The Book of Never: Volumes 1-5

by Ashley Capes

“So be it,” Luis said, reaching for the food.

  Tsolde sat beside Luis with a sigh. She glanced to Never. “So how do we get out of here? Can we afford to wait for Sirgeto to run into more Vadiya and try and slip away during the fighting?”

  “I’d say that’s our best chance,” Never said. “Vantinio won’t be able to keep an eye on us during a battle.”

  “Then we’re going to follow along and hope for a fight?” Luis asked around mouthfuls.

  “Until we can come up with something better, yes,” Never said.

  *

  As Sirgeto promised, the day contained little more than a long march beneath the cold sky. Luis rode most of the journey, walking as much as he could. His strength was returning quickly, though he still took regular doses of the chila powder at the healer’s insistence.

  “We need to be certain,” the short man had said.

  A philosophy Never was happy to follow.

  And so when smoke rose from the plains from where Ficcepa lay, Never hoped Sirgeto would be following the same thought; caution and certainty – even as Never knew the captain wouldn’t. And when they crested a hill in time to catch the sun’s descent upon the blackened buildings, the rubble and smouldering flames, Never clamped his mouth shut.

  Ficcepa would not be liberated.

  But worse, it seemed, was the effect the broken town had on Sirgeto and Mondesa. Working from opposite ends of the line of soldiers and ex-farmers, they waved their blazing-blue Amouni swords and screamed into the air, breath steaming. And whether it was racial insults or cries for vengeance, each man drew forth cheers and bloodthirsty roars. And why not – the Marlosi had seen their homes destroyed, friends killed, their very land taken away. The fury was there and Never couldn’t blame them for wanting to unleash it.

  Yet there remained something unnerving about Sirgeto and Mondesa.

  Never glanced back at Vantinio, who rode close behind them, and even the man’s usual dispassionate expression was marred by a slight frown as the mercenary watched his commanders.

  Sirgeto’s gruff voice echoed down the line. At the same time, Mondesa shouted his own commands from the rear.

  “...form into squads. Two Imperial, three infantry,” Sirgeto was rasping.

  “...search for survivors and be methodical about it,” Mondesa’s voice continued. “Kill any Vadiya on sight...”

  “...do not hesitate to...”

  “...punish them for what they did...”

  “...to your families, your homes, our very nation...”

  The leaders went on, voices matching, right down to the inflection of words. Never exchanged a glance with Luis and Tsolde, whose eyes were a little wide. Neither Sirgeto nor Mondesa appeared to hear the other and yet their words aligned perfectly.

  “Does no-one else hear it?” Tsolde asked.

  “I suspect Vantinio does,” Never said.

  Luis held his spear, clenching and unclenching his fist around the haft. “They’ve done this before, right? It’s probably their standard speech.”

  “How likely is that?”

  “Not very,” Luis said.

  Mondesa approached, waving an imperial soldier over as he did. “Yolan, join Vantinio. Go!”

  “Yes, sir,” Yolan barked. He was a heavier fellow whose bald head was covered in scars. He and Vantinio conferred before the mercenary drew his blade and nudged his mount forward.

  “Down we go, and keep your eyes open. I’m not going to end up on the end of some pale-face’s sword because you three have your minds on something else,” he snapped. His jaw was clenched and his eyes roved the landscape.

  The last part seemed to be a warning; he was waiting for them to try an escape. Still, Never followed the man’s lead as they approached the still-smouldering town, tension building as he searched the area.

  The fields were quiet. A deep orange glow crept over the wheat as the sun set, splashing a bloody light across the remains of homes and inns, across the smoking piles and along the paths leading into the town. The charred remains of small fences around gardens still smouldered. A withered tomato vine had crumbled to the earth. How long since the Vadiya had left?

  Small groups of men moved between the ruins, swords drawn. A call for help soon rose – had they found survivors? The call lacked the urgency of battle.

  “Focus on our part of town,” Yolan told Tsolde, who’d turned to the calls.

