The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)

THE CROWDS SEEM MORE AGGRESSIVE than before, writhing around me, shrieking discordantly with drunken laughter and off-key music as I orient myself and start making my way back to the others. I’m not sure whether the night’s simply progressed, or whether I’m noticing it more after my discussion with Relucia. I do my best to avoid being buffeted and try to really look at the faces around me. To see them as people, not a mass of Will draining away to the Hierarchy. Not just a crowd of accomplices to my family’s deaths.

It’s harder than it should be.

After a minute I stop, pull my cloak from my shoulders and carefully make a small tear. Not enough to ruin it, but enough that Relucia’s Will would be lost. I don’t believe for a second that she actually took it back.

Then I turn and hurry back to a shadowy doorway, within sight of the one I just exited.

Of all the obstacles in my path, Relucia is currently by far the most problematic. I have a real chance to reach Class Three and win the Iudicium this year. To graduate the Academy, choose a position at the embassy in Jatiere, and potentially gain years without having to touch an Aurora Columnae.

But she’ll never let me do that, no matter what she told me at the Necropolis—I can see that now. I need to force her hand, starting with forestalling this trip to Suus. I need to find something I can use against her.

And she was in a hurry, back there, just as much as I was.

Relucia emerges a couple of minutes later, face hidden beneath a hood; she glances around, but the crowd’s thick enough that she has no chance of spotting me. She hurries off in the opposite direction. I allow some distance, then follow.

The revelry provides easy cover, and though Relucia does occasionally delay to check behind her, I’m always too far back and too well concealed to be in danger of discovery. I shadow her for almost ten minutes before she reaches a bustling market square, gaudily lit and full of shouting merchants and cacophonous music. She stops. Looks around—not suspiciously this time, but searching.

Another minute passes, and then a tall, slim figure appears behind her and places a hand on her arm. She turns and peers up under the man’s hood. Follows him.

I trail after, this time down narrow, less populated streets. Several times I have to allow the two of them to vanish from view and then hurry to catch up, rather than get too close. They don’t look around, though.

The pair finally arrive at a wooden two-storey structure, one of the many in this part of the city. They pass into a courtyard overlooked by balconies on every side; as I watch through the entrance, they head upstairs and disappear through a far door.

I examine the people milling around. There’s nobody watching, no guards. I hold my breath and slip inside, darting up the stairs and placing myself below the nearest window, concealed from the doorway by a scattered pile of crates. Words filter from inside. Quiet, but the buffer of the courtyard allows me to make them out over the more distant noise of the festival.

“… think they will accept?” A male voice. Smooth and calm.

“They have to.” Relucia. “A ship is a small price for a Cataclysm weapon.” The last part sounds mocking.

Sure enough, there’s a sharp laugh, followed by another question that’s lost in a swell of clamour from out on the street.

“They say they’ve figured out how to use it as an anchoring point. It should be stable enough.”

“Should be?”

“Will be.”

“Can we trust them?”

“We’ll see soon enough.”

There’s another question, something about how many, and Relucia’s reply—I think—indicates that there will be “enough.” I close my eyes, ears straining, mentally untangling words from the surrounding racket. The two inside are only barely audible, but this is as close as I dare get.

“I assume we will need to keep them from coming back, too?” I hear that question from the stranger easily enough.

“Of course. Our man should be the only one they can question.”

I hold my breath. Risk a look through the window.

It’s dim inside. Two figures sitting at the table: Relucia and the man with her. Between them lie three shapes that, for an instant, I think are some sort of large, furry fruit.

Then my eyes adjust, and I make out the strands of hair. The staring eyes. The blackish fluid smeared around them.

I flinch back down, clamping my teeth together to keep from crying out.

“Nobody saw you tonight?” Relucia again, the calmness in her voice chilling now.

“Nobody. It still hurts, but it’s getting easier to use. I can go farther.”

“Show me.”

A pause. “It’s dangerous. The other side are looking—”

“I need to see how effective you are.”

After a few seconds a barely audible, growling thrum vibrates the air. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Silence from inside, then from my right, footsteps coming up the stairs. I shrink back into the shadows behind the crates. The door creaks as it opens. “Satisfied?”

I stiffen, confused. The newcomer sounds like Relucia’s companion.

“You’re a lot faster than you were.”

I chance another look inside. Relucia’s still sitting at the table, grisly trophies in front of her. The other man is taking a seat opposite her.

No one else is in the room.

“I have to be.” The man’s pulled back his hood, revealing close-cropped brown hair. He’s younger than I would have thought, not much older than Relucia, and has a wicked scar splitting his face diagonally from forehead to chin. “It helps to know the terrain, though. Do you have maps?”

“This way.”

