The Perfect Sun

by Brendan Carroll

  The Red Cross of Gold XXIX:.

  “The Perfect Sun”

  Assassin Chronicles

  By

  Brendan Carroll

  Copyright 2012

  Special recognition and appreciation for the help and support for my efforts go out to Sue Guerth, my good friend and fellow fantasy writer. Sue has graciously provided me with the cover image for this book, The Perfect Sun. Thank you, Sue, you’re a peach!

  The Perfect Sun is dedicated to everyone who is looking forward to the return of the Messiah, the end of the world as we know it, the fall of mankind, the next cycle, the great evil unchained, or whatever the case may be.

  The characters are fictional and any resemblance to real persons alive or dead is unintentional and coincidental.

  Brendan Carroll can be reached at BrendanCarroll7@gmail.com for comments and/or questions.

  Warning copyrighted material:

  No part of the contents of this publication may be copied, printed or sold without permission of the author.

  The Red Cross of Gold XXIX:. The Perfect Sun

  Published by Brendan Carroll

  Copyright 2012 Brendan Carroll

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contact the author at the following places:

  Email: BrendanCarroll7@gmail.com

  Author Blog: http://brendancarroll.wordpress.com/

  Twitter: @BrendanCarroll7

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BrendanCarrollRCG?ref=tn_tnmn

  Prologue

  “Ambro… Uriel!” Morna whispered urgently. “Wake up, mon!”

  “What?” The stranger mumbled and looked up at her bleary-eyed for several moments before abruptly leaping to his feet in the straw. He searched the barn with terrified eyes for several seconds before closing his eyes and smiling.

  “Stop smilin’!” Morna snapped and grabbed up a wooden pail from the floor near the hearth. “I ’ave t’ milk Janie! This is tarrible, tarrible thing.”

  “What is? I’ll milk her for you, if you need to get back to the house,” he offered and stretched his muscular arms over his head.

  Morna’s eyes flitted over his bare chest and her heart caught in her throat at the sight of his face in the dim light of the fire. The dawn was just breaking outside and the embers in the furnace were barely alive. She held up the candle stub in front of him and squinted at him. Had to be the lack of proper lighting. He looked even younger than the day before.

  “It’s nae th’ milkin’ I’m talkin’ aboot,” she snapped. “I’m talkin’ about etarnal foire and damnation and th’ possibility o’ bein’ kilt or tarned out o’ me own house fur sinnin’ against God and me ’usband.”

  “Oh, that.” Ambrosius nodded thoughtfully and frowned. He took the pail from her, picked up the milking stool and walked barefoot across the barn to where Janie stood in her stall, chewing her cud.

  “Oh, aye! Thot wee thing.” Morna followed him and watched as he deftly took over her morning chore. He looked more like a nobleman than anything else with his clean, shiny hair, unscarred body and smooth, uncalloused hands. Not even a monk would be so well-kept. She tucked her own rough hands under her shawl self-consciously. “Ye’re nae monk. Nor air ye a priest, nor anything else t’ do with th’ charch, air ye?”

  “I’m everything to do with the church, My Lady.”

  “I dunna believe ye,” she said shortly. “Ye’ve come inta me loife and ruined me. Now I’m loikely t’ bring a bleating bastard inta th’ warld in prison.”

  “Never happen,” he said and smiled at her over his shoulder.

  His smile could melt the heart of the marble Virgin Mother in her bedchamber.

  “Oh, wot wud a mon know o’ such things?” She asked. “Ollways, it is th’ wooman’s whoo’s at fault. Were I a mon, Abrosius Uriel or ooaver ye air, I wud cut thee down and hang ye up fur crowbait.”

  “Now, Morna… Lily?” he said a bit more forcefully. “Permit me to call you Lily, will you? It is much more fitting. Now, Lily, I promise on my life that you will have your child in the comfort and safety of your home with… how do you say? Nae tribble atoll.”

  “God grant thot I may not bring a bairn inta this warld,” she said bitterly and pressed her hand against her flat stomach under her apron. “I’ll be waiting fur th’ milk in th’ kitchen.”

  With that she turned and left him to his work. Her heart was heavy at the thought, she wanted a child more than anything, but now her very life might depend on not having one. She had not seen her husband in a fortnight and didn’t know when he might come home again. Furthermore, she’d not lain with Sir Timothy in over a year.

  As she exited the barn into the thick, gray mist of early morning, she thought she heard the stranger singing a song in Latin.

  Chapter One of Sixteen

  He shall recount his worthies

  Omar sat shivering in the dark. The water had left him drowned upon the shores of the dark sea. The rocky coastline rose up behind him. He’d lost his ring and had given no thought as to how he would clothe himself when the water ran out. For his heroic, but foolhardy, efforts to chase down the evil from the beyond, he had stranded himself in a strangely barren landscape filled with howling winds and wet, treacherous rocks. The sound of the breakers crashing on the shoals deafened him, and though the moon shone bright upon the black waters, he dared not leave his hiding place in the rocks for fear of being seen by some malevolent creature. He had thought or imagined he heard shrill screeches from far overhead which might indicate he was not alone. Images of clawed monstrosities with huge batwings plagued his mind and refused to allow him a moment’s respite. If and when the sun came up, he would survey his predicament and decide whether to go in search of conventional help or return to the water where he would need no clothes. The thought of returning to the glittering black sea gave him shivers outmatching those created by the cold wind.

