The Toll

by Neal Shusterman

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Rowan said.

  “I know it is,” said Citra. “I can practically smell him. I don’t know who he wants more, you or me.”

  Rowan stopped to take a good look at her. “I’ll stay and fight him with you, if you want me to.”

  “No,” she said. “That’s what he does, Rowan; he draws us in, over and over—but now we have a chance to show the world not just that we don’t need the scythedom, but that we never did. This could have been our destiny, if the scythedom hadn’t prevented it—and it still can be. That’s the fight I want. Not sparring endlessly with Goddard.”

  Now Rowan was grinning, and when Citra looked around, she saw that a dozen others were listening. Not just moved, but ready to follow her anywhere.

  “You would have been one hell of a High Blade,” he said.

  They jumped in the bed of a truck heading toward the northern isles. There was one road that bridged all the islands. Today it was an escape route. There were three others in the pickup with them, starstruck by the company, so Citra smiled warmly and reached out a hand.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Citra Terranova. Looks like we’re riding together today.”

  And although they were a bit confused, they were happy to shake her hand.

  * * *

  “Attention! Attention! All ships south of Bigej and Legan are at capacity. And too many of you are heading to the western isles. Head north if you can.”

  * * *

  Jeri was awakened by the same alarm that woke most everyone, and although Jeri couldn’t quite hear the announcement from the cargo ship, clearly it was nothing good.

  When Jeri opened the cabin door, a rat ran in. Jeri was startled—and then saw that the hallway—indeed the entire ship—was full of them. Not just rats, but goats, wild pigs, and even what appeared to be house pets. Rather than being put off, Jeri was a bit amused, remembering the warning that Cirrus had given. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. All the wildlife within the launch zones would most certainly be killed by the launches. Naturally the Thunderhead had devised a solution, and gathered them using their own control nanites.

  When Jeri went down to the gangway, it had already been pulled in, but ropes were still wrapped around the mooring bollards. Whatever this alarm was, it made the dockworkers abandon their work midway through.

  Jeri jumped the short distance from the hatch to the pier, and upon rising, saw Greyson running down the jetty, stumbling in pants that were a little too big. So was the shirt he wore—both probably found items from wherever he had spent the night.

  “The Thunderhead said you’d be here,” he said. “They’ve pushed up the launch—scythes are on their way to glean the island.”

  Jeri sighed. “Of course they are.” They both looked at the ship. Jeri could sail with it to wherever it was preprogrammed to go, but Jeri had no desire to be a passive passenger again. There’d be a speedboat somewhere that Jeri could pilot away from the atoll when the time came.

  “Come help me,” Jeri said. Together they untied the ropes from the bollards, the ropes rolled themselves in, and the ship, on autopilot, began to maneuver itself away from the dock.

  Around them the alarms still blared, Loriana’s dire announcements still came, and Jeri and Greyson were left looking at each other in an awkwardness that felt embarrassingly trivial considering their current situation.

  “I will miss you, Greyson Tolliver.”

  “I’ll miss you, too, Jeri,” Greyson said. “You’d better hurry and get to a ship.”

  That caught Jeri by surprise. “Wait… but… I’m not going.”

  “You’re not?” Greyson said. “Neither am I!”

  They stared dumbly at each other again, with a slightly different brand of awkwardness; then Jeri turned to the container ship. It was already too far from the pier to make it a viable option for them now. Besides, Jeri was sure that Greyson had no desire to be a post-mortal Noah any more than Jeri did. Being the Toll had most certainly checked the box on Greyson’s card for “holy religious figure.”

  “We should help the others,” Greyson said.

  “It’s out of our hands now—there’s nothing more we can do,” Jeri pointed out.

  “Then we should find ourselves a place that’s safe.”

  “Who wants to be safe?” said Jeri. “Let’s find ourselves a good place to watch the launch.”

