The Perfect Sun

by Brendan Carroll

  “Do not touch me!” He moaned and closed his eyes. “Let the dragon do her worst to me as she will, and still, it would not be enough punishment to atone for my sins against you. Think not to name my sins against my Father in Heaven.”

  “Do you not know, in calling upon your Father, you have opened the way for redemption and salvation?” She asked him. “Even the most foul creature may receive redemption when the pain is truly suffered, and the penitence sincere. For the Father knows the punishment we inflict upon ourselves is far worse than what he metes out. All of His creatures must return to the Light from whence they came, but not before it is time. You may yet find a path that leads upward. You may yet free your soul from self-condemnation. When the Father forgives, it is a sin to persist in remembering them. You must let them go. Did you not know this?”

  Abaddon had never heard these words before, but deep in his heart, some place where the black stain of scorpion poison had not reached his soul, he knew the truth of her words. Slowly he turned his head and met her dark eyes in his own clear stare. The connection between them was as solid as a bridge carved of stone, strong enough even to bear the weight of his crimes. With blurring speed, he was in her arms, weeping on her neck, burying his face in her silky hair. And she stroked his golden curls and ran her cool hands over his fevered skin.

  “Inanna, my Queen,” he muttered the words. “If only I could have told you these things before destruction found me.”

  “Destruction has not come unto you yet, my love.” She took his chin in her hand and kissed him. “Let us enjoy love’s sweet dream while we may before the cares of the physical plane take it away, and we are thrown back into the world to carry our burdens to the bitter end.”

  She took his hand in hers.

  “Walk with me.”

  Feet were not a problem here in the dream world. The dark angel, a misnomer in this form, rose from the bed. The joy in his face was almost palpable and had it not been for the sound of the waterfall, she could have heard his heart beating in his chest. He was beautiful. More beautiful even than Adar, and that was most likely the cause of his present dilemma. Inanna had forgotten much in the deep chasm of time. Adar had not always been the wizened one with all the answers. He had once been vain, jealous and vengeful, unable to bear the thought of a creature more beautiful than himself and he had cursed Abaddon Apollyon, splitting them asunder, casting them adrift, stripping them of their beauty. The memories of Adar’s dark past, gave more impetus to Inanna’s determination concerning Abaddon’s fate. She would not let him go. She would not let him fall again in the darkness. If she had to keep him forever dreaming, then so be it.

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  Lucio sat across the table from Jasmine between Gregory and Nicholas. He had chosen this particular seat in order to protect his psyche from the beating it was taking in this strange atmosphere. If he’d had less manners and less control of himself, he would have been staring at her with his mouth hanging open. He’d not seen her in years, and though this was not the woman he had been married to, his heart could not believe what his head was telling him. This was not his Jasmine, no, this was Lemarik’s Jasmine, not Yasmin, not Oshun, but the real Jasmine de Bleu, sister of Armand, mother of Lavon and yet not. She smiled at him from time to time, but nothing in her demeanor, nothing in her eyes, gave any indication that she recognized him as anything more than the Knight of the Golden Eagle, an honored guest at her husband’s table. And the guilt he felt for his confused feelings made him feel as if he weighed six hundred pounds. Here he was, sitting at the table with not one, but two ex-wives, both of them as beautiful as ever, perhaps more beautiful and both of them changed, just as he had changed, and both of them now strangers to him and yet not strangers. For the first time in his life, he was afraid of them. Afraid to talk to them, afraid to look at them, afraid to be near them for fear his old self would reassert itself and destroy everything he had achieved. He missed Catharine terribly. If she had been there with him, he would not have needed to hide between Mark Ramsay’s two grandsons.

