THE APOSTATE SAINT

The terrifying screech thrust Alaric out of his sleep and back into a panic. Exhausted from the day’s travels and missteps, he was just starting to let down his guard when the screaming demon ripped away all sense of security. He covered his ears, which would have likely bled under the auditory assault, but quickly realized he had to endure the sound to properly defend himself. Though he couldn't see the demon, he noticed hundreds of other creatures clamoring toward their camp. He let go of his ears and reached for his Soularm, the weapon granted to him as one of the chosen. There was no more hesitation – now was the time to prove whether the Son had made a mistake or not.

“To me!” the Son shouted, rallying all the warriors to his side, a few feet from the campfire. Alaric wasted no time and was met by the lady Gailavira. Shortly after, Geilamir, Isidore, Ervig, Xanthus, and Calix arrived. Last to come was Euric, who looked east to where his cousin was on lookout. Alaric realized that Fridok was still out there, stranded with Bulgar a good distance from the group. “Close in!” the Son commanded, gathering everyone together.

Alaric looked at the rock where Fridok and Bulgar had stationed themselves but saw no sign of his friends. He feared the worst but knew he needed to focus on the immediate threat. The group gathered at the Son’s tent, under the shade of two large trees. The reason for this choice became apparent as the Son pressed his hand against one tree, channeling its life force into the ground. The tree wilted and crumbled at his touch. As the creatures pressed closer, the Son demonstrated his immense power in defense of their position.

The cacophony of demons snarling, howling, and cackling underscored the unbearable high-pitched shriek that continued far longer than human lungs would allow. The ground shook and splintered, bending to the will of the Son at the cost of both trees. It moved and cracked so quickly they nearly lost their footing.

First, a great barrier wall rose from the ground, forming a protective shell around them. The masses crashed upon it like waves against the City’s levies. Next, the Son instructed them to hunker down to avoid losing balance as he forced the ground up high into the sky. They braced themselves and leaned on each other as the ground transformed into a platform, an earthen citadel surrounded by a defensible wall of rock.

Suddenly, things seemed less bleak. The demons might have been many, but they didn’t have the Son on their side.

“Prepare yourselves,” the Son warned. “These damned souls know no fear. They persist out of malice and hatred for God. They are insatiable and will not leave until we are all dead. We must end each one of them if we are to survive. Do you understand?”

The minor sense of safety Alaric had felt fled promptly. It was time to test their mettle. They were outnumbered a hundred to one. Being the best swordfighter in his class was achievable. Taking on hordes of mindless, bloodthirsty creatures was not something they were prepared for. Alaric could already imagine the songs that would be sung about their group after they were torn apart. “The Slaughtered Madman and his Ten Fools” would probably be the title. At least no one else would be foolish enough to venture outside the walls again.

“I’m going to open a hole in the wall right there,” the Son said, pointing to a section of the rock wall near a difficult tract of land. “If we don’t give them a focal point, they’ll figure out a way up the walls on all sides. If that happens, we might as well cast down our arms and accept our fate.”

Alaric turned to Geilamir, both of them terrified. They held their swords, but had no confidence in their ability to turn the tide.

“Once the bodies start piling up, we must fall back up here and make our stand.” The Son looked at their disheartened faces. He remembered that these were regular soldiers, devoid of the Gifts.

“You there, bowman.” Euric turned his attention to the Son, panic in his eyes. “Fire a single shot into the masses. Don’t miss.”

Euric responded hesitantly, “There are too many…” His attention went back to the east, where his cousin had last been seen. Alaric feared the worst for Fridok and Bulgar. They could have been overwhelmed by the demons. It was enough to make anyone lose hope.

“Pick up your bow and take a shot.” The Son placed a hand on Euric’s shoulder, then took an arrow from his quiver and placed it in Euric’s hand. Euric swallowed his pride, nocked the arrow, and fired it at a large group of demons. Though the arrow made no sound over the noise of the demons, its effect was immediate.

A light flashed from where Euric’s arrow landed. The demons scattered at the sight of the golden light, which then moved back to Euric, making him a source of light. The company looked at Euric in disbelief.

“Now, place your hands on me and give me the light,” the Son commanded. Euric, unsure of how to do this, simply followed the command. He placed a hand on the Son’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Within seconds, the light from Euric transferred to the Son, who became god-like in the transfer of power.

“Good. Now do the same for each person here and send them to me. Once that is done, stay here with the two boys and protect Lady Gailavira with your lives.” The Son slid down the rocky platform and made haste to the wall he had pointed out. Euric quickly followed the command. With each shot, he gathered the glowing energy and transferred it to the others. When it was Alaric’s turn, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

“When you’ve received the light, come to me!” shouted the Son. Alaric looked into Euric’s eyes, entranced by the light. Though frightened, the light commanded him to take heart. Euric placed his hand on Alaric’s shoulder, and Alaric felt something he had never felt before.

It was as if his bloodstream had become a river of pure energy. His entire body tingled, making him believe he could react at incredible speeds. His muscles bulged with newfound strength. The Soularm felt light in his hand. The bleak situation suddenly seemed within the realm of possibility, both exciting and horrifying.

