The Book of Never: The Complete Series

by Ashley Capes

  The old man soon returned, waving them to the door. “Through the curtain and to your left, gentlemen.”

  Never nodded as he passed. A good sign – she wasn’t too angry then.

  A short passage and through the curtain to a room with a second door, two chairs at a table. Never removed his pack and took a chair. Luis stood behind him, dumping his own pack and leaning his spear against the wall. “Do you think she’ll be long?”

  Before Never could answer, the door opposite opened and a girl with long, honey-coloured curls walked into the room. She took the remaining chair without speaking. Although, ‘girl’ wasn’t quite right – she was not a child anymore. She’d even grown half a foot since he saw her last. Her tunic and pants were cinched by a belt with pouches and a leather-handled knife, and her scarf was sheer, pale with a silvery thread. Both keepsakes from her mother and father.

  “Tsolde. You’ve grown.”

  “And you haven’t, Never.” She didn’t smile, but he hoped she wanted to.

  “A good thing, as at my age I can only grow outwards.”

  “You want a room I suppose. And food, as usual.”

  “That would be delightful.”

  She folded her arms. “I’ve cleared my debt. You can pay same as everyone else.”

  He paused. After a fashion, she was right. “You’ve cleared your parents’ debt, actually. Your own is outstanding, if we’re being honest.”

  Now she frowned. “Who saved you from the Hooves of the Shadow Vale?”

  “I did that myself.”

  “Both times?”

  He grinned. “Well, what if we bartered?”

  Finally Tsolde smiled. “I’ve no use for a lockpick.”

  He placed a hand over his heart. “Lockpick?”

  Luis laughed. “Surely you’ve been called worse?”

  “Frequently. But it always hurts more hearing it from a friend.”

  Tsolde looked to Luis. “Sounds like you know Never.”

  “Starting to.”

  “Just be sure never to let him trick you into owing him a favour.”

  Never sighed. “If you’ve both finished dragging my name through the mud?”

  “It’s not exactly your name though, is it?” she said.

  “No, but I have a few clues about that,” he said.

  Tsolde’s expression shifted to one of curiosity. “All right, Never. Do me a favour and you can stay as long as you like.”

  “Yes?”

  “I need you to kill my future husband. Quickly. And quietly.”

  Chapter 3.

  Tsolde handed him a slender key in the lamp-lit corridor of panelled wood. “I’ll have a meal sent up and then we can discuss the finer details of your part of the bargain. There’s something I need to take care of first.”

  She strode down the hall, pausing to adjust a painting by nudging the silver frame, and then she turned a corner and was gone.

  “Are you seriously considering it?” Luis asked.

  “Let’s hope not.” Never stepped into the room and slung his pack onto the floorboards before collapsing into a deep armchair by the fireplace. The hearth was cold but he sighed; how pleasant to stop even for a moment. Being motionless on a ship wasn’t the same.

  And being crammed into a wooden box was worse.

  “Never?” Luis took a seat on a large chest at the foot of the bed. “Is she even old enough to know what she’s asking?”

  “She saw her parents cut down in the street as a child; she knows.”

  Luis blinked. “All right, but who does she want you to kill?”

  “No idea. It’s been two years since I saw her. Sounds like her uncle is worried about her and wants Tsolde to marry.”

  “And if her suitor is a powerful nobleman? Do you want half the Hanik army chasing us through the forest?”

  “Not to mention Harstas. He won’t exactly cheer them on; he’ll see them as competition.”

  Luis nodded. “So you think it’s a bad idea too.”

  “Of course. But I’ll probably do it if she can convince me he’s a pig.”

  Luis grunted but said no more until someone knocked on the door. “Yes?”

  “Open up if you’re hungry,” a voice replied.

  Luis moved to the door and Never sat straight. He had a hand on one of his knives but the man who strode through the doorway, a large tray of steaming food in hand, was just Augim, one of Tsolde’s strong-men.

  He wore a vest and bracers at his wrists, a stout club hanging from his belt.

