The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,31
those assembled. Munira, Loriana, and all the former Nimbus agents. He was silent for a long moment, listening to the roar of the flames. Then he began his eulogy.
“Ages ago, birth came with a death sentence,” he began. “To be born meant that death would eventually follow. We have surpassed such primitive times, but here, in the unexamined wild, nature still retains its crushing foothold on life. It is with abiding sorrow that I declare the deadish here before us to now be dead.
“Let the grief we feel for the lost be eased by our nanites, but even more so by our memories of the lives they lived. And today, I make a promise to you that these fine men and women will not be obliterated, nor dishonored. Who they were, until the moment they crossed into the blind spot, will most certainly be preserved as memory constructs within the Thunderhead’s backbrain—and I will personally count them among my own gleaned. If and when we leave this place, I will honor them by granting immunity to their loved ones, as we scythes are charged to do.”
Scythe Faraday let his words linger for a moment, and while most of the others couldn’t bear to look, Faraday turned to gaze into the flames. He stood tearless and resolute as the bodies were consumed, a solemn witness, returning the dignity that unsanctioned death had stolen from these people.
* * *
Loriana could not bring herself to look into the fire. Instead she focused on Faraday. Many Nimbus agents approached him to thank him. It brought a few tears to her eyes, to see how they revered and respected him. It gave her hope that the scythedom could, in time, recover from the sinking of Endura. Loriana knew little of the battle between the old guard and new order. Like many, she just knew that there was trouble within their ranks, and that, as a Nimbus agent, it was none of her business. She was impressed, however, by Faraday’s eulogy, and by the way he unflinchingly looked into the flames. Although she knew that the sorrow he felt as he gazed into the fire was about more than just the dead before them.
“Were you close?” Loriana asked when the others around them had left. “To Scythe Curie, I mean.”
Scythe Faraday took a deep breath, but then coughed from the smoke, as the breeze momentarily shifted direction. “We were very old friends,” Faraday told her. “And Scythe Anastasia had been my apprentice. The world will be a much dimmer place without them.”
While Scythe Curie was legendary, Scythe Anastasia had only recently become a figure of note in the world. How she allowed people to choose the time and nature of their gleaning. How she had forced an inquest. No doubt much would be made of her in the coming years. Sometimes death leads to public oblivion. Other times it can make you larger than life.
Faraday offered a faint grin at that. “She is very protective of me,” he admitted. “And I of her.”
Loriana left to find Director Hilliard. While none of the other Nimbus agents had the fortitude to watch the dead burn, Director Hilliard hadn’t even attended the ceremony. It was unlike her.
Loriana found her sitting on the beach, far from the others, looking at the sea. There was no light but the flames of the distant pyre, and the wind kept shifting, making it impossible to ignore the smell of smoke. The moon was shining elsewhere in the world, leaving the horizon obscured by darkness. Loriana sat beside her and said nothing at first—because what was there to say that could make this any better? What the director needed right now was company, and no one else was willing to provide it.
“This is my fault,” Hilliard finally said.
“You couldn’t have known this would happen,” Loriana told her.
“I should have anticipated the danger,” she said. “And I should have turned us around the second the boat’s computers lost contact with the Thunderhead.”
“You made a judgment call,” Loriana said. “If I were you, I probably would have done the same.”
Still the director was not mollified. “Then you’re just as foolish as I am.”
And although Loriana often felt foolish—and the butt of other agents’ jokes—she wasn’t feeling that way anymore. In the midst of their current helplessness, she felt empowered. How very strange.
* * *
The night was warm, and the sea gentle and inviting. That did nothing to ease