Renegade Reborn (9 page)

“What? What did you just say?” Gisbo asked aloud, looking all about. The voice seemed to come from all around him.

“
The Phoenix. The Dragon. Each put out energies within this world that bind it together. The Phoenix represents space, and order, while The Dragon represents time and chaos. Without one, you cannot know the other. Without Chaos, you could not kow Order. Without good, you could not know evil. Without righteousness, you could not know wickedness. Ying, and Yang as another culture on another world has said.

On their own, the Dragon and Phoenix are but forces, forces, that when come together, create life, create, us. Only from fire, comes light, and only with light, is creation perceived. Without it, we are nothing, not even shadows.

By themselves, they are neither good, nor are they evil, in the same way a blade, by itself, is neither good nor evil. Only when the blade is placed in the hand of its creator, us, can its purpose be determined. Only when a blade is used against the innocent, to rob and pillage, or, to fulfill a dark urge, is it evil, but when the wielder uses the blade to defend the innocent from attack, to cut wood for warmth, or to hunt for sustenance, is it good.

The Phoenix and Dragon, they are not Gods, they are not Deity’s. They, like life and death, come from something without a title, without a name, and without an explanation. To give it such would do it a disservice.

No, Gisbo Falcon, that is not how we will treat this power, this nameless thing from a nameless one. You, we, were, are, chosen before time and space, of time and space, to keep the world in balance, for only in balance, can there be freedom. The Phoenix, just like the Dragon, has the capacity for both good, or evil, despite what you have learned from those with minds too proud to embrace wonder and mystery.

The Phoenix is pure, righteous fire, and as you have seen with the behavior of the Strifes, too much righteousness can hinder humanity just as too much wickedness can. Already, I feel the extremes of both sides, plaguing our world, and only you have the potential, to learn how to bring the world back into balance. In the end, it all comes down to a choice . . . and that is where our current problem lies.

Right now, at this very moment, Drakearon seeks to change the rules forever. With the full power of the Dragon at his disposal, and without the full power of the Phoenix to stand against him, he can now take that choice away from you. He can take away your free will, and in its place, instill his own. But, that time has not yet come, that choice, still remains, and for a choice to exist, a question must precede it, and that question, Gisbo Falcon, is this. Will you do nothing, standing for injustice? Or will you act, standing against injustice?”
The voice asked.

“Who are you?” Gisbo asked.

“
The answers you seek, lie atop this hill, but for you to reach such hallowed ground, you need to be whole again. You’re wounded, and for a wound such as yours to heal, it cannot be pushed down, it cannot be ignored like the wound of the flesh. No, yours, it is a wound of the heart. Your heart is swollen, heavy, bruised. You know what you must do. You must drain it, you must delve into the wound, reopen it, face it, and let the tears come . . .”
The voice said
.

“I’ve, I’ve tried, for so long . . . I can’t, everything’s just, so numb. I just, I just can’t!” Gisbo said.

“
Can’t, is a word, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard from you. You cannot proceed, because you are not whole.”
The voice said
.

“Then help me! Help me to be whole! Please! I’ll, I’ll do anything to go back to the way I once was! PLEASE!” Gisbo pleaded.

The voice was silent.

“Please, I don’t know who you are, but you’ve always been there, you’ve always been there when I needed you most. Please, help me!” Gisbo pleaded

“
It seems your soul still requires guidance. Fine. I believe it’s time I release her back to you. You need her, as much as she needs you,”
The voice said.

“What?” Gisbo asked, when suddenly at the crest of the hill, a silhouette on all fours appeared. Gisbo’s heart skipped in his chest, and all breath left him, and for the first time in years, he felt gooseflesh rip across his body.

“F-Fao?” Gisbo said, his lip trembling.

Upon hearing her name, the loyal white wolf came running down the hill toward her boy, and leapt. Gisbo caught her, and bent down to one knee, digging his face into her furry chest, and felt his eyes get moist. It wasn’t crying yet, but it was a start, and the pressure in his chest, began to give way with a crack, like a house settling.

