XLII

I HAVE HEARD, AND TOLD, more lies than I can count over the past few years, and as antithetical as it seems, they often benefit from the outrageous. Sometimes the selling of a lie is in its absurdity, in making it so extreme that it must surely be true because by its nature, no one would be so bold or so foolish to fabricate it.

I know this. I have done this. I still cannot believe Veridius is lying.

Dusk, and the cooler air and blurred outlines it brings, drapes the hemmed-in sanctuary of the Academy’s Quadrum. We walk a slow circuit around its white, silent edges. Past the torchlit Bibliotheca, and the gymnasium, and the Curia Doctrina once again. The stillness makes it a hollow corpse of my time here. Veridius and Aequa and Eidhin keep careful step with me. Watch me. As if I might break.

“Stop if you need to,” says Veridius gently as I falter a step.

“I’m fine.” More irritable than I mean it to be, but it’s true enough. At least physically. I’m the one who requested the fresh air and exercise. My head no longer aches. The words forced through my mouth in the ruins no longer echo in my skull. I can still sense Diago waiting just outside the walls, and I’m admittedly stiff and aching—but otherwise, I have nothing more unusual than some scrapes from Aequa’s hauling, and weariness. “You should probably let Livia free, by the way. Her father’s not going to be pleased you confined her to the dormitory.” We discovered a little earlier that her absence hasn’t been through disinterest.

“Her father’s going to be even less pleased that you snuck away from her. And he doesn’t particularly like me much, anyway. She’ll survive a little longer.” Veridius’s voice has the hint of a rasp to it. I’m not surprised. He’s done a lot of talking, these last few hours.

That’s another reason I wanted this walk, this break. I needed to clear my head. To try and understand everything he’s just thrown at me.

The Principalis started at the beginning. Haltingly, at times. Careful and awkward, a story he hasn’t often told. How he, Caeror, and Lanistia became friends, despite the competition of Class Three. Caeror’s brilliance in the first trimester leading the then-Principalis to secretly enlist his help in translating the glowing scrawls of the pre-Cataclysm ruins he’d discovered nearby. Caeror’s eventual insistence that his friends be involved, and then breakthrough after breakthrough as together they figured out the location of the Labyrinth and how to open the way down to it. Deciphered the instructions to build their own Labyrinth for practice. How to turn off the defences guarding it.

And then, quickly after, why it was all necessary.

It took a long predawn of probing from Aequa, Eidhin, and myself before I even started to believe his assertions. A vague, ancient war against an enemy that Caeror translated as the “Concurrence.” Then something called the Rending—that term, I recognised from the recitals of the iunctii—to prevent their victory, which split the world into three near-identical versions, but left Will broken into shards of itself. A power only whole again now when someone exists in all three worlds at once—“Synchronous.” Another term I’m uncomfortably familiar with.

The condition that Veridius believes I now have. And the one thing he believes might stop another imminent Cataclysm.

I suck in another steadying lungful of the evening air. It’s been hours of cautious exchange, since then. My experience running the Labyrinth met with his explanations of what he thinks happened, a back and forth as long and tentative and tense as anything I’ve been through. The fate of the world balanced against a mistrust so deep, I’m still not sure how to give the former its proper weight.

“You’re sure there’s no way to bring in Ulciscor and Lanistia?” I ask it abruptly. Not the first time I’ve brought it up; of everything we’ve talked about so far, this is strangely one of the things that is bothering me the most. For all Ulciscor put me through, Caeror was—maybe is—his brother. “Caeror even tried to tell Ulciscor what was happening, before he ran the Labyrinth. Sent him notes. And, gods. They both loved him. If there’s even a chance he’s alive, if I convinced them to sign a Silencium—”

“No.”

“It broke them, Veridius.”

“I know.” Genuine pain on Veridius’s face. He pretended Caeror had committed suicide in his deal to defect to Religion: They gave him a position directly under the old Principalis, and the Academy avoided investigation and scandal. His idea. His price. I have never seen more raw shame on a man’s face than when he made that admission to me. “I know. But the fact is, broken people cannot be trusted with something of this magnitude. Caeror is dead in this world, and even if that message on your arm means what I think, there’s no way to get to him in the others. Maybe it would bring them some comfort, knowing he’s out there. Or maybe Ulciscor would refuse to listen to me, the way he refused to listen to you. Maybe he would decide that Military’s resources offered his best chance at rescuing his brother.”

“I don’t think he would.”

“But you cannot be sure.” Veridius holds my gaze. “And anyway, you know Lanistia. Trying to keep her away if she found out the truth…”

“Oh, gods. Good point.”

We share a chuckle. Brief, but genuine.

“Silencium or not, I can’t stop you from telling them,” Veridius says eventually. “And I know you want to help them. But it won’t—not practically, not emotionally. I think you know what the right course is.”

