The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)

“YOU,” SAYS CALLIDUS QUIETLY AS I sit opposite him, not looking up from his reading, “have an anger problem.”

It’s still dark, the morning after my victory over Ianix. My move to the Class Five floor of the dormitory last night was easy enough, even if I felt oddly reluctant about it—with Eidhin as my roommate, my room in Class Six was as comfortable a place as I’ve been since my arrival. But the lodgings are an improvement. More personal space. Three to a room, everyone getting their own private dresser to use, and a desk twice the size of those down a floor.

My two roommates were still up and studying when I arrived. Weary and sore though I was from the bout, neither offered to help, and I didn’t ask.

The sound of distant waves washes over us. “You’re just figuring this out?”

“No, no, I knew. Everyone else, on the other hand…” Callidus finally shuts his book, flicking an amused glance toward the quadrum. “Rotting gods, they’re terrified of you now.”

“I imagine it wasn’t quite the controlled fight they were expecting.”

“It. Was. Not,” agrees Callidus with facetious emphasis. His speech is a little stiff though. Distracted.

There’s another few seconds, the both of us looking for words.

“Say you were right, yesterday morning.” I lean forward and keep my voice low. Tap the stone bench nervously, focusing on the movement of my finger. I’ve rehearsed this. I want to see his reaction, but the appearance of being unable to make eye contact is important here. Makes it seem more genuine. “And say that I felt… a little bad, for not admitting it. Or telling you sooner. Would that be enough?”

There’s silence, and then, “A little?”

I chuckle ruefully, raising my gaze to meet his. “A little,” I repeat firmly. It’s worked—I can see that much already. He’s taking it in good humour. Glad I’m addressing the tension between us.

“I understand. I do. Really.” The rigidity has gone from Callidus’s posture as he leans back. “You know I am going to figure out the specifics eventually, though.” He raises an eyebrow at my wince. “That bad?”

“You tell me. What’s the penalty for misleading the Census?”

“Oh. Oh. True.” Callidus is thoughtful. An affair resulting in an illegitimate son is one thing, but the resources needed to omit me from the Census altogether would be staggering. It would be a scandalous abuse of power. The sort of thing that could potentially bring down even a highly ranked senator.

And if it ever came to light, I’d most likely disappear along with my mysterious parent into a Sapper.

Hopefully that’s enough to stay Callidus’s hand from using his father’s resources to check into my past. I’m banking on his valuing our friendship over any advantage the information might bring him—which, given everything, I think is as safe a bet as I can make.

“Alright,” says Callidus eventually. “It’s a start.”

I smile my relief.

He grins back, then jerks his head toward the dormitory. “At least now I understand why you hate the rest of them so much.”

“I wouldn’t say I hate them.”

“Ianix would. And I’ve seen the way you look at them.” He nods sagely at my glower. “Yes. Perfect. Exactly like that.”

I break into a laugh, not pursuing the matter further, though I do make note of Callidus’s observation. I haven’t exactly made an effort to connect with people here, I suppose. But I thought I’d done better than coming across as disliking them.

“I was glad you came to watch, yesterday. It helped.”

Callidus grunts. “Don’t get too weepy. I was just there to make some money off you.”

“What?”

“If there’s one thing that just about everyone here loves, it’s gambling. I’d already heard people talking about how embarrassing that fight was going to be for you. Catenicus, stuck in Six. Nobody thought you could beat Ianix. Nobody.”

“Except for you.”

“Except for me. Who thought it was going to be close,” he clarifies.

“Get many takers?”

“Yes.” Callidus leans back jauntily. “Oh yes.”

I sigh. Another boost to my unpopularity, probably. “Only fair, I suppose. Compensation for your helping me practice. Not that you need the money.”

“Not at all,” he agrees enthusiastically. “But I do love taking it from them.”

“Glad I could help.”

We rise at an unspoken agreement, moving over to where we usually conduct our daily sparring. “So I imagine this explains why you’re so bent on making Class Three,” Callidus says quietly. “Makes a lot more sense now.”

I concur, letting him think the lie. If I really was the illegitimate son of a senator, I’d be an invaluable asset if my connection to them was unknown—so long as I reached a high enough position. Anything less, on the other hand, would make me nothing but a liability.

