La Sarneghera: A retelling of the Italian legend
Piera Mengozzi rushed down the crumbling stone stairs, avoiding the cracks and holes hidden in the night’s darkness purely from memory. Her sandals clicked softly with each step, but she didn’t care. She’d come down these stairs to the water’s edge countless nights before and never been caught, despite her father’s castle looming just behind her. The people of Montisola had long since fallen asleep; she and Omero could have roamed the entire island unnoticed, if they’d liked.
He was perched in their usual spot, beneath the magnolia tree right beside the lake, his rowboat secured to one of the lower-hanging branches. She gathered her skirts in one hand and slipped down into his lap. They kissed for a moment before she pulled away and leaned back, settling against his chest.
“How was the catch today?” she asked, her eyes watching the boat sway gently in the water.
“And why on earth are you asking me that?” he replied. “You wouldn’t be trying to distract from the topic of tomorrow, would you?”
Piera chuckled, swatting his arm playfully. “I noticed all your nets are gone from the boat,” she said, “so unless you misplaced them all…”
“Yes, yes, it was a good day,” he caved, squeezing her once in his arms. “My father and I caught about seven nets’ worth, and we got a decent price at the market in Sulzano, too.”
“Well that’s good,” Piera said, and they fell into a peaceful silence. The air was warmer that night than it had been recently, and the breeze was calm, just barely sweeping over the exposed skin of her arms and chest.
Omero lifted his hand and swirled his fingers in the air, nudging her as he did so. She shook her head and copied his motion, sending a swirl of lake water up into the air, before it burst and fell back into the water below.
They laughed quietly before he said, “And my father wonders how we’ve had so much luck as of late. It’s not as if a certain someone would be sending all the fish our way, now would they?”
“Oh please, I’m not that advanced yet,” she scoffed, adjusting her position against him. “My father has hardly taught me ever since my mother left him all those years ago, even though I’m the only child he has to pass the power onto. He always used to talk of how I needed to prepare to be Governatrice someday, but the older I’ve gotten, the less he’s shared all this with me.” She sent a ripple out over the water as she spoke.
Omero offered a few consoling words, but she hardly heard him. Her eyes wandered over the sights before her. A half moon shone down over Lago d’Iseo, its light just bright enough for her to make out the shapes of the mountains that surrounded the lake. Nestled between the waters and those mountains were several small towns, all of which her father governed, in addition to the island of Montisola. Their family had governed the region for generations now, all of them able to control the lake’s waters just as she could. But her father could swell the entire lake if he wanted to, he could soothe it completely even in the worst of storms. All she could do was a few small tricks… how was that, how was any of her supposed to be Governatrice someday?
“Are you looking forward to the celebrations tomorrow, at least?” Omero asked, running his fingers up and down her arm, “Turning eighteen is no small occasion.”
She shrugged as she responded, “The celebration is nice, I suppose, and the feast too. But it’s just a bunch of the other nobility from throughout the peninsula, people I hardly know at all. I’d much rather spend the day with someone I actually love,” she said, placing a light kiss on his cheek.
“Amore,” he said quietly, “I’ll see you tomorrow night, as always-”
“But I want you there,” she said, sitting up and gesturing to the darkened castle standing just a ways behind their backs.
“We’ve been over this,” he said, also sitting up. “How is Governatore Nicola Mengozzi going to react when he learns his only child has fallen in love with a fisherman’s son?”
“Better than you’d think,” she said quietly. She rested her hand on his chest, her fingers running over the edge of his collar. “He wouldn’t like it at first, but when he met you, saw how happy we are…”
“You think so wishfully,” he said.
She placed a finger under his chin, directing his gaze toward her. “I know my father. As controlling as he may be, I really think he wants me to find happiness one day. And real happiness, too, not whatever he and my mother must have had. How can I ever be an effective Governatrice if I simply repeat their mistakes?”
“I hope so, amore,” he replied, giving her a soft kiss. “Until tomorrow night?”
Piera nodded, kissing him once more before they bid each other good night. She sat for a moment, alone beneath the tree, watching as he rowed back toward his town. She flicked her hand forward in a little pattern, sending rushes of water in sets of three after him. She timed each rush with the rhythm of his oars so that the water would carry him twice as far with each stroke. When his silhouette finally faded into the distance, she stood and ascended the stairs, slipping unnoticed back into the walls of her father’s castle.
~ ~ ~
“Ready, Papà?” Piera asked as she stood perched at the land’s edge. Several feet below, the water lapped against the rocks, bits of sunlight sparkling on its deep blue surface. A pair of hands grabbed her waist from behind and hoisted her into the air. Piera screamed as she sailed out and over the water, holding her breath as she plunged beneath the surface. She sank for just an instant before she felt the current swelling around her, carrying her back up to the land’s edge once more.
