Renegade Reborn

by J. C. Fiske

  “Give it here, Tanya, before you hurt yourself,” Vadid asked, holding out an empty hand.

  “See! I knew it! Now you’re going to obliterate the rock! You could have just done that from the start!” Gisbo said.

  “Not true. You had no idea what could have happened. You predicted right, but you didn’t know you were right, until you tried. The unknown is what makes life livable. If you just assume, or know what's going to happen, and don’t bother trying, you aren't living, you're just existing.

  Life is about existing to live, not living to exist. There’s a difference, Gizzy. I know that if you’re anything like your father, and you are, you’re only going to get it right by getting it wrong.” Vadid said. Now, with the blade in his hand, he casually walked over to the boulder, burst the blade into a fiery blue and white, reached up, and touched the tip of the sword to the top of the rock.

  “You have will, you have resolve, but without dreams and passion behind your swings, the sword will be fragile, heavy, and useless, just like your life. But, when your swings have the right sort of back up . . .” Vadid started, when suddenly, slowly, like a hot knife through butter, he began to cut the rock in two. Gisbo marveled as pebbles gave way and sputtered down the perfectly straight line he was making down the rock.

  “I know who I am. I know why I fight. I know what I stand for. I know what I want. That’s why the blade works for me, with me. It’s not a hindrance, or a burden. When I hold it, it feels like another extension of my self. You were close once to feeling the way I do, and you’ll get there again, with time, and if you think you can’t, well, that’s what I’m here for.” Vadid said, smiling.

  “I, I think I understand now,” Gisbo said quietly.

  “Understand what?” Vadid asked, pulling the sword from the stone.

  “I understand why Drakearon killed so much of what I loved, so fast. That much damage, it changes a man. He said so himself. His dual-blade sword, it makes two slices, too close together, so that when you try and stitch up one, it opens up the other.” Gisbo said, hanging his head. “I can’t grieve, I can’t heal . . . one would will always be open, festering, but that’s ok. Through all of this, it hasn’t made me bitter, or resentful, it’s made me, it’s made me . . .” Gisbo started, searching for the right word.

  “Compassionate? Kind?” Vadid asked. Gisbo looked up, and smiled.

  “Exactly. It’s hard to explain, I don’t understand it myself, but, I’ll always hurt, and as long as I do, all I can think about it is stopping him from doing this to someone else . . . thinking about it, he’s right. He did make me who I am, but no way in hell have I become what he wanted. He had me for a moment, and what an awful moment it was, but that moment, it’s gone now, and the rest of my life? It’s mine, and I won’t rest, I won’t stop, until he’s answered for everything he’s done . . .” Gisbo said, his mouth forming a snarl. Vadid smiled.

  “You need more than just a dream of bringing Drakearon down. He’s just one man. The sword won’t respond to something so trivial. You need more. You need to think of others, sure, but you can’t forget about yourself. A wise man that I met in my travels by the name Howard Thurman summed it up for me. He once wrote,

  “Don't ask yourself what the world needs; ask yourself what makes you come alive. And then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”

  Look deep, Gisbo, and tell me, what makes your heart come alive?” Vadid asked.

  “Fighting and being an Elekai’ warrior, was all I ever wanted at one point, but really, it summed up to one thing, proving myself, and I did just that, then, used my abilities to protect my friends, and family . . . I felt satisfied, I saw a life with Kennis, a fairy tale ending. I wanted just enough to care about, but not enough to worry, but, well, we all know how that turned out.” Gisbo said, taking in a deep breath, and letting it out, fighting back sudden moisture coming to his eyes. “When I was with her I had a new dream, my dream was to come home to her every night,”

  Gisbo sniffled a bit, and took in a shaky breath, a new light in his eyes.

  “But now, I find myself thinking of the people who’ve come into my life. They all had a thing, a thing besides fighting to help others in some way, whether it was knowledge, writing, music, art, cooking, they all had something. But, all I have, is fighting . . . that’s, that’s not much to go on. I really don’t know what my passion is. I don’t really have a thing.”

