The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,132
find us,” Anastasia said.
“Well, if the Thunderhead knows of a place like that, it hasn’t told me. But then there’s a lot of things it doesn’t tell me.”
“It’s all right,” said Anastasia. “Possuelo just wants to protect me, but I don’t want to hide.”
“What do you want?” Greyson asked.
What did she want? Citra Terranova wanted to shed her robe, seek out her family, and argue with her brother about unimportant things. But Scythe Anastasia wouldn’t have any of that.
“I want to bring down Goddard,” she said. “I’ve been able to place him on Mars at the time of the disaster, but being there doesn’t prove he caused it.”
“He survived Mars, and he survived Endura,” said Greyson. “Suspicious but not incriminating.”
“Exactly, which is why there’s someone else I need to find,” Anastasia said. “Have you ever heard of Scythe Alighieri?”
* * *
Possuelo had to leave them that afternoon. He was called back to Amazonia by his High Blade.
“Tarsila gives me lots of leeway—especially when my salvage venture brought forth you,” he told Anastasia, “but when word got out that I had brought our artist friend to SubSahara, she demanded my return, lest we be accused of conspiring with Tonists.” He sighed. “We are a very tolerant region, but after the attack on Tenkamenin’s palace, even the most accepting regions are cooling to Tonists—and our High Blade doesn’t want bad publicity.”
Several Tonists passed in the cavern behind them. They bowed, reverently saying “Your Honors,” some of their voices still a little slurred, as it was the first week with their new tongues. It was hard to believe that these were the same violent, crazed Sibilants who had murdered Tenkamenin. Greyson—the Toll, that is—had turned them and brought them back from that awful edge of their own humanity. Anastasia could not forgive them, but she found an ability to coexist with them.
“People are vessels,” Jeri had said to her. “They hold whatever’s poured into them.”
And apparently Greyson had drained them and refilled them with something far more palatable.
Possuelo said his goodbye at the entrance to the cave. “This place is isolated, and if the Toll truly is under the protection of the Thunderhead, you’ll be safe with him,” he told her. “It’s not exactly the sanctuary I was looking for, but who knows if that place even exists. Rumors aren’t worth the air they’re whispered on.”
“I’m hoping the Toll will help me find Alighieri.”
“I doubt he even exists anymore,” Possuelo lamented. “He was ancient when I was an apprentice, and I am, as you say, no spring chicken.”
He laughed and embraced her. If felt comforting. Fatherly. Until she was in his embrace, she hadn’t realized how much she missed that. It made her think of her family once more. She had not tried to contact them since her revival, as Possuelo had advised her against it. They were safe and protected in a friendly region, he had assured her. Perhaps there would come a time for that reunion, or perhaps she’d never see them again. Either way, there was still too much to be done for her to even think about it.
“Say goodbye to Captain Soberanis for me,” Possuelo said. “I take it Jerico is staying on.”
“As you ordered,” Anastasia said.
Possuelo raised an eyebrow. “I never gave such an order,” he said. “Jerico does as Jerico pleases. That the good captain has forsaken the sea, and has chosen to be your protector, says a lot about both of you.” He embraced her one final time. “Take care, meu anjo.” Then he turned and strode toward his transport that waited in a clearing.
* * *
Ezra the artist, who Possuelo saw fit to set free, took to painting a mural to fill one of the larger caverns. It tickled him that this could become a pilgrimage destination for future Tonists, if indeed there would be any future Tonists, and that his cave paintings might be endlessly analyzed by scholars of tomorrow. He introduced some odd elements just to confuse them. A dancing bear, a five-eyed boy, and an eleven-hour clock missing the number 4.
“What’s life if you can’t mess with the future?” he said.
He asked the Toll if he remembered him, and Greyson told him that he did. It was a half-truth. Greyson remembered Ezra’s audience with him, because it had been a turning point for Greyson as well. The first time he gave advice rather than just being a mouthpiece for the Thunderhead. But he had no memory at all of Ezra’s face.