“Papà!” she laughed as he took a seat, his legs dangling over the edge. “I thought you couldn’t throw me anymore?”
“Only once in a while,” he said lightly. “You’re no ragazzina anymore.” Piera’s giggling continued as she took a few steps back. Only a few years ago, her father had been able to lift her above his head and throw her into the water. She ran forward, hurling herself over the edge. For just a moment, she felt as if she was flying before crashing through the gentle waves. The water felt cool around her, just cold enough to beckon her in the summer’s heat without frightening her with its chilled bite. Streaks of warmth seemed to run through the water as it moved under her father’s command, pulling her above the surface and onto the land once more.
“Where’s Mamma?” she asked, eyeing the land around her as she walked back to her starting position.
“I’m not sure,” her father replied.
Piera brushed a strand of soaked hair behind her ear before she ran and jumped again. She broke through the water and hesitated, waiting for her father to tug the water around her. She swam up to the surface and looked up at her father.
He was turned away from her, facing the castle. “Valentina!” he called. Piera heard no response, only the quiet lapping of the water against the island. Her father turned back around and, in an instant, swept her back onto the ground once more.
She sat down beside her father, immediately annoyed by the way the grass stuck to the wet skin of her legs. She looked downwards, focusing on the water’s motion as she attempted to create a ripple on its surface. Her vision hardened as she repeatedly flicked her fingers out, but no ripple appeared.
“Papà, when am I actually going to learn to control the water?” she groaned. When he didn’t respond at first, Piera said, “Papà!”
“Hmm?” he asked, looking at her briefly. His eyes looked heavy, despite the way they wandered from the castle to her and back to the castle again. “…not yet,” he added, “you aren’t old enough for such a responsibility.” Piera rolled her eyes, looking away back to the water. He must have followed her gaze as he added, “Can’t the fishermen give it a rest? Look at how many boats are out there today, too many to count! It’s as if they want the entire local cuisine to be fish-based-”
Piera tuned her father out, standing and preparing to jump again. She let her gaze linger on the water before she ran – it wasn’t that many boats.
She took a few more steps back before breaking into a sprint, leaping as far out as she could. A gust of wind tickled her damp skin as she fell, her hair flying wildly behind her. When once again her father didn’t immediately snatch her back up, she let herself sink a little while longer. As she drifted with the waves, she imagined it was her movements that caused the water to shift and sway around her.
When she finally did resurface, her father was turned away from her yet again. She swam backward a bit, trying to see what had caught his eye. Her eyes scanned aimlessly until they landed on the figure of a woman nearing the castle’s gates.
The water seemed to bite at Piera’s skin as she watched her mother run through the gates, bag in hand and a fisherman at her side. She strained to watch her mother for as long as she could before the trees blocked her from Piera’s view.
Piera was still in the water, save for the slow kicking of her legs to stay afloat. She looked back to her father, now standing, his eyes fixated on the open gates. After what felt like ages, he turned around. His gaze felt heavy as stone as it settled on her once more.
~ ~ ~
On the evening of her eighteenth birthday, Piera dressed in the white and yellow gown her father had ordered just for the occasion. The skirts felt far too heavy for a summer affair, but Piera knew not to complain. Every year, her father invited nobility from all throughout the region to Montisola for a grand feast, all in honor of her birthday. As the future Governatrice of Montisola, it was more important now than ever that she leave a lasting impression on these nobles. And while the dress was uncomfortable, Piera could not deny the artistry of the fabrics… It was beautiful.
As the sun set over the lake, Piera stepped out of her private chambers, heading for the dining room.
“Father,” she called, noticing him near the kitchen entrance. She picked up her pace, walking alongside him into the kitchen. Immediately, she was overtaken by the aromas of her favorite dish: ravioli di zucca. Once inside, though, she noticed there were not nearly as many cooks as they usually required to prepare a feast of this size. Her gaze shot to a small table near the other entrance – only two bottles of wine had been brought up from the cellar.
“The dress looks nice,” her father said, somewhat absent-mindedly as he inspected the various pots.
“Thank you,” she said softly, her gaze returning to the wine. “Father,” she continued, “was something amiss in the wine delivery earlier this week? I can run into town, to the market, and get us some more, if you’d like-”
“No, no,” he interjected, “we have plenty.” His gaze finally returned to her as he said, “and what’s with your insistence on going into town, as of late? There is no reason for you to be doing the shopping in this household, not any of it.”
Piera paused, a bit taken aback by his tone. “I was just offering Father, trying to be helpful?”
