The Clan of Outcasts [Season 3]

Part 30: "Polaris"

It's not fair. What had I done to deserve this prison? A mere slip of judgment--what happened at Gybralltyr wasn't entirely my fault. One might contend that perhaps Thalia was to blame--after all, if she had given better Gifts, then my Jacking would have been more useful in defending the Gate! It was her fault that I didn't have a good foundation to mount a defense!
Now my physical essence is fused in a dagger, beholden to mortals.
At least when Juros left the dagger behind, a man found it shortly thereafter, and treated it like any old knife, cutting down branches, paring fruit with it--I suppose I should be grateful he didn't pick his teeth with it! He never even noticed me, though, and as soon as he reached the nearest city, he went straight to the marketplace and lost the dagger in a gambling bet to a pampered young lord. I suspect Juros had something to do with it, because as soon as he saw it, I overheard him bragging to his friends that he was now in possession of a dagger that had magical properties, courtesy of the star depicted on the hilt: Polaris.

The moment he said my name, I could feel my Shadow gathering around me--but still, I remained invisible to the mortals. Instead, their attention riveted on the projection of a star that appeared over the young lord's hand. He thought it was pretty, flashy, and entertaining, like a magic trick. He called my name over and over again, but it wasn't me he wanted--it was the shiny star that amused him.

The lord made his way out of the market, headed for the house of some lady he wanted to make his bride. I suppose he figured he could impress her with this new dagger and the palm-sized star it contained.

Unfortunately, a group of thugs had seen him with the dagger, and they followed him out of the marketplace, attacking him just as he was coming down the private lane to the young lady's house. They attacked him, and beat him pretty savagely, although he did wound a few with the knife--but he never used my name, so I could only stand by and watch.
Juros appeared to me as he lay bleeding in the road.

"Polaris, what instruction did I tell you when I placed your essence in this dagger?" He asked me. There was nothing hidden from Juros. Even if I was invisible to the mortals, I could not be invisible to the one who had made me so.

I shrugged. "You told me to defend whoever wields the dagger and calls my name--but he never called my name, so I am powerless."

The thugs saw him lying in a heap, but before they could take the dagger, guards from the mansion at the end of the lane showed up, ready to help him.

Juros wagged his head. "I will tell you further the parameters of your imprisonment: you must not just serve the mortal, but preserve their life for three years, and after that, if they die, you will be free. In that time, I hope you learn what it is that I intend to teach you through this experience."

I knew the thugs were still watching when the lady came out and saw the state of her beloved. They didn't walk away, they waited in the surrounding area, hidden and stealthy.

"Why don't you just tell me what it is you want me to discover here?" I demanded of Juros. "Is that all I have to do to be released, wait three years and let the mortal die? What lesson is there in that?"

Juros nodded to the house, as the guards took the man inside. "You will see," he said. "When the Key returns to Gybralltyr, you will know that hope has arrived."

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Amid the Ruins of Gybralltyr (West of the Roque)

Cornelius Haggard limped heavily as he dragged his body down the musty, cloud-shrouded road of what once was the proud city, Gybralltyr. Goddry's massive hand rested on his shoulder, offering him support without words. His three prisoners were gone, and they were no closer to unlocking the Gate than they had been before docking at The Harbor--his mission had failed. How was he to know that they would somehow receive reinforcements on a deserted island at the far end of who-knows-where? He wagged his head. Queen Mallory would not be pleased if she ever got wind of this. Haggard turned down a familiar side-street, retracing the steps they had made through the thickest part of the traps. Hanging in the middle of an arch even higher than Goddry could reach was a small, wiry, redheaded figure.