After World Chronicles: Angel Awakens

(3) Entry

"State your business," a gruff guard, leaner and shorter than the others barks out.

I glance at the speaker and note the guard is female, but no less fierce in stance than her bulkier male companions.  A quick assessment of the female guard tells me she is young than the others.

"I'm in need of supplies for..." I consider how to declare my relationship with the princess, and decide on "my sister and I," as I glance down at the tiny bundle swaddled snugly against me. She is awake now, eyes open as she gazes at my face with sparkling amethyst eyes.  She's quiet now, but there's no guarantee it will last.

Her sudden, urgent need for fresh diapers makes itself known through scent and sound.

"Competing with the smell of the pits, are we?" I think at her, a half smile tugging one corner of my lips as she gurgles happily in response to my silent question.

"Is that a baby?" the young woman asks with sudden surprise, her voice less gruff than before as she squints in our direction.

I nod and sigh, thinking about the urgent baby duties that await tending as soon as we are on the other side of this gate.

"A wet, hungry one," I share with honesty.

The guards exchange glances, then one walks toward us intending to verify I have a baby.   As he approaches, my gaze clashes into amethyst eyes blinking up at me, a giveaway to her angelic heritage.  Not everyone knows what the eye color indicates, but many do, so I steel myself for what the man's reaction might be, and for the blood bath that could ensue if I need to protect our secret.

My princess seems to absorb my concern, and her little eyes scrunch closed as she begins to bawl, letting everyone know she is uncomfortable and not happy about being made to wait. The unexpected noise brings the guard to an abrupt halt.  He looks askance at me, but I can only shrug my shoulders.

"I ran out of food and nappies for her earlier today," I admit with candor, "and I'm hoping to find more inside."

The creatures in the pit pick up the racket and howl along with the infant. The horse tosses its head, snorting and pawing the ground in nervous agitation, adding to the commotion.

"You'd better come on in," the guard decides after a cursory inspection.  His nose wrinkles when he comes too close.

The female guard approaches to help, taking the reins of the horse.  She attempts to guide it through the gates, but the horse resists.  It steps back a few paces, hopping as it tries to rear up, but the guard holds firmly to the reins, not allowing the front hooves more than a few inches off the ground.  With a loud whinny of defiance, the horse bares his teeth, but the guard is unimpressed. 

"Looks like you've got your hands full," she observes.  I can't disagree as I attempt to sooth my princess who yelps at me for her discomfit state.

The horse shakes his head, stamps its hooves, and snorts. Its eyes are wide and mistrustful, but the guard seems to understand horses.  With soft murmurs she calms him enough to gain meager control.  She rubs his nose, telling him what a good horse he is with a voice much different from the gruff one she used as we approached.  Slowly, painstakingly, the horse allows her to lead him, until we are finally through the gates.  My princess and I follow with the other guard close behind us, one hand at the weapon on his belt.

Once inside the gates the guards lead me to a wide area containing a hitching post for horses.  With a glance I note there are other horses tethered.  Food and water is available. The male guard motions to an attendant who approaches to tend my horse. 

I pull out a few of my limited coins and hand them to the boy for his efforts, hoping to ensure the beast's needs are cared for and ensure its safety in my absence. The boy pockets the change with a curt nod.  He leads the horse, now calm, and ties him at the end nearest the entry gate.  A watering trough and a bucket with oats are within reach.  The horse immediately puts his nose in the trough for a drink.  The stallion is calmer now he is away from the threat and stench of the pits.

The female guard sidles closer for a better look at the baby. "Oh! She's so tiny!" she exclaims in awe, extending a hand forward as she reaches out.  I scowl and it stops her from touching the baby.  Then her nose wrinkles as she catches the smell of a diaper that needs changing and she steps a few paces back. 

I notice the artery pulsing in her neck and feel my fangs descend, pricking the inner skin on my lips.  It's a reminder I haven't "fed" since taking on the role of guardian, and I need blood soon.  Her skin takes on slight flush as she catches my hungry look, mistaking it for something far different. 

Since the dawn of humanity, Angels have always lived among them.  We provided inspiration for tales of blood drinking creatures they call vampires.  Other traits were transferred to these mythical creatures as well.  I must be careful not to reveal that side of my nature here.  I will the fangs to retract.

"Maybe I can help you get settled after my shift," her offer comes, spoken in a husky tone. 

Her eyes travel over me from under her lashes, her teeth biting into her lower lip.  Her interest is obvious and not surprising.  Angelic looks often ensnare human interest.  I use it to my advantage by rewarding her with a smile that appears accessible, hiding my predatory motives.

"That's great," I sigh and allow my tone to convey naivety. " I could use the help."

Her breath catches almost imperceptibly, and her nod is eager.

"Stop at the cafe after you're done trading," she gestures at a long, rectangular building with a flat roof. "That's the exchange.  You'll find it inside."

The cement monstrosity she indicates dominates the center of the outpost.  It looks sturdy enough to withstand raging winds and balls of hail.

"I'll come by later," she promises. "That should give you time to tend the baby, and do some trading."

She and the other guard leave to resume their posts at the gate.  I walk to the exchange passing buildings of diverse types.  Some of the buildings are constructed of wooden logs, some with wooden planks.  There are others made with brick in shades of brown. Only the exchange is ugly gray cement, its walls unbroken, but rough.          

The roads are packed dirt, narrowpathways like the road we arrived on.   They're crowded with people walking or riding horses.  An oxen pulls an uneven cart and people scatter out of its way as it jostles by, the rider oblivious.

A trio of rough looking men pass by on horseback. They eye me suspiciously as they trot by, but don't slow their pace.  The leader looks back after they've passed by, a speculative look on his face.  The dark, restless aura surrounding him alerts me his thoughts contain malice.

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