Dante's Quest: Saving the Lost Kingdom

By Geniale R. Cuglietta

"Above, the battle raged, the trespassing Liveians dominating the Villdormians. Sensing the sweet taste of victory, the Liveians fought even harder, hacking, and stabbing their way to victory with the bloodlust in their hearts.

A kingdom that had been entirely peaceful not long ago was now awash in blood, and the casualties were too numerous to count. The battle was all but won ... but the true end was signaled when the Villdormian bell fell to the ground and broke in half, the letter 'V' on its face breaking in two.
The Kingdom of Villdorm had fallen.

The Kingdom of Villdorm was lost."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Nov 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9780228837350

Geniale R. Cuglietta

Geniale Cuglietta was born in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. He obtained a Bachelor of Arts degree in Psychology (with Distinction) from Carleton University in 2019 and graduated from the Bachelor of Education Program at the University of Ottawa, Summa Cum Laude, in 2021. He became an Ontario Certified Teacher (OCT) that same year and immediately commenced teaching, his passion as well as his profession. When not teaching or writing, Geniale can be found spending quality time with family and friends, at the soccer pitch (as a coach or player) or engaging in other sports or physical activities. Geniale intends to continue writing and hopes to publish more books in the future.

Book preview

Dante’s Quest

Saving the Lost Kingdom

Geniale R. Cuglietta

Dante’s Quest: Saving the Lost Kingdom

Copyright © 2022 by Geniale R. Cuglietta

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-3734-3 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-3733-6 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-3735-0 (eBook)

This story is dedicated to my family.

Table of Contents

Preface

Chapter 1 - A Fallen Kingdom

Chapter 2 - The First Sacrament

Chapter 3 - The Gathering

Chapter 4 - The Forthcoming

Chapter 5 - The Calling

Chapter 6 - A Night of Terror

Chapter 7 - 2024

Chapter 8 - The Revelation

Chapter 9 - The Unforeseen Gates

Chapter 10 - A Growing Concern

Chapter 11 - The Illusional Truth

Chapter 12 - An Open Investigation

Chapter 13 - The Kingdom of Villdorm

Chapter 14 - A Discovered Strength

Chapter 15 - The Informing

Chapter 16 - The Misericord

Chapter 17 - Liveian High Lords

Chapter 18 - A Foretelling Fear

Chapter 19 - A Dungeon of Prisoners

Chapter 20 - The Prophesied Savior

Chapter 21 - Long Live The King

Chapter 22 - At Last

Chapter 23 - The First Encounter

Chapter 24 - The Miracle Birth

Chapter 25 - In The Hands of Good

Chapter 26 - A Telling Vision

Chapter 27 - The Reunion

Chapter 28 - The Alteration

Chapter 29 - The Cries of Death

Chapter 30 - A Pile Of Trophies and Ash

Chapter 31 - Forever Gone

Chapter 32 - The Falls

Chapter 33 - The Plan

Chapter 34 - Rogibar and the Telling Spirit

Chapter 35 - For The Kingdom

Chapter 36 - To The Death

Chapter 37 - As One

Chapter 38 - The Painting

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Preface

Nearly six years ago, I envisioned a story. Although I had never written a novel before—nor even had the most minor thought of writing one in my lifetime—the vision inspired me greatly. Truthfully, a dream to share this story with the world was instantly born and, with that, I said to myself, Let the typing begin!

Writing my vision over the years was by no means easy; it was only achieved with great effort. It required an energy investment, concentrated research, detailed planning, long hours of writing, and meticulous editing, all of which was done while I was pursing my career (undergraduate and post-graduate degrees, and teaching opportunities). All that remains to say is that I am pleased to present Dante’s Quest: Saving the Lost Kingdom. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Geniale R. Cuglietta

— CHAPTER 1 —

A Fallen Kingdom

A beaming sun in a cloudless sky lit up a land in an unearthly realm where a kingdom—the Kingdom of Villdorm—existed. The brilliant sun brought with it the warmth of summer, which the citizens of Villdorm had been eagerly waiting for after planting their gardens in the spring. Summer made the plants grow, so there could be a good harvest in the fall.

