Renegade Rising

by J.C. Fiske

Chapter 2: The Tryouts

  The moon was high and full, a wolf’s moon, as many called it in Oak County. Moon rays shone through the tinges of fog within the dark forest, giving the air a twinkling effect. The wind blew through the branches of the trees, sounding like a groaning dead spirit. Gisbo had no idea how he had gotten out at this time of night or just where in the forest he was. In fact, this forest wasn’t like anything he had seen before. It seemed otherworldly to him. Only the shimmering, full moon gave any remembrance to the familiar. He took a deep breath. He was lost and he hated the feeling. Hated the feeling of not being in control. Panic began to rise in his chest and then it skyrocketed. Suddenly, there was a crash behind him, as if something huge and hulking had dropped from a tree onto a patch of dry sticks and leaves.

  Gisbo swirled around. There before him was a huge, black thing. Its body wasn’t visible, but its eyes certainly were. They shone like two red-hot coals. The contrasting fog made the eyes glow far brighter then they might have.

  “Holy . . .” Gisbo managed to mutter in a quivering voice. He felt goose flesh rip across his whole body like some form of instant infection.

  SHWOOSH! Suddenly, pillars of fire shot downward from the sky and began to swirl around the creature. The darkness hid its full identity, but even in the dark it was safe to say the monster stood a little over ten feet tall and had every intention of inflicting misery upon Gisbo.

  With a screech, the thing lumbered forward, slowly, with a confident stride. Gisbo began backing up. Every part of him was screaming at him to turn and run, but he found he just couldn’t take his gaze off those hypnotizing red eyes. The creature, as if sensing this, started to laugh. The laugh was deep and unnatural and made the fluids in Gisbo’s stomach boil. Then, the thing started to charge. The way the monster’s pounding footsteps sounded broke Gisbo from his paralysis. He turned directly around and began sprinting as fast as he could. Even as he ran he could still feel the fiery eyes of the creature burning into his back. Gisbo leapt over a log and, a few seconds later, the monster tore through it like a hot knife through butter, sending old, crusted bark flying.

  Cripes! He’s right behind me! DAMN IT! Gisbo thought, as he ran like mad to try to claim some distance. Apparently he had run a little too mad, for it was then he tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his face. He slid a good ways and felt pine needles, pebbles and sharp pointed acorns dig into his face. If Gisbo had one thing going for him, it was his tolerance for pain. Undeterred, Gisbo rolled and jumped back to his feet, already feeling the sticky pine sap drying on his face, but it seemed the forest floor had other plans . . .

  Large, vine-like roots shot out of the ground like hissing pythons. In a speed Gisbo couldn’t prepare for, the roots wrapped about his feet and prevented him from leaving. Gisbo pulled as hard as he could, but to no avail. The roots began to spread now and wrapped themselves tightly around Gisbo, turning him into a living sushi roll snack for the monster who had now caught up. The demonic red eyes of the creature seemed to pierce his very soul. They were wild, untamed, dangerous. Its breathing was heavy, like an early spring wind current. Gisbo’s hair fluttered back with every snort from the creature’s nostrils. The monster then raised its massive arms and more fire erupted from them with a roar. The flame pillars spread and encircled Gisbo, the heat unbearable . . .

  And then Gisbo awoke. He snapped upward and felt himself all over, never having been more thankful to see the interior of his run-down shack of a home. Breathing hard, he did his best to shake the remnants of the dream, assuring himself he was back, back to reality, but try as he may, a feeling of déjà vu crept over him anyway. He had had versions of this dream as long as he could remember. He fell backward on his pillow with a loud THUD realizing too late it was actually his wooden headboard.

  “DAMN IT! Ugh, my poor head,” Gisbo yelped. At least the pain to his head confirmed the thought that he was indeed back to reality. He sat up again, massaging his throbbing skull. The demon seemed to be getting closer and closer over the years, but he had never gotten this close. He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen the next time he dreamed of it. Would he die? Was it some kind of bad omen? He didn’t know, nor did he ponder it any longer. The sun was about to come up. It was time. The tryouts were about to start.

