The Venetian Lagoon, Italy, 1381 — end of the Fourth Venetian-Genoese War

The world beyond the water was burning. She watched in morbid fascination, the water lapping at her body as she sat on her rock. Her hand reached for the far-away flames. It had been so long since she'd seen fire or felt heat. Not even the summer sun could warm her anymore. She'd become a creature of darkness. Of cold. Of Death.
Death was everywhere. The one constant in her life that never failed to disappoint. It sustained her. Provided for her. Without Death, she wouldn't have survived. She wouldn't be free.

A sudden nearby blast drew her attention. Her eyes widened as the great ship close to her home was set aflame. The fire danced in the night, casting an eerie translucence on the water. Beguiled by the light, she pushed herself up on the rock. It was so... beautiful.

Figures ran in terror across the deck, or swung from the masts to drop into the water. Then, above the roar of the fire and the serenade of the water, she finally heard the screams. Agonizing, petrifying screams.
She covered her ears, shrinking at the horrible sound of men dying, consumed alive by those flames. Death had always been quiet. Why was it so loud now?

Fallo smettere, she prayed. Make it stop, please!

But the cacophony of the blazing fire and the harrowing cries didn't cease. It resonated after the water slowly swallowed the ship, filling the night with its torturous echo. The stars above, those twinkling, glittering celestial companions she so adored, were obscured by black smoke carrying the acrid stench of charred flesh and wood. Death had taken its fill. Now came the time to feed.

With a push against the seaweed-riddled rock, she slipped into the water. Into her lonely world. But just before the waves embraced her fully, she clutched the weeds to halt her descent. Her eyes narrowed, straining to see between the rocks. The same figures from the ship were now there, climbing out of the water.
No one had dared touch her shores since Death had delivered her. The world had forgotten her home years ago. Forgotten about the ones left behind for Death and her to devour. Yet the perpetual strife and need for conquest had made the world return. Had made these... intrusi seek refuge.
She snarled, a low growl rumbling in her chest. The intruders wouldn't disturb her peace and destroy her world as they had their own. All that lay here for them... was Death.

***

"Adriano! Adriano, dove sei?"

A loud voice pierced through the constant ringing in Adriano's ears. He shook his head, immediately regretting it as a drumming ache replaced the sound. With a grunt, Adriano rolled onto his stomach and coughed up seawater, its foul, salty taste lingering on his tongue. His body ached all over; he must've hit the debris in the water harder than he thought.
Adriano peered through his lashes. A burning glow illuminated the broken wooden landing dock the tides had carried him to. Knowing he'd somehow reached the shore alive should have relieved him. But he wasn't out of danger yet.

"Adriano!" The panicked voice called again.

"Here," he answered. "I'm here."

Someone came running, nearly crashing into him as they dropped to their knees. A pair of brawny arms picked him up, helping him to sit. He'd know those arms anywhere. God knew he'd been caged by them enough during the quiet hours on board the ship. 

"Grazie, Dio misericordioso." Lionardo's voice was muffled after he buried his face in the crook of Adriano's neck. Good thing, too, since Adriano couldn't help but roll his eyes at Lionardo's gratitude to his 'merciful God'. When the helmsman of the Fedele Vittoria sat back, he kept one hand on Adriano's shoulder and looked him over. "Are you — you're bleeding!"

"It's just a cut." Adriano pushed the other man away. "I'm fine."

"You're the one who always says never to underestimate an injury," rebuffed Lionardo strongly. "Now sit still and let me see."

The medic huffed, peeved at having his own words thrown back at him, but didn't keep Lionardo from inspecting the gash at his temple. Adriano winced when Lionardo trickled some seawater over the injury to clean his head, the saltiness prickling at the wound. Now he knew what it felt like to be in his patients' shoes.

"Where are we?" he asked, hoping the question might distract and remind Lionardo of a more pressing matter.

"One of the isole in the lagoon," answered Lionardo.

"Did anyone else make it?"

"So far, only Giovanni and Luca. They're searching for other survivors and weapons."

Of all the crew members, it had to be those two buffoons. They weren't bad men per se, just jokers who took nothing seriously. Not unless the cannonballs were whizzing past their heads to dismember their friends or decapitate the cook.

Lionardo continued, "I noticed some crew members trying for La Duchessa before I jumped overboard, but I don't see the ship anymore."

"You think she sank as well?"

"She must have. Even if she escaped the blast wave from the Vittoria, she wouldn't have got out of the lagoon." With an exasperated sigh, Lionardo dropped next to Adriano, a tired but angry expression on his handsome, dirty face. "Porca miseria, those sons of bitches led us right to our deaths! I warned them this would happen!"

Adriano well recalled those heated arguments. Though he'd barely understood any of the nautical terms the crew had shouted around, even he had grasped that going up against the Venetian navy in their own waters was suicide. Lionardo had fought tooth and nail to get the other officers to reconsider, but the decision had already been made. Now, because of them, because of hubris, so many lives — and the war itself — were lost. 