  He did not know this place, but he knew he had gone far of his own volition at first, and then had been swept along at an alarming rate through narrow cracks and crevices until he had at last let the stale air out of his lungs in return for bone-chilling water. Then he had ceased to be aware of his surroundings. He remembered the first blast of chill air as he was swept into the sea, and the pounding he had taken, dragging himself up the beach and into the relative safety of the rocks. He had seen many things. Lights, treasures, fish, sea monsters, both living and dead, faces, wild beasts, furniture, cars, trucks, armor, weapons, serpents. Everything imaginable and some unimaginable, but never once had he glimpsed the Queen Mother in all the ruin.

  After what seemed an interminable time, the first rays of dawn appeared over the horizon, tinting the rocks above him rosy red, orange and yellow before he could muster enough circulation in his frozen body to venture out from his ‘cozy’ cubby hole. He shivered and shook at first so hard, he could hardly walk, but as the sun’s welcome rays warmed the rocks and his skin, he began to jog half-heartedly along the beach, looking for anything, anywhere to help his situation, which was not only embarrassing, but dangerous. He had no weapon other than harsh language and bare, very bare hands.

  The sun rose higher and the beach cliff took a sharp bend to the left. Omar rounded the bend and saw his first signs of civilization. A narrow path, obviously manmade, slanted up the face of the cliff. He started up the partially paved path without thinking. About halfway up he stopped to get his bearings and then stood aghast at what he saw hanging on the cliffside above him. The distinctive tea
rdrop made of polished white marble stood out in stark contrast to the dark basaltic cliff. Above the bulge rose graceful spires and minarets topped with purple onion domes trimmed in gold.

  The Prophet fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself in shocked disbelief. His old palace, his first home, where he had spent almost sixty years had been rebuilt. He had come home to Il Dolce Mio’s kingdom in the underworld!

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Konrad looked over his shoulder at his son and motioned for him to catch up. Apolonio had fallen behind and for good reason. He was feeling quite ill. He hadn’t eaten in days and his canteen had been empty for several hours. They were traveling at night to conserve their strength and water, and he didn’t want to complain, but he was past the point of caring when his father called to him. He raised one hand in acknowledgment and then seemed to follow the hand over the horse’s neck into the dust. When he hit the ground, he stayed exactly as he fell, face down. Konrad panicked when he saw Apolonio fall.

  “Loni!” He shouted the name, he’d not used since his sons were small boys in the underworld. “Loni!”

  The Knight of the Apocalypse kicked his horse viciously and the tired steed bolted toward the downed man. The horse carried him about halfway and then reared without warning, before collapsing on its side, pinning the Knight beneath it. Konrad shouted and cursed and pushed with all his might against the hollowly gasping horse. It was all he could do to twist himself far enough to see his son lying motionless in a dark heap. His horse tried to get up, further crushing his leg and he was forced to lie gasping for air himself against the pain in his foot and leg. The stallion collapsed once more, drew three more breaths and died with a shudder, leaving Konrad in a very bad position.

  “Loni!!” He screamed into the night air. “Help!! Anybody!! Help us!!”

  The shouts were involuntary, the situation almost hopeless. Only a miracle would bring the Grand Master back the way he had come. Whenever they went out looking for water, they made wide sweeps to the east or the west and rejoined the main convoy just before sunrise with the fresh supply of water. They had found this the best way to keep the army on track without zigzagging back and forth across the desert from one water source to the next.

  Apolonio’s horse had the only pair of ears within sight and sound and it had no intention of coming near the panicked human. Relieved of its burden, it wandered aimlessly across the rocky soil, looking for sustenance in the dried bushes growing here and there.

  Konrad soon grew hoarse, and his despair deepened when he found his canteen was just out of reach. He tried every maneuver possible, to reach the strap attached to canteen, but it was useless. At last, the pain overcame his sensibilities, and he lay on his back staring up at the black sky. Soon the sun would be up to put the final touches on a ‘perfect day’. The thought of lying there for days, weeks, months…. forever, dead and yet not dead…. He reached out as best he could with his mystery and found most of the Templars and company still plodding along. Most of them with wearily blank minds; some were asleep in the saddle while others repeated the pater noster continuously. Only the link with Lucio gave him any respite from the misery and monotony of the endless journey. Forty years, forty years until all this evil congregation, that are gathered together against me: in this wilderness they shall be consumed, and there they shall die. And there they shall die. But he could not die. His son could not die.

  “Loni! Get up! Loni!” He cried, but his voice was gone, nothing more than a dry whisper.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  “No! No! No!” Lucio stomped up and down the sand in the cavern. Every step he took caused his lantern to bob up and down, casting eerie shadows on the small group gathered there. “I will not take them to the underworld.” He stopped and pointed an accusing finger at Gregory. The younger brother tucked his chin and looked like a chastised school boy.

