The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)

THE SUN’S NOT YET EVEN lightening the horizon when there’s a crisp knock. Before I can properly wake and without my invitation, lamplight from the hall is spilling through the doorway, interrupted only by Lanistia’s silhouette.

“I hope you got some sleep.” She’s still wearing those reflective dark glasses of hers, despite the pre-dawn dim outside. “Time to get started.”

“Now?” I prop myself up on an elbow and give my pillow a bleary, longing glance.

“Now.” She leaves, clearly expecting me to follow.

I groan, but—remembering how Ulciscor emphasised her authority over me here, and then that he left assessing my suitability for the Academy entirely in her hands—enjoin my aching body to roll out of bed, drag some clothes on, and trudge after her.

All’s quiet in the villa. I’m not sure how early it is, but everyone appears to still, sensibly, be fast asleep. We head downstairs and across an open courtyard to the eastern wing of the house, the short walk in the cool morning air enough to clear my head. Soon enough, we’re settling into a private office, shelves of books lining the wall. Lanistia sits in a chair facing me. Her hands are clasped and she leans forward, features thrown into sharp relief by the lamp burning between us.

“Ulciscor says you’re quite well-educated, given your background.” She manages to make the first part doubtful and the second mistrustful. “He also says you’re lacking in some areas. We need to determine which ones.”

I resist a mild surge of annoyance. Remind myself again that based on what I overheard last night, I need to impress this woman. “Alright.”

Lanistia pushes back some stray strands of long dark hair that are brushing her cheeks. Takes a breath.

Starts.

The next three hours are a blur. Where Ulciscor probed, Lanistia bludgeons. I’m guessing at the mechanics of a Will-powered vehicle, then explaining my understanding of the historical legal areas of control between the three senatorial pyramids, then interpreting the philosophical musings of Arinus against current Catenan provincial policies—all within the space of minutes. Answers she likes earn a grunt and a quick change of topic. Those she doesn’t—which are uncomfortably many—get assaulted, abused, dissected. If I present a flawed argument it’s not just refuted, it’s bloodied meat thrown to rabid wolves. Any trace of sleepiness has vanished after the first ten minutes. I’m dizzy after an hour. Barely able to think at all, by the end.

But end it does, eventually, just as the sun’s crept far enough above the horizon to pour clean light through the east-facing window. I finish answering a question, and Lanistia stands.

“Are we… done?” I ask cautiously.

She inspects me from behind those glasses. I’m beginning to suspect she never takes them off. “Yes.”

“So.” I shift in my chair. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Lanistia extinguishes the low-burning lamp. “I think Ulciscor has been hasty in adopting you. I think he has severely overestimated your abilities. Perhaps he’s seen something in you that I do not, but you are not ready for the Academy. Not even close. And I am not sure that I can make you so within the next two months.”

My jaw clenches as I fight the instinct to react. The words cut. My tutors at Suus tended to be effusive about my ability to learn, but I’ve always wondered how much of that enthusiasm came from my status, rather than my results.

“But what do you really think? Be honest, now.”

Lanistia’s expression doesn’t even twitch. “Quips aren’t going to help you.” She’s stepping over to the bookshelf as she says it, running a finger along spines until she finds the title she’s looking for. She repeats the process twice, then dumps the collected tomes in my lap. “These will. They cover your weakest areas. Read them. Thoroughly. We’ll revisit these topics tomorrow and see whether you’re actually capable of learning.”

“You want me to get through these today?” I try not to sound aghast. I’m already exhausted, and none of the books look like light work.

“Problem?”

“No.” A defiant lie. “But I was hoping to talk to Ulciscor today.”

“He’s not here.”

“Where is he?”

“At the moment? Attending to some concerns of the clients he received this morning. But after that, he will be returning to Caten.” She shrugs in response to my consternation. “He is a member of the Senate. He still has to submit his report about the attack on the Transvect, and officially announce his adoption of you, among other things.”

It’s a deflection. Ulciscor wasn’t expecting to leave so soon.

“When will he be back?” I growl the words. He told me that I could trust Lanistia, but I don’t know her. And perhaps more tellingly, if I’m being honest, I don’t like her much.

