The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,5

have improved upon the world that nature has provided,” Supreme Blade Prometheus proclaimed in the Year of the Condor, upon establishing the scythedom. “It is our nature … to surpass nature.” And nowhere was that more evident than when one looked into the heart of a scythe ring, for it gave one the illusion that it had depth beyond the space it occupied. A depth beyond nature.

No one knew how they were made, for any technology that wasn’t controlled by the Thunderhead was technology lost. Few people in the world truly knew how things worked anymore. All the scythes knew was that their rings were connected to one another, and to the scythe database, in some undisclosed manner. But as the scythedom’s computers were not under Thunderhead jurisdiction, they were subject to glitches and crashes and all the inconveniences that plagued human-machine relations in days gone by.

Yet the rings never failed.

They did precisely what they were meant to do: They catalogued the gleaned; they sampled DNA from the lips of those who kissed them, in order to grant immunity; and they glowed to alert scythes of that immunity.

But if you were to ask a scythe what the most important aspect of the ring was, that scythe would likely hold it to the light, watch it sparkle, and tell you that, above all else, the ring served as a symbol of the scythedom and of post-mortal perfection. A touchstone of a scythe’s sublime and elevated state … and a reminder of their solemn responsibility to the world.

But all those lost diamonds…

“Why do we need them?” many scythes now asked, knowing that the absence of them made their own rings all the more precious. “Do we need them to ordain new scythes? Why do we need more scythes? We have enough to do the job.” And without global oversight from Endura, many regional scythedoms were following MidMerica’s lead and abolishing gleaning quotas.

Now, in the middle of the Atlantic, where Endura once towered above the waves, a “perimeter of reverence” had been established by the consent of scythes around the world. No one was allowed to sail anywhere near the spot where Endura had sunk, out of respect for the many thousands whose lives had been lost. In fact, High Blade Goddard, one of the few survivors of that terrible day, argued that the Perimeter of Reverence should be a permanent designation, and that nothing beneath its surface should ever be disturbed.

But sooner or later those diamonds would have to be found. Things that valuable were rarely lost forever. Especially when everyone knew exactly where they were.

We of the SubSaharan region take extreme umbrage with High Blade Goddard’s removal of gleaning quotas. The quotas have stood since time immemorial as a way to regulate the taking of life – and, while not officially one of the scythe commandments, quotas have kept us on track. They have prevented us from being either too bloodthirsty, or too lax.

While several other regions have now abolished quotas as well, SubSahara stands with Amazonia, Israebia, and numerous other regions in resisting this ill-advised change.

Further, any and all MidMerican scythes are banned from gleaning on our soil – and we urge other regions to join us in resisting Goddard’s so-called new order from establishing a chokehold on the world.

—Official proclamation from

His Excellency, High Blade Tenkamenin of SubSahara

2

Late to the Party

“How much longer?”

“I’ve never known a scythe to be so impatient.”

“Then you do not know many scythes. We are an impatient and irascible lot.”

Honorable Scythe Sydney Possuelo of Amazonia was already present when Captain Jerico Soberanis arrived on the bridge, just after dawn. Jerico wondered if the man ever slept. Maybe scythes hired people to sleep for them.

“Half a day at full speed,” Jerico answered. “We’ll be there by 18:00, just as I said yesterday, Your Honor.”

Possuelo sighed. “Your ship is too slow.”

Jerico grinned. “All this time, and now you’re in a hurry?”

“Time is never of the essence until someone decides that it is.”

Jerico couldn’t argue the logic. “In the best of worlds, this operation would have happened a long time ago.”

To which Possuelo responded, “In case you haven’t noticed, this is no longer the best of worlds.”

There was truth in that. At the very least, it was not the world that Jerico had grown up in. In that world, the Thunderhead was a part of most everyone’s life. It could be asked anything, it always answered, and its answers were precise, informative, and just as wise as they needed