Francesco Leo
VIKTOR
The Cycle of Rebirth
Translation by
Joanne Stellato
Copyright MMXVIII
EDIZIONI PAGURO
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cod. ISBN 978-88-99509-57-6
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I Italian Edition
January 2016
I English Edition
October 2018
With the support of MiBAC and SIAE, as part of the initiative
“Sillumina – Private copy for young people, for culture”
Con il sostegno del MiBAC e di SIAE, nell’ambito dell’iniziativa
“Sillumina – Copia privata per i giovani, per la cultura”
Translation by Joanne Stellato
On the jacket “Viktor,” illustrations by Alessandro Calbini
Inside illustrations by Florinda Zanetti
Dedicated to my friends;
my parents;
my supporters;
and whoever helped me to grow up:
to those who were and no longer are;
to those who wanted to be but couldn’t;
to those who were and always have been;
to those who changed lives;
to those who, still today, are.
PREFACE
Hello.
I’m Francesco Leo, the author of the book, born in June of ‘92 and I’ve always had a great passion for videogames, cinema and fantasy literature.
I lived for years in a small town in the province of Viterbo but now, for reasons that aren’t necessary to explain, I’m near Salerno.
I began to write when I was very small, as a game, without knowing where this passion would have brought me today.
I will be brief so you can read the book.
Because this is my first novel, I hope to be able to communicate what I want to convey with my story.
This book was born with the aim of giving vent to my creativity and how, with my writing, I was able to give life to all that I dreamed of in my mind since I was a child.
With a fantastic story, my goal is to make us realize the importance of some values such as love, friendship and sacrifice, values that today, unfortunately, seem to be disfigured and disregarded.
Hoping I’m wrong or, perhaps even keeping the values in which I believe, I gave life to a story for all ages and for whoever hasn’t stopped believing in the strength of dreams.
In the book, at some point in the story, we will find the Runes, a particular means with which it’s possible to use magic.
In the last pages of the book, right after the last chapter, you will find a detailed description for each of the runes that appears in the novel.
For the motives for which this story begins and having said what I had to, now I only have to stop annoying you to wish you a good voyage in the fantastic Lands of Mirthya.
THE DAWN OF A NEW DAY
T he silver moon shined on the top of the pines and the mounts, making the darkness that the cold night brought with it disappear.
In the dense forest all was quiet, only the rustling of the leaves moved by the wind interrupted the solemn silence that reigned unopposed.
The moss, the weak air current moved the plants and the flowers, while the opaque light of the moon crossed the foliage of the trees and shined on the ground tingeing it platinum.
Suddenly the calm was interrupted by a far-off and continuous noise that was coming closer and closer.
The sound became more intense and seemed like the beating of a drum.
A pair of squirrels came out of their burrow staring in the direction of the sound with an astonished and frightened expression.
While the sound was becoming more intense and nearer and nearer, even the wind began to swish as if it too was bewailing the intruder.
The two squirrels were motionless until they saw a distinct figure come out of the darkness where the light of the moon didn’t arrive.
A shadow was riding quickly towards the edge of the woods as if it was affronting time itself.
At last, where the immense Grey Hills could be seen, the shape stopped, he took a breath, dismounted his black stallion, and ordered the beast to stay still, bearing off on foot with a red bundle tightly held in his left hand.
He began walking, clinching the bundle to his chest, while, with his other hand, he held an enormous sword adorned with gems right up to the blade.
In front of him there were the silent, green prairies, mantled with moonlight.
The man, illuminated by the moon, began walking again quickly despite the signs of fatigue on his face.
Finally, near the Grey Hills, the land began to slant so much that it was difficult to reach the top.
There the walls of a ruined castle with a dismal and massive air could be seen: it was as if nothing good could happen inside that sinister manor. The man lowered his head to look at his breast that was moving frenetically up and down. “The years must have weakened me greatly,” he thought.
He waited until he had enough breath to continue. The castle was only two hundred footsteps away.
The figure wasn’t bewildered and continued fearlessly on his way ready to destroy anything that tried to stop him. He knew that he couldn’t waste energy right now but, if it were necessary, he wouldn’t have hesitated doing it.
A hundred and fifty yards, a hundred yards: he was getting closer and closer to his destiny. At fifty yards there wasn’t much distance between him and the massif wooden portal, but something stopped him grabbing his arm. He remained impassable. The hood covering his face moved with an impalpable blast of wind. Then, nothing.
The traveller turned around, observed the cold, skinny hand of the entity that had blocked him: it was a skeleton.
The non-dead figure stared at the intruder with his expressionless and concave eyeholes, adding pressure to his arm. The man showed no sign whatever of opposition.
