Renegade Reborn

by J. C. Fiske

  “Um, why?” Gisbo asked.

  “Why? Well, just look at yourself. Any grandson of mine wouldn’t have wandered about these past few years, drinkin’ himself into a damned pity party every night. Would he? Nah, no grandson of mine would do that. No son of Falcon or my daughter would ever turn out to be such a little fairy ass,” Vadid scoffed, spitting on the ground. Gisbo, at first, was speechless, then, he felt his anger rise, and let the man before him have it.

  “You know what? SCREW YOU! What I do with my life is none of your damned business! Vadid the Valiant? Pah! I knew it. I knew you were too good to be true. Never meet your legends, never meet your heroes in person they say, you know why? ‘Cause they end up being big old, giant pricks! Let’s turn this back on you! See how you like it! Where the hell have you been, huh!? Where the hell is here? And, why, WHY didn’t you stop him!? Why didn’t you stop him from coming back! You could have! You could have been there! Everything, everything I’ve done . . . could have been stopped, you, you could have stopped me! Could have saved, Dad . . . could have saved, Kennis, oh, Kennis . . . WHERE WERE YOU!? WHY DID YOU RUN OUT ON US!? YOU COULD HAVE SAVED EVERYONE!” Gisbo screamed, suddenly out of breath, thrusting a finger forward.

  Vadid stared at him for a long moment.

  “Think you got something on your face. Right about here,” Vadid said, fingering his own chin.

  “Huh?” Gisbo asked, taken aback, when suddenly his jaw exploded with pain and he felt his head jerk back to the right, so violently, his body followed with it. He felt a weightless sensation, and then, had the wind knocked out of him as he fell to the ground hard upon his back. The night sky above him was spinning, and one by one, the stars seemed to be going out. He had to fight for consciousness, and blinked furiously until finally, the stars came back into focus. With much effort he rose onto shaky feet, stumbling a little to the left before righting his balance.

  “You, you hit me?” Gisbo asked, bewildered.

  “Reckon’ so,” Vadid said.

  “WHY!?” Gisbo demanded.

  “Because only someone from the McCarley line could take a punch like that, and get up for more,” Vadid said. He spit out his cigar and the corner of his mouth stretched into a wry smile as he took a few steps and stood before Gisbo. “I think you and I, we have a few things to get off our chests. Don’t you?”

  Gisbo opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came.

  “Well, don’t start all at once or anything.” Vadid said, folding his arms. Gisbo could only stare, dumbfounded. His mind flashed back to Vadid’s golden statue, and how he felt upon seeing it his first day in Heaven’s Shelter. Back then, it was larger than life, but now, standing before the real man, it seemed as if something big was all around him, pressing down. It was something dangerous, raw, and wild. It was something that didn’t apologize, gave no quarter, but above all, it felt . . . good. Gisbo knew that if this man was on your side there was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect you, and all you stood for. He was like a walking sanctuary, a real live Heaven’s Shelter, and suddenly, the giant golden statue made sense. It wasn’t there for vanity’s sake. It was there to inspire, and cast that same feeling of protection, and safety.

  “I’ve read about you, and the Renegades, my whole life. Your stories, everything about you, they, they brought me out of dark places, I, gah, my head is spinning. I feel like my heart is . . .” Gisbo started.

  “ . . . Beating like a teenaged girl?” Vadid asked.

  “Yes! I mean, NO!” Gisbo exclaimed. Vadid laughed a deep, hearty laugh and Gisbo, felt the top of his head being ruffled.

  “You’re an even bigger fool than your old man, Jenny, and coming from me, that’s a compliment.” Vadid said.

  “I think you have an odd way of saying compliments,” Gisbo said. Vadid gave Gisbo a hard stare, making him uncomfortable and again, Gisbo got that weighted feeling all around him. A few long moments later, Vadid sighed.

  “I think I’m gonna need a few beers to loosen my tongue. Why don’t you come inside, help your Granddaddy out,” Vadid said.

  “Hey, wait! Did you not just say I spent my life drinking it away?” Gisbo asked.

  “Reckon I did, only because you’ve been doin’ it wrong.” Vadid said.

  “Doing it wrong? How have I been . . .” Gisbo started.

