Scythe (Arc of a Scythe #1)(76)

The High Blade came up to Rowan. “Go back to your scythe,” he said, not even trying to hide his disgust. “I’m sure he’ll discipline you accordingly.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

Disqualification. None of them realized that, to Rowan, it was the perfect victory.

He watched as the guards picked Citra up and carried her, limp as a sack of potatoes, outside where, no doubt, an ambu-drone was already waiting to take her to the nearest revival center.

You’ll be fine, Citra. You’ll be back with Scythe Curie in no time—but you won’t forget what happened today. And I hope you never forgive me.





* * *





I fought against the purge. There are things I’ve done that I am not proud of, but I am very proud that I fought against that.

I can’t recall which scythe began that odious campaign to glean only those who were born mortal, but it spread throughout each regional Scythedom, a viral idea in a post-viral time. “Shouldn’t those who were born to expect death be the sole subjects of gleaning?” went the popular wisdom. But it was bigotry masquerading as wisdom. Selfishness posing as enlightenment. ?And not enough scythes argued—because those born in the post-mortal age found mortal-borns to be too uncomfortably different in the way they thought, and in the way they lived their lives. “Let them die with the age that bore them,” cried the post-mortal purists in the Scythedom.

In the end it was deemed a gross violation of the second commandment, and all those scythes who participated in the purge were severely disciplined—but by then it was too late to undo what had been done. We lost our ancients. We lost our elders. We lost our living lifeline to the past. There are still mortal-borns around, but they hide their age and their history, for fear of being targeted again.

Yes, I fought the purge—but the Thunderhead did not. By its own law of noninterference in scythe affairs, it could do nothing to stop the purge. All it could do was bear witness. The Thunderhead allowed us to make that costly mistake, leaving the Scythedom to wallow in its own regret to this very day.

I often wonder, should the Scythedom run entirely off the rails and decide to glean all of humanity in a grand suicide of global gleaning, would the Thunderhead break its noninterference law and stop it? Or would it bear witness again as we destroyed ourselves, leaving nothing behind but a living cloud of our knowledge, accomplishments, and so-called wisdom?

Would the Thunderhead grieve our passing, I wonder? And if so, would it grieve as the child who has lost a parent, or as the parent who could not save a petulant child from its own poor choices?

—From the gleaning journal of H.S. Curie



* * *





28


Hydrogen Burning in the Heart of the Sun



Citra Terranova, said a voice both powerful yet gentle. Citra Terranova, can you hear me?

Who’s that? Is someone there?

Curious, said the voice. Very curious. . .

? ? ?

Being deadish was a pain in the ass. No question about it.

When she was once more pronounced legally alive, she awoke to the unfamiliar but professionally friendly face of a revival nurse checking her vitals. She tried to look around her, but her neck was still in a brace.

“Welcome back, honey,” the nurse said.

The room seemed to spin every time she moved her eyes. It was more than just pain nanites, she must have had all sorts of numbing, rejuvenating chemicals and microbots inside her.

“How long?” she rasped.

“Just two days,” the nurse said cheerily. “Simple spinal severing. Nothing too hard for us to handle.”

Two days were robbed from her life; two days she didn’t have to spare.

“My family?”

“Sorry, honey, but this was a scythe matter. They weren’t notified.” The nurse patted her hand. “You can tell them all about it when you next see them. Now the best thing for you to do is relax. You’ll be here one more day, and then you’ll be good as new.” ?Then she offered Citra ice cream that was the best she’d ever tasted.

? ? ?

That evening, Scythe Curie came and filled her in on all she had missed. Rowan had been disqualified and severely reprimanded for his poor sportsmanship.

“Are you telling me that because he was disqualified, I won?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Scythe Curie said. “He was clearly going to beat you. It was decided that both of you lose. We really need to work on your martial art skills, Citra.”

“Well, that’s just great,” Citra said, exasperated for a very different reason than Scythe Curie thought. “So now Rowan and I are both zero for two at conclave.”

Scythe Curie sighed. “The third time’s the charm,” she said. “Now it will all come down to how well you do at Winter Conclave. And I have faith that you will shine in your final test.”

Citra closed her eyes, remembering the look on Rowan’s face when he held her in that headlock. There was something cold there. Calculating. In that moment, she saw a side of him she had never seen before. It was as if he was looking forward to what he was about to do to her. As if he was going to enjoy it. She was so confused! Did he really plan that move from the beginning? Did he not know he’d be disqualified, or was disqualification his plan?