After World Chronicles: Angel Awakens

(4) The Exchange

My princess continues to fuss, reminding me she's still waiting for fresh clothes. A gentle pat on the back temporarily soothes her. My emotions are calming, so hers do, too. It's peculiar to have a living creature so in sync with my feelings. Bright amethyst eyes regard me with interest as we walk to the exchange. She makes baby noises, her tiny mouth opening and closing. I think she's questioning when I will tend her needs.

"Soon, princess," I promise her with gravity. "We'll get you set right."

A little smile flits across her face making me believe she understands my words until I smell a fresh odor and decide she was just passing gas.

Inside, the exchange is an open rectangle crowded with rows of colorful trading stalls. A diverse group of people meander up and down the aisles, interacting with merchants. Each stall is unique, some more sophisticated with their merchandise display than others. The most basic comprise a roughhewn table with items spread haphazardly across. Brightly colored clothes drape other tables, accenting wares stacked in attractive displays meant to catch the eye. The most elaborate boast overhangs announcing their wares to draw customers from across the large hall. The booths range in size from small, to large enough that they take up the space of several, with racks of wares on display behind or beside them. Everything from necessities to specialty items and for sale or for trade. As I traipse the aisles I see weapons, cookware, clothing, foot wear, travel supplies, and unique items I can only guess at the use or value of.

Long, parallel rows simplify navigating, if only the crowds moved less slowly.

People dressed in various kinds of clothing and styles reflect a vast diversity of travelers passing through. I spot city dwellers dressed more elegantly, nomads dressed in rags, military personnel in uniform and rebels dressed to show how rough they are. They all browse the wares while simultaneously inspecting each other. I don't want to draw attention, so I find a corner where I can tend to my princess's needs in semi-privacy before turning to my primary purpose for coming.

The small game I caught to trade doesn't earn much coin. As I stock up with necessary supplies, I'm reminded of the limitations of money. Haggling helps me gather enough to provide for the baby's needs until we can reach the next outpost. I'll have to bring more game for trade next time.

Money isn't the only challenge for me among humans. Too many auras in an enclosed space quickly become oppressive. I'm bombarded with humanity's greed, lust, envy and malice. People around us take interest in a young man carrying an infant. Many stare at me with frowning suspicion. When I stop to purchase goat milk for the baby, the old woman selling it questions me harshly.

"What's a young man doing marching around with a baby?" she demands to know while the milk heats over a low flame, taking much longer than I want it to. Waiting leaves me open to her studious inspection and the negative response reflected in her aura.

"Trying to feed her goat milk," the reply is purposefully vague, as I hand over the feeding canteen to be filled.

"Where's the mother?" the question is a sharp bark as she ladles milk into the canteen.

"Dead," my voice is flat, which only deepens the hostility in her glare.

"This is my sister," the lie is smooth as I hand over one of my dwindling coins.

The old woman eyes me with skepticism. Her expression shows she doesn't believe me, but, along with the milk she offers me other items I need for my princess.

"Where's the rest of the family?" she demands as if she has a right to know my business.

"Not here," I tell her.

In spite of the hostility of her glares and questions, I come away with many of the supplies I need.

By the time the gate guard finds us the baby is in clean, dry clothes, with belly full and gas relieved. With her basic needs met she's fallen back to sleep, leaving me free to eat the tasteless, lumpy stew the cafe is serving as the daily special. It's not much more appetizing than the bitter frogs, and I wonder what meat they've used to make it. The young woman slides onto the bench beside me with her own bowl of steaming stew and a hunk of dry, crumbly bread. She gives me a quick nod then uses her bread to sop up the stew and shovel it in her mouth. She doesn't speak a word until the last crumbs of her meal disappear. Wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve, she gives a low belch and turns to stare at me with a different hunger in her eyes.

I doubt this girl has ever tried to be feminine a single day. It's likely she grew up surrounded by men and spent her childhood as a tomboy trying to outdo them.

"Your pretty boy looks are unusual around here," her comment cuts the silence between us.

My eyebrow arches up at her assessment wondering if she's noticed how filthy I am from my travels. Her aura tells me she means her words as a compliment of sorts, but it offends me. I will my face not to scowl in response. Capable men here have a roughness to them. Carrying a baby makes me appear vulnerable in comparison.

"Where you from?" she squints at me with muddy brown eyes.

"North," my reply is vague as I push my dish aside. In spite of the unappetizing meal, the bowl is empty.

She signals to a small boy who scurries over to snag up the empty bowls. I watch as she slips a coin into the boy's pocket before he dashes out of reach. The boy doesn't react, keeping his head down, and quickly disappears behind the counter with our dirty dishes.

"I'm Max," she offers, returning her attention. Her eyes are hungry as they travel over me. Her gaze stops at my lips and she licks her own.

"Max?" I raise an eyebrow at the masculine name, noting her uniform has a rank insignia on it. Before me sits a female who knows combat well and has earned her place among the strong. She gives a gamine smile at my reaction, not void of warmth.

"Short for Maxine, which I hate," she adds. Her shoulders unconsciously shrug as she speaks, and her eyes roll as she admits this. The flare of feminine self deprecation is refreshing in an otherwise hardened young woman.

"I'm Dante," I allow a smile of my own. "It's not short for anything."

"You're not one for small talk, are you?" she notes drily.

I shake my head, wondering if she finds this a detriment, not caring either way.

"Me either."

I've never been one for soul searching conversations. The ability to read auras tells me everything I care to know, and more, about humans.

The stew was sits like a rock in my stomach. Another type of meal sits before me with a smile. I haven't fed in weeks, and my body reminds me it hungers. With the baby to slow me down, it's to my advantage Max makes this easy.

"You staying in town long?" she asks, putting a heated hand on my thigh. Her fingers tighten in a not so gentle squeeze.

"Wasn't planning on it," I admit truthfully, watching Max's smile widen. Like me, she isn't looking for a lasting arrangement.

"Got a place to stay over yet?" under the table her fingers slide up my thigh.

"You offering?" I counter, reaching out a hand to loosen the pins that hold her dark blond hair in a tight bun.

She allows me this liberty and wavy hair spills to her shoulders. It's dull and greasy, so I wonder when she's last washed it. A layer of body odor from her day of work covers up any appealing feminine scent. The hair, and Max, might be attractive if clean, but it doesn't matter. The only things that tempt me are the artery pulsing in her neck, and her availability to meet my needs.

"Let's go," she suggests.

I don't make her ask twice, scooping up my princess while Max grabs some of my gear. We leave the noisy exchange with her in the lead and me following into the scorching morning sun.

Thank you for continuing to read!  Please offer comments to let me know what you think.  I'm excited to know!