SEVEN SINS FOR SEVEN DWARVES

by Hilary Goldstein

Hilary Goldstein is the Editor-in-Chief of IGN.Com, which is an online media & services company focused primarily on gaming. His biography on the site says that he was born in the wilds of California in 1975 and raised in captivity. His F&SF debut is best avoided by septaphobes.

She appeared in the forest as a character appears in a dream—without any proper measure of how she got there or when she arrived, just the knowledge that she was a part of the tapestry. Autumn had overtaken the forest and the trees were alight with bright orange leaves. The wild white roses, which grew some ten feet by end of summer, stretched to catch the sun that managed to slip through the trees; they strained for any remaining drops of dew.

Her hand raked against a nearby rose bush as she fell, its massive thorns slicing open her palm. She closed her eyes and gathered herself enough for one narrow scream. No prince came to her rescue. Instead, a jackrabbit stepped forward. Its tall ears stood straight and its nose twitched as it considered Snow. “Shoo,” she said with the last of her energy. The jackrabbit sprinted away.

Before sleep could take her, a noise like an angry wind bounced through the dark forest. Its tenor grew to a shrill howl. But it was more than just a guttural cry, there was a rhythm to it, a cadence. It was, as best she could tell, a beast screaming out in the pangs of hunger. Snow knew if she remained lying on her stomach in the forest, she’d be eaten by nightfall.

The sound inspired her arms with strength enough to push herself off the ground.

She made her way west, certain if she went in a straight path she’d find a break in the forest. She was correct, but by the time she found the clearing, night had fallen and so too had she. Cut and weak, she hugged the wet grass of the hillside and fell asleep, no longer caring if the monster consumed her.

Snow awoke to find a dwarf on his knees beside her. Fingers, tiny and swollen, had hold of her shoulder, no doubt to shock her to consciousness. Her hand rubbed at her eyes as if to wipe off the last of a dream. When the dwarf remained, she screamed.

“There’s nothing to fear.” His hair was a lengthy mess and his nose so bulbous that she found it hard to focus on any other part of his face. “I’m September.”

Snow didn’t have the energy to run, much less hold to her scream. Instead she asked, “Who would name someone September?”

“Well, I’m the seventh of my brothers and I arrived seven weeks late in the seventh month of the year.” His speech was archaic, muddled by a thick accent and mixed with a few words Snow couldn’t understand, but their languages were close enough that the two could communicate.

“I’ve never met a whatever-you-are before.” She put a hand to his face, which was as coarse as a gravel road. The strap of her dress had slipped off her shoulder and she returned it to its proper position. Her curves were subtle, trapped behind a white gown, now dirtied and bloodied by the trip through the forest. A tear along the seam revealed a thin, smooth calf. She’d lost her shoes somewhere in the forest, kicked off when she tripped over a tree stump. Her toes were amazingly small compared to a dwarf’s, each toenail painted a rich red. “My father banished me.”

“Banished. What sort of crime did you commit?”

Her cheeks turned pink, which proved a striking contrast to the paleness of her face. “Is beauty a crime?”

“I don’t know, is it?” And truly, he looked as if he did not know.

“I was the fairest of all at home.” The pink in her cheeks deepened as her smile broadened. “Beauty is a matter of pride, where I come from. My mother was once the most beautiful woman our land had known. Her jealousy drove her a bit mad, I’d say. She ordered my father to deliver her my heart, torn from me while I was still living.”

The dwarf looked at her chest. “But you kept your heart?”

She gave him a curious look. “Of course. My father couldn’t bear to do as my mother asked. He sent me away to somewhere he said she’d never find me. And I suppose that is true. No one will ever find me, will they?”

“You’ve been found.” There was a sweetness and a sadness to him that she liked. Perhaps it was just his size that made her comfortable, but she felt no threat from the dwarf. Certainly his brothers must be of equal measure.

“We can’t keep her here,” Unus said. He was the eldest by seven hours and by far the tallest (by a good two inches) and thickest of his brothers. “She could not be trusted with our charge.”

“Oh, I am so sick of hearing about our charge.” Equattuo waved a hand and walked out of the room, as had two of his brothers previously.

