He hadn't wanted anything to do with the society at first. They were some stuffy old history club to him. It was only after they showed him how vast their connections ran that he realized this was his chance to have real influence; to have the kind of power to change the world that only kings and gods had ever been afforded. He could have a taste of what it meant to be royal, or even divine.
His fanatic interest in kings and Christ seemed to both interest and worry his superiors in the organization. They did their best to not feed into his obsessions, often having him look for more trivial artifacts that were far removed from his actual interests.
He also constantly received questions about the scars his hands. Every time he would explain that he was trying to understand how Jesus Christ felt, they'd look at him funny and a psychologist would come to give him a psyche evaluation within the next week or so like clockwork. There were always rumors about his mental state, and he'd hear rumblings that a lot of people within the order thought he might not be mentally fit enough to have a place among them.
Still, he was good at what he did, and Julian became something of a relic hunter for the Black Sun. They would send him out to collect rare artifacts and antiquities that they always claimed would be safer in the society's hands. He didn't really believe that, but he kept those thoughts to himself. He'd found purpose and influence; the keys to everything he ever wanted.
Julian Corvus' trusting relationship with the Order of the Black Sun didn't last though. It wasn't ever going to. There were far too many differences of opinion between him and his colleagues. They started to only send him to find trivial pieces of history, things that would only ever be used as mildly interesting souvenirs. Anytime there was something of real note to find, they seemed to assign him somewhere in the opposite direction.
Maybe he was too ambitious. Maybe he was too intelligent. Maybe the higher ups in the Black Sun felt threatened by someone so young and so driven. He had never failed to acquire the relic that he was assigned to track down. He had the perfect record from the moment he joined the order.
Some wondered how he'd accomplished such a feat, and many questioned his methods. There were rumors circulating that he went to rather extreme measures in completing his missions. Extreme by Black Sun standards, at least. They sanctioned murder if it was the best, most viable option but never enjoyed doing it carelessly. They weren't particularly fond of torture either, but Julian tried to persuade them on that. It was an undeniably effective tool. One that shouldn't be removed from their arsenal.
Mostly, Julian didn't care about their thresholds. He ignored the limitations they set for themselves. He understood that there couldn't be anything standing in your way if you wanted to find what you were looking for. So, he would make sure all of his obstacles were eliminated until he'd accomplished his task. It was simple, and it worked.
Mass slaughter. Villages burned to ash. House interiors drenched in blood. Children orphaned. Even some parents were left without a child. Every time Julian went to collect a new prize, carnage was left in his wake—along with piles of mutilated bodies.
The rumors were all true. He didn't deny any of it. Every so often, when he was confronted about his methods, he would defend his actions with very clear and well-argued reasoning that seemed to repel many of his doubters. They couldn't argue with facts, or results. And he had plenty of those, considering all of his numerous successes.
“We can't let morality obstruct us from achieving our goals. What we're doing is far too important to not dive into headfirst.”
One of his superiors, a shrill woman named Beatrice, listened to the defense he had used on many other members of the Black Sun. She didn't seem as deflated as the others. In fact, she looked more and more grouchy with each word he said. He was used to that. She was notorious for being uptight and a stickler for all of the rules the society had set forth.
In short, Julian hated her guts. She represented everything he despised. Authority. Rules. The old ways of doing things. All of those repressive things were encased in her old body. She was a walking, talking rule book that chastised anyway who swayed even a little. Given Julian's track record, she scolded him frequently.
“We already allow excessive force. What you do isn't just excessive. What you do is barbarism.”
“I don't see the problem,” Julian said. “We already kill when we have to—”
“Exactly!” Beatrice glared at him and looked at him like he was an ignorant child. “When we have to. In specific, appropriate circumstances. Not regularly and not in the volume of bodies that you've accumulated.”
“If we have no issue with murder when it suits us, then why have any limitations at all? It's just restrictive. And pointless.”
“To keep the Order of the Black Sun from drawing too much attention to itself. Your antics are making too much noise. Too much of a mess to clean up. There's no need to take it as far as you do! You're more than capable of getting answers using milder methods. Prod instead of impale. Scratch instead of sever. Knock out instead of kill. All of it is just as effective as ending someone, even more so. Because at least then, you can pump them for more information afterward. What you do ruins any potential findings we'd have in the future if you left them alive.”
“I respectfully disagree,” Julian said, trying hard to keep his temper under control. He didn't need to be ridiculed just for being successful. “I get more results than any of you.”
“For now,” Beatrice said. “But if you keep putting us at risk ... that may not last.”
“That almost sounded like a threat,” Julian said, taking a step closer to her and she shifted backward, away from the cold gaze all of his colleagues were always taking about. “I really don't suggest speaking to me in that way again. And arguing with proven facts, just makes you look like even more of a moron. How about this? You worry about yourself. I'll worry about me. And we'll all be better off for it.”
