The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)

MY FIRST FEW WEEKS IN Class Three are harder than I could possibly have imagined.

Given Nequias’s attitude toward me since I first arrived at the Academy—and knowing about his friendship with Dultatis—I’ve been braced for a repeat of my time in Class Six. And from the minute I enter the class, it’s clear Nequias has no small dislike for me.

Unlike Dultatis, though, Nequias doesn’t focus on me. Doesn’t exclude me. He treats me as he treats everyone else: with cold, unrelenting pressure, disdain when I make mistakes, anger when I’m too slow, threats when there’s even a hint of me not paying attention. Gaunt old man though he is, he’s a terrifying force in class. A storm, ready to thunder at any small slip.

I’ve had tutors like him before, but never fused with the difficulty of the subject matter. My first day, we’re calculating how Causal and sub-Harmonic imbuing can be combined to reduce the amount of Will needed to operate complex machinery. Then we’re moving straight on to the socio-economic ramifications of applying those potential improvements to Harvesters, theorising how it will affect the Octavii, the provinces, the stability of the Republic as a whole. Then we’re running the Labyrinth for three hours, where I’m soundly beaten again and again in a dispiriting lesson of just how much I need to improve. Then we’re examining reports on the pre-Cataclysm ruins of Altaris Machia, arguing over whether the Aurora Columnae found there were confirmation of whether that lost society wielded Will exactly as the Hierarchy does, or whether they had some more powerful means of doing so. And whether or not that power destroyed them, or if there was some external event that precipitated their extinction.

My eyelids are heavy by dinner, my head aching. I still run the Labyrinth with Emissa afterward, doing all I can to absorb her suggestions, hone my abilities. Knowing just how much further I need to go keeps my exhaustion at bay for an extra two hours, but after that, I have to admit defeat. My respect for Emissa—who’s still, somehow, moving as though she has energy to burn—increases.

And the day after, and the day after that, are the same. On and on. A haze of concentration and effort. This is what Lanistia was preparing me for, I realise by the end of the first week. This, not any of the classes before, was why she drove me so hard, was so worried about my capacity to compete. Without those months of preparation, I would never have been able to keep up.

But I do.

Toward the end of my first month, something changes. The days start to feel more like a routine. An immensely challenging routine, still, but one I can manage. I continue to improve at the Labyrinth, the extra exercise making me even leaner, my body harder. I have enough energy to enjoy my time with Callidus and Eidhin in the mornings, with Emissa in the evenings.

In the weeks that follow, I begin to challenge the others at the Labyrinth. Feel confident that I can improve my positioning in Three in short order. There’s no chance I’ll overtake Indol or Emissa—those two are so far ahead of the rest of the class that it’s almost comical—and Iro, loathe though I am to admit it, is probably impossible for me to eclipse before the Iudicium. But Prav and especially Sianus are within striking range, and they’ve been operating at this level for months now. They plateaued long ago. I’m the only one out of the six of us who’s prospering.

Nequias begins to notice it, too. And though I cannot claim he has discriminated against me thus far, I still think that’s why he decides to bring up the Iudicium earlier than any of us expect.

SPRING’S EARLY BLUSTER IS IN full effect outside Class Three’s full-length windows this morning. No rain, but wind rattles the massive shutters, and before they were closed the sea was whipped white, waves smashing against the Seawall pillars far below. The air has a bite to it that even after almost four years I still despise. This would be the sort of day we might get once every year at Suus. In the miserable south, it’s been a regular occurrence for months.

The Thirds’ regular room is, unsurprisingly, by far the best-situated of the classes: a view over the ocean similar to the one from the mess, comfortably large, with couches and plenty of other trappings. Emissa and I are last to arrive today. We slide into our usual seats, and I murmur a greeting to Iro and Indol nearby. They nod back, though as usual, Iro’s is curt. He’s tolerated me since my promotion, but makes no pretence at friendliness.

“Before we begin today.” Nequias has been waiting for us to get here; he’s talking before we’re settled. “The Principalis and I have decided to start proceedings for the Iudicium.”

