axes. One was almost as tall as Ben, with a varnished oak handle and carvings in the wood. The head on it was as big as a sludge hammer, and the blade glinted ominously by the glow of the hearth. Ben handed the shorter of the two axes to Jake. This one was factory made, with a rubber indented grip and a head that was bolted to the stock.
“I made this one myself,” Ben said when he saw the way Jake was staring at the carvings. “It's not as pretty as one from the hardware store, but it can eat through a trunk with a few good swings, if the man behind it is worth his salt.”
Jake nodded absently and yawned. “How long are we going to be out?”
“As long as it takes,” Ben replied, and opened the door, letting the howling wind outside invade the house.
Ben went first, without hesitation, into the slow snowfall. Jake could just close the door now, go back to the room with his bed. No, he knew Ben would just come marching back up the stairs to wake him. It was better to just get it over with. So with a deep breath, he ventured into the arctic morning air, snow swirling all around him.
Jake squinted. The flurry made it hard to see anything. Then, he caught a glimpse of Ben's silhouette, trudging towards an old pick-up truck. Jake followed suit, but the snow was well past his ankles and was seeping into his sneakers with every step. By the time he reached the pick-up truck, his feet were numb.
Jake tugged on the door latch desperately. Once he was inside, at least they could turn the heat on, but the latch was locked. Then Jake heard Ben's key jostle, and him cursing under his breath. “What's wrong?” Jake asked.
“The latch is frozen, I'll have to run to the barn and get the blow torch. Just stay put,” Ben said.
No problem there, Jake thought as he watched Ben disappear into the flurry. He hoped the barn wasn't far, though, or he might freeze to death. Jake looked back to the sleepy old house. The paint was peeling, and the wood was splitting. It was dilapidated and beaten down, old. Yet somehow, with it dusted in snow, it had a certain beauty, a rustic one. It was in the middle of nowhere, though. Ben must have been a farmer, because there were fields of snow around it as far as the eye could see. They were isolated, alone. Maybe that was a good thing. Ras' Guul's followers would have a hard time finding a place like this.
Ben came into view again over the horizon. He was more shadow than man in the snowfall, but soon he became clear again. “Come here,” Ben growled as he shuffled over to the other side of the driver's side of the truck. “Maybe you can learn something.”
Jake groaned, but knew there was no point in protesting.
“This is a professional-grade blow torch,” Ben said, holding it out, “with acetylene fuel. It's the gas that's in the cylinder. The gas keeps the fire going, but the spark starts it,” Ben said, pressing a button on the torch, which caused a clicking noise. “Hear that?” Ben asked. Jake nodded. “That's the flint. It's what makes the spark. See, everything relies on something else. The man needs the fire, the fire needs the gas, the gas needs the spark, the spark needs the flint, and the flint needs the man. It's a big circle, you see.”
Jake nodded absently. He could hardly keep his eyes open.
Ben grimaced. “Sometimes, though, one of them doesn't do their job, carry their weight. And if one goes bad, the whole system doesn't work. If there's a bad flint for example, than there's no spark and no fire. You know what happens to a bad flint, boy?”
Jake shrugged.
“I made this one myself,” Ben said when he saw the way Jake was staring at the carvings. “It's not as pretty as one from the hardware store, but it can eat through a trunk with a few good swings, if the man behind it is worth his salt.”
Jake nodded absently and yawned. “How long are we going to be out?”
“As long as it takes,” Ben replied, and opened the door, letting the howling wind outside invade the house.
Ben went first, without hesitation, into the slow snowfall. Jake could just close the door now, go back to the room with his bed. No, he knew Ben would just come marching back up the stairs to wake him. It was better to just get it over with. So with a deep breath, he ventured into the arctic morning air, snow swirling all around him.
Jake squinted. The flurry made it hard to see anything. Then, he caught a glimpse of Ben's silhouette, trudging towards an old pick-up truck. Jake followed suit, but the snow was well past his ankles and was seeping into his sneakers with every step. By the time he reached the pick-up truck, his feet were numb.
Jake tugged on the door latch desperately. Once he was inside, at least they could turn the heat on, but the latch was locked. Then Jake heard Ben's key jostle, and him cursing under his breath. “What's wrong?” Jake asked.
“The latch is frozen, I'll have to run to the barn and get the blow torch. Just stay put,” Ben said.
No problem there, Jake thought as he watched Ben disappear into the flurry. He hoped the barn wasn't far, though, or he might freeze to death. Jake looked back to the sleepy old house. The paint was peeling, and the wood was splitting. It was dilapidated and beaten down, old. Yet somehow, with it dusted in snow, it had a certain beauty, a rustic one. It was in the middle of nowhere, though. Ben must have been a farmer, because there were fields of snow around it as far as the eye could see. They were isolated, alone. Maybe that was a good thing. Ras' Guul's followers would have a hard time finding a place like this.
Ben came into view again over the horizon. He was more shadow than man in the snowfall, but soon he became clear again. “Come here,” Ben growled as he shuffled over to the other side of the driver's side of the truck. “Maybe you can learn something.”
Jake groaned, but knew there was no point in protesting.
“This is a professional-grade blow torch,” Ben said, holding it out, “with acetylene fuel. It's the gas that's in the cylinder. The gas keeps the fire going, but the spark starts it,” Ben said, pressing a button on the torch, which caused a clicking noise. “Hear that?” Ben asked. Jake nodded. “That's the flint. It's what makes the spark. See, everything relies on something else. The man needs the fire, the fire needs the gas, the gas needs the spark, the spark needs the flint, and the flint needs the man. It's a big circle, you see.”
Jake nodded absently. He could hardly keep his eyes open.
Ben grimaced. “Sometimes, though, one of them doesn't do their job, carry their weight. And if one goes bad, the whole system doesn't work. If there's a bad flint for example, than there's no spark and no fire. You know what happens to a bad flint, boy?”
Jake shrugged.
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