Valkyrie of Desire

27. The Phantom Of Truth

The self is a voice in a choir

On a stage set by the body

Hold an audition for the lead

Subtract ego for harmony

—Seeke Reset of Truth

The city street is wide and hard under a thin layer of muck. Hildr wiggles her toes in her man boots. Worn and filthy, the tired leather is soft against her skin. They could be comfortable if she did not need cloth stuffed in to make them fit.

She coughs, jiggling her full coin purse. Scalp bare and thread-thin undergarments on, a sickness threatens despite the warm summer day. How much silver would a mystic healer charge? Perhaps a cleric would bless her for free if she claimed to be a nun.

Meepsin says, "So many big people, together smell evil." Her brownie friend tumbles around her, drawing eyes from passing strangers.

Most of the street traffic are humans or present as such with rounded ears, flat teeth, and shades of pink skin. A pair of orcs stomp by. Bald heads bowed and tusks cut; they carry coffin-sized boxes on their broad shoulders. A dwarf walks behind them, cursing in Pidgin and smacking at their heels with a horse-rider's crop.

Hildr frowns. The orcs must have been conditioned as babies to be so submissive to a dwarf. Given their unmatched growth rate and adaptability, newborn male orcs are worth their weight in silver. If she could get one, she could train him to be the perfect protector for her baby.

She clears her throat. "Meeps! Keep to corners and shadows. Follow me at a distance. I may need to act like a whore or a nun, and neither of those are likely to have a brownie companion."

Meepsin does a one-handed handstand and salutes with his stunted arm. "I dive into shadows. Do not see me follow."

Hildr sways her hips as she strides, but stumbles in her over-sized boots. She grumbles some choice Orc curses under her breath. No other language captures guttural frustration quite so well.

Shaved head tilted forward, she steps again, hips steady and shoulders slumped. She walks with humble grace, bowing with hands clasped to all who pass.

An elder woman bows back, tapping her bulbous nose in salute to Hierophant, Overgod of White. "Strength to your journey, lady nun. May you find peace in our Overlord's service."

Hildr bows deeper, stretching the cotton of her slip, and returns the nose tapping gesture. "I walk the righteous path, embracing my humiliation and shame."

The woman nods with a serene sigh. Simple are the faithful. Hildr smirks behind her hand and continues on.

Step by step, Hildr settles in the character of a Pale Nun on a mission. Face relaxed to mimic the elder woman, Hildr marches as if with self-reflection that is purifying her soul of lust and selfish ambition.

Ahead on the left, the city's library fills the space between street and river. Long and tall, the stone structure is a single story with pillars scaled for giants. Hildr shivers. The sparkling granite promises spectral vestiges of titans if not actual hauntings.

Halfway, the roof slopes down to a human-sized entrance. Passing traffic curves a bit there, keeping a respectful distance from a helmed man clutching a spear and a kite shield. She slows.

His posture is relaxed, yet coiled. He is a lion in the sun, comfortable while always ready to pounce. Jagged scratches criss-cross his shield's crest—a dark brown stump split by a silver axe in a green field. It is the emblem of Eeffae City. The man must be a veteran of the watch.