The Book of Never: Volumes 1-5

by Ashley Capes

  Bloody globes sprang to life in his hands, fuelled by heat, blood and even his frustration. “Back,” Never cried. Two streams of crimson-fire shot forth, striking both lead guardians. They disappeared in a flash, thunder ringing across the sky. The next guides fared no better and soon the whole place was filled with hissing and thunderclaps.

  The first wave was down. Never halted the flow, leaving the globes ready. He was breathing hard, already a little light-headed. Compared to what he’d done in Ficcepa, this was two streams for twice as long. He glanced over his shoulder. Snow was dashing from stone to stone, holding the blue-stone high in one hand and swirling his free hand over the symbols. Did each symbol move as he did so? Yes! A tiny clicking sound followed each movement.

  “Is it working?” Never asked.

  “I think so – if I can line them all up, we’ll be free of the guides.”

  “Keep going.”

  The second wave thudded onto the podium. Never lined each up and sent more sprays of crimson-fire forth, narrowing the stream with his hands, evaporating each protector, each strike bringing concussion after concussion, until the second wave too, had been burnt to nothing.

  Never halted the flow and opened his mouth to check on Snow’s progress, only to find himself unable to speak. Black spots swam before his eyes and his legs grew weak. He groaned, flaring his wings to keep himself upright.

  “One more wave, Never,” Snow called.

  “One more,” Never managed. He shook his head, clearing some of the spots, and let the globes simmer while he focused on his breathing, sucking in as much air as he could. The sun seemed to mock him by adding more warmth to his already overheating body.

  But by the time the third wave landed, he was ready.

  Or at least, more so than before.

  Again he flared the globes and sent a stream of crimson-fire slicing into the lines of guides; wiping each from the podium almost before they landed.

  Finally the last peal of thunder echoed and Never collapsed.

  *

  The sun was warm upon his face.

  He woke to the sound of Snow’s voice and his brother shaking him by the shoulder – yet he couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t move. It was as though his body was so empty of strength that it simply refused him even control of his eyelids.

  At least his ears were cooperating.

  “Brother, drink this,” Snow was saying.

  Never opened his mouth. Another body part responding, good. Something hard was pressed against his lips and warm liquid splashed over his tongue and down his throat. Coppery, but with something else quite familiar. His eyes snapped open to the blue sky. Batena powder. Never lifted his head.

  Snow sat beside him, a look of relief on his face. His pale features were cast in blue from the light that covered the stone. “It worked. Look.”

  The floating stepping stones were converging upon a point directly above them, flying over from where they had previously been scattered across the sky. Each piece bore a blue-glow in the centre, matching the same light that tinted Snow.

  Never tried to stand but could not.

  A limit to the wonder of blood and batena powder.

  “I will carry you,” Snow said, bending to lift Never. He stood with a grunt and glanced up. The stones above were completing their alignment.

  “What’s happening?” Never said. His head had begun to ache and his limbs trembled lightly; he could not control them.

  “The true Stair is opening,” Snow said. “If we’d realised it, we could have arranged the stones from the first point. The map beneath us shows the alignment order of the Stair. The protectors are gone.”

  Above, a pure white light overtook the blue glow, then expanded, falling down in a beam. When it covered them, the sound of the wind disappeared but Never could still see through the beam to a boundless stretch of blue sky and clouds. And then they were rising, drawn up by the light. The steady climb was broken only by the occasional shadow, when they passed through what he assumed to be more stepping stones.

  Never tried to control his limbs but either the batena powder was not enough or the exhaustion from the crimson-fire was too much. “And the precious Memory Seeds wait above?” Never asked.

  “I believe so. I could find very little written about the location or even the nature of them but I suspect our ancestors would have fortified it in some way beyond the Stair and protectors.”

  “And the Seeds themselves? What memories do they hold?”

  “Of all Amouni lore that was not destroyed in the Eradication. Once we evolved from the sharing of knowledge through blood, lore was stored in such seeds as a matter of routine. I do not know what percentage was saved, hopefully enough.”

  Never tried to raise a hand but it did not rise far. “Wait. Our curse, our blood. That is why it drains others? It seeks knowledge?”

  Snow shrugged. “I believe so. Over time, the finesse required to complete a mutual, safe transfer was lost. But we need such methods no longer,” he said. “With the seeds, I can begin to restore the world to its true state, Never. The marvels we are experiencing now with this stair will become commonplace; the world will see such sweeping changes, such improvements. It will be worth all that I have sacrificed.”

  “And those that must die for your vision to come to pass?”

  “I will not bicker with you now, Never, for I cannot be distracted. I must concentrate, as I said, our ancestors will not have left the Seeds unguarded for simply any fool, even a pair of fools who were lucky enough to Ascend and climb the Stair of Winds.”

  “You must know I will try and stop you,” Never said, well-aware of how ridiculous his claim sounded, drained as he was, supported by his brother.

  Snow smiled. “I know that, yes. But I believe you will help me for the good it will do.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “Then for the lives of your friends, perhaps,” Snow said. “Starting with the lovely Elina.”

