Valkyrie of Desire

22. Leap Of Faith

Roots vein the trail

Leaves are hairy

Ocean waves breathe

Skin is sandy

I travel free

Nature's body

All around me

A dream that's frail

—Sylyca Hazeleaf

Milling about under the setting sun and rising moon are most of the town's locals and every traveler passing through. They came for a spectacle. Hildr has delivered, but with a horrific twist. Shocked gasps and stunned silence thaws into a sea of harsh whispers as the multitude struggles by torchlight to process her literal transformation into her circus wrestler character, Volcanic Vagina.

On the raised stage before them, Hildr clutches her elbows and falls to her knees. Straw packed under her robe spills out as she heaves, desperate for air and release.

People point at the man she killed with fire spewing from between her thighs and a splinter she stabbed into his eye. They shout curses with growing fervor and barrage her with eggs and rotten produce, turning her pregnancy costume into a garbage heap.

Hildr shakes her head, Liam's pouch still in her hand with its leather cord woven between her fingers. This is the opposite of her plan. Stuck on the stage of shame, she has triggered chaos without escape.

Agastache wails over her slain man. Thick vines cradle him. Summoned from Primal World, the snake-like plants are extra limbs, extensions of the druidess's will and grief.

To freeze is to accept death. Hildr growls. She cannot surrender, not when innocent life grows within her.

"Murderess!" The head druidess whips her arms forward, and the thorned vines shoot toward Hildr with viperous speed.

Scrambling back like a crab, Hildr dodges as they stretch after her. She runs out of platform and rolls off, landing on her feet with the ease of an acrobat.

A snarling elder man shakes his fist and steps close. Ducking out of Agastache's sight, Hildr elbows him in the gut, and the druidess's chasing vines catch him instead of her.

Thorns gripping, the verdant limbs squeeze the man. Fragile bones snap. Gore spews from his mouth, ears, eyes, and ass.

Hildr winces and turns away from the vine violence. Throaty gurgling and grinding like metal on a whetstone, this horror is familiar. Her early demigoddess service was rife with gruesome death, and her imagination amalgamates the sounds into a mental altar of suffering.

She will not be sick. Throwing up is a waste of food and an exposure of weakness.

On this side of the platform, people are dispersing. Wise of them. Agastache's vengeance will sow panic so long as her hate remains. The thinning crowd exchange gasps and shoulder shoves, pointing behind Hildr. She ducks lower. No need to look, if she can run fast enough.

A green flag marks the edge of the market square, and several alley openings are within dash distance. Hildr frowns. Wooden expansions built onto the re-purposed titan homes narrow the alleyways to her shoulders' width. Not enough space for an airborne rescue, even if Peggy's eagle eyes spot her through the evening shadows.

Hildr peeks around the platform at Agastache. The imposing druidess howls and retracts the vines she has summoned, reeling in the body she caught and crushed.

Mangled as the old man is, he clearly lacks Hildr's long orange hair. Distraction required. She waves to Happy, and the dwarf gives her a thumbs up. She bites her lip and uses her hands to stumble through a request for help.