  She nodded as she followed Vantinio between smoking stone. She kept her blade raised in a guard position, but her grip was too tight. Never could see the line of tension run up her arms to her shoulders. Someone had been trying to teach her basic swordplay but she was simply too tense. It wasn’t terror so much as over-vigilance, it seemed. He opened his mouth to give her some direction but Luis beat him to it, his voice soft as he neared her, a fond smile on his lips.

  “Well done,” Never murmured.

  He stepped over a fallen beam and glanced into the half-broken home. Little but shadow and ash. A hint of cloth too, peering from beneath another pile of beams and roofing tiles.

  Little chance of survival but he still waved Yolan inside, where the two paused to allow their eyesight to adjust. “Does anyone live?” Never crept forward, knowing his question was a mere formality. Shards of earthenware crossed the floorboards. Only yesterday it had been a bowl; it had been something useful. Today, naught but rubble. Never bent by the cloth, the edge of a dress, the bands of yellow stained black and red with blood. He turned back to shake his head at Yolan.

  The man exhaled through his nose but nodded.

  The others waited in the narrow street, smoke drifting across them. No survivors as yet. They moved deeper into the ruins of Ficcepa, finding only more dead. Some houses were intact but these were empty. Some showed signs of violence, scuffed floors or bloody footprints, smashed windows.

  Vantinio hauled the body of a Vadiya Steelhawk from one home and into the dirt. The man was riddled with arrows. The mercenary gestured. “Quisoan fletching.”

  Never nodded. “They were too late, it seems.”

  “Captain and Mondesa will avenge them,” Yolan said, his jaw set.

  On they searched. The deeper they moved into town the more bodies they came across in the street, some alone or crumpled in small groups but none dead so long that the blood had dried, black though it looked in the failing light. In the cold air the scent of death was not overpowering, a tiny mercy. Most of the dead were unarmed but a few held weapons – town guard no doubt quickly overwhelmed by the Vadiya.

  And always none had survived.

  In the streets ahead, movement flashed between homes and Never reached for a knife but it was only a dog. One question remained – what had caused the people of the town to rise up against the occupiers? They had to have known the odds were overwhelmingly set against them. Unless something far more vicious had occurred?

  He found his answer in the town square.

  A mountain of bodies rose before him, topped by the last slashes of orange from the setting sun.

  Taller than three men standing end on end, it grew to something of a point, the mess of shattered limbs and blackened faces obscured by the swiftly-falling dark. Some spots in the pile of victims smouldered, as if the Vadiya had attempted to set fires but, for whatever reason, had failed.

  The stench here was strong enough that Never heard retching from other parts of town, as more and more squads came across the square. The faces of his own companions were set; tears stood in Yolan’s eyes and Tsolde gripped Luis’s hand. Vantinio’s eyes were narrowed as they roved the square.

  It seemed as though the Vadiya had brought in people from outlying villages and homes to add to the monstrous pile, for Ficcepa was not so populous, surely. The killing spoke of cruelty rather than discipline.

  Cruelty or revenge?

  A rage began to
simmer and Never fought it down; he had to keep his wits about him. Yet the folly was too clear, too close – Sirgeto’s company. Resistance was fine, but perhaps if the man had not been so bloodthirsty, making his own smoking piles of Vadiya men all over the country, perhaps such a similar fate wouldn’t have been visited upon the poor men, women and children of Ficcepa. Equally, there was a chance some ravenous pig of a Vadiya commander was responsible. War forged heroes but it also drew forth scum.

  But did it matter, in the end, how or why? Was Snow really wrong if this is what people were capable of? The rage was rising again, quickly now. Warfare was becoming more than an old impediment to his search; it was a stark reminder of humanity’s faults and it was growing ever-more difficult to disagree with Snow.

  Even if his brother was mad.

  Shouts of shock echoed from the opposite side of the square, joined by the snapping of crossbow bolts and Vadiya war cries.

  Ambush!

  Chapter 12.

  Never spun, even as Vantinio shoved Luis and Tsolde aside with a curse.

