"And you are to train him."

  Ti Malis' words were as a festering cyst, rotting and itching just beneath the skin.

  Oscar's confinement had lifted, the air around his unease inclusion within the community of the Will had lifted some, and yet his father's dismissal of him still felt raw and unfair.

  But was it warranted?

  Oscar had known that he would never be properly accepted by the augurs and the wider community because of how he came to be. Maybe this was a blessing in a way – a way for his father to stay the blade of the executioner. He might be suffered live, so long as another takes his father's seat, with what little solace that gave him.

  Coming out of his modest quarters after a night of brooding over his father's words, Oscar could feel a familiar presence waiting for him.

  "Good morning, Tarrare," Oscar said, "I admit I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon."

  "Nor I," Tarrare snorted, something wet gripped in his palm. He raised it to his mouth and tore off a morsel between gnashing teeth, a velvety sauce dripping from his lips onto his robes.

  "What's for breakfast today?" Oscar asked.

  "Mutton and molé sauce," he jeered between bites. "And a full-bodied port, sweet and succulent each as they were. Shame you missed it."

  "I imagine it was. I do appreciate your proclivities for the finer things, brother," Oscar said.

  "Brother? Bah! You and I know there's another that claims that distasteful title," Tarrare scoffed. "No, I am here once again to serve as escort, little more would I have the stomach for!"

  Tarrare finished his last bite, opening his jaw wide to swallow the remaining hunk of meat, bone and all. Wiping his hands on his robes he then gestured in the direction of the Hall of the Functionals.

  "After you, son-of" he growled.

  With a nod, Oscar walked the carpeted corridor toward the hall, a stark difference from the ascent from his cell where Tarrare had collected him the evening before. The scabs on his ankles had healed, his shabby clothes replaced with his familiar princely garments, and his hair – no longer greasy and shaggy – was collected and tied into a loose black braid.

  With a heavy sigh he stepped into the hall to find not his father waiting for him, but the twin augurs, Gilgalel and Abadón, hand-in-hand. Gilgalel had in hand a kerchief, wiping clean the long talon-like nails of his companion of the same sauced meal that Tarrare had shared.

  "Oscar, brother to the future Crown Paramount, greetings!" Gilgalel said through the Will, for he bore no mouth. Oscar had often wondered how he and many of the augurs ate as, like Tarrare, they remained embodiment of their true names; Nought but Eyes in this case. Oscar supposed they received sustenance by other means, whether through the Will or in the case of Gilgalel, through their partnership with Abadón.

  The power of Gilgalel was evident, causing Oscar to shudder as a ripple accompanied his words as it resonated within the Will.

  "Greetings to you also, Nought but Eyes and Nought but Claws," Oscar said wordlessly back to them, causing a moment of revision within them. Still unaccustomed to his intrusion within the Will even after so many years, Oscar let his frustration with the current circumstance guide his actions despite knowing better.

  "Sorry," he said using his actual voice, "I forget the effect I can have on you and your kin."

  "It matters little," Gilgalel shrieked. "We are here to warn you."

  "Warn me? About?"

  "A matter most foul, the decline of the Crown Paramount. It comes with swifter current than he deigns admit," Gilgalel pressed.

  "He knows his body fails him, I'm not certain what you're getting at."

  "The Will knows more than he lets be known. We have felt it," assured Gilgalel, "a slumping within the void. Something wakes and stirs separate from the great Ti Malis, something distinct."

  "Now I know you're not speaking to me," Oscar said, "I have done nothing but attempt to follow the Will and my father's command."

  "Not you – not this time," Gilgalel said.

  "It's more of a whisper of a doubt, a quiet finger tap within the wider dark," Gilgalel attempted to explain.

  "Enough with your jabbering Gilgalel!" Tarrare barked, somehow biting down on a fresh piece of mutton.

  Behind Tarrare, Domery – his client – had materialized with a plate of the stuff, offering it to his master. Oscar's stomach growled loudly prompting Tarrare to put himself between him and Domery and the plate.

  "Gilgalel you take to alarm whenever there is the slightest of flux," said Tarrare.

  "Then what, I ask, do you make of the disturbance – hm?" Gilgalel questioned.

  "Surely it's just the Will recognizing the new addition – this one's brother!" Tarrare said with a slap to Oscar's shoulder.

  Oscar knew of other attempts to craft heirs, all had failed up until this point, and none had prompted worry from any of the augurs before, especially not enough to warrant his involvement.

  "What do you ask of me, Gilgalel? Have words with my father?" Oscar asked.

  "I only ask that you do what you do best. Apart from the Will you can see it from another... perspective," Gilgalel said, "Keep an eye on the quiet and listen for patterns."

  Oscar bowed. "It would be my honour to aid the Will in any way you see fit."

  Abadón clacked together his claws with exuberance.