We start to spar. Callidus has been improving; he’d still be no match for me if we ever fought in earnest, but he’s quick on his feet, decisive, knows how to land his punches and where. There’s no sound for a while except our breathing and the occasional grunt of pain or muttered curse. Still, the other boy seems off this morning. A step slow. Distracted.

I frown, stepping back. “Is something wrong?”

Callidus steps back too, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. Dawn’s breaking, clear and clean today. Steam drifts from him. He pauses, looking as indecisive as I’ve ever seen him.

Then he slowly nods.

“I didn’t think I was going to need to tell you this,” he admits, a little wryly. “But the fact is, Taedia’s a half-reasonable Praeceptor. You’re probably going to be in Class Four by the Festival of Pletuna. So it’s better if you know sooner rather than later.”

I feel my brow furrow. “Out with it.”

He lowers his voice. “It’s… dangerous, being in Three or Four.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that for the past four Academy cycles, at least a couple of Thirds and Fourths have died. Every cycle.” Callidus glances around as he says it, though we’re completely alone. “Not like Feriun, but here. At Solivagus.”

I study him. “That can’t be right. People would know. There would be outrage. Investigations.”

“You would think so.” Callidus is grimly certain. “You would be surprised at how far a combination of coin and favour can go toward silencing whole families.”

“What about the other students who were here? Surely they’d say something.”

“The deaths happened during the Iudicium, away from most of them. Some of those who probably know seem to have gotten preferential placement within Religion. And everyone has a writ of Silencium attached to them anyway. Breaking that would mean risking a Sapper.”

“Silencium?” I squint, trying to remember the term. “I thought those were for legal proceedings.”

“It’s part of the paperwork to attend the Academy—your father would have signed it on your behalf before you started here. It’s meant to maintain the integrity of the school. Make sure that those who come from a heritage of attending don’t get an unfair advantage.” The disdain in his voice indicates just how ineffective he thinks that is. “It’s never enforced like that, which is why he obviously didn’t bother mentioning it to you. But for covering something up, the threat would be more than enough.”

I shake my head. Unsettled at the thought of Ulciscor binding me to something like that without telling me, even if it’s the standard. “So students have died. How?”

“Accidents, supposedly.” He takes a breath. “And there’s more. From those same four cycles, another ten graduates from Class Three have since vanished from their pyramids. Presumed dead. They were all in positions of power, but nobody seems to have done more than give their disappearances a cursory glance.” He sees my dubious expression, rolls his shoulders uncomfortably. “I know how it sounds. I know. But there’s something going on here, and putting yourself in the higher classes… it’s a risk.”

My mind races. I think of the Labyrinth in the ruins. The copy of it here. This has to be connected.

“So this is why you’re in Seven?” I ask eventually.

“What I told you before is true. But this helped make the decision easier.”

I signal my acceptance of the explanation, even if it still doesn’t sound quite right to me. Callidus is practical, certainly. Pragmatic. But more the type I would expect to investigate, rather than avoid the risk in silence.

“So how do you know all this, when nobody else does?” The answer occurs to me as the words come out of my mouth, and Callidus nods as he sees the dawning on my face.

“My father. The Census.” He fidgets. He’s not comfortable admitting this. “He told me. Warned me, before I came.” He impresses the importance of what he’s revealing to me with his look.

I feel the weight of it. If anyone found out Callidus’s father had revealed Census information, even to his son, then it would be disastrous for their family. The Hierarchy protects that information above almost everything else. Tertius Ericius would be removed from office, maybe even put in a Sapper for violating his covenant so blatantly.

I’d have no actual proof if I tried to claim it, of course, but Callidus confiding this to me is… it’s beyond trusting. He’s placing a faith in me that I don’t deserve. “I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

“I know.” Callidus studies me. “Still want to move up?”

“I have to.” No lie there. If Callidus is right—and I have no reason to believe he isn’t—then the added risk is something to keep in mind, but it doesn’t change what I need to do. “Thanks for the warning, though.”

He gives me a half smile, understanding that I’m acknowledging the belief he’s showing in me, and then we resume our sparring. Callidus has a renewed energy, a lightness to his movements that wasn’t there before. The knowledge has been weighing on him.

