The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)

IT’S AS IF THE ACT breaks the dam of people’s restraint; suddenly they’re all crowding around me, talking at me, slapping my back so hard that I stumble, clasping my hands or forearms, kissing my cheeks. In moments I’m separated from Indol, Emissa, and Aequa as the other students are shoved aside, ignored, and almost trampled in the press.

“Clear a path!” Scitus’s eyes are midnight as he starts pushing people away from me, without malice but firmly, his light touch enough to move even the largest of them. I’m too disoriented to do much more than watch. As anxious as I am overwhelmed. I know this isn’t an Anguis attack, but if any were lurking on the platform, I would be the easiest of targets right now.

Having cleared us a little room—those closest to us recognising that Scitus isn’t afraid to use force—the Praeceptor bows his head close to mine. “This Transvect will be travelling constantly between here and the Academy until sunset tomorrow. Doesn’t matter when you get on. Just don’t tell anyone else. And don’t miss the last one,” he adds as an afterthought. “You’ll just be giving Praeceptor Dultatis an excuse to censor you.”

I nod, spotting Emissa craning her neck to look back at me as she’s whisked off the platform by a woman in her late thirties, the similarities between mother and daughter obvious even at a distance. I can’t see Indol or Aequa, though I do spot Iro fighting his way through the mob, scowling and cursing and shoving as he’s jostled from all sides. The sight cheers me a little.

“Vis!”

I turn to see Ulciscor forcing his way between close-packed bodies. He cuts an impressive figure, and most people who notice the purple stripe on his toga make sure to scamper aside.

I smile. Ulciscor’s not a friend, but he’s the closest thing I have to a confidante right now. “Father.” We clasp forearms, then embrace warmly. It’s part of the act we’ve agreed upon. Always believe someone’s watching and taking note. Never show anything but goodwill toward one another in public.

“It’s not safe here.” He signals his thanks to Scitus, then heads off, assuming I’ll follow.

We weave between groups of families too excited to catch up to leave the platform first; there’s too much noise, too many bodies, to bother making conversation straight away. We head down a flower-lined path and deeper into the darkness cast by the mountains. The rain has stopped, but the air still smells damp. It’s cooler here. I tug my cloak around my shoulders.

“You’re popular,” observes Ulciscor once it’s quiet enough to hear him.

“How did they know I’d be on the Transvect?”

“Everyone knows you’re at the Academy. Word must have spread once they saw me.” Ulciscor sighs. “It’s my fault. I should have known not to arrive early.”

“I didn’t think people would still be so… enthusiastic.”

Ulciscor chuckles. “I suppose it’s probably been different for you. Out here, all anyone knows is that you were adopted, heroically saved half the city, then vanished behind the walls of the Academy. So not only are you brave and mysterious, but you started as one of the people. One of them. Everyone who’s not a patrician dreams about being you, Vis—and half the patricians do, too, I suspect. I get more questions about you than I do about the business of the state, most days.” His dry tone indicates he doesn’t think much of that particular situation.

“Ah. Sorry.”

He snorts. “Don’t be. It’s doing wonders for the Telimus name. Which goes some way to making up for your lack of progress at the Academy. Though, I am hoping you have some news to help offset the rest, too.”

“I do. In fact—”

“How was the trip?” Ulciscor’s interruption is pointed. He doesn’t think it’s safe to say anything important just yet.

“Pleasant enough. I do have to make sure I’m back here by sunset tomorrow, though, else—”

“Else there will be consequences, and so on, and so on. I wouldn’t worry about it. I’ve never heard of anyone getting punished too harshly for tardiness.”

I cough. “I may not want to test that.”

“Oh?” Ulciscor sees my expression. “Oh. Well. We’ll keep that in mind, but I can’t imagine it will be a problem.”

“You’re not worried about the Anguis?” I half expected to have a protective entourage.

“Military runs the Necropolis. There’s nothing to fear from them here.”

I glance at him. “Military do? Not Religion?”

He shrugs. “One of those strange assignments.”

We keep going, past hundreds of groups huddled in the vast fields, a small fire burning for each one. Some of them pay attention when they spot Ulciscor, pointing and murmuring, but the excitement of the crowd on the platform isn’t repeated. I can see flower garlands draped over many of the tombstones, and offerings of bowls of grain or wine-soaked bread are carefully perched atop graves everywhere. It’s clear many families have come and gone already. Probably those who can’t afford to travel by Transvect or carriage, who need to allow more time to get back to Caten.

It’s twenty minutes before we reach the mountain; we work our way along the base for another ten before Ulciscor finally indicates a set of stairs leading upward, and we start the ascent.

