I stop, trying to make sense of it. There are hundreds more people scattered around the stands that ring the track, too, though they almost make the stadium seem more empty given that the circus’s capacity must surely be in the tens of thousands. Many of the spectators are clumped in groups, talking in low tones and gesturing at what’s taking place below them.
I trail Tullius out farther, and my arrival causes a wave of vaguely excited murmurs from the stands, which in turn draws pauses and curious glances from those undergoing their assessments.
I stare back coolly. The others being tested are mostly my age, though a few are older; one even looks in his early forties. Not just newcomers to a pyramid here, then, but anyone who has been moved up a level during the latest review. Even so, there are definitely too many.
Then my step slows as, for the first time, I pay attention to faces. Shaggy-haired Felix is over toward the centre, torso bare, eyes black as they meet mine. Marcellus is not far from our path, avoiding my gaze with the pretence of focusing on the fist-sized stones in front of him. Leridia, a girl from Class Six, half raises a hand in greeting before falteringly letting it drop to her side again. A few others I recognise here and there, too.
I scan further. Iro and Indol are on the far side of the track, preparing to run. Indol smiles when he catches my gaze. I give a small nod back. Iro, typically, ignores the exchange.
And then there’s Aequa.
She’s a few hundred feet away, but we practiced together for weeks leading up to the Iudicium: the way her long black tresses are tied back, her lithe athleticism as she moves, is impossible to mistake. She’s running holding a stone block while two more hover steadily in front of her. She either hasn’t spotted me or is too focused to spare me a glance.
There’s a discomfort in seeing her, in particular. A queasiness. We were friends.Arefriends. But I’m going to have to ask her about the Iudicium. I sent her to protect Callidus. I have to know why she didn’t. I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.
I expected to see her here, even if the location is a surprise. The others, though …
“This isn’t just Governance,” I realise belatedly. Iro’s father is a Tertius in Religion. Marcellus’s father is a Religion senator. Indol, assuming he went through with his defection, is Religion too.
Tullius eyes me. “I hope your imbuing is more impressive than your powers of observation, Catenicus.”
A quick scan confirms that it’s only Religion and Governance here as far as I can tell. I can see a few others I recognise from the Academy—Fifths, mostly—and none of them are from Military.
“Is this usual?” I know it’s not, but I ask the question anyway. Tullius doesn’t dignify it with an answer. Many of the spectators in the stands, I note, wear the purple stripe on their togas. Senators. There’s no easy way to tell which are from Governance and which are from Religion, but from how some groups are huddled together, talking intensely—and blatantly ignoring the goings-on down here—I have to assume that matters other than our assessments are being discussed.
Even from down here, the mood of those conversations feels grim.
“Let’s start with a few questions.” Tullius has stopped us in a clear space. “How much Will are you theoretically able to use right now?” When he sees my look, he allows a chuckle. The smile reveals a gap in his front teeth. “I know, I know. But you would be shocked at the number of fresh candidates who think they’re ready to wield Will, and don’t even know their own potential strength.”
“Alright. I’m holding the strength of about eighteen and a half people.” Each Octavii cedes half their Will to their Septimus, giving them the equivalent of four extra people’s Will—as well as their own, to make five. Then they each cede half of that Will to me.
“About?”
“It’s an estimate, not a measurement. My actual strength will depend partly on my efficiency in using Will, and partly on my Octavii and Septimii. Their own individual strengths. Their drive. Their willingness to cede. Their health. Any other number of factors across any given day.”
“Good. Many fall into the trap of thinking about how many are ceding to them, and not about the quality of their pyramid.” Tullius nods to himself, making a note on his wax tablet. “Have you been asked to put your Will toward a specific task within Governance?”
“No.”
“Discretionary,” murmurs Tullius as he writes, the answer clearly an expected one. “And you agree not to use your Will for personal gain or for activities that are illegal, in particular any that might violate Birthright?”
“Of course. Yes.”
“Good.” More scribbling. “Enough questions, Catenicus. Now to the tests.”
I trail after Tullius as he moves us across to a pile of boulders. They’re irregularly shaped, a couple of feet wide and perhaps one in width and height. They must each weigh at least a few hundred pounds.
“First, we’re going to see how well you self-imbue. I want you to throw one of these as far as you can.” Tullius stands with his tablet and stylus at the ready, looking at me steadily.
I swallow a protest; it’s an immediately more difficult task with only one hand, but this is the test. The rocks are all a similar shape and size, and undoubtedly chosen to be of almost identical weight. How far I can throw one will be a relatively objective measurement of both my strength, and my ability to apply it.
I crouch beside one that’s a little broader, fairly smooth. Easier to balance. “How far do I have to get it?”
“The average for a Totius Sextus would be thirty feet.”
“What’s the best throw today for a Totius Sextus?” I clarify.
“A little over fifty.” I can almost taste the doubt in Tullius’s tone.
