SciFi and Fantasy Stories: In the Shadow of Death p3
Chapter 3 and 4 of Alia's tale. Please note, they now have titles to the chapters!
also, I have added a glossary to the end of the chapter for those of you without reliable italian dictionaries (as always, feel free to correct my foriegn tongues) and to explain those things that keep the mods from passing it. Oh, and to explain obscure historical references so if I make you feel like an idiot with the glossary, I apologize but you'd be amazed at what people don't get.
*still stunned that this is necessary* THE ILLUSTRATIONS ARE MY CREATION AND WILL BE SHORTLY AVAILABLE IN MY GALLERY.
There are things one must know about Vittorio. He came to those marshy islands centuries before when there was nothing remarkable about them, seeking refuge for his people from the Hun invasions. He cultivated them with the aid of a select few, and carved that bright jewel from the rough nothing. There has never been any question who ruled the region. Even as far away as Bologna and Verona, none dared anger or defy Him. Though Trieste was a hotly contended point between Himself and an old rival, even that city continued to pacify Him to the benefit of its merchants. While He ruled without question, He and Valencia vied for control of political council. It was more a game to them than anything. It amused Him to allow her the upper hand when she honestly won it; just another move on their eternal chess board. Win or lose, the city was ever undeniably His. The Doge Vitale Michiel II was just such a bishop. Several decades previous, Valencia had managed to gain influence over Vitale, gained his compliance in her will and sealed the bargain with the marriage of a daughter. She led all to believe that the daughter in question was Lucretia, a childe of her blood she had been cultivating for some fifteen years. Thus, Vittorio gave the matter no serious thought, knowing that should He exert His will His chosen would become Doge and there was little the childe could do to stop it. It is unknown if it were a last minute decision or planned all along, but the daughter so wed was herself. Valencia did this periodically. She would drift into seclusion for several years, not being seen but privately feigning some illness or another. Then she would dye her hair, use cosmetics to change the appearance of her features, take on slightly different mannerisms and invest in new hobbies and reintroduce herself to society as her daughter or niece. Thus she was able to maintain a public persona and control of her personal assets for much longer periods than most. This maneuver caught every one by surprise as she was still ‘young’ in society’s eyes, not yet out of her second decade as Maria D’Oro. Who, I might add, suffered a tragic accident not long after. It was thus, by marrying a councilman, that she gained control of enough of the voting body to get Vitale elected Doge. I had spent the day lurking in the eaves of the council chamber, forcing myself to remain awake and alert until the voting was done. It was no surprise that I gained the knowledge before even the newly elected Doge’s brand new bride. I was certain my news would not be well received as I slipped into Ostad’s bedchamber. I knelt by the bed, restraining my desire to kiss His cold hand to wake Him, daring not to touch without permission. He was not long in waking, though He was slow to stir. Before His body began to move, I was silently bade to reveal and bent to His ear and whispered all. I crept back, certain He would fly into a fury, and equally certain that He would take that out upon my person as He slowly sat up and pulled Himself to the edge of the bed. He said nothing. Did nothing. He set His hand upon my head, and I melted into the touch of His fingers through my hair. Only the taste of His blood could have given me more pleasure at that moment. When the servants came to dress Him, He gave the order to hang the violet lanterns at the dock. I was still wary even as courtiers began to pour into the chessboard chamber and Vittorio seated himself upon His throne to watch how the evening would unfold. I knelt at His right hand, my heart singing from the pressure of my braid wrapped around his hand. I could still feel His displeasure in my very soul, but it was not strong enough to override my own selfish joy. Everyone was on their best behaviour that night. Even I, though veiled and in my best and carefully groomed, took care to remain unseen. For tonight was a tradition in Venice. Tonight He sent out a summons none who received it could ignore nor explain. Tonight influential mortals walked the Palazzo Dela Ombros. Tonight the new Doge presented himself to the great patron of the city in a ritual older than Venice, to pledge their public loyalty in service of the city, and, more secretly, to its true master. Most present knew the secrets of the Palazzo, being under the direct patronage certain of our kind, many were clueless and great care was taken to ensure they remained so, but all radiated a tense excitement and a fear I could taste even from my lofty perch. Which is why He kept tight hold on my plait, to reign me in. When Vitale and his new wife, Venezia D’Oro were announced, there was a change in His manner. His hand on my unseen hair tensed. Only two people were aware of the change, myself and Antillius, for there were no outward signs at all. Then the Doge strode into the hall with a very familiar, currently dark haired creature on his arm. Everyone who knew the truth, who had been expecting Lucretia instead, held their proverbial breath, forgetting there were breathers near them. Valencia, now to be called Venezia, crossed the floor on her husband’s arm