The Strength of the Few by James Islington - 10

AWAY FROM THE DISAPPROVING EARS of our parents, Ysabel and I used to sit on the western cliffs of Suus and complain about the lands across the strait from us. Who would be so stupid as to readily enslave themselves, no matter the foe? What justification could a person possibly give themselves before handing over their very Will to the nebulous control of the Republic? Everyone over there must be facile. Blind. Cowards. Probably all three.

We knew the truth, of course. Had been subjected to a hundred lectures dissecting why people submitted to the Hierarchy. Fear, naturally, played its part—but not always. Sometimes it was greed loosely masquerading as ambition. Sometimes it was misplaced faith that others would behave fairly and rightly. Or social pressure, the inevitable belief that the majority cannot be wrong. The reasons were complex and many-faceted and unavoidably varied from person to person. But we never mentioned those during our childish vents as we watched the sun set over the domain of our enemy. Easier to despise than understand. Easier to mock than empathise.

We would laugh a while, and then Ysa would eventually fall silent. Contemplative as the darkness came. Older and wiser than I.

“I’m glad we’re not like them,” she would say as she stared across the waves. Long dark hair tied neatly back, never a strand out of place. Always with a wistful smile that I never really understood.

I try to picture her face, now. It’s there but it’s a blur. Like looking through water. The absence of detail aches.

My fading memory feels almost as much a betrayal as what I’m about to do.

The Aurora Columnae towers against the clean, early morning skies of spring; everything around the Catenan Forum is grand, but it’s the obelisk at its head, cordoned off by a massive, thick chain and encircled by a dozen green-cloaked Sextii, that inevitably commands the eye. White granite stands a hundred feet tall, a single, perfectly quarried piece of stone, tapering to a pyramid at the very top. The symbols inscribed everywhere on its surface—still mysterious to the Hierarchy, despite their best efforts at translation—glow a distinct, pulsing gold.

“Have you seen it before?”

I look across at Ulciscor. Plenty of others here wearing the purple across white, but his status as a Magnus Quintus—and mine, as both Domitor of the Academy and Catenicus—has ensured that we are first in line today, despite arriving later than many. “Not this one.”

He glances at me. At my back. Grimaces his remembrance.

Both Lanistia and my adoptive father have been mostly taciturn since we arrived. Contemplative. They feel the surliness of the city too, undoubtedly. People sidle past with suspicious sideways glances. Clump in the mouths of alleys talking in hushed voices, or argue loudly and angrily in poorly insulated houses. Caten broods. A far cry from the joyful, festive nature it exuded last time I was here.

Of course, I’ve also given them plenty to ponder, spending much of the walk here—almost a half hour trudging through the dawn—reliving the Iudicium for them. The journey to the dome, the Labyrinth, the ring of bronze blades. The slaughter that followed.

“It’s brighter than the one at Letens.” I make the observation abruptly. It was the first thing I noticed. That golden light was present, back then, but only barely visible during the day.

“It’s not. They’ve all been getting brighter.”

I frown. “I hadn’t heard that.”

“It’s not talked about much, but twenty years ago they barely glowed at all. The prevailing theory is that it’s related to how many people have been through the ceremony.”

“Nothing to be concerned about, no doubt,” I mutter.

He grunts, but his mind’s elsewhere again. Almost certainly turning over what I’ve told him—as is Lanistia, given the way she’s completely ignoring our conversation—but I’m not worried. My lies were few and carefully crafted. I said nothing of the man with the scar, the one working with Relucia, who seemed able to vanish at will. Instead, I explained that I overheard the Anguis talking about how people high up in the Republic were helping them, just as they had at the naumachia. I never implicated Military, not directly. But I gave them the name Navisalus . I know Ulciscor will follow it. I know where it will lead.

My adoptive father is many things, but he is not an evil man. When he realises Military are involved, aware that I will be pulling at the same threads, he will warn me.

And if he does not, it means he truly cannot be trusted.

Otherwise, my deceptions were simple and only by exclusion. I avoided mention of the strange pulses in my head that helped me evade the Anguis; though they no longer echo, they were odd enough that I feel the need to investigate them myself first. Emissa’s attempt to kill me, I simply awarded to an unknown attacker. Part of me feels foolish for the last. I don’t owe her anything.

Everything else, I related in as much detail as I could. Expounded when needed. Answered Ulciscor’s questions, which were many once I reached the Labyrinth, even as Lanistia remained grimly quiet.

