Woman and I, locked in a grim battle of wills
Our tearful daughter dives between us with arms wide
Catching us both in a grand stroke, swimming with hugs
Besieged with youthful charm, eye contact is broken
What was that thing we were fighting about again?
—Haden Abdi Nasar
Giggling, Hildr bounces on a wide bed's springy mattress. It dominates the center of an opulent room, and her heart flutters as her butt goes airborne.
There is a dream she has sometimes of a life before the brothel. She is a princess there, and the bed is as bouncy as this one, but the room is more spacious. It has balconies and wide windows, while this round room has a single door and a claustrophobic window.
She closes her eyes. Her fantasy is much fancier, occupying the top of a fortress rather than halfway up a backwood town's aviary tower. She wrinkles her noise at a whiff of griffin shit. There are no foul scents in her dream castle and no druidic Gardener cult role-playing as Verdant crusaders.
She blinks and shakes her head with gritted teeth. It has been too long without the focus of her demigoddess's missions. Her mind wanders like a spoiled teenager.
This place is grand, bigger than the whole bottom floor of Apple's townhouse, and its ceiling is almost twice as high. Rugs of various sizes and styles also cover the floor, while landscape tapestries woven with delicate detail decorate the curved walls.
"Husband, did you really make this?"
Apple lifts his head out of wrinkled hands. "What?"
"This huge bed." Hildr rubs her cheeks with the silk sheets. "Is it mystic?"
"Yeah, I made it." He sighs and shifts on a plush verdant chair. "With help from a Smithmage. And no, it's not actively mystic."
Hildr falls back and sweeps her arms across the soft surface. "Like swimming on a cloud." She tangles her legs in the sheets, curling her toes and yawning.
"It's one of a kind."
"Oh, and do you miss it more than sleeping with whores?" She moans and thrusts her hips. "Or, how about sugar?"
The old man bites his thumbnail and glances at the doorway. She frowns. He is more ready to piss himself than to protect her, and only a pair of potted plants guard the way to the spiraling stairwell.
She says, "Now is your chance to flee. Go on, Mr Chubby. No cowards survive me, and this chance is fleeting."
"Whatever, Sweet Peach." Apple points at the doorway and the stairwell beyond. "Let's get our story synced before Agastache gets here."
Hildr shrugs and wipes sweat off her palms. Challenging the old man's pride worked. Now she must project calm and confidence, or he will bail.
She says, "Do we really need her permission to perform for money?"
He scoffs. "That was the excuse to bring us in. We should be worried she thinks us sparking an insurrection."
"I went with the crowd. You heard the former foreman. They're tired of druidic rule. I helped them let off some steam and got them pumped enough about circus wrestling to toss some copper. What about that is a problem?"
A tightness in her lower back makes her twist about, stretching until a sharp pain flairs in her abdomen. She hisses and prods the sides of her stomach before sitting up.
"Well?" she says.
Apple chews his lip. "Turning your pregnancy costume into a mockery of the head druidess's girth and twisting her name into 'Hag'Astache.' "
Hildr chuckles. "Come on. It's clever."
"Real smart ya are, and real funny it will be ... until she summons a vine to strangle ya."
"She may intimidate you, but that fat bitch is a kitten compared to my devilish demigoddess or my cruel cunt of a mother." Hildr twitches and traces the scar on her chin. "I know how to deal with Agastache and get her blessing for circus wrestling. So, if you're man enough to stay, back up whatever of Hell I say."
He snorts. "Sure, Wife."
A tapping on stone echoes, and footsteps come up the stairs. Hildr stiffens and gulps, as if an apparition of her mother threatens to appear. While Apple turns to watch the doorway, Hildr presses her thumb against her forehead in prayer and practices a range of expressions.
Agastache, leader of the local Verdants, fills the wide entry like a rising tide. Panting and using her cudgel as a cane, the dark-skinned druidess struggles up the last step and leans against the wall. Sweat drips from her brown brow, but her eyes are steady and clear.
Hildr stands and hurries over to offer her arm, face twisted with concern that doesn't reach her eyes. "Let me help you, Ma'am."
Agastache waves Hildr back as she takes a breath, beads at the ends of her gray dreadlocks clinking. "It's good for me, so long as my knees don't give out."
"Oh, of course—"
"Oi, I hear that." Apple rubs his knees with a hiss. "I don't miss climbing those stairs every day. Because ya know, this was my workroom until your lover boys relocated me."
Hildr presses her tongue against her teeth as the druidess huffs. The old man is shattering decorum like an ox in a glassware shop. Should she warn him, or let him blunder so she can jump in as the heroine?
He clears his throat. "I am surprised by the way, Ms Agastache. Your sanctuary conversion seems no more than replacing my equipment with decorations and potted plants. Why not set up your Verdant place of power in some overgrown titan ruins across the ravine?"
The large woman eases into a chair that matches Apple's with thick cushions and armrests. "Thank you for waiting. I'm sure you're hungry—"
"Starving," says Apple.
Hildr winces. He wants to argue, but how close is the druidess to fighting?
