Seven Deadly Sins

by Picarella, Michelle Anderson

  Jhoned smiled. "The book, Mr. Vivili," he interrupted. "The book please, sir."

  "Ah, yes, yes." He lifted his index finger. "There are several. Here are the locations."

  Mr. Vivili pulled a quill from a bronze holder and dipped it into a container of ink, scribbling some numbers on the paper. "If you start feeling weary, step away. The stories can be somewhat…shall I say, haunting."

  Jhonen nodded and walked away as he looked at the small note. Mr. Vivili shrank in size as Jhonen walked further down the main hall of the library. He looked up, then down at the note and up again. His gaze pondered across rows and rows of books.

  "Here."

  He reached for the book and carefully pulled it out. The cover was barely attached. He swiped his hand over the cover and blew away the remaining dust.

  Ancient Worlds and Spirits, Dark and Otherwise, read the title. He sat on the floor and opened the book, causing the binding to snap.

  "Ancient," he whispered. "Indeed."

  His fingers traced the pages slowly until he found writing on Schadenfreude with an illustration on the opposite page. In it a beast, twisted and mangled, peered out of the page. Its teeth jutted over its large mouth upward like mountain tops and atop its back, several rows of sores and boils. Jhonen read the caption underneath the illustration:

  "This is the beast Schadenfreude. Some call it Death's slave. Others call it…Envy."

  "Envy," he repeated, whispering to himself, as he looked up from the book. "This Schaudenfreude Brunis was telling me about was…is real? But it can't be. This is just a story."

  He looked down at the page, turned it, and read.

  Phthonos the Bravest was raised by the strongest man in the land; the king of men, known as Phthonos the Strong. He was taught not to fear any living thing. Before the age of twenty, Phthonos the Bravest became the leader of a great army, priding himself on his victories, on his many women, and kept the signet rings of all the kings he conquered, still attached to their severed fingers.

  A natural leader, Phthonos the Bravest was lauded as the next king of the land of Vasht. But there was another man by the name of Petro who was stronger and more cunning. He used his mind, not his fist, and became a great diplomat, arguing for peace instead of death and war. For this, the citizens of Sanguine adored him. Phthonos the Strong used his wisdom and knowledge and chose Petro to be his heir, seeing his grace and wisdom as a much needed change for his kingdom.

  From the day he met Petro, Phthonos the Bravest wished him nothing but misfortune and harm. He sulked and constantly challenged Petro to battles unto the death. Petro refused every time and when he was crowned king, Phthonos the Bravest became known as Zilevos.

  Petro eventually became the greatest leader of Vasht surpassing even Phthonos The Strong. Zilevos would never be the same and seethed with resentment every hour of his life. He soon vanished into the mountains. Reports of sightings flooded, but over time they dissipated. A citizen reported having seen a man in shrouds begging for food at the city gates. The guard at the gates reported the man's face and arm covered in boils filled with yellow, oozing pus. He noted the stranger's eyes were encrusted with rheum and that the color was a sickening green color. Rumors say this man was Phthonos or Zilevos. The guard shouted at the man to depart and he was never seen again.

  Jhonen went back a few sentences and read aloud these words: He noted the stranger's eyes were encrusted with rheum and that the color was a sickening green color.

  He lifted his head and whispered, "Christoph. No…can it be? Is this Schadenfreude a spirit that takes possession of men?"

  He didn't believe in superstition. Though one would need only look into the nearby mountains and forests to recall the many rumors and tales of the land. Brunis was not a fool by any means, especially since he was 144 years old. Even Jhonen, who considered himself somewhat learned, knew that to every rumor there was a hint of truth. With a nod, he turned the page and read more about this spirit, or entity, or wraith. Whatever it was, it started, somewhere, with the truth.

  He continued reading story after story, tale after tale, and saw picture after picture. The creatures in each picture were more similar than different, and each story from across every land compiled within these books all agreed that the souls whom this spirit took over, became perverted and twisted versions of their former selves.

