by EJ Wallace
“No, you're wrong,” Sophie insisted.
Jake gawked at her. “What do you mean?”
“I've never told anyone this before... but.” Sophie paused. “It just sounds so ridiculous when you say it, but I can't think of any other way to put it.”
“Will you just spit it out already!” Jake howled. This girl was unbelievable.
Sophie leaned in and whispered. “I can see the future.”
Jake cocked his eyebrow. “Okaaaay...” he said with a weak smile.
Sophie shook her head. “Don't look at me like that. It's true. Not just the future, but the past, too. I can sense danger as well. Know information I shouldn't. It comes to me in visions. In my head.” She prodded her head for emphasis.
“Right...” Jake said with a smirk. “I think I just figured out why you like to run into the middle of boxing matches to save strangers.” Jake mouthed the word 'crazy' silently.
Sophie shook her head in exasperation. “This is pretty much how I pictured this going. The point is. I can sense danger, that's how my, what did you call it, mana? That's how mine works. And I don't sense anything, at all. I'm telling you, we're safe. I know it.”
Jake stopped stuffing his duffel bad. “You're certain?”
“Yes! I'm tired of running, of searching.” Sophie said. Jake could see the weight of her burdens in her eyes. The pain was the price of her power. A fact he knew all too well. Jake sat down on the bed. His body longed for rest as well, as did his spirit. For as long as he could remember he had drifted, aimlessly, with no end. Perhaps the girl was right, he realized. Besides, he was tired of running too, so tired...
****
(Sophie)
Sophie's mystery man was slouching on the edge of the bed, his eyelids growing heavy. Day-old stubble speckled his chiseled jaw line, and his chestnut hair was matted and unkempt. He was fascinating, and beautiful too, even more beautiful than in her dreams. What had led her to him, though? What purpose? And what was he? Where did he come from? Where was he going? She had so many burning questions for him, but she could see the exhaustion in his eyes, so she held her tongue.
“What, what were you searching for?” Jake mumbled vaguely as he lay back on the bed.
“For you,” Sophie admitted. She could feel her cheeks heat up as she spoke. It was embarrassing, now that she thought about it. What would he say if she told him she had been looking for him for an entire year, stalking his every movement by dream? She’d never felt so self-conscious before.
“But you've never met me before,” he mumbled.
Sophie shook her head. “I have, though. In my dreams. I was supposed to find you. The fates willed it.” She wanted to crawl into a hole and die now, alone.
Ezekiel laughed. “Fate is a choice.”
Sophie nodded. “Yes, but not your choice.”
Jake was all but asleep now. “You're not very bright, but you are beautiful,” he mumbled before falling into a deep sleep.
Sophie smirked privately as a rhythmic snore filled the air. “What a charmer,” she mumbled to herself.
“He sure does sleep a lot,” a high-pitched voice behind Sophie said. Sophie turned to see Ben's daughter, a curly-haired strawberry blonde with a freckled face, buck teeth, and knees that were covered in Band-Aids.
Sophie laughed. “He's had a hard couple of days. He needs it.”
Mary shrugged. “So is he going to die, or what?”
“Mary!” Sophie said, shocked.
“What? Everyone is wondering the same thing. Me, Zack, even Daddy.”
Sophie shook her head. “Where is your brother, anyways?”
Mary rolled her eyes. “In the barn, training.”
“For what?” Sophie asked. The boy was barely eleven, what could he possibly be training for?
“To be a bare-knuckle boxing champion,” Mary explained. “Just like my dad.” Mary leaned in. “But Zach's got noodle arms and a glass jaw. That's why Dad says I'm going to be the fighter,” Mary whispered, then winked at Sophie.
Sophie laughed. “I wouldn't bet against you.”
Mary's gap-toothed smile suddenly faded to a frown.
“What's wrong?” Sophie asked.
“You're going to leave,” Mary said, crossing her arms. “I don't want you to go.”
Sophie tousled Mary's curly hair. “Well, I can't stay here forever. I don't think your dad would like that too much.”
Mary scoffed. “He doesn't like anything anymore. Not since Mom died.”
Mary's face made Sophie's heart ache. She was so accustomed to pain, so hardened by it, but Mary's pain was new, fresh, the worst kind. Mary had to feel it all. Sophie hugged her closely. “He loves you and your brother. You can be sure of that.”
Mary pulled out of Sophie's embrace. “He has a funny way of showing it. When he's not fighting at that stupid tavern he's in the barn, training. The only reason he's been in the house at all is because it's wintertime, and you guys are here. Once you're gone, it will be back to the way it was... empty.”
