Scythe (Arc of a Scythe #1) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,115
escape from Goddard—but he certainly wouldn’t do it without Rowan. It was one more argument for Rowan to earn the ring.
They had all reached their gleaning quota by the end of that awful evening, and Goddard still didn’t seem to have satisfied his bloodlust. He raged against the system, if only to his own disciples, calling for a day when scythes would have no limits on gleaning.
• • •
Citra returned to Scythe Curie at Falling Water many weeks before Winter Conclave, when the Month of Lights had just begun, and gifts were being passed between friends and loved ones to celebrate ancient miracles that no one quite remembered.
Unlike her frantic journey to Amazonia’s northern shore, Citra flew home in comfort, and with peace of mind. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder every five minutes because no one was chasing her anymore. As Scythe Curie had promised, Citra had been cleared of any wrongdoing. And while Scythe Mandela sent a heartfelt note of apology for Scythe Curie to give to Citra, High Blade Xenocrates made no such gesture.
“He will pretend like it never happened,” Scythe Curie told her as the two of them drove home from the airport. “That’s the closest the man will ever come to an apology.”
“But it did happen,” Citra said. “I had to hurl myself from a building to escape from it.”
“And I had to blow up two perfectly good cars,” Scythe Curie said wryly.
“I won’t forget what he did.”
“And you shouldn’t. You have every right to judge Xenocrates harshly—but not too harshly. I suspect there are more variables in play than we know.”
“That’s what Scythe Faraday said.”
Scythe Curie smiled at the mention of his name. “And how is our good friend Gerald?” she asked with a wink.
“Reports of his death have been greatly exaggerated,” said Citra. “Mostly, he gardens and takes long walks on the beach.”
The fact that he was still alive was a secret they both planned to keep. Even Scythe Mandela believed that Citra was staying with a relative of Scythe Curie in Amazonia, and he had no reason to suspect it wasn’t true.
“Perhaps I’ll join him on his beach in a hundred years or so,” said Scythe Curie. “But for now there’s too much to do in the Scythedom. Too many crucial battles to fight.” Citra could see her gripping the steering wheel tighter as she thought of it. “The future of everything we believe as scythes is at stake, Citra. There is even talk of abolishing the quota. Which is why you must win the ring. I know the scythe you’ll be, and it’s exactly what we need.”
Citra looked away. Without daily gleaning, her training with Scythe Faraday over the past few months had been about honing her mind and body—but more importantly, contemplating the moral and ethical high ground that a traditional scythe must always take. There was nothing “old guard” about it. It was simply right. She knew such high ideals were absent from Rowan’s training, but it didn’t mean he didn’t hold onto them in his heart, despite his bloodthirsty mentor.
“Rowan could be a good scythe as well,” Citra offered.
Scythe Curie sighed. “He can’t be trusted anymore. Look what he did to you at Harvest Conclave. You can make all the excuses in the world for him, but the fact is, he’s an unknown quantity now. Training under Goddard is bound to twist him in ways that no one can predict.”
“Even if that’s true,” said Citra, finally getting to the point they both knew she’d been dancing around, “I don’t know how I could glean him.”
“It will be the second most painful thing you’ll ever do,” admitted Scythe Curie. “But you’ll find a way to accomplish it, Citra. I have faith in you.”
If gleaning Rowan would be the second most painful thing she’d ever do, Citra wondered what the most painful thing would be. But she was afraid to ask, because she really didn’t want to know.
* * *
So many of our archaic traditions and rules need to be challenged. The founders, as well-meaning as they were, still suffered from a mortal mentality, having been so close to the Age of Mortality. They could not foresee the needs of the Scythedom.
I would first take on the concept of a quota. It’s absurd that we are free to determine our method and criteria for gleaning, but not the number of gleanings we accomplish. We are hamstrung every minute of every day, because we must always consider whether we