The Book of Never: Volumes 1-5

by Ashley Capes

  Yet blood trickled down the back of Never’s own hand; he had to finish the fight before it coated his skin and slicked his fingers. Or worse, before the Bakar attacked. Who knew the limits of their arrangement with the Bleak Man.

  Harstas launched himself backwards, creating space between them.

  Never glanced over his shoulder. The Bakar were gone – Dimaya lay unmoving in the street.

  A flash of colour.

  Harstas lunged and Never stumbled back, tripping on uneven stone. Fool! He crashed to the ground, one knife clattering from his grip. He rolled but Harstas was there, sword raised. Never kicked, sweeping his enemy to the ground. He leapt after the man, reaching for a spare blade as he did, but Harstas flipped himself up onto his feet, not unlike an acrobat. Quite the feat in that breastplate.

  Left in a half-crouch, Never caught a boot to the face.

  Pain flashed. He was flung back to sprawl on stone, ears ringing. Harstas slammed a boot onto Never’s wrist, pinning his remaining weapon. And the blood. The man snickered, even as he paused for breath. Never reached for a spare dagger but there were none and his bone inlay knife lay clamped beneath Harstas’ foot.

  “Out of tricks, then?”

  Never growled when Harstas twisted his heel. With his free hand, Never scrambled for a piece of rock or dirt, anything, when his palm closed over something spiky. Thistle.

  Harstas lifted his parrying blade and leant down.

  Never slammed the pods into his enemy’s face. Harstas fell back with a cry, arms flailing.

  Now.

  Never flashed forward, driving his knife into the Vadiya. It pierced the commander’s side and he fell back with a gurgling scream.

  Never scrambled to his feet.

  Blinded and bleeding, the man crawled for a weapon. Never followed him at a distance, one hand pressed over the other, holding the blood at bay, where it pulsed against his skin.

  “No need,” he told it, pausing to catch his breath.

  Killing Harstas should have been more... satisfying. The man responsible for the bitter Moor-Sickness, who’d hounded Never across oceans and through nations, who’d sought that which he could never understand for base greed alone – there was little but a weariness left within Never.

  Yet, there was something else.

  He’d taken care of Harstas himself. Without the curse. Just his knives and his wits. His smile was grim but relief wove its way through his chest too. He wasn’t a slave to the curse; at least, not this time. And if he was honest, Harstas could keep his tainted blood. Whatever malignance lurked within the man could stay there – whatever knowledge too. Maybe Harstas knew something useful, maybe not.

  Never didn’t plan to risk a link.

  Harstas screeched something but the words were unintelligible. Never offered no response. The man was right where he needed to be. In fact, bleeding out in the ruins of Sarann was probably too good a fate.

  “See where obsession got you?” he whispered.

  Harstas finally fell still, head falling to one side and revealing a boar tattoo beneath his ear.

  Never collected his knives, flicking lifeblood from the blade before checking on Dimaya. He too, was dead, eyes wide and skin covered in huge welts and deep burns.

  “Good.” Never jogged into the empty street, knives in hand. Were the others safe? In the distance, a hint of movement between buildings – someone running? He cut a parallel path, streaking through the shadows between ruins until he broke into a large square. A wide fountain sat in the centre, its edges carved with a pattern of trees.

  Fallen leaves floated on stagnant puddles within.

  Never paused as the hammer of footsteps grew. He crossed the square, heading for the sound. Luis skidded around a corner, chest heaving. His spear was gripped in both hands.

  “Never.” He ran forward. “There are two of them. Chasing me.”

  “The others?”

  “We scattered when they attacked,” he said between breaths. “I don’t know.”

  “We have to find them. How close are the Bakar?”

  “Still a street over. They’re not fast but they’re persistent. And silent,” he added. “I didn’t even hear them at first, we were examining a pair of statues in a courtyard behind one of the old inns and suddenly the Bakar were there.”

  “Let’s move. I think I found the statue we need, we’ll start from there.”

