by J. C. Fiske
The boys didn’t waste any time as they quickly changed out of their ratty clothes into their Berserker and Nazarite attire. After they were fully garbed, Gisbo marveled at how his new suit felt on him. At this stage, he and Rolce looked very similar, sporting the same ponchos with scarves attached, headbands and even the same color schemes. The difference lay underneath their ponchos. Where Gisbo’s outfit had baggy pants, heavy boots and various protective additions like knee pads and a thick leather belt, Rolce’s looked like a low-hanging robe with various pockets.
“Lookin' good, Rolce Moordin, Renega, Nazarite Class, um . . . no notch,” Gisbo said with a sarcastic smile. His imitation of Moordin was nearly perfect. Rolce laughed. Both of them stared into the mirrors at themselves, in awe that just a few hours ago they were going about their pointless lives only to be plucked out of them and thrust into something far bigger than themselves. The feeling was amazing.
Gisbo then noticed something at the far wall that made his heart skip. A rather large bookshelf leaned against the wall, beckoning him. How could he not have noticed it before! He almost knocked Rolce over as he ran for it, running his finger along the spine of each book, reading the titles. Renegades: A History; Renega to Renegara, The Narrow Path; Nazarite Pocket Guide . . .
“Look at all these babies, I’m gonna read 'em all! Well, except for some of these. They look like lousy textbooks. Battles by the Math? Really? Who needs that garbage in a place like this?” Gisbo said, as he tossed the book over his shoulder and let it bounce across the floor. Rolce’s eyes lit up at the word “textbooks” however and he rushed to retrieve the tossed book.
“How can you believe for a second the Renegades don’t use mathematical theories for battle plans? Not everyone just rushes into things without planning you know. Numbers and calculations are everything!” Rolce refuted as he picked up one of the battle strategy books, flipping through the pages.
“Look at this one! Wow! I used to read this series back at Oak County! I can’t believe they have the Man-Angel books here! You ever read these, Rolce?” Gisbo asked as he plucked the book from the shelf.
“Can’t say I’ve enjoyed them. I do love fiction, but not crazy stuff like that. Please, a guy with golden wings in a tight suit who flies around a mystical place called Boston, Massachusetts? Come on. Plus, they have a lot of bad words in them,” Rolce stated. Gisbo’s face contorted.
“What? Everyone loves Man-Angel! He’s the greatest. And the bad guys have powers too, not just him. He’s a super hero! And Boston sounds like such a cool place. They got towers there as high as the clouds and all the regular people don’t have any powers. I can’t even imagine living somewhere like that,” Gisbo argued.
“Exactly! It’s bogus! The term ‘Super hero’ sounds so cliché too. What’s next? Super villains? Bleh, but you go ahead and have fun,” Rolce said, grabbing a few more books.
“Psh, your loss. I better not hear you talk crap about Man-Angel again, Rolce. Don’t be jealous that I have a soul and you don’t,” Gisbo said as he made his way towards the V-bed.
Rolce sighed loudly and followed Gisbo.
“I call top bunk!” Gisbo announced as he hoisted himself up on the top right bed. Rolce shook his head and walked over with a sigh, still flipping through the pages of his book.
“There’s two top bunks, dummy. Books like Man-Angel will melt your brain. You should be reading this one,” Rolce said, flashing the math book as he climbed into his own bed. Once comfortable however, they couldn’t help looking downward at the empty bed. Their happiness suddenly lingered in the air, suspended. They almost felt a little guilty.
“What do you think happened? I mean, there’s supposed to be one more with us. I noticed out of all the new Renega synergies we are the only team with one missing,” Rolce pointed out, a little disgruntled.
“I don’t know. Falcon didn’t want us to hear about it, that’s for sure. I’m just as lost as you. I did hear him say he was ‘intercepted’ and that they arrived a week early because of suspicions,” Gisbo said, thinking.
“Yeah, he did. He was Foxblade’s chosen subordinate too from what I gathered. Chosen . . . so that means that Falcon chose you and Moordin chose me? I mean, I should be kind of upset with a bunch of people messing with my life, but it really didn’t even cross my mind until now. Thinking about it, I’m actually pretty thankful. It still hasn’t hit me that this wonderful place is our new home,” Rolce said.
