The Flaws Of Levi Heiland

Ignorance

The woman appeared suddenly, making Levi jump. The light of his oil lamp skittered across the cobblestone street. He cleared his throat, adjusting the cuffs on his uniform while turning to her. “Yes?”

“As long as you don’t open it, it will bless you with great fortune.” Her sudden declaration took Levi aback, as did the box she forced into his arms.

He fumbled not to drop it.“Wait!”

But she was already gone, as if a trick of the moonlight.

Yet Levi knew it was no illusion. The next morning, after his shift, he sat in his apartment, the box heavy in his hands.

No bigger than his palm, it was made of wood whitened by the sun. Faded silver filigree lined the rim, creating the little latch that kept the box closed. There were tiny imperfections in the craftwork, parts of the box that hadn’t been sanded properly and were rough to the touch, as well as brittle edges of filigree that chipped off under his prodding

The box hadn’t taken the passage of time well, that was certain.

Levi turned it over, looking into the small crevice between it and the lid, as if he could see what was inside. Now, Levi wasn't a curious person. However, something about the box, and the odd encounter attached to it piqued his interest.

The woman’s warning echoed in his mind, but he ignored it as he slowly flipped the latch upward. It made no noise. He grasped the lid. Braced himself. And jerked the box open.

He frowned. It was . . . empty?

Puzzled, he tilted it, peering into its depths.

Wait. No, there was something at the bottom. Something burned into the wood. A word . . .

“Scio? What does that mean?” Levi muttered. Then, he understood.

I know.

That’s what it meant.

But wait . . . how did he know that?

Brows furrowed, his fingertips reached to brush across the words. The wood was smooth, almost soft. He went to pull away, but something flashed behind his eyes. A feeling.

And then, Levi’s world expanded.

He gasped. Stumbled backward. Tripped over a chair. Pain shot through his hips, but only a distant part of him noticed he’d fallen. The pulsing in his head overwhelmed him; the fall was a chipped nail by comparison.

The pulsing, it wasn’t just an ache. It was more; an overburdened wagon, a bloated water jug, a balloon about to burst. Yet it couldn’t collapse, couldn’t break, couldn’t pop. It was filled to the brim, but still refused to give way. Even if the anguish caused his heart to take its place; to implode for it.

Levi should’ve been shocked. But he wasn’t. He knew. That was all that was happening to him.

Scio.

The universe’s closely held secrets, and the forgotten truths of long ago. Why people died; why people lived. Why the world thrived in brilliant colors. How existence began; how small he was in comparison. Why his name was Leviathan. Why his mother had always held him at arm’s length.

I know.

His heart screamed, and his vision narrowed as he grasped at the swelling knowledge. It spiked, reached its peak. And it was too much. Levi didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to know all the horrible things, even if he also knew of the things of beauty. The mistakes, the awful, intentional mistakes, they couldn’t be balanced by the compassions of humanity.

Selfishness, greed, bloodlust. (Generosity, kindness, love.)

He could imagine all of the massacres, and the tragedies, and the sins. He could see them. Could hear them. Could feel them.

He knew them. Because they were his. The trajectory of his life lay bare before him, and the mistakes. All the intentional ones. He knew what would happen, for though he couldn’t see the future, Levi could see the past. Everything that has happened since the birth of life, it was inside him. Inside his mind. And it would repeat. Over and over and over again.

Levi knew what his soul would cost him in the end. Knew of all the flaws, all the imperfections; inside of him; inside of others.

He sobbed, drowning in the knowledge of the universe. He felt exposed, stripped of himself. He was no longer Levi. How could he be, when Levi was an ignorant boy who knew nothing.

Now he was no one. Only knowledge.

But in his infinite knowledge, the boy who knew found a seed of hope.

“Lady Zofia,” he cried, “please, spare me of your blessing! I am not worthy of such a gift! Take away this encounter so that I may live a life of wretched ignorance!”

Before him a woman appeared. The one who’d given him the box.

“I told you not to open it,” she said, towering over his crumbled form.

“Scio,” he whimpered.

Zofia, Goddess of Luck and Knowledge, reached down and took her discarded box. “If I take away the memory of this encounter, you shall live the rest of your life with this curse: Tragedy will follow at your heels, and truth will come to be rare. You plead for ignorance, yet are you sure you are willing to sacrifice the pleasures of favor and wisdom?”

“Scio, scio. Please, I know. I know what I’m giving up.” He hugged his knees. “I know you knew this would happen. I know this had a purpose. And I know what will come of this decision. Scio.”

“And yet you still plead for ignorance?”

“Yes.”

Zofia smiled. “Very well.” She closed the box, locked the latch into place. Then she was gone.

Levi Heiland sucked in a breath, and winced. His head hammered. He could remember falling, but that was all. There was a pit in his stomach; a knot of dread, and his cheeks were wet with tears he couldn't remember crying.

Levi didn’t know why, but his chest was filled with crushing relief.

Levi didn’t know why, but for some reason he was unable to stop sobbing.

Non scio.