  Gisbo felt Vadid’s strong, firm grasp on his shoulder. The legend of a man grinned and looked him right in the eyes.

  “You truly are the Man-Phoenix this world needs, Gisbo. I was hoping you’d say something like that.” Vadid said.

  “Why do you keep saying that? You just said I needed passions and dreams and well, I can’t think of any . . . that’s not the sort of Man-Phoenix this world needs,” Gisbo said.

  “Listen to me. The way I see it, when I hear someone say that they don’t know their passion, it usually means one thing. People are their passion. Their passion is the well being of others. Their heart is so full of compassion and sincerity that it knows little else.” Vadid said. Gisbo fought back a smile, but lost.

  “How do you do that?” Gisbo asked.

  “Do what?” Vadid asked.

  “Just, make it all make sense? Make me feel this way?” Gisbo asked.

  “Because, I’m Vadid the Valiant. Your training begins now. Is your stupid ass ready for the beating of its life?” Vadid asked.

  “It’s ready! I mean, I’m ready!” Gisbo said.

  “All your training thus far, with your father, with Foxblade, even with Vice, all of it, was just to prepare your body for this. Before you train with me, you must train FOR the training.” Vadid said.

  “Say what?” Gisbo asked.

  “It’s been too long since I’ve sparred with another, and frankly, if I lose focus for one stray moment, I could kill you before Drakearon even gets a chance.” Vadid said.

  “Damn . . .” Gisbo said.

  “That’s why, before you can officially train under me, you will go under the same training I’ve undergone, and if you survive this, then just maybe, you can survive me.” Vadid said.

  “I can take it. What’s this training?” Gisbo said.

  “Heh, you say that now. I call it, Ethereal Continuum. Count yourself lucky, because besides me, you will be the only other person in the universe to undergo this. To sum it up, you will be spending your first three years training under the best warrior cultures I’ve come across in my travels through Time and Space, and upon returning here, it will be as if you’ve lived three different lifetimes. I say, when you return here, because, I’m going to be sending your essence, your soul, out into the time fluxes while your body will remain here. This can only be done once, and it is very, very dangerous for you, and also for me. I’m going to be playing with Time and Space along with your very life.

  Here, your body will remain, and for each warrior you bind with, a year will pass, but while your essence is walking in these men’s literal shoes, a lifetime will pass in relative time in your mind. Three lifetimes, one for each year . . . when the three years are up, their knowledge, their movements, their skills, will become yours. Your body will also under go and reflect the changes of your knowledge, absorbing, applying the information, and toning your muscles, because your mind, will make it real. When we’re all done with you Gisbo, you will become something that every Renegade dreams of . . .” Vadid said.

  “I’ve heard this before . . . I’ll become a self made man?” Gisbo asked.

  “No! You’ll become like me!” Vadid said, winking. “But, more accurately, a man with a nameless style . . . a true Renegade.”

  “Ok, so, let me get this straight. Somehow, I’m going to become three different people, binding my soul with them to live out their entire lives in one space where time flows normally, absorbing their skills and knowledge into my mind and body that will stay here in accelerated time?” Gisbo asked.<
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  “That’s the jist of it. Any more questions?” Vadid said. Gisbo thought for a long moment, chewing on the inside of his mouth, then, his eyes lit up with a question.

  “How will I poop?” Gisbo asked matter of factly. Vadid’s jaw dropped open.

  “The knowledge and mysteries of Time and Space before you, and the first thing that comes to your mind, is how you’ll defecate?!” Vadid asked, raising his voice.

  “I only have one pair of pants here, guy! It’s an important question if you’re going to be staying here for four years smelling my rank ass!” Gisbo said.

  “I will never understand you and your father’s obsession with bathroom humor . . .” Vadid said, rubbing a hand down his face.

  “Ok, how about this? If you’re accelerating time here, then won’t Drakearon win? I thought you said the one reason why we came here is because time moves slowly here!” Gisbo said.