I sink back down again; there’s a scraping of chairs, and for a heartbeat I think they’re coming outside. But the footsteps fade into the house. Disappear.

I hesitate, then retreat. Whatever they’re talking about, those severed heads are a perturbing reminder that Relucia isn’t to be trifled with.

It doesn’t take me long to retrace my steps and retrieve Scitus’s tracking stone. From there, I wind my way back to where I left Aequa and the others, but they’ve left the Foundation games, no doubt in search of other entertainment.

That’s fine by me. I wander for a while, not really paying attention to anything or anyone in particular. Just thinking. Whatever I just overheard, it’s not anything I can use to make Relucia change her mind about Suus.

Eventually I realise I’ve strayed farther than I meant to. There’s still at least an hour before midnight but I have no real interest in the festivities around me; my father often used to say that the Hierarchy’s true power was not in Will, but in their ability to distract those who gave it up. The drunken laughter and merrymaking echoing down every street grinds at me.

I swivel to head back to Lordan’s Column, and spot the two men following me.

It’s not hard, with neither being particularly subtle about it as they stutter to a stop fifty feet away. No way to tell how long they’ve been tailing me, but when they see I’ve marked them, one of them mutters something to his companion. They both have ugly looks on their faces.

Anguis.

My heart starts to thump. I walk in the opposite direction, throwing a glance over my shoulder. They’re coming for me. I increase my pace. It’s possible that staying in a crowded area might help if it comes to a fight, but it might equally mean nothing if the intent is to stick a knife in my stomach. I have to get away.

I run.

The buildings are tightly packed here, many of the alleyways narrow and dark, despite the raucous, brightly lit main streets. I twist through several quick turns, ducking around people, breath short.

I’m still darting glances behind, beginning to think I may have gotten away, when the hands grab me and wrestle me into the shadows.

I try to shout out but there’s a sweat-salty palm enveloping my mouth; I’m hauled a good twenty feet into the darkness before finally being shoved forward, hard and unexpectedly enough that I sprawl clumsily to the dirt. I growl and roll to my feet, palms stinging from grit, half blinded by the dim.

The alley’s a dead end, that much I can tell immediately. I turn to face my attackers. There’s just the two of them, silhouettes at first against the distant light of the street. One thin, one burly. As my eyes adjust, I start to make out their features. The big one has a crooked nose and scarred lip. The other is a rat-faced man with a weak chin. They’re both completely, grimly focused on me.

“What do you want?” I take a cautious step back, hands outstretched, palms facing toward them. “I only have a little money, but you’re welcome to it.” I fish my coin pouch out and toss it to the ground at the weedy man’s feet.

“We’re not interested in your coin. We’re here to kill you, Catenicus.” His voice is reedy and filled with promise. It’s almost imperceptible in the light, but his eyes begin to flood with black. A moment later, his companion’s do the same.

Vek.

“You know who I am?” My mind races. The use of Will means nothing; the Anguis have shown they’re not above it. Regardless, these men are surely at best Sextii. Maybe only Septimii. Of course, there are two of them. And we’re in a confined space. “At least tell me who wants me dead before we get started.” I’m speaking too quickly, nerves giving me away. Perhaps it will help. Perhaps these two will be overconfident, give me an opening.

“I don’t think so.” My attackers advance as one. I glance desperately past them. People are walking by at the end of the alley, but no one’s looking in here, and the shadows are too deep for them to see anything anyway. I could yell but I can also tell that the noise from the street will easily cover my cries. There’s no point wasting breath.

These men probably have blades on them, but they haven’t drawn them yet. That’s a mistake.

I charge.

Their reactions are quick; even taken by surprise, the one I’m aiming for—the smaller one—braces himself enough to avoid getting knocked down. Still, I know where to aim, where to apply pressure. I deliver a sharp punch to his neck before dancing back again, just out of reach of the big man’s swinging fist. I have to stay clear. With Will behind it, one hit could be all they need.

The rat-faced man reels, eyes wide, gurgling as he clutches his throat. His partner twists to look so I abruptly change momentum, darting forward again, ducking my shoulder and barrelling viciously into his torso. He’s heavy but he’s taken by surprise. I slam him into the wooden wall behind, hear the wheeze of air being ejected from his lungs.

I twist, using my impetus to snake between the two. For the briefest of moments, there’s clear air between me and the street.

Then there’s a hand around my ankle, painfully tight. I trip, fall, barely preventing my head from slamming against the cobblestone. I’m being dragged violently backward.

“Rotting little bastard.” It’s the thinner man rasping the words as he pulls me back. The man I slammed against the wall is straightening, too. Surly. They weren’t expecting resistance.

