Thunderhead

by Neal Shusterman

  She gave a slight nod of her head to indicate she was done, then stepped back to stand next to Scythe Curie.

  In the silence that followed, Goddard offered his slow applause.

  “Masterful,” he said, stepping forward to take center stage. “You almost had me believing it, Anastasia.” Then he turned to the Grandslayers, singling out MacKillop and Nzinga—the only two who had not taken a position on new order versus old guard. “It’s a convincing argument,” Goddard said. “Except for the fact that it’s no argument at all. It’s smoke and mirrors. Misdirection. A technicality blown out of proportion to suit a self-serving, self-important agenda.”

  He held up his right hand, letting the ring on his finger catch the sun. “Tell me, Your Excellencies, if I were to lose my ring finger and receive a new one rather than have one grown from my own cells, would that mean that the ring was not on the finger of a scythe? Of course not! And in spite of the junior scythe’s accusations, we do know whose body this is! It belonged to a young man—a hero—who gave himself willingly so that I could be restored. Please don’t insult his memory by diminishing his sacrifice.”

  He threw a reproachful gaze at Anastasia and Curie. “We all know what this inquest is about. It is a blatant attempt to disenfranchise certain MidMerican scythes from their leader of choice!”

  “Objection!” shouted Anastasia. “The vote has not been tallied—which means he can’t claim to be anyone’s leader of choice.”

  “Point taken,” said the Supreme Blade, who then turned to Goddard. She had no love of the new-order movement, but she was also fair in all matters. “It’s well known that you and your compatriots have been clashing with the so-called old guard for years, Scythe Goddard. But you can’t challenge the validity of the inquest just because it was motivated by that conflict. Regardless of the motivation, Scythe Anastasia has put before us a legitimate question. Are you . . . you?”

  Then Goddard changed his tack. “Then I move for her question to be thrown out. It was levied after the vote, creating a circus of opportunism—which is far too unscrupulous a thing for this council to condone!”

  “From what I hear,” Scythe Cromwell interjected, “your sudden appearance in conclave was also a circus of opportunism.”

  “I enjoy making an entrance,” Goddard admitted. “As all of you are guilty of that, I fail to see it as a crime.”

  “Scythe Curie,” asked Grandslayer Nzinga, “why did you not levy the accusation yourself during your nomination oration? You had every chance to voice your concern then.”

  Scythe Curie gave a slightly abashed smile. “The answer is simple, Your Exalted Excellency. I didn’t think of it.”

  “Are we to believe,” said Grandslayer Hideyoshi, “that a junior scythe with only one year under her belt is shrewder than the so-called Granddame of Death?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” said Scythe Curie without reservation. “In fact, I’ll wager that she’ll be running this council someday.”

  Although Marie had meant it in only the best way, it backfired, and caused the Grandslayers to begin grumbling.

  “Watch yourself, Scythe Anastasia!” said Grandslayer Amundsen. “That kind of brazen ambition is not looked upon kindly here!”

  “I didn’t say I wanted that! Scythe Curie was just being kind.”

  “Even so,” said Hideyoshi, “your own aspirations to power are clear to us.”

  Anastasia found herself speechless. And then a new voice entered the fray.

  “Your excellencies,” said Scythe Rand, “neither Scythe Goddard’s decapitation nor his restoration were his fault. Giving him a new body was my idea entirely—and he should not be punished for the choice I made.”

  Supreme Blade Kahlo sighed. “It was the right choice, Scythe Rand. Anything that can restore a scythe to us is a good thing—whoever that scythe is. That is not in question. What is in question is the viability of his candidacy.” She paused for a moment, looked to her fellow Grandslayers, then said, “These are weighty matters, and no flip decision should be made. Let us discuss this among ourselves. We shall reconvene at noon.”

  • • •

  Anastasia paced the anteroom while Scythe Curie sat calmly and ate from a bowl of fruit. How could she possibly be calm?

  “I was terrible,” said Anastasia.

  “No, you were brilliant.”

  “They think I’m power hungry!”

  Marie handed her a pear. “They see themselves in you. They were the ones who were power hungry at your age, which means that even if they don’t show it, they identify with you.” Then she insisted Anastasia eat her pear to keep up her energy.

  When they were called back an hour later, the Grandslayers wasted no time.

  “We have reviewed and discussed this matter between us, and we have reached a conclusion,” said Supreme Blade Kahlo. “Honorable Scythe Rand, please step forward.” Goddard seemed a bit surprised that he wasn’t addressed first, but gestured to Ayn, who moved a few steps closer to the Supreme Blade.

  “Scythe Rand, as we’ve said, your successful effort to restore Scythe Goddard is admirable. However, we take exception to the fact that you did this not only without our approval, but without our knowledge. Had you come to the council, we would have assisted you—and we would have made sure that the subject used was not only qualified, but was a verified volunteer. Right now, all we have is what Scythe Goddard has told us.”

  “Does the council doubt my word, your Supreme Excellency?” Goddard asked.