  Gisbo rolled out of bed, got dressed and dug out a small piece of fruit from his food crate to munch along the way. Playing a game of hopscotch, he skipped around his messy room. It was piled almost ceiling high with books. After some effort, he had cleared a path and made his way to the door where he paused, noticing his ratty bandana hanging on the wall by a nail. Smiling, he tied it on, remembering all the things it represented, dreams he had almost abandoned. He silently thanked Falcon under his breath and he was out the door in a sprint, but it soon turned into a slow stride.

  The aches that covered his body popped up to say hello and reminded him of what happened yesterday. Gisbo managed to grunt a few curses and made his way slowly, but surely to the castle courtyards. Soon, excitement took over, dulling the pain. Not only would he be able to display his fighting talent and become a respected soldier, he might even get to slam Thomson’s face into the ground in front of everyone. This thought alone made an evil smile stretch across his face. Adrenaline rushed through him, replacing his pain with a prickly sensation throughout his body. His slow stride became a sprint again as he neared the gates of the castle. They were wide open, welcoming him, challenging him. With all pain forgotten now, Gisbo charged through it, bandana tails flowing behind him in the breeze.

  Upon entry, the prickling feeling intensified as he spied them, Karm’s Elekai’ warriors. All of them wore matching, mirror-like armor that glistened in the sun and reflected the scenery around them. Gisbo’s smile widened. The thought of someday being one of those soldiers and fighting for Warlord Karm was an outright euphoria to his mind. Gisbo got in a line with the other kids, which was quite long. Many parents and grandparents had come out to see their children off and wish them luck, beaming with pride.

  Once Gisbo’s eyes had their fill staring at the soldier’s armor, he took sight of the scenery around him, which was a sight to behold. He had trouble taking in the whole view at once. The place was in a frenzy as groundskeepers, gardeners and soldiers alike went about their daily duties. The grass was a luscious green and carpeted the entire castle grounds. Elegantly trimmed hedges in the shapes of animals stretched all around the walls and the scent of roses and jasmine wafted through the air. It was then Gisbo spotted it, on a far distant corner at the base of the wall: a lone flower whose color was different from all the rest.

  He did not think it had been there a moment ago; he probably would have seen it. It was a short, brilliant red lily, which shone beautifully out of place amongst the other flowers around it. Gisbo didn’t have time to stare very long however. A gardener, armed with pruning shears, rushed towards it as if it would set the castle on fire and snipped it clean.

  Gisbo didn’t mind though. He accepted the ban of the Flarians along with their color, as everyone else. The word Flarian was equivalent to a boogieman. Parents used to tell their disobedient children that if they misbehaved, they would be tossed out of Oak County to live with the Flarians. Gisbo remembered his books had detailed the murderous atrocities of the barbaric race quite vividly. They said that if you even looked at one wrong, they could set your whole body on fire just by snapping their fingers. At least I’m not THAT bad, Gisbo thought to himself.

  The line continued moving at last. Gisbo was nearing the front and it was then he saw them, the last known living heroes from his books: The Elekai' Elite. Gisbo practically vibrated with excitement. These three men were Warlord Karm’s top warriors, but they were more than that. They were a symbol of hope that all in Oak County aspired to. Each of these warriors was considered to be masters of their own racial element. Alone, these warriors were statistically at the top of their game, but when working together, they were unbeatable. Gisbo knew this
wasn’t just a theory either. History backed them up.

  The legends all sat a large oak table, signing autographs and signing in hopeful Elekai’ warriors for the tryouts. Gisbo was now close enough to see their weapons. To him, the weapons themselves were far more intricate and beautiful than the entire castle grounds. Each of their weapons sparkled with the elemental race of their wielder in hues of yellow, green, and blue. Vivid images of warriors questing for treasure, fighting monsters and battling across open fields against the evil Flarians began to fill up in Gisbo’s mind. He then found himself frowning as he looked past the warriors and noticed the men with overweight guts from too much beer at the tavern, women discussing and judging all the latest fashion trends as if it were as important as life and death and spoiled children having temper tantrums over souvenirs from the various display carts. Gisbo just shook his head and sighed, wondering if too much peace was a good thing and if he too was going to end up like them one day. No way, Gisbo thought. Not if I pass these tryouts!

  If he became an Elekai warrior, he would get a taste of the old world that he desperately craved. This day was the first step and he knew it would be his only one. The pressure both terrified him and excited him and now the Elekai' Elite now stood right in front of him.

