The Perfect Sun

by Brendan Carroll

  “Did not your Sabaoth ply you with the luxuries of the world of men? Did he not show you the wonders of humanity? What it meant to be human? I thought he was rather enjoying himself there at the end,” Mark told her.

  Huber emitted a shrieking growl at the mention of Jozsef Daniel’s end and Mark felt he might have overstepped himself.

  “I did not mean to upset you,” he continued. “I simply thought he had more feeling for you than was possible, I suppose.”

  “Feelings! There you go again. That is what is wrong with this world. Feelings. I want to feel only the freedom of space around me. I want to feel that my word is obeyed.”

  “But to what end? If you have no creative thought, what thought do you have? And why have you brought… young ones into the world?” He glanced around again, sweating as he imagined things chewing on him.

  “Creative thought?” She frowned. “There is no need to create anything more. My fathers have filled the universe with enough junk. We were once unfettered and free in the vast reaches and nothing could draw near to us.”

  “A lonely existence,” he said and began to wiggle his hands a bit. It was almost impossible. Each finger was encased in the web.

  “And you think that this…” she held up the violin, “this can make a difference?”

  “Not the instrument, but the music that it produces,” he explained. “You know what music is.”

  “I have heard the noise,” she told him. “It is unimportant.”

  “Then you have not used one of man’s most important gifts from the Divine.”

  “What do you mean?” She narrowed her eyes. She was apparently unconcerned about time. In no hurry.

  “Ears to hear the divine gift of music,” he said. “The violin tickles the ear. The chocolate entices the tongue and arouses another divine gift from sleep. Taste. The roses work on two senses at once. Sight and smell. They are beautiful beyond description, and who can describe the scent of roses? Man can only weave words of comparison.”

  “And the wine?” She asked.

  “Ahhh. Wine warms the heart and the blood that flows through it. It loosens the bonds of propriety. Too much and we become sloppy, too little and we remain cold and distant. It is an art to use wine in the courtship of women. Very dangerous, in fact.”

  “Dangerous?” She laughed, but not convincingly. He had her attention. “This shell of which I make use has memories embedded in it though they are fragmented and rotten. You have left out one of the most annoying senses humans are prone to experience.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The sense of touch… physical sensation, not emotional feeling, but physical. Without that, man would be invincible. He would not cringe from fire or shiver from cold. He would not hesitate to leap forward, rather than cowering away from pain.”

  “Is that all you know? Pain? There are many other feelings associated with the sense of touch. Surely Sabaoth has done you a great disservice. Did he never rub your feet with oil?”

  His hands were loosening a bit and feeling was returning to them. He had little of hope of besting her in hand to hand or claw or whatever combat, but it kept his mind busy while he tried to tempt her with conversation. His head hurt miserably in the heat and every time he moved his head, the gunk in his hair pulled it mercilessly.

  “You must be joking, Adar. He took plenty of liberties with me as they say, and I allowed him his diversions at first because I was grateful, but after awhile, I grew tired of his pawing. ” She laughed more heartily at his question. “But I had my feet rubbed, yes. My son… this body’s son adored me. He plied me with attentions of all kind.”

  “Did he? Did he bring you flowers? Did he drink from your cup? Did he offer you chocolate from the palm of his hand and shower your bed with rose petals?” The very idea of what he said made more sweat pour from under his hair. His stomach heaved at the thought of touching her. He certainly had to try some form of subterfuge or else he was about to be consumed part and parcel, and he didn’t know how that would work out.

  Huber stood looking at him in complete silence.

  “Did he make music for you from his heart?”

  She raised the violin again, and then raised one eyebrow. “You can play this instrument?”

  “I can do anything. I am a god.”

  “You cannot escape from me.”

  “Well, almost anything. But I cannot play it, if I am entangled in this web.”

