The Will of the Many (Hierarchy, #1)

by James Islington

I AM DANGLING, AND IT is only my father’s blood-slicked grip around my wrist that stops me from falling.

“Courage,” he whispers. He pours heartbreak and hope into the word. He lets go.

I’ve been working here almost a year longer than him, so he’s wondering again whether my mind is losing its edge. Like his has been for a while, now.

Hrolf knows his work, but here among the Sappers it pays to check things twice.

More importantly, I have to hope that whatever his purpose here, it will draw no attention to me.

“You. You’re nicer than the others. Gentler. I know. I know, because being on this slab isn’t like sleeping. It’s worse. You’re almost asleep. All the time. But awake enough to recognise that things are happening. You know your mind should move faster. You know the world is passing you by.”

I’ve never ceded before—never once allowed my Will to be taken at one of the Aurora Columnae scattered around the Republic.

I don’t offer any words of thanks for his concern. Part of me wants to. But then I remember that if he knew my real name, this seemingly humane grey-haired man would see me dead just as quickly as anyone else.

I’ve never spoken to her, but she’s been here for every fight over the past two weeks. Quietly asking around about me. Gaufrid thinks it’s romantic. I’m concerned she’s recognised something about me.

I realise she’s seeing my back for the first time. The terrible mass of scars upon scars upon scars. It doesn’t matter. I doubt she knows what they mean, and I have no intention of sharing.

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

CHAIN YOUR ANGER IN THE dark, my mother used to tell me, and it will only thrive.

“Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds.” I look at him quizzically. “That’s how long your fight lasted. And then you won. Seeing an Octavus beating a Sextus? That was a damned fine thing. A damned fine thing.”

It’s only a glimpse—the impression of a face—but I’m certain. It’s the man from the prison last night. Hospius.

More knowledge meant more ways to hide. More avenues to survival.

I walk back to the matron. She looks old, smaller and more tired than I can ever remember seeing her. It doesn’t matter, when I think about the scars on my back. I lean forward so that my whisper carries to her ear. “I’m going to come back one day.” There’s no trace of anger in my voice. Just promise.

Before Caten was the capital of the world, it was the capital of Deditia. But it’s been three years, and the official story is that I’m dead. No one is looking for me anymore, if they ever were.

“They say that young men know they will die, but only old men believe it. For some reason, I don’t think that’s true of you, Vis. I hope it’s not.”

I’ve never considered myself blind to their power, but this is something else. I can’t calculate the city’s size; I can’t see its end.

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.

STRONGER TOGETHER. It’s the great lie of the Hierarchy, proclaimed generation after generation by an ever-growing mob in thrall to the concept. Part of me understands why. There’s a power to the phrase, an allure. It promises inclusion. Protection. Comradery. Common purpose. Belonging. But you never have to look far to see its hypocrisy laid bare.

Aequa’s put out that I’m not just agreeing with her, as most everyone else here would. Describing Caten as “the greatest city” is supposed to be small talk. Not even rhetoric. Like describing the clear sky as blue.

The statue’s twenty feet tall, marble and beautifully crafted, incongruous to its surroundings. Created using Will, no doubt. Religious symbols are required to be by law.

“Hate is its own violence, my prince. Your only choice is whether to let it hurt them, or you.”

But like everything else, the Hierarchy dangles it. Always a way up, even for the condemned. Always a way out from under the misery they’ve heaped on you, if you work hard enough. Fight hard enough. Take your chances.

And every person in that section—four, maybe five thousand people—explodes as one into a sickening, violent haze of crimson mist.

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.

“Silence is a statement, Diago. Inaction picks a side. And when those lead to personal benefit, they are complicity.”

His grip abruptly tightens. Then in one savage, sharp motion, he’s twisting and thrusting the stylus upward, through his neck and deep into his brain.

There was an accident, and the girl Caeror was with had been terribly, permanently injured—was probably going to die. Caeror had blamed himself.

But it’s the fourth that captures my gaze. A giant black pyramid set against towering waves. It’s not exactly what I saw, in that uncanny second before I reached Estevan. But it’s close enough.

“They sent someone else to attend to you?” Kadmos is offended by the concept.

There is nothing anyone can glean from dead skin and a little dried blood.”

LOL me remembering yet again this book is ancient greece core, rip modern medicine #science #isnt #real

Then he rises and turns, uncinching his tunic and raising it so that I can see his back. “We all have them, young master,” he says quietly. “Or did you think you were the only one to ever refuse the Aurora Columnae?”

“There comes a point in every man’s life where he can rail against the unfairness of the world until he loses, or he can do his best in it. Remain a victim, or become a survivor.”

There’s some part of me that was forged into steel after Suus, I think—some part of me that knows exactly how to wall off memories that would otherwise tear me apart.

“Nervousness means there’s a fear to be faced ahead, Diago. The man who is never nervous, never does anything hard. The man who is never nervous, never grows.”

Then all’s quiet. In the distance, I hear waves crashing against the shore somewhere far below. I close my eyes, but Suus is there. It takes me a long time to sleep.

I remember our brief encounter earlier, and something clicks. “Take the second left ahead and come back this way!” I roar the command. But this time, I do it in Cymrian.

The red-headed boy still doesn’t crack a smile, but the way he stands is close to companionable. “I enjoyed that,” he murmurs in Cymrian, staring straight ahead. I feel the corners of my mouth tick upward, though I try to keep a blank face too.

A fair system only works if there’s an unbiased means of assessing merit. When there is no pride or selfishness involved.” He gives a soft snort, shaking his head. “Which means that fair systems cannot exist where people are involved.”

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

I lay a hand gently on the alupi’s head. Smooth its coarse hair back. It twitches, but its eyes don’t open. I have no idea whether it will ever wake. I leave it wrapped in my cloak.

“Who died?” I ask lightly as I sit, cocking an eyebrow at the rest of the room. “Feriun.” Callidus nods sagely as he watches my reaction. “That’s right. You’re a terrible person.”

As awful as it is, this will mean I move on to Class Five. Realistically, it might have been the only way it could have happened. Relucia would have known that, too.

The third time, I beat him. I don’t lose again for the rest of the evening.

“Good luck tomorrow. I’ll be cheering for you.” She peels off toward the girls’ dormitory, waving casually without looking back. It takes me a moment to realise she said it in Cymrian.

“It’s by the sea?” “It’s on the sea.” Indol beams. “A little island called Suus. Don’t worry. You’ll love it.”

The weak and poor endure in the Hierarchy because the alternatives are harder, not because there are none.

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