The assailer’s bones had lost the whiteness of yore becoming dark grey mixed with mud.
The skeleton raised his arm and was about to hit the man who remained motionless. “Non-dead creatures,” he observed. “They aren’t common in this area. And so that fool really thinks he can defend himself with these tricks? Pathetic!”
The man suddenly bent down avoiding the skeleton’s punch and recited a magic formula. The words came out of his mouth with the same naturalness as water flowing in a brook.
The skeleton wasn’t aware of the antagonist’s spell until he saw a spark of light on the palm of his hand. An instant later, a blue dazzle mouldered him.
“At any rate you would have become ashes one day,” the enchanter observed sarcastically.
He arrived in front of the entrance and with the same formula he split the massif portal in two and it fell to the ground with an enormous plonk.
The inside of the castle was enwrapped in the most profound darkness, only some moon rays filtered through the flaws in the ceiling illuminating a small portion of the floor.
The hooded man moved slowly and silently towards the end of the saloon, where darkness covered everything.
Arriving nearly to the centre of the room, he stopped and began listing another series of incomprehensive words.
After a few seconds intense blue filaments of magic energy emanated from his hands.
The thin filaments fluctuated slowly, moved
by the wind that passed through the flaws in the walls. Suddenly the magic filaments became rigid and broke off the enchanter’s fingers, darting in different areas of the immense room and disappearing into the darkness.
Soon the darkness began to dissolve giving way to an intense orange gleam.
The mysterious fellow began to advance following the route created by the light. After a few steps he arrived to the staircase. At the top there was a marble throne, worn out by the passing of time, just like the entire construction.
The man stopped, a loud sound surprised him and the enchantment of the light he had evoked began to gradually grow faint.
“What makes you do this, Xemnath? Why confront me?” a voice in an austere tone said in the darkness.
The hooded man made a grimace of contempt, waited a few seconds and spoke: “It’s over, Zergh. I was chosen by the Divine Council and have come to put an end to your tyranny. You should know it!”
“You are a poor fool,” the other answered. “Is there anyone that can stop me?”
“By now no one can do anything against me, my power goes beyond your imagination, and soon I will subjugate the entire humankind to my commands. It won’t be an old man that can stop me, nor even less your gods! There is no time left for you to combat. Get out or you will be the last man to be killed, Xemnath!”
“No, Zergh, the weapon that will destroy you is here with me and it will be me to brandish it. Let me see you!”
After moments of silence, Zergh spoke again.
“It’s here with you?”
“Yes, it’s with me,” he repeated.
Xemnath, dropping his hood behind him, revealed a face marked by a long scar that divided it crosswise.
He had two light blue eyes hidden by his silver hair, disarranged as if the wind was moving it. He sheathed his sword from the scabbard on his back and brought his right hand to the bundle that he held tightly with his free hand. He quickly pulled out a sword with its hilt decorated in runes and gems, then he aimed it straight in front of him.
The symbols engraved on the blade began to shine one after another in different colours, then, when the seventh and last symbol lit up with an emerald glow, the blade released a swirl of colours that radiated the whole area for miles away.
“What is it?” Zergh screamed from somewhere while the rainbow light hit him. “Again? What type of weapon is it?”
“They baptised it Arald, the sword of destiny: you should know this too!”
All of a sudden the conversation between the two became more and more incomprehensible and the words were waning until the discussion became silent. Even the image of the scene began to blur, spinning and then leaving the place in total darkness.
Black everywhere. Then the dim light of a candle began to clear the darkness, showing the vague outlines of a ceiling.
******
A young man was lying on a hard wooden plank. He got up slowly, massaging his aching back.
“I must have fallen asleep while I was putting my mother’s things away and furthermore there was also that dream that is haunting me every night, damn it. I wonder what it means,” he thought.
He rolled his emerald eyes, scanning the familiar attic he was in, then he ran a hand over his thick, dark hair, long enough to cover his eyes.
The young man rubbed his torso with his arms to warm up and approached the candle feeling relieved to receive that slight warmth on his skin. The faint light highlighted his complexion, not very clear but not too dark.
He seemed to have fallen asleep again, when a sudden cold shiver ran through his arm and made him jump.
Even if he was tired, he couldn’t go to sleep again because he had many things to do: he had to go to Trust, the village blacksmith. That thought brought back his entire childhood, up until the moment when he began working with Trust.
Since he was a child, after the sudden death of his mother because of an illness at the time incurable, the boy had grown up with his father. For nineteen long years he had been the one to take care of him until, by now almost an adult, he had begun to contribute to the keeping of the household with his younger brother Gabriel.