with an easy grace. And, though there was triumph in her step, I could smell her fear as well. Her eyes never left His, trying to judge His expression. It had been centuries since she had so bested him and she was no longer sure of his moods. As the pair knelt before the last step, Vittorio did the unexpected. He laughed. He released my hair and stood, strode down the steps to kiss them. The entire room seemed to breathe at once, even those with no need to do so. I stood, slipped behind the throne and made my rounds, listening in to the reactions of his inner council and the nobles on the floor below, both living and dead. There were many whispers. Some were pleased that she had managed to gain the upper hand at last, some knew it would never last or come to anything. There was a young Hospitallar with Casseadorus who asked his patron, “Why is he not furious? When Gregori tried a similar bid for power, he was murdered by His veiled monster.” Beside him, a heavily veiled Persephone giggled. “Mmmm, pretty swift sharp kittie,” she purred. “Sweetest death.” I knew even before I entered the coldness that always surrounded her that she knew I was somewhere near. I liked her for some reason. She was so soft spoken and velvety in her manner, but so deliciously sadistic beneath. And she always called me by feline nicknames, though I never knew why. It was as if she knew my lineage even when I did not. The Hospitallar only gave her a strange look, but Casseadorus smiled. “Because,” he explained. “She has surprised him. It is not often anyone can surprise him. When you get to be our age and exist at the levels of power that we do, surprises are valuable treasures. Besides,” he added, folding his arms as he watched Vittorio dance with Valencia. “They have known each other a long time. One can forgive much of one who shares your experiences.” I drifted off after that, as conversation moved to philosophy and the art of politics itself. The music not quite to my tastes, I did not dance, but left the hall itself, choosing to dance to my own music in the inner halls. It was there that I saw Cassandra, sitting in the shadow of a column throwing out and rewinding her colored silk. As I passed her she spoke. “The winds rise up, the jewel sullied in the shadow of another’s crime. Blame is thine, fair Venezia. Thy marriage folly. Constantius will fall but not this century.” I froze, transmitting her words through the earring to Ostad. A moment later I felt her mind pressed against mine, holding me down as the image of her stared deep into my eyes with her wild blank ones and spoke directly to Vittorio through me and the magic connecting us. “Tell her to hunt the ships. Send her into the night to bring him back.” Then she was gone, the ball of colored silk striking my feet as she cast it out and began to roll it up again. I reeled back as if she had physically touched me, though she had not moved. Word came from Vittorio almost immediately. The word “Go,” in my mind, in His voice, and I ran from the Palazzo. I was fast. Blindingly so. I could run so swiftly I could cross the canals without sinking, leap from boat to boat with such cat-like grace that the gondoliers never even noticed. I could run up walls. That was how I left the Palazzo without waiting on a labouriously slow gondola. This night, as I leapt from one such boat to the far bank, I passed the young Lucretia waiting with another of Valencia’s children, a handsome young nobleman named Benentendi. It was something in Lucretia’s manner that made me stop, a scent, an emotion. I paused, invisible beside her and listened to her complaint. Lucretia had a very imperious manner, a spoiled young noblewoman who expected everything to be handed to her. And in that she reminded me unconsciously of myself at a young age. No mistake, she could put on the airs of the demure and sweet, all the while thinking vile thoughts and planning ways to make one pay for whatever imagined insult one just dealt her. She was a viper, and she was in a fury. Her complaint, to which she subjected the long suffering Benentendi, was that Vitale was supposed to have been hers. Valencia had made all the arrangements and then swooped in and stole away her glory as she always did. Benentendi countered with a rather observant comment that made me think. “That is the trouble with living forever. When we can grow old and eventually die, we expect, when we have past our own prime, that our children will shine for us. But when the bloom never leaves the rose…” I left then, it was not important that night. In fact, it was nearly thirty years before those words bore any fruit. That night I had other worries. I stalked the entire dockside for hours, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. I eventually boarded a ship, searching it from crows nest to cargo. In the passenger’s cabin I found a dying man. He was fevered with a green wound, and none of the sailors would go near him. I almost left myself when I began to understand some of his ravings. One word stopped me. “Manuel Comnenus.” I knew in that instant that this man was what Cassandra had foreseen and I gathered him up and sped to the Palazzo. I placed him in a room and sent a girl for a physician, then left to find Vittorio. He already knew of course, was signaling for a select few of His counsel to attend Him in the matter. As I reached Him, He was bowing over Valencia’s hand with a devilish grin on His face, very diplomatically turning her away. “It would not be proper,” He said, and their manners told me He was echoing back her own words from an earlier conversation. “You must stay and attend your new husband and his needs. Perhaps later you may rejoin us, when appearances