My voice cracked as I told them about Callidus, despite my best efforts.

I finished with Veridius’s outrageous claim about stopping a new Cataclysm; since then, Ulciscor has said little. The way he looks at me now, I think perhaps he’s finally feeling the weight of what he forced me to do. There’s sorrow, there. Maybe even guilt.

Dismay too, though. I haven’t given him answers about Caeror. If anything, I’ve furnished him with even more questions. More threads at which to worry.

We lapse into tense silence again, letting the uneasy murmuring of the Forum fill the gap between us. We’re at the head of an orderly queue, mostly consisting of Octavii and their children, the majority of whom seem around twelve—the earliest age at which this ceremony is allowed. Many, parents included, bashfully look away when I turn. I’ve heard the too-loud whispers of “Catenicus” more than once since we arrived.

I ignore them, an art I’ve quickly had to learn since arriving in the city yesterday. When I was last here, people knew only my name. But word of the Iudicium has spread as only lurid news can. More heroics by the great Catenicus, and this time at great personal cost.

I resist the urge to rub the itching nub of my missing arm, and stare ahead bitterly.

“Ulciscor! Vis!” The female voice pierces the Forum’s susurrus, causing all three of us to turn.

“Relucia?” Ulciscor looks as surprised as I feel, if not as concerned.

“Husband!” The dark-skinned young woman with the curly brown hair all but throws herself into Ulciscor’s arms, kissing him fiercely before dancing back and assessing me with hands on her hips. “And Vis! My dear, brave boy.” She embraces me with exaggerated gentleness, as if worried she’ll cause my other arm to fall off. “How are you holding up? Don’t answer that; I am so sorry for what happened to you. And we are so proud to call you family. Even if you have decided to work for Governance. We will have to talk about that later. But what you did at the Iudicium was incredible. Are you fully recovered? I could barely believe it when Ulciscor told me your ceremony was to be today. I thought you would need months to heal! Does it still—”

“What are you doing here?” I interrupt the onslaught of questions. Manage to make my own sound bemused rather than angry.

Relucia laughs delightedly. “I timed my stopover on my way to Lyceria. Surely you didn’t think I would miss an event this important? You’re family, Vis!”

“Of course.” I smile, as if responding to a compliment. She knew about the Iudicium. She helped plan the attack that killed my friend. My fury flares a brief, threatening white before I drive it back into its usual icy ball. The Anguis are confident they own me now, and an enemy is never so vulnerable as when they think they are in control. So I’ll go along. Act the part. Eventually they’ll forget I’m against them. Eventually, I will get the names I’m after. “Thank you for coming. We must have dinner before you leave again.”

She beams at me. “My boy, I would have it no other way. A celebration of today. Of all your achievements! Lani, you’ll come too, of course?”

Lanistia’s attention, as it has been for the entire morning, is elsewhere. She glances over at her name, then shrugs and nods disinterestedly.

Relucia starts chattering away blithely to Ulciscor, and I take the opportunity to look around again. There are other familiar faces behind me now, though none approach. No surprise there; the Academy values students who wait to perform this ceremony. There are a few Sevenths. Ianix and Leridia from Six, Felix and Atticus from Four. Even Iro, some distance back. He catches my recognition and glowers back in customary fashion.

I find myself scanning the crowd for Emissa, though I know she won’t be here. My proof that she has already been through this process is undeniable.

“It’s been like this for weeks.” Ulciscor has joined me in my observation, saying it quietly enough that only we can hear. Relucia has moved on a short distance away to Lanistia, who is weathering the barrage of frivolous chatter with her usual impassivity. “And I fear it is only going to get worse.”

He’s mistaken what I’m looking at, but it’s not hard to gather his meaning. Just like the rest of Caten, the Forum mutters and glares its tensions. It’s in the way everyone stands, groups distinctly and deliberately apart from one another. In the wary glances and near universally lowered tones.

“Divisions in the Senate?”

