Renegade Reborn (40 page)

Evolve or die. Evolve or . . .

And that’s when Malik spied the skeleton man strutting like the cock of the walk, with two squirming, screaming children under each of his boney arms. With every scream and every wriggle, the dead, doll eyes of the skeleton man seemed to sparkle with a trace of liveliness, which grew vaster with every scream his little, lobeless ears took in. With no qualms to who or what was around him, he pinned both children down to the ground, planting a knee over each of their stomachs so they couldn’t run and slowly, methodically, began to unbuckle his shiny, golden skull of a belt buckle and . . .

To his own surprise, Malik felt his body move of its own accord. He was acting without thinking. This was something he was used to. It was his primal instinct that had made him undefeatable after all, and the one thing he trusted and understood, but now . . . this, this was something new . . .

Malik struck out at the skeleton man with his right foot, knocking him to his side upon the ground, then stomped down, pinning the man to the ground with the heel of his right boot. The skeleton man thrashed and gurgled unable to breath, and just when the skeleton man’s eyes began to roll back into his head, Malik released him. The skeleton man shot up, holding his throat, gagging, fighting for breath, as he looked up at Malik, venom in his eyes.

“What on . . . now look what you did! They got away! I had two! We could have shared! We could have . . .” The skeleton man started, and that’s when Malik reached out and grabbed his throat with his hand, lifting him up off the ground so he was eye to eye with him.

“No children,” Malik ordered.

“But, are you, are you nuts!?” The skeleton man coughed out.

“No children. No women. Understood? Gather up supplies and let’s move out,” Malik said, letting him go. The skeleton man fell onto his feet, and massaged his neck, hacking, then looked up at him.

“I don’t think you understand. This is how war works! We win, we take what we want! Anything and everything! Evolve or die! Like you said! I’ve evolved past anything and everything society stands for! To say I can do one thing, but not another, is to go against you and our very creed! You will not deny me the only thing that fills my body with pleasure! You will not take this from me!” The skeleton man screamed shrilly, thrusting a quivering finger in Malik’s face.

“Stand down,” Malik snapped.

“Or you’ll what? I’m no philosophist, but the moment you declare one thing wrong, you might as well declare everything wrong! I believed in your message! We all did! For the first time in my life, I felt, I felt . . . normal . . . but now?” The skeleton man then cupped his hands over his mouth. “HEY! MY BROTHERS! Our leader says no more rape! No more women! No more children! What do you say to that!?”

There was an uproar of yells and roars of disagreement all around. The skeleton man, skipped about now like a circus jester, yelling in every direction, before he stopped, and thrust another finger at Malik.

“That’s right! Evolve or Die! This thing you started? It’s become bigger than you! Beyond you! And if that’s the case, perhaps, we need a leader more evolved! Maybe we need a leader who’s grown past such debilitating, halting feelings as guilt and judgment, one who is ready to take what they want . . . EVOLVE OR DIE! EVOLVE OR . . .” The skeleton man began before a flash of green energy leapt from Malik’s ring, and like a party popper, the skeleton man’s head exploded in a spray of gray matter and skull fragments. His headless body stood in place for a moment, and then toppled over, spilling blood out of his neck hole like a glass of spilled red wine. All was quiet except crackling flames as Malik let up on his roaring essence and disengaged.

“This headless animal before me serves as a perfect reminder of what we are trying to evolve FROM. I don’t think he understood the phrase. Evolve, my way, or die . . . anyone have a problem with this?” Malik asked, calm, and coldly.

No one stepped forward.

Malik then raised a finger, and hovered it over every one of them.

“No women. No children. Stack our supplies on the wagons and move out.” Malik said, as he then thrust a fist in the air. “EVOLVE OR DIE!”

The men repeated the chant and went back to their duties. Malik returned to his tent, closed the flap, laid down on his back, and closed his eyes, but when he did, all he saw was the look in the small farmer boy’s eyes before he turned his back on him in the woods. Guilt didn’t penetrate him now, nor was it humility, but rather, empathy . . . those eyes, they held the same pain, and then a memory, like a carpenter’s hammer between the eyes, was freed, and overtook his mind’s eye . . .

