Blood of the Guardian, page 1
Blood of the Guardian
Book of Never
Nine
Ashley Capes
Blood of the Guardian
(Book of Never: 9)
Copyright © 2025 by Ashley Capes
Cover: illustration by Lin Hsiang, design by stk•kreations
Layout & Typeset: Close-Up Books
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval without permission in writing from the author.
ISBN 978-1-7636809-6-8
www.ashleycapes.com
Published by Close-Up Books
Melbourne, Australia
Dedicated to everyone who waited for this story!
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter 1.
Chapter 2.
Chapter 3.
Chapter 4.
Chapter 5.
Chapter 6.
Chapter 7.
Chapter 8.
Chapter 9.
Chapter 10.
Chapter 11.
Chapter 12.
Chapter 13.
Chapter 14.
Chapter 15.
Chapter 16.
Chapter 17.
Chapter 18.
Chapter 19.
Chapter 20.
Chapter 21.
Chapter 22.
Chapter 23.
Chapter 24.
Chapter 25.
Chapter 26.
Chapter 27.
Chapter 28.
Chapter 29.
Chapter 30.
Chapter 31.
Chapter 32.
Chapter 33.
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Prologue
Autumn
“The mongrel that refers to himself as ‘Never’ will approach the Seat of Facets.”
Never glared up toward the disembodied voice where it spoke from somewhere within the shadowy hall – a fine contrast, considering all of the white elsewhere. Chains clinked as he shuffled forward. Blood trickled across his skin from barely-healed wounds that covered his half-naked body.
Wounds that refused to heal.
Old wounds, reopened.
The glare was all he could manage in the way of defiance, considering the gag of lilac-soaked cloth that stung his tongue and seared his airways. Not to mention the lilac ropes that bound him.
The Conclave sat arranged in such a way that their faces and robed-torsos remained in shadow, with only hands resting upon their knees visible – and even those very hands seemed covered by the robes.
The voice, the owner of which remained hidden, continued to speak for the Conclave.
“Offer both Apologies and Regret. Do so, and you may be permitted to select the form of your execution.”
Chapter 1.
Summer
Amouni flew overhead, their wings bright against a sky of stretching blue.
Piercing sunlight warmed Never’s upturned face, a sharp contrast to the cool, glittering lake where he and Rikeva were treading water. Not that he moved with any rigour, considering where he found himself.
Considering that they were now trapped in the ancient past...
The time of the Amouni.
So far, in a probable blessing, they had not drawn anyone’s attention. Not even from the not-too distant dolphin-shaped boat and its passengers; mostly robed Amouni who smiled and laughed – a carefree sound. Thankfully, they appeared focused only on their drinks or each other.
In contrast, paler Hanik who waited upon them – if that’s who the servants were – did not appear cheerful at all.
Rikeva nudged him, her eyes wide. “There’s so many.”
He nodded. Tension and doubt were already chipping away at his awe. Had the Eye of Hours actually completed its work? How? It had been destroyed! Yet denying the evidence before him was futile... He turned back toward the shore. There, a tree-lined walkway skirted the lake, pink and red shrubs catching the eye. Beyond, darker shapes of the mountains.
Utterly inconclusive.
Something caught his leg.
It yanked down, shadows covering him and cutting Rikeva’s cry short.
Coloured lights of rose and white streaked all around, blinking within a dry darkness. Yet it did not last. He soon found himself standing in a familiar vestibule, not a drop of water falling from his clothing or hair. A Guide waited nearby. The thing’s animal-head was something grey, with wrinkled skin and large ears – and white fangs that protruded from an empty mouth. Unlike some Guides Never was familiar with, every part of this one remained bright and clear, with no hints of anything missing or decaying.
The Vestibule is attended. As ever, it bore a flat voice. Are you unwell, Master?
“No.” At least, not in the way the Guide seemed to be asking. “Why?”
We have various Alleviators at the Temple Trivium, should you require their services. However, the same is not permitted for your guest.
“No?”
The Untamed do not share the same rights as Subjects of the Fountain.
He narrowed his eyes, but not at the unfamiliar description of the Amouni people. “Do not refer to her that way.”
Yes, Master.
Rikeva had folded her own arms, displeasure clear. By whatever magic, she obviously understood the Guide, who had spoken in Amouni. Perhaps a feature to assist visitors to the temple?
“I trust there will be no objections if we both enter,” he asked.
None at all. All are welcome to pay their respects.
Never waited.
The Guide did not answer, nor did it move to open the door – for now, concealed within the patterned tiles.
“Are you taking us?”
When entering via the Vestibule, your blood is required, Master.
Never drew a knife and pricked his forefinger. Red bloomed, and he placed it upon the thin podium.
Light pulsed... and then nothing.
The Guide blinked. Master, please wait.