  “A man drinks whiskey to forget, and beer to remember.” Vadid said.

  “Um,” Gisbo started.

  “Or another way to say it, a man drinks whiskey to escape the pain, and beer to face it.” Vadid said.

  “I think there’s a few recovering alcoholics out there that would disagree with that statement . . .” Gisbo said.

  “But they don’t have the Drakeness flowin’ through ‘em do they? Just as the cigars helped your father cope, the beer will help you.” Vadid said, raising a finger. “But only if you follow these simple steps. Unlike your father, who saw his father destroyed by the drink, he hardly ever touched the stuff, but you, you’re a little different. Ain’t ya?”

  “You could say that . . . so, say I believe you. What are these steps?” Gisbo asked.

  “Rule one, no hard liquor, ever, ever again. Rule two, never drink alone. Rule three, no beer funnels or shotgunning. Stick with that battle plan, add a few cigars into the mix, and I feel your Drakeness will be a great deal easier to manage.” Vadid said.

  “So, you’re telling me that as long as I forget the liquor, and stick with the beer, I can keep on drinking? It’s, it’s ok?” Gisbo asked excitedly.

  “You’re an adult. You do whatcha want. I ain’t offerin’ answers, only advice. Now, get in there and help your Granddaddy slay a few beers. Hell, I’ll even throw on a few steaks. Wadaya say?” Vadid asked as he smacked Gisbo in the back.

  “So, that’s a yes? I can have a beer?” Gisbo asked. Vadid gave him a bored look.

  “Do you want a beer?” Vadid asked.

  “I . . . you’re goddamned right I do!” Gisbo said, smiling, as he followed Vadid inside who tossed him a cold one from his icebox, then, pulled out some steaks, threw them on the indoor grill, and began cooking.

  Gisbo did his best to drink the beer slowly, but before he knew it, it was dead, and he was ready for another, but before he could ask a familiar smell of mixed ingredients hit his sinuses hard. It was a smell that immediately transported him back to countless nights in Heaven Shelter where he, Rolce, Falcon, Moordin, and Foxblade would sit about eating Falcon’s famed marinated steaks.

  “I know that smell, it’s his recipe . . .” Gisbo said. Vadid turned around, true surprise upon his face.

  “HIS recipe? Well, I’ll be damned . . . you mean to tell me your bonehead father began passing off MY recipe as his own?” Vadid asked.

  “Um,” Gisbo stammered.

  “Hrmph,” Vadid grumbled. A few minutes later, Vadid turned around with two plates, one for each of them, and placed them down upon the table. Gisbo sat down and stared at his steak and green vegetables, and picked up the steak between two fingers, holding it up, spinning it from side to side.

  “This thing’s black as an asshole . . .” Gisbo said.

  “Quit your bellyachin’! It’s fine! Go ahead, eat up, I . . . ok, fine, listen, between you and I, Sally, thing is, yes, I did come up with the marinade, but I was never good at the execution. I had your Daddy do all the cooking for me. Grilling a steak just right, well, that is an art form in and of itself, and it’s beyond my talents. You’d figure with all the time I’ve had here I’d have perfected grilling by now . . .” Vadid started.

  “Stay right here,” Gisbo said, getting up.

  “’Scuse me?” Vadid asked.

  “I said, stay right there. Give me these hockey pucks,” Gisbo said.

  “Hockey pucks!?” Vadid asked, offended, as Gisbo picked up their plates, and tossed the black steaks into the garbage.

  “What do you think yer doin’ there, Mary?” Vadid asked.

  “Grilling. And the name’s, Gisbo, not Mary, no
t Susan, not Sally, and not fairy ass.” Gisbo said.

  “I wondered if you’d ever speak up. I never called you fairy ass though. That’s rightfully hurtful.” Vadid said.

  “A man who can’t grill is rightfully hurtful,” Gisbo said, cocking his eye toward Vadid.

  “Hrmph,” Vadid grunted, folding his arms and trying to shoot Gisbo a stern look, but beneath it all, Gisbo could tell he was fighting back a smile.

  Gisbo opened the icebox, pulled out two new slabs of marinated meat, and went to work searing each side for about three minutes, then, after giving the steaks five minutes to breathe, he presented his delicacy to Vadid for approval. Vadid looked down at it, inspecting it carefully.