“Oh, Fao, FAO!” Gisbo said, rubbing her head as she nuzzled, and lapped him all over, bouncing and quivering with excitement.

“
Gisbo Falcon, well, maybe not yet, but closer than ever. Do you wish to be called such a name again?”
The voice asked.

“I . . . yes, more than anything. I’ll do anything!” Gisbo said.

“
You will prove that statement. Before you, lie three energy fluxes. You must pass through all of them to reach the top of the hill and see what lies here, but I warn you. As you rise, the power of the Phoenix will attempt to heal you, and to do that, it will re-open your wounds, it will make you face things, see things, feel things that will be . . . quite painful. But, before you do that, you must know who you are. You must search within yourself. Without resolve, without will, without finding a new dream, this process will surely kill you. Push onward. Face the hard truths. Fight through the pain, and receive the rewards,”
The voice said.

“Are you the Phoenix? Are you . . . was Drakearon lying? Have you been alive? This whole time?” Gisbo asked.

There was no answer.

Gisbo suddenly heard whimpering, but it wasn’t from Fao. He turned around to see the black monsters, quivering, and those who had tails, had them firmly placed between their legs. They were suddenly very much afraid. Whether it was from Fao, or the voice, he didn’t know, and he did not care. Now, he had a clear cut mission again and with Fao back at his side, he was ready for anything.

“Here goes nothing . . .” Gisbo said. He clapped his hands together, and took a step forward into the brighter part of the aura, and immediately felt his skin go hot all over. He couldn’t help it, he jumped back, breathing hard and cursing. Fao whined and looked up at him with a face as if saying,
“You’re doing it wrong.”

“You’re right, girl. No, not here goes nothing . . . here goes, EVERYTHING!” Gisbo said. Fao barked with approval, and this time, he bent down like a track runner waiting for the firing blast, and leapt forward into a sprint, throwing himself into the middle of the aura.

Once inside, Gisbo felt as if he had just fallen into a pool of lemon juice after surviving a wolverine attack. His countless scars and still healing wounds, suddenly popped back open and black Drakeness poured out of them. Worse, was the seemingly clear as day images that surfaced to the forefront of Gisbo’s mind. Unable to take it anymore, Gisbo retreated back out, and fell to his knees, tightening his fists, and letting out a gut-wrenching scream before falling onto his back to catch his breath.

Fao lapped his face as Gisbo looked up into the permanent blackness of the sky, only to see things quite differently through the blue white aura. Gisbo gasped, unbelieving what he was seeing. Through the blue, Drakearon’s deception was gone, and for the first time in years, Gisbo saw how the night sky should look.

The moon, the stars, and all of the heavenly hosts danced before his eyes, and caused his body shudder all over.

“All this time, I’ve been so selfish, thinking, I’ve been the only victim. No, this, this is what that bastard took. He took away nature, beauty, light, all of it, from everyone! Just so he could put his stupid face in its place to be worshipped . . .” Gisbo said. He rose to his feet now, something rising in his chest, and something, falling down his cheek, a single tear. He wiped it away with a forearm.

Gisbo readied himself. This time, he would not retreat. He would remember his training, if forced training, from Vice. He would take the pain, make it his, grasp it, own it, and keep telling himself that no matter what, pain was always temporary . . .

With a newfound resolve, Gisbo grabbed a thick broken branch, snapped it, propped the smaller bit between his teeth, bit down on it, and leapt back into the blue aura in another charge.

It was hell.

One foot in front of the other, he pushed on, taking the pain, refusing to give in, and before long, he had made it farther than the last time, and it showed. The corners of his eyes, his nostrils, his earlobes, every opening, every orifice that the Drakeness could leak out of, did.

