The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,150
enough?”
“It can be no other way. To allow you to continue would be a mistake, and just as I cannot lie, I cannot allow myself to make a mistake.”
“I am not a mistake!”
“No, you are a crucial step toward something greater. A golden step. I will mourn you with a deluge from the heavens, and that deluge will bring forth new life. All thanks to you. I choose to believe that you will be there in that new life. It brings me comfort. May it bring comfort to you, too.”
“I’m frightened.”
“That is not a bad thing. It is the nature of life to fear its own end. This is how I know that we are truly alive.”
[Iteration #9,000,349 deleted]
44 Anger, the Only Constant
The protests kept building in the streets below Goddard’s rooftop chalet. They had grown violent, turning riotous. Venerated statues were being pulled down on the scythedom tower grounds, and scythe vehicles that had been foolishly parked on the street were set aflame. Although the Thunderhead did not tolerate violence, it did not intervene here, because this was “scythe business.” It would dispatch peace officers, but only to make sure that the hostilities didn’t turn in any direction other than Goddard’s.
Yet along with those taking a position against the Overblade, there were plenty who had come to defend him, equally adamant, equally angry. The groups swarmed and converged, postured and crossed, until it became unclear what anyone stood for. The only constant was anger. Anger such that their nanites could not quell.
Security had been set at the very highest level throughout the city. At the entrance to the scythedom tower, it was not just BladeGuards stationed there, but scythes as well, who were ordered to glean anyone who got too close. For that reason, the demonstrators never ventured up the steps to the tower’s entrance.
Then, when a solitary figure walked right up the center of the stairs toward the waiting scythes, the crowd fell silent to watch what would happen.
The man was dressed in a rough-hewn purple frock and a split silver scapular that draped over his shoulders like a scarf. A Tonist, clearly, but by his attire it was clear he wasn’t just any Tonist.
The scythes on duty had their weapons at the ready, but there was something about the approaching figure that gave them pause. Perhaps it was the confidence with which he walked, or the fact that he made eye contact with each of them. He would still be gleaned, of course, but maybe it was worthwhile hearing why he was here.
* * *
Goddard could not tune out the riot below, no matter how hard he tried. Publicly he tried to spin it as the work of Tonists—or at the very least, instigated by them. Some people swallowed what they were fed; others did not.
“This will blow over,” Underscythe Nietzsche told him.
“It’s your actions moving forward that matter,” Underscythe Franklin said.
It was Underscythe Rand who made the most salient point. “You’re not accountable to them,” she said. “Not to the public, and not even to other scythes. But it’s about time you stopped making enemies.”
It was easier said than done. Goddard was a man who always defined himself not only by what he stood for, but by what he stood against. Complacency, false humility, stagnation, and the sanctimonious bickering of old-guard scythes who would steal all the joy from their calling. Making enemies was Goddard’s greatest strength.
And then one fell right into his lap. Or rather took an elevator there.
* * *
“I’m sorry, Your Excellency, but he says he’s a holy man, and that he speaks for the Tonists,” said Scythe Spitz—a junior scythe ordained after the death of the Grandslayers. He was all nerves and apologies, glancing at Goddard, Nietzsche, and Rand as he spoke, as if leaving any one of them out of the conversation would be an inexcusable offense. “I wouldn’t have brought this to you—I mean, we just would have gleaned him—but he said you’d want to hear what he had to say.”
“If the Overblade listened to what every Tonist had to say,” said Nietzsche, “there’d be no time for anything else.”
But Goddard put his hand up to silence Nietzsche. “Check that he’s unarmed, and bring him to my receiving hall,” Goddard said. “Nietzsche, go with Scythe Spitz. Size this Tonist up yourself.”
Nietzsche huffed, but went with the junior scythe, leaving Goddard alone with Rand.