I glance over at Aequa and Eidhin. Aequa nods, the slightest of indications that she agrees with the Principalis. After a pause, Eidhin slowly does the same. They’ve each kept their own counsel for most of the past few hours, chiming in with questions or observations only when they’ve felt they needed to. But I’ve been leaning on them to help me process what we’re learning. Using the shared experience to help me accept Veridius’s claims, knowing that there will be many, undoubtedly far less rational conversations to come about what we’ve heard here tonight.

They will never know how grateful I am that I do not have to go through this alone.

“Alright.” Not much else I can say to it, really.

We sit on the cold stone of the Curia Doctrina’s stairs. For a strange moment it feels as though nothing has changed, despite the eerie silence. From the corner of my eye, I can almost see Callidus sitting alongside Eidhin and Aequa. Feel like I could turn and see his smile.

Instead, I keep my gaze focused ahead, through the glittering spray of the triangular fountain in the centre of the Quadrum and resting it on the Praetorium. My mind drifts further still, beyond the Will-cut structure. To where I know the Labyrinth—the Academy’s Labyrinth—lies.

“So you think the Labyrinth was originally designed as some kind of proving ground for soldiers. That they were being sent through to continue fighting the Concurrence in Luceum and Obiteum, after we won against them here.” Picking up where our conversation left off, before I requested the change of scenery. “And those soldiers were expected to sacrifice themselves here on Res, so they wouldn’t become Synchronous?”

“I think. I told you, the translation is tricky and it’s focused more on the mechanics of getting around that sacrifice, than explaining its background. There are hundreds of words down there which appear only once. Even with what we’ve correlated with the Alta Semita translations, there’s still a lot we’re having to make guesses at in context. And even then, what’s written seems to be assuming a lot of knowledge we just don’t have.” He’s emphasised this several times already. I still can’t decide whether it’s because it’s true, or simply a convenient way to obscure information.

“But if you’re right, then that means whoever wrote it was working against people fighting the Concurrence.”

“They were working to circumvent a system set up thousands of years before their time; there could be any number of reasons for that. But they were certainly not for the Concurrence. That much is clear.” Veridius spreads his hands. “I wish I knew more. Truly. The one thing we do know is there have been multiple Cataclysms, and another is due, and the authors seemed sure that only someone Synchronous could prevent them.”

I examine Veridius. He seems open, seems honest. He’s told us a lot and despite the madness of it all, it fits. It explains so much.

I do not trust him. I believe what he is saying, but not that it’s everything.

“Then how does Vis stop it?” Eidhin finally rumbles the question I’ve been desperate to ask, and avoid, since we started.

Veridius makes a face. Doesn’t answer for a long enough pause that I exchange glances with the other two.

“Rotting gods. You don’t know?”

“It’s not that.” Defensive, despite himself. “The writings seemed to suggest the Cataclysms were triggered by one man. ‘Ka,’ they called him. But they talked about exploiting a vulnerability in Obiteum, not here. There’s no suggestion of how to find him in our world.”

Aequa points it out before I do. “One man? Causing Cataclysms over thousands of years?” she interjects disbelievingly.

“He could be a iunctus.” More uncertainty than I’d like in the response. “Or being Synchronous could extend life indefinitely, for all we know. Like an even more effective version of what we see in the Princeps. And there are certainly plenty of instances of Will operating in ways we don’t understand, like the Vitaeria. I know it seems absurd, but everything else written down there has borne out as truth.”

I massage the nub of my missing arm absently. Accept it for the time being, as I have with so much tonight. “Then we have to find him.”

“We need to keep you safe. Caeror knew all of this, too.”

It takes a few moments for me to understand what he means. “You want me to do nothing?”

“I know it’s not your default position,” the Principalis says dryly. “And I’m not saying we won’t act, given the chance. But Vis… I just don’t have enough information. Wherever Ka is on our world, I have no idea where to look. Where to start looking.” He rubs his forehead tiredly. “I hate the passivity of it too, but keeping a low profile is the best thing you can do right now. Don’t let anyone else know what you can do. If Ka finds out you’re Synchronous, I have no doubt he’ll try to have you killed.” He looks at Aequa and Eidhin. “You two need to help him. Keep an eye on him, wherever you can.”

They both, to my vague annoyance, nod gravely. Even knowing what he’s done, Veridius’s calm, commanding presence manages to overwhelm everything sometimes. It’s so easy to forget that he’s no longer in charge of us.

Veridius gazes up at the stars dotting the bruised sky of the west. “That’s probably everything I can think to tell you, Vis, for now. If something else occurs to me, I’ll let you know before the Transvect arrives tomorrow.” He stands. “I am sorry I cannot give you better answers. More of a purpose. Of everyone involved in this, you genuinely have the hardest job. You have to wait, and hope.”

He says it with gentle, regretful care. The melancholy in his voice adds that he knows only too well how difficult that truly is.

I nod. A respectful acknowledgement that I mean. I don’t trust that he’s told me everything, and I don’t doubt he feels the same about me. Nor can I say that I like how he has gone about dealing with all of this. But I do believe him. I believe there is a Cataclysm coming, and I believe he wants to stop it.

