Renegade Rising (The Renegade Series) (28 page)

“Civilization began with small tribes which eventually lead to many civil wars, but eventually four countries were formed, each bound by race and ruled by their strongest fighter, known as the warlord. In Flaria and Naforia, the descendants of the original warlord remained in control, forming monarchies. In Aquaria, contests of skill were held once every five years or so to elect the strongest fighter to power, but the Soarians, who were renowned for their intelligence, formed the first democracy.

“The Soarians set the standard for the modern world and eventually every country, though different, adapted a civilized society. Even the barbarian –like Flarians, to a point. With the races no longer warring amongst themselves, they naturally began to fear what they did not know of their neighbors. So, it was in this time that Thera’s four races continued to grow in isolation and animosity, like water steaming in a kettle.” Gisbo and Rolce listened with rapt attention as Purah continued the tale of a history they had never known.

“As you can imagine, the kettle finally reached a steam. Thirty years ago, a great world war began,” he paused for a moment to glance at Falcon, who nodded at him to continue, as if seeking permission from him for some odd reason.

“There are those that believe that one man cannot make a difference. I devoutly disregard this opinion. All it takes is a single spark to set the world afire and this spark came in the form of a man. This man, a Flarian, began to promote Soarian democracy, freedom, change and world peace. He was a dangerously charming man who knew how to wrap venomous snakes in candy and force-feed them to his adoring public. People began to literally fancy him a living God upon Thera and, in no time at all, he encouraged his followers to rise up against the Flarian warlord in a violent rebellion.”

“Who was he?” Rolce asked. Purah paused before answering.

“Drakearon.” Purah said through gritted teeth.

“Drakearon? How come I’ve never heard of him?” Rolce asked.

“We will get to that later. This is where it gets interesting. If you have wondered why there are not many Flarians left in the world, this is why. Drakearon killed them, his very own brothers, to increase his own power. Nobody knows how he achieved such a power, but when he himself took the life of a Flarian, he realized that he could literally absorb their essence, their memory and their power to increase his own. No one knows where such a power came from, but you must understand that contrary to popular belief, there is a dark power in this universe. A dark power that lies within the hearts of man. It is this darkness that leads to murder, child mutilations, disease, calamity and ever other grisly act you can think of. If you want my opinion, I truly believe this darkness to be an element just like the four of this planet, an element that I believe Drakearon somehow, opened his cold heart to as home owner does for a guest. It was as if evil itself wished to use him as a vessel and he gladly accepted its offer. And from this vessel, he was able to spread this darkness, this power to others. His closest and most devoted followers began to feed off of it and it enhanced their own powers greatly, but at a cost to their own freedom and well being. This substance, this power, later known as the Drakeness acted like a drug. With every use, you would literally get closer and closer to being nothing but a mindless, monstrous slave to Drakearon himself.”

“On the cusp of civil war, with Flaria divided and the warlord murdered, the country turned to chaos and Drakearon and his followers quickly gained power over Flaria and turned their sights on bringing the world under one flag to bring the ‘peace’ he claimed, but that was obviously not the case. Up to this point, the other countries had not been concerned about the blood shed in Flaria until Drakearon arrived on their own front steps,” Purah said with a hint of disgust. “And so the Great Veil War began.”

“But there is another player the boys should hear about as well,” Falcon chimed in. Purah glanced at him questioningly. “The son of the Flarian warlord, Vadid the Valiant!” stated Falcon.

