by C. M. Sipes
Darkness Is Rising
C. M. Sipes
Copyright © 2017 by Chelsea Sipes
All rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
United States of America
This is dedicated to everyone who has helped me achieve my dream. Except that professor I had in undergrad who tried to make me fail his course.
You are just an asshole, sir.
“They had forgotten the first lesson, that we are to be powerful, beautiful, and without regret.”
Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire
Chapter I
Verona, Italy
1347 A.D.
“Vittoria!” the voice called out. Vittoria slowly turned her head to glance back at the house, her mother’s arm waving to catch her attention. She could barely make out her figure on the steps as dusk had begun to set.
“Yes, mother?” she called back, fully turning to see what she needed.
“Could you please go and pick up some meat from the marketplace? I have run out for the stew.”
Her mother was a beautiful woman. She had blonde hair and bright green eyes, high cheekbones, and a bright smile. She was not of Italian heritage like Vittoria’s father. Her mother’s parents had moved to Verona when she was a child, from a small village in Bavaria, in search of better opportunity. Vittoria’s father, on the other hand, was of pure Italian blood. His parents, and their parents before them, were raised in Verona, a large fair city.
“Of course, mother,” she replied easily, walking back to the house to receive a few florins to make the purchase. Her mother handed her the coins and Vittoria left, heading down the winding road that lead to the marketplace.
Naturally, Vittoria was not paying attention to her surroundings in the least. Her mind always had a habit of wandering and picturing far-off lands, filled with different people and places. Needless to say, she collided with another body, sending herself to the ground.
“Oh my, my deepest apologies,” a feminine voice said above her.
She glanced up, taking the hand that was offered and standing.
“Oh do not apologize to me, the fault was completely mine,” she breathed out, completely embarrassed at her lack of attention.
“Are you alright?”
“I am fine, signora. Thank you for your concern,” she replied, finally taking the time to assess the woman in front of her.
Her eyes were hazel, almost golden in the fading sun. Her hair was a dark brown with red undertones. The expression that graced her face was kind, yet primal, as if a dangerous predator lurked behind those eyes. She could not have been past the age of thirty.
“It appears you do not have an escort accompanying you. It is not safe to wander alone this close to dark,” the woman said kindly, offering her lightly tanned arm, which Vittoria accepted gratefully. They walked without speaking toward the market for a few minutes before the woman broke the silence.
“My name is Marcella.”
“Marcella? How very Roman,” Vittoria replied easily.
Marcella’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “Indeed. My father was quite the fan of Roman civilization,” she paused a moment, “before the fall though.”
Vittoria nodded in understanding. She was fortunate enough to be good friends with the parish priest, who was a collector of Roman texts. He would allow her to pore over them for hours, and taught her how to read, write, and speak Latin.
“Your father sounds like a very learned man.”
“Indeed he was. He passed away many years ago, though. In a fire actually,” Marcella noted, a curious expression upon her face. “You have yet to tell me your name.”
“Vittoria da Verona.”
“Vittoria,” Marcella stated softly, allowing the letters to roll effortlessly off her tongue. “A beautiful name.”
“Thank you,” she replied just as softly.
They came to a halt in front of the meat stand, making it in time before the man packed up his goods and departed for the evening. Most of the vendors had already left as the sun’s smoky orange rays disappeared beneath the horizon.
Vittoria purchased the meat for her mother, and turned to face Marcella.
“Would you permit me to escort you home?” asked Marcella.
“Of course,” Vittoria replied as they resumed their walk.
They chatted about random things, mainly the current war between the Kingdom of Hungary and the Kingdom of Naples that was taking place, as they walked back up the path. Marcella stopped suddenly, her eyes focusing on a nearby house and the small crowd that had gathered there.
“I wonder what is going on at the Contanto’s home,” Vittoria mused aloud as they began walking toward the commotion.
“Pardon me, but could you tell me what is going on?” Marcella asked one member. She only received a shrug in response before she grasped Vittoria’s hand and pulled her forward through the crowd.
Finally, they broke the line and stood just within the doorway of the home. Both of their eyes settling on the figure lying in bed with the parish priest hovering over, reciting last rites.
“That is Father Caravello,” Vittoria mumbled to her companion. Marcella nodded in response but her eyes remained trained on the figure in the bed.
“He is deathly ill,” Marcella replied, waiting a moment before continuing. “I have seen this sickness before.”
“How can you tell? I cannot see a thing!”
“I can see Signor Contanto,” Marcella confirmed. “Can you not smell the sickness in the air? This entire home reeks of it.”
Vittoria stared at Marcella’s face, but she smelled the air regardless. She could barely smell anything but the stench of straw and wood.
“You say you have seen this sickness before. What can be done for it?”
“Nothing. It is the will of God, or so it seems,” Marcella replied, her eyes briefly flickering to Vittoria’s before turning back to the bed.
