Chapter 36 - Divine intervention

By the grace of Vifafey, perhaps, Scypha's feelings of lightheadedness gradually passed as the night progressed.

That was something unique to her, as most of the humans and goblins around her were drinking ale and wine and were mentally headed in exactly the opposite direction. Some especially 'wasted' goblins even took to singing— though each one of them sang a different song—at the same time. Badly.

It was nice, though. Blan, still sitting across from Scypha, turned out to be a nicer person when he was drunk.

"I'm telling you guys—our lord Gromph loves chicken!" he shouted. "Every green in the world knows it, even every pink-skin knows it—so why do we go hunting frogs? Let's just use chicken bones to make the altar! We've got plenty right here!"

Qelev, a rather long-nosed goblin sitting beside Blan, shook his head disapprovingly. "It's against scripture!" he shouted back, struggling to be heard over the terrible, drunken singing. "Gimef used frog bones, not chicken bones!"

"That's just because he lived in a swamp!" Blan replied. "It's the shape of the altar that matters, not the type of bones we use!"

"How would you shape the altar, then, Blan?" Tren asked, laughing and snorting ale froth through his nose. "Like a chicken?"

"You're a chicken!" Blan shouted.

As time passed, Scypha had tried to hold a straight face, to appear the sane one, and to learn more about the goblins' religion. All she could do at that point was hold her hands over her mouth so those around her wouldn't see her smiling.

"Why don't we build one right now and ask holy Gromph what he thinks?" Blan demanded.

"Sounds like blasphemy to me!"

"Totally sounds like blasphemy!" Qelev said. "Hey—pink-skin! You're a priestess, right? Tell us, is that blasphemy?"

Ten pairs of eyes quickly settled on Scypha, and she shrugged awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I'm still just an apprentice. I don't know much about Gromph."

"What?" asked Blan, downing a mug of ale and leaning over the table towards her.

"I said I don't know much about Gromph! But … you could try. Most gods value devotion!"

"Gods value the motion? What motion?!"

"De-votion!" shouted Tren, seating himself beside Scypha and slamming two more frothy mugs of ale down on the table. He slapped Scypha lightly on the back with a wet hand. "You're right about that, Pinky! Go on, Blan! Try it!"

"Get me some chicken!"

"It's right there!"

"Give it to me! I can't move—my legs are mush!"

"Then you're not very devoted, are you?!"

After a couple of insults were hurled in every direction, Scypha made her way to the table next to theirs and asked the goblins there if she could take their leftover chicken bones. They eyed her with a mixture of suspicion and confusion, but they did let her take the little things. She felt only slightly humiliated.

"There we go, that's what I needed!" said Blan. "Thank you, pink-skin. Alright, now, what did that altar in Ryzayah look like? You guys, think of something to pray for!"

Sanity, Scypha thought. Though she'd be praying to the god Vifafey for it, not to Gromph.

"What about ending the murders?" Tren asked. "I wouldn't mind staying at this inn for free until summer if people would just stop dying."

"Nah, nah," said Qelev. "That's a waste of a prayer—there's still the screecher, Tren. An ordinary killer is fine—just so long as that monster goes away."

"Well then, let's pray they both leave. Hear us, Gromph! We offer up our ale!"

"Waiiit, damnit!" shouted Blan. "I haven' finished the altar yet!"

"Well, hurry up, chicken!"

Scypha shook her head, noticing her vision start to blur again. "Sorry," she said, "there are people dying?"

Tren frowned and looked up at her from the side. "You haven't heard?" he asked. "You've been here longer than us. How do we know and you don't?"

"Maybe she's the killer. Playing dumb—you know how pink-skins are," said Qelev.

"She's not the killer," Tren laughed. "Not with those spindly arms. Yeah, Pinky. There's a killer on the loose—and more importantly, a screecher. One of those giant worm things that get in people's heads and eat them. But don't worry. We'll keep you safe."

Scypha grimaced. "I didn't know … I vaguely remember that Pyren told me, but … I just didn't think that it was really…"

"You don't have to concern yourself with any of that, Pinky. Stay near this inn, and you're as safe as a bear in a cave. Nothing will get you in a place this crowded."

She winced and looked around the crowded patio. Suddenly, the slight breeze blowing on her forehead felt a little colder, even though the overall atmosphere remained warm due to the rowdiness of the goblins all around. She saw Pyren had also finally decided to take a break and stop bringing everyone rounds and rounds of drinks. Perhaps he had run out of stock.

He glanced over at her, and for a brief moment, they shared a look. She smiled.

"Okaeyyy, M'done!" shouted Blan, slurring his speech. Scypha flinched. "By holey Gromph, I'm startin' t'feeel sick. But'm done."

"You actually got the symbol right, if nothing else," said Qelev. "That's Gromph, over there. Right, Pink-skin?"

Scypha looked down toward the table, toward the mess of chicken bones littered around, skin hanging off, fat dripping onto the wood. She recognized the chaotically put-together emblem of Gromph and nodded.

"Right, so—what're we gun pray forr?" asked Blan.

"No hangovers," said Tren. "And free breakfast."

"Life, freedom, and peace," Scypha murmured.

"Yeh, that souns gudd," said Blan, swallowing hard before standing up, wobbling slightly and raising his hands above his head. "So, w'pray to Gromph—"

Lightning struck.

For a heartbeat, the whole world turned to searing white. The air split itself apart with a thunderous boom that rattled Scypha's bones, followed by a hiss of heat so intense it sizzled against her skin. The sharp tang of burned air quickly filled her mouth, acrid and metallic, and smoldering splinters exploded from the wooden table, surging in every direction.

Scypha instinctively threw up her arms, shielding her eyes. She quickly received a thousand little cuts and burns. She couldn't see or hear anything, but she was in pain.

Shock overwhelmed her as something heavy fell onto her legs—maybe the table. As she toppled over, large hands grabbed hold of her back and pushed her back up. She couldn't move herself. She couldn't see. She tried opening her eyes, but everything was completely white—she was blind.

Then a voice boomed in her head, low and commanding.

"You are not of Vifafey or Gromph. You are MINE."