“Try one of the variants of the Caecilius visualisation. The one he suggested for Harmonic Reaction,” says Caeror, pacing around us as if trying to see the connection I’m attempting to make.
I consider, the iunctus’s unnaturally cool flesh utterly motionless beneath my grip. “Using myself as one of the Harmonic objects? And Tash as the other?” That feels wrong, but then so many of the things we’ve tried this afternoon feel wrong.
“Worth trying.” He sees my expression. Softens from academic curiosity to sympathy. “I know. Look, we only have about an hour of light left anyway. If you need to stop—”
“No.” I snap it out, more harshly than I mean to. The idea of leaving without making any progress whatsoever, knowing I’ll have to come back and start again tomorrow, is harder to face than continuing. “It’s a good suggestion,” I add, modifying my tone.
I turn away before he can say more or I can change my mind. Focus on Tash, burning his gangly image into my mind once again: a strong mental representation is the start of almost every Will-based process on Res, even if Caeror says it may not be necessary here. The frustrating thing—or the most frustrating thing, at least—is that while I know all the theory, excelled at virtually every practical aspect of the Academy, I’ve never actually used Will in any of these advanced ways before. I have no way of knowing whether my failures are from methodology or execution.
I’m fumbling in the dark, and the worst part is that I’m not even sure what I’m trying to find should feel like.
“Caecilius. Harmonic Reaction.” I mutter the words to myself. We focused on this in Class Four. A few gods-damned months ago. A Harmonic Reaction ties two objects together: if one moves in space, so must the other. But crucially, their weight becomes that only of the heavier object—which is why Harmonics are so key to the Hierarchy’s machinery. “Weight paralletics,” they call it. The reason things like Transvects can work.
Of course, I’m not concerned about how heavy we are, here. And in Res, people can’t be imbued. And a Harmonic Reaction with oneself isn’t possible. And Harmonics have nothing to do with somehow connecting to the gods-damned mind of another person.
But nothing else I’ve ever heard of does, either. So we may as well try.
XII
I KEEP MY GAZE FIXED ON TASH, AND MY HAND ON HISshoulder. Our faces a foot apart.Harmonics. I conceive of myself—usually done to self-imbue, and, I’ve always been told, the easiest of skills—and then mentally try to link myself to Tash. Visualise us as the same thing. “Let me see through your eyes.” Vetusian. “Let me see through your eyes.” Common. It’s the command and method Caeror suggested, though I’ve tried others. The Instruction Blade operates off intent, not the language or even wording used, but I have no idea whether that will be true for what I’m attempting. So I say it in both. Trying to create the deepest possible understanding for both Tash and myself.
We stand there like that for a minute. Two. I strain to connect us, to truly see us as the same. Employ every technique that I know.
“Nothing.” I let out a heavy breath and release the mental construct. It’s no surprise: in Harmonics the initial connection is by far the hardest part, with more disparate objects needing more mental discipline and initial Will to link. It’s why Quintii and above are tasked with it back home; it’s theoretically possible for a Sextus, but I’ve never heard of any actually doing it. Even with objects that are physically identical.
Caeror nods slowly. Pacing again. Gaze distant and thoughtful. “You used Caecilius’s actual philosophy? Not just standard Harmonics?”
I go to confirm, then frown. Consider. Caecilius was the one who coined the term Harmonics; he described it as more than simply visualisation but rather something deeper, almost empathetic in nature. Not to think of the two objects as the same, but to find their hearts and imaginethoseas inseparably joined. He said an axe could be Harmonically joined to a log because they looked vaguely similar, certainly—but it was better joined because one was made for the other. Or from the other. Either way a more profound, philosophical link.
“I suppose not.” Caecilius never talked about trying to link to another person—why would he?—and it’s a largely ignored area of his thesis, but I can see what Caeror is saying. I turn back to Tash. “Let me see through your eyes. Let me see through your eyes.” I think about him. The man, rather than the physical form in front of me. I do not know him. Do not know much about his life here.But I can understand that this must be confusing, for him. How unsettling it must be. And I can certainly guess at how he must feel with the gods-damned blade sticking through him, no matter that he’s been told to ignore—
Terror.
I have moved without moving. I am staring at my face. My eyes black. Hand on my shoulder above a blade that juts from my chest. It is a moment in time. A heartbeat. Dread to the point of nausea. I have so much fear but I cannot scream. I haveso much fear.
And then I’m on my knees. I’m blind. Retch, gasp for air, retch again. Try to rise in panic and stumble, only for someone to catch me and lower me to the ground again.
“Easy,” Caeror murmurs, concern thick in his tone as he manages my agitated thrashing. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”
My vision clears. Tash still standing there, motionless, the Instruction Blade protruding. Caeror is crouching, confusion and genuine worry written on his face as he examines me. He sees me register his presence, and places a hand on my shoulder. Calming, despite his own concern. “Are you alright?”
My stomach threatens to try and futilely empty itself again. I tremble at the aftershock, the disorienting wave of horrific sensation that I can feel as keenly as if it were still happening. “I’m not injured. But no.” I push away his hand, propping myself up and looking over at Tash. “Rotting gods. Rottinggods. He’s terrified, Caeror! Gods-damned unable to breathe utterlyfearfulof what we’re doing to him. And helpless to stop it.” It’s the only explanation I have. A sense. But I’m certain I’m right.
Caeror runs a hand through his tousled black hair. A strange mixture of horror and excitement in the motion. “That’s awful, but Vis … it worked?”
“I can’t do it again.”
“But itworked. We can use the Instruction Blade to tell him not to be afraid. We should have done that beforehand.” Caeror looks distressed at the thought. “You felt what he felt?”
“Yes.”
“And you saw …”
“Yes.” Bile again. Me with black eyes. Embedded blade jutting between us.
Caeror’s compassion battles with his initial enthusiasm, but the former wins out. “I’m sorry,” he says eventually, brow furrowed. Addressing it partly to me, partly to Tash, though the other man would have no way of understandingthe Common. “He volunteered, so I just assumed … I only thought about the physical pain. That was …” He exhales, shoulders slumping as he realises. “Gods’ graves. I’ll talk to him. Give us a minute?”
I wander as Ulciscor’s brother pulls the Instruction Blade from Tash’s chest, refusing to watch as the gaping wound pulls tight again. Not healing—not regrowing flesh or knitting together—but sealing itself thanks to the scarab disc wrapped tight around the iunctus’s arm. There are four iunctii in Qabr, apparently. The amulets we wear imbue more than enough to bring someone back.