  Oscar smiled. "It's good to see you happy."

  That's when he entered, the reason for his summoning this morning, his brother.

  Standing about an inch taller than Oscar, the man was unsure of his feet, walking as he rubbed one hand on his forearm. He was dressed hastily in a fine robe, roughly tied about his waste. His hair was half combed. Stepping quickly behind him followed an attendant with a comb in one hand.

  "Please, stop!" the man said with some force, prompting the attendant to stop in their tracks momentarily before – as if following a reset – shook their head and resumed their comb-wielding march.

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  Stepping over, Oscar whispered wordlessly to the attendant, prompting them to drop the comb and take a step back.

  "Did you do that?" the man asked. "Thanks."

  "I'm Oscar," he said with a measure of pity, "son of the Crown Paramount."

  "The Crown Para– Oh!" the man said with sudden realization. "The augurs tell me you're my... brother? Still feels strange to say that..."

  "Are you doing alright? Has the attendant harmed you?" Oscar asked.

  "No I– I could have sworn I saw something different when I looked at them earlier back in my room. Something... horrible," Oscar's brother said. Only then did he look around and notice the four augurs. With alarm he stepped back and nearly lost his footing.

  Oscar put an arm out and caught him by his robe, steadying him on the marble floor.

  "It's okay, truly. They mean you no harm," Oscar assured him before looking down. "No shoes?"

  "Oh, well I was still getting dressed, then I guess I just rushed out of there," said brother.

  "Do you have a name?" Oscar asked, "What can I call you?"

  "Well I–" started brother before pausing, "I don't rightly know."

  Oscar instantly knew the man's designation. He knew of the previously failed attempts; they counted eight.

  "You must be the ninth," Oscar said.

  "I am... the ninth– body?" said the brother intuitively grasping at something within the Will.

  "An heir normally chooses their name, something that may come in time. The Will shall guide you," Oscar assured him.

  "Nín Bonwadé," said brother, sending a ripple within the Will. But this was different from what Gilgalel had conjured, unique to even Oscars intrusions. All around him emanated a sort of satiation, an ecstacy within the Will.

  Oscar had heard the story of how his father had chosen the name Ti Malis, a name that came to him from deep contemplation and conversation among the equal that was the Will. But this was somehow different, rash even. To settle on a name so simple – so elementary – with such a simplistic meaning as Nine Body... it lacked substance.

  "You're certain? There's no need to rush things, you can take your time to find the perfect name," Oscar insisted.

  "There's a voice in my head and I want it to... stop. Something wants to tell you Nín Bonwadé is my name. Is it wrong?" the brother said, clutching his hair in pain.

  "So it is," Oscar said, "it's nice to finally meet you Nín."

  Oscar opened his arms wide and embraced Nín, causing his tension to relax and the pain to subside.

  "Same to you, Oscar," said Nín sheepishly. "How did you choose Oscar?"

  "I didn't," said Oscar, prompting a confused glance from Nín.

  "You didn't?" Nín puzzled.

  "No. You see, I'm not an heir. My father – our father named me that."

  "I don't understand," said Nín.

  "His inclusion matters little!" Tarrare spat, still licking sauce from his lips.

  "Excuse me Nín," Oscar said, "Let me introduce you to some of the augurs."

  Oscar turned, gently guiding Nín towards the waiting figures.

  "This is Tarrare, his client Domery, as well Gilgalel and Abadón. They are just a few of the many augurs you will meet during your time here."

  Nín grimaced and spoke; "Hunger... Eyes... Claws..."

  "So you have met?" Oscar asked.

  "We have met within the Will," shrieked Gilgalel.

  "And the other?" Nín asked, pointing a figure to the attendant who still stood there silently.

  "Oh, they are but nameless within the Will. Faithful servant as we all are," Oscar explained.

  "I see..." Nín said uneasy, "and, what's an augur?"

  "We are guides," shrieked Gilgalel.

  "Stewards and craftsmen," Tarrare said.

  "Implements of the divine," Abadón's claws clicked within the Will.

  "They are many things," Oscar started, "But please, come. Join me in the courtyard for a spell won't you? It will do you some good."

  Nín nodded and the augurs bowed a farewell. On their way out Tarrare lingered, eyelessly staring a warning through Oscar.

  "Not to worry, brother Tarrare. The Will will guide me," Oscar insisted, sating Tarrare's concern for the moment.

  The two brothers stepped through an archway off the Hall of the Functionals' east wing and onto a wide veranda lined with a mosaic of hand-painted tiles of greens, blues and yellows. Long rows of hedges and shrubbery – each meticulously shaped – bordered the space with wide fields of flowers and fruiting trees spread out toward verdant marshlands.