In the air, gorgeous, white-feathered doves seemed to celebrate the beauty of the day by gliding gracefully through the blue sky over the sizeable kingdom, whistling cheerfully as their wings flapped rapidly. From where they flew, they could see the farms on the outskirts of Villdorm, with their grassy fields, and animals such as horses, goats, sheep, pigs, turkeys, ducks, and chickens. Toward the kingdom’s center the doves admired flower farms boasting brightly colored flowers. The smell of the blossoms was amazing: the air was filled with scents of lavender, freesia, jasmine, and rose. It was sweet, but just right; it was the kind of smell one never forgets.

But what was most impressive were the countless homes in the heart of the kingdom. Most were built of solid oak boards, or sometimes of beige colored stone, both of which were plentiful in the kingdom. From the air, the doves looked down on rooftops built from either slate or red clay tiles, and stone pathways where the good people of Villdorm—the Villdormians—went about their daily activities, chatting with neighbors; up-keeping their homes; or if they were children, playing, running, skipping, and climbing trees, free of worries.

North of the kingdom, ahead of the rocky mountains that rose toward the sky, an enormous stone castle stood. This castle, though removed from the town, always beckoned a welcome to the Villdormians, and its gates remained open so citizens could visit at will. It was a busy place, as it was the site of a daily market, and Villdormians came every day and shop and barter for goods at the bustling bazaar held at the castle’s base. Underneath the castle was a network of tunnels that led to and from the castle to the market. They were not secret; quite the opposite—all were welcome to use them and access the lower floors of the castle when conducting official business.

A banner waved and flapped from the castle’s highest, cylinder-shaped tower. This banner, white with a blue strip edging it, was the official flag of Villdorm and was flown at the command of King Moretti, the monarch of Villdorm. King Moretti was a good king—a soft-spoken, warm-hearted gentleman who genuinely cared for his people. Across the land he was widely regarded as a perfect king.

On that beautiful summer day, King Moretti was on the balcony of his bedchamber, admiring the stunning, panoramic view in front of him. His arms were crossed behind his back, and the wind was softly breezing over his face. King Moretti was an older, bearded man with long, gray hair, and the most stunning ocean-blue eyes. Today, he wore a soft, knee-length, white tunic; a polished, gold crown; and a broad smile. He was smiling because he was proud of Villdorm, and of the subjects who populated this great land. Because of these things, his heart filled with joy and love.

King Moretti turned his attention to the far west and gazed at a massive waterfall that was cascading over some steep, rocky mountains into a river that flowed south into a dark forest, toward a small lake that led to another, larger lake. As King Moretti watched, he was overcome by the waterfall’s beauty. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath … and that’s when he heard hushed footsteps approaching. His first instinct was to think it was one of his trusted Villdormian knights, called the Protectors of the Land; however, these footsteps were not meant to be heard and before he could acknowledge the approaching person, he heard the ‘schwing’ of a dagger sliding out of its scabbard, and he was violently grabbed from behind.

King Moretti’s eyes opened wide, and his face speedily reddened as he was choked by strong arms gripping him around his neck. He tried desperately to maneuver his way out of the neck hold, but whoever was choking him had too firm a grip. Within a mere second, King Moretti found himself incapacitated, a sharp dagger held to his neck.

Your reign is over, a man whispered into his ear.

King Moretti knew the voice—it was familiar, the voice of someone he had once trusted; however, before he could identify his attacker and respond, his throat was slit. Silently, he fell to the ground, his hands to his neck, trying to stem the blood that was rapidly squirting from the wound.

He rolled to his side, blood pooling around him as his executioner said, At last I, Sephtis Nadas, ruler of darkness, will rise in power, and there will be a new beginning! Follow the darkness—and bring death upon the light.

Sephtis Nadas has killed me, thought King Moretti. With fading eyes, he examined Sephtis, a pale-skinned, powerfully built, bearded man with long, black hair hanging loosely over yellow, glazed eyes that had dark circles beneath them. These bruised, discolored circles made Sephtis look like the devil himself.

King Moretti knew he was dying. He was losing a lot of blood, and fast. His mouth full of blood, and his white tunic was covered in it. He gasped for air but could not take the slightest breath, let alone speak as he wanted to do. All he could do was stare at the man he had once trusted as his life ebbed away.