He didn't understand why the Black Sun was so intent on shackling him. They had given him power that he hadn't had before; and there was no point having that power if you didn't use it. He was bold. They were not, afraid of their own strength. All they had to do was utilize it properly but not many others in the Order of the Black Sun were even willing to try.
They continued to look at him like he was a stain that they couldn't figure out how to remove. He was sure they'd contemplated about just killing him, but probably reconsidered when they remembered that he was one of the most capable fighters they had. Who knew if someone could actually succeed in the task. They didn't want to lose members to some society infighting. That would be self-destructive. They refrained from any direct confrontation with him, and he appreciated that. He didn't want to have to fight other Black Sun members. There would be no point.
Over time, the animosity between Julian and the Black Sun only worsened, although he did have his supporters within the organization. They recognized that his more forceful approach was far more effective than how things were usually handled by the order. Those supporters argued that Julian should be higher up in the Black Sun, even that he should have a seat in the inner circle, but there were too many sitting at the top that were determined to keep him from ascending to his rightful place.
He began to realize that the Black Sun was holding him back. Squashed any potential he showed. They were jealous. They were afraid. He was fresh blood. A new perspective. Living evidence that their way wasn't working and that they were becoming obsolete. He was different from all of the members of the order before—and they didn't want differences. They wanted more of the same.
Julian had never really cared about doings things the right way. For him, morality was a man-made construct meant to keep the weak under the thumb of the strong. Restrictions placed on you the moment you were born. That was all it was. Right and wrong was a made-up concept, a lie, held in place by the idea that you would always be judged for your poor behavior. But it was all relative.
Plenty of
other creatures in the world did just fine without morals. And once you discarded the idea that some things were good and others bad, you rid the body of any guilt. There was nothing to feel bad for if what you were doing was just another action a world without morality.
Every move Julian made was justified because for him, justification didn't exist.
Society instilled rules and laws. Religion judged sins. Julian had broken plenty of laws and sinned frequently throughout each and every day, yet he remained successful and had somehow avoided both justice and God's wrath. People were just too afraid to do the so-called wrong thing. They were scared of punishment. They were scared of authority. Julian never felt those fears.
He only had a simple code that he viewed his choices with.
Survive and thrive.
It was the only real way to live. There was no point worrying about doing the right thing or obeying the rules. All of that meant nothing when you were focused only on living and succeeding.
Unfortunately, his disdain for constructs like rules and authority put him at odds with his superiors in the order.
The foot soldier that the Black Sun had hoped would be one of their most loyal agents was an altogether new kind of beast. Some in the order called him a deranged psychopath. Others saw him as an untrustworthy but effective sociopath. And there was the select few that hailed him as a genius—the best chance to lead the Order of the Black Sun into a new phase.
Regrettably, those supporters were drowned out by his detractors. They demanded that he be monitored during his next mission. Julian laughed out loud when the suggestion was made but he found that none of the Black Sun leadership were laughing with him.
He couldn't believe it. They were really considering it. They weren't only keeping his hands tied but now they were giving him a muzzle, a leash, and someone to make sure he behaved himself. They were siphoning away his power little by little, all because they were afraid that he was getting too strong.
And when they told him who his escort would be, he let out another loud laugh—Beatrice. Of course it would be her. His biggest fan. The woman who represented everything that he hated about the society he was a part of. The epitome of his opposition and enemies within Black Sun. He couldn't even stand her face alone, and the way it contorted into a smug smile when she saw his reaction infuriated him.
She was part of the inner circle of the Black Sun, so most would expect her to be a perfect choice to review his work. Except for one little factor ... she was the curator of everything the Order of the Black Sun collected. She just dusted them off and made sure they were in good condition. Tended to the trophy shelf. That was all.
What did Beatrice know about actually acquiring any of it? Nothing.
Yet she was going to observe and judge him when he had been responsible for delivering her the rarest items in her precious collection. She was as dusty and ancient as the artifacts she spent her days sorting.
It was ludicrous—and he let his superiors know that. They didn't care about the opinions of someone of his status. A lowly subordinate who brought them treasures. He was remarkably skilled at it, they had to admit, but he was replaceable. From their perspective, he was still indebted to them for even being allowed to join the Black Sun. It didn't matter how much he had proven himself. He did things differently, in a way they didn't respect, and so they treated him like he was an outcast, a little beast that they made sure knew its place.
He would rectify that. He'd show the Black Sun that he wasn't one to be mocked or manipulated. They would understand that Julian Corvus was far more dangerous than they realized.
12
The Torn Parchment
“Roysten Rosewell betrayed our order and his brothers. When we find him, whether that be at his home in Norwich or any other place he hides on the Lord's earth, we will punish him. He will see the Lord and beg for forgiveness for his betrayal.”
