The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)

MY FATHER HATED LIES.

Not just the kind that were told to him—that, he once observed, was the opposite of a unique condition. But he hated falsehood itself, as a concept. Always told me that a hard truth was better than a comforting fiction. That there was no such thing as a harmless lie, and that the liar lost a part of himself in the act.

As I watch the flailing run below, I wonder what he’d think of me now. Sometimes I’m not sure there’s anything of the real me left anymore.

“They are truly terrible.”

I start at Eidhin’s voice to my right; I didn’t see him join me at the balcony. I refocus on the action down below, wincing as the screeching of stone squeals around the chamber, followed immediately by a cursing shout as the control stone breaks loose from the bracer. The run is over less than thirty seconds later. Eidhin snorts derisively.

I glance at him, then chuckle. Mainly to cover my unease. This is the first time Eidhin has come near me since last night.

There’s silence for a minute as we watch the contestants trudge out of the maze. The rest of the class has moved along with the action, as has Dultatis. We’re the only people within fifty feet.

“Did you kill someone?” It’s asked in casual Cymrian. Like he’s asking about the weather.

“What?” I straighten, for a heartbeat certain I’ve misheard. “No. No! Of course not.” I keep my voice low and use Cymrian too. “It was my blood, last night. Mine. Entirely my blood.”

“Ah.” Eidhin looks vaguely disappointed.

Silence again, the two of us staring out over the Labyrinth. Me more uncomfortable than I was before.

“I cut myself climbing the wall.” Eidhin already knows enough to turn me in. And though I have no reason to think he’s trustworthy, the burden of what happened last night has been building up inside me. A great weight in my chest.

“Clumsy.”

I stare at him, then cough a half-hearted laugh, no idea from his expression whether he is being serious. “I suppose so.” I tap a finger on the balustrade nervously. “Thank you for covering for me.”

“You were doing something they disapprove of. No thanks are needed.”

I smile at that, though after a glance I’m again unsure whether Eidhin is joking. “You don’t like the Praeceptors much, I take it.”

“You are very observant.” The muscular boy continues watching the proceedings down below, says nothing further. I reassess my inclination to tell him more. I expected him to be curious, to probe. Instead, he seems intent on finding out as little as possible.

“Not many people know the language of Cymr.” Eidhin doesn’t change position, but the tenor of his voice has changed with the abrupt observation. It’s almost wistful. “You speak it well. Who taught you?”

“I had a Cymrian tutor, back in Aquiria. Before…” I trail off. Pretend to recover myself. “When I was younger. He used to call it the Beautiful Tongue. Said that he didn’t care what the Hierarchy ordered—that if I was learning other languages, it would be a crime for me not to learn the speech of the gods. And music. And dance.”

“And all things that delight the heart,” murmurs Eidhin. The words sound strange, coming from the brusque, surly boy. Yet he softens, just for a second. The corners of his mouth turn upward. “What was his name?”

“Cullen.” No need to lie. It’s a common enough Cymrian name.

“Is he… never mind.” The spark of pleasure I saw in Eidhin fades. “I am glad he taught you. It is nice to have someone in this forsaken place who speaks the Tongue. Aside from a few awkward words from the Principalis, yesterday was the first time I have heard it from another in a very long time.”

“What about your family?”

From the way Eidhin’s expression suddenly goes cold, I can tell I’ve said the wrong thing. “No.” He ends the conversation with the word.

The next run on the Labyrinth is almost organised, and the flock of students is coming back toward us. I can’t help but drift briefly back to last night, as I have several times already. Picture the diagrams on the wall. Wonder if Religion simply got the idea for this place from the ruins, or whether the connection is something more sinister.

Dultatis eyes us standing off to the side, but doesn’t bother forcing us to join the rest of the class. Soon enough he’s announcing the start of the run, and everyone is jogging away again.

“There’s some sort of excavation site. East of the Academy, in the woods. Old ruins.” There are only a few runs left, and the desire to talk about it is too much. “There was something strange out there, Eidhin.”

Eidhin doesn’t react at first. Then he cocks his head, turning his attention to me. “Strange?”

So I tell him. The glowing writing on the wall. The schematics for the Labyrinth’s control bracer. The map. The eyeless bodies impaled on obsidian swords. I don’t mention the way the latter seemed to stir, to talk; even now I can’t bring myself to fully believe that wasn’t more than my frazzled imagination, and I’m worried that if I say it aloud, Eidhin will dismiss the entire story.

It’s an unburdening, but not without calculation. At the moment, Eidhin could still change his mind and tell someone about my absence. But once he knows what I saw, he’s going to realise that Religion won’t want him to have that information—making turning me in a much riskier proposition.

When I finish, Eidhin considers. “Why were you out there?”

“Military think Religion are searching for a weapon somewhere on the island. I was told to have a look.”

