The Book of Never: Volumes 1-5

by Ashley Capes

  Snow pointed with his blade. “No! They are too precious.”

  “I will crush them, Snow.”

  His brother exhaled slowly. “Be calm. You risk much.”

  “As do you.”

  Snow finally laughed, yet there seemed a hollow note to the sound that echoed within the keep. “Think, brother. There are so many branches here, so many seeds. I do not need those two as much as you think.”

  “You’re trying to bluff me.” But if Snow was not lying... there was another path open to Never. He leapt from the tree, diving for the flagstones below. From the corner of his eye, he saw Snow give chase. Never twisted as he plummeted down, the floor rushing up to meet him – and pulled up out of his dive at the last moment, twisting in the air to wheel around the steel trunk.

  Snow had matched his move, staying close behind. Never swooped low and this time he hit the ground running, stirring dust as he slid to a halt. He ripped his own Amouni blade free and caught Snow’s first blow.

  Another explosion of blue sparks as their swords crossed.

  Snow’s face was a snarling mess, his ice-blue eyes were aglow, a stark contrast to the triumph, and even joy, Never had seen before. “Give them to me.”

  “I cannot.” Never hurled his brother back, but Snow adjusted his wings, keeping his balance.

  Snow charged on, unleashing a flurry of sword strokes that tore at the very air. Never struggled to keep up, driven back across the stones. He continued to give ground, grunting at a cut to his shoulder. Never ducked the reverse cut, the point of Snow’s sword nicking his cheek.

  Hot blood flowed.

  Too slow; so soon after the climb and his limbs were tiring, reflexes dulled. Snow was the better swordsman at any rate, all it would take was time and Never would fall. Snow thrust his blade forward and Never batted the sword aside as he scrambled back.

  Snow closed and Never deflected another slice, lashing out with his elbow. The blow knocked Snow back. “Give up this madness,” Never cried. “Please, you are my brother!”

  But Snow only spat blood and charged once more.

  Space. And time. He needed room and the time to use it. Never spun and leapt into the air – and something caught his foot. Snow held Never’s boot in one hand. Never beat his wings and kicked out at his brother, who dodged the blow and dropped his sword to grip Never with both hands, tensing, straining. Veins in Snow’s neck bulged as he sucked in a mighty breath and dragged Never down, roaring as he did.

  Never hit the stones and bounced, a crack splitting the air.

  He screamed.

  White hot pain shot through one of his wings, bent and crushed beneath his body. He rolled, rising to one knee, breathing hard, eyes watering. Every movement sent pain slicing through his back and shoulders. Bloody feathers lingered in the corner of his vision, one drifting to the ground from the ruined wing. He blinked: just as the Evache woman had predicted. Dire injury – would it be the death of him yet?

  Snow was retrieving his weapon, no longer rushing. And why would he? He held the upper hand.

  But Never finally had what he needed, enough respite to act.

  He cut deeply into his hand, the sting a slight distraction from the searing pain in his back, and urged his blood up into a globe of crimson-fire. And then more, he pushed more blood free, the sphere enveloping his whole forearm, the red glow spreading.

  Snow froze where he’d lifted the Amouni blade, but Never did not aim at his brother.

  He swung his arm at the tree’s canopy.

  “Not that,” Snow shouted. “There are other ways.”

  Never lifted his birch hand, which still cradled the two seeds. “One or the other. Or maybe both, unless you abandon this place now.”

  Snow made no move but his wings twitched as he stared across the stones.

  Never dared not look away. His brother would try something, but what? Snow was fast but no-one was that fast. It was a dozen paces, Never would have time to release the crimson-fire before Snow took two steps. Yet who knew just how many Amouni secrets the man had kept to himself?

  “Decide,” Never commanded.

  Snow disappeared.

  Never blinked. Where was Snow? There’d been no warning. Never tensed as he spun around, yet Snow was not behind him, nor above. Again, Never turned, only to find emptiness before him, the shuffle of his boots on stone echoing in the quiet keep.

