THE APOSTATE SAINT

The rush of adrenaline and otherworldly power, though waning, still coursed through Fridok as he moved with the group to their new camp for the night. It took every ounce of willpower for Fridok and Bulgar to reach the stonewall encampment and their companions. They cut through countless demons, stacking their bodies to ascend the wall and aid their brothers-in-arms. Their efforts had been successful, and Fridok seemed to be on the cusp of gaining the acceptance he had always longed for.

As they laid their unresponsive commander on his bedroll and gathered sticks for a fire, the men of the Son’s company found themselves taking orders from the most unlikely of lieutenants: Gailavira, the only woman chosen for the excursion.

“Elevate his head,” she said. “Calix, Xanthus, find fresh water and bring some back. Honorable Ervig, accompany them for protection. Bulgar and Euric, perform sentry duties until your eyesight returns to normal. Retreat to camp when things go dark. Lord Isidore, as the most senior, stay by my side and assist me with the Son.”

Fridok waited for his orders. Alaric seemed somewhat receptive to the idea of a woman giving commands, but Geilamir was clearly less enthused. When the command didn’t come immediately, Fridok asked, “What about the three of us?”

Gailavira, focused on the Son, didn’t look up but passed them their orders. “Tend to the fire. Stay on hand and ready to protect him if there’s another raid.”

The new camp was on an elevated mesa with good visibility. Since being infused with power, their senses had heightened. Their eyesight, especially at night, had improved. Fridok realized how much more he could hear of the night’s elements. If he and Bulgar had been infused with this power before the attack, they might have spotted the creatures crawling in the night and warned the others.

Geilamir turned to Alaric with disdain for Gailavira. Fridok recognized the look—the same gaze nobles in the City gave the poor. It emanated privilege and haughty disdain for those deemed unworthy. Fridok despised that look. Even though he felt closer to the company after his success, he still hated that look. It brought back all those feelings in an instant. Fridok decided that when he returned to the City with all the glory and wealth, he would do everything to dismantle the social hierarchy. Geilamir’s disdain for Gailavira’s commands simply because she was a woman made Fridok more determined to change the system. He would be the face of that change if necessary.

For now, he would lie in wait and enjoy his well-earned acclaim. Major societal change was a fight for another day. He pulled a massive fallen tree closer to the fire with ease. Despite their shared supernatural strength, the others seemed amazed at how easily he did so.

“I don’t know about you,” Fridok said, “but I’m hungry as all hell.” He opened his food bag and looked down in dismay at the limited selection of foods. Being poor, his diet primarily consisted of beans and grain. Normally, it wouldn’t bother him, but now he felt he deserved something more. He would have to wait for the boys to return with water before he could cook anything.

“Here, baldy.”

Fridok looked up to catch a heavy satchel thrown at him. The scent of something savory wafted out. Opening it, he found a leg of cured ham, the kind he could never afford. It was fat and round, covered in spices. Fridok’s stomach gurgled at the scent.

“We can share,” Geilamir said, pulling out a small knife and approaching with an unusually kind demeanor. “I’m pretty damn hungry myself, so we can all eat some of this while we wait for the lackeys to get back with the water.”

Fridok was speechless. He held up the ham as Geilamir carved off a chunk and held it out for him. Geilamir shook it in apparent urgency like one would do to make a cat approach them, making Fridok think he might actually be serious. Against his better judgment, Fridok held out his hand—a gesture that days before would have meant falling into a cruel trap. When the slice of meat landed in his hand, he knew Geilamir meant what he said.

Sniffing the meat, Fridok was hit with a powerful punch of the salty, spicy aroma. He couldn’t resist—he sunk his teeth into the gesture of goodwill and could have died for how incredible the meat tasted. It flooded his senses with an intense, delicious flavor. Taking the bite down, he savored the feeling, realizing his eyes were closed in bliss, an involuntary response to the wonderful taste. And that was only the first bite.

Geilamir smirked, tossing back a small bite himself. For the first time since meeting Geilamir, Fridok felt a connection with the senator’s spoiled son. They silently shared a few more bites, and then Geilamir turned his attention to Alaric.

“Come on,” Geilamir said, inviting his friend. To Fridok’s surprise, Alaric simply smiled, then sat down and faced the fire again. Fridok and Geilamir exchanged glances, understanding that Alaric’s refusal wasn’t from lack of hunger.

“You have to be hungry,” Geilamir said. “Come over and eat.”

Alaric said nothing, looking down at the fire and closing his eyes.