“The Lord made us seven from the clay of the Earth,” Unus began. “He made our legs short so we may not run from our duty and our backs strong to carry the weight of its importance. He made our hearts large so they might keep us strong through long years of service, and he gave us the voices of angels to drown out the cries of our wretched seven charges.”

“And now he has brought us a woman.” Duollo was second in all aspects—age, height, handsomeness (for a dwarf)—and always spoke after Unus. He addressed the brothers who remained in the dining room. “Do we know what gifts she possesses? Would we be so bold as to throw such gifts back in the face of our very maker?”

Qinn stroked the division between the two braided ends of his red beard. “Give me a few minutes alone with the girl,” he said, shifting his weight on the thick, wooden stool. “I can divine her gifts.”

“I can cook and clean, make the beds each morning, wash those disgusting clothes of yours, and read you a bedtime story if it makes you happy.” Framed in the doorway, with the golden light of the candelabra shining in behind her, Snow stood strong with hands on hips. “I don’t want to be here, you don’t want me here. I get it. But we’re stuck with each other, so let’s make the best of it.”

“But—” Unus began.

In the time she’d spent in the basement awaiting their decision, she’d fashioned a needle and thread and made some repairs to her dress so as to no longer be immodest. “I don’t care about your charge. I just want room and board for a bit until we can figure out how to return me home.”

Unus folded his arms over his chest, with some effort. Though his chest was broad and strong, his arms were short and so only the tips of his fingers could meet. “I’m sorry, but there is simply no room here for you.”

“She can share my bed,” Qinn said. He narrowed his eyes at Snow and continued to stroke the space between his parted beard. “I will allow you to sleep on top of me.”

Unus slammed his hand on the table, which gave the sigh of old wood. “Qinn, what sort of remark—”

“I’m glad this is settled,” Snow said, stretching her arms in an exaggerated yawn. “I’m awful tired and could use my beauty rest.”

* * * *

She woke to the cry of the monster. After clearing some space by piling miscellany into the corner, they’d made a bed for her in the basement out of pillows and blankets. Though it was in no way comfortable, she’d found it easy to sleep before the noise woke her.

The echoing wail of the beast was close. It had to be. How else could she hear it through the door from down in the basement? The sound was the cry of a dragon, perhaps, maddened by the death of its hatchling.

Before going to bed, she’d found a pickaxe, its head broken, and slept beside it. She felt its weight and in the darkness gave a test swing to understand how soon she must act in order to defend herself.

Gingerly, she made her way through the dark of the basement, up the stairs, and into the foyer. This was the only part of the house that was warm—a nice yellow coat of paint, a hand-carved wood bench too low for her, but the perfect size for a dwarf, and an inscription, chiseled into a bronze plaque above the bench in a language she could not read. She imagined it said something like, “Welcome to our forest sanctuary” or “Be safe all who live under this roof.”

She held the pickaxe at its end to ensure maximum force should she need to swing.

The beast made no noise.

Through the window, she saw the clearing illuminated by a night sky not so different from the one back home. The light could not penetrate the surrounding forest, which was edged by the spikes of tall, dark trees. If the monster was coming, it would surely appear from the tree line.

When she heard it next, it was close enough to be on top of her. The dragon howled a chant with devilish words she could not comprehend. She turned quickly, but the room was empty. And then she realized the noise was coming from the bedroom. The little men who took her in had failed in whatever duty they held so dearly, and soon enough the door would open and the monster would come and tear through her snow-white skin.

Something tugged at the back of her dress, and tiny words were lost under the shrill cries of the beast. She swung without looking, but swung high. The pickaxe missed its target and hit the doorframe, splintering the wood.

September fell backwards, then scurried toward the entryway of the kitchen.

She said nothing.

“Is it keeping you up?” Thick little fingers brushed back his unkempt hair.

“I thought you were—”

“We should have warned you.”

“About the monster?”

He took two small steps forward. “The singing.”

She turned then, toward the door. As she did, the dragon’s melody trailed and the house fell quiet.

“Oh, I can’t stand it either,” he said. “They really don’t need me to keep it up, so I usually go into the kitchen for a bite.”

She didn’t resist as he took the pickaxe from her. Despite its weight and his size, he seemed to have no issues carrying it.

“Best not to let Unus see this. Misunderstanding, I’m sure. I know my Snow wouldn’t want to hurt us.”

