by J. C. Fiske
“Oh, pardon me rudeness, gent. Camlin Ayver McCarley, but you can call me Phil! At your service!” Phil said, standing comically erect, hand in salute above his brow.
“Uh . . . yeah,” Gisbo managed to mutter. An awkward moment entailed as Phil continued to stand in his stationary salute and Gisbo just stared.
“So, uh, why do they call you . . .” Gisbo started, only to be interrupted. Almost as if he was waiting for it, Phil burst out with the explination.
“Well, it’s a hell of a lot easier den sayin’ Camlin Ayver McCarley now, isn’t tit?” Phil said. Gisbo paused for a moment.
“Coming from me, like I have any merit to ask this, but are you some kind of crazy person?” Gisbo asked. Phil laughed aloud and sat down across from him.
“My good Lord IAM doesn’t make crazy persons, only those with freerer heads,” Phil said, pointing to his own noggin.
“Ah, you’re one of those types, then . . . but wait a minute,” Gisbo paused, as a realization set in. “What did you say your last name was?”
“McCarley of course, Camlin Ayver . . .” Phil started as Gisbo cut him off.
“Yeah, yeah I got that, but . . . are you related to Douglas? “ Gisbo asked.
“Of course, I am! He’s my dah!” Phil stated proudly.
“Your dah? The hells a ‘dah?’” Gisbo asked.
“You know, a dah, a dah,” Phil said.
“Yeah, that’s not helping me. Spell it,” Gisbo said.
“Oh, why, ‘D’ ‘A’ ‘H’, Dah,” Phil said. Gisbo sighed.
“I figured as much. I mean, what, what’s another word for ‘Dah?’” Gisbo asked.
“Mmmm . . . fathah?” Phil answered.
“Father?” Gisbo asked.
“Yeah, fathah, why?” Phil asked.
“Cripes, Douglas is my uncle,” Gisbo said.
“Oh boy! That’s wonderful! I have one of those, too! Never see him, though, he’s not allowed here because me grandah’s got one too many barbs up his . . .” Phil started, when suddenly his eyes went wide and his mouth formed a smile.
“Cousin . . .Gisbo?” Phil asked.
“I . . . yeah,” Gisbo answered. Before he knew it, Phil was out of his seat, rushing at him, and, even with one arm, managed to lift Gisbo to the air in a hug as if he were light as a pillow.
“Cousin Gisbo! My dear friend, I’ve been waiting for your arrival! But . . . but you weren’t supposed to arrive for another month! What a surprise!” Phil shouted, squeezing Gisbo all that much harder.
“Phil! Phil, I . . . I can’t breathe . . .” Gisbo muttered.
“Oy! Apologies, apologies!” Phil said, dropping Gisbo to the ground. Coughing, Gisbo brushed himself off and stood to his feet.
“Thanks. Damn, you’re strong,” Gisbo said as he cracked his lower back, wincing as he did so.
“Aye, a gift from the good lord IAM for bein’ ever true to him and my Warlord Vadid. All the glory to him, he speaks ta me, ya know. Listen, what’s that, Lord? Aye, I know you’re proud o’ Gisbo, I be too! Welcome home, cousin!” Phil said, spinning about as if saying, “Voila” to the Ronigades home.
“Are, are you sure you’re okay?” Gisbo asked.
“Now that me cousin’s arrived, I’ve never been better! Come, drinks are on me! We got so much to speak of!” Phil said as he grabbed Gisbo by the arm and shuffled him past the Vadid statue toward the marketplace. Somebody shouted Phil’s name from the arena circle.
“Hey, Phil! I got somethin’ for ya!” yelled a man in a thick Flarian accent that was at least understandable, compared to Phil’s seemingly made up dialect.
“Aye! Can’t now, Morry! Me cousin’s just arrived! Later, mate! Later!” Phil yelled over his shoulder.
“Drinks are on me if you do it!” Morry yelled back. Suddenly, Phil came to a dead stop, causing Gisbo to nearly topple over.
“Be right back, Gizzo! Duty calls!” Phil said as he jogged lightly over to the arena where several men were standing around something. Gisbo followed him to see just what was going on.
“You break this one, Philly, and I don’t know what to tell yeh, other than you most likely have the hardest punch in all of Thera, and . . . aye! The hell did ya do to your hittin’ arm?” Morry declared, worried. Phil shook his head.
