Besides these lessons in wielding my gifts, Nathan’s doing whatever else he can to help, researching Finemdi and the handful of gods my budding plans revolve around. With all these responsibilities between the two of us, it’s starting to feel like the only time I get to spend time with him as a friend is when he’s shuttling me around to various locations. Still, it’s not like we can step back and smell the roses—our quest is more important than hanging out together, and though it kills me to wait, there will be plenty of opportunities to relax when I’ve wiped this branch of Finemdi off the map.
I know I’m asking for trouble. I’ve seen every kind of relationship imaginable, and if I were being honest with myself, I’d focus on how often people come to regret passing up opportunities for fun with good friends. It’s just … impossible. It’s not in me to resist the siren song of adventure and retribution. Oh, I know the lessons, but if you think ordinary people have trouble learning from the mistakes of others, you should see how badly gods get it. We’re caricatures of you, after all, padded to the extreme with excessive personalities, vibrant flaws, and conflicting desires. One of the obvious (and unfortunate) results of this extraordinary pedigree is that it tends to set us at odds with ourselves. It’s infuriating, too, because we’ve all lived long enough to be able to tell sensible choices from terrible ones, and yet all too often we must follow our personal philosophies rather than choose what is best for ourselves—or those we care about.
I’d like to think I’m better at it than most, but I can’t resist everything. Maybe if I had a chance to distance myself from Finemdi, to spend some time away, I could calm my inner Valkyrie and go the slow and steady route instead of this fiery one, but my constant visits to Impulse Station only serve to reinforce my hatred. It feels like each session brings some new outrage against the divine.
You see, after the personality tests, there were the classes.
Apparently, Finemdi is under the impression that gods need to branch out, intellectually. Dionysus and I end up taking what I can only describe as a senior citizen’s community college sampler. Everything is geared toward practical skills and navigating the modern world. There are classes on using computers and the Internet. Current events, pop culture, and world history. Everyday technology (yes, I know how to use a microwave!) and financial advice. I have to take driving lessons, conversational etiquette courses, and modern style seminars, including makeup and poise. A rather imposing lady named Patricia Méreaux replaces Adam for the female-oriented sessions, and I thankfully don’t have to spend them with Dionysus.
Patricia is very knowledgeable about her areas of expertise, but it’s a distant, almost patronizing sense of intelligence. “When did you start doing your own makeup?” she asks during our first Practical Cosmetics tutorial.
“The fifties,” I reply. “Met a nice Avon lady who taught me. Before her, I had it done at salons, and before that, I had the help of ladies-in-waiting. Oh, and I had to learn how to do my own princess makeup for Disney.”
She sniffs. “The fifties, yes. That would make your techniques somewhat out of date.”
“Well, I’m over a thousand years old,” I say, feeling surprisingly defensive. “What’s fifty years here or there?”
She fixes me with a shocked expression like I’ve just asked what was wrong with drowning kittens, then says, “We’ll start with foundation.”
Don’t get me wrong, some of this stuff is actually useful. Learning how to walk in high heels, for instance, was a skill I’d been meaning to reacquire. The last time I wore them was in the French courts—it would have been social suicide not to, no matter how awkward they felt—and it’s always been something I’ve regretted not taking the time to relearn. So yes, Finemdi is helping shore up certain holes in my knowledge. Regardless, it’s utterly galling to be treated like a child. I didn’t ask for these lessons, and I don’t like the implications they bring. I got along just fine before I knew how to use a colorless lip balm with shimmer to create the illusion of larger lips, thank you very much.
I linger outside my classroom after we’re finished, stuffing my homework (style guides and makeup tasks, yay) into my purse as I wait. After a few minutes, Nathan arrives. He’s here for classes, as well. Some of it is just rules and regulations, but most of his time is apparently focused on making him the perfect mortal representative of the divine.
“How was it?” I ask as he walks up.
He grimaces. “Hope they grade on a curve.”
