by J. C. Fiske
“You drippies need your heads checked,” Foxblade muttered, followed by a cough. At this point, the other two men with their broken spears surrounded Foxblade, as well, totally ignoring Gisbo’s presence.
“If you truly have a pair, I would like to hear you say that once more,” the man growled, sounding more like a bear than a man.
“I said you drippies need your heads checked,” Foxblade said, clearly and calmly. The big man held him and lifted him further in the air so that now they were eye to eye.
“It seems nothing’s changed,” the burly man said.
“You’re correct for once . . .” Foxblade said. At that moment, Foxblade, with his other foot, kicked his own heel. There was a clicking noise, as if Foxblade had activated a button, and suddenly there was a spray of blood from the man’s hand. Out of reflex, he let Foxblade go and wailed in agony, holding his bleeding hand. Gisbo saw a pointed edge now revealed from the back of Foxblade’s heel.
The burly man stumbled back as the other two men advanced upon him. In tremendous speed, Foxblade heelkicked himself again as the shredded edge returned back within his boot heel and brought up one foot into the oncoming man’s groin as he spun to the left, crouched, and unleashed a curved punch to the other man’s, as well. Both men slammed to the ground, hard, and grasped their manhood, wailing. Foxblade started charging at the now bleeding burly man. He slid across wet, fallen leaves under the man’s legs. Now behind the man, Foxblade let loose with both of his legs to the back of each of the burly man’s knees. Both of the man’s knees fired like cannon shots, but the man’s agonized yell was louder. In one quick pounce, Foxblade jumped atop the man’s shoulders like a cat and wrapped his left arm tightly around the man’s neck, cutting off his windpipe.
The big man still did not go down, but stumbled and thrashed around, gagging and fighting for breath. Foxblade locked his grip tightly. In a last ditch effort, the burly man charged backward into a tree and slammed Foxblade up against it with all his weight, gurgled, fell to his knees, and passed out from lack of oxygen. Foxblade got off of his opponent, breathing hard and arching his back.
“ . . . and still, I beat you,” Foxblade said. With that said, Foxblade fell backward against the tree, breathing hard. Gisbo walked to the unconscious man and, to be of help, gathered Foxblade’s possessions off the man’s roots and handed them to Foxblade.
“Thank you, Gisbo,” Foxblade said through huffs and puffs.
“Uhm, what was all that about?” Gisbo asked.
“A long upstanding rivalry, and still upstanding now that I have beaten him again,” Foxblade said.
“So, I take it we are here, then?” Gisbo asked.
“That’s correct,” Foxblade said. “Just let me catch my breath and we will go talk to, um,”
“Their leader?” Gisbo asked.
“Well, that oaf is their leader, so . . .” Foxblade said. Gisbo looked from the huge, hulking form of the man before him, unconscious, and then back at the much smaller, leaner frame of Foxblade. If he was a betting man, Gisbo never would have thought Foxblade stood a chance.
“Whoa . . .” was all Gisbo managed to say. “So, what exactly do these guys have against you?”
“Hmph, different views on matters. These guys focus more on the planet’s survival than the people who live on it. They are Druids, one with the earth, or as I call them, Drippies,” Foxblade said.
“Drippies?” Gisbo asked.
“Yeah, tree huggers, moss munchers, whatever you like to call them. Cut down a hundred year old tree and they’d cry over it like a dead relative. As I said, they need their heads checked, but they are good people and even better warriors,” Foxblade said.
“And this big guy here, how do you know him?” Gisbo asked.
“Moordin and him go way back. Also, he’s never liked the nickname of my daggers,” Foxblade said.
“Hm?” Gisbo asked. Foxblade flipped them each a few times before answering.
“Drippie pokers,” Foxblade said. At this point, the two men were on their feet and made their way to stand before Foxblade. “Gentleman, please kindly escort us to Delarah Village.” Both of them at once looked down at their huge leader.
“Don’t worry about him, I’ll take care of it,” Foxblade said, wincing, and, grabbing his back, he got up slowly, powered up his ring, and put out a hand. Within moments, a small, yellow air current appeared beneath the large man and he was hovering off the ground by a foot. Within moments, however, the big man dropped and Foxblade released his essence, breathing hard.
