Chapter 7. The Hierarchy

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The traditions of the dead are iron manacles on the living

-Book of the Immortals

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An immense pyramid looms before us, dominating the vast cavern. Made of polished obsidian, it seems to devour what little light filters down through cracks in the distant ceiling. Strange symbols and half-glimpsed figures ripple across the glassy black stone.

Olly's awed whisper drifts up from beside me. "What is this place?"

I can only shake my head, as mystified as he is. A slender ledge winds down the cavern wall, and I pick my way toward it carefully, loose shards of stone skittering away into the void with each step. Olly follows a pace behind, craning his neck to take in the entirety of the titanic pyramid as it swells ever larger before us. Already four times our height, it continues to expand as we descend, following the spiralling path deeper into the strange, heavy air.

Awe prickles across my skin as the sheer scale of the edifice gradually reveals itself. Carved into five massive tiers, each level teems with intricately rendered crowds of figures engaged in vivid scenes of life and conflict.

The bottom layer, the largest, depicts endless rows of figures garbed in humble tunics. Though carved from unforgiving stone, they seem poised to spring to life at any moment - hoisting tools, manoeuvring massive blocks, and hauling stone in service of building a great wall that marches around the pyramid's entire circumference. I know their stooped shoulders and calloused hands too well. How many times did I see Nole’s father return home with his back bent and fingers bloodied from long hours shaping stone? And for what? His mother still had to sell her essence to keep them fed.

In the tier above, a frenzied battle rages across the smooth obsidian stage. Armoured soldiers bearing shields of light surge forward in meticulously orchestrated ranks. Pennants snap in an imagined breeze, arcs of flame soar overhead, every detail conjuring the terrible majesty of warfare. I recall the Sovereign’s guards who came to collect overdue rent, their boots and spears driving friends from their hovel and into the barren desert. Then there’s the Swords that disappear in the Sovereign’s Tower. We’re told they fight a never ending war against the void, but no one I know has ever seen it.

Higher up, the pyramid's width narrows, opening onto more rarified scenes. Rapt crowds gaze upward in awe as robed scholars work miracles - conjuring illusions from thin air, guiding strange pinpricks of light among the sky. Like the Priests in Amenion that judge lives and punish those that blaspheme against the Sovereign.

Dominating the next level, figures wreathed in gold command trade empires from the prows of immense airships or the bridges of fleets overflowing with riches. At the centre, one commanding man stands astride the biggest vessel of all, an airborne leviathan whose vast expanse blots out the sky while adoring throngs below slowly starve.

It is the topmost tier that arrests my attention. No larger than my two fists placed together, a glass pyramid rests there, filled with liquid light that pulses as if alive. Half-glimpsed shapes swim through it like flocks of tiny birds, there one instant and gone the next.

But it’s a lie to say that all of Amenion is bad. The priests and scholars put on plays where characters are made of light, and the images transport you to other worlds like dreams. There is food that delights the senses, personal flying devices so you can play among the birds, and houses that shift and move to their owners whims. But these things are as far away from Olly and I as the top of the Sovereign’s Tower.

Beside me, Olly sucks in a sharp breath, eyes round with wonder tinged by resignation. "It's showing the hierarchy," he murmurs. "That bottom level - it must represent the Hammers."

He's right. The Hammers comprise the backbone of Amenion - its builders, its skilled tradesmen. Their magic manifests as enhanced strength and resilience, allowing them to labour tirelessly shaping stone and metal with their bare hands. Despite their vast numbers, they possess the least access to essence.

"And the tier above them - those must be the Swords." The warrior class, endowed with enough essence to summon shields and weapons forged of light itself. They act as enforcers of the Sovereign's laws, keeping the lower masses in line through shows of magical force.

"The scholars above them are the Voice." Olly points out the intricate illusions taking shape above the priests' raised hands. His own voice takes on a bitter tinge. "They control knowledge and access to the mysteries."

"And up here, the Mind." The true elite, numbering few but holding sway over trade and thus true power. Rumoured to have built Amenion itself, their essence grants them the ability to bend minds to their will.

