by Ashley Capes
“We should go,” Elina said. She cleared her throat. “I’ll take you to see my grandfather now.”
Never nodded, then limped after her.
Before he reached the door, the king’s voice rasped into the hush. “Wait.”
“Father?” Jenisan wore a look of concern.
“Leave us, all of you. I would speak to... your rescuer,” the king said.
The healer moved forward but Noak’s eyes flared. “All of you.” His expression softened when he turned his sunken gaze on Jenisan. “Even you, my son.”
“You shouldn’t exert yourself, Father,” he replied.
“Am I... not still king?”
The prince bowed his head and rose. When he strode past Never, he glared but motioned for the healer and attendants to follow him. Never exchanged a glance with Elina, who appeared shaken, before approaching the bed.
The king blinked at him. “You are, Marlosi... but you are not Marlosi.”
“Quisoan, Your Majesty.”
He swallowed. “No. You are more. Amouni.”
Never straightened. The king knew? Elina’s grandfather or by other means, perhaps it did not matter. “So I have been told.”
The ailing man leant forward. “Two must climb the Stair of the Wind. Mark my words.”
“Your Majesty?”
“It must be two...” His eyes lost focus and he fell back into the pillows, unconsciousness overtaking him.
Never frowned. Words of madness from a dying man?
Or something more?
*
Elina’s grandfather offered Never a deep armchair near a window overlooking the rest of the palace, and he sank into it gladly. He wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow. The climb up the endless stone steps had been torturous on his injured thigh. He was in no hurry to head back down.
The only possible benefit of the climb gave him time to ponder the king’s words – and yet he eventually came to the same conclusion he had before lying to Elina and Jenisan when they’d met him outside the royal chambers, the king was failing and merely rambled, despite his apparent need to be heard.
Olivor’s tower offered a view of the adjacent central towers and their arched walkways, the courtyard milling with nobles in their pale finery – a measured contrast to those in the streets beyond – and the glittering domes, with their quartz-streaked rooves. Light played within, thin stripes of rainbow reflected into the sky.
“Can we bring you water or wine, Never?” Olivor asked. His scratchy voice was kind and his wrinkled expression one of worry. He pushed the long sleeves of his grey robe back, searching for a cup on a cluttered table, deft fingers navigating vials, pots and small instruments whose use Never could not guess.
“Don’t fuss over him, Grandfather,” Elina said, her face still drawn. “He’ll be fine.”
He frowned at her. “He is descended of the Amouni, young lady, and that is enough for me.”
Never straightened in the chair. “Please, I’d hate to cause a quarrel.” And to that same end, he kept Jenisan’s cheery warning to himself – for now.
Olivor waved a hand. “Don’t mind us.” He produced a cup and then bent at a barrel that had been mounted beside one of the benches, twisting the brass tap and filling the cup. “Try this and tell me your story. I may better be able to help.”
Accepting the cup, Never inhaled a sweet scent then tasted the wine. Fruity. “It’s very pleasing,” he said. “But I fear I know little of my own story.”
“Your parents?”
“My brother and I did not know our father. Mother rarely spoke of him. Snow believes he was a mercenary. I seem to remember him holding needle and thread.” He shrugged; his father was a shadow, nothing more. “She died when we were boys – at which point we named each other and left our village.”
He frowned in confusion. “That doesn’t sound like a Quisoan custom?”
“No. Another of Snow’s ideas. It seemed right.”
Elina leant closer. “And your real name?”
He smiled. “Is ‘Never’. At least, until I learn otherwise. I do remember Mother telling us that we were ‘more than other children’ but I don’t know why she held off on naming us.”
“So she knew your heritage,” Olivor said.
“Yes. I couldn’t have known what she meant of course but I discovered soon enough. I know I said that Snow and I left; but we were driven from Kisawn, fleeing a hail of stones.”
“A cruel fate,” Olivor offered.
“We survived by relying on each other. For a time it was Snow’s singing skills, working in small inns for meals as we travelled Marlosa. After being robbed one time too many, we soon decided that learning to fight would be more useful. We joined a merchant train and travelled the north, learning the blade under the watchful eye of the master. To us he was a grand fellow, dashing, skillful – no task was too great, no problem too small for his attention.”
He gave a rueful smile. “Yet he could be ruthless too – once, early, he caught us with stolen spiced-bread and tied us both to the nearest tree and rode off. Hours without water or respite from the biting ropes. That night, he returned to free us, saying nothing the whole time. I do not know what made him turn back.” Never shifted his leg into a different position with a sigh. “There have been days... years when I cursed him for doing so. Had I died then, maybe...” Never chuckled and shook his head. “In any event, we never stole from him again. Years later, Snow came to believe the merchant was in fact Cantimal the Thief.”
Elina lowered her own cup. “Truly?”
“We knew him only as Mal. Certainly he taught us things perhaps no normal merchant could have. Yet for Mal or Cantimal, whoever he was, well, ‘normal’ was not a word that applied to him.”
“And you were forced to leave due to your gift?” Olivor asked.
“Yes. It ends more than lives.”
“You could not control it?”