It’s a steep climb, though a beautiful one. There’s soft, mournful music drifting from many of the tombs we pass, some just instrumental, some with a chorus of voices gently joining in. The valley below would be covered in darkness now, but the three Eternal Fires send slashes of dramatic red light through it, augmented by the smaller fires and lanterns.

“We’re just up ahead,” Ulciscor murmurs, not five minutes into the climb. He sees my surprise. “Telimus is an old family. Our name traces back to Catenans who saw the Cataclysm.”

I believe him when I see the Telimus tomb. It’s less than a quarter of the way up the mountain, sits by the stairs, and has an excellent outlook. A lower tomb indicates a more prestigiously old family name. Elsewhere, crypts are sometimes reclaimed as families get absorbed by others, their name withering and dying—but not here at the Necropolis. Here, burial is an eternal monument.

The entry is grand: not as grand as some of the more ostentatious displays we’ve already passed, but still a beautifully decorated, traditional pointed archway guarded by three massive marble dogs, life-like if not for the red paint that colours their features. The name Telimus is emblazoned proudly above the entrance, etched and gilded.

“Don’t you have problems with thieves?” It’s not the most respectful question, but I’m curious. This, I admit to myself, is more like what I expected from a Magnus Quintus. The gold used for decorating the name alone could probably feed a family of Octavii for several years.

“At the Necropolis?” Ulciscor looks offended at the mere suggestion. “No one would dare.”

A torch-lined stone corridor leads us to a short set of stairs descending into a large room. Even having heard the stories, I’m taken aback by the luxury on display here.

Detailed red and gold tapestries drape the walls. The floor is overlaid marble, inset with triangular gold designs to honour both the gods and Caten. There’s a large table covered in prepared food, comfortable seats, even a shallow, decorative pool in the centre with serene white flowers on its glass-like surface. A myriad of lanterns provide light, and there’s some unseen source of warmth as well, because the chill of outside vanishes as soon as we enter.

It’s the sarcophagus that demands my attention, though. It’s built into the wall, a long stone cavity that’s framed by glass so that it’s possible to see the body within. And there is one: an older man, perhaps in his seventies, long and distinguished. Without his thick grey hair, it would have been easy to mistake him for an older copy of Ulciscor. He’s lying on his back. Eyes closed. Hands folded over his chest.

“It’s a Vitaerium.”

I twitch at the feminine voice coming from my right, and turn to see a pair of flashing dark glasses observing me dispassionately.

“Lanistia!” Part of me is surprised. No matter her relationship to Caeror, the Festival of the Ancestors is meant to be about family—and hers, as far as I know, are still alive. “Hail.” My attention returns to the body. “I thought those were for healing people?”

“Among other things.” Ulciscor comes to join me in front of the sarcophagus, gazing at the form inside. “They also work to preserve from decay, trickling Will into something that was once alive. Many are actually used in Caten’s storehouses, to keep grain and meat fresh—but each of the oldest families are allowed one, too.”

I stare at the corpse, and almost don’t manage to hide my disgust. The vanity of such a thing is astounding. “So this is…?”

“My uncle,” says Ulciscor quietly. “The Vitaerium is meant to be for either the most recently deceased, or the one who we wish to remember the most. But…”

He falls silent, blank as he focuses inward. I nod my understanding, though I’m not sure he sees it.

My gaze finally rips from the dead man back to the rest of the room. “So it’s just us?”

“For now. My mother and father will arrive in a couple of hours. As will my wife.” Ulciscor accompanies the statement with an unconscious frown of worry. “Before they get here, though, we should talk.”

He motions to a seat.

“So you’re still in Class Six,” he says as I settle in opposite him. It’s not an accusation. I can still feel his mixture of disapproval and disappointment.

“I shouldn’t be. Dultatis—”

“You shouldn’t be.” Ulciscor repeats the words calmly, but with enough force to cut me off. “I did not pick you because you are educated, Vis—in that, there are a hundred students your better who aren’t attending the Academy. I didn’t even pick you because you’ve never ceded before. I picked you because you are smart.”

“It doesn’t help that the Praeceptor hates me because I’m a Telimus.”

“So? I warned you from the start that the Telimus name is not universally beloved. And even if I had not, I know you understand that our world does not run on merit alone. I chose you because I expected there to be obstacles. That is what separates us, Vis. There are those who see what should be, and complain that they do not get their due. And then there are those who see what is, and figure out how to use it to their advantage. Or at the least, overcome it.”

My face flushes as he speaks. Part of me knows Ulciscor is right. I’m here because he expects me to come up with solutions, not ask for help. But neither that nor the lecture changes the reality of my situation.

“Is there any way you can put pressure on Praeceptor Taedia to drop someone? Dultatis isn’t going to budge, but if Taedia initiates the exchange, she’ll have some input into who the replacement is.” An observation from Indol on the journey here. I hope he’s right.

