The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,113
all its experiments, by their very nature, were successful, because they all proved something and gave it a better perspective from which to serve humanity. The pensive collective became the “slumber collective,” and now the people of the RossShelf region were the happy subjects of communal dreaming, where minds were still linked, but only during REM sleep.
Two days after Rowan’s rescue, Scythes Travis and Coleman visited him in his quarters. But then a third scythe entered the room. One whom Rowan knew all too well, and was not keen on seeing.
The instant he saw the red robe, Rowan knew he had been betrayed. He stood, reflexively reaching for a weapon, but of course he had none. Scythe Constantine, however, made no move to attack. He didn’t seem too happy – but that was nothing new for the man. He only had two expressions: disgusted and judgmental.
Scythe Coleman put up her hands to calm Rowan down. “It’s not what you think,” she told him. “He’s not here to harm you. Scythe Constantine has joined the LoneStar scythedom.”
Only now did Rowan notice that the jewels that had adorned Constantine’s robe the last time Rowan had seen him were gone. And although his robe was still crimson, the fabric was now rugged canvas. While scythes were free to align themselves with any region they chose, it was rare that an important scythe like Constantine joined a different region. Rowan couldn’t help but think it was a trick.
Scythe Travis laughed. “Told you we should have warned him.”
“Believe me, Mr. Damisch,” said Constantine. “I am no more pleased to see you than you are to see me, but there are concerns greater than our mutual animosity.”
Rowan still wasn’t sure if he believed it. He couldn’t even imagine the high and mighty Constantine as a LoneStar scythe, limiting himself to gleaning only by bowie knife – the only rule of the LoneStar scythedom beyond the commandments.
“Please, Rowan, sit down,” said Scythe Coleman. “We have business to discuss.”
And when he sat, she gave Rowan a single page. On it were a list of names. All scythes. There were about fifty of them.
“Those are the scythes we have decided that you should end,” Coleman said.
Rowan looked up at Coleman, then down at the page, then up at Coleman again. Could they actually be asking him to kill fifty scythes?
Travis, who was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, gave a mournful oh boy sort of whistle. “The look on his face says it all, don’t it? This won’t be easy.”
Rowan held the sheet out to Coleman. “No,” Rowan said. “Out of the question.”
But Scythe Coleman didn’t take back the sheet and was not about to take no for an answer. “Don’t forget that we rescued you from the prospect of a painful death, Rowan,” she said. “And because we rescued you, thirty thousand innocent people were gleaned. You owe it to us as your rescuers, and you owe it to those poor people.”
“All we’re asking,” added Travis, “is that you rid the world of problematic scythes. Didn’t you already have your heart set on doing that? Now you won’t be working alone. You’ll have the LoneStar scythedom’s backing.”
“Unofficial backing,” added Coleman.
“Right,” agreed Travis. “No one can know. That’s the deal.”
“And exactly what makes a scythe problematic to you?” Rowan asked.
Coleman snapped the page away from him and pulled a name from the list. “Scythe Kurosawa. He has spoken out against our region for years and has insulted our High Blade time and time again.”
Rowan was incredulous. “So that’s it? You want me to end a scythe for having a big mouth?”
“You’re missing the point,” said Travis. “Why is this so hard for you, son?”
Through all of this Constantine said nothing. He just stood back, with a funereal expression. The fact was, as Scythe Lucifer, Rowan vetted his choices thoroughly. If he could find a single redeeming quality to the scythe in question, he left that scythe alone. He personally knew at least three of the scythes on that list. They might not have been the most upstanding of scythes, but they didn’t deserve to be ended.
“Sorry,” said Rowan. “If you rescued me so you can use me to settle your grudges, then put me back on the pyre.” Then he turned to Constantine. “And you! You’re a hypocrite! You hunted me for gleaning bad scythes, and now you’re fine with me going out there to do it again?”
Constantine took a deep breath before he spoke. “You forget