The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)
The Will of the Many: Part 3 – Chapter 66

I’VE LEARNED TO MANAGE FEAR, over the past few years. Accept its lurking presence. Sleep despite its slinking touch. Strangle it down deep when I need to.

It’s different, tonight, forging my way through the forest in the thin moonlight. There’s a nervousness that grinds in my chest, sharpening every time I remember where I’m headed. The more I try not to think of the Remnants and the way they tore Artemius apart, the more the images slip into my consciousness. My steps grow leaden. I think of a thousand tales I might tell Ulciscor in place of actually going.

But I know that none but the truth will satisfy him. It’s the only way I’m able to force one foot in front of the other.

I’m confident in my navigation skills, but it’s still more than an hour before I reach the river that demarcates the boundary of the Iudicium. I pause on its eastern shore, staring across. It’s not terribly wide, perhaps a hundred feet, but it’s fast-moving and the current strong. Swimming an unknown like this, alone and at night, is not something I’d normally attempt.

And once I’m across, if something happens to me, I won’t be found. No one will think to look for me in Solivagus’s western quarter.

There are no options, though. No better choices. I strip off, carefully tucking everything into my satchel. Then I head down to the water.

It’s icy, probably flowing down from one of the taller peaks on the island; I brace myself against the sharp cold, teeth clenching as I sink past the reeds, soft riverside mud squelching between my toes. I press on, submersing my body as quickly as possible while holding my satchel above the waterline. I don’t anticipate I can make it to the other side with it completely dry, but nor can I afford to have sodden clothes for the rest of the evening.

I wasn’t wrong about the current, but I make the other side with few issues, my bag dripping but its contents largely unscathed. I’m probably five hundred feet farther downriver than where I started, but that doesn’t overly matter. I pull myself up onto shore and then, shivering violently, start drying myself with my cloak.

My brow furrows after a moment. My skin’s being smeared with something dark. I rub at it with a numb finger. Some of it flakes away.

Blood.

I search for a cut for almost a minute before I realise there is none. It’s the cloak. A darker patch against the green cloth. Soaked in it.

I scrub it from my body as quickly as I can, trying to decide its significance. There’s a lot of it. It could be from an injury I didn’t spot; Darin in particular barely moved the entire time I was watching, and being a Sextus, he could easily have been compensating for a wound. Or the blood’s from an animal. Something they hunted, perhaps using the cloak as a sling to drag it back to camp.

Both are possible. Neither seems likely.

Borius reacting to losing the tracking plate with such violence was bothering me already, and this does nothing to ease my disquiet. But it’s a puzzle I’m going to have to worry about when I get back. Tonight’s task won’t allow for distractions or delays.

I wash the affected part of the cloak in the river as best I can—the smell of blood isn’t something I want on me, alone in the forest—before dressing again. I’m still juddering from cold even after my clothing’s on, but exertion should fix that soon enough.

It’s past midnight now, I think. Twelve hours to get to the dome, run the maze, and then return to Callidus and Aequa.

I jog westward.

AN HOUR LATER I’M SWEATING, the chill of the evening and my swim no longer an issue. The woods are unsettlingly quiet here. Through the tops of the trees, I catch occasional glimpses of the mountain which conceals the crimson dome. That’s useful; several times I replace myself turned around, the paths jagged and steep, most of my concentration taken up in making sure I don’t trip down one of several sharp inclines as I progress.

I finally decide to rest, sitting on a rocky rise in the ground and unslinging my satchel. There’s no birdsong, no buzzing of insects. The moon is high, providing light here in this small stony area with no trees to block it. I take a quick draw from my waterskin, then pull out the tracking plate I took from Borius again.

“Rotting gods,” I mutter to myself as it comes out of the bag smooth, no stones on it. I dig around in the bottom of the satchel, replaceing some and placing them hopefully on its surface. Nothing happens.

I stare in morose disbelief, then slot it irritably back and pour the stones after it. “What a waste.”

There’s a rustling behind me at the words, one that would be inaudible if I was still moving, and my shoulder blades twitch. I don’t react, don’t do anything to indicate I’ve heard or sensed anything unusual, continuing to sort through my satchel. I locate and draw out my hunting knife, the only weapon I have. Tuck it in my belt before standing again.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I press on, straining for any hint of pursuit. There’s nothing for what seems like an age, though it can’t be more than ten minutes. Then snapping twigs behind me. Distinct between my breaths and the silence.

I can’t take the tension anymore. I’m in another clearing, the light good enough to see by for tens of feet. I take the knife from my belt.

A low, rumbling growl fills the air.

I freeze, eyes combing the undergrowth. I’m not sure what I can do here. Turning my back and running is a terrible idea; whatever it is, I have no doubt it will be faster than me. But I’m not likely to stand a chance against it with my knife alone, either.

The growl deepens. My knuckles are white on the knife’s hilt. Just the one animal, I think, but it sounds big.

There’s motion in the shadows. Bushes rustle as a darker shape emerges. Dappled moonlight glints off two slitted eyes and bared teeth.

An alupi.

The creature takes another step forward, then another, gaze fixed on my knife as I hold it out defensively. I back away at the same pace, mouth dry. It’s huge. More than half my height. Drops of saliva glisten, highlighting the thinnest, keenest points of its teeth.

I’m still furiously trying to calculate a solution to the situation when the alupi attacks.

I’m not even aware it’s coming until it’s in the air, all shadows and teeth and grace as it arrows for me. I try to twitch the knife into position but I’m too late; the full weight of the animal slams into my chest and right arm, knocking the blade free and sending me sprawling backward. Air flees my lungs at the impact.