“Ah yes, silly of me to forget the hero of my story,” remarked Purah. “Vadid had been abroad when news of his father’s death at the hands of Drakearon reached him. He had been something of a rebel, leaving his native Flaria to marry a beautiful Naforian woman. Vadid, as I’m sure you can guess, returned to his people and united them together once again under a common flag, eradicating Drakearon from his country. He won the rank of warlord, not by force, but by gift, for the Flarians had now seen the evil of Drakearon. Vadid was no usual warlord however; he was the first ruler to be trained as a Renegade and many believed he was endowed with special powers from the phoenix of IAM. But better than this, he united the four warlords in a common war against a shared enemy, Drakearon. Upon the last battle, the four warlords did battle with Drakearon personally and all were killed except for Vadid, who managed victory and finally ended the spread of the Drakeness and brought peace to Thera once more. With the other Warlords slain by Drakearon’s hands, the world sought leadership and Vadid was elected Supreme Warlord over all of Thera, ushering in a time of prosperity like no other. At the peak of this prosperiety however, the good man . . . vanished. Nobody knows how or even why, but the man was gone without a trace and was never heard from again. What followed was a political battle so to speak, resulting in Warlord Karm’s rise to power; a leader who spit on everything Vadid believed in. At the time, the Renegades were personal guard to Warlord Vadid, but in no way would support the son and so Chieftan Narroway and the Renegades came to Heaven’s Shelter and we have lived here in peace and secrecy ever since,” Purah finished.

“Why would all of those people want to follow Drakearon? And how did Vadid get powers from the Phoenix? How did they defeat…” Rolce fired off questions, trying to piece together the story in his logical mind.

“All good questions, Rolce. In time they will be answered, but I believe we have reached our destination,” answered Purah.

They had finally reached Gisbo and Rolce’s tree house. With a final wave, Falcon and Purah walked away to return to the common grounds. Gisbo noticed Falcon had been much quieter than his normal self, but as the two old friends made their way out of the clearing he saw Falcon smile and begin to speak with Purah. Gisbo watched them until they were lost in the darkness of the night. He was happy to have caused the events that allowed Purah to catch up with Falcon once again. However, he quickly smacked his forehead and ran his hand down his face in frustration.

“Uh, you all right, bud?” Rolce asked, leading Gisbo to look to the moonlit sky, shaking his head at his lousy memory.

“I totally forgot to ask Falcon the question! I got so caught up in that story it totally slipped my mind!” Gisbo said as he and Rolce turned to walk up their spiral stairs.

“Eh, don’t feel so bad. That was quite the story after all. Seriously, I never would have thought Karm would use ignorance as a weapon. I memorized those books only to find out they are utter rubbish, Karm’s false delusions. I am so mad right now! Especially at myself. Just think, if I had stayed in Oak County, I would have believed those lies to my dying day! Damn it all!” Rolce said through clenched teeth, as he pounded his fist against the side of the large tree.

“Wow! Look at you, you are really mad at all this. You can take punch after punch without throwing one back, but you get all pissy over a few books with wrong information?” Gisbo said, totally amused and amazed by Rolce’s outburst. However, a vivid flashback of Rolce’s large hand crushing a snake’s skull immediately made him halt the teasing.

Both boys prepared for bed, fed their Boons and were soon off in a dreamless sleep. The hours passed and sunrise was now just a few minutes away from bringing a new day. However, unbeknownst to the slumbering young Renegas, the light of this day would make visible the sins of the night…

At first and to most, it was a normal morning in Heaven’s Shelter. Rays of light were slowly shining through the treetops, soon to be followed by the sun's full sphere of immortal light. Shop owners were busy organizing their stores for opening time and the familiar smells of autumn foods drifted throughout the grounds. As usual, Grandfield was the first at Marge’s Bakery to grab his caramelized apple for the day, now his only one, due to his recent unavoidable diet. Grandfield realized that for once he was actually earlier than he needed to be and relished in his free moments before class. He leaned against the golden statue of Vadid the Valiant comfortably, watching the morning light fill the commons, and took a deep sigh of comfort, breathing in the foggy, fresh air of the morning.

Grandfield raised his treat for a crisp bite, only to stop as he noticed a red blotch on the top of the apple. He watched with curiosity as the blotch slowly dripped down over the apple’s rounded edge. Grandfield rotated his treat, wondering where the red had come from. Looking down, he grimaced when he noticed he was standing in a thick red puddle.

Grandfield turned his head upward, very nervously, praying to IAM that his hunch wasn’t correct. He was answered by another drop of red that splashed on his forehead. His eyes turned to saucers, not because of the blood that now dripped down his cheek, but because of what was hanging above him.

