Page 55 of The Godhead Complex
She accepted the cup. “Thank you. They’ve given me nothing all day.” She sipped the bog rosemary tea. “The air in here is very musty.”
“Dreadful. That will soothe your soul.” Alexa watched as the Pilgrim drank the tea a few sips at a time. She told her the story of the Maze Trials, one she knew by heart. A story of faith and deceit. The Goddess recited all of her favorite parts loud enough for the Evolutionary Guards to hear, and when she was done, she left the Pilgrim and the Guards warmly.
There would be no uprising. No rogue Pilgrim. Not today.
Because within six hours, the bog rosemary would release its andromedotoxin to its fullest effect. The Pilgrim would start to have watery eyes and a runny nose that slowly turned into low blood pressure and vomiting, eventually progressing to convulsions and paralysis. By the time Alexandra addressed the town tomorrow at noon, the woman’s physical body would appear as crazy as her mind. Spasms. Slurring. If the woman’s tongue worked enough to form any words at all, no one would believe a single thing she said.
The Berg half-crashed, half-landed in a space well hidden by tree cover, smoke pouring out the back end. Colors spoke to him and sounds took shape as he floated in and out of consciousness. His fever raged. Maybe that little bugger did stab him closer to the kidneys than he’d thought. Everything around Mikhail moved in slow motion. He watched six Bergs fly overhead in war-formation, and the vapor trails spinning out behind them formed into letters, then into words, but in a language that he couldn’t read. And then the vapors from the Bergs turned into colors, and the colors hardened into the Alaskan night sky with the colorful Aurora Borealis.
Madness.
Mikhail laid back in the captain’s seat. He knew better than to close his eyes with so many physical woes, but he couldn’t trust his sight and he could only think of visiting the Infinite Glade. Maybe this time would be the last time.
He took his slow, deep breath, in for three seconds, hold for three, out for three. He listened for the sounds of war as he exhaled.
Destruction was the only way to create.
Death was the only way to bring new life.
The people of Alaska would never truly knowwhythe war happened. They might assume the usual—power, control, to stop the Evolution . . . and they’d be right on all three accounts. But if the war was successful, they would never truly knowwhythe Evolution needed to be stopped in the first place. The greater destruction it would cause if the world walked the path of Alexandra.
Mikhail entered the Infinite Glade inside his mind and found nothing there.Did Nicholas have any premonitions before he died?He must have, but dear Nicholas had no defensive wounds on his hands when the body was found.How could someone who sees and hears so much not see his own death?
And maybe that was it.
Perhaps one could not see their own death coming even when they could see the death of an entire people.
Mikhail wandered the Infinite Glade.
She hadn’t slept through a single night since they’d left the shore, and it made her miss Old Man Frypan even more. On theMaze Cutter, there wasn’t a fire to sit by or anyone to offer her advice. It was just her now, wide awake on her cot, listening to the boat creak and moan.
She sat up and moved over to the small window, lit by moonlight, and opened upThe Book of Newt. If reading helped Frypan sleep, maybe it would help her, too. She didn’t have the courage to read it front to back and witness her great uncle Newt losing his mind, but she hoped that flipping to a random page would reveal comforting words. She closed her eyes and her finger ran through the pages until it stopped on page 74 of Newt’s journal:
You can’t bloody prepare for what’s next when what comes next has never happened before.
His words, in Frypan’s handwriting, sent a chill from her feet all the way to the hairs on top of her head. He wasbloodyright. And it’s exactly how she felt preparing to meet the Godhead. How could she prepare when she—or anyone on their ship for that matter—had never met a member of the Godhead before? Much less allthree.
Dominic’s snores echoed louder and louder. Sadina took in a slow breath through her nose and put all her fears into it, closed her eyes, and exhaled like Minho had taught her. The snores stopped. The Orphan was a miracle worker, indeed.
“Hey,” Trish whispered.
Sadina jumped a little. “Sorry. Did I wake you?” She made room for Trish by the window, and they snuggled in the soft, bluish glow of moonlight.
“No, Dom woke me up. But then I wokehimup and told him to lie on his side. When that kid’s on his back his tongue clogs up his airway and makes him sound like a beached whale.”
“Yeah, he gets pretty loud, huh?”
“Like those air horns we had back on the island. For the hurricanes. Actually, Dom is worse.” Trish smirked but then her smile faded. “Sadina?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think we’ll ever get back home?”
Sadina was afraid to get Trish’s hopes up. Every single day since they’d left the island felt like it took them further and further away—not just literally, not just from their old life, but from ever being able to return tolife as they knew it. Lacey and Carson were dead, as were two members of the Congress who’d helped plan their escape. Kletter was super dead, and with her mom not well, Sadina didn’t know if she evenwantedto go home when all of this was over.
“I don’t know . . .” She finally said. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Can I tell you something without you getting mad?” Trish nervously played with the driftwood pendant around her neck that Sadina had made for her.