“On second thought, carry him,” Foxblade said.
“Yes, Renegade Foxblade, but please, when my master wakes, tell him it was a draw. He will be just as driven as ever and when he’s driven, WE get driven,” one of the men pleaded. Foxblade rolled his eyes.
“I’ll think about it. Now come,” Foxblade said, sheathing his daggers. He walked awkwardly and stumbled a bit, but Gisbo caught him.
“Take it easy, would ya?” Gisbo said as he wrapped an arm over his shoulder.
“Perhaps I overdid it. My cursed back,” Foxblade said, wincing.
“Hey, least you beat him. Just how many times have you guys fought?” Gisbo asked.
“That makes 41 times,” Foxblade said. Gisbo laughed.
“Yikes, and how many times have you beat him?” Gisbo asked.
“41 times,” Foxblade said.
“Damn,” Gisbo said. He turned and looked back at the unconscious form of the giant man and his two cohorts struggling to carry him.
“Have you ever fought my dad?” Gisbo asked. Foxblade looked at him coldly.
“Yes,” Foxblade said.
“How did it go?” Gisbo asked. Foxblade looked away hesitantly.
“I’d rather not say . . .” Foxblade said. Gisbo chuckled to himself and then stopped. His thoughts wandered to his dad, strapped to that awful machine and looking so near death. His thoughts then wandered to a life without Falcon in it.
“Foxblade, tell me honestly. Do you think my dad will make it for two more weeks?” Gisbo asked with a quavering voice. It was clear he was fighting off tears. Foxblade looked at him.
“If I know Falcon, he’ll last three,” Foxblade said. Gisbo smiled at that, but then remembered his own line about how confidence goes further than doubt.
“If you want to know the truth, I’ve never defeated your father in combat,” Foxblade said. Gisbo looked at him, surprised.
“But he’s never defeated me, either. Still, I hate admitting even that much to you, but you deserve to know,” Foxblade said. “He’s gonna make it.”
“Thanks, Foxblade,” Gisbo said.
“The clearing up ahead is where Delerah Village is located. Don’t so much as step on a flower or hack at a bush or kill a bug while you are here. They are a peaceful alliance with the Renegades, that is all. Don’t push it. Understand?” Foxblade asked.
“Okay,” Gisbo said.
“And don’t use the word Drippie around them. If I can refrain from saying such, then so can you,” Foxblade said.
“I’m not that stupid,” Gisbo said. Foxblade smiled.
“Sometimes I’m not so sure,” Foxblade said.
“Fine, walk your own crippled ass the rest of the way, then,” Gisbo said.
“Hmph,” Foxblade grumbled.
They arrived at the clearing and, at first, saw nothing. Gisbo wondered why they had stopped when Foxblade signaled him to look up. There he saw huge, interconnecting tree forts that stretched all about the area for what looked like a quarter of a mile. Gisbo saw bridges from tree to tree, large platforms, and heard the footsteps of the people above. Suddenly, Gisbo heard the clicks of gears and, before them, a staircase was lowered, connected to a series of vines that served as handles, as well as support. Gisbo and Foxblade went up the stairs first, slowly, and made their way to the top. Gisbo smiled largely. If anything, he felt like he was home in Heaven’s Shelter again.
It was an entire city made of woo
d with different furnishings and stains. There were shops, a boardwalk, food huts, bars, and all the commotion and chatter of people walking about, shirtless, with the strange green paintings on their faces and chests. The women wore a more modest outfit, but were still quite scantily clad, with the same markings all about.
“Gisbo, please, let me sit down, that table over by the bar,” Foxblade said. Gisbo brought Foxblade over, who collapsed in his chair with a big breath.
“Thanks,” Foxblade said. Gisbo sat down across from him to take in the scenery even more, but before he could, a colorful toucan landed right on their table. He did what seemed like a little dance and eyed Gisbo curiously with a tilted head and ruffled his feathers.
“Hey, buddy,” Gisbo said with a smile. He reached out to touch him when he got a peck and a squawk from the toucan. Gisbo snapped his wrist back, and with one final squawk, the toucan was off into the air.
