The Book of Never: Volumes 1-5

by Ashley Capes

  Never rolled his shoulders, an itch growing in the middle of his back. Gods, did his body believe it? There wasn’t a single moment in all his life that might have hinted at the fact that he – or Snow for that matter – had wings hidden somewhere within his body.

  “You don’t believe me?” Cog asked.

  “It’s rather difficult to do so.”

  “Understandable.”

  “I assume wings are natural within the Amouni?”

  “No, not all – but you and the Master have special bloodlines, even among the special.”

  Never raised an eyebrow. “Trying to boost my sense of self worth, Cog?”

  “Perhaps – your brother mentioned that you still believe the lies humanity tell about you.”

  “Let’s stay focused on the subject at hand, shall we?” Never approached one of the tables, running a hand over the cold, smooth steel. “What exactly is Snow offering?”

  “As before. You Ascend, as fated, and I will give you the medicine and the means to return to Marlosa in time to save your friend. If you disagree, you leave, with or without the powder, but you will not reach Luis in time.”

  Never shook his head. He’d been manipulated once again – he had no choice now. He could not let Luis die; he had to gamble that Cog was telling at least a partial truth.

  “Fine. What does my brother want? What does he gain from giving me wings?”

  “That he has not shared with me.”

  Never chuckled. “How like him.” Yet Cog had not denied it. Granting Never wings was merely another step in Snow’s greater plan. Whatever that was.

  “Then you accept?” Cog asked.

  “It seems I must.” Never glanced around the room. “What next? Take me through the process.”

  “Follow me then.” Cog headed for the deep alcove, near-hidden in darkness. At the silver-handled door, Cog once again used a drop of Snow’s blood to enter, his movements precious, even tense. As if he did not wish to waste even a single drop. Within, he leant over one of the steel stools and lifted free the strange instrument Never had seen on his previous visit.

  Cog handed it over.

  Long as Never’s forearm, it bore a blunted hook at the end. “This?”

  Cog lifted one of the ceremonial knives, its blade set with Amouni runes. “And this. It will be painful, but you will not be harmed, truly.”

  “How truly reassuring. Go on.”

  “I make two vertical incisions down your back. On the table. The Claw you hold pulls your wings free and light from an opening above the dais dries them. There, Snow posits, Amouni took their first flights, back when the dais was fully functional and could still rise.”

  “That’s all? I feel nothing within my back that leads me to believe I bear wings.”

  “They are dormant, as I said,” Cog replied.

  “Meaning?”

  “That the Awakening Ritual must occur before the procedure itself. You will not recall much of it but when it is over you will have Ascended.” He gestured back to the circular room. “If you are ready, shall we begin, davishca?”

  Never paused. “Davishca? Meaning Great One? None of that, Cog.” He tossed the Claw across the small room to the man.

  Cog caught it with a nod. “Very well.”

  “Let’s begin,” Never said. He strode back to one of the narrow tables and straddled it, facing the dais, where he removed his cloak, coat and a knife he’d strapped to his side before looking to Cog. A slight shiver crossed his skin in the cool chamber. “All right, Cog. Awaken me and do it swiftly. I have a friend to save.”

  “Of course.” Cog produced the vial of Snow’s blood. “First, drink this.”

  “My brother’s blood?”

  “Yes. The blood of an Ascended Amouni is required to Awaken dormant wings.”

  “So be it.” Never took the blood and raised the vial to his lips, pausing. Was that all it would do? Could Snow’s blood have some other effect, something... controlling? Or dangerous.

  Perhaps it would teach him something of his brother’s plans.

  “It is safe,” Cog said.

  “Good to know,” Never replied. “Especially coming from such an impartial fellow.”

  “It will have a disorienting effect, admittedly. And I have mixed in enough painkiller to keep the procedure tolerable.”

  “And you’ve done this before? For Snow?”

  “My Master did not wish for me to reveal such details.”