“Don't you have any friends?” Sophie asked.
Mary shook her head. “I did, but dad doesn't let me see them anymore. He said people can't be trusted. That's why I'm surprised he let you stay here. It's because of your friend, I think. Dad really believes the reason he didn't die is because our mom's spirit is still here, watching over the house.”
Sophie finished the last few drops of hot chocolate, which had gone cold ages ago. “How did she die, your mother?”
“Mary!” a voice barked. It nearly made Sophie fall out of her seat.
Ben, a mountain of a man, was standing in the doorway, grimacing heavily. “What did I tell you about coming up here?” Ben growled.
Sophie got up. “No, Ben it's fine, real-”
“Please.” Ben raised a hand. “Let me raise my daughter.”
Sophie nodded and sat back down.
Ben nudged Mary. “Go to your room.”
Mary sighed. “Yes sirrr,” she said, pushing past him.
“And lose the attitude!” he called after her down the hall. When Mary's footsteps faded, Ben turned to Sophie. “She's a smart girl, tough as nails too, but as stubborn and thick-skulled as her dad. At least she got her looks from her mother,” he said with a scratch of the head.
Sophie nodded in agreement. “She's very pretty.”
Ben looked towards Jake. “Has he woken up yet?”
“For a bit. He wanted to leave.”
“Leave?” Ben asked incredulously. “In his condition? And go where?”
Sophie shrugged. “I don't know.” There was a lot she didn't know about him. It was strange, and frustrating. Usually, when Sophie touched someone, she would see glimpses of their past, their future, sometimes even lines of different lives, as if the same soul were living them over and over. Jake's future, however, was clouded, opaque to the point of being illegible. And his past, a blank slate, as if it never occurred at all. Sophie had never experienced anything like it before. It sent a chill down her spine to feel it, the utter emptiness.
“Did you figure out anything about him? Where he's from? Who his parents are?” Ben asked.
Sophie shook her head. Something told her that even Jake himself wouldn't know how to answer those questions.
Ben shook his head. “I just don't get it.”
Sophie looked up from her empty mug. “What?”
“How God could spare the life of some drifting hobo, but let a wife and mother's life extinguish like so many candles in the wind.”
“I'm sure your wife was a great woman,” Sophie said.
“Better than him, that's for certain,” Ben growled.
“Did you know him?” Sophie asked.
Ben shook his head. “Not before last night. There were stories about him, though. The men at the tavern like to talk. Kept spreading this folk tale, ‘bout some young fighter who just wouldn't stop coming atcha, no matter how much you laid into him. When I heard I was fightin’ the boy last ni
ght, I got anxious to put those rumors to rest for good. Even when he got up after I cracked three of his ribs, heard ‘em snap clear as day, right under my boot. I figured maybe I hadn't hit him as hard as I thought. But once I saw that wound disappear, scar and all…that's when I knew that something divine happened. That boy is blessed. By god or demon, I couldn't tell you, but something wants to keep him around. And I know my Charlotte had a hand in it,” Ben said.
“How do you know?” Sophie asked.
“She told me.” He shrugged.
Sophie fell silent for a moment. “So you think he's good then, right? You think he's a good person?”
Ben shook his head. “My wife is a good person. She would have sinner and savior alike, but I don't know what that boy is, tell you the truth. And honestly, I don't think he does either,” Ben said, his probing eyes watching silently as Jake's chest rose and fell. “But, soon enough, we're all gonna find out.”
Chapter 5
(Jake)
“Wake up, boy!” Ben bellowed. Jake opened his eyes. Ben was standing over him, fully clad in winter gear. “Well, what are you waitin' for? Get up!” Jake looked at the clock.
“It's four in the morning!” Jake protested.
“I know, means we are already late. Now get up.”
“Late? For what?” Jake moaned. He was so tired, and the bed was so warm and soft. He wanted to lie in it until rapture.
“Your friend, that girl, says you two are staying for a while. And if you're going to stay, you're going to work. Food isn't free, boy. Now get up. I need help with some chores,” Ben said. “You'll want to wrap up, it's a subzero morning today.” Ben threw Jake a heavy woolen coat. It was stitched in several parts, and ragged, but very warm.
Tentatively, Jake peeled himself out of bed. How long had he been sleeping? “Where is Sophie?” Jake asked.
