The Book of Never: The Complete Series

by Ashley Capes

  “Other items that have greatly assisted me in both uncovering the location of The Memory Seeds, and how to open the way, beyond this door.” He produced a triangular piece of quartz which caught the light of the blue-stone and spread it in odd directions. “This is required for the final barrier. I found it set in some ridiculous amulet, doubtless crafted by our one-time servants.”

  “And this door?” Never asked. “Where does it lead?”

  “To the Stair of the Wind,” he replied.

  “Two must climb the Stair of the Wind,” Never said softly. Just as King Noak had whispered on his deathbed. How much Amouni lore did the King possess – had he too, been a member of the Order of Clera?

  “Yes,” Snow said. He stirred their blood together then took the brush from where he’d left it in another pot. He did not seem curious as to where Never had received his knowledge of the stair. Perhaps he simply thought Never offered the obvious response, since it would take two to open the way.

  Snow painted the rune for open on the stone where the doorway would appear, drawing bold but deft strokes – a series of curves to make up the symbol. Once he finished, he stepped back. “Do not block the blue-stone’s light,” he said.

  Never stood off to the side.

  Light flared in the blood then shimmered across the stone to the symbols, each responding with their own colour – red, green, silver and gold pouring forth, mixing with the blue but somehow still creating a harmonious rainbow. And then stone shimmered and disappeared, replaced by a black rectangle, no light, no movement – yet a soft breeze emanated from the doorway. “That was rather easy,” Never said.

  Snow bent to collect the blue-stone then raised an eyebrow. “Easy? Finding and then learning to draw the symbols alone took me months of study.”

  “Time well spent then, brother. Shall we begin?”

  Chapter 28.

  Winter had been banished. Night too. Even the city of Isacina was gone.

  Beneath a sunny sky of blue, the Stair of Winds stretched up, scattered podiums like stepping stones soon lost with the white clouds high above. From their own platform of ancient stone, Never crouched, peering over the edge. Nothing but sky below, lost to yet more clouds. Powerful Amouni magic indeed. “Not much of a stair,” he said.

  Snow turned from where he peered into the sky, white wings free, feathers twitching in the breeze. “Never. We are, as best I can tell, miles and miles above the city, perhaps even residing in a frozen time, like a memory that none but we two can access – it should not be a simple thing what we do.”

  “Nor will it be, I suspect.”

  Snow crossed the stone, pausing in the centre to examine the carven rune.

  “Well?”

  He shrugged. “It is only the word for stair.”

  “What do you know of this place?”

  “That it must be climbed by two and that it leads to the Memory Seeds, where the Amouni hid their most precious knowledge,” Snow said. “It was designed to be a difficult climb, even for Primes.”

  “Primes. That doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “Well I have become quite accustomed to it,” Snow said. He pointed. “The next step is a short flight. Be wary.”

  Never stood, letting his wings free via the slices in his robe. “Of what exactly?”

  “Whatever safeguards our forebears left behind.”

  “And all your research didn’t give you any clues? We might as well be blind – it could be anything. Remember the Sentinels in the Amber Isle? What if some unseen hazard waits out there?”

  “Then we face it like any other,” Snow said, then leapt into the air, beating his pale wings.

  Never muttered a curse as he followed.

  The rush of air was pleasant against his skin, alleviating the warmth of the sun, which he had not expected after the winter of the city. His eyes roved the sky as he flew, but nothing appeared and he soon landed beside his brother on the second stone circle.

  “That was too easy – an ominous beginning.” Never turned a slow circle, still searching the sky.

  “Then let’s try for the next one, before something happens.”

  This time they flew together, bursting through several clouds before reaching the third step. It was broader than the rest and bore the same rune in its centre. Yet this offered no clue. Snow paced while Never pulled a wing close and examined his feathers a moment, straightening several.

  “There has to be something we are overlooking,” Snow said.

  “I agree.”