“When he’s done.” Matter of fact rather than dismissive, though it’s hard not to take it that way.

I say nothing. Lanistia doesn’t seem the type to give ground if I dispute her claim.

She takes my silence as submission. “Kadmos will come to check your bandages later. And there’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

She leaves without anything further.

I glower after her, but the reminder that I haven’t yet eaten drags me into action. The kitchen is bustling this time, but no one stops me from piling a plate with wheat pancakes topped with dates and honey. I cart food and books back to my room. There’s no point trying to poke around the villa anymore while it’s light.

Outside my window, the sun is a warm, sleepy gold as it presses higher over the rolling green hills. Octavii are already toiling, though they seem happy enough; the sound of laughter echoes up to me as a group nearby chats amiably while they work.

I glare out over it all, chewing grimly. Ulciscor’s absence is a problem. I was counting on at least one more conversation with the Quintus before he left, hoping to negotiate some freedoms for the month ahead. Nothing major—a small stipend, the ability to stretch my legs as far as the nearest village on occasion—but things that would establish me as a real Telimus, not a prisoner in all but name. The sort of manifest trust I could commute into a trip to Caten for the Festival of Jovan, and thus the naumachia.

Lanistia, I can already tell, is not going to agree to anything like that. But it seems that I’m stuck with her now.

I sigh, and start reading.

The books are well-chosen, I admit begrudgingly after a while, covering a breadth of knowledge that I’ve not previously had access to. My weariness fades. The Letens Bibliotheca was a wealth of information, but my time there was still self-directed—still by necessity building on existing competencies, not creating new ones. These tomes are revealing entirely different areas of education. Things I could never have even known to investigate.

Kadmos announces himself around mid-morning, checking my wound and applying a cream. A brownish one, this time, which tingles where it touches the gash.

“This salve will itch, but it will speed the healing process faster than anything else,” he explains as he works. “Even so—you’re going to feel some discomfort for at least a week or two, and Sextus Lanistia says that you need full mobility straight away. So starting tomorrow morning, I’ll have a tea brewed for you to drink twice a day. You’ll have to be careful while you train, but it will numb the pain, keep you focused. Just be aware that it will take a toll once it wears off at night.”

“What’s in the tea?”

“Some lionweed. Sana extract. A very small amount of voluptasia. Other things.” Kadmos starts rebandaging me, then pauses as I shift uneasily. Softens, just slightly. “I do know what I’m about, Master Vis—I’ve been the Telimus physician for near thirty years. It won’t do any harm, as long it’s not for an extended period.”

I reluctantly accept the statement. I have a vague recollection of voluptasia being dangerous in high dosages, but if I know the name, then it must have medicinal properties too. I don’t recognise the other ingredients. Still, the pain in my side and shoulder has already been distracting me today, and that’s just while I’ve been sitting. If there’s something that can help me push through, I’ll take it.

Kadmos soon leaves, and I resume my reading. Outside the window, the sun crests and then begins its descent; by the time I register its progress, the lengthening shadows suggest it’s well into the afternoon. I consider, and then discard, the idea of taking a break. I’m making good progress through the texts, but not quickly enough to relax.

And besides—as strange as it is to admit, I’m enjoying myself.

It’s not that the subject matter is easy—far from it—but a whole day of just this? Fed and warm and engaged, rather than working my fingers to the bone for Matron Atrox? It’s like my stolen hours at the Bibliotheca, but better. The closest I’ve come to reliving my old life in a long, long time.

Kadmos briefly intrudes to deliver a dinner tray just as I’m lighting the lamps, dusk fading to a clear, starry night outside. The evening’s tranquil, breeze still holding hints of warmth as it rustles the curtains before whispering through the empty vineyards and fields below. A sliver of moon has made its way into the sky by the time I close the last of the three books. My vision’s started to blur—from extended concentration, as much as physical weariness—but I think I understand the basics of what I’ve read, now. At least enough to pass whatever test Lanistia has planned for me in the morning.

I blow out the lamps and collapse onto the bed. Unconsciousness greets me eagerly.

It can’t be more than minutes later when I wake. Alert.

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.

