The Book of Never: Volumes 1-5

by Ashley Capes

  “I say right,” Ruveo said.

  “Of course you do.” Never rolled his eyes.

  Ruveo pointed. “Don’t do that; I won’t put up with it.”

  Never grinned.

  “Exactly like that. Don’t goad me, stranger.”

  Ferne turned. “Shut up the pair of you. We’re going to the right. It will follow the lay of the island better.”

  Ruveo made a satisfied sound and Never shrugged. “Lead on.”

  He held back a moment, letting Ruveo close with Ferne, and strode along beside Luis. The spearman lowered his voice. “Why are you stirring him up?”

  “He irritates me.”

  “He’s pretty handy with his sword; I’d be careful.”

  “I will.”

  “Be serious, Never.”

  “I’d prefer not to.”

  Luis shook his head. “I think I like you, you know. I’d rather not have you dead.”

  “We share the same goal, then, Luis.”

  He kept his voice low. “What about your map?”

  “Not sure I trust Ruveo.”

  “Fair enough,” Luis said. “He claims he used to be a First Imperial.”

  “Ah. So, a deserter then,” Never said.

  “Might be. He certainly doesn’t like the Vadiya.”

  “Few do.”

  They walked on and something glittered ahead, reflecting lamplight, bright and flickering. When they reached it Never gave a low whistle. A thick vein of quartz ran down the stone, bringing light with it. An empty sconce was set in the wall directly in the middle of the vein, which was quite regular, as if it had been cut to order.

  “Interesting,” Never said. “Another sign of civilisation.”

  “Think we’re getting closer?” Luis asked.

  “I hope so; it’s cold down here.”

  Ferne walked on without comment, though his steps had a bit more snap to them. Never didn’t rush. The skull on his map meant trouble and whatever it was, best to let Ferne or Ruveo walk into it first.

  Only his fear was unfounded.

  Before long the trouble appeared; a cave-in. It blocked the passage with jagged heaps of crumbled stone.

  Ferne swore, then turned and headed back the way they’d come. Never said nothing as a muttering Ruveo passed. It took some effort, but he managed it. Luis grinned, eyes shining in the lamp-light.

  The left passage was longer. Twice they passed glittering quartz veins, the second trickling with water. It pooled in the sconce, flowed over the lip and into a black drain below, one he hadn’t noticed before.

  “We might as well take a drink,” Ferne said. “What we’ve got has to get us off the chain too.”

  “Is it sea water?” Ruveo asked.

  Never cupped his hands and took a drink. Beautiful, clean. “It’s fresh.” He took another few mouthfuls and stepped aside.

  While Ruveo and Luis drank, he moved over to Ferne. The big man was stretching his arms behind his head and rolling his shoulders, pushing at his elbows. His axe sat against the wall. “I’ve been meaning to ask, how are we getting the Sea King’s jewels off the island?”

  “I’ll signal my ship.”

  “Coloured smoke?”

  He nodded.

  “And where will they land?”

  “At the cove, same place you landed, I’ll wager. I’ve sailed many of the islands, there are very few places to make landfall. I saw where people had tried to scale the walls of the islands. Bolts driven into the wall, as if they’d climbed from the ships. No idea whether they made it – but I know their ships didn’t. There’s many a wreck in the Grey Chains. As if the islands themselves don’t want us here.”

  They soon walked on and this time encountered no blockage, only a short flight of stairs, this one leading up. Twice they ascended before reaching another chamber, this time with three passages leading from it. Again, all three headed in the same direction.

  “Care to take a guess?” Ferne asked Never.

  “Left again.”

  “Why?”

  “It feels right. I can’t explain it.”

  Ruveo snorted but Ferne waved. “Maybe you should lead. You seem lucky.”

  Great. Never raised his lamp and led the small group into the passage. The same stone walls, interspersed with quartz veins but none with water. No stairs, only a long, flat path that eventually terminated in a door – this one regular-sized.