  Another story caught his attention. An ancient tale, recalling a story of two brothers. Both of them were strong and agile, but one was favored over the other by their father. When it came time to sacrifice to their god, the favored brothers offering was more pleasing to the father. This caused the other to grow bitter. Their father threw ice cold water from the creek over him many times in order to "cast the spirit" out. Such was the belief of the people. But this did not work. It caused him to plot his brother's murder. Finally, one restless night, he bashed his brother's head in with a large stone. With the sunrise came curiosity. The father asked him where his brother was.

  He answered, "I do not know, am I my brother's keeper?"

  The father was wise and knew what had happened. While he grieved from this tragic loss at the hands of his only other son, he banished him from the land, putting a curse on him for all the days of his life. Many say this was the harbinger, Schadenfreude himself, who here was named the resistor's right hand. The door was opened in this realm, allowing it to come through.

  "Jhonen!" Mr. Vivili shouted from the front of the house. Jhonen jumped up at once and started placing the books back one by one.

  "Yes. Yes! I'm on my way out, sir, coming right out, sir!" he shouted back, hiding the book of Ancient Worlds and Spirits inside his jacket. He darted past Mr. Vivili. "Thank you, kindly sir!"

  "Such a rush, boy," Mr. Vivili yelled after Jhonen but got no response. He smiled. "Ah, answers. I supplicate for the poor soul that is being stricken with this evil," he said sadly, with a bow of his head.

  "I've got to find Christoph. I've got to warn him," Jhonen exclaimed, passing Brunis without so much as a glance.

  "Ho, there, boy. You missed our meeting of the minds after the festivities."

  Jhonen realized whom he had ran past and stopped, and turned. "Good Brunis," he exhaled catching his breath. "Apologies. I was in the house of books for the better part of the night. I—"

  "Reading about certain ancient entities?"

  "How did you?" Jhonen began. Brunis smiled and pointed to Jhonens coat. The book was visible.

  "I didn't steal, I—"

  "No worries, Jhonen," Brunis began, scratching his beard, "Carrying those books is not forbidden. No, we are a community that encourages seeking knowledge. Just do not become obsessed with what you learn."

  "I trust I won't Brunis. But I've come across something that you may find interesting."

  "Interesting? I suppose he is, isn't he?"

  "He, Brunis?" Jhonen asked confused.

  "Schadenfreude, the bastard of the deep," Brunis said, as he gazed at the breaking of dawn. "The resistor's right hand. Jhonen, I have been face to face with this malicious devil."

  Jhonen's eyes widened greatly, remembering the images. "You…you have?"

  "I do not tell lies. No, I am but a man of flesh and of bone. I bleed when I am cut. And I have been proud. I have become angry to the point that I wanted to kill a man with my bare hands." Brunis put his hands in front of him and choked the air. "I have lusted in my heart, and desired more than what I deserved. Vainglory and I…we were once brothers. Perhaps the only thing I am not counted guilty on is being apathetic."

  Jhonen listened closely to each word. Brunis motioned for him to step closer and pointed to his own left eye. "The most beautiful glass rests in each of my sockets, young man."

  Jhonen's mouth fell in shock and he took a step back.

  "No, I understand," Brunis said with a smile. "Many years ago, before I made my way to Vale, oh, I was a prideful man." Brunis looked at the ground and reached into his eye socket and pulled the glass eye out
. He cleaned it against his coat and lifted it to his chest. "The other is the same."

  "Brunis, how could I have not known that?"

  "It's not for you to know, Jhonen. Some do, some don't. That is not a matter of concern. When pride wanted me, I fought back. You see, for some it all starts in the heart." Brunis pounded his chest with a clenched fist. "For me, it started with my eyes. I removed them and the demon left me. Although, there is still a trace of it inside me," he said, opening his jacket and shirt. Brunis pointed at a sunken pit in his chest over his heart. A deep purple tinge surrounded the once living tissue. Jhonen gasped.

  "Do not think of me any different. Think of me as one who knows. I've tried to talk to Christoph. Refusing the council of an elder is a sign that malice is already in his heart. I've read the very book you hide in your coat," he said, pointing to Jhonen's waist. "I've also read Prudentius."

