The Book of Never: Volumes 1-5

by Ashley Capes

  Probably back to the strange tiled rooms on the Rinsa.

  The next step in discovering truth – for surely the library would speak more of the civilisation, more of their rituals, and explain at last why he was cursed.

  And then there was Snow.

  What would he have to say? Never had to meet Snow in the Temple of Jyan, but when? And how could he hide it from Luis and Elina? From Jenisan. And another concern, was it even possible to make sure Snow didn’t attack the prince too?

  Assuming he truly was the one behind the poisoning.

  What if Snow had already ransacked the library, stolen anything of use?

  “I want to thank you, Never.”

  Elina was riding beside him all of a sudden – he covered his surprise with a grin. “How sweet such words fall upon my ears.”

  She glared at him. “Let me do this, will you? The prince is important to me. To us, to the Hanik people. Saving him was like saving us all, do you understand?”

  “I think I do. Forgive me.”

  She shook her head. “I was going to tell you that I was relieved you survived but I’m beginning to regret that.”

  He shrugged. “Well, at least you’ve thanked me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Jenisan does not appear as grateful as you.”

  “If you give him a chance, his gratitude will be shown. He is much consumed by his task and worry for his father. King Noak lives yet, thankfully. But he is deathly ill. And while Lord Gedus was stopped, others certainly remain out there.”

  “And the forest, does it burn still?”

  “It will not burn forever. The prince has already arranged for a force to contain it where possible. The fire will not jump the river.”

  “So he hopes. And yet, any woodcutters or little hamlets in the trees – I wonder how they have fared?”

  She stopped. “Since when do you care for the isolated people of Hanik?”

  “Your question doesn’t answer mine, does it, My Lady?”

  “Don’t be so arrogant,” Elina said. She’d folded her arms and now controlled the horse with her knees alone. A more skilful rider than he. “Jenisan warned such people as he could find in advance – not that he needs to explain himself to you. Or me, or anyone for that matter.”

  He raised his hands. “I apologise again. He is a driven man, that is all I ought to have said.”

  Elina glared a moment longer, grabbed the reins then spurred her horse back to the front of the group.

  Luis chuckled. “You always know exactly what to say in order to land yourself in hot water with her.”

  “It’s quite a skill.” Maybe he had pushed her too hard. Jenisan might have been on the edge of madness with his hatred of traitors... but she cared about the man. For now, it did no good to put doubts into her head about the nation’s hero-prince.

  But she’d have to learn that not every hero could bear close scrutiny.

  “Well, let her be. She truly was worried about you. I was too.”

  Never sighed. “I will. And I feared the great fish had taken you also.”

  A call from ahead urged them after the party – it sounded like Finn – and Never tapped his horse’s flanks with his heels.

  At the end of the wide square, he glanced to the Temple of Jyan. The Hanik God of Spring stood before the entrance in a statue of bronze, his arms outstretched. Flowers had been planted at his feet, growing in a neat circle. His expression was unreadable from a distance but something disconcerting emanated from the figure.

  Or was it the shadows between the columns beyond the statue?

  Are you in there, brother?

  Prince Jenisan again led them along quieter streets, past two and three storey houses, fine inns and dressmakers with huge glass windows to display their delicate gowns and bakers with shelves of soft loaves and sweet pastries – City-Sedrin had long known wealth and prosperity, thanks to its docks and the export of silver from the mines in the mountains above the city.

  When they reached the palace walls, which were high but whitened with age, the prince had everyone dismount and led them to a small door of heavy iron. There was no handle or lever, only great iron studs – even the hinges were hidden.

  Jenisan thumped on the door, eliciting a deep booming.

  A moment before a voice answered. “Who seeks entry?”

  “It’s Jenisan. Open up, Patrias.”

  Bolts clanged and scraped and then the door swung inward. An older man in a silver breastplate stood aside, nodding to them as the soldiers entered. Elina followed after a word from the prince, who lingered.

  Never nodded to Luis, who led the mare inside the palace walls.

  “Give us a moment, Captain,” Jenisan told the guard.

  The man nodded and disappeared into a guardroom.

  “I am pleased to see you alive and well, Your Highness,” Never said. “I must also thank you for carrying me out.”

  He gave a short nod. “I owe you a great debt, Never.”

  Never waited – the man was not finished, rather he seemed to be choosing his words with care, a furrow in his brow.

  “My men report something... disquieting about your ability to deal death. Yet while few understand what they witnessed during the raid, I, however, am very aware. I know what you are, Never. Were it not for the debt I owe you I would kill you now to protect my people.”

  “Your Highness?” he couldn’t keep shock from his voice.

  “Instead, I will honour you as fitting and then you are not to return to this city – nor this land. Live out your life elsewhere, in a hole for all I care, but do not set foot here. Your kind is a poison, a blight, an abomination. Lady Elina and her fool of a grandfather may believe otherwise but my family remembers the truth.” His expression had twisted to hate. “Amouni blood will not rule here – never again will we bow to the slime of your ilk.”

  He spun on his heel and then he was gone.

  Chapter 14.

  King Noak lay to one side of a huge bed. Arranged between pillows, his face was difficult to discern in the darkened room. The room itself was vast, but all furniture had been reduced to vague shapes. Never’s footfalls were swallowed by thick rugs, the to-ing and fro-ing of servants would have been soundless too, if not for their near-panting as they worked to bring broths and draughts, water and blankets, all under the supervision of a sweating healer who paced back and forth from bedside to a nearby table.

  There, he and other servants consulted giant books in hushed tones.

  Elina and Jenisan stood nearest the king, their expressions sombre. The king spoke – voice thin – and Elina waved Never closer.

  King Noak’s gaunt face appeared to hover over the bed. Iron grey hair fell across the pillows and his clean-shaven face revealed a pallor beyond what was healthy – shadows ringed his eyes and the scent of illness radiated from him. His cheeks were sunken but his eyes burnt with a fierceness that gave Never pause.

  “You are the one?” the King’s voice was a whisper. “You saved my son.”

  “I did, Your Majesty,” Never said. “And he saved me.”

  Jenisan said nothing – no surprise there. Elina moved to kneel beside the king, gripping his hand. His fingers did not even twitch in response.

  “You have my gratitude, and that of our... kingdom,” the king managed, then closed his eyes, chest rising and falling.

  The healer moved back to the bed, waving his hands. “You’ll tire him.”

  Never retreated into the shadows and Elina followed. The prince stayed near the bed, his jaw clenched. The man was fighting his fear; as well he should. The king did not appear well at all.

  Had Snow been responsible? Noak was, by all accounts, a fine ruler – why kill him?

  “We should go,” Elina said. She cleared her throat. “I’l
l 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 be
en 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.