Thunderhead (Arc of a Scythe #2)(86)

Anastasia snapped her eyes to Marie, who had shut her eyes tightly, and Anastasia knew this was why she had been so stiff, so silent before. She was steeling herself for this. She knew someone would nominate her. That it was Constantine, however, must have surprised even her.

“I second the nomination!” shouted another scythe. It was Morrison—who threw a quick glance in Anastasia’s direction, as if being the first to second Scythe Curie’s nomination would win her over.

Marie opened her eyes and began shaking her head. “I’m going to have to decline,” she said—more to herself than to Anastasia, but as she began to stand up to announce it, Anastasia touched her arm ever so gently to stop her, just as Marie had always done for her when she was about to make a rash decision.

“Don’t,” said Citra. “Not yet, anyway. Let’s see where this goes.”

Scythe Curie considered it, and heaved a sigh. “I can guarantee you it won’t go anywhere good,” but still she held her tongue, accepting the nomination. For now.

Then a scythe in a coral pink robe studded with tourmaline gemstones rose and said, “I nominate Scythe Nietzsche.”

“Of course she does,” said Scythe Al-Farabi in disgust. “The new order never misses an opportunity to grab at power.”

There were shouts of support and anger that made the walls shake, and all the banging of Xenocrates’s gavel could do was add rhythm to the rancor. Scythe Nietzsche’s nomination was seconded by another jewel-studded scythe.

“Are there any other nominations before we break for lunch?” shouted the High Blade.

And although Scythe Truman, a noted independent, was nominated, it was too late. The battle lines had already been drawn, and his nomination was not even seconded.





* * *




I am fascinated by the concept of ritual. ?Those things that human beings do that serve no practical purpose, and yet deliver great comfort and continuity. The scythedom might berate the Tonists for their practices, but their own rituals are no different.

The scythedom’s traditions are steeped in pomp and great ceremony. Take, for instance, the installation of a new Grandslayer. There are seven of them on the World Scythe Council—one representing each continent—and once appointed, they are appointed for life. The only way out is to self-glean—but they don’t just self-glean, their entire staff of underscythes must voluntarily self-glean with them. If any of the underscythes refuse, the Grandslayer must remain alive, and retain his or her position. Not surprisingly, it’s very rare for a Grandslayer to gain consensus enough among his or her underlings to self-glean. ?All it takes is one defiant individual to prevent it.

The affair takes months of preparation, and all in absolute secrecy. The new Grandslayer must be present, because, according to tradition, the diamond amulet must be removed from the dead Grandslayer and placed around the new one’s shoulders while still warm.

I have never seen the ritual, of course. But stories abound.

—The Thunderhead



* * *





33


High School with Murder


“What were you thinking!”

Scythe Curie accosted Constantine in the rotunda as soon as they were let out for lunch. And although he was a tall man, he seemed to shrink beneath the wrath of the Granddame of Death.

“I was thinking that we now know the reason you were both attacked.”

“What are you talking about?”

But Anastasia caught on even before Marie did. “Someone knew!”

“Yes,” said Constantine. “The choosing of a Grandslayer is supposed to be secret, but someone knew that Xenocrates would be leaving an opening for a High Blade. Whoever it was wanted to take you out of the running, Marie—and prevent your young protégé from rallying junior scythes to vote for a candidate who would uphold the old ways.”

That took a bit of the wind out of Scythe Curie’s sails. She had to take a moment to let it sink in. “Do you think it’s Nietzsche?”

“I don’t believe so,” said Constantine. “He might be new-order, but he’s not the type. Most new-order scythes bend the laws just shy of breaking them, and Scythe Nietzsche is no different.”

“Then who?”

Scythe Constantine had no answer. “But by nominating you first, it gives us an advantage. It allows us to see how others react, and maybe give themselves away.”

“And if Constantine hadn’t nominated you,” said Scythe Mandela, coming up beside them, “I would have.”

“As would I,” said Scythe Twain.

“So you see,” said Constantine, with a satisfied smile, “your nomination was a given. I just wanted to make sure it was strategic.”

“But I don’t want to be High Blade! I have successfully avoided it all my life!” Then she singled out Scythe Meir, who stood on the fringe of the conversation.

“Golda!” she said. “Why not you? You always know precisely what to say to motivate people. You’d be a spectacular High Blade!”

Scythe Meir put up her hands. “Heavens, no!” she said. “I’m good with words, but not with crowds. Just because my Patron Historic was a strong leader, don’t mistake me for one! I’d be happy to write your speeches, but that’s as far as I’ll go.”