“Is something wrong?” Never managed to keep his voice even. Despite the fact that the Guide would not harm him, that it recognised him as one of its masters, it had clearly been created to consider Rikeva as lesser – an unacceptable risk.
I have sent for a Guardian.
He tensed. “Why?”
“That doesn’t sound good, Never,” Rika said.
“Agreed. Whatever it is, I’ll be able to convince them. Best we don’t antagonise anyone, even the Guides.”
“Right.”
A robed figure appeared with barely a glimmer of light. She was armed with a belt knife only but unlike the Guide, she was human. Even so, she did not greet them. Instead, the woman frowned at the podium bearing Never’s blood. Her long, dark hair seemed to move almost independently to the rest of her as she examined it.
He cleared his throat. “Hello?”
When she finally glanced up at Never, not even seeming to register Rikeva, the Guardian’s blue eyes were not welcoming. “You are a mongrel.”
Chapter 2.
The Guardian had escorted them through dim tunnels and into a room Never had not seen anywhere in the Temple Trivium when facing the Burnished King. Of course, Oleksan had not been offering tours.
How different would the place appear anyway, being so many years in the past?
One thing was clear; they were still deep beneath the temple.
Smooth walls appeared to be steel of pure white – not tiles as he was expecting – with occasional lines of luminous blue quartz running throughout. Some of it even looked organic; they may well have represented veins, based on their somewhat meandering paths.
The blue did not streak through any of the clear quartz that divided the room into three chambers. In each section rested a silver chair, exactly the same as the one to which Never found himself strapped. Bound by soft rope with a lilac scent, Never somehow understood, without even attempting escape, that it would prevent him from using his fire.
Even if he could access his Amouni gifts, they would not get him far.
Like Rikeva in the next section, he was very much a prisoner. A pair of Amouni in white robes and black masks that had been shaped into eagle-beaks, examined her, their movements gentle. She did not seem under immediate threat – none of the silver tools that waited on small, wheeled stands were being used.
Yet.
Not even on me.
So far, his own pair of Amouni attendants did not seem willing to remain very close, asking their questions from a few steps away. Had they come to loom over him, attack would still have been difficult – not even the eyeholes of their masks offered a weak spot, since those, too, were filled with clear quartz.
Above all, it was the Guardian who posed the greatest threat to escape.
She continued to regard him with deep concern from her position in the far corner of the room.
“We’ve been here for some time,” Never said. “You could introduce yourself. Or tell me a story. You must have a favourite food? At this point, I’d even settle for another question.”
Nothing.
“Or better than any of that, I’d accept your apology after you free us.”
“Min is my name.” She began to count off items with her fingers. “You are not catalogued. Your accent is not registered either. Your claims of being from distant lands are vague and unsatisfactory.” She stopped to lift a small sphere of quartz where a single drop of his blood floated within. The droplet was restless as it searched its confinement, becoming wild tendrils as he watched. “And above all, you carry the filthiest blood I have ever encountered – by many magnitudes, worse than even the Strays.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What a charming description.”
“An accurate description.” She placed the sphere into her robe-pocket and folded her arms. “All the lesser peoples can be found within your blood, including a vast amount with grand delusions or faulty memories – many deeply fragmented. The same can even be said for the Amouni we have found. Two Guardians at least, and they also carry faulty memories. Not only that, but there are beasts here too!”
Never nodded.
“Further, they are not limited to common ones, stranger. But Distinguished Creatures in addition to pure abominations. Traces of the Malecaphera, traces of a twisted thing that should not exist, along with things we cannot yet recognise.”
“Don’t forget the Phoenix,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes. “No, I am not forgetting the Great Phoenix.”
“And?”
“There’s a chance you have somehow managed to... fake all of this.”
He chuckled. “Is that what you believe?”
The Guardian approached, and a hint of exasperation entered her tone – perhaps at the failure to solve the riddle before her. “No. I do not understand how this is so, but I cannot believe you could have harmonised that which passes for the blood in your veins. And so I will ask you once more. Who are you? From where do you hail? And what is your purpose at the Temple?”
It was probably time to see if she was actually willing to negotiate or whether she planned to keep him prisoner forever. “Give me assurances.”
“Being?”
He glanced through the quartz divider to where Rikeva seemed to be repeating herself – even with whatever the Amouni were using to help with communication, they were obviously having trouble understanding her. And why not? It was probably quite difficult to translate language from a future that had not yet come to pass. “No-one harms her. Not a single hair upon her head.”
“To do such is not our way.”
Difficult to believe her response for many reasons. Especially considering a reception that was both hostile and somewhat detached. As though the Amouni were examining unclean things that still had the potential to be quite useful. “It most assuredly is the Amouni way, so I would have you swear an Oath as Guardian.”
Guardian Min’s jaw fell open and her two attendants turned, as if to gauge her reaction.