She plucked a splinter from the doorframe. “Why do they sing like that?”

“To drown out the voices.”

“What voices?”

The pickaxe dragged along the floor as he moved toward the basement entrance. “They won’t bother us again tonight.”

She dropped the splinter and kicked it under the bench. “Friends don’t keep secrets.”

“Brothers do,” he said, opening the door.

“What does that say?” She pointed at the plaque on the wall.

“A beheading to all unwanted guests.”

She grabbed the pickaxe and descended into the dark.

* * * *

It took her the entire day to wash their clothes. Not because the material was unfamiliar or their wardrobe was plentiful. They had just rarely ever been washed. And being that these dwarves, as Snow learned, spent their days digging in a mine, soot and mud and grime had woven themselves into the fabric.

September sat on a tree stump outside and watched her work.

“Why are they digging, again?” At the start of the day, she had asked this same question, but September gave one of his slippery answers. But now they had spent a good ten hours talking to one another. Perhaps more importantly, midday Snow had decided to wash her own dress, forcing her to spend the next few hours in her undergarments. If ever a bond between girl and dwarf could be forged, it was with moderate nudity.

“Do all the girls where you come from look like you?”

“No. None now, since I live here.” She stopped her scrubbing of the latest dwarf garment to look back at him. Though she’d been slaving away at her chores, she didn’t perspire. If September got close enough, he’d notice her lavender smell hadn’t faded. “Now answer my question.”

“They’re digging a hole,” he said.

Snow unclipped her dress from the line, checking the repairs she’d made to ensure there’d be no tears when she put it back on. “Digging for what?”

“Just digging a hole.” September picked up an apple, which had fallen from a nearby tree. It was smaller and a deeper red than the apples Snow was used to. At first she’d mistaken them for plums.

“Where to?”

“It’s a burying hole.”

She stopped a moment, the straps of her dress still hanging off her shoulders. “A hole for whom?”

“So we won’t have to hear them anymore.” He took a large bite of his apple and finished his statement with his mouth full. “And we won’t have to sing at night and through the day.”

“And what exactly are you trying to drown out? I’ve heard nothing all afternoon.”

“They’re playful like that.”

“I hate a good mystery almost as much as I hate being teased.”

“Don’t be cross.” He tossed the apple aside.

She reached around and pointed toward her bare back. “Zip me up?” September stretched, but the zipper was far too high for him to reach so she kneeled down. Cold, stubby fingers scraped along the curve of her spine.

“Just the zipper, please.”

“Right.”

Snow showed her gratitude with a kiss to the little man’s forehead. His skin tasted like ash and sweat. “We could be special friends,” she said. “If only—”

“I ... I will show you. But you must promise not to tell my brothers.”

As she crossed her heart, the dwarf’s eyes drifted downward. Her skin was a perfect white. As pure as flesh could be.

He made her wait across the room while he took the three keys for the three locks on the bedroom door. It was a clever mechanism, he’d explained. One that entered a failsafe mode should anyone use the keys in the wrong order.

With as much grandeur as a dwarf could muster, he swung the door open. “M’lady.”

“M’lord,” a harsh voice responded. Unus stepped into the house, his brothers close behind.

“You’re home early,” September said.

“And with good reason. I knew you were too weak to hold to your duty.”

September’s head fell. He pulled the door closed, but did not lock it.

“And you, young lady, are to be—”

“Do you hear that?” The girl turned her attention from the dwarves and looked back through the entryway at the closed door beyond. She heard a catlike cry, a siren’s song calling to her. “Is there someone else here?” She moved at a speed to which dwarves were unaccustomed. Each flailed at her or attempted to block her path, but she dipped and danced around them with ease, reaching the door in a matter of seconds.

“Wait!” Unus’s boots pounded against the wood floor with each hurried step, like a great and consistent knocking.

The door was thick oak, warm to the touch. It took two pushes to open the door, but once it began to give, it swung inward and released the noise trapped within.

