by J. C. Fiske
“IT WASN’T A DREAM! I SAW SOMONE DIE TONIGHT!” Rolce interrupted.
“ALRIGHT! Ok, I believe you! Now tell me what the hell happened!” Gisbo said, a little frustrated.
“I saw a group of boys and girls, all our age. Most of them had a distant, quavering look in their eyes, full of fear, as if dead inside. It was then I saw him, the only one whose eyes did not waver like the rest of them. They were full of life; big aquamarine eyes, just like Foxblade, same dreadlocks too,” Rolce said. Gisbo’s eyes lit up at the description.
“When I saw his eyes, they weren’t full of fear, but something else, a dark something, but not evil. No, dark for sure, but not evil and oddly enough I thought of you, Gisbo. He had the same eyes as you that day, the day we met during our final task,” Rolce said, voice not quavering now.
“Go on . . .” Gisbo said, brimming with interest.
“The kids stood in a circle, all surrounding another boy, and beside him stood a tall gruff man. The man had a bald head with frizzy black hair that covered the back of it and a giant scraggly beard. His teeth were rotten to the core, like they were just about to fall out, and were almost as black as his hair. He had a frightening voice too, like a bass drum or something. He was so intense, but his eyes were . . . his eyes were the worst.” Rolce stopped short as if taking in the image all over again. “They were rimmed with a blackness, almost like eye shadow. He had no pupils, just white eyeless orbs. He pointed to each and every boy and girl in the crowd as he spoke…” Rolce said, zoning out again.
“What did he say, Rolce?” Gisbo asked, worried.
“He said the time for rebirth was near and they would all be tools to bring it about. Apparently, the boy beside him did something wrong, defied him in some way and he was going to be made an example of. The man then drew out a weapon. It was a long pole with a sharp spike on one end. He raised it . . . and . . . and . . .” Rolce stammered, voice quivering again.
“It’s all right, you don’t have to say it. So that’s it then?” Gisbo asked.
“Yeah. That’s when I woke up. You should have seen his face, Gisbo. Like, it was terrifying, so twisted. It was as if he let go of everything and allowed his body to be overcome fully by evil. Kids, Gisbo, kids like me and you! This is where our third member is! It could have been either of us in his place! We gotta help him!” Rolce insisted.
Gisbo got up and looked out the window with an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know where this feeling was coming from; he had never quite felt this way before. He was completely self-centered until the day he met Rolce. He felt angrier than he should have been over somebody else's torment. Was this caring? Was it a sense of justice? He didn’t know, all he knew was that after the day he somehow survived the wolves, something had changed inside him. Again, he saw a flash of red and then whiteness.
“I know we do. I don’t know why we do, but I just . . . what I know is that I believe what you saw, Rolce, and I feel it wasn’t an accident. This must be what Falcon was talking about with Foxblade and Moordin earlier,” Gisbo said.
“We’d better talk to them about this,” Rolce stated.
“Yeah. I think you're right, but there’s nothing more we can do about it until we find out where they are! Gah! This is awful! Sickens me to the core. I don’t know what that guy is making those kids do, but it can’t be anything good. We should go find Falcon and Moordin right now!” Gisbo said. His statement was unnecessary, for there in their doorway stood Falcon, Moordin and even Foxblade, ready for dinner.
“There, you found us, now go set the table while I throw on some food,” Falcon said with a smile. Gisbo and Rolce desperately tried to share with them what happened, but Falcon raised a hand upward.
“It can wait. Food first, we are all starving. Plus, we have a limited amount of time. Martha is out with some of her girlfriends tonight and we managed to get Moordin away for a bit,” Falcon continued. Moordin’s face turned red at his comment.
Rolce and Gisbo both sighed and went about getting the table ready and then began slicing vegetables. They must have been doing it rather slowly because Foxblade made his way over and sliced them in a flurry of his daggers before throwing them in a pot to stew. Moordin summoned Norse to his side as he rocked in his chair, feeding him a few slices of meat and he popped a few to Harpie as well. Finally, the food was cooked and they all sat down to eat. Falcon allowed Rolce and Gisbo to explain what had just happened.