  A hint of movement.

  Something indistinct – revealed by the red glow of the crimson-fire.

  Never flung his birch hand out. It struck something hard and cold. An Amouni sword clattered to the stone as Snow reappeared, diving forward. Never reared back but Snow was too close – his brother hit with a growl, and they crashed into the flagstones.

  Never’s already injured wing crunched further as his head struck and he shouted – the shock causing him to release the crimson-fire.

  It shot forth. The fire was off target, yet it flew true enough to spear into the great trunk, a hissing rising as it bored deep into the steel. Snow had frozen where he lay nearby and Never held his breath. The trunk continued to steam as the fire ate deeper and deeper... and stopped.

  The tree stood, unbroken, a black hole in its centre.

  And then Snow was upon him, straddling his chest and clawing at Never’s birch hand. Despite the way Snow tore at the flesh of his fingers and palm, there was little pain. Numbness? The extra strength – or was there simply too much agony from Never’s other injuries? Yet his hand was stronger than Snow, who could not pry it open.

  Snow beat it against the stone but still Never did not release the seeds. “You cannot have them,” Never shouted, fumbling for a knife. Snow spun, lashing out. His fist cracked into Never’s bloody cheek and he fell back, dazed. New pain shot through his skull and blood pooled in his mouth. Was his cheekbone shattered?

  But Never retained enough presence of mind to keep his birch hand sealed.

  Snow beat Never’s hand against the stones. “Open!” he screamed.

  Gripping the Quisoan blade, Never swung blindly. The knife bit deep into something unresisting – Snow’s thigh. Yet his brother did not react, continuing to slam Never’s fist down, again and again. Flecks of blood appeared on the flagstones as even Never’s hardened skin began to fray under Snow’s onslaught.

  The sharp tang of blood continued to fill Never’s mouth. He turned his head, coughing and spitting as best he could, so as not to choke – and caught new movement. The tree was shuddering forward. The hole his crimson-fire made had never stopped eating away at the steel; the tear was now so large that the trunk could no longer support the enormous canopy of silver branches.

  And it would crush them.

  Never twisted his body, trying to hurl Snow free but only served to send a new flashes of pain lancing through his back. Over Snow’s shoulder, the tree continued to tilt. Never beat against his brother’s side to no effect.

  “Snow,” he cried. “The tree!”

  Snow did not seem to hear; a crazed fire seemed to blaze in his eyes as he tore at Never’s hand with bloody fingernails.

  Break the trance of madness.

  The knife!

  Never gripped the handle and wrenched it as hard as he could. “Brother!”

  Snow screamed and gripped Never’s hand, thumb digging into his wrist. Never released the handle but caught Snow’s own hand, locking eyes with his brother. “The tree is falling,” he screamed.

  Snow whipped his head around.

  Too late, the trunk was screeching as steel bent. The canopy bore down upon them; a silver wall of death.

  Snow turned back and his face had changed, the madness replaced by true desperation. Again, their eyes met and the world receded long enough for Never to see – deep within the icy blue of Snow’s eyes lay a glimpse of something Never had thought long gone; the b
oy who had always tried to take the first blow whenever a villager threw a stone, the boy who had been the one to pull Never back to his feet, the boy who had been sure their curse did not have to damn them to a life of loneliness and hate.

  His brother, restored for just a heartbeat.

  And then Snow was gripping Never beneath the arms, hauling him up and with a roar that filled the keep, casting Never clear with all his strength.

  “No!”

  Never reached for Snow as he flew through the air, even as the canopy rushed down. One of its branches pierced Snow’s chest... and then the rest of the canopy crushed Never’s brother into the stone.

  Everything seemed to happen before Never hit the floor, before the rest of the branches shattered around him in a hail of bright silver and glittering golden seeds, exploding when the buds slammed into the ground with a cacophony that battered his ears.