  “Pressed into service, Augim?”

  He frowned as he set the food at a sideboard. Luis followed him, spearing a roasted potato with his dagger. “Just helping her out, Never. What are you doing back here?”

  “Looking for something.”

  “In The Young Stag?”

  “City-Sedrin perhaps.”

  He grunted. “Got a guide?”

  “I’ve travelled the White Woods before.”

  “Well I know someone who’ll make it easier,” he offered. “Especially if you’re heading deep.”

  “If things continue to go wrong, no doubt I’ll be travelling to the very deepest, blackest and most deadly part of the whole forest.”

  “That might not be as deep as you think,” Augim said as he leant against the wall, one knee raised.

  “Oh?”

  Luis paused, a slice of beef halfway to his mouth.

  The guard nodded. “There’re new eyes roaming about the place. People are going missing, travellers, folks that live in the woods, you name it.”

  “Then maybe I should meet this guide. And maybe you can send me a good healer? I’m having trouble shaking a fever.”

  “I’ll arrange it.”

  “Thank you.” He met the man’s eyes. “What’s happening with Tsolde and this marriage?”

  “Her uncle isn’t much longer for this world. He wants to go to his rest with a settled mind.” He shrugged. “Thinks he’s found a rich man that will help her.”

  “Met him?”

  “No. He’s from City-Sedrin. He’ll be here in two days. That’s all I know.” He took the tray and left.

  “Well, that’s a start.” Never ate a few pieces of the meal, a carrot, a potato and a bit of meat – even though every mouthful was tasteless, he made himself chew it down. And it wasn’t the cooking; he’d obviously lost his sense of taste thanks to the illness.

  “By your face it looks like that’s quite the chore,” Luis said.

  “It’s this damn fever. I can barely taste the food now.”

  “Then save the rest for me.” Luis grinned.

  Never chuckled as he returned to the armchair. He hadn’t been sitting long when the door opened again, and this time Tsolde entered.

  She took a seat at the bed and sighed. “Well?”

  “I’ll need more than that, Tsolde.”

  “What do you need to know to make this man disappear?”

  Never leant forward. “A name, a location, his route, and a good reason.”

  She glared at him. “Don’t try and be funny.”

  “Then convince me he’s going to hurt you.”

  Tsolde said nothing.

  Never stood and looked to Luis. “Tough luck for us it seems. We’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.”

  She stood, arms folded, but still said nothing. Her jaw was clenched as she watched him bend to collect his pack. Luis moved to follow him. Never clasped the cool doorknob.

  “Wait.”

  He turned. “Yes?”

  Tsolde’s lip trembled. “I don’t need him,” she cried. “The Bleak Man can take him! I don’t want anyone’s help; this is my place. I’m the one who runs the inn. I take inventory, I pay Augim and the others, I maintain the building, I deal with the town fathers and I take in the sick during winter – it’s me! And I’ve been doing it since before Uncle grew ill. I don’t need some fop from the royal city coming in and taking all that away.”

  Never joined
her at the bed and placed an arm around shoulder. “No-one can take The Stag from you.”

  “Baron Floriak will.” Tsolde folded her arms.

  “You’ve spoken to him?”

  “No.” She sniffed.

  “Then when you do, simply explain the rules. Same as you do to everyone else.”

  She laughed but her smile faded quickly. “Why doesn’t he trust me?”

  “Your uncle is probably just worried.”

  “I’ve never given him reason to worry about me.”

  “The ones who care about us always worry,” Never said.

  She gave a slow nod, before wiping at her eyes and standing to walk to the door. “I’m sorry. I’ll let you both rest. But you still owe me, Never.”

  “Of course.”

  Tsolde paused. “So why are you here? Truly. Who are you running from this time?”

  “Same as last time; I’m looking for an old name.”

  “Do you know something at last?”

  “I have a clue. But first, Augim is sending me a healer for my fever.”

  “You don’t look sick.”