  “Yes, isn’t that good of him.” Never glanced at the vial again. He had to do it for Luis. And he had to know if Snow was lying. Never muttered a curse then threw his head back. Warm, coppery liquid slid down his throat and he fought back a gag, but forced it down somehow. The blood surged through his body, seeming to find a way to join his own so swiftly, that Never broke into a sweat and his vision blurred.

  “Lie back,” Cog said, his voice muffled.

  Never did as instructed, letting the back of his head lean against the cold steel. The room swam and Cog’s unremarkable face loomed above him, a slight frown marring his brow.

  “Something wrong?” Never asked, each word a struggle.

  “We just need to give it a little time,” he said, then moved out of sight once more. Never turned his head – again, a slow movement – and found Cog nearby, running the ceremonial blade across a whetstone, honing the edge. Good, a sharp blade would sting less, leave cleaner scars.

  But another image competed with that of Cog, fleeting though it was – Zianna, standing on the edge of an autumn-coloured wood, wind-tossing her hair and her expression one of fury. Breathing grew more difficult. Then came a new vision, one of Snow standing over him, arms and cloak spread to shield Never from rain, while he coughed himself into a tight ball... and in the preparation chamber Never’s pulse doubled, blood finally merging with Snow’s until they flowed as one. It seemed also that Never had won some piece of knowledge too... about their blood, yet it faded before he could grasp it.

  Never’s pulse slowed and his breathing eased, yet his vision remained blurry and he could not form words.

  A weight began to build around his shoulders, blood flowing and building, something... growing and rearranging. Pressure built, along with discomfort. Was his very body going to tear itself open? He grunted at the rapidly rising pain and Cog reappeared. “Nearly time. I’m going to tilt the table up now, so use the stirrups and grip the edges of the table. Do you understand?”

  Never made a sound that he hoped suggested the affirmative.

  The man ducked out of sight once more and an oddly disembodied sensation of movement followed as the room tilted and then Never felt the probing touch of Cog’s fingers around his shoulder blades. Cog was muttering to himself, but again, the words were indistinct. Pain continued to build, as if something was pushing against his skin from the inside, trying to escape. Never fumbled for the table edge, grasping it, the cold steel digging into his fingers.

  Something hot sliced into his skin, running down his back vertically – the new pain a step removed from his awareness. Blood flowed and a second cut followed. As with the first, the pain was present but not unbearable – in fact, it eased the pressure. Steel clattered to the tiles and a moment later something else pushed against his back, tugging at his very insides, tearing the incisions.

  Never growled. “Hurry it up,” he tried to say.

  The room was spinning now and Cog shouted something but the words were lost. Never tried to turn his head, to ask for help but his strength was gone. Had Cog made a mistake? Amouni symbols, he recognised the lightning bolt and the five-pointed leaf, flashed before his eyes and he cried out as a sudden darkness smothered him.

  Chapter 7.

  Never sat on the dais and stared at the black feathers.

  Light streamed down from the cylindrical opening above, soaking
into his wings, long-since dry now. Each feather bore a depth of colour he had not expected; a blue-black yes, but when he tilted his wing just so, purple rested within too.

  Even the fact that he could tilt his wings – that he had wings – had barely sunk into his still-groggy mind. Wings where he should have had only shoulders. Impossible. It should have been wondrous... yet something about the pleasure Snow would take from the change did its work to sour the whole thing. If Never wasn’t fully human before, now he was something else entirely.

  A cloud passed over the sun, darkening his wings.

  The day was wearing on.

  Never stood, his wings momentarily pulling him off balance. He folded them closer to his body. The additional warmth was welcome but he couldn’t prevent a frown. Getting used to having wings was going to take longer than he’d imagined. Where did Snow hide the things when he paraded around as Prince Tendov? Snow was rarely without a cloak, and yet when Never stretched his wings they extended well beyond his arm span.

