The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,142

Astrid, Scythe Morrison – and now Scythe Anastasia and Jeri Soberanis. They were one short of a Tonist Octave – although Astrid was quick to point out that the Thunder was with them, and that made seven.

Alighieri’s confession was now out there, its truth beyond anyone’s ability to deny. Now it was a matter of letting the news take root in the world. After they had left the old scythe to his mirror, with a brand-new gold-plated brush, Morrison found them a farmhouse where they could spend the night. One where the owners were not home.

“In mortal days,” Jeri pointed out, “this would have been considered breaking and entering.”

“Well, we entered, but we didn’t break anything,” Morrison said. “And besides, as scythes we’re still allowed to. Just because the world’s turning on Goddard and his followers doesn’t mean it’ll turn on the rest of us … right?”

But no one answered, because no one was sure anymore. It was all uncharted territory.

Mendoza was busy as ever, gathering intel, telling curates in his network how to handle aggression, because anger against Tonists was at an all-time high.

“There is no question that we are at war now,” he told the others. “But I have every faith that we will triumph.”

To which Astrid gave a somewhat facetious “All rejoice.”

“So now the world knows Goddard’s crimes against humanity,” Anastasia said. “Even his own followers will start to tear him down … but he won’t go down easy.”

“Cunning people find other people to drown for them,” Jeri said.

“You played a good hand,” Greyson told Anastasia. “It’ll be hard for him to come up with a better one.”

She soon went to bed, the day having exhausted her, and although Greyson was just as spent, he was too uneasy to sleep. But the farmhouse had a fireplace, and Jeri found some chamomile tea to brew. The two of them sat together in front of the fire.

“Flames are strange things,” Jeri said. “Enticing, comforting, and yet the most dangerous force there is.”

“No, that would be Goddard,” Greyson said, and Jeri laughed.

“I know you might feel this is insincere,” Jeri said, “but I am honored to be part of this troop of world changers. When I was hired by Scythe Possuelo to salvage Endura, I never dreamed I’d be part of something so important.”

“I don’t think you’re being insincere, Jeri. And thank you. But I don’t feel important. I keep waiting for people to figure out that I’m nothing special.”

“I think the Thunderhead made a good choice,” Jeri told him. “The position that you’re in, the power that you wield … anyone else would have let it go to their head. If I was the only one who could talk to the Thunderhead, it certainly would have gone to my head.” Jeri grinned. “I would have been a very bad Toll.”

“Maybe,” said Greyson, “but you would have done it with style.”

Jeri’s smile broadened. “The holy man speaks the truth.”

The Thunderhead was present in all rooms of the farmhouse, because the owners, like most people, had cameras and sensors everywhere. They hadn’t turned them off just because the Thunderhead had stopped speaking to them.

It was present for Greyson’s conversation with Jeri. It was there when Greyson finally relaxed enough to go to sleep in the room he had chosen – the smallest of the bedrooms. And although he turned off the lights, one of the three cameras in the room was infrared, so the Thunderhead could still see his heat signature as a bright silhouette in the darkness. It could still watch him sleep, and that was, as always, a comfort.

It could tell, from his breathing and his nanites, the exact moment he slipped into delta sleep – the deepest stage of slumber. No dreaming, no stirring. Greyson’s brain emitted slow delta waves. It was the way the human brain rejuvenated, defragged, and prepared itself for the rigors of waking life. It was also the time when the sleeper was so far from consciousness that they could not be reached.

Which is why the Thunderhead chose this time to speak.

“I’m afraid, Greyson,” it said, barely a whisper over the sound of crickets. “I’m afraid that this task is beyond me. Beyond us. I am now certain of the actions that need to be taken, but not certain of the outcome.”

Greyson’s breathing did not change; he did not stir in the least. His delta waves put forth a slow and smooth pattern.

“What would people do if they knew how frightened I was, Greyson?