  * * *

  “Attention! Attention! All ships south of Meck and east of Nell are at capacity. Anyone with a boat fast enough to reach Roi-Namur and Ennubirr should head there now.”

  * * *

  Loriana kept her eyes on the map. Some ships were lit red, which meant they were at full capacity—every space taken, but unable to launch. Some were yellow, partially filled with room for more—but at least fifteen of the outermost ships were not lit at all, which meant no one was inside yet. And not a single one of them showed green.

  “Why won’t the ships launch?” she heard someone say.

  Loriana turned to see Sykora behind her.

  “The ships that are ready need to launch!” he said.

  “They can’t,” Loriana told him. “Even with flame trenches to deflect the fire, most everything on the atoll will be destroyed—but the Thunderhead can’t kill anyone in the process. It won’t launch until the launch zones are clear—even if it means the scythes get here first.” She zoomed in on one of the ships. Sure enough, there were still people on the roadways trying to get to ships, people on the streets scrambling to leave their homes. She widened to the larger map. Still not a single green spot. Not a single ship was clear to blast off.

  Sykora considered it, then nodded seriously. “Tell people they’ll be incinerated if they don’t get out of the way.”

  “But… they won’t be.”

  “They don’t know that,” said Sykora. “Loriana, why do you think the Thunderhead needed Nimbus agents? To tell people things they needed to hear, even when it wasn’t strictly the truth.”

  Then Sykora looked at the screen and marveled. “You supervised this entire thing from the beginning? Right behind my back?”

  “More like under your nose,” she said.

  He sighed. “And I built a really nice hotel.”

  She smiled at him. “Yes, Bob, you did.”

  Sykora took a deep breath, let it out, and took a good look at her. “You should go, Loriana. Get to a ship before the scythes arrive.”

  “Someone has to stay here in launch control to tell people where they should go.”

  “I’ll do it,” Sykora said. “Ordering people around is what I do best.”

  “But—”

  “Allow me to be useful, Loriana. Please.”

  Loriana couldn’t argue, because she knew that feeling. Wanting to be useful. Not knowing if she was, or if anything she did would be noticed. Yet the Thunderhead had chosen her for this, and she had risen to the occasion. What was Sykora doing now, if not trying to rise to this one?

  “Launch control is soundproof and insulated,” she told him. “It will be one of the only safe places on the island. So keep that door sealed and stay inside.”

  “Got it.”

  “Keep coaxing people toward the empty ships. They don’t need to be full, they just have to have a presence. And do what you can to clear out the launch zones.”

  “I’m on it,” Sykora said.

  “And that’s it. Now you’re in charge of the big picture.” She looked at the map and pointed to an island to the north. “I can make it to Omelek. There are three ships there, and still room on all three.”

  Sykora wished her luck, and she hurried out to the emptying streets, leaving Sykora to watch the screen, microphone in hand, waiting for the ships to go green.

  51 On the Sabotage of Dreams

  Goddard wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing when Kwajalein came into view. Shining white towers along the rim of a looped archipelago? His first thought was that this was a new Endura.
Perhaps it had been built by a secret cabal of scythes ready to rip control out from under him. But as he got closer, he realized that these spires weren’t buildings at all.

  He began to flush with fury as it dawned on him what these structures were and how they had come to be.

  First came Anastasia’s accusations. Then Alighieri’s pointing finger, then condemnation not just by his enemies but more and more by those who had claimed to be his allies. And now the Thunderhead itself had risen up against him. That’s what this was—a slap in the face by the Thunderhead. How dare it! Goddard had dedicated his life to keeping the scythedom secure, and the Thunderhead, secretly conspiring with the likes of Anastasia and the Toll, had built these ships in defiance of him. If they launched, Goddard knew it would signal to the world his undoing.

  No! This could not be tolerated! Wherever these ships were bound, they must never be allowed to leave.

