Renegade Reborn

by J. C. Fiske

  Malik struck out at the skeleton man with his right foot, knocking him to his side upon the ground, then stomped down, pinning the man to the ground with the heel of his right boot. The skeleton man thrashed and gurgled unable to breath, and just when the skeleton man’s eyes began to roll back into his head, Malik released him. The skeleton man shot up, holding his throat, gagging, fighting for breath, as he looked up at Malik, venom in his eyes.

  “What on . . . now look what you did! They got away! I had two! We could have shared! We could have . . .” The skeleton man started, and that’s when Malik reached out and grabbed his throat with his hand, lifting him up off the ground so he was eye to eye with him.

  “No children,” Malik ordered.

  “But, are you, are you nuts!?” The skeleton man coughed out.

  “No children. No women. Understood? Gather up supplies and let’s move out,” Malik said, letting him go. The skeleton man fell onto his feet, and massaged his neck, hacking, then looked up at him.

  “I don’t think you understand. This is how war works! We win, we take what we want! Anything and everything! Evolve or die! Like you said! I’ve evolved past anything and everything society stands for! To say I can do one thing, but not another, is to go against you and our very creed! You will not deny me the only thing that fills my body with pleasure! You will not take this from me!” The skeleton man screamed shrilly, thrusting a quivering finger in Malik’s face.

  “Stand down,” Malik snapped.

  “Or you’ll what? I’m no philosophist, but the moment you declare one thing wrong, you might as well declare everything wrong! I believed in your message! We all did! For the first time in my life, I felt, I felt . . . normal . . . but now?” The skeleton man then cupped his hands over his mouth. “HEY! MY BROTHERS! Our leader says no more rape! No more women! No more children! What do you say to that!?”

  There was an uproar of yells and roars of disagreement all around. The skeleton man, skipped about now like a circus jester, yelling in every direction, before he stopped, and thrust another finger at Malik.

  “That’s right! Evolve or Die! This thing you started? It’s become bigger than you! Beyond you! And if that’s the case, perhaps, we need a leader more evolved! Maybe we need a leader who’s grown past such debilitating, halting feelings as guilt and judgment, one who is ready to take what they want . . . EVOLVE OR DIE! EVOLVE OR . . .” The skeleton man began before a flash of green energy leapt from Malik’s ring, and like a party popper, the skeleton man’s head exploded in a spray of gray matter and skull fragments. His headless body stood in place for a moment, and then toppled over, spilling blood out of his neck hole like a glass of spilled red wine. All was quiet except crackling flames as Malik let up on his roaring essence and disengaged.

  “This headless animal before me serves as a perfect reminder of what we are trying to evolve FROM. I don’t think he understood the phrase. Evolve, my way, or die . . . anyone have a problem with this?” Malik asked, calm, and coldly.

  No one stepped forward.

  Malik then raised a finger, and hovered it over every one of them.

  “No women. No children. Stack our supplies on the wagons and move out.” Malik said, as he then thrust a fist in the air. “EVOLVE OR DIE!”

  The men repeated the chant and went back to their duties. Malik returned to his tent, closed the flap, laid down on his back, and closed his eyes, but when he did, all he saw was the look in the small farmer boy’s eyes before he turned his back on him in the woods. Guilt didn’t penetrate him now, nor was it humility, but rather, empathy . . . those eyes, they held the same pain, and then a memory, like a carpenter’s hammer between the eyes, was freed, and overtook his mind’s eye . . .

  Malik woke up in his bed. The side of his head thumped as if his heart had relocated there, and with every thump, pain flushed through his head and his vision grew cloudy. Louder than the thumping however, was the heated discussion taking place outside his door. Carefully, he rose out of bed and pressed his ear against the locked door.

  “No, you listen! They specifically told me there would be no complications, and now, this whole thing’s backfired! This peace treaty, it was your idea, Tula, YOURS!” Lamik screamed.

  “Dear, I . . . it was all I could think to do! It was, listen, our son, I know how you felt about him, he was . . .” Tula started.

