Lord Soth

Chapter 25

Brin Scoville rubbed his full belly after eating his fill of yet another satisfying dinner prepared by his wife. While he had toiled the entire day in the fields, she had labored within their modest kitchen making not only that evening's supper, but dozens of jars full of jams and other preserves.

It was hard work, but necessary to get them through the coming harsh winter on the plains.

And for some unknown reason, this winter seemed to have the makings of one of the worst yet. Scoville wasn't sure how he knew this. Perhaps it was his aching corns, or the stiff soreness down the length of his back, or the wintry sniffles that had come a few weeks early this year.

Whatever the reason, Scoville knew it was going to be a long, cold winter. Best to be prepared.

He watched his son and daughter play with a set of wooden blocks on the rug in front of the fireplace. They were darling children, quiet and well-mannered with a bright and happy future ahead of them. Sometimes,

Scoville would watch them play for hours, just for the simple pleasure of it.

Just then his wife brought his pipe and some tobacco to the table. He looked at the pipe, then at his wife, and smiled. "Thank you, dear."

She simply nodded and continued clearing the dishes.

With a practiced hand, Scoville rolled up the bowl of his pipe-not too tightly-and went to the stove. He searched for some glowing embers with which to light his pipe.

To his surprise the fire had gone out and the coals were cold. "Wasn't there just a fire in the hearth?" he asked.

His wife turned around and looked strangely at the dead black coals. "I just finished cooking; they should be red hot."

Scoville put his hand over the ashes, then poked at them with his finger.

Cold as ice.

In fact the entire house seemed to be chilled.

"Papa," said his son. "The floor is getting cold. Could you light a fire for us?"

It was still too early to begin lighting fires in the main fireplace, but without a fire in the kitchen there was nothing else to keep them warm.

"I can do without a fire in here," said the wife. "Light the fire for the children and we'll all go to bed warm tonight." "Right," said

Scoville, moving into the main room to be with his children. "Well now, who wants to help?" "Me," said the boy.

"I do," said the girl.

Together the children piled leaves and kindling onto the hearth while

Scoville worked a piece of flint.

But the flint did not spark. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he used against the flint, it simply would not spark.

He continued to try, without success.

The sun began to set.

Darkness and cold descended upon the house.

"Come now, Brin, children," said the wife. "We'll be warm enough in bed."

The two children, chilled by the long wait, were more than eager to retire to the warmth of their clean flannel sheets and heavy woolen blankets.

Scoville continued to try to light the fire long into the night.

He went to bed tired, cold and at an utter loss as to the cause of the lack of spark or flame.

Something wasn't right, he concluded.