are not so delicate.” Beneath my veil I was smiling. Valencia put on her submissive face, but I could smell that she was regretting something. Once we entered the back halls, I dropped all pretence on non-existence, and found Persephone falling into step beside me. She must have known how hard pressed my curiosity was in the matter, as she spoke without preamble. “The Master of Shadows opened his bed to the child of the Golden Sun,” she giggled with fiendish delight. “She refused. Wise of her, but foolish all the same.” I laughed. “And now she pays with her own words rammed down her golden throat.” As I said, I delight in the misfortunes of others. Especially those which have irritated me. I still blamed her for my veiling. It was unfortunate, but the man did not survive to be questioned. Vittorio was displeased, especially when I relayed what had been said to attract my attention to him. Once He learned the man’s purpose in Venice, His displeasure grew to anger that the Captain of the vessel had not sent word immediately to someone of his importance and condition. For, though he had died of the green wound, Persephone was present. She strode slowly up to the bed, her head cocked, listening, watching something. She reached out her tiny hand and snatched at something above the body. The metal gauntlet upon her finger clicked with menace and there was a spark. She shook what she had captured, as if to wake it. Then she used the tip of the claw to draw a thin line of blood from her other wrist, mumbling unintelligibly all the while, tracing visible lines in the air with it. Where the blood upon her silver gauntlet touched, glowing glyphs appeared. She used bleeding wrist as an ink well at first, and when her writing was done, she held it out, coaxing the spirit to drink from its fountain. She called it like one would a kitten, gently scratching her claw beside the wound to draw its attention there. Within moments all of us could see a man there, shimmering darkly, sucking at her vein. She whispered at length with it, speaking in an unintelligible, hurried voice that even though we should have been able to hear her clearly sounded more like voices in a far off room. Finally she turned to Vittorio and spoke in her small breathy voice. “He was an emissary of Manuel Comnenus of Byzantium. Bearing letters requesting alliance with Venice to defeat Roger of Sicily. He also bears a letter to you personally from Constantius presumably to the same effect.” “Where are these letters?” Vittorio asked, his voice low. She paused, tipped her ear, smiled and turned to me. “They are in a small ebony box in his cabin. Behind a panel.” The rest of the evening dissolved into tiring details with which I shall not bore you. The rest is literally history; including what eventually came of that brief alliance. No, far more interesting things came of that year.
4 Squartatore
At least once a moon, Vittorio opened the Palazzo for public petition. It was a chance for the living to sue for patronage or beg favors or aid of the oldest and most influential patron in Venice. This is not to say that Vittorio was a generous man. He was not. But He held to certain ancient principals that the nobility held a contract with the people, a certain noblesse oblige as the French call it. Anyone could approach him with a problem or request and if it were in the interest of the city, or, failing that, to his personal advantage, he would grant it. Normally I would grow intensely bored at such events, and find other things to do. Like playing tag with Siegfried. Because of their appearance neither he nor the Baron would attend the event, and even Persephone wore widow’s weeds. Thus I would seek the Beast out when he was in port and attempt to sneak up on him and attack him. It was very good practice for me, honing my skills. It took me nearly a century before I learned how to completely hide myself even from his nose. Through him I learned that I exuded a faint fragrance like lotus blossoms, a beautiful scent that secretly spoke of death. I learned to control it; to completely eliminate it or to heighten it so that even the most inferior human nose could smell it. With it I learned to lull mortals into a near trance like state, to slow their reactions or put them to sleep. He once told me he knew exactly what my blood would do to him if he chose to bite or I cut him with it, just from the smell of me…. But back to the petitions. This one night Beast was not in port, and for some reason, Vittorio wanted me near Him. Who was I to argue? I lay sprawled upon the steps, invisible to all but a few and bored out of my mind. I think I entertained Him with the little comments I made to Him about various complaints or people. I could feel it through His blood. The night was filled with the usual dull pleas until a woman entered following a local man. She caught my attention by her reluctance and her constant whispering to her companion that ‘all this was completely unnecessary’. This too, piqued the Master’s interest and he called them forth out of order. The woman silenced immediately, afraid she had caused some trouble. The man approached with confidence and bowed deeply, as did she. “Great Padrone,” he said. “I am Guiseppe Fiorenze, a humble cabinet maker whose business has flourished under your patronage. I come to you tonight on my sister’s behalf. She is newly widowed….” “Let the woman speak for herself,” Vittorio interrupted. Something about her had captured his interest and I half expected to have another hapless maid added to the harem below the house where he kept his private collection for feeding. The man bowed again and the young woman, barely in her twenties, stood reluctantly. She bobbed