Free The Lost Gods by Francesca Simon

Woden. ‘Where are the drowned slaves?’
    â€˜And what about Thor?’ asked Thor.
    â€˜Restore us, oh Gods, let us find favour inyour sight. You made us in your image—’
    â€˜I most certainly did not,’ said Woden.
    â€˜Fate is stronger than everything, even stronger than the Gods,’ intoned the Priest. ‘This brief life is all we have; the world to come is reserved for our bravest warriors, and the righteous, and the poets, who will have their own place in Asgard, as our archpriests decreed. Be mindful of your reputation. Our shrouded Life is brief, but fame is forever.’
    â€˜So far, not
nearly
good enough,’ hissed Woden.
    â€˜What is the purpose of life? The Gods teach us it is to worship them and to gain renown by brave deeds. While the Immortals cannot always keep us from danger, we give thanks for the blessing of courage to face whatever fate decrees and the chance to gain our place in Valhalla.
    â€˜Now, my assistant Priestess will get out her guitar, and let’s all sing together, hymn 27 in your Eddas, “Woden loves us every one”.
    Woden loves us one and all;
Thor protects in stormy squall—’
    â€˜You call this heap of mare droppings worship?’ said Woden loudly. ‘This
mewling
? Where are the hanged men pierced with spears?’
    â€˜Where’s my altar of sacred rocks?’ grunted Thor.
    â€˜Where are the sacred groves?’ asked Freyja.
    â€˜
Where
are all the worshippers?’ shouted Woden.
    â€˜Shush!’ hissed a middle-aged woman in a hat in front of him, singing loudly. ‘Show some respect.’
    â€˜Let us now recite the Wodenic Creed together,’ continued the Priest. Freya saw him catch the eye of the security guards at the exits.
    The Throng chanted:
    I believe in the All-Father, creator of heaven and earth; and in Thor his son, Frigg his wife, and Freyja, Frey, Njord, Heimdall, Baldr, Tyr, and
the All-Mighty Immortals. I believe they alone are the true Gods. I believe that Tyr sacrificed his right hand to keep the world safe from the Wolf. I believe that Woden hung for nine nights on the sacred tree, Yggdrasil. Long may they reign over us, until the Wolf swallows the sun. Amen.
    The organ struck up a solemn melody, and the Throng stood for the final prayers and hymns.
    â€˜Stop! This is a travesty! Call this worship?’ bellowed Thor. He jumped up and stood on the pew, red-faced and furious. ‘What an insult!’ His voice boomed and echoed around the Temple, ringing out over the organ, which tried to drown him out with a vociferous cadenza. Woden leapt to his feet and strode down the aisle towards the priest. ‘I am Woden! The All-Father! May you be people without luck! May you never enter Valhalla! The trolls take you all! Where are the sacrifices? Where are the offerings? Where are the two-day feasts? Callthis caterwauling the worship of the Gods who made you? You ungrateful sacks of wood! You hags, you pisshorns! ON YOUR KNEES! WE ARE THE LORDS YOUR GODS!’
    Freya shrank into her seat.
    â€˜I’m going to have to ask you all to leave now, sir,’ said a Fane official.
    â€˜This is
my
Temple, how dare you ask me to leave?’ said Woden. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’
    â€˜You’re a very rude man,’ shouted the old lady in the front.
    â€˜Disgraceful,’ muttered another elderly lady.
    â€˜Come on, we should go,’ hissed Freya. She was hot and embarrassed. If she’d had her falcon skin with her she’d have taken flight. How did he expect people to worship him if he called them pisshorns?
    â€˜Say the word, and I’ll kill them all,’ growled Snot.
    â€˜No!’ said Freya. ‘You won’t help our cause by killing people in your temple.’
    â€˜Master, we should go,’ said Alfi.
    â€˜You can punish these people later,’ said Roskva.
    The Gods stormed out of the temple,