The Will of the Many (Hierarchy Book 1)

BRANCHES TEAR AT MY TUNIC as I plough headlong through the forest, fatigued muscles straining, breath coming in ragged gasps. I’m able to risk greater speed than before thanks to the time of day, but not by much. The light’s already fading. In fact, the cloud-obscured sun kissed the rise I’m currently slogging my way up more than twenty minutes ago.

I’m better than two-thirds of the way there, I think, but I’m exhausted. Stumbling more than running. My stomach sucks at my insides, my lungs burn, my throat can’t remember what it felt like to be moist. Even with fretfulness coursing through me, my body can only take so much. I need to stop. Eat and drink. Rest, if only for a few minutes.

I push on until I reach one of the many streams my path crosses, then drop to my knees and drink before collapsing to the mossy ground, head on the grass. I don’t close my eyes, tempting though it is. There’s no chance I’ll be back in time if I fall asleep.

The forest rustles around me, peaceful, and the water burbles cheerfully over the top. I’m not close enough to the sea to hear waves yet. I lie there, my panting fading to something more steady, taking stock. Trying to figure out how far I’ve come, how far there is to go. What my chances are from here.

I eventually sit up again. I’m light-headed, need to eat.

The stream is teeming with fish, and childhood practice makes it relatively easy to pull one. Its scales flash in the dying light as it flops and gasps on the shore. I use my flint to light a small fire; there’s a decent breeze, and there shouldn’t be enough smoke for it to be spotted. Soon the fish is cooking in the embers.

I take the locator needle from my pocket and dangle it again, straining for any sense that it’s pulling one way or another. There’s still nothing, though.

I’m so lost in my own thoughts, I almost miss the faint, pitiful keening coming from somewhere downstream.

I twist when it comes again, frowning in its direction. It’s a pleading, pained sound. Not human.

I draw my knife. The fire’s still going; a fish is one thing, but something larger would be better. And from the way I stagger as I rise, any extra time I have to spend cooking will be more than worth it.

I creep along the stream bed, knife out, crouching low. The sound gets louder. There’s a persistence to it. An anguished whine, punctuated by yelps.

I round a bend, and see the alupi pup.

It’s trapped, half-submerged, bucking and scrabbling to get out from underneath a heavy branch that’s somehow fallen on top of it. The creature is only a foot or so long—it must be very young, given the size to which they are supposed to grow. There’s blood pouring down the side of its face, mixing a bright red with the water before dissipating among the stones in the shallows. Its black fur is matted. Bright grey eyes spot me and flash with feral fury, teeth baring to a warning snarl.

I examine its surroundings, but there’s nothing else moving. The cub’s been abandoned by its pack, then. I’ve heard of this: unlike wolves, alupi young need to care for themselves. If one gets injured, it’s excised like a gangrenous limb.

I stalk toward the cub, ignoring its raised hackles, knife held at the ready. Assessing. I can probably skin it, cook the meat in… half an hour? The creature growls again, its squeaky pitch far from terrifying. Then it yelps as it slides farther into the water, almost over its head, and struggles wildly to right itself. It slips around in ungainly fashion until it’s finally far enough up the muddy bank to be safe.

It twists gamely to face me. Still showing its teeth. It emits another high-pitched warning, but then its spirit seems to break, and it trails off into a whimper as it starts to slide again.

I grit my teeth. I’ll be doing it a mercy; it was going to die out here anyway. I slosh my way over to the shivering, snarling ball of hair. Steel myself. Raise the knife. It keeps looking at me, directly into my eyes. Afraid, but not cowering.

Cari had a pup, back on Suus. Got him… two months before the invasion? She called him Abrazo. Used to let him sleep in her bed. Against our parents’ wishes, of course.

“Vek. Vek. Rotting gods.” I let my hand fall. “You gods-damned soft-hearted…”

I slide the knife back into its sheathe and crouch beside the alupi.

“I know exactly how you feel,” I mutter to it, carefully holding out a hand to indicate that I don’t wish it any harm. “Maybe I should call you Diago.” I laugh bitterly to myself.

