Having regrets? asked Horatio.
No, Justin told him. If we stop them from carrying out a plot to take down our infrastructure, it’ll be well worth the cost of a dozen refugees.
He had nightmarish visions of being led to a shack in the woods, but the house Hansen took him to was a well-kept suburban residence with less of a farm feel than Carl’s place had. And although the home had a fair amount of privacy from its neighbors, it was still in enough of a neighborhood to give Justin some sense of normality.
At least until he stepped inside.
There had to be nearly fifty people crammed inside the house’s living room, something he’d been totally unprepared for since there were only three other cars in the driveway. While some showed higher quality clothing reflective of the upper class, most appeared to be from Arcadia’s struggling masses. He had no time to ponder the secrecy that must’ve gone into this meeting because they all fell silent at his and Hansen’s entrance. More remarkable still, Justin noticed that a third of those gathered were women, and although they wore the traditional modest clothing and hovered near the crowd’s edge, there was something fresh and different about the way they interacted with their men here, compared to what Justin had observed so far in Arcadia. These weren’t just struggling Arcadians, Justin suspected. They were dissatisfied ones. An elderly man with snow white hair came forward slowly, hobbling on a cane. The smile he gave them was warm, and he embraced Hansen warmly.
“Timothy, I’m so glad you made it—and so glad you brought our esteemed guest.” The old man extended his hand to Justin. “I’m Gideon Wexler. Welcome to my home. If there’s anything I can get you, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“He hasn’t eaten,” said Hansen.
Justin shook his head. “No, don’t worry about that. Hansen, what’s going on? I asked you to find others to go with us who thought like you . . . but all these people can’t come to the RUNA.”
“I know,” said Hansen. “And they aren’t all going. Just some of them. The rest know they have to stay here, but they want to meet you and learn from you before you leave.”
The sea of faces swam before Justin’s eyes, and he focused back on the two men closest to him. “Learn what?”
“About your god,” said Gideon. “We’ve long been dissatisfied with our lots, with the way Nehitimar’s power and wealth is abused by the temple and the government. We’d thought when revolution comes—and it will come—we’d either have to do it without a god or radically reform our worship of Nehitimar. Only, when we prayed and asked for guidance, we received none. Hopefully your god will answer our prayers. Teach us about him, and we will carry on his worship in secret after you and the others have gone.”
Justin felt his eyes widening. “I just revealed myself to Hansen today . . . and you’re already prepared to jump on board with another god?”
“We’ve been waiting for a sign for a very long time,” said Gideon serenely. “This is it, and we aren’t going to delay and waste it. Timothy told us of your miraculous recovery and the knowledge your god possesses.”
“And he got the Grand Disciple to let Elaina come with me to the Lost Lands,” said Hansen eagerly. “Those coming with me can bring their families too.”
Murmurs of excitement rippled through the crowd, and Justin resisted the urge to pinch himself. “Okay, look, before we get any farther, you have to stop calling it the Lost Lands. The RUNA, the Republic . . . any of those are fine. But not the Lost Lands.”
Everyone around him nodded eagerly, as though he’d just delivered the most profound piece of wisdom in the world’s history. Inside, he was reeling.
What have you gotten me into? he demanded of the ravens.
This was all you, Horatio assured him.
“Tell us more,” said Gideon. “Tell us how we may worship your god. Tell us how you’re connected. How do you serve him?”
“I . . .”
It was a weird position for Justin to be in, one in which he had no words or stories ready. If he’d had any sense at all, he would’ve denied all connection to the divine, but he could hardly do that after his sales pitch to Hansen. Keeping Hansen and his allies close was key to stopping the Arcadian plot. Justin swallowed.
“I’m his . . . priest.”
Geraki and the ravens had called him that often, but it was the first time Justin had used the term aloud to describe himself, and he was surprised at the power it imparted. Gideon looked so overjoyed that he might sink to his knees in adoration. Instead, the old man took Justin by the arm and led him to a chair in the center of the room.
“Come. Tell us everything. Everything you can.”
“I have a couple hours at most,” Justin warned him. “They’ll wonder what happened to me.”
“Then tell us everything you can in a couple hours.”
All of those gathered sat down, either on the floor or in chairs, and watched Justin with rapt eyes while he worked to keep his exterior composed. What do I tell them? I don’t know anything about worshipping Odin.
It was a strange but true statement. He knew Odin’s history academically, as any servitor would, and he’d learned a host of spells and magical rune meanings. The day to day worship of the god was nothing that had ever come up, though. Geraki had a collection of followers that met in secret, but Justin had never attended their services.
You’re Odin’s priest, said Magnus. Your job is to lead the people and guide them into love and devotion to our god. Whatever ways you have of doing that will be correct. Worship of him evolves. You will define what that is now, in this place and in this time.
Fatigue gnawed at the edges of Justin’s consciousness, though adrenaline was currently keeping him as alert as it might a praetorian. To be safe, he reached into his coat pocket for his Exerzol bottle and popped another pill. Mae was right that he might regret it tomorrow, but only getting through the next two hours mattered.
“His name is Odin,” said Justin at last. “And he’s the king of all the gods.”
There was a collective intake of breath, though one person dared to ask, “What other gods? Like Nehitimar?”
Someone tried to shush the speaker, but Justin waved it off. “No, no. Questions are permitted. Questions are encouraged. Odin is a god of wisdom and knowledge. The gods and goddesses he rules over are called the Vanir and the Aesir. Some are his relatives. Some are just, uh, associates. Some of them interact with humans.”
“Goddesses?” asked a young woman boldly. “Gods can be women?”
Justin realized in the Arcadian system, Nehitimar’s wives didn’t hold divine status equal to his. They weren’t human exactly, but they also weren’t full-fledged gods.
“Yes,” he said firmly. If ever there was a group that needed female empowerment, it was this one. “The goddesses are on equal footing with the gods. One of them—Freya—is especially powerful. A match for Odin. Some people say she and Frigga—his wife—are aspects of the same deity, but that’s a more complex mystery for later. Let’s get back to him.”
What unfolded in the next two hours was a mix of everything he’d scraped together about Odin, a recitation of Gemman ideals of social and gender equality, and some of the greatest improvisation of Justin’s life. What surprised him immensely was how much they loved the stories in which Odin faced hardship. He told them about how he’d sacrificed his eye for wisdom, how he’d grieved when his son Baldur was killed. Yet, Justin always brought it back around to make Odin triumphant, and they loved that too.
Nehitimar is cold and unyielding, Justin thought. He makes no sacrifices, neither do his high priests. They take and take while the people give and give. That a god might be relatable is blowing their minds. Not too relatable, of course. They still want to look up to him, but hearing about his weaknesses is just making him that much more powerful.