Page 39 of The Infinite Glade
The Goddess needed to start her teachings at the very beginning. There was nothing more basic than the digits. But also nothing in the entire existence of time that could be more complicated.
“Reciting the digits while holding a thought gives those thoughts all the influence of the digits. The intention is entangled into the numbers.”
There. She didn’t know how to say it more simply than that.
“So the numbers circled in theBook of Newt, 1, 2, 3?—”
“No. No. No.” She said it too quickly and revealed her annoyance. Sadina pulled her hand back, but the Goddess held on to her.Blood of Newt’s blood.She needed this girl, needed patience like never before.
“What I mean, Dear Sadina,”—she squeezed her hand— “is that there are two numbers in the sequence before that . . .” No. She would teach her later, by fireside, with tea. “Come, let’s climb out and get warm. There’ll be plenty of time for lessons later.” She let go of Sadina’s hand so they both could climb the embankment.
“Here, Miyoko, give me your hand.” Dominic helped her and the other young ones scramble up.
Alexandra stood where she was, her feet numb, looking back for Roxy and the orange-haired one, still wading toward them.
Roxy spoke from the darkness. “Go ahead, Ms. Godhead, we’re catching up.”
“Goddess?” Minho bent over the river’s ledge and offered Alexandra his hand.Finally, reverence.She put her hand in Minho’s and placed her foot on the soft-soiled bank. Had she been able to feel her feet she might have had better footing, but before Minho could yank her up, her foot slipped and the Goddess fell against the bank, then back into the water with an embarrassing splash.
“Minho!” Sadina cried.
“She slipped, it wasn’t me,” Minho said. “Come on, I got you . . .” The soldier tried again, this time pulling Alexandra from the water by her wrist and her elbow. Her feet finally found solid, stable ground.
“Thank you, soldier.” She made to straighten out her cloak and brush off the mud, but Minho held on to her wrist, tightening his grip.
“This marking . . .” Minho clenched her wrist with both hands and twisted.
“Let go. You’re hurting me.” She tried to pull her hand back to no avail. He was too strong. “Let. Go,” she repeated firmly.
“This tattoo . . . it’s the same as the Great Master’s . . .”
Minho finally looked at Alexandra with God-fearing eyes. He had no idea that hisGreat Masterwasn’t a master of anything. That he was nothing more than a maddened Crank. She wouldn’t address his ignorance on the matter. The symbol of the sequence was sacred, and the Goddess didn’t owe Minho or anyone else an explanation.
She pulled against the soldier to free her hand, then hid her wrist within the wet, yellow folds of her cloak.
Orphans have no names.
No friends. No family.
But in the Remnant Nation, there was one thing they did always have.
Symbols.
Markers.
Minho never learned the meaning of all of them, but in the absence of knowledge, he had made up his own. Mostly something to do with death. “Kill the Godhead” and all that. But despite not knowing the true significance of the etching on Alexandra’s wrist, the quickness with which she had covered it up told Minho all he needed to know. She had more to hide than he thought.
“That’s a Remnant Nation symbol.” He pointed at the so-called Godhead’s wrist and called to Orange to see if she recognized it, too. All Orphan soldiers had stared at the same walls their whole lives. Minho had memorized every last molding of an archway and every last scratch in the cement. He saw the walls in his mind as he fell asleep. “This is from the Remnant Nation,” he said again, this time louder.
“What is?” Orange asked.
“Her wrist.” Minho pointed again. “Dom, you saw it, right?”
Dominic shook his head. “Not really.”
“Sadina? Trish?” Minho looked at the others. Someone had to have seen it, too. “She has an etching . . . a tattoo on her wrist that is theexactsame as the Great Master of the Remnant Nation. I’m telling you. No doubt whatsoever.”
Sadina tried to intervene. “Let’s just find the Villa, get inside and?—”
