Renegade Reborn

by J. C. Fiske

  “Jackobi, if you would please make your way into the pool,” Honj said. Jack’s eyes narrowed again, and his gaze went up and looked the Sybil right in the eyes.

  “Why?” Jackobi asked. Several giggles came up from the line of people.

  “If you must know, we have gathered here to test your output for Elekai’ essence and see if you are capable of Renegade training,” Honj said. “So, if you would, please enter the pool,”

  Jackobi looked at him, then across and met the eyes of his father, who nodded. Jack made his way forward and dropped to one knee and moved the water about with his hand, then, brought it up, staring at the sparkling shards of Elekai’ crystals sparkling on his palm. He narrowed his eyes again, shook his hand off, dove into the water as cleanly as an arrow and came up in the middle. A few moments later, the monitor buzzed and beeped, and upon finishing, all men viewing the monitor were at a loss for words on the results.

  “Just say it,” Foxblade demanded, arms folded.

  “As you know, this machine can only measure up so far. Your son, he has scored . . .” Sybil Honj paused. “Over 9000!”

  The line of people began muttering to each other as Jackobi walked out of the pool without being told and stood beside his father.

  “The only other person to score so high, was Vadid the Valiant himself,” Purah said. “Is it possible? Could it be that . . .”

  “He’s not Flarian, but, we have no idea what the Phoenix could attach itself to next. It may be a creature of fire but its powers go beyond the elements themselves and for such power to attach itself to a human, they would need adequate energy space. The Man-Phoenix, it is coming this generation, Vadid told us so. We need to keep a close eye on that one, to be certain. So, next, would Knob come out and join us,” Shax said. Knob, hearing his name, came out of the door with a curious glance, looking all about at the people about him.

  “Knob, if you would get yourself into the pool,” Shax said. Knob looked all about, seeing that Jack and Niffin were already wet, shrugged, walked toward the pool, stood on its edge, only to slip and fall in with a splash and a yelp. He quickly recovered, and made his way toward the middle.

  “3100, very good,” Shax said.

  And in this fashion, on and on it went, with a Ranto Narroway, and Malik Strife receiving the matching score of 9000, along with a few choice others until only one boy remained in the room, by his lonesome, and upon hearing his name called, ran out excitedly for what awaited him and stared at the pool with immense fascination.

  “Gisbo, if you would, please, make your way into the pool and . . .” Shax started, but before he could finish, Gisbo, without a look at anyone for approval, ran toward the pool and jumped high into the air.

  “CANNONBALL!” Gisbo screamed, as he landed smack in the middle of the water and soaked everyone, head to toe within distance, including the monitor, which began sparking, and smoking, and flooding with random symbols before a number flashed just once, then died away in a sizzle.

  Falcon and Nora, together, let out a sigh and palmed hands down their faces in embarrassment, as everyone erupted into complaints and pointing.

  “So? What did it say?” Falcon piped up, when everyone simmered down.

  “Your boy, by IAM, Falcon . . .” Honj started, trying to keep his frustration and anger down.

  “Just, tell me the number,” Falcon said.

  “To be sure, it flashed quickly, I didn’t see it in time. Did either of you?” Honj asked.

  “I saw 2700, I’m sure of it,” Shax said.

  “Purah?” Honj asked.

  “I saw a 2 as the first number, that much I’m sure, but the next number, at my angle, it was either a 7, or it could have been a 1,”

  “Really? That’s it?” Falcon said.

  “Well, honestly, it could be anything! The number still could have been rising before the machine shorted out. Either way, until we get this fixed, we’ll never know. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow until we . . .” Honj started.

  “No,” Nora’s voice rang out.

  “No?” Shax asked surprised.

  “Either way, 2500 is the minimum without parental approval and last I checked, we are his parents. Either way, we know it’s about 2000. That’s enough.” Nora said.

  “But, honestly, the numbers that we saw, it could be completely inaccurate, his score could be abysmally low levels, we won’t know for sure until we,” Honj started.

  “I’d rather it that way. I’d rather my son never know his, “number”. To know his number, would be to know his limits. It will cripple him, knowing what he can or can’t do. The mystery, it will be his strength. No more tests,” Nora said.