“So you are working for them.”

“I’m doing what I need to do to survive,” I correct him. “They were not kind to my people, either.”

There’s a flash of something on Eidhin’s face. Anger? Disgust? It disappears too quickly to identify. “Why tell me, then?”

“I had to tell someone.” Trying to convey my sincerity.

The large boy growls, but accedes as he looks away. “You owe me a debt.”

“I do,” I agree cautiously.

“Then you can repay me by helping me learn this accursed language of yours.”

I blink, surprised by the gruff statement. “I can do that.” If that’s the price for Eidhin’s silence, it’s an easy one to pay.

“Good.” He pauses. “And tell no one.”

“Alright.”

The run we’ve been watching was a short one, comically so. We say nothing as the class returns. I gather from their conversation that it was the final attempt of the day. A few cast sideways glances at Eidhin and me standing together, this time, as if finally registering that we’ve been conversing. I suppose, given our respective reputations, it would be a sight of some curiosity.

Dultatis is soon brushing past us, coming to a stop only ten feet away. I glare at his back. “I’m sorry for our disqualification yesterday.” I’m talking to Eidhin in Cymrian but speak loud enough for the man to hear, knowing he has no clue what I’m saying.

Eidhin follows my gaze. Grunts. “In that, you have no blame. He is a pig.” He says it even louder.

I grin my agreement at that; unfortunately, Dultatis chooses that exact moment to glance over at us. He spots both Eidhin and I watching him, me showing clear amusement at what Eidhin has just said.

“You’ll tell me what that was about. Immediately,” he snaps at Eidhin.

Eidhin spreads his hands apologetically. “To… translate… is difficult,” he says in painfully broken Common. Far more haltingly than I know he’s capable of.

Dultatis reddens. Turns to me. “You speak the language.”

“He said he wishes we hadn’t cheated so flagrantly yesterday,” I say solemnly.

“Tell him he looks like someone has taken all his Will and jammed it in places it should not go,” adds Eidhin, looking directly at the Praeceptor.

Dultatis looks at Eidhin, then at me expectantly. I’m unconscionably proud of how straight I manage to keep my face.

“He’s going to work harder. Be better,” I say.

Eidhin nods earnestly to what I’m saying. “He is such an utter failure of a human being, I am often embarrassed to breathe the same air as him.”

A small crowd has gathered—because the session has ended rather than with the intent of observing, but curious about the exchange nonetheless.

“And now he’s telling me I should do the same,” I say with mock exasperation, rolling my eyes. I turn to Eidhin. “Have you noticed he has a weird smell all the time? Like he bathes in perfume, but it’s still not quite enough to cover his odour.”

“Yes. Yes! It’s awful, isn’t it. Like a noblewoman who’s been dead for a few days.”

I feel the corners of my mouth twitch, choke down a laugh. Nod gravely and turn back to Dultatis, my mirth threatening to burst from me hysterically even as I paste a hurt frown on my face. “He’s… not being very complimentary toward my effort.”

Dultatis glowers at me, then at Eidhin as the burly boy launches into a cheerful string of invective, curses which would make even me blush flowing smoothly. I blithely translate them as questions about upcoming classes, which Dultatis answers through gritted teeth. He has to be aware, or at least suspect, that we’re mocking him. But everyone else is looking on, and he has absolutely no way to prove it.

“What about his breathing?” I prompt Eidhin.

“It’s loud, isn’t it?”

“So loud.”

“Sometimes I wonder whether he is dying. Or making love to himself.”

The urge to giggle uncontrollably threatens again, but I swallow it manfully. “He apologises for how difficult it is to teach him. He wants you to know he’s trying.”

Dultatis watches us with narrowed eyes. “Try harder,” he says to Eidhin, almost a snarl. Deciding that the conversation is over, he stalks off toward the exit, chased by the soft laughter of some of the other students who have guessed what we were doing.

Everyone else files out of the Labyrinth behind the Praeceptor, leaving Eidhin and I to trail after them. We start up the stairs.

“Today was not such a bad day,” says Eidhin abruptly. He’s still not smiling, but the expression on his face is different. More relaxed than I think I’ve seen him.

“Not such a bad day,” I agree. I shield my eyes as we reach the top of the stairs and emerge into the golden afternoon sun. “When did you want to begin working on your Common? I have to work the stables in the evenings, but after that—”

“No.” Eidhin looks at me speculatively, observing my bandaged hand, and shakes his head. “You have two weeks remaining of punishment?”

“A little less.”

“Then conversation will suffice until then. I know what it is like to study tired,” he adds gruffly.

I show him my appreciation. “Every night after the Festival of the Ancestors, then. No matter what. You have my word.”

He acknowledges the statement with a grunt and increases his pace, ending the discussion. I feel a smile creep onto my face as I watch him stalk away.

Today was not such a bad day.