“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.