I frown at that. “That bad? You’re easily the best high priest I’ve had in centuries.”
That gets a smile out of him, but it’s quickly followed by a shrewd look. “Aren’t I the only high priest you’ve had in centuries?”
“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a Corporate Enrichment class starting in a few,” I say, grinning.
He rolls his eyes. “It’s just … apparently I have no idea how to be a priest. I mean, they started asking about your pantheon and things like sacrifices, divine rites, offerings, and on and on, and I was all, ‘Dur, she likes chocolate.’ You know?”
I shrug and start heading off down the hall. “I’m not big on rules; we were always a fairly lawless bunch. Sorry it’s made your classes awkward, but I just want merry little worshippers—all the other stuff is noise.”
“So long as you’re happy,” he says, falling into step beside me.
“With you? Absolutely, Nathan. I mean, you could always stock more ice cream, but nobody’s perfect.”
“More?” he says, legitimately shocked. “At this rate, I should open a Ben and Jerry’s franchise. Could make it the world’s first combination Church of Freya and ice-cream parlor.”
“Done,” I say, actually delighted by the idea. “When do the doors open?”
“Soon as they finish testing the new Freyaberry flavor,” he says, and I laugh with him.
We walk in silence for a minute, still smiling, and then he gets a thoughtful look. “What did your religion look like, Sara? I mean, your worshippers and everything, back home.”
I sigh. “Oh, Nathan … you’d have better luck with a historian there. It’s been so long and I’ve forgotten so much. Anyway, even if I did remember it all, what would it matter? I made the choice to leave Europe behind a long time ago, and that includes the old ways.”
He looks at me, obviously curious, but I shake my head. I don’t mind telling him about my past, but it’s not something I want to get into here. “Story for another time. Anyway, I wound up in America and decided to stay put. Seemed safer.”
“Okay, that’s fair.” He frowns as a thought strikes him. “Though it doesn’t explain what everyone else is doing here. There’s, like, a zillion gods hanging around this place. Did everyone just happen to make their way stateside?”
I stop walking. I hadn’t really considered it before, but he does bring up a good point. “No, I don’t see why they would…” I say after a moment. “Finemdi must have brought them over. Many of their power bases are still in the Old World, after all. It doesn’t make sense for them to be here, otherwise.”
“Besides Dionysus?”
“Ugh, yes.” I sneer. “He must’ve followed the trail from Euro Disney.”
“I guess that makes sense.” He looks around the hall, and I can see his mind wandering back to our current situation. “Is the entire place like this?” he asks.
“Boring and confusing?”
He pulls out his facility map and shakes it with a bewildered expression. “That, and a little terrifying. You’re not getting a sense of ‘death is near’? The whole place feels like a trap.”
“No, but I’m also a god. Death is very much a stranger to us.”
Nathan stares at me, surprised. “Sara, this place is dangerous, even for you. Like, see those plastic blisters near the ceiling?” He points, and I follow his finger to a little black half dome set into the wall. “There are cameras everywhere, guards watching, and freakin’ pantheons—plural—just itching
for a fight. These guys know how to take down gods. We have to be careful as hell.”
“Huh,” I say, stopping to look at the camera. I give it a wave, then keep going. “Never really thought about it before. I mean, you’re right—if I actually stop and turn my brain on, it’s probably the scariest place I’ve ever been, but the way it’s presented … it doesn’t really register as a problem.”
He shakes his head. “Attack gods, industrialized blasphemy, a global conspiracy to kill or capture you … and it feels dull?”
I nod. “Profoundly. It’s not at all what I expected. I know it’s silly, but a part of me still hopes to raid imposing castles on stormy mountain spires. Instead, I get a stupidly large office building.”
“You should write a letter. ‘Dear Finemdi, please have a more evil headquarters for me to hate,’” he says, miming a handwritten note in the air as he walks.
“Yes, thank you! Would it be too much to ask?” I say, laughing again as we head to our next classes.
