The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)
The Will of the Many: Part 1 – Chapter 15

THE TRAINING AREA IN FRONT of me—if that’s actually what it is—is like nothing I have ever seen.

We’ve descended through several Will-locked doors into some sort of basement beneath the eastern wing of the villa. Lanistia is lighting torches on the near wall; every time she does, dozens more immediately sputter to life farther away, revealing more of the cavernous room. It’s at least two hundred feet wide, maybe five times as long. Most of it, though, is comprised of an enormous pit. Only a fifteen-foot-wide stone platform—on which we’re standing—hugs the wall at our height, encircling the deep sub-level.

It’s the area below that commands my attention, though. The flickering orange light reveals hundreds of rough-cut stone walls criss-crossing the vast space. My eyes try to trace a path through the twisting passageways formed. They can’t.

“What is this?” My voice echoes.

“Something that will help.” Lanistia keeps lighting torches.

There’s a shelf cut into the wall, on which sits a laden leather bag and what looks like a long, heavily studded bracer. Strange. I wander closer to examine it.

“Don’t touch anything.”

I scowl. Almost all the torches are burning, but her back’s turned. Can she see me, despite that? I reach for the bracer.

“I mean it.”

I pull my hand back, satisfied at the tiny victory. Good to know.

Lanistia finishes her task. The torches around the edges of the room are bright and evenly spaced, their smoke filtering out through some sort of ventilation in the ceiling. A bewildering sea of shadowed stone now glowers below.

“It’s called the Labyrinth. It’s a replica of a training device at the Academy.” Lanistia comes to stand at my shoulder.

“Why do you have one here?”

“For training.”

I draw a breath, then just exhale again, turning to stare at her balefully.

“Your arrival was a surprise, Vis, but not the fact that we were going to have to prepare someone.” Her gaze is focused out over the torch-lit pit, hands clasped behind her back. “And this is considered the most effective test for deciding how well someone will be able to handle Will. You can be the smartest and strongest student in that school, but if you can’t show a high level of competence at the Labyrinth, you won’t progress far enough to be useful.”

I frown down at the ocean of walls. “How does it work?”

Lanistia beckons me over to the shelf, picking up the bracer and displaying it to me.

If it is a bracer, it’s unlike any I’ve seen before. A leather base is surrounded by three pieces of thin grey stone; arrayed across those are perfectly cut circles of what appear to be onyx, each one smaller than a fingernail. There have to be close to twenty of the strange studs on each strip. It’s unwieldly looking, to say the least.

Lanistia straps it to her arm, then points to a section of the Labyrinth below, about fifty feet away. “Watch.”

She touches one of the onyx studs, and slides it a mere fraction to the left.

It happens so fast that it takes me a second to understand. There’s a grinding sound; a section of wall in the direction Lanistia indicated abruptly moves, slamming to the side and instantly opening a new pathway, even as it blocks another.

I survey the section of Labyrinth that just changed, then glance back at the dark-haired woman’s left arm.

“So these stones are Will-locked to sections down there, somehow. To pieces of the wall,” I posit, trying to puzzle it out. “You can rearrange the layout as you want?”

“There are limitations, but yes. Each control stone is locked to a specific panel. The symbol here shows which one.” She lifts the bracer toward me, and I lean closer to see three horizontal slashes on the stone she just used. Sure enough, the same symbol is etched large on the section that just moved down below. “You can also reorient panels, like this.” She carefully twists the black circle, and the six-foot-wide slab below snaps violently into a perpendicular position, neatly cutting off the corridor it had previously helped form.

I frown down at the maze. There are at least fifty onyx stones on Lanistia’s bracer, and presumably a matching number of the myriad different symbols that I can see carved into sections of wall. “How does it work?” I know my understanding of Will is still limited, but most of the Hierarchy’s inventions are at least somewhat comprehensible. Like the Transvect—the implementation’s far from simple, but I can see how it could function.

This… this seems like something far more complex.

“The mechanics are too difficult to explain, at your level of education. All you need to know is that it does.”

I bite back a snide retort. There’s nothing personal in her tone. And given that I genuinely can’t guess at the systems in play here, she may well be right.

“So what’s its purpose?”