“Stupid bird,” Gisbo said, rubbing his hand.
“As much as I would hope this would be a happy reunion between you and some of your Renegara friends, Gisbo, I fear they do not know the news of Heaven’s Shelter yet,” Foxblade said.
“I never thought about that,” Gisbo said.
“What is worse is all of their Class Masters are back at Heaven’s Shelter. They leave them here to train under the elders after their tournament, just like the Flarians. They don’t know their Masters are in danger yet,” Foxblade said. Gisbo’s head swam.
“What do we do?” Gisbo asked.
“We tell them and let them decide their own course of action,” Foxblade said.
“They’ll fight, I know they will,” Gisbo said.
“Yes, they will,” Foxblade said in a rather dreary voice.
“What’s wrong?” Gisbo asked.
“This is all too much, too soon, I’m afraid. But, it must be done,” Foxblade said.
“What do you mean?” Gisbo asked. Foxblade shook his head.
“Later I shall discuss it with you,” Foxblade said. Foxblade swatted at something behind his neck and pulled back a dead mosquito.
“Damn insect,” Foxblade said. He caught the attention of a woman walking by. She made her way up to him.
“Are you happy you have deprived that creature of a meal? Which, in turn, would have provided the birds a meal? You have disrupted the circle,” the woman said. Foxblade rolled his eyes.
“Why do you not answer?” the woman said crossly.
“Because you will not enjoy what leaves my mouth,” Foxblade said.
“Good day to you, Renegade, and while you are here, be polite to all forms of life,” the woman said as she walked away.
“Um, I’m starting to see your point,” Gisbo said. Foxblade just uttered a grumbling noise from his throat. At that point, Gisbo began to notice that many of the people had a lot of bug bites across their bodies. He began to have a hunch that maybe they covered themselves with paint to hide the blemishes.
“Man, I sure hope Rolce hasn’t fallen into this Drippie crap,” Gisbo said. And it was then he heard his name being called.
“GISBO!” the familiar voice screamed. Gisbo looked up to see an exuberant Rolce waving at him and making his way toward them through the crowd.
“Oh no . . .” Gisbo moaned. Foxblade also turned to see Rolce shirtless, covered in bug bites and paint. He quickly embraced Gisbo in a tight bear hug before Gisbo could even rise to his feet.
“I . . . okay, man, you can back off so I can breathe and . . . holy hell, you smell ripe, dude! Don’t you guys bathe?” Gisbo said, hacking and coughing.
“We like to rough it around here, good for survival,” Rolce said. Gisbo saw Foxblade roll his eyes and breathe a heavy sigh. “So, what is with the friendly visit? And why are you with Foxblade, Gisbo? Where’s Falcon? Not that I’m glad to see you, though, sir, and where’s Jack?” Rolce asked, stretching out a hand. Foxblade gripped it and gave him a firm shake.
“I, well, Rolce, something has happened, I’m not too sure how to say this,” Gisbo started when Rolce interrupted him.
“Just stop there. Over here, guys! He’s over here!” Rolce shouted into the crowd. At that point, Gisbo recognized several other faces. Gisbo was so thankful his other friends were not stripped down and wearing body paint like Rolce.
“Crass! Knob!” Gisbo yelled as he got out of his seat to greet them. There was another girl with them, as well.
“And don’t forget about little Niffin; she’s a bit shy,” Knob said.
“Stop it! I am not!” Niffin said in a high-pitched squeak.
“See?” Knob said.
“It’s good to see you, too, Niffin. I’m just so happy you guys aren’t like this whack job standing behind me,” Gisbo said, jerking a thumb.
“Oh, nature boy? Yeah, don’t get me started,” Crass said, crossing his arms.
“Hey, I am learning the culture of our heritage! There is nothing wrong with playing out the part!” Rolce said. “Come on, you agree with me, don’t you, Niffin?”
“Yes, I, I’m all about learning of our home, I just don’t, well, I don’t want to wear any of those . . . woman Naforian clothes,” Niffin said. A group of scantily-clad woman bearing full assets walked by their table.
“I so love it here . . .” Knob said with a dazed look in his eyes. Gisbo noticed he had a black eye.
