by J. C. Fiske
“I admit, I was doubtful, but you have proven me wrong, beyond anything I thought you could handle. Well done, Gisbo,” Fao said.
“I am so spent. I can barely move. These past few weeks have been . . . well, hell,” Gisbo said.
“No, you haven’t seen hell until you have entered war for the first time. This was only a lesser means of hell, the outskirts, to prepare you for the heart of it all,” Fao said. “Everything you’ve read about battle, everything you’ve heard, cannot prepare you fully until you experience it for yourself,”
“I’ll admit, I’m scared,” Gisbo said.
“That’s a good thing. The day you’re not, you should check yourself. Without fear, you cannot grow stronger, as Foxblade told you. Without fear, you have no worry and cannot prepare for the worst. But don’t let it control you. Use it, thrive off its adrenaline, and turn it into courage. Courage is only mastery over fear. Courage is only the ability to turn off the reasoning side of your brain. Logic doesn’t demand one put his life on the line for a cause greater than his own. Your heart does that,” Fao said.
“So I’ve been told. I’ve been through it all. Foxblade’s prepared me well. I only hope it’s enough. Either way, I’m afraid, but mostly for another reason,” Gisbo said.
“Something troubles you, I can feel it,” Fao said.
“Yeah. First, Nina told me about dreams she’s had about me. She’s seen practically my whole life play out like a picture book. She knows me better than I know myself. But not just things that have happened, things that will happen,” Gisbo said. He turned and looked at Fao with heavy eyes.
“Fao . . . am I a monster?” Gisbo asked. Fao looked at him solemnly.
“What does your heart say?” Fao asked.
Gisbo was silent.
“If you don’t wish to be one, then you won’t be,” Fao said.
“But you never denied the possibility of it happening. This voice came to me when I was passed out here . . . it was the most visual, clearest dream I’ve ever had,” Gisbo said.
“Yes, should you find yourself slumbering in your inner world, it can open the doors for many voices to contact you. Some good and some evil. I trust you were visited by the latter. Whatever that voice told you, whatever negative thing it said, and no matter how right it sounded, it bothered enough to care to come talk with you. It fears you. If it didn’t, it would have let you be. You may be afraid of what it says you could become, but it is afraid of the opposite, of the good you will do, and that is far scarier for some. Destiny is only set before us; we make the choices. We control it. Our maker endowed us with that greatest gift, the gift of choice, even the choice to deny him or love him. You make the choices and, no matter what, you are not alone; I will always be with you. Listen to me in the quiet hours, hear the voice of the maker speak through me, and all will be right. Fear no evil, Gisbo,” Fao said. Gisbo took a deep sigh.
“Fear no evil . . . I like the sound of that,” Gisbo said, and it was true. Just saying it set him at ease. “I will fear no evil . . .”
“Just the fact that you understand there is evil in this world, Gisbo, sets you apart from and above the norm. Now, it is time for you to return. I’ve kept you here long enough,” Fao said.
“But what do I do with this moonfire? I have it in me, so just what can I do with it?” Gisbo asked. Fao smiled.
“Like I said, you are not alone. Summon me, and I will take care of the rest. The knowledge already lies within your heart, which also lies with me. I will never leave your side in this coming battle,” Fao said. Gisbo bent down and ruffled her behind the ears. She moaned with pleasure.
“Thanks, girl, I’ll need all the help I can get,” Gisbo said.
“For Heaven’s Shelter,” Fao said.
“For Heaven’s Shelter,” Gisbo said. Upon saying those words, the inner world melted before his eyes and all was black. He felt the strange sensation of being caught between two planes of existence, pushing, pushing, and finally merging. He opened his eyes and was back in the cave with Fao snoozing next to him. Gisbo reached out and petted her again.
“The things you do for me, girl. I could never repay you in this life, or the next,” Gisbo said. Fao twitched her feet in her slumber and let out a yawn. Foxblade stirred the fire across from him and got up to stand before him.
“Well?” Foxblade asked. Gisbo smiled.
“I’m ready,” Gisbo said.
“Show me,” Foxblade said as he tossed Gisbo his weapons. Gisbo grinned, ignited his Tantos, and stood up. He raised his ring to the sky.
“Fao!” Gisbo yelled. Fao burst into essence and absorbed into him. He no longer looked like a hulking monstrosity. His ears grew long and fuzzy and took on the exact appearance of Fao’s, and small, agile claws popped through his knuckles. He was now a human controlling his Boon attributes, rather than his Boon and rage controlling him. He lept at Foxblade with a speed and vigor he never had before, even still within the compressed gravity. For the first time in a long time, Foxblade was forced to retreat back, not just a few steps, but many, and also for the first time in a long time, his cowl served its purpose of hiding his emotions, for Foxblade did something else.
Foxblade smiled.
Foxblade and Gisbo now walked side by side toward the familiar crest of desert by the great sea. They entered the cave that would teleport them to the Flarians’ dwelling. Foxblade stood with his arms folded.