  “You must have many questions,” Cog said. His eyes shone from where he stood within the alcove. The fool was proud; no doubt overjoyed to have been a part of an Amouni Ascension – which meant proud to have helped his ‘master’.

  “Yes, but I doubt you can answer them all,” he said. “How do I return to Marlosa? You mentioned a way before, do you mean the fish-man?”

  “Yes. But once you reach Marlosa, you will have to fly.”

  Never burst into incredulous laughter. “Cog, I can barely walk with these, let alone fly.”

  Cog unhooked the pouches of chila and threw them across the room. “It is the quickest way.”

  Never caught the powder. “And who will teach me to fly?”

  “Don’t worry; it is in your blood, Amouni.”

  Never rolled his shoulders and beat his wings, stirring dust. The motion was just like moving any other limb, the muscle and bone within responded well enough. And it seemed they would grow weary just as his arms might.

  “At least they feel natural,” he said, unable to keep a trace of awe from his voice.

  “But they will not seem so to casual observers,” Cog said, bringing Never’s clothing and weapons over. He pointed to the tunic and vest, where two slices had been cut. “This will enable you to spread your wings quickly, if needed. Keep your cloak intact, however,” he said. “Your brother wanted me to tell you, your wings can be ‘retracted’ for lack of a better word, not unlike a cat’s claws. Yet he did not explain how this could be achieved.”

  Never paused. Retracted? If he... slowly, and with a grimace, he drew his wings in and back, and they folded within his shoulders, like slipping into place – as if they had always been there. Enough of the feathers remained protruding that he had to flatten them against his skin, but with Cog’s help he was able to thread his clothing through. The cloak covered everything and he shook his head. How strange, of a sudden, not to sense dark feathers at the edge of his vision.

  Light crept from the other alcove and he hesitated. Was there time to look once more at the strange... thing or things that rested at the bottom of the large domed chamber? What would it tell him? Nothing doubtless. And there was no guarantee he’d be able to access it, wings or not. In fact, there was every chance he’d plummet to his death. New wings did not mean instant ability to fly.

  And more importantly, Luis needed him; he’d tarried long enough.

  “Tell Snow I forgive him for the hand,” he told Cog. “But if Luis dies I am holding him responsible.”

  “I will tell him.”

  Never started back toward the entryway.

  “Do you need –”

  “No, thank you, Cog. I can call the guides myself,” he said. He did not look over his shoulder to see the man’s expression, but surprise would have been most welcome. Hopefully that surprise would be passed along to Snow.

  At the water he paused to ensure the batena and chila powder were protected then called the guide. The fish-head man in his robes flickered into existence, standing waist-deep in the black water. Master.

  “I need to return to the river Ebina in Marlosa.”

  Of course. Take my hand.

  Never stepped into the cold water and reached out.

  The moment their hands touched, he was drawn down and into the torrent of darkness streaked by coloured lights.

  When the journey ended he climbed free of the Ebina and glanced at the sky as water pooled in the grass at his feet. The afternoon was wearing on, despite the speed at which he’d travelled, light growing dull beneath the cloudbanks. To the east, lost in the distance, would lie Disan, the ruins of Oraluca and then the farmhouse where Luis and Tsolde waited.

  If they waited still.

  He dismissed the guide and made for the nearest stand of trees, dry before he reached them. Once within, shielded from the not-too distant road, Never eased his wings out, letting them nudge his cloak between his shoulders as they unfurled. The span was too great for the space, so he kept them close to his body. They blocked part of his vision but the comforting black was welcome.

  “Perhaps I won’t kill myself,” he said.

  Never moved to the edge of the stand and a little way into the razed fields, keeping the trees between he and the road. Then he stretched his wings and beat them once, trying to keep his feet. He wobbled, but managed to stay upright. Then he took a few running steps with his wings held slightly back, again, holding his balance. He grinned. Maybe Cog had been right, Amouni blood seemed to be keeping Never from making a fool of himself. And it did feel unnervingly natural to bear wings. As if he’d always meant to have them.

