The Perfect Sun

by Brendan Carroll

  “I intend to separate your head from your body, sir,” he said evenly “and I intend to do it with very little effort and a great deal of finesse.”

  “Ahhh, how you do go on,” the Captain said and took another step forward before lowering his voice so the soldiers could not hear him. “But I think you might not want to do that just now.”

  “And why not? What is wrong with now? I’ve always said there is no better time than the present.”

  “And what will you tell your lovely Aunt Nicole when she returns and finds her lover dead? What will my men think if you kill their captain in cold blood? I know a bit about men, little one. Enough to know that they have rules. Rules. Laws. Codes. Statutes. They will not forgive you for killing young Captain Galipoli while he was completely unarmed. I understand you are in a precarious position here, already having committed many atrocities upon humanity and the members of your exalted family.”

  “You are not Galipoli. I know Socrates, and you are definitely not him. Socrates is a friend of mine.”

  “So who am I? Would you kill your friend? One of your only friends?”

  “I can answer that, Asaradar,” another voice answered from behind him and he spun around. The robed figure of Bari’s armorer stood framed in the open door. “What happened? Did you lose another sword?”

  Galipoli let go a tremendous shout and leapt up the steps after the retreating figure of Asaral. Bari could hear crashes and shouts from inside the house and finally laughter and then nothing.

  He raised the helmet and stared at the front door for a long time before venturing inside the house. He found Galipoli lying in the midst of a wrecked library. Books were scattered everywhere. Tables and chairs overturned and lamps broken.

  Asaral sat on the footstool, very primly looking down at Galipoli’s face.

  “What happened?” Bari asked after he had taken in the scene.

  “Asaradar has left us,” the robed figure smiled at him. “He was always a bit touchy about his possessions.”

  “Will he be back?” Bari glanced about nervously.

  “Oh, he hasn’t given up his search for Uriel, but I doubt he’ll be back here,” Asaral stood up and dusted his hands above the sleeping figure of the Captain.

  “What about him?”

  “He’ll be fine. A bit confused perhaps, but I think we’d best go before he wakes up.” Asaral gathered his robes in his hands. He looked like a monk or a pilgrim from the Middle Ages.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You are dressed for battle.” He slapped Bari on the shoulder. “Let us go and find one.”

  Bari opened his mouth to protest, but the Captain moaned and began to move around on the rug.

  “Preferably in this universe?” Bari smiled at his unlikely companion.

  “Of course. Most other universes are too peaceful for such things.”

  Bari took a step and almost fell on his face as his armored boot sank into the grass of the meadow. The fog was very thick, but the moon was full. Directly in front of him lay the hulking form of a darkened building, long and low and he heard the bleat of goats and sheep. Beyond the low shed that might have been a barn or a stable, he could barely discern a sizable house rising in the mist. The roof was above the fog and the moon glinted on the shingled roof.

  He froze as he saw two dark shapes skulking through the night toward the building nearest him.

  “Where are we?” he whispered to his companion.

  “You should be more worried about who they are.” Asaral jerked his head toward what was now clearly discernible as a barn. A fenced area beside it contained a hen house, a chicken roost, a small duck pond and beyond that was the sheep pen. The two shadows entered the barn as he took cover beside the hen house. The birds inside clucked nervously at his presence, but did not panic. Within moments the two men emerged again, carrying someone between them. It looked like a woman and she was unconscious.

  “Ho! Stop thieves! Murderers! Rapists!” Asaral shouted without warning, startling not only the two intruders, but Bari as well.

  They dropped their load to the ground and drew their short blades from their belts.

  “Who’s thair?!” One of them answered the challenge, and Bari could do nothing but step forward.

  “What are you doing here? Who is that woman? What do you want with her?”

  “It’s another one!” The second man’s voice was filled with fear. “They’re oll crazy! Possessed o’ divvils, I tell ye! This be an apparition summoned by th’ witch t’ kill us!”

  “Shut up, fool,” the first snapped at him. “’e looks solid enough t’ me!”

