The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,161
out there, a spot as isolated as Kwajalein seemed the best place to be.
The jetty was already crowded when Loriana arrived. A container ship had just pulled in to the primary pier, and workers were mooring it. When the gangway opened, a figure stepped out clothed in purple and silver that shimmered down over his shoulders like a waterfall, reflecting the bright lights of the dock that now overwhelmed the trails of dusk.
Just behind him, on either side, were a pair of scythes.
At the sight of scythes, some people turned and fled, fearing this was a mass gleaning – but most realized that this was something different. First of all, these scythes had no gems on their robes. And second of all, one of them wore turquoise. Although her hood was up and no one could see her face clearly, people suspected who the turquoise scythe must be.
Two more figures came out behind them – one in Tonist brown, the other in more ordinary clothes – bringing the group’s complement to five.
There was a hushed apprehension as the five figures stepped off the gangway onto the pier. Finally, the one in purple spoke.
“Could someone tell me where we are?” he said. “I can’t find it on any map.”
Agent Sykora stepped forward out of the crowd. “You’re on the Kwajalein Atoll, Your Sonority,” he said.
As soon as people heard “Your Sonority,” gasps and whispers filtered through the crowd. This was the Toll – which explained why a Tonist was with them – but why scythes? And why Scythe Anastasia?
“Agent Sykora!” said the Toll. “It’s good to see you again. Well, maybe not good, but at least better than the last time.”
So Sykora wasn’t lying about having met the Toll! Funny, but there was something familiar about the Toll’s face to Loriana as well.
“I need to speak to the person in charge,” the Toll said.
“I’m in charge,” Sykora told him.
“No,” said the Toll, “you’re not.” Then he looked out to the crowd. “I’m looking for Loriana Barchok.”
Loriana was by no means a Tonist, but to be called by name by their holy man made her nanites struggle to keep her heart stable. There was fresh buzz from the crowd. Most people on the island knew Loriana, and as heads turned, the Toll followed everyone’s gaze to her.
Loriana dry-swallowed. “Present,” she said like a schoolgirl. Then she cleared her throat, squared her shoulders, and strode forward, determined not to show how much she was shaking.
Greyson was on his own. At least he was until he could access a landline. His earpiece was useless. The Thunderhead had warned him that once they neared their destination, interference would confound all wireless communication.
But he wasn’t on his own, was he? He had Anastasia and Morrison. He had Astrid and Jeri. He knew what it was like to be without the Thunderhead – what it was like to rely on people – and now, more than ever, he was happy to be in the company of people he knew he could trust. That made him think of Mendoza. Greyson had trusted him, but only when their goals aligned. The curate had done many things for the Toll, but not much for Greyson. He was glad he had dismissed Mendoza when he did. He did not belong here today.
Everyone with him had steeled themselves for this moment by the time they strode down the gangway. The task before them tonight would be difficult, but not impossible. The Thunderhead would never give them an impossible task.
Back in Britannia, Greyson had told Anastasia what their cargo would be, but after their encounter with the harbormaster of Guam, the others were quick to figure it out. And they asked Greyson the same question he himself had asked.
“Why? Why would the Thunderhead need us to collect the gleaned?”
After all, it wasn’t as if the Thunderhead could revive them. It could not interfere with scythe actions, no matter how heinous those actions were. The gleaned were gone, period, the end. No one who had ever been officially gleaned had ever been revived. So what could the Thunderhead possibly need them for?
“The Thunder is mysterious, but it knows what it’s doing,” Astrid had said. “We should have more faith in it.”
Then, as their ship had approached the atoll, and the spindly slivers on the horizon resolved into dozens of rockets gleaming in the setting sun, Greyson knew. He had no idea how the Thunderhead would accomplish it, but he knew. They all did.