Rolce recounted his dream to the rest of them as the class masters stopped eating and looked at each other in silence for a long moment.
“So. He’s got the blood of a Sybil. Interesting,” Foxblade muttered in disbelief.
“NO! That is enough! No more on the subject!” Moordin interrupted. Rolce and Gisbo looked utterly confused.
“What’s a Sybil?” Rolce asked, wondering why Moordin became so uptight all of a sudden. Moordin looked at Foxblade with a wicked gleam in his eye, but Foxblade took no notice as he dug into his food.
“You shouldn’t be so secretive, they will only despise you for it later. I’m sure a boy as smart as Rolce would have figured it out on his own eventually,” Foxblade said to Moordin through mouthfuls of food without looking at him.
“Spoken from a true hypocrite! He’s MY subordinate, not yours, so kindly restrain your tongue!” Moordin retorted.
“Meh, you all hang onto innocence far too long,” Foxblade stated, returning to his meal.
“Well, what’s a Sybil?” Gisbo asked this time. Moordin looked at Falcon, rolled his eyes, then spoke.
“Oh very well. A Sybil is a rare individual who can foresee future events and receives invocations to help quell trouble from IAM himself, one of two deities of this planet. A Sybil is a rare individual indeed; one who normally serves as an advisor to a Warlord. Well, that’s how it was in days of old. In current times, people don’t believe in such things. They find them silly and IAM isn’t as active as he was previously.” Moordin paused before continuing. “I wouldn’t have believed it at first, but you have just described a recent event in detail that you couldn’t have possibly known. The last Sybil was, well, given your lineage, it really irks me how I didn’t foresee this until now.”
“Wait, are you saying the reason that you knew me and Rolce would be all right in the woods is because a Sybil foresaw it?” Gisbo asked.
“Correct. Most of what we Renegades do results directly from the insight of a Sybil. There was thought to be only one Sybil left on Thera and he is a personal advisor to our Renegade Chieftain, Narroway. Sybil Honj is his name and he is a good friend of mine when he is not busy with Renegade affairs,” Moordin said. Rolce wore a look of total bafflement as Moordin continued.
“You must understand that none of the information is ever concrete however, but it is better than nothing. What is given is enough to guide us along the path deemed ours by IAM. His ways are mysterious and we know not their purpose; only that they are, indeed, for our benefit and his. It seems IAM has spoken through you tonight, Rolce, and you must keep an open mind. Be ever vigilant, do you understand?” Moordin said seriously. Rolce nodded in response.
“Also, you must keep what you have seen tonight a secret. Do not discuss this matter with anyone else,” Moordin repeated and again Rolce nodded in response.
“And the same goes for your idiot apprentice!” he said, shooting a look at Falcon before pointing at Gisbo.
“Hey! So what are we going to do? How are we going to get him back? No kid deserves what has happened to him, he belongs here with us!” said Gisbo.
“YOU aren’t going to do anything. Focus on your training. We must be patient in the matter. Much needs to be discussed,” Falcon told Gisbo.
“But he could die at any second! We have to help him!” Gisbo insisted until he was cut off.
“There are much bigger things developing right now behind the scenes that you both have no business in. Focus on your training and let us know if you dream anything else, Rolce.
Leave this matter to those who CAN do something about it. All will be fine my friend. Trust me,” Falcon said with a confident grin.
“But . . . but . . . you make it sound like there are more important things! What could be more important then to save Foxblade’s son?” Gisbo blubbered. Foxblade's eyes sparked upon this statement.
“Who told you Jackobi was my son?” Foxblade asked.
“He looked just like you, I only just assumed and told Gisbo,” Rolce stammered.
“I know what is best for my boy. Don’t fret yourselves. As for this matter, I agree with Falcon: train hard so one day you can help us in such matters.” Foxblade said, emotionless.
“So Jackobi is his name, huh? That’s so easy for you guys to say! You aren’t the ones left in the dark! Who was that evil guy Rolce saw? He’s the one who was gathering up all the Renegas-to-be, wasn’t he?! Why are you guys shutting us out? You wouldn’t have known any of this if we didn’t tell you! It’s awful what he’s doing! Go kick his ass or something!” Gisbo ranted. Falcon got up and walked over to Gisbo to look into his eyes.
