Shadow Lord
A New Vampire Series, Based in Fact
From Author Tony-Paul De Vissage
“Shadow
Lord will draw you into a world where love, vengeance and honor
intermingle. It will change the way you think about vampires.”
--Tony Eldridge, author of The Samson Effect
It was a
lovely Southern summer afternoon—late afternoon, in fact. What the townspeople called “evening,” that
time before day turns into night and the sun begins to dim. It was around six o’clock when Warene de
Vissage stepped from the dining room of the house onto the back porch, calling
to her child to come in for dinner. The
sinking sun was shining on the back side of the house and Warene was sheltered
from its rays by four walls and a roof.
Nevertheless, she could see the heat rising in shimmering waves from the sidewalk fifteen feet away behind the barrier of a running rose-covered
picket fence. She could also feel that
same heat touching her skin and surrounding her like a prickling aura.
Wrapping her arms protectively across
her chest, she hurried back inside not waiting for the child to obey.
The next morning, Warene awoke in
agony. Her skin burned, felt hot and
tight. Staggering out of bed and to the
mirror above her vanity, she stared at the horrorific image before her…its skin
crimson and scorched, blistered and scaling, the burst edges of blisters curled
and inflamed. As if someone had held her
over an open fire. To touch her face
brought excruciating pain. To look at it
brought tears. It itched, it burned, and
the awful part was…she knew why.
The sun…reflecting off the
pavement.
Hadn’t
she felt its heat? She’d dared step
outside during daylight, thinking just this once, it wouldn’t matter…just this
once, so late in the day, she wouldn’t suffer, but though she hurried back
inside, that damnable sun still found her, and did its work.
It would be weeks before she would heal.
This may
sound like the beginning of a vampire story, but it’s true, taken from my own
mother’s life. Maman suffered
from PMLE. Polymorphic light eruption
is one of the less virulent forms of XP, xeroderma pigmentosum…a
condition in which an individual’s DNA cannot repair the damage done to the
skin by ultraviolet rays. There is also the danger of cancer ( 2,000
times stronger than for an unaffected individual) or progressive neurological
damage.
Not much
was known about it back in Maman’s day and she was given no
treatment, except the usual and
customary treatment prescripts for an “allergy,” which did absolutely nothing
in the way of alleviating her pain, and definitely didn’t provide a cure. One doctor actually suggested ultraviolet
treatments, and the result of that…you can imagine.
Although
they now say that PMLE generally resolves itself by age 30, there’s no cure for
XP. XP suffers never come out in daylight; they live their entire lives
after dark. Maman, however, refused
to do that. Probably because she had no
true knowledge of what she was suffering from, and because she had a family to
take care of, she simply forged ahead with her life. She was never able to go into the sunlight
without being completely covered from head-to-toe, even on the most overcast
days. Long pants, knee socks, a
long-sleeved shirt, gloves, a neck
scarf, and a wide-brimmed hat were her usual attire when leaving the house,
plus the addition of an umbrella…and still, she could be touched by sunlight
reflecting from the pavement or any surface, and going through her clothes to
cause first degree burns.
PMLE/XP
appears to be hereditary, though the
occurrence is one in a million, so I was lucky; even with my blond hair and
fair skin, I can walk in sunlight with no more than the normal fear of getting
a sunburn. SPF-70 sunblock and I are old
friends, however, and I use it faithfully.
My mother’s skin, where it wasn’t scarred by old, healed burns (mostly
on her arms), was as pale and translucent as a piece of alabaster.
In
hindsight, I imagine this condition also contributed to her death of ALS, Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, a disease
of the nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord that control voluntary muscle
movement.
Okay, you’re probably saying about
now. This
is all very interesting, and you have our sympathy, Tony-Paul, but… What
does this have to do with vampires? I want to hear about your latest
novel, not your familial illnesses.
The
inference is obvious, and may be one of the ways the vampire myth began. If you were a superstititious person living
in a primitive time when it was believed the sun sank into the sea every night
and rose from it every morning, and you saw someone actually burned by that
same sun…someone who was only comfortable after dark and only felt he could
safely come out of his dwelling in nighttime…what would you think? Other opinions have been offered: premature burials, porphyria,
lycanthropy. I’m certain all these—plus
PMLE and XP—attributed to the legend a good many of us who are writers have
used to our advantage.
When I
began my series The Second Species, I wanted my vampires to be
different, not the usual Undead, sleeping-in-a-coffin type. So I made them a living people, a
second species of Mankind, divorced from their human brothers because of their
differences. They have many
characteristics of the Undead but I’ve given them acceptable
reasons: the entire group suffers
from XP, therefore they can’t emerge into sunlight. I explained away other vampiric
characteristics. They have allergies—the
most powerful one being to garlic and certain herbs. Their refusal to look at crosses, etc., is
not because they are repulsed by them but because their own religion
demands they not look on the sacred objects of other faiths, and so on. They have certain Laws, Canon handed down
from their gods, to govern their behavior,
especially in regard to humans.
Understanding how normal people fear them, they have hidden themselves
away in the cloud-covered peaks of the Carpathians where the sun never
penetrates and whenever they emerge, tragedy inevitably follows.
That is the
story behind the creation of my “vampires,” based in fact, elaborated in
fiction. The first novel in the series, Shadow
Lord, is now available from Double Dragon Publishing. Look for it…I think you’ll enjoy it…and feel
a little sympathy for those true suffers “deprived of God’s holy sunlight.”
