The Book of Never: The Complete Series

by Ashley Capes

  Blood? Rust? Blood was more likely – typical of Amouni transfers, certainly according to the murals and his own experience. Did that then mean the Preparation Chamber was for transfer of knowledge? To ready themselves for what? He bent by a loose tile where it rested beneath the table. A grate lay beneath, half-covered by the loose tile.

  Only a hand’s width, it was fixed to the floor, and coated with more dark stains and dust.

  Just how much excess blood was involved in a transfer?

  Never exhaled as he rose and followed the wall, pausing at a deep alcove. Within lay a door but its silver handle would not turn. He pricked his forefinger again and it opened at his bloody touch. Inside, another tiled room. This contained stools made of steel set at tables with shelves – each empty save for an array of knives. Many appeared ceremonial, with ornate carvings along the blade or hilt – one familiar rune from Snow’s die, the thumb and forefingers spread, but others were longer, more complex.

  One item, which he first mistook for a knife, did not have a ceremonial appearance. A blunted hook rested on the end of a tool perhaps the length of his forearm.

  “And what in the name of the Gods are you for?” he asked one before returning it to the shelf.

  Another alcove led to a passage of dark stone, a small square of light waiting at its end. He lengthened his stride. Was there a way out of the place? Perhaps there’d be another guide waiting for him. One could hope.

  Instead, a walkway with a rail circled a huge, domed chamber of blazing light – it speared down from the roof in a criss-cross of beams. He shielded his eyes. The dome was made of three pieces: dark stone, white tile and clear quartz; through which the sunlight burst.

  Like the Amber Isle.

  Across the way stood more railings but no doorways he could discern.

  But below, far below, stood a huge black... something. It appeared to be buried beneath an enormous array of sheets, cloths and canvas, even tied down with iron pegs. Despite all the light focused upon it, the shadows remained deep, hints of the thing’s shape indistinct. Did its edges waver in the light? He had to look away.

  It was vast, that much seemed clear.

  From beneath the coverings exuded a sense of... a sense that answers lay beneath. Answers beyond those offered by the Isle; perhaps beyond any Snow could hold, beyond even Mother had she survived, such answers seemed to lie just out of sight.

  And yet he could not bear to look directly at it for long.

  Never broke into a jog. He circled the room, one hand on the guide rail, the other checking the wall for doorways, for stairwells, anything, but he found nothing.

  All answers, all promise, lay beyond his reach.

  There was no way down – he could not climb for there was no ladder, no stair, and he could not leap such a distance without killing himself.

  “What manner of cruelty is this?” He spun, casting his words up to the roof. “Guide? Where are you?”

  Master.

  A guide appeared before him; this man – or creature – dressed in white robes, muscled arms bare. An owl’s large yellow eyes regarded him unblinkingly.

  “Is there a way for me to reach the floor here?”

  Beyond your own means?

  Never frowned – what did the fool mean? “Yes. A stair or ladder?”

  The Stair? Of course, this way.

  He followed the guide back around the room to a halfway point, where the creature held a hand before a section of wall that appeared no different to any other. A silver glow spanned from wall to hand and a section slid open, revealing another stair.

  It climbed up in plain white, with a silver stripe in the centre of each step.

  “And this leads down to the centre of the dome?”

  This is the Stair.

  “I mean there.” He pointed. “To whatever is below the coverings.”

  The Stair will take you outside. Shall I seal it once you leave?

  Never opened his mouth to try and explain again but stopped. Maybe it was better the secret was buried for now. After all, he would soon know precisely where on the Rinsa River the underground Amouni rooms lay. Hopefully not too far beyond the Pool of Leaves. He could return with tools and rope, with supplies, and knowledge attained from the library.

  Besides which, it was time to find Luis and Elina.

  But to seal it?

  It might keep someone like Cog from entering, or anyone else for that matter. Never hesitated. Was he making a mistake? He had to find Luis and Elina but there was much he could learn here, if only he pushed. Some knowledge lay buried here, a link to his past, a new clue.