“Not to worry, Morry, tit was only bein’ disobedient, so I had to punish ‘er, is all,” Phil said. Morry’s jaw dropped.
“You broke yer own arm?” Morry asked.
“Tis true,” Phil said.
To think people called me crazy . . . Gisbo thought.
“Why would ya do such a thing?” Morry demanded.
“Well, I told ‘em to kill a Spikeslither with one blow and it took two! Tain’t me fault it wouldn’t listen, so I had to punish ‘er,” Phil said, stroking his right arm. At this, the group of Ronigades’ mouths dropped agape.
“You can’t be serious . . . ” Morry said.
“Aye, yes, don’t you ‘ave ears? That’s what I said, and dat’s just it, me fist ain’t man-made, it’s made by IAM. Why couldn’t it break such a silly creature?” Phil said.
“I find that very hard to believe, Phil, but, well, that’s why I called ya over here. We caught one, alive,” Morry said.
“Oh, you did, did you?” Phil asked.
“Yes, Phil, but your hittin’ arm’s broken. I guess we will have to wait till its better,” Morry said. Phil waved a hand in the air.
“Hey, hey, hey! You promised free drinks! And free drinks is what I’ll get! My legs will do just fine, Morry, IAM created those too, same difference,” Phil said as he twirled his legs in the air in a flurry of kicks.
“You . . . you sure, Philly? I don’t want ta see ya hurt again just for entertainment’s sake,” Morry said.
“Four hits, Morry, that’s all I’ll need. Let the beastie out,” Phil said in a determined voice. A look of utter tenacity lit his dark eyes.
“Are ya sure? I don’t . . .” Morry asked again. Phil raised his hand to silence him.
“Aye, I’m sure! Let it out! For IAM’s sake,” Phil said as he walked into the center of the arena.
“Up with the gates!” Morry yelled. Several men standing on an offset balcony signaled a thumbs up and began cranking a large lever. Suddenly, a circular cage of what look like an extremely thick form of translucent glass shot upward from the ground to perfectly surround the arena, protecting the crowd from any danger from within, but also preventing any escape for Phil.
“Place your bets! Will Phil kill the stonesythe on his own? Or will he need help? The moment any help steps in or the creature dies, the contest is over. Place your bets now!” yelled a man to Morry’s left, and several men walked over brandishing Tarries.
Gisbo walked up next to Morry.
“So, what’s a Stonesythe?” Gisbo asked. All Morry did was point. A creature Gisbo had never seen before was lowered into the arena by several cables. Easily ten feet tall with black skin, the body seemed to resemble a praying mantis with massive sythes for arms and the head of reptile, complete with a massive tail covered with jagged spikes.
The Stonesythe’s massive, unconscious form reached the arena floor and was draped across the ground like a ragdoll with its mouth agape and a tongue longer than Gisbo’s legs hanging out of its mouth.
“Unhook the beast!” Moory yelled.
“Unhooking!” a man yelled from the balcony. The hooks holding the creature’s body unleashed and were raised back to the ceiling.
“How the hell do you keep that thing asleep?” Gisbo asked.
“Look there, at the creature’s left eye,” Morry said. Gisbo did, and when he squinted hard enough, he saw a bright yellow dart sticking out of the creature’s closed eyelid.
“That little dart keeps that monster down?” Gisbo asked.
“That’s no dart, kid; it’s a rascalsnare,” Morry said.
“Rascalsnare?” Gisbo asked.
“Yeah, they come from Naforia, very rare. The Naforians have them under environment
al protection as they are absolutely lazy when it comes to the reproduction process. We got to trade a hell of a lot of diamond mass to get even one of those buggers.”
“What’s diamond mass?” Gisbo asked.
“Diamond mass is this stuff surrounding the circle here. It’s virtually unbreakable and only we Flarians know the secret to make it. Too bad it is impossible to ground Elekai’ stones into the stuff, or sharpen it. It would make incredible weapons,” Morry said.
“So what do those rascalsnares do?” Gisbo asked.
“What they do is latch on to ya, and once they do, they circulate a poison throughout your system and don’t stop unless they die or are ripped clean from your flesh. The poison won’t kill ya, but it will shut down everything, for years and years, and, amazingly, keeps ya alive, but in absolute sleep,” Morry said.
“That’s . . . crazy,” Gisbo said.
“And just who are ya, my boy? I haven’t seen you around here before,” Morry asked.
