Scythe (Arc of a Scythe #1) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,63

before,” Rowan told him. It was true—his parents had seen so many birthdays by the time Rowan was born, they had stopped celebrating them. He was lucky if they even remembered to get him a gift.

“Well then,” said Scythe Goddard, “let this be the first of many.”

Rowan had to remind himself that this man with the perfect smile, secreting charisma instead of sweat, was the man who had manipulated him and Citra into mortal competition. But it was hard not to be dazzled by his style. And as distasteful as all this spectacle was, it still made his adrenaline flow.

The scythe patted the seat beside him for Rowan to sit, and Rowan took his place at the scythe’s right hand.

“Doesn’t the eighth commandment say that a scythe can’t own anything but his robe, ring, and journal?”

“Correct,” said Scythe Goddard brightly. “And I own none of this. The food is donated by generous benefactors, the guests are here by choice, and this fine estate has been graciously loaned to me for as long as I choose to grace its halls.”

Upon the mention of the estate, a man cleaning the pool looked up at them for a moment before returning to his labors.

“You should reread the commandments,” Scythe Goddard said. “You’ll find that nothing in them demands that scythes shun the creature comforts that make life worth living. That bleak interpretation by old-guard scythes is a relic from another time.”

Rowan did not offer any further opinion on the subject. It was Scythe Faraday’s humble and serious “old-guard” nature that had made an impression on Rowan. Had he been approached by Scythe Goddard with enticements of rock star glamour in exchange for the taking of lives, he would have declined. But Faraday was dead, and Rowan was here, looking out on strangers that were here for his benefit.

“If it’s my party, shouldn’t it have people I know?”

“A scythe is a friend to the world. Open your arms and embrace it.” It seemed Scythe Goddard had an answer for everything. “Your life is about to change, Rowan Damisch,” he said, waving his arm to indicate the pool and the partiers and the servants and the elaborate spread of food just past the shallow end that kept being replenished. “In fact, it already has.”

Among the party guests was a girl who seemed markedly out of place. She was young—nine or ten at the most, and completely oblivious to the party around her as she frolicked in the shallow end of the pool.

“It looks like one of your guests brought their kid to the party,” Rowan commented.

“That,” said Goddard, “is Esme, and you would be wise to treat her well. She is the most important person you will meet today.”

“How so?”

“That chubby little girl is the key to the future. So you’d better hope she likes you.”

Rowan would have continued picking at Goddard’s enigmatic responses, but his attention was grabbed by a beautiful party girl approaching in a bikini that seemed almost painted on. Rowan realized a moment too late that he was staring. She grinned and he blushed, looking away.

“Ariadne, would you be so kind as to give my apprentice a massage?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” said the girl.

“Uh . . . maybe later,” Rowan said.

“Nonsense,” said the scythe. “You need to loosen up, and Ariadne has magical hands skilled in Swedish technique. Your body will thank you.”

She took Rowan by the hand, and that killed any resistance. He rose and let himself be led away.

“If our young man is pleased by your efforts,” Scythe Goddard called after them, “I will allow you to kiss my ring.”

As Ariadne led him to the massage tent, Rowan thought, In eight months I am going to die. So perhaps he could allow himself a little indulgence on the way.

* * *

I am disturbed by those who revere us far more than those who disdain us. Too many put us on a pedestal. Too many long to be one of us—and knowing that they can never be makes their longing even greater, for all scythes are apprenticed in their youth.

It is either naivete in thinking that we are somehow of a higher order of being, or it is the product of a depraved heart—for who but the depraved would revel in the taking of life?

For a time years ago, there were groups who would emulate and imitate us. They would fashion robes like those of scythes. They would wear rings that looked similar to ours. For many it was just costume