He bites me. Quick as lightning, far too fast for me to react. His small, razor-sharp teeth slice into my skin and I shout in pain, snatching my hand back and shaking it, flecks of red spattering into the stream. I almost decide that perhaps he would be better roasted after all. Then I stop, kick myself instead. It’s not a dog. It’s a wild animal in pain. Of course it was going to do that.

I rinse the wound in the stream before tearing a strip of my tunic to bind it. It’s painful but not deep. Then I turn back toward my fire. The cub, seeing I’m leaving, whines piteously at me.

“Be patient,” I growl over my shoulder. I retreat to where the fish is cooking—or rather, burned on one side and raw on the other by this point—and snatch it from the embers, half muttering curses to myself the entire time. Then I stomp back, too irritated to care about any noise I’m making.

“Here.” I break off a piece of fish and offer it, very carefully, to the animal. The alupi regards me with deep suspicion, but as soon as the smell hits its nostrils, it’s struggling forward, jaws snapping fruitlessly a couple of times before finally snagging the piece in its mouth. The animal gobbles it greedily.

It looks at me as soon as it’s finished, anticipation in its eyes.

I scowl at it. “Oh for…” I shake my head, then toss the rest of the fish on the ground. It’s gone almost as quickly as the first piece.

“Are you going to let me help now?” Too bad for the cub if it doesn’t, because one more failed attempt and I’m going to do the right thing and put it out of its misery.

Fortunately, when I reach out—hand well protected by several layers of tunic this time—the cub’s upper lip curls back, but it doesn’t do anything more than that.

It takes a minute to untangle the animal; as soon as it’s free it tries to limp away but immediately collapses, lying on its side, whimpering in between panting. I watch its heaving chest in dismay.

“You’re fine,” I whisper to it. Abandoned and alone, injured, struggling. Maybe I see more of myself here than I care to admit.

I tear yet another strip of cloth from my tunic and dip it in the water, carefully washing away the matted dirt and blood from the animal’s long wound. The creature yelps and twitches, at one point twisting to snap unsuccessfully back at my hand, but I’m waiting for it and get clear in time. The gash is bad, but not fatal, and I don’t think anything’s broken.

I rinse the strip again and bind the wound. It’s hardly an ideal solution—I imagine the animal will worry it off before long—but until then, it might be enough to let the blood congeal. I don’t think regular movement will open the injury up again, either. The creature is trembling, so I take off my cloak and wrap it around the cub’s body, drying it as best I can. I’m not sure when, but by the time I’m finished, the alupi has stopped shivering and is either asleep or passed out. Hopefully the former.

I watch it worriedly, then sigh. It’s been almost fifteen minutes. I’m still hungry, but I’m rested. My head’s clearer, too. I feel better than I suspect I would have had I killed the pup, but either way, I need to get moving.

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. It can’t be identified as mine, and I’m not going to wear it once I hit the water anyway.

I kick dirt over the last of my fire and start jogging again, my thoughts sharper, more ordered than they have been since I got out of the dome. I’m still weary, but the break has done me good. I press on for an hour and a half until the forest around me begins to thin, and the tang of salt touches the air.

Before long I’m at the cliff’s edge: not exactly where I climbed up, but I don’t think it’s too far away. Difficult to orient myself against the unfamiliar shoreline or the string of identical anchoring points on the horizon, though. Peering over the edge, I can’t see anything below that looks like the remains of my fire from the previous night.

The sun has already dipped below the cloud-clogged horizon, everything tinted in hues of pink and purple. The Transvect will already have left the Necropolis.

It’s without much hope that I retrieve the locator needle again, but as soon as I dangle it from its chain, I can see the gentle, insistent pull at work. My heart leaps. A few more seconds of testing confirms it. Drifting to the west, right toward a distant white monolith amid the waves. I have no idea why it wasn’t working farther away, but as long as it is presently, I don’t care.

Relief lends me a burst of energy, and I don’t waste any more time. The descent I pick out isn’t the safest, exactly, but it is the fastest. There are spots where I can slide down to the next narrow ledge, the next outcropping, without too much fear of overshooting my mark. It’s painful—even with both palms wrapped, the rock and undergrowth slices through my already shredded tunic, and before long there are splotches of red staining the white—but it’s effective enough. I’m on the stony beach within ten minutes.

