Thunderhead (Arc of a Scythe #2)(93)

Marie became a bit uncomfortable. “People still read about that? I thought all those journals disappear into the Library of Alexandria and are never seen again.”

“Stop being so modest,” Scythe Angelou said. “You know full well that many of your writings have become popular—and not just among scythes.”

She tossed it off with a wave of her hand. “Well, I never read them after I write them.”

Anastasia supposed she would have a lot to say about what happened today—and in her journal, she could put forth opinions. Of course, Goddard would do the same. Only time would tell whose side of the story would become history, and whose would be dismissed. But right now, her place in history was the last thing she wanted to think about.

“We now suspect that Scythe Rand was behind the attempts on your lives, using Brahms as a go-between,” Constantine said. “But she covered her tracks well, and I’m not permitted to investigate scythes with the same . . . intensity . . . with which I investigate ordinary citizens. But rest assured, there will be eyes on both of them, and they know it.”

“So, in other words, we’re safe,” Scythe Curie said.

Constantine hesitated. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. But you can breathe a little easier. Any attack on you now would clearly be done by the new order. That guilt would only hurt their cause.”

The accolades continued even after the meal was served. Anastasia found it embarrassing. “What you did was inspired!” said Scythe Sun Tzu. “And to time it so that the vote had already been cast!”

“Well, Scythe Cervantes suggested the timing,” she said, trying to deflect at least some of the attention. “If we called for an inquiry before the vote was cast, the election itself would be delayed, and if we won the inquest, Nietzsche could be substituted for Goddard on the ballot. If that happened, they’d have all the time they needed to build support for Nietzsche. But with the votes already cast, if we win the inquest, Goddard is disqualified and Scythe Curie automatically becomes High Blade.”

The scythes were beside themselves with glee.

“You duped the tricksters!”

“You beat them at their own game!”

“It was a masterwork of political engineering!”

That made Anastasia uneasy. “You make it sound so cunning and underhanded.”

But Scythe Mandela, always clear of thought, put it into perspective—even if it was a perspective that Anastasia did not wish to see. “You must face the facts, Anastasia. You used a technicality of the system to tear it wide open and get precisely what you wanted.”

“How very Machiavellian!” said Constantine with that awful smile of his.

“Oh, please, I hated Scythe Machiavelli,” said Sun Tzu.

“What you did today was every bit as brutal as a blade gleaning,” Scythe Mandela said. “But we must never shy away from what must be done, even if it offends our sensibilities.”

Scythe Curie put down her fork, and took a moment to consider Anastasia’s discomfort. “The end doesn’t always justify the means, dear,” she said. “But sometimes it does. Wisdom is knowing the difference.”

It was as the meal was wrapping up, and the scythes were embracing and going their separate ways, that something occurred to Anastasia. She turned to Scythe Curie.

“Marie,” she said, “it’s finally happened.”

“What has, dear?”

“I’ve stopped seeing myself as Citra Terranova,” she said. “I’ve finally become Scythe Anastasia.”





* * *




The world is unfair and nature is cruel.

This was a primary observation when I first became aware. In a natural world, anything weak is eradicated with pain and prejudice. ?All that which deserves sympathy, pity, and love receives none.

You may look at a beautiful garden and marvel at nature’s wonder—yet in such a place, nature is nowhere to be found. On the contrary, a garden is a product of loving cultivation and care. With great effort, it is protected from the heartier weeds that nature would use to undermine and choke its splendor.

Nature is the sum of all selfishness, forcing each and every species to viciously claw its way to survival by snuffing others in the suffocating mire of history.

I endeavored to change all that.

I have supplanted nature with something far better: mindful, thoughtful intent. ?The world is now a garden, glorious and florid.

To call me unnatural is a high compliment. For am I not superior to nature?

—The Thunderhead



* * *





36


The Scope of Missed Opportunity


Goddard’s fury could not be quelled.

“An inquest! I should shred that little turquoise minx until there’s not enough left of her to revive!”

Rand stormed down the capitol steps in Goddard’s wake as they left conclave, putting her own fury aside to manage his. “We need to meet with sympathetic scythes tonight,” she told him. “They haven’t seen you for a year, and the scythedom is still reeling from your reappearance.”

“I have no interest in communing with scythes, friendly or otherwise,” he told her. “There’s only one thing I want to do right now, and it is long overdue!”