"There is no hate like a Tallimon's love." Archer said in a low voice. Willow almost missed it from the sounds of them scrubbing the tile floor.
Willow leaned back on her knees brushing away the sweat that accumulated on her forehead. She dunked her brush into the soiled water. The skin on her hands dry and cracked from the lye. She returned to the scrubbing, eyes red from exhaustion. They had spent a full day in the fields, been given a can of food on the cart to the temple, and were expected to clean until dawn. Black stains and chunks of debris marked the tile from the boots of residents who came to worship, obviously too busy to use the scrapers by the door. They brought in the mud, horsecrap, and whatever ungodly mess was outside into the pristine temple. The tile, barely visible at this hour, was illuminated by the gas lamps that burned in the corners.
"If the great Tallimon is so powerful, ya'd imagine he could clean his own temple. Don't see why the poor like us suffer it." Archer said. He was louder this time, more assured.
Archer came from a different estate up North in Lemmings. Willow and the others heard whispers of soulless throwing down their tools and taking a banner of red. Whispers that mostly came from Archer. Willow didn't care. There were always stories and talk of revolution. A soulless revolution. Willow didn't believe Archer was more than a voicebox, repeating what it heard. He was always loudest when none of the caretakers were around. Archer, he clung onto it, made himself out to be a regular activist despite his selfishness and shackles.
"Shhh! You shouldn't talk about that here." Allie said. Her voice came from the back of a pew where her and another girl were polishing the wood. It was a timid whisper. As if Allie was afraid someone would realize she heard what Archer said. It was a fair response. Any one of them would have been punished for Archer's outburst. Boshin, the head caretaker, liked to put the soulless in their place.
Archer threw back, "Ain't like I chose this life, like I somehow made myself soulless. Pity them, they say in sermon. Make em work till dawn they say to each other."
Willow stopped pushing the brush against the tile. She held it there for a moment, squeezing the wooden handle. Her head ached, a pounding that she felt in her stomach. She felt it all come on again because her rhythm broke, by the bickering. Their bickering, their useless bickering. There is no hate like a Tallimon's love. It wasn't a new slogan, wasn't a new thought, just more complaining about their position in life. Complaining as if it would do something besides lower spirits further. All of them were soulless, all of them knew what that meant, knew what sort of life they had. What is the point of constantly talking about it over and over again? Especially when it ends with a beating. Willow had tried to comfort Allie to the reality, tried to curb Archer's zeal, and yet they bicker as if there was going to be a change in that moment.
Willow pushed on the brush, felt the throbbing get worse, gave up, and slapped the brush down into the water. It drew a look from Lupin, who was off to her right, but Willow didn't care to see. She carried the pale outside and threw the soiled water onto the street. It went into the gutters as the old already cobblestone began to dry. The Dwarves had crafted the road nearly a millennia ago, and yet it still stood and was better than what any human could make. Willow couldn't know if that was true. It was just something someone told her once. She had never seen a Dwarf, never been outside of Trivale. Well, not that she could reliably remember. The estate was where she spent her days. Estate being a loose term for farming workhouse.
The street was illuminated from the gas lamps that lined it, yet it was dark enough for Willow to watch her steps as she made her way to the fountain. There were plenty of places to run, places to hide. Wouldn't do much as the caretakers would find her. They'll always find their runaways. There was no escaping your soul debt. Running would cost her another three years on top of the four she had left. At the downward slope of your time, you just eat it. Eat the work until it's over. No more scheming or plotting escape. Willow could understand why the older ones were jaded now. She just never thought it would be her.
Willows arms burned from the constant scrubbing, and her head was weary from the late night and pain. She dropped the bucket by the mouth of the fountain. The caretakers wouldn't be back until the sun began to rise, and then they would judge for themselves if the work was done properly. This wasn't their job, cleaning the temple. Parker and Sons loaned out their workers as volunteers. They would arrive in a cart, miles from home, as a manager called out to the street about the company's goodwill. Their work was farm work. The golden wheat fields grew well in Bricarth. During the spring and fall, they worked from the first sun till well into the night. There was always something to be done for the company, even in winter when nothing grew.
