The Ever-Open Gates

Chapter 3

Those Deemed Unworthy

She begged. "Please... just come with me."

He'll never forget it. August on her knees sobbing, hand outstretched and reaching for him. He had never seen her that way... not even when her mother had passed.

    "I am a wretch." He sighs, slumped under the shade of their cherry-oak tree, staring blankly at the grazing elks. It seemed like it was just the day before...

    "It has been nearly two months." Nazz yawns, snapping him out of thought. "When are you going to cease your sulking and get over her?"

    "What?" He tenses, knuckles pursed.

    "Hey. Don't be angry with me." Nazz shrugs in turn. "I am not the one who ran away from the love of his life and let some dirty Kinglander marry her."

Ben deflates.

    "Now come on, old boy." He teases, slapping Ben's arm. "I know just the thing to cheer your oh-so-broken heart."

    "And what is that supposed to be?" Ben questions, disappointed at the sight of Nazz holding up nothing but a mere tree branch on either hand.

    "Well, what do you suppose it could be, good sir?" He gleefully muses. Tossing one over to Ben and assuming a knightly stance. "Now up! Show me what you got, O' son of Crusoel!"

Ben snickers, assuming stance and readying to charge. "Oh you are asking for it, son of Brundee!" Ben charges, striking first with a myriad of swift but uncoordinated swings. All of which Nazz easily parries and counters, knocking Ben's makeshift sword out of his hand.

    "Sloppy!" He jests, smiling from ear to ear. Signalling for Ben to pick it back up.

    "I truly do not understand why a man of your talents is wasting away as a blacksmith's apprentice." Ben comments, picking his sword back up.

    "Ah! well you know how the old man is." Nazz dismisses, reassuming stance.

    "Seems we have been quite blest as it pertains to our lineage, hm?" Ben remarks, sarcastic.

    "Indeed."

A few more weeks pass as spring comes into full bloom. Scores of dandelions and cotton flowers well up all around town as the townsfolk prepare for their Arkenflower festival. Children dance in the gravel bricked streets to the strings of a skilled bard, with a gentle breeze wafting a scene of bliss throughout. Even a sight such as that could not allure Ben's notice, however. Walking each step as if there were great weights shackled to both his feet. He made his way toward the town treasury to collect whatever personal items remained that were left behind by his parents. An inheritance of sorts, that one could only attain when they were of age.

    "Make haste, Crusoel!" The superintendent snarks, walking speedily ahead of him. "Once you claim your inheritance. You will no longer be in my gracious care."

    "Thank the heavens!" Ben quips to himself.

Finally, he thought. Finally he was free. He had no spare clothes, or food, or even a roof over his head, but he could finally leave behind that detestable orphanage. Nor will he have to see the Mistress' worn and contemptuous face ever again.