  Never led Luis back to the statues and the bodies of Dimaya and Harstas.

  “The Bakar took that one,” he said as he gestured to Dimaya’s corpse. “And I dealt with Harstas.”

  Luis nodded, his expression satisfied as he looked at the dead commander.

  Never pointed down the street. “Elina went that way when I sent her to find you.”

  “We’d moved into the buildings, I’d guess.” Luis glanced behind him and Never followed his gaze. Still no Bakar. Yet.

  And why hadn’t they attacked after killing Dimaya?

  “Wait. I see them.” Luis pointed with his spear.

  Elina supported the limping figure of Karlaf as they moved up the street. Never met them halfway, Luis beside him, eyes still roving the ruins.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Karlaf nodded. Sweat had built at his temples. “Wrenched my knee when the Bakar came.”

  “We were lucky to escape,” Elina said.

  Never nodded. Quite lucky. In fact, it was odd that the Bakar weren’t able to manage chasing down an injured man, leaning on a friend. The Bleak Man’s influence after all?

  “We have the statues,” Never said.

  He led them back to the twins.

  “So what did the Bleak Man mean by ‘beyond’ then?” Karlaf asked, still supported by Elina.

  Never outlined his thoughts. “None seem truly likely, do they?”

  Elina had been staring at the statues. “He mentioned Kathar and Christi for a reason.”

  “Go on.”

  “Kathar’s chest has a rune marked on it – Christi too. I think they’re the key. It’s too convenient that they’d have survived the landslide.”

  “What do the runes say?”

  “They’d usually be marked with ‘sky and fire’ but the runes look different. Like ‘eyes’ and ‘sleep’ or maybe ‘dream’ I think.” She shrugged. “Karlaf?”

  “I agree. Try pressing them,” Karlaf said.

  “Think it’s a hidden switch or lever?” Never said.

  “We’re not going beyond this spot without something special.”

  Never stepped closer and placed a hand on the chest of each statue, the stone warm beneath his palms. Symbols and secret doors – Amouni influence on the old Hanik people? He pushed. A deep rumbling followed then a grinding as a section of the rock face slid away, revealing a dark passage.

  “That was easy.”

  Chapter 17.

  Carved support beams fashioned as tree trunks and branches supported the passage. Some of the columns had the look of petrified wood in the lamplight. Never added the glow from his blue-stone to the light, casting long shadows.

  But it was still clear; someone had taken great care with the passage.

  “Who built this?” Luis asked. His voice echoed in the tunnel.

  No-one answered – likely even Elina and Karlaf’s knowledge didn’t extend to the secrets of the Bleak Man. They walked on, room for single file only, passing openings that led to closed doors, none with visible handles. No-one could figure out how to open them so they moved on after each discovery.

  A glow eventually appeared ahead – a small window set in a heavy steel door. Again, there was no visible handle. Never peered into the light and his eyes watered. Whatever lay beyond was not to be seen.

  He slapped the surface. “Thought I’d seen the last of underground caves and
locked doors.”

  Luis nodded his agreement.

  “No need for despair.” A woman’s voice spoke from beyond. “I’ll open it for you.”

  The door swung open on squeaking hinges and a figure was revealed in silhouette. Hammers and chisels hung from a belt and it wasn’t until she moved again, light striking her face, that Never caught a real glimpse – the woman wore a dark robe and her skin was a deep brown, the texture of bark.

  She offered a friendly smile. “I am Peddyr. My master is waiting; please come quickly.”

  Peddyr took them into the brightness, soft grass underfoot. The brilliance soon faded to reveal a broad clearing where a giant tree had once stood – a familiar hut had been built on the stump.

  The Bleak Man’s home.

  “This cannot be,” Karlaf said, craning his neck to the sky above. “We should be deep within the landslide.”

  “The Master sees a time when there was no wrath, no landslide,” Peddyr said.

  Never turned a slow circle. There were shrubs growing in a ring beneath larger trees, barely visible beyond the white. This time, there was more colour. Green, greys and deeper shadows. “This is where he took me before.”

