فصل 44

44

Circus of Opportunism

The World Council chamber was a large, circular room in the very center of Endura’s eye—reachable only by one of three bridges that gracefully curved inward from the surrounding island. It was almost like an arena, but without seats for spectators. The Grandslayers preferred not to have an audience for their audiences. Only during the annual World Conclave, when representatives came from all the Earth’s regions, did the space fill. But most of the time, it was just the Grandslayers, their immediate staff, and the intimidated scythes who had been audacious enough to request an audience.

In the center of the council chamber’s pale marble floor was the symbol of the scythedom inlaid in gold, and evenly spaced around the perimeter were seven elevated chairs that could only be described as thrones. Of course, they weren’t called thrones, they were called the Seats of Consideration, because the scythedom rarely called things what they were. Each one was carved from a different kind of stone, to honor the continents that each Grandslayer represented. The PanAsia Seat of Consideration was made of jade; EuroScandia was chiseled gray granite; Antarctica was white marble; Australia was the red sandstone of Ayers Rock; South Merica was pink onyx; North Merica was shale and limestone layered like the Grand Canyon; and the seat of Africa was made of intricately carved cartouches taken from the Tomb of Rameses II.

. . . And every Grandslayer, from the very first to inhabit the seats to the ones who inhabited them now, complained of how uncomfortable they were.

This was intentional; it was a reminder to the Grandslayers that although they might hold the highest human offices in world, they should never feel too comfortable or complacent.

“We must never forget the austerity and self denial that is key to our position,” Scythe Prometheus had said. He had overseen Endura’s construction, but never saw the promised land, as he self-gleaned before its completion.

The council chamber had a glass dome to protect it from the elements, but it was retractable, so it could be an open-air forum on more temperate days. Luckily, today was pleasant, because the dome was stuck in the open position for the third day in a row.

“What is so difficult about a simple gearwork?” griped Grandslayer Nzinga as she entered that morning. “Don’t we have engineers to solve this?” “I rather like open-air proceedings,” said Amundsen, the Antarctic Grandslayer.

“You would,” said MacKillop of Australia. “Your chair is white and doesn’t get as hot as the rest of ours.” “True, but I swelter in these furs,” he said, indicating his robe.

“Those awful furs are your own fault,” said Supreme Blade Kahlo, as she strode into the chamber. “You should have chosen more wisely back in the day.” “And look who’s talking!” quipped Grandslayer Cromwell of EuroScandia, indicating the high lace collar of the Supreme Blade’s robe, a strangulating thing modeled after one of her Patron Historic’s paintings, which made her cranky on a continual basis.

Kahlo waved him off like an annoying fly, and took her seat on the onyx throne.

The last to arrive was Xenocrates.

“Good of you to deign us with your presence,” said Kahlo, with sarcasm enough to wax the entire marble floor to a reflective sheen.

“Sorry,” he said. “Elevator issues.”

With the council’s Clerk and Parliamentarian in place on either side of Supreme Blade Kahlo, she instructed a few underscythes to go to the various antechambers of the council complex and get the day started. It was no secret what today’s first order of business was. The MidMerican matter was a concern that affected more than just that part of the world. It could have a lasting impact on the scythedom as a whole.

Even so, Supreme Blade Kahlo reclined in her uncomfortable seat, and played blasé. “Will this at least be entertaining, Xenocrates, or will we be bored with hours of pointless blathering?” “Well,” said Xenocrates, “if there’s one thing I can say about Goddard, he’s always entertaining.” Although the way he said it did not imply that entertainment was a good thing. “He’s prepared a . . . a surprise for you that I think you’re all going like.” “I despise surprises,” said Kahlo.

“You won’t despise this one.”

“I hear that Scythe Anastasia is quite the dynamo,” said Grandslayer Nzinga, sitting straight and proper, perhaps to counterbalance the Supreme Blade’s sideways slouch. Grandslayer Hideyoshi harrumphed his disapproval of the upstart junior scythe, or perhaps junior scythes in general, but offered nothing more to the conversation than his grunt.

