Page 40 of The Godhead Complex
Ximena itched at her neck. The mosquitoes were terrible in the desert. “Sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t that shethoughtshe was smarter than others, she simply justwas. She almost always knew things before they came to fruition, especially when it came to her family and their village.
A storm that came unexpectedly, out of season, and wrecked the roof of the south station.
A sick elder on the west end who went blind from eating berries.
And the most important one of all: her mom foresaw an “Eagle” coming to the land and bringing with it truth and awareness. An eagle moved itself into their village two years ago, perched on the highest of trees. No one else understood its importance as deeply as Ximena’s mom. Ximena was still trying to figure out what the prophecy meant, but the big beautiful bald eagle hunted in the field across from her house every day and watched over her village every night.
Ximena’s mom sewed the design of an eagle into everything she laid hands on.
And she made her daughter promise that she would do her best to sew truth into the world for the rest of her days.
Orphans certainly weren’t Gods, but Orphans were no devils, either.
Minho struggled to give himself a place within Roxy’s grandfather’s story but it was difficult to do because he didn’t know his creator—he’d never met his parents.
“You fix that steering issue?” Roxy asked, motioning to the wheel.
“Maybe,” Minho said. He’d tinkered below for an hour or so without knowing exactly what connected to what, but something might have worked. He let go of the wheel to see which direction it favored, and the ship slowly started to veer left again. “Nope.”
“That’s okay. You’ve been blessed by the Gods.” She pointed to the sunset.
“What’re you talking about?”
“They used to saypink sky at night is a sailor’s delight.” She laughed. “Are you getting tired of all these stories of Grandpa’s yet?”
Minho smiled, something still relatively new to him. He liked that she called himGrandpaand notmy grandpa. “Never.” He kinda liked hearing someone’s family history even if it wasn’t his own. And he especially liked knowing that more than just pain, torture, and disease could be passed down from generation to generation.
“Well you’ve had just about the best sailing weather possible and this sky promises you another good day tomorrow.” Roxy put her arm around his shoulders. “Want me to take over?”
“Not a chance.”
“You’re finally getting me back for not letting you drive the truck?”
“I’m getting you back, and I’m getting us there safely.” She wasn’t wrong; he did like being in control. Roxy nodded and handed him some water. He let her hold the captain’s wheel while he took a sip. Maybe he shouldn’t ask the next question, but he couldn’t help himself. Something about seeing the boat make wave after wave, ripple after ripple, made him realize that every action had a reaction. He needed to know. “How did Grandpa die?”
Roxy’s face wrinkled up, like a berry that hung on the vine too long. “You soldiers get a little morbid, don’t you?”
“No, I mean . . .” He paused, tried to ask what he really needed to know most. “Did he die at home, warm in bed?” The Orphan set the water down. “Or did he go for one of his travels one day and just never come back?”
Roxy didn’t respond for a moment.
“I need to know,” he said with a shrug. “Just like you needed to know about your mom. I just do.”
Roxy let go of the captain’s wheel. “Are you worried you killed him? All the way out in that Remnant Nation of yours?” She shook her head as if it were impossible, but she didn’t know just how many men the Orphan had killed.
He swallowed hard. “We’ve shot lots of trespassers.” He hung his head, couldn’t bear the thought of it.
“Grandpa died long before you were even born.” She put her hand on Minho’s shoulder, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Someone in the Remnant Nation still could have killed him.
“At home?” Minho asked.
Roxy shook her head slowly. “He died while traveling.” Minho knew it. He took the controls back over and she stepped aside. “But his life wasn’t just his. His life was also in each and every one of those books he read. He lived hundreds of lives, and he died hundreds of deaths every time one of those stories ended.” She took a deep breath. “He lived a long, good life.”
Minho couldn’t let it go. “But it’s possible he wandered near the fortress . . .”
She finally gave in. “I guess anything’s possible.” He stared at the ocean ahead. The vast, empty, ocean. The water went on so far that not even something as big as the Remnant Nation could control it. “Minho?”
The Orphan looked at her.