  “If I loosen your bonds for a while, will you play for me?” She asked. “Will you feed me chocolate and pour my wine? Will you oil my feet and use your hair to dry them? I have heard this was a great honor in the olden days of man. Would you do these things for me? These things you believe are so very important… would you do them for me that I might judge what you have said for myself? I can make your lot easier if you can convince me of the truth of your words.”

  “I would do my best.” He said and actually managed a tight smile for her. “I am no Adalune, but I can try.”

  “Adalune? Oh…” She held her head back and ran one hand across her throat where his braid had almost done the trick. Nothing of the hideous wound the braid had inflicted there could be seen. Her skin was perfect. It was much lighter than Ruth’s normally dark, Sicilian tones, but it was flawless. Too perfect, beautiful, evil, dangerous and interested in him in a most alarming fashion. Abaddon would have been proud of him. “The Djinni, yes. He often snooped about the palace, trying to convince his grandson to abandon his mother. Little Bari was very naïve. Perhaps you do know more about such things. I had memories of the Djinni from another time and another place, but he took them from my mind.”

  “Yes, he was very fond of Ruth. We were all fond of Ruth,” Mark said truthfully, trying to keep her engaged. “She was a beautiful woman. A kind-hearted lady of taste and discrimination. A good mother.”

  “Hmmm.” Huber closed her eyes as if trying to connect with Ruth’s memories. “Those memories are gone. She is destroyed. You will have to make new memories for me.”

  Mark drew a sharp breath and grimaced in spite of himself when she began to cut him from the clinging strands with one of her clawed appendages. Now she would expect him to entertain her before he died. How quaint.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  “Over here!” Luke Andrew called in a loud whisper and tossed a small rock at his uncle. He and Lily were hiding behind a tumbled down pile of rocks near the stone fence bordering the Ramsay estate.

  Luke Matthew drew his sword as he turned, and then the two parties were running across the grass toward each other.

  “Where did you come from? Where have you been?” Luke Matthew asked him as he clasped him in a hug.

  “Marduk took Sophia!” Luke told them and was then wrenched from his uncle’s arms by Mark.

  “Where? Where did he take her?” The Dove asked him, close to panic. “Where is the baby?”

  “It was the baby Lord Marduk was concerned about,” Luke told him and pulled away from him. “He said this place was dissolving or fading or something. There was something chasing us in the caves.”

  “Luke!” Lily took hold of her son’s arm. “Tell me what is going on. Who was that man who took my grandson? Where is John?”

  “John is back at the house,” Luke Matthew answered her shortly. “Do you know the way out of here, Luke?”

  “We just came from the caves.” Luke jerked his head toward the rocks higher up the small bluff. “There is a cave entrance up there.”

  “I’m going home!” Lily announced and turned abruptly, starting across the meadow. “I’m not going back into those filthy caves. John will straighten all of this out.”

  Meredith ran after her.

  “Wait! Mrs. Ramsay, please, you can’t go back there. You’ll be… killed,” Merry pleaded with her.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lily said stubbornly and kept walking as the others caught up them. “I am convinced John Paul is incoherent,
perhaps an idiot of some sort, and for that, I am sorry, dear, but you should have told me. He is fine boy, smart as a whip, but he is clearly daft. I would not want to put my trust in him. He doesn’t even know who he is.”

  “Mother,” Luke Matthew stopped her forcefully. “You must listen to us. You are in danger here. Mark and I will take care of you. Haven’t we always taken care of you?”

  Lily looked up into her son’s eyes and her frown lessened as she perceived his lack of his normal Scottish brogue. “Of course you have, and I appreciate that, son, but your father is here now, and we must respect his position as master of the estate. We will do what John says is to be done.”

  “He is not at the house,” Mark changed tack. “He said to meet him in the…. Caves.”

  “Why?” Lily looked away toward the house. It could not be seen from where they were.

  “The house has been burned,” Merry lied outright. “The Clanahans returned and burned it to the ground while we were out looking for you. Master Ramsay went off in search of their lair and told us to seek refuge in the caves until he could meet with us there. He’s planning to gather reinforcements and come back. He’ll settle the whole thing then.”

