Kingdom of Heaven
Chapter One
My name is Balian d'Ibelin. For most of my adult life I have known nothing but the art of blacksmithing. Here, in Provence, I reside in a small village in southern France. I have lived here all of my life. It is beautiful, with all of the endless fields of flowers that are used to make perfume. In verity, traces of the Garden of Eden are marked in Provence. One can get lost in those fields easily; like two lovers trying to find each other.
The flowers are a popular item much sought after by kings and queens of nobility- all year round. The climate is certainly warm enough. And the soil is so fertile that any plant can begin its life here.
As for us villagers, we know nothing of the luxurious life, but we manage on a daily basis. As for myself, I create weapons out of steel and the like. We are a simple folk. There are three things that we were taught to love: God, your family, and your position, whatever God chose you to be. I loved all of the three things dearly. I loved my wife, Anne, and our son, Luc, more than anything in the world. There is nothing else I needed. I had all that I could wish for.
My recent experiences have given me wisdom. It is as if God took away a piece of my soul, and then restored it again on the grand journey that he sent me on. God has taught me a lot of things. It is by His Will that I live every day now.
I think it is quite funny that a few months ago my whole world seemed to be crumbling. I was torn apart. As I think back on it now I still shiver. Luc, our infant son, had died of disease, and we were still in mourning. Anne wept for days without coming out. At last I gave up on trying to sooth her pain, and I guess that she couldn't take it anymore. One morning I found her wheezing for breath on our bed.
There was only one word that came to my mind.
Poison.
My legs transformed into rubber. I couldn't move them properly. I ran to her side with uncertainty, not being able to do nothing to ease her pain. I stood there, my soul disintegrating by the second.
"Anne…" My voice was not my own, but a raspy voice of a ghost. Something, some very horrible seed of emotion, was going to explode inside of me within moments. I could feel it.
Looking at me, my wife forced a reassuring smile on her pale face. Her once flaming eyes that used to be so full of life, the eyes that saw the world with me, were taking on a gaunt, sorrowful hue of gray. "I love you, Balian. Always know that. I cannot live when our son has died. If I burn in hell, I will at least die knowing that I died in search of our son's soul. Come, sing to me."
"No…" I couldn't breathe. A huge lump exploded in my throat. I wept bitterly. Anne wiped the tears. I held her in my arms, rocking her, desperately trying to stop the poison from ravaging her body.
"Please, let me go, Balian. I have faith that you will find your strength to go on without me. You can start all over again. Promise me, my love. Now, now, sing to me the songs of the angels."
I nodded to her for the mere hope of keeping her alive, but not to the promise. I couldn't survive without her.
In reply, I began to sing to her. The road is long, but it will always end. The river flows, always to the great ocean. Winter will pass and spring will come again.
"Thank you, Balian." I held her hand until all life was out of her.
The poison acted quickly. Shortly afterwards her breath receded. I carried her limp body to the priest. They would bury her the next day, but today I could say my goodbyes.
I gave her one last embrace. I cannot describe my feelings other than that I couldn't bear the loss. God had taken both of the ones that I loved. I wondered why it was in his Will to kill loved ones. A part of me died along with Anne and our son. I would never be the same again. I would also never love again.
Why did you have to leave me? Haven't I lost enough? I couldn't lose you. I pitied Luc but I couldn't live without you.
From that day forward I swore to myself that there was no God. God couldn't possibly exist.
For several days, I sulked. I didn't tell anyone my thoughts. I had no one to talk to. That is, until my father, Godfrey of Ibelin, came by unexpectedly, with a mission and a purpose.