  “Ok, that’s better. The space here will remain its slow pace relative to Thera’s time. What I’m going to be doing is opening a link, a bubble of Space that will surround us. Within that bubble, time will flow faster, and put us in a state of hibernation, but, in the process, it will age us both three years, no, five years, including your time with me, compared to Thera’s time.” Vadid said.

  “So, when I go back, I’m going to be five years older than all my friends?” Gisbo asked.

  “In your case? I think they’ll welcome the maturity that comes with age.” Vadid said, giving Gisbo a studying gaze. “If, it comes. You ready for this?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. So, what do I need to do?” Gisbo asked.

  “It’s simple. Just open your eyes, Gisbo.” Vadid said, smiling.

  “Open my . . .” Gisbo started, then he did.

  When I hear the word, “Tenacity”, the first thing that comes to my mind is the Apache warrior. It is from them that I learned honor is for your friend, not your enemy. Even under impossible odds, they would find a way to victory because, in their minds, they had already won. They were fire under control, and much like the Shininja class, they would scout for a weakness, wait until the last possible moment, and explode with everything they had.

  You will now walk in the strides of my dear friend, Geronimo, most famous and the greatest embodiment of their unrelenting warrior culture. Learn from him to control your inner fire not just in battle, but to glow bright for your comrades as well. Even now, in their world, centuries and decades later, his name is still used as a battlecry, and for a warrior, there is no greater honor! – Vadid the Valiant

  “I had the nightmare again,” Goyahkla said.

  “Of the evil spirits?” Chappo asked.

  “They were not spirits, Chappo. They were whole and unlike anything of this world,” Goyahkla said.

  “What did they look like?” Chappo asked.

  “I cannot . . . remember. Already, the dream fades,” Goyahkla said. Chappo then smacked him on the back.

  “A nightmare forgotten is a boon to your psyche brother. Let it go,” Chappo said, stretching and lighting his pipe.

  “Do you think Alope will like this?” Goyahkla asked, holding out the amethyst jewel. Chappo puffed and way and shook his head.

  “She’ll love it. That I’m sure of,” Chappo said.

  “I do hope so. The albino elk fur traded well, as I imagined it would. With this jewel and these supplies, our village will be able to live comfortably for a little while,” Goyahkla said.

  “Even if you did stretch the truth about the white elk’s mysticism a tad,” Chappo said, as together, they made it over the crest of the hill.

  “What the brown skins won’t know won’t hurt them. In fact I . . .” Goyahkla started, then, the two of them froze.

  “Smoke . . .” Chappo said out of reflex. Not just smoke, but smoke so wide and grand it seemed to have a life of its own, and its source came from the destination of where their greatest treasure lay.

  Their families.

  They said not a word, only ran. Chappo dropped his pipe from his mouth and did not bother to retrieve it. They rushed with as much vigor as they could muster, breaking from the path and charging through branches, ignoring the whipping stings across their faces. Within minutes they arrived. Their worst fear realized.

  Fire, everywhere with an odd, horrible smell they had never known before, but would soon be used too. The smell of burning flesh. Bodies of their friends and family were stacked in piles like kindling, but even through it all, the worst of it lay beyond the fire. There, three drunken brown skins took turns laughing, and raping the dead body of Goyahkla’s beautiful wife, Alope. With every thrust, every squeal of delight, a piece of Goyahkla’s soul disappeared, but didn’t die. No, not dead, but replaced, replaced with something far more deadly, darker and decadent.

  Every movement from here on after was what came naturally to an Apache warrior. Goyahkla felt cold, out of himself, calm, as he withdrew his knife, moved like a shadow and snuck up behind the farthest from the crowd and slit his throat cleanly. As the man’s throat filled with bile and blood, all the Spanish soldier could do was fall to the ground, hemorrhage, then die. His companions did not even notice as Goyahkla and Chappo made their way through the camp and slit the throats of two more in the same fashion before Goyahkla, in a moment so unlike him, burst from cover and purposely revealed himself to the last three remaining men.