My dizziness clears to slavering jaws filling my vision. I wrench around but the creature’s on top of me, and I barely budge. Its breath stinks of rotten meat and blood.

The creature’s eyes, inches away, bore into mine. Its lips are curled back, revealing what I’ve been told too many times are razor-sharp teeth. It growls again. I lie back, trying to show that I’m surrendering. There’s not really much else I can do.

The monstrous ball of fur and muscle continues its ominous rumbling.

Then, to my astonishment, it leaps off me again. Stands a few feet away.

I glance over to where my knife fell, but immediately hear the change in timbre of the alupi’s warning. I look away again, making it clear I’m not going to dive for it. The wolf stands almost four foot tall at the shoulder. Its black fur accentuates the wet silver of its teeth in the moonlight.

I squint. There’s a line in the hair on its back, a missing streak which is scarred over.

“Diago?” I whisper the name. Still how I think of the cub I saved six months ago, though this monster can’t be him. Surely. And yet I can’t take my eyes off the scar. It’s in the same place. “Is that you?”

I sit up and slowly, carefully, start to stretch out my hand.

The wolf’s snarl increases until it leaps forward, snapping viciously at my fingers; I snatch them back just in time to avoid having them bitten clean off.

“Right. Right,” I mutter shakily to myself. “Don’t do that.”

I stay sitting as the alupi begins stalking to the side, circling me. Its gaze never leaves me.

It completes two whole circuits and then, as abruptly as it appeared, turns and pads back into the forest. Within seconds and before I can react, the shadows hide it from view once more.

I hold my breath, then exhale, barely daring to believe I’m uneaten. Could that have been Diago? Bizarre, but the coincidence seems too much to ignore. Either way, I’m not fool enough to think I’m safe, nor that the wolf has really gone. The smell of blood on my cloak must have drawn it.

There’s not much more I can do than press on, ears sharp for any indication of the alupi’s return. If I was uneasy before, now I’m almost light-headed with anxiety. My nerves are an incline against which I’m walking, each breath harder than it should be. But there’s nothing from the forest around me. No sign that the creature is tracking me.

It’s about a half hour later, through the treetops, that I catch my first glimpse of the dome.

It’s with both relief and dread that I pause and greet the sight, the menacing red drinking in the subdued silver from the sky. The trees are thinning, and that strange, heavy muteness here presses down harder than ever. I trudge on.

When I finally break through the last of the shrubbery to the dome’s base, the alupi is waiting for me.

I stop dead. It’s motionless, on its haunches. It doesn’t react to my appearance.

I take a step forward. It bares its teeth and emits that terrifying, low growl, muscles bunching.

My blade is at my side, but I don’t reach for it this time. Visibility is better here without the cover of the trees, and I was right about the creature’s scar: it matches the one from the cub I saved. It must be him. His growth is close to unbelievable.

“Diago.” I know he’s not going to recognise the name, know the word’s not going to have any meaning at all to the wolf, but I say it anyway. More for my own comfort than anything else. “Diago. Do you remember me?” I take another step.

Diago’s rumble becomes more threatening. I retreat. The growling stops, the snarl lessening to bared teeth.

“Gods’ graves,” I mutter to myself. I’m glad the creature’s not attacking me on sight, but I still need to get past it. I can’t kill it—even if I tried and somehow succeeded, there’s no chance I could come out of that fight without a serious injury. And given that it must have been following me all this time, I doubt I can simply walk away and then slip back later once it’s wandered off.

I don’t move for almost a minute, gaze locked with the wolf’s bright grey eyes. Neither of us waver as I calculate desperately, all too aware of the time slipping away.

Reluctantly, I come to a decision. The alupi has been tracking me for at least a half hour, probably longer, but hasn’t attacked. And I can see the massive Hierarchy symbol that marks the entrance. If I can just get through there, I can shut the door behind me.

I take a step to the right of Diago; immediately the wolf’s lips curl back and that rumbling growl returns. I swallow, breath short, and take another step. Then another. Diago doesn’t move, but he’s snarling now. Saliva drips from his mouth.

“Scintres Exunus,” I say firmly.

The mountain groans and the pyramid splits, red glass folding back. The alupi doesn’t turn or budge. I’m not far—twenty feet, give or take. Still too far to make a dash for it; Diago would catch me before I made the first step down. So I take another sidling step, heart in mouth, hands outstretched to show that I mean no harm. It doesn’t seem to make a difference. Diago keeps growling and then takes a stalking, threatening pace toward me.

I grimace. Carefully unsling my satchel and place it on the ground. It will be a hindrance if I’m attacked, and it’s not as if I’ll need it inside the dome.

Then I confidently begin walking toward the entrance.

I almost falter as Diago’s warning thunders off the mountain, but there’s no time to waste, and doing this in such small stages is too much for my nerves. The first five steps are agony as I wait for the inevitable attack.

Then, to my surprise, the growling stops. Fades to a whine as Diago sits, still watching me.

“Sorry,” I murmur to him, not stopping and doing everything in my power not to break into a sprint. “I don’t have a choice.”

Then I’m stepping into the darkness, twisting to look back at the wolf. It’s stopped whining. On its feet again, just staring at me mutely.

I shiver. “Scintres Exunus.” I hate losing the sliver of light from outside, but an unsettling few minutes in the dark trumps being mauled to death from behind.

The doorway begins to close. I risk a quick glance down the stairs, watching regretfully as the faint silver that would have lit my way dwindles.

When I look back through the shrinking opening, the alupi has vanished.