  On the left side of the table, Gisbo noticed Captain Scarrr. Gisbo’s books called him a ruthless, cutthroat warrior of the elemental class of wind, the Soarian race. A mysterious helmet graced his head and covered his entire face, all except for his mouth. Gisbo could make out the edges of three long scars etched down his chin in a neat row. Many rumors circulated of what lay beneath the helmet of Scarrr. Some guessed that he was horribly burned or born horribly ugly.

  A boy with thick-rimmed glasses stood in front of Gisbo. A thick book graced his hands. Gisbo recognized him as Sid Lurney. Much to Sid’s dismay, everyone called him number two. This wasn’t because of the bodily function, but because whenever the test scores were put on display, Sid was always number two, which infuriated him. Either way, Gisbo knew Sid didn’t stand a chance in hell at becoming an Elekai’ warrior. He was about as brave as a retreating dove, but, like Gisbo, he too was fascinated by Elekai’ warriors. He read aloud in a prissy, educated tone to his best friend Mort.

  “Let’s see . . . Captain Scarrr . . . Oh! It says here that he has the ability to suppress gravity around him and avoid friction altogether. This allows him to move so swiftly that he can become almost invisible to the naked eye. Cool!” Sid said as he pushed his glasses up with one finger. Gisbo smiled at the kid’s enthusiasm. Sid continued reading, moving his index finger across the page.

  “‘His weapon of choice is a blade not long enough to be a sword, but too long to be considered a dagger, giving him an equal balance in offense and defense. It does not have a name as he fashioned it himself . . .’” Sid said, readjusting his glasses again. Mort pointed to the man on the far right.

  “What does it say about Captain Cannon?” Mort asked. Sid began flipping through some pages and finally stopped.

  “Mmmm, here it is! It says that he’s a powerful user of the earth element from the Naforian race and is also a biological anomaly. He’s a short man by the standards, but weighs three times as much as a man his height should. Weird, huh?” Sid asked. Sid’s friend stared at Cannon with a nervous glare.

  “Don’t let him hear you say that. What’s he do?” Mort asked. Sid returned his finger to the page and began to read again.

  “‘What Cannon lacks in speed, he compensates for with power and defense. His weapon of choice is also of his own creation. A thick steel baton with two large block hammers on each side of it that he calls the Ham-Pole,’” Sid said.

  “That’s pretty lame.” Mort muttered quietly. Sid continued reading.

  “‘When holding his Ham-Pole, Cannon can undergo an instant photosynthesis to grow his body larger at will by absorbing solar energy like a plant. He can also absorb the properties of any stone substance around him and emulate it, making his skin quite literally rock hard like an impenetrable armor. Many blades have been broken against his body.’ Jeesh, this guy’s crazy,” Sid exclaimed. Mort smiled.

  “Sure they are, but they are both minor league compared to the guy in the middle. What does it say about General Ricard?” Mort asked with his arms folded. Sid smiled as he flipped through some more pages then stopped.

  “‘A natural born fighter and second in command only to Warlord Karm, Ricard is said to be so powerful that none have ever witnessed him at his true strength. It is also common knowledge among the soldiers that Ricard can trounce both his Elekai’ Elite members with ease,’” Sid said, going bug eyed.

  “Cripes,” Mort muttered. Sid continued.

  “‘He’s a water user from the Aquarian race. Ricard’s basic abilities are the ablility to draw moisture from both the ground and the air and freeze them. From here, these droplets are morphed into any shape desired, ranging from daggers to arrows. Eyewitnesses have seen him send such shapes in countless numbers straight through opponents with ease. This is but his basic technique. It is said his real powers have yet to be shown to anyone,’” Sid said, looking up. Mort laughed.

  “Told you the guy was incredible. What’s his weapon?” Mort said. Sid returned his gaze to his book.

  “‘His weapon of choice and source of power is a unique sword very similar to that of a fencer, the gentleman’s weapon; quick, agile and cunning. Traits that personify Ricard perfectly,’” Sid finished.

  Gisbo stared at Ricard who kept signing autographs with a shimmering smile. As much as Gisbo hated Ricard’s offspring, he couldn’t bring himself to hate the general. If anything, Ricard was Gisbo’s favorite.