“Listen to me, Gisbo. I know this troubles you; you have a good heart and you want to save Jackobi. For that I am proud, but you must be patient. This is only one of many troubling matters that have arisen lately. It is out of your realm of concern. There will be a time for the both of you to battle alongside us, but only when you are properly trained. Stay focused, grow strong and let us do what we must. Pleasant night to the both of you,” Falcon finished as he raised himself to full height. With that, the class masters were out the door.
“Well, they were a real help! I don’t like this, we're more lost than when we started. Rolce, start talking to whatshisface up in the sky and get us that location!” Gisbo yelled.
“It’s not like I’m some kind of freakin’ mailbox! I didn’t know I could do it before. I’m just as lost as you and, besides, I thought you didn’t believe in IAM?” Rolce accused.
“I don’t, but we gotta help Jackobi! So come on, start talking to him,” Gisbo ranted.
“I hate it when you get like this. You don’t believe in him, but you want me to talk to him? You don’t make sense!” Rolce rebutted.
“Gahhhh! I can’t think good when I’m frustrated!” Gisbo admitted in a growl.
“You can’t think WELL, period! Besides, we don’t even know how to use Elekai’ yet. How do you suppose a couple of Renegas without an ounce of essence are going to go up against a guy like that and save the day? This isn’t some schoolyard brawl anymore, Gisbo, this guy is a killer! Falcon’s right, we have to prepare. From now on, we really have to focus on our training if we are going to do anything,” Rolce said, frustrated as well. Gisbo couldn't come up with anything else.
“I’ll take your lack of response as a way of saying I’m right. Let's really work hard tomorrow and the days to come. All right?” Rolce asked politely this time.
“Alright, let's get some sleep then, but first things first,” Gisbo said, as he made his way to the cleansing room.
“Oh come on! Let me get in there first before you stink up the place! Gisbo! HEY!” Rolce yelled, but Gisbo had already locked the door.
A little while later, Rolce was snoring peacefully until he was suddenly thrust awake with Gisbo poking him with his foot.
“Have any dreams yet?” Gisbo asked, sitting up.
“How can I have dreams if you KEEP WAKING ME UP? Seriously, how your brain allows your body to function is beyond my intelligence. GOODNIGHT! ” Rolce said and he was back asleep in no time, leaving a restless Gisbo to toss and turn in anticipation all throughout the night.
Chapter Eleven: An Ominous Threat
As summer went by, Gisbo actually began to enjoy his busy schedule. Getting up early was of course a struggle, but once he was up, he enjoyed attending his morning classes and working with his new friends, Grandfield and Shaved. Friendship was something of a luxury before Heaven’s Shelter and it still felt a bit odd to him after being alone for so long, but he also realized it was something he could get used to. All the boys had different jobs to do and worked well together. Rolce ended up taking care of the financial end of the store, handling the accounting as well as figuring out clever ways to save the shop money through his various economic and mathematical skills.
Shaved helped Ernie and Dave with the production and engineering side, making his father quite proud of his natural ability for the trade, and even Knob stopped in once in a while to help, offering up several blue-print designs for odd gadgets he was tampering with. Grandfield was also a big help, taking care of the customer service and sales, convincing many purchasers with an unlikely charm he himself didn’t realize he had. As for Gisbo, he was not overjoyed with his position, but he didn’t mind it either. Unlike his friends, he didn’t have the patience for people with stupid questions, nor the patience for craftsmanship and especially he lacked the patience for crunching numbers. The only thing left was all the manual labor, janitorial and gopher work around the shop.
After work, Gisbo and Rolce became accustomed to fishing. This was something Gisbo found he did have the patience for and, oddly enough, it relaxed him immensely just being out in the woods on a warm summer day by the still waters. Falcon and Moordin joined them frequently to take part in the male bonding.