  “This grill line here, it’s crooked,” Vadid said, poking the steak with a big, sausage finger.

  “Eat it, then I dare you to try calling me Nancy again.” Gisbo snapped. Vadid grunted in reply and cut into the meat, surprised that it hardly needed any effort. It split like butter, and moments later; he popped a piece in his mouth. First his eyes went wide, and then they closed, relishing the taste, the taste that transported his mind back to some of the best days of his life.

  “Well?” Gisbo asked.

  “I . . . I . . . it’s terrible,” Vadid said, forcing a grimace.

  “Fine, then I’ll just take this and . . .” Gisbo started, reaching for the plate, when Vadid leapt atop it with two big hands like a dog would protecting its prized bone.

  “NO! Don’t you dare!” Vadid said as he picked up the steak with his bare hands and gobbled it down, until it was gone, and he was out of breath.

  “Good?” Gisbo asked. Vadid leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling with awe reflecting in his eyes.

  “Gizzy, you’ve got the gift.” Vadid said. Gisbo beamed, hearing his name being said by his Grandfather, even if it was a shortened version.

  “So, that’s a yes?” Gisbo asked.

  “The memories that taste is bringing back . . .” Vadid started, when suddenly, the awe left his eyes and his face went stone cold. “ . . . Brings us right to the point. Drakearon . . . “ Vadid said the name with disgust, letting the word hang out there a moment before continuing. “I had Jackobi bring you to that hell of an island for a reason.”

  “How? Why? Answer in any order you please,” Gisbo said.

  “Gladly. That’s why you’re here afterall. Answers. As you know, Jack has a connection to the Phoenix’s energies due to his mother, who had the blood of a Mystical, or, angel if you will, flowing through her veins. That’s why he’s so close to you, feels when things go wrong, but only if you allow it.

  As to why, the Phoenix blade goes where there is evil, and you faced that evil, Gizzy, faced it head on. With my courage, your mother’s fearlessness, and your father’s tenacity flowing through you, hell, evil knew it couldn’t face you head on, or, hide from your sight, so instead, it did the only thing it could, it hid inside you, trying to corrupt you from the inside out, and you lost your light, but even without it, even in the darkness, you gave it no quarter, fighting it the only way you could, fighting it the same way your other Grandaddy did, with drink.

  It’s only natural, Gizzy, but remember, there are two types of people in this world. Those who face what’s inside them, and those who keep running . . . that’s all wanderlust is, Gisbo. It’s glorified running. It’s people taking physical journeys to avoid the journey inside. To journey inward, is to face and feel some of the most excruciating pains life has to offer, for it is there you will see the naked you, the real you, not the one you let the world see, and for some, it’s much easier to just live a lie, to keep moving, rather than sit your ass down, and face your pain.

  But before anything gets said, you have to know, right now, above everything, that what happened in Heaven’s Shelter, was not your fault,” Vadid said.

  “But it was,” Gisbo said.

  “Bullshit. Your heart has a glory, Gizzy, and your glory is needed now. I’ve seen your heart, and it is good. I’ve watched you grow from a young boy, to the man you are, and I, I am so proud you. I know everything about you, and I’ve been waiting here, for you, in this place between time and space.” Vadid said.

  “Why?” Gisbo asked.

  “You said it yourself. Something’s broken inside you, but who did the breaking? It was him, it was Drakearon, and he’s just getting started with you. He arrived that day in Heaven’s Shelter for one thing, and one thing only. In a war, Gisbo, the one thing that’s even more important than strategy, is to take away the heart of your opponent. Do you know the best way to do that?” Vadid asked.

  Gisbo shook his head.

  “You destroy their heroes. Don’t misunderstand me. You can destroy a hero without killing them. To kill a hero is to make them a martyr. It gives people heart, rather than taking it, but, if you destroy the hero, take the best of them, break them, take away their light, then the people are left to wander in darkness . . .

  You see, it’s a very rare thing for someone to know who they are, and what they want. Such people are not guarded. Such people hold nothing back. Such people say what they mean and mean what they say. Do you know why? It’s because they know of no other way. It’s because they live from a heart fully alive!” Vadid said, pausing for a smile. “But, you know what's the most amazing part about these sorts of people? They’re usually never geniuses. They’re usually never prodigies.