Malik woke up in his bed. The side of his head thumped as if his heart had relocated there, and with every thump, pain flushed through his head and his vision grew cloudy. Louder than the thumping however, was the heated discussion taking place outside his door. Carefully, he rose out of bed and pressed his ear against the locked door.

“No, you listen! They specifically told me there would be no complications, and now, this whole thing’s backfired! This peace treaty, it was your idea, Tula, YOURS!” Lamik screamed.

“Dear, I . . . it was all I could think to do! It was, listen, our son, I know how you felt about him, he was . . .” Tula started.

“He’s no son of mine! Don’t ever say that to me again! Do you hear me? If I hear you call that, that, spawn of the devil himself, our son again, you’ll be out on your ass! You hear me? He was a test from IAM, a test, that I passed!“ Lamik said. He then took in a deep breath to calm himself. “This was supposed to be a fresh start. I want a lineage. What would the others say if they discovered the truth? They’d call my strength into question! I can’t even imagine what might have gotten out if that, thing, that Narroway now calls a son was ever, ever to . . . ” Lamik trailed off.

“Sybil Honj ensures me that he did all he could, but some minds just don’t want to forget and it can take time.” Tula said.

“We don’t have time! We will need to present our child for essence testing in a matter of weeks! I don’t care what it takes. I don’t even care if the boy really does take a tumble off Rambler’s Point to forget! He will forget . . . everything . . . his life, his rebirth, begins now . . .” Lamik said.

“Lamik, Lamik, NO! You stay away from him!” Tula pleaded. Suddenly, the door was kicked open and Malik fell upon the ground, and looked up to see Tula wrapping both her arms around Lamik’s forearm. Lamik threw her aside, then reached down, brought up Malik’s desk chair and crashed it against the wall, shattering it. From the wreckage, he brought up one of the chair’s legs, raised it over his head, and brought it down in an attempt to smash the boy’s head. He halted however as Tula recovered and dove atop the defenseless child, protecting him with her own body.

“Come no further! NO FURTHER, DAMN YOU! This is my nephew! My family! Our family! If you harm one hair on his head, one hair, I swear I’ll leave you high and dry! I’ll kill you while you sleep, I swear I . . .” Tula started.

“You’ll do nothing! Now out of the way!” Lamik bellowed.

“No!” The woman said, wrapping up Malik in her arms. “If you want to strike him, you’ll have to go through me!”

Without a word or hesitation, Lamik came down hard with the wooden leg and hit his wife on the corner of her temple. Her arms around Malik went limp as she slid to ground beside him. Lamik then raised his arm up for another strike, drunk with rage, when Malik found himself jumping between them.

“Stop it! STOP!” Malik screamed.

“What, what did you say to me boy?” Lamik yelled. He then dropped the chair leg, and with the same hand, grabbed a handful of Malik’s long hair and slammed the boy’s face down into the floor, over, and over, until he no longer moved.

Panting and huffing, now, Lamik stood up to his full height, and surveyed the scene as Tula began to stir.

“I finally get it. It all makes sense. It was all your fault! It was your softness, YOURS, that created that abomination! NOT MINE!” Lamik said as he turned, slammed the door shut, bolted the lock behind him and stormed down the hallway.

The woman spit toward the doorway, then, felt at her head wound. It hurt profusely, but it was nowhere near the damage done to the boy. She crawled toward him, praying that he wasn’t dead, or worse, a vegetable after the severe head trauma her horror of a husband had done. Slowly, she lifted up his face, preparing for the worse and was shocked to find that the boy’s head and face wounds were already healing, stitching themselves up with an eerie, hissing, green glow. His eyes then fluttered open and he looked up at her.

“Mommy?” Malik asked aloud.

