The Toll (Arc of a Scythe) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,95
unfair. Death is the same.”
Tenkamenin swung his hand in a quick arc. Anastasia never even saw the blade, but in an instant the man was on the floor, clutching his neck, releasing his last breath. He had been gleaned.
“I will alert his family personally,” Tenkamenin told Anastasia. “They will be invited to the next Lunar Jubilee.”
Anastasia was surprised by the turn of events, but not shocked. Each scythe had to find his or her own way of doing things. To realize one random soul’s dream while denying another’s was as reasonable a method as any. She’d seen good scythes do a whole lot worse.
The cleanup crew came in from another room, and Tenka escorted Anastasia out to the patio, where breakfast was waiting. “Did you know that you were my inspiration?” he told her.
“Me?”
“By your example. Actually allowing people to choose their own method of gleaning, and giving them notice ahead of time – unheard of! But brilliant! Such compassion is lacking among us – we’re all about efficiency. Getting the job done. After you were lost on Endura, to honor you, I decided to change my gleaning style. I would allow half of those I glean to first live their dream.”
“Why just half?”
“Because if we truly are to emulate death as it once was, it must be fickle and capricious,” he said. “One can only sugarcoat it so much.”
Tenka filled a plate with eggs and fried plantains, and set it in front of Anastasia before making a plate for himself. How strange, thought Anastasia, that death has become so commonplace for us scythes that we can take life, and take breakfast in the next moment.
Tenka took a bite of cassava fufu, chewing the dense bread as he spoke. “You’ve not gleaned once since you arrived. Understandable under the circumstances, but you must be itching for it.”
She understood what he meant. Only new-order scythes truly enjoyed the act of gleaning, but others would feel a vague but persistent need if they went too long without it. Anastasia couldn’t deny that she’d come to feel that, too. She imagined it was the way one’s psyche adjusted to being a scythe in the first place.
“What I’m doing in the backbrain is more important than gleaning,” she told him. “And I think I found something.”
She told him what she had uncovered. A name. Carson Lusk. Not exactly the motherlode, but a starting point. “He’s listed as a survivor, but there’s no record of his life after that date. Of course it could be a mistake, and he actually died with the others.”
Tenka smiled broadly. “The Thunderhead does not make mistakes,” he reminded her. “It’s a solid lead. Keep digging!”
He eyed her plate, then scooped more plantains onto it like a parent concerned with their child’s skimpy eating habits. “We would like you to start making live broadcasts,” he told her. “Rather than us officially telling the world you’ve returned, we think you should do it yourself. Scythe Anastasia, in her own words.”
“I’m … not much of a performer,” she told him, and thought back to her awful performance in Julius Caesar. She was only on stage to glean the lead actor, as per his wishes, but she still had to act the part. She was a terrible Roman senator, except for the stabbing part.
“Did you speak your mind and your heart to the Grandslayers when you brought your inquest?” Tenka asked.
“Yes…” admitted Anastasia.
“And our friend Scythe Possuelo tells me that, in spite of what the world believes, you convinced them to make Scythe Curie High Blade of MidMerica.”
Anastasia grimaced involuntarily at the mention of Scythe Curie. “Yes, I did.”
“Well, if you can stand before the seven Seats of Consideration and argue a case to the most intimidating elegy of scythes in the world, I think you’ll do fine.”
That afternoon, Tenkamenin took her off the compound to show her the city he was so proud off. Port Remembrance was bustling and full of life. But the High Blade did not want her to leave their car. “The Jubilee is one thing – it is a controlled environment – but out here, there’s no telling who might see you, and recognize you,” he said. But it turned out there was another reason he didn’t want her to leave their vehicle.
As they neared the center of town, they began to encounter Tonists. First just a few, but soon they started to gather on either side of the road, glaring at the High Blade’s car.