The Strength of the Few (Hierarchy, #2)

by James Islington

FEAR, MY FATHER ONCE TOLD me, is simply our realisation of a lack of control. And that is why when we are afraid, sometimes the only way we can cope—the only way to dull the edge of that lack—is to put our faith in those who appear not to suffer it.

“Ka’s side. What you’d call the Concurrence.” He scratches at his scraggly beard as he examines the triangle, then spots my blank look. “Veridius didn’t tell you about the Concurrence? Who we’re fighting? Why you’re here?”

Oh deary

“I suppose the war is the easiest place to begin. It started thousands of years ago, against an enemy called the Concurrence. They were bent on enslaving everyone, and from what Veridius and I could tell, at one point they were winning.” His mouth twists. “So our side split the world into three near-identical copies. Res—where we’re from; Obiteum, which is here; and Luceum. Don’t ask me how,” he adds with a wry smile.

Whhhhattt

“Physically the same, down to the last detail. But the nature of Will was what they were trying to limit. The three worlds were created because they wanted to diminish it, restrict how it could be used. Split its capabilities.” He presses on before I can ask any of my myriad new questions. “People called it the Rending. Afterward, the war continued, but the resistances on the three worlds began to have their own levels of success in the fight. Different capabilities with Will. Different choices. Everything diverged.” My mind reels as

“Those ruins you said you visited, near the Academy? That place was built to stop a Cataclysm. One the architects knew was coming.” He rubs his face, then smiles at me in sincere, rueful apology. “They’re culls, Vis. The Cataclysms are culls by an enemy that everyone on our world has forgotten. That one those architects were trying to prevent? It was the eleventh. The eleventh in three thousand years. And even with all their knowledge, they failed.”

“I don’t feel like a copy.” Caeror flits another glance at me before resuming his surveilling of the clear morning sky. “Perhaps ‘copy’ is a bit crude. It’s more like…” He scrunches up his face as he reaches for a better explanation. “We’re no less ourselves. Think of it as setting out on a branching path. It’s still you. Just travelling a different road.”

Emissa. Callidus. Eidhin. Aequa and Lanistia and even gods-damned Ulciscor. “But you have a way to stop it.”

Ughhhh h doesnt know callidus will die anway

“How?” My heart pounds in time with the pulses beneath our feet. It’s all I can do to follow Caeror’s lead and stay still. Caeror’s face is lit starkly from beneath. His deep brown eyes assess me as he issues a crooked smile. “Easy, Vis. We kill a god.”

Yikes

“Are you going to be alright?” The burly redheaded boy standing next to me murmurs it in Cymrian.

Okay omehow the cymirian peple re connected to the flk in Ludicum??

I can see Veridius on the other side of the pyre too, a gaggle of sombre and pale-faced students alongside him. Indol, Iro, Aequa. Emissa.

I thougt irO would have died?? In the iudicium

“He offered to free me from my father’s agreement,” he eventually says in quiet Cymrian.

Mames sense

He finally looks across at me. “I thought the temptation would be too much. So I said no. And now our friend is dead.” Blue eyes reflect firelight and deep, deep sorrow. “I once told you that it is how they change you. One compromise at a time. That every man has to find his line, and never cross it. Do you still believe that?”

Eihdin id die forbyu. Youre such a good and looyal friend its not yor fault

I half turn to leave, then change my mind. Step forward and embrace Eidhin around his thick neck with my one good arm, leaning close. “Never let them change you, Eidhin. Never. You are more honourable, more of a friend, than any man could hope for,” I whisper fiercely in his ear. “And Callidus would tell you the same.”

CDYING

Once he’s done, Caeror breathes deep and places his hand on the corpse’s forehead. His face is a mask of concentration. His eyes flood to black. With a rasping gasp, the dead man sits up.

OKAY WITH THE JESUS MOVES

“Djedef here is dead.” He says it sincerely, no trace of humour this time. “They’re called iunctii. They don’t need to eat, or sleep, or breathe. They don’t age or bleed. They do still remember who they were, feel things the same as you and I—but they cannot do it without the Will of the person who brought them back.”

“Mechanically, everything works the same as on Res—ceding, self-imbuing and imbuing. Except that back home, you imbue in order to strengthen and manipulate. Here, you do it to restore and sustain.

Ooo

“All Vitaeria were created by someone using Obiteum’s form of Will, at least. And yes. We’re being imbued. It’s how our lungs are being preserved against the air out here.”