“Not so well as I do now. I... abhorred myself for... causing another death. Snow forgave me, he always did, but we disagreed on where to go next.” That and other things – yet that was not for Olivor to know, Zia had no bearing on the story. At least, not the beginning of it anyway. “I headed for the Imperial City to search the Great Library there. It would be the first of many visits, while my brother returned home in an attempt to trace our father.”
“And what did you discover?”
“Little. Years of hints and clues, dead ends, false promises, mere scraps as I ranged the lands until a chance rumour had me back in the Imperial City, just before the Vadiya invasion. I found a map that purported to reveal the secrets of the Amber Isle.” He shifted his legs, easing some discomfort in his thigh. “There I discovered murals showing the Amouni exchanging blood for what appeared to be non-warlike means. For the sharing of knowledge. It was there I also saw folk who may have been ancient Hanik – and on a gamble, here I am.”
“And to be certain, your gift first manifested itself during or just before puberty?”
“I’d say so.”
Olivor snapped his fingers. “A classic sign – all Amouni texts suggest it is so.”
Never raised an eyebrow. “You do not take your granddaughter’s word about me?”
“No, no, it’s not that at all.” He waved a hand. “Was I concerned, I merely would have asked for a demonstration of your blood. No, I merely wish to confirm the truth of the old texts.”
“May I see the texts?”
“Certainly,” Olivor said. “Why don’t we go now?”
Elina put a hand on his arm. “Grandfather.”
He smacked a palm against his forehead. “Of course. Never, would you be willing to offer me some of your blood? It is my hope that I might be able to cure King Noak.”
Never glanced from grandfather to granddaughter. “You both jest, surely?”
“No jest,” Olivor said with a shake of his head. “We have been making cures from snake venom for hundreds of years; this ought to be no different.”
; “That may be but...” he hesitated. Hadn’t he been responsible for something similar with the Bleak Man’s tree? And yet this was no cleansing transfer. What would his blood do when administered like a draught? Was that even what Olivor planned? “Do you really want to take such a risk?”
“Whatever poison Noak has been given has resisted all our methods thus far,” Olivor said. “You saw him. It is dire.”
“All are willing,” Elina added.
“Even Jenisan?” Never asked.
The two exchanged a glance before Olivor began fumbling about, clearing a space on one of his benches. Neither spoke and Never frowned; another bad sign.
“We have no choice,” Elina said. “Nothing else has worked. The prince understands that we may fail. Yet if we do not...”
Jenisan’s warning hardly needed to echo – to Never it was as fresh as if the man had spat the words mere moments before. If the offered blood didn’t save the king, no prize for the man who guessed which poor fool would take the blame. The very same words would surely amount to a dagger in Elina’s heart. She still saw the hero, it seemed. “How long will the process take?” Never asked.
“Whatever I draw tonight, I will need to test. Nothing I can create will be ready before the morrow,” Olivor said.
“Very well.” It gave him time to visit the library. And if something did go awry, time to flee, if needed. And he’d need the head start with his thigh still giving him trouble.
And time to find Snow too.
The old man drew forth a blade and a thin glass vial. “Can you direct the flow once I have made the cut?”
“I believe so.” Never pushed back his sleeve and bared a forearm.
Olivor held the glass close to the skin, then pushed the blade into Never’s arm, opening a vein with a sting. Blood ran. He forced it into a thin, steady stream, filling one and then a second vial as Olivor waved for another, which Elina supplied. Her expression was one of fascination – yet discomfort lay there too.
“That should be sufficient,” Olivor said.
Never closed the flow and wiped a tiny red pool with a bandage, which he wrapped quickly. “I pray to the Gods – all of them, I might add – that my blood is what the king needs,” he said.
“Thank you, Never.” Olivor’s eyes fixated on the blood he held up to the light of the window. “I will need some time before I can be sure – while you wait, let Elina show you the library.”
“And find you something to eat,” Elina said. “You must be hungry now. We could find Luis – I left him in the kitchens.”
Never pushed himself out of the chair, wincing. “Actually – is the library closer?”
“I’d say yes. Why?”
“Do you think you could convince someone to send something? I don’t think my thigh could handle two trips.” A partial lie. If something changed and Olivor came up with a cure quicker than expected – and it failed – best to have already seen the library.
She reached out, taking his arm as she helped him out of the room and down the steps. “Of course, forgive me.”
He had to admit, it was a welcome assistance – even if her sudden solicitousness seemed a little out of character. His leg ached and a tiredness had crept up on him. “You’re very hopeful,” he said.
“There is much in our legends about the Amouni suggesting grand healing was possible.”
“With blood?”
“Yes, but Grandfather has not been able to test any of the scriptures. How could we?”
“Indeed.” He ground his teeth when his foot slipped. Elina caught him. “But I fear for your king, if my blood is your only hope.”
“We have to trust the Amouni of the past.”
He said no more, instead saving his breath for walking.
At the bottom, Never leant against a wall. The pain wasn’t growing worse but his strength was not holding up. “I need a little time,” he said.
“I understand.”