  But what if Luis and Elina were in even more danger? He had to find out. Damn his luck. “Can I return?” Never asked.

  Of course, Master.

  Never nodded. “Please seal the way when I am gone.”

  The Owl-head answered with its own nod.

  He stepped onto the first stair then glanced over his shoulder. “Why do you all call me ‘Master’? Is it due my blood?”

  We have always called you Master.

  The door slid shut and Never sighed. So much for answers. The moment he sorted out things in the city – with a short stop in the royal Hanik library of course – it was back to this place.

  Chapter 11.

  The top of the stair sent him through a final door – this one too, sliding open at his touch – yet not soundlessly. A scraping followed and dirt trickled inside, light blazing after.

  He squinted as he exited, finding himself on a wind-swept clearing of stone, ringed by a low wall of boulders. Behind him, a section of the wall slid shut again, seamless stone against the wall of the peak. Blue sky and soft white clouds spread above and when he walked to the wall, River Rinsa stretched beneath him, a dark stripe far below.

  No sign of any boat, nor movement on the banks, which now, had fallen away to allow the sporadic growth of elms, their leaves bright green. How far back was the Pool of Leaves? Even from the peak, he saw little. Never leant forward with a groan, resting against the rock. He’d have to walk all the way down the mountain now.

  Something hard pressed into his chest.

  The marble sphere. Never leant back and retrieved it. The tiny figure reclined within, hands behind its head.

  “So I carry you and do all the work myself?”

  The figure crossed its legs at the ankle. Never raised an eyebrow. Could it hear him? He tried again. “I’ve decided I’ll simply roll you down the path.”

  Nothing.

  The figure remained motionless – as if at ease.

  Never replaced the marble with a snort and started the climb down.

  Dusk was settling across the river by the time he reached the banks, his feet sore and old sweat itching his neck and back. He bent by the water’s edge and dunked his head. Cool water eased the irritation on his skin. “Better,” he breathed. Cupping his hands, he drank, spitting out pieces of leaves and grit before standing.

  A winding trail dotted with weeds slipped into a line of elms by the river. He followed the path until it merged with a better-travelled road, this one with hints of stonework at the edges.

  How to locate Luis and Elina? He assumed they’d carried on after not being able to find him. Yet what if they searched still, somewhere upstream? Or worse, had not survived? He didn’t believe the guide would have hurt them – for surely she was the fish? It was him she sought. At least, the two were connected. Turning back would mean bypassing the peak or swimming. In the first event, he might miss them altogether. And he wasn’t keen on swimming half the distance of the Rinsa.

  He ground his teeth as he walked. The best course of action was to push on for City-Sedrin. Elina was rushing to get there; Luis would have helped her eventually. That was where they would be. They had to be.

  Head for the city.

  Never walked on. Before the light died, he foraged for food, eating a handful of pale red berries – palof. Bitter but safe. When the dark feeding through the
treetops grew too heavy, he sought shelter in a small depression set off the road, wrapping himself in his cloak. He growled at the pile of leaves he’d gathered for his head when a bug tickled his neck. Sleep, that’s what he needed now.

  *

  When dawn crept through the branches he returned to the river, kicking out kinks in his legs, then sated his thirst. It did little to ease the giant hole of emptiness eating its way through his stomach, but it was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. Many times. Eating lean was just part of the romance the came from wandering on a decades-long search for the truth.

  By mid-morning hoof-beats echoed up from behind. He stepped back.

  A rider slowed his mount, a steaming black mare who stamped a forefoot when the traveller came to a halt. A fair-haired Hanik with a trimmed beard, he nonetheless bore a worn-look, from cloak to glove to eye, though the man’s blade seemed of fine quality.

  “Well-met, stranger. Tell me, if you’ve come that way, what news from the city?” His Marlosi was impeccable.

