The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,119

and true, they were sacrificing themselves for the cause. Then one was able to get around behind Makeda and ran her through. She froze, gasped, then fell like a rag doll, her fight leaving along with her life. Three Tonists grabbed her body and dragged it out toward the growing pyre outside, and its purifying flames.

“You’re no better than Goddard if you burn us!” said one of the servants huddled at the base of the stairs with High Blade Tenkamenin. “If you go through with this, the very thing you worship will never forgive you.”

The High Blade put a firm hand on her shoulder to keep her quiet, but her eyes were still angry and defiant. If the curate could speak, he would tell her that her words—all words—were an abomination to the Tone. And that the only reason the Tone didn’t shatter her skull with furious resonance was because cleansing the world of the unworthy was left to the curate, and people like him. But he couldn’t tell her. And he didn’t have to. His actions spoke much more loudly than words.

But the High Blade was all about words.

“Please…,” Tenkamenin begged.

The curate knew what was coming next. This pompous, cowardly scythe—this purveyor of unnatural death—was now going to plead for his life. Let him plead. The curate’s ears were not deaf, like some other sibilant sects’, but they might as well be.

“Please… you can end me, but spare these two,” Tenkamenin said. “You have no gripe against this valet and housekeeper.”

The curate hesitated. It was his desire to end them all, for anyone in service to a scythe deserved a scythe’s fate. Guilt by association. But then the High Blade said, “Show your followers the true meaning of mercy. The way my parents showed me. My mother and father, who are both among you.”

The curate knew this about the High Blade. His parents wordlessly begged not to be part of the attack on the palace. He had obliged by sending them to the firehouse—and they had clearly done their job well. Tenkamenin would not be spared, but out of respect for his Tonist parents, the curate would honor the man’s last words. So he pulled out a pistol, shot Tenkamenin through the heart, and then gestured for the two servants to leave.

It was a humble offering of mercy. Of course, they would most likely be killed out in the gardens and thrown on the pyre, but the ambudrones were making off with quite a few of the deadish, so they’d have a fighting chance.

But just then the housekeeper rose to her feet. The anger in her eyes was beyond anger—beyond fury. And it was focused. Like the eyes of a scythe.

She leaped at the nearest Tonist, took her down with a skilled martial arts kick, grabbed the machete she was holding, and swung at the curate, disarming him. Literally.

He watched, stunned, as his hand flew spinning into the air. Then she grabbed the gun from his severed hand, and swung its aim toward the curate. She didn’t speak, because her actions spoke much louder than words.

ix. Lux Aeterna

Jerico had not trusted Anastasia’s instincts—had not believed this was as serious as she made it out to be. It was a dreadful failure of judgment on Jeri’s part. They could have escaped long before the outer wall was breached, had Jeri only trusted Anastasia. The captain vowed to never doubt her again. If they survived, that is—and survival now would be a tall order, indeed.

As the Tonists broke into the palace, Jeri had convinced Anastasia to switch clothes. “It is my job to protect you,” Jeri begged. “Please, Anastasia, let me do this for you. Do me that honor!”

As much as she didn’t want to put Jeri in peril, when it was put to her that way, she couldn’t refuse.

Once wearing Anastasia’s robe, Jeri took off up the grand staircase, drawing away half of the Tonists. Jeri did not know all the rooms and suites of the palace’s upper levels, but knew them better than the attackers. Jeri led them into Scythe Anastasia’s suite, then doubled back through a side door, to an outer salon. The palace was enough of a maze to keep Jeri from being cornered too quickly, but that would only work for so long. Then came the sound of a gunshot from downstairs—then another. No thinking about that now—the focus had to be keeping these Tonists out of that battle.

Endless fires were being set throughout the palace