“The temple houses all sorts of uses,” Hansen told them. “Worship space, school, the priests’ homes. Nehitimar’s work requires a lot of space.”
He paused in his explanation and glanced back, realizing his guests had fallen behind. Mae’s tightly wrapped dress and veil made it impossible for her to take anything but the smallest of steps. Justin, not caring if she felt coddled or not, linked his arm through hers as she made her way along, half afraid she’d topple over. If the Arcadians had wanted to eradicate any sign of alluring female movement, they’d succeeded. They’d all but hobbled one of the most graceful and athletic women Justin knew. Hansen looked displeased at the delay, but whether that was simply from a woman going to see the Grand Disciple or Justin helping her, it was hard to say.
Justin soon saw that Mae wasn’t the only woman there that day—just the only woman going into the inner depths of the temple. When they cleared the grand, main doors, they found themselves standing in a huge open lobby with vaulted ceilings and a fountain nearly two stories high. Icons of various figures from the Arcadian religion decorated the walls, with Nehitimar himself always portrayed as largest and grandest.
Worshippers knelt in front of the images, leaving offerings of various types behind—candles, flowers, incense, even bread. In a far corner, vendors in temple uniforms sold the offerings to long lines of petitioners.
“Offerings left to Nehitimar and his holy host must be sanctified and appropriate in order for blessings to be received,” Hansen explained, seeing Justin stop and take it all in. Hansen nodded toward an icon of a woman in a flowing dress, with a wide-brimmed flowered hat kneeling at the feet of Nehitimar, who was depicted more than twice her size. Several Arcadian women knelt before the image, setting down piles of white orchids. Although modestly dressed, none of them were Cloistered. Justin also noted their attire was rougher and much less well-made than that of Carl’s women. His family was among the
Arcadian elite. This was the average citizenry.
“That image is Nehitimar’s wife, Hiriana the Fruitful,” Hansen continued. “She was rewarded with many children and can put in a good word with Nehitimar to share the blessing of fertility to those who show the proper respect.”
“With that orchid,” said Justin. “What happens if someone brings a different flower?”
Hansen looked shocked. “They wouldn’t consider it. It’d be sacrilege. They’d be removed, and Hiriana might very well ask Nehitimar to curse them. No one would take that risk.”
“Understandable. But that kind of orchid is rare and expensive, even where I come from. It must be difficult for some people to bring them.”
“That’s why we make it easy on them,” said Hansen, his features smoothing again. He nodded toward the vendors. “They may purchase the flowers here. In fact, the temples are the only places that sell them in the country, appropriately blessed and ready for offering.”
Justin nodded in agreement. “Very convenient.”
Very convenient for the temple, he thought. I’ll bet the other requisite offerings for the holy host are only available for sale here too.
Nice way to turn a profit, that and the fee for even entering.
You got in free of charge, said Horatio. What are you complaining about?
Thinking Justin was satisfied with the answer, Hansen led them through the rest of the foyer, to a door marked: CLERGY AND TEMPLE PERSONNEL ONLY. It was smaller than the larger, grander doors that indicated entrance to the public sanctuary and was labeled: NO WOMEN BEYOND THIS POINT.
Hansen led them through a winding series of hallways used exclusively by those who served the temple in some capacity. They passed a few people who seemed startled by Mae, but Hansen was apparently a well-known enough figure that no one questioned anything. These corridors were as richly decorated as everything in the public areas, but Justin didn’t find himself awed by it so much as the infrastructure that it was connected to.
All of this is public, authorized, and accepted, he thought, with a chill. No worship in the shadows. We have nothing like this in the RUNA. The Morrigan had a fraction of this, and her servants had incredible abilities. What kind of power does this god have, when he has such a foothold in the mortal world?
Wait and see, responded Magnus grimly.
Their journey ended before another set of heavily embellished doors, ones that were also guarded by openly armed temple soldiers.