  “Yes. My master is hoping you can help us.”

  “I will try,” Never said.

  “Thank you, Amouni.”

  Peddyr took them inside, gesturing that they might lower pack and weapon. “You are each safe here.”

  The hut was larger than seemed possible from the outside. A large reception area was filled with pots of colourful flowers. Up a short flight of stairs spread a huge dining table with a dozen chairs and greenery visible through big windows. Closed doors waited at opposite ends of the table and between the windows that led to the courtyard – how many rooms were in the hut?

  “Please be seated and I will bring refreshments. The master will join you shortly.”

  Peddyr slipped through one of the doors. Never was the first to take a seat. The others had barely settled when the door leading to the courtyard opened and the Bleak Man appeared – wheeled into the dining room in a chair set with wooden wheels rimmed in steel. Only it was not Peddyr, but a man similar in figure to the woman. He did not speak before leaving and he too had worn a belt, only it was lined with pouches, and a small watering can swung from his side.

  “Welcome all,” the Bleak Man said. He had changed, his voice was softer and the wrinkles had stretched on his head and neck – his birch-skin was taking on an almost translucent aspect. “Peddyr will return soon, in the meantime, let me put you at ease. The Bakar respect my boundaries, they will not follow you here, nor will you come to harm under my watch. In fact, they were kind enough to... direct you back together for me.”

  “Thank you, Wise One,” Elina said, lowering her head. Her eyes had been wide; Never could have smiled. Her childlike response was quite at odds with her usual demeanour.

  “So that’s why the Bakar wouldn’t approach the statue,” Never said.

  “Indeed.” He smiled but it became a grimace. “Never, would you accompany me into my courtyard? Your help would be most welcome at this time.”

  “You do look unwell,” he said. “What can I do?”

  “Take me out and I will show you.”

  Never glanced at his companions.

  “Peddyr will care for them.”

  “Of course.” He grinned. “I just didn’t want to miss out on the food.”

  Karlaf gasped and Elina stiffened but the Bleak Man only chuckled. He held up a hand to the Hanik. “I’ve no doubt Never means no disrespect. It seems his humour is often employed at the expense of his common sense. He worries about you all. Now, come, Never. I am tiring quickly.”

  Never took the handles and wheeled the man into the courtyard. The Bleak Man barely added any weight to the chair.

  “Further along the path,” came the instruction.

  He pushed the chair along the stone walkway where it wove between plants set on pedestals and lattice frames, blooming vines scattered with butterflies whose wings held a deep glow of any colour a rainbow had ever birthed.

  The path came to an end when it encircled a dying birch tree.

  Its branches sagged. What few leaves remained were splotched, yellow and purple, as if stained. Bark peeled from the trunk in long strips; beneath, the same bruise-like colours streaked up and down.

  “This is what your brother did, Never.”

  Never opened his mouth. It took a moment to reply. “My brother?” Had Snow gone mad? “That doesn’t... how? He was here? Recently?” His questions tumbled out.

  “He wanted what you wanted – only more. Your heritage includes items that were thought lost in the ruins of Sarann. The Amouni long favoured the ancient Hanik and left behind artefacts that are of great value. Some of considerable power too. Your brother, he who calls himself Snow, sought two from me. While Peddyr has uncovered various items of value in her searching beneath the slide, some ought to have been left buried, perhaps.”

  “And Snow has taken them?”

  “Yes. A pair of amulets – I could not fathom their use, steel and jewels make little sense to me now, but his eyes lit up at the sight of them. His offer was simple: I was to give them up or he would strike me down. I refused and he did what you see here, before taking the artefacts. This tree is the heart of the forest and so linked with me. I falter as it falters. Once I am gone, balance will be threatened in the forests. We have fought his parting gift for months now.” He gave a smile of regret. “Perhaps I was vain to believe I could defeat it alone.”