Adriano wanted to say something to comfort Lionardo, yet all that came out was a simple, "Thank you for checking my wound."

The anger dissipated from Lionardo's hard expression at those words. He inhaled deeply and snaked his fingers with Adriano's, prompting the latter to meet his now tender gaze. 

"Non c'è di che," Lionardo spoke softly. "How's your head?"

"Throbbing, but it'll pass," answered Adriano. "I'll live, I promise."

"You better. I was so scared when I couldn't find you. I thought... for a moment, I thought I lost you, amore."

Adriano almost cringed at the pet name. He wished he could look at Lionardo the same way Lionardo looked at him. He held such care, such ardent devotion and concern in those deep, enchanting amber eyes. Yet to this day, Adriano still didn't know what had possessed him to answer Lionardo's advances. 
He let his gaze drop to their joined hands, to Lionardo's thumb as it brushed over his knuckles. The touch sent no heat through him, no rush like the poets promised. And when Lionardo leaned in, Adriano turned his head at the last moment, the other man's lips pressing to his cheek instead of his lips.

"Don't," he mumbled.

The golden-haired Genoan froze, breath ghosting uselessly against Adriano's cheek. He drew back at once, confusion flickering across his features at the brusque dismissal of his affection. "I... Scusa, I thought —"

"I know what you thought," Adriano interrupted, not unkindly. He tightened his grip for a moment, then pulled his hand away. "But we should move. It's not safe here. Do you know which isola we're on?"

"I can find out."

Adriano waited patiently as Lionardo rose to his feet and peered up at the sky to find his bearings. There was none better at navigation than him. He'd memorised every chart and could find his way with only the constellations as his guide. Had he not been standing at the helm of the Fedele Vittoria for the past two years, the ship would've been lost a lot sooner.
But a curtain of smoke blackened the already dark night even more, and the moon was in a waning crescent, barely giving any light. And it didn't look like Lionardo had salvaged his compass.

"Well?" he asked after noticing the helmsman's hesitance.

"I'm not sure." Lionardo turned in place, never taking his eyes off the stars above. "I had to sail off course when we entered the lagoon because of the cannon fire and the fleet coming towards us. This isn't Fisolo or Campana, but maybe... San Clemente? No, maledizione, I don't know!"

Adriano scrambled up and quickly grabbed Lionardo by the shoulders. "Hey, hey, calm down," he urged. "How about we find somewhere to hide first? You'll be able to do more after you've had time to rest."

"Yes." Lionardo breathed heavily. "Yes, you're right. Mi dispiace."

"Don't apologise. You're doing all you can. We'll be fine, I know it. Now, come on. Where are Gio and Luca?"

"Over here."

The pair stalked across the dock and jumped the rocky shallows, wary of any Venetians looking for survivors. A few bodies — and body parts — had washed ashore. Adriano fought the urge to halt and see if anyone could still benefit from his help. He couldn't afford to waste time on them when his own life was still in peril. And Lionardo's, too.
After a few minutes, they finally came upon the two sailors. Giovanni and Luca — or as the captain had dubbed them, le due teste di cazzo — were crouched around... wait, were those two dunderheads prodding a body with a stick? Per l'amore di Dio...

Lionardo had already spotted them and raced the distance in an awkward hunch. "Hey," he hissed angrily. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"

"Looking for survivors as you said, Maestro," murmured Luca. "This isn't one of ours, though. Dirty Venetian rat."

"I don't care if he's Venetian or Genoan. He was a man fighting for his country like you and me, and should be treated with respect even in death."

"Si, Maestro," said the pair simultaneously.

Adriano suppressed a smile. He had to hand it to Lionardo; even in these dire circumstances, he knew how to wield authority. Maybe that's why the captain had picked him to be Maestro d'Armi after the previous had perished.
Though only twenty-two, two years younger than Adriano, Lionardo had kept up battle training on the Fedele Vittoria with an iron fist and zero tolerance for lollygagging. That raw masculine power just seemed to come naturally to him. It was near impossible to say no to the man. Adriano had found that out the hard way.

A figure on the sea surface suddenly caught the medic's attention. A small rowboat was coming alarmingly close to the isola — a rowboat filled with Venetian soldiers. He tapped Lionardo's arm and said, "They're searching the water. We have to move."

Swiftly, the four men disappeared through the treeline. Lionardo led the party, while Adriano remained in the back, ever vigilant. Giovanni and Luca had found no weapons, but they'd taken a few pieces of driftwood to have something to defend themselves with. It didn't help Adriano feel any safer. Until they knew what island they'd stumbled on, everything and anything was an enemy.
As they ventured inland, putting as much distance as they could between them and the sea, Adriano shivered. From fear or cold, he didn't know. He only hoped they'd find shelter soon. Tonight was no night to be at the mercy of only the elements. Not when they were already at the mercy of men and God.