  * * *

  “Attention! If you’re not aboard a ship or on the gantry of one, you must clear the launch zones immediately or you will be incinerated. Repeat you WILL be incinerated. Do not return to your homes! Seek refuge to the west at the resort on Ebadon, or get on a boat and head out to sea!”

  * * *

  Faraday and Munira remained in the bunker, where they would wait out the launch. There was no way to know what was going on outside now. They heard the alarm; they heard Loriana’s announcements, then Sykora’s. Citra and Rowan had hurried off to learn the severity of the situation and hadn’t come back. Faraday hadn’t even said a proper goodbye to them. He supposed no amount of goodbyes would be enough. Then, as the ships began to shut their hatches, Faraday sealed the bunker, closed the inner steel door, and sat down with Munira, waiting for the telltale rumble up above as the ships launched.

  “It will be fine,” Munira told him. “The ships will launch, and the world will be reminded of what still could be.”

  But Faraday shook his head. “It will never be. Even if these ships escape, they will be the only ones that ever do. Goddard will make sure of that.”

  “He’ll be taken down,” Munira insisted. “You will take him down. I’ll help you.”

  “But don’t you see? There will always be another Goddard.”

  Faraday looked at Scythe Da Vinci’s brittle pages. Da Vinci had torn them out of his journal and hidden them here so no one would know the truth. That the founding scythes—the shining paragons of all Faraday held true—had murdered one another.

  “What is it about us, Munira?” Faraday said. “What is it that drives us to seek such lofty goals, yet tear out the foundations? Why must we always sabotage the pursuit of our own dreams?”

  “We are imperfect beings,” Munira said. “How could we ever fit in a perfect world?”

  * * *

  “Are those spacecraft?” asked Mendoza.

  Goddard ignored him. “Take us closer,” Goddard told the pilot, then tried to raise the four other planes on the radio, but could not. For the past half hour, static had been whining over the speaker, and the plane’s telemetry was fluctuating wildly. The BladeGuard pilot, who was only there as a dunsel accessory, actually had to take over manual control.

  Scythe Rand moved in behind Goddard. “Keep your eye on the prize, Robert,” she said. “You’re here for Anastasia.”

  Then he spun on her, furious. “Don’t presume to tell me my purpose here! I will do what needs to be done without your pointless counsel!”

  “Pointless?” she said, her voice low, like a wolverine growl. “I’m the only thing that stands between you and your enemies. But really, you only have one. That angry boy—what was his name? Carson Lusk.”

  He could have lashed out then. He could have struck her down for that, but he held back with his last ounce of restraint. “Never speak that name again,” he warned her. She opened her mouth as if to have the last word, but closed it again. Wisely.

  And then, as if the vista before them wasn’t offensive enough, the pilot offered Goddard more bad news.

  “Your Excellency, High Blade Pickford’s plane has broken formation. So Has High Blade Hammerstein’s.”

  “What do you mean ‘broken formation’?” Goddard demanded.

  The pilot hesitated, afraid to draw Goddard’s wrath. “They’ve… turned around,” he said. “They’re retreating.”

  And in a moment, Underscythes Franklin’s and Nietzsche’s planes had left them as well—turning tail and running away, frightened off by the prospect of taking on these spacecraft and the Thunderhead.

  “Let them go,” Rand said. “Let all of them go. Let these damn ships launch, and they won’t be our problem anymore.”

  “I heartily agree,” Mendoza said, as if anything the Tonist said mattered.

  Goddard ignored them both. East- and WestMerica were abandoning him? Two of his own underscythes as well? Fine. They would be dealt with later. But right now there were bigger fish to fry.

  Until now, the bulbous weapons hanging beneath the wings were merely for show. A warning for those who might run afoul of his intentions. Now, more than ever, he was glad they were there.

  “Do we have sufficient weaponry to shoot down all these ships on our own?” he asked the pilot.

  “Between the Mavericks, Sidewinders, and the smaller ordinance, I’m sure we do, Your Excellency.”

