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“In a perfect world, shouldn’t we all enjoy what we do?” Goddard wrote.
The Thunderhead was ever vigilant—but for a scythe, its slumberless, unblinking eyes were of no concern. It was powerless to even comment on the comings and goings of scythes, much less act upon anything it saw. The Thunderhead was the ultimate voyeur of death.
He moved in and out of pools of light created by the street lamps; all the while cameras atop each pole swiveled to watch him.
Stained, bruised, and bitter, Scythe Brahms returned to his home to reconsider his place in the perfect world in which he lived.
He had decapitated Goddard, and had burned his remains. He had to; fire and acid were the only ways to ensure that a person could never be revived.
trained for the specific purpose of ending life—and
Death must exist for life to have meaning.
There are, however, those within the scythedom who can accomplish the things I cannot.…
“We can’t catch him!”
“That is not the Thunderhead’s problem.”
“It shows that they’re taking you seriously.”
“My, oh my,” the cellist said. “Until now it never occurred to me how those shakers look like little bombs.” Scythe Anastasia had no response to that.
This scared me.
“He preferred his martinis shaken, not stirred,” she said.
Bond, James Bond.
I have always had a preoccupation with those who have a high probability of changing the world. I can never predict how they might accomplish the change, only that they are likely to. Since the moment that Citra Terranova was placed into apprenticeship under Honorable Scythe Faraday, her probability of changing the world increased a hundredfold. What she will do is unclear, and the outcome hazy, but whatever it is, she will do it. Humanity may very well rise or fall by her decisions, by her achievements, by her mistakes. I would guide her, but as she is a scythe, I cannot interfere. I only
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and told the car to pull off the highway, which it obediently did.
rapport
obelisk.
There you are, Rowan, she said to herself. You were hiding, but I found you.
Rowan reached out and touched her cheek. She allowed it. “I want to believe that, too, Citra. I want to believe that the scythedom can return to what it was meant to be.… But sometimes it takes a necessary darkness to get there.”
“I think you’re important, too, Rowan. In fact, I’m sure of it. So whatever you do, don’t let them catch you.…”
my success proves that humanity had the knowledge to do it, it simply required someone powerful enough to accomplish it—and I am nothing if not powerful. —The Thunderhead
He researched his subjects extensively, just as Scythe Faraday had taught him to do, and chose without bias.
‘Don’t mess with Texas’;
“Scrawny,” she said, “but there’s potential.” “Whaddaya mean ‘scrawny’? I work out!”
“Oh, man, this is the best news ever! You won’t be disappointed. I’m a quick learner—and I’m smart. I mean, not school-smart, but don’t let that fool you. I’ve got brains up the wazoo!”
they began to shirk their parental responsibilities, the Thunderhead took up the slack. It helped Greyson with his homework, it advised him on how to behave and what to wear on his first date—and although it could not exhibit a physical presence at his high school graduation, it took pictures of him from every possible angle, and had a fine meal delivered for him when he arrived home.
The Thunderhead, however, always meant what it said.
Family is the first casualty of scythehood.
Had Scythe Curie been at the wheel, she would have handily swerved around the would-be splatter and continued on without a second thought—but Citra had none of the requisite reflexes.
Citra felt her breath stolen, and had to suck it back in. Scythe Curie’s face didn’t change. It stayed stoic. “Get in the car, Citra.”
But the day was saved by this mysterious boy, and Citra’s bad driving.
Work was, after all, optional.
“You, Greyson, are more special than you know,” the Thunderhead had told him.
The illusion of inefficiency serves the specific purpose of creating annoyance around which unsavories can bond.
It was not a pretty picture.
“If this experiment of ours fails, we have embedded a way to escape it.”
“All stories can be traced to a time and place—even the simplest, most innocent of children’s tales have unexpected beginnings.”
They didn’t call it the Lone Star region for nothing.
Natural protein was, after all, the best for building muscle.
So he was going to be a scythe! Tyger ate the rest of his meal with gusto. It was both heady and chilling to finally know the nature of his destiny!
It was meant to be a reminder of what had been lost in the past, and a promise that knowledge would never be lost again now that the Thunderhead was there to protect it.
He was a man who felt things deeply. The news of his self-gleaning last year had saddened Munira—but had not surprised her. A conscience as weighty as his was a difficult burden to bear.
austere
That power would be your silent victory, because you would know that the scythedom needs you more than you need it.”
It was not lost on her that there were four others who shared the position of night clerk—other students who took the part-time job… which meant that this time, she was the one in five who was chosen.
“I’ll keep your secret,” Munira told him. Then she left Scythe Faraday to his research, feeling as if her life finally had a worthy purpose.
hampered
Yet am I not quantifiably more benevolent than the various versions of God? I have never brought about a flood, or destroyed entire cities as punishment for their iniquity. I have never sent armies to conquer in my name. In fact, I have never killed, or even harmed a single human being. Therefore, although I do not require devotion, am I not deserving of it?
pondered.
The Thunderhead raised the light in the room just a couple of lumens so it could better assess the subtleties of facial expressions.