In this fashion, the weeks went by and both boys found themselves holders of new titles engraved proudly across their belts. Rolce was awarded several, including the mark of intellect for reciting an entire chapter of a textbook. He floored his competition by nearly two thousand words and also crushed all competition in non-essence arm wrestling. Symbols in the shape of a question mark and a bicep now pulsated on his belt.
As for Gisbo, he defended his eating championship three times that summer and, due to an unnoticeable low blow, stole the title for non-essence sparring from right under a Renegara’s nose and took the symbol of a pulsating fist for his own belt. For Gisbo and Rolce, as far as they knew, this was the best summer was of their lives and their friendship with one another grew to the point that it felt as if they had known each other their whole lives.
Upon summer’s completion, the days of autumn grew quickly upon them. Forest leaves began turning various colors, floated to the ground and were swept along on the breeze in a streaming collage. Strangely enough, the tropical trees didn’t mind the colder weather at all. They remained just as green and lush as when Gisbo first saw them.
For Gisbo and especially Grandfield, their favorite part of fall in Heaven’s Shelter was the tantalizing smells wafting from the commons. Every morning the boys would stroll through on their way to class to be greeted by the aromas of pumpkin and apple pies, pumpkin bread and apple crisp and the sweet smell of hot caramel. These days Grandfield arrived a little later then usual, unable to resist purchasing a candied apple on a stick with coconut topping, a personal favorite. Surprisingly, Roarie did not seem to mind.
In fact, everybody, including Grandfield, was showing magnificent improvement upon their first days and, as the weeks flew by, their teacher went from uptight sociopath to relatively easy going, even friendly. Even Gisbo developed a deep thankfulness for the woman as he completed his exercises with ease now and felt the results of his strength training in everything he did.
Roarie’s exercises put him in the kind of shape he had never thought possible. He felt powerful, with a deadly agility to match. He figured that with his luck so far, taking on another wolf pack would be no sweat. Even more incredible however was that, for the first time in his career as a student, Gisbo had not once gotten into trouble! He was even able to shun Ranto’s obvious attempts at a fight, not because he had learned patience, Thera wasn’t meant to spin backward you know, but because the thought of rescuing Jackobi focused his mind these days. But today was a new day and with it, there was always an opportunity for someone to rub him the wrong way . . .
One breezy morning the boys arrived early to class for a change. The previous day Roarie had told th
em that she would have an important announcement and everyone waited in anticipation. By now they were used to their routine of daily workouts and this break from convention felt strange. Finally, their instructor arrived on the field with her band of Renegara helpers.
“Good morning, my fighters! As of yesterday, you may have noticed how easy it was for you to complete your exercises. Why, you ask? It’s because you have reached the requirements for Renega training and I, as your beautiful instructor, am deeply proud! You have all shown much dedication and improvement and I hope that at least now you understand why I was so hard on you initially. You are warriors and life won’t throw you any favors, especially in the middle of a fight. Now, my good boys and girls, you are ready to take the next step in your Renega training,” Roarie said, face beaming with satisfaction. With this, she held up several shiny metallic rings which glistened in a rainbow of colors in the morning sunlight.
“These are your first Elekai’ rings. You won’t see these babies anywhere outside Heaven’s Shelter. Many other cultures still hold the stones by hand. Pitiful, I know, but you will be different,” Roarie said as she held her own ring up in the light.
“These rings are made in the same fashion as all Elekai’ weapons. We grind up the stone and bond it with steel, making our essence much more convenient to call upon. These rings will prove to be the conduit for exceptional skills later on, but as of right now, you won’t use your essence until prepared,” Roarie cautioned as she paced back and forth with her arms behind her back.
“When these rings are placed upon your fingers, they will begin to churn the essence within you, preparing it for the right time when you will finally release it upon training for your third band. Should you fall out of shape, you will quickly feel the consequences. The essence will prepare itself much slower and will cause your body immense pain. Think of a flowing river and then slowly, as your body falls out of shape, a dam grows in the middle of it, stopping it and building up pressure. The river of course doesn’t stop. It will always find a way around it. If not through it, it will find another way, like, possibly, bursting right through your very skin,” Roarie continued. Grandfield gulped and dropped his caramel coated apple to the ground.