I exhale. With two hands, I might be able to grip the stone and spin, releasing it with momentum. With only one, simply balancing myself while lifting is going to be an issue, no matter how much extra strength I have flooding my body.
Still crouching, I touch the stone. Focus.
Beneath the sun-warmed surface, a gentle pulse brushes my mind. Just barely. That makes sense: a simple object can’t be imbued with more than one person’s Will, and moving something through imbuing is far more efficient than physically throwing it. This is the only way to ensure that no one cheats.
I consider. Study the shape of the stone and memorize it, even as I feel the eyes on me. I cannot show even a hint of this Adoption ability, if it works. Gods. Forget my real name, my real origins—the Hierarchy would have me executed, buried, and all memory of me erased within an hour of realising what I can do.
“I’m waiting, Catenicus.” Tullius says it firmly, if not unkindly.
Vek. Vek, vek,vek. I don’t need to look around to know everyone’s watching; the way the hubbub everywhere has quietened is proof enough. I straighten. Glare at the stone, then around. “From that line?” There’s a semi-circle scored in the sand nearby. In front of it is a demarcated space that is evidently meant to be kept clear.
“Yes.”
No choice. A poor display here might be safer, but what would be the point? I would be alive, and part of the Hierarchy, and in no position to do anything.
I close my eyes and for the first time since making sure the ceding had truly worked this morning, let myself feel the entirety of the Will within my grasp. Let it flood into my body, washing like a tingling, cold wave through my veins. Just like before, I am revolted only by how easy it is and how good it feels. No hint of the disgusting sensation I always imagined, but instead, invigoration. An infusion of pure, clean verve, no matter its source.
I take care to keep my mind clear. Carefully apportion the extra strength throughout my body, allowing more into my hips and waist, where I’ll generate the majority of the power for my throw. It’s possible I’ll instinctively reassign any excess Will to there when the time comes, anyway—we were taught at the Academy that much of self-imbuing comes from reflex—but this way will be more efficient. Prevent any last-second imbalance from the adjustment.
It all happens in moments, less than a second. I feel lost and wonderful. Sick and invincible. I try not to imagine my eyes, how I must look to everyone watching on.
Then I brace myself. Bend down and position my hand beneath the boulder, let it settle onto my palm and feel its weight. Every inch of my body is tense with the effort of balancing.
I reach out for a second. Two. Five. Picturing the stone in my mind. The Will in it is right there. I strain after it. Hoping. Hoping. Relucia’s contact had no reason to lie to me.
Connection.
With a roar, I scoop the enormous rock up, launch forward, and throw.
XXIII
FOR ALL MY TIME SLAVING IN THE ACADEMY, FOR ALLthe Praeceptors who spent countless hours droning on at us about mechanics and metrics and formulas, it was my childhood tutor Iniguez who most accurately summarized the concept of strength of Will to me.
“In a fight between two men,” he asked of me one day, “who will win?”
His question was in response to my own, wondering how best to calculate the relative strength of individuals’ Will. We were walking the clifftop paths of Suus. Sun shining. Aeternum glittering below. Years before the Hierarchy’s invasion, the subject entirely academic.
“That depends.” Tempted to answer with a philosophically glib “neither,” but Iniguez’s lessons always had a certain tempo to them. One that you disrupted at your own peril.
“On what?”
“On who has the advantage.”
“And what constitutes an advantage?”
“Size. Strength. Agility. Age.” He waited for more, so I gave it. “Weapons. Armour. Training. Positioning. Foreknowledge of the fight.” Still silent. “Experience with the type of opponent. Knowledge of the specific opponent. External support. Fatigue. Wits. Determination …”
He finally chuckled, allowing me a nod. “And more. We see a small man and a big man; we assume the big man will win. Then we see the small man holding a blade; we think the smaller will win. Then we learn the big one has beaten a hundred likewise-armed men before this, and perhaps we change our minds again. And so on, and so on. Back and forth. Nothing changing in the variables, only our knowledge of them.”
He gazed across the strait, as if Caten was right there. “We all fumble in the dark for ways to say that one man is better than another, and the Hierarchy fumble more than most. Their formulas and measurements make sense in the broad strokes; in the building of infrastructure, in the arrangement of an empire, averages are an acceptable metric. But men are still men. Strong and flawed and unpredictable, day to day. To weigh their potential without knowing their spirit … it cannot be done.”
It is a truth that no matter how hard the Hierarchy strives to deny, all know.
Now it is a truth I have to turn to my advantage. To sell the brazen lie that my missing arm doesn’t matter.
The power surging through my body is incredible as I release the boulder, every muscle taut as I fiercely focus on maintaining balance against the throw. Even executing this perfectly, even with such a strong pyramid in support, I know I shouldn’t be able to toss the boulder much farther than the average. Time seems to slow. I can still sense the Will in the rock as I let go. As I watch it arc through the air.
I can feel it. Feel it in the same way I can feel the Will still coursing through me.