  Yet he knew he had landed at some point, for he was alive and once again, he was alive because Snow had saved him

  Chapter 32.

  A bloody hand snapped around a silver branch, smearing the pristine surface.

  In his chest, a terrible new emptiness bore down upon Never as he pulled himself up, the ache from a dozen wounds slowing his every movement, his shattered wing pulling him off balance as he staggered forward.

  Clouds of glittering, golden dust filled the keep.

  Light from the giant eyes of the keep laced the dust with fire, shining on the wreckage of twisted silver too. Never opened his birch hand – two crushed seeds. He walked on. The rasp of his breath filled the hush but whenever he paused to spit the blood that continued to pool in his mouth, the hissing of the disintegrating trunk came to the fore.

  Never pushed himself onward; he had to see.

  He swore when a tangle of branches forced him to detour. His boots crunched the remnants of golden seeds as he walked but he could not care.

  And finally he found Snow.

  His brother was no more. The huge branch had completely crushed Snow, leaving only a still-growing pool of dark blood at its edge – that and a single wing, pure white feathers tainted with blood.

  Never fell to one knee, then slowly twisted himself around to sit against the branch, favouring his good wing. He squeezed his eyes shut until the pain eased. When he could move again he gathered the bloody white feathers into his hands and simply sat, staring down at them as tears fell, splashing against the blood and the soft white.

  Chapter 33.

  Never gradually became aware of a chill.

  He opened his eyes. Darkness ruled the keep, yet pale blue moonlight cast more than enough light to see. How long had he slept? When had he fallen asleep? His aches had receded enough that he was able to think about standing and making his way back to the stair – swift healing continued to be a blessing.

  Blood on the feathers had turned black in the night. The Evache woman had told him he would hold blood-covered feathers – he’d been wrong about his own wing. Never lifted a feather free, tucking it into his robe and placing the others beside his brother.

  An end to it all.

  He hadn’t known what to expect, had not dared to think so far ahead and could make little sense of the aftermath. There was relief and even grief, yes, but more, it seemed emptiness ruled. That wasn’t right, surely?

  But he could not sit in silence forever.

  Never stood with a soft groan and started on his path back to Isacina. Elina was still being held by Cog, how would she fare? And were Luis and Tsolde safe from Andramir? He quickened his pace a little, still having to thread his way through the broken canopy. Flying would have been swifter, but fast healing or no, he wasn’t sure his wings were ready.

  When he finally reached the edge of the keep, Never paused. A single unbroken seed rested in the ridge between flagstones, glinting in the moonlight. He lifted it and slipped it too, into his robe before turning back at the top of the steps.

  He could not see Snow, nor his resting place.

  “Fare well, brother.”

  And then he stepped outside and felt around for the triangular piece of quartz, pulling it free. A rumbling followed and Never started down the steps, the stone grinding closed behind him. It did not matter what remained inside, for there was no-one left who could even reach the keep; he had no surviving family now.

  At the bottom of the steps, Never continued directly to the stair. Standing beneath it and looking up, he did not have to wait. The white light appeared, burning his eyes. He looked away and felt himself descending.

  Part of Never knew he had narrowly averted a disaster like no other – or, like none since the Amouni seemingly inflicted it upon themselves in the ancient past. Snow would have slaughtered uncountable numbers of people to create his new world, and any survivors would have been robbed of their humanity, of hope, surprise and chance, of self-determination.

  Another part of him only felt the growing emptiness; a deeper loneliness. Even when Snow was distant, even when he was pursuing his madness, Never had a brother. A brother that might not have seen the truth about his dark plans, but a living relative at the least. A brother that had seemed to care for Never, despite everything else between them.

  And now he was gone.