Agastache locks hooded eyes with the older man. Her eyelids are so low, she could be mistaken for sleeping if not for her knuckles turning white as they grip her plush armrests.
The druidess is on the brink. Hildr returns to sit on the bed. The window is close. If combative casting starts, it may be worth risking the fall to the bridge below.
Agastache says, "Yes, shameful man. You would be 'starving' for anything free." She motions to Hildr like a spinster when casting yarn. "I hope it's clear why you're here."
Framing is everything when chaos reigns. Hildr sits up straight and nods. Any admission of guilt is a vector the druidess may exploit, but denying responsibility spoils trust.
Hildr licks her lips. "I'm here to clear up confusion and to reassure you that my husband and I are not stirring a rebellion, only relieving pressure. When emotions and opinions are allowed expression, they don't need to erupt."
Agastache fingers her sash of beads. "Beyond being a host, you served your Lady of Desire as an accredited advocate, correct?"
Too calm and straightforward. Hildr scratches her head. The big woman must have a harsh follow up.
"Yes, Ma'am. I did," says Hildr.
"Then you know how to coax a crowd, and you know stirring up trouble is easier than settling it down." Agastache claps her hands. "Liam!"
The woman's short partner comes in through the stairway entry, cudgel in his hand and face dour. "I am here, Aga."
"Has our Pale guest settled into his room?"
Hildr twists silky sheets behind her back. Pale like the crusade, not the skin tone. She begins knotting the smooth cloth into a noose. They have invited in a sworn enemy of her overgoddess.
Liam glares at Hildr, wrinkling his bushy brow. She holds a statue-perfect smile.
"Begging your pardon, Aga," he says, "the gentleman of Pale wondered about the ruins and cavern mines, so I arranged a tour—"
"Fine," says Agastache. "Fetch him."
Hildr's smile falters. When she had left Goldstone to find Ishkur, he had a jealous fit and threatened to join the Pale Crusade because they could force marriage. She did not even try explaining that she planned to meet Ishkur as a friend, not an ex-lover. If this crusader is Goldstone, she will flee Lotus Hollow rather than risk a true marriage with the chains of a soul contract.
Liam fingers his eyebrow. "Certainly, Aga. Also, ... I have not yet found your necklace." He points his cudgel at Hildr. "If her crow truly dropped it, I swear I will find it by Summereve."
Hildr releases the twisted sheet and raises her hand. "Not mine. Dap is my little friend's crow, and I saw the necklace fall to the west side of the tower. Try panning around there."
The man huffs and stomps out the doorway. Sometimes the best attack is a helping hand.
She smooths a smirk off her face. "Ma'am, who is this foreign Pale man that Liam fetches?"
Agastache leans back in her chair. "The Pale Crusade has sent an advocate to gauge where my druids and I stand in the holy war."
A Pale advocate could be worse than a spurned Goldstone. Hildr gulps and slides forward, poising on the edge of the mattress. She could make it to the window before the druidess summons something to stop her, but the door is a gamble. No way Apple is making it out. Her abdomen throbs, and she breathes slow and steady.
"Are you well, child?"
Despite the pain growing, Hildr relaxes her face. "A crusader for an opposing color, trained in the fine art of manipulation, how should I react?"
Agastache twists a dreadlock around her thick fingers. "Lute—Lords Under The Eye. What a typically arrogant name for your independent band. I wonder, 'Lords' of what?" She snorts. "Post-Purge not much. And, 'Under The Eye.' References the sun, perhaps? What hubris."
"Well, demigods did name it."
"Yes, and demigods of all five colors. Your band remains famous for welcoming anyone, no matter their alignment. A positive thing on the surface, but not every tree deserves a place in our canopy. Some wretched ones must not be allowed to root lest they corrupt our sacred soil."
"Out in the wild," says Hildr. "The strong survive. Isn't that a truth Verdants accept?"
Agastache sighs. "How this misnomer persists is a wonder. What is our overgod's name?"
"Gardener—"
"We cultivate the wild. Worshiping chaos is a flaw of the Scarlets, not Verdants."
Hildr nods. "Understood. Still, it was nice to be around such ... diversity of thought."
"Diversity?" She scoffs and wags a fat finger. "No, no. Lute is no misnomer for your band. One thought anchored every one of you under the sun, under the golden eye. Greed. Greed seated in the center of your hearts, crowding out loyalty to anything truly divine. You are—you were a slut of a band."
Hildr grunts and pounds her chest. "Loyalty centering the heart, not greed. At least, it was at the start."
Agastache waves her hand in front of her face. "My mistake. How about your personal legend?"
Hildr gives her head a little shake as Agastache taps her fingers together like the mouth of an eager spider. Such a sticky web made with a few words, no wonder the druidess has taken command of this town.
"Legend?" says Hildr. "Which one?"
"The one where you welcome all comers?"
"I don't know what—"
"Oh, girl." Agastache chuckles like a cat choking on a hairball. "You took the 'slut' part of 'slut band' literally."