  Too slow.

  Blood exploded and Yolan toppled to the ground, a bolt protruding from his throat. Vadiya were pouring into the ends of the street, between the shells of homes. Never threw a knife at the nearest enemy, who ducked behind rubble. Vantinio leapt to meet a pair of infantry, sword a blur as he drove them back.

  Louis stood before Tsolde, jabbing at the nearest Steelhawk, keeping the man wary. More appeared in the alley behind the Vadiya, closing off avenues of escape. But in such a narrow space, Luis was able to keep them at bay. There was still a chance of Luis being outflanked however and how long would his newly recovering strength last? “We have to push through,” Never called to Luis. “Somewhere else.”

  Had his friend heard? It seemed so, as he gave a nod. Never flipped another knife into his hand, slashed the back of his wrist with a snarl. He welcomed the stinging cut, letting it fuel his anger as he charged the line of men opposite Vantinio.

  Never cast a blade as he crossed the hard earth, felling one man then deflecting a sword blow, following up by driving his shoulder into another fellow, who was sent sprawling. Never’s fury had not abated and he barely kept his own feet, stumbling after the fallen soldier to ram a blade into the space between the man’s helm and breastplate.

  A shadow loomed.

  Never rolled, slashing out at whoever had kept their feet. His knife met only air but the Vadiya screamed and slumped to the ground. Nearby, the crossbowman stood with mouth agape. The horror in his eyes was clear where the embers of a still-crumbling home lit his face. Never lifted his bloody knife but Tsolde leapt across the space, swinging her sword. The weapon bit into the man’s exposed face and he screamed. His movement jerked the weapon from her hands. Tsolde flinched but bent to retrieve the sword, trembling as she did.

  Never ran to her but she shook her head. “Don’t worry about me. We have to help Luis.”

  A curse crossed the street. Vantinio cut another man down then spun, a wide grin on his face. No more soldiers faced him. Shouts from other battles, distant and dimmed by the mountain of bodies, entered the lull. But it was not a lull for Luis, who still managed to hold back the tide. Never cast another knife, hilt-first, and the hard pommel felled one of the Steelhawks. More Vadiya would be circling already, perhaps leaving just enough in the alley in an attempt to pin Luis down.

  “Rest,” Vantinio cried, stepping before Luis and catching a sword on his own, plugging the alley.

  Luis fell back, chest-heaving. His jaw was clenched but he seemed well enough. Never caught his friend, looking to Tsolde. “This is our chance. Go,” he hissed.

  “But...” Tsolde looked to Vantinio.

  Never gave her a push. “We may not get another. West, toward the foothills.”

  Luis set off and Never followed, glancing over his shoulder when they paused to climb through a ruin. Vantinio held his own, using the narrow confines well, but how long would he last?

  “Not my problem,” Never growled to himself.

  Yet it wasn’t so simple.

  Running now wasn’t just an escape; it was sacrificing another to do so. Such a thing wouldn’t have mattered before. And it shouldn’t have mattered now – he had to escape, had to protect Luis and Tsolde. Vantinio was no-one; he was half a step removed from enemy, really. Never thumped a charred wall. Gods, was he no better than those who slaughtered and piled broken bodies into great heaps of death?

  No better than his brother?

  “Keep going, I’ll find you,” Never said as he turned back.

  “Wait,” Tsolde hissed.

  He charged toward Vantinio, urging his blood to pool in one hand. A soldier stepped into view but Never backhanded the fellow aside, his birch hand barely registering the blow. Heat was building in his other palm.

  Vantinio fought on but he was being driven back, step by step.

  Red light bathed the street and Never faltered.

  A globe of fiery blood had enveloped his hand. Just like Snow in the temple. Crimson-fire – Never had its name now. But how? And then he knew. The knowledge had been passed on to Never during the ceremony in the preparation chamber, that was what he’d almost understood. In the past, no incidental exchange of their blood had offered any such knowledge.

  The Ascension was clearly different – and for now, it didn’t matter.

