THE APOSTATE SAINT

“Alaricus, are you deaf or are you choosing to defy me?” demanded Valoricus, Alaric’s father, in the overbearing tone he had adopted toward him in the years since his older brother Lucius had died. Alaric stopped his singing and rested his fingers on the strings of his beloved lyre, thinking about how to best respond this time to his father. He knew better than to ignore a direct command, but he hated to stop his playing in the middle of his song. He sighed, reluctantly giving in. “Is everything alright, father?” he responded just loudly enough, wrapping his response in his typical charm that worked on everyone else in the City except for his father. “No,” his father bit back, the frustration clear in his voice. “Come here at once!”

Alaric placed his lyre down gently on its stand in its rightful place next to the carefully organized sheet music. It bothered him more than he would care to admit that he was leaving the room without first putting away the sheet for song he was playing. It was one of his favorites, “Through the Ivy Gate,” a somber song of two star-crossed lovers, one Solumian and one Primisian, who would never be allowed to let their love blossom. Alaric would have to come back and finish the song later, after whatever ‘extremely important’ errand his father had for him.

“Here I am, father.” He spoke before he even realized that his father had donned the House’s ceremonial garb, something he had only seen his father do once in his life – at Lucius’ burial service. He didn't even wear it during Senate hearings or even at ceremonies celebrating newly elected Senatorial Consuls. Alaric’s imagination ran amok with tragedies unwritten. “Is everything alright?”

“Get dressed. Something momentous has happened and we must leave at once.” His father spoke the words without even turning to face his son. Alaric's father handled his gem-encrusted cane, inspecting its brilliance in the sunlight from the doorway, before wiping a smear away with his garment. A multi-colored orchestra of lights danced on the parlor floor and wall as he rotated it in his hand.

Alaric couldn’t imagine what would be so ‘momentous’ as to require him to dress in his finest linens with such urgency, but he knew better than to press his father for further answers. Still, he lingered for just a precious second to try to read the emotions in his father’s eyes. He was a man of few words, but Alaric had been determined to pick up on every nuance in order to better understand him. His father did face him, but he did turn when Alaric’s mother Dacinia entered the room. She wore stately but lovely attire, a dress that distinguished her as the lady of Caballarius, one of the finest Houses in the City, as his father always reminded him.

“Mother?” Alaric said, hoping that her softer heart would shine some light on the situation. She put on a maternal smile for him, but he could still see the unease hidden just behind her smile. “Get dressed, dear,” she echoed his father, uncertainty betraying her gentle command.

“Wear your sword,” said Alaric’s father as he went to his chamber.

Valoricus Caballarius Aesculus, as he was known to the City, always had a typical cool and collected demeanor that befit his station whenever he made an appearance in public. All of that had fleeted in favor of something quite out of character for him that morning. According to what Alaric could get his mother to reveal in his father's absence, the Senate had called an emergency hearing that drew his father away earlier that morning. The result of that meeting was still a mystery to young Alaric, but because of the commotion on the streets as they approached the Temple, he was able to ascertain that something major, and probably not good, had befallen the City. Whatever it was, it made Alaric nervous.

When they arrived, they were not even close to being the first people there. Everyone who had any status in the City was already there, dressed in their most elegant attire. They gathered around the bottom of the Pearly Stair, the marble climb that led to the Highest Height, where the Sealed Sanctum of the Toriad stood at the highest point in the City. Here, in the most hallowed section of the City, was where the Toriad once ruled, since the dawn of mankind. The First Man, the Toriad, was the speaker of the God of All Names. He used to rule over the City for thousands of years. Now, the once solidified power was splintered between the Church that bore His name and the Senate, made up of representatives from the Primisians, ancestors of the peoples who remained in the City while others left to seek their own ill-fated fortunes. The people who returned to the City prior to the Fall of Man and thus were spared that fate, were now known as Solumians. They made up the bulk of the labor force in the City. There were also slaves who lived with Primisian families and were treated well, and beggars who refused to work for various reasons. All of the various peoples of the City seemed to be there at the Temple Square that morning.

Alaric had not lived long enough to experience such a gathering of the different peoples at the Holy Site. His curiosity got the better of him, so he pulled his mother aside to beg for answers.

"What is going on? What is all this?"

His mother leaned in, once she saw his father was a few paces ahead. "We can't really say for certain whether it's true or not," she said, before his father whipped around, abruptly ending her commentary.

"Whether what is true?" Alaric said, more confused now. His mother shushed him, then waved him forward to see for himself.

It wasn’t long before Alaric would bear witness to history. The bystanders’ faces all turned up toward the Sealed Sanctum, wonder, awe and, perhaps, fear, washing over them. Alaric looked up and saw the imposing figure of a tall, brown-skinned man cloaked in a bright red light, like a hot iron picked from the furnace. He was nearly naked, apart from the bizarre leggings that he wore. So bright was the light shining from his skin that Alaric had to turn away to protect his eyes.

“Father, who is that?” Alaric finally asked, forgetting himself. Valoricus remained silent and gritted his teeth. “Mother? How can that man be allowed to ascend the stair? How did he get past the monks?”

No man was permitted to go up the Pearly Stair under any circumstance, aside from the Torian Consul, the counterpart to the Senatorial Consul, and that was only on the Day of the Toriad, the anniversary of when the First Man departed from the City. Even setting a foot upon the Pearly Stair was an act punishable by death or being cast out of the City from the walls. There were always two warrior monks stationed around the bottom of the stairs. It was their holy duty to protect the Temple from all evils. For whatever reason, those guards were now absent.