  “Trust me, I’m ill. And I’m not able to shake this illness by my... usual methods.”

  “Then stay put, will you?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Good.” She slammed the door but she’d been smiling as she left.

  Never bent to unlace his boots. He kicked off each shoe then collapsed onto one of the beds. Soft, cool sheets. Beautiful. “Luis, wake me when the healer comes.”

  “I will.”

  “Wonderful,” he murmured into the pillow.

  Chapter 4.

  The healer, Hensrik, was a corpulent man who paced the room in the lamplight, his eyes roving as he strode. He paused a moment, rubbing his temples.

  “I’m sorry to have woken you so late,” Never said from the bed. His limbs were weak now – another new problem gifted by the fever. Beyond the drawn curtains, the hint of moonlight. How long had it taken Augim to find the man?

  Hensrik looked up. “Oh, no trouble. I tend not to sleep much.” He’d placed a heavy-looking bag by the bed and completed a quick examination of Never’s eyes and temperature, listened to a modified version of Never’s story then administered a sweet draught of something and then set off to pacing, since which, he hadn’t had much to say.

  At least the draught eased some discomfort.

  “Any ideas?”

  Hensrik waved a hand back and forth. “You’re sure that the fever comes and goes with varying intensity? And that it’s plagued you for weeks. You’re very sure of that point?”

  “Very.”

  The healer’s shoulders slumped. “Then I have depressing news. Your fever is most likely a variant of the Moor-Sickness, something more common to Vadiya than Marlosa, I must say. It’s fatal.”

  Never straightened. Fatal?

  “But I will say – it usually finishes a victim off in a week or less. Most rally at the end, and appear to fight it off – yet it returns swiftly to finish them.” He glanced at Never. “But you, my friend, are quite remarkable.”

  “I’d like to keep being remarkable if possible.”

  “I regret to say there’s nothing I can do.”

  Luis stepped closer. “Nothing at all?”

  Hensrik opened his mouth as if to speak, then stopped. He tried again. “Find some of the Red Clove. If it still exists anywhere in the forest, it might save him.”

  “Where can we find it?” Luis asked.

  “No idea, sadly. One piece of good news you’ve probably gathered by now, it’s not easily passed on to others, so you’re safe.” He gathered his bag and paused at the door, glancing back to Never. “Drink lots of water in the meantime.”

  “Thanks.” Never lay back. The Red Clove it was then. Somewhere in the forest. Possibly. The pressure was mounting. Harstas was out there somewhere and now the fever had been given a name – and a bitter one at that.

  “Maybe our guide will know where to find some?” Luis said.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  “I’ll wake you at dawn,” Luis said.

  “Good.”

  As Luis doused the lamp and climbed back into his own bed, Never closed his eyes and breathed in the simplest pattern. Inhale, exhale. One question remained – how had Harstas kept someone alive long enough to transport the fever across half of Marlosa? Or worse, all the way from Vadiya?

  Luis woke him in the grey dawn, handing over a cup of water in the pale light that slipped through the curtains. Never drank and rubbed his eyes.

  “Augim has organised for the guide to meet us in the common room.”

  “Excellent.” Never stood, stretching his limbs. His hair was greasy from old sweat, but at least the fever had eased. Due to Hensrik’s draught or Never’s own body, he couldn’t say. He found his boots and began to lace them. “Have you met him?”

  “His Marlosi is as good as the rest of the people in the Stag, so that’s helpful at least.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. It’s just... Karlaf is getting on in years. I hope he can keep up.”

  “Let’s go find out.”

  Never gathered his gear and noted the pack had a weightier heft. “Been out for supplies already?”

  “I’m efficient.”

  Karlaf waited amongst empty tables and bench seats before the embers of the common room fire. Tall windows let the pale morning light in, splashing across the wood. The guide was a short man, built solid, his silvery hair ruffled as if caught in the wind. Beneath an old cloak his belt was laden with pouches of varying sizes. He carried a long walking stick and rested it against the mantle when he greeted them.