“Well, it’s unneeded,” he said with a huff, “You’re fine here.” A bell rang three times from the castle’s gates: the guests had arrived. Her father approached her once, brushing off her sleeves and eyeing her appearance closely. “Come, this is an important night.”
Piera held in her snarky response and gave him a small smile. She followed him out of the kitchen and down the large staircase that led to the dining room. They stepped through the doorway, and Piera paused.
Only two people besides themselves stood in the dining room: a man notably older than her father, and the servant that must have escorted him inside.
It was only when she heard his raspy voice that Piera recognized the man. It was Salvatore Cadorna, Governatore of a coastal region on the opposite side of the peninsula.
“Signorina Piera,” he croaked. Piera struggled not to grimace as he placed a kiss on the back of her hand. His lips felt like sandpaper against her skin.
“Governatore Cadorna,” Piera said, her voice flat. “A pleasure to see you once again.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” he replied, offering a crude smile. Piera could not help but notice that he was missing two of his bottom teeth. “Shall we eat?”
“Yes, yes, please, let’s sit,” her father said, leading them toward the table. It was then that Piera noticed only three places had been set at the table.
“Father,” Piera said, stopping as they continued walking. “Father,” she repeated. Governatore Cadorna had already taken his seat, her father stood beside him, narrowing his eyes when he looked at her. Piera forced a laugh as she began, “Father, I-I don’t understand what’s happening here. Why is it Governatore Cadorna is the only one joining us for dinner?”
“I was the only one invited, dear,” Cadorna said, making a sound that Piera assumed to be a laugh as he situated himself at the table. “It’s a bit early for us to be announcing the news across the peninsula, wouldn’t you agree?”
“The news?” Piera asked, slowly crossing her arms.
Her father huffed, then spoke in a plain tone as he said, “I’ve betrothed you to Governatore Cadorna. I thought this evening would be an effective opportunity for you two to acquaint yourselves before you travel with him to Venezia for the wedding preparations-”
“Betrothed?” Piera asked, scoffing at the idea. “Father, he’s older than you are!”
“Watch your tongue!” her father snapped as Cadorna made the laugh-like sound once more.
“You-you can’t be serious,” Piera said, clutching her arms with her hands to hide their shaking, “Father, how can I move to Venezia with him if I’m supposed to be Governatrice of Lago d’Iseo? The two regions are too far apart to be joined-”
“You won’t be Governatrice of this region,” he interjected.
The shaking in Piera’s hands stopped, and the air suddenly felt cool against her skin. “I… I won’t be?” she stammered.
“No,” he said. “You will go with Governatore Cadorna to Venezia, and I will remarry and have another child who will carry on my family line.”
“And you will continue my line in Venezia,” Cadorna said. Piera could feel his eyes running over her body as he added, “As soon as we are wed.”
The room was quiet for a moment, maybe longer. Piera’s eyes remained fixated on her Father. He stood still, his lips pressed together. Piera watched him, searching for a hint of remorse or regret, but his expression remained unchanged.
“Father, I don’t understand-”
“It’s a matter of maintaining family lines,” he said coolly. “Governatore Cadorna is aging and he needs a wife. You’re of childbearing age, and I am young enough to remarry and raise another heir.”
“Why can’t I continue your line, why must it be his?” Piera asked, trying to keep her tone light. “I can start now, Father, I’m in-”
“Both of our lines shall continue,” he repeated firmly. “Besides, you’ve never had a strong enough control of this lake to win the approval of the region. You and I both know that you aren’t fit to be Governatrice of Lago d’Iseo.”
Piera scoffed, gesturing with her hands as she spoke, “You have never wanted to teach me! For years, I’ve asked you to show me how to control the water as you do, but ever since Mamma left-”
“That is enough!” he shouted. His voice echoed once through the room. “I’ve taught you plenty, you just fail to learn. The time has come for you to accept reality. You will go with Governatore Cadorna and both of our lines shall continue-”
“I’m in love,” Piera said, her voice wavering. She repeated, more firmly this time, “I’m in love, Father-”
“One line in Lago d’Iseo, one line in Venezia,” her father said.
She continued, “His name is Omero Pescini and he lives just over in Sale Marasino. He and I can wed as soon as you’d like, we’ll continue the line for you-”
Cadorna scoffed, “Continuing the Mengozzi line with a commoner? You are right to wish for another heir, Nicola, if this girl would throw it all away on, what? A miller, a carpenter, a fisherman?”
Piera felt a warmth growing in her cheeks. Her father said, “You are going to Venezia with Governatore Cadorna and I will sire another heir – my decision is final, it is done.”