“In the Academy, it’s a contest. Whoever wears this has to make it from one end of the Labyrinth to the other, while other students team up to try and stop them—some run the maze, others act as spotters around the sides.” Lanistia unbuckles the bracer and offers it to me. “But even if we had the bodies, you’re not ready for that yet. Here and now, we’re just going to concentrate on you learning how to manipulate the walls properly—and even that is probably going to take a while. So put this on and wait for me to talk you through it.”

I fumble it even with the expected weight, and then cinch it onto my left arm, grimacing at the faint pull on my shoulder. It feels like… well. It feels like my forearm’s encased in stone, I suppose. With an effort, I bring the bracer up for a better look at the onyx pieces on it. Every circle has a symbol scored into its surface, abstract but easily identifiable. I replace the stone with the three horizontal lines that Lanistia used. “Doesn’t seem too complicated.”

“Don’t—”

I nudge the stone to the left.

There’s a screeching sound as the panel below shivers, trembles. The stone I’m pressing against suddenly burns; there’s a scorching flash against my skin and then the onyx shatters, my forefinger sliding across a newly jagged edge. I yell in surprised pain, snatching back my hand and shaking it furiously. Bright red droplets arc through the air as the broken stone detaches from the bracer, clattering to the ground.

“Idiot.” Lanistia grabs my hand, holding it steady as she examines the cut. “Idiot.”

I grimace, but take both the examination and reproof in silence. I’m already inwardly muttering far worse curses at myself.

“It’s deep.” Lanistia takes a wad of cloth from her pocket—I’m not sure what its original purpose was—and jams it, none too gently, against my finger. “You need to listen to me.”

“Maybe I would, if you weren’t so gods-damned condescending all the time.” I snap the words. Angry again. I was too hasty, but it doesn’t mean I have to take her constant disdain.

“Because I’m realistic about your abilities? I’m not going to coddle you.”

I take over the application of the cloth from her, trying not to make it a petulant act. “I don’t want to be coddled, and I don’t want you to lie. I’ll listen, I’ll work hard. I’ll take Kadmos’s rotting tea to push through these injuries. I accept that I need to improve.” The words are ash in my mouth, but I’ve seen my father win arguments too many times to give in to touchiness. “When you remind me of it every few sentences, though, it just makes me want to prove you wrong. So maybe judge me when I do something that needs to be judged?”

“Like just now?”

I hold her gaze, then can’t help but give a soft snort and look away as I shake my head, my anger dissipating beneath the beginnings of an unwilling smile. “Like just now.” I wrap the cloth tighter around my seeping finger, ignoring the burn that follows. “Sorry.”

“Happens to everyone, eventually.” Lanistia’s gruff, but in a mollified sort of way. “Come on. We need to stitch that up.”

We head back to the stairwell. She doesn’t say anything else, but it feels like some of the tension, the unconscious aggression that I thought was just part of her character, has eased from her posture.

I squeeze my wounded finger. Could be my imagination, too.

Time will tell.

I’VE HAD STITCHES PLENTY OF times over the years. Lanistia doesn’t have the touch of a royal surgeon, but she’s deft and surprisingly gentle as she slides the needle in and out of my flesh.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Younger brothers.” It’s said absently, her focus on my wound.

I brighten, seizing on the scrap of personal information. “How many do you have?”

There’s a sting and I flinch away as the needle stabs too deep, Lanistia faltering. Or maybe jabbing me. “Enough.” Something in her tone tells me not to pursue it.

I glance down at my injury. It’s a bad gash, deep, running from the tip of my forefinger down to the second knuckle. There’s copious amounts of blood. I’m lucky Kadmos’s tea is still at work. I reluctantly offer my hand back to her, then focus on her face rather than the wound. Her black glasses mirror the light streaming through the window.

“You must be able to see fairly well, to do this,” I observe cautiously.

Lanistia doesn’t respond for a second, and I think she’s going to ignore me again.

“When I focus, I can.” It’s partly an irritated rebuke to the question, but she takes a breath and continues. “If I use Will to concentrate on something in particular, I can see it perfectly. Every detail, and from every angle. Far better than someone with regular eyesight could.”

“But?” There’s clearly a “but.”

“But when I do that, I can’t see anything else. Or I can, but it all moves in flashes.” She hesitates, needle hovering above my forefinger as she searches for the words. “Imagine that you have to keep your eyes closed, but you can open them for a moment every second or so. Like a very slow, constant blink. That’s how everything looks to me right now, except for the area around your hand.” She’s matter of fact about it, but there’s discomfort beneath the statement. She’s not used to talking about this.

