Serial Saturday: "Clan of Outcasts" Season 3, Part 29 "You Must Survive"

Part 29

"You Must Survive"

The Kingdom of Gybralltyr, Many Years Ago....

The sky held its rosy hue as the detachment of winged soldiers alighted amid piles of dense fog surrounding the towers. What was once a thriving, bustling community lay dormant and silent. Two scouts combed the eastern zone, checking on the buildings, searching for something.
The younger one spoke.
"What are we searching for, exactly?" he asked his superior.

The other Angel, a tall and broad figure who wore his dark hair tied back in a tail, never left off gazing carefully in each corner. "This attack was premeditated too far in advance, and the invaders gave up too quickly. Juros wants us to check and make sure they didn't leave something behind."

"Oh." His charge nodded and resumed poking at any small piles he saw with the butt of his spear. He didn't even notice when the Angel he followed walked away down a side street.
"Allhenn!" The elder barked, and the young Angel snapped to attention.
"Yes, sir!"

"Grab the other end of this, would you?" He braced himself under a fallen rooftop. Allhenn grabbed the other side, and the two Angels lifted off with powerful strokes of their wings, lifting the rooftop back onto the building. Once they had secured all sides of it, they resumed their searching.

Allhenn fluttered his wings a little as they made their way deeper into the city, among the steep cliffs supporting tall towers scattered among the city.
"Gemmar, can I ask you something?" Allhenn began.
Gemmar nodded. "Ask away."

Allhenn reeled as he pulled aside a sagging curtain and found the crumpled remains of a body underneath. He gazed at his supervisor with a pained look in his eye. "What went wrong, here? Shouldn't these people be under Juros' especial protection? I mean," he gestured upward with his thumb, to the tallest cliff where stood the highest building in the city. "All things considered," he muttered.

Gemmar sighed and helped Allhenn arrange the body. They used the curtain as a burial shroud, wrapping it around the person, and tying the corners together.

"They are protected," Gemmar said in a low voice. "Why else would Juros send us down to the mortal plane?"
Allhenn frowned. "What about non-interference?" A gust of wind shook his golden curls. "Aren't we supposed to remain unseen by the mortals, as we Gift them from a distance--isn't that the sort of defense He assigned us for?"

Gemmar wagged his head. "Gybralltans cannot be Gifted," he reminded his young charge. He pointed to a few other bodies strewn about the building, slaughtered where they stood. Some were Gybralltans, and a few were the fallen soldiers of the invading human army. "Look at the difference between those of Gybralltar and the size of the regular mortals. Juros chose this place for his Seat, his holy city, because Gybralltans could live in peace and harmony, away from those cruel, violent, aggressive humans who need Gifts as much to learn how to help one another, as also to protect themselves from each other. Gybralltans had no need for Gifts."

Allhenn snorted and launched upward to readjust a fallen chain connecting the tall tower with one built on the ground. "If they're so peaceful," he murmured, "why did the humans attack them?"

Gemmar swept aside a pile of rubble, with a flap of his wings. His hands smoothed over the stains and blotches on the stonework, restoring the bricks to their former glory. "It is incredible that they could even find a place so remote as Gybralltyr," murmured the Angel, "but I heard the tale from Iarleth, the Shadow who witnessed the beginning of the conflict."
Allhenn stared with wide eyes. "Well? What happened?"

Gemmar closed his eyes, picturing the details as Iarleth described them. "She said that there might not have been a conflict, had not a Gybralltan shepherd left the vicinity of the city to chase after a runaway goat. He found it some miles away, and just as he was about to return with it, he heard cries for help. A band of ruffians from a nearby town were abusing a traveling family, threatening them and stealing their food and belongings. The shepherd came to the defense of the family, charging at them to drive the ruffians away. The miscreants took off, but the goatherd's blood was up; he saw the innocent family as defenseless as his goats, and he wanted to make sure those ruffians were brought to justice. He chased them all the way into the city, where the wrongdoers convinced their neighbors that the giant man was there to attack them, and they stirred up the people to kill him in the name of self-defense."

Allhenn's jaw tensed, and he clenched his fists in fury. "How dare they! That's so dishonest!"

Gemmar nodded. "The authorities in the city believed them, and when they added that to the fact that most of them knew at least a little about the city of 'giants', as they believed the Gybralltans were, that was down the road from their village, they sent word of the supposed attack to the King, and begged him to send an army to strike the Gybralltan city first, so that no other village would need to fear another such attack." He gestured all around the quiet, dead city. "And this is the aftermath of such an attack. The Gybralltans fought well, but the army of the humans was much more numerous, and far more aggressive."