an extra curtsey, “Please forgive my brother’s forwardness, Principe, and we thank you for your indulgence. But it is an insignificant matter and not something he should have troubled your magnificence with.” She said it with such self-assuredness and humble pride that she intrigued even me. “What is your name, sister of Guiseppe Fiorenze?” She blushed, cast her eyes slightly downward. “Flora, your grace. Flora deScalla.” “Very well, Flora deScalla,” He said with a slight smile. “Tell me your trouble and allow me to decide if it is worth my trouble.” She seemed reluctant, but took a moment to compose herself, which Vittorio allowed. It was a long moment by human standards, so long those in the audience were beginning to think she defying his request and much longer than any human ruler would have waited. But time to us is a different creature, and he could read her easily, and knew she was merely trying to compose herself and her words; something, I might add, he sincerely wished others would do. At length she spoke, “My husband was recently killed bringing me into this city. On the road, just outside the city proper,” she added, answering his question as smoothly as if she had read it in his eyes. “I barely escaped. Once I crossed what seemed to me an invisible line, they stopped pursuit. They took everything from us. My husband had hoped to set up a tailor’s shop here, where the finest fabrics and threads arrive before they are divvied out to the rest of Europe. But now that will not be possible. Shop space is prohibitive and no existing clothier has room for an extra set of fingers however adept. We thank you for your ear, but I have family here, I will survive somehow.” Vittorio smiled inwardly and his hand by my head brushed his fingers against my invisible cheek. “I am certain that you will, Senora. May I ask you: that dress you are wearing, is it your handiwork?” She blushed even more and curtsied deeply. “Yes, Padrone. But it is a mean thing I patched together from my sister in law’s old dress. I have not had time or money to devote to my personal wardrobe.” “Then I shall make certain you shall have both. Antillius, make certain to acquire a shop near here, on the Grand Canal, and have the finest fabrics delivered. I wish the Senora to begin work immediately.” The woman was speechless, though her brother grinned broadly. “I… I cannot begin to thank you… I could never repay such generosity if I live to be a hundred,” she gasped. That can be arranged, I thought. “I do not take kindly to brigands,” He said, “nor to those that would interfere with the merchants of my city. You have skill. You can begin by returning here once you have settled in, to take my measurements. It has been ages since I had new clothes.” Though He did not speak it, or gesture it, the cue for their dismissal was given and, unconsciously, they backed away and the next petitioners came forth. Another hour ticked away with trivialities, hopes falsely bolstered by the seamstress’s good fortune. Vittorio distracted me mildly by promising me new clothes, something that would be less… confining. It always amazed me how He was able to divide his attention. He could hold three conversations at once, write a letter, pay attention to my nightly prowling and still overhear whispers of dissent in the far corners of the great room. Toying with me did not distract His judgment in the matters brought before Him in the least. One such petition, however, annoyed Him intensely and He devoted his full attention to the matter. Never a good thing. It was a man, somewhat less than tidy, who wanted Vittorio to return a child to him. I fear I had not paid much attention to him in the beginning, but I later garnered the information. His son had died and his daughter-in-law had returned to her family here in Venice. It was not known at the time she had left them, that she was pregnant, so she went with their good will. But now that it was known, and the child had been born, the son’s family wished the return of their heir. It seemed that Vittorio was favoring the man’s petition, when a woman broke from the crowd (which was where I began to pay attention) and began loudly begging for her only child not to be taken from her to live in the squalor of the wilds as she had been forced to do for the love of her husband. The matter devolved very quickly into a family squabble which is what enraged Ostad. He stood. That was enough to command silence from the entire room and all present fell to their knees. I alone stood, prepared and eager to fall upon them from nothingness, awaiting only his word that I would be permitted. Vittorio did not need to raise His voice; His low, deep tones fell heavily on the room as if the shadows themselves lent physical weight to His will. “You will not enter my house and squabble like children. Do not bring your petty concerns before me. There are other courts for such things. The brat and all his kin can drown in the canals for all it matters to me! Now be gone, both of you, before I let my beast loose to settle the issue.” Both ran swiftly from the room and the court rose and set at once to murmuring as Vittorio sat. His hand reached out and seized my braid, pulled me to my knees beside Him with a violence that reverberated through my being. Pressed close to the arm of His throne, His hand imbedded in my hair, I purred. Touching me thus seemed to calm Him and deeply pleasured me. I had tried once, to make my blood calming. To exude something that would ease His anger with that touch, but it had only served to enrage Him. I never again attempted to affect Him with my powers. Another man strode forth, shaking and uncertain of his reception after the last