  “He’s no son of mine! Don’t ever say that to me again! Do you hear me? If I hear you call that, that, spawn of the devil himself, our son again, you’ll be out on your ass! You hear me? He was a test from IAM, a test, that I passed!“ Lamik said. He then took in a deep breath to calm himself. “This was supposed to be a fresh start. I want a lineage. What would the others say if they discovered the truth? They’d call my strength into question! I can’t even imagine what might have gotten out if that, thing, that Narroway now calls a son was ever, ever to . . . ” Lamik trailed off.

  “Sybil Honj ensures me that he did all he could, but some minds just don’t want to forget and it can take time.” Tula said.

  “We don’t have time! We will need to present our child for essence testing in a matter of weeks! I don’t care what it takes. I don’t even care if the boy really does take a tumble off Rambler’s Point to forget! He will forget . . . everything . . . his life, his rebirth, begins now . . .” Lamik said.

  “Lamik, Lamik, NO! You stay away from him!” Tula pleaded. Suddenly, the door was kicked open and Malik fell upon the ground, and looked up to see Tula wrapping both her arms around Lamik’s forearm. Lamik threw her aside, then reached down, brought up Malik’s desk chair and crashed it against the wall, shattering it. From the wreckage, he brought up one of the chair’s legs, raised it over his head, and brought it down in an attempt to smash the boy’s head. He halted however as Tula recovered and dove atop the defenseless child, protecting him with her own body.

  “Come no further! NO FURTHER, DAMN YOU! This is my nephew! My family! Our family! If you harm one hair on his head, one hair, I swear I’ll leave you high and dry! I’ll kill you while you sleep, I swear I . . .” Tula started.

  “You’ll do nothing! Now out of the way!” Lamik bellowed.

  “No!” The woman said, wrapping up Malik in her arms. “If you want to strike him, you’ll have to go through me!”

  Without a word or hesitation, Lamik came down hard with the wooden leg and hit his wife on the corner of her temple. Her arms around Malik went limp as she slid to ground beside him. Lamik then raised his arm up for another strike, drunk with rage, when Malik found himself jumping between them.

  “Stop it! STOP!” Malik screamed.

  “What, what did you say to me boy?” Lamik yelled. He then dropped the chair leg, and with the same hand, grabbed a handful of Malik’s long hair and slammed the boy’s face down into the floor, over, and over, until he no longer moved.

  Panting and huffing, now, Lamik stood up to his full height, and surveyed the scene as Tula began to stir.

  “I finally get it. It all makes sense. It was all your fault! It was your softness, YOURS, that created that abomination! NOT MINE!” Lamik said as he turned, slammed the door shut, bolted the lock behind him and stormed down the hallway.

  The woman spit toward the doorway, then, felt at her head wound. It hurt profusely, but it was nowhere near the damage done to the boy. She crawled toward him, praying that he wasn’t dead, or worse, a vegetable after the severe head trauma her horror of a husband had done. Slowly, she lifted up his face, preparing for the worse and was shocked to find that the boy’s head and face wounds were already healing, stitching themselves up with an eerie, hissing, green glow. His eyes then fluttered open and he looked up at her.

  “Mommy?” Malik asked aloud.

  Tula Taro then thought of her sister, her deceased twin sister, who had left Narroway, and this boy behind, a boy whose mind would no doubt never be the same again after such head tampering and now, recent head trauma at such an early developmental stage. What was she to do?
Tell the boy the real story of how she wasn’t his mother? Here? Now? When all he wanted was his mommy? It was supposed to be part of the plan for peace after all. It was Sybil Honj who freed up images from his subconscious of the face of his birth mother, and in turn, the boy would recognize his mother in her, her twin sister, but the father . . . she knew he would probably only ever be that in name only . . .

  “That’s right, honey. I’m here! Mommy’s right here. Everything’s going to be ok now,” Tula said, as Malik, in absolute trust, leaned his head onto her chest with an exhausted sigh and fell asleep.

  That night, with the moon high and full, Chieftain Lamik, cloaked in a black hood, paid the man that would make all of his problems go away, Ridley Snashlo, self-proclaimed Slaver Sultan of Thera, who counted the tarries by candlelight with the precision of a bird of prey.

  “Believe me, it’s all there.” Lamik asked.