“Divisions everywhere. Governance and Religion telling Military to disband the armies because of their cost. Generals telling Military they need to find their veterans land as reward for service, but Governance won’t even talk about it unless Military takes the first step, so now there are factions within Military that support and oppose land reform. Half the provinces are agitating for Citizenship, saying they’re being pushed to the limit by knights collecting their tax contracts. The knights are claiming they can’t collect their taxes and so there’s a shortfall in the treasury, which is why we can’t pay the gods-damned armies. Now some of the generals have started to privately finance them. Did you know that?” He shakes his head. “And then the Iudicium happened, and the Anguis very publicly haven’t claimed responsibility. It doesn’t matter that we’ve announced they were behind it. What you told me earlier… it doesn’t surprise me. It wouldn’t surprise the people of Caten. And that’s a whole other problem.”

I watch the crowd. Relucia in the corner of my vision. Unsettling, how well the Anguis have judged their moves.

“How do you think it will turn out?” I ask eventually.

“Not well.” Ulciscor’s tone is heavy. “Not well for anyone.”

Silence again, and then my gaze is drawn up toward the Temple of Jovan as the magistrate administering the rites today emerges. Everything else is forgotten beneath a moment of surreal, light-headed denial at the sight. As if part of me still believed there would be some last-second reprieve.

“Ready?” Ulciscor’s noticed my abrupt tension. He may not understand why I’m doing this, but he knows exactly how hard I’ve struggled to avoid it up until now.

I don’t answer, focusing instead on the approaching magistrate. A man in his fifties, his station signified by two narrow purple stripes. He adjusts his white toga as he reaches the top of the stairs leading to the Aurora Columnae, beckoning us up.

Ulciscor, Lanistia, Relucia, and I climb, then I alone pass through a gap in the massive encircling chain and inside the protective ring of green-cloaked men and women. The Aurora Columnae are supposedly indestructible—no steel or stone able to even scratch their surface—but the Hierarchy maintains a meticulous record of everyone who can cede, and there’s nothing particularly mystical about this process. Without guards, it would be too easy for people to perform the rites themselves. Form their own pyramids. Make their own decisions.

As I come to a stop, the radiating glow of the obelisk before me feels like it’s something more, something powerful. An almost physical force. I do not know if it is my imagination.

“Let the Benefactor announce his name.” The magistrate’s mellifluous tone is practiced, his serene gaze fixed firmly on me. He knows exactly who I am, but in Caten, all religious rites must be perfect to the word.

“Vis Telimus.” My throat is dry.

“Vis Telimus. Do you come freely to commit yourself under Vorcian? Under Pletuna? Under Mira?”

A hesitation I can’t avoid. “I do.”

The magistrate’s brief frown accentuates the crags in his face, but it’s not enough of a deviation for him to have to begin again. I only half listen after that as he drones on. A monologue on how I am contributing to the greatness of Caten. He offers sacrifices to Vorcian for my hard work; Pletuna for my harvests; Mira for my strength. Time crawls. I stand there through it all, despising the show of it, dwarfed by the monstrosity before me, the eyes of the Forum on my back.

And then the talking has stopped. I’m being nudged forward. I’m standing right beside the white granite, can see the individual grains in the stone between the emanating lines of light.

“Place your hand against the Aurora Columnae.”

Vek . My breath comes tight and fast. I do as he says.

As soon as my skin touches stone, everything changes.

I stumble, almost fall at the violent influx of sensation. Pulses from all around me. Like motion or sound, but not quite either. As if some other sense has been switched on in my head.

“Vis. Are you well?” It’s Ulciscor’s concerned voice.

I suck in a shaky breath, leaning against the obelisk. I haven’t felt… whatever this is since the Iudicium, but it’s the same thing. The only difference is that out in the forest, there were only one or two pulses at a time. Now I’m overwhelmed. Bombarded with hundreds upon hundreds of them at once.

“Just a little light-headed.” I call the lie out with what I hope is a convincingly embarrassed smile, still trying to sort through the chaos in my head.

“That’s normal,” the magistrate assures me, trying to drag my focus back to him. He places a hand on the obelisk, alongside mine. His fingers glow pink from the light seeping through beneath them. “Try to relax. It will feel strange, at first, but don’t worry. All you need to do is say the words, and the rest will happen naturally. It will be over in moments.”

I glance around. Lanistia, I notice, is staring at the ground, shaking her head. Muttering something unintelligible. Ulciscor’s glancing back at her concernedly.

I push her to the back of my mind, along with the pulses. The confusion in my head is settling into something disconcerting but manageable. The magistrate is looking vaguely displeased.

“Now say that you give your Will freely.”