“Hell, I don’t care. I’m just pissed they left us in that hell hole called Oak County. I guess they did that so we would appreciate this place all the more. A guy could get spoiled living in a place like this,” Gisbo said, still looking at the empty bed. “To think there’s some other poor guy out there, just like us, who could be enjoying all this with us. I wonder what happened.”
“From Falcon’s reaction earlier, he was deeply upset by it all. Somebody or something took him. I can imagine Foxblade’s disappointment; so much planning over fifteen years, only to be snatched away. I wonder if his life was just as lousy as ours? It must have been. It is part of the process after all. Everyone had to go through it, right? Rolce Moordin . . . Renegade born, who woulda thought?” Rolce said with a haphazard smile.
“I don’t know about you, but I can’t stand the fact there is somebody else out there, not here where he belongs. Makes me sick inside just thinking about it. Whatever took him definitely isn’t good news,” Gisbo said with a clenched fist.
“I’m with ya, we’ll figure this out together and . . . hey, what do you think that is?” Rolce asked, as he pointed to an odd contraption on the large table. They both jumped out of their beds and rushed to it. It certainly was peculiar. It looked like a kind of long steel spike accompanied by a pile of golden disk shapes. Gisbo picked up one and on the surface it read, “Phoenix Force.” He looked at Rolce and shrugged. Rolce picked up a few, eyeballing them as well.
“Hmmm . . . look at these names: 'Metallican Sonata,' 'Slay Knot,' 'J-Cashin?' Wonder what they do?” Rolce said, holding the disk up to the light. Gisbo slipped the disk titled “Phoenix Force” onto the needle and watched it slide to the bottom. Suddenly, the disc rose up, spinning fast, and the entire thing glowed a golden yellow, filling the room around them with booming music. To Gisbo it sounded absolutely wonderful; the vocal line was fast and aggressive as the shredding sounds of metal filled the air.
“Wow! I can’t believe this! Music concentrated onto a gleaming disk. The yellow is obviously a Sorian’s trademark color. I bet they somehow figured out how to record music this way allowing for instant playback. It’s like a personal band is in our room. Amazing!” Rolce was highly impressed by the new technology. “However, this stuff sounds crazy. I’ve never heard anything so fast. I wonder what . . .”
“That, my friend, is called, ‘METAL,’ Moordin said as the boys turned to find their new Class Masters gazing at them from behind, where the door stood wide open.
“A personal favorite of Moordin’s and mine. Looks like the both of you enjoy it as well. That band, Phoenix Force, is a wonder. A Soarian band founded right here in Heaven’s Shelter. They come and play live for us every once in a while, glorious stuff! Foxblade, on the other hand, doesn’t agree. A serious bloke, into the more depressing varieties,” Falcon explained.
Gisbo noticed Moordin was looking a bit embarrassed by his sudden outburst. Never in his life would he have imagined a guy as reserved as Moordin listening to something so crazy.
“Hey, whose Man-Angel books are those on the shelf?” Gisbo asked. Moordin and Falcon looked at each other and smiled.
“Why, both of ours,” Falcon said. Gisbo smiled as he spun on Rolce.
“See Rolce! Told you everybody loves Man-Angel!” Gisbo said, thrusting a finger at his face.
“Foxblade doesn’t. He loathes anything to do with fiction.” Moordin chimed in.
“No, no! I like fiction and stuff like that! I just don’t like Man-Angel!” Rolce tried to argue. Moordin sho
ok his head.
“Maybe you aren’t my subordinate after all. Are you sure you got the right boy, Falcon?” Moordin asked. Falcon forced back a chuckle at Rolce’s white face.
“Please! No! I am a Renegade! Don’t take me back!” Rolce pleaded.
“Calm down, son. Please say you at least enjoy metal? We left you some copies of some of our personal favorites,” Moordin asked.
“Yes, I really do like metal! It’s great, it’s perfect! Especially this music player thing! The shape of it, it’s . . .” Rolce stammered on until Moordin put up a hand.
“Ok, I suppose you got the right one, Falcon. I’m glad to see you boys are enjoying our Renegade technologies. The outside world can’t even dream of some of the things we have come up with, every race working together. Like this music player right here. It’s a Sorian invention known as a Breeze Harmonic. Records as well as plays anything you wish, long as you record them on these diskettes,” Moordin said, picking one up.