  The world was better off for Snow’s absence but Never didn’t know yet if he would be. Nor did he know how that could be true. How could he miss a madman so? Never sighed as he ran a hand through his hair, fingers snagging on blood-caked locks. But he wasn’t truly alone, such thinking wasn’t fair – Luis, Tsolde and Elina. Even Vantinio and dozens of others he’d met over the years; he still had a different kind of family.

  So long as Cog or Andramir had not taken revenge for the death of their master – Never had no doubt they would somehow be aware of what happened. He fought the urge to pace; there was no room anyway. But a renewed sense of urgency had crept over him. How much longer?

  When at last the stair deposited him at Snow’s doorway, he leapt through, stumbling into the tower – blinking at the rising sun which lanced through the windows, tinting everything orange. He couldn’t leave the doorway open. Taking one of the pots, Never poured the paints over his hands and slathered the colours across Snow’s complex designs – stone reappearing before he’d finished – then he stumbled down the stairwell.

  When he finally reached the bottom, bursting through the door, he crashed into a Steelhawk. “My Lord, forgive me,” the man said. His eyes widened when he saw Never clearly, no doubt reacting to all the dried blood.

  Never glanced at the fellow, who gave no indication that anything was amiss with his master. “Guard this door,” Never said. “No-one but I or the Prince enters this room, understood?”

  “Sir.”

  Never ran along the corridors, heading for the grand hall. His body still ached but he pushed himself on and it seemed movement helped with the stiffness. And obviously his cheek had healed enough that his speech was not impaired, seeing as the Steelhawk had understood him.

  As he neared the Grand Hall, raised voices rang out from within. He thundered along the carpet, rounding the corridor to stagger into the hall, chest heaving, his arrival bringing all voices to a halt.

  Two men, one holding up his hands in a calming gesture and the other a Steelhawk, stood before the dais and throne – where Sacha held a knife to Elina’s throat. Never froze. Sacha’s face was streaked with tears and her eyes narrowed when they fell upon Never.

  “You killed him,” she shouted.

  “No,” Never said, keeping his voice even. “The tree of Memory Seeds fell upon us. And though it cost him his life, Snow saved me.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling you,” Andramir told her. “I saw it myself; you know he linked us. You have seen it before.”

  Fresh tears welled and it seemed for a moment that Sacha would release Elina, but then her nost
rils flared. “Then what do you care if she dies? Someone has to pay for his death.”

  “But not Elina, for she means something to Never,” the other man said, and Never finally recognised Cog, dressed in his usual nondescript clothing.

  “What?” Sacha was frowning.

  “We have our orders: Never is the new Master,” Andramir replied.

  “Yes,” Cog agreed.

  The new master? That was not something Never wanted but he could hardly deal with it now and more, it would doubtless aid him. Never approached the dais, moving slowly. Sacha pressed the knife against Elina’s throat, drawing blood and Elina flinched. Her hands were tied and she was unarmed. The distance between them was still too great, even if he were to fly. “Snow chose his own path, Sacha,” he said. “I tried to turn him from it but he would not listen.”

  Sacha’s jaw was clenched. “You know what I have lost, Never.”

  “And I lost my brother and now I have no surviving family,” he replied, moving forward again. “Please do not take my friend too.”

  Silence.

  Never continued his approach and Sacha watched him, her pale eyes red-rimmed from her tears. It seemed no-one breathed in the hall.

  Sacha hurled Elina forward.

  Never caught her, then stepped before Elina as Sacha started down. Yet the First Hawk did not draw a weapon, nor did she stop, striding past with her back straight and shoulders set. Elina breathed a sigh of relief and Never turned to her. “Are you hurt?”

  “Nothing that won’t heal,” she said. Elina raised her bound hands. “Cut this already, will you?”

  Never produced his Quisoan blade and sliced through the rope. Elina thanked him as she rubbed her wrists. “Where are her weapons?” Never asked, directing his question to the others.

  “I have them,” Cog said, and offered a short bow before striding off.

  Which left Andramir. “And what do you need from me, Master?” he asked.