  The same carvings of interwoven leaves sat in the middle.

  Never pushed on it and no click. He ran a hand along the edges, but no purchase. No handle, no keyhole. His map did not mention unlocking doors; it mostly showed a series of passages and choices marked with arrows.

  But the five-pointed leaf rested within.

  “Any ideas?” Luis asked.

  The five points, woven into the curls of leaves and buds, were clear. As if they spoke to him. As Mother had done, he reached out. “Maybe...” He placed his fingers within and twisted. The symbol spun. A second click and the door began to slide open. Another passage lay beyond, more glittering veins of quartz visible in the distance.

  Silence followed his discovery.

  Ruveo broke it. His eyes were narrowed. “How did you know that?”

  “Know what?”

  “How to open the door. Same as outside. You figured it out. What’s going on?”

  Never put on a frown. “You want me to close it?”

  Ferne stepped closer. “I think you should answer his question. What have you been hiding from us, Never? You know something about this place?” He sighed as he folded his arms. “I don’t want to have to force you to tell but I will.”

  “Not the best idea though, is it?”

  Ferne’s jaw worked.

  “For if I do know something, I’m helping you. If you want me to stop, I’ll let you figure out the other doors. They won’t be as easy as this one.” A bluff of sorts; he had no idea whether he could open the others so easily.

  “I’ll raise your cut.”

  “I’d rather choose when I tell you what, if anything, I know. We’ve done well to get this far, why jeopardise it now?”

  He folded his arms. “Fine. Lead on. For now.”

  “Thank you.” He moved through two more passages, choosing always the same direction – onward as per the map, until the next chamber presented a turn in addition to the forward path. He paused in the chamber to take a drink.

  “Forward again?” Ferne asked.

  “Not this time.” Never took a step but came to a stop. Had footsteps rung out, distant yet? From the passage behind them?

  “I thought you knew where you were going?” Ruveo said.

  “Do you hear someone following?”

  “No, I don’t. Let’s just –” He stopped at Ferne’s raised hand.

  Drifting up the corridor came the smacking of feet on stone. Wet feet. “Quickly, the creatures are following us,” Never said.

  He strode down the passage, lamp high. A vein of quartz flashed by and then he turned another corner. It opened into a large, circular room set with a dozen arched openings. The spoked wheel, as shown on his map.

  “Which one?” Ruveo asked.

  “Rear guard, Luis,” Ferne said. “And keep that pipe handy.”

  The spearman nodded.

  Never paced before the openings. A giant relief of the five-pointed leaf symbol lay within the floor. His boots scraped over it as he paced. Counting, counting. Two from the centre left was the direct route but had more doors. Directly opposite their exit point was a longer way around, to the centre of the Amber Isle, but the map bore another foreboding skull within that passage.

  Ferne stomped over. “Well, Never? Which is it?”

  “Two paths we can take.”

  “But?”


  Luis called. “The creature is still following.”

  “Just one?” Ferne glanced over his shoulder.

  “Yes...wait. No. I hear more than one set now.”

  Never pointed. “That way holds three more doors. I can probably open them, but what if one takes too long? Can we hold off the creatures?”

  “We have the pipe,” Ruveo said.

  “And the other passage?” Ferne asked, his heavy brows drawn together.

  “On the map I memorised it was marked with a skull.”

  “Map?”

  “Yes.”

  The big man grunted. “I don’t like either option.”

  “The other passages were not marked.”

  Luis moved into the room. “They’re close. Do you want me to play?”

  “Do it,” Ferne said.

  Never waved a hand at the other spokes. “I don’t like our chances if one is a dead-end.”

  The first notes of the Ballad of Stonefist floated back. Footsteps faded.

  “We have the pipe,” Ferne said.

  The music stopped. “They’ve left,” Luis said when he returned. “From the first note.”

  “Good.” Never headed for the passage second to the left. “Keep watch when I’m working on the doors.”