  "I have to warn him!" Jhonen yelled, placing his hands on Brunis' shoulders. "Excuse me elder Brunis, but I must!" He left to search for Christoph.

  Brunis placed the glass eye back into his socket. "I understand. But I fear it is already too late. ›ÍÀ·."

  Jhonen raced to Christoph's home but he was nowhere to be found. Jhonen called out to Christoph.

  "Dammit, this entity is going to catch up with him, though…it may already have him. Christoph! Christoph, damn you!" Jhonen yelled. He winced in pain, clutched his chest, and slumped over. "Heavens, no," he murmured. His vision became blurred and he fell to the ground. A few moments later he opened his eyes, and the pain had subsided. Ignoring what had just happened he stood up and started back toward the center of the village.

  "If anyone has seen Christoph, please tell him I have an apology for him," he yelled out. He knew this would get Christoph's attention.

  Hours went by, followed by days. Jhonen, worried for his friend, grew sickly beyond his strong will. He knew he couldn't allow this to halt his life. He and Maris began to meet more often, and began making plans for the future. He decided he could no longer waste a moment of his life chasing after Christoph. He felt free. He made his decisions. So have I, he thought, and so he moved on, day by day, with his life and thoughts of a beautiful life in the Vale with Maris. Meetings with Brunis became more frequent as well, as he trusted his wisdom. Seasons changed and so did Jhonen. He became an official spokesman in all matters of state for the small town. The townsmen and women trusted him greatly, for his reputation as an honorable man proceeded him. The pain in his chest was becoming more and more frequent with each day. Not wanting to alarm anyone, he kept his ailment a secret, from Maris especially. Some days he felt strong, and for those he was thankful. Every so often, Jhonen did think about Christoph.

  Christoph did not vanish, he simply avoided Jhonen. Since their last encounter on the night of the festival, Christoph visited the woods frequently. Alone in his state of perpetual gloom, he had no desire to see or speak to anyone, least of all Jhonen. But he was free to come and go as he pleased and came into town one night to gather some things from his home. As he neared the village, a child ran by shouting.

  "Jhonen of the House Red Lion named emissary of the Vale!"

  "What?" Christoph shouted, "What say you, boy?"

  "Jhonen of the Red." The boy fell into a pause upon looking at Christoph, whose clothes were caked with mud and grime. The stench festering from his body made the child gag.

  "I say nothing s-sir," the frightened child whispered and began stepping back. He then turned screaming, "Help! The man! Back there! Help!"

  Immediately, a group of men ran to the boy.

  "What is it, boy?" one gent questioned.

  "What is the matter?" asked another.

  He struggled to catch his breath. "Back there…a man…a man, he looks ill. He may be dying."

  One of the men looked into the darkness and heard some noise in the distance. He glanced over while the rest of the men joined in his curiosity. Suddenly, a rabid dog ran across the direction of Christoph's home. The mutt looked emaciated. It had no fur, only broken skin, covered in an oozing green casing.

  "What? What was that?" one of the men asked, looking at another.

  "A dog, I think. Let's go. Boy, get Jhonen. Then go home."

  The boy ran off but Jhonen was already en route. He nodded at the child, pointing behind him.

  "Men, what do we have here?"

  "I believe it's Christoph, Jhonen. He's come back. And there was a green…a green dog with him."

  Jhonen appeared confused. The story of Schadenfreude floated through his mind.

  "I see. If it is him, I'll speak with him. I'm sure he means no harm. Leave me to him. I have a few words to share with him." He stood and nodded as each man walked away one by one.

  "It's been too long, Christoph," Jhonen said quietly. He began walking in the direction of the house and saw no dog. As he raised his hand to knock, Christoph opened the door to leave. He was surprised but walked out still.

  "What do you want?" he grumbled. "I don't want to see anyone. I don't want to see any of you people."

  "Christoph…stop this… this madness! I read that—"

  "You read something? Did you come to brag? Gloat? Leave me."

  "It's better if you just listen to me, Christoph. You are sick and it doesn't have to be this way. I've helped you...."