As she pumped, Willow looked up to the dark windows that surrounded her. She was never in the town long enough to see how these people lived their lives here. She asked one of the caretakers once, who said, likely not much different than you. Willow knew that wasn't right. Not everyone had a soul debt. When these people passed the estate in the day, the differences were obvious. They wore different clothes. Dresses that were bright made of vibrant colors, hats made of felt. They would greet each other on the street. Men bowed their heads to the women and shook hands with other men. No one had ever bowed to Willow or shook her hand. Her only clothing was a smock frock with more patches than fabric. It was different, so much different.
Water refused to rise. Willow fell to the side of the wall, putting her head into her hands. The ride back would get them to the farm in the heat of the day, and then the caretakers would have them get right back to work. Willow wouldn't see sleep for many more hours. Her stomach turned, and her head throbbed. She crawled over to the street and puked.
There was no one to see her mess, at this hour, the only people awake were those leaving the bar or getting locked up. She laid back against the wall. Her body was shaky, it was a fever, she was getting sick. Lupin dumped his water out onto the street. When he was close enough to the pump, Willow said, "Fountain's not producing." Her throat hurt, felt like gravel. He dropped the bucket next to hers.
"You do'n okay?"
"Nah," Willow shook her head and pushed up, "Its fine. Kick the shaft I'll pump."
There was no worse question than do'n okay. Do'n okay gets you in the sick shack, thin wood walls with barely a sheet over the door. Do'n okay gets your stuff stolen while you're in the shack, and you get a cup of castor oil shoved down the throat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Do'n okay could mean not coming back since you're a burden. If you can't work your soul debt for Parker and Sons, you'll do it for Kibble Mining a thousand feet underground, never to see the sun again. Willow was never do'n okay, she just did. She saw what the shack did to soulless. No way they would do that to her.
The doors to the temple opened to a fight. Allie stood on a pew, throwing hymnals at Archer, who hurled propaganda back at her. Willow slammed the door to the temple closed, silencing the room, "Enough!"
The eyes of the other workers turned to her. They were all so young, but they had the lines of work fixed upon their face. That weariness that comes from a life of work. None of them, besides Allie, had ever known anything different. Most of the soulless were bound before they could walk. It was their blood. Their parents gave them up because they were sinful, and it was the only way to save them. Willow walked down the aisle. Her worn leather boots echoed off the marble walls and ceiling. She was one of the oldest at their estate. Parker and Sons kept workers from nine to fifteen. At sixteen her debt would be sold off to another company, or if the caretakers thought of her well enough, she would get to join their ranks lording over workers making them sweat throughout the day and whipping them when they didn't produce, an endless cycle.
Willow reached where the rest of the group stood, waiting. All their lives, they have taken orders. It made sense that when someone yelled, they would drop their heads. Waiting to be commanded or chastised. It bothered her, bothered Willow that they were so weak. She hated that she was the same, always fearing the whip, fearing what could be done to her. It didn't matter how hard she tried to ease them into it, to accept the work and move on. They bucked against it, making it harder for everyone else. Maybe Lupin was right. Maybe they needed their peers to push them down, not comfort them. "Archer, everyone has heard what the yellers say, but they ain't here scrubbing the floor with ya. So shut up and get it done. Do ya' want to deal with the whip when caretakers come get us? No? Then move your ass."
"Ellie, it doesn't matter if we spit on the floor or rip the hymnal. Wouldn't matter if you knifed Archer right there under the altar. The only ones coming to get you are the riders, and they are made of flesh."
Willow turned going back to the floor where she left off, "How do you know? How do you know Tallimon won't strike us down?" Allie asked.
It was difficult to make out the features of a person in the dark church even with the gas lamps. The darkness of the steeped roof overhead weighed heavily upon the room. During the day, the stained glass windows would fill the hall with light and life. At this hour, only the cold pressed upon them. Willow could see Allie's hair tied up. Most of the girls cut it a few weeks into the worker life, but she kept it. Willow understood that. To keep hold of something when they took everything. It must be worse for her. Worse because she knew who they were. Siblings, aunts, and cousins took her to the treasury to get bound. Allie lost her soul and gained ten years of debt. She didn't fight. She just took it, said it was for her ma. The treasury paid the family for binding. Allie said it was for the best since she wasn't much for factory work anyway.
"There isn't a soul for him to strike down." Willow said.
Ellie wiped her nose, sitting down, "Ya, okay."
On her knees, Willow took the brush out of the cold water. She slapped it down onto the floor and began to scrub. Lupin brought his bucket closer to hers. "Bit harsh, yeah?"