I’m tossed the rest of the way toward the dead end, sliding up against the far wall. Before I can recover there’s a short, swift kick to my ribs, eliciting a moan of pain.

Then I’m being hauled to my feet. I struggle, slapping away hands as best I can but unable to match their strength. There’s a grip on my throat—not squeezing, not yet, but tight enough to make me fearful—and spots behind my eyes, made worse by the sudden unshuttering of a lantern. The crooked-nosed man holds the light close; I squint and shy away, but he forces my face back with a hand clamped on my jaw, and then pries my eyes open. The stinging illumination elicits tears.

“Nothing.” The word’s called out, directed back down the alley.

“Then that’s quite enough. Let him go.”

I slide to the ground, gasping my breath back, as the two men abruptly, inexplicably retreat. I blink furiously as two more figures come into view. I’m still blinded from the lantern. I know that voice, but I’m having difficulty placing it.

“Vis. Are you alright?” The man speaks again, crouching beside me. I shy away, but he makes a calming motion. My eyes adjust.

It’s Praeceptor Scitus.

“Praeceptor?” I stare up at him, eyes still watering. “What… what’s going on? Why are you here? Who were those men?”

My gaze travels past him. Aequa’s standing a few feet back, leaning up against the wall. She’s not looking at me. Pale, even for her, even in the dim light.

“They weren’t meant to seriously hurt you. I… apologise for the ruse. I apologise wholeheartedly.” The Praeceptor sounds genuine; in fact, he sounds horrified. “That was far more physical than it should have been.”

“The ruse?” The word comes out as a hoarse growl, feral enough that Scitus flinches.

“It’s my fault. I didn’t tell him the details.” Aequa uses her back to launch herself upright, looking resolved, if somewhat sickly. “All he knew was that I was going to trick you into using Will.”

“What?” I’m still dazed. “You thought… but we’re not allowed…”

Things slide into place. I almost laugh at the notion. Almost.

Aequa thinks—or thought, now, I assume—that I was cheating. Using Will to improve my performance, climb the ranks at the Academy. It makes sense, I suppose. She’s never been able to properly resolve my account of the naumachia with what happened. The more she watched, the more obvious it must have seemed. My win against Ianix. My unexplained absence at the Necropolis. My comfort with the Labyrinth despite, supposedly, no practice.

It would have all looked frustratingly suspicious. Was suspicious, I suppose. She just guessed at the wrong reasons why.

“I owe you an apology.” Aequa still can’t bring herself to look at me.

“You’re gods-damned right you do.” I croak the words but put bite into them. Partly because I need to look angry at such a serious accusation, and partly because I genuinely feel the anger.

“That’s not all you owe, I’m afraid.” Scitus looks bitterly disappointed as he turns to Aequa, and she shrinks from his gaze. “I let this go ahead because you were certain, Aequa. You swore.”

“I made a mistake—”

“Yes.” Scitus’s voice is iron. “You did. And you staked your ranking on it.” He gestures tiredly to us both. “Come on. Let’s get back to the Column. You’re both done for the night.”

We trail after him, me keeping ahead of Aequa, not interested in being anywhere near her.

“I’m sorry. Truly sorry. Please… please don’t tell the others.” Her voice is small. Barely cuts through the noise of the crowd.

We walk the rest of the way in silence.

THE RIDE BACK ON THE Transvect is awkward; though no one else knows what happened, the other Fourths can plainly sense the tension between myself, Aequa, and Scitus. They’re mostly quiet, occasionally murmuring to each other, but otherwise keep to themselves for the entire trip.

Everyone else retires straight to their quarters when we get back, but I need to talk to someone, so I head for the ground floor of the dormitory. Callidus is usually still up at this hour.

I slip inside, making my way through the rows of sleeping students, marvelling a little at how I thought the small, hard-looking cots here were a luxury only a few months ago. Shuttered lanterns burn low but provide enough light to navigate.

When I reach Callidus’s bed, though, he’s not there. Not sleeping and not at his desk, lantern extinguished.

“Looking for Ericius?”

I start, turning to see a dim figure sitting up in one of the cots across the way. I walk closer, the face of a blond-haired boy I recognise resolving in the dim. Drusus. “Yes.”

“He left five minutes ago. Outside, not to the lavatory. Not sure where he was going.”

“Thanks.” I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at the help, no matter our previous interactions. A lot has changed since I was a Seventh.

I consider waiting, but I’ve nothing to do but sit with my thoughts in the dark. I could use a stroll, even if I don’t find Callidus. Give the muscles still tender from my beating a stretch. With the festival on today, and given the hour we got back, I can’t imagine I’ll find any trouble for being out late.