“Please, you must—”

She held out two fingers and shushed Unus. The room was narrow but long, the wall lined by seven identical beds. The windowless walls plain, the ceiling so low she had to bend to avoid hitting her head. Each bed was unexceptional, save the chests at their feet. Made of a metal she’d not seen before, the chests had a slight bronze hue and a dullness that made them look flat. Whatever the metal, it wasn’t the kind used for decoration, certainly not for jewelry. Locks, as big as her fist, held the lids steadfast. All seven were identical, save for the ornate crest at the top. The oak crests, woven into the metal as if forged at the same moment, had distinct patterns that spelled words in the same language as the sign in the foyer.

She began with the chest closest to the door, the seventh in line, and went from one to the other, leaning in close and listening for the cat. Her mind, she’d always felt, played tricks on her too often. How else to explain that amidst the silence, she heard whispers from each chest? One was a solemn voice, another slithery like a snake. The only one that made no noise was the final bed. Where the other chests had a power to them, a divine element she couldn’t quite explain, this final chest was unspectacular.

“Step away from my bed, child.” Unus stood behind her. And though he was much shorter than she, he seemed to believe himself taller.

“Sorry,” she said. “I was just looking for the cat.”

“Cat?”

And then it called out to her. The chest toward the center made a cat-like noise—something between a purr and a yawn. A rush of heat shot across her skin and deep inside her as she neared the chest. It was as if her blood were made molten.

She smiled and placed her hand against the crest, which purred at her touch. Heat awoke along her arms and rushed through her body. But not the kind of heat you get from a warm bath. It was as if her body housed a galaxy and, at that moment, every star had come awake inside her.

With one quick motion, she reached to the stitching at the neck of her dress and undid her work. The neckline opened up and the cool air of the room wrapped itself against her skin, only to evaporate moments later from the heat she generated. Delicately, her fingers traced the lines in the crest as one might a lover’s hair. She blinked away the sweat dripping into her eyes.

“That’s enough.” Unus pulled her free for a moment, but his hands were too small to clasp her arm fully and her skin too slick for him to take hold for long. She slid free, dropped to her knees again, and wrapped her arms around the chest. Her body heaved and her fingers dug against the metal. She attempted to make a sound, but what escaped was merely a momentary groan.

The room disappeared and all she knew was the chest. Darkness pressed against her, but the tighter she held the chest, the brighter the light she emitted. A whir, like the humming of an ancient engine, drummed against her breast. Her body dissipated into an ocean and her current crashed against the mighty chest.

Again. Again. Again.

She placed her face against the warm metal, her body blanketing the chest as much as possible. The slit she’d recently repaired tore seemingly on its own, and her bare leg knocked against the lock. It clanked against the chest several times.

September edged closer, but Unus held him back.

Her finger dug against the wood crest, her body shuddering several times before a calm struck. The tension didn’t leave her hands, but her body stopped shaking and she murmured something lost beneath the purr of whatever lived within the trunk.

The pause was only momentary.

Her body bucked as the heat of a million stars flared at once in a supernova. A sound finally escaped. It was a noise the dwarves had never heard and one she herself had never made. It was not a cry of agony, though it could easily be mistaken for such. It was not a scream of panic either. This was something different.

Her hands relaxed, her arms went slack, and Snow let herself fall backwards. Breaths quick, hand stroking her stomach, she spread out on the floor.

“Is she dead?” September asked, pushing past Unus to reach the girl.

“She’s still breathing,” Unus said.

“I told you she’d prefer bunking with me,” Qinn offered from the back of the room.

September laid a hand against Snow’s forehead, which was warm and slick.

“Well, is she hurt?” Unus attempted to peer over September at the girl.

September shook his head and looked up at Unus. “She’s smiling.”

They sat at the table, eating the food Snow had prepared hastily after regaining her composure. It was not very good, but no one complained. In fact, no one said a word. Not until the meal was nearly done. Occasionally, Snow looked up from her stew and saw Unus glaring at her, or September smiling her way, but no conversation was had. It was the first silent meal she’d ever known. In her father’s house, talking was just as important as eating.

Snow’s chair scraped against the floor as she pushed herself away from the table.

“What would your mother think,” Unus said, tapping a finger against the table, “if she saw you acting in such a way?”

The chair scraped again as Snow pulled herself back in. “How did I look, September?”

The youngest dwarf was mid-slurp when she asked. He coughed for a moment and then stammered, “Glowing and beautiful and immeasurably happy.”

“Then she would have hated it.”