EXCERPT:
Though the sun had been down for many
hours, Elsabeta Suvoi was still abed. Her lover liked her that way, wanting his
woman where she was convenient whenever his lust seized him. Elsabeta was
slavishly in love with Mircea Ravagiu. He was violent and insatiable, as cruel
in bed as out of it, but she worshipped him. It had been so from the moment
they met, after her father’s reluctant invitation to a banchet at his castel. Elsabeta had taken one look at the
black-eyed warrior, saw the lustful gleam in his eyes, and left with him that
night against her parents’ wishes. She’d sullied the Suvoi name to become his iubita...and she didn’t care.
He never spoke aloud that he loved her,
though often he praised her body for the satisfaction it gave him. He said
straightaway she should never expect marriage or offspring, but Elsabeta was a
female of her time from a family of women considered mere chattels to their males,
so she accepted his domination without argument. Running away with Mircea was
her one independent act.
At first horrified by the bloody orgies
and attacks upon the deomi, the
humans living on the edges of his estate, she now ignored his rapaciousness and
his brutal games, letting his prowess in bed distract her. When her lover and
his soldati returned from their
hunts, she locked herself in her bedchamber, its thick walls drowning out the
screams from below. It was the cries of the children cut most into her soul. At
those times, she thanked the Oracle Ravagiu swore he’d never get her with
child, for it came into her mind should it happen, it might be her own infant
shrieking out its life in the castel
banquet chamber.
To Elsabeta, Mircea Ravagiu was like
one of the dreadful Ancient Ones who devoured its own offspring. She truly
believed he wouldn’t hesitate to rip out his own child’s throat and drink its
blood should the thought come to him. Yet, with that perversity Nature renders
some, she loved the man and never thought to leave him.
She was jerked from her semi-slumber by
the chamber door being kicked open, sat up to stare at the figure in the
doorway...Mircea, upper body bare, wings hovering around him. They were still
quivering, evidence he’d flown rapidly and had just landed. From where she sat,
she could hear his harsh panting. He held something in his arms.
“Get dressed.” No words of greeting or
love. Just an order.
“Why? What’s the matter?” A loud
crashing came through the doorway, voices crying out. “What’s that noise?”
“My men are disposing of the vanjosi.” He answered as calmly as if
merely announcing the moon had risen. “Strigoi’s freak’s on his way here and we
have to go.”
“You should’ve expected this.” She
dared remind him of what he’d done, though it jeopardized her own life. “Did
you think you could slaughter his family and he wouldn’t retaliate?”
She’d been horrified when he returned
from his brother’s castel announcing they’d been executed by the Prince’s Taietor, didn’t believe it when he said
he planned to kill the Shadow Lord and his family. She hadn’t thought he’d
succeed and waited to be told he was dead,
resigned to living the rest of her days
as an outcast for the choice she’d made. And then, Mircea returned, bloodily
triumphant...and Janos Strigoi and his wife were dead and their children carried
away to be tortured before their blood nourished their father’s enemy.
“I never thought that book-bound
scholastic’d have balls enough to take a sword in his hands.” He stalked into
the room. The sounds from below got louder, women screaming, men shouting,
voices abruptly cut off to be replaced by others just as terrified. “Get up or
you’ll join my servants.”
Sliding from the bed, she hastened to
obey but as she reached for her chemise and overskirt, he said, “We’re flying.
Make certain your wings are unhampered.”
The bundle he held began to move. It
squirmed, kicking itself free of the swathing
blanket. A plump little leg, an arm...a
baby, a little girl-child, tiny and out of place in Mircea’s deadly embrace.
“Dear one.” Elsabeta stopped with the
garment in her hands. A sick dread twisted inside
her. “W-who’s that?”
“My daughter.” His answer was as short
as if he’d bitten the word. “Now.”
Daughter? How can he have a child?
Hadn’t he told her he wished no brats, that the only thing he wanted from them
was their sweet, immortality-laden blood?
Shrugging her wings out of their
concealing pouches, she peered at the infant. The child
whimpered, turning her head and holding
out her hands. She was blond and blue-eyed, not quite a year old. This is Janos Strigoi’s child.
Elsabeta’s heart felt as if it had been wrung dry.
“What are you going to do with her?”
Even as she asked the question, she knew she had to prevent it. If she had to
risk her own life and finally brave Mircea’s wrath, she couldn’t let him harm
this child.
“It’ll be fitting, don’t you think?”
His laugh was harsh. “Raising the Shadow Lord’s brat as
my own? Teaching her how to be a
Ravagiu and some day, letting the survivors know?”
“No! Please…” A woman’s scream floated
up to them, dying away in a bloody wail.
“Are you ready?” He thrust the child
into her arms. Elsabeta cuddled it against her naked breast, holding the little
body tightly. I must do whatever it takes
to protect this baby. If it kills me.
He held out his hand.
“Where are we going?” She placed her
own in it. He led her toward the window.
“I’m fortunate my brother saw fit to
have holdings in other countries and I’ve traveled to them.” One fist struck
the shutters, sending them flying. He climbed upon the sill. “We’re going to
Budapest. Hold tight to the brat. If you drop her, I’ll kill you.”
He flung himself through the window
into the air. Naked as she was, Elsabeta was pulled along, clutching the child.
Releasing her hand, Mircea circled and rose swiftly, his body completing a
graceful curve as he aimed himself over the trees, Elsabeta trailing after him.
Below them, the killings continued for another hour.
Shadow Lord is available from Double Dragon
Publishing.
Buy at
Double Dragon Publishing: http://www.double-dragon-ebooks.com/single.php?ISBN=Shadow%20Lord