incident, but he was driven forth by his economic need. Money was as powerful a motivator then as now. His petition, however, was significant. “Maestro,” he stuttered, trembling visibly. “I am but a humble procurer,” he said, adding a subtle emphasis to the last word. “But even so, my business affects many and…” When he hesitated, Vittorio lost patience. “I am dangerously close to losing my temper. State your petition.” The man fell to his knees, his hat crushed between his hands. “Then I fear my news shall only release what hold you still have upon it, Maestro. Someone, or something, is killing my girls.” Vittorio stared hard at the man, scanned the room. The hour was dreadfully late and there were few mortals left. Those that remained were tainted by The Blood and in service to one or another of The Blood. “You are?” The man seemed to have lost his tongue, so Antillius spoke for him, “Your pardon, Padre. He is Niccolo Bartolo. He procures healthy young women for many of us, including those for entertaining,” he said suggestively, “foreign guests. Some of his women have found their way into your own house.” Vittorio regarded His childe and then the man whose forehead was touching the bottom step. “Rise,” He ordered, His tone more civil. “Tell me what is your trouble.” Something in the way He said it, the man had no choice but to obey, whether his body willed it or no. He stood, still wringing his hat in his hand and explained. It had begun several weeks prior. One girl went to visit a sister and never returned. Another was sent to fetch a doctor in the early morning hours and never made it. Nothing was thought of it. Such things happen. Then word began to seep about that the few girls braving the streets were meeting bloody ends. So they began locking the doors, letting in only trusted custom. Then early in the morning, two nights prior, one of his best was slaughtered in her bed, in a room locked from the inside. That same morning the first girl’s body had shown up floating in the canal, caught under some unfortunate’s private dock. He had gone to the mortal authorities, but they were helpless. His only recourse was to turn to his largest and most powerful customers. This news did indeed anger Vittorio, but not in the way the procurer had expected. That someone would dare to slaughter that which was under His protection with such impunity and reckless abandon boiled His blood. He cast His withering gaze across the gathering, “If any of you here are guilty of this reckless, and rather messy feed, stand forth and make recompense now.” No one moved. “Then I will grant a thousand ducats to the one who brings to me the villain responsible for this crime and the proof!” Valencia dared to speak up, “Then look no farther than Siegfried. This prey is much to the Beast’s liking,” she sneered. Vittorio turned a baleful gaze to her, but it was Niccolo who replied with uncharacteristic vehemence. “Maestro Siegfried ALWAYS pays for his toys!” he exclaimed. “And replaces those he breaks,” he added with less force, suddenly realizing the company he was in. “We do good business.” Vittorio was amused. “Besides, The Beauty is nearer Sicily now, picking at Roger’s fleet. Now go. Court is concluded.” Remaining petitioners left disappointed. All remaining filed out, including most of the normal inner council. Only Casseadorus, Persephone and Antillius remained. Before the doors had even closed on the last guest, He pulled me to my feet by the hold He still had upon my hair and drew me near. “You. Go. I want this killer.” Persephone, drawing off her long veil and flashing a long toothed grin, “But maestro, they are only prostitutes,” she baited, posing the question many had wanted to ask but none dared. He brushed her cheek with His fingertips, inciting my jealousy. “Ah, but they are my prostitutes, and they should feel safe making a living in my city. And as Antillius said, we all rely upon his services. Even you, my dear.” Persephone smiled wickedly. He turned back to me. “You have a few hours yet. Make use of them.” I left immediately. We both knew it was merely a matter of waiting now. I could go to the room where the last one was slaughtered, but it would have been cleaned by now, all trails cold. My best chance was to find a fresh body, or catch him in the act. I scoured the immediate vicinity of the city, all that I could in the few hours left to me before the sun. I found no trace, nor did I really expect to. What I did find, however, was far more valuable. I passed the Palazzo d’Oro, Valencia’s great golden house, in the last hour and saw a familiar figure arriving. I followed her inside. It was the woman who had earned the wrath of Vittorio, with two of Valencia’s blooded ladies, and she was carrying an infant. They brought her before Valencia who received them in her dressing gown in her private chambers. She had not long before performed her marital duties and satisfied her own hunger with her husband. The reek of him and the act lingered upon her in spite of her heavy perfumes. I could never approach that woman without walking away with the taste of her scents in my mouth, not if I chose to smell or take a breath to speak. Valencia had sent for the woman, moved by her story and the callous manner in which Vittorio had sent her away. She asked the woman to tell her the whole story, but briefly as she was ‘incredibly tired’ after such a long night. This was when I learned the details. Valencia told her that there were patrons in Venice who had hearts and were not wholly unmoved by her plight. She made arrangements to hide the girl on one of the outlying islands where even her in-laws’ hounds could not track her. There she could live in peace and perhaps