Piera took a step back, her hands beginning to shake again. “No,” she said once, taking another step. “I won’t do it, I won’t…”
“Piera,” her father said in a warning tone, almost as if he was growling.
“I won’t, I won’t,” she said. She stumbled, but quickly caught herself. Collecting her skirts in her hands, Piera turned and dashed out of the dining room. She could hear her father yelling after her, but she knew he wouldn’t be fast enough to catch up with her. She moved swiftly through the hallway, slipping out a small side door and into the darkened courtyard. Within a moment, she was outside of the castle walls and running frantically into the woods that separated her father’s castle from the town.
Piera eventually slowed, but never stopped moving. She was certain her father’s guards would be after her by that point, scouring the island until they tracked her down. She wandered cautiously, jumping at the slightest sound. She constantly scanned her surroundings, but no one, not a guard or townsperson, was ever in sight.
It was not long before the moon was approaching its highest point: Omero would be arriving at the magnolia tree at any moment. Piera made her way to the edge of the woods, walking through the slim space between the water and the woods until she saw him sitting peacefully beneath the magnolia tree.
“Omero!” she called, starting to run. He stood quickly and she collapsed into his arms, her breath ragged as she leaned against his chest.
“Amore, what’s happened?” he asked, pulling away and examining her. “Your dress… you’re a mess – what were you doing out here alone so late at night?”
“Listen,” she said, grabbing his arms as her breath settled, “my father’s betrothed me-”
“He what?”
“to some disgusting old Governatore from Venezia. He wants me to wed as soon as possible. Omero, we have to go, we have to leave this island, Lago d’Iseo, we have to go now-”
“Piera, Piera, breathe,” he said, pulling her into a hug once more. He ran his fingers up and down her back as he said, “Just slow down, we’ll be alright-”
“No, we have to leave. You were right,” she groaned, “all he cares about is continuing the family lines. This is why he wasn’t teaching me how to control the water, I’m sure of it, he’s known for years he would send me away when I came of age-”
The sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath met their ears. They stood frozen in place; the night was silent around them, save for the quiet pounding of the rowboat against the rocky shore.
“Seize him.”
~ ~ ~
Two weeks Piera spent imprisoned in her room. Governatore Cadorna had been sent back to Venezia to make the wedding arrangements himself – he would be returning for her in only three days’ time. Until then, however, her father kept a constant rotation of guards posted outside her door. They were close enough that they could hear every creak of the wood beneath her footfalls, and she every murmur of small talk between them. She wasn’t allowed any visitors, and she certainly was not allowed to cross the door’s threshold.
She spent most of her time by the window, eyes shut and forehead pressed against the glass. Even though she was in her chambers, stories above the water, she could still manipulate the flow of the waves as she pleased. Each day, she sent out small rushes of water in sets of three, tracking each one as it traveled across the lake.
Her father often used the caves that surrounded the lake as prisons. She knew he could flood the lake, and with it, all of the caves, at will. If Omero was in one of those caves, her father could drown him whenever he pleased. He could’ve already done it, her love might have already been gone for days, but Piera refused to believe it. If Omero had died, she would’ve felt it, of course she would have.
She couldn’t count how many times she’d sent rushes in sets of three out to Omero’s boat as he was fishing, how many nights she’d swept him across the water with the same pattern. Omero would recognize the pattern as hers when it made its way into his cave. Even though she was so far from the water, she could feel when her power was disrupted. She knew, just from sending those rushes of water out, how many fishermen were on the lake each day. She knew that Omero’s boat still swayed against the shore, tied to their magnolia tree. And if the water she sent out managed to reach Omero, his movements, she would feel them. If she could just find him, if she could just get to him, they could flee Lago d’Iseo, they could be together…
Two more days passed, and still, she sat at the window. But now, her eyes were open, and she sat hugging her legs to her chest, chin resting on her knees. Sixteen days she’d spent trying to find Omero, and still no luck. Governatore Cadorna would be retrieving her tomorrow, she would leave Lago d’Iseo, likely never to return.
After hours of simply staring out over the water, Piera hardly noticed when the sun slipped behind the mountains and dusk fell over the lake. She released her legs, uncoiling herself slowly and crawling into her bed. She pulled the covers up around her, despite the summer’s heat. When her room had finally grown dark, Piera let her eyes fall shut.
She was awoken that night by the howling of the winds outside her window. She rolled over, her eyes still grainy from sleep, and that’s when she heard the thunderous drumming of rain against the roof.
Piera sat up quickly, stumbling out of bed as she rushed to the window. The waves were crashing violently against the shore – her father was drowning Omero now.