“Shall we?” said Geilamir, thrilled to try his new sword. Alaric smiled, feeling as he had during their childhood misadventures. They slid down the platform and joined Isidore and Ervig behind the Son. The Son acknowledged them with a nod and leaned into the wall. He transferred energy into the wall, and a twenty-foot section came crashing down, crushing some demons. But the minor victory was short-lived.

“Hold the line!” the Son commanded, glowing less than before. Isidore and Ervig angled their spears, while Alaric and Geilamir held their swords ready. The tide of demons filled the void where the wall had stood. In the center was the Son, wielding a spear and sword in an unfamiliar stance.

As the demons came upon them, Alaric witnessed the Son’s strength firsthand. The Son thrust with his spear, then struck with his Soularm. The spear sent out a purplish light, and a swift strike with his sword killed the demon, reducing it to a husk. The Son’s luminescence returned as he continued his graceful dance, cutting through demons and sending splinters of ground to crush groups of them. The unstoppable horde was no match for the City’s finest and their great leader.

But there was still the screamer—the witch-like demon. Alaric had tuned out her screaming in the carnage but knew she had to be stopped. He found her standing behind the lines of demons, south of camp. He knew he had to act, for she would continue to hound them. He leapt onto a demon’s shoulders, slicing its face and running atop the demons toward the source of the sound. Striking out along the way, he reached the witch-demon from the cave.

She was hideous, fully visible in his light. Her tattered clothing and skeletal figure made her a terrifying sight. Her pasty bony hands awaited Alaric.

Expecting a fight, Alaric found himself far more capable. He cut her in two as easily as a knife through butter. As her screaming stopped, only the sounds of battle remained. Satisfied, he looked back at the camp, expecting praise, but found none. Leaving his position on the line had allowed demons to pour into the inner sanctum. Euric couldn’t hold them off indefinitely.

Alaric hurried back, swinging through the masses to patch the hole he had made. He realized his foolishness. The Son remained but was surrounded. Geilamir and Ervig were fighting, but the gap Alaric caused sent a flood of demons through the wall. Isidore was nowhere in sight.

Cutting through demons, Alaric did his best to stop them, but they were too packed. He saw Euric’s desperation as he tried to shoot down demons climbing the platform. Demons clawed at Alaric, forcing him to defend himself. He had made a grave mistake.

Even immense power couldn’t balance poor tactics. Alaric had been lectured about this in history classes, yet here he was making the same mistake. He could hear Isidore’s voice echoing in his head, feeling worse about his judgment since Isidore likely fell because of him.

Victory had seemed possible minutes before, but now the battle was hopeless. They would be known as fools, sung in sad songs about crushed hope. No hope would come from elsewhere; this fight would be their last.

As all seemed lost, Alaric saw a bearded man bathed in light atop the Eastern wall, holding a shining sword. Fridok lived, and he pulled a glowing Bulgar up. Fridok dove into the fray, Bulgar firing arrows at the demonic forces.

Rekindled with morale, Alaric closed the gap between him and his comrades. He knew they needed relief to regroup. Cutting through creatures, he reached his friends. Alaric, Ervig, and Geilamir cleared a path to the Son, who used his powers to shape the land into a tighter funnel. With the enemy’s ability to flank them cut off, they began clearing the demons now cut off from support. The Son and Ervig barred entry, while Alaric and Geilamir dealt with the inner camp.

They approached where Alaric had been stationed, finding Isidore’s spear sticking from demon husks. Realizing Isidore’s hand was still on the weapon, Alaric shouted for Geilamir to help dig him out. Isidore’s face was bloody and maimed, but he was alive when Alaric hoisted him up.

Alaric saw another opportunity for glory but decided to help bring Isidore to safety instead. Geilamir assisted, though distracted by Fridok’s swordsmanship. With the screamer dead, Fridok’s war cry terrified even fearless demons. This continued for ten minutes until the battle was won.

The last demon destroyed, the Son healed each warrior with his Gifts. Alaric couldn’t make eye contact with Isidore but felt relief at his mentor’s restoration. Each had sustained significant wounds, but the Son’s Gifts wiped them away.

The Son laid a hand on Fridok’s shoulder as a sign of respect. Alaric felt pride as he smiled at Fridok, who returned it. Lastly, the Son lowered the platform, and the last bit of light faded from him as he collapsed.

Gailavira rushed to his side, administering aid. The warriors were shocked at the fall of this god-like man. Gailavira checked his vitals and gave commands as if she were his lieutenant.

“We must move him while you still have the light. The power will sustain you for a time, but when it leaves, it will take all your strength. We must be safe when it happens.”

Alaric, still filled with power, knew it could happen to any of them. He finally understood why Lady Gailavira and the wards accompanied them. They would be all that remained when the warriors fell.

Gathering their things, the party moved away from the graveyard of demons. As they made their way to a new campsite, Alaric felt weaker as the light left him. Soon, he would be at rest.

He studied his sword and thought of what to call it.