Thunderhead (Arc of a Scythe #2)(85)

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The opening session of conclave was typical, moving with the glacial pace of its rituals. First was the tolling of the names, where every single scythe chose ten of his or her recent gleaning victims to memorialize with the solemn toll of an iron bell. Then came the washing of hands, where the scythes symbolically cleansed themselves of four months of blood. As an apprentice, Citra found it pointless, but now, as Scythe Anastasia, she understood the deep emotional and psychological power a communal cleansing could have, when your days were spent taking life.

The midmorning break had everyone back in the rotunda, where the breakfast spread had been replaced by an artful array of cupcakes, all of which were frosted to match the robes of every MidMerican scythe. It was one of those things that must have seemed like a good idea at the time, and was impressive to look at, but it all fell apart as scythes crowded the table, trying to locate their particular cupcake, quite often finding that someone else with less patience had already eaten it. While the breakfast conversation had been more about greeting and small talk, the midmorning discussions were meatier. Scythe Cervantes, who had administered the Bokator challenge during Anastasia’s apprenticeship, approached her to discuss the social status she had been trying to avoid.

“With so many junior scythes being enticed to align with the new order, several of us think it would be a good idea to begin a traditions committee, to study the teachings—but more importantly, the intentions—of the founding scythes.”

Anastasia gave him her honest appraisal. “Sounds like a good idea, if you can get enough junior scythes to be a part of it.”

“That’s where you would come in,” Cervantes said. “We’d like you to propose it. We think it would go a long way to creating a solid foundation among the younger scythes to oppose the new order.”

“The rest of us would be behind you one hundred percent,” said Scythe Angelou, who had joined the conversation.

“And as you’d be proposing it, it would only make sense that you be the committee chair,” Cervantes said.

Anastasia had never thought she’d have the opportunity to be on a committee this soon into her scythehood, much less chair one. “I’m honored that you would consider me capable of leading a committee. . . .”

“Oh, more than capable,” said Scythe Angelou.

“Maya’s right,” Cervantes said. “You’re probably the only one among us who could make such a committee relevant.”

It was heady to think that such seasoned scythes as Cervantes and Angelou would put so much stock in her. She thought back to the other young scythes who gravitated toward her. Could she effectively turn their energies to honoring the intentions of the founding scythes? She wouldn’t know until she tried. Perhaps she needed to stop avoiding the other junior scythes, and actually engage them.

When they returned to the conclave chamber, Anastasia told Scythe Curie about the idea. She was pleased that her protégé had been tapped for such an important role. “It’s about time we found a way to give the junior scythes some meaningful direction,” she said. “Lately, they seem far too listless.”

Anastasia was prepared to propose the committee later that day—but the table on which the scythedom played was effectively overturned just before they broke for lunch.

After Scythe Rockwell was disciplined for gleaning too many unsavories, and Scythe Yamaguchi was praised for the artistry of her gleanings, High Blade Xenocrates made an announcement.

“This concerns all of you,” he began. “As you know, I’ve been High Blade of MidMerica since the Year of the Lemur. . . .”

The room suddenly became very quiet. He took his time, allowing that silence to take root before he spoke again. “While forty-three years is a mere drop in the bucket, it is a long time to be doing the same thing day after day.”

Anastasia turned to Marie and whispered, “Who does he think he’s talking to? We ALL do the same thing day after day.”

Marie didn’t shush her, but didn’t respond either.

“These are trying times,” said the High Blade, “and I feel that I can best serve the scythedom in a different capacity.”

And then he finally got to the point.

“I am pleased to inform you all that I have been chosen to succeed Grandslayer Hemingway on the World Scythe Council, when he self-gleans tomorrow morning.”

Now the chamber erupted in chatter, and Xenocrates began banging his gavel to bring order—but after such an announcement, order was slow in coming.

Anastasia turned to Scythe Curie, but Marie stood so stiffly and was so taciturn, Anastasia didn’t dare to ask her a question. Instead she turned to Scythe Al-Farabi on her other side. “So, what happens now?” she asked. “Will he appoint the next High Blade?”

“Didn’t you study the parliamentary procedures of the scythedom during your apprenticeship?” Scythe Al-Farabi chided. “We will vote upon a new High Blade by the end of the day.”

The room smoldered with whispered conversation as scythes hurried to position themselves, creating and confirming alliances in the wake of Xenocrates’s announcement. Then a voice called out from the far side of the room.

“I nominate Honorable Scythe Marie Curie for the position of High Blade of MidMerica.”

It was a voice that Anastasia recognized right away, although even if she hadn’t, Scythe Constantine was hard to miss in his crimson robe as he stood to make his nomination.