The Book of Never: The Complete Series

by Ashley Capes

  When one bent to touch him he flinched.

  The forest exploded into white.

  All sound ceased. He floated – no, he walked, steps slow, across a clearing leeched of colour, closing in on a stump so broad that a hut had been built atop it. Steps led up to the door. Though made of wood, it too had no colour – pale streaks with dark creases only. A man stood before it, he waved Never closer.

  “Your freedom,” he said, his voice deep.

  The man’s face was heavily wrinkled, eyes almost lost beneath his brows. His skin was pale as the birch that ringed the clearing, it moved only little when he spoke. He was ancient, and the sense of his age was like a force within the clearing. Yet such age was not shown by a beard or flowing white hair – it was all in his wrinkles, which covered his bare chin and bald head too.

  His movements were graced by the faint hiss of leaves rustling or a hand running over smooth bark – the very substance his robe appeared to be made from. “We have little time.”

  “You’re the Bleak Man?”

  “Keep up, Amouni. Of course I am. We must speak of your side of the bargain.”

  “Wait.” He spun to the trees that lined the pale clearing. “What about the Bakar?”

  “I asked them not to harm your friends.”

  “You control them?”

  He chuckled. “No. But we have an understanding – when I can get them to listen. They did not wish to stray from the ruins, you see.”

  “Not truly.”

  “No matter, Never. Attend to me now. You must come to me here. I have expended too much energy wrangling the Bakar. Come to me in the ruins and help me, now that I have saved you.”

  “I may need to be healed first,” he said.

  “The Red Clove, I understand. That is well; you will find it within the walls of Sarann. Remember, east of the ruins – find Kathar and Christi, twin statues of the sun gods, I will open the way for you.”

  Darkness returned.

  He lay in the grass and Luis knelt at his side, shaking his shoulder in the quiet... The quiet? The screams had stopped. The voices of the Steelhawks were gone too.

  “I’m awake. I think.”

  “How did you do that?” Luis whispered.

  “What?”

  “Your knives struck the Bakar and they disappeared.”

  “Truly?”

  “Yes. When you hit the ground you didn’t move at first.”

  He sat up. “Whatever happened, I’m alive now.” It wasn’t the time to mention the Bleak Man. Who knew whether Harstas or any of his ilk had survived the attack? “Where are Elina and Karlaf?”

  “Here.” Karlaf led Elina across the road. “Where did the Bakar go?”

  “Never banished them,” Luis said.

  He raised a hand. “I’m not so certain of that. And we can discuss it later. I think we should flee. Harstas and his men might have survived – and I don’t want to bet on whether or not the Bakar return. Karlaf?”

  He understood the question. “Dark or not, I can find our way.”

  “Then lead on.”

  The older man took them through the darkness, staying true to the path, and despite tripping on the occasional tuft of weed, they made progress through the early evening. Only the sound of the occasional whisper or soft thud of their shoes on the earth – or a curse when Karlaf explained that he’d strayed from the path.

  Several hours passed before he brought them to a halt.

  Never rubbed at his eyes. It was getting harder to keep the damn things open. It’d been a long day; at least the sweating had eased.

  “We need to rest,” Karlaf said. “We should risk a light.”

  “Should we?” Elina asked.

  Never slung his pack to the ground. “I haven’t heard anything following us. In fact, the whole forest is silent. The Steelhawks must be finished. Or lost.”

  “I’ll take first watch,” Luis said.

  Never rubbed the blue-stone until a pale glow rose, handing it to Karlaf, who wound through the looming trees to stop at a small clearing. He pointed to a gap in the grove. “Beyond is a stream, if you listen you’ll hear it.”

  A faint bubbling in the darkness.

  “If we follow, it will lead to the Rinsa river and then to the north-western reaches of Sarann. By noon if I’ve calculated correctly.”

  “And the Bakar?” Luis asked.

  “We simply have to take our chances. I can teach you a Helinir prayer, if you run into a spirit, but I don’t know how effective it will be.”