Hildr frowns. Where is the druidess going with this? As long as it is consensual, Verdants should not care how much sex anyone has.
Agastache says, "Recent rumors have you with a paladin lover. Townsfolk said the blond crusader was so smitten that he gifted you the protection of his golden bride beetle."
So, this is going to be about Goldstone.
Hildr says, "I don't—"
"A mystic heirloom from ages past," says Agastache. "It covers the body with impenetrable chain-mail."
A treasure among treasures, Hildr wore it for when her demigoddess possessed her. It was the rare armor that could function while Lady Desire generated flame from her pores. She tugs on a lock of hair. Whatever baggage the mystic hairpin has, it is too valuable to abandon to the inert fate of a cursed item. As soon as Apple can secure a new place of power, she will reclaim it from him.
The older woman twists her dreadlocks into a makeshift bun. "Why aren't you wearing your lover's gift? I hope it's not cursed. Did you know, he won't be able to track you down if it is?"
"Ex-lover, and Goldstone is a bandmate, not a crusader." Hildr holds up her hand and makes a fist. "In Lute, our strength comes from loyalty to each other above any color."
"Sticking to that?" Agastache shakes her head. "And here you are, married to one of your band's servants. First a brownie and now a bloated old shaman sworn to serve. You enjoy having power over those closest to you, don't you?"
Hildr sucks in a breath and steels her jaw. This woman is projecting her hypocrisy with a dare to challenge it.
Apple snorts. "Doesn't everyone fantasize about power. How about ya own—"
Hildr holds up her hand. "Druids weren't a focus at my advocacy academy. When you were mentioned, it usually had something to do with your ridiculous views on animal rights."
Beads clink as Agastache shakes her head with downcast eyes, like a teacher giving up on a failing student.
Apple coughs and waves. "Whoa. She's jesting." His eyes dart between the women. "We both accept animals got feelings. I-I am personally thrilled to give up conditioning them, and ... um, I-I am so happy—"
"Quiet, Husband." Hildr wiggles her middle finger. "One positive exception was about freedom. I was taught druids value freedom. Maybe not as much as those of us aligned to Red, but your kind value free choice. Am I right?"
Agastache sighs.
Hildr narrows her eyes. If mere words have failed, perhaps something more convincing can be summoned.
PLAYER DARLA REQUESTING CONNECTION ...
Heat builds and Hildr clenches her thighs. A promise tickles at the edges of her mind—a tentative connection to the divine, offering the power to alter the auras of others. All she has to do is—
"Quite a girl you've managed to snag," says Agastache.
The druidess is talking to Apple and smiling.
Hildr flinches as a kind of incessant tapping becomes a knocking in her skull. This must be Lady Darla trying to return. Does the demigoddess need her permission to be a host again?
Agastache flicks a hair bead at Apple. "A shame to see her potential squandered with a drunkard like you, but such is the irony of independence." The large woman claps her hands. "As long as you two don't incite the crowd to violence, you are both free to put on a show to beg for coppers."
Success. No divine power needed. No new contract wanted.
PLAYER DARLA CONNECTION DENIED.
"Wonderful." Hildr rubs her thigh as heat dissipates along with the knocking in her head. "Now, are my husband and I free to go?"
Agastache brushes something off her robe. "Let me make use of you first. Please welcome my Pale guest with all the manners your own advocacy training can muster."
Hildr crosses her wrists. If she had answered the knock and accepted Darla's return, would this druidess be sizzling within a pillar of flame instead of sitting with the smugness of a toad?
"Will you present me as a prisoner?" says Hildr.
"Abandon your charade with this circus wrestling, and I'll present you as another honored guest." Agastache rests her hands on her ample belly. "I am content holding Lotus Hollow for my Verdant Crusade. I've no interest in aiding Pale or Scarlet in their battles, but we can offer sanctuary to them." She leans a little forward. "As we can to a reformed host of an independent band."
Sanctuary? Hildr stiffens her neck, killing a head-shake. Such a plain offer juxtaposed to the return of her demigoddess. Maybe she can get Darla to knock again ... or leap out the window.
Agastache is close, closer than the window. Instead of a dive into cobblestones, she could charge the druidess. Strong fingers. Quick hands. Thumbs deep into the bitch's eye-sockets, and then hands around her fat neck. It could be over in seconds. Over before any mystic casting could counter the assault.
"Can you clarify 'reformed?' " Hildr clenches her fists. "Do you expect me to renounce—"
Heavy footsteps, and Lowman enters, thick arms flexing under the weight of a full platter of food.
"Suppertime," says Agastache.
Hildr's stomach growls. This is a test and a threat. She can serve this once as Agastache's advocate to the Pales and be free to perform for money, or she can bow to Agastache indefinitely and accept her full protection. She winces and rubs her belly. Also, of course, if the Pale advocate finds out she is a pregnant host with divine symptoms, he surely will make her a focus of his crusade.
Lowman sets the platter down, and she shakes her head. Food first. Get the calm of a full belly to make the best decision.
"Wait." Hildr jumps to her feet. "Where's the meat?"