Fulcrum Prelude: The Three Virtues

by Niels van Eekelen

FULCRUM

  Prelude:

  THE THREE VIRTUES

  By Niels van Eekelen

  Fulcrum Prelude: The Three Virtues

  Niels van Eekelen

  Copyright Niels van Eekelen 2012

  www.TelltaleProductions.nl

  Fulcrum and all related characters and concepts are copyright (c) Niels van Eekelen, 2012. All rights reserved.

  All text, maps and cover photo/design by Niels van Eekelen

  The Owl & the Oak symbol art by Paul Vromen ( www.paulvromen.com )

  Proofread by Tanya Moons

  ACCEPTANCE

  Acceptance is the virtue of submission to the Almighty.

  It is countered by the sin of vainglory.

  – The Precepts of Pious Conduct

  AHLIN groaned.

  Her feet hurt. So did her back. Her hands felt rough and wrinkled from the soapy water. And her plague scars were itching something terrible. Her scars were like Old Man Kerotod’s crooked leg that ached when there was a storm coming—the itches always heralded bad days to come.

  Furiously, Ahlin scrubbed her brush over the Skanda linen she was cleaning. That was all she needed right now, to get sick.

  Her brush dropped from her hand when she felt a wet hand touch her forehead, and she only barely managed to catch it before it vanished underneath the suds in her tub.

  “Well, you look feverish, but you don’t feel it.”

  Churlishly, Ahlin pushed away the hand before it could drip soap in her eyes. “Cut it out, Finna. I’m fine.”

  At the other woman’s skeptical expression, Ahlin heaved a sigh.

  “I’m fine. Just a little Fall sickness, same every year. Anyway, I just need to stay on my feet for the next two or three weeks, then I’ll be able to make it through the winter.” By then, the last of the caravans of pilgrims would have come and gone—the last wagon train of the year to cold Western Skanda to the north was already in town and departing the very next day. More were still expected from the Arganian Empire to the south, but not for much longer, either. Not much work in town for washerwomen after the pilgrims and traders had all gone, so it was important to keep working now.

  Ahlin breathed in relief when Finna turned back to her own tub of suds and resumed scrubbing, but apparently the mindless work didn’t distract the woman enough to keep her from commenting further.

  “You know, Ahlin, maybe if you came to prayer a bit more often, you’d be able to do more than simply ‘make it through’ the winter.”

  Deciding that the shirt she was washing had never been pure white even when it was sewn, Ahlin put it aside and reached for her next victim. She deliberately waited five seconds before answering. “Like you, you mean?” she said finally. “Because prayer has really saved you from this impoverished, hard-working life that I’m still trapped in.”

  The sound of water splashing was enough to tell Ahlin that she had insulted Finna. She glanced to her side to see the older woman work a stain with vigorous enthusiasm. Well, it was still the truth. Ahlin had never seen a person’s fortune increase by an increase of prayer yet—excepting, perhaps, the ordained priests, who seemed to lead their devout lives in great wealth behind their walls. But even for them, it seemed to Ahlin that that had more to do with pilgrims trying to buy the Almighty’s grace than with actual prayer.

  Oh well, Finna never stayed angry for long anyway—insults were to be forgiven, that much Ahlin had to give the other woman, she never skipped over the trickier articles of faith. The two worked in silence for a while, the chatter of the other washerwomen at work and the splashing of their laundry blending together into an uninterrupted murmur.

  After a few minutes, Finna laughed suddenly. “I have to give it to you, Ahlin,” she said, “it’s still funny to me. We live here at the foot of the holiest of holy places, people come here on pilgrimages from the farthest corners of the world, and somehow you’re an unbeliever.”

  Flinching, Ahlin turned to scowl at the other woman. “Shut up!” she hissed softly. “Shout that a little louder! I’m not an unbeliever and I don’t need people thinking I am.”

  “Sorry,” Finna said, but Ahlin could tell she didn’t see what the big deal was. Someone who went to services as loyally as Finna wouldn’t, but Ahlin had better things to do with her time and that had gotten her into trouble before. Unbelievers ‘hid themselves from the sight of the Almighty,’ so scripture said—and some people took that more seriously than others and refused to associate with whomever they thought might be such an abomination. It was a good way to lose business.

  As it turned out, the fact that Ahlin looked around to see if anyone had overheard them was a lucky thing. Without that touch of paranoia, she might never have caught the glint of the light reflecting off the knife striking at her back.