  A few more minutes passed and it was now Gisbo’s turn to sign up. He stood under the gaze of the living legends for a good ten awkward seconds, unable to utter a syllable. Ricard cleared his throat impatiently at Gisbo. On either side of him, Scarrr and Cannon were busy with other children.

  “Well, son, do you have a name or are you here to waste my time?” Ricard asked.

  Gisbo bit his lip and he said his name in nervous shame. Gisbo didn’t know why, but Ricard’s eyes seemed to light up upon hearing his name.

  “Gisbo, you say?” Ricard asked.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Gisbo.

  “Surname?” Ricard asked.

  “I have none . . .” Gisbo answered, feeling uncomfortable at the way Ricard was staring at him. Ricard knew he didn’t have a surname, but he played along anyway and forced an air of disinterest.

  “Wait now, I know of you. I trust your food shipments from the castle have been arriving on schedule? If you have any further complaints, you may put them in writing and you should receive a response within five days or so,” Ricard said, testing him, with a feigned seriousness. Gisbo looked at him oddly before answering, wondering what was with the sudden change in demeanor.

  “I’m here for the same reason as everyone else, sir, to be an Elekai' warrior,” Gisbo stated, matching Ricard's seriousness.

  Needless to say, the respect Gisbo had for General Ricard faded in an instant. The General burst into laughter, along with a good portion of the crowd around him. Even the notoriously serious Scarrr couldn’t help a half smile. Gisbo clenched his fist in anger, wanting to wallop them all, but managed to refrain himself. He was not going to blow his chances, let alone risk dying by fighting the Elkai’ Elite.

  “Now, now, everyone, calm yourselves. We will give this boy the same chance as everyone else to try his or her skill. Even if he comes from no reliable lineage, we have no idea if his essence has potential . . . Well son, I will add you to the list. It will be up to you to keep it there. Based on your history, I am already colored unimpressed. You are going to have to do much to catch my attention, understand?” Ricard said in a condescending tone, implying that Gisbo should stop kidding himself. He really hoped that Gisbo would turn around and go home, but he didn’t, much to the disappointment of Ricard. He couldn’t outright i
nsult the boy in front of all these people.

  “Yes, sir,” said Gisbo through gritted teeth and for a moment, he could see the face of Thomson in General Ricard's features.

  “Good. Tryouts begin in ten minutes. Prepare yourself,” Ricard said. Gisbo spun around to walk away, followed by Mort and Sid.

  “Hey, dog boy, why don’t you just go get a real job? This isn’t the place for a scrub like you,” taunted Mort. Both the boys rushed past him, laughing. Finally losing control, Gisbo found himself grabbing the back of Mort’s shirt collar and unleashed a wicked punch to the back of his head. Mort went crashing to the ground. Sid looked from his fallen friend, then to Gisbo and began to run away.

  “Where you think you’re goin’, four-eyes?” Gisbo yelled as he tackled Sid to the ground. In his rage, Gisbo had forgotten his surroundings. He was no longer in the back woods. Other kids and even parents began to grab hold of him and rip him off the two boys.

  The parents used more force than was required to restrain Gisbo, throwing him to the ground and kicking him while yelling degrading remarks that rivaled the school kids. Gisbo felt a chill. He looked up through hazy vision at the three members of the Elekai’ Elite standing over him.

  “On your feet, son,” Ricard said with a stern air to his voice. The parents hoisted Gisbo upward as Sid and Mort squirmed away, unnoticed. For a moment Ricard only stared in frigid silence.

  “When I said impress me, this is not what I meant. However, I appreciate the effort. Let the boy be. Ten minutes now!” he yelled to the onlookers. Ricard spun around and walked back to the tables, leaving a bewildered Gisbo and angry parents in his wake. The crowd began to disperse, for nobody dared challenge the authority of the Elekai’ Elite. Gisbo watched them retreat with thankfulness and noticed the Elekai’ Elite whispering to each other on the way back to the table. Nice job, Gisbo, Gisbo thought as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

  Trying to keep a lower profile, he made his way over to the training grounds, attempting to walk off the newest aches and pains. Why can’t I control my stupid self? Gisbo thought. He had assumed his reputation would at least signify that he was not one to be messed with. At this rate, it seemed like he would have to beat down every kid in town just to earn a shred of peace.