Allhenn shook his head sadly. "So that was why Juros sent us down here, and cut the ravine to separate Gybralltar from the rest of the human kingdoms," he concluded.

"Indeed," Gemmar affirmed. "We are sent to cleanse the city, to tend the dead, and to ensure that no other Zapheiran soldiers remain."

"Do you think Juros will allow another community to live in Gybralltyr, after what happened to the ones who were already here?" Allhenn wondered aloud.

Gemmar shrugged. "Who knows? That is a question only Juros can answer."

Allhenn opened his mouth to ask another question, but just then, a faint sound caught his ear. He turned toward the noise, and saw a small quiver of movement in a bush by the outer wall. He lifted off silently on his wings, and floated gently in front of the bush.
"Allhenn?" Gemmar called after him. "What is it?"
Allhenn raised a finger to his lips, and reached into the bush.

Something yelled and squirmed, striking Allhenn's hand as he dragged it from the bush. A small boy--small by Gybralltan standards, that is, but even though he looked no older than ten, he stood at nearly the height of a full-grown human man--emerged in the Angel's grasp, wriggling and shouting something in his native language.

Gemmar stepped in and reached into the boy's mind.

"Peace," he spoke into the boy's thoughts. "We are the protectors of Gybralltyr. We mean you no harm."
The boy stopped struggling almost at once. He blinked in surprise, as the voice in his thoughts communicated in the language he understood. He looked at the terrifying winged men standing over him.

"Why are you here?" asked the boy's thoughts, translated likewise into the language Allhenn and Gemmar understood. "What do you want with me? Where is my family?"

"Juros sent us to rebuild the city," Allhenn thought his reply. "After the humans attacked--"

"We were attacked?" the boy interrupted him. "No! I want my mother and father! I need to find them! Mother said it was an earth-storm, but I found shelter and it kept me safe. Please, do you know where they are?"

Gemmar and Allhenn shared a glance, and Allhenn knew that the child might not know what went on beyond the bush. No one else survived.

"What?" the boy's panicked reaction cut into his thoughts, and, Allhenn realized too late that the boy had heard him. In a panicked scramble, the Gybralltan boy disappeared around the corner, and Allhenn could hear clattering rocks and the desperate weeping as it faded from earshot.

"Go after him, Allhenn," Gemmar ordered, and the young Angel took to the skies for a better vantage point.

He caught a glance of the boy as he disappeared into one of the buildings, and Allhenn landed outside it, to walk carefully into the darkened space that smelled of smoke and death. He kept his wings tucked close around him.

Sniffling whimpers issued from one corner of the shadowy space.
"Don't come any closer!" the boy's thoughts stopped Allhenn in his tracks. "Leave me alone!"

Allhenn sighed. "I and my brothers and sisters cannot go away from this place. Our leader has assigned us to stay in Gybralltyr, to keep the city from falling into disrepair and to protect everyone and everything in it. That includes you."

"I don't want--"

"Grief is hard, mortal. That much I understand. I will withdraw and allow you the space to grieve for your people. Understand this, though: when you are ready, you have only to call for me in your mind, and I will introduce you to the other Angels here, so that you know that although you are the last surviving member of your community, you are not alone. We are here to help."

With a heavy sigh, Allhenn departed the building. As he wheeled in the air to report to Gemmar what he'd said, he did glimpse the boy's face as he watched him from the window of the house.
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The Gate of Gybralltyr
Art Credit: ArtStation

The breeze from the Angel wings ruffled his long, dark hair as the young man carefully placed the last tripwire.
"Like that?" he glanced up at the winged woman hovering over him, loading each gap between the stones in the archway with tiny darts.

She dropped down to inspect his work, and nodded. "Yes, Tyrven--you have done excellently!"

Tyrven grinned and stood to stretch his arms. Although he reckoned himself to be about thirteen years of age, he already stood head-and-shoulders above the average height of a full-grown man--if he'd ever met such a being. As matters stood, he'd lived alone in this city built by his people; alone, that is, except for the eight Angels who lived there too, tasked with re-building the city after the attack that had caused the slaughter of every Gybralltan living there (except Tyrven) and prompted the natural erosion of the piece of land that connected Gybralltyr with the rest of the continent, turning it into an island with no access to outsiders.

The Angels had found him after the attack, a scared little boy who had just lost his family, his entire community. They'd asked his name, and when he couldn't remember being called something other than "darling" or "dearest" or "son" or "my child", the Angel who found him, Allhenn, had chosen his name, Tyrven, and that was the name he answered to from that point onward. They'd all agreed to look after his well-being, since he was essentially just as trapped in the city of Gybralltyr as they were, but Tyrven quickly learned that to these Angels--most of whom had never actually interacted with a mortal before--the idea of "looking after" someone consisted mostly of letting him ramble about as he chose, and coming quickly when he needed help, but mostly just letting him alone to do what he liked.

