Read on to see whats in store.
Excerpt from Thunderhead by Neal Shusterman
Lullaby
Peach velvet with embroidered baby-blue trim.
Honorable Scythe Brahms loved his robe.
Credit: Vallery Jean/FilmMagic
His routine was always the same, though methods varied.
And then he would end the subjects life.
In a perfect world shouldnt we all enjoy what we do?
Simon & Schuster
It was a sentiment gaining traction in more and more regional Scythedoms.
But he stopped in mid-stanza, having a distinct feeling that he was being watched.
There were, of course, cameras on every light post in the city.
The Thunderhead was ever vigilant but for a scythe, its slumberless, unblinking eyes were of no concern.
The Thunderhead was the ultimate voyeur of death.
This feeling, however, was more than the observational nature of the Thunderhead.
Scythes were trained in perceptive skills.
They were not prescient, but five highly developed senses could often have the semblance of a sixth.
Scythe Brahms turned, sniffed, listened.
He took in his surroundings.
He was alone on a side street.
A hardware store and a daycare center.
The lonely street belonged to him and the unseen interloper.
Come out, he said.
I know youre there.
Maybe it was a Tonist.
I wont harm you, Brahms said.
Ive just completed a gleaning I have no desire to increase my tally today.
Although, admittedly, he might change his mind if the interloper was either too offensive, or obsequious.
Still no one stepped forward.
Fine, he said.
Be gone, then, I have neither time nor patience for a game of hide and seek.
Perhaps it was his imagination after all.
Thats when a figure launched from behind a parked car as if it had been spring-loaded.
When he turned to look, the figure was a good twenty yards behind him.
Now Brahms could see he was dressed in a black robe.
Was it a scythes robe?
No, it couldnt be.
No scythe dressed in black it was not allowed.
But there were rumors…
That thought made him pick up the pace.
He could feel adrenaline tingling in his fingers, and add urgent velocity to his heart.
A scythe in black.
No, there had to be another explanation.
He would report this to the Irregularity Committee, thats what he would do.
It was his civic duty.
A block further, and his assailant had given up the chase.
He was nowhere to be seen.
Scythe Brahms slowed his pace.
He was nearing a more active part of the city now.
He let his guard down.
Which was a mistake.
The dark figure broadsided him from a narrow alley, and delivered a knuckle punch to his windpipe.
Brahms landed on a crate of rotting cabbage left by the side of a market.
It burst, spewing forth a thick methane reek.
I must not be numbed.
I need my full faculties to fight this miscreant.
But pain nanites were simple missionaries of relief, hearing only the scream of angry nerve endings.
They ignored his wishes and deadened his pain.
The figure in black was on top of him now, pinning him to the ground.
Brahms tried to reach into his robe for his weapons, but could not.
His eyes were intense, and intent on to use a mortal-age word murder.
Scythe Johannes Brahms, you are accused of abusing your position and multiple crimes against humanity.
Who are you to accuse me?
He struggled, trying to rally his strength, but it was no use.
The pain killers that were now in his system were dulling his responses.
His muscles were weak and useless to him now.
I think you know who I am, the young man said.
Let me hear you say it.
Brahms said, determined not to give him the satisfaction.
Brahmss head was swimming.
He had no
Lucifer, he gasped.
Brahms felt his spirit crumble as if saying it aloud gave resonance to the rumor.
Satisfied, the self-proclaimed young scythe eased the pressure.
You are no scythe, Brahms dared to say.
You are nothing but a failed apprentice, and you will not get away with this.
The young man had no response to that.
Instead he said, Tonight you gleaned a young woman by blade.
That is my business, not yours!
You gleaned her as a favor for a friend who wanted out of a relationship with her.
You have no proof of that!
Ive been watching you, Johannes, Rowan said.
As well as your friend who seemed awfully relieved when that poor woman was gleaned.
Suddenly there was a knife at Brahmss neck.
This beast of boy was threatening him with his own knife.
Do you admit it?
Even one with a knife at his throat.
Go on, slit my throat, Brahms dared.
It will add one more inexcusable crime to your record.
Why do you think that is?
Thats what the Thunderhead did when common citizens threatened violence.
Brahms was surprised it had even gone this far.
Such bad behavior among the general population was supposed to be a thing of the past.
Why was this being allowed?
I burn those I remove from service, leaving nothing but unrevivable ash.
I dont believe you!
But Brahms did believe him.
Their deaths were all ruled accidental, but clearly they were not.
And because they were burned, their deaths were permanent.
And then Rowan said, You wont be dying today, Scythe Brahms.
He removed the blade from Brahms neck.
Im giving you one chance.
But if you continue to serve your own corrupt appetites, then you will be left as ash.
Is that a scythe?
Quick, help me get him up!
They lifted Brahms from the rot.
His peach velvet robe was stained green and brown, as if covered in mucous.
He had suffered enough indignation already.
Yet he knew that the boys threat was not an idle one.
Perhaps, thought Scythe Brahms, a lower profile was in order.
A return to the lackluster gleanings he had been trained to perform in his youth.