  Cromwell spoke from behind him. “You are not known for your honesty, Scythe Goddard. Out of respect, we won’t challenge your account of things, but we would have preferred to have overseen the selection.”

  And then Grandslayer Nzinga, from their right, spoke up. “It’s actually not Goddard’s word we need to rely on here,” she pointed out. “The subject was gleaned by Scythe Rand before Goddard was restored. So tell us, Scythe Rand, we wish to hear it from you. Was the body-donor a volunteer, fully aware of what was to become of him?”

  Rand hesitated.

  “Scythe Rand?”

  “Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, of course he was aware. How could it be any other way? We’re scythes, we’re not in the business of body-snatching.” And then she added, “I would rather self-glean than do something so . . . so unkind.”

  But even so, she stumbled and choked a bit on her words. Whether the council noticed, or even cared, they didn’t let on.

  “Scythe Anastasia!” said the Supreme Blade. “Please step forward.”

  Rand retreated to Goddard, and Anastasia did as she was told.

  “Scythe Anastasia, this inquest is very clearly a manipulation of our rules to influence the outcome of the vote.”

  “Here, here!” said Grandslayer Hideyoshi, voicing his adamant disapproval of what Anastasia had done.

  “We on the council,” continued the Supreme Blade, “feel that it dances dangerously close to the line of unethical behavior.”

  “But it’s ethical to glean someone and take their body?” she blurted out. She just couldn’t help herself.

  “You,” shouted Grandslayer Hideyoshi, “are here to listen, not to speak!”

  Supreme Blade Kahlo put up her hand to calm him, then addressed Anastasia sternly. “You would be wise to learn how to control your temper, junior scythe.”

  “I’m sorry,  Your Exalted Excellency.”

  “I’ll accept that—but this council will not accept your next apology, is that understood?”

  Anastasia nodded, then bowed her head respectfully and returned to Scythe Curie, who gave her a stern gaze, but only for a moment.

  “Scythe Goddard!” called out Kahlo.

  Goddard stepped forward, awaiting judgment.

  “While we all agree that this inquest had ulterior motives, the points it brings up are valid. When is a scythe a scythe?” She took a very long pause then. Long enough for the void to feel uncomfortable, but everyone knew enough not to speak in the
silence. “There was heated debate on the matter,” she finally said, “and in the end, the council has concluded that replacement of more than fifty percent of one’s physical body by the physical body of another severely diminishes that person.”

  Anastasia found herself holding her breath.

  “Therefore,” continued the Supreme Blade, “while we give you permission to call yourself Scythe Robert Goddard, you may not glean until such time as the rest of you finishes a full apprenticeship under the scythe of your choice. I assume you will apprentice under Scythe Rand, but if you choose another—and that scythe agrees—it will be acceptable.”

  “Apprenticeship?” said Goddard, not even trying to hide his disgust. “I must now be an apprentice? Is it not enough that I’ve suffered all I’ve suffered? Must I now be subjected to humiliation, as well?”

  “See this as an opportunity, Robert,” said Cromwell with a slight grin. “For all we know, in a year your lower parts may convince the rest of you that you’d prefer to be a party boy. Wasn’t that the profession of your subject?”

  Goddard couldn’t hide his shock.

  “Don’t be so surprised that we know the identity of your subject, Robert,” continued Cromwell. “Once you resurfaced, we did our own due diligence.”

  Goddard now seemed a volcano ready to erupt, but somehow managed not to.

  “Honorable Scythe Curie,” said the Supreme Blade, “as Scythe Goddard has been deemed ineligible for full scythedom at this time, his candidacy is moot. That being the case, it leaves you as the only viable candidate, and so you automatically win the bid for High Blade of MidMerica.”

  Scythe Curie reacted with reserved humility. “Thank you, Supreme Blade Kahlo.”

  “You’re welcome,  Your Excellency.”

  Your Excellency, thought Anastasia. She wondered what it must be like for Marie to be called that by the Supreme Blade!

  But Goddard was not willing to admit defeat without a fight. “I demand a roll call!” he insisted. “I wish to know who cast the votes in favor of this travesty, and who voted on the side of sanity!”

  The Grandslayers looked to one another. Finally Grandslayer MacKillop spoke. She had been the quietest of all of them, having said nothing throughout the inquest. “That really won’t be necessary,” she said in a voice that was gentle and soothing—but Goddard was not soothed.

  “Not necessary? Are you all going to hide behind the anonymity of the council?”

  It was the Supreme Blade who spoke now. “What Grandslayer MacKillop means,” she said, “is that there’s no need for a roll call . . . because the vote was unanimous.”

  * * *

  The business of the scythedom is no business of mine . . . and yet my attention turns to Endura. Even with only distant eyes watching from twenty miles away, I know there is something dangerously amiss on the great manmade island. Because what I don’t see I can read between the lines.

  I know that what happens there today will have a profound effect on the scythedom, and therefore on the rest of the world.

  I know there is something very troubling that brews beneath the surface, and those who dwell on Endura are completely unaware.

  I know that a scythe beloved to me has taken a stand today against another scythe consumed by his own ambition.