  “But, I urge you to reconsider! On the flip side, his power could be over 9000 and with his lineage, he could very well be the next Man-Phoenix!” Honj said, suddenly, there was quiet and everybody looked at the boy in the pool who, not having a clue as to what was going on, or what he had done, got out of the pool, only to realize that he had lost his shorts during the cannonball, and was now displaying his birthday suit. Those who didn’t shield their eyes, burst into laughter at the thought of such a boy, being the next Man-Phoenix. Even Honj, once he had his fill of his own laughter, wiped tears out of his eyes.

  “Oh, Oh . . . perhaps, perhaps I spoke out of turn. I suppose I’m hoping for too much. All right, Nora. You’ve twisted my arm. You’re his mother, you get final say,” Honj said. “And with that, we are adjourned! Thank you all for coming and thank you for letting us be a part of your sons and daughters legacies, as Renegades!”

  “And Strife . . .” Lamik corrected.

  “Yes, yes of course,” Honj said.

  Purah stood by and leaned against the wall, watching everyone leave with their children, hand in hand. He sighed deeply and found himself looking across the pool, and his heart skipped. There, waiting for a turn that would never come, was his daughter, and next to her was his wife Charley. He felt tears began to claw at the corners of his eyes as he . . .

  “Just stop,” Rolce said, letting go of the chain.

  “Rolce?” Jackobi asked.

  “I need to stop. I’ve seen enough,” Rolce said, as he got to his feet with his back facing Jackobi.

  “But, Rolce, we were just about to,” Jackobi started.

  “If I see anymore, I’m going to start to emulate with him, care for him. No, his story isn’t a complicated one. He’s someone with a clever mind who wanted to make the world a better place, but everytime he tried, it either turned out worse, or he lost something. He’s an idealist, still is, only this time, his choices won’t just affect a small group of people, but everyone and everything. He sees a greater good and is willing to do utmost evil to get there because, in his mind, the end justifies his means, but I can’t let him, I won’t let him.

  No one gets to make that call; nobody gets to make a decision for everyone. He may have gone mad from his special Drakeness, or whatever, but he made that choice and that choice destroyed my father, my mother, my family! He wants to take away the freedom to choose? Well, I say he can try, because as long as I have the ability to choose, I choose, I choose . . .” Rolce started, then mentally calmed himself down. “I need to be smarter about this. I can’t let my emotions control me. All right, Jack, I need every dirty trick and move you have at your disposal. It’s time I become something more than the sum of my parts and use this extra essence given to me by Moordin and the other Naforians, and I think I know just how to do it . . .”

  Chapter Seventeen: The Life of a Samurai

  Ah, now we have come to our last, and most favorite of stops. You will now visit a culture of warrior’s known as, the samurai. In my eyes and opinion, the samurai could possibly be the greatest swordsmen to have ever lived. Their main weapon, the katana, a sword that strikes as it is being drawn, felt absolutely right within my hands. In most cases a samurai duel, and there were many, ended before they began. If you look closely at the Talon sword, it is but a thicker, wider versi
on than the katana, appropriate to my own strength and power while channeling Elekai’.

  In the eyes of the samurai warrior, honor was everything, to the point where if a samurai were struck down, about to die, they would rather take their own life instead of having it taken away by their enemy. This, I cannot get behind and neither could probably my greatest friend, Miyomoto Musashi. In his steps, you will now walk. A samurai, yes, but in my eyes, the ultimate Renegade of his time. I’ve learned much from him, and he from us, even to the point of adapting and designing his own style based off our world and elemental powers of earth, fire, water, and wind.

  I’d rather not give too much away to this man’s life. I’d rather you see it for yourself. I may not share in his affinity for not showering, but his attitude, his skill, and his tenacity to question those in charge, to go against the grain, are his biggest virtues.

  Pay close attention to this one, Gisbo, and perhaps, when your powers grow, you will be able to meet with him, as I once did.

  –Vadid the Valiant

  “I had the dream again last night,” Bennosuke said. His uncle, Dorinbo, looked up from his breakfast and looked at the boy coldly.