This is it. The point at which they could never make me proceed. Last time there were two Sextii restraining me, another holding my hand forcibly to the cold stone. Whip cracking in the grey silence before dawn as the Matron screamed at me to say it, just to say the words and then it would all be over. The stripes along my back burn. Every muscle is rigid. My jaw cracks in protest as it opens.

“I give my Will freely,” I whisper.

I lean heavily, trying to ignore the pulses buzzing in my head. Waiting for half my energy, my drive, to simply drain away into this stranger. It doesn’t matter that he’ll return it straight away. I want to throw up.

Nothing happens.

The magistrate is frowning. Puzzled more than anything else. “Say it again.”

“I… give my Will freely.” It comes out easier, this time.

“Lani.” It’s Ulciscor, behind me. Concerned tension in his voice. I look around. Lanistia is focused on me. Moving forward, past the chains, too close to the surrounding green-cloaked guards. They step into her path. She pushes against them.

“Lanistia?” I frown at her. “What’s wrong?”

She bares her teeth at me. It’s not anger. It’s confusion. Desperation.

“Complete the journey, warrior,” she says sorrowfully.

She has a dagger in her hand.

The two guards in front of her aren’t expecting it, never have a chance to react. She’s so fast. A blur as her blade slices again and again with barely a pause in between. A frozen tableau as everyone watches, myself included, trying to understand. It’s as if nothing has happened at first except that the two men are suddenly letting her walk past. Then bright red lines bloom on throats. Their hands go to their necks in eerie unison as they collapse.

“Complete the journey, warrior,” whispers Lanistia again as she stalks toward me, knife dripping, as the screams begin below.

Then everyone moves.

I have trained with Lanistia for hours upon hours upon hours. Countless mornings on the grass outside Villa Telimus as she sparred with me again and again.

She is better than me. She has always been better than me. And now I only have one arm.

“Complete the journey, warrior.” The knife slices the air in front of my eyes once. Twice. I back away. “Complete the journey, warrior.” She says it desperately. Like it’s being ripped from her lips.

A guard comes at her from behind and she sidesteps. Twists casually. Kills him. A Razor flies at her, and she flicks her blade up just as it would have taken her in the back of the neck. The obsidian shatters, shards dropping to the ground, imbuing lost. Another green-cloaked man rushes at Lanistia, thinking to take her from behind. He dies as quickly as his companions.

Ulciscor and Relucia are both yelling her name, but their voices are lost amidst the outraged shouting in the Forum below. Bodies everywhere. Blood glinting gold staining the stones beneath the Aurora Columnae. More dash at Lanistia. More die. She is so fast, and they do not understand that she can see them coming no matter from which direction they approach.

“Wait!” I hear Ulciscor’s screams as Lanistia slices more Razors from the air; he’s stepping in between her and a fresh wave of oncoming attackers, though whether to protect her or them I don’t know. It’s all in the background though, all a blur. I stumble back again and again, ducking and weaving and blocking and hoping desperately for an opening that never comes. She is too good.

“Lanistia.” I gasp her name. “Please. Lanistia. It’s me.”

“Complete the journey, warrior.” Her knife scores a burning line along my cheek. “Complete the journey, warrior.” A cut along my remaining arm. Her formal clothing is restricting her movement, just slightly. It’s the only reason I’m alive.

Above the screams, there’s a massive, clanking rattle. Motion in the corner of my eye.

The massive chains that surround the Aurora Columnae rise. Rip free of their posts.

Fly at Lanistia.

She dives and twists but the chains are too long and too quick, even for her; one snags her ankle and then wraps itself around her, again and again. She struggles wildly, teeth bared. Hissing the words over and over now as she scrabbles in my direction. Silhouetted by the obelisk’s light. “ Complete the journey, warrior .”

And then she’s down. Completely encompassed by the mass of metal. I come to a trembling halt to see Ulciscor thirty feet away, eyes midnight as they focus on Lanistia. One of the green-cloaked guards sprints in toward the bound woman, his blade out. A chain flicks up and hits him in the head. He crumples.

“She is not to be harmed!” Ulciscor roars the words, audible even over the shouts and sobs of the crowd. He is racing toward Lanistia. Chains whip around her. Protecting her now.

Lanistia’s glasses have fallen off. Her eyeless stare bores into me.

“Complete the journey, warrior,” she gasps, so softly that only I can hear it. She weeps it, this time. As if it is an apology.

Her body goes limp as the squeezing chains finally rob the last of her breath, and she passes into unconsciousness.