  After every participant was checked in, Cannon, Scarrr and Ricard all made their way to the castle front. The three men formed a triangle and stood at ease. The soldiers around them saluted as their general walked forward to face them and the crowd.

  “Hello and welcome, young men and young ladies, to the chance of a lifetime! May I personally welcome you all to the youth army tryouts! Here you will work and train under the best of the best, including the Elekai’ Elite!” he shouted. Thunderous cheers erupted from the crowd at the mention of the Elekai’ Elite.

  “However, this is still but a chance. I see before me almost two hundred contenders. Out of you, only a mere thirty will proceed. We will put all of you through rigorous tests that will challenge your skill, your strength and also your mind. All of these must work precisely and be equally strong before you even hold an elemental stone in your hands. Even then, you may not have enough elemental essence floating within you to be accepted, but one thing is certain. If you cannot first prove yourself a fighter, essence or not, you have no chance at being an Elekai’ Warrior. By observing these tests you are about to partake in, we can determine your potential. Bring your families honor and make your Warlord proud! Let us begin!” General Ricard shouted.

  On Ricard’s signal, the soldiers began to divide the participants into three groups. Once they were aligned in an orderly fashion, General Ricard spoke again.

  “Now that we are all settled in, let us begin with the preliminaries. The rules are very simple. You must pass two of the three tests to move on. If you fail to do so, you go home. The first test will measure your strength, for what is a weapon without strength to back it up? The second test concerns your skill with a weapon. And the third will measure the speed of your mind as well as your eyes. At the first trial, there will be three soldiers, each of them wielding a large padded shield. They will stand in a line, evenly spaced from each other. On either side of them lie two boundary lines. Your goal is to run from the starting position and past the guards without being bumped out of bounds.” General Ricard said in a demanding tone. The children glanced at each other nervously.

  “For the weapon test, you will be equipped with a humble training stick. Everyone you see here has trained with these sticks before a real weapon graced their palms. You will be no different. This test involves another three soldiers, but in this case they are unarmed. On each of these soldiers, an apple hangs from a different vital point of the body. The first soldier, as you see, has his apple hanging in front of his heart; the second, his head; and the third, his throat. Your mission is to knock away and obliterate these apples in three minutes - one minute for each soldier if it's done correctly. The men may move, but they will not attack you, only defend themselves. To be a successful soldier, you must have the ability to strike a vital area when the time arrives.” The children nodded in response.

  “And for the last test, there sits a soldier by the name of Blur. He is graced with such a name because he is arguably the fastest man in all of Karm’s kingdom, after Captain Scarrr of course. If Scarrr ran this test, it would not be fair to any of you!” Ricard said. Cheers erupted upon hearing Scarrr’s name.

  “Blur’s reflexes are uncanny and what he lacks in power he doubles in speed. There are ten pots and under one of those pots is a pebble. The test is simple enough. The pebble will be placed under a random pot in plain sight. Blur will then begin to shuffle the pots around the table and when he is finished, you must guess which pot the pebble lies under. There are ten pots, so if you lose sight of the pot for any reason, you have a 10% chance of guessing correctly. What you can’t make up in skill, you better be able to make up with luck. Some have it, some don’t. Now! You have heard the rules of all three tests, good luck to you all. I am eager to see the results! Let the games begin!” finished General Ricard and he made his way to the observation balcony with his two comrades.

  The soldiers began to lead the groups to different sections of the courtyard to begin their tests. Gisbo looked around at his group. There were about seventy kids in all. He began to think about what a small amount would make it. A nervous rush of doubt started to sink in, but he knew he had to fight it. This was all he had. There was no plan B. All of his eggs had gone into one basket.

  The other kids around him jumped up and down with excitement, talking to each other and bragging to their friends about who would pass and who wouldn’t. Gisbo looked ahead to see which test the soldiers were leading him to. He could see a large table with ten clay pots upon it. Gisbo’s first test would be the eye test.