“Didn’t you once accuse her of killing her mentor?” Cromwell asked Xenocrates, with a smirk.

Xenocrates squirmed a bit in his Grand Canyon chair. “An unfortunate error—understandable, considering the information we had, but I do take full responsibility.” “Good for you,” Nzinga said. “It’s getting harder and harder to find scythes in MidMerica who take responsibility for their actions.” It was a barbed taunt, but Xenocrates did not take the bait. “Which is precisely why this inquest and its outcome are so important.” “Well, then,” said Supreme Blade Kahlo, raising her hand in a grand dramatic gesture, “let the wild rumpus start!” • • •

In the east anteroom, Scythes Anastasia and Curie waited with two BladeGuards who stood at the door like olde-tyme beefeaters guarding a castle. Then, one of the council’s underscythes entered—Amazonian, by the telltale forest green color of his robe.

“The Grandslayers are ready for you,” he said, and held the door open for them. “However this unfolds,” Scythe Curie told Anastasia, “know that I am proud of you.” “Don’t!” said Anastasia. “Don’t talk like we’ve already lost!”

They followed the underscythe to the council chamber, where the sun was already beating down from a cloudless sky into the open space.

To say that Anastasia was intimidated by the sight of the Grandslayers in their elevated stone chairs would be an understatement. Even though Endura was only two hundred years old, the chamber seemed ageless. Not just from another time, but another world. She thought back to the ancient myths she had learned as a child. To have an audience with the Grandslayers was akin to standing before the gods of Olympus.

“Welcome, Honorable Scythes Curie and Anastasia,” said Eighth World Supreme Blade Kahlo. “We look forward to hearing your case and putting an end to this matter one way or another.” While most scythes took just the name of their Patron Historic, some chose to emulate them physically. Supreme Blade Kahlo was the spitting image of the artist Frida Kahlo, down to the flowers in her hair and hirsute eyebrows—and although the artist had been from the Mexiteca region of North Merica, the Supreme Blade had come to represent the voice and soul of South Merica.

“It’s an honor, Your Supreme Excellency,” Anastasia said, hoping she didn’t sound sycophantic, but knowing that she did.

Then Goddard entered with Scythe Rand by his side.

“Scythe Goddard!” said the Supreme Blade. “You’re looking well, considering what you’ve been through.” “Thank you, Your Supreme Excellency.” He gave an exaggerated bow that made Anastasia roll her eyes.

“Careful, Anastasia,” warned Scythe Curie quietly, “they will be reading your body language just as much as listening to your words. Their decision today will be informed by what you don’t say as much as by what you do say.” Goddard ignored Anastasia and Curie and directed all of his attention to Supreme Blade Kahlo. “It is an honor to be able to stand in your presence,” he said.

“I imagine so,” snarked Grandslayer Cromwell. “Without that new body, you’d only be able to roll.” Amundsen snickered at that, but no one else did—not even Anastasia, who wanted to, but held it in.

“Grandslayer Xenocrates says you have a surprise for us,” the Supreme Blade said.

Whatever it was, Goddard seemed to have arrived pretty empty-handed.

“Xenocrates must have faulty information,” Goddard said, his teeth almost gritted as he said it.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Cromwell commented.

Then the Clerk rose, and cleared his throat to make sure he had everyone’s attention for the formal opening of the proceedings.

“This is an inquest concerning the death and subsequent revival of Scythe Robert Goddard of MidMerica,” the Clerk proclaimed. “The party bringing said inquest is Scythe Anastasia Romanov of MidMerica.

“Just Scythe Anastasia,” she corrected, hoping the Council did not find it pretentious that she had chosen to go by only the doomed princess’s first name. Scythe Hideyoshi grunted, making it clear that he did find it so.