Father Caravello finished reading the last rites and glanced up toward the door where the women stood. He nodded curtly to Vittoria before walking to a woman that stood within the home, speaking a few words to her and comforting her as she cried. It was Signora Contanto.
“What is it, Father?” Vittoria asked as Father Caravello walked within earshot.
“Walk with me,” he muttered in reply before pushing through the crowd and urging everyone to go back to their homes and pray to the Saints for the man, as well as themselves and their families. “It is unlike anything I have seen in my years, and I am afraid that it will sweep over this land in force,” the priest spoke as they walked the streets.
“My friend here believes that she has seen this disease before,” Vittoria supplied, looking to Marcella to elaborate further.
“Well, I have not actually seen it for myself,” she corrected, causing Vittoria to scrunch her nose in confusion. “However, I have heard of something that resembles the man’s plight. It is known as the Plague of Justinian. It swept through the Byzantine Empire in the year 542. I had read about it in some scrolls. The symptoms the man is exhibiting look exactly as they are described within the texts,” Marcella explained.
Her voice was like silk, soft and smooth—speaking eloquently, with all of the grace and confidence of a noblewoman, even though she wore peasant clothes. Vittoria suddenly began to feel quite small
and self-conscious. She was a blacksmith’s daughter, and while she had no formal education, she was fortunate that Father Caravello had taken her under his wing and taught her how to read and write. Even with her ability to read and write her native language, as well as Latin, she was certainly very far from the education of a noblewoman.
“Interesting. Well, my lady, I believe your assessment may be correct. I received word from a friend of mine in Venice. Apparently, they have been experiencing the same sickness, and it is there in force. Men, women, and children of all ages are coming down with this—this plague. Their fingers are turning black, they are sweating and burning up severely, and there are swollen lumps near the groin of the afflicted,” Father Caravello explained.
They had come to a halt outside of the church, both Marcella and Vittoria listening intently to his words.
“Is there a cure?” Vittoria asked worriedly.
“I am afraid not. At least not that I have heard of. Then again, I am not a physician, my dear,” Father Caravello said with a gentle smile. “I do know that we should pray to the Saints for strength. People are perishing in large numbers, and this is the first case of this pestilence in Verona. I fear it will not be long before more fall ill to the sickness.”
“A large number of the population within the Empire perished from this plague, and it is possible that it will happen again,” Marcella replied solemnly.
Vittoria swallowed the lump that had taken root in her throat and curtly nodded to Father Caravello. She gave a polite goodbye and the promise to see him tomorrow morning for mass, then she and Marcella made their way down the road to Vittoria’s home.
“My mother is going to be furious that I took so long to return home with the meat,” she said aloud with a slight groan, drawing a chuckle from Marcella.
“So you still reside with your parents?” Marcella asked suddenly as they approached the home.
“Yes.”
“Have you no husband or a betrothed?”
“No, which I must say I am glad for. I help my father in his forge, as well as my mother with the housework, and that is enough for me right now,” she replied calmly.
“How marvelous, I myself have never partaken in blacksmithing,” Marcella said with a grin.
“It is certainly an excellent skill to have.”
“I apologize for inquiring, but do your parents have anyone in mind for you to marry, or do you?”
“I actually have no interest in marriage,” Vittoria replied smoothly, just catching the smirk that crossed Marcella’s face.
“How peculiar,” she commented with an amused smile. “Well, my dear, I must say that it was a pleasure bumping into you today.”
Vittoria gave a light laugh and nodded. “Yes, I must say that I agree as well.”
“I look forward to seeing you around Verona, Signorina Vittoria,” Marcella replied with a smile before turning on her heels and gracefully walking back down the way they had come.
“Vittoria?” She heard her mother call from the steps. “What on earth took you so long?”
“My apologies mother, I had collided with a woman on my way to the market and we became fast friends, and then on the return—”
“Come inside and tell us while I finish the stew,” her mother interrupted as she took the meat and returned inside. When Vittoria entered, her father was sitting at the table sharpening his hunting knife and chewing on a carrot.
“Ah, so our daughter finally returns,” he said with a smirk as she entered the house and took a seat next to him at the table.
“Our daughter was just telling me of some woman she collided with on the way to market.”
“Is that so? Well continue, dear.” He smiled and continued working on his knife.
“As I said, I collided with this woman, her name is Marcella. On our way back here, there was a crowd gathered outside the Contanto’s. Marcella and I pushed our way through to have a better look, and we saw Signor Contanto in bed. He is deathly ill and I do not believe he will make it through the night. Father Caravello was reading him his last rites.”
Her mother gasped and made the sign of the cross on her chest.
“Is there any clue as to what has afflicted him?” her father asked, his brown eyes holding Vittoria’s gaze.
“Marcella had read something in some Roman scrolls about a plague that spread during the Byzantine Empire. She believes that what Signor Contanto is experiencing is the same thing, and so does Father Caravello.”