“The sound is trapped within the air by some form of Soarian technique? Amazing . . . But we aren’t Soarians. How come we can power up this device?” Rolce asked. Moordin looked pleased this time at his subordinate’s curious mind.
“Same way the cleansing room and waste shoots work, an Aquarian creation. You see, mostly everything in here requires some sort of elemental essence to power it. All of this is powered by a central orb located right beneath the floor boards. Ah, here it is,” Moordin said, as he bent down where a trap door was camouflaged in the floor. With a quick tug, he revealed a swirling mass inside, constantly spinning like the dwarf suns they had seen earlier, except this kind had all the colors swirling within it. It was captivating to see red, yellow, blue and green swirl about in harmony.
“These handy little creations lie within every building around Heaven’s Shelter, giving us easy access to just about everything. We call it an Omni-Orb and thanks to it, we won’t need to call a Flarian just to turn on the fireplace. These power sources do have their limitations. They work only in buildings considered places of rest. We make the little necessities of life easy so we can instead spend our time focusing on our training. Don’t think for a second we built these devices for a life of luxury, although rest is an important part of training, as you will understand after your first day,” Moordin said as he and Falcon both smirked at each other. Gisbo had the funny feeling he was in for a world of pain.
“But for now, you two need to follow us as we . . .” Moordin bellowed before being interrupted by the presence of a woman in the doorway, dressed in Nazarite garb. She looked rather cross as she stormed up to Moordin and Falcon.
“So you thought it rather funny to ditch your share of the cleaning this morning, Moordin?” said the woman. Moordin’s stern features cracked as a worried look replaced it.
“But, honey, I . . .” Moordin stammered. The woman then turned her gaze on Falcon, who adapted the same fearful glance.
“This is all YOUR fault! He was doing quite fine this week in your absence and now he’s back to his old irresponsible self. You're nothing but a bad influence on him, you know that? Making him believe he’s back in his bachelor days, ducking out in the mornings to cause trouble with the likes of you,” the woman lectured.
“I . . . um, I don’t think I’m the only reason he . . .” Falcon stammered.
“Don’t interrupt me! Because of this fool next to you, the house wasn’t cleaned in time and I missed the opening ceremonies! I . . .” It was then the woman noticed Gisbo and Rolce standing there. Her angry features vanished immediately as her face flushed and a vivid smile blossomed across it.
“Oh my, are these . . .” she stammered.
“Yup, that’s them all right. Meet Gisbo and . . .” Falcon started to say.
“AH! There you go! Interrupting again! You need a woman in your life, Falcon. It would do you well to have some manners,” the woman said as Falcon and Moordin stood wearing guilty faces.
“Children, that’s all they are!” She turned back to the boys and her smile returned instantly. “We’ve been waiting for the two of you for quite some time. My name is Martha, the wife of your . . .” Martha turned around to face Moordin, who gave her a weak smile, before turning back to Rolce, “ . . . useless Class Master. Should you ever need to know anything about the way of a proper Nazarite, look no further, boys. Now! Before anything else, this room needs to be spic and span. It has been quite some time since anyone’s lived here and the dust is horrid! Cleaning supplies are in that cupboard and . . . WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?” Martha shouted to Falcon who was almost out of the doorway. Falcon stopped and turned around with a sheepish grin.
“Get back in here! You can help too! This place needs to be cleaned before any boons are allowed in this home,” Martha said as Falcon and Moordin begrudgingly began gathering the cleaning supplies from the cupboard. Gisbo and Rolce did all they could to hide their laughter as they began scrubbing down the place.
“What are boons?” Gisbo asked.
“That’s what I was trying to explain. We will . . .” Moordin started.
“We will talk about it AFTER this place is cleaned,” Martha said as she shuffled Moordin and Falcon along, handing Gisbo and Rolce cleaning tools as well. The cleaning went by quicker than they figured it would, even though Gisbo thought there had been nothing wrong with it before. He wasn’t about to tell Martha that though.
“Good job, all of you. I’m going to add some final touches to the room for the boys, so have fun and good luck with your search!” Martha said with a smile.