  “Just worry about opening them,” Ferne said.

  He’d barely taken a step into the opening when the echo of wet feet slapping on stone returned. Only this time, echoing up from the very passage he stood within.

  “There’s more,” Luis called from behind. “In the other passages.”

  Never dashed back into the hub of the spoke.

  Footsteps echoed from every direction – from every passage save the one with the skull. Judging by the echo of feet, there had to be dozens of the creatures converging on their position.

  “Play,” Ferne roared.

  Luis already had the pipe to his lips. He played a faster melody, fingers dancing on the piece of reed.

  The footsteps slowed...but then continued.

  Chapter 8.

  The rising thunder from charging feet eased but it did not stop. Luis’ song may have slowed them, perhaps turned a few away, yet still the bulk of the horde continued on. Slap. Slap slap slap. Slap slap. Slap. The wet sound of their feet beat an awful rhythm.

  “We’re trapped,” Ruveo snarled.

  “Then we fight,” Ferne said. He held his huge axe in both hands, his lamp on the stone floor.

  “Or we run,” Never said. He strode to the opening marked for danger. “There are no footsteps from within.”

  “Your skull passage?”

  Luis checked the others, Ruveo doing the same on the opposite side of the hub. “The creatures are in all of them,” Luis said.

  “Even the way we came,” Ruveo added.

  “Play it again,” Ferne said. “A different tune.”

  Luis tried and again, while the slapping lessened, it did not stop.

  Ferne shook his head. “Slimy bastards are herding us down there.”

  “So maybe we die there instead of the certainty of dying here. What do we have to lose?” Never asked.

  “Don’t plan to lose anything.” Ferne took up his lantern. “Go then.”

  Never charged into the corridor. Shadows thrashed on the walls and the thump of booted feet soon buried the slap of webbed ones. This passage was no different to the others – dark, smooth, room enough for two abreast, the uniformity occasionally broken by a vein of quartz and its glittering, filtered light.

  “Do they follow?” Never called over his shoulder.

  “Yes,” Luis shouted back.

  A blank wall appeared ahead. Lit by a pair of quartz veins, it bore no markings, no symbols. Never bent by the floor and stretched to look at the roof, but there was nothing. “This looks rather grim,” he muttered.

  Silence, until finally, “Ready your pipe, Luis.” Ferne had set his lamp aside once more, and stood with his axe held across his chest.

  Ruveo was cursing. He kicked at a wall, but his blade was drawn. Hopefully he was as good as Luis claimed.

  Luis took Never’s arm, fingers digging into the flesh. “Isn’t there something you can do?”

  “Let me think.” He moved a sconce and cupped his hands beneath the flow, dousing his face with water. He blinked at the cold as it ran down his neck to soak his shirt. He took a drink this time and stared into the quartz, its surface rippling with water.

  There had to be something... He straightened. What if...? Yes! A water-lock. Like in the Temple of Pacela beneath Isacina. He spun. The other vein bore no water, but featured a twin sconce. Never slapped the wall, splashing himself. “I have it.”

  “Then do it quickly,” Ferne snapped.

  He dumped his pack and tore a water flask free then emptied it into the dry sconce. It filled halfway.

  The clap of webbed feet drew closer.

  Luis’ pipe sang, and hissing drifted down the passage, but the feet did not stop. Never jammed the empty flask beneath the running quartz – holding his breath. Faster. Faster. His heart began to skip beats.

  The moment the brim overflowed, he leapt to the opposite wall, shaking the flask until the sconce filled.

  A deep rumbling followed.

  Luis paused. “You’ve done it,” he cried.

  Stone ground against stone and the blank section of wall began to rise. Bright light burst from below. “Hurry.” He shielded his eyes and crawled beneath the opening slab.

  Beyond lay a bright room, open to the sky and sunlight. Only its walls were lined with quartz veins, dazzling to his blinking eyes. His feet clacked on a hard surface as he stumbled forward, the others pushing after him.