“Oh, I’m Gisbo.”
“Ahhhh, okay, Douglas told me all about ya! I was also good friends with yur pah before, well, you know,” Morry said.
“No, I don’t know,” Gisbo said.
“Oh, well…Whatever you do, listen to your uncle. He’s a smart one, that he is, and that cousin a yers, why, he’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. You should know all he’s been talkin’ about is you comin’ to visit ‘im,” Morry said.
“Really?” Gisbo asked.
“Really. He’s an oddball, that one, everyone sort of keeps their distance, but if there was one fellar I’d want to have my back in a fight, it’d be ol’ Philly. Watch an’ see what I mean,” Morry explained as he walked closer to the diamond mass.
“When you’re ready, Philly, pull off the rascalsnare, but whatever you do, don’t you dare . . .” Morry yelled, only in vain. As soon as he mentioned pulling off the rascalsnare, Phil plucked it from the creature’s eyelid, threw it to the ground, and, in one swift motion, stomped the life out of it.
“. . . kill it,” Morry finished. Several men groaned aloud at this. Gisbo assumed they must be the ones who made the diamond mass.
“Hey now, just a minor setback! This will be worth it! Trust me!” Morry shouted over the groaning crowd, and as he did, the stonesythe’s eyes popped open, silencing the crowd better than Morry ever could have. Gisbo, along with the crowd, took a step back from the diamond mass, suddenly quite untrusting of its supposed durability.
The creature rose to its powerful legs slowly, scraping its scythes across the stone floor in an unsettling grinding noise. Phil stood motionless. Only his eyes moved, watching the monster carefully. The black creature gazed at him, as well, its reptilian head cast upward, blinking its puss-yellow eyes at him and flicking its tongue in and out of its mouth like a snake.
The beast moved into striking range. The stonescythe was more than double Phil’s height, even when crouched in attack position. All was quiet for a moment, and then, in a noise that sounded like something between a squeal and a hiss, it lunged and attacked.
It slashed out with its right scythe, splattering the ground in a spray of rubble as Phil leaped back, landed, then lept forward again at the monster with his essence fully ignited.
The monster fell off balance as Phil’s metal-clad boot firmly struck the monster’s chest, throwing its body off balance. Phil took advantage of his monsterous opponent’s stumble by adding another spinning roundhouse kick with his other leg to the same spot. The monster stumbled backward from both blows to his chest, nearly toppling over, but managed to regain its footing in enough time to receive another leaping straight kick from Phil, who, again, struck the creature firmly in the chest. Small, glowing red cracks started to break across the monster’s pectoral, causing the crowd to erupt in hoots and hollers.
“He’s gonna do it! Look at that madman!” a man to Gisbo’s right shouted, pumping his fist in the air.
“Go, Philly! Go!” another man screamed.
The monster tried to use its tail to catch itself from falling and, instead, crashed against the diamond mass, causing every man close to it to run for cover. Phil didn’t allow his opponent breathing room as he advanced upon it.
In a desperate move, the creature spat out its long tongue at Phil. With a quick upward block, Phil allowed the tongue to spiral around his wrist. The monster gagged fiercely as Phil tugged at it and, with a yell, he thrust his arm downward . . .
The tongue was ripped clean from the beast’s mouth with a violent snapping noise. The monster squealed and charged at Phil, blood pouring from its mouth. The creature cleared the space between them quickly and raised both scythes high in the air to strike. Phil planted his feet and began a rising yell, preparing for hit number four, his promised kill hit. Then, there was impact and what an impact it was!
The monster flew back, like the limpest of ragdolls, into the diamond mass from Phil’s lightning-straight punch, careening off the gate and into the punishing floor. Suprisingly enough, the creature shook its great head, dug its scythes into the ground, and launched itself forward like a frog, minus the tongue, mouth agape. Time seemed to slow down as the creature flew toward a shocked Phil.
In an incredible display of agility, Phil leaned left and backward as the scythes grazed him. As he did so, Phil lifted his left leg to the sky just as the creature’s body leaned over him. In one motion, Phil gritted his teeth and threw his strength into one final bicycle kick with his right leg into the creature’s cracked chest.
There was a mortal squeal of anguish as the creature gained momentum from Phil’s boosted kick. The monster’s chest cracked open like a coconut in a fiery blaze. It stumbled about, squealing, and sprayed its green innards everywhere. Two more steps, and it collapsed to the ground with a final gurgle and a splat of goo, dead.