Sephtis smiled icily at the dying king. Farewell, bastard! he said, pure hatred in his voice. Then he spat into the king’s face and penetrated King Moretti’s chest with his dagger.

With that, King Moretti took his final breath. His blue eyes remained open, and he looked up toward the heavens as a single teardrop rolled down one cheek. As he exhaled his last breath, thunder abruptly rumbled across the sky, making the ground tremble and the vibrant sun suddenly became pale and weak. Almost instantaneously, the cloudless sky filled with dense, dark, clouds, as if the kingdom was communicating displeasure.

A storm was brewing.

The king was dead.

Many Villdormians looked up, confused at the strange weather, but then proceeded on with their work. However, a boy who was working with his mother in the market, selling vegetables just below King Moretti’s balcony, looked up above his head to the king’s chambers in fear. What is it, son? What are you staring at? asked his mother.

The boy did not blink; he was fixated on the king’s bedchamber balcony. He pointed his finger up at it. What is that?

What is what, my child? his mother returned.

The thing Lord Sephtis holds in his hand?

Lord Sephtis? The boy’s mother followed his pointing arm to see what he was seeing. Ahh! she shrieked in horror as she realized what she was witnessing. Then she grabbed her son to prevent him from seeing anything else … for what Sephtis Nadas held aloft by the hair was the head of the king, fresh blood dripping from its neck to splatter on the stone-paved ground below.

Upon hearing screams, others looked up to notice the gruesome sight. Who is that? asked someone in the growing crowd, panicked.

Is that the king? asked a woman.

Surely, it cannot be! exclaimed a man.

Murmurs quickly became screams as people understood what had just happened. That is King Moretti! shrieked a terrified Villdormian maiden.

Meanwhile, Sephtis smirked proudly and swung King Moretti’s head in the air. Fools! he shouted down to the crowd of Villdormians. "What you see in my victor’s hand is the weak, cowardly fool you once unwisely called king! This man has fallen to me, and so, too, will the people of Villdorm! Today, I, Sephtis Nadas, ruler of darkness, will ensure that the Kingdom of Villdorm will be overtaken by my Liveian army to become mine!" he howled, his dagger raised high in the air.

Then he dropped King Moretti’s head to ground, where it bounced before coming to rest at the traumatized boy’s feet.

As the people of Villdorm gasped in shock and clasped their loved ones to their chests, Sephtis ran back into the castle. Then, as if on cue, the castle bells began to toll, a sign to the populace that the kingdom had been compromised. As the news spread, panic increased and, sensing that further danger was on the horizon, Villdormians scattered, and many prepared to flee.

At the same time, the Protectors of the Land assembled, swarming toward the castle to defend the land and people. Dressed in silver armor and blue shoulder capes, they arrived in great numbers, prepared to fight.

Ready yourselves for war! shouted one knight, as he unsheathed his sword and gripped his shield.

This is our land, and we shall not lose it! screamed another.

Just then, a scout arrived with the following news. An unknown group of knights, surely followers of Sephtis, come in numbers far greater than ours! he yelled over the chaos.

Prepare to defend what is ours! called out several of the assembled knights.

A Villdormian woman from the market, who was quivering and crying in fear, called to the leader of the knights, What shall we do?

Those who will not stay to fight must run into the forest at once! called the leader to the woman. "You can hide there. Run and do not stop running, do you hear me? You have not much time! Go! Go!"

And so those Villdormians without military training frantically started to run toward the forest; however, they had no way of knowing they were running into a trap. The forest was not close, and they had to flee through open farmland where an ambush awaited. Sephtis’s troops—the Liveians, or Black Knights—blocked their path, warriors in black armor and red capes. They stood in battle formation, black flags outlined in red flying over their heads. In their hands, they held spears, battle-axes, longswords, hand-and-a-half swords, and shields. They awaited instruction from their commander, Lord Kaine, who galloped up and down the rows on a giant, muscular horse, sword held tightly.

When Kaine heard the bell tolling from the castle, he prepared to attack. The bells have rung, Liveians! Kaine bellowed. The kingdom, and a new beginning, shall soon be ours. Kill those bastards! Kill them all! Let there be no survivors! You need not show mercy, or the ruler of darkness will have your head on a spike! Follow the darkness—and bring death upon the light!