  “Answer my questions, slime!” Bari raised the Claymore and they fell back automatically at the sight of the blade.

  “Run fur yur loife, brother!” The second gave way and turned on his heel.

  Bari took a step forward and the first one looked about for a moment, and then, joined his brother in flight.

  “Ahhh. Too bad. More cowards. Never mind. Let us see what our bravery has netted for us,” Asaral hurried forward and knelt beside the unmoving figure on the ground. “Ahhh. A great treasure. A maiden. Well, not exactly a maiden, but a woman, no less and with child. A double bonus.”

  “Good grief!” Bari clambered forward and bent to look at the sleeping face of Sophia. “How did she get here? For that matter, where is ‘here’?”

  Asaral was already hefting her onto his shoulder.

  “Which way?” He asked and turned first one way and then another.

  “I can’t imagine why she was in this hovel.” Bari scratched his chin thoughtfully and then squinted at the outline of the house showing through the mist. “That house looks familiar, but I can’t place it. Perhaps we should present ourselves at the door and ask for assistance.”

  “Very good, Master!” Asaral started off toward the house. “A worthy notion for a valiant warrior. I knew you would make a good fighter.”

  “Fight?” Bari grumped along beside him. Sophia hung limply in the creature’s arms. He looked like an ordinary man, but he was far stronger than a mere mortal. “I haven’t really fought anyone yet.”

  “Be patient, little one. Your time will come. I assure you. We will find you a good fight yet. You’ll see. Front or back?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Front door or back door? If she is a servant, it would be best to present her at the back door. If she is a foundling of high birth, then the front door would be acceptable. Or we could stand in front of the dwelling and throw stones until someone comes out.”

  “Front. We’ll just ring the bell.”

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  “Your Grace, I have seen it again.” Gambrelli’s face was glowing with an inner light. “I have seen the stairs mounting up to heaven, and I have been show the way to the Ark.”

  The aging Pontiff shook his grizzled head slowly. He had no taste for adventure. No desire for anything other than a peaceful, painless death and afterwards…

  “I’ve had an answer from the Baron, and he assures me that he can have an army ready within the month, ready to leave for the Holy Lands. This time, he assures me we will be prepared for any resistance we may face. I have seen the lands are bleak and deserted. Not only that, de Goth’s forces, and the Fox remnants are all concentrated around New Babylon. This is wonderful news, your Eminence,” Gambrelli’s voice seemed to come to a screeching halt as he realized that the pope was not really listening to him.

  “John?” He leaned forward and whispered the first name he rarely used these days.

  “Yes, my son?” John Paul raised his dull eyes and met the Cardinal’s deep brown ones with a weary look.

  “You are not paying attention to me. Is something wrong? Aren’t you interested in gaining the one artifact in all the world that could actually prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is real? That he exists?”

  “A box would not prove what is already proven, Paolo. People do not believe because
they do not want to believe. If God is real, then they are in trouble. If God is not real, then we are all in trouble. Paolo…” the pope’s voice trailed off and his crinkled eyes seemed to glaze over a bit. Gambrelli leaned closer and took one his gnarled hands. “I have always looked upon you as my son… my real son. You are the closest thing I have ever had to a real family other than the family of the Church. Do you know I used to fantasize what your mother looked like? About how we had raised you from a small boy?”

  Paolo was horrified, but managed not to let this show. He had ambitions. He planned to replace John Paul as soon as he was dead, but it looked as if he would live forever. The last thing he wanted from him now was sentimental idiocies.

  “I even dressed her in my mind. Her favorite color was blue, and she had blue eyes. Like flowers, they were. Sometimes when I read the Mass in the square, I would see her there in the crowd, smiling at me, knowingly, sharing a secret only you and I and she were privy to.”

  “John Paul, I appreciate your love for me, but it is not proper for you to tell me these things.” The Cardinal tried hard to evade the subject.

