The Will of the Many (Hierarchy, #1)

by James Islington

And none of that’s a lie, but as the shackles on my mind fall away, I acknowledge that there’s another truth beneath it all.

This is the only place in the world where I don’t have to pretend to be friendly. Or dull. Or servile. Or weary.

steadily lengthening brown hair.

Even with the thick, wavy strands growing back, I barely recognise the hard and hollow face beneath them anymore.

“Then what happens to the Catenan cut?” “It gets sent to Caten.” I scoff. “It can’t have been much of a split, then.” We’re almost three thousand miles from the capital, and that’s with the Sea of Quus in between. The logistics would be a nightmare. Ulciscor just smiles.

And only those in the senatorial pyramids are allowed to use the title “Magnus.” Which makes Ulciscor one of the most powerful men in all the Hierarchy.

Diago.

She has smooth, light olive skin and bright green eyes. Straight brown hair cascades forward over her face as she grins sunnily at me through the strands. “Welcome.”

He’s the very image of handsome Catenan stock, with thick, fashionably tousled black hair and a jutting jawline. Intelligent brown eyes examine me curiously, but he doesn’t respond.

Her skin’s pale beneath a mass of curly auburn hair that hangs almost to her waist.

He’s in his mid-twenties. Handsome, with short, ruffled dirty-blond hair and thoughtful blue eyes. The white cloak of a physician is draped across his shoulders.

Sometimes I believe my resistance means something. Sometimes my anger keeps me warm as I tell myself that somehow, one day, I might figure out a way to repay the pain and loss I owe to Caten. It’s hard, when the lies that let you sleep are so cruelly laid bare.

Wavy black hair falls around

her face, and she’s wearing the reflective dark glasses of a Will user.

“What about the Correctors? Have they been administering more of their tests?” “They drew blood from Magnus Quintus Cerrus last week. He’s the only new one I heard about. But they said he wasn’t infected.”

Something changes, I think, when another person enters the room. There’s a new pressure in the air, a weight that’s subtly different from when you’re alone. I never noticed it at Suus, never thought anything of it as a child. But years of running have honed my perception of it. Heightened it into something instantly recognisable.

suus was Intensive.

Typo- Sus, intensive

Because they fear what we know. One of the last things my father said to me as we fled that night through the palace’s secret tunnels,

The power to protect is the highest of responsibilities, Diago. When a man is given it, his duty is not only to the people he thinks are worthy.

A jagged visual warping with Estevan firmly in its centre. My father’s former adviser is little more than a silhouette, still sitting, head bowed. The blurring agitation in the air makes him look like he’s phasing in and out of existence a hundred times a second.

You fight the tyranny of the many, or you are one of them.”

“ ‘Translation right. Obiteum lost. Luceum unknown.’ ”

Scintres Exunus worked. Gate still open. More strange pre-Cataclysm power. Only Veridius knows. It all matches.

“Callidus?” Veridius has spotted the figure too, sitting at a desk with head bowed in concentration. The boy starts at his name. He’s lithe and dark, with a thick mop of curly black hair and sharp features.

My age, but small by comparison.

The pale young man is enormous; his auburn hair is cropped short, though there’s also light red stubble along his jawline. That and his burly physique made him look older than I assume he must be.

There’s a feeling in the air, when someone’s about. An oncoming presence that I’ve always been able to sense in enough time to duck into the shelter of a doorway,

“Obiteum is lost. Do not open the gate. Synchronous is death. Obiteum is lost. Do not open the gate. Synchronous is death.”

“No.” Callidus isn’t angry, but his tone forestalls any argument. “I’ve said it before—he’s reacting the way he needs to react. I’m sure he realises what I’m doing, and is honouring the sacrifice by making sure it seems real. A year of being cut off is a small price to pay for the safety it brings.”

That is what separates us, Vis. There are those who see what should be, and complain that they do not get their due. And then there are those who see what is, and figure out how to use it to their advantage. Or at the least, overcome it.”

