The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,41

supernatural demons called scythes, who he redeemed from darkness. Like the Tone itself, the Toll could not die, so a life-sacrifice would always lead to the Toll’s resurrection, making him unique among the people of his day.

Coda’s Analysis of Symphonius

The key insight that Symphonius misses here is that the mention of his seat resting “at the mouth of Lenape” clearly means that the Toll waited at the entrance to the city, catching those that the seething metropolis would otherwise devour. As for the death bringer, there is evidence to suggest that such individuals did exist, supernatural or not, and that they were indeed called scythes. Therefore, it is not far-fetched to think that the Toll might have saved a scythe from his or her evil ways. And in this instance, I do, for once, agree with Symphonius that the Toll was unique in the ability to return from death. For if everyone could return from death, why would we need the Toll at all?

13

The Quality of Being Resonant

If Greyson had anyone to thank – or blame – for becoming the Toll, it was Curate Mendoza. He had been key in shaping Greyson’s new image. Yes, it had been Greyson’s idea to “go public” and let the world know he still had a connection to the Thunderhead – but it was Mendoza who finessed the reveal.

The man was a skilled strategist. Before souring on eternal life and becoming a Tonist curate, he had worked in marketing for a soft drink company.

“I came up with the blue polar bear for AntarctiCool Soda,” he had once told Greyson. “There weren’t even polar bears in Antarctica, much less blue ones, so we engineered some. Now you can’t even think of Antarctica without thinking of their blue bears, can you?”

There were many who thought that the Thunderhead was dead – that what the Tonists called the Great Resonance was the sound of it dying. Mendoza, however, offered an alternate explanation to the Tonists.

“The Thunderhead has been visited by the resonant spirit,” he posited. “The Living Tone has breathed life into what had once been artificial thought.”

It made sense if you looked at it through the lens of Tonist beliefs; the Thunderhead – all cold, hard science – had been transformed into something greater by the Living Tone. And, as such things often fell into groups of three, there needed to be a human element to complete the triad. And there he was, Greyson Tolliver, the one human being who spoke to the living Thunder.

Mendoza began by dropping rumors in key trigger points about the existence of a mystical figure who conversed with the Thunderhead. A Tonist prophet who was the link between the spiritual and the scientific. Greyson was dubious, but Mendoza was passionate and persuasive.

“Imagine it, Greyson: The Thunderhead will speak through you, and in time the world will hang on your every word. Isn’t that what the Thunderhead wants? For you to be its voice in the world?”

“I don’t exactly have a voice of thunder,” Greyson pointed out.

“You can whisper, and people will still hear thunder,” Mendoza told him. “Trust me.”

Then Mendoza set out to create a more organized hierarchy to the Tonist calling that might bring together the various divergent factions – which was easier with an individual to rally around.

Mendoza – who had, for many years, led a quiet, unexamined life as the head of the monastery in Wichita – was now back in his element as a master of public relations and branding. The Toll was his new product, and there was nothing more exciting to him than the thrill of the sale – especially when it was a one-of-a-kind item in a global market.

“All you need now is a title,” Mendoza had told Greyson. “One that fits with Tonist beliefs … or at least can be made to fit.”

It was Greyson who came up with “the Toll,” and, as it was actually part of his last name, it almost felt preordained. He was rather proud of himself, until people actually started calling him that. And to make it worse, Mendoza invented a pompous honorific, referring to him as “Your Sonority.” Greyson actually had to ask the Thunderhead what it meant.

“From the Latin sonoritas, meaning ‘the quality of being resonant,’” it told him. “It has a certain … ring.” Which made Greyson groan.

People took to it, and before long everything was “Yes, Your Sonority,” “No, Your Sonority,” “How might I please you today, Your Sonority?” It all felt so strange.