Thunderhead (Arc of a Scythe #2)(90)

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We now find ourselves at a turning point in our history, every bit as critical as the day we defeated death. Ours is a perfect world—but perfection does not linger in one place. It is a firefly, by its very nature elusive and unpredictable. We may have caught it in a jar, but that jar has broken, and we are in danger of shredding ourselves on its shards. The “old guard,” as we’ve been called, are not old at all. We embrace the revolutionary change envisioned by Scythes Prometheus, Gandhi, Elizabeth, Laozi, and all the founders. It is their forward-thinking vision we must embrace, now more than ever, and live our lives by their ideals, or risk losing ourselves to the greed and corruption that so plagued mortal humankind.

As scythes, it is not what we want that matters—all that matters is what the world needs us to be. As your High Blade, I will hold us to the highest ideals, so that we can be proud of who, and what, we are.

—From the oration of H.S. Curie, High Blade candidate, January 7th, Year of the Raptor



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35


The 7 Percent Solution


It was decided to break with tradition and ordain the new scythes, then test the apprentices before the vote. It would give everyone some time to digest the debate—but considering its contentious nature, it would take far longer than a few hours to truly process.

Scythe Curie came down from the debate emotionally exhausted. Anastasia could tell, but Marie hid it well from everyone else.

“How was I?” she asked.

“You were spectacular,” Anastasia said, and everyone who sat around them said much the same—but there was a sense of foreboding that clouded even the best of wishes that afternoon.

The scythedom was released to the rotunda for a much-needed break after the debate. Perhaps everyone was still stuffed from lunch, but it seemed no one was partaking of the afternoon snack. For once, the entire scythedom seemed to agree there was something afoot that was more important than food.

Scythe Curie was surrounded by her core supporters, like a protective force: Mandela, Cervantes, Angelou, Sun Tzu, and several others. As always, Anastasia felt inadequate among the greats, and yet they parted to make sure she was in the midst of them, as an equal.

“How is it looking?” Scythe Curie asked anyone who might have the nerve to tell her.

Scythe Mandela shook his head in consternation. “I just don’t know. ?We outnumber Goddard’s dedicated followers—but there are still more than a hundred unaligned scythes who could vote either way.”

“If you ask me,” said Scythe Sun Tzu, ever the pessimist, “the writing is already on the wall. Did you hear the questions that were being asked in there? ‘How will ending the quota affect our choice of gleanings?’ ‘Will the law preventing marriage and partnership be loosened?’ ‘Can we do away with the genetic index review, so that scythes won’t be penalized for the occasional ethnic bias?’?” He shook his head in disgust.

“It’s true,” Anastasia had to admit, “almost every question was directed at Goddard.”

“And,” added Scythe Cervantes, “he told them whatever they wanted to hear!”

“That’s always the way of things,” lamented Scythe Angelou.

“Not with us!” insisted Mandela. “We are above being titillated by shiny things!”

Cervantes glanced across the room. “Tell that to all the scythes who’ve added jewels to their robes!”

And then a new voice entered the conversation. Scythe Poe, who always seemed to be even more lugubrious than his Patron Historic. “I do not wish to be the harbinger of doom,” he said, mournfully, “but this is a secret ballot. I’m sure there’ll be quite a few who support Scythe Curie to her face, but will vote for Goddard when no one is looking.”

The truth of that hit home for all of them just as thoroughly as a raven at the chamber door.

“We need more time!” growled Marie, but time was a commodity they did not have.

“The very reason for a same-day vote is to prevent the sort of scheming and coercion that a drawn-out contest could cause,” reminded Scythe Angelou.

“But he’s beguiling them!” raged Sun Tzu. “He comes out of nowhere, offering the ambrosia of the gods—everything a scythe could ever want! Who could blame them for being mesmerized in the moment?”

“We’re better than that!” Scythe Mandela insisted once more. “We are scythes!”

“We are human beings,” Marie reminded him. “We make mistakes. Believe me, if Goddard is installed as High Blade, half of the scythes who put him there will regret it in the morning, but by then it will be too late!”

More and more scythes came up to Marie to offer her their support, but even so, there was no telling if it would be enough. Anastasia decided in the few minutes left of the break, she would do her part. She would exercise her own clout and talk to the junior scythes. Perhaps she could sway any of them who had been caught by Goddard’s spell. But of course, the first one she encountered was Scythe Morrison.

“Exciting day, huh?”

Anastasia had no patience for him. “Morrison, please, just leave me alone.”

“Hey, stop being such a . . . hard ass,” he said, although his hesitation in the middle made it clear to Anastasia that he had wanted to say “bitch.”