“Still sleeping in Mary's room. It's four in the morning. Where did you think she would be?”
“Not out in the freezing cold,” Jake mumbled as he followed Ben downstairs into the den.
There was a fire burning low and slow in the room. Jake walked over to it. He was shivering, covered in goose flesh from head to toe. He snuggled up to the warm embrace of the fire, basking in the heat.
“You like the fire, do you?” Ben asked.
Jake nodded. “It's freezing upstairs.”
“Good. Because if you want it to keep going, we'll have to get more wood. I just hope you're better with an ax than you are in a fight,” Ben said with a chuckle.
Jake didn't have the energy for humor, or even a response. He just kept thinking about the warm bed only feet away.
Ben went into a closet and pulled out two long-handled 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. “No.”
“It gets replaced,” Ben said, then turned a knob on the torch and pressed the button. This time, a jet of blue flames erupted from the tip. Ben then placed the flame over the lock, slowly moving the torch back and forth. The flames embraced the steel, wrapping around it with a dull roar. It was hypnotizing to watch. The fire purifies, Jake thought, remembering Ras' Guul. Abruptly, Ben cut off the torch, and the flames ceased. Then he stuck in the key, and the pick-up truck door swung open.
“Ha!” Ben said, slapping the side of the truck. “Worked better than I thought. Now climb in.” Ben unlocked the passenger side door and threw the blow torch into the trailer in back.
Jake climbed into the pick-up, which smelled like grease, oil, and old leather. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, or overpowering. Truly, it seemed to sharpen his senses.
Ben climbed into the driver's seat and cranked the engine over. The old beast bucked a few times, then roared to life. Ben brought it into drive, and for a moment, Jake thought they would be stuck in the snow, but, miraculously, the tires caught something, and it climbed over the snow and out onto the highway.
The drive was long, and Ben wouldn't let Jake turn on the radio, said all the noise clouded the mind. Ben wasn't a big talker, either. He stayed silent for most of the trip, save for a few solitary grunts. Jake wanted to drift back to sleep, but now he couldn't. The cold had awoken him. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Ben pulled off on a dirt road. The road was on a clearing, wedged in between two tree lines.
“Where are we?” Jake asked.
Ben climbed out of the truck. “Grab your ax,” was all he said in response.
Jake obeyed, and when he got out, Ben looked at his feet. “Are those sneakers?” he asked.
Jake only sighed, and Ben laughed. “We'll have to get you some proper snow boots from the general store.”
Ja
ke was relieved. “Good, I thought I was going to have to work all day in wet socks.”
Ben cocked an eyebrow. “I meant after breakfast. It's too early now, the store isn't open. Besides, wood's softer in the morning,” Ben said with a smile.
Three hours later, Jake was soaked in sweat, his arms heavy, the ax heavier. Jake swung his ax again, and it bit into the core of a stubborn pine, one that just wouldn't fall. Even the thin trees were deceptively difficult to cut down. Their cores were so dense. It was only now Jake understood Ben's joke. The wood wasn't softer in the morning, you just weren't as tired. In the three hours, Jake had only managed to hack down one tree and was working his way through the second. Ben, however, had chopped down three, and was farther into his fourth than Jake was on his second. Jake's hands were blistered and clammy, his sweat making it harder to grip the ax's handle. His back ached, and his muscles cried out in protest at every movement. He wasn't sure how much longer he could go on. They had worked all the way through the twilight hours into the morning.
The dawn was breaking over the horizon now. With it were swirls of crimson and amber, gold and orange, all refracting off of the endless blanket of snow. The serene sight soothed Jake, and suddenly, his arms didn't feel so heavy. Jake swung his ax hard into the pine. The handle shivered from the impact as the head buried itself deep into the core. Jake swung again, and again, powerful strokes, until finally, the tree buckled and fell with a muffled thump into the snow, kicking up swirling powder that shimmered in the morning light. Jake split the log just like Ben had shown him, and before he knew it, his ax was biting into his third tree.
“Jake,” Ben said finally. Jake looked over. Ben was pouring sweat. His ax looked heavy in his hands. Ben looked at the pile of wood next to Jake. “Aren't you tired?” Ben asked.
Jake shrugged. “At first, but I feel much better now,” he said, and swung his ax again.
Ben laughed. “Well, your form is terrible, and you've got the strength of an eight-year-old, but you've got stamina, I'll give you that. Now come on, boy. We've cut a week’s worth of wood at least today. Let’s load it up and get something to eat. What do you say?”