The Black Knights responded in kind, bellowing as one, Follow the darkness—and bring death upon the light!

Kaine turned his horse to face the kingdom and shouted, King Moretti is dead! and then, by raising his longsword high into the air, he signaled the Black Knights to charge. For King Nadas! he commanded.

The Liveians, weapons raised high, galloped toward Villdorm, and toward those fleeing from the castle, who were approaching. First, however, they struck down those gentle citizens who farmed the outer limits of the kingdom, surprising them as they went about their daily duties, collecting eggs, milking cows, or threshing wheat. A farmer named Ben was first to spot the galloping horde. Watch out! he shrieked to his wife and children. Run! Run for your lives!

Find safety at once! Ben’s neighbor, Jeremiah, yelled to his farmhands. Move, move, move!

Sadly, these people were all struck down before they could warn others in the farmlands, setting the stage for a ghastly pillage. The hordes of Black Knights kept coming, moving toward the city center where Villdorm’s Protectors of the Land awaited them. As they thundered onward, they hacked and slashed at those fleeing from the castle, killing men, women, and children indiscriminately. Then, when they had hacked their way through these unfortunate souls, they surrounded the city and began to kill the rest.

Clashes with the Protectors of the Land were thick and fast, and much blood was shed; however, the brave knights of Villdorm were vastly outnumbered and they began to fall quickly.

As the combat intensified, one terrified mother who had not fled with those trying to seek shelter in the forest, cried to her daughter, Sweetheart, find safety, now! Go inside—over there! She pointed to a tavern, its door swinging on one hinge, as she watched the intruding knights speedily approach. Not wanting to leave her mother’s side, her daughter wept with horror, but began to run; however, when the girl stared back at her mother, it was just in time to see an arrow penetrate her mama’s stomach.

No! Mother! she cried, running toward her instead of finding safety. Mother, mother, mother! she sobbed as she held the dying woman.

I love you, my child, her mother replied, struggling to talk. Find safety, now! There was nothing the girl could do but obey.

Not far away, a young boy named Cassius was holding his crying younger sister, Emmelia, tightly in his arms as his scared parents, Theobald and Trea, desperately tried to find safety for the four of them. Theobald wanted to lead his family out of the territory but knew they would not get far without being spotted by the Black Knights. Things seemed hopeless until Theobald spotted a water well nearby. The well! Run to it! he told his family as he guided them around a gruesome mix of dead people and blood, stopping halfway to the well to say to his children, You must get in that well. Then he unsheathed his sword and his eyes locked on a Black Knight to his left.

What are you doing, Father? asked Cassius. Are you not coming with us?

You need not worry about me! Hide in the well! Theobald thundered at his son, holding his sword across his body in a battle stance.

With a quick sob, Trea pushed Cassius and Emmelia toward the well, leaving Theobold behind. When they arrived, she said to Cassius, Grab ahold of the rope! I will lower you!

What about you? questioned Cassius, realizing she did not plan to join him and his sister. Are you not coming, Mother?

I will see you both soon. Trust me! Trea assured her startled son.

Emmelia sobbed. No, Mother! Stay with us!

Take the rope, Emmelia! Trea shouted firmly, desperately wanting to save her children’s lives in the middle of the massacre. I will get your father, and we will return shortly.

The children nodded miserably and followed their mother’s orders; they grabbed ahold of the rope, and slowly descended into the well, crying as they did so. Unfortunately, as Trea lowered the rope, it abruptly snapped and with sharp cries of surprise, Cassius and his sister fell into the cold water.

Above, the battle raged, the trespassing Liveians dominating the Villdormians. Sensing the sweet taste of victory, the Liveians fought even harder, hacking, and stabbing their way to victory with the bloodlust in their hearts.

A kingdom that had been entirely peaceful not long ago was now awash in blood, and the casualties were too numerous to count. The battle was all but won … but the true end was signaled when the Villdormian bell fell to the ground and broke in half, the letter ‘V’ on its face breaking in two.

The Kingdom of Villdorm had fallen. The Kingdom of Villdorm was lost.

— CHAPTER 2 —

The First Sacrament

[Flashback: New York, July 21, 2001]

The sun shone on a New York forest, which was on the outskirts of the great city itself. The forest was stirring with life. After three consecutive days of rainfall, it smelled like pine trees, soil, and moss. Birds chirped peacefully within the forest, while leaves rustled in the gentle wind.