“Hm, something tells me that black eye wasn’t from training,” Gisbo said.
“Can’t confirm or deny that,” Knob said with a sheepish grin.
“So, what are you guys doing here? Where’s Falcon?” Crass asked. It was at this point that Foxblade spoke.
“Is there somewhere private we can go, Crass?” Foxblade asked.
“Um, yeah, I’m sure we can find a place. Why do you ask?” Crass asked.
“Something has happened. I don’t need for you to show hysterics in public here when I share it with you,” Foxblade said. All of them looked at each other grimly. Rolce spoke up.
“We can go to my uncle’s place; he went off somewhere and said he’d be back later. He seemed really odd about it,” Rolce said. Finally, Gisbo connected the pieces. He knew exactly why the huge man looked so familiar. He looked exactly like Shax! He must have been Shax’s brother. Gisbo opened his mouth to say something when Foxblade eyed him with a cold stare and shook his head.
“I would really prefer not to go to Chief Molder’s dwelling. Is there anywhere else?” Foxblade asked.
“Yeah, come to Knob’s and my place, we’re staying together. We don’t have any relatives here, so we got the place all to ourselves,” Crass said.
“Perfect, let us go,” Foxblade said.
As they sat in the room that strangley reminded Gisbo of Rolce’s and his treehouse back home at Heaven’s Shelter, Foxblade told the band the news of their home’s fate and the situation at Sand Lake City with the Holy Chosen. They all sat in silence, trying to take in that all they knew and loved, their families, their culture, their identities, might very well be destroyed in the coming weeks.
“I know it’s hard to take in. I hate to be the bearer of such grim tidings, but . . .” Foxblade said. At that moment, Crass stood up and slammed a fist into his palm.
“Well, we still got two weeks. I say we amp up our training here, and we go kick some ass! Come on, Knob, Niffin, and Rolce. Are you with me?” Crass asked. Foxblade actually smiled at the boy’s enthuisiasm.
“Well said. Bastio would be proud of your quick words. I agree, two weeks of constant practice would be wise. But it is not only your bodies that must be prepared. Your minds must be, as well. Every young Renegade has a romanticized view of combat and war. Your lives, as well as the lives of everyone back in Oak County, are now on the line. Your resolve must be strong, you must meditate on what you want out of this battle. Search within yourself and find the answers, and know what you do is worth dying for. I . . . it isn’t right, that such responsibilities should fall on shoulders as young as yours, but know this, you are strong, you are
Renegades, and without your help in this coming battle, I feel everything will be lost. Still, I will not force this on you. In these two weeks, train, find your resolve, whatever it may be, and stick by it. I will hold no dishonor in my eyes if any of you wish to forfeit from this battle,” Foxblade said.
“I . . .” Niffin suddenly piped up. Everyone turned to listen to the young Shininja who blushed as she suddenly saw all eyes upon her.
“Yes, Niffin, you may speak . . .” Foxblade said in a gentle tone. She paused for a moment, trying to find the words. She then clenched her fists and stamped her foot into the ground.
“I don’t need two weeks to decide, sir, I know I am going to fight. My only family is there, my mom, Roarie . . .” Niffin said. Everyone in their group turned to look at her surprised.
“Wait, Roarie’s your mom?” Gisbo asked. She nodded slowly.
“Yes, and all we have left is each other. I will never abandon her. Ever! My decision’s made. I am going to fight!” Niffin said. Foxblade walked over to her and put both hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes.
“You are a brave young woman, Niffin. You bring our Shininja class honor. I am proud of you,” Foxblade said. “That’s one, then. I will return in . . .”
“Hey, I’m not gonna let some girl do the fighting when I’m around to do it for her. Count me in, too,” Knob said, thrusting a proud thumb into his chest.
“I stand by my initial statement, I’m in,” Crass said.
“What about you, jungle boy?” Gisbo asked.
“He doesn’t have a choice, he is instrumental,” Foxblade said. Everyone turned to look at a surprised Rolce.
“I . . . what? Why?” Rolce asked.
“The rest of you, when your, um, chieftain returns, I am going to request to disband from your wrestling techniques. You need survival training, weapon training. You are going to war,” Foxblade said.