Tyrven came around to help the Angels accomplish their tasks out of sheer boredom. They rebuilt most of the city, cleaning up the streets, but the longer they stayed there, the more motivation they had to add to the city, creating high towers above the tallest points of the city, "Angel towers" with entry points large enough to accommodate their wings, and they found these areas much easier to navigate than the narrow streets with their low doors suited for Gybralltans.

They also trained him in various combat and survival skills when he communicated interest: Ursena taught him strategy and tactics, how to predict someone else's movements; Hespa taught him how to scavenge among the plants for sustenance (a necessary skill, since Angels didn't have as much necessity for eating as mortals did), and Marden teamed up with Joreg to teach Tyrven how to fight with swords and fists, while Natelyn gave him lessons in archery and knife-throwing. The target practice was fascinating to Tyrven--he was always devising challenges for himself, setting up more and more complex objectives, just to see if he could achieve them.

In the last year or so, Gemmar--the commander of this Angelic unit--had discussed with Tyrven more and more the likelihood of a second invasion. The other Angels had shrugged it off, saying that the island was too isolated to be of any interest, but all the same, they complied with Gemmar’s suggestion to scatter some traps and barriers around the city, just like the one Tyrven helped Ursena set. The traps weren’t a problem for the Angels, since they flew everywhere anyway, but Ursena had been the one to welcome Tyrven’s assistance, so that he would know the location of every trap, and how to avoid them as he navigated the city.

“Are there any more traps, Ursena?” Tyrven asked in his thoughts, the one universal way of communicating that he and the Angels used.
“Not today, young one,” Ursena replied. “You may go exploring.”

Tyrven danced past the bricks that would trigger his tripwire and scrambled his way through the safe areas, headed for the tallest cliff in Gybralltyr, where sat the Gate.

Such a climb was impossible for an average mortal without equipment, but a giant Gybralltan boy trained by Angels had little trouble, and indeed he visited the Gate often, to consult with the wise old Angel that lived there.

He was halfway up the cliff, when a harsh voice invaded his thoughts.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked.
Tyrven shook off the mental assault and kept climbing. “Relax, Scathys,” he informed the Angelic guardian. “It’s me, Tyrven.”

Scathys appeared out of a cloud behind him. "Oh," she thought. "I will inform Gemmar of your coming."

"Gemmar already knows," rumbled a third voice in Tyrven's head. "Good morning, Tyrven. I await your coming."

Tyrven managed the rest of the way up the cliff, and when he reached the mouth of the cavern containing the all-important Gate, Gemmar stood upon the cliff waiting for him.
The Commander smiled, putting Tyrven at ease. "How fares the city?" he asked.

Tyrven shrugged. "All right. Ursena and I finished laying down the last few traps, and there isn't much rebuilding to be done anymore. Everything is quiet--" Tyrven consciously cut off his thoughts at this point, unwilling that Gemmar witness his "unworthy" musings. Perhaps, like the others, Gemmar was busy with his own concerns and wouldn't press.

Gemmar grinned. "On the contrary," he thought to Tyrven, "It's rather boring to be up here with only Scathys for company. I'd like to hear what you think, based on your own observations."

Tyrven sniffed. He'd forgotten how nosy the old Commander tended to be, and how even the thoughts that were not intended as communications were discernible to him. "It's nothing founded," he prefaced. "Just some strange noises I've heard over the Dark Chasm. I tried asking Hespa about them, but she only said she didn't think an animal made such noises, and that I shouldn't worry about it, as long as it doesn't get any closer. Ursena, too, taught me how to ignore the sounds whenever I heard them." He walked to the edge of the cliff and looked out over the city--beyond Gybralltyr, to the thick bank of fog bridging the Dark Chasm that was once a land-bridge connecting Gybralltyr to the rest of the continent. "Has something changed, Gemmar?"

The old Angel sighed. They did not age and then deteriorate as the mortals did. Rather, Angels reached their peak physical maturity and then just remained the same until they were either slain or "withdrawn" by Juros, a process known only to the deity Himself. Gemmar saw with clear eyes, and many centuries of knowledge. "Something has changed," he acknowledged to the young man. "The Key now exists among the mortals, although its location is still very much secure."

"The Key?" Tyrven looked at him. "You mean the one that will unlock the Gate again?"