“Feel free to wrap yourself around my chest anytime,” Qinn said, his mouth full of food.

“I wish I could know that feeling, just once.” Tria was the ugliest of the dwarves. His face was scarred by acne, his hair a long tangle of thick orange strands.

“You could just touch the chest, you know,” Snow said.

“Oh, I have, I have.” His eyes shifted to Unus for a moment and then down at his empty bowl.

“We’re immune to their power,” Unus explained.

“What are they, exactly?”

“Seven powerful demons. Each with its own infectious brand of immoral indulgence.”

“And these demons do horrible things, like make you feel exquisite?” Heat rushed to her face at the very thought of the experience.

Unus narrowed his eyes at Snow. He drained the rest of his drink before answering. “And if you could feel that every moment of your life, what would you make of yourself? You wouldn’t know to eat or work or sleep. Dead within days but uncaring because it so enraptured you in its wantonness.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“Indeed it does. That is why we guard them.”

September leaned forward, his cheeks puffed, nodding in excitement. “And that’s why we dig.”

“September.” Unus wagged a finger at the little one.

“You’re going to bury them, without ever looking inside?”

Equattuo curled his fingers into a ball and squeezed tight as if trying to forge a diamond out of coal. “I guard the one known as Ira. Were it ever to escape, the world would burn with an anger not seen since God sank the world in the Great Flood.”

“And I guard Gula,” Hex said, “who would consume every drop of the flood and still be thirsty.” He was thin and ate at a faster pace than the others. Even though most were nearly finished, he’d made it onto his third helping.

“I felt something when I was near those chests,” she said, a bit softer. “Yours was like a cold fire, Equattuo. Duollo’s was a prickle, like when your leg’s fallen asleep. And of course,” she absently adjusted the strap on her dress, “Qinn’s was....” The pink returned to her cheeks.

Qinn gave her a wink.

“Funny, though.” The softness left, replaced by a playfulness she’d not felt previously during her stay. “I didn’t feel a damned thing from your chest, Unus. Why might that be?”

Unus stood, knocking over his chair as he did so. Both fists slammed down on the table. “Perhaps you are immune to the temptations of Vanagloria because you are already infected by his vice. To suggest that I, the greatest of all dwarves, could fail in my charge is preposterous.” He leaned forward, looking more like an ape than a dwarf as he huffed. “What you do not realize is that so great is my courage and my might that, long ago, I subjugated the prideful demon within that chest. Would that my brothers had such power as I, we could abandon our charge and trust these dark creatures to be too meek to ever cry for release.”

Snow looked about the table at the other six brothers. Even September, who often seemed enraptured in Unus’s every word, was looking away. None of them could meet their eldest brother’s eye at that moment.

Unus eased off and stood as tall as possible, folding his arms as best he could.

September was the first to speak after a lengthy silence. “Is that true?” he asked. “You’ve out-willed it, then?”

Snow steepled her fingers and failed to suppress a smirk.

Unus gave another huff and turned from the table, stomping his way toward bed.

* * * *

She found the apple waiting for her on the table in the morning. “Thank you, September,” she said, though no one was there. Apparently Unus’s trust issues had evaporated because the house was empty, her little guardian gone with the rest of them to dig their hole.

She doubted the little apple could satisfy her hunger, so she decided to commit the day to picking more. Discovering which tree this came from would be the first order of the morning. It was an even deeper red than the ones she’d eaten before.

The juice dribbled down her chin as she took her first big bite. She wiped at herself as she attempted to swallow, but found her throat suddenly parched. She lurched forward, attempting to spit out the apple, but could not. The rest of the apple hit the floor moments before Snow.

* * * *

“They’ve gone after your mother,” September said, unable to hold back his tears. “She found you somehow. We’ll make her pay, don’t you worry.”

They’d laid Snow out on the kitchen table, after setting down fresh sheets she herself had washed the day before. She wasn’t dead, Duollo assured them all. Very slightly, if you watched with great concentration, you could see her stomach move with each slow breath. She was in a sleep that could not be broken.

September laid his head next to her and stroked her arm. She was a restful beauty.

“Unus thinks we should bury you with the chests tomorrow.” The dwarf spoke to her side, his head still against the table. “He’s wrong, though. The hole’s not ready yet. But he insists we do it after we finish the search for your mother.”