The crowd was speechless, but Phil was not.
“Damn it all! Five! Five! Dat’s it, I’ve ‘ad it wit ya!” Phil said as he suddenly sat up from the ground and grabbed his left leg in his working arm.
“No! No! No, Philly! Don’t do it!” Morry cried. “Jump down there an’ stop ‘em, damn it!” Morry shouted to the balcony above as two men leapt from their positions and grabbed a struggling Phil.
“Get in here an’ help us! Gonna take mor’ ‘an two!” one of the men shouted desperately as a swift kick caught him in the jaw and he toppled over.
“I was afraid o’ this. If you care about your cousin’s well bein’, lad, hop in there and help us! Maybe you can reason wit ‘im,” Morry shouted as he ignited his own essence and shot himself over the diamond mass, along with dozens of others.
“Cripes,” Gisbo muttered as he did the same. Men left and right were being thrown asunder in Phil’s attempt to reach his own leg.
“Lemme go! It’s gotta learn its lesson!” Phil bellowed. Several more Flarians pig-piled on top of him. Gisbo didn’t know what to do as he rushed toward his cousin.
“What’s he gonna do?” Gisbo asked the Flarian to his left.
“Break his own leg, is what he’s gonna do, just like his arm!” the man said. Gisbo’s eyes went wide.
“You gotta be kiddin’ me . . . Phil! Phil! It’s me, Gisbo! Come on, pal, you won! You don’t got to be doin’ that! Come on, let’s go grab some drinks!” Gisbo said as he ran faster. Whether it was the word “Gisbo” or “drinks,” either way, Phil stopped as he looked at his cousin with a broad, toothy smile.
“Aye! Cousin Gisbo! Yes, everyone, that’s ‘im, the one I’ve been tellin’ ya all ‘bout, my good cousin Gisbo!” Phil said, pointing, as he thrust the rest of the men off of him with ease and dusted himself off.
“Promise me, Philly, promise me you won’t touch that leg o’ yours,” Morry said, panting hard.
“Oh, relax, Morry, me and stumpy ‘ere had a nice, long talk. He’s much more agreeable than twiggy here,” Phil said, pointing to his broken arm. “He apologized, he won’t be disobeyin’ anytime soon, that I can promise yeh,” Phil said
in his scattered speech.
“Good, that’s good,” Morry said, breathing a sigh of relief. Phil nodded.
“Well, how’d ya enjoy just a regular night in Flaria, cousin?” Phil asked.
“I’m, um, I dunno . . .” Gisbo said. Both Morry and Phil laughed.
“Well, cousin, a few drinks will fix dat. Come now, Morry’s buyin’ for the McCarley family tonight!” Phil said. He got up and patted Gisbo on the back.
Family . . . I think I could get used to the sound of that, Gisbo thought with a smile as he followed his newfound cousin and Morry to the marketplace.
Chapter Five: Falcon’s Past Revealed
“Ughhhh . . .” Gisbo grumbled. He got up, feeling as if his head weighed fifty pounds. He was sure of it; the room also felt as if it were spinning and his throat burned like fire. He opened his eyes and, with hazy vision, he discovered he was tucked into a large bed under a red quilt. The smell of a crackling fireplace suddenly filled his nostrils and brought a little more clarity to his senses.
He smacked at his cheeks to get the blood flowing and looked around, seeing the tanned, stone structure of the Ronigade’s nameless home with animal skins gracing the walls, as well as paintings. From what he could tell with his dulled senses, he was in a small bedroom of sorts.
A cedar desk was tucked in the corner of the room with a matching bookshelf across from it, as well as a nightstand next to Gisbo’s bed.
With a groan, Gisbo stretched and stepped onto a scarlet carpet and felt the familiar feeling of his stomach lurching.
“Oh, damn,” Gisbo managed to mutter. In a desperate maneuver, Gisbo rolled out of bed, only to trip over his own feet. He fell head-first into the corner of the stone wall beside the doorway and slammed the side of his noggin. And it was there, with the side of his head pounding even more, he puked, gracing the wall and floor with an array of green in a total of three, painful upchucks.
“Ugh . . . ah. . . burns,” Gisbo moaned through several panting breaths. He was too exhausted to do anything but simply lay there and moan. The pain wasn’t over yet, however, as the wooden door was suddenly thrust open, careening into Gisbo’s shin.