even learn a trade, for that was where Valencia’s glass-makers worked their craft without the risk of burning the city to the ground. I relayed the information to Vittorio, but he was less than interested. “Let her play the humanitarian. It matters not to me,” he told me. I found myself a space in between the walls of the palazzo to safely pass the day, and resume the hunt the next night. That evening was as wasted as its predecessor. Three such nights passed, and, though there were many of the Blood prowling the shadows hunting the killer, he was not to be found. The fourth night sang a different melody. One that began with a scream so beautiful, were it not for my duty and the lust for the kill which had so long eluded me, I would have paused to listen to its sweetness. I was hungry for the prey. I had not returned to the palazzo dela Ombros since court, and I had not been permitted to feed since. My hunger was growing and my favorite prey and second favorite meal awaited me, was so sweetly calling to me. For I am above all, a hunter of hunters. I found him beneath a bridge, rolling the eviscerated body into the canal. I tracked him by the blood. It covered his clothes from hem to hip, and stained his mouth and hands where he apparently had fed upon the choice organs of the girl. He was an unlikely hunter, a mere barber, and less than fit. He was soft of face and manner and would have seemed no threat but a good customer to a girl with no bordello to shelter her work. There were few of them in Venice, but they existed. I followed him out from beneath the bridge, unwilling to engage in a place of danger to me or my hunt. Though I doubted I would fall into the canal, I did not wish for my prey to somehow be lost into a place I could not follow should he struggle. I made Vittorio aware of my find, and trailed the man down a secluded alley between apartments where a group of laundresses lived. Their work implements lay scattered about in the tiny courtyard, and drying lines were strung in an elaborate web-work between the buildings. I allowed him to strip down to his breechcloth, slipped up on him as he bent over a wash tub that still had water in it, and began to wash his clothes. I toyed with the thought of drowning him; I played with the concept of strangling him with the drying line; I even entertained the idea of eviscerating him as he had the girls. But I had no knowledge of his skills or strengths, had not seen him kill, could not even smell if he were alive or of the Blood, so covered in the prostitute’s death was he. And so I judged a quick beheading would be best, effective regardless of the nature of the man. I silently padded forth, unsheathed my blades, and without even a gurgle from my victim, dropped his head into the washtub as blood sprayed forth in a great arch and his body slumped ignominiously to the cobbles. Then, before I even had the chance to taste the blood upon my blades, something rose from the corpse and flew, screaming, towards me. It was barely a shadow, but I am accustomed to seeing shadows, so to me it might as well have glowed. It did not mesh with the shadows in the courtyard, nor did it feel ‘right’, as any other shadow in His city did. It howled towards my face as if it were intent upon thrusting itself within me and then it stopped. We stared at each other for the barest second, then it turned shadowy tail and fled. I naturally pursued, though I had no idea how I was going to defeat a shadow. I could feel Vittorio all around me as it flew through the darkest places hoping to lose me, but, though those shadows moved, they could not stop it. So it was no shadow then. Vittorio said nothing, though I could feel His observance through my eyes and not the shadows around me, which was curious. Though He told me nothing, I felt it imperative to at least know where the thing was going, even if I could not stop it from doing so. I was swift, and the shadows seemed to aid my speed, until we crossed the square at San Marco. The moon bore down upon the broad court, and shadows were suddenly limited to the slim reflections of statuary. I could see it more clearly then, but it seemed to gain speed even I could not match. When it reached the walls of the University, I lost all trace of it. Great fury and frustration pressed in on me then, from the shadows surrounding me and I submitted to them in despair, certain I was the reason for His wrath. I had failed Him. But then it released me and I felt grass beneath my feet. I opened my eyes to find myself upon the Isle of the Dead and standing before the great crypt doorway which led down to Persephone’s personal sanctum. A dead man in the grave rotted garments of a maggiordomo opened the door and groaned in my direction, then stepped aside and gestured me to shamble behind him. I had never before had call to visit this place, nor would I care to again, though at the time I could not explain my discomfort. Do not miss understand. I will slough through swamp mire when the need arises, and have walked through battlefields with battlements made from stacked bodies. I do not recoil from soil of any kind, though I do prefer to keep myself clean. But there were things in that deep dark crypt that I could neither explain nor touch, but that could undeniably end me should they choose so, and that… that was too close to god. Not when I walked in the shadowed embrace of the only god I was willing to recognize. Indeed, before we were fully in her presence, Vittorio came into being around me. And when we stepped into that small chamber in which she worked that eve, He became behind me, His hands upon my arms and presented me forward to her. “Read her, what she has just seen,” He said. The