  “Then help me think, brother.”

  Never strode to the rune, pressing the toe of his boot into them. Nothing. But then, Amouni secrets tended not to reveal themselves upon first attempt. And there was no guarantee that the rune meant anything. He glanced up to the next step, which appeared little different. “Perhaps the next one will have more or different runes?”

  “Let’s see.”

  Again they leapt into the air and flew for the next stop. Never beat his wings, gaining altitude, searching for a current to glide... and found none. He flew on with a frown. While he was not fatigued by any stretch, he was beginning to sweat. How far away would the next podium rest? And what manner of Stair of Wind would bear only such a unreliable winds?

  Unless that was part of the trial.

  “Never, look,” Snow called. He too, was beating hard to climb, without the benefit of any rising currents. “Have you ever swung a blade in the air?”

  “No, I haven’t.” Never squinted into the sun, to where Snow pointed.

  Distant yet, twin shapes were hurtling toward them. Slowly they resolved into winged men.

  “Then race me to the podium,” Snow said.

  Never pumped his wings, clawing at the air until the stone circle drew near. He glanced over his shoulder. The figures were closing. Each wore silver robes that left their arms bare to the shoulders. Guides? Never landed with a thud and spun, using his wings to steady himself.

  The guides were already landing.

  Unlike other guides Never had encountered, these bore human, rather than animal heads. Yet both faces were the same; a clean-shaven man with grey hair and a dark beard. The first charged Never, a sword appearing in its hands. Never threw a knife but the guide deflected the blade. Never drew the Amouni sword and met his opponent’s first swing.

  Blue sparks exploded around him and he ground his teeth, hurling the guide back. The man used his own wings to keep his balance and strode forward again, making no sounds, not even breathing, as he swung his weapon. Never deflected a series of rapid cuts, unable to prevent himself being driven back.

  He gave ground until his foot slipped from stone, finding only air.

  Never fell.

  A blade whistled over his head, and he twisted in the air. The world spun in a disorienting streak of colour, but he beat his wings and righted himself enough to meet another sword stroke from the guide. The man’s attack was relentless; it was clear he would not tire. Never fought simply to keep himself hovering in place but each time their blades met with a splash of blue sparks, Never was driven down or sideways through the air. He caught another overhand blow from his opponent, cross pieces locking, and instead of pushing back, Never tore his birch hand from the hilt and drove it into his enemy’s face.

  A thunderclap split the air and the guide disappeared.

  Breathing hard, Never drove himself back up to the podium where he found Snow running for the stone edge, blade drawn. Snow skidded to a halt. “Never.”

  Never landed with an explosive breath. “That’s our reception, is it? Murderous guides?”

  “So it seems.” Snow sheathed his sword. “I tried to command mine but it did not respond. They have been given a single order only I believe.”

  He nodded. “And they’ll probably attack every time we fly to another step.”

  Snow’s eyes flicked to a spot behind Never. “Or sooner.”

  Never spun. Another pair of silver-robed guides were spearing d
own from the clouds. He lifted his sword. “Good – the last one nearly decapitated me, I can’t wait to see what these will try.”

  Before the guides landed, they split apart, one circling, as if to outflank them. “Back to back,” Snow shouted.

  Never shifted, the sound of his brother’s breathing matching his own. He lifted his sword and then the guide was upon him – the man’s face identical to the last pair. This time Never took the offensive, closing quickly and catching the first strike with his own sword, then whipping a knife free and slashing the figure’s chest.

  Thunder clapped again and the guide was gone.

  Never spun. The other guardian was matching Snow blow for blow, but his brother’s speed was going to decide the struggle. Before Never could assist, Snow had slipped around the guide’s guard and landed a blow.

  Thunder rang out again and they were alone.

  “Did yours wear the same face as the first?” Never asked.

  “Yes. It seems the same image was used for all protectors.” Snow shaded his eyes. “Hmmm. Let’s see if these are also the same.”