My cheerful smile wilts. I look around, seeing as much surprise on the others’ faces as there must be on mine. Based both on what Ulciscor told me and what the other Thirds expected, I wasn’t anticipating this for another few weeks, maybe more.

“Already?” It’s Indol speaking up. Calm and measured as always, but it’s clearly a question.

“Yes.” Nequias doesn’t care to elaborate. “As of this morning, your positions in Class Three are secure, and your rankings for the Iudicium are set.”

Emissa glances sympathetically in my direction. Catching up though I have been, there’s no denying I’m still last within this group. From the corner of my eye, I see Sianus’s burly, long-haired form relaxing, the twisting snake tattoos running down his arms flexing as he stretches.

Nequias pauses, as if waiting for protests. His gaze wanders over the class, and I feel as though it lingers on me. If he expects me to complain, though, I don’t give him the satisfaction. I’m smart enough to know that nothing I say can change this decision.

“The specifics of the Iudicium will, of course, be kept secret until it begins,” the Praeceptor continues eventually. “But over the next three days, you will need to choose two students from among the other classes to follow your command during it. The official current rankings of Class Four in particular are available to you, and your rankings will be made available to them. If a student receives multiple offers, they are allowed to choose whom to join. And they are also allowed to refuse entirely, if they so wish.” Nequias’s tone indicates he’s saying the last for form, rather than because he thinks it’s a real possibility. “Once you have two students who have agreed to work with you, go to the Principalis with their names. He’ll instruct you from there.”

Nobody talks as we process the information. The Iudicium changes from cycle to cycle; while the basics are always the same—it’s held on Solivagus, necessarily unfamiliar territory to everyone, and it’s a competition to complete a specific task—the details can vary wildly. Ulciscor told me that Caeror’s Class Three were left by themselves in the middle of the forest, had to spend an entire week evading capture by all of Class Four and Class Five. And he said the one after that involved the Thirds each commanding a dozen students in some sort of mock wargame.

“What criteria do we use, if we don’t know what we’ll be doing?” It’s Prav, voicing what all of us are thinking. He’s an almost remarkably plain-looking boy: neither handsome nor ugly, tall nor short, imposing nor invisible. Just… there.

Smart, though. Quick on his feet. Not to be underestimated.

“That will be up to you. But decide quickly. We need two names from each of you by the end of three days, or you will be assigned ones. Any other questions?” Nequias waits and, taking the silence to mean there are none, moves briskly on. “Now. This morning we’re going to cover refined Reactive relationships in engineering. We know from the pre-Cataclysm ruins of Serica that…”

I half listen for a while—reaping a tongue-lashing when Nequias catches my inattentiveness—and calculate furiously, knowing each of the others will be doing the same. The rankings are fairly clear: Indol first, Emissa second, then Iro, Prav, Sianus, and myself. There will doubtless be rewards for all members of the winning team, so the Fourths will want to join the highest-ranking Third they can. The three obvious candidates, then—Axien, Cassia, and Marcellus—are inevitably going to go to Indol or Emissa. After that, Iro might take Felix and Valentina as a pair—they’re strong and capable Fourths who work well together—and Prav and Sianus will probably just pick whoever’s next in the rankings.

The unknown, really, is whether anyone will consider asking Belli or Aequa.

Belli is by far the most capable student in Class Four, but the Iudicium is almost certainly going to be a physically demanding contest: while she’s fit, her skills in sparring and weaponry leave a lot to be desired. Worse, since her demotion she’s looked drained. Hollow. A ghost, drifting through the days. And even if the rankings say her drive has remained the same, we all know her too well to believe she’ll be a good subordinate.

Whenever I see her, I tell myself that she’s reaping consequences. It does little to assuage my guilt.

And then there’s Aequa. Her position’s suffered thanks to her mistake with me, but whether Scitus has kept his promise to keep her as the lowest-ranked student in Four, I have no idea. Luckily, I don’t think the other Thirds have any clue how good she is.

“Figured out who everyone’s going to ask yet?” Emissa takes advantage of Nequias’s turned back to murmur the words in my ear.