He raised his head so he could watch her peaceful face. The merriment was gone, the spunk, but there was a loveliness to this near-death Snow that was somehow more alluring than before.

“You were my charge and I failed you.”

She gave no response.

“You have to wake up, Snow. Before they return.” He’d never felt love, but if it were anything like panic, he felt it now. His arms grabbed her shoulders before he realized his actions. He shook her, hard. Once. Twice. “Wake up!” His fingers dug into her shoulders and he lifted her half off the table before thrusting her back down. “Wake up!” Again. Her head lolled to one side as he gave a final shake. “Please.”

His head fell onto her chest and he began to sob, so loudly that he couldn’t hear her cough. The throes of his own sorrow masked the vibrations of her chest. “Oh Snow, my love. My only love.”

“September?” Her voice had none of its singsong quality. It was a scratchy, ugly noise, like a desert attempting to speak for the first time.

He looked at her and cheered—actually threw up his hands and hollered.

Snow swung her legs off the table. Her head felt heavy, like it was extra weight holding her back. Like it was full of ballast that needed to be jettisoned. It didn’t take long for her to spot it on the ground, a chunk of the apple she’d eaten, which had caught in her throat until September managed to shake it loose.

“Poison,” he said. “Your mother.”

She rubbed at her forehead and attempted to pace the room. Every movement was a step underwater. The undertow threatened to drag her down and drown her once again. She kept moving.

“Don’t worry, they’re going to find your mother. They’re searching the forest now. They know it far better than she ever could.”

Shaking her head was a bad idea. The world tipped to one side and she stumbled to the ground. She waved September off as he leaped to her side. “How did she find me? How could she?”

“I don’t know,” the littlest dwarf answered. “Who else would want to hurt you?”

And with a snap, she was awake. Fully. The poison didn’t matter anymore. Let it run its course. The queasiness in her stomach was forced down. Her fever burning off quickly. The tingling in her arm dissipating.

She stood so she could look down at the dwarf. “Your brother did this.”

“Unus?”

That he knew which brother was all the proof Snow needed. “I found out his dirty little secret. He let that thing out of his chest a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” But even as he said it, September’s words trailed off. He reached for the three keys in his pocket.

“Open it. Open it and we’ll know.”

“I can’t. Unus has the only key to his chest. He wears it around his neck. We’re each responsible for one of them.”

The roughness in her voice was gone and she rubbed September’s head with the affection of a mother. “You believe me.”

“I’m beginning to suspect.”

“This whole thing is a sham. He let his demon free and it hurt no one.”

September looked to his feet.

“And tonight we’ll prove it.” Snow explained her plan, one she was certain had no flaws. One that could not possibly go wrong.

* * * *

She woke in the middle of the night and rose from the table like a ghost lifting from the grave. It wasn’t easy holding her breath or her tongue when the dwarves returned from their fruitless search. Unus made another speech and swore to give Snow a proper burial at dawn’s light. She played dead and they bought it.

The moment the dwarves retired to their beds, she let out a slow, lingering breath. A part of her felt dead and wanted to get up immediately, but she knew that in a few hours they would wake to the cries of their demon charges and be forced to sing to drown out temptation. So she slept, knowing their guttural howls would wake her when it was time to act.

She waited what she assumed was an hour after their singing ended. With little effort, she made a silent walk toward the bedroom door. She was lithe and had always been able to move about with no noise. The door was the first test. She believed in September, but there was no guarantee the dwarf would follow through. The knob was warm to the touch. It clicked as it turned, but it did turn. Though the door was heavy, it seemed almost to pull itself open, as if it had awaited this day for centuries.

All seven dwarves slept.

Unus had a heavy, gustful snore, the kind that could fill the sails of a mighty war vessel. He made it all too easy. The noise from his rancorous snoring masked Snow’s careless steps on the groaning wood. As September promised, each dwarf hung their key on their bedpost at night. Since the door was locked each evening and their guardians were inches away, there was little concern for the safety of the chests.

Unus’s snore caught in his throat and he rolled onto his side. Snow leaned over him, whispering in his ear so softly it could not possibly penetrate the rattling of his snoring.

“You messed with the wrong girl.”

