“What the hell is this all about?” Harrogate paced back and forth, stumbling around the room with all the candle sticks and small supposedly sacrilegious ornaments lining the walls. A dresser to the side, Cecil sat by it with her palms on her knees.

“It’s a whole…club, Harry.”

“What kind of clubs tribute people?”

“The fun ones, obviously.”

“What does tribute mean?” He bit his nails.

“I don’t know.” She put a fist to her chest and her face tightened, pressing down she burped. The smell burned his nose hairs, he turned his face away. Somewhere on the counter the bottle of blue swirled and spun in place. He lifted it up to the air, the mucus-like slime going from one end of the bottle to the other. He couldn’t see the candle light through the textured goop.

“Have you been drinking this?” He turned to her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This is what they’re feeding you? This is what they’re feeding everyone.” He unplugged the cork. “Sweet Jenba, it’s burning my face.”

She swiped the bottle from him and took a swig.

“Burns pretty good, huh.” She said.

“You’re drunk. You’re out of your mind and we need to get out.” He said. “We got our money, lets scram before things get out of hand.”

“Things are perfectly f-” She burped. “Fine. Let’s just party, Harry. Just go put on your dress and lets get drunk.”

Her arms, high in the air waving left and right.

He looked behind the door, where the coat hanger had a white gown or cloak coming down to the floor.

“No. These people give me the creeps, everything about this place gives me the creeps.”

“I don’t get it. What’s wrong?”

He looked at her, head tilted and started making moves for her bottle. Got halfway. The door kicked open.

“Does no one fucking knock.” Harrogate said.

Turnus came in with wide stride, chest pumped out.

“What the hell have you done to my family?” He asked. “You all have a lot to answer for.”

“She does. I don’t. But we’re leaving.”

“Oh, you’re leaving huh?” He raised his sleeves, two skinny arms hairless and pale. “You think you could rile up my whole church on this blasphemy and get out unharmed?”

“Buddy, I am one hundred percent with you. Let me just take Cecile here and I’ll be more than happy to discipline her. Far. Far away from here.”

“Uh, huh. You’re going to go out there and give back everything you’ve taken-” He looked down at Cecil, fingers pointed. “Are those the rings of Yagamoto the wise? Third prophet of the five gods?”

She wiggled her fingers and got them extended at arms length from her slipping and spinning eyes.

“Look purty, huh.” She said.

“By Jenba.” Turnus said. His palms were set on his face, he took steps in and out of the room. From the small almost-closet like space to the wide echoing chambers of a high-vaulted ceiling marbled room. Outside, where Harrogate could see his shadow dragged and disappearing into the brightened room of the mass hall. Then, coming in again.

He looked sweaty by his fourth time.

“I’ve spent twelve years lectured under the ways of Jenba.” His fingers pointed to the ground. “Twelve years, to have my sanctity tested here at last, to a drunkard heathen. I will not have my faith mocked.”

“I think it’s a little too late for that, bud.” Harrogate said.

Turnus lifted his gown, the white cloth pinched at his knees. He brought it up, sleeves coming undone and wrapping around balled fists. He walked up to Cecil - who still sat, drinking by the way. Harrogate watched from the side line at their silhouettes, the lanky Turnus coming forward and the drunkard doing twirls with her head as she tilted the bottle up and slammed it down like a gavel on the wooden surface of the tableside.

His hands shook, his lips were sucked in.

“There is no sun goddess. That amulet is a fake. There isn’t a single passage in the book of Jenba referencing that damn apple around your neck.” He said. “You’re going to go out there and tell them as much. You’re going to take everything you’ve taken and leave, immediately.”

His voice had a timbre that had Harrogate’s hairs raised in the back of his neck. A deep sound that was surprising to hear from such a small, and narrow-throated man. His eyes looked forward to hers without blinking, the sinews across his body were all flexed like an animal ready to attack.

Cecile burped.

She sniffed, looked at him then tilted her head.

“Didn’t I say I was going to put my foot up your ass?” She stood.

His neck craned up. His back straightened. And his whole body shook, looking up.

They ran out the door.

“Oh gosh.” Harrogate said.

They went out the hall, who knows in what room on the two storied church. And somewhere beyond their shuffle of footsteps, the people clapped. The building rattled.

“Tribute! Tribute! Tribute!”

Harrogate’s heart raced.

“Oh, Jenba.” And he started looking for a window in a room where there were none.

Outside the gates

The cobblestone fell in broken chunks from the sides of buildings. The thatched rooftops exploded, the oak-foundational pillars fell to the side of brick roads. The people ran, some with blood all across their faces; others with the cake of smoke and concrete pale against their face. The smoke stacks grew across the city of Kraven’s Willow.

A man fell, blood jettisoned out his neck and into the corrugations and crevices amongst the raised concrete of a broken street. Somewhere next to his head, the guild sign fell and cracked.

He laid there, pupils widening then dissolving into total black.

He closed his eyes, and when they opened; they were yellow. He stood. Flicked his arms and legs, and dragged across the collapse of the city. All of them, going deeper. All of them, aiming for the heart of the city. The church.