Then Xenocrates stood and bellowed an announcement to all present. “May the Clerk please note that I, Grandslayer Xenocrates, have recused myself from this proceeding, and henceforth shall remain silent through its completion.” “Xenocrates silent?” said Grandslayer Nzinga with a mischievous grin. “Now I know we’ve entered the realm of the impossible.” That brought more laughter than Cromwell’s previous quips. It was easy to see the relative power structure here. Kahlo, Nzinga, and Hideyoshi seemed to be the most respected. The others either jockeyed for position or, like MacKillop, the quietest of them, ignored pecking order politics completely. Xenocrates, as the freshman Grandslayer, was paying his dues and thus was an object of their derision. Anastasia almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Rather than respond to Nzinga’s jab, Xenocrates sat himself down quietly, proving his ability to remain silent.

Now the Supreme Blade addressed the four scythes in the center of the circle. “We are already aware of the particulars of this case,” she said. “We have resolved to remain impartial until we’ve heard the persuasions of both sides. Scythe Anastasia, as this action was brought about by you, I will ask you to begin. Please put forth your argument as to why Scythe Goddard should not be eligible to be a High Blade.” Anastasia took a deep breath, stepped forward, and prepared to begin, but before she could, Goddard stepped forward.

“Your Supreme Excellency, if I may—”

“You’ll get your turn, Goddard,” said Kahlo, cutting him off. “Unless of course you’re so good, you want to argue both sides.” That generated a few chuckles from the other Grandslayers.

Goddard gave a small, apologetic bow. “I beg the forgiveness of the council for my outburst. The floor is yours, Scythe Anastasia. By all means, begin your performance.” In spite of herself, Anastasia found that Goddard’s interruption left her rattled, like a false start in a race. Which was, of course, his intent.

“Your Exalted Excellencies,” she began. “In the Year of the Antelope, it was determined by early members of this very council that scythes shall be trained, mind and body, in a year-long apprenticeship.” She moved around, trying to make eye contact with each of the Grandslayers around her. One of the more intimidating, and probably intentional, things about an audience with the World Council, was that you never quite knew whom to address, and for how long, because your back would always be to somebody. “Mind and body,” she repeated. “I’d like to ask the Parliamentarian to read the scythedom’s policy on apprenticeship aloud. It begins on page 397 of the scythedom’s volume on Precedents and Customs.” The Parliamentarian obliged the request, and read all nine pages of it.

“For an organization with only ten laws,” commented Amundsen, “we sure have a lot of rules.” When the reading was complete, Anastasia continued. “All that just to make it very clear how to go about making a scythe—because scythes are not born, they are made. Forged in the same trial by fire that we all went through, because we know how critical it is that a scythe be ready for the burden, body and soul.” She paused to let it sink in, and as she did, she caught the gaze of Scythe Rand, who was smiling at her. It was the kind of smile that preceded the clawing out of one’s eyes. Anastasia refused to let herself be rattled again.

“There is so much written about the process of becoming a scythe because the World Council has had to preside over many unexpected situations over the years, and kept having to add and clarify rules.” Then she began to list a few of those situations. “An apprentice who attempted self-gleaning after being ordained, but before accepting the ring. A scythe who cloned himself in an attempt to pass his ring on to the clone before self-gleaning. A woman who supplanted her own mind with the mental construct of Scythe Sacajawea, and claimed the right to glean. In all these cases, the World Council decided against the individuals in question.” Now Anastasia looked over at Scythe Goddard for the first time, forcing herself to meet his steely gaze. “The event that destroyed Scythe Goddard’s body was a terrible thing, but he can’t be allowed to defy the council’s edicts. The fact is, like that misguided woman with the mind of Scythe Sacajawea, Goddard’s new physical body didn’t undergo the rigorous preparations of apprenticeship. This would be bad enough if he was just any scythe, but he’s not just any scythe—he’s a candidate for High Blade of a major region. Yes, we know who he is from the neck up, but that is only a small fraction of what makes a human being. I ask you to listen to him when he delivers his argument, and you’ll hear in his voice what we already know:  We have no idea whose voice is speaking, which means we have no idea who he is. All that we can be certain of is that ninety-three percent of him is not Scythe Robert Goddard. With that in mind, there is only one decision that this council can make.” 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