  Then as they swept a wide loop around the islands, the first ship began to launch.

  “Take it down,” said Goddard.

  “But… I’m just a BladeGuard, Your Excellency—I can’t glean.”

  “Then show me which button I must push.”

  * * *

  Loriana saw the first ship launch from the cage of a gantry elevator that was still climbing toward her own craft. She saw the missile just a few instants before it struck. The ship had barely cleared its gantry when the missile hit it, and it blew up with such force it took out all the trees, setting the entire island on fire. She wasn’t sure which island it was—she had lost all her bearings and was so shaken she barely knew up from down. Then the elevator door rattled open, revealing a narrow catwalk to the open hatch, but no one was moving. The people around her still gawked at the exploding craft, which couldn’t seem to stop exploding.

  “Don’t stop!” she told them. “Get to the hatch!”

  “But what if we’re next?” someone asked.

  “Then we’re dead! Now shut up and move!”

  She had never spoken like that to anyone, but there were times when harsh words were called for.

  She shepherded everyone in ahead of her, then turned to look back—something she probably never should have done. The plane that had fired the missile had taken a sharp bank. Another ship was blasting off. It cleared its gantry—it looked like it might actually make it… and then a second missile launched from the plane, soared across the expanse of the lagoon, and hit that second ship just below the nose cone. The entire craft blew like a massive grenade, sending shrapnel in all directions.

  The shock wave of the explosion hit Loriana, blowing her back through the hatch, and the hatch immediately closed, sealing her in.

  “Prepare for launch,” she heard Cirrus say. She wondered if it even knew that two of its siblings were already dead.

  * * *

  Greyson and Jeri had taken a motorboat into the lagoon to watch the launches. They weren’t the only ones. Dozens of small craft full of people who never made it to ships, or preferred to take their chances with scythes, were spaced out in the expansive lagoon of the lower atoll. They were nearly three miles from shore when the first spacecraft exploded, and watched in stunned silence as the attacking plane came around and took out the second craft. Greyson gripped Jeri’s hand tightly. No one could have survived those explosions. He had no idea which ships anyone was in. No way to know who had died.

  The attacking craft went in for another run, but a rumble filled the air louder than any of the explosions. Another spacecraft, and another, and another were launching. Greyson counted fourteen
simultaneous launches. It was an awesome thing to behold! Ships all around them heading skyward and leaving billowing smoke trails like streamers across the sky.

  But the attacking plane banked around again, and Greyson and Jeri braced, waiting for more missiles. Waiting for more ships to be blown out of the sky.

  * * *

  With the hatch closed, Loriana found a seat and strapped herself into the tight harness. Then someone in the seat beside her spoke.

  “I’m scared.”

  She turned to see that it was that other scythe. The one in denim. Morrison—wasn’t that his name? But his ring was gone, leaving a pale band on the finger where it had been.

  “This was bad idea,” he said. “I know I’m a scythe—or at least I was—and things aren’t supposed to frighten me. I know it’s stupid, but I’m really scared.”

  “It’s not stupid,” Loriana told him. “I’m absolutely terrified.”

  “You are?”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m about two seconds from pissing myself I’m so scared.”

  And from her other side she heard “So am I,” and then someone else called out “Same here.”

  Loriana looked at Morrison, forcing a smile. “You see?” she said. “We’re all scared out of our fucking minds!”

  Morrison smiled back at her. “I’m Jim,” he said, but hesitated. “No. No—actually my name is Joel.”

  But before she could say another thing, the engines ignited, they lifted off, and the rattle and roar overwhelmed them. So Loriana reached out her hand and grabbed his, if only to stop both their hands from shaking.

  * * *

  Rowan and Citra had just climbed out of the truck when the first ship blew. There were at least a dozen people hurrying to one of two gantry elevators beside their chosen ship when it happened, and they saw the attacking plane fly overhead. Dark blue and speckled with stars. Goddard had come for them. He had come for all of them.