Jaxsi & the Beanstalks

Sharp as a Needle Chapter 12

Fen is supposed to meet me on the lane beyond my garden, near the path to the door. A man shaped shadow wearing a long dark cloak stands where our path meets the public lane. The shape seems like I remember when Pol introduced Fen on my last Shadow Market excursion. Of course, his burn-scarred face is fairly distinctive. I squint into the shadows, trying to see under the hood. The man obviously notices my stare, maybe my nervousness, and he steps closer to a patch of bright moonlight. After a quick look around, he pulls down his hood. Scars tear and drip down the left side of his face, then disappear into his tunic. They look shiny, bumpy, and horrible. I'm sure some people are scared or put off by so much damage, but I know we all have scars, at least he knows right where his are. They probably have a tragic or exciting story too. His light blue eyes are a startling and pretty contrast. Shaggy, coppery dark-blonde hair hangs to his shoulders. I wonder if he ever uses the rich strands to hide his face. Even dulled a bit by the silvery light, his hair is enviable.

I nod. He puts the hood back up. When I get within soft speaking distance, I double check by asking, "Fen, right?" Another nod.

He moves a few steps down the quiet lane, his deep brown cloak nearly brushing the hardened surface. He sets our pace at a brisk walk and we move towards the outer wall gate. Trying not to peer under his hood, I fight my curiosity about this man Pol trusts to watch me. Another good bit of moon shines down and we near torches, allowing me to notice there's some pattern at the hem, cuff, and the hood of his cloak. It's subtle, the shades close to the dark sable color. I get another hint of the lovely braided design when we pass another patch of bright moonlight. I wonder at the excess, especially since he doesn't want to draw much attention to himself or his guild.. Is it just vanity? I've heard stories of pirates or thieves who wear fancy garb and jewels. Is his fine clothing a distraction from his damaged skin?

We make quick time. The guard at the outer gate, Morshen I think, is dead asleep snoring up a storm. A pair of young bucks, obviously fresh and drunk from the bouts or faire, pause to watch us walk towards the gate. They elbow one another and even point. We are just two shapeless figures in cloaks, I have no idea why we are drawing their attention. Fen slips between me and the pair, distracting them. Briefly he turns his hooded face towards them and something causes them to backtrack a few steps. Trying to recover turn to study a closed shop on the lane and we continue through the southeast gate.

"What was that ab...?" I began as soon as we turned south.

"You smell of roses,"Fen says; his scrapingly harsh voice is clear with him close next to me. Even with its tortured sound I could hear a smile, I think. He pulls down his hood and sure enough, he is smiling. He has moved his smoother side towards me, probably use to people disliking his maimed features. Fen manages to look fairly handsome. Scars, smokey, voice, and smile. It's too bad some fire hurt him so bad. "That's why they were staring."

"Does it hurt you to talk?" I can't help asking.

He shakes his head. "Not anymore. Just as many scars inside my throat is all."

I smile just a bit at him. "I'm sorry you have to deal with that."

He shrugs, his face smooth of anger or bitterness. "I've long been used to it. I feel sorry for folks who have to hear it. Especially the first few times."

Shaking my head, "That's silly. It's a miracle you can talk with burns inside. I can't even imagine..." My foot catches on a loose rock, he reaches a hand to help but I right myself too quick. I roll my eyes towards him. "Plenty of people make us suffer through their singing. You can't help but talk to communicate."

His laugh is harsh, a stone crashing, then dead leaves brushing in trees. It's fascinating and pure. "You're kinder than I ever expected."

"You thought I would be mean?" That's a strange turnaround. Does Pol think I'm mean? If anyone's mean it's him, sometimes.