“That sounds like you want me to fix your problem.”

“You’re a resource. This is me recognising what is, and figuring out how to overcome it.” An unavoidable hint of snideness as I repeat his words back at him.

Lanistia coughs a laugh from the corner. Ulciscor looks annoyed. “Have you visited any of the ruins yet, at least?”

“I have.”

“Oh.” Ulciscor’s taken aback. “Good. That’s… that’s good.” His tone eases to something more conciliatory as he thinks. “Well. I doubt I can bring much pressure to bear on any of the Praeceptors at the Academy, but with the reputation you earned at the naumachia… perhaps. Perhaps. I’ll see what I can do.” He leans forward, eager. “Now. Start from the beginning—since we last spoke. Tell me everything that’s happened.”

We spend the next two hours in the unsettling surrounds of the Telimus tomb as I recount my time at the Academy. After the sedate pace of Class Six’s lessons, I’d forgotten how intense Lanistia and Ulciscor’s expectations can be. It doesn’t take long to remind me. They’re immediately stepping me through every aspect of my arrival as if it had happened yesterday rather than two months ago. Have me straining to recount the wording of vaguely remembered conversations with the Praeceptors. Are badgering me about the details of timing, of locations, whether students I’ve never interacted with are keeping the company of other students I’ve never interacted with.

We spend almost an hour on my excursion to the ruins, in the end, Ulciscor and Lanistia veering between impressed and horrified as I explain the risks I took to investigate. They stop interjecting, though, when I segue to the ruins themselves. The excavation. The glowing writing, the Labyrinth symbols, the maps, the bodies gruesomely pinned against the wall. Their hollow eyes.

I take a deep breath as I finish explaining the last part. I don’t mention the way they seemed alive, or the fact I’m almost certain their eyes were closed when I first entered. And I don’t mention the words they kept repeating. Ulciscor’s trust has been strained by my lack of progress at the Academy. Having him wonder whether I’m cracking under the pressure isn’t something I’m willing to chance.

When I’m done, there’s a long silence. Eventually Ulciscor glances at Lanistia, then back to me.

“How many bodies were there?”

I try to picture the space. “A couple of hundred?”

“They all had obsidian sticking out of them?”

“I think so. Yes,” I correct firmly when Ulciscor scowls at my prevarication. “Every single one I saw.”

“It was definitely obsidian?” Lanistia, the first time she’s spoken.

“I didn’t touch it. But it looked that way.”

“A lot of money there for Religion just to leave it,” muses Ulciscor.

“And you’re sure about their eyes?” There’s more to the question from Lanistia, no matter how casually she tries to ask it.

“They looked like you,” I confirm quietly.

“The dead skewered people looked like me,” she repeats flatly.

I chuckle. “You know what I mean.” We watch each other, and then I shift, smile fading as her expression doesn’t change. “I just thought…”

“I know what you thought. Keep going.”

The matter evidently not up for discussion, I press on. Every detail I can remember of the night is pored over, reviewed, and clarified.

When it’s finally clear I have nothing new to say, Lanistia calmly stands. She exchanges glances with Ulciscor and then leaves.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Ulciscor watches the doorway through which Lanistia has just disappeared. “You’ve done well. A huge risk, but better than I’d expected, given your lack of advancement.”

“Really?” I squint at him. “Does any of it mean anything to you?”

“It’s a piece of the puzzle. Proof that Religion are looking for something out there.” Ulciscor’s energised by thought. “It’s almost certainly pre-Cataclysm, too. If it’s a weapon… even some unknown advancement…”

I nod. More than enough to kill for.

“I’ll need you to sketch out everything you remember,” continues Ulciscor.

“I’m not the most talented artist.” One of the few things that even my ever-optimistic mother, after viewing some of my paintings, had to concede I should no longer be pursuing.

“Do the best you can.” He studies me. “You need to find out more, too. Get back there.”

“That won’t be easy.” I hold up my hand, displaying the scar on the palm. “They have to suspect me. And I won’t have the excuse of working in the stables next time.”

“It will be easier once you’ve advanced a class or two. A lot more freedom, once you hit Class Four.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You’ll need to be in Three for the Iudicium, anyway.” Ulciscor ignores my dry tone. “Because whatever is going on out there, at least some of the answers are in those ruins on the other side of Solivagus.”

“About that. There is something I’ve been considering. I think I can make it work, but I need something from you. And it has to be tonight.”

“What?”

“An imbued grapple. Two parts. Something with a strong enough attraction to reel me in, not just hold me in place.” I outline my idea.

Ulciscor says nothing for a long few seconds after I finish.

“Rotting gods, lad. You really think you can pull that off?”