They nodded when they saw Hansen and stepped aside, allowing him to push open the doors. Justin followed him inside and had a surreal moment, feeling as though he’d left the temple and stepped into someone’s luxury penthouse back in the RUNA. They stood in another entryway, this one just as opulent as the temple’s main entrance, if smaller. Only, whereas that had attempted to create a sense of ancient awe and majesty, this was all done with modern sensibilities.
Secular art from a famous EA artist Justin recognized hung around them, and the works appeared to be originals. They were juxtaposed with a modern flat screen hanging near the doorway, apparently to entertain guests who had to wait for further instructions. Arcadian news scrolled across it, none of it mentioning the Gemman delegation. A voice called for them to enter, and Hansen beckoned Justin and Mae forward through a doorway.
They entered a living room with more expensive art and leather furniture, including a narrow wooden bench near the back where Hansen made a sharp gesture for Mae to sit. The room’s focus was a breathtaking picture window that looked out over the city, taking up almost all of one wall. A man stood gazing out it with his back to them, and here, old and new worlds clashed again. Because where the apartment was modern, this priest—or Grand Disciple, to be more accurate—was straight out of the pages of some mythology textbook.
He wore floor length, purple brocaded robes embellished with more of the gold and jewels this place loved to buy with its offering profits.
When he turned, Justin got a full view of a two-foot high golden crown.
The man’s hands were clasped together, hidden within voluminous sleeves, and the ornamentation even went so far as to extend into his salt-and-pepper beard, which had tiny jewels woven into its ends. He carried no golden staff, nor was there one on display that Justin could see.
But none of that bejeweled splendor was what took Justin’s breath away. It was the wave of invisible power that rolled off the man when he faced Justin. Justin had never encountered it, power with such a tangible force that he felt like he was trying to keep his balance in a boat on choppy seas.
He’s one of the elect, Justin thought to the ravens. Or is he something more? I’ve never felt anything like this.
Because the scattered cults in your own country are but candle flames to this bonfire, said Magnus.
He’s not making any attempt to hide what he is, said Justin.
Why should he? countered Magnus. He has no rivals here.
A panicked thought hit Justin. Can he sense me? Will the charm hold?
It’ll hold, said Horatio, who didn’t sound nearly as convincing as Justin would’ve liked.
“Your Piousness.” Hansen fell to his knees before the Grand Disciple and kissed the proffered ring. “I’ve brought you Justin March, from the Lost Lands.”
Justin almost smiled. He knew that was what Arcadians called the RUNA behind closed doors, though everyone on this trip had been very careful not to use the term around him and the other Gemmans. Many Arcadians found “Republic of United North America” offensive, seeing as they clearly weren’t included in the united part.
“Thank you, Timothy. You may leave us.” Hansen nearly trembled at the use of his given name, and Justin wondered if the deacon’s faith was just that strong. It would have to be, to work in a place like this.
That, added Magnus, and a powerful elect has that effect on one of the uninitiated.
Hansen left with no introduction for Mae, who seemed content to remain a veiled shadow in the back of the room. Justin approached the Grand Disciple, uneasily wondering if he was expected to kiss the ring too. When the Grand Disciple extended his hand, however, it was for a handshake between equals, not a sign of obeisance.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. March,” the Grand Disciple said.
Justin had researched as much as he could on Arcadian religion before the trip and knew the man’s real name, but it seemed it wouldn’t be used today. Those who served Nehitimar believed his Grand Disciple gave up all personal identity . . . if not personal luxury.
“You honor me,” said Justin, getting acclimated to that elect aura.
The man’s presence was still intimidating, but a lot of it now was psychological. Justin had just spent the first part of the day with the country’s secular leaders, yet combined, they didn’t wield the power of this one man alone.
“I’m sorry to receive you in such humble accommodations,” the Grand Disciple said.
Justin glanced at the lush surroundings in surprise. “Begging your pardon, but we must have different cultural interpretations of ‘humble.’ These apartments are lovely.”
“Indeed, but this is my home in the temple. I have a much more hospitable residence on Holy Lake that I prefer to receive guests in, when time and duty permits.”