  “How do we close it?” Ferne shouted.

  “Water,” Never cried as he dashed to a mirrored set of sconces. He snatched a flask Luis offered and held it over the dry sconce. “Another.”

  Light stretched into the darkness beyond. At the edge of its limits, figures stumbled forward. Ruveo appeared, emptying his own flask. The sconce filled and the door stopped, then groaned back toward the floor. The creatures appeared in the passage, their sloping faces tinted green, scales dull in the quartz light.

  Never drew a knife. “It’s nearly closed.”

  “Don’t let them through,” Ferne ordered.

  The door was a bare foot from closed when the first sea-creature slapped against stone. A splayed hand scrambled for purchase, seeking a foot or leg. One of the long barbs flashed in the light and then the door crunched down. A gurgled scream followed. The severed arm pumped green ichor onto the glossy surface of the floor.

  Never dropped his water into the sconce and Luis slumped against a vein. Ruveo rested his forearm on the door, head on his arm as he breathed. Only Ferne moved around, a hand trailing the walls.

  The light darkened. High above, clouds moved across the sky. When they passed and the sun returned, the glint of quartz winked down at Never. Even the floor was lined with it and the stripes in the stone walls were almost like the bars of a great, beautiful prison. Evenly spaced, cut to a regular size.

  There were more sconces, some of which ran with water. A good thing, since they’d spent enough of it to need refills. Only the sound of everyone catching their breath and the trickle of water remained. Even the creatures had fallen silent – or left. And good riddance to them.

  Never closed his eyes. The trickle of water grew, as if splashing into a pool. A pool? He opened his eyes. How many of the veins ran with water?

  Ferne swore. “There’s no door.”

  “What?” Ruveo turned.

  “We’re trapped again,” Ferne said. “Gods be damned, Never. I thought you’d saved us but instead you’ve landed us in deep water again.”

  Water? A chill swept over him. “Deeper than you think
, perhaps.”

  “What?”

  “This room is filling with water.”

  The big man glanced down and then around, expression darkening.

  Luis stood. “We could try the sconces?”

  “Which ones?” Never spread his hands. “The bars of quartz cover the room – even the roof. They’re everywhere except for where we stand.”

  “Try one,” Ferne ordered.

  “There must be another way,” Never said. And the damn map had tried to warn him too. Ruveo retrieved his flask and held it beneath the flow. He approached the nearest sconce and filled it up. Never paced. His footsteps soon skipped water; a thin layer rested atop the floor. At least, at its current rate, there was time to think of something.

  “Well?” Ferne growled.

  “I’ll try another,” Ruveo said. He moved around the room with Ferne, filling sconces while Never continued to pace. He drew a knife and spun it in one hand. He had no idea where his lamp was but it hardly mattered.

  Luis joined him. “Have you got an idea?”

  “Not yet.”

  He grinned, patting Never on the shoulder. “Well, I’ve got faith in you.”

  “That’s one of us, at least.”

  “No, I’m serious. You’ve got us this far and you got us out of trouble before. You’ll do it again.”

  More rumbling from deep below.

  Never stopped pacing. Ruveo and Ferne had tried all the sconces and moved away from the wall as each began to shudder. A series of stone clunks followed as the sconces disappeared into the wall.

  Water gushed forth.

  “Wonderful.”

  Ferne and Ruveo burst into argument, each assigning blame. Never resumed pacing – or splashing, as within moments, the water had reached his ankles.

  “How’s that idea coming along, Never?” Luis asked. He was wiping his hands on his pants, repeating the motion.

  “Don’t rush me, dear Luis.” But fast or slow, it didn’t make much difference. The well of clever ideas had dried up – or, rather, it was drowning. He’d exhausted them getting everyone into the death trap. Another cruel joke courtesy of the Gods? How vicious, their sense of humour.