“I’ve got some guesses.”

“Are you going to take Callidus and Eidhin?”

I give her a haughty look. “Perhaps. Who can say?”

She grins. “You’re so mysterious and unpredictable.”

She’s assumed correctly, of course; there was never a question in my mind who I’d be asking. Callidus is one of the smartest students in the Academy, while Eidhin is one of the most physically gifted—and neither is a slouch in the other’s area. I cannot imagine a better combination.

But more importantly, I know them. I trust them. The idea of choosing anyone else is almost unfathomable.

Of course, there’s no guarantee either of them will say yes. Callidus, despite the real reason he’s in Class Seven, has maintained his concern about the Iudicium and its deadly history—expressing several times how glad he is not to be participating. Part of me thinks it’s bravado, a way of making himself feel better about missing it when he’s so obviously qualified. But I suspect he’s truly relieved, too. The papers he took from his father are evidently conclusive enough for him to worry.

And Eidhin… well. Eidhin is Eidhin. Even after several months of spending hours a day with him, I still barely know him. Enough to trust him, to trust his character, but not enough to gauge his decisions.

Beside me, Emissa hesitates. Leans in close.

“Promise me something.” Her tone’s serious; when I look at her, she locks her gaze to mine. “Swear that this won’t change anything. We compete against each other, and whatever happens, happens. But afterward, there’s still us.”

My chest tightens. Aches. The Iudicium’s felt so distant, even as the pressure of its approach has been building. But once it’s over, I’m gone. Either to some distant part of the Hierarchy where I don’t have to cede, or fleeing, or in a Sapper.

And no matter which way it goes, Emissa can’t come with me. Won’t. The same way I can’t stay just for her.

“Of course,” I say softly. I smile at her. “Of course.”

I hate myself, in that moment.

The rest of the day ostensibly passes as usual, but there’s an edge to everything now. Any interaction between Thirds and Fourths during meals, any stray glance, seems suddenly meaningful. Not that it’s hard to guess who will pick who—after reviewing the Class Four rankings and seeing Belli and Aequa toward the bottom, I’m fairly sure I already know most of the eventual participants—but the reality of the Iudicium has arrived. We’re rivals who have been forced to work together for a time. That time is coming to an end.

I don’t ask Emissa who her choices will be, that night, and she doesn’t offer them. We don’t talk about the Iudicium at all, actually.

I sleep uneasily.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, CALLIDUS IS waiting for me when I arrive at the Labyrinth.

“I need you to help me in the Iudicium,” I say without preamble as I sit next to him.

Callidus freezes. Then he slowly finishes rubbing his hands together against the cold, not lifting his gaze. “What?”

“You had to know I was going to ask.”

“Oh. Of course. After everything I mentioned about all the mysterious covered-up death, I should have assumed you’d want me along.”

“Right. Because of how much you love danger.” I nod straight-faced at him, then slip to a rueful smile. “Look, I know it’s something you’d rather avoid. But I need people I can trust.”

“You need to find a way to stay out of it. Or lose quickly.” He sees my face and leans forward, intense. “I mean it, Vis. It’s not worth it.”

I study him. He’s earnest. He’d be saying the same thing, acting the same way, even if he was in my position. My heart sinks.

I’m about to respond when there’s movement at the entrance, and Eidhin emerges from the stairwell. He signals a greeting to us, oblivious to his interruption.

“I’m going to ask Eidhin, too. But I have to warn him of the risks. I won’t tell him where I got the information from.” I say it low and fast.

Callidus makes a face, but concedes. “Of course.”

I acknowledge him gratefully, then turn to our burly friend as he approaches. “Eidhin! I have something to ask you.”

Eidhin stops at the pronouncement. Peers at me warily.

“I have to choose two people to join me for the Iudicium. I want you to be one of them.”

“What will I have to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will there be fighting?”

“Probably? They haven’t exactly been forthcoming on the details yet.” I cough. “Before you give me your answer, though, you should know something. There have been… incidents, in the past, that Religion have covered up. Students dying. And then other students who were in the Iudicium disappearing after graduation, too. Don’t ask me how I know, but it might be dangerous. Probably will be dangerous.”