  “I travel as you, sadly, and can offer no news.”

  “A shame.” He paused. “Would you walk with me a moment nonetheless? I find myself weary of my own company.”

  Never chuckled. “I find myself feeling the same.”

  “Then let me water my girl and we’ll continue on.” The man led his mount to the banks and let her drink. As he swung down, his cloak opened to reveal a dagger whose hilt bore the silver of Hanik nobility – worked as a claw from a bird of prey. Not the royal crest of the Silver Tree, but he was obviously connected to the royal family.

  “You seem to be on a matter of some urgency,” Never observed when the man returned and set out again, now leading his mount.

  “Indeed.” He did not elaborate, offering only a smile. “And you are far from home it seems?”

  “Yes. I travel to the city to meet old friends,” Never replied.

  “A shame to hear about your Empress,” the rider said.

  “A shame?”

  “Rumours say she is pinned down in the Monasema Mountains, her forces broken.”

  Never frowned. It was more than a shame. Empress Crisina was a bright, kind girl. She certainly deserved better... but there was nothing he could do. Not from Hanik and not as one man, Amouni or not. “The Vadiya must have a significant part of the Empire under their control then?”

  “Our reports suggest so. Only Trieta and a few minor holdings appear to stand unconquered but Vadiya bring more and more troops in each day.”

  Trieta – the northern city dispersed much of the nation’s grain, perhaps no surprise it still held out, garrisoned as it was. “Do they trouble you here in the south?”

  The man shook his head. “We watch them.”

  “I hope so. I think we all know how hungry the Vadiya have become.”

  “Truly.” The man patted his horse’s neck. “Forgive my curiosity, friend, but I would ask one more question.”

  “Please do.”

  “Have you followed the river long on your travel?”

  “A fair time now, yes.”

  “Do you perhaps recall seeing a group of three travellers in a boat? They would not appear as fishermen.”

  “I’ve only seen fishermen thus far,” Never said. He glanced at the river, moving the hand hidden from the noble’s view to one of his knives, though he did not draw it.

  “A shame,” the man said.

  “Are they fugitives?”

  “That I cannot say.” The Hanik paused, mounting his steed, which had cooled somewhat.

  “How far to the capital?”

  “At your pace, you ought to reach it not long after dawn.”

  “Good.” Never had moved his hand from his knife. “I could use a decent meal.”

  “And I.” The man kicked the flanks of his horse, breaking into a trot. The two were soon lost to the trees and Never rubbed his stubble. Was the noble friend or foe? He’d left a little swiftly perhaps and hadn’t identified himself – something about the man was too amiable. And there was the comment about the Empress. Was it a subtle jibe; was the man working for, or was he one of the nobles Elina had warned about? Gedus or another one? Those that sought to benefit from the Vadiya invasion, those who sought the throne?

  Or a concerned ally of the king?

  In either event, word about ‘three travellers’ in a boat would have had to come from Cog or Oksar back at the inn surely?

  Never walked until nightfall, leaving the path in the dying light to find a suitable campsite. It didn’t need to be anything special; all he was going to do was lie down and sleep in it. No food and the idea of rubbing sticks together to cook a big hunk of ‘nothing’ didn’t appeal either.

  Instead, he found a space where three trees gathered and arranged some leaves before making his way to the river. There he drank once more – a futile effort to fill the now-familiar emptiness rumbling in his stomach, then started back.

  Something glowed between trees in the distance. A flicker of firelight?

  Who? The rider from earlier? Elina and Luis? He crept toward it... placing each step with some care. Still, with so little light he could not avoid breaking a twig – something which occurred mere paces from the edge of the firelight. Two figures rose, blocking the light. Never caught a glimpse of horses and other men, seemingly dressed as Hanik nobility, before torches closed in, near-blinding him.

  He spun – only to crash into something unyielding.

  Sentry!

  Never stumbled, batting away a grasping hand as he did. Someone grunted and leapt after. Hands caught Never from behind and a voice said something in Hanik, the chill of steel pressing against his throat.