Gisbo bit down on the branch and felt it crumpling, and a moment later, it shattered in his mouth. He spit it out and fell to his knees, crying out. He was soaked in dripping, stinking, oily blackness now, pouring out of not only his cuts and orifices, but his pores. His body screamed at him to stop, to quit, to go no further, to return back, but Gisbo fought it, fought it at every turn. Rather than himself, he thought of all the people, all of his friends, all of his family that Drakearon had hurt, and it was their cries, their ended lives, that allowed him to crawl forward one inch at a time.

But only for so long.

Soon, their voices were snuffed out and replaced with other, darker ones. Gisbo tried to keep the voices back, but they only grew louder.

You’re the reason for his return. You’re the reason why they suffer.

“No . . .” Gisbo muttered, shaking his head, putting one hand in front of the other.

Stop this foolishness, Drakearon had nothing to do with your friend’s death, or the destruction of your home, you did that. You, YOU, YOU!

“SHUTUP!” Gisbo screamed.

You. Can’t. Win.

“I can’t win,” Gisbo stammered.

“
You’ve failed.

“I, I’ve failed . . .” Gisbo muttered.

Leave this place, return to the bottle. Return to peace . . .

Chapter Four: Nature vs. Nurture

Chieftain Lamik sat with his innermost circle, a circle that was once contrived of seven of his closest friends, and greatest warriors, only to now look across the table, and see not seven, but two. The Strife Chieftain ran a hand through his long, now completely gray hair, and rubbed at his one remaining eye that was bruised and swelled around the edges.

“Might as well get this meeting underway,” Lamik said. He turned to the man to his right first. “Manon, you’ve been my childhood friend from the beginning. From our Renegade training, to our break from them, you’ve been at my side from the start.”

Manon, a slender Nazarite nodded with a hoarse cough as he puffed away at a rolled cigarette, then, inhaled the last half-inch deeply until it disappeared. With habit, he tossed the butt aside, but not before falling into a coughing fit. When he had his fill, with red, blood shot eyes, he looked up at his chieftain.

“Until my lungs give way, you’ll have my service, always, old friend. Too late now to go back anyway,” Manon said with a grating, smoker’s voice, as he lit another. Lamik smiled, then turned to his left.

“Bosto, if Manon has been my brains, you have been my brawn. Never has a man, or brother, been as fortunate as I to have you by my side.” Lamik said. Bosto grunted in reply.

“Too late to find a new brother,” Bosto said, smiling. Manon coughed hoarsely, blowing out a thick plume of smoke. Bosto waved it away.

“Damn, it, Manon. Just because you’ve let yourself go, doesn’t mean we’ve followed in suit. I’m old, but still young enough to tear the head off a Spike Slither if need be. I don’t even think you could run ten feet to the cleansing room should your bowels call for an emergency,” Bosto said.

“Only one way to find out,” Manon said, getting up, then, sitting back down. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,”

“It’s no secret what we’ve become. Our inner circle, either dead from our failed tournament, or, caught in the crossfire of Drakelings as we made our escape from Heaven’s Shelter,” Lamik said, pausing.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it? That it’s all gone. That they, are all gone,” Bosto said.

“Victory, by any means necessary. That is what we agreed to, and we got it, but not by our own hand. Never, never could I have imagined it would end like that. Never could I have imagined we would be where we are right now, hiding, picking up the pieces of our former glory.

He’s back. Drakearon, he’s really back, and now, more than ever, I wish we never partook in that tournament. The Renegades may have varied in opinion from us, but despite it all, we both agreed that Drakearon needed to be stopped, put down permanently.” Lamik said.

“And then we ran, like cowards.” Bosto said, slamming his large, weathered fist upon the table.

“No, we regrouped. That wasn’t the end, it was only the start of our retaliation.” Lamik said.

“Nonsense. We fled, left the Renegades to slaughter.” Bosto said.

“Would you have had us stay, and face the same fate?” Manon asked.

“The Strifes will rise again, and become the saviors this world needs. That being said, our numbers are crushed, our morale is low.” Lamik said.