Gemmar nodded. "Yes, the very one. I don't know why Juros gave it to the mortals, or for whom it is intended, but Scathys has accessed their legends and lore, and found many references to Gybralltyr, the Gate, and the Key--and if the mortals know about the existence of this place, then it will only be a matter of time before they take it upon themselves to come looking for it."

Tyrven frowned as he glanced into the shadows over his shoulder. "They don't... know about me, do they? They won't try to finish what that other King started, to come destroy the city again, and wipe me out as the last of my kind... would they?"

Gemmar laid a hand on Tyrven's shoulder. "You are not the focus of their legends, do not fear. Some of them have no idea that this place is at all connected to Justicia--only that the Key unlocks some vast treasure, and so anyone who knows about it must keep it secret. Rumors tend to cloud more than they reveal, and for that we can be grateful, because the more rumors the mortals invent, the longer it will take anyone to find a way to come here."

"Danger! Danger!" Shrieked a voice Tyrven hadn't heard before, and at once, Scathys took off into the clouds, returning with a wiry young Angel who looked as though she'd been traveling from halfway across the world.

"Ruelle!" Gemmar identified the newcomer in his thoughts for Tyrven's benefit. "What are you doing here? We have no access to Justicia from here."

Ruelle gasped for breath, her wings flapping pitifully. "Danger is not coming to Justicia, danger is coming to you!" she responded in kind, launching into a report that Tyrven couldn't understand without Gemmar's helpful translations. He could only manage a few words at a time, though, since he also had to listen to the scout's report.

"King is coming from Zapheira... Jade has Gifted too many... The Gifts led to the revelation that the Gate protected the Seat of Juros in the mortal realm... Now he is coming with an army, prepared to fight off the Angels and claim the Seat for himself..."

Tyrven had no idea what it meant to be Gifted, but from the expression of Gemmar's face, it couldn't be anything good. Ruelle finished her report and sped off again, and Gemmar turned to Tyrven.
"It is time to stand in defense of Gybralltyr," he said. "Tell Allhenn and any others that you find, and be ready to do exactly as they say."

Tyrven frowned. "What are Gifts? Should we be afraid of them?"

Gemmar shook his head. "The Gifts come from Juros and do not affect us... but according to Ruelle's account there are more than just Gifts that we have to be worried about. This King she mentioned is intent on reaching the Gate by any means necessary, and those means could prove disastrous. Go! Scathys will take you."

Tyrven had no more time to protest before Scathys grabbed his arms and soared off the edge of the cliff, carrying him down to the streets of Gybralltyr. As she returned to assist Gemmar, Tyrven took off running, screaming in his thoughts for Allhenn.

The warning came early enough, but Tyrven felt a little resentment when Allhenn gave him the order: "Stand down. Stay hidden. You must not be found. If the mortals find you, they will kill you. Listen for the thoughts, but do not communicate with them. Wait until you do not hear any more thoughts, and then you will know that it is safe for you."

Tyrven obeyed. He found a place that was surrounded on all sides with traps, so that anyone who ventured close to his position would be caught or severely injured. He stayed there, while hundreds of murderous, incoherent thoughts ran through his mind. He huddled in the darkness, covering his ears until, as Allhenn said, there was no more sound from the world outside.

Tyrven emerged from his hiding place, stunned at the devastation rained around the city. Not a single tower stood intact, and many traps had sprung, trapping and killing the humans who dared trespass in pursuit of gain. He felt some relief that he saw no Angels among the fallen, though. Perhaps they had survived? Surely Gemmar and Scathys had been able to hold the Gate against such feeble enemies, when compared to the might of the Angels.

Tyrven cast his thoughts upward, seeking for any sign of life above the fog that had crept low over the streets of the city. There was at least three minds he found, talking to one another, up near the Gate--though until he could confirm that these were his friends, Tyrven kept his thoughts a secret, as Allhenn taught him to do.

He reached the cliff easily--the humans had made a path for themselves up the side of the cliff, allowing Tyrven to walk instead of climb. This did not bode well. Tyrven reached the cliff and when he heard voices, he concealed himself behind a pile of rocks and rubble beside the cave, and listened.

"Tell me what I must do to open the Gate!"

Tyrven heard a moaning, weak voice--Allhenn! "Allhenn, I am here!" he thought, ready to spring out in defense of his friend.

"No, Tyrven! Stay hidden--it is too late for me..."

"What is he saying?" The harsh voice demanded.
"I... I cannot tell..." stammered a second voice.
"Bah! You said your Gift could translate any language! Tell me what the blasted Angel is saying!"
"H-he says... The Gate can only be opened... with a Key..."

"Nonsense! Those scholars proved that the Key was an abstract concept, something invented by the storytellers to add mystique to their tales! Tell me how to open it, before I tear your wings and turn you to stone!"

