Not that rare, argued Justin. I’ve seen other believers possess objects from their gods. That guy Mae fought in the death temple had a knife from the Morrigan.
Those are objects blessed by a certain god, which only have power and meaning for the user who believes in that god, Magnus told him. If the Grand Disciple possesses one of the great artifacts—which would capture Odin’s interest—that would be something different altogether. There are objects in this world of great power, far more powerful than a simple blessed object, and that power transfers to whatever god controls it. They have their own intrinsic abilities that they impart to that god’s servant. Said objects can be critical in the fight for divine control and can only be touched by those of the strongest faith.
How do we find out if this staff is one of the great artifacts or not? asked Justin.
If it is, it will have some very noticeable effect when in use, explained Magnus. Find someone who’s witnessed it.
When dinner finally wrapped up, the men adjourned to a separate sitting room for cigars and scotch. That at least was something Justin could get on board with, and he took some pleasure out of watching his fellow countrymen’s shock at smoking real tobacco. It was rare in the RUNA, where smoking was itself a rare habit and only done with safer substances. They were told that the women would “tend to matters” back in the kitchen, and Justin had a feeling it was one of those things best not questioned.
He got his answers later than evening when he was finally allowed to retire to his room in one of the outlying guesthouses. Lucian, Atticus, George, and Phil were also in the same house. Each of them had their own bedroom, which was adjacent to a common room and bathroom. Gemman soldiers were stationed inside the house’s door, and Arcadian soldiers were outside it “for everyone’s protection.” One of them escorted the women in, and Mae threw herself onto Justin’s bed as soon as the door shut in his bedroom.
“Do you see this?” she asked. She held up her hands, which mostly looked the same as ever to him. “I’ve been scrubbing pots and pans with a homemade sponge for the last two hours!”
Justin sat beside her and took one of her hands in his. Up close, he could see that they were pink and water-swollen. “Not much manual labor growing up in the old Koskinen homestead, eh?”
She pulled her hand back. “I’ve done plenty of manual labor! What’s ridiculous is that this was to ‘build character’ and eradicate sin. Harriet explained it to us—that’s Carl’s head wife if you didn’t catch it. Women are naturally evil, and hard labor helps keep that at bay.”
“That’s an idea based in a number of religions that their god— Nehitimar—embraced wholeheartedly and then took to a whole new level when his followers took over the government last century,” Justin explained, knowing he wasn’t really helping.
She sat up and shook her head in disgust. “It’s appalling. They have the technology for plenty of domestic conveniences—like dishwashers and vacuum cleaners—but purposely don’t use them in order to ‘help’ their women. None of the men do it, of course. Val scrubbed the dining room floor with a brush smaller than my hand!”
“I don’t want to play ‘I told you so,’ and I’m certainly sympathetic to what you had to do,” he said, “but I did warn you this place was messed up. And I don’t think we’ve seen the half of it. Regret coming?” Her gaze turned downward as she considered his question. “No.”
She offered nothing more, and he had to fight with himself not to badger her over why she’d wanted to come.
Instead he said, “Well, I can’t guarantee there won’t be more character-building labor tomorrow, but you will at least be able to get out of the house—to see the city or a temple, I can’t say yet. I also can’t say for sure that it won’t be weird in a totally different way.” He brightened. “But hey, at least the food was good. You’ve got to appreciate that.”
“We didn’t eat the same food,” she told him ruefully. “Ours was a lot blander and in smaller portions.”
“Really?” He’d had no idea. “More character building?”
“That, and it’s important for women to remain attractive to their men. So Harriet tells us.”
Justin scoffed. “And yet apparently not too attractive.”
“She and the others couldn’t believe we didn’t have children,” added Mae. “They’ve got Cain—lots of it—and it was unbelievable to them that five us who were free of it hadn’t reproduced at our age. When Val mentioned birth control . . . well, that got us some looks.”
“Birth control’s illegal here,” he reminded her. “This is a strange place,” she sighed.
Justin thought ahead to his upcoming meeting with the head of a religion so powerful, it dictated what the government did. With a sigh of his own, he put an arm around Mae, unsure if it was more for her comfort or his own. “Hang in there because it’s going to get stranger.”
CHAPTER 10
Daphne Defines the Truth
Daphne held true to her word about signing a statement relinquishing any claim to Tessa’s life story. She wasted no time in getting started with the internship either, showing up at the house on the second day after Justin had left. Tessa faltered at the door when she answered it, remembering Justin’s admonishment about letting Daphne back in the house. Daphne hadn’t known about that, though, and neither did anyone else. So, while Tessa got some wary looks from Cynthia and Rufus as she led Daphne in that morning, nobody strictly prohibited the reporter being around.
“Let the school know you’re off doing field work today,” Daphne said, noticing Tessa’s uniform. “We’ve got a hot story to work on.”
“Do we?” asked Tessa, a bit startled.
“We’re interviewing someone today and need to finalize my research.” Daphne settled herself at the kitchen table, moving away empty breakfast plates and setting up a tablet on a small easel. “Grab your own tablet or use the living room screen. I need another set of eyes.”
Rufus, watching her with crossed arms, asked, “Don’t you have an office?”
“North Prime feels its reporters can work just fine without the physical constraints of an office,” she replied primly.
“Right, right,” said Rufus. “I forgot you’re freelance and not salaried.”
“You also forgot that you’re hired help,” snapped Daphne, angling her body toward Tessa. “Now, then. Let’s get started.”
Cynthia cleared the rest of the dishes and chased Quentin from the table. “What’s the story?” she asked, in a rare moment of curiosity.
Daphne’s eyes lit up. “A girl—sixteen—got pregnant over in Burnaby. Her parents claim the implant was faulty, but there’s evidence they belong to some weird religious group and might have purposely tampered with it.”
“Sixteen,” murmured Cynthia, looking appalled. “She’s a child.” Tessa had known plenty of girls having children that young back in Panama, but around here, where contraception was compulsory until age twenty, sixteen was unheard of. Daphne’s kohl-lined eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she studied Cynthia more closely. “Shocking, isn’t it?”
“Ghastly,” said Cynthia. “That poor girl. Her poor parents.” She glanced at the kitchen clock. “Time for Quentin and me to go. Have you seen where that praetorian went?”
“Pacing outside,” said Rufus. He’d made himself a sentry between the kitchen and living room.
Daphne watched as Cynthia left and then turned to Tessa. “Did you see her reaction to hearing about that girl? That’s what you want as a journalist—that deep, visceral response that sucks viewers in.”
“I thought journalists wanted facts,” said Tessa.