“That’s the problem with people, though, isn’t it? They always think that other people are the problem.” Quiet. Angry. “You want to remove the Princeps? The senators? You’ll just become them, sooner or later. If all you’re trying to do is change who’s in control, then you don’t really want to change anything.” I finish in a forceful, low growl. Letting her hear my disgust.

“You cannot be free if you are afraid to die.”

“What happens if I pass the test, Artemius?” I ask quietly. “You will go through the gate to Obiteum and Luceum. But not be allowed to remain here. Synchronism is reserved for leadership alone.”

I need to know if Dimidius Quiscil requisitions anything in that meeting. Anything.

The decision may have been made by the few, Diago, but it’s the Will of the many that killed your family.”

“Ships often get lost at sea, Dimidius,” agrees Ciserius. He sounds shaken. “The Navisalus is due for a voyage to Tensia. The crossing can be quite dangerous.”

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.

How is she here? I flinch as she seems to flicker, translucent for a heartbeat.

“I overheard something. At Suus.” I keep my gaze locked with his. “It sounded like he was assisting the Anguis with something. And if he’s heard that you’re planning to defect to Religion…” Indol blanches. “How did you know about that?” “Emissa told me.” I thought he’d already figured that out. “How did she know?” My heart skips a beat as I process the question. “She said you told her.” “She lied.”

“Relucia?” The man pauses, then laughs delightedly. “Oh, come now. She just does as she’s told. Our little revolutionary dreams too small for the likes of us, I fear.” My brow furrows. At the Festival of Pletuna, I thought Relucia was giving this man orders. But the way he’s speaking about her here is fondly condescending.

“You used Will,” I observe weakly. “We can talk about that later.” Emissa’s brisk as she takes her obsidian blade and deftly cuts away some of my tunic, hissing again as she sees the extent of the damage to my flesh. “We need to get you to…” She freezes.

“What?” I crane my neck down at where she’s staring, but can’t see anything. “What is it?” “Nothing.” Her voice is odd. She doesn’t look at me. She carefully replaces the folds of my tunic and then stands. Backs away a few steps. “Emissa?” I drag myself to my feet. “What’s wrong?” “You need to give me the Heart.” I snort a weak laugh, though my humour wilts when I see she’s serious. “We have more important things—” “I need it. I need to win the Iudicium.” She looks up, and to my disbelief, her eyes are black again. The obsidian dagger’s resting in her hand. “I can’t risk us getting separated. Please.”

She gazes at it without speaking, hair hanging over her face. Her chest heaves, and I realise that she’s sobbing. I take a step forward, concerned as well as confused now. “Emissa—” The dagger flies toward me. I flinch, but not enough. It buries itself in my stomach. There’s a moment of disbelief, where I almost don’t register the terrible burning in my gut. I let out a little gasp. Too stunned and hurt to do anything else as the dagger keeps pushing in. I pull at its hilt but it’s too strong. Drives me backward. Off the edge.

The Heart, still lying at Emissa’s feet, snaps back into my hand. I have just enough time to see Emissa’s tear-stained face jerk up in confusion before she vanishes from sight. I fall.

shiver as I remember the way it flew into my hand. I was flailing, reaching for anything that might stop me from falling, and it just… came.

My ability to sense other people without seeing them, and now this. My skin crawls. Something’s wrong with me. A result of whatever that place past the Labyrinth did to me last night, I assume. It’s the only explanation.

“You mourn your friend.” He cups my cheek in his hand. “But death is a doorway, Son. You will see him again. No one is ever truly lost.”

“Your blood’s been tainted, Vis. If the wrong people see it, they’ll kill you. So when I say I need you to be honest with me about what happened, I am not understating the situation.”

“We’re out of time. You’re going to need to trust me, Vis. Things are about to get very complicated. Tell the committee you want to join Religion. That you want to be an Imperator under Magnus Tertius Pileus. This isn’t anything to do with politics.” The words rush from his mouth. He pours all he has into them. “Please. We need your help avoiding the next Cataclysm.”

SEALED AGAINST THE TOOLS OF THE ENEMY AFTER THE RENDING. THE PASSAGE TO LUCEUM REQUIRES A TOLL TO ENSURE VALIDITY.