"No!" Tyrven shrieked in his thoughts, for Allhenn's hearing alone. "Let me save you! I won't let them hurt you!" Hadn't Gemmar assured him that the Gifts would have no affect on the Angels?

"Tyrven, I beg you!" Allhenn sounded strong in his thoughts, even as he cried out in agony. "Do not expose yourself to these men. Turning me to stone will not kill me--I will be asleep. However, if you show yourself now, you will certainly die, and the legacy of Gybralltyr dies with you. You must live!"

"Enough!" The King snapped. "This one is as useless as the others. We must return and find another way to break down the Gate."
"Allhenn!" Tyrven's thoughts screamed. "Allhenn! Can you hear me?" But even in his mind, his voice rebounded back to him like shouting against a stone wall.

Tyrven heard the crunching footsteps of the humans marching away, and then everything was silent. The young Gybralltan crept out from his hiding place to see what had taken place.

The cavern and the Gate stood exposed, but unmoved. Flanking the cavern, four on either side, were two ranks of Angel statues, each one still recognizable to the boy who had been all but raised by them for half his life. Tears clouded his vision and poured down his cheeks as Tyrven bid farewell to each one of them, promising with all his heart that the next time he came to Gybralltyr, it would be to set them free. Once he had vented his grief, Tyrven fell silent again, and took off down the path.

He found the King and his two knights only about halfway through the city. They had to pick their route carefully, since they had no way of knowing which path held traps, and which did not. Tyrven followed them at a distance, easily slipping through the streets, and carefully keeping watch on these mortals as they made their way out of the city. Finally, Tyrven followed them through the breach in the outer wall by which they'd entered, and watched as the men headed straight into the bank of fog filling the Dark Chasm. He frowned as he wondered if humans had the ability to walk across the air--but then he saw one of the knights bend down and put out his hands--and the fog itself transformed into stone, just the way the Angels had done. The king and his knights walked across on a stone bridge, with Tyrven following behind them at enough distance that the fog would hide him. He landed in the mortal realm on the other side, and as the King and his knights departed one way, Tyrven went the other. He would need to find his own way back to Gybralltyr, but before that, he would need to find some way to free the Angels, or there would be no point in returning.

He walked for many hours, until his feet were sore and his stomach cried for food. Lights in a window caught his attention, and as he neared the building, he heard soft voices murmuring--and when they spoke the name Juros in a reverent tone, Tyrven realized that perhaps there were mortals who worshipped Juros in this place. Not all of them counted Angels as enemies.

He knocked on the door, and a man opened it. The man seemed surprise to see such a young face on a body taller than his own, but he asked, "Can I help you?"

Tyrven smiled, understanding the man through his thoughts more than his words. Unsure of how to communicate, he pointed to himself and said, "Tyrven." He mimed walking, and becoming tired. His belly groaned loudly, proclaiming his need for food.
"Who is it, Harvey?" asked the woman, coming up behind him to gaze at Tyrven.

"Think 'is name's Trevon or somethin'," Harvey answered. "Looks like he's been traveling from a far place--I don't s'pose he speaks the common tongue."

Trevon opened his mind to them, so that he could communicate with thoughts. It was much easier to connect to these mortals than it had been with the Angels, he noticed. "I have no home," he said, gesturing with his hands to make his meaning clear. "And I have no family. May I stay here, in your care, until I have learned to be out on my own?"

The goodwife gasped with tears in her eyes, and grasped Harvey's arm. "Oh! The poor boy--he can't be more than ten years old, just look at him, Harvey!"

Harvey looked; the "ten-year-old" was at least an inch or two taller than Harvey himself! "I don't know, Tillia," he murmured. "He looks too big to be human, much less ten years old!"

"Don't you see, Harvey?" Tillia gushed, taking Tyrven by the hand and leading him into their house. "We have been praying for a child, and someone who can help you around the farm--and Juros has blessed us with someone who is both!" She bustled into the kitchen and returned with her arms full of crockery and baked goods. She smiled and patted Tyrven on the head. "Of course you may stay here, Trevon," she said, nodding her head and trying to speak the words in her mind, as he had done. "We can teach you to speak, and you can be a great help to us."

Tyrven mulled over the new name as he filled himself with more delicious food than he'd ever eaten in his life--not even the foraging he'd done on Gybralltyr could match the delicious stews and casseroles Tillia laid before him. He could stand being called Trevon, if it meant having a home among the humans, eating their food, learning to speak like them, and in every sense becoming one of them in order to survive long enough to someday return and save the Angels who had given him the opportunity to thrive.

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