The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,105

that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” And when she didn’t respond, he elucidated with the smooth eloquence he was famous for. “Fear, Ayn. Fear is the beloved father of respect. The common citizens must know their place. They must be aware of the lines they may not cross. Without the Thunderhead in their lives, they need a firm hand to give them stability. To set clear boundaries. They will revere me, and all my scythes, and will not run afoul of us again.” He thought about his own self-serving rationalizations and nodded in approval of himself. “All is well, Ayn. All is well.”

But Scythe Rand knew that from this moment on, nothing would be well again.

Part Four

THE ONLY TOOL WE CAN WIELD

A Testament of the Toll

The sanctimonious Sibilants who would wage unwarranted war were an abomination to the Toll. He would descend on them as the furious beating of a million wings, and the skies would rage with Thunder. The unrepentant would be struck down, but those who fell to their knees would be spared. Then he would leave them, dissolving once more into a storm of feathers and disappearing to the calming sky. All rejoice!

Commentary of Curate Symphonius

The Toll was not only a man of flesh, but a master of it. He possessed the ability to transform into any creature, or multitude of creatures. This verse illustrates his ability to become a great flock of birds, most likely eagles, falcons, or owls. Graceful. Noble. Wise. But also to be feared and respected. Creatures that were the epitome of all the Toll was.

Coda’s Analysis of Symphonius

The ever-present problem with Symphonius is his inconsistency. He sees things as symbolic or literal whenever it suits him, thus his interpretations are more whim than wisdom. While it’s possible that the Toll could have taken form as a flock, is it not more likely that he simply possessed the mystical ability to fly, like the caped heroes of archival graphics?

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A Grim Fulcrum

The cathedral bells that rang out the hours for nearly a thousand years in EuroScandia had been silenced. Ripped out, torn apart, melted in a makeshift furnace. A great concert hall in the same region had been raided in the middle of a performance, and, amid the panic of the crowd, Tonists flooded the stage, breaking the smaller instruments by hand and taking axes to the larger ones.

Your voices are music to my ears, the Toll had once said. Which clearly meant that all other music had to be destroyed.

These extreme sibilant sects found, in their devotion, a need to impose their beliefs on the world. No two sects of Sibilants were alike. Each one was its own unique aberration, with its own frightening interpretations of Tonist doctrine and twistings of the Toll’s words. The only thing they all had in common was a propensity for violence and intolerance – including the intolerance of other Tonists, for any sect that did not believe precisely as they did was clearly lesser.

There were no Sibilants before the Thunderhead fell silent. Yes, there were sects that had extreme beliefs, but the Thunderhead and the Nimbus agents of the Authority Interface reined them in. Violence would not be tolerated.

But once the world was unsavory, and the Thunderhead spoke no more, many things in many places began to fester.

In the oldest cities of EuroScandia, groups of roaming Sibilants would leave bonfires in public squares full of pianos, cellos, and guitars, and although they would be caught and detained by peace officers every time, they would not stop. People hoped that the Thunderhead, even in its silence, would supplant them, replacing their minds and their entire identities with ones that would be content and not prone to violence. But that would be a violation of religious freedom. So the Sibilants were detained, forced to pay for the replacement of the things they had destroyed, and then released, only to destroy these things again.

The Thunderhead, if it could speak, might say that they were providing a service – and that by destroying musical instruments, it provided work for those whose job it was to create such instruments. But even for the Thunderhead, enough was enough.

The Toll appeared to the EuroScandian Sibilants as they prepared to lay waste to another concert hall.

The EuroScandian Sibilants knew it must be an imposter, for the Toll had been martyred at the hands of a scythe. Resurrection was not a tenet of their belief, so the zealots were skeptical.

“Drop your weapons and fall to your knees,” the imposter