The Strength of the Few (Hierarchy, #2)

by James Islington

“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.” “Oh.” I don’t really know how else to respond. Gaze around again as I collect my thoughts. Qabr is reminiscent of the Necropolis in a lot of ways. Not maintained, though. Far less grand. The painted images are faded and cracked. Some entrances have carved symbols above them but more than a few of those have been scratched off, completely defaced. Where they have not, I can see the script is rudimentary, functional more than artistic. “So that was Will. Gods. When you said its effects were different, here…” I laugh awkwardly. Still not really believing what I’m implying. “I know. It’s hard to grasp, at first.” Caeror’s sympathetic response confirms it anyway. “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. In this case, as long as you can give enough Will to account for someone’s injury—and little enough time’s passed that their mind is still intact—they wake up a iunctus.”

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