In purpose if not in method, we appear to be on the same side.

“Get some rest. The dormitory is open. And Vis?” He allows the slightest of smiles. “Stay on the gods-damned grounds tonight, please.”

I cough a laugh. “Yes, Principalis.”

He gives a wry nod, and walks away.

The three of us watch, silent, until he’s disappeared into the Praetorium. Then Aequa suddenly expels a long breath. “I’m hungry.”

“Yes,” rumbles Eidhin.

I give a soft chuckle at the break in tension. “I’ll meet you there? I could use more of a walk to clear my head, first.” I stretch. “Maybe after dinner, we could go and see Diago.”

Aequa makes a face. “You want us to get eaten?”

“I want to see if he’s inclined to try.”

They look at me with disapproving expressions, and then Eidhin grunts. “We have nothing better to be doing, I suppose.”

Aequa rolls her eyes in acquiescence, and they head toward the Curia Doctrina.

THE JOURNEY TO THE TWISTING, cuneate tower of the dormitory is a lonely one. The Academy may never have been home, but it was at least familiar; now, devoid of bustle and laughter and argument, it is a cadaver and I am intruding upon its tomb.

The dormitory is unlocked, as unsettlingly empty as outside. Every bed stripped. Every desk bare. The floor is spotless. As if our time here has been swept clean, erased.

Memory makes my steps heavy as I start in.

I make my way slowly inside, to the bed two spaces over from the one Callidus slept in. Carefully unscrew the bedpost and feel around inside the cavity. It’s still there. The documents Belli blackmailed him with, the ones he so desperately wanted to get back to his father. I draw them out and pocket them. Replace the post’s top.

Fulfil my final promise to my friend.

I make to leave. Stop. Look over at Callidus’s space. A lump forms in my throat, despite my determination. As sterile as the rest of its surrounds, yet suddenly I can see him hunched over his desk. Scribbling on his wax tablet. Awake later and up earlier than anyone else. Flicking through books too advanced for me, let alone a Seventh.

In my head, he turns to me and grins.

The pressure in my throat, behind my eyes, becomes unbearable. I’ve avoided thinking of him. Ever since the funeral. Shied away from the pain of those memories because I’ve had more pressing concerns. More important things to do.

What kind of friend does that?

Grief, my mother once told me, is love’s most honest expression. The last and hardest aspect of truly, truly caring for someone. She said it at her own mother’s funeral rites, tears in her eyes even as she tried to comfort a boy too young to understand why he was so sad, why his grandmother couldn’t be there anymore. She explained through choking sobs that without grief, love would be meaningless. Because it is impossible to truly love something that cannot be lost.

I remember that day, and I remember my friend, and I weep.

It’s a formless, confusing pain that wrings me out, chokes the sobs from me as I sit on the edge of the bed and hold my head in my hand. I’m not sure if my tears are for the boy whose time was cut short, or myself for having to bear his absence. But it helps. I force the memories. Smile at some, even as I sniff.

I don’t know how long has passed when I hear the scuffing of feet on stone.

I furiously wipe my face and stand, rapidly bringing myself under control. When I turn, Livia is standing awkwardly a few feet away.

“The Principalis just found me. He said you might be here,” she says quietly. A question in it, but softened after seeing me like this. She knows we travelled here so that I could talk to Veridius—ostensibly to find out all I can about the Iudicium attack—but he’s kept her from the rest of us for the entire day, and she wants to know why.

I grunt. Not trusting myself to speak, for a moment, and then, “These are for your father.” I gruffly hold out the pages I took from the bedpost.

Livia frowns as she takes them. Pales as she takes in the writing, her original intent in tracking me down forgotten. “How…”

“Callidus gave them to one of the students—he was trying to help them. Instead, they blackmailed him.” I hold her gaze. “It’s why he was in Seven.”

Livia says nothing for a few seconds. The pages tremble slightly in her hands as she reads through them.

“He always was an idiot.” A half laugh accompanying the words. Affectionate and exasperated, all at once. “Who was it?”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re dead.”

She gives a short nod. Looks around. Taking the space in properly. “This is where he slept?”

I smile. Barely manage to contain the fresh swell of emotion. “Sat at that desk every night. Read for hours after everyone else went to bed.”

“Sounds about right.” Her gaze stays fixed on the chair. Smile wistful. Picturing it too. After a while she shakes herself, tapping the pages against her other palm. “Thank you.”

I nod, just slightly. She means it.

“The others are waiting in the mess hall. We didn’t get much that was new out of the Principalis today, but we can talk about it over dinner.” I’ll figure out what to tell her on the way.

I take a couple of steps toward the door, then realise she’s not following.

“I’ve eaten already. I think I’ll wait here.” Livia’s back is to me. Gazing at her brother’s desk. “Just for a little while.”

I nod in understanding, though she can’t see it.

Leave her to her thoughts.