  “Bennosuke, you are fortunate to HAVE dreams after your stunt yesterday,” Dorinbo said. “Even with my reputation as head of this temple it took much, MUCH convincing on my part to spare your life, boy.”

  “Apologies to you Uncle. I was acting on my honor alone. Not yours. That’s how it should have been handled.” Bennosuke said.

  “Bennosuke. You are thirteen. Such talk is a moot point. Your parents left me in charge of you upon their deaths and in my lifetime, I have no desire to see you follow in suit.” Dorinbo said. “Speaking of which, I will be confiscating any and all of this samurai memorabilia. I thought it would enrich your knowledge, not squander it. Only a fool would do as you’ve done. How fortunate you are to live under my tutelage here in this temple. Things could have been different.”

  “But Uncle!” Bennosuke pleaded.

  “No buts. Now finish your breakfast. It is almost time to go, and please, go bathe yourself!” Dorinbo said.

  “To bathe is to leave one vulnerable to attack.” Bennosuke said.

  “Nephew, all it does is leave one vulnerable to your stink,” Dorinbo argued.

  “What do you know of him?” Bennosuke asked.

  “Of Arima Kihei?” Dorinbo asked.

  “Yes,” Bennosuke said.

  “That he is more than double your age, experience and a samurai. Worse yet, he is a samurai traveling to hone his art with something to prove. Men with something to prove are the most dangerous and unruly of sorts,” Dorinbo said.

  “Hmph,” Bennosuke muttered.

  “Now, may I ask a question in return, nephew? What made you want to challenge him? I understand being a boy not yet a man, much like that samurai, you want to see your worth in combat, but it puzzles me beyond reason why you would challenge someone so out of your class! Honorable, ritual suicide to preserve one’s honor is one thing, but you are too young to even understand either. Why nephew?” Dorinbo asked.

  “Do I not have arms? Do I not have legs? Do I not have strength? Can I not wield a sword? What does age and experience have to do with anything? All I know is he is a colorful, loud, flamboyant fool. A peacock with a rooster‘s crow,” Bennosuke said.

  “You speak . . .” Dorinbo started.

  “He’s not a samurai. He is trash. You were not there Uncle. He walked into our town as if he were above everyone. He had arrogance behind his eyes, not humbleness. He walked with glamour, not purpose. He decorated himself in purple robes with fire emblazoned stitches and had more blush than any woman. Just by his presence he dishonored a samurai’s name and worse yet, he placed an equally colorful sign, etched with gold, issuing a challenge to any fighter. No one else would step up to this outsider, so, I did. That’s all there is to it.” Bennosuke said.

  “You are wise beyond your years, Bennosuke. Just, please, live long enough to see them. Perhaps, I’ve come down to hard on you, but my duty is to see you live until you are your own man. Now come. We are too meet Arima Kihei in ten minutes.” Dorinbo said.

  “And what did you agree to? How did you talk him out of canceling the duel?” Bennosuke asked.

  “To preserve your honor and mine, he has agreed to let you back out of the duel but only if you apologize publicly, for all to see, then bow in respect to his skill.” Dorinbo said. Suddenly, Bennosuke was quiet and Dorinbo watched the boy carefully, fearing the worst.

  “I see. Well then, let us not keep him waiting,” Bennosuke said, getting up from the table and grabbing his walking stick. His uncle breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Very, good, boy. Very good. Your wisdom is shown yet again. But what made you arrive to this sudden change of thought?” Dorinbo asked.

  “If a boy is ever to be a man, his first lesson is to accept his responsibilities.” Bennosuke said. Dorinbo smiled broadly at this, got up from the table and ruffled his hair.

  “Good boy. One day Bennosuke, you will become a great man. Now come. We musn’t keep the samurai waiting. They are of a punctual sort,” Dorinbo said.

  Bennosuke and his Uncle walked on in silence into town, a town which was far busier than usual. Did it have anything to do with his actions? Bennosuke couldn’t imagine the apology of a thirteen year old boy to an arrogant dog of a samurai to be all that exciting, but he supposed it was the most exciting thing to happen in some time.