Soon enough we’re done; breakfast is spent in pleasant conversation, the tension of the past day acknowledged and put behind us. I find myself relaxing, laughing, able to ignore the sidelong stares of the other students as they walk by. I’ve passed the hurdle of Class Six. I’ve investigated the ruins on the other side of the island, well ahead of schedule. I have friends here, allies who will help me. People who trust me.

At least in this one, bright moment, the rest of the year feels like it will be positively easy by comparison.

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS ARE a pleasant haze of work.

I start each morning with Callidus, sparring, then sitting down to study both before and during breakfast. It’s the other boy who suggests the addition to our routine; now he’s warned me of what may lie ahead, he seems happy, even excited, to engage in academic work with me.

I soon realise why: his boredom in Class Seven must be profound. He’s smarter than I am. Much smarter. Soon enough, we’re tackling theory far advanced from what I’m learning in Class Five. Distributed Conditionals. Will interplay with mechanics. Methodology of secondary fail-safes. Limitations on locking, calculations of upper and lower bounds of strength based on position and ceding ratio and imbuing. My understanding of the Hierarchy and how it works, how it perpetuates, how it’s built what it has built, increases dramatically.

Emissa joins us some mornings, too, in the glimmering pre-dawn light before we head to the mess. Rarely for long and only occasionally, but enough for me to look forward to the possibility. She and Callidus seem comfortable around each other, clearly having gotten along during their brief time in the same class. And her contributions show that the subjects we’re studying don’t faze her in the slightest. A good sign that I have plenty of improving to do, if I want to compete in Three.

Callidus is never short of a sly remark after she leaves. I continue to ignore him.

Classes themselves, for so long the bane of my day under Dultatis, become—if not interesting, then at least not a waste of time. Taedia runs a tight daily schedule, pushing each of her twenty-four students without overburdening them. Her lessons are informative and clear. Though I’m still usually either familiar with the subject matter or can pick it up easily, I learn more under her tutelage in three weeks than in the two months I spent with Dultatis.

The students themselves are easier company, too: not friendly, but civil enough and willing to interact when necessary. It’s the most I can hope for. I’m too focused on distinguishing myself to Taedia to make an effort to endear myself, and after my fight with Ianix, my reputation is such that—according to Callidus and Emissa, at least—I’m viewed with some hesitancy by the wider body of students. Combined with the Catenicus nomenclature, and Iro’s lingering influence, I’m considered a… somewhat less than approachable figure, as Emissa delicately puts it.

My evenings are for the most part spent tutoring Eidhin. Though he remains reserved, I enjoy these sessions, too. The large boy is a quick and willing student; his foundation in Common is already relatively strong, but he advances with astonishing rapidity once he has someone who speaks his own language to guide him. I’d had my suspicions, but after a couple of weeks, I’m convinced that he should be in a higher class than he is, too. He’s not at Callidus’s wide-ranging level of intellect, perhaps, but he’s smarter than anyone in Six. Anyone else in Five, too, I think. It’s only his inability to effectively communicate—and Dultatis’s unearned dislike, of course—that has held him back.

Dultatis himself, much to my disgust, appears to escape censure over his attempt at cheating. Ianix, too; he was out of the infirmary the day following the fight and straight back into Class Six. He avoids me now.

None of the Praeceptors have spoken to me about the fight. They all seem to want to act as if it was won fairly. I can’t see an advantage to pressing the point.

It’s hard, keeping what I saw in the ruins to myself, but I have little choice in the matter. I can’t freely communicate with Ulciscor before the trimester break, and I can’t bring myself to involve any of my friends—even Eidhin, who already knows about some of it. So instead I lie awake each night and ponder the Labyrinth. Puzzle again and again over its purpose. Its twin in the Academy feels increasingly like a proving ground. Veridius and Religion’s attempt to find someone who can run against the nightmares in the original.

Which in turn, leads me to again wonder if the missing students Callidus told me about saw their end in there.

Despite the heavy discomfort of those thoughts, time passes quickly. My mood improves. I work hard. Do everything I can to be a model student.

And then Callidus is right about something else. Two days into my fourth week under Praeceptor Taedia, I’m raised to Class Four.