  Above, the sky was full, twin lines of guides pouring down.

  “Only about a dozen each,” Snow said with a laugh.

  Never grinned. “Like the bandits on the east coast, remember?”

  “Let’s see if we can’t send this lot running too.”

  The first guide landed and sprinted across the stone. Never dropped into a crouch and waited. The guide simply ran on, sword raised. Never held his breath. A little closer, come on, closer now. The fellow swung but Never sprang up, battering the man’s sword aside and driving his knee into the man’s jaw. Thunder split the air. Never landed, sword ready – but the next guide was only now running for him. The others, ten more of them, were filing into a standing position, as if waiting their turn.

  Never frowned, even as he met the first sword blow with another fountain of blue sparks. The guide attacked again and Never side-stepped, swinging his own downward cut. His opponent spun away and Never followed, slashing hard at the man’s body but overextending. The guide flicked a riposte that sliced Never’s forearm. His sword clattered to the stone but he dove forward, jamming his knife into the guide’s boot.

  Thunder.

  The next guide charged and Never scrambled for his sword, wiping blood from his hand as he did. He growled as he rose; he was better with knives but didn’t like his chances over a protracted struggle against protectors with better reach. As he fought, a strange sense of familiarity fell across him. The guides were the same, silent, expressionless, every detail from face to arm and robe, right down to the rune for Protection carved into the base of their blades – no detail was different.

  And that sameness extended to their swordplay.

  The style was old, utilitarian, no flashy strokes that would eventually tire the user, just economical blows and a strong guard. Yet they seemed ill-able to react to unpredictable events, like Never diving and aiming for the feet, or the flying knee he’d used earlier.

  And more, each guide had opened with the very same overhand blow.

  Those that were given a chance to swing a second, always aimed opposite and followed that with a quick lunge.

  And he knew why.

  “Snow, they use the same pattern,” he shouted, felling another guide.

  “I know,” Snow called back. “It’s a variation on how the Vadiya train. Less reliance on single handed fighting.”

  “No, I mean everything. They always lead with the same attack, they always follow with the same strike second.” He dodged and drove his opponent back. “I don’t think they can work outside of a predesigned series of attacks and responses.”

  Twin thunderclaps rang out as he and Snow defeated their guides. Never let the next one close in, measuring the blows. Overhand, opposite, lunge... feint, backhand, back to overhand blows, twice now and lunge again.

  Never beat the guide’s sword aside and once again inflicted a minor cut with his knife, enough to destroy the guide with the customary boom. “Do you read the pattern?” Never called.

  “I do, brother.”

  The next guide was upon him. Never defended, dodging the lunge and instead of needlessly defending the feint that followed, he switched to the offensive, hoping his theory was correct.

  And it was – his weapon sliced past the man’s blade and into the chest.

  Thunder.

  The next guide met the same fate, and the next, and each one after until none stood before him. He lowered his sword, breathing hard. Even knowing the pattern, he still had to work, still had to concentrate.

  Snow too, had finished his line. He turned and gripped Never’s shoulder. “Quickly, to the next podium before –”

  “Too late,” Never pointed with his knife.

  Stretching down from above were dozens upon dozens of protectors, their shadowy shapes quickly resolving into silver robes and blue-tinted swords.

  Chapter 29.

  Sweat slicked Never’s hair and ran down his face, stinging his eyes.

  It trickled down the back of his neck, along his throat and it coated his hands, threatening his grip. Whenever he had a chance between dispatching guides, Never wiped his hands on his robe. Yet even it was damp from perspiration.

  “They’re not going to stop,” Never cried, defending the first blow from a protector.

  Snow gave a roar and thunder clapped. “I’m thinking.”

  How long had Never been fighting the same man? The grey hair and dark beard, the flat eyes, tiny scar on the cheek, everything about the man was burned into Never’s mind. It was as if he had always been fighting the Amouni guardian.