Olly's gaze remains fixed on the crystalline apex. When he speaks again, his voice holds an odd note of resignation beneath the awe. "Which means that the glass pyramid can only represent the Sovereign."

The Sovereign - our immortal rulers, unchanging in number and shrouded in mystery. Their powers over reality itself secure their eternal reign over Amenion, though few have ever laid eyes on them. Yet their influence permeates every level of society, an invisible hand guiding all.

Stamped into stone, this is the Amenion's social order with the Sovereign enthroned above, removed from all concerns of the teeming masses below. An elegant symbol of the gulf between the highest and the lowest.

And where do Olly and I feature in this perfect order? Nowhere. Forgotten. Essence-less spectres without magic or means.

The stone ridge beneath our feet shudders, jolting me from my dark musings. Cascades of grit rain down around us.

Damn - in my fascinated study of the pyramid, I'd nearly forgotten. Balen had only given us the span of one timeglass turn to locate artefacts before departing. We're nearly out of time.

"Olly, check the timeglass! How much sand is left?” I call out, my voice pinging through the vast open space. “We can't be late."

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Olly's muffled curse draws my attention back to him. My heart sinks as I follow his stunned gaze to the remains of the timepiece I'd attached to his pack, its glittering sands scattered across the cavern floor.

"Must have smashed when we fell earlier," he says wretchedly.

I spit out a harsh oath, the sound swallowed by the dead air. Of course our luck would fail us now, in this crucial moment, leaving us fumbling blindly ahead without a clue how little time remains before Balen departs. I can easily picture his satisfied smirk at leaving us stranded down here, abandoned for whatever unknown guardians haunt this lightless abyss. Unless we can salvage something of value quickly, we'll be left with nothing but fruitless questions.

Jaw clenched, I make a swift decision. "Blast the Six. We have to search this place top to bottom for anything worth taking back. Split up and look for clues or artefacts, but stay within shouting distance."

Olly nods, mouth a determined line. Then we're off, boots scuffing up plumes of ancient dust as we sprint along opposite walls of the massive cavern, combing the jumbled debris and deep shadows for some hint of treasure that might turn our fortunes around.

My breaths echo loud in my ears as I run, eyes raking the clotted darkness. In a far corner, something stirs in the gloom - a sinuous shift of ebon on black.

I jerk to a halt, ears straining for any sound out of place as I study the deeper darkness. "Olly?" No response. Warily, I slide my knife from its sheath and take one cautious step nearer, then another. Too bulky to be a snake, but this deep in the island, who knows what older things might yet slumber, waiting to be disturbed?

"Korm!"

Olly's shout carries clearly through the stagnant air. I spin and sprint back to find him standing before a section of carved wall illuminated by a lone shaft of light from above. My gaze catches on a row of robed statues flanking some kind of mechanism - a series of rusted metal wheels set into the stone.

"Controls?" I ask hopefully.

Olly nods, a note of excitement in his hushed voice. "This could be it. Our last chance before..."

Before time runs out. Before we're left on this island for the Sovereign’s forces to find. I step past him to examine the nearest wheel. What if these unleash some ancient guardian or trigger long-dormant defences? But we're left with no choice but to try.

A shudder ripples through the cavern. Olly looks at me. Is that the Sovereign’s airships landing?

But we’re too close to leave now. With gritty metallic rasps, I put my full strength into turning one of the stubborn cranks. It shudders in protest, then gives way a fraction before jolting to a halt. From somewhere in the chamber's depths echoes a piercing shriek of stone dragging on stone. We leap back, scanning the high shadows for any sign of the ceiling crashing down on us.

Silence settles over us once more. I move to the next handle and throw my weight into wrestling it around, then another, growling in frustration as each turn elicits the same tortured scream of protest but no other result. My hands clench white-knuckled on the unmoving wheel. Even here, at what might be the end of everything, this damned ruin mocks us, our gambit failed.