  Gregory and Nicholas were utterly fascinated with the Djinni’s household. He served them as if they were ancient kings of Persia, presenting them with every delectable dish they had ever dreamed of and some they had not. The table was filled with fruits and vegetables from all over the world or at least, what had been the world. There were puddings and custards, pies and cakes, creams and pastries, wines and nectars, iced concoctions with misty fog flowing from the brims. Some of the dishes glowed with an inner light. Magick was everywhere, but not one dish contained any vestige of meat. Meat had been abandoned by the family of the Mighty Djinni once he had reverted to his Zoroastrian beliefs. He had, after all invented them. His encounter with the good people of the desert had made him feel ashamed of his ‘debauched’ lifestyle, and he had taken up his role as the leader of those he had left behind once more, bringing many of them here to his home to live with him. They served him willingly and he rewarded them with every conceivable comfort. Here was no sickness, no war, no famine, no draught, no lack for warmth, nor scorching heat. Here they sang and danced around their sacred fires, giving thanks to the Creator for His bounty and His blessings. The distant sounds of drums and pipes and voices raised in haunting melodies, serenaded them as they ate. Nichole talked endlessly with their hostess.

  Nicholas eyed the big cats lounging in the corridors and along the inner courtyard with suspicion and caution. Gregory, on the other hand, was intent on touching and caressing every exotic bird and beast within the Djinni’s sanctuary much to his brother’s chagrin. He was also very interested in a dark-eyed girl with golden skin who sat next to Jasmine and the interest was not lost at all on Lemarik’s beautiful daughter who had been another shock to Lucio’s system. Had it been so long? The years passed so quickly. At least she was interested in Gregory and not him. A very good thing. Very good. He was relieved to have someone to take the limelight away from him and again, for the first time, he was glad of it. After a while, he relaxed enough to indulge one of the raspberry ices. The taste was like going home to Naples. He concentrated on the flavor and tried to shut out his anxiety for what lay ahead of him and his aggravation at having been delayed here at the Djinni’s palace.

  What was worse even than being delayed here, they had lost Barshak. The oddly pale fellow dressed like an ancient Chinese warrior, had simply disappeared on the trail up from the beach. One moment he had been there with them and the next, he had vanished. Nichole had told him not to worry about it, but now he had Barshak and the even stranger pair of angels or whatever they were loose in the underworld and he would be held responsible… ultimately.

  Lemarik had insisted that they stay for supper. The Djinni, himself, had not arrived at the table, but his wife and her two sons who belonged to the yellow Ifrit Djinni were there, as were Dunya and Aurora. They had returned from their campaign against the evil Huber only a short time before. No one ventured to guess what time it was, nor how long they had been home, nor how long they had been gone, but they exchanged stories gladly with Nichole and Jasmine, relating all the details of the siege of New Babylon and the flood that followed. Lucio became fully entranced in these tales. He had heard none of this. He had known a siege was in progress around the ancient city, but the flood and the unbelievable voyage in the ark had almost made him forget about the City’s fate. They’d had no news after leaving the ark, and then Mark had not been very enlightening before leaving them in the desert. Thoughts of the City brought mention of Lucifer and his band of angelic warriors, and tales of the Queen of the Abyss and her fearsome Boggans. At last, Lucio felt he could speak, and inserted a question of his own.

  “Did you see my son, Galen Zachary?” He asked and the ladies turned their attention to him as if they had forgotten he was there. Even Lemarik’s lovely daughter frowned at him as if his question were the height of rudeness.

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Aurora answered him and then centered
her attention on her eldest son for the first time. “It is well I should see you in such good health, Nicholas. I assume your grandfather is treating you well… and your brother?”

  “Yes, of course,” Nicholas answered her. “It is indeed a pleasant surprise to see you here, Mother. I had thought you gone to the Hesperides by now.”

  “Lemarik has asked mother and me to stay for a while and a bit. He thinks mother’s presence might help Uncle Omar in his time of need,” she nodded to her eldest son and sent a wink to her youngest.

  Lucio thought it an odd formality between mother and sons mixed with a bit of mischief, but he could not fathom the workings of these creatures. Perhaps they were more congenial in a less public setting.

  “Mother, I would like to speak to you in private after supper, if you have the time.” Gregory seemed emboldened by his mother’s attention. It was very strange.