I remove my boots and tunic, burying them beneath some rocks. The light’s fading. I have perhaps forty minutes before the Transvect returns. If I’m lucky.

I make sure my Will-imbued objects are secure, then plunge into the icy, choppy waters of the Sea of Quus.

My tiredness is washed away by that initial shock of cold; I gasp, forced to pause before gritting my teeth and pushing out against the waves. It’s harder going in this direction, and my muscles are already spent. I haven’t slept for almost two days. Every stroke feels like I’m dragging twice my weight through the water.

It’s my years of swimming at Suus that saves me, I think. Instinctive technique keeps me going, minimises my exertion, ensures I don’t drag in lungfuls of water even as my energy wanes. Whenever I start to flag—which is often—I look up. See how the darkness is truly starting to encroach upon the sky. Redouble my efforts.

Twice I tread water to check my position against a mixture of the shore, the anchoring point rising ahead, and the locator needle. The delay costs precious time, but I can’t risk straying so far off course that I end up over the Seawall. But I only ever have to correct by a matter of degrees.

It’s almost pitch-black now, clouds obscuring any stars overhead. I’m nearly there, but it must also nearly be time. My lungs burn and I almost weep with the effort of every stroke, desperation alone driving me on. I start pausing more and more, fearful of swimming too far out. The anchoring point towers over me.

I look up and see it on the horizon. Just a dot against the last kiss of dusk, but no mistaking it.

The Transvect’s coming.

Hand shaking, I take out the locator once again. It barely sways, perhaps shifting very slightly to the left. I swim a couple of strokes, try again. No movement at all this time. Pulling straight down. This is as close as I’m going to get.

Everything shakes from tiredness and cold and anxiety as I snap the needle in half and let it go. Ulciscor’s imbuing will be broken now. If he notices such a small amount of Will returning to him, he’ll probably be relieved.

I fish in my pocket for the grapple. The Transvect’s looming, descending. I’m too hasty, too twitchy and nervous, my fingers too numb. The stone cuff catches on cloth as I try to yank it free.

I drop it.

There’s a moment of sheer, disbelieving, rattled horror. I flail through the inky water at where I think the bracelet might be, but my hands touch only liquid from several panicked attempts. From the corner of my eye I can see the Transvect growing, already impossibly large in my vision, sliding smoothly toward me.

I gasp a breath and dive.

It’s hopeless, I know that already; the stone will sink far faster than I can push myself downward. I’m all but blind, barely enough light above to show me which way is up. I push down, down, as hard and fast as I can anyway, for what feels like far too long. It will be impossibly deep here. I’ll never find it.

My hand hits stone.

Not the stone cuff, but something large and smooth and flat. It takes me a second to register what it is, though I should have known. The edge of the Seawall.

I repress a flash of fear and scrabble desperately, my lungs—already overworked to the point of exhaustion—barely able to hold. I’m light-headed. There’s nothing but smooth stone beneath my hands.

Then my fingers brush something that shifts; I grasp greedily and almost lose precious air to a gasp of relief as my grip closes around the bracelet. I look up, and my joy’s short-lived. The Transvect’s directly above me.

No time to think, to consider the consequences.

I snap the cuff around my left wrist.

The rest of my air disappears in a bellow as my shoulder feels like it’s being torn from its socket, stone gouging into the base of my hand as it tries to tear its way free of my wrist. I’m yanked like a doll through the water, faster than I could have believed. I inhale involuntarily. My lungs fill with salty liquid.

I half shout, half choke as I’m torn from the sea, frantically using my free hand to grasp the manacle, to lessen the intense pressure on my wrist. There’s a surreal instant where I realise I’m flying, dark water below hurriedly falling away.

And then I’m slamming into the underside of the Transvect, so hard that I just hang there, too disoriented to do anything but moan. Wind whips me, cutting through what little clothing I’m still wearing. I dangle dazedly, precariously, as the Transvect continues to rise and pick up speed. My left wrist and shoulder ache terribly through the icy cold.

The haze in front of my eyes clears enough for me to try and steady myself against the bottom of the Transvect. I’ve been unimaginably lucky; it was past before I reached it, so I’m attached to the back end as planned. Any sooner, and the cuff inside might have shifted, leaving me hanging somewhere from which I couldn’t recover.