  A small crowd was gathered around the golden emblazoned sign that glistened in the sun, issuing the samurai’s challenge and there, standing stoically, as if modeling for a painting, was Arima Kihei. Upon seeing the boy and his uncle arrive, he grinned, and the people grew hushed.

  “Greetings, Master Dorinbo! It is good to see that honor still exists within these hardened and wild days, is it not?” Arima Kihei said. “Has the boy prepared his apology?”

  “Master Kihei,” Dorinbo said, bowing. “Yes, my nephew has prepared his apology and once again I am so terribly sorry for all this. My nephew is foolhardy and full of wild imagination, but he is a good boy, just wanting to grow up too fast.”

  “As long as the apology is spoken for the ears of everyone in witness, it shan’t be an issue ever again. Come boy, come here, and apologize for your transgressions.” Arima Kihei said, fluttering forth a hand as if he were calling for a puppy, rather than a boy.

  Bennosuke walked toward him. Arima Kihei then motioned to the sign posted on his left. Upon it was a crude drawing of himself attempting to stick his own head up his backside with a long, cartoonish tongue. The drawing was signed, ‘By Bennosuke’, followed by his written challenge.

  “Was it you who challenged me? Are you not Bennosuke?” The samurai asked. Bennosuke said nothing. Arima Kihei coughed and spoke again.

  “Perhaps you did not understand me. It is a grave, grave offense to issue a challenge to a samurai of my skill and not follow up! Thank the Gods that your Uncle was able to bring out my mercy. Now, I ask you again. Was it you who challenged me?” The samurai asked.

  “Yes,” Bennosuke said.

  “Good. Now, bow before me, then, beg for your life, upon your knees, and I just may spare you.” Arima Kihei said.

  “No,” Bennosuke said flatly. Dorinbo’s heart sank in his chest. Immediately, there was chattering within the crowd, and the face of Arima Kihei turned red as a blood.

  “You, you . . .” he started but Dorinbo interrupted as he ran within the open circle, upon his knees.

  “Oh, please, Master Arima Kihei! Please, please spare my boy’s life! He knows not what he . . .” Dorinbo started, but how wrong he was. The boy knew exactly what he was doing. Instinctively, Bennosuke, his hefty walking stick in hand, leapt over his uncle and charged for Arima Kihei.

  As surprised as he was, Kihei’s reflexes were that of a samurai and he managed to unsheathe his sword in time to block the boy’s first swing, but that was all. The blade, put out into a messy,
desperate block, was now stuck in the aged wood of Bennosuke’s staff, and Bennosuke, being quite big for his age, grabbed the shocked Kihei in a Sumo throw and slammed him directly unto his fair, unblemished face.

  The crowd all breathed an exasperated sigh as he the flamboyant samurai hit the ground and sprayed up dust, dirtying his expensive clothes. Bennosuke waited just long enough for the samurai to roll over, and look up into his eyes. He felt he owed his opponent that much. He was about to lose to a child after all, and then, having allowed that final grace, with all his effort, he brought the butted end of the staff right between the samurai’s eyes, knocking him out, and then continued to beat at the same spot until his face cracked open like a coconut, and spilled out its fluid.

  Bennosuke stood over his downed opponent. The duel was done. His Uncle, still on his knees, looked up at his nephew with a quivering mouth.

  “As promised, Uncle, I have accepted my responsibilities. Come, let us return to the temple. I still have much to learn from you before I am to be on my way.” Bennosuke said, helping his Uncle to his feet before the stunned crowd.

  “I, but, where are you going, Bennosuke?” His Uncle asked.

  “Bennosuke . . . that name is but a boy’s name, weak. I will go to find a man’s name, out beyond this village. What that is I do not yet know, but what I do know is that it will be the name history will remember me by.” The now nameless boy said and with that, they parted their way through the silent crowd and returned to the temple in silence until a question arose in the nameless boy’s mind.

  “What was the name of that fierce monk that used to reside with us, Uncle?” The boy asked.

  “Musashi.” Dorunbo said.

  And with that, the nameless boy, was nameless no longer . . .

  “Tell me, where is the school of Yoshioka-ryu?” Musashi asked. The man, a side-street eel salesman, looked him up and down.

  “What are your intentions?” The eel salesman asked.