Valkyrie of Desire

6. For Shame

What can heal accidents by relieving pressure

What softens judgments of a parental figure

What formal dance is birthed from a scandalous song

Because it is impossible to do no wrong

—Goldstone Tenthorduke

After winding through more alleys, Hildr slows in front of a long gothic building with small barred windows. A sign pole with a carved silhouette of a castle hanging from a crossbar marks it as Lotus Hollow's town hall and the settlement's premier defensive structure. She narrows her eyes at the low roof and shakes her head. Any half-competent force could break in with rope and axes. The aviary tower or even the library would withstand a siege better.

It does border the market, where the most people congregate. Hildr strides along the edge of the commerce to a square platform that is drawing a fuss.

She huffs and curses under her breath. The star attraction is a fat old man curled on the floor of the stage. Seedwick "Apple" Morehunt, wild haired and cheeks red as his nickname, he is or was a shamanic servant of her defunct adventuring band.

The man pulls his stained wool robe tight to his body and whimpers.

The purge of demigods wiped away whatever divine guarantees Hildr had. No resource with mystic talent can be ignored, even in the form of this pitiful wretch.

Children toss radishes at the man's head as they chant, "Sour Apple smells like piss! Chasing women fun to kiss! Stupid shaman, you are broke! No one wants you! You're a joke!"

"That hurts!" The cowering man rubs his nest of white hair. "Ya vile brats! I'll—"

Crack.

A woman with tent-filling girth, dark skin, and grey dreadlocks strides over from a corner of the knee-high platform and waves a stout stick over him. "Watch your tone, Shaman Morehunt!" She slams the knobby end of her club again, making an even louder cracking sound. "Now, announce your shame."

Fists clenched, Hildr pushes through the children. A few complain but quiet down when she glares at them.

Apple covers his bearded face. "I conditioned a crow. I made it fly through your ... uh, window. Blame me." He sobs and wipes his nose. "I did it!"

Hildr hisses at the false confession. Weakness deserves injustice, but this man has a purpose to serve first. She steps up to the platform's edge.

The massive woman above shakes her club. "Guilty for violating our community's code of animal choice."

Choice? Hildr scoffs. What can an animal decide beyond an instinct to survive?

"Yes, Ma'am!" says Apple. "I also made it take your necklace." He peeks through his hands. "But, I guess the dumb bird dropped it, because I don't know where—"

Hildr whistles and waves her hand. "Excuse me, Ms Agastache Beebuzz! I think there's been a misunderstanding."

The woman adjusts a wide sash of colored beads draped over her light-green robe. "Do I know you, child?"

Hildr covers her mouth and says, "Time to earn your honey, Meepsin. Confess to the druidess. Dap is your crow, and he claimed the big lady's necklace by accident."

The lump on her shoulder stirs under the blanket she wears.

"Thievery is true," says the brownie's muffled voice, "but Dap copied you."

Hildr pulls the cloth off her shoulder. Meepsin trills and hides his tiny face in her bundled orange hair.

Agastache coughs. "A brownie? Tamed?" She stomps towards Hildr. "Poor thing." Cudgel raised, the druidess narrows her eyes. "You must return him to his tribe. Any bond you think you have is false. They are fae of Gardener's grace and cannot survive alone."