Her father sat back in his seat and stared at her mother, who was furiously cooking the stew.
“This is punishment from God for the sins of men,” he spat angrily, causing her mother to look at him with a slight fear in her eyes.
“Then only God can alleviate us from this pestilence,” she replied.
Her father gave a grunt in response before turning his attention back to his knife. “So what does Father Caravello know of this disease?”
“A friend of his wrote from Venice, they are experiencing the sickness there as well. People are dying quickly,” replied Vittoria, worry etching her voice as she spoke.
“All we can do is pray,” her mother said in response.
Vittoria and her father nodded in agreement, but she could not shake the feeling that something awful was going to come from this plague.
Vittoria and her family walked down the winding road from their home toward the church. The day was ugly and dreary; no sunlight peeked from behind the gray clouds, and even the usual birds that sang throughout the day were absent. She sighed to herself as they walked, her mind still hanging on the mysterious sickness that had invaded the city. She glanced at her feet as she went, focusing on the small dust clouds her shoes created. Her body collided with another and sent her to the ground, again—letting out a puff of air as her bottom hit the dirt. She heard a melodious laugh shortly after, and could not help but smile to herself as she glanced up.
“We really must stop meeting like this,” Marcella said with a bright smile as she helped Vittoria up once more.
She looked just as beautiful in the daylight, what they had of it anyways. However, Vittoria noticed the dark circles under Marcella’s eyes and her slightly sick expression.
“Marcella, it is wonderful to see you again,” she began as she dusted the dirt from her dress. “Are you well though? You look as if you are becoming ill.”
“Vittoria,” her mother scolded, causing Marcella to give a light laugh.
“I am quite well, my dear, just tired. I was unable to sleep last evening,” she explained before turning to the others. “You must be Vittoria’s parents. My name is Marcella Camelius, it is a pleasure to meet you both.”
Vittoria’s eyebrows rose slightly at the mention of Marcella’s surname. “Camelius? You aren’t descended from the Camelius family of Rome by any chance, are you?” she asked curiously.
“Actually, I am. It is quite impressive you would make that connection. From my understanding, the scrolls containing such information were lost during the fire,” Marcella replied coolly.
“Father Caravello has some exquisite pieces in his collection. I shall have to speak with him about it, you may be able to learn more about your family,” Vittoria explained, a smile gracing her face as she spoke.
“Vittoria here is quite the scholar. We could not be more proud,” her father added, a smile lighting his face as well.
“Yes, your daughter does seem awfully clever,” Marcella replied with a smirk. “Shall we continue on? I assume you are heading to mass as well?”
“Indeed, signora,” her mother replied as they continued the walk to the church. People had already begun filing inside for Sunday mass, yet they managed to take a seat near the front.
“If you do not mind my prying signora, I am not familiar with any Cameliuses in Verona. Where are you from originally? Are you just passing through?” her father inquired, leaning forward slightly to view Marcella.
“I am originally from Roma, but
after my family passed away, I have been indulging myself in travels. It has been some time since I was last in Verona, and I decided to come and pay a visit for a short while,” Marcella replied smoothly.
“How long shall you stay?” her mother asked with a smile. “You will have to come to our home for dinner soon.”
Marcella gave a light laugh before responding, “I had only planned to stay here for a few weeks. But then I met your lovely daughter and think I shall stay a while longer.”
“Oh, is that so?” Vittoria asked with a smile and a light laugh, drawing another from Marcella as well.
They quieted down as Father Caravello stood and faced the congregation.
“Before I begin the mass, I wanted to address some…matters of importance,” Father began. “Signor Contanto passed away late in the night this past evening.”
A few murmurs and gasps passed through the crowd. Vittoria bowed her head and prayed for Signor Contanto in heaven; she was not surprised he had not survived the night. She glanced at Marcella, their eyes making contact and sharing a moment before Father Caravello continued.
“Signor Contanto passed due to a sickness, a sickness that is spreading from Venice. The symptoms are sweating and burning up of the body in the beginning. As it progresses the fingers become black, and swollen lumps take root near the groin and under the arms.” Father paused a moment. “This plague is a sign from God that we have displeased him. We need to ask forgiveness for our sins and repent, or else all will be lost.”
Vittoria glanced at Marcella once more, watching as her lip twitched upward into a smirk and her eyes brightened for a moment—almost as if she was amused. She thought how strange it was that something as serious as God’s displeasure in his children could draw any form of amusement from someone. Marcella’s eyes shifted to meet Vittoria’s and the amusement disappeared in such a flash she thought she had imagined it for a moment. Vittoria looked away, her eyes shifting to Father Caravello.
Father Caravello commenced his sermon, and she did not search for Marcella’s eyes for the rest of the mass. After considerable time had passed, they stood to leave to go back home and eat. Vittoria walked out of the church, Marcella by her side and her parents trailing behind, exchanging pleasantries with their fellow neighbors.