  Yet there were short periods of respite. Between each dozen guides, there was enough time to rest his aching arms and catch his breath. Not long, but once he was able to tear the hem of his robe and bind a deep gash received after losing track of the enemy pattern.

  It was healing, of course, but that didn’t solve the problem.

  Never struck down another guide, the final of the current wave, and swore again. There had to be a way to stop them, something they had overlooked. Something only a Prime would know. He snorted, some Prime he was.

  “What is it?” Snow asked.

  “Only a Prime can solve this, yet I don’t feel like a Prime anything.”

  “It’s something we’ve overlooked,” Snow said. “Something we should be able to see.”

  Never nodded. “Are we focusing too much on the guides?”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “The steps themselves.”

  Snow glanced at the stone beneath their feet, eyes narrowed. He flexed his fingers, knuckles cracking. “Perhaps.”

  “Here comes the next wave,” Never said.

  Snow turned to face them, lifting his sword. “I have an idea. Between the next wave.”

  “Good.” Never fell back into the rhythm of defending and waiting to strike, the routine now so familiar that the last guide disappeared before he knew it.

  Snow had already finished his wave and was rubbing the blue-stone between his hands. Symbols responded, pulsing blue beneath his feet, spread across the entire step, one for each flagstone. “And there you hide,” Snow said. He moved the blue-stone away from the centre, glancing at the sky. The next wave was already falling. “It’s a map,” Snow continued. “And I think I know what it means.”

  Never was rolling his shoulders. “Hurry.”

  Snow’s head jerked up. “Give me a little more time – draw them in and finish them with crimson-fire, can you manage it?”

  “For how long?”

  “Two waves.”

  Never frowned but gave a short nod, slicing both palms with his Quisoan blade. Doubtless he could sear every guide that appeared until his body was drained of blood but how long could he use the fire and still survive the after effects? Crimson-fire didn’t use pure blood, else he’d be drained in moments, he knew that much, but it was supplemented with enough tha
t what he was about to do involved no small risk.

  The first wave touched down, one charging from his left. Never skipped closer to the second wave, drawing the lead guide’s attention where he braced himself over the stone marked for Stair, spreading his arms wide.

  Bloody globes sprang to life in his hands, fuelled by heat, blood and even his frustration. “Back,” Never cried. Two streams of crimson-fire shot forth, striking both lead guardians. They disappeared in a flash, thunder ringing across the sky. The next guides fared no better and soon the whole place was filled with hissing and thunderclaps.

  The first wave was down. Never halted the flow, leaving the globes ready. He was breathing hard, already a little light-headed. Compared to what he’d done in Ficcepa, this was two streams for twice as long. He glanced over his shoulder. Snow was dashing from stone to stone, holding the blue-stone high in one hand and swirling his free hand over the symbols. Did each symbol move as he did so? Yes! A tiny clicking sound followed each movement.

  “Is it working?” Never asked.

  “I think so – if I can line them all up, we’ll be free of the guides.”

  “Keep going.”

  The second wave thudded onto the podium. Never lined each up and sent more sprays of crimson-fire forth, narrowing the stream with his hands, evaporating each protector, each strike bringing concussion after concussion, until the second wave too, had been burnt to nothing.

  Never halted the flow and opened his mouth to check on Snow’s progress, only to find himself unable to speak. Black spots swam before his eyes and his legs grew weak. He groaned, flaring his wings to keep himself upright.

  “One more wave, Never,” Snow called.

  “One more,” Never managed. He shook his head, clearing some of the spots, and let the globes simmer while he focused on his breathing, sucking in as much air as he could. The sun seemed to mock him by adding more warmth to his already overheating body.

  But by the time the third wave landed, he was ready.

  Or at least, more so than before.

  Again he flared the globes and sent a stream of crimson-fire slicing into the lines of guides; wiping each from the podium almost before they landed.