I’m glad for the humor, because that Corporate Enrichment session is minutes away, and I need all the lightheartedness I can get to keep my inner Valkyrie locked down. These are perhaps the most infuriating of all my required courses, as their entire purpose is to discern how my powers can benefit Finemdi. Apparently, most of the organization’s funding comes from the calculated exploitation of its divine talent pool.
All too soon, I’m listening to Adam tell me more harrowing things about how we can help the company. Dionysus, for instance, is getting tapped for his powers of wine-making and revelry. He will be responsible for producing a series of top-shelf vintages to be sold through a Finemdi-backed corporation at outrageous prices, and all he’ll need to do is visit a storage facility once a year to replenish their stocks. On missions, he will be called in to compromise and even topple key structures with a crushing bloom of grapevines, as well as distract guards and enemy staff with euphoria and the irresistible urge for merriment. Listening to these fledgling plans, I feel a strange mix of curiosity and disgust; part of me would love to know the true nature of such “missions,” but that’s tempered by the certainty that whatever benefits Finemdi can’t be good.
At least I’m off the hook for now. Since I’m currently deemed too weak for fieldwork, my responsibilities won’t be assigned until I have a few cycles of intensive belief therapy under my belt. Adam is, however, quick to reassure me that my likely duties will be corporate espionage and intelligence-gathering, since I can charm anyone into trusting me.
“Of course, this is just what we’ve come up with so far,” he says at the end of his presentation. “We’re always open to suggestions on making Finemdi a smarter, stronger place to work. After all, who better than yourselves to tell us how to use your abilities?”
“Who indeed?” Dionysus says, leaning back in his chair. “Well, no offense to our dear lady Freya, but I, too, am quite capable of twisting mortals around my little finger. I could just as easily perform these acts of espionage as her, without the waiting period.” He glances over at me and smirks.
Yeah, keep smiling, pal.
“Wonderful!” Adam says, making a little note on his smartphone. “That’s exactly the sort of thing we want to hear.” He glances up at me, suddenly seeming a little worried. “Er, that’s not to suggest you won’t be helpful, Ms. Vanadi—we’re well aware of your status in the myths as a spell-caster. Gods with full access to even one school of magic are very rare, and we understand you are skilled in enchantment, divination, and more. You may not be at full strength yet, but please understand how appreciated your talents will be in the months and years to come!”
“Of course,” I say flatly.
“Now, just to get you focused on other possibilities, we have a little slideshow of some of our deities and the interesting ways they’ve been able to help us over the years. This is intended to get you thinking outside the box! Remember, there’s nothing wrong with a little creativity!” Adam says, pocketing his phone and clicking his presentation remote.
A slide with a picture of a motherly woman appears on the screen. Even captured as a still image, she radiates security and affection. “Ah. Hestia,” Dionysus says.
Adam nods. “I thought you might recognize her.” He turns to me. “Hestia is the Grecian goddess of home and hearth, associated with the upkeep of one’s lodgings and ever-burning fires of greeting and warmth. For Finemdi, she keeps the lights on at all of our facilities. Every time we build a new base, Hestia comes by to bless it with unending ‘fire’—which, in these days, equals electricity. Basically, her gift allows us unlimited power consumption at all of our stations, letting us stay completely green and off the grid!”
Free energy from the gods. Hubris, thy name is Finemdi. The slide changes, this time to a burly, fair-skinned man with a bob of blond hair that makes him look like a medieval page. He seems like he should belong in my pantheon, but I don’t recognize him. “This is Ilmarinen, a Finnish blacksmith and artificer,” Adam explains. “Finemdi was able to persuade him to reproduce his most famous work, the Sampo. Though it took the assistance of several deities to provide enough raw materials and the extreme heat needed for the forging, the finished product is a magic mill that produces limitless quantities of grain, salt, and gold.”