The boat swayed back and forth as Purdue finished reading the portion of the letter that he had torn off and looked to his colleagues for their thoughts. Galen and Maddox had joined them but didn't seem helpful in the deductive parts of their venture. Maddox was just good for killing Eclipsed members and inciting mass panic for tourists. Hell, Purdue worried someone on the ferry would point him out as the one who fired off multiple rounds in the courtyard. Thankfully, he seemed to have a forgettable face, and no one said anything about it.
“So, this knight who took off with the spear lived in Norwich,” Sam said. “Why would he bring it home?”
“To keep it far away from the Ottomans that were probably going to kill him and take it for themselves. Where would you go in that situation? Go somewhere familiar. That you know better than they do.”
“He might not have brought it home at all. But it's worth investigating. The guy who wrote this was just guessing ... this scribe here.” Purdue waved the brittle piece of paper. “... he seemed quick to mention Rosewell's home so maybe it was the most likely place for him to go once he left the order. Maybe he had nowhere else to go?”
“The Hospitallers were a sworn brotherhood. Rhodes would have become his new home and the knights would have become his new family. Once he abandoned them and took their prize, he might have decided that his original home was the best option to protect himself.”
“So, he what—hid the spear in some old English town?” Galen balked. “Leave it to the English to take one of the most important items in the world and selfishly bring it home. If he was smart, he would have made himself invisible so his knight friends could never find him again.”
“They were a bit busy being slaughtered and captured by the Ottomans. I doubt they had time to try and track it down back then.” Nina explained.
“Norwich isn't exactly a small place,” Sam said. “Especially since this Roysten Rosewell lived there like five centuries ago. If he did put it there, it'll be awfully hard to find nowadays.”
“We've had worse odds,” Purdue said optimistically. “And with Julian Corvus and the Black Sun—Eclipsed—whatever—off our back, we'll have plenty of time to look.”
“And just how are we getting over to England?” Maddox asked. “We hijacking this ship?”
“No, I think you've caused enough public hysteria today,” Purdue said. “Leave it to me. Once we make landfall, I'll make some calls and get a jet to pick us up.”
“Must be nice to have an endless surplus of wealth,” Maddox said, folding his muscular arms. “Snap your fingers and travel wherever you want. And you didn't even have to kill hundreds of people to make that kind of cash.”
They all looked at Maddox, and were reminded that he made his living overthrowing governments, performing assassinations, and working as a hired gun for whoever paid him most. If people were judged by the company they kept, they'd all be considered rather unsavory figures just for spending any time with him.
“I'll handle it,” Purdue assured them all. “And we'll be in England in no time.”
Purdue spent the rest of the ferry ride overhearing the feverish talk of the other passengers. How they had run for their lives after hearing gunfire. How some had only barely managed to escape with their lives. Even as one obvious pathological liar claimed that he had personally wrestled the gun out of the shooter's hand. When asked for detail on what the shooter looked like, the man was drawing a blank—shocking—especially given that Maddox was only a few yards away from him.
Purdue kept finding himself glancing up at the night sky, like he was waiting to see a helicopter's propellers blocking out the stars. It would have taken Sasha some time to get back in that helicopter and pursue them ... and would she have left her superior, Julian, behind? There was probably nothing to worry about. At least they could hear a helicopter coming from far away if worse came to worse.
The second the ferry made landfall, and the still panicked passengers rushed to tell reporters and cameras what had happened on Rhodes, Purdue went straight to a phone. He called some of his connections to get a
plane to meet them at the nearest airbase. They took a cab there, Galen spending most of his time complaining that he could have summoned a flight just as easily as Purdue had.
Once they were in the air, they finally could rest easy, hopefully on the fast track toward the Spear of Destiny, leaving Julian Corvus and the Eclipsed far behind.
13
Norwich
Norwich was an old little city, and Nina hoped it held the even older artifact they were after. It had no doubt changed a lot over the centuries, but Norwich was famous for its old churches and other marvels of architecture throughout the city. If the Spear of Destiny was hidden in Norwich back in the 1500s, then it was highly possible that it was placed in one of the structures that remained from that period—and there were plenty of them.
That was the best place to start, Nina decided.
Purdue and Sam weren't entirely convinced with searching the churches first but Galen was on board, although she suspected that he only wanted to because it sounded like the easiest course of action.
Purdue was quick to speak his mind, saying, “Rosewell could have just as easily put it some place that hasn't lasted all this time. Plenty of places have been torn down and built over in five hundred years.”
“He was a crusader, Davy.” Galen said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “A holy man with a holy weapon. Makes sense he'd bring it to a church. And this fossil of a town had plenty of old churches for him to pick from.”
“Doesn't hiding the spear that pierced Christ in a church seem a bit too obvious for someone trying to hide the spear?”
“For all we know, he was just putting it in its proper place, eh? The house of God and all that.”
Order of the Black Sun Box Set 9 Page 10