  The first man clumsily attacked with a cutlass, but for a knifefighter, a skilled one at that, a wild swing of a cutlass could be dodged as easily as breathing. Goyahkla felt the blade miss by a whole foot and hit the ground behind him with a clumsy clang. The rank of the man’s breath was heavy and stirred his senses for only a moment, as he plunged his knife downward right above the ball behind the man’s neck, shutting down all brain activity . . . forever.

  Wordless, Chappo could not move, frozen as he watched his friend move with the wind and strike like lightning as he pulled his blade from the nape of the man’s neck and with a flick, cut the throat of the second oncoming attacker, then, moved onto the last remaining man, the one he saw had mounted his wife.

  Rather than attack, the man stumbled back, naked from the waist down, his manhood hanging out in full reveal, the same manhood that had raped and murdered his wife . . .

  In the Spanish tongue, Goyahkla did not understand what the man was saying, but he didn’t have to. He knew a cry for mercy when he heard one. When it was clear Goyahkla was fresh out, the man began to plead to the sky, uttering yells and shouts to a Saint Jerome, over and over, as quickly as he could, making his shouts sound oddly like the word, “Geronimo”.

  In one lunge, Goyahlka closed the gap between them, and caught the man by the front of his long, spike of a beard, and snapped his head down, then brought the knife down atop his tailbone. The man screamed, GERONIMO! And fell flat on his face, but clearly, Goyahkla did not want him there. Quickly, he flipped the screaming man over and dragged him by his scalp to the one water source his tribe had found in the desolate wasteland, and the one reason why they had relocated their village closer to civilization, his decision, a decision, in hindsight, that would haunt him for the rest of his days . . .

  The Spanish man was still screaming, ‘Geronimo’ as Goyahkla dragged him to the well. He didn’t quite know why, but he enjoyed the sound of the man’s screams. It meant that the man’s pain sensors were still active. That was good. He wanted this man to feel everything that was about to transpire. Goyahkla quickly pulled up the well’s rope, ripped the bucket free on the end, and tied it around the neck of the man’s scrotum, so tight, the head of it swelled, and turned purple.

  Again the man shouted, and repeated the word Geronimo, Geronimo, Geronimo, over and over again as Goyahkla, with little effort due to the adrenaline surge, picked the man up and dropped him headfirst down into the well. The rope followed him snaking and wriggling after him. Even as he fell, the word came out long and winded this time, sounding like, “Geronimooooo!”

  Goyahlka
waited patiently and was rewarded when the rope finally snapped straight with tension, and an unearthly scream, more feral than human, burst from the bottom of the well. Over and over again, the word came now, Geronimooo! Geronimooo!

  The man would die there, hanging from the tool of his own demise . . .

  Chappo joined his friend by his side who now was breathing hard. Something in his eyes was lost, gone. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came.

  With the man still screaming, Goyahkla walked toward his wife’s battered body. Tears burst from his eyes and swam down his grimy face. He allowed them to flow, telling himself that he would empty them, permanently, and they would be the last tears he would ever cry. He would spend them all, all for his love. She deserved nothing less, but so much more.

  “Goyahkla, I . . . I . . .” Chappo started now, falling down next to him. Quickly, Goyahkla embraced his brother, the last one remaining from their village.

  No words were said as the two of them went about the business of putting their loved ones to rest, the proper way, the Aapache way by burying the person with all their possessions. It was a process that took the rest of the day, and well into the night. There wasn’t too many bodies intact due to the fires, but they did what they could.

  Goyahkla buried his wife and three children by the river in the moonlight. Upon finishing, the moon was at its highest and the amethyst necklace, once destined to be worn by his love, now hung around his own neck. At one time, the stone had a price, but now, it had become priceless.

  “What now?” Chappo asked.

  “We wait for Chief Mangas Coloradas to return.” Goyahkla said.

  “Then what?” Chappo asked.

  “Then I request to be sent away to battle with Chief Cochise’s band and give the Mexicano’s reason to say Geronimo once again, now, and in the next life!” Goyahkla said.

  Chapter Ten: The Great Veil War

  “You didn’t have to come with me you know,” Rolce said.