The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,141

spite of their fear of being gleaned. Regions that had allied with him were hedging and even pulling their support – as if he was nothing more than a mortal-age despot who had fallen out of favor.

Couldn’t they see that he was motivated by duty and a clear sense of destiny that he had nurtured for many, many years? He had sacrificed everything for that destiny. He had helped to murder his own parents, and everyone else, on the Mars colony – because he knew that would be nothing in the larger picture. And once ordained into the MidMerican scythedom, he had risen quickly in the ranks. People liked him. People listened to him. He had eloquently convinced the wisest of the wise to embrace the joy of gleaning. “In a perfect world, one’s job should be a perfect pleasure – even ours.”

The fact that he could convince the wise was proof that he was even wiser than them.

And now he had brought them to the brink of a better world! A world without Tonists, or genetic outliers, or lazy parasites who contributed nothing of value to society. A world where the unsightly, unseemly, and unredeemable were put down by those who knew best. Thou shalt kill! Goddard was proud of what he was and what he did. He would not allow these uprisings to derail him this close to achieving that goal. He would quash them by any means necessary. The diamonds before him were proof of what he had accomplished and what he still could. And yet the sight of them made him feel no better.

“Are you going to wallow in them?”

He turned to see Scythe Rand standing in the doorway. She sauntered to the bed and picked up a scythe diamond. She turned it in her fingers, looking into its many facets. “Are you going to roll in them like a pig in mud?”

Goddard did not have the strength to be angry with her. “I am in a dark place, Ayn,” he said. “More and more people are rallying around Scythe Anastasia and her accusations.” He reached down and rolled his hand across the diamonds on the bed, their sharp edges scraping the skin of his palm. Then he impulsively gripped a handful of them, squeezing them tightly until they drew blood.

“Why must I always be the victim? Why must people make it their mission to tear me down? Have I not honored the commandments and done all a scythe is sworn to do? Have I not been a unifier in troubled times?”

“Yes, Robert,” she agreed. “But we’re the ones who made the times troubled.”

He couldn’t deny the truth of that, but it was always just a means to an end.

“Is it true what Alighieri said?” she asked.

“Is it true?” he mocked. “Is it true? Of course it’s true. And, just as that preening old weasel said, we were protecting our world, protecting our way of life.”

“Protecting yourself.”

“And you, Ayn,” Goddard pointed out. “Every scythe who will ever be ordained has benefited from our bid to keep humanity planet-bound.”

She made no comment, no challenge to his defense. He didn’t know whether it was because she agreed, or because she simply didn’t care.

“Constantine joined the LoneStar scythedom,” she told him.

The thought of it was so absurd, it actually made Goddard laugh. “Good riddance. The man was useless to us.” Then he took a good look at Scythe Rand. “Are you leaving as well?”

“Not today, Robert,” she told him.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m naming you third underscythe, in Constantine’s place. I should have done it long ago. You’ve been loyal, Ayn. You speak your mind whether I ask for it or not, but you’re loyal.”

Her expression didn’t change. She didn’t thank him. She didn’t look away. She just held his gaze, studying him. If there was one thing Goddard did not like, it was being the subject of scrutiny.

“We will get past this,” he told her. “We’ll turn the angry eye of inquiry back on the Tonists, where it belongs.” And when she didn’t respond, he dismissed her with a curt “That will be all.”

She stood there for a moment more, then turned and left. After she was gone, he closed the door and gently climbed into bed. He didn’t so much wallow in the diamonds as he did spread himself across them, feeling their unforgiving sharpness dig into his back, his legs, and his arms.

The Toll’s inner circle had now expanded to six: the Toll, Curate Mendoza, Sister