girl had been sitting beside a body stretched out upon the floor. Symbols were chalked on the stone around it and its central cavity lay open. Most of its organs were gone and the body had been chewed upon by things. It might have been female once. Persephone looked up at us, her hand still inside the cavity and sighed. She tilted her head, listened to the air and then unfolded herself from the floor and crossed to me. I am not tall. Not by the standards of now. In my day, I was a little over average. I came just to Vittorio’s chin and he was a hand and a half shy of six feet, an extremely tall man in his breathing years, though closer to the average of the time. Persephone barely came up to my breast. Though she often said it gave her a wonderful view. With the barest gesture from that silver claw, she brought me to my knees before her and, with His hands firmly on my shoulders, she touched it to my forehead and drew forth a single drop of my blood. Before I could even form a question in my mind, everything I had experienced that night rushed past me again, flowing from my mind into her. There was a great roaring that came with it, like the rush of storm-force winds blowing against me, leaving in its wake a deafening silence and a slight vertigo. When I regained my equilibrium and awareness of my surroundings, I was still in the same position, on my knees between the two of them, His hands upon me, and hers. Though she had traded her silver talon for her coldly tender thumb, brushing away the blood drop. All the while they spoke, she caressed my face, almost absently with her dead-cold hands. And then I realized I was without my veil. I knelt unveiled before another who was being permitted to touch me. In a tiny, minor way, he was sharing me. To this night I am uncertain how that made me feel. I enjoyed it, surely. It was the first tender touch I had known since his, and this was almost a sexual caress. I fought hard to refocus upon the conversation, and the two seemed as unconcerned by my presence as if I were a hound they both continued to pet to keep calm. “Why is it she was able to see it whereasI was not? To my shadowsight it was not there. Though through her eyes it was clearly so,” he was asking. Persephone shrugged, “Perhaps because she is the one that killed its host. Perhaps because it sought to inhabit her as a consequence. Which ever, once she had her eyes upon it, it could not hide from her again.” “But why did it not try?” I heard, then realized, when she looked down at me, that it was my voice that spoke. She chuckled and caressed my face as if I were a child. “Because, kitten,” she purred. “I believe it feared you would eat it.” She laughed at my expression. “To those who have the eyes to see such things, the souls you have eaten have left their mark on you, as a warning to the souls who wander freely. Only those who are strong enough would dare combat or inhabit you. Do not mistake, there are more than enough here and about that could consume you,” she warned. “But the common are grateful you cannot see them. As am I. For if you were to eat them all, what would I have to play with? Hmm?” Vittorio gave a single chuckle, then returned to business. “So it will kill again?” Persephone sighed, looked back up at him. “I fear so. But we are fortunate that he has a preference. You see, he too, is an eater of souls. That is why his host consumes the organs. He inhabits then, eats their soul, then, when he hungers, begins to search for others. Either he likes the taste of loose women, or he hates them so intensely he would obliterate them completely.” “By what signs can he be found?” At this point she wandered away, fiddled with a few objects which were scattered about the room in niches. “It is most likely to steal a male host. It seemed to equate that to life and power.” She rubbed an old finger bone across the blade of my swords, collecting blood. I had not even noticed her come into their possession. A moment later they floated back to me, carried in unseen hands, and were placed in their sheathes at my back. She then began to drip the blood onto a flat stone carved with ancient symbols I could not see. “Yes. To be a man is to be powerful,” she snickered. “For a woman… to have power over her own sexuality is a threat to him.” She actually laughed, a dark echoing sound. “I wonder what he would make of me.” Then she went back to reading the ‘book’ she had created of the spirit. “That is why he kills what he does. It is to destroy them, not out of liking their flavor. Hmmm…. More than likely he finds his host now unable to consume human food. He will hunger after a few days, longer now that he has his host’s soul to satisfy him. Then he will hunt again. So I would look for a man who does not eat and holds great contempt for women.” Again I spoke, though this time I was aware of what I was doing. “Could it inhabit one of the Blood?” She looked up, her small face somber. “If he does... you shall have a fight on your hands.” She moved back to her body on the floor, sinking down next to it and examining the empty chest cavity again. “Alert me when it has been found, but before you kill it. You know how I hate shadowstepping, but…” she sighed, no longer looking at us. “Alert me, then take me to it,… before your pretty kitty pounces to play. Once it is subdued, I shall snag its essence before it can fly away again. Then we will hear no more from it.” “And you shall have a new toy?” He rumbled fondly. She smiled, but did not answer. The darkness folded around us once more and He returned me home. With his permission, I availed myself of the extensive baths in the house, while he send his childe, Antillius, secretly to fetch Casseadorus.