“I see you don’t like your honour being challenged,” Never said.
“No, I do not.”
He shrugged. “Then imagine being called a ‘mongrel’ full of filthy blood, and being imprisoned, interrogated and examined, instead of helped.”
“But you are definitely a mongrel.”
Never snorted then – she really was sticking to her conclusion. “I admire your stubbornness. So, is that your answer?”
“No. Are you offering full cooperation?”
“I am.” And finally, there was a little more help from Ecanseja’s memories. For if the Guardian agreed, she was binding not only herself but those of her station generally and, specifically, those working under her care.
Although ‘supervision’ was more likely.
It would not be a literal binding, but certainly Amouni obsession with status meant she could not afford to bring the Guardians as a whole into disrepute. More, she had to not only act in a way considered more honourable than the ‘lesser people’, but also to be seen doing so.
Above all, she would personally suffer a loss in standing and position herself if she became directly or indirectly responsible for harm coming to Rika.
If the Amouni agreed.
“Then I will swear as you request. My Oath I offer to you: from Sacred Blood to Sacred Blood, I will protect the stranger known as Rikeva of Marlosi.” She leant in, close enough that he could now see flecks of gold throughout the blue of her eyes. “There. The whole truth this time. Please, stranger.”
He nodded. “You might want a chair of your own.”
Chapter 3.
Guardian Min had moved both him and Rikeva to a new room, then promptly disappeared with assurances that she’d return quickly. Little in her expression had revealed precisely what she thought of his story; and while he’d held back plenty of personal history, the struggle over the Eye of Hours was given in detail.
At least, without mentioning much about Snow or Ecanseja.
He might not be able to keep all his secrets forever. Especially depending on the time it took the Amouni to decipher the memories within his blood. Still, it was better to keep them in the dark as long as possible.
Their new quarters were not exactly guest rooms of the Temple, and once again, a place unfamiliar from his last visit. Similar white walls but no thin, blue glow. Instead, a single painting covered almost an entire wall – a seascape full of fanciful ships; a regatta, rather than a battle.
“Never, this isn’t much of a plan,” Rikeva said. “They’re not going to believe us. Or her, despite that oath.”
He turned from the painting. “Probably not. But I’m still thinking.”
“Got anything?”
“No. You?”
“Nothing,” she said with a shake of her head. “I can’t stop thinking about this whole thing. Why are we here? In the past?”
“Something went wrong when Cog destroyed the Eye of Hours – just not in the way we’d hoped.”
“Right. And wasn’t the Eye supposed to change everything on a far larger scale?” She strode to his side. “Even with the size of that crystal or the Burnished King’s power, is this really possible?” Traces of shock lingered in her eyes. “Even standing here now, seeing all the Amouni, I don’t know if it’s real.”
He took her hands. “I know.”
“Never, say something better.”
“I’d love to,” he replied with a grin. “But I think we have to accept that even if we were free to swim across the lake, the land we’d find on the other side would be that of the ancient past, yes. That was Oleksan’s plan.”
Her grip tightened. “Then what about everyone else? Are they gone now? Everyone and everything we know, gone? Or was it just the two of us somehow tossed back here when we touched the crystal?”
“The latter. I hope.”
She sighed. “Well... we’re at the mercy of the Amouni now. Do you think we can trust them?”
“No.” There was no need to hesitate. “Once we know what they want, we use that to find a way home. Or at the very least, escape.”
“You’re making it sound easy.”
“Easy would be nice for once,” he said with another grin. “What about you? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“No. It was only questions about my bloodline. And my Weaving,” she said. “They recognise it, but I don’t think they understood.”
“The barrier of language?”
“At first. But somehow, they found a way to teach me Amouni. I can speak and understand it well enough,” she said, switching to the dead tongue.
Before Never could ask more, the door opened with a soft click.
It revealed Guardian Min and a young Amouni man with a bald head and the symbol of a wand upon his grey robe. The wand featured a half-circle about two-thirds of the way to the top. His eyes were awfully bright and he seemed to be fighting off a smile.
“Welcome to the Temple Trivium.” His voice was deep, and he licked his lips before continuing. “I am Jeymiyu.”
“You seem a little too-pleased to see us, Jeymiyu,” Never said.
“I do apologise for my excitement. Your story is remarkable and has caught my interest. But if you would allow me a final test, I believe you and your companion will be escorted to the nearest palace as honoured guests.”
Never raised an eyebrow. “Even a mongrel can be an honoured guest?”
“Most certainly.”
Doubtful. “And are you a Guardian, like Min here?”
“No, I am only a Supreme.”
Guardian Min inclined her head as she took a seat nearby. “You flatter me, Supreme Jeymiyu.”
The man waved away her words.
“Supreme is a modest title,” Never observed. “Born or earned?”
_preview.jpg)