  The meaning was clear.

  He remained still. “Do you speak Marlosi by chance?” he asked.

  “I do,” his captor said, and dragged him toward the firelight. Never complied. It could have been worse – they might have killed him at first sight. Two of the men pushed him down onto a log, each standing at a shoulder, while a third warrior divested Never of his knives, then bound his wrists.

  “No move,” he said.

  Never nodded. Across the fire, a tall man sat rifling through a pack. His blonde hair was orange in the firelight. He wore a small moustache, as was still fashionable among some Hanik nobility.

  “Speak, traveller,” he said, his Marlosi perfect but with a formal inflection. Not unlike the rider from earlier in the day. But the two men were clearly different – this man appeared more handsome, despite the weariness clear on his face. “Who are you and where do you go?”

  “My name is Never. I am travelling to City-Sedrin to meet my brother.”

  Something smacked into the back of his head.

  Never glanced back to one of his guards, who was frowning down at him. “Am I not permitted to have a brother?”

  The man raised his hand but a short order from across the flames stopped the fellow.

  “Enough. Let him continue, Tovin.”

  Never grinned at the man. “Tell your friend he missed one of my knives – in my left boot.”

  The man who’d been searching him for weapons grunted, retrieving another blade and dumping it into the pile he’d made. Seven, all in all. It should have been eight but he’d lost one in the river, it seemed.

  “You are well-armed, Never,” the leader said. “If that is what you wish to be called.”

  “There are dangerous times. And ‘Never’ is truly my name.”

  The Hanik noble regarded him a moment longer. Then he sat the pack aside and moved around the fire, bending before Never. A longsword was belted at his waist, its hilt and pommel covered in plain black wrappings. Concealing his crest? Or something even more telling?

  “Your true purpose, Never. Quickly.”

  “I seek my brother, Your Highness.”

  The man’s eyes widened – and then the ground rushed up to meet Never. Something heavy fell atop him, grinding his cheek into the loam. Never cursed. A good guess afte
r all, even if they didn’t seem thrilled with his deduction.

  “Who are you?” the prince asked. The rasp of steel followed and Never twisted his neck, but all he was afforded was a slightly better view of logs burning red in the fire.

  “I am who I claim to be.”

  “Why is your brother in City-Sedrin?”

  “I go there to find out.”

  “Or perhaps you are both spies?”

  That was enough. Time to put a stop to the interrogation before they tried to get creative. “If you could help me find Elina, I’m sure she’d vouch for me. We have been travelling together for some time.”

  Silence.

  Someone hauled him up to his knees by the shoulders so he again faced the prince.

  “Where is she?”

  “On the river. We have travelled together since Lenan. We sent Karlaf ahead.”

  The men exchanged glances with Prince Jenisan. “Karlaf has not been seen. Where on the river?”

  “Ahead of me. I was thrown from our boat. She is worried about King Noak; she would have continued without me.”

  “Your Highness, he might still be a spy,” one of the men said.

  Jenisan glanced at the man. “I am aware.” To Never, “If what you say is true, you won’t mind travelling with us as our guest.”

  “I would not – but I do wish to meet my brother.”

  “If he is a patient man, you will have the chance,” Jenisan said. “But first, there is something we must attend to. You will make yourself useful.”

  “How so, Your Highness?” Never asked. He could afford to be gracious if it kept him his head, even if the prince was a little curt. Or, if Never was being honest with himself – tedious.

  “At dawn. For now, eat and rest.” The prince motioned to one of his men, who knelt to untie Never. The man jerked on the ropes, grunting as he worked.

  “Don’t think this means we trust you, stranger.”

  He grinned. “I haven’t decided to trust you either.”

  The soldier flung the rope to the ground. “Just keep your mouth shut, will you?” He stomped after his prince – no doubt to complain. Never rolled his shoulders and cast about for his knives. All gone.