  And I know that ambition, time and time again, has crumbled civilizations.

  The business of the scythedom is no business of mine. And yet, I fear for it. I fear for her. I fear for Citra.

  —The Thunderhead

  * * *

  45

  Fail

  Endura was designed with a series of failsafes and redundancies, should any of its systems malfunction. Throughout the years, the backup systems had proved very effective. There was no reason to think that the current barrage of snafus would not be resolved, given enough time and effort. Lately, most problems resolved themselves, vanishing as mysteriously as they had appeared—so when a little red light went on in the buoyancy control room, indicating an inconsistency in one of the island’s ballast tanks, the technician on duty decided to finish his lunch before investigating. He figured the little red light would go away on its own in a minute or two. When it didn’t, he gave an irritated sigh, picked up the phone, and called his superior.

  • • •

  Anastasia found her unease didn’t lessen as they crossed one of the footbridges from the council complex. They had won the inquest. Goddard was now relegated to a year of apprenticeship, and Scythe Curie would ascend to be High Blade. So why was she so unsettled?

  “There’s so much to do, I don’t even know where to start,” Marie said. “We’ll need to return to Fulcrum City immediately. I suppose I’ll have to find a permanent residence there.”

  Anastasia didn’t respond, because she knew Marie was mostly talking to herself. She wondered what it would be like being third underscythe to a High Blade. Xenocrates had used his underscythes to go out into the field and deal with issues in the more remote areas of MidMerica. They were next to invisible at conclave, as Xenocrates was not the kind of scythe who hid behind an entourage. Neither was Scythe Curie, but Anastasia suspected that Marie would keep her underscythes closer, and more involved in the day-to-day affairs of the scythedom.

  As they neared their hotel, Scythe Curie got a bit ahead of Anastasia, lost in plans and projections for her new life. That was when Anastasia noticed a scythe in a distressed leather robe walking beside her.

  “Don’t act surprised, just keep walking,” said Rowan from beneath a hood that was pulled low over his face.

  • • •

  In the council chamber, the Grandslayers had called for pages to hold parasols above their heads through the rest of the days’ proceedings. It was awkward but necessary, because the midday sun had grown increasingly hot. Rather than cancel the day—which would just increase the backlog on the council’s docket—the Grandslayers chose to soldier on.

  Below the council chamber, there were three levels of anterooms where those scheduled for an audience with the council awaited their turn. On the lowest level, an Australian scythe was here to plead for permanent immunity for anyone with Aboriginal ancestry within their genetic index. His cause was honorable, and he hoped the council would agree. As he waited, however, he noticed that the floor had become wet. He didn’t think it to be a reason for concern. Not at first.

  • • •

  Meanwhile, in Buoyancy Control, three technicians now puzzled over the problem before them. It appeared that a valve in the ballast tank beneath the council chamber complex was in the open position, and filling with water. This was not unusual in and of itself—the entire underside of the island was engineered with hundreds of massive tanks that could take on water or blow that water out to keep the island floating at the perfect depth. Too low, and its gardens would flood with sea water. Too high, and its beaches would rise completely out of the sea. The ballast tanks were on a timer, raising and lowering the island a few feet twice daily to simulate the tides. But they had to be perfectly coordinated—and especially the ballast tank beneath the council chamber complex, because it was an island within the island. If the council chamber rose too high or dropped too low, the three bridges connecting it to the island around it would be strained. And right now, the valve was stuck.

  “So what should we do?” the technician on duty asked his supervisor.

  The supervisor didn’t answer—instead, he deferred to his supervisor, who, in turn, seemed to have little understanding of the blinking red messages flying at them on the control screen. “How fast is the tank filling?” he asked.

  “Fast enough for the council chamber to have already dropped a meter deeper,” the first technician said.

  The supervisor’s supervisor grimaced. The Grandslayers would be furious if they were stopped in the middle of a session because of something as stupid as a jammed ballast valve. On the other hand, if the council floor flooded with seawater and they had to wade through it, they’d
be even more upset. No matter how you looked at it, the ballast department was screwed.

  “Sound the alarm in the council chamber,” he said. “Get them out of there.”

  • • •

  In the council chamber, the alarms would have rung loud and clear, had they not been disconnected because of false alarms several weeks before. It was Supreme Blade Kahlo’s call. They would go off in the middle of proceedings and the Grandslayers would evacuate, only to find out that there was no actual emergency. The Grandslayers were simply too busy to be bothered with equipment malfunctions. “If there’s an actual emergency,” she had said, flippantly, “send up a flare.”

  The fact that the general alarms had been disconnected, however, was never communicated to Buoyancy Control. On their screens, the alarm had been sounded, and as far as they knew, the Grandslayers were crossing one of the bridges to the inner rim of the island. It was only when they received a panicked call from the island’s chief engineer that they learned, to their horror, that the Grandslayers were still holding council.

  • • •

  “Rowan?” Anastasia was both thrilled and horrified by his presence. There wasn’t a more dangerous place in the world for him to be. “What are you doing here? Are you crazy?”