Tula Taro then thought of her sister, her deceased twin sister, who had left Narroway, and this boy behind, a boy whose mind would no doubt never be the same again after such head tampering and now, recent head trauma at such an early developmental stage. What was she to do? Tell the boy the real story of how she wasn’t his mother? Here? Now? When all he wanted was his mommy? It was supposed to be part of the plan for peace after all. It was Sybil Honj who freed up images from his subconscious of the face of his birth mother, and in turn, the boy would recognize his mother in her, her twin sister, but the father . . . she knew he would probably only ever be that in name only . . .

“That’s right, honey. I’m here! Mommy’s right here. Everything’s going to be ok now,” Tula said, as Malik, in absolute trust, leaned his head onto her chest with an exhausted sigh and fell asleep.

That night, with the moon high and full, Chieftain Lamik, cloaked in a black hood, paid the man that would make all of his problems go away, Ridley Snashlo, self-proclaimed Slaver Sultan of Thera, who counted the tarries by candlelight with the precision of a bird of prey.

“Believe me, it’s all there.” Lamik asked.

“I believe nothing but my own eyes.” Ridley said, as he piled coin after coin atop another, set them upon a scale and tested them with a series of weights. When he was satisfied, he stood up from his chair and put out a hand to Lamik, who took it, pumping it hard.

“The deal, it is done then?” Lamik asked.

“It is done. All you ask, to the letter, will be carried out.” Ridley said. He then eyed Lamik curiously.

“What is it?” Lamik asked.

“Call me curious. I’ve had many men, as well as women, come seeking purchase of my slaves, but never, have I had someone, pay me, to then acquire a slave. I will ask one more time. Are you sure about this?” Ridley said.

“As you said, the deal is done. Just know this. When you and your men arrive tonight, I will need your best. There will be resistance and you will need to make it believable.

Tonight, I will be in my study, consumed by heavy drink. You will enter my city through a secret side entrance that I will leave unlocked. You will take three and only three of my men, no more. They will be the ones guarding my residence, and they are . . . disposable. Once inside, you will attack me. Leave me no quarter. I then want you to take my eye, cleanly. It’s no secret my wife and I do not get along, but it will need to appear I gave it my all to defend her life and discredit any notions of foul play.

Once I am incapacitated, kill the woman, take the boy and put him through the paces. I want you to chain him, whip him, work him, and drive him. Malik, my son, if he is to become my legacy, he will survive all you throw at him, and if he doesn’t, then he is not worthy of being called, Strife.” Lamik said. Ridley looked at him with a wry grin.

“And what’s to stop me from just killing you, and taking your wife for my own needs? You just don’t know, do you? Women, especially beautiful ones, fetch enormous prices. Little boys however, they do not last long in my pits and those who do, well, they don’t make good slaves. Rather, they make good killers and become only trouble for me . . .” Ridley said, scratching at his chin.

“You’re right, I don’t know, but you also don’t know if this is all some righteous ploy to end the slave trade once and for all, do you?” Lamik asked.

“Fair enough. I am a businessman, no more, no less, and it is bad business to betray any form of client, especially, one as well known as yourself. No doubt your organization will hunt me down until the sun sets in the east, eh?” Ridley said.

“No doubt.” Lamik said.

“I assumed as much. Good. Everything is accounted for, and thanks for the substantial sum you’ve issued me, I can guarantee this operation will go without error. My word, for what it’s worth, is yours.” Ridley said, bowing.

“I’ll take it.” Lamik said, and with that, he left Black Scar, as a shadow among shadows.

Chapter Twenty: Battle of the Minds

“Lots of people out there,” Rolce said, shuffling his feet.

Together, he and Jackobi stood in a private skybox, looking down, where below them was the golden basin of a stadium filled to the brim with occupied seats. Some, it seemed, may have been sitting on a few laps to compensate, ready to witness Rolce and Purah fight against one another for their very lives, as well as the future lives of Thera itself.

“Every citizen of this holier than thou floating spoof of a culture is down there.” Jack said, arms folded, face full of disgust.

“They’re your own people, Jack, and soon, they will be with us. Best get along while we can. We need them.” Rolce said. Jack grinned.