The Clan of Outcasts [Season 3]

Part 29: "The Roque of Gybralltyr"

Long ago, in a place outside of time...

In Justicia, it didn't matter whether it was day or night, because there was no sun nor moon overhead. Instead, the city itself gleamed with its own natural light. High towers and strong pillars reflected brilliance everywhere, so that one could always find one's way. Here, winged Angels and blinking Shadows moved to and fro, contacting teams and gathering reports from activity done on the mortal plane, according to assignments from Juros.

Juros sat on his throne, surveying a table spread before him of his latest project. A dark void formed in the center of the room, and from its midst stepped a white-haired man. He bowed before the celestial being.

"Welcome, Polaris," said Juros.

"You wanted to speak with me, sire?" the Shadow replied.

Juros nodded. "I have heard rumors and allegations that you are dissatisfied with some aspect of the assignment I've given you," he said lightly. "And I wanted to give you the opportunity to put them to rest." He spread his hands, brushing away the map and the table in the simple motion. "Ask away, my friend."

Polaris' lips twitched. He was straightforward enough to speak his mind to his peers, the other Abnormals, but to Juros? "I merely wondered at the reasoning behind the people you choose for the Angels to Gift," he said.

A smile played about Juros' face. "I think there was more to it than that, young Shadow." His wise eyes expressed the fact that he knew exactly every conversation, every muttered comment that had escaped Polaris' lips.

Polaris sighed. "All right--why? That's the question I want to ask."

"Why give the Gifts at all?" Juros prompted with a tilt of his head.

Polaris toyed with a tendril of shadow. "Why does the selection of mortals you prompt the Angels to Gift feel so random? It's a farmer here, a landlord there; one sibling, or an entire family; there just seems to be no rhyme or reason to it, and I have always considered you to be an orderly and equitable being." Polaris could hardly bring himself to look Juros in the eye.

Juros didn't seem put off by his candor. "What would make more sense to you?" he asked.

Polaris shrugged, tugging at the lapels of his jacket. "Why not equip those mortals in valued positions? Let Gifts be given to the ones in charge, the ones who can actually make a difference. I almost feel at times that--" He bit the words back, recalling the one to whom he spoke. How dare he criticize Juros to his face!

Juros smiled knowingly--of course, the being who permitted mortals to have telepathy would have the ability to read minds, himself! "You think that Gifting ordinary people according to what they can use in their daily lives is wasteful? That they are not worthy of being Gifted if it's just going to be something that benefits their community?"

Polaris sighed, and kept his lips shut. His face was drawn, and Juros knew why.

"Ah, I see," mused the celestial ruler. "This is about the way I handled the situation at Gybralltyr, isn't it?"

"If you had just allowed the Guardians to be Gifted, then perhaps they would have beat back the enemy!" Polaris blurted. "Maybe if the Gifted ones you sent were stronger, they would have been able to withstand the attacks against them, the city might not have fallen so easily."

"Are you sure the fault lies with me, Polaris?" Juros challenged. He waved his hand and the table appeared again, this time with a map displaying the last moments of that fateful clash between mortals and Gifted. He pointed to a few of the combatants. "What do you see here, my friend?" He said. "Do you see a mortal fighting a mortal, or do you see two men with Gifts using them against one another?"

Polaris averted his gaze. "I'm not saying that there weren't enough Gifts in that fight," he protested.

"No," Juros agreed. "You are implying that you think the wrong people were Gifted, and that if those you wanted to Jack had been Gifted, I would not have had to withdraw my seat from the mortal plane." Juros rotated the scene, showing another skirmish taking place. "Look here, Polaris: do you see the man using his Gift in defense of Gybralltyr?"

Polaris nodded, noting the spindly trees and small vines unfurling under the man's gestures. "He is a commoner," he said.

"A commoner, but fighting in our defense, nonetheless," Juros answered. "And because you considered him a commoner, you did not Jack his Gift, and he died. And over here," He pointed to another man who was in that instant crumpling under a crushing blow from the dark enemy. "This man was Gifted with intelligence to craft defenses for the city itself, so that it could remain secure--"

"Which I Jacked to a level I felt that Gybralltyr needed!" Polaris interjected.

Juros wagged his head. "You disregarded the limits of mortal capabilities, and so many of the traps this man devised were too ornate, too plentiful--and they never triggered in time. You didn't Nullify the Gifts of those you thought should be in charge, the ones who would actually make a difference--and because of this, we lost both Tengar and Lyssa today."

Polaris winced as Juros named the Angel and Shadow pair who were taken in the fight. "They didn't go down without a fight, at least. They gave their lives in defense of Gybralltyr."

"Are you saying this loss is acceptable?" Juros protested. "Do you care so little for your fellow Abnormals that you would come to me out of concern as to which mortals are Gifted, but not that we have an enemy who is even now torturing them to find the source of their power?"

Polaris hung his head. "You're right, Juros; if you would send me on a rescue mission--"

"I will not," Juros said in a voice much less agitated, but still firm. "I see that you must learn that there is value in all mortals, unGifted and Gifted; inasmuch as there is value in the Abnormals that have forms and abilities far beyond anything the mortals possess. Come with me, Polaris."

Juros teleported down to the mortal plane, and Polaris followed him by shadow-travel. They arrived at a road cutting through a lonely countryside. Juros waved his hand, and a gleaming knife appeared. Upon its blade was a constellation of several stars, ending with the main star--Polaris--upon its pommel. Before Polaris could ask about it, Juros turned and plunged the knife into Polaris' heart. The Shadow gasped, and dematerialized--but when he re-formed, he knew something was missing. He hung there in the shadows, frowning at his master.

"What have you done to me?" he asked.

Juros regarded him solemnly. "I have bound your physical form inside this knife. You will henceforth be at the behest of whoever wields it and calls you by name, and you must defend them from danger whenever they call--but they cannot perceive you, neither by sight, sound, or touch, nor will you be able to interact with them directly."

Polaris stared at the weapon. When he tried to grab it himself, his hand passed right through it--he was suspended in his shadow-form. "So this is to be my prison," he said hollowly. "And what is the condition of my release?"