"Are we there yet?" complained Giovanni after what couldn't have been more than a few minutes. "I'm starving."

"Ma stai scherzando?" demanded Luca in disbelief. "Gio, seriously, please tell me you're joking."

"What? I haven't eaten since before the battle. You know I need to eat every few hours to keep my energy up."

"Dio, now I know why your family is so poor. You ate your Mamma's house empty, didn't you?"

"You leave my Mamma out of it!"

"Basta," said Lionardo from the front, his voice brimming with annoyance. "You'll both shut up, or I'll knock you out and leave you here for the Venetians."

The sailors sulked and continued their way, not another word said between them. Adriano couldn't help but smirk at Lionardo's threat. Didn't those two know by now that he would never abandon a crew member? Yes, Lionardo was harsh, but he was loyal, too. To his commanding officers and his men. Hm... maybe that's what had drawn Adriano to —

"Ow! Luca!" He steadied himself after bumping hard into the sailor. "Damn it, why did you... stop?"

At the sight of the bombarded wall before them, he saw why. Through the gaping hole, Adriano perceived a small village of thatch-roofed houses with boarded windows and doors. The streets were deserted, except for a few rats... and dozens of skeletons scattered on the ground and lying in heaps on two carts.

"Gio, Luca, stay here," ordered Lionardo in a low murmur. "Adriano, with me."

Together, they climbed over the rubble and carefully made their way to the nearest skeleton; a woman, gathering from the surrounding clothes. Adriano recoiled at the godawful stench of rot still lingering. He ripped a piece of his shirt, prompting Lionardo to do the same, and held it at his mouth and nose. It made breathing a little more bearable.

"Can you tell what happened?" asked Lionardo as Adriano went down on one knee and leaned in.

"I see nothing indicating foul play," said Adriano. "No scratches from a blade or such. And no cracks either, so she wasn't beaten. The bones are perfectly intact."

"How long ago?"

"Roughly estimated, two years? Three maybe?"

"So around the same time Genoa and Venice restarted this insipid war. That could explain why the place is abandoned. But why leave so many behind? Especially after their fortification fell."

"I don't..." Adriano fell silent. The dim light from the crescent high above had briefly struck the skeleton, revealing something peculiar. "These bones are wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"This one isn't a humerus, but a patella. And these," Adriano picked up a few of the smaller, pebble-like bones from the end of the skeleton's arm, "aren't metacarpals but metatarsals."

"I'm going to need words I can actually understand, Adriano," said Lionardo. "I didn't study medicine and anatomy with the Moors like you did."

Adriano tsk-ed and clarified, "The bones from the foot and leg are where those from the hand and arm should be. And look, you see how the pelvis is narrower and heart-shaped? A woman's pelvis is different, wider and more circular, already adapted for childbirth."

"So this wasn't a woman, but a man?"

"No, it is a woman. All these bones are less pronounced, less robust, except for the pelvis."

Adriano lifted the clothes. The legs were pushed together awkwardly. He looked at the other skeletons further ahead, finding all of them in similar disarray. The one on the left caught his attention. The bones appeared adult, but the skull was clearly the size of a child's. Somebody had switched them.
Adriano again inspected the bones in his hand. He carefully traced them with his fingers, eyes widening when he discovered something curious... and horrifying. "Lionardo, what do these feel like to you?"

The Maestro d'Armi took a bone from Adriano. Like him, Lionardo frowned at the peculiar, superficial indentations. "Are those... bite marks?"

The question hung between them, unanswered. They met each other's perplexed gaze, unease quietly gathering... and then a sudden, terrified scream tore through the air.
Adriano and Lionardo sprang to their feet. Beyond the wall, Giovanni was waving wildly, shouting for help, panic plain even at a distance. They hurried back.

"What happened?" demanded Lionardo.

"Non so, Maestro!" answered Giovanni in half a panic. "We weren't doing anything, honestly! Luca was just pacing, and then the ground collapsed!"

"Luca!" yelled Adriano. "Are you okay?"

A groan from below reached them. "Si... I think. Something broke my fall."

Light, they needed light. Adriano picked up one of the long chunks of driftwood the sailors had brought along and wound the ripped piece of his shirt at the end. He patted his clothes, praying fervently he still had.. yes! Hurriedly, he opened the flask of alcohol he normally used to disinfect his surgical instruments and poured some on the cloth.

"Lionardo, your flint. Do you still have it?"

The Maestro d'Armi pulled the stone out, removed the iron-cast medallion of Saint Nicolas from around his neck, and struck both together. A spark ignited, and the make-shift torch was set aflame. Adriano held the torch out, casting the fire's glow into the hole Luca had fallen into. 

"Ma... che cosa?" Giovanni drew closer to the hole, squinting at the odd shapes around his friend. "What is that?"

The moment the light found Luca and whatever had broken his fall, the raven-haired surgeon's green eyes widened in absolute horror.

"Dio," murmured Lionardo in awe beside him. "It's a... a..."

"Plague pit."