  “I have loved you as my own son, Paolo. I wanted you to know that. It was you and this fantasy… this ghost of a family that has brought me through the years. Not the dogmatic teachings of this papacy. Not the rote repetitions of unanswered prayers. God doesn’t exist, Paolo. Only the here and the now. I am afraid to die. I think it is why I haven’t died before now. If I truly believed what the Church propounds, I would have welcomed death long ago. I would have gone on to see the Saints in Heaven, but heaven does not exist. This is all there is, Paolo. And this is Hell.”

  Gambrelli’s shock was complete. Hearing these words from the head of the Church, the liaison between the Church and God, himself, was too much. He was well aware of the fact that he, Paolo, had never really lived a truly Holy life and though he had tried, honestly tried, from time to time, he had never succeeded in living as he had vowed to do, but he had always chalked his shortcomings up to his imperfect humanity. He had always gone to confession regularly and believed that his confessions had cleansed him of his sins, his ambition, his arrogance, his greed, his lies, his schemes…

  “No, no, Your Grace,” he found his voice and stood up, towering over the frail form of the pope, who sat slouching on the side of his little bed. The man slept in an army cot in one corner of his luxurious bedroom suite, unable to climb into the monstrous canopy bed hung with velvet trappings and decorated with gold accents against dark mahogany. He claimed the bed made his back hurt, but the truth was the bed brought on terrible nightmares wherein he was haunted by the spirits of his predecessors. “Please do not say these things. Please. Listen to Paolo,” the Cardinal took John’s chin in his hand and turned his face up, kissing his lips lightly. “You know I love you as a father. There is no need to worry. Paolo will take care of everything. Now, we must concentrate on our mission. Our commission as emissaries of God on earth. We must answer Polunsky… put the official seal on the expedition. He is confident that this army will be stronger, bigger and better than the last. If you like, I will make arrangements to take you along. Perhaps you need…”

  The pope cut his words by grabbing his wrists. His watery eyes were wide with terror.

  “No! No! I cannot leave here! I am afraid!”

  Gambrelli’s vision blurred and then cleared and then blurred again as his blood pressure roared in his head.

  “What are you afraid of? You have nothing to fear.” Gambrelli shook off his feeble hold and took him by the shoulders. “God will welcome you home, father.”

  “There is no God!” The Pope objected. “I have seen the pits of hell in a dream.”

  “If there is a hell, then there is a heaven,” Gambrelli tried once more to calm him. “If there is a devil, then there has to be a Creator who created him.”

  “No, no. It is as d’Brouchart said. I am a pompous ass. A fool. A buffoon. I am afraid to die. We were created by a demon, Paolo, and he wants to take back what is his! I saw it in a dream.” John Paul’s eyes now showed more than a hint of insanity. “He was terrible. Terrible. Claws. Black leathery wings. Horns! Horns on his head! Spines on his back! And his feet…. He had no feet!”

  “It was a nightmare. Nothing more.”

  Gambrelli eased the pope back onto his pillows as he began to weep uncontrollably.

  “I spoke with the others, Paolo. They agreed to elect you to take my place, but I am afraid to go,” the old man whined and cried harder. “I am a coward.”

  “Oh?” Gambrelli’s face changed dramatically. “A coward? In what way? Everyone is afraid of death, Your Grace. It is only natural.”

  “I don’t want you to go after the Ark, Paolo. It is dangerous. It is not meant to be. It belongs to the demon.”

  “Shhhh,” Paolo sat down on the side of the cot and covered the pontiff’s feet with the blanket. “Here let me adjust your pillows.” He pulled one of the flat little pillows from behind John Paul’s head. “Isn’t that better?”

  “Paolo…” the pope clutched his wrist again. “Stay with me, tonight. I am afraid. Tomorrow we will speak to the Council. The Ark should remain where it is.”

  “Of course.” Gambrelli patted his hand. “I’ll stay with you, father. Just go to sleep now and Paolo will stay with you.”