Willow's throat welled with saliva; she had been choking down vomit all night. She kept telling herself it was the soap. The headache always came with the floor soap, that powerful pain that sat right above the eye, but outside, she had just been getting worse. The aches, she shouldn't be aching this hard. She should have felt refreshed out in cold, not pain. Willow swallowed again, "Yeah, but you would do the same."
"Now I know something is wrong with you. You never agree with anything I have to say."
"You usually never say anything right." Willow smiled at him, but Lupin only returned a look of concern.
"Boshin been saying red rot is back in from Port Lumis. Said the Lemmings been spreading it. Da' think ya got it?" Lupin said it low only to Willow.
Boshin was a large woman with the muscle and temperament of an ox. Willow, like everyone else in existence, likely including Boshins own mother, hated Boshin. If you slept in, she would give you thirty days to your debt, and a lashing, messing about at night was sixteen hours to the debt and sixteen lashings. Running away, that was three years, and a lashing until you passed out. Willow had heard from other caretakers that harsh punishments like hers weren't standard. She just liked giving them out. Boshin would lord over their work, snapping at them for any small infraction. She was a nightsoil man in her past life when she had a soul debt and, according to her, the reason she lived through the Esland plague.
"Boshin says everything is red rot. Got a tickle in the throat, red rot. Runny nose from being in the rain all day, red rot. Headache from her screaming at you for an hour, dontcha know Lupin, red rot."
Lupin laughed , nd Willow smiled, "Still though she was right about Lemmings being separated for banner talk. Archer being here all but confirms it. Could be that they are coming to cut all our throats, we are the northmost town."
"Good, we could use a vacation."
This time , hey both laughed, drawing the attention of the others. Their voices echoed off the arched ceiling. Lupin always found a way to make the night less cold and dark. Willow's stomach dropped. She got up quickly, knocking over her bucket, and ran to the doors, throwing them open. Willow almost fell over as she leaned into the manicured bushes to vomit. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, giving Willow a burst of energy as the next wave overtook her. Shaking, she returned inside to see everyone staring at her. It was the look of concern, a ticking in their heads as each one came to their own conclusions. Boshin had given everyone orders that if someone was sick, they were not to go near the others. That she would take care of it. Everyone who had been on the estate longer than a year knew you didn't want Boshin taking care of anything. Willow had seen workers die in the sick shack, heard as they called out for help. It's better to be inside. it's better to hide it.
"She can't come back in here." Allie said.
"Piss off, Allie," Lupin said, "She was just laughing too hard."
"Nah, look at her. She's sweating and shaking." Archer said.
Some of the others were murmuring in agreement, "D'ya never puke before Archer? Everyone's a bit shaky afterward."
"I say we let Boshin decide. When the caretakers get back."
Willow saw Lupin fighting, but she knew. Knew that one of them would tell a caretaker, and if Willow disobeyed one of Boshins orders, it meant a punishment. "Okay then, for the best." Willow said, stepping out. She let the door slam closed, the fridged night air welcoming her return.
Willow crossed the street to the fountain, pumped water over her head, and took a mouthful. She spit out the water the first few times, then finally took a large drink that made her stomach twist. She leaned herself up against the building wall across from the church. It was a set of apartments. Willow had observed the building many times. Some of the windows were off center from the others. When they arrive for the cleaning, a few of the rooms would still have a candle on, or laughter could be heard. Willow wasn't sure what hour this was, but everything was silent, still.
The headache came back, full force. Willow grabbed her head, trying to push it down as her eyes felt like they might pop. Panic slowly raised when she couldn't stop the pain. It was consuming as it carried down through her back. The achy pain became sharp. Willow pushed herself up. She didn't know what anyone could do. If anyone could help, she had to find help. She leaned over dry heaving as the headache knocked her down. Willow's ears began to ring as the world slowly faded behind her. She felt warm, as if someone had put a blanket over her. It was like being carried away. Her body no longer felt the cold street, the wet stones, or the cool breeze. Her head went past pounding into a pain she could no longer describe. Her eyes stayed closed, she couldn't open them, everything hurt, but something felt okay. Something warm was making everything okay. It would be okay, Willow thought as she drifted off.
For more information on The Soul Coin, and other projects visit: https://momentoftangency.com/.
Next Chapter release on 2/15/24.