  “How could he tell them no?” Nicholas felt the need to protect his brother from the Italian’s anger. He’d heard of Dambretti’s murderous temper. “It is not as if he is their Master, is it?”

  “No, no, of course not.” Lucio’s shoulders drooped and his anger flowed away. “Where are they?”

  “They were right behind us, sir,” Gregory told him and shrugged. “I don’t know where they went. I think you frightened them. They are very sensitive.”

  “Oh, are they?” Lucio asked and raised both eyebrows. “Sensitive?”

  “Lucio, please.” Nicole took his arm. “It’s not Gregory’s fault. Nicholas is right. They come and go as they please. And besides, they’re really quite nice… once you get to know them.”

  “But surely someone is in charge of them. Someone had to summon them,” Lucio said in defeat, sat down on a boulder and set the lantern on the ground. He took off one boot and emptied a rock from the toe.

  “It was Daddy. I mean Mark. I don’t think he meant to summon them. In fact, I don’t think they were summoned at all. It was more like an escape,” Nicole explained. She sighed and put one hand on the Knight’s shoulder.

  “An escape?” Lucio asked her incredulously. “Please… enlighten me. These things are not spirits are they?”

  “No, I think they are angels. Not like Lucifer and Gabriel, but some other order,” she told him. “They have names.” Her voice faltered and she hesitated.

  “And…?” he prompted her.

  “Urim and Thummin,” she said quickly.

  “Urim and Thummin,” Lucio narrowed his eyes and repeated the words slowly before leaping to his feet. “Urim and Thummin! The Urim and Thummin?” He stared at her in shock and wonder.

  “I’m afraid so, yes,” Nicole admitted. “He asked me not to tell anyone. He was afraid they would be mad if they learned he had broken… the thing, but he really didn’t break it. I believe it was beyond his control.”

  Nicole quickly related the story Mark had confided in her about the white braid and the strange occurrences in the lab. She also told him about the fate of the Skull of Sidon and he was doubly shocked and horrified.

  “It died? The skull died? You mean it was alive?” He asked when she was finished.

  “Well… yes, sort of, but we need to get on with this,” Nicole told him and Nicholas quickly agreed.

  “What about your other friend?” Lucio asked her and jerked his head toward the enigmatic Barshak, who squatted patiently a few yards away, drawing in the sand with one finger.

  “He will help us,” she told him confidently. “He’s very good at heart. Trust me. He may come in useful.”

  Lucio sighed and stood up, holding his lantern high over his head, searching the darkness beyond the light for signs of the twin angels. Seeing none, he hoped that they had turned back. He would have to consult with Mark Andrew or d’Brouchart concerning this new development.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Al Sajek sat with the soles of his feet perfectly matched together. He drew a deep breath, held it and placed his fingertips together. The closed circuit energy of his being surged through him like an invigorating low-level bolt of electricity. His ears hummed in tune with the flow and beautiful colors and designs danced on the back of his eyelids. The individual hairs of his head stood straight out, giving him an almost comical appearance. After a short space of time, he levitated off the tiled floor to a height of about six inches and stayed there.

  He began to account and commune with each of the powers he kept inside his mind. One after another, they presented themselves before him, bowing low, paying homage to their master. Some of them were stiffer in the knee than others and their ‘homage’ was forced, but they minded the master’s call for fear of retribution. None questioned his call; none protested the command to return to the sleep from which they had come. None, that is, except the very last one he called. He did not want to call this one; he did not wish to disturb him. The greatest power, the most awful, most terrible spirit in all creation. Surely if the humans knew of this creatur
e, they would have proclaimed en masse they had found the devil himself.

  Marduk lowered himself to the floor and repositioned his feet and fingertips before calling upon the last power.

  “Mastisada!” He called the power of Zaguri. “Mastisada, come forth and give account.”

  The Lord of the Sixth Gate was forced to open his eyes for this one. It refused to appear in spiritual form and would only materialize in the physical world. It was the only one which could refuse such a call. The air turned extremely hot and then cold, a fetid smell like rotting fish filled the air and al Sajek wrinkled his nose in spite of himself. The figure of Zaguri slowly appeared in front of his eyes. First, two great feet with glossy red toenails. Then two bulging calves covered with scaly, purplish skin attached to bony kneecaps, covered with sparse gray hair, grew from the feet. Next he saw two very muscular arms attached to clasped hands of enormous reach, sporting shiny blue claws. Then the body materialized inside-out starting with the heart and lungs, progressing through the circulatory system, the intestines, the spleen, the liver, a double stomach filled with something obviously still alive. These disgusting sights were covered over slowly with layers of muscle fiber, sinews, bones and finally a smoother, purple-splotched skin. The head appeared next and al Sajek felt nauseous at the sight of the gaping jaw full of teeth, the flattened nose, the broad forehead covered with ridges, the slanted yellow eyes and the large flattened ears with extended earlobes reaching almost to its shoulders. There was only one part missing. The head adjusted itself on the neck and Marduk heard bones snapping into to place and then it looked down at the space where the missing organ should have been.