GLOSSARY Squartatore: is a version of 'murderer' in Italian, specifically 'ripper'. (All those native italian speakers feel free to correct my Italian!) noblesse oblige: Means literally: The Obligation of Nobility. It is a term in common usage, but I included it just in case Padrone: is Italian for Patron, and is used to mean a great “Father” of the community. (do I REALLY have to list that Senora means Mrs.?) Maestro: means Master (also a title of honor, not just as in master and slave) Ostad: to recap, is Persian for Master, Alia’s preferred word for Vittorio Procurer: is someone who obtains things. In this case is it a euphemism for pimp. The reference to Roger’s Fleet and Sicily is an historical reference to a war going on between Manuel Comnenus of Byzantium and Roger King of Sicily. The Beast’s involvement is merely Vittorio’s way of ‘helping’ Manuel. Maggiordomo: Italian for butler or majordomo And for those who don’t know; a ‘hand’ is four inches, usually measured across the span of one’s knuckles
*First comment dance* Fun fun fun Great story. Cannot wait for more Sandra Leigh Wagner replies: "soon hopefully, if work doesn't keep me too bogged down. Boss Mom is a real slave driver"
The chapter was...well.... rushed... or so it seemed. Especially the end. It seemed as if you were up till four in the morning and you just wanted the chapter to end... I know, I know, It's not exactly what you intended but *Shrugs* Great none the less and I can't wait till the next few chapters come out. Sandra Leigh Wagner replies: "well, it wasn't that I was wanting it to end... it WAS 2 am and yes, I was forcing it a little. I have so much I want to tell and not sure still of the order. With Clio on Vacation I'm having to make myself write. I did and redid several sections. Thanks for pointing that out and I'll see what I can do"
25 May 2004
Mandi L. Creguer
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I just love the way you always seem to leave me hanging at the end of a chapter! Great story going here, in dying for more! Sandra Leigh Wagner replies: "lol, like a famous singer once said: Always leave them begging for more!"
I agree with comment about it being rather rushed, but overall the criticism is canceled out by the euphoric joy at having another Alia chapter to read Can't wait for more... Sandra Leigh Wagner replies: "thank you, thank you. check back this week to this very chapter and hopefully you'll find 4 here at the end of it. If not, it'll be at the beginning and that'll tell me something got screwed up. My 'preview' was not hopeful."
6 Jun 2004
Mandi L. Creguer
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Ooh, this is getting gooood! Lol, i spoke with my friend today, i have yet to convince him to leave comments for you, but he is getting very addicted, almost as much as myself! Im amazed at how this villainess of a main character can have me so ensnared, and wanting more! Sandra Leigh Wagner replies: "hmmm maybe if I threaten to withhold...? Nah, She's stick a knife to my back or her fangs to my throat...."
This comment pertains to chapter 4... Great Job!! The plot is great, and you have overcome the awkwardness of the previous chapter. Brava! Sandra Leigh Wagner replies: "*takes a bow* Unfortunately not all chapters can be perfect, and here's to hoping the next is as good as this"
Me again. I should warn you now of my intention to read your library in its entirety - time permitting. Hopefully you haven’t tired of my commenting yet.
Crits:
~It is unknown if it were a last minute decision or planned all along, but the daughter so wed was herself. --huh? This is another sentence I had to read several times to make sense out of it, and it still confuzzles me.
~He released my hair and stood, strode down the steps to kiss them. --It seems to me that it should either be "and standing, strode down..." OR "and stood, striding down..."
~I stood, slipped behind the throne and made my rounds, listening in to the reactions of his inner council and the nobles on the floor below, both living and dead. --’His inner council’?
~ There was a young Hospitallar with Casseadorus who asked his patron, “Why is he not furious? When Gregori tried a similar bid for power, he was murdered by His veiled monster.” --You didn’t capitalize ’he’ but you did capitalize ’His.’ Is there a method to your madness that I haven’t noticed yet, or is it a typo?
~I drifted off after that, as conversation moved to philosophy and the art of politics itself. The music not quite to my tastes, I did not dance, but left the hall itself, choosing to dance to my own music in the inner halls. --You’ve used ’itself’ to emphasize your point two sentences in a row. Not really a mistake, I’m sure, merely one of my annoying crits.
~Something about her had captured his interest and I half expected to have another hapless maid added to the harem below the house where he kept his private collection for feeding. --Yet again you’ve capitalized/emphasized a few "He"s, but not all of them in reference to Vittorio
~It was a long moment by human standards, so long those in the audience were beginning to think she defying his request and much longer than any human ruler would have waited. --"she was defying..." ? Seems like you’re missing a word there.
~Vittorio smiled inwardly and his hand by my head brushed his fingers against my invisible cheek. --Again with the lack of capitalization. I was joking before about a method to your madness, but perhaps you truly are choosing to emphasize it only sometimes?
~ I relayed the information to Vittorio, but he was less than interested. “Let her play the humanitarian. It matters not to me,” he told me. --Same
to be continued...
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The girl had been sitting beside a body stretched out upon the floor. Symbols were chalked on the stone around it and its central cavity lay open. Most of its organs were gone and the body had been chewed upon by things. It might have been female once. Persephone looked up at us, her hand still inside the cavity and sighed. She tilted her head, listened to the air and then unfolded herself from the floor and crossed to me.
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Mandi L. Creguer
Can't wait for more...