Gabriel went out very early and helped his father on the farm that had belonged to them for many years and which assured them, during harvesting, enough food for the winter.
So, while Gabriel and their father First worked on the farm and in the fields, Viktor began earning some money helping the village blacksmith who was also an old family friend.
Returning to the present, the boy went to wash his face and get dressed. He wore brown leather trousers with boots and a jacket of the same colour and fabric. Under the jacket he wore a light white t-shirt which wasn’t suitable for cold outside temperatures, but suitable to spend several hours in a small and very hot forge.
He quickly went down the ladder that led to the attic and he found himself in a short corridor.
Walking fast he went by his bedroom door where he slept with his brother and by his father’s bedroom, reaching the kitchen that was near the front door.
He went to the cupboard and found a piece of bread that he put into his mouth and hurried to the door.
He put his left hand on the steel handle of the small wooden door and could feel the frozen weather that was awaiting him outside the warm house.
He rubbed his hands and warmed them by placing them close to his mouth, then made sure that he had buttoned his jacket well and went out.
He looked at the small village of Lezhen, which amazed him every day for its simple architecture made up of buildings similar to each other and strictly arranged in a circular form.
He looked at the central square of the small village, where a large sculpture of the founder had been hoisted.
He imagined the numerous entertainment events that took place in the spring and summer in the square and saw the villagers engaged in feasting, singing and enjoying themselves. That thought was enough to make it a better day for him.
The young man returned to reality, captured by a faint light in front of him: he was approaching Trust’s house and, because it was the only house with lights on, it attracted his attention.
He went over the little wooden bridge on the Silver River, that came down from the Jerall mounts on the north, dividing Lezhen in two, and soon he arrived in front of the blacksmith’s door.
He knocked three times and waited.
“The lights are on, he should be inside! He usually doesn’t go out at this time but waits for my arrival before going anywhere.”
The boy, intrigued by the lack of response, decided to try to enter.
He pushed the door open using the knob and saw the entrance to the house.
He entered the warm, comfortable house, closed the door behind him, unbuttoned his jacket and began calling the blacksmith, looking everywhere. He was nowhere to be seen.
Of Trust, not a whiff.
Viktor dropped onto one of the two corduroy armchairs in the living room and he lost himself contemplating the dancing flames in the fireplace, thinking about where his family friend could have gone.
“The door was open, the lights on but no trace of Trust…should I be worried? No, he probably suddenly had something to do and had to go out unexpectedly.”
When he had decided to go out and return later to see if the blacksmith had returned, he heard the noise of glass shattering on the floor.
“I didn’t control the cellar!” he thought. He ran towards the narrow ramp from which a faint reddish light could be seen. He went down the stone stairs and ran towards the end of the room where, beside cases and barrels of different sizes, old Trust was on the floor unconscious.
The noise of broken glass had been caused by a lantern that had fallen from one of the cases where it had been placed, up until Trust had fainted. Viktor leaned over the body and began shaking it trying to wake him up. Seeing it was useless, he went upstairs again, got a pale of water from the forge, and threw it on the blacksmith.
; The old man woke up annoyed, frowning, and opened his small eyes covered by bushy white eyebrows.
“Oh, Viktor, it’s you!” Trust said, still trying to understand what had happened.
“What were you doing there on the floor? I was worried!”
“Hmm…ah, now I remember! I woke up when it was still pitch black and, not being able to sleep, I went downstairs to drink a bit of Brandy and to get some coal for the oven, then I must have fainted, but I don’t know why. Maybe I’m just very tired. At the age of seventy it isn’t strange that a poor blacksmith begins to feel ailments…”
“Yes, I understand, but I was worried all the same. You could rest every once and a while and not worry if you are a few days late for delivery.”
The blacksmith snorted and, leaning on the young boy’s left shoulder and with his other hand on a case, tried clumsily to get up.
Trust looked down at his stocky, though robust, frame, and wished to appear as in his past teenage years.
He wore a pair of plum-coloured cotton trousers, sandals and a white t-shirt that became black when he cleaned his hands on it.
“Well, I think that this morning we have already wasted enough time!” Trust said in a sarcastic tone, while he loaded a big sack of coal on his massive arms and went towards the forge.
Viktor smiled and followed the clumsy figure of the blacksmith.
Reaching destination, the man put the sack down in a corner and turned to Viktor.
“Put the coal into the oven while I go and get that,” Trust said, pointing to a long, narrow grey box.
The boy turned to the box as soon as he had finished throwing the coal into the flames and looked at Trust questioningly, who returned his gaze telling him to wait a few minutes while he went to wash his hands.
The black coal that fed the flames soon began to start working, increasing the temperature in the room.
Viktor Page 1