  Luis nodded. “Better than nothing.”

  Never was already spreading his bedroll. “Wake me for my turn,” he said... or mumbled, because no-one acknowledged him and he was asleep the moment his head hit his pack.

  Chapter 14.

  “The trees have moved.”

  Karlaf continued to pace the clearing, morning sun brightening the silver in his hair. Two broad hazels spread their branches across smaller trees that stood together like a handful of tent poles.

  “I could not say,” Elina said.

  Never shook his head. The image of bark gleaming faintly blue was useless. He didn’t even remember taking his watch. Had anyone woken him? He stretched and rolled his shoulders. At least the fever had receded again – it was a dull pulse almost beneath awareness.

  Karlaf glared at the trees then glanced over his shoulder. “Luis?”

  “They all look the same.”

  “I pointed toward the stream. Told you all it was beyond the gap in the trees, now there’s no gap where I pointed.”

  “So long as the stream is in place?” Never asked.

  Karlaf muttered to himself but nodded. “I suppose. I’m thirsty anyway.” He stomped off along what appeared to be a game trail.

  “Any sign of Harstas?” Never asked.

  “None,” Luis said, checking the binding on his spearhead.

  “Good.” Never found an apple in his pack and bit into it. Floury. The Gods hated him after all. He chewed through the unpleasant texture and by the time he’d packed and helped clear the camp, the apple was finished.

  And Karlaf had returned. The man was shaking his head. “The stream is not there.”

  “What?” Never stood from where he’d knelt to tie the straps on his pack. “I heard it last night. That much I remember.”

  “As did I,” the guide said.

  “And I,” Elina added. Her brow was creased, the bandage on her head smudged with dirt. “Were we all wrong? I know I was exhausted.”

  “We didn’t imagine it.” Karlaf folded his arms. “Something is happening.”

  Luis glanced at the forest. “The Bakar?”

  “First I’ve heard of them hiding a stream. Or shifting a camp.”

  “What about the Bleak Man?” Never asked. It seemed like the kind of thing the old fellow might be able to pull off – the only question being why? It couldn’t have been misdirection – he wanted to meet. Protection? Was there danger at the stream?

  Elina exchanged a glance with Karlaf; both expressions of concern.

  “You seem worried,” Never said.

  Karlaf shrugged. “The Watcher is a fairy tale, Never. Why do you mention him?”

  “Have you been hallucinating?” Elina asked.

  “The man I met seemed real enough. Pale, very wrinkly. He claimed to have brought the Bakar down on the Steelhawks to save us.”

  Elina tilted her head. “You spoke with him?” Another glance at Karlaf. “Are you trying to tell me you think he’s real?”

  “When we were tied to trees and then when I’d passed out near the Bakar.”

  “The Bleak Man?” Luis asked. “Are we in danger?”

  Karlaf spread his hands. “Hard to say. The Watcher in the Wood some call him. The Bleak Man, others. In children’s tales he is the master of life and death in the forest, he slips between the trunks in a robe of birch to collect the dead, while warding the living from trouble.”

  “And in other stories he
lures stray travellers into his grove and feeds them to his trees,” Elina added. Her expression suggested she found that aspect more plausible than a benign watcher.

  Luis frowned. “Never?”

  “He wants my help; no mention of feeding us to any tree.”

  “No-one knows where his home lies,” Karlaf said. The guide still appeared troubled. “You sure it wasn’t just a traveller?”

  “We also met in a white place, after I ‘banished’ the Bakar,” Never said. “He told me to look beyond the twin statues of the sun gods, Kathar and Christi.”

  “You’ve heard of them before, haven’t you?” Elina asked. “Karlaf or I mentioned them in the legend of Sarann.”

  “No.”

  Karlaf shook his head. “The Bleak Man is real.”

  “Or Never simply had a fever-dream,” Elina said.

  “I was awake the first time,” Never said. “And you don’t have to believe me to help find the Red Clove, do you?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps it doesn’t matter.”