  “You have her?” Never struggled to straighten, glaring up at Snow.

  “Of course. I had Cog pick her up not long after you deposited her on the palace grounds. A plucky woman, isn’t she? Foolish, but duty is still an admirable trait, I will admit,” he said, adjusting his grip on Never. “And her speech was quite touching, wasn’t it?”

  “How? How did you know where we were, what she said?” Never demanded.

  “I always know where you are, brother.”

  Never gripped Snow’s arm, gasping with the effort of moving his limbs. “Tell me.”

  Snow sighed, removing Never’s hand as if a mere child had taken a hold of his sleeve. “Save your strength and I will tell you.”

  “Fine.”

  “My gift to you – the Amouni die, Never. I carry its twin with me.”

  Never closed his eyes. What an idiot he was. Of course the gift had another purpose, of course it was just another way for Snow to exert control. Part of Never had taken it as a gesture of the bond that had once existed between them... the same bond he’d felt re-knitting itself on their journey now. But that was all too naive of him and the bond was as fragile, as tangled, as ever. “I am a fool.” He opened his eyes. “Free her.”

  “Continue to aid me and I will do precisely that. In fact, I will let all of your friends live in the new world I create, despite their flaws.”

  “It is another lie, another deception – I cannot believe you.”

  Snow sighed, as if weary of the discussion. “Do you really have any other choice, brother?”

  Chapter 30.

  A looming shadow waited beyond the light at the top of the stair; large enough to be a hilltop or castle yet Snow did not approach, instead he paused. “What will it be?”

  “Let me stand,” Never snapped. He had recovered significantly it seemed – no doubt assisted by his rapi
d healing. When Snow helped him down, Never was able to support his own weight and walk without trouble. Was it the mixture of Snow’s blood and the batena powder too?

  Or his anger?

  Yet Snow had the truth of it – there was nothing Never could do except take the risk of trusting his brother once more.

  “Then you agree?”

  “You said it yourself – I have no choice.”

  “Then onward,” Snow said, stepping into the light.

  Never passed through the beam.

  On the other side he found a paved path leading to the huge shadow – a keep. Yet it was like no keep he had ever seen; the stone had been shaped as a giant face, carved from dark granite. It towered over them, the very force of it crushing Never with sudden feelings of insignificance, as though he was naught but a pitiful ant, tiny, useless.

  Nothing.

  But he fought the sensation. He ground his teeth and lifted his chin in defiance while Snow folded his arms and sneered back at the magnificent, terrible visage.

  “Is this another test?” Never asked.

  “A trifling one, if so,” Snow said.

  The sun beat down upon the smooth brow of the keep, the bald dome of the head and glinted in whatever enormous jewels had been used for eyes – each window round as a tower. A straight nose hovered over the mouth, which had been drawn closed in a firm line. The face’s chin bore a stone stairway, the steps themselves half the height of the giant Amouni gate.

  “How do we enter?” Never asked.

  Snow held up the triangular piece of quartz. “I place this within a keyhole.”

  “And still no final protector?” Never rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “I may have been wrong, we shall soon see.”

  He strode toward the staircase and Never followed more slowly, glancing over his shoulder as he did, checking the sky. No guides were swooping down upon them. Still, he removed the marble and its figurine. The little man was at ease. “Good enough for me,” he muttered.

  Together they climbed to the top of the stair, where Never paused to catch his breath and Snow examined the wall for the keyhole. When he found it he placed the triangle into the wall and spoke, “Jev cesas a ysom.” Open, in my name.

  Then he stepped back, letting the light fall upon the quartz.

  Stone rumbled. The whole keep shook and with a deafening grinding, the mouth creaked open. It soon slid to a halt, leaving just enough space to walk within. Snow entered and Never hurried after, finding himself in a vast, open chamber.

  It spread far and wide, the floor empty of all but patterned flagstones and dust, its emptiness reminding him of the Amouni temple beneath the mountain. The patterned floor directed the eye in toward the centre of the room, where a towering tree of steel stretched up. The trunk was broad as an inn. Its branches were made of silver and they spread high above, catching light from the jewelled windows. Their position almost gave the impression that the branches formed the brain of the keep, filling as they did the top of the head.

  “Then this houses the Memory Seeds,” Never said.

  Snow nodded slowly, his face alight. “Within the branches is stored the knowledge of generations, the power to shape the future. To cleanse the lands of humanity’s vileness, to save them from their own mistakes, Never. Mistakes they have made time and time again without us to watch over them.”

  Never shook his head. “You’re too quick to dismiss them.”

  Snow turned a fierce gaze upon him. “Ah, so it’s ‘them’ now is it?”

  “You would see it that way – us and them only.”

  “We are the only two,” Snow said. “Let me show you. Can you fly?”

  Never flexed his wings, testing the muscles and joints. Tender, but he would manage. “Yes.”

  Snow leapt up, spiralling for the silver branches, catching one and clinging to it with hand and feet. Never followed, finding it less difficult than he’d expected, and joined his brother.