“Suit yourself, Al,” Geilamir said, taking to the meat again. Fridok now felt concern for Alaric, recognizing the signs of shame and regret.

“He’s all off-kilter because he got Isidore maimed and almost got us all killed,” Geilamir said quietly. “He broke rank to kill the screamer without telling anyone. That messed up our line. He probably thinks the Son would still be up and running if he didn’t have to spend so much energy saving Isidore. He’s probably right, but he shouldn’t be a little ninny about it. Though, should we really spend so much energy keeping someone that close to the grave alive?”

Fridok looked at Alaric and then at Gailavira, still tending to the Son. He had never seen Alaric so down. It never occurred to him that Alaric, the talented young noble, might also experience self-loathing. Alaric, whom Fridok held in high regard, was a normal human being after all. It surprised Fridok to come to that conclusion.

“Let him sulk. He’ll come around eventually. He’ll either let it go or write a song about his feelings.” Geilamir stood up as Ervig and the two wards returned with water. Geilamir instinctively took the ham from Fridok and stuffed it back into his bag. That surprised Fridok, as Geilamir had been willing to share his expensive meat. Oddly enough, it endeared Geilamir to Fridok. Still, it wasn’t right to withhold food from the others, so Fridok shot him a judgmental glance. Geilamir brushed it off.

“Bring a few buckets over here,” Geilamir said. “Fridok will cook some lentil soup for everyone. We’re all slumming it tonight.”

Perhaps it was too soon to call it a “budding friendship.”

After eating Fridok’s bean and lentil soup, they resumed their duties. Ervig, Calix, and Xanthus assisted Gailavira with the Son. Fridok grew more concerned as Alaric ate and drank little, isolating himself.

The light and energy they had stolen from the demons left them, as Lady Gailavira had warned. The first major change Fridok noticed was his vision. He could no longer see clearly in the night. His hearing also dulled. Geilamir succumbed to sleep first, sliding onto his bedroll and snoring faster than Fridok had ever seen.

Fridok would have joined him, but his concern for Alaric kept him awake. He fought the oncoming sleep, even outlasting Bulgar and Euric, who returned to camp with no energy or eyesight left. They would have to trust their location and the wards now, as not even Ervig could resist the exhaustion.

The last to approach was Isidore. He sat next to Alaric, letting the fire’s cracks and pops bridge the gap between them. Had the Son not rescued him, Isidore would have been the first casualty. Both knew whose fault it was. Instead of chastisement, Isidore showed mercy.

“I would like to hear you sing,” Isidore said. Alaric didn’t respond immediately, likely filled with emotions. “Please,” he added.

In a voice cracked with dehydration, Alaric responded meekly. “Which song?” Isidore lay out his bedroll before answering. “Whichever one you are already singing in your heart.”

Alaric didn’t reach for any instrument. Instead, he looked at the Great Band in the sky and allowed his pain to be carried out in a darker, raspier voice than Fridok had ever heard. He sang “Just a Single Day with You,” a rare song that resonated deeply with Fridok.

In the twinkling stardust

and the scattered ashes of the fallen day

In the fire waning

as the cinders smolder and crumble all away

In the sounds of the lovers

Reaching for all they discover

And in the lost sleep of me and all

of the broken-hearted people

I see your eyes,

and then you’re gone.

If I had falls and fountains

And all the gold and silver

In the lakes and mountains

And the banks and rivers,

If I had all the treasures

And the homes to dwell in

And the greatest pleasures

And the Gifts of heaven

I’d trade them all for you

Just a single day with you.

In the days of my life,

I spent countless hours and minutes

In the pursuit of glory,

Or wealth or things that I already had in it.

In my narrow vision

I saw only the things that I lacked

And now in retrospection

I know I’d rather have you back.

I lost your smile,

how can I go on?

If I had a thousand lifetimes

And all the joy and laughter

Of an endless good time

For all the days hereafter,

If I had boundless harvests

And hearts of pure gold,

Any other lips to kiss

And any other hand to hold

I’d trade them all for you.

Just a single day with you.

You are gone

to the life beyond.

But I’m still here,

still waiting here.

And you’re still gone.

If I could choose a new life

Yes, a new beginning

Even one without strife

Where I’m always winning,

If I could be anyone

In the world’s long history

For another run

I would choose to be me.

I’d do it all again with you

Just to live my life with you.

Or just a single day with you.

By halfway through Alaric’s ballad, Isidore had fallen asleep. By the end, Fridok fell into something unexpected.

It was after hearing him sing so beautifully that Fridok finally understood his obsession with the young noble.