Deep within the forest was an ancient church called Saint William’s. St. William’s Church was small, but well-tended and beautiful. It was a craftsman’s dream inside; all its indoor wooden structures were intricately hand-carved, and the place smelled of natural wood and burning candles. However, its most impressive feature were the colorfully detailed windows, stained-glass depictions of the fourteen Biblical Stations of the Cross.

St. William’s Church was not vacant on that beautiful summer day; instead, a Catholic family had gathered inside with the priest to celebrate a baptism, the entrance into the New Covenant of Christ for their newest member, a baby boy.

To an outsider, the warmth of this family was easily apparent; they interacted and laughed easily as they waited for the liturgy to commence. They were a good-looking family, fashionable and well dressed. They were dark haired people, with long noses and faces.

The priest, Father John—a fair-skinned, slender man, with a short, grayish-white beard—was appropriately dressed in a priest’s long, white robe, an alb. Father John had a reputation as a kind man who, despite being legally blind and able to see only the slightest bit of light from a young age, was blessed with a special connection to God, and who spoke with great passion and enthusiasm.

He approached the parents, who were holding the little baby, using a white cane to make his way through the crowd, an acolyte boy following him closely to take his cane or guide him as needed, and then took his place at the altar.

The assembled family looked at him in anticipation. Brothers and Sisters, he began, the celebration of baptism is a beautiful thing. Father John could sense where the baby’s parents were. He turned to them and asked, Marco and Amara, what name have you chosen for your child?

Dante, Father. Dante DeViaggio, they responded together.

Amara DeViaggio, a short, slim Greek woman with curly, brown hair and hazel eyes, gently rocked her baby boy in her arms, as her husband Marco stood beside her, one arm protectively draped around her shoulders. Tall, strong, Italian Marco sported a nicely trimmed beard and the dark hair of his family but differed from them with his startling bluish-gray eyes which reminded Amara of the color of the feathers of a bird she used to love as a child, the Gnatcatcher. This was a sign to her that Marco was meant to be her husband, and so she didn’t hesitate to say ‘yes’ when he proposed.

And what do you ask of God’s Church for Dante today? asked Father John.

Baptism, Father, the parents replied together.

Father John smiled benevolently, revealing laugh lines around his eyes and on the sides of his mouth. Then he proceeded with the baptismal liturgy. He began by anointing Dante’s godparents, Aunt Maria (Marco’s sister) and her husband, Uncle Joseph, who agreed to support Marco and Amara as they raised their small son. Then, the altar boy carefully guided Father John to baby Dante so the priest could baptize the boy.

Dante was a beautiful baby. He had light brown hair scattered over the top of his head; rosy, chubby cheeks; bluish-gray eyes like his father’s; and the most precious, innocent smile. He rested against his mother’s violet dress, the white pearl buttons on his baptismal outfit complementing her pearl necklace. He slept peacefully as his mother rocked him.

Father John gently placed his thumb onto Dante’s forehead. Dante, the Christian community welcomes you with great joy. In its name, I claim you for Christ our Savior by the sign of his cross.

He made the sign of the cross on Dante’s forehead, as smooth as silk, and Marco, Amara, and Dante’s godparents delicately followed suit, one at a time. Then the priest invited Dante’s parents and godparents to the baptismal font while the rest of the extended family watched, stiffly sitting in the small church’s uncomfortable pews.

Father John held Dante over the baptismal font with one forearm as support. He scooped up some holy water with a white aspergillum shell and, as he poured some on the baby’s forehead, he said, Dante DeViaggio, I baptize you in the name of the Father … he poured the water, and the Son … he poured again and Dante cried lightly in surprise at the wetness, and the Holy Spirit, he concluded, carefully pouring water over Dante’s little forehead for the third and final time.

Dante squirmed a little and began to cry. With the baptism now complete, Father John held the crying Dante up toward the light coming through the beautiful church windows. Dante’s family clapped and the baby blinked, confused at being held in the air. Father John smiled and prepared to hand the baby back to his mother … and then suddenly an unexpected beam of sunlight pierced through the glass