Interesting

“I haven’t even been through the Aurora Columnae.” A protest, albeit a weak one. “Actually, you have, now—the Gate on Solivagus is a kind of extension of them. That’s why it won’t work on anyone who’s already been through the ceremony.”

Oooooooo

“Those people were put in there to become a kind of interconnected machine, built to try and circumvent the security measures on Res that kill anyone who goes through the Gate. And based on what we translated, those measures were put in place by one man. A man who would remain untouchable so long as he alone was present in all three worlds, because it meant he had dominion over Will. Would be the only one who could control it as it had been before the Rending.” He glances at me. Assessing. “Synchronism, they called it.”

Ahhhh

“The plan is to stop Ka, no matter what it takes. Veridius will undoubtedly be trying to do the same to his counterpart in Res—and perhaps if he realises you’ve made it through, the version of you there will end up succeeding before you ever have to do anything here. But we can affect only what we have in front of us. If we remove the Concurrence from this world, he is no longer Synchronous in Res. It stops the Cataclysm. And that is all that matters.”

No pressure Vis!!!!

“What if you’re wrong? What if killing this Ka doesn’t stop the Cataclysm?” “Then we will have saved one world rather than two.

But what about Ludicum??

“He is a powerful new voice within the Grove. That is the draoi High Council,” he adds, guessing I won’t know the term. “His influence these past years has become too great, too quickly. He asks the Grove to ignore the Old Ways, and they do. It is his hand that guides their deal with King Fiachra. Do you remember the tempeall albios? The… white place?”

“The Grove is intent on killing all who come to the tempeall albios in the way you did, because Ruarc has convinced them to. And they hide this shame from the other draoi. He asks them to kill without trial or explanation, and they obey, against all sacred duty.”

So the grove or ruarc is the "god" of lucdicum, the on Vis has to kll in on of the worlds???

He has made them so fearful of the unknown, of what may be, they have abandoned what should be. It is a corruption of all the draoi are meant to be. And so, I fight.”

Its giving amrican politics

A flash of steel. The ash staff is cleaved in two and clattering to the ground, Cian’s severed head rolling next to it as red blood sprays. There’s a breath where no one moves.

WHAT

scream from the boy as the scythe clatters to the floor, and he skirts the fighter as he runs to his father’s side. The girl is just silent. Staring. Not understanding. The life drains from the man’s eyes as he watches his children. His gaze flickers to me. Pleading.

Wtf this is so sa

I shrug off my cloak and bend, arranging it carefully around the farmer’s shoulders. Mouth a silent apology. Then I raise the scythe high, and aim for the corpse’s left shoulder.

Smart

“I sometimes forget that you are still young, Master Vis,” he says softly. “Ulciscor may not be the one that you want. But fathers rarely are.”

“Headaches. More than a week, now. They seemed particularly bad this morning. Still insisted on coming today, of course.”

Obviousy her hadach is connectd to vis going through tHe gate

“You sent me to die.” “I sent you to find out—” “YOU SENT ME TO DIE!” I roar the words. Abrupt and violent. Stand and swipe my near-full cup from the table next to me, sending it shattering across the floor. “You valued your dead brother’s reputation over my life!” A step forward. “Because of you, I lost a gods-damned arm!” Another step. I’m pointing at him. Hand trembling. “Because of you, I had to make decisions that ended with my friend DYING!”

Go offfff Vis!

The illusion of power too often becomes power, my father used to say. I cannot let Ulciscor believe he has even the faintest remaining hold over me.

But we never mentioned those during our childish vents as we watched the sun set over the domain of our enemy. Easier to despise than understand. Easier to mock than empathise.

I try to picture her face, now. It’s there but it’s a blur. Like looking through water. The absence of detail aches. My fading memory feels almost as much a betrayal as what I’m about to do.

:(

Ulciscor has said little. The way he looks at me now, I think perhaps he’s finally feeling the weight of what he forced me to do. There’s sorrow, there. Maybe even guilt.

GOOD

The Anguis are confident they own me now, and an enemy is never so vulnerable as when they think they are in control. So I’ll go along. Act the part. Eventually they’ll forget I’m against them. Eventually, I will get the names I’m after.

Yyyyeeeeeeeeessssssss

“Lanistia?” I frown at her. “What’s wrong?” She bares her teeth at me. It’s not anger. It’s confusion. Desperation. “Complete the journey, warrior,” she says sorrowfully. She has a dagger in her hand.