Snow lifted Unus’s key from the bedpost. It was heavy iron, bigger than her tiny hand. She rubbed her thumb along its rough edges. There was great power in the key. Not that it was magical in any way. Just that it was the true warden for the prison that held Unus’s demon. Of course, she was certain it had been used once before, long ago, by Unus to free his charge. Still, holding it made her feel like a queen.

Something was wrong with Unus’s chest. The previous day, Snow was quite certain it was empty, lifeless amidst the colorful and wondrous sensations of the other chests. It was like a missing star, leaving a black hole in the night sky. But tonight, it had an unexpected vibrancy. When Snow’s hand touched the lock, she felt a cool chill. Her lips tasted peppermint. She smelled smoke.

She edged back, the tingling along her arm bubbling a moment longer.

“He wasn’t lying, was he?” September stood behind her. He spoke in his normal voice, which was still low enough not to disturb his brothers’ sleep.

“Of course he was lying.”

“Snow—”

“He’s clever.” She could barely maintain a whisper.

“Maybe you shouldn’t—”

“There’s nothing in there.”

She took hold of the lock, expecting the same sensations, only this time she felt nothing. There was a lingering smell of burning oil, but the coolness was gone. The key slipped easily into the lock, like a lover falling into the arms of another. Snow looked at the crest. Its wood pattern was like ivy growing over an iron plate. Something wasn’t right.

The key turned without her realizing she’d made the motion. The click of the heavy lock opening cut through Unus’s snoring.

“No,” Unus said, halfway out of a dream.

The lock fell free. The lid of the chest flew open.

Unus slammed the lid shut, but it was too late. A howl like a child released from his room after a lengthy punishment erupted through the room. The other dwarves were on their feet in moments. It was already done.

“Girl—” Unus moved toward her only to have September step in his way. He knocked the little one aside.

Snow looked up at him, her bright eyes shimmering as the demon illuminated the room with a green glow. “It was supposed to be empty.” Her eyes darted from one dwarf to the next. “It’s a trick.” And even as she said it, she knew the futility of her words.

The seven dwarves stood strong. Stood together. Even September took his place at Unus’s side.

She stood with the demon. An ethereal being, it wrapped itself around her like a green fog, slipped between her lips like a tongue darting in for a kiss, and filled her with its desires. The seven watched, waiting perhaps for an act of contrition. If only she knew such brotherhood. If only she had family like this. All she ever wanted was to belong somewhere, to have the strength of a bond such as this. And oh to have the honor of a charge such as this—to be trusted with man’s seven greatest evils. Why couldn’t she have been trusted with such a destiny? Why did they deserve these things and not her? When would she find love and honor? She wanted them now, so badly.

“Your tears won’t spare you,” Unus said. His hand shook as he raised an open palm. Though small, he had might enough to end the girl with one swing.

“I have failed.” It was Tria who cried now. He’d fallen to his knees and was slowly crawling toward the chest. “I am ruined.”

“Tria, stop behaving like a girl,” Qinn said. “Clearly she is to blame for releasing Unus’s charge.”

Tria shot his head back to look at Qinn. His words were almost unintelligible, jumbled beneath his sobbing. He repeated his words, a little more clearly. “It is not Vanagloria that fills this room with its laughter.”

“Of course it—” But Tria stopped Unus before he could finish.

“That is Invidia. My charge. She has escaped under my watch.”

Snow tried to speak, to solve the mystery with a proper question or well-placed comment, but she couldn’t center her mind on the argument. All of the attention had shifted to Tria. He had earned their concern, had become more victim than she. They pitied him and ignored her.

“Why isn’t anyone looking at me?” she asked, but her question crashed against another wail from Tria.

“It is not your fault, Tria.” Unus swung a finger toward Snow. “It’s hers.”

She smiled and was overwhelmed with gratification. They were hers again. Tria was already old news. It was her, her, her.

“I warned against this. I told you she was another kind of demon escaped from her own prison.” He pounded his chest. “I tried to prevent this, but some of you lacked faith in my decisions. And now you see what your doubt has wrought.”

Snow frowned like a child—an exaggerated scrunching of her face. Everyone blamed her for everything. Why couldn’t they treat her like they did Qinn? No one accused him of releasing foul demons into the world. Why couldn’t she have the respect they gave him? She wanted that respect. She should have that respect. She could take that respect.

