The Ever-Open Gates

Chapter 2

Oake

"I shall see you tomorrow, Nazz!" Ben waves.

Its late in the afternoon now, Ben walks in step and stride with August under the scarlet-apricot sun, set to fall in but an hour.

"It looked extraordinary!" Ben said to himself. Catching a glance of August, he wondered why she seemed so out of it today.

She was especially hard on them this morning, and now she walked stone-faced and eyes set on the gravel road beneath them. She seemed unsure even. No longer wearing that same boisterous and confident disposition. In fact, he thought that this was probably the longest she had ever gone without uttering a word.

They carried on in silence for a while, until at last Ben found the words to speak.

"Is anything the matter, Edda?" he asks tenderly.

"I am afraid, Ben." She sighs whispering, as if she did not want anyone to hear. Suddenly, she then speeds ahead of Ben a few steps, leaving him confused. He decided it might not be the best time to pry further.

Fixing his mind elsewhere he catches a glimpse of children playing a game of kickball, warmed at the sight of their innocent smiles through their dirt-ridden faces. He adjusts his posture and holds his head high with reverence as he notices a couple of proud Gallants and their stout steeds trotting in uniform, keeping the town square in order.

Leaving the town, the road gradually gives way to oodles of grass, a few purple daisies, and a couple of thornwell bushes beside the path. Ben could not help but notice the many peculiar creatures inhabiting it. Insects of all different proportions, from the mighty Samson beetle, to the tiny roachskipper.

The rickety oak fences of a farm now coming in view, Ben enjoys the sight of the great Olden Elks grazing in the pastures of the Oake's residence. These mighty beasts had almost gone extinct just a decade ago. How exemplary of resilience! He thought.

"Ben!" A small boy exclaims, running toward them excitedly.

"Hey big man!" Ben greets him, only to be met with a sucker punch of a hug, knocking him a bit out of breath.

"None such welcome for your older sister, March?" August mocks.

"None such." He teases, sticking his tongue out at her.

"Why, you little-"

"August!" A kind voice booms from the house's doorway, cutting her off mid-swat. "Come inside now, all of you! The day is falling, and we have much to discuss!"

"Yes, sir." They reply in unison, making their way toward the red-birch door.

Treading through the gloomy hallway, distant but clear memories flood his mind. Flashes of merry feasts and gatherings, dancing, and laughter, then of silence, melancholy, and sorrow.

As they enter the living room he is met with a most unexpected sight. A tall silver-haired man stood and greeted him, a man unlike anyone he had ever seen before. He was quite high up in years, yet he looked strong. He was worn but not weary, his very bearing and presence were as if he were a great war general, or some very important person in the least. His wrinkled face and long grey beard could scare any child away, but his warm honey-like eyes would have drawn them back.

He wore a large cloak, and under it, armor of exquisite craftsmanship. By his waist was a sheath of Druid-make, made known by inscriptions of an ancient and unrecognizable tongue. He made quite a concerted effort to conceal his armor, however, much to Ben's confusion. For Gallants and even Valors took a great deal of pride in showing off their pristine silver armor.