  John Paul closed his eyes and within minutes he was snoring gently. Gambrelli stood up very quietly. For several long moments he watched the rise and fall of the sunken chest, the involuntary twitching of the left eye. And then, slowly and deliberately, he placed the pillow over the face and pressed down with all his weight until the withered legs stopped kicking and the wrinkled arms stopped flailing. When he was sure that the pope would dream no more, he stood up, adjusted the pillow back under the head, closed the eyes, placed the arms and legs in a more natural position for sleep and even brushed back the white hair.

  He bent and kissed the forehead affectionately.

  “Sleep tight, John,” he said as he adjusted his coat sleeves and smoothed his collar. He checked himself in the mirror before leaving the bedchamber, quietly and quickly.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Abaddon turned quickly, causing his snowy garments to swirl around him, making him look like a huge, white bird about to take flight.

  “Shhh,” Inanna hushed him and caught his arm. “There is no reason for alarm. No one can find us here.”

  “Oh?” He looked at her with doubt in his ageless face. “How can you be so sure?”

  “I created this garden for us, my love.” She laughed lightly and picked up the basket he had dropped in the grass. “You’ve spilled the flowers.”

  “Flowers,” he repeated the word absently, and then bent to scoop up the colorful lilies, returning them to her basket. He took the basket again and hooked his other arm in hers.

  “You are bored,” she said and looked up at the sky as a tear escaped her eye. He paid no attention. He had heard something in the palms. A whisper. A rustle. Something.

  “Bored?” He repeated her word again and continued to scan the lush vegetation around them. “Why do you say that?”

  “I know you, Abaddon,” she said wistfully. “You were not meant to wander Paradise, picking flowers, lounging in the shade of the palm grove eating pomegranates, swimming in the hot springs…”

  “And neither are you,” he laughed. “You miss the excitement of the world. Take me back to face the dragon, my love.”

  “And what? Watch it devour you?” She was truly amazed at him.

  “I think I might be able to get away now,” he told her. “My legs should carry me up the shaft. If I could reach open ground… it would only take a few running steps… like walking on stilts, I believe they call them. Once I get my wings, I can find you and we can be together in the material realms.”

  “What a horrible thought,” she said quietly.

  “You don’t want to be with me?” He asked.

  “Of cours
e I do. It’s just… I thought we might spend a bit of time… alone, without the interference of the material world, Abaddon. I have missed you.”

  The dark angel turned his attention on her for the first time in several minutes.

  “And I have missed you as well. Not a day has passed that I have not thought of you. When Adar saved me from the queen mother, I vowed to make myself worthy of your love. I never thought to be spared if Lord Adar found me. I did terrible things, Inanna. Terrible. I still have to pay for them. They cannot go unanswered, but as soon as I have made amends, I will seek you out, and then, we can live in peace and you can bring your city from the ruins of time. Your devotees will swarm to the sound of your voice, and your city will bloom in the desert, and I will be at your side as it was in the days of old,” he took her hands and looked into her deep green eyes. “You are as beautiful… no, more beautiful than I remember.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her and that was when he saw what had been bothering him. Another man, dressed in clothing similar to his own, walked toward them. Silver hair floated in the breeze around his face; deep blue eyes scrutinized them with intense curiosity.

  Abaddon thrust Inanna aside almost brutally and drew his sword, an elaborate piece of work made of silver with precious jewels embedded not only in the hilt and cross piece, but in the blade itself.

  “Hold, Abaddon.” The stranger held up one hand, palm outward in a sign of peace.

  Inanna recovered herself and caught her lover’s arm in desperation.

  “No, Abaddon, don’t provoke him,” she told him. “Put the sword away.”

  Abaddon did not comply and the stranger came closer.

  “Lord Adar…” Inanna smiled at him.

  “Inanna, a pleasure to see you, I am honored,” he bowed his head slightly. “It is well that I have found you. This is not a safe place.”

  “I thought you said no one could find us here,” Abaddon whispered and lowered his weapon.

  “I meant no mortals,” she said.

  “I came to speak to you about him,” Mark Andrew told her. “I see it is unnecessary.”