  “Ahhh. Now the truth comes out.” Lily narrowed her eyes in anger. “And Mary and Sean? Where are my servants?”

  “They headed off into the woods,” Merry continued the deceit. “They’ll be fine.”

  “All right then,” Lily relented. “I’ll go with you for a while and a bit, but if John doesn’t come soon, we’ll have to go and find him. He might need help. You know how vicious those bully-boys are.”

  “Aye, mother,” Luke Matthew agreed and turned her about. “If he doesn’t come soon, we’ll go back and see what’s keeping him. Rest assured.”

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  The elf king leapt to his feet with his darkly stained dagger already in his hand. He turned about in the midst of the stone bed faster than the naked eye could discern. A greenish blur.

  “Be still, little one,” Ereshkigal’s voice echoed in the chamber. “You are safe here.”

  Il Dolce Mio jumped down from the Queen’s bower and walked carefully across the floor of the golden cavern toward her. She sat on rounded stone near the Boggan’s fire pit, stirring something in a small metal cauldron suspended from a tripod over the fire.

  “Why did you bring me here?” He demanded. “My father, the King, needs me. He is in trouble.”

  “Adar is always in trouble, my son. Did you not notice that before?” She smiled at him. “Put away your blade and sit with me.” She patted the stone by her side.

  Il Dolce Mio scanned the interior of the cavern. They were apparently alone. He slipped the dagger, which still displayed the stain of the scorpion poison, into the scabbard and sat down on the floor, cross-legged, deliberately declining to take the proffered seat.

  “I am preparing a drink for you that will strengthen your constitution so you may enjoy the party without suffering,” she explained as she tasted the concoction on the tip of the spoon. She made a face and spat it on the floor. “It’s not very tasty, I’m afraid, but it is potent.”

  “How do I know you would not poison me, great Queen?” He asked.

  “You are very much like your father and, yet, suspicious like your mother. A good combination. You will live long, little King.”

  Ereshkigal laughed and then scooped several spoonfuls of the stuff into a small wooden bowl of dubious origins. She handed the bowl to the elf and he looked at it skeptically. His diet was normally quite austere. He preferred milk, Elven cherry wine and mead to drink if not spring water. His usual fare included honey, curds, berries, nuts and a few flowers. He rarely ate meat at all and was extremely suspicious of the germs and bacteria he had read about in his father’s library.

  “Drink, drink,” she licked the spoon and smiled again. “It will help you. I would not harm a son of Adar. I love Adar, little one. Didn’t you know that? Would that I had been your mother, but those days have passed. I shall never have a child for him. It would have been glorious. I did try, you have to admit.”

  “Fate does not always favor the foolish, madam,” the King stated and then took a sip of the hot liquid. “Let us hope it will favor me now. If my mother had not taken fate into her own hands, I would not have been born. I cannot blame her or you, by extension for your attempts to bring forth children of great expectations.” He smiled. “I am my father’s son. Soon I will take a wife and bring forth my own princes and princesses. It is only natural. I have read much of the bloodlines of Royal families. They wish to bring in the best possibilities. Genes, they are called. These genes are placed into what is called a gene pool and from this pool, we are given to withdraw the very best traits and characteristics for our offspring. Perhaps, one day, I will travel to the Great University in Oxford where my father learned and study gene-splicing and genetics chemistry. We all wish to give our children the best genes possible.”

  “Genes?” The Queen raised both eyebrows.

  “Yes, gene pairs are part of our DNA and that determines what we will become as we grow.” He sipped the liquid as he talked. “DNA is most important. The so-called building blocks of life are found in these three runes. The men of science are attempting to combine genes without the natural processes of the body. Not a wise endeavor without much training. I have studied the reports and have concluded that nature is best suited to combine genes in proper proportion, but may be given a boost if necessary, whenever the gene pool becomes depleted.”