  “I believe nothing but my own eyes.” Ridley said, as he piled coin after coin atop another, set them upon a scale and tested them with a series of weights. When he was satisfied, he stood up from his chair and put out a hand to Lamik, who took it, pumping it hard.

  “The deal, it is done then?” Lamik asked.

  “It is done. All you ask, to the letter, will be carried out.” Ridley said. He then eyed Lamik curiously.

  “What is it?” Lamik asked.

  “Call me curious. I’ve had many men, as well as women, come seeking purchase of my slaves, but never, have I had someone, pay me, to then acquire a slave. I will ask one more time. Are you sure about this?” Ridley said.

  “As you said, the deal is done. Just know this. When you and your men arrive tonight, I will need your best. There will be resistance and you will need to make it believable.

  Tonight, I will be in my study, consumed by heavy drink. You will enter my city through a secret side entrance that I will leave unlocked. You will take three and only three of my men, no more. They will be the ones guarding my residence, and they are . . . disposable. Once inside, you will attack me. Leave me no quarter. I then want you to take my eye, cleanly. It’s no secret my wife and I do not get along, but it will need to appear I gave it my all to defend her life and discredit any notions of foul play.

  Once I am incapacitated, kill the woman, take the boy and put him through the paces. I want you to chain him, whip him, work him, and drive him. Malik, my son, if he is to become my legacy, he will survive all you throw at him, and if he doesn’t, then he is not worthy of being called, Strife.” Lamik said. Ridley looked at him with a wry grin.

  “And what’s to stop me from just killing you, and taking your wife for my own needs? You just don’t know, do you? Women, especially beautiful ones, fetch enormous prices. Little boys however, they do not last long in my pits and those who do, well, they don’t make good slaves. Rather, they make good killers and become only trouble for me . . .” Ridley said, scratching at his chin.

  “You’re right, I don’t know, but you also don’t know if this is all some righteous ploy to end the slave trade once and for all, do you?” Lamik asked.

  “Fair enough. I am a businessman, no more, no less, and it is bad business to betray any form of client, especially, one as well known as yourself. No doubt your organization will hunt me down until the sun sets in the east, eh?” Ridley said.

  “No doubt.” Lamik said.

  “I assumed as much. Good. Everything is accounted for, and thanks for the substantial sum you’ve issued me, I can guarantee this operation will go without error. My word, for what it’s worth, is yours.” Ridley said, bowing.

  “I’ll take it.” Lamik said, and with that, he left Black Scar, as a shadow among shadows.

  Chapter Twenty: Battle of the Minds

  “Lots of people out there,” Rolce said, shuffling his feet.

  Together, he and Jackobi stood in a private skybox, looking down, where below them was the golden basin of a stadium filled to the brim with occupied seats. Some, it seemed, may have been sitting on a few laps to compensate, ready to witness Rolce and Purah fight against one another for their very lives, as well as the future lives of Thera itself.

  “Every citizen of this holier than thou floating spoof of a culture is down there.” Jack said, arms folded, face full of disgust.

  “They’re your own people, Jack, and soon, they will be with us. Best get along while we can. We need them.” Rolce said. Jack grinned.

  “Already defeated Purah in your mind have you? That’s good. Hold onto that confidence. Don’t let it go.” Jack said.

  “Still, I just wish they’d start this thing. Where the hell is she?” Rolce asked, when suddenly the door behind them slid open and in walked a petite woman, clad in golden robes.

  “Rolce Moordin? It is time,” The woman said.

  Rolce nodded. The woman made her way through the two of them and touched a control panel within the glass box. There was a hum, and the corners of the walls, pulsed yellow, followed by the sounds of hammers dropping as the box lurched forward and began floating downward toward the ring. As they floated down, Rolce saw that another box on the opposite side of the ring was descending as well.

  Rolce saw the silhouette of several people in the box and saw one was taller than the others. At this site, his stomach twinged and he felt his heart began to hammer in his chest as he wiped cold sweat from his brow.

  “Fear is good.” Jackobi said. “It makes you move quicker,”

  “So says you,” Rolce countered.

  “You’re ready for this. We’ve spent your Risinyu energy wisely. Moordin, Shax, as well as generations of Naforian’s that have come before, who have all gave their lives for freedom, true freedom, are with you. Don’t think, just act, and victory is yours,” Jackobi said.

