THE APOSTATE SAINT

“Help!” shouted Alaric as he saw Fridok's body bounce off the walls of a crevasse neither had seen before starting their ill-fated race. The wet, solid impact of Fridok against the hard cave floor echoed upwards, reverberating through Alaric's head like a sudden fortepiano bar in an otherwise soft, gleeful melody. The absence of that sound seemed louder than the sound itself. Alaric doubted Fridok could survive such a fall, but he hoped the impacts against the sides had mitigated some damage. There was only one way to find out.

The others rushed to Alaric’s side. First, Ervig and Isidore arrived to assess the damage, then Geilamir. Their silence spoke volumes as they inspected Fridok's limp body sprawled at the bottom of the hole, almost comically. It seemed he must have lost consciousness before the big impact at the bottom, given how he landed without attempting to brace himself. "I've got rope," Isidore said as the others quickly joined them.

The last to arrive was the Son, calm and collected. His casual approach in an emergency upset Alaric—after all, the Son might be the only one who could revive Fridok if he had perished or heal any injuries he sustained. How could he be so cavalier about this?

Still, the Son’s presence had a calming effect on Alaric and everyone else. Alaric just wanted Fridok pulled out as quickly as possible and brought back to the living. It was, after all, Alaric's fault Fridok was down there in the first place. Stupid competitive heart.

“What do you see?” the Son asked Gailavira, his tone determined but peaceful. Gailavira, to Alaric's surprise, lay on the dirt with her head above the opening, hands blocking out the sun. “Hard to tell,” Gailavira said, focusing hard on Fridok's body below for any signs of life. Just then, Isidore arrived with a large rope he had packed on his horse. Not packing a rope himself for the journey was another mistake that made Alaric feel unfit for this mission. Then again, Alaric reminded himself, Isidore always over-prepared for everything.

Alaric looked around the gathered party, feeling the shame flush his cheeks and face. Bulgar and Euric whispered among themselves so quickly and quietly that Alaric couldn’t understand. They kept pointing in different directions, which made him feel they were devising a plan not readily apparent to him. To Alaric, there was no good way to go about this—the cave's walls were too sloped and slick for anyone to descend safely. The only way down without a guarantee of getting hurt was by rappelling with Isidore's rope.

“Anything?” the Son asked Gailavira again. “No movement, no breathing as far as I can see.” That statement sent a chill down Alaric’s spine. Fridok was likely dead, and it was because of him. He would never be able to take that back.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Geilamir whispered to Alaric. “It wasn’t your fault. There was no way either of you could have seen this hole. I saw the same thing you did, and this crack came out of nowhere. Besides, he didn’t really fit in with the... Nevermind—” Alaric turned abruptly to Geilamir, his guilt now redirected as anger. “Not another word from you.”

“Any chance you can just bring him up to us?” Ervig asked the Son, helping Isidore unravel his rope. Aside from Gailavira, Ervig seemed the only one unfazed by talking to a living god as if he were another crew member. Perhaps it was because Ervig was the oldest and had seen too many big egos in the City to care about proper etiquette with the most esteemed.

“Not without risking a total collapse,” replied the Son, unperturbed by the direct questioning. “Figures,” Ervig said recklessly. “Alright, tie me off,” he said to Isidore. Isidore found the end of the rope and began wrapping it around Ervig’s waist. Alaric panicked, understanding he was about to miss his chance to salvage what little dignity he could collect at the bottom of that hole. “Wait,” Alaric said urgently. “Let me do this!”

“You’re too flustered and shaken,” Ervig said, putting his arms to the side to allow Isidore to fasten the rope into a harness. Alaric had seen Isidore tie that knot a thousand times when he demonstrated to the men at the barracks how to properly ascend and descend a wall. They never really used it until now, so Alaric was certain Isidore was thrilled to get a chance to do so. Rather than allowing the two older men to sort out the mess he had created, Alaric insisted again.

“I’m lighter, more graceful, and far more nimble than you are,” Alaric said, attempting to appeal to the man’s logic. It came out conceited, so Ervig just raised his eyebrow and continued to be harnessed in.

