Scythe (Arc of a Scythe #1) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,28

do, and my dogs’ll rip you to pieces.” But where were they?

Then a girl came out of his bedroom, wearing the same armband as the boy. “I sedated all three,” she said. “They’ll be fine, but they won’t be bothering anyone.” There was blood on her arm. Not the dogs’ but her own. They had bitten her. Good for them.

“It’s not personal,” the boy said again. “I’m sorry.”

“One apology is enough,” the scythe told the boy. “Especially when it’s genuine.”

Bradford guffawed, even though he knew this was real. He just somehow found this funny. His knees weak, he settled onto the sofa and his laughter resolved into misery. How was this fair? How was any of this fair?”

But then the boy knelt down before him, and when Bradford looked up, he was caught by the boy’s gaze. It was as if he were looking into the eyes of a much older soul.

“Listen to me, Mr. Ziller,” the boy said. “I know you saved your sister from a fire when you were my age. I know how hard you struggled to save your marriage. And I know you think that your daughter doesn’t love you, but she does.”

Bradford stared at him, incredulous. “How do you know all this?”

The boy pursed his lips. “It’s our job to know. Your gleaning won’t change any of that. You lived a good life. Scythe Faraday is here to complete it for you.”

Bradford begged to make a phone call, pleaded for just one more day, but of course, those things were not granted. They said he could write a note, but he couldn’t bring himself to find anything to write.

“I know how that feels,” the boy told him.

“How will you do it?” he finally asked them.

The scythe responded. ‘“I have chosen for you a traditional drowning. We shall take you to the river. I shall submerge you until your life leaves you.”

Bradford clenched his eyes. “I’ve heard that drowning is a bad way to go.”

“Can I give him some of the stuff I gave the dogs?” the girl asked. “Knock him out so that he’ll already be unconscious?”

The scythe considered it and nodded. “If you choose, we can spare you the suffering.”

But Bradford shook his head, realizing he wanted every second he had left. “No, I want to be awake.” If drowning was to be his last experience, then let him experience it. He could feel his heart beating faster, his body trembling with the surge of adrenaline. He was afraid, but fear meant he was still alive.

“Come then,” the scythe told him gently. “We’ll all go down to the river together.”

• • •

Citra was awed by how Rowan handled himself. Although he began a little shaky when he first spoke to the man, he took charge. He took the reigns of that man’s fear and gave him peace. Citra only hoped that when it came her turn to make a choice, she could keep her composure as well as Rowan had. All she had done today was tranquilize a few dogs. Sure, she got bitten in the process, but it was nothing, really. She tried to convince Faraday to take the dogs to a shelter, but he wouldn’t have it. He did allow her to call the shelter to come for the dogs. And the coroner to come for the man. The scythe offered to take her to a hospital for some speedhealing of the dog bite on her arm, but she declined. Her own nanites would heal it by morning, and besides, there was something compelling about the discomfort. She owed it to the dead man to hurt a little for him.

“That was impressive,” she told Rowan on the long ride home.

“Yeah, right until I puked on the riverbank.”

“But that was only after he was gleaned,” Citra pointed out. “You gave that man strength to face death.”

Rowan shrugged. “I guess.”

Citra found it both maddening and endearing how modest he could be.

* * *

There’s a poem by Honorable Scythe Socrates—one of the first scythes. He wrote many poems, but this one has grown to be my personal favorite.

Have not a hand in the blade with abandon,

Cull from the fold all the brazen and bold,

For a dog who just might,

Love the bark and the bite,

Is a carrion raven, the craven of old.

It reminds me that in spite of our lofty ideals and the many safeguards to protect the Scythedom from corruption and depravity, we must always be vigilant, because power comes infected with the only disease