The Clan of Outcasts [Season 3]

Part 40: "The Boy With All The Gifts"

The Gate of Gybralltyr

Trevon stepped on the cool stone surface of the old cavern, a strange familiarity nagging at the back of his mind. In particular, he noticed the urge to stare up at the towering stone figures lining the walls. Unbidden, the memory came to mind of the very same faces as living beings, their skin darkening to hues of tan and brownish-pink, and, ever so slightly, even speaking to him... but how? This city had been deserted for ages, it seemed. Since when did statues come to life?

Distractions! His mind warned, and Trevon shook off the befuddling mystery to focus on the goal ahead of him: the Gate itself. There was the gap at the center for the Key he did not have. Trevon looked down at his hands. What did he have when it came to opening the Gate? He willed his hand into another form, watching it shift and glisten as if it were made of some malleable, metallic material. Tucking all but his pointer finger back, he pushed it into the gap designed for the Key, feeling the gleaming material seep and twist and tuck, filling all the facets. He turned his hand, as if his finger was the Key--but the lock didn't budge.
Trevon tried fire, water, ice, air, earth--even secreting substances from his skin that would combust on contact with the metal, or acid that could have eaten away at it, the way it ate through the floor when he let some drip off his fingertip as he watched the Gate standing unscathed. Not even a Gift that could produce white-hot and pin-precise laser beams from his fingertips could penetrate the mechanism barring him from his objective.

Trevon sank back in defeat, slumping against a nearby pedestal. He detected the approach of another person before the man entered the cavern, a grizzled soldier with a bushy, fair beard dressed in light armor.

He seemed to disregard the awesome statues of the Angels as well, in favor of frowning at Trevon. "What are you doing here?"

Trevon gestured impatiently at the mess that lay before him, the rubble his Gifts had dislodged in the process of trying to get the Gate open. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he retorted. "I must find a way to open the Gate!"

The old soldier stopped about twenty paces away from Trevon. He gazed at the massive Gate in quiet surprise, nodding sagely. "I can see that you are trying," he admitted. "But I think I'd like to know why."

Trevon frowned. "Why I am trying to open the Gate?"

The soldier nodded.

The Crow Prince scoffed. "I am opening the Gate so that my sister can set up her throne right on the doorstep of the gods. They play such cruel tricks with us mortals, and it is high time we teach them a lesson!"

The soldier took one pace closer, and his eyes transfixed Trevon's gaze. "No," he said. "That's not it."

Trevon squinted. "What do you mean? That's the whole reason I'm here without the Key--my sister says it's the only thing that can open the Gate after it's been hidden for so long."

The old soldier snorted. "Your sister seems to say a lot of things, but I think it is ultimately up to you."

Trevon scowled at the audacity of this stranger. "What do you mean, up to me? What are you even talking about? Who are you?"

The man raised a hand in salute. "Sir Roger is what most call me. I am in service to the King and his family and friends. Who is it that you serve, young man?"

The young man's face twisted into a sneer, and he unleashed an earthquake that was so strong, the floor of the cavern split in half down the length of it. "I serve my sister, the Crow Queen, She of unparalleled power and matchless cunning."

Sir Roger shook his head. "No, I do not think so. If that were true, you would have waited for her, or at least tried to get the actual Key. Why are you really here, alone and trying to breach the Gate by your own abilities?" He leaned against the column behind him and folded his arms over his armored chest. "You're here of your own accord, aren't you?"

Trevon's face darkened further, and he raised his hand, producing a ball of crackling energy. "Enough of this. Begone!" He launched the orb toward Sir Roger, but it deflected almost immediately, fizzling into nothing right in front of the man.

The grizzled old soldier shook his head. "I'm afraid your ill-gotten Gifts can't touch me. All you have is your honesty. Tell me, young Prince--what is your true reason for being here?"

Trevon's face darkened, and the shadows gathered close around him, flailing and reaching out their curling tendrils and yet shying away from touching Sir Roger.

The old knight didn't move. "I want the truth... Tyrven," he said softly.

At the sound of the name that sounded more like a mispronunciation than another language, Trevon's arms went slack, and he stared at the cavern floor for a long time. The shadows receded, even if only a little bit.