  They’re just people who understand failure like a native tongue. They’re people who know pain like a lover. They’re people who get knocked down only to come back stronger. They’re people who let others deal with the weight of their strength, handle it, so that in time they may grow stronger themselves. They’re people where even if the heavenly host were to come down, and ask, ‘How is it you stand there, and endure the searing light of the heavens?’ Such people would look the divine right in the eyes, and answer without pause, ‘Because, I’ve stood through Hell.’”

  Now, why? Why would someone like Drakearon single out someone like you?” Vadid asked.

  “Because he’s an asshole?” Gisbo said.

  “True, very true, but the main reason, is because you are one of these rare people I speak of, Gisbo. He singled you out because, deep down, he’s afraid of you, and he damn well should be. You have the blood of a hundred McCarley’s before you flooding through those veins. He has every right to be afraid. Don’t you get it, Gizzy? You were the best of them, but not because you were gifted, or chosen, or special. No, you were the best of them because you were none of those things. You’re a living, breathing, shitting example of how far grit and tenacity can take someone, and how having faith in who you are, means more than who you were. That’s why! One only attacks someone, sets up such an awful series of events for one reason, Gisbo.” Vadid said, leaning in closer. “Out of fear,”

  “Hm,” Gisbo muttered.

  “At one point in time, the universe demanded a Man-Phoenix such as myself. Not now. I am not the Man-Phoenix this world needs, not anymore, because, as much as it chaps my ass to admit this, I can’t beat Drakearon, and he, he can’t beat me . . .” Vadid said.

  “You’re talking about how the energies, the Phoenix and the Dragon’s and how they’re equal in strength and repel each other. I threw all I had at him, and, it was all rebounded back to me.” Gisbo said. Vadid’s eye lifted at this.

  “That what you think happened?” Vadid asked.

  “What do you mean?” Gisbo asked.

  “There is much more to it than that. That’s not the reason we can’t defeat one another.” Vadid said.

  “But, I have the same power as you. What makes you think I can hurt him?” Gisbo said.

  Vadid only thrust out a finger and pressed it against Gisbo’s forehead.

  “Are you going to give me the whole, mind over matter speech? Because, I already heard it from Vice and . . .” Gisbo started.

  “No, Gizzy. The reason why you are different, the reason why you are the Man-Phoenix thi
s world needs right now is because of what lies behind that bandanna. The mark of Drakearon.

  You, Gisbo, have a piece of his darkness inside you now. The Dragon didn’t create the Drakeness, Drakearon did, through the Dragon’s power, and just like Oak County made you strong, that mark will keep you strong as well. As you know, you will be hunted by evil and temptation constantly. You can’t help it now. Anytime you resist, you will shine, and grow a little bit stronger. Drakearon hasn’t ruined you. Just the opposite! He’s given you a fighting chance!

  All of it, everything you’ve been through, every event that has happened to you is the rite and passage for every Man-Phoenix. Do you know where the Phoenix’ power comes from? Do you know why it’s such an influential icon? It’s because, over and over again, for eternity, the Phoenix dies, only to rise again from the ashes, stronger than before.

  You have seen things, Gizzy, things that others cannot comprehend. You have lost things others cannot understand, and you have felt pain, pain that others cannot endure, and despite it all, you’ve risen above it, out of your own ashes, to fly higher than before! That’s why The Renegades cloak themselves in the colors of the Phoenix. They believe pain is the pathway to strength and when one is a disciple of pain, they know it not as an enemy, but as a friend.

  The most misinterpreted aspect of the Man-Phoenix is that they are chosen, or gifted. No. Such power is not bestowed, nor is it given. It is earned, earned through the harshest of realties. Your powers come from constant death and rebirth, over and over again, but of an inner nature. A Man-Phoenix, at its core, is an everyday man, an average Joe, who fought against his own limitations, to become something more.

  Another misinterpretation is that a Man-Phoenix is invincible. Hardly. If anything, they are more at risk when using their powers, and . . . well, I best not say too much. You’ll learn that for yourself, maybe, if you survive the training before the training, but we’ll talk about that later.” Vadid said.