Eidhin considers me. “But you will be competing against the other Thirds.”

“Yes.”

“And if we win, it will improve my standing.”

“Yes.”

“Very well. I agree.” He moves past me, sits by Callidus, and starts adjusting his boots in preparation for running the Labyrinth.

“You’re sure?”

He pauses. Glares up at me. “I said I agree.”

I hold up my hands in amused self-defence. “Alright. Thank you.”

Eidhin looks across at Callidus. “You, too?”

“He only just asked me. I’m still thinking about it.”

Eidhin gazes at him. Nods thoughtfully, and resumes what he was doing. There’s no judgment, and I can see how grateful Callidus is for that.

We run the maze for a while, me with the bracer and loudly announcing each turn I make, simulating having spotters. Even with only two opponents rather than the usual three, it’s hard: Eidhin and Callidus are both frustratingly quick, and judging their movements based off only sound and guesswork is beyond difficult. Theoretically they’re disadvantaged, too: if they want to coordinate, they need to call out to do it. But the two of them have run so many times against me now, they’ve developed an unspoken understanding. An almost prescient knowledge of where each other will be, depending on how I approach the run on any given day.

I slip through twice on nine attempts this morning, sweat pouring off my body by the time the bell chimes for morning meal. I’m still breathing hard as we climb the stairs.

Eidhin, as always, disappears off to the parkland stream to bathe. Callidus and I head for the mess, but after a minute, Callidus suddenly stops. Jerks his head toward the dormitory. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

He starts walking, not waiting for a response.

Class Seven’s floor is deserted at this time of day. Callidus does a quick circuit to make sure no one else is around anyway, then unscrews one of the posts of the unused bed two spaces down from his. Reaches in and extracts several rolled-up pieces of paper.

“That’s where you’re keeping them?” I ask worriedly, guessing immediately what they are.

“As opposed to all my other options?” He fixes me with a look. “Would you have thought to look there?”

“I suppose not.” If anyone even knew the posts were hollow—and I certainly didn’t—they’d be checking Callidus’s bed, not the ones nearby.

“Here.” Callidus hands me the documents. “Read for yourself.”

I take the papers and scan through what’s written. Each one is an accounting of a death that has occurred at the Academy over the past two decades. Prior to six years ago—before Veridius’s year—there were only two: an accident involving an Octavii worker, and a student’s suicide.

Since then, there have been eight. All of them Thirds or Fourths taking part in the Iudicium, each except for Caeror listed as accidents. Falls. Animal attacks. Drownings.

“So many?” I feel my brow furrow as I scan the list. “Rotting gods. How have they kept this quiet?”

“I told you. Silencium for the students. Bribery and self-interest for everyone else. Even for the families, I think.” He folds his arms. “It’s been one or two people every year. One or two out of six. Or eighteen, I suppose, if you count all the Fourths. Still. Are you really going to risk those odds?”

I don’t respond for a while, studying the papers further. “And Military and Governance really know nothing of this?”

“They must know something. Promising students of theirs have gone missing, too, not just Religion’s.” Callidus shakes his head. “But as far as I can tell, your father is the only one who’s ever stirred up trouble over it.”

I hand him back the sheaf silently, letting him roll it up and slot it back into its hiding spot. I can see why he showed me. Seeing it documented like this—supposed accidents, but all so clearly linked—is different from simply being told.

“I still have to do it,” I say quietly. “I still have to try. But I would never blame you if you decide not to—”

“Bah. Don’t be a fool. If you’re going, of course I’m coming with you.” Callidus doesn’t look at me as he screws the bedpost back on, sealing the papers in again. “Just had to make sure you appreciate the risk I’m taking for you.” He shoots me a sideways glance. Grins.

I grin back. “Well now I know.” Callidus is putting on a brave face, but he’s uneasy. I don’t blame him. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Thank you.” I clap him on the back. “I’ll let Veridius know before lunch.”

The matter settled, we head back to the mess.