Tenka took a bite of cassava fufu, chewing the dense bread as he spoke. “You’ve not gleaned once since you arrived. Understandable under the circumstances, but you must be itching for it.”
She understood what he meant. Only new-order scythes truly enjoyed the act of gleaning, but others would feel a vague but persistent need if they went too long without it. Anastasia couldn’t deny that she’d come to feel that, too. She imagined it was the way one’s psyche adjusted to being a scythe in the first place.
“What I’m doing in the backbrain is more important than gleaning,” she told him. “And I think I found something.”
She told him what she had uncovered. A name. Carson Lusk. Not exactly the motherlode, but a starting point. “He’s listed as a survivor, but there’s no record of his life after that date. Of course it could be a mistake, and he actually died with the others.”
Tenka smiled broadly. “The Thunderhead does not make mistakes,” he reminded her. “It’s a solid lead. Keep digging!”
He eyed her plate, then scooped more plantains onto it like a parent concerned with their child’s skimpy eating habits. “We would like you to start making live broadcasts,” he told her. “Rather than us officially telling the world you’ve returned, we think you should do it yourself. Scythe Anastasia, in her own words.”
“I’m … not much of a performer,” she told him, and thought back to her awful performance in Julius Caesar. She was only on stage to glean the lead actor, as per his wishes, but she still had to act the part. She was a terrible Roman senator, except for the stabbing part.
“Did you speak your mind and your heart to the Grandslayers when you brought your inquest?” Tenka asked.
“Yes…” admitted Anastasia.
“And our friend Scythe Possuelo tells me that, in spite of what the world believes, you convinced them to make Scythe Curie High Blade of MidMerica.”
Anastasia grimaced involuntarily at the mention of Scythe Curie. “Yes, I did.”
“Well, if you can stand before the seven Seats of Consideration and argue a case to the most intimidating elegy of scythes in the world, I think you’ll do fine.”
That afternoon, Tenkamenin took her off the compound to show her the city he was so proud off. Port Remembrance was bustling and full of life. But the High Blade did not want her to leave their car. “The Jubilee is one thing – it is a controlled environment – but out here, there’s no telling who might see you, and recognize you,” he said. But it turned out there was another reason he didn’t want her to leave their vehicle.
As they neared the center of town, they began to encounter Tonists. First just a few, but soon they started to gather on either side of the road, glaring at the High Blade’s car.
Anastasia had mixed feelings about Tonists. The less extreme ones were all right. Friendly, and often kind, if somewhat persistent in the pushing of their beliefs. Some, however, were insufferable. Judgmental, intolerant – the opposite of what Tonism claimed to be about – and Sibilants made other zealots seem tame. That was the brand of Tonism that had taken root in Tenkamenin’s region.
“Ever since the Toll was gleaned, these splinter groups have become more and more extreme,” Tenkamenin told her. As if to prove his point, when enough of them were gathered by the roadside, they began to throw stones.
Anastasia gasped when the first stone hit the car, but Tenkamenin was unperturbed. “Don’t worry – they can’t do any damage, and they know it. I’m sorry you have to see this.”
Another rock hit the windshield, split in two, and bounced off.
Then, all at once, the attackers stopped throwing stones and began to “intone,” emitting a droning, wordless wailing … yet somehow this was different from other Tonists she had heard.
Tenkamenin ordered the car to put on music, but even so, it didn’t entirely drown them out.
“This entire sect has taken a vow of silence,” Tenkamenin told her, not hiding his disgust. “No speaking, just this blasted ugly noise. The Thunderhead had always frowned on delinguination, but when the Thunderhead fell silent, these Tonists decided they could do as they pleased – which is why their howling sounds even worse than usual.”
“Delinguination?” asked Anastasia.
“I’m sorry,” said Tenkamenin. “I thought you understood. They’ve cut out their tongues.”
Jeri was not invited on the tour of Port Remembrance. While the captain’s crew indulged in more free time than they’d had in years, Jeri remained in Tenkamenin’s compound, keeping an eye on Anastasia, making sure she was being treated well and was kept safe. Jeri was never a selfish person, always putting the crew of the Spence first – that was a good captain’s way. The desire to look out for Anastasia went beyond that.
Tenkamenin was a careless man. Yes, he provided protection for Anastasia – but was his staff vetted? And the fact that he practically flaunted Anastasia’s presence at the Lunar Jubilee made Jeri wonder whether the High Blade had any common sense whatsoever. Jeri didn’t trust the man, and knew the feeling was mutual.
And then came Anastasia’s “Sibilant” afternoon in Port Remembrance. Anastasia came to talk to Jeri about it when she returned, unable to keep it all in.
“Each day it’s like I’m hit over the head by how much the world changed while I was out of it,” Anastasia said.
“The world has survived worse,” Jeri told Anastasia, while she endlessly paced. “We survived the mortal age – what could possibly be worse than the horrors of that?”
But she would not be consoled. “Yes, but without the Grandslayers, scythedoms are practically at war with one another, as if it were the mortal age all over again. Where are we heading?”
“Upheaval,” Jeri said matter-of-factly. “Mountains are created by upheaval. I’m sure it doesn’t look pretty at the time.”
It only aggravated her further. “How can you be so calm about it? And Tenkamenin’s even worse than you! He just accepts all this like it’s nothing. Like it’s a passing shower, instead of a hurricane that’s going to tear everything apart! Why is everyone so blind?”
Jeri sighed and put a hand on Anastasia’s shoulder, forcing her to stop pacing. This is why I’m needed here, Jeri thought. To be the second voice in her head, wrangling in the panicking one.
“There is opportunity in every disaster,” Jeri told her. “A ship goes down, that’s when I get excited. Because I know there are always treasures in the wreckage. Look what I found at the bottom of the sea. I found you.”
“And 400,000 scythe diamonds,” Anastasia pointed out.
“My point is, you need to approach this like a salvage operation. In salvage, the first thing we do is carefully assess the situation before we make a move.”
“So I should just sit by and watch?”
“Observe, learn everything you can, and then, when you do move, you move decisively. And I know, when the time comes, you will.”
High Blade Tenkamenin insisted on formal dinners every night. His entourage of scythes was expected to be there, as well as his honored guests – and since Anastasia’s and Jeri’s arrival, Tenkamenin made sure there were no other guests. It was one thing to throw a party for locals and another to expose Scythe Anastasia to dinner-table scrutiny.