Before her she could see the robes of the scythe in yellow, so she doubled back, only to find the scythe in green closing in. Esme crawled through a gap in the tables and between two potted palms that the scythe in orange had set on fire, and when she emerged on the other side of the large pots, she found herself with no cover.
She was at the food concessions now. The man who had served her pizza was slumped over the counter, dead. There was a gap between a trash can and the wall. She was not a slim girl, so she thought the skinniest thoughts she could, and squeezed her way into the gap. It was not much of a hiding space, but if she left it, she would be right in the line of fire. She had already seen two people trying to dart across the walkway and both were taken down by steel crossbow arrows. She didn’t dare move. So instead, she buried her face in her hands. She stayed that way, sobbing, listening to the terrible sounds around her, until silence fell. Still she refused to open her eyes until she heard a man say, “Hello there.”
Esme opened her eyes to see the lead scythe—the one in blue—standing over her.
“Please . . .” she begged, “please, don’t glean me.”
The man held out his hand to her. “The gleaning is over,” he said. “There’s no one left but you. Now, take my hand.”
Afraid to refuse, Esme reached out and placed her hand in his, and rose from her hiding place.
“I’ve been looking for you, Esme,” he said.
Esme gasped when she heard him say her name. Why would a scythe be looking for her?
The other three scythes gathered round. None of them raised a weapon at her.
“You’ll be coming with us now,” the scythe in blue said.
“But . . . but my mother.”
“Your mother knows. I’ve granted her immunity.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Then the girl scythe, in emerald green, handed Esme a plate. “I believe this was your pizza.
Esme took it. It was cool enough to eat now. “Thank you.”
“Come with us,” said the scythe in blue, “and I promise you from this moment on, your life will be everything you’ve ever dreamed it could be.”
And so Esme left with the four scythes, thankful to be alive, and trying not to think of the many around her who weren’t. This was certainly not the way she imagined her day would go—but who was she to fight against something that rang so clearly of destiny?
* * *
Was there ever a time when people weren’t plagued with boredom? A time when motivation wasn’t so hard to come by? When I look at news archives from the Age of Mortality, it seems people had more reasons to do the things they did. Life was about forging time, not just passing time.
And those news reports—how exciting they were. Filled with all nature of criminal activity. Your neighbor could be a salesperson of illegal chemicals of recreation. Ordinary people would take life without the permission of society. Angry individuals would take possession of vehicles they didn’t own, then lead law enforcement officers in dangerous pursuits on uncontrolled roadways.
We do have the unsavories nowadays, but they do little more than drop occasional pieces of litter and move shop items to places they don’t belong. No one rages against the system anymore. At most, they just glare at it a bit.
Perhaps this is why the Thunderhead still allows a measured amount of economic inequality. It could certainly make sure that everyone had equal wealth—but that would just add to the plague of boredom that afflicts the immortal. Although we all have what we need, we’re still allowed to strive for the things we want. Of course, no one strives like they did in mortal days, when the inequality was so great people would actually steal from one another—sometimes ending lives in the process.
I wouldn’t want the return of crime, but I do tire of we scythes being the sole purveyors of fear. It would be nice to have competition.
—From the gleaning journal of H.S. Curie
* * *
10
Forbidden Responses
“Dude, I’m telling you, it’s all anyone can talk about. Everyone thinks you’re becoming a scythe to take revenge on the school!”
On an mild day in March—on one of the rare afternoons that Scythe Faraday allowed Rowan downtime—Rowan had gone to visit his friend Tyger, who had not splatted once in the past three months. Now they shot hoops at a park just a few blocks away from Rowan’s home—where he wasn’t allowed to visit, and might not have even if he were allowed.
Rowan threw Tyger the ball. “That’s not why I accepted the apprenticeship.”
“I know that, and you know that, but people will believe whatever they want to believe.” He grinned. “Suddenly I got all sorts of game because I’m your friend. They think I can get them access to your ring. Immunity talks; death walks.”
The thought of Tyger playing intercessor on his behalf almost made Rowan laugh. He could see Tyger milking that for all it was worth. Probably charging people for the service.
Rowan stole the ball and took a shot. He hadn’t played since before moving in with the scythe, but he found his arm, if not his aim. He was stronger than ever—and had endless stamina, all thanks to his Bokator training.
“So when you get your ring, you are gonna give me immunity, right?” Tyger took a shot and missed. It was clearly intentional. He was letting Rowan win.
“First of all, I don’t know that he’ll choose me to get the ring. And secondly, I can’t give you immunity.”
Tyger looked genuinely shocked. “What? Why not?”
“That’s playing favorites.”
“Isn’t that what friends are for?”
A few other kids came to the court and asked if maybe they wanted to play a pick-up game—but the second they saw Rowan’s armband, they had a change of heart.
“No worries,” the oldest one said. “It’s all yours.”
It was exasperating. “No, we can all play. . . .”
“Naah . . . we’ll go somewhere else.”
“I said we can all play!” Rowan insisted—and he saw such fear in the other kid’s eyes, he felt ashamed for pushing.
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” said the other kid. He turned to his friends “You heard the man! Play!”
They took to the court in earnest, and in earnest played to lose, just as Tyger had. Was this how it would always be? Was he now such an intimidating presence that even his own friends would be afraid to truly challenge him? The only one who ever challenged him in any way now was Citra.
Rowan quickly lost interest in the game and left with Tyger, who found it all amusing. “Dude, you’re not lettuce anymore, you’re deadly nightshade. You’re the mean greens now!”
Tyger was right. If Rowan had told those other kids to get down on all fours and lick the pavement, they would have. It was heady, and horrible, and he didn’t want to think about it.
Rowan didn’t know what possessed him to do what he did next. Frustration at his isolation maybe—or maybe just wanting to bring a sliver of his old life into his new one.
“Wanna come over and see the scythe’s place?”
Tyger was a little dubious. “Will he mind?”
“He’s not there,” Rowan told him. “He’s gleaning in another city today. He won’t be home till late.” He knew that Scythe Faraday would blow a brainstem if he found out Rowan had someone over. It made the desire to do it even more enticing. He had been so good, so obedient; it was about time he did something that he wanted to do.
When they arrived, the house was empty. Citra, who also was granted a free afternoon by Scythe Faraday, was out. He had wanted Tyger to meet her, but then thought, What if they happen to like each other? What if Tyger charms her? He always had a way with girls. He had even convinced a girl to splat with him once, just so he could say, “Girls fall for me—literally.”
“It’ll be like Romeo and Juliet,” he had told her. “Except we get to come back.”
Needless to say, the girl’s parents were livid, and after she was revived, they forbade her to see Tyger ever again.
Tyger shrugged it off. “What can I say? Her life is a tale told by idiots,” which, Rowan believed, was a very bad Shakespeare misquote.
The thought of Citra falling for Tyger—even just figuratively—made Rowan a bit nauseated.
“This is it?” Tyger said as he looked around the place. “It’s just a house.”