She searched around the room frantically, looking for anything heavy enough to break through the glass. She snatched her jewelry box – the storm was so loud above her she could hardly hear her own footsteps – and hurled it through the window. The glass shattered and she slipped into the empty threshold, sharp remnants slicing her arms. She paused for a moment as the rain and wind immediately tore at her skin, at her clothes. She looked back over her shoulder once: the guards mustn’t have heard a thing, all was calm.
Piera inhaled deeply before throwing herself from the window sill, plunging down into the waters below. She sank for a mere moment before she swelled the water around herself, forcing her way up to the surface. She struggled to tread water as the current tugged her every which way. Not too far out, she saw Omero’s boat thrashing in the wind. She swam towards it, attempting to part the waves that crashed in her path as she went. The water felt like ice, it tangled her skirt around her legs, but she did not stop, not even once.
Her breath was raspy as she hauled herself up and into the boat. As soon as she landed, the crash of a wave threatened to capsize the vessel. She steadied the boat, untied it from the tree branch, and, seizing both oars, began to row.
Even as she tried to sweep the current along with her strokes, rowing against the wind and waves was nearly impossible. The bow could hardly cut through the current, each strike of the water threatening to send her overboard.
“Omero!” she screamed, her voice nearly drowned out by the wind’s gusts. “Omero!” The rain seemed to pour even more heavily, then. Its water was pooling around her feet, her hands were so soaked the oars might have slipped from her grasp at any moment.
But she rowed on. Her arms felt aflame as she took one stroke after another, her core ached from holding herself upright against the onslaught of each wave. But she did not stop. She had to find him, he had to still be out there somewhere.
“Omero!” Each time she called his name, she yelled louder than the last, desperate for her voice to carry to him, wherever he may be. And each time she called his name, the rain seemed to grow heavier, the wind seemed to howl louder.
After what felt like an eternity of rowing, Piera released one final scream. The sound tore through her throat, it echoed across the water, over the towns, and up into the mountains. She fell forward, her body shaking. For just a moment she focused only on her breath, letting herself feel the dramatic rising and falling of her chest.
When she raised her eyes once more, the storm had calmed. The water settled, almost impossibly flat around her. She placed one hand to her aching throat and let the other hover over the water’s surface. Small ripples emerged just from her hand’s presence. Her hand shook as she pulled it back in towards herself – she had been the one to calm the storm.
She surveyed her surroundings frantically in an attempt to locate herself. In the distance, she recognized the towns of Marone and Parzanica almost instantly. She then began scouring the coastline, when at last she noticed the bodies of four guards lying motionless on the ground surrounding a cave.
Piera burst into action, rowing toward the cave as quickly as she could. The water level had risen, but the cave was not completely submerged… he could still be breathing.
When she was close enough, Piera threw herself over the gunwale, swimming as fast as she could into the darkness of the cave. There were only a few inches between the surface of the water and the cave’s ceiling. The jagged rock above her cut her cheek, but she did not slow down. Navigating purely by touch, she moved deeper and deeper into the cave, peeking above the surface for air only when she needed it most.
It was her leg that felt him first. Quickly, she wrapped her arms around Omero’s chest, tugging them upward. She gasped for breath, kicking frantically as her hands moved over his face to make sure it was really him. Despite her movements, his body remained still, heavy as stone in her arms.
Piera allowed herself to rest for a few moments. Every breath she took, every beat of her heart inside her chest, seemed to slow, then. She rested Omero’s head on her shoulder, savoring the weight of his body against hers one last time.
A cry escaped Piera’s lips as she forced herself to let him go. She felt his body slide away and, with shaking hands, slowly felt her way back to the cave’s entrance.
When she emerged, hints of dawn were breaking through the clouds in the east. She crawled onto land, her legs trembling beneath her as she struggled to find her footing.
She paused, her vision murky as she looked out across the water to Montisola. She saw a singular figure standing on the shore. Even from that distance, she was certain it was her father.
Piera let her eyes linger on him for one moment, no more, before turning her back to him and running toward the western mountains.
Malina Infante is a junior English: Creative Writing and Educational Studies double major at Denison University in Granville, Ohio. Outside of her coursework, she serves as an English Department Fellow as well as a Teaching Assistant for various Introduction to Creative Writing and Advanced Poetry Writing courses. Over the summer of 2022, she completed an intensive 10-week creative project focused on drafting a literary fantasy novel under the direction of Dr. Peter Grandbois. She has recently been refunded to continue that work with Dr. Margot Singer in the coming summer of 2023. After graduation, she is hopeful to pursue an MFA in either Poetry or Fiction and hopes to one day teach high school English.