“I’m more than honored to be received here,” Justin assured him.
The Grand Disciple smiled, revealing a tightness in his skin that suggested Cain treatments, something the Arcadians claimed was a sign of vanity. He gestured Justin to sit down on one of the leather armchairs. The priest himself settled into the center of a loveseat, spreading out his robes so that they took over in a magnificent and sparkling display. A remote control rested on the loveseat’s arm, and he pushed a few buttons. The soft classical music vanished, and the entire panel of the giant window slid down, opening up the top section to the outdoors.
“We have air conditioning, of course, but I love fresh air, especially in the evening. All the technology in the world can’t make up for what our creator’s already given us sometimes.” The Grand Disciple smiled again and nodded to a decanter of wine on the low glass table between them. “Please, help yourself. It’s imported from Argentina. You’re probably pretty familiar with their wines after your stay in Panama.”
Justin returned the smile, albeit stiffly. So. He wasn’t the only one who’d done research. “I am indeed. Sometimes it was the only drinkable stuff I could get a hold of.”
The Grand Disciple poured himself a glass when Justin had filled his own. “I’d like to visit the provinces, but I don’t know if my vocation will ever allow it. There’s much to do here.”
“Running this temple alone must be like managing a city,” said Justin. “I can’t imagine how much work you have to do for the rest of the country.”
“Nehitimar has called me, so I must do the best I can. And he’s very generous in the many other servants he’s provided to assist me.”
Justin thought about all the temple staff and priests he’d witnessed walking in today. “Very generous,” he agreed.
“Does this bother you?” the Grand Disciple asked. “Talking so openly about a god? Talking about a god as though he’s real? I know you Gemmans don’t believe in such things.”
“Our country maintains an open policy toward religious belief.”
The words were automatic. A servitor’s mantra.
“Some of your scattered citizens do, perhaps, but not people in your profession. And don’t get me wrong.” The Grand Disciple paused to sip his wine. “I respect what you do. We have our own branch of the priesthood dedicated to weeding out heretics in our midst. It’s important to keep the faith pure.”
“I don’t think I have very much in common with your Examiners.”
“Even so, you have a good eye for what’s important to your country, as do I.” The Grand Disciple set down his wine and leaned forward, ringed hands clasped together over his knees. “Do you know why I asked you here, Dr. March? Because believe me, Enoch didn’t initially approve of this meeting.”
The priest was on a first name basis with the president, naturally.
“Would that have really stopped it?” Justin asked.
That brought another smile to the Grand Disciple’s face. “No, but this country runs much more smoothly when Enoch and I are in agreement—or at least when he thinks I’m in agreement with him. You see, no matter what suspicions you might have, Enoch actually would like to establish peaceful relations with your nation. There are things he thinks we need. More efficient fuels. Medical technology. He believes that commerce will be the key to ushering in peace between us, but he’s only half right. It’s not currency of the material world your nation needs, but rather, spiritual coin. And that’s why I brought you here today, to seek your help in a great endeavor that will unite our countries in a harmonious future.”
Justin had no idea what was coming, save that he probably wasn’t going to like it. “What endeavor is that?”
“Sending missionaries of Nehitimar into the RUNA.”
CHAPTER 12
Temptations
Mae didn’t need Justin’s deafening silence to know what an outlandish suggestion the Grand Disciple had just made. Her initial offense at being wrapped in these restrictive garments and discarded in the back of the room had long faded once the weird conversation was up and running. This was not her field of expertise, and she was glad to be ignored. Let Justin navigate these diplomatic waters.
Nonetheless, she dutifully made notes on the exchange that had just taken place, since her ostensible reason for being here was to be Justin’s secretary. Before leaving, Hansen had slipped her a small notebook and a pen, which would’ve almost been comical in any other situation. Everyone in the RUNA typed or used styluses with tablets that would transpose handwriting into neat text. In a situation like this, no one would’ve bothered with notes. A recorder would’ve been used.