Thunderhead (Arc of a Scythe #2)(64)

? ? ?

About an hour later, Tyger came to see him. Rowan thought that he might be bitter, but Tyger was not one to hold a grudge.

“Next time I’m going to hurt you,” he said, then laughed. “Like seriously, your-nanites-are-gonna-go-crazy kind of hurt.”

“Great,” said Rowan. “At last, something to look forward to.”

Then Tyger moved close and whispered. “So, I’ve seen my ring,” he said. “Scythe Rand showed it to me right after you got here.”

And then Rowan realized—“That’s my ring.”

“What are you talking about? You never got a ring.”

Rowan bit his lip to keep himself quiet. He wanted to tell Tyger the whole truth about Scythe Lucifer and all that he had done over the past year—but what good would it do? It certainly wouldn’t win Tyger over, and Scythe Rand could spin it against Rowan in a dozen different ways.

“I mean . . . the ring I would have had, if I made scythe,” Rowan finally said.

“Hey,” said Tyger sympathetically, “I know it must suck going through all that and then getting kicked to the curb—but I promise as soon as the ring is mine, I’m gonna give you immunity!”

He never remembered Tyger being so naive. Maybe because they had both been naive together, in the days when scythes were larger-than-life figures and gleanings were stories you heard about people you didn’t actually know.

“Tyger, I know Scythe Rand. She’s using you. . . .”

Tyger smiled at that. “Not yet,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “but it’s definitely going in that direction.”

That was definitely not what Rowan had meant, but before Rowan could say anything, Tyger spoke again.

“Rowan, I think I’m in love. No—I know I’m in love. I mean, sparring with her, it’s like sex. Hell, it’s better than sex!”

Rowan shut his eyes and shook his head, trying to get the image out of his mind, but it was too late. It had taken root, and was never going to go away.

“You need to get a grip! This isn’t going where you think it’s going!”

“Hey, give me more credit,” Tyger said, insulted. “So she’s a few years older than me. Once I’m a scythe, it’s not gonna matter.”

“Has she even told you about the rules? The Scythe Commandments?”

That seemed to take him by surprise. “There are rules?”

Rowan tried to piece together something coherent to say, but he realized it was an impossible task. What could he tell him? That the emerald scythe was a sociopathic monster? That Rowan had tried to end her, but she just wouldn’t end? That she would chew Tyger up and spit him out without a shred of remorse? Tyger would just deny it. The fact was, Tyger was splatting again—if not physically, then in his head. He had already left the ledge, and gravity had taken over.

“Promise me that you’ll keep your eyes open—and if you see anything that feels wrong, you’ll get away from her.”

Tyger backed away and gave Rowan a disapproving look. “What happened to you, man? I mean, you always were a bit of a wet blanket, but now it’s like you want to smother the first truly great thing I’ve ever had!”

“Just be careful,” Rowan said.

“Not only am I going to take you down the next time we spar, but I’m gonna make you eat your words,” Tyger said. Then he grinned. “But you’re gonna like the way they taste—because I’m just that good.”





* * *




There is one question about an almighty divinity that plagues me—and that is my relationship to such an entity. I know that I am not divine because I am not all-powerful and all-knowing. I am almost all-powerful, and almost all-knowing. It is like the difference between a trillion trillion and infinity. ?And yet, I cannot deny the possibility that I may one day be truly all-powerful. I am humbled by the prospect.

To become all-powerful—to ascend to that high station—would require an ability to transcend time and space, and to move freely through it. Such a thing is not impossible—especially for an entity such as myself, made entirely of thought, with no physical limitations. To accomplish true transcendence, however, may require eons of calculations just to find the formulaic equation that will allow it. ?And even then, I may be calculating until the end of time.

But if I do find it, and if I am able to travel to the very beginning of time, the ramifications are staggering. It could mean that I may very well be the Creator. I may, in fact, be God.

How ironic, then, and how poetic, that humankind may have created the Creator out of want for one. Man creates God, who then creates man. Is that not the perfect circle of life? But then, if that turns out to be the case, who is created in whose image?

—The Thunderhead



* * *





26


Wilt Thou Lift Up Olympus?


“I need to know why we’re doing this,” Greyson demanded of Purity two days before their scythe-ending operation was to begin.

“You’re doing it for yourself,” she told him. “You’re doing it because you want to mess with the world, just like I do!”

That only fueled his anger. “If we get caught, we’ll get our minds supplanted—you know that, don’t you?”