“It was you.” September stepped forward. He was a good foot shorter than Unus, and had to look up to meet his eyes. “You poisoned her.”

“Clearly I should have been less subtle with my methods.”

Duollo nearly knocked Qinn over as he shot up. “Unus!”

“Does it anger you to be so wrong about her?” Unus asked September.

The youngest dwarf swung his head toward the locked chest in front of Tria’s bed. “This is your chest, Unus.” And indeed it was. Snow recognized the pattern. She couldn’t quite place what was wrong about the chest at the foot of Unus’s bed, but now she knew. He’d switched them sometime that night.

“I knew that first,” she said, but was ignored again.

A firm hand grabbed September’s arm. “Be careful of your accusations, little one.”

September pulled himself free of his brother and grabbed the key from Tria’s bedpost. Before he could inspect it a hand closed over his. Unus squeezed.

“So the chests changed place, what difference does it make? She opened Tria’s and released a monster that will soon enough find its way to her world. Look at how it’s already corrupted her.”

“Me?” Her hands pressed against her chest and her mouth strained to smile wider.

“If I had not made this change, she would have released Vanagloria.”

“Would she?” September relinquished the key to his brother.

No one spoke. Not even Snow, who stared up at Unus’s key, wondering what she could do to claim it.

“You don’t get to win,” September said to Unus. His bare foot came crashing down against the lock. It shuddered but did not open. Blood speckled the floor.

“That lock cannot be broken.”

September kicked again.

“You’re bleeding, brother.”

Again.

“Stop this.”

Again.

“It will never open.”

His foot split and bleeding, September kicked again. This time the lock gave. Two pieces hit the floor.

“You’ve gone too far,” Unus said, a second before bringing his fist into September’s temple. The dwarf folded like a chair snapped by the wind. He hit the ground and didn’t move.

“Enough.” Equattuo came up behind Unus and slipped his arms around him. His face was red, a sudden fire. He pulled hard and lifted Unus. “Open the goddamned thing.”

Snow nodded. It was hers. Whatever Unus had, she wanted.

But there was no treasure inside the chest. There was nothing but the exhalation of old air, like a last gasp of a secret slipping through passive lips.

Equattuo screamed and threw Unus into the wall.

The green glow dissipated and the room darkened.

Slowly the desire for the empty chest left Snow. She no longer wanted what others had, but she was now keenly aware that she had nothing of her own.

She felt her face. It was hot. Wet.

“I told you, September,” she said, out of breath. She scanned the faces of the six other dwarves, who were all looking past her. She followed their gaze to the little one motionless on the floor. Snow scrambled to September. She wrapped herself around him and rocked him against her breast. “Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.”

They remained intertwined like one being until morning came.

* * * *

Snow waited outside the mine while the dwarves buried September.

They said it might take several hours, simply due to the sheer depths of the hole and the logistics involved in getting September to his final resting place. There was no ceremony. As Qinn explained, they didn’t know they could die. They had no process for grief. Whatever they were feeling—if it was anything at all—they didn’t express it around Snow. They went about their business while she mourned.

A songbird landed on a nearby tree and chirped at the rising sun. A jackrabbit skittered past, then stopped to look at her. In her few days around the forest, the animals were scarce. And if one saw her or any of the dwarves, it fled immediately.

“They’re leaving,” she told the jackrabbit. “Soon it’ll be just you and me.”

Its nose twitched.

“Don’t worry, they’re taking those demons with them.”

The jackrabbit took a cautious step forward, its nose twitching once again.

“I’m not sure what they’ll do with themselves. They say they know someplace to take the chests.” She plucked a berry off a tree growing alongside the hill. “Somewhere they can open the rest.”

The rabbit took another step forward. It was like her, alone and out of place in the dark forest.

“You’d think seven demons would be worse than two.”

The jackrabbit sniffed at the berry, which she held out to it.

“Apparently it’ll help balance things out. Don’t want one demon having more influence than another.”

It looked up at her again, leaving the berry untouched. After a moment of studying Snow, the jackrabbit turned and bounded back into the forest.

“Don’t worry,” she said after it. “We have plenty of time to get acquainted. All the time in the world.”