  "What have you ever done for me, boy? You think because everyone else falls at your feet, not seeing you for your mask, I will too? No." Christoph's eyes were darker yet a brighter green than before. "Leave me."

  "No, Christoph, there is a spirit! It's real!"

  "Don't you understand? You are so brilliant in everything you do!" Christoph raised his voice and began stepping toward Jhonen. "I hate you with every fiber of my being! You deserve nothing of what you have and you will never amount to anything! You deserve… to die!"

  Christoph raised his arm to strike but Jhonen caught it. Christoph's flesh was hot, wet, and smelled like decay. Jhonen became distracted. Christoph struck him with his other fist and knocked Jhonen down.

  "Leave me, you son of a whore. You think these people don't know about your mother? Or about all the ill you've caused? I've tried telling them all but they refused to listen!"

  Jhonen put his hand to his face and felt a sticky substance on his skin. He ignored Christoph's insults, and wiped his hand against his pant leg.

  "Christoph! You're sick, friend. You're sick! End this!"

  The men that left Jhonen moments before returned.

  "We heard the shouting! Are you okay, Jhonen?" shouted one as he rushed to help Jhonen to his feet.

  "I'm, I'm fine, I...." Jhonen put his hand against his mouth and wiped the blood with his sleeve.

  "Is he fine? He? What about me? What about what he did to me?" Christoph ranted as Jhonen stood to his feet and remembered the stories he read. They were eerily similar to what was happening before him.

  "Christoph…" Jhonen pleaded.

  "Go to hell," Christoph muttered as he walked past the group. He scoffed and walked into the forest, vanishing from their site.

  "Did you see?" another man asked.

  "Yes," Jhonen answered. "He's not well," he said as he rubbed his face against his sleeve. "He's not well at all. I…I tried."

  "That you did, Jhonen. That you did," another said, patting him on the shoulder. "Some want what they can't have."

  Jhonen looked into the darkness. "I suppose you're right," he said. "The only thing is, I am no different from him."

  They made their way into the village center and parted ways. Jhonen planned to wake at sunrise and would search for Christoph. If he still refused, Jhonen would have no recourse other than to banish him. That was the way of the Vale.

  The night fell harder and the town grew silent. Deep within the woods, voices speaking to each other rushed through the trees.

  "When we first touched his hardened heart, he accepted us gladly."

  "Soon he will be dead to this world."

 
"The vessel will be yet another victory."

  "Yes."

  "I wish to eat his bones."

  "I wish to eat his flesh."

  "We will have it all."

  "Ingingorgoror."

  "We don't care."

  "We only want him dead."

  "Yes."

  "Yes."

  "Malicious, are we."

  "Leviathan, are we."

  "YESSS."

  The voices fell silent and only the rustling of the trees could be heard. Vale was never before as quiet as this night.

  Christoph rested against a large tree buried between enormous roots that lifted out from the ground. His gut was wrenching and he picked at his skin. The lesions and boils were becoming more pronounced and he started to lose his sight as his eyes stopped conjuring tears. The constant rubbing of the eyes to remove the dry flakes encrusted around them had left them inflamed. They remained a bright, almost caustic emerald. He drifted into a constant banter with himself and his remarks were as mordant as ever.

  "I loathe the Vale. What about all I've done for them? I should be the one in charge. I should have everything Jhonen has," was all he seemed to say.

  Any steps he could take to better himself were lost in a vast sea of criticism and cursing. For the first time in many months, he realized his condition was far worse than he ever could have conceived. He noticed his hands were dry and covered in boils. He scratched and picked at them.

  "What is happening to me? They must have poisoned me!" he growled.

  A dark shadow flew over the tree and came to rest in the branches above him. A pair of moss-toned eyes blended with the surrounding foliage and stared down at Christoph. The eyes were incapable of blinking. The shadow whispered into the air, in a convocation of eerie voices.

  "Hritomnopol?"

  "No."

  "Yes."

  "We brought down the King himself," the mangled voices screeched.

  Christoph looked toward the sound and leaped up. "Who goes there? What do you want of me?"