“Sounds like it would be distracting.”

“You get used to it.” Closing off the topic. She resumes her needlework, neatly adding the last couple of stitches and tying the thread. “There. You’ll have to be careful of it for the next week or so, but it will heal.”

“Thanks.”

She nods curtly. “Listen to me next time.”

I accept the reprimand, and at a silent agreement we start back toward the east wing of the villa. It’s mid-afternoon, the hallways shady and cool and quiet. I glimpse a couple of Octavii hurrying about some task or other in the distance, but no one else.

“So the control stones can shatter if you try to move a wall into a position it’s not meant to go,” Lanistia says abruptly, breaking the hush between us.

“Sounds like something I should be careful of.”

“Mm-hm.” There’s a pause, and then, “Using the bracer requires absolute precision. Even if you’d moved that stone in the right direction, they’re easy to push too far. Or not far enough. Or at a slightly wrong angle. Any of those things can cause a transference into the control stone. That won’t usually break it—you really need to push it in the wrong place for that to happen—but it will make it fall off, stop it from operating until a reset. Which is as good as an automatic loss at the Academy,” she adds.

I think about the difficulty of sprinting through the Labyrinth, trying to accurately manipulate the bracer as I try to both make my own path and evade pursuers. “So these contests. They’re really that important?”

“You need memory, logic, speed, precision, and physical strength to win one. Not to mention the ability to split your focus between multiple problems at once. For higher-ranked Will use, those qualities are all key. And the Academy puts a lot of stock in the results.” We start crossing the courtyard. “So, yes. They’re that important.”

“But surely there are better ways to test those things.”

“Individually? Maybe. But together…” She splays her hands. “I was sceptical too, at first, but competing in the Labyrinth does feel exactly like using Will. I tell Ulciscor the same thing all the time. It’s just hard to explain.”

“Ulciscor doesn’t know from experience?”

“The Labyrinth wasn’t around when he was at the Academy. He’s old.” There’s the ghost of affection in her tone, though it vanishes immediately. “It only came in when…”

She trails off as a figure appears in the doorway ahead of us.

“Injured yourself again, young master?” Kadmos puffs the words as he approaches, the stout man carrying a crate of something evidently heavy. He stops just ahead of us, giving a groan of effort as he sets the unwieldy box on the ground, then wiping a rivulet of sweat from his nose.

“Sparring accident. Cut himself on a rock. Nothing serious,” says Lanistia, chiming in before I can speak.

“Not the best start.”

“No,” Lanistia agrees. “I’m glad we ran into you, Kadmos. Did the Magnus Quintus speak to you about Vis’s education?”

“He did, Sextus.”

“I’d like you to start tomorrow morning.”

Kadmos gives an acknowledging bow to the two of us. “Where might I be able to replace you, Master Vis, in the meantime? I was hoping to take a measure for your new clothing earlier, but no one knew your whereabouts.”

Lanistia replies again before I can open my mouth. “We were at the Magnus Quintus’s training ground. We’ll come and replace you when we’re done.” Distinctly a dismissal.

“Ah.” Kadmos bows again, a few stringy strands of hair falling over his eyes. His gaze flicks between us, then he bends and lifts his cargo again with a grunt. “I look forward to it. Until then, young master. Sextus.” He trundles off, breathing heavily at his renewed exertion.

We continue on into the eastern wing. I glance across at Lanistia once we’re out of earshot. “Training ground?”

“I should have said earlier. The Labyrinth isn’t exactly something we’re supposed to have, here. Ulciscor had several people break a writ of Silencium to get the plans. Kadmos, the rest of the staff—they don’t know about it. No one does except you, me, and Ulciscor.”

I process the statement. “So it’s meant to be exclusive to the Academy,” I conclude. “We’re cheating?”

“The other students already have several months’ head start on you. This is giving you a chance to catch up.” She sees my look, shrugs. “Yes. We’re cheating. You need the advantage.”

I acknowledge the assertion, barely feeling more than a flicker of irritation at it this time. “How in the gods’ names did you build it without anyone knowing?”

“Slowly. We had to source the stone without raising questions, so we bought it from different suppliers, different regions. Had it shipped on roundabout routes. Took months.” She unlocks the outer door to the Labyrinth, and we start down the stairs.