  “Well, that is wonderful, my King.” Ereshkigal nodded as she continued to stir the cauldron. “I hope that you and your beloved have many children. They are a blessing and a curse.”

  “You have not told me why I am here.” The King finished the bowl of medicine and set it aside.

  “I am bringing together all of my family, close and extended. We will have a grand gathering, a family reunion. There will be celebration, feasting and games. We have gone too long without the simple joys of living. War and battle may be necessary, but more necessary is love and enjoyment. I have learned this from your father, though he may not have intended to teach it to me. We have dwelt here in darkness for too long. I have seen the joyful dances of your people and heard their music and not understood. It was my sojourn in the world of men that taught me the value of simple fun. In fact, I have enjoyed teaching Plotius to be human. He is not my son, but I have treated him as such since I learned he could not be my lover.”

  Il Dolce Mio blinked at her in confusion and then frowned.

  “He will always be a Boggan at heart and, in that sense, he remains a child. Boggans are not nearly so bad as you might think, little one. They are simply of lower mind than elves and men, but among themselves, they are quite joyous when occasion demands. Plotius’ example only lends proof to the old saw which says things are not always as they appear. He may look human enough and now he even reads and walks erect. He is proud and keeps himself clean and groomed, but he is a Boggan and, if left alone, he will revert to a savage state quite readily.”

  “Then you should give back what he lost. Let him be what he is. Surely the form he took had an owner? What became of him?” Il Dolce Mio asked with genuine concern.

  “Ahhh, the gardener…” Ereshkigal frowned. “But I like his appearance. The gardener would not have made a good captain, little King. I needed the human form with the Boggan disposition.”

  “Then you should re-evaluate your needs, my Queen,” he told her. “Rather than thinking of your needs, perhaps you should think of Plotius and the gardener. What of their needs?”

  Ereshkigal seemed to pause in thought momentarily before getting up from her perch on the rock.

  “We must get back to the party,” she told him and offered her arm to the diminutive king. “I would cherish your friendship and an alliance between myself and your people, good King. We have been at odds for too long. We could learn much from each other.”

&n
bsp; Il Dolce Mio nodded his head slightly and took her arm.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  “And this is all we know?” Edgard looked around the council table at the remaining members of his Order. Most of them looked very much alike. Even Meredith favored the Healer and his sons. Blue eyes. Blonde hair. Rosy cheeks. Lucio looked like an outcast, a pirate captain among them with his dark hair, dark eyes and olive complexion. The ancient scar on his cheek added to the pirate allusion and Lavon, sitting next to him could have been his first mate so exotic was he, golden-eyed, golden curls, golden skin. Barry sat next to him with his arms crossed over his chest in aggravation. He wanted action. He wanted to do something… anything! And had said as much several times. Edgard longed to gather new blood into his counsel. He missed Baldemar de Jesus’s Spanish flair and he sorely lacked representative views from the West, the Far East and the South. Omar’s idea of a global melting pot was neither far-fetched, nor far off the mark. Peace on earth could never be truly accomplished until the races trusted and respected each other. A great ideal, a wonderful notion, but Edgard doubted such a thing could ever be possible in the current astral cycle. The Council needed more diversity, but such luxuries would have to wait until the current crisis was put to rest.

  “We have been over this several times, Your Grace,” Sussex muttered and looked away from his Master.

  “But we are all experiencing strange nightmares…” Edgard leaned his forehead on his hands and closed his eyes.

  “And dreams, Sir,” Lucio added. “I have very pleasant dreams. No nightmares.”

  “I, too, have had some very… nice dreams,” Lavon spoke up and then looked down at the table. He had been dreaming the same sort of dreams his uncle Armand had told him about before he’d gone to live with the elves… permanently. In fact, Lavon had been thinking of resigning from the Order and going to live with his uncle. He felt he had nothing more to offer the Order. Oriel would never be his and the constant company of her brothers and her father and her grandfather wore on his nerves more and more as the years passed.