“Yes.” The doubt in Ulciscor’s eyes mirrors what I’m feeling, but I don’t show him that. “How quickly can you make one?”

“An hour, maybe, by the time I find the right materials. Something that will hold together, but that you can break once you’re done.” Ulciscor’s deep in thought now. “I’ll have to do it straight after the ceremony. My parents won’t be happy with me disappearing so soon.”

“But you’ll do it?”

“I’ll do it.” Ulciscor shakes his head, as if dazed at the idea of what I’m going to attempt. I don’t blame him. “Understand, though, if you’re caught, or if something goes wrong, you need to destroy it. No matter what. And if you get stranded, I won’t be able to even suggest what’s happened to you. Nobody will come looking for you.” He waits until he’s sure I understand before continuing. “If you do succeed, I still won’t be able to talk to you again until the trimester break. Whatever you find, you’re going to need to make notes. You cannot trust your memory to hold details for that long.”

All aspects I’ve already considered. “That’s fine. But you’re sure the hatch can be opened from the outside? Without Will?”

“It’s a safety consideration. Easy if you know the trick.” Ulciscor examines me a moment longer, then exhales a soft, admiring laugh and glances at the entrance. “The others will be here soon. You should go and find Lanistia.”

I hesitate. “Will she want to see me?”

“She just needed some air.” Ulciscor tugs absently at his sleeve. “She’s the strongest person I know, Vis. She’ll be fine.”

I walk out of the tomb. Darkness has fallen properly now, but the valley below is ablaze with light. Faint strains of singing rise to my outlook, as well as drift from a couple of nearby, well-lit crypts. Others remain dark, their owners either celebrating the Festival of the Ancestors another night, or all permanent occupants.

Lanistia’s nowhere to be seen, so I make my way along the narrow path, back toward the stairs. I wander for five minutes before eventually finding her sitting on a rock, legs dangling over a ten-foot drop, staring out over the fire-lit expanse of the valley. There’s a torch perhaps twenty feet away, but it barely illuminates where she is. Her glasses mirror the distant orange flames.

“Lanistia.”

She starts at her name; she must have been focusing her vision elsewhere. “Are you done?”

“We’re done.”

The young woman levers herself up smoothly, apparently unconcerned by the ledge only inches from her feet. We start walking.

There’s a vast silence, broken only by the sounds drifting from far below. “I’m sorry if I offended you. It was a stupid thing to—”

“You didn’t offend me.” Lanistia is gruff. I think she’s going to leave it there, but then she sighs, some of the stiffness receding from her shoulders. “I’ve lived for the past six years not knowing why I lost my sight. I honestly didn’t think there were answers to find. Now it seems as though there might be, and I… cannot decide whether I want to open that wound again.”

Another silence. A longer one this time.

“You need to do better, Vis.” Lanistia’s abrupt statement is soft, but loud among the emptiness of the tombs we’re passing. She’d chosen a section of the mountain that had few visitors tonight, it seems. Most of it is dark. “You should be at least one class higher. This was meant to be the easy part.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do.” Lanistia doesn’t look at me. “Ulciscor was making preparations last night, after he found out you were still in Six. If you hadn’t made it to those ruins, you might not have been going back.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “It’s only been two months.”

“He’s worried your reputation has made you complacent. That maybe you’re starting to think you don’t need to help him after all. And if that were the case, you would be more liability than asset.” We reach the Telimus crypt. “So do better.”

I swallow and nod, knowing that arguing is a pointless exercise, and trail after her. There are unfamiliar voices from within as we enter. I can’t hear the exact words, but they sound relaxed. Light. We walk into the expansive inner room of the tomb, and the conversation peters out as our entrance is noted.

As well as Ulciscor, there are two newcomers. They’re older—a man and a woman in their fifties, perhaps early sixties. The woman is tall and stately, traces of grey in her long black hair, olive-skinned Catenan through and through. Fashionable in a black silk stola slashed with a deep purple sash. The man is large in both height and girth, though from the way he slides gracefully to his feet at our entrance, it’s clear there’s still plenty of muscle within that bulk. His shaven scalp glistens in the lamplight, identical to Ulciscor’s. Standing side-by-side, it’s not hard to see the resemblance.

“Relucia!” Ulciscor calls the name toward the preparation area. “Come and meet our son!” He exchanges the slightest of grins with me.

I turn to the door, watching as a beaming young woman emerges. She’s finely dressed, similarly to Ulciscor’s mother, black silk stola crossed with a thin, light blue sash. Between the smile, the clothes, and the elaborate hairstyle, it takes me almost a full second to recognise her.

It’s Sedotia. The woman who crashed the Transvect and shot Ulciscor. The woman who was helping Melior at the naumachia.

The woman from the Anguis.