  Without her even having to think about it, Ahlin’s hand shot out and managed to grab the wrist of the hand holding the knife. With a quick jerk, she pulled it off-course. The momentum sent her and her attacker tumbling forwards over her laundry tub, knocking it over and spilling the lukewarm water all over them. They rolled across the ground, struggling for possession of the knife.

  Vaguely, Ahlin registered that the people around them were screaming and panicking. It was all a blur, though—the danger had focused her mind like an arrow in flight. No one seemed inclined to interfere, except for Finna, who only received a kick to her stomach for her trouble and was sent staggering backwards. Fending off a hand clawing for her eyes, Ahlin finally saw who it was she was fighting with.

  “Solleen!”

  The woman had always been a bitch, but actually attacking Ahlin—and in front of everyone—was a new one. Ahlin tried to recall if anything had happened to set this off, but found that she was rather too preoccupied with the present to focus.

  She spotted an opening and struck out with her free hand, punching Solleen straight in the nose. Blood splattered and the other woman squealed like a pig.

  Not about to waste the opportunity, Ahlin pulled down Solleen’s arm by her wrist and bit down on it. Solleen struggled furiously, but Ahlin had her pinned for the moment and increased the pressure on her jaw until her attacker dropped the knife. It went skipping over the wet dirt floor, out of reach.

  A quick jab with her knee stunned Solleen long enough for Ahlin to clamber back to her feet. Two fast kicks to Solleen’s stomach and chest made sure she didn’t follow. Ahlin didn’t hold back—no way was she letting this fight go on a second longer than necessary, and making sure that Solleen got the message was the best way to end it.

  She pushed the other woman over onto her back with her foot, and then planted it on top of her and put weight on it. It took a few panted breaths before she was able to speak. Finna came closer, looking down at Solleen with confusion and still clutching her stomach.

  “Why?” Ahlin asked finally, simply. “You... fucking bitch.”

  Solleen only glared up at her, and Ahlin put more weight on her chest until she gasped out, “You stole my business! That Skanda trader... he was just haggling with me over price... then he saw you stick out your chest and just gave you whatever price you wanted... you slut.”

  With a harsh chuckle, Ahlin looked around at that very trader’s clothes, strewn about in the muddy water on the floor. Yeah, they were providing great customer service. “I’m as the Almighty made me, body and soul,” she told the woman on the ground. “Next time you decide you have a problem with my body, go complain to them. Finna?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  Together, they picked up Solleen off the floor, each taking an arm, and dragged her to the door. There, Ahlin made sure to give the woman an extra shove so that she tumbled t
o the ground again in the street, and she and Finna went back inside. Reflexively, Ahlin checked that her hair was still fixed over the scar on her head, and ended up smearing her hair with mud from her hand.

  The other washerwomen were getting back to work, doing their best to pretend that nothing had happened and above all that they had had nothing to do with it. Old Man Kerotod, who ran the place, mysteriously absent during the fight itself, had other thoughts about it. He came barreling towards Ahlin and Finna in his uneven gait. “Out! Out, both of you!” he shouted.

  Ahlin sighed. The man was as predictable as he was transparent. Still, Finna played along and argued.

  “Kerotod, please be reasonable, we didn’t start the fight.”

  “Don’t care! No fights here!”

  Ducking down, Ahlin started gathering up the articles of clothing from the floor that she would now have to start all over on. Her eye fell on Solleen’s knife, and she put it away in her clothes with her own knife, which she had hidden so well that she hadn’t been able to reach it during the fight. That was real useful in an emergency, she’d just discovered. She would have to try to fix that—but later.

  “Come on, Kerotod, when have Ahlin and I ever given you trouble before?” Finna tried. “Besides, we were in the middle of doing laundry. You know if we aren’t able to deliver those clothes clean when we promised, that will cost us. You don’t want that, Kerotod, do you?”

  “Fine!” Old Man Kerotod cried as if tortured into submission. Here it came. “But you pay! For the tubs and the hot water! Double usual!”

  Finna sighed deeply and nodded.

  “We’ll have to owe you until we get paid ourselves,” Ahlin added. When Kerotod opened his mouth to speak again, she scowled him down. “Don’t. You’re gouging us enough as it is.”

  Kerotod was reasonable enough in his own greedy way, and knew that she was right. He shrugged amicably and walked away. In tired silence, Finna and Ahlin gathered up their things and got back to work.

  It was all part of the cost of doing business in the holiest place under the sun.

  AMBITION

  Ambition is the virtue of fervor in the name of the Almighty.

  It is countered by the sin of sloth.

  – The Precepts of Pious Conduct