“Search?” Gisbo asked as Falcon and Moordin quickly pushed him and Rolce out the door, not wanting to get Martha talking again. When they made their way down the stairs and out of earshot, Falcon laughed.
“Oh, Moordin, that girl's got a chain around you as long as she can reach. You really chickened out back there. You gotta man up sometimes!” he said. Moordin’s eyes widened.
“What? Me? I, I CHICKENED OUT!? Well, I didn’t see YOU telling her off; you’re not even married to her! I don’t have a choice!” Moordin argued.
“Hey, I can’t insult my best friend's wife! Just be a man and lay down some ground rules,” Falcon said.
“What? Lay down ground rules? Ok, well, guess what? I give you full permission to say what you will and get me some of those ground rules. Go on, march up there. She’d love to hear what you have to say. Go ahead, man up!” Moordin challenged. The boys were laughing uncontrollably by this point, as they watched Falcon looking back up at the tree house.
“Alrighty then, the reason we came. I think now is a great time for you both to meet two more members of our Synergy,” Falcon said as he and Moordin looked at each other and smiled. They both raised a fist into the air as their rings began to glow, Falcon’s red, Moordin’s green.
“Akila!” Falcon shouted.
“Norse!” Moordin shouted too.
There was a sudden burst of green and red light and two animals appeared out of nowhere. On Moordin’s shoulder sat a great black hawk that screeched loudly and on the ground to Falcon’s right sat a powerful tiger that gave a sudden roar.
“It seems they have introduced themselves already. These are me and Falcon’s Boons . . . excuse me?” Moordin said, listening as his hawk squawked something. “I’m sorry, Falcon's and my Boons. Norse very much likes to correct bad grammar,” Moordin said, as he patted its head.
“Wait, you can talk to it?” Rolce asked. Moordin looked at his personal subordinate with shame.
“Of course! I am Naforian after all, just like yourself! Each race has their own personal quirks and talents. This is just one of a Naforian’s, the ability to understand animals. Many people like to say, ‘speak’ to animals, but they know so little. Animals can already understand what we say to them, however, they communicate through the expression of feelings, motions and sometimes mental telepathy back and forth to each other. Some like to argue that their sense of understanding and communication greatl
y surpasses us humans, as they do it in a way that is indistinguishable by tone of voice, leaving no room for error or misinterpretation. I have to agree.” Norse seemed to nod in agreement.
“Hm,” Rolce exclaimed.
“You have not heard an animal speak to you, Rolce? I should think after our careful planning, placing you on a farm, that you would have at least heard one by now? This farm experience should have taught you to be one with the earth, to learn how it works and grows and to communicate with its creatures. This is a Naforian’s duty. Not even one voice whatsoever?” Moordin asked, with an air of disappointment.
“I thought I heard voices a few times while I was in the barn, when I felt lonely and was working hard. I thought it was just my imagination,” Rolce stammered. Moordin at least felt it was a passing answer.
“They were probably offering you their companionship and help in your chores. I suppose since one now knows the truth, one will keep their ears open, right?” Moordin suggested pointedly. Rolce nodded.
“Now, not every Naforian can understand animals just as some Naforians can only make elemental stones glow and nothing more. It all depends how much of the essence is contained within you. This is why you must be Renegade born and tested at birth to see if you contain the amount of essence required for Renegade training. Not everyone is cut out to be a Renegade. It is the highest of honors to be accepted within our ranks and such is the same for animals who wish to become Boons.
“Also, understand that Boons are not sidekicks, they are not servants, they are not pets. You and your Boon are and will become mutual companions for as long as you both survive on Thera. Every Boon is different, just as every person is different. The Boon is born out of the human’s need for inward guidance, just as they need outward direction based on your personalities, gifts and potential. They are a reflection of your inner self just as you are a reflection of their attributes. They are a part of you, destiny chosen, born immediately when you come of age and find yourselves in need of one. Which was a few months ago for the two of you. The forests and jungles of Heaven’s Shelter act like a homing beacon to potential Boon animals who travel from all across Thera to come here. Day after day, new animals make their way exactly when they are needed. Do you understand thus far?” Moordin asked. Both boys nodded in agreement.