I'm winding up to try again when Olly's hand gently closes on my shoulder. I turn to find his youthful face etched with regret. "It's too late, Korm. The others won't wait much longer, if they’re even still here." His voice holds a note of desperation beneath the resignation. "We need to get back. With or without an artefact."

My gut twists with bitterness. To have gambled so much on this one reckless throw, only to fail. What a damned fool I've been. But the unspoken plea in Olly's eyes keeps the temper simmering inside me in check. I simply nod and turn away from the silent statues. "You're right."

I take one leaden step toward the tunnel when a faint glow catches my eye - dim, but unmistakably out of place in this lightless realm. I halt, peering back over my shoulder in disbelief. There, just visible past the line of controls, the glass peak of the pyramid glimmers with a phantasmal radiance unlike anything we've encountered below.

It's floating. Those controls had done something after all.

"Olly, go on ahead. Make sure the others wait for me. I'll be right behind you."

"Kormen, no!" Olly's voice rings out in warning, sensing my intent. "Don't be foolish! Whatever you're planning-"

I cut him off sharply. "Just go, Olly! I'll catch up."

His dismay is a palpable weight between my shoulders. But he doesn't argue further, only spins on his heel and sets off at a run for the tunnel by which we entered this strange realm.

At least Olly will be away from here if this goes wrong. I whisper a brief prayer of thanks as I sprint straight for the pyramid with single-minded purpose. My boots scrape loud across the dusty floor with each stride. Vaulting up the alarmingly steep slope takes every shred of strength left in my aching body. But I climb steadily, passing the scenes of stooped builders, soldiers, and scholars carved into the smooth facades.

As I haul myself onto the uppermost tier, the glass pyramid fills my vision, pulsing with otherworldly energy. I reach for it, fingers stretching desperately. Too late I realise my mistake. The artefact streaks upward, pulling me along until I'm dragged up and over the pyramid's peaked rim. For an impossible moment I hang suspended in the open air. Then the ground surges up to meet me.

Pain detonates through every fibre of my being as I crash to the unforgiving stone. For a blinding span of heartbeats I lie stunned, unable to breathe or move as icy numbness seeps through my limbs. Each shallow gasp feels like drawing breath through shattered glass. Surely I'm broken beyond repair.

Slowly, agonisingly, I force my trembling arms to push myself upright. Braced for the explosion of pain sure to follow, I nearly collapse again in shock when none comes. Aside from a chorus of protesting aches, somehow I'm intact. I probe my torso gingerly and wince. No broken bones, but I won't be swinging any hammers for the next few days at least.

With a smothered groan I rise to my feet, every muscle clenched tight against the bruising. As my vision clears, it snags on something that steals the breath from my battered lungs all over again.

There, in the cavern wall behind the pyramid, an immense door now hangs open. Beyond writhes a hypnotic illumination unlike anything we've encountered in this sunken realm. It spills past the widening crack to paint writhing shapes on the walls, at once beckoning and warning me away.

Before I fully grasp what I'm doing, my feet carry me toward that eerie light. Some primal compulsion pushes me to seek its origin. This goes beyond artefacts or ancient treasures - here lurks a wellspring of forgotten knowledge and power, secrets that might finally provide answers to mysteries that have haunted me since childhood.

But on the cusp of being drawn into that luminous snare, my conversation with Olly from earlier surfaces unexpectedly in my mind. He had spoken with such conviction about healing Amenion's hurting masses if ever granted access to magic. While I have become consumed only with thoughts of escape and acquisition, never pausing to reflect on our true purpose.

With great effort I tear my eyes away from the light's hypnotic allure and turn toward the tunnel. Because I know if I look a moment longer, I won't be able to stop myself from plunging through that door, heedless of the consequences. And I need to find Olly first. Make certain he's safe.

There’s a roar of something monstrous from the doorway.

I scramble for the tunnel entrance, muscles burning in protest. With each handhold I'm torn between urgency to find Olly and the siren-song pull of the mystery lurking behind me. I squeeze my eyes shut, focusing only on the next grip as I force my way back into the winding passage upward.