Alaric noticed the tension in his father's face, his gaunt cheekbones more pronounced than usual. He eyed Alaric with a grim visage and then turned back to see the spectacle. Alaric now better understood the gravity of the situation. If this man had come to defile the Sealed Sanctum, he was a threat to the City itself. His father always told the most important thing in his life was to be a good citizen, and that meant protecting the City even at the expense of his own life. Alaric became suddenly aware of the weight of the sword he wore at his waste.

The man with flame for skin slowly descended the stairs, one by one, as he took in the sight of the crowd that had amassed there. When he got halfway down the stairs, he stopped and commanded the masses to bear witness to his words, simply by raising two hands into the air. The crowd grew quieter and Alaric waited with everyone else to hear what this man – this being – had to say.

“Your Master has left you!” He shouted in a booming voice that sounded rather inhuman. “Woe to you, to have carried on for so long, a flock without its shepherd. Look around! See how your gardens wither! See, what's left of your quarries stripped of their precious resources! You are a generation away from destruction and yet you live like you can carry on forever in this way. Soon, the very ground you walk will crumble into the earth. Your homes will be rendered into dust. What delusions made you think you could thrive forever in such a confined space, building and rebuilding with the same stones that after ages now falter and crumble like sand? See, how your buildings, your grand monuments to your supposed invulnerability, stand counter to the truth! Woe, unto you, I say. You have replaced your god with images of yourselves! You have committed the very same folly that brought about the damnation of the Great Society – you have forgotten your vows to the one who has given you your name.”

A murmur erupted in the crowd as the man momentarily stopped his train of accusations. Alaric could feel the tension beginning to boil over. It wouldn’t take much more for the masses to erupt into chaos. He prepared himself mentally for what might transpire next. A voice called out from somewhere to the right of Alaric.

“And who are you, stranger? What gives you the right to judge anyone! You, who dares defile our most sacred place!”

Alaric managed to spot the source of the voice right as the response finished. It was Tolamirus Aurumantian, one of the Senator peers of Alaric’s father whose politics were often directly at odds with Alaric’s father's. Alaric frequently sparred with Geilamir, the son of Tolamirus. Aside from some occasional boyish friction, both considered one another a friend. Valoricus trained his eyes directly on Tolamirus, as if he was watching a rival about to fall to a predator.

The fiery stranger allowed an uncomfortable silence to build between them. With each step he took toward Tolamirus, the crowd grew more and more quiet.

“Are you the steward here?” the man asked.

“One of them!” Tolamirus replied, quick to assert his status upon this man. The stranger scanned the other faces to gauge their reaction.

“And how long have you considered yourself such?” the man asked, with either genuine curiosity or preparing ammunition for a kill. "How old are you?"

“That’s irrelevant!” cried Tolamirus. Another voice called out from somewhere. “He’s fifty one!”

The stranger sized Tolamirus up as he came to a stop in front of him. “And how long have you been without a master?"

Tolamirus, a man of so many words, suddenly found himself stupefied. Even the mention of the idea of a single master of the City, was considered blasphemic. There would always be tension between the Senate and the Church, but there never had been any attempts by either side to overwhelm and rule the other. There had been whispers of coups and plenty of dirty dealings within the Senate that Alaric had heard of, but that was just the nature of politics.

The stranger turned away from Tolamirus, seemingly satisfied by his intimidation attempt. He again addressed the crowd. "Open your eyes to the state of this City! Recognize that even this bastion cannot hold out against the darkness forever!"

Tolamirus couldn't help himself. "And who are you to throw such accusations that we should just accept them?"

Fear grew inside of Alaric for the safety of Tolamirus. Despite their differences, they were citizens of the same City. Alaric spotted Geilamir desperately trying to get his father to stop talking, but he continued. “My ancestors were there, among those who were left to lead the City after the Master disappeared. We’ve kept the City safe and secured vigilantly and dutifully for hundreds of years and there is no reason to believe they won't hold out for hundreds more.”

A pronounced cough was hurled as a weapon at the legitimacy of that claim, from someone in the Solumian crowd.

“Then I suppose... this City shall remain in your capable hands.” the stranger said, walking away from Tolamirus. It didn't feel like a true concession to Alaric, though. All eyes were on the man as he simply walked away from the place where the majority of the Primisians had gathered and out toward the unwashed masses, which split to give him room. None, it appeared, were ready to stand against the odd man, but there was one person there who didn’t move away with the rest of the crowd. The one who remained was an old man who had been left to stand against the stranger didn't stand at all - for he was crippled. The stranger stood before the old man, sizing him up.

After a long hesitation, the stranger bent down and extended a hand to the cripple, who accepted it willingly, like he instinctively trusted this man. Although the cripple's legs were clearly withered and misshapen, he was lifted right up to his feet. At first, it appeared that the man was going to topple over, but then a blinding flash of light emanated from where their hands had clasped together. The crowd gasped and cried out in confusion amidst the spectacle. Alaric's mother instinctively embraced Alaric, the same way she had always done in challenging times.

After a moment, the light was gone. The stranger let go of the cripple’s hands and... the man stumbled, but caught himself and managed to prostrate himself after a time. Through tears and laughter, the cripple cried out in abundant joy, childish glee from a decrepit old man. He embraced the stranger and the stranger held him close to his chest, whispering something to him that no one could hear. The cripple kissed the man’s hands and rushed out to the place near the Pearly Stair where the crowd had gathered.

The healed man proclaimed, with renewed strength and energy impossible for a man so previously ailed, “He has returned! This man is the Son of the Toriad! He is the true heir of the City and he has come back to set us all free! Rejoice! Rejoice! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

The mass that had gathered there came alive, with a symphony of varying voices and emotions. Tolamirus had disappeared along with Geilamir and several other Senators.

For the first time in Alaric's life, he saw fear on his father's face, plain as day. He wondered what it all meant as he allowed his mother to hold him as they slipped away.