Omg what the helly

During the second day, I learn from Caeror that most of the Qabrans remove the dead and sleep inside the sarcophagi themselves, using tattered body wrappings as bedding and detritus from the sepulchres to form makeshift coverings. I think it’s macabre. On the third night, I reluctantly try it myself. It’s significantly warmer. I sleep that way thereafter.

Hellllll no

“And though I hate to admit it, we cannot wait for you to feel ready, either. If Ka discovers you’re Synchronous—on any world—he’ll hunt you down. Or worse, he’ll decide to trigger the Cataclysm early. We need to start our planning now.” I close my eyes. As much as I want to argue, I know he’s right. Inaction picks a side.

“Iunctii are Ka’s lifeblood. His eyes and ears and limbs. The backbone of his rule,” he says slowly. “Stab one of these through the heart of a iunctus you’ve imbued, and you can command them—as long as your hand is on the hilt. And then the command remains only while the blade is in.

Hmmmm

still have no idea where I am or exactly how I got here, but it’s clear I’m beyond the bounds of Caten’s reach. Callidus, Eidhin. Emissa. I’m not sure exactly how long it’s been since the Iudicium, but they must assume I’m dead, by now. Vanished in the wilderness of Solivagus, just as Callidus warned. I ache at the thought, but there’s a hope in it too. A fresh start. No Hierarchy. No ceding. No lies. “Diago,” I eventually rasp, pointing to myself weakly. “Diago.”

Despite the severity of it, it seems to be healing rapidly, and at first I think it must be whatever poultice Gráinne is putting on it. But each day, she exclaims excitedly, and as I take note of how the skin is stretching and knitting together, I can see why. This injury was at least as bad as the blade I took in the side when the Transvect was attacked last year. That took me weeks to recover from. It’s only been half that time, and I already feel little more than a mild ache.

So hes got ome weird superhuman abilit since going thiugh

My body recovers. I adapt to my missing arm. I wake eagerly in the mornings, and cannot remember the last time I felt so light.

Awe hes i his healibg eraaaaaaa

We travel into town together that night, despite some lingering reservations on my part, and he introduces me to a friendly community of mead-loving farmers. We drink together at the tavern. The night ends in a blur of rowdy songs and the promise of matching headaches in the morning. The next day, the druid arrives.

Ahhh fckkkk

“He told me the whole plan, you know. Leave one of your own to be caught after the attack, so that they could imply Hierarchy involvement. Sow more dissent within the Senate by making it clear that someone was trying to strip Religion of their control of the Academy. But he made it sound like the whole thing was a game to him. Like some sort of sideshow for his amusement.”

Oh he nusgt be Ka in the res

“Not any application of Will that I know of,” Lanistia agrees with my unspoken assessment. She indicates her empty eye sockets. “Based on what you told us, it has to be something to do with this. With what happened when I was at the Academy.”

Duhhhhh

“I remembered something, too.” She breathes it, almost as if she can barely dare to believe it herself. “When you touched the Aurora Columnae, just before the voices started. Just a flash. That room you described in the ruins, with all the bodies? I think I went there, once. I was saying a phrase. Miseram pacem vel bello bene mutari.” I stare at her. “That’s Vetusian. Something like… ‘war is better than an unhappy peace’?”

Goosebumps

“That tells me why he did it,” I say eventually. “Not why he wouldn’t do it again.” “Because he spent four months after Suus fretting over whether he was finally going to get his answers, or about to go through the same pain all over again. As much as he wanted to think of you as a piece on the board, he never really could. He was so relieved when he heard you were alive. You remind him of Caeror more than he wants to admit.” I nod slowly. “He told me that, once.”

Awe

“I thought you were one of those. ‘Iunctii,’ Veridius calls them. Already dead, but… not. He warned me that there are more of them out there, and they’re not always like that. Not always obvious. They can move around. Even pretend to be the people they once were.”

What i want to know os hoe veridius knows alll this

“Vis?” Eidhin opens the cracked door wider in recognition. Dressed and fully awake, I’m pleased to see. He always did prefer to stay up late. My redheaded friend frowns out in wary puzzlement, then bends his hulking form aside to allow me through.

Wait! Isnt he bblonde?????

“No, Eidhin. No. I’m not alright.” There’s a massive hand on my shoulder. I look up to see Eidhin crouching in front of me. Eyes locked to mine. “Whatever you need,” he says quietly.

Besties <3