The Ennead Contest Entries

8- A Maskinganna's Weight (Winner)

A humid wind blew over me, pungent with the scents of burning flesh and excrement. On its breath were the moans of a million tortured sinners. I reached for the crucifix hanging from the chain around my neck. Held it between thumb and forefinger as I peered over the precipice before me. It was a long, long way down to the bottom of this sixth bolgia. And it would be a long way back up to the other side of this gap in the bridge.

I backed away from the edge. It was still early in my journey to Heaven, but it was also too late to turn back. That much had been made clear upon my entry to Dis. I imagined this journey must have been easier for those who died before Christ. Before earthquakes had shaken the realms of Earth and Hell and this span of bridge over the Malebolge had crumbled. All the good his sacrifice had done for Man; I couldn't even cross into my deserved afterlife.

Rock crunched behind me. I whipped around to find scuffing hooves approaching. A creature stood before me, adorned in a coat of glittering gold. It's face was long and two horns coiled out from its temples. This ram of sorts stood as a man on its two hind legs. In one hand it held a long stem with several flowers growing off it—pink and tubular.

I thrust the gold cross on my neck toward it. Took a step back. My heart jumped as my heel slipped for a moment off the edge. I swallowed to wet my dry throat. "Stay back."

The satyr held its open palm out to me. "Be calm." Its voice was like the whisper of leaves brushing in the wind. "I am the guide that presides over this bolgia."

Its accent was thick with a slow drawl, but it seemed to know my same tongue. "A guide? Then you can help me cross this gap?"

The satyr nodded—a motion that required moving its whole chest to accomplish. "Aye. But I require a favour."

I raised my eyebrows. "A favour? I should hope not coin; my fare to cross the Acheron was all I brought."

"Nothing of the sort," it coughed with amusement. It held the flowers out to me. "Only hold this so that I may climb with my two hands."

I observed the flowers more carefully now. Foxglove. I knew this flower to contain a toxin that could be lethal. Or at the very least unpleasant on the bowels. But I took it, handling it by the stem as the satyr had. It turned and knelt down, beckoning me from behind. I climbed onto its back, examining the golden coat so close to my face now. It was quite regal. Befitting of a saint, I thought.

The satyr stood and proceeded to the precipice. I tightened my grip as it backed off the edge and we began our descent. My head spun—mind raced. I needed a distraction from the terrifying drop below me. "If you would be so kind," I said, "perhaps warn me of what foul suffering I should expect to witness as we cross the trench."

The leaves rustled again. "This sixth bolgia is reserved for the hypocrites. Those who cast judgment upon others, yet thought themselves above consequence. For this they are to display the lustre they hoped to present to their peers."

I furrowed my brow. "That's no punishment. What injustice is this?"

"Hmm," the satyr agreed. "Indeed. But it is beneath this lustre that their crime is addressed, for the hypocrite is made to beareth the weight of every action whose consequence they eluded in life."

"I'm not sure I quite understand," I said. "This is literal weight?"

"Hmm."

I tried to picture what this meant. Men and women burdened with heavy riches and jewellery of all manner. Children too perhaps? Little girls and boys laden with weights of gold and silver draped over their small forms. I bit my lip, hoping my guide didn't feel my excitement sticking in its back; it was unlikely, I thought, with that thick coat. "Can we expect to see any of these sinners?" I asked.