  Everyone watched as Blur made his way to the large table and called forth his first contestant. It was Thomson. The General’s son would not have to wait in line. He would probably be the first for every test he took, Gisbo assumed. Either way, Gisbo was thrilled to find out he was in the same group as Thomson. He wanted to see the little butt nugget fail miserably. Thomson approached the table with an arrogant, assured smile. As always, his minions cheered him on, doing their Black Wolf Pack cheer. Awwwooo! Awwwooo! Gisbo cringed at the sound. In their own little world, they may have thought they sounded like wolves, but to Gisbo and many others, they sounded like coyotes with a bad case of the runs.

  “All right, let’s get this thing over with. Show me what you got, Blur boy!” Thomson sneered. Blur cracked a sly grin and looked down at the pots.

  “Watch closely and we will see just who the boy is,” Blue replied. He held up the pebble for Thomson to see and then placed it underneath one of the pots.

  “Are you ready?” Blur asked. Thomson nodded and Blur cracked his knuckles, placed his hands on two of the pots and began shuffling them about the table. He shuffled them slowly at first, and then, in a breath’s pau
se, Blur’s hands started to move back and forth and up and down, touching all the pots and moving them about with blinding speed. Thomson’s head darted back and forth for a quick instant and then stopped as the pots continued to speed in front of him. He threw his hands into the air with a frustrated curse.

  A few moments later, Blur’s hands stopped and a single pot wobbled back and forth, echoing across the wooden table. The line looked on as Thomson scratched the back of his head. Gisbo relished Thomson’s nervous tension. Then, all of a sudden, Thomson’s head jerked down. His eyes wandered almost as if he were thinking, but Gisbo could see he must be looking at his father out of the corner of his eye. Gisbo quickly turned his gaze to the General and he swore he saw him quickly flash a hand gesture from his seated position.

  Was I the only one who noticed that!? Gisbo wondered. He examined the crowd around him, but everyone’s eyes were still on Thomson.

  A smile stretched across Thomson’s face as he pointed to the third jar in front of him. Blur shot a quick glance over at General Ricard, then lifted the jar to reveal the pebble. The rest of the Wolf Pack began to clap and howl again at his success.

  That little crap had daddy cheat for him! Gisbo thought.

  Thomson turned from the table with a wave and a smile for the crowd and made his way beside his father to watch the rest of the results. The kids who followed Thomson were not so lucky, save the members of Thomson’s pack. Most of the kids lost eye contact with Blur’s hands almost as soon as he began and in most cases they guessed wrong. Now it was Gisbo’s turn. He walked forward, feeling Thomson’s gaze burning down upon him. Gisbo reached down and ripped a grass ridden dirt clod off the lawn. He looked up at Thomson on the balcony with his father. Gisbo flashed a wicked grin and crumbled the dirt clod in his hand. Thomson’s expression changed to a snarl and he shook with rage.

  “Are you ready?” Blur asked. Gisbo was about to answer when a weird ringing entered his head. The ringing soon turned into a voice. It spoke with a deep, almost frightening tone.

  “Concentrate; do not look at his hands. He wears colored rings to trick your eyes. Squint your vision and concentrate on the pots alone,” the strange voice commanded rather than suggested. Blur’s voice began to sound through the ringing.

  “Son? Hello? Are you ready?” Gisbo realized he must have blacked out for a moment. He peered towards the castle grounds, wondering where the voice had come from. Thomson stared at him with squinted eyes.

  “Yeah, uh, sorry about that…” Gisbo replied.

  “Good, then let us begin.” Blur said.

  What the hell is going on here? Gisbo thought.

  Without any time to consider, Gisbo did just as the voice had told him. He squinted his eyes and watched the pots. Blur began to move. To Gisbo’s surprise, the squinting seemed to work. He could see Blur's movements. Twice his eyes wanted to shift to see the colors dancing back and forth, but he fought the temptation. Gisbo’s head bounced to the left and right, following Blur’s exact movements. Blur noticed this and moved even quicker, but Gisbo continued to match his eyes to every movement.

  Blur began to sweat and breathe hard as his arms finally ceased flailing. Without a second of thought, Gisbo pointed. The tension rose throughout the crowd as Blur reached forward and tipped over the jar to reveal . . .

  Nothing. A smile stretched across Blur’s face.

  “Sorry, son, but you lose. Next?” Blur said, looking past Gisbo.