  “See here,” Snow said, touching a bud growing from the end of a silver branch. It spread like a flower opening and within sat a tiny golden seed. Snow lifted it free, holding it up between thumb and forefinger where it caught light from the window-eyes. “Stare within and tell me what you see.”

  Never focused on the seed.

  Something faint seemed to flicker and move within, not unlike the Living-Memory revealed by the Altar of Stars. The harder he stared, the more the surrounding keep, the branches, Snow’s hand, the more it all faded away.

  An Amouni man, bald, smiling as he gestured, spoke as if to Never. His words were clear but Never understood too little – the man was explaining complicated healing procedures. Sometimes, he gestured to a body lying upon a steel table, repeating certain phrases and pointing or drawing upon cold skin with a quill-like device, labelling muscles and organs beneath. And for just a moment, Never was inside the room with the Amouni healer – the tenor of the man’s voice changed, no longer echoing in the vast keep, but sounding more intimate. The healer lifted a slender tool with a sharp end. “Now you try,” he said.

  Before he could stop himself, Never reached out.

  The vision disappeared and he was suddenly falling; light spinning. He spread his arms and flapped his wings, halting his fall, heart thumping as he returned to grip the tree. “Forgive me, I did not expect that,” Snow said, but his eyes were alight once more. “But can you see now, what could be possible?”

  “I can see.” And it was wondrous. A way to learn directly from masters of their art; a way to truly better the entire world as Snow claimed, it seemed. Yet Never well knew that was only true if the Seeds were used by the right people.

  Snow replaced the seed, the bud closing over it protectively. He breathed a little sigh of relief. “They are most delicate.” He swung to another branch, placing a hand over a bud and closing his eyes a moment. “With the knowledge here I could save people from plague and sickness or cure those born without sight or a dozen other miracles.”

  He hovered a hand over another bud. “And this one, allay maladies of the mind – restore those who can no longer think, those who jump at shadows – the possibilities go on, Never.”

  Snow flew to another series of branches, higher up. “And here, ways to improve travel – imagine being able to cross to the ends of Marlosa with a single step! There is the lore within these seeds to make it possible.”

  Never followed his brother and chose another branch, resting a palm gently upon a bud. Within lay something majestic, soaring over the waves... a ship without oar and sail, its decks covered in dazzling panels that caught the sun. His eyes widened.

  “You see, don’t you, Never?” Snow waved him to another branch. “Here. With this seed alone I could establish a clean slate and with the next, craft future generations, vastly improve upon what I have started with Cog and Andramir.”

  And there, another reminder of the deadly threat Snow posed. Never hesitated a moment before reaching for the bud. A sense of blue, fiery light – something so bright and powerful that it would tear people from the ground, suck them into the air and disintegrate them as it did so, and all without direction or purpose, a blind fury. An echo of his vision in the Amouni temple.

  If possible, the next bud was worse.

  He could not fathom it in full, but within seemed to rest the knowledge that allowed the deliberate, large-scale isolation of certain human traits – either for removal or transfer. Knowledge of the kinds of strengths and weaknesses a child may be born with, before that birth, knowledge of how to encourage or remove such traits.

  The total destruction of chance and freedom.

  “Even in a few short years we could accomplish so much,” Snow said.

  “So we could,” Never replied, his tone grim.

  For it was clear, it had always been clear, that Snow was not the one to
drive such change. His vision of the future was still far bleaker than one which did not involve the benefit of Amouni lore; and Snow would never see that.

  Chapter 31.

  “Turn away, Snow,” Never said. He had to make one final attempt, if not for the man Snow was today, then for the brother he had been. The brother who had once protected Never at every turn.

  Snow’s head turned from examination of a golden seed. “From what?”

  “From this path. You can atone for what you’ve done, there’s still a chance with what we’ve found here.”

  It was a sad smile his brother gave him. “I know you would like to believe that. But I will not; I have been given an exceedingly rare chance to remake the world, to remake it without the terrible flaws. I cannot waste such good fortune.”

  “You want to remake it in your own terms – you don’t have the wisdom to see so far into the future. Neither of us have that.”

  Snow swung closer. “Brother, you must realise that you cannot convince me with words. Where does that leave you?”

  Never did not answer, though he clenched his jaw.

  “That’s right. All that is left is for you to kill me and you cannot do that. I know you, Never.” He frowned. “You were always weaker; you always hesitated over the important decisions and that is why I had to protect you so.”

  Still Never could not respond. How could he swing the first blow?

  “You are so close to being true Amouni, Never. Join me.”

  “No.”

  Snow pushed himself from the tree, into open space where he was transformed into a silhouette by light blazing in through the jewelled eyes. He drew his Amouni blade. “Then stop me now, for I will wait no longer.”

  Never reached for his own sword but paused. Was there another way? Snow had searched, studied and fought long for the lore within the tree. Two seeds in particular seemed to be of interest... Never tapped the nearest bud, and pulled the golden seed free, along with the next, slipping both into the palm of his birch hand.