In a gargled yell, Granfield dropped his apple and backed away from the statue, his boots leaving a trail of bloody footprints as he desperately shouted for help. Everybody who had heard the scream arrived on the scene of the now fully lit courtyard, staring up at the grisly sight.

There, impaled through his chest by a sword, hovering at least fifteen feet off the ground, pinned to Vadid’s golden statue . . . Renegade Purah hung dead. Fresh droplets of blood dripped from his exposed chest into the growing pool of red below.

Chapter Thirteen:
Honoring of a Hero

Chieftain Narroway arrived in Heaven’s Shelter soon after Purah’s body was discovered. The Chieftain’s orders were quite clear; arrangements for Renegade Purah’s funeral would begin immediately and nothing was to be discussed on the subject of the death itself. Respect for the Chieftain's longtime friend and personal advisor were to be at the forefront until the Renegade instructor was properly put to rest. The Renegades went about their tasks solemnly as they prepared for the funeral.

News spread quickly of Purah’s death. Deep sorrow, utter fury and a cold silence enveloped all of Heaven’s Shelter. Gisbo and Rolce felt a mix of these feelings when Foxblade told them the news. Moordin and Falcon shoved down their grief by doing all they could to help with the funeral process. Foxblade actually showed signs of emotion when he came to convey the tragedy, embracing them both in a brief hug before leaving. Gisbo and Rolce stood in their pajamas, not looking at each other as they let the news sink in. Gisbo opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. Shock, pure shock, enveloped him. Fao began to lick Gisbo’s leg in sympathy, while Rolce turned and sat at the table, facing the opposite direction, trying to hide tears.

Both boys didn’t say much for a while as Gisbo paced around the room, feeling out of himself. It just didn’t make sense. They were all fishing just last night, having the time of their lives and exchanging stories, and now, now he was gone. Gisbo constantly wished he had said a more meaningful goodbye instead of a simple wave, but how could he have known? He couldn’t imagine how Falcon and Moordin must be feeling now. Why on Thera would anybody want to kill a pre-school teacher? How were his students taking it? Even worse, he would never be able to learn from the renowned instructor upon his third band. Who would teach the class now?

Questions like these plagued both boys as they brooded, together in the room, yet alone in their heads. Finally, Gisbo couldn’t take it anymore. He abruptly left the treehouse without a look back, Fao following him. Gisbo didn’t really know where he was going or why, he just needed to walk. He headed to the forest, instantly remembering many a bad day back in Oak County. Walking through the silence of the trees always raised his spirits a bit.

Fao trotted alongside him, constantly turning her ice-blue eyes up at Gisbo, who could only manage a weak smile in return as he rubbed her white velvety head. He didn’t realize it, but subconsciously his feet were taking him back to the pond where they had fished the night before. Upon arrival, Gisbo saw that there was already somebody seated on the small shore with a large tiger seated beside him. Both man and beast were gazing out across the waters, lost within their own minds.

Falcon didn’t notice Gisbo at first as he methodically scratched the tiger behind the ears. The large cat purred with delight and laid down. Gisbo sat down beside his class master, whose eyes were red and puffy.

For a moment they both said nothing as they stared into the pond. A fish broke the surface in a small splash and the ripple danced across the pond like the memories resonating through both Renegade’s minds.

“Foxblade told me you and Moordin were helping organize the funeral,” Gisbo stated quietly, just to break the silence.

“Do you know me as one to organize anything? Can you even picture me organizing anything?” Falcon asked with a weak smile.

“Not really,” Gisbo answered.

“Moordin’s taking care of all that. Funny how IAM works sometimes, eh, pal? You got murderers, rapists and downright horrible people that roam this world who live to be fat and old and what does IAM do? He goes an' takes a pre-school teacher way before his time. I’ll never understand it,” Falcon said, as he wiped his eyes with his forearm before continuing. “Purah, he was the most thoughtful as well as toughest son of a gun I ever knew, besides Vadid himself. I have to thank you, Gisbo, for getting in trouble like ya did; at least I got to fish with him one last time.”