  Gisbo raised his hand in front of Blur’s face and snapped his fingers to regain his attention.

  “Hey, I’m not done. I never pointed to the pot. I pointed to your lap where the pebble now sits. Put it back and give me a passing score,” Gisbo ordered. Blur was shocked along with everyone else. It was no wonder that so few had gotten it right because Blur was sliding the stone into his lap without anyone noticing. Whatever pot they picked would be wrong, except in cases like Thomson’s. It was all fixed.

  Applause erupted at Gisbo’s success. A warm feeling unlike any other washed over Gisbo. Never before had he received this much, or any, admiration. His happiness only grew when he saw the angry looks on the Wolf Pack’s faces.

  He basked in his glory for another moment before remembering the voice. He would not have passed if it weren’t for whoever-it-was.

  Well, it seems I’m not alone in this. Somebody wants to help me, but who? Gisbo continued to ponder this to himself as he rejoined the rest of the group behind him. Of the seventy or so kids that were in line, only about twenty kids had passed the first test. Only a handful of kids managed to guess where the pebble was now that the lap trick had been exposed. Gisbo’s group was first to finish, so they went to watch the other tests.

  Gisbo watched as a thin blonde boy sprinted through the line of soldiers in the strength test. He made it past the first and continued running as the second guard thrust his shield forward to knock him down. At the last second, the boy dove under the shield and made his way towards the last guard. The boy jumped right and sprinted to the left, but the guard caught him hard in the mid-section, sending the boy crashing out of bounds unnecessarily hard. The children looked at one another with grimaces.

  Gisbo turned to watch the weapon test as a young girl chased after the three soldiers, swinging her stick with tremendous speed. She easily destroyed the apple hanging from the first guard, sending moist green and white flecks flying through the air. She moved on to the second, then the third, demolishing all the apples with over a full minute to spare. Gisbo applauded with the rest of the Elekai’ hopefuls.

  The other two groups finally finished their tasks and with a much greater pass rate than the speed test. A total of thirty-two children passed the strength test and forty-six passed the weapon test.

  Gisbo’s group was next led to the weapon test and once again Thomson took the front of the line. He grabbed his stick and the guards took their places. A whistle blew and the countdown began. Thomson destroyed the three apples with ease, leaving a full minute and thirty seconds on the clock. Booming applause burst forth at the new record. General Ricard smiled proudly as Thomson again sat beside him, securing his entry into the finals.

  The weapon test did prove easier to pass. All but ten had succeeded when it came to Gisbo. A guard walked over and handed him the wooden sword. He gripped the stick tightly and it felt good in his hands. He suddenly laughed out loud at this thought, his dirty mind not being able to help itself. Before he started, he glanced over at Thomson’s face and studied it for a minute. He felt his blood boil. Now he was ready. The guard held a metallic whistle to his lips, waited a moment, and blew. Gisbo lunged forward, catching the first guard by surprise, and obliterated the first apple. Pieces splattered all over the guard’s face. Gisbo gave him a swift jab to his midsection just for good measure as he ran past him and towards the next guard.

  The second guard saw him coming and began to sprint away. Distance closed fast between his weapon and the apple hanging from the second guard, who took on the face of Thomson rather realistically to Gisbo’s imagination. Gisbo leapt ahead of the guard, spun around and dove forward, catching the guard straight in the chest and, luckily, causing him to stumble backward into the third guard. As they went down, the third apple broke off its harness and flew into the air. Gisbo watched it soar toward him and with a mighty swing, he connected with it, exploding it in a white mist.

  The guards and children stood wide-eyed and silent for a moment. Gisbo dropped his sword to the ground and peered around at the stunned crowd, stupefied by his own actions. A young soldier broke the silence.

  “Two minutes and thirty seconds to spare! We have a new record!” he declared as he made his way to Gisbo to pat him on the back. The other contestants clapped hesitantly as if at a poetry reading, remembering that no one actually liked him.

  Gisbo didn’t even notice the lackluster applause however. He stared at his hands as if they were foreign to him and held up the wooden sword. Did I just do that? I’ve never even pick
ed up a weapon in my life. It was just so easy . . .

  Easy or not, Gisbo had now made it to the finals!