  “I believe I can spare some time for you, my son.” She smiled briefly and then returned her attention to Lucio. “Your son is well. I know this from the ether.”

  “The ether?” It was Lucio’s turn to frown.

  “The grapevine. Another way to say the grapevine,” Nichole explained to him. “She means she has felt his presence in the ether. You know what ether is, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” Lucio nodded. Of course not. He knew what it was supposed to be. The very essence of everything connected everything which could not be seen, could not be touched, but existed as surely as the air in the room, filling the palace, the underworld, the Abyss, the overworld and permeating the entire Earth; the mysterious material which swirled and flowed outward into the Universe itself filling all the spaces in between what they could see; the strange Dark Matter, and further, the elusive stuff scientists in the earlier twenty-first century had called Dark Energy. She felt it on the ether? Why could he not feel this? “Do you also know whether the Queen Mother perished in the siege or whether she still exists? Where did she go?”

  “She left this plane,” Aurora told him calmly. “She went beyond my reckoning. I would gladly have rather known what became of her, but she deliberately dropped out of our reckoning. Even the elves have heard nothing of her passing. Only Omar may know where she has gone.”

  “Omar? Did he see her?” Lucio perked up a bit. “Is that what is wrong with him?”

  “He suffered much,” Dunya spoke up and again Lucio did not want to look at her.

  The world was too small and time had a way folding in on itself. Here was the image of Cecile Valentino, the first of a serious round of mistakes he and Mark Ramsay and the entire order would have done well to avoid. But this was not Cecile; this was the gentle daughter of Lemarik, sister of Omar, the Prophet. Her dark eyes were full of concern, compassion and love. A far cry from the one she imitated in physical form. “He fell into the depths where none should venture alone. He may never recover completely. Would you like to see him, Sir Dambretti?”

  “I would,” he said quietly and stood up causing several of the colorful birds perched in the pomegranate trees to flutter into the air. They squawked and screeched in protest of his sudden move.

  Lemarik’s younger daughter leapt to her feet and watched the birds in shocked wonder. She turned her eyes on the Golden Eagle and narrowed them sharply, accusingly.

  “Sit down, Sarah.” Her mother caught her arm. “They are disturbed by his presence. No harm is done.”

  “I am disturbed by his presence,” Sarah responded and did not take her eyes from him. “He is not family.”

  “You are being rude, Sarah. Hush.” Jasmine clapped her hands and a serving woman came at once. “Leah, Mr. Dambretti wishes to see Omar. Please show him the way.”

  The woman, dressed in the garb of the desert people beckoned to him to follow.

  He tore his eyes away from the angry glare of Sarah Kadif and followed the woman down the polished corridor to the depths of the palace where Lemarik sat next to his son’s couch. Omar lay on the cushions looking at the ceiling as if watching some great drama playing out in the tiled designs there. His eyes darted back and forth and his facial expression changed perceptibly every few seconds as if something there had pleased or displeased him.

  Lemarik motioned for Lucio to join him as he pulled another tufted cushion over for the Knight to sit on.

  “What is he doing?” Lucio whispered when he sat down. He now regretted leaving the dinner table. The Djinni’s sorrow was palpable.

  “He is watching the angels.” Lemarik’s face glowed with what could only be pride in spite of his sadness. Lucio felt a shiver run up his spine. Under normal circumstances he would have thought Omar’s condition to be more closely akin to catatonia or dementia. But these were not normal circumstances.

  “What are they doing?” Lucio could not help but ask and then, again, regretted it.

  “We will know soon enough,” Lemarik told him. “It is why I did not join you for supper. I was waiting for the revelation.”

  “The revelation?” Lucio was truly alarmed. This was too heartrending. Omar was ruined and yet, his father refused to accept it. “May I?” He reached for Omar’s face and Lemarik nodded.

  The Italian waved his hand in front of Omar’s eyes, but the Prophet did not blink or acknowledge the change of scenery. He was still watching something neither the Knight, nor his father could see.