  Never turned to Karlaf. “Can you still locate Sarann?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Then let’s move on. We should reach it by noon, right? That should give us a few hours before nightfall to find the Red Clove.”

  “If it still exists,” the guide said.

  “The Bleak Man seemed to think so.”

  Back onto the small animal trail. The squeaking of the Baeils would rise and fall as they passed hidden nests and Never wondered whether the creatures were edible. Trail rations were growing a little dull. Time to hunt remained a luxury.

  Sweat built again – of course. The transitions were becoming shorter. A bad sign? The longer the morning stretched the more he sweated. His vision blurred then sharpened then blurred again. Muscles twitched. Blood was heating up once more but he refused to falter. Not so close to Sarann and the Red Clove.

  Karlaf stopped. “We’ve entered the outskirts of Sarann.”

  Never slowed. Was there more open space between the trees? The trail cut through tall grass and shrubs and the trunks were sparser. He left the trail, peering into the distance. A large clearing of dirt and fallen trunks lay ringed by low stone stumps.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  Elina joined him. “A place for exhibition or sparring. The stumps were once benches.”

  “A building,” Luis called softly.

  Never led Elina back to the trail where Karlaf and Luis had continued a little way. Luis pointed with his spear. Like the outpost, the building was tumbling down and covered in vines and moss.

  Within, moss-covered and chipped tiles made up the floor. A faded green, hints of a pattern were obscured by the return of the forest. In places, moss had been torn up by animals.

  “What was this building used for?” Luis asked.

  Karlaf walked to the centre. “There would have been a skylight here, so that priests could greet the sun as part of rituals for Kathar and Christi.”

  Never took a moment to snatch a drink from his flask. “Should we look for the Clove here? I see a few likely trees – it cannot be that easy, can it?” He pointed. Some of the trees were shorter than the birch with foliage a distinct red.

  Karlaf gave a brief smile. “It’s similar. But the Red Clove is more of a shrub – it’s not truly a clove either. You’ll recognise the leaf, they curl up, dark brown and red. But it wouldn’t hurt to look around. We need a good deal of it, I’d imagine. There’s no record of exactly where it lies, either. Only at Sarann.”

  “The Bleak Man told me it’s in there. Let’s begin,” Never said. He returned to the trail and froze.

  A Bakar stood on the road.

  As before, it had made no sound during its approach.

  And it did not appear to be spirit, as the others. Tall but not towering over him, soft brown fur ran along its slender body, almost feminine in shape and with a slightly disproportionate head – bear-like as Karlaf promised, only longer. The nose glistened in the noon sun. Curved, yellow fangs were visible when it opened its mouth.

  The eyes flicked to each member of the stunned party, then it turned to walk up the road. It paused to glance back once then continued on.

  “Follow it,” Never said.

  “What?” Elina caught his arm, fingers digging in. “Is that the fever or your stupidity talking?”

  “No. It wants us to follow. The Bleak Man sent the Bakar to guide us.”

  “Into a whole nest of them.” She set an arrow to her bowstring.

  “Karlaf?”

  The old man rubbed at his unshaven chin, his eyes a little wide. “It didn’t attack. Could’ve done so.”

  “It’s disappearing,” Never said. The Bakar had turned off the path and was heading deeper into the trees, toward a distant line of what could have been more stone ruins.

  “This is madness,” Elina said.

  “It won’t hurt us,” Never replied. Hopefully – yet surely – the Bleak Man had sent a guide?

  He jogged after it, weaving through the trees and drawing nearer to a low stone wall that ran from ground to waist height, breathing hard again. Only more trees beyond the stone, but the Bakar did not pass the wall, following it deeper and deeper into the forest. The wall grew as the creature led them.

  Overhead the sun fell back behind clouds. The forest dimmed – or was that just his vision? He charged on, keeping the Bakar in sight. The rush of the Rinsa river rose again but before the Bakar reached the water that glittered between the trunks, it turned to the wall, now towering above, and slipped through a jagged hole.

  Never made to follow but a hand caught his shoulder.