He clicks the slide again, and an image of a vast underground vault appears, filled with stacked pallets of gold bars. I feel a pang of desire for them. I think of the jewelry collection I could commission from that place, then shake my head and try to focus. Stupid urges. “Essentially, Finemdi may now act as the world’s largest supplier of these three vital resources, reaping all the financial and political benefits one might associate with such a monopoly,” Adam continues. “Of course, we are careful not to overplay our hand, lest the markets collapse.”
Impressive and appalling, all at once. How many artifacts have they acquired over the years? I think back to Garen’s magic bracelets and those pearl-tipped spears at the prison and realize it’s probably a lot.
Another slide appears, this time showing a dark, terrifying man. His stringy black hair is thrown in disarray, hanging in front of savage, almost bestial features. He seems regal in his darkness, a leonine predator in human skin. I could easily see him opening his mouth to reveal a pair of curving incisors. His bloodshot red eyes stare at the camera through greasy lines of hair as if all the world’s misery makes its home within. He is rage and destruction personified.
“Even naturally unsupportive deities can be useful, like our friend Ahriman here,” Adam says, pointing at the screen. This gets my attention immediately. That was the name Garen mentioned when he threw that little satin ball at me, back at the Inward Care Center. I can still remember the images it burned into my brain. I doubt I’ll ever forget them.
“Ahriman is, for all intents and purposes, impossible to restrain. As the embodiment of evil, trickery, and darkness, he has proved capable of breaking out of any prison,” Adam says, flicking through a series of slides that show frayed manacles, bent bars, shattered slabs of granite, and similarly compromised means of confinement. “The only catch is that he must be whole for this to occur—apparently, his powers of escape function only to release his complete form. As anything less, he’s just another god.”
“So?” I say. “Wouldn’t he just regenerate anything you removed?”
“Constantly, yes,” Adam says. “And so we in turn must constantly fold, spindle, and mutilate him, if you will.” The slide clicks over to show a horrifying room, the contents of which look like a monstrous cross between a printing press and an industrial meat grinder. “Even then, we began having trouble as we realized severed parts of his anatomy over a certain size would attempt to coalesce into a new host for his spirit. This process was nearly instantaneous, and seemed to display a certain low-grade intelligence—we’d see pieces of Ahriman vanish from various repositories, teleporting to appear near larger concentrations of his flesh. When enough got together, the original body would si
mply die, and the new form would become him.” A video begins, showing what I can only describe as a pile of meat sprouting arms, legs, and a head before exuding a layer of skin, growing out a shock of greasy black hair, and opening reddened eyes to focus on the camera with a glare.
“Disgusting,” I say, fighting back the urge to retch.
“Incredible,” Dionysus says, shifting in his chair. He seems extremely interested in this power. I get the impression he wants it for himself.
“After that, it was a simple matter of incinerating any residue to prevent further reconstruction events, but once we discovered bits of him could teleport, we used some of our more mystically inclined gods to analyze the magic involved. Eventually, we discovered that any detached pieces of Ahriman are attracted to his divine signature—the aura that surrounds him. With the proper rituals and material components, we were able to fake this signature and begin testing its capacity for luring wayward parts of his body to a location of our choosing.”
“Why on earth would you want to do that?” I ask, now past the point of queasiness and outrage and fast approaching a sense of awed horror. Part of me also wants to ask just what they planned on doing with all those pieces of Ahriman they collected before they decided to start incinerating them. That part of me is quickly shouted down by the other parts of me that want to be able to fall asleep tonight.
“Simple!” Adam exclaims, seeming far too pleased with this entire scenario. “Testing showed us that a basic transference spell can be used to piggyback onto the transportation effect, allowing anyone willing to undergo a single quick ritual the ability to teleport alongside the piece of Ahriman to our chosen destination! Even better, since these pieces are semi-intelligent and, as a result of the transference magic, tend to regard their carriers as allied flesh, each fragment will act to prevent what it perceives to be fatal injuries to itself. In short, anyone willing to undergo the procedure and carry a piece of Ahriman with them gains the ability to teleport to a safe zone in the event of life-threatening situations!”
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