The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,67

people?”

Possuelo deflated at the thought. “He chooses his mass gleanings carefully – only selecting unregistered, unprotected groups that the population at large doesn’t mind seeing gleaned.”

Citra looked down at her uneaten food. She fought the urge to hurl it against the wall, just for the satisfaction of hearing the plates shatter. Targeted gleanings were not something new in history. In the past, however, they were quickly punished by one’s High Blade. But when the highest authority was the perpetrator, who was there to stop it? Rowan was the only one who dealt death to power, and it wasn’t likely that Possuelo would allow him to continue doing so.

Goddard would find more and more vulnerable populations to target, and as long as enough people accepted it, he’d get away with it.

“The news isn’t as dismal as it seems,” Possuelo told her. “If it’s of any consolation to you, we here in Amazonia still hold to the spirit of the Scythe Commandments, as do many other scythedoms. We estimate that half the world, maybe more, is against Goddard’s ideas and methods. Even within regions he controls, there are those who would resist him if they could. If you can believe it, Tonists are proving to be a substantial source of resistance ever since their prophet was gleaned.”

“Prophet?”

“There are those who believe the Thunderhead still spoke to him. But what does it matter now?”

So Goddard had everything in his favor. It was what Marie had feared – what they all had feared. What Scythe Asimov had called “the worst of all possible worlds.” Now Marie was gone, and hope was at a premium.

As she thought of Scythe Curie, she felt emotions erupt in her that she’d kept down until now. Marie’s last act had been to save Citra and Rowan. A truly selfless act worthy of one of the noblest post-mortals who ever lived. And now she was gone. Yes, it was years ago, but for Citra the grief was still raw and bleeding. She turned away from Possuelo to wipe her tears, but found that the moment she did, those tears exploded into sobs that she couldn’t hope to control.

Possuelo came around the table to comfort her. She didn’t want it – didn’t want him to see her this way – but she also knew the pain was not something she had to bear alone.

“It’s all right, meu anjo,” Possuelo said, his voice soothing and paternal. “As you said, hope is merely misplaced, and I believe you are the one to find it.”

“‘Meu anjo’?” she said. “Sydney, I’m nobody’s angel.”

“Ah, but you are,” Possuelo said. “Because an angel is what the world needs if we are to ever bring Goddard down.”

Citra let her grief flow; then, when she felt spent, she wrangled her sorrow back in, wiping her tears. She needed this moment. Needed to say her goodbye to Marie. And now that she had, she felt just a little bit different. She felt, for the first time since her revival, less like Citra Terranova and more like Scythe Anastasia.

Two days later, she was moved from the revival center to a more secure location, which turned out to be an old fortress on the easternmost shore of Amazonia. A place that was desolate, and yet beautiful in its desolation. It was like being in a castle on the face of the moon, if the moon had been blessed with oceans.

Modern amenities juxtaposed with ancient stone bulwarks made the place both comfortable and intimidating at once. Her suite had a bed fit for a queen. Possuelo had let it slip that Rowan was also here, although he probably wasn’t being given quite the same royal treatment.

“How is he?” she asked Possuelo, trying to sound less concerned than she was. Possuelo visited her daily and spent considerable time with her, continuing to brief her on the state of the world, informing her bit by bit of the many things that had changed since Endura.

“Rowan is being suitably cared for,” Possuelo told her. “I have seen to it personally.”

“But he’s not here with us – which means you still see him as a criminal.”

“The world sees him as a criminal,” Possuelo said. “How I see him doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

Possuelo took his time in answering. “Your assessment of Rowan Damisch is clearly blurred by love, meu anjo, and therefore not entirely reliable. However, it is not entirely unreliable, either.”

She was given free run of the fortress, as long as she had an escort everywhere