“It’s my fault it happened, damn it, let me fix it!” Alaric finally said what he really meant.

Ervig turned to Isidore with a disdainful, displeased look. Alaric wasn’t sure where the disagreement would go next, but he had run out of ammunition, and all honor was on the line. That’s when Gailavira's words washed Alaric with relief.

“He’s breathing,” she said aloud so everyone could hear. “Just barely, but it’s there.”

Alaric walked toward Ervig, standing directly in front of him, hoping the man would relent. After sizing up Alaric for a moment, Ervig just stared at him incredulously. But he didn’t fight anymore, and Alaric knew this was the opening he needed.

Alaric took a deep breath, looked down at Fridok’s now barely breathing body, and then back at Ervig. With nothing left to lose, he simply said, “Please.”

Ervig removed the harness himself, dropping the rope on the ground. Once free from it, he took a step back and motioned for Alaric to take his place. Alaric did just that, with haste.

“Remember your training,” Isidore said to Alaric. “Use every surface you can to brace yourself on the way down. Walk when you’re able to walk. Tread lightly if you get too close to any jagged edges. Breathe. Take it inch by inch. Most of all, don’t free fall unless you have to. I’m not as strong as you might think.”

Alaric thanked Isidore, nodding his head and mentally preparing himself for the descent. He looked at the sides, trying to decide the best route. Geilamir approached, along with Euric, Bulgar, and the two wards, to help fortify Isidore’s grip. Ervig did the same. On his honor, he wasn’t about to let someone under his protection get hurt.

Alaric found the path he felt was best for his descent and motioned for the others to follow him to the launching point. They did, everyone supporting Isidore as Alaric grabbed hold of the crevasse's side and eased himself over the edge. His initial descent was just as smooth as in practice. With so many people bracing him, it was easy to find his way down the jagged edges of the rocky terrain. He allowed himself to think things were looking up. He would retrieve Fridok’s body, the Son would heal him, and they would put this whole thing behind them. That thought was interrupted by a sound he had never heard before, but would never forget.

The sound blasted from the deep crevasse, echoing in every direction around Alaric. It was unlike anything he had ever heard, a high-pitched shriek that pierced his eardrums and caused him to physically shudder. He immediately clasped his hands around his ears to dampen the sound, and as he descended uncontrollably, he knew at least one or two others holding the rope had done the same. The deafening sound disoriented them.

Alaric used his training to find his way down safely, but there was still a good amount of cave wall left before he would reach the bottom. He tried to be as graceful as possible, but with the shrieking still breaking his eardrums and the slack from the rope falling faster than he did, Alaric couldn’t ensure his own safety. He heard Geilamir curse from above, even over the noise, and he knew it was worse than he figured.

The rope came down entirely, and the other end flew past Alaric as he desperately held his hands against the cave wall, bracing his feet on the jagged surface below. It wasn’t enough to stop him, and Alaric fell about a third of the way Fridok had fallen, landing hard against the cave floor.

Rather than losing consciousness completely like Fridok, Alaric blacked out for a short time. When he awoke, the shrieking had not stopped; it had only gotten louder.

Alaric moved to right himself, but pain coursed through him from his right shoulder. He winced but managed to scramble to his feet and found Fridok’s body nearby. He scurried over, attempting to wake him with his good arm. It didn’t work—Fridok’s bloodied face lay motionless despite the horrendous noise.

Alaric pressed his head to his right shoulder and his left hand against his open ear. Without that, the sound would have been unbearable. He looked around, seeing the whole rope Isidore had tied around him lying in a heap on the cave floor, abandoned even by the City's most formidable champions. If this scene was any indication of the expedition’s success, those above might as well turn around now.

Facing the sound's source, Alaric saw nothing in the chasm beyond the sunlight's reach, save for what he imagined were sound waves pulsating from the unbearable screeching. The screaming continued with no end, and though Alaric couldn’t see anything, he knew it was getting closer.