  “It could be dangerous,” Luis said.

  “I have to trust it.”

  He stepped back. “Then lead on.”

  Never nodded and followed the Bakar into the shadowy opening. He climbed over cold stone and entered an enclosed space, crumbling walls rising around him. A grove lined with rows of grey shrubs, dozens of them, spread before him. Some grew white with age, others no more than black twigs. He bent by the nearest. “No.” At the base were blackened, shrivelled pods. He lifted one to his nose – no scent, no hint of moisture within. Were these the mythical Red Clove? Was the journey to Sarann for naught?

  Where had the Bakar gone?

  Never rose.

  From any other point beyond the first wall – the grove would have been inaccessible, there did not appear to be any more openings. The Bakar knew where it was going – so why lead him here?

  He stood, spinning on his heel. “Is this all there is?” he called.

  Only his voice echoed.

  The others were moving slowly through the grove, examining the dead shrubs.

  Never stumbled along the walls – a hand trailing moss and old stone. The grove was larger than a typical garden plot but not a field – he soon neared the original entry point, breathing hard, and skidded to a halt.

  There was a second opening.

  It led to another spacious area – only this one was not enclosed, naught but the outer wall shrouded it from the rest of the forest. Before a stretch of weeds and yellowed grass dotted with stone lay a tiny pool, nestled under the wall, and at its edge were two plants, no taller than his shin.

  Each with deep Red Cloves.

  Chapter 15.

  Never fell to his knees beside the shrub with a groan of relief that unlocked a knot deep in his chest. His shoulders slumped with a smile. At last, at last. Red Clove. He reached out to harvest the cloves, leaving a few behind and dragging himself back to the grove.

  The sweat and searing heat no longer mattered.

  “Here.”

  The others raced over. Karlaf shook his head, but he was grinning. “Have to admit, I didn’t know if we’d find any – or if we did, I half-thought the Bakar would have got us by now.”

  “Well there’s one at least that could have attacked,” Elina said. She still held her bow and arrow.

  “How do we prepare
the Clove?” Never asked. “Swiftly, I hope.”

  “Cook them down,” Karlaf said. “Drink what remains.”

  “That simple?”

  “That simple.”

  “Then let’s find something to burn,” he said.

  Once a blaze was going and the Clove boiling, a sharp scent rising from the pot, he was able to stop pacing. The fever had switched back to chills again – it was almost as if his limbs were still pacing, only without the rest of his body. As if the Moor-Sickness knew the Red Clove was close to striking back. Never sat before the small blaze, shivering beneath the flat sun.

  So close. If it didn’t work – would he actually die? Something about that sounded odd. His blood was yet to fail him. Aside from causing so much death in others, it had always shrugged off illnesses. Even the time he’d been blinded after a kill, his blood and his whole body had fought it off.

  Yet there was something different about the chill.

  The Moor-Sickness, however Harstas had arranged it, went deep. To the bone. Like it had attached itself to him. And no matter what his blood did, how often it boiled within his veins, he was stuck with it.

  Unless the Red Clove truly could help. He made a fist. No. It would work.

  “How long?” he asked Karlaf.

  “Be patient.”

  “Wonderful advice to give to a dying man.” His teeth chattered.

  Karlaf snorted and Elina rolled her eyes. “Never, you’re not dying.”

  “Hope you’re right.”

  Luis half-rose. “I heard something. Beyond the wall.”

  Never paused, straining to detect anything beyond the crackle of flames and toiling bubbles in the pot. A hint of wind in the leaves? No. The swish of feet through weeds, soft footfalls. “It’s not the Bakar,” he said. “We’d never hear them.”

  Elina stood. “Let’s see.”

  Karlaf drew his knife. “Be careful, My Lady.”

  She nodded, motioning to Luis. He flipped his spear into both hands and followed her to the passage through the wall. Never blinked sweat from his eyes. Damnable illness. If it were the Bakar out there...

  “Easy,” Karlaf said.

  Never released the rag he’d been gripping to stop shaking. His knuckles were still white.