  Never ran a hand through his hair. Nothing made sense. Snow had never cared about power and rarely the past. He’d always wanted to escape it. Forget their father, forget – eventually, Never suspected – even Mother, because there were no answers there. Only pain. “But why would he do this? What are the amulets for?”

  “I do not know. That you will have to fathom when you and he meet next.”

  “If you don’t know what the amulets are for, how does he? You’re... well... aren’t you God-like? An ancient spirit?”

  He laughed. “Though I am much older than Peddyr and Elmec, we were each once human, just like you. Well, not precisely like you, Never – you are Amouni. I know life and death in the forest, I know every mouse and each flowering bud, but the artefacts of the Amouni are a mystery to me. I do not feel they are wholly dead things, however.”

  “Which means?”

  “Perhaps like you, they are more than they seem. You are more than human, Never. I sense the amulets are more than jewels.”

  More than human. Peat’s words echoing. “But how did he know to come here, to look here for clues about our heritage?”

  “He did not say. I imagine he learnt something from the Hanik people as they are today. No doubt the Lady Elina could help you there; her family would have served the Amouni. But now I must ask, will you help me?”

  Never filed the information about Elina away for later. “Of course. But how?”

  “Much as you would take life from another – your brother used his blood to do this.”

  “I... I don’t know how to heal a tree.” He frowned. “I don’t know how to heal anything. All my blood can do is kill... I hate to admit.”

  “Do not fret. Think of yourself as more of a... blood-letter in this instance.”

  “You believe I could drain the sap from this tree?”

  “I do.”

  Never hesitated. Perhaps. Only, what would it do to him? And no way to be sure yet, that the Clove had fully cured him of Harstas’ ploy. Would he simply be compounding one sickness atop another?

  “You should survive, if you break contact once you have started the process, I feel.”

  “Should?” Never drew a knife.

  “I would not feed you false hope. I do not know what will happen.�
��

  “Your honesty is rare,” Never said. “But welcome.”

  In truth he owed the Bleak Man his survival. For calling the Bakar – twice – and now for the troubling news about Snow. Even if it didn’t make sense. What was his brother up to? And why would Snow poison a tree? What darkness lurked in his heart? There had been bitterness for a long time... but this act of sabotage was something else.

  Never drew a cut along the back of his hand, reopening the wound from earlier, drawing it longer. Blood blossomed. Next he braced himself and stepped forward to sink the blade into soft under-bark.

  Purple liquid sprayed from the trunk. The Bleak Man gasped. Never shielded his face. The liquid hissed when it came into contact with his sleeve, a spot burning through to his arm.

  His blood was already writhing. He fell back. A tendril of red streaked across the garden and hit the trunk, dragging the poison out. It pooled around the base, steaming as it did. The bruise-like colours began to fade. Never snapped his wrist but the flow was not cut. A thin tendril of black had already climbed the stream, entering his hand, sticking like sap on skin. He gripped his wrist so hard the bones creaked, yet the darkness climbed along his forearm. Heading for his heart.

  A battle raged within his blood.

  It strained to drag the sap free, while at the same time, collected the poison and something else from the birch, something he could not understand. And all the while the Clove, like bright specks of red fire, fought the purple tendril.

  Regrowth.

  That was the tree’s desire. To fill the branches again, to have its bark bright once more. It had already done so for generations, for centuries, for Ages. Its knowledge drove down into the earth, spread across the lands in the curl of roots, sucking life from the soil. And it had taken the Bleak Man along with it, his calm, his reason and his human curiosity came too. Both were rallying and something of their knowledge fed into Never’s blood.

  But the poison followed.

  Mixed in came a vicious bitterness. Snow. The man’s sweeping disappointment, the rage like a black sun blazing within his chest, years of it, compounded by set-back and disappointment after disappointment – it all seeped into Never. Worse, there was already something of the same bitterness within he himself. How many times had his own search been thwarted, how many had his curse, his own carelessness, murdered over the years? Never ground his teeth even as he collapsed and somehow... flared his blood, urging his own body to fight.