Alaric was about to face his first demon, and neither he nor Fridok had their Soul-arms. He was completely unarmed, as they had removed excess items before starting the race. He looked up, hoping for salvation from his companions, but saw nothing. He couldn’t hear them over the demonic sound approaching.

Alaric stood up, thinking quickly. He took the rope’s end and tied it to a stalagmite. He scurried to the other side of the cave and wrapped the rope around another jagged rock. His desperate hope was to trip the creature by pulling up quickly as it approached. With no proper weapons, he had only his bare hands, teeth, and perhaps a pointy rock if he found one in time.

He prepared to spring the hastily made trap and continued looking for something sharp. Sadly, he found no suitable rocks nearby, leaving him with only his throbbing right arm and non-dominant left arm and legs for defense. He backed against the wall, preparing for the creature whose figure was appearing before him.

Just as Alaric expected to see the creature's eyes, it vanished into the abyss. With its disappearance, the screaming halted. It seemed the demon was more bark than bite, deciding not to risk direct conflict. From Alaric’s glimpse, it wasn’t as big as he imagined demons to be. The creature was no taller than a man, though more gaunt and bony than human. Whatever it was, it was gone now.

No longer assaulted by sound, Alaric heard his companions’ voices above—along with a residual ringing in his ears.

“Are you hurt?” Isidore called down, though Alaric could hardly call it hearing. He checked the darkness but saw nothing.

“Yes, I’ve taken quite a bit of damage,” Alaric reported. “We need to get him out of here first!” If the screaming demon hadn’t roused Fridok, he wasn’t getting up without supernatural help.

“Hang on, we’ll sort it out,” Isidore assured. “Just don’t move, don’t do anything but sit there.”

Easier said than done with the throbbing pain, everlasting ringing, barely breathing companion, and the threat of another attack. What else could go wrong?

A moment later, his mentor descended. Alaric had to laugh. He hadn’t thought to bring even one rope, and here Isidore was, replacing the lost rope with a spare. Of course, Isidore always came prepared.

“We’ve got this handled, don’t worry.” Comfort washed over Alaric with those words as Isidore's feet gently hit the ground. “Let’s harness him in first, then come back for me,” Alaric said, knowing Fridok’s case was more dire. Isidore agreed after assessing the situation, and together they harnessed the heavy body of their fallen companion. With a tug of the rope, Isidore ascended the cave with Fridok in tow.

Alaric eyed the blackness with trepidation as he waited for his turn to be rescued. When Isidore finally began his descent again, Alaric felt like something was still down there with him, waiting to strike. It felt like an eternity before Isidore arrived to secure Alaric’s escape, but there was no additional incident.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Isidore said, and Alaric nodded enthusiastically. Utilizing the existing harness around him, Alaric's escape was quicker than Fridok’s. In seconds, they were fastened together, and Alaric felt himself finally leaving the cursed place.

To keep his hands busy as they ascended, Alaric began spooling up the first rope still attached to him, now dangling below. He saw the evening sky brighter and clearer with each tug from above, and things were finally as they should be.

Then Alaric felt a violent tug on the rope below, breaking his grip and casting what he had gathered back into the abyss. Terror coursed through him as the other end of the rope yanked not only Alaric but also Isidore, loosening the tight grip of the men above.

“By the Namer, you will HOLD THAT ROPE!” shouted Isidore, realizing the immediate danger. Alaric braced himself for another free fall. But just as things seemed most dire, newfound strength empowered those above. The surface rope overpowered the pull from below, and in seconds, Alaric and Isidore were close enough to grasp the ground.

Alaric looked at the one person not handling the rope—Gailavira—who approached carrying Alaric’s own Soul-arm. With surgical accuracy, she cut through the rope dragging them down, and Alaric and Isidore's safety was assured.

As Alaric caught his breath, he noticed three things: Fridok was alive and sitting up, the Son seemed even taller as his body glowed in the twilight, and the grass around Fridok was completely grey and devoid of life for many yards, all the way around the crack to the bush, of which nothing remained but a few dried up, very dead sticks.