I fling myself desperately to the side as something heavy and violent thumps against the mattress. The room is dim, lit only by silver seeping past the still-open curtains, but I can see the outline of my attacker. I lash out with my leg as I lurch off the bed, weight and momentum behind the strike. There’s a soft grunt and the looming form staggers back a step, but my bare foot feels as though it’s hit brick.

A Will user, then. Not good.

I scramble backward, trying to regain my feet. My injured side burns at the unwelcome movement. The dark shape recovers and launches at me. I roll away again, snatching up a sandal from the floor as I tumble and flinging it behind me, hoping to cause the intruder at least a moment’s distraction. I can’t win this fight. I need to get out.

The figure’s in between me and the door. I sprint for the window. Too slow. Air explodes from my lungs as an iron grip takes me, slams me back to the floor. Then my assailant is straddling me. Hand around my throat. I can’t move. Can barely breathe.

“What are the three types of refined Conditional relationships of Will?”

I’m frozen. Uncomprehending. “Lanistia?” It comes out as a disbelieving croak.

The grip on my throat tightens. “Answer.” It’s her voice. A growl, but her voice.

“Sub-harmonic, managed, and… causal,” I wheeze, not knowing what else to do. I should be relieved, but I’m not feeling that way. Ulciscor’s confidante isn’t going to kill me.

Right?

There’s no reaction to my response, at least none that I can see. Lanistia’s face is shrouded by darkness.

“What is Caten’s most important area of innovation in the past hundred years?”

“Agriculture.”

“Why?”

“Can you just—”

“Answer.” The grip on my throat tightens enough that I’m not sure I’ll be able to.

“Because it’s key to population.” I give a rasping cough. “The agricultural advancements of the two-twenties allowed for a massive increase in food production, which in turn allowed for the population explosion created by government incentives.”

The questions continue. Rapid-fire, no indication of whether I’m answering correctly. Like this morning’s exhausting session with the woman, but infinitely more stressful. My injuries ache with no respite. Every time I struggle, or refuse to respond, or try to question what’s happening, I’m pressed down. Slapped, once, hard enough that everything spins afterward. It’s humiliating. Infuriating. Terrifying.

After a minute, though, it’s easy enough to see the pattern. A few unrelated questions sprinkled in, but concentrated around the books I read today. Once I can focus in on that detail, things become more manageable. This is a test, albeit one that’s making me by turns rattled and furious.

I answer a final question. There’s a heartbeat, that hold on my throat unrelenting. Then it loosens. The weight on my chest vanishes.

I roll onto my side, rasping and hacking my relief. There’s motion off in the darkness, and then the gentle light of a lamp.

I slowly sit up straight, feeling at my side to check the wound there hasn’t torn open and glaring balefully. Lanistia is standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Expressionless. Still wearing those gods-damned dark glasses.

“What in all hells?” I snarl the words, though their effectiveness is dampened by the hoarseness of my voice. “Why?” My hands ball into fists. I haven’t felt this helpless in years.

I hate her for reminding me of what it’s like.

“I needed to test your recall under pressure.”

“You needed to attack me to do that? While I’m rotting injured?”

“Your physical state is irrelevant.” She’s gallingly composed about it. “Ulciscor had doubts about your temperament; I can help prepare you intellectually for the Academy, but not emotionally. And if you’re not ready for the latter, then I’m wasting my time on the former. So I had to see.”

“It’s a gods-damned school,” I spit. “Check my back. There’s nothing more they can do to me.”

Lanistia reaches a hand to her face. Removes her glasses.

I falter.

Where her eyes should be are two white-scarred and empty sockets. I look away on polite instinct, then force my gaze back. She doesn’t have any trouble making her way around, doesn’t seem crippled by her lack. How?

“This is a small part of what the Academy took from me.” She replaces her glasses, and I notice her hand trembles almost imperceptibly as she does so. “There is always something more to lose, Vis.”

I bite my lip. I have so many more questions now, but I’m tired, and sore, and still disoriented, and partly just grateful that Lanistia’s assault on me appears to be over. I give a single, sharp nod of acquiescence.

Lanistia seems able to see it. “Good. Sleep. We’ll begin your lessons at dawn.” She turns for the door.

“Did I get the questions right?” I want to know that much, at least.

“If you hadn’t, I would have kept squeezing.”

She leaves.