  Behind Oscar, Nín let out a wondrous sigh as he craned his neck upwards. The outer escarpment of the Palace Paramount was resplendent in gold, shining like a beacon out across the landscape. Stained crystal windows made up large parts of the outer facade, with gothic minarets extending far into wisps of clouds. Gargoyles cast in bronze lined each level, encircling the towers as ever-vigilant sentinels of the Will.

  "Gods..." Nín said before catching himself, "sorry I don't know where that came from."

  "It's quite alright, my brother. Just don't let the augurs hear you say it," Oscar said. "Come. Look. Tell me what you see?"

  Nín joined Oscar at the veranda's edge where the two of them sat at a modest bistro table. Surprising Nín – though it was not his intention – the attendant from before materialized to his right with a carafe of coffee and two crystal mugs, summoned by Oscar.

  "Fear not brother, he means you no harm, nor do I," Oscar said. "I can see just how overwhelming this all is. I've spent my life around these grounds, and even I remain in awe at the majesty of the Will's bounty."

  "It's a lot, I'm sorry," he said, ashamed, "I should be grateful. Shouldn't I?"

  "In time, maybe," Oscar said gently, "For now, quiet your mind and try to enjoy the coffee."

  Nín took a sip and with wide eyes he said; "it's delicious!"

  "Such is the embrace of the Will," Oscar said, sighing as he took a sip from his own mug.

  "Oscar, what is this place?" Nín asked frankly. "Who are the augurs really?"

  Oscar thought for a moment before answering, calmly taking another sip of his coffee. This was what his father had wanted for him, surely; to help guide this poor, hurting man through these mists of confusion, to help set his feet on the right path.

  Putting down his mug, he could feel this calling surge through him from some deep annals of the Will. He would serve as his father asked.

  "This is the Palace Paramount, situated atop Starfire Mount at the heart of the great city of Deliverance. If you mean to ask what world you're on it is known as Ghede, our namesake, for it is epicentre of the Empire and True Home of the Will."

  "And those things– the augurs?"

  "Servants of the Will, much like us, but with a key difference. They are both tool and guide, Priests of the Wordless Quiet, Alchemists of the Transformative Power, and Physicians to our lord father, he who commands the Will."

  "So the Will is, what exactly?"

  "It is unknowable as it is vast. It is everything and nothing we can contain within a simple cluster of speech. It is both a homely embrace and a stern master to all in it's community. In short, it is Godly."

  Nín nodded a slow nod, unsure what to make of it all. Oscar could see the man's shoulders relax a bit as he finally finished the attendant's work from earlier and fastened the remaining button on his robe.

  His demeanour shifted suddenly as his back stiffened. Oscar could feel his apprehension welling within the Will.

  "Go ahead," Oscar said softly, "ask me what you must."

  "Who am I? I feel I am... a scientist? Sort of like the augurs?" Nín said through tight lips. Suddenly, he winced as a shot of pain tugged at him from somewhere deep within the Will.

  "You are Nín," Oscar said, though he knew what he really meant.

  "I am... Nín," his brother said, with tense resignation. "Then, what am I doing here – what is my purpose?"

  Oscar paused as a well of doubt rose within him, not from the Will, but from his own steadfast and unique mind. The doubt tugged at his heart, urging him to remain silent, to let the man wallow and forge ahead on his own. No, he thought, I must persist.

  "Your purpose is as I said, to be heir to our father. And, to one day take the reins of the Will when he no longer can."

  "Why not you?" Nín asked. "Why me?"

  "I–" Oscar started, thinking about his next words carefully. He could feel his brother before him, poking and prodding at him for answers through the Will with little discretion or grace; an infant learning to speak. How he wanted, so utterly selfishly, to stop the train here and not aid in his own obsolescence.

  "I– I am a disgrace to the Will, not suitable to wield it's influence," Oscar said. "I was born, you see. Born in an exchange of fluids between our father and another, in a ritual as archaic as it is unthinkable. You, on the other hand... You were taken by the Will. Already a model above the best of us, you were chosen by the Wordless Quiet, molded into a form suitable to sit amongst God."

  "And that disqualifies you?" Nín asked.

  "Forgive me, brother, but I don't mean to imply that I am forsaken. The Will is wise and has gifted us a high mantle. The augurs, and myself as it happens, are your guides. We will aid you as best we can."

  Nín sighed and looked out again at the landscape. The wind rushed in from the marshes, rustling his half-styled hair.

  "Okay," Nín said and Oscar could sense a small trickle of relief.

  "For now," Oscar repeated, "Try to enjoy your coffee."

  Oscar knew from somewhere deep that he never expected for himself to be heir. Confronting it now, he finally felt free.

  After a while of sipping and spying out at the lands in front of them, a call went out throughout the Will. It was like a powerful hornblow; sudden yet welcoming, with the warmth of a father's embrace.

  "What–?" Nín said with a startle.

  Oscar placed a gentle hand on his brother's arm and said; "Father calls for us."