  “I’m Karlaf. Augim told me you’re a friend of Tsolde, so I’m happy to help.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, white stubble shifting. “Don’t let my age fool you, I’m still the best.” His accent was mild, a slight drawing out of the softer sounds.

  “Good to know. You can call me ‘Never’, Karlaf. How deep can you take us?”

  He nodded, a slight rising of his eyebrow the only reaction to Never’s name. “Far as you need.”

  “You know we’re searching for Red Clove? Other medicines have proven ineffective.”

  He nodded. “Optimistic, aren’t you?”

  “I have to try.”

  “Well, we might get lucky. If we go deep enough.” Karlaf narrowed his eyes. “Not catching, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you don’t look sick, I’ll admit.”

  “The fever comes and goes. Moor-Sickness, according to the healer.”

  “You sick too?” he asked Luis.

  “No.”

  “Good. Have either of you travelled the Hanik forests before?”

  Never nodded. “Several times, though not to the centre.”

  “Only to the north,” Luis said.

  “Well, large parts are just like any other forest. But since last winter something has changed. No-one knows what exactly, but sometimes the wood grows angry. People disappear from well-worn trails. Everyone describes feelings of being watched.” He rubbed a thumb in his palm, as if soothing an old wound. “It’s as if the old stories were coming true.”

  “Old stories?”

  He shook his head. “Just being foolish. Probably bandits. Or maybe bears have come down from the mountains. We’ll start out for Whinn Creek and from there decide which route to take. Red Clove was last seen in... two places from memory.”

  “Sounds agreeable,” Never said. “Lead on.”

  They headed into the cool of morning, light growing beyond the tree line. The resin pavings were dull beneath the grey sky. Few people were about; a pair of sailors rushed down toward the docks. Closer to the edge of the port town, a young boy scurried toward a stable with water-pail in hand.

  Just before leaving the streets, Never paused. Had that been a glimpse of a shadowy figure ducking back behind a wall? One of Harstas’ men? Or was he mista
ken?

  He waited but no-one reappeared.

  Onward then.

  A narrow field of swishing grass ran between the low stone wall and the forest, a dense row of pale birch and shadow. Hard-packed dirt led east and south into the trees. From the moment they stepped beneath, a soft squeaking began. Never glanced between the white trunks – somewhere nested tree-mice, though their true name was something Hanik he couldn’t recall.

  “What’s that sound?” Luis asked.

  “Baeils. Little furry fellows. Wicked claws but they never bother humans. Live in the trees.”

  “If you say so.”

  “We don’t have to worry about them. It’s the Bakar we should worry about. They’re a lot bigger.”

  “How much?”

  “Ever seen a bear?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re similar – only they’re harder to see.”

  Never glanced at their guide. Karlaf chewed on a honey-stick as he walked. Little more than a twig soaked in the resin, it was a mild painkiller used by Hanik farmers and hunters on long hunts. “I’ve never seen the Bakar. Are you saying they blend with the trees?”

  “No. But they don’t make sound when they move. It’s unnatural.”

  Never whistled; in the close quarters of a forest that would be a problem.

  “Legend says they’re the bitter spirits of folks killed in the landslide that buried the ancient city of Sarann. Wrath of the Gods and all.”

  “Good. We need more angry spirits in the world.”

  Karlaf snorted.

  The morning wore on and the sun found a way between the canopy; clearings like pools of light off the trail. The tall undergrowth was a green carpet and the deeper they travelled the less the sun broke through.

  The old guide called a halt before a large stone seeming to grow out from the earth, its surface covered in deep-green moss. “Let’s eat.” He sat and leant against the stone before hauling his pack onto his lap. He pulled out a slab of bread and cheese, taking a big bite.

  Never did the same but Luis completed a circuit of the area first, spear held ready.

  “Looking for Bakar already?” Never called.

  “Maybe,” Luis replied when he returned and started on his own meal. “I’m not as fond of surprises as I used to be.”