The access platform is difficult to reach, but after swinging a couple of times and almost screaming at the pain in my arm, I manage to grip the edge with the tips of my fingers, then awkwardly wrap my legs around the post. As safe as I can be, I stretch across with my right hand and unclasp the stone manacle from my left wrist.

Immediately the fierce pressure on my shoulder eases. I let the manacle fall into the water far below—I only need the one inside—and then haul myself up. Following Ulciscor’s instructions, I release the access hatch and shove aside the rug lying on top of it, peering through. No one was going to risk catching the last Transvect back, and Ulciscor was going to make sure this section was clear regardless, but I’m still relieved to see no one inside. At least one thing has gone my way tonight.

I scramble up into the blissful calm of the carriage and collapse on my back, fighting the temptation to stay there before dragging myself to my feet once again.

My bundle of clothing is still, thankfully, securely where I tucked it last night, along with the anchoring cuff that pulled me up here. There’s no time to rest; we’re already over the island itself. I shiver as I strip my sodden clothes, dry myself with the fresh cloak, then feverishly dress. We’re almost there but I toss my ragged tunic and undergarments out the still-open hatch regardless, as well as the bandage for my hand. Even if someone somehow comes across those in the wilderness, there’s no way to tie them to me.

The access hatch attempts to slide shut at a touch, successfully fracturing the stone cuff I jam in the way with a grinding crack. I toss the broken pieces. Let the hatch seal properly. Replace the rug. We’re slowing again, and out the window I can see the Academy’s platform. I rake fingers through my hair, scrub my face with my cloak again, conceal as many injuries as I can beneath clothing. Rub my hands together vigorously to try and stop shivering, then sit in the seat closest to the door and do my best to look bored.

Twenty seconds later, the Transvect slides to a stop. The doors open and I stand calmly. Fold my hands behind my back. Step outside.

“Vis? Cutting it close.” It’s Praeceptor Taedia, wisps of grey hair highlighted by the lamps behind her as she wanders over. She frowns around behind me at the Transvect, no sign of any suspicion. Barely paying any attention to me, in fact. “Is Feriun with you?”

I glance back, but there’s no sign of movement. Feriun’s a student in Class Four, I think. A tall, athletic boy, a bit reminiscent of Indol in many ways. Catenan through and through. “I didn’t see him, but I was in a rush. He could have boarded after me, I suppose.” It takes everything I can to keep the words smooth, rather than letting them out through chattering teeth.

“Hm.” Taedia and I both stand and watch; after a good thirty seconds the doors close and the Transvect takes off again, back the way it came. Taedia scowls after it. “Foolish boy. Scitus will lower his ranking if he misses class.”

I wait for her to say more, to notice my barely recovered breathlessness or wet hair, or even to ask about why I risked catching the very last Transvect back. She doesn’t, though. Just pats me absently on the shoulder. “Come on, then.”

I see her take her hand away immediately and glance at it; she’s obviously felt the dampness there. She looks as if she’s about to say something, then just glances at the cloud-covered sky and grunts.

The walk back is innocuous enough, Taedia disinterestedly asking about my experience at the Festival of the Ancestors. We’re waved through at the Academy gates, my name checked off the list of returning students, and I’m sent on my way to the dormitory with barely a word of acknowledgment.

I hurry back along the well-lit paths, grateful not to encounter anyone else who might want conversation. The dormitory is quiet, no one in the halls. I slip into my room. Cyrus and Cato are asleep, but as is often the case, Eidhin is hunched over the desk in his corner, shuttered lamp burning.

He twists as I enter. Studies me. “You look awful.”

It’s not a question, as it would be coming from anyone else. He makes the observation and then turns without waiting for a response, resuming his studies.

I grin at his back, then shakily strip off my damp clothing and climb into bed. It takes some time for my jaw to unclench from not wanting to let my teeth chatter, but eventually my body’s contained warmth does the trick. My breathing eases.

I still ache awfully, especially my shoulder. I have scratches from branches, the alupi bite on my hand, a vicious welt on my wrist. I’m pretty sure my entire left side is one massive bruise from the impact with the Transvect.

None of it stops me from embracing a deep, dreamless slumber almost immediately.