The Ever-Open Gates

Chapter 1

A Tale of Three

Oh! How certain it is, that a tree cannot be mighty, nor a flower bloom, much less a kingdom stand if it were set and rooted, upon pillars of sand.

"Hansimus Crusoel, do you take Nerissa Reuben to be your lawfully wedded wife, till death do you part?"

"I do," He answers, with all the certainty in the world.

"...And do you, Nerissa Reuben, take Hansimus Crusoel to be your lawfully wedded husband, till death do you part?"

"I do!" She beams, with eyes teary.

"Then you may kiss the bride..."

How great the celebration was that day! How joyous the shout that reverberated in the great halls of the cathedral, and along each pew! Happiness reigns, and in this a son is born! A boy whose face shone with all the radiance of the sun, and whose smile seemed as if there were not but good in the world... If only that were the case.

"Benjamin Crusoel!" the woman screamed, who seemed to erupt as if she were a lofty mountain of molten lava. Hmph! "Where is that foolish boy?"

As the morning sun rises from its slumber, rays of sunlight pierce through the high canopies of the Ironwood.

Far under the tranquility of these mountainous trees, a slender boy of seventeen dashes through the gleaming emerald grass. Jutting past the Wooded Bushes, he catches glimpses of Golred trees, red-birch trees, and even some hollowed tree trunks filled with all sorts of nasty insects. He flies fearless, seeming not to care nor even think of what may lurk in the Wood's shadow.

For in this dark wood you see, he saw nought but its majesty. The way dewdrops collected on the leaves of merry-oak flowers, in the way sunlight split and scattered among the trees, in the graceful prancing of the humble does, and in the dance of the honeybees.

This son of Crusoel held his head high and kept the bearing of a young prince, tall and strong, albeit clothed like a peasant boy. His hazelnut hair seemed to flow in the wind as he ran, his eyes like mahogany but with the pride of an oak, and his gaze gimlet-shrewd on the monotonous grey orphanage he now calls home.

"Crusoel, you foolish boy! Do you not know of the perils of the Ironwood?" asks the superintendent rather contemptuously.

Crusoel flashes a grin, but quickly hides it away.

"Boy! Have you become dumb and mute in the same day?" She erupts.

"No, Mistress Dain," He answers, knowing full-well what would come next.

"Then why do you not use your tongue? Such disrespect will not go unpunished!" she huffs. "You shall sleep in the stables with the beasts! You might as well be one considering you would rather spend your time in that ghastly wood."

"I accept any and all consequence for my behaviour, Miss Dain." He bows, void of emotion, careful not to reveal his ploy. For you see, the hay bales of the stables were warmer and far more comfortable than that of the wooden panels and torn fabrics that passed as beds in the orphanage.

"Get your clothes and your other filth to the barn now! You cannot afford to be tardy for school yet again!"

"If I may, it is yet but sunrise, I have yet to eat any morsel." He responds, in mock cordiality.

"You reap what you sow from your little misadventures," she grins. "Dirty Crusoel." She mutters underneath her breath.

"What?" Crusoel flares, knuckles tensing.