The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,121
aim toward the curate. She didn’t speak, because her actions spoke much louder than words.
ix. Lux Aeterna
Jerico had not trusted Anastasia’s instincts – had not believed this was as serious as she made it out to be. It was a dreadful failure of judgment on Jeri’s part. They could have escaped long before the outer wall was breached, had Jeri only trusted Anastasia. The captain vowed to never doubt her again. If they survived, that is – and survival now would be a tall order, indeed.
As the Tonists broke into the palace, Jeri had convinced Anastasia to switch clothes. “It is my job to protect you,” Jeri begged. “Please, Anastasia, let me do this for you. Do me that honor!”
As much as she didn’t want to put Jeri in peril, when it was put to her that way, she couldn’t refuse.
Once wearing Anastasia’s robe, Jeri took off up the grand staircase, drawing away half of the Tonists. Jeri did not know all the rooms and suites of the palace’s upper levels, but knew them better than the attackers. Jeri led them into Scythe Anastasia’s suite, then doubled back through a side door, to an outer salon. The palace was enough of a maze to keep Jeri from being cornered too quickly, but that would only work for so long. Then came the sound of a gunshot from downstairs – then another. No thinking about that now – the focus had to be keeping these Tonists out of that battle.
Endless fires were being set throughout the palace by the invading Tonists. They lit the colonnade and upper suites in the angry, shifting light of frenetic flames. The flames turned every shadow into a figure lurching from the darkness – but those shadows also provided Jeri with enough cover to dupe the pursuers and double back.
Jeri ducked into another suite but, not being used to the robe, snagged it on a doorjamb. Before Jeri could get it free, the Tonists were there, brandishing weapons that they clearly were not trained to use. Jeri was no scythe, but had experience with fighting weapons. There had been a time, in fact, when Jeri would go to fighting clubs. People loved to see Madagascans fight – somehow the ambiguity made the battle more intriguing.
And today, these Tonists picked the wrong Madagascan.
Anastasia had left a blade in one of the pockets of the robe. Jeri pulled it out and fought like never before.
x. Libera Me
Anastasia missed. Blast it! She missed the curate!
A young Tonist, seeing that her curate was about to be gleaned, pushed him out of the way and took the bullet herself. And the curate, gripping the stub of his arm in pain, ran. He ran like a coward, into the mob of Tonists still flooding the grand foyer.
Tenkamenin was dead. So were Makeda and Baba. The Tonists who had seen her attack the curate were still stunned and unsure what to do. She was about to glean them all in fury but stopped herself, because gleaning in anger was not the scythe way. And there was a more pressing matter: Jeri.
She turned and ran up the stairs. No one pursued her. They were too busy setting fire to anything that would burn.
She followed the sound of fighting to one of the unused guest suites. There were a few deadish Sibilants and a trail of blood on the floor. She followed the trail to a bedroom, where three more Tonists were attacking Jeri. Jeri was on the floor, fending them off, but was outnumbered and was losing the battle.
Anastasia gleaned the three Tonists with their own weapons and dropped to the floor, quickly trying to assess Jeri’s wounds. The turquoise robe was soaked with blood. She pulled it off and ripped it, trying to use pieces as a tourniquet.
“I … I heard gunshots,” Jeri said.
Jeri’s wounds were too severe for healing nanites to handle. They would not mend without help. “Tenkamenin is dead,” Anastasia said. “He died protecting me.”
“Perhaps,” Jeri said weakly, “perhaps he was not as bad as I thought.”
“If he were alive, I think he’d say the same about you.”
Thick smoke was already billowing through every open door. She helped Jeri out into the colonnade overlooking the atrium. Everything below them was burning. There was no way to get down the stairs. Then something occurred to her. A way out – perhaps the only chance they had.