  “He will speak,” Lemarik assured him.

  Lucio fell silent and waited while the Djinni sat cross-legged in perfect serenity by the bed of the Prophet.

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  The King of Rock’s song about hound dog and a no good woman had just ended when Barry sat up straighter in his saddle and frowned into the twilight. The shadow he had mistaken for Christopher Stewart loomed closer, and he was amazed to see it was only a dark crevice in the embankment. He pulled on the reins of his horse and rode out from the bank, straining to see further along, but he saw no sign of the younger man.

  “Ho! Christopher Stewart!” He shouted in his best baritone. His voice echoed hollowly up and down the bank and wafted away across the desert. Only the cry of hawk answered him from the sky above. “Yo!! Christopher!!” He shouted even louder and stopped the horse, turning back in the opposite direction. Had he passed him without noticing? Surely not.

  He turned again and rode to the edge of the crevice. The opening was about as tall as he was mounted and just as wide; not nearly big enough to venture inside, not in the Seneschal’s reckoning. He got down from the horse and checked the softer earth around the crack, and then walked in widening spirals looking for some sign of Christopher’s passing. He could not have disappeared. It was impossible. There was no place to go. He could see for miles down the bank. He could see even further across the flatlands to the east. The bank at this point was too steep to climb. He could not have gone up there, but Barry looked up and down the bank anyway, calling the Knight’s name over and over.

  The Seneschal was still desperately looking for the lost man when Edgard caught up with him just after midnight. He’d not made the rendezvous a few miles further on. Neither had they found any trace of Konrad and Apolonio. Now they had lost another man. They started back the way they had come in silent defeat, fearing the worst.

  Chapter Four of Sixteen

  God is jealous, and the Lord revengeth

  “The Lord shall comfort us.” Omar’s face was aglow with an inner light that made Lucio’s skin prickle with a strange exhilaration. “He will comfort all the wasteland and the waste places and He will make her wilderness like Eden.”

  The Prophet looked directly into Lucio’s face as he spoke. He smiled behind the words that were vaguely familiar. Lucio did not know exactly where these words could be found in the Scriptures, but he knew they were there somewhere or something very close to them. Lemarik’s beautiful son was truly beautiful now as he clutched both of Lucio’s arms. The Italian dared not move, dared not break the spell, even though he had at least begun to breathe again. Omar
’s oration had taken him completely off guard. After a few moments, the Knight had grew tired of waiting and leaned over the Prophet’s couch in order to look into his eyes.

  Lemarik shrieked and elevated several inches off the floor, when his son abruptly came alive. Lucio gasped, but Omar took him by the arms and set him down on the side of the couch. Lemarik hovered only inches away, but Omar did seemed to notice no one other than Lucio.

  “Her desert and her pits shall be like the garden of the Lord and joy and gladness shall be found there by her children. Thanksgiving and singing. Thou hast seen Eden in thy dreams, Golden One and thou knowest her charms. Thou knowest the anointed cherub that covereth the gates of the garden and that, too, shall rejoice in the makings. And the messenger of light shall also see the garden and walk amongst the leaves, rejoicing and declaring his message. He who was created in perfection until inequity was found in him. His heart was lifted up by his beauty and he was fond of himself and corrupted by reason of his brightness. Even all the trees in the Garden envied him and he was of greatest light. The stars dimmed in their paths and the sun was made dark at his passing. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance.”

  “Ecclesiastes!” Lucio let the word slip. He recognized the last sentence of the prophecy. Ecclesiastes.

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil,” Omar continued and his smile brightened, but the strange light did not fade from his face, nor did he appear to recognize either of them any loner. “For he is with me. His sword and his bow, they shall comfort them. He shall leadeth them beside still waters and he shall bring the living waters to their lips.”

  “He is speaking of many different things, I think,” Lucio told the Djinni. His speech did nothing to stop the flow of words from Omar. “You must send for Armand and have him record his words or else we will lose them.”