  He came to a halt, then leapt into the air, beating his wings.

  The ground lifted... and then rushed up to meet him as he stumbled back to earth. Never grunted. “Timing’s still a little off.”

  He bent his knees and thrust himself up, beating his wings – this time without trying to jump. He rose more smoothly and the fields of grain spread beneath him as he pumped his wings, air rushing over his face. He kept beating his wings, then circled the area, gradually falling lower, before spreading his wings to try and slow his descent before landing.

  Still, he hit hard, a puff of dust rising.

  Never spat grit and growled. This was proving to be more difficult than he’d hoped. While his wings were strong, far, far stronger than he’d expected, he had no grace. And landing was obviously going to be a problem.

  Whatever progress he’d made would have to be enough, Luis couldn’t wait forever. Nightfall would be the third day since Never left, who knew if his friend had survived? If Never’s own selfishness had cost a friend his life... Never ran for the nearest tree and leapt up to catch the lowest branch. Pulling his wings in, he dragged himself higher and climbed the juniper until he’d reached the last branch able to bear his weight.

  The extra height for his starting point would either be a helping hand or a sure way to break his bones when he crashed back down to the ground.

  Never slapped his thighs. “Come on, fool. Enough hesitation.”

  He took a breath and launched himself into the air, beating his wings hard, clawing higher and higher into the sky. The ground grew smaller and smaller below as each wing-beat lifted him higher. Never almost let himself smile – until a gust of wind pulled him off-course. The world tilted and he swore, angling his wings in time to catch the rising current, soaring up so high that his stomach lurched when he looked down.

  He had enough height now that he was able to drive himself forward, making a few tentative adjustments to eventually head toward the east. Far below, the yellow and brown of field and muddy road rolled by, broken by patches of green. The few people he saw were small figures. None stopped to point, at least, none he saw.

  As Never flew, he still found himself buffeted by unpredictable gusts, but each time he managed a little bette
r. Yet it wasn’t until well after his joints had began to burn from the effort that he realised he could lock his wings and simply ride a wind-current. It was almost effortless, and the slight dives and climbs were thrilling – he laughed at himself for being so stupid. How many birds had he seen in his lifetime and still he hadn’t thought to emulate them?

  The fields of Marlosa continued to flow beneath him in a dull, yellow stream marred by the road. He would beat the sunset, he knew that now, he was making incredible time. Did he fly faster than most birds? Perhaps. The sight of the charred ruin of Oroluca flashed by and even though his pulse quickened, knowing he was nearing the farmstead, there was still the not insignificant matter of landing safely.

  Light still clung to the sky when the farmhouse appeared before him. Never swooped lower as he approached, taking a deep breath. Carefully, carefully. He circled several times, dipping with each arc, and once he judged he was low enough, he drew his knees up and extended them, ready to strike the ground. The shift in weight threw him off-balance and he panicked, beating hard against the earth.

  Impact with the ground still sent shockwaves of pain along his legs. He stumbled forward, his momentum nearly enough to slam him headfirst into the mud but he fanned his wings and kept his feet somehow.

  Gods be damned, how simple Snow made it seem. Just how long had he been flying, anyway?

  Never spun to scrutinise the fields and the road. Empty. He pulled his wings close but did not retract them just yet, approaching the silent house. No movement from within, which meant nothing. Tsolde wouldn’t be strolling around before the windows in any event. He circled the place and slowed before the stable. Footprints, gouges from hooves. A good many of them, too muddled to count. Not fresh, perhaps half a day at a guess.

  “Pacela!”

  He ran to the door and pressed an ear against it, though he didn’t know why he bothered. He was too late. No sounds from within – Never pushed his way inside. Nothing out of place, table and chairs set comfortably. Mud tracked through the house however, leading to the room where Tsolde had kept Luis.