When he could push himself forward again Elina led him down several corridors. Windows ringed with silver – this time true silver – paintings of forests, portraits of bearded kings and ornate doors merged into one memory until Elina finally produced a silver key and placed it into an equally silver lock in two heavy doors.
It clicked open and she revealed a well-lit entry room, wherein a man in grey robes rose from a desk where he had been writing with quill and ink.
“Welcome, Lady Elina and guest,” he said smoothly after glancing at Never. “Can I assist you today?”
“Lamps only, Rodeth.”
He bowed. “Certainly.” From behind his desk he lifted two cold lamps from shelving concealed beyond a panel – not unlike those favoured by the Amouni – and handed them over. “Simply shake to activate the glow.”
Never did as instructed. A pale blue light rose. He shook again and it grew brighter. Impressive and not unlike his blue-stone, it seemed.
Rodeth opened another door and then Never was limping into the library itself, dwarfed by huge shelves that extended deep into the darkness. Elina had lit her own lamp and motioned for him to follow.
Finally. So close now – surely new answers lay within? He had to force himself to slow down, to go easy on his wounded leg. Their footfalls echoed on the stone floor. He passed shelves with ladders and huge stool-like structures on wheels. Once, a man robed as the first, stood before a book-laden shelf, removing and replacing books after first sprinkling a faint dust over the covers.
“To eat up any moisture trapped between covers,” Elina explained.
She soon came to a halt and reached for a ladder, moving it to a new shelf. She rested it against the slabs of wood and glanced over her shoulder. “The Order of Pages likes to keep the Amouni texts out of reach.”
“You do have ladders.”
She paused, one hand on a rung. “Yes, but people are lazy and no-one is interested in such texts anymore. More so since most consider them children’s stories – in fact, that’s where we are now.”
“What do you mean?”
She gestured around her. “These books are written for children. I’ll be just a moment.”
Elina climbed swiftly, lamp in one hand. Never shook his lamp again, intensifying the glow. Carvings were revealed deep in the wooden shelves, images of animals in various poses from sleeping, mating, fighting, and even eating.
When she returned with three books, each large but their covers in tatters, her expression was stern. “You have to handle them carefully.”
“I will,” he promised.
“Let me go and arrange for food. I hope there is something that helps you in there.”
“Have you read them?”
She shook her head. “I cannot understand enough.”
Never set his lamp on a shelf and opened the first page. Unfamiliar runes covered the parchment, like those on the river or his die. He sat on the lowest rung of the ladder and took the page between thumb and forefinger, turning it with care. It cracked as it moved, yet held.
Still the runes did not mean anything. He clenched his jaw.
Thwarted again.
Each page was the same. Black ink of nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing! Blood surged but he took a deep breath and placed the book aside, taking up the second. Yet all was the same – he earned no more than a sense of familiarity.
Halfway through the third book the runes changed. They grew smaller and less ornate – more broken. He even saw what could have been the five-pointed leaf. And these words gave impressions, images, emotions; if not a language he could read.
Darkness; flickering firelight. Skulls loomed in the walls of a cavern that had been besieged by a snow storm beyond. A man stood in the cave and in each hand there floated – floated, was that right? – a sphere of blood. With these spheres the man faced a tall figure – slender, skin taut over bones, and eye-holes deep slits in a grey face.
When it moved, the Grey-Face blinked in and out of sight, limbs hard to trace.
Yet the
man did not falter; for he knew if he failed, the lands would be devoured by the dry slithering and clacking of the Grey-Face and their thirst for organs.
The images faded and Never lowered the book.
What were the Grey-Face?
Chapter 15.
Footsteps approached.
Elina carried a tray with a plate of steaming meat and green vegetables, soaking in a gravy that looked rich enough to make his mouth water; to which his mouth complied. He set the book aside and accepted the tray, lifting fork and knife with a breath of thanks.
She laughed. “Has it been that long?”
“I don’t know, but this is wonderful,” he said around mouthfuls. The vague chill that the Grey-Face had given him was gone, banished by the food’s warmth.
“Have you learnt anything?”
“Little so far. I cannot read it – though some passages trigger images.”
“And that has helped?”
“Not truly.” All he had been given was a new trouble to worry over – should such things even exist. But the spheres of blood; that was something to ponder. How was such a thing possible? Could it truly be used as a weapon? “But I have not searched every book.”
“You haven’t. There are a half dozen more, which comprises our entire library of Amouni texts.”
“Impressive nonetheless.” When Never finished the plate he sat back, warmth spreading from his stomach. It even took the edge off the dull ache in his thigh. His eyes grew heavy. “Please compliment the palace cooks in whatever way you deem fitting for a God among cooks.”
She snorted. “You must be delirious from pain.”
He heaved a great sigh. “It’s not too bad.” But perhaps a little sleep was a good idea. He could read more once he’d rested, and Olivor wasn’t going to administer the king’s possible cure until tomorrow’s dawn at least. That was time enough. He could take a few hours then read into the night. “Is there a bed nearby?”
“You’ve been given a room next to Luis’. Think you could walk a little more?”
“I’ll manage.”
He stood and tested his thigh while Elina returned the books. The dark spines slid back into place with a whisper.