Outside, the Academy is quiet. Decorations are still up from the celebrations here—flower wreaths draping doorways, colourful banners hanging everywhere—though aside from that, everything remains spotless. I doubt the festivities were anything akin to those in Caten. Petals rustle underfoot and skitter in the breeze across the quadrum as I walk the empty expanse, searching for any hint that Callidus might be nearby. There’s nothing, though. The gymnasium and other buildings are dark.

I frown, curious now. There aren’t that many other areas on campus that Callidus would be headed at this time of night. I doubt he’d risk a trip to the girls’ dormitory; it’s strictly off-limits even during the day, and I’m fairly sure he would have told me if he was interested in anyone there. Still. There, and the parkland in between, is about the only other place I can think to look. I’m not going to get in trouble if I stroll by at a distance.

The crisp night air prickles at every inch of exposed skin as I walk. The Academy’s tree-lined paths are sparsely lit here.

It’s a couple of minutes later that I spot movement.

There are two figures walking at an oblique angle to me, away from my position, heads bowed and clearly deep in conversation. One of them is Callidus. He’s with a girl.

I falter, suddenly worried I might be intruding. They pass beneath one of the lanterns and I recognise the flash of vibrant red, the mass of curls stretching down to her waist. It’s Belli.

I smirk. “Good for him,” I murmur to myself, retreating a few steps to conceal myself behind the trunk of a tree. I can’t begrudge him the secret. Belli’s probably insisted that he not say anything to anyone, given their respective classes.

I’m about to turn away when something catches my eye. A flick of the wrist from Callidus. I can’t hear anything that’s being said—I’m too distant from the pair for that—but it’s an irritated gesticulation. An angry one, in fact.

I hesitate a moment longer, then leave. Perhaps I’m seeing the end of a relationship, not an ongoing one. Or perhaps I’m completely misreading the situation. Either way, it’s not my business.

I put it from my mind. In a few minutes I’m back in my quarters, and asleep.

THE REST OF THE FOURTHS never find out the cause of the tension between Aequa, myself, and Scitus—I never tell them, anyway—but over the next few weeks, it becomes apparent to everyone that something has irrevocably shifted.

It starts the morning after the festival. We’re in class, learning about the potential decaying of Conditionals relationships. It’s a review class more than anything else, an easing into things before tackling more difficult fare. Scitus has asked a question about mental versus physical degradation in the imbuer themselves, and the potential consequences.

I raise my hand. More out of habit than anything else; it’s to indicate I know the answer, not because I expect to be called upon. Aequa’s hand is up, too, and she always gets preferenced.

“Vis.”

There’s a breath of surprised silence. Across the room, Aequa shuts a mouth already open to answer, nonplussed, and lowers her hand.

I take a heartbeat longer than usual to respond, as taken aback as the others. “Um. Physical degradation of the imbuer doesn’t matter for Conditionals; as long as they’re alive, the Conditional will operate. But the trigger could easily change with mental degradation, depending on the specificity. And even with very specific ones, significant mental lapses can result in a Conditional completely misfiring. That’s why retirement pyramids aren’t allowed to support them.”

“Very good.” Scitus acknowledges the answer as satisfactory and moves on, but I can sense the others are staring. Half of them shooting curious, sideways glances at Aequa, the others at me.

The class continues in much the same vein for that day, and the following, and the ones after until it’s clear that it’s not a temporary pattern. I suddenly find myself being challenged by the questions being asked, pushed by Scitus in ways I wasn’t before. I can no longer drift in class, half pay attention at any point, even if I’m comfortable with the material—because Scitus will always call on me, always probe the edges of my knowledge, trying to determine whether I’ve learned something by rote or can actually apply it to unique situations. Just as he used to do with Aequa.

In the mornings, I start to run the maze with Callidus, despite the unease it brings me. Again, and again, and again. He calls down questions as I run, forcing me to answer at the same time as navigating the twisting passageways. I’m getting faster, more and more adept with the bracer.

I gently probe, from time to time, about Belli. Nothing direct—just leading questions. He never alludes that there’s anything going on, that he has any connection to her beyond knowing who she is. Sometimes I feel a little offended that he doesn’t trust me. Then I remember what I’m keeping from him, and decide not to judge.

My evenings continue with Eidhin, though his Common is good enough now that it’s barely necessary, and I benefit from the study almost as much as he does. He never says more about his past, and I don’t press.

Aequa, for her part, retreats into herself. She avoids me where possible, no longer going out of her way to sit by me, or to make small talk. I don’t make the effort either.

Over all of that, though, the trimester break looms. I’m advancing, improving, getting closer and closer to my goal every day—but I’m nauseous whenever I think about what’s coming. The days pass faster and faster.

And then, three weeks later, I’m bidding Callidus and Eidhin farewell, and joining the Thirds on a Transvect bound for Suus.