  Rolce took in a slow, steady breath, and only nodded as the skybox landed softly upon the arena floor and the door behind them slid open. Together, he, Jackobi, and the petite woman all walked out and stood on the outer rim of the circle floor which was covered in a thin layer of white, Flarian sand. Before them, in the center of the arena, stood Lady Seveara, towering over her two body guards who stood still as statues on both sides of her.

  “This way gentleman,” The robed petite woman said, and together they made their way to her. Rolce, now that he stood in the arena, began to find his focus, as the crowds loud cheering got his adrenaline going. He didn’t even notice the way Lady Seveara was looking at him, nor did he notice the subtle way she parted her own hair with a finger, a sign of attraction, upon seeing him. No, rather than looking at her, he was looking through her, at the man behind her, the man with the chiseled jawed, the bright blue eyes, and the warm, deceptive smile. Rolce realized then that it wasn’t a smile at all. It was a shield, a shield to hide the darkness behind it while he tortured his father, killed his mother, and kidnapped children all in the name of Drakearon.

  Rolce Moordin, what a pleasure it is to see you again, and all grown up too! Purah’s voice echoed within Rolce’s mind. Rolce’s face grimaced.

  Sorry, but I can’t say the same. Rolce sent back mentally.

  Fair enough. I didn’t expect you to, but, nonetheless, here we are. It is said that when two Sybil’s do battle, even the heaven’s themselves give pause. Just know, that what happened with your father, your mother, with Jack, it was never personal, only necessary. I wanted you to know that. Purah said.

  Suddenly, Rolce reached out and extended a mental invitation, not a grab as he had done so many times to Gisbo. It was more like a mental handshake. Purah accepted, and together, the two blinked and were transported to an area of Rolce’s design on a different, higher, plane of existence. When the two opened their eyes again, they were sitting across from one another in the common grounds of a place they had both, once, called home.

  Heaven’s Shelter.

  Purah looked all around, admiring the intrinsic attention to detail of Rolce’s memory. Everything was present. Renegade Joe’s Steakhouse, the sushi hut, the giant golden
statue of Vadid hanging overhead, as well as the black tower, glowing with blue white fire at the top. The only thing missing, was the people. Chairs were pushed out and empty, and rather than smell various foods cooking, and hear the clinking of mugs, and conversation, they heard only the wind flowing through the chair legs and crevices in the huts, issuing out a strange, wooing sound, the sound, of emptiness.

  “I still think about this place you know. More than you probably believe.” Purah said, finding Rolce’s eyes with his own.

  “You should. You only murdered hundreds of people and destroyed the place. I would hope your actions haunt your dreams as much as they do mine.” Rolce said, folding his arms and giving Purah a hard stare. Purah met his gaze, and then, beyond anything Rolce could have predicted, Purah did something that wasn’t forced and couldn’t be faked. Tears, real tears, filled up in the corners of his eyes and rolled down the side of his cheeks. Rolce was at a loss for words.

  “Surprised, are you? Do you think I, for one second, do not regret my actions? Do you think that I do not regret infecting your father with the Drakeness and using him as my puppet? You think that I do not regret that your mother died in the crossfire because, I, in my own naivety, lost control of myself dealing with my own, pure Drakeness infection? You think that I sleep well knowing that my friends and people who I considered family, all died in a massacre, because their beliefs did not coincide with Drakearon’s or my own? Rolce, I don’t sleep, and I hardly eat. Death, for me, is going to be the real pleasure. Living? That’s my true hell.” Purah said, wiping away tears. Rolce just shook his head.

  “The things you’ve done, Purah! The things you’ve done to me!” Rolce said, slamming his fists upon the table. “The things you’ve done to my family, my, my best friends, it’s, it’s unforgivable! I . . . I can’t, I just can’t pity you . . .”

  “Of course it isn’t, and yet, you still do pity me. And why? Because, as much as you try to push it down, you understand me, and that, is what scares you beyond anything else, and that’s why I accepted this palaver before we put our lives on the line. I would like to have a battle of the minds, right here, right now. I want to weigh what I believe, against what you believe. I’m ready to die for my cause, for what I believe in. Are you?” Purah said.