I almost laugh. I was talking about the manpower to construct this massive cellar—but of course, the Magnus Quintus would be more than capable of doing that by himself. “Seems like a lot of effort.”

“It was. Don’t waste it.”

We emerge onto the platform overlooking the enormous maze. The torches are all still lit, the bracer sitting on the ground where I left it. I take care not to bump any of the stones as I pick it up, inspecting the gap where the one I pushed broke. “How do we fix this?”

Lanistia moves over to the shelf it was originally on, dipping into the leather bag there and pulling out a circular piece of onyx. Then she joins me again. Holds the stone between thumb and forefinger, and positions it over the empty space on the bracer.

She doesn’t move, but the onyx is suddenly sucked from her grip, snapping into place. I flinch. There’s a scratching, grinding sound, and the smell of burning drifts to my nostrils as the surface of the stone begins to change, three horizontal slashes gradually etching themselves into its surface.

“Gods’ graves. How…”

“I told you. Beyond your level of education.”

I tear my gaze from the newly engraved stone. “How much Will does all of this take to run?”

“A lot.” Lanistia stares implacably at me and when I stare back, she grunts. “I’ll make you a deal. As soon as you’ve mastered the Labyrinth, I’ll fill your head with all the irrelevant details of how it works. Sound good?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.” She smiles tightly. “Let’s get to work.”

AFTER TWO HOURS OF PRACTICING, I’m beginning to understand why Lanistia was so comfortable offering me her compromise.

Hazy torchlight shifts and flickers against the stone panels, many of which now show ugly scores along their faces. It’s cool down here, isolated as we are from the baking sun, but my palms are damp. Tension cramps my hands. My cut finger, and side, and shoulder, all pulse with a dull ache. I think Kadmos’s tea is wearing off.

“Try using the double triangle to shut off the left passage.” Lanistia has her arms crossed, focusing expectantly down over the Labyrinth. Doesn’t even look toward me.

My eyes and hand rove uncertainly over the bracer for a full three seconds before replaceing the stone with the corresponding symbol. Every muscle is taut. I slow my breathing. Assess where the corresponding panel is below, where it needs to go. Check my orientation. Allow myself a hopeful heartbeat.

Then I shift the onyx about a quarter-inch to the left. A quick, decisive movement. The only way it will work.

Juddering resistance. An awful, shivering shriek. Sparks fly below as stone scrapes madly along stone. The sound echoes away almost as immediately as it began, the panel motionless again the moment I jerk my hand away. A fine cloud of dust rises from that section of the Labyrinth, reddish in the torchlight. Only the skittering sound of the stone falling from my bracer breaks the abrupt hush.

“Rotting damned gods.” I step back. I’ve contained my frustration to this point, but the dam is breaking. “This is impossible.”

It’s too exacting. That tiny movement needs to be angled perfectly—no tremor, not a breath to one side or the other throughout the entire motion. Otherwise, the mistake is magnified a hundredfold down below. The panel being manipulated smashes into one wall or another. Things break.

And this is while I’m standing still. Concentrating with everything I have.

“It’s your first day.” Lanistia hasn’t moved, though she is frowning at the dissipating cloud below. It’s reflected in her glasses.

“So most students are this bad to start with?” I’m somewhere between bitter and hopeful with the question.

“No.” Lanistia finally glances my way. “But precision is key to manipulating Will, so most students have already trained for years to hone these sorts of skills. You’re no prodigy, but your progress so far isn’t cause for despair, either.”

I study her. There’s no warmth to her tone or sympathy in her posture. No attempt to pacify me that I can see.

I exhale. Bring my arm up again.

“Good. Diamond and square to open the fourth row.” Lanistia’s already gazing back out over the maze. “Don’t overthink it.”

I quickly assess the relative position of the panel to its destination, then locate the stone. Push.

The panel with the diamond and square engraved on it slides along its corridor. There’s a squealing grind until it stops in place. As intended.

The onyx still falls from the bracer, but I suppress a smile this time.

“Better.” Lanistia is watching the puff of dust rising from the right-hand side of the passageway. She sounds more alert than before. Surprised. “Still not good enough, obviously, but… better. Now, open up a route to the centre.”

I take a breath longer to enjoy my small victory, then comply. The attempt ends like almost all the ones previous. The screeching and crashing from below doesn’t set my teeth on edge quite as badly, though.

I just need to keep practicing.