—” he starts.

  “—Very busy and doesn’t need us bothering him.”

  Cas’s lips crease into a thin line and he studies my face.

  “Oh, can we stop in the plant psychology section before we leave?” Duck chirps from the river edge, tucking his feet back into boots. “Kezia has a blood lily that just won’t blossom.”

  “Sure,” I say without hesitation, which only makes Cas’s face draw tighter.

  Marlon places a gentle hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Go, young lad. If memory serves, the library will be closing soon, and you’ll be stuck with whatever lurks between bookcases after the lights go out.” Marlon winks and chuckles when Cas goes pasty white. I feign a laugh myself as I pull Cas behind, leading to the archway we entered from. Duck skips along, waving to Marlon with a melodic goodbye.

  “What has gotten into you,” Cas hisses low enough that Marlon can’t hear.

  “Keep walking,” I say curtly.

  “Or wh—” Cas starts but cuts himself off when his eyes go wide. “You took something, didn’t you?”

  I tilt my head and shrug, making a noise that sounds like “maybe.” Cas groans into his hands when the hollow shrieks from the sea wraiths fill the grotto again. Across the cavern of rivers, I catch a glimpse of Marlon at the temple porch, his arms crossed and head shaking. Shit.

  “What did you take?” Cas asks again, this time louder. Before I have a chance to say anything, the sea wraiths emerge from the cavern opening across the way, gliding across river and stone. I can’t see Cas’s face, and I’m thankful. Right now, I need to focus. I need to keep calm, and most of all, I need to keep Cas alive.

  Then I say, “Run.”

  28

  Casaell

  “Sabai is not just a technique. It is neither weapon or shield. It is the culmination of balance, and understanding and willpower to guide Arcana through our bodies, like guiding a river through the mountain valleys. The practice was created by Master Shindzu, the fourteenth cardinal master of Ishkar. His teachings are only meant for the disciples of Ichi’dan. Never had a foreigner been given the privilege. I’m not even allowed to observe the temple training.”

  – personal notes of Edonian archeologist Fredrich Guthrie 766 B.M.

  “Run.” I hear Nova shout, his hand wrapping tightly around my wrist and tugs me as he runs across a stone channel stretching over a wide river. At first, I stumble until I catch my bearings. Duck is beside me, seemingly confused and stumbling behind. I grab the collar of his vest and pull him closer. Even the jolt doesn’t seem to faze him as he peers over his shoulder at the wraiths fast approaching.

  We descend the channel stairs and onto rocky terrain. I look over my shoulder, two of the figures closing in. One of the wraiths reaches for Duck’s neck, their shriveled fingers tracing the end of his hair.

  “Get down!” I shout, tugging on Duck’s vest and force him to the ground. Nova is already pulling Duck closer to him as I slam my fists together, one arm breaking into a half-crescent wave and a surge of my magic rushes forward. I pour willpower into my magic to grow, like kindling fueling a fire. I push the magic, and a pulse of light bounds outward from my hand in a horizontal wave. Both Nova and Duck are crouched low enough to evade it, but the wraiths aren’t. Their bodies split in half, the leather-like flesh rips like stale cloth.

  Nova is already on his feet, lifting Duck to his and pulling my wrist again to follow. In front of Nova are the other two figures, hunched over and screaming.

  “I think you pissed them off,” Nova says through clenched teeth.

  “You think?” Duck says.

  “What did you take?” I shout at Nova, still trying to catch my footing. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. Give it back!”

  “It’s too late for that,” Nova shouts over h
is shoulder.

  From behind, I hear more hollowed cries. I turn to see the wraiths my magic just tore apart are standing, but their lower halves are missing. Instead of sewn rotten flesh and tattered ribbons of linen, there are translucent limbs of swirling sand and sea glass.

  Marlon’s voice booms over the deathly shrieks, “Return what you’ve taken and the guardians will rest. They will not stop until they’ve retrieved it.”

  “You heard him,” I turn to Nova who’s chiseled jaw flexes tight as he continues to lead us through the grotto.

  “I can’t…” he mutters.

  “You heard Marlon, if you don’t—”

  “I know,” Nova snaps, cutting me off. “I’ll just figure out how to kill them.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I start to protest when a full-figured sea wraith appears in front of Nova.

  “Fuck,” Nova says in a low growl before raising his torch, holding it out towards the sea wraiths stalking closer.

  “That won’t work. The flame isn’t real, remember?” I say. He curses as a wraith charges forward. Nova releases my hand, grips the torch hilt with both hands, and then swings skyward like it’s a great sword. The torch head slams into the rotted chin of the monster, tearing decayed flesh and severing its fake head. The wraith shrieks—its corporeal form a shroud of mist and sand squirming beneath the patchwork skin.

  “Look out!” Duck screams, but I react too late. Something heavy and raspy slams into me. I’m flying through the air until I crash into the muddy earth and tumble into one of the rivers. I recoil fast enough to pull myself onto a ledge before the undercurrents pull me downstream. Nova screams my name, and then he’s cut off as the wraiths swarm him. Mists of ruby red paint the wet cavern floor as each fiend rushes past Nova, inflicting a new tear in his flesh. Duck picks up Nova’s torch at his feet and swings aimlessly at the wraiths until one tackle Duck to the ground. The screams from Duck make my skin crawl. I think back on all the training I’ve done with Hemle, feeling helpless. Sabai is meant to defend, destabilize a confrontation before violence, but as I watch Nova bleed out and Duck squirm beneath a sea wraith, I dig deep down farther into the stores of my magic I’ve dared to venture.