  When Never closed with the mercenary, the lead Steelhawk fell back, eyes wide in the blood-light. Yet there was nowhere to go; the man stumbled into his fellows.

  “Back,” Never shouted, flinging his hand at them.

  Blood shot forward.

  Crimson light buried the faces, seared through steel, flesh and bone alike. Screeches of pain rose – only to be cut short. The very walls of the alley shuddered. Stone melted and blocks fell free, hissing against the chill earth.

  The stream of burning blood eased. Never fell to his knees, breath rasping in his throat. His vision was a blur of red and black, and an ache spread through his body, swift as poison. He could barely lift his arms, but he had to stand, had to flee. His fiery display would draw attention, if not now, then certainly later when the melted remains of the Vadiya were discovered. Yet the rage and power that had flowed through him, it was all gone, leaving him empty and weak; it was hard to move. To even think about moving.

  “Never, quickly.” A tall shape stood before him, reaching out. Hands gripped his shoulders. Never blinked his vision clear. It was Luis, his head darting from side to side. “Where’s Vantinio?” Never asked.

  “He fell back when he saw what you did,” Luis replied, traces of awe in his own voice. “I don’t know where he went.”

  “Then he’s on his own now,” Never said. “I’ve done what I can.”

  Luis hauled him up with a grunt. Tsolde appeared at his side and helped Never back to the ruined building where they paused to listen, the scent of burnt timber strong where he slumped against the wall. No sounds of pursuit, but from all across the town the clash of steel and shouting – Marlosi and Vadiya words meshing into a din of meaninglessness.

  The last lingering effects of the crimson-fire cleared from his vision and he pushed himself up. His body still ached but at least he could walk unaided. His strength was returning, slowly perhaps, but returning still. “Let’s keep moving.”

  Never led them between more ruins, heading toward the edge of town, angling away from the site of his bloody attack. His vigour returned with each step. Was it determination or his enhanced healing that kept his strength flowing back? He raised a hand at the thud of footsteps, leaning back into the shadows as Luis and Tsolde mirrored his action. A single Vadiya scout ran in the direction of their last position. He did not turn his head. Once the man was gone, Never resumed their flight, finally reaching the thin strip of earth that waited before the half-harvested field of grain.

 
; Beneath the swishing grain the faint light from Ficcepa’s sad glow did not penetrate far and Never slowed. It wouldn’t do any good to crash through the field and give their position away. Within the deeper shadow, some of the tension slipped from his muscles but he didn’t sheath his knife. Too early to feel secure in their escape.

  “What now?” Tsolde asked, her face no more than a blur.

  “We’re going to Isacina to find my brother,” he said. “And that means we need to rejoin the road on the other side of Ficcepa or find another way. All roads will be dangerous.”

  “I know one,” Luis said.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a path east of here, where the land is cracked and no grains will grow. You must know it.”

  Never nodded slowly. “I do.” The Broken Plains were dangerous, especially without a guide – nowhere the Vadiya would want to venture since there were no resources within, no people to conquer.

  “Well I don’t know it,” Tsolde hissed.

  “A long series of gorges and splits in the very earth,” Luis said. “Legend holds that it was once a fertile place but it’s dry and empty now. Some of the paths are dangerous, but if we can reach it, it would allow us to stay out of sight for a good deal of the journey,” he said. “We’d be within two days of the city when we left it.”

  “Then let’s go there,” Tsolde said.

  “It’s not without its own dangers,” Never warned. “Bandits least among them – there’s treacherous footing, cruel beasts, the ghosts of the criminals once cast into its depths by the city – if you believe the rumours.”

  Raised voices broke the hush, one clear above the rest – Vadiya organising a search party. Never straightened. “They’re looking for us, keep moving.”

  Never increased his pace, using the grain as a guide, his birch hand trailing them, tripping only occasionally on uneven ground between the rows. The voices soon faded; they’d chosen a different direction. For now. Moonlight broke momentarily from the clouds, the fields finally opening to a road that stretched north to south, not west as he wanted, but it would have to do.