“How do you feel?” Foxblade asked.
“In normal gravity, you mean? Weightless, powerful, like I’m floating as I walk. It’s surreal,” Gisbo said.
“Good, because if you thought such training was difficult, trying to convince the Ronigades to fight for us, well, that is going to be a whole other matter,” Foxblade said.
“It’s not the Ronigades; it’s the leader who’s difficult,” Gisbo said.
“Hence why you will let me do the talking,” Foxblade said.
“They aren’t going to be too happy with me bringing a Soarian into their midst,” Gisbo said.
“They can deal with it,” Foxblade said.
Gisbo said the poem and, after a few jumps, they were within the Flarian confides. However, strangely enough, the double doors with Vadid’s carving on them were thrust open.
“Something’s wrong . . .” Foxblade said. He and Gisbo rushed through and entered the Flarian city through the next set of doors. The normal cheer and clinking of glasses was absent. Instead, chairs were tipped over and everything was evacuated. There were sounds, however, sounds of an angry mob. Gisbo saw that the entire population of the Flarian dwelling had all gathered on the fighting ring floor and were in an uproar.
“The hell’s going on?” Gisbo asked aloud. He and Foxblade made their way through the crowd to see what the commotion was about. The people had all gathered outside of Frank Mc’Carley’s doorway and were shouting obsenities. At the front of it, pounding on it relentlessly, with tears in his eyes, was Gisbo’s Uncle Doug. Gisbo ran to him.
“Doug! Uncle Doug!” Gisbo said, trying to comfort his Uncle, who had a maddened look in his eyes as he continued pounding. Finally, he stopped and focused on Gisbo.
“Gisbo? Oh, thank IAM,” Douglas said as he dropped and embraced him in a hug. He then pulled away, and Gisbo looked into his watery, bloodshot eyes.
“What’s going on here?” Gisbo asked.
“Everything, Gisbo. We have had enough of your grandfather,” Doug said.
“What happened?” Gisbo asked.
“They took them, Gisbo,” Douglas said as fresh tears flowed down his face.
“What!? Who took who?” Gisbo asked.
“The Holy Chosen, Karm’s men, whoever is holed up in our old capital city. Your aunt and cousin are gone. They took them, at separate times. Niether of them came home for the past three days. First Phil went missing, and then your aunt, and, and,” Doug said.
“Uncle Doug, I don’t know about Aunt Barb, but Phil’s fine. He’s been summoned to fight,” Gi
sbo said.
“He what? My boy’s okay, you say? Tell me, Gisbo!” Doug said, grabbing both of Gisbo’s shoulders tightly.
“Yeah! Phil’s fine. You know how he’s been going in and out a lot of times at night? Well, it seems his better thinking part of his brain saw a great battle coming and he’s been preparing a small force for us. Sort of like animals leave places before an earthquake hits I guess. He’s doing his part right now.”
“Gisbo, tell me everything,” Doug said.
Foxblade and Gisbo both filled Doug in on all the events of Narsissa, the Holy Chosen, and how Heaven’s Shelter, Falcon, and Jackobi were doomed in a matter of hours if they did not take out Narsissa. Doug took a moment to take it all in.
“They have them all. Gisbo, they have everyone. Our whole family; why!? Why us!? There is something bigger here, but no matter. Everyone here, they want to fight, been ready to explode about it, actually. The time is come; I knew I felt something. But your grandfather, he won’t have any of it. He is a washed-out fool of a drunk. No more the proud warrior and leader. Frank McCarley is gone, and these people have had enough,” Doug said.
“Without a leader, the Ronigades are lost. They only have each other,” Foxblade said. “They need a leader, Douglas. I think you know what I am insinuating.”
“I’m no leader, Foxblade,” Douglas said.
“It’s in your blood, trust your instincts. If they are going to listen to anyone right now, it is going to be you,” Foxblade said. “I remember the speeches you wrote for Vadid, Douglas. You could sell the devil his own ass back to him. I think it’s about time you start speaking for a change. Go.”
“But,” Douglas started.
“Without the Flarians, we don’t have a chance. Everyone dies. Do it for your wife, your brother, and your son,” Foxblade said. With that, Douglas’ brow furrowed and his eyes took on something of the fierceness limited only to the McCarley brood. He turned to face the screaming crowd and put his hands in the air.
“Quiet! All of you!” Douglas said. The people recognized him and quieted down.
“What say you, Douglas!?” a voice screamed from the crowd.
“What say I? I’ll tell you what I say. I say this vacation of misery started by my father is over. I say it’s about time to get to work! To take action! And what do we Flarians do!?” Douglas asked. The Flarians screamed a bunch of jibberish into a battle cry.
“Exactly! I’ll be honest, I may be a little biased, but they have my wife and my brother over there and, on top of that, they have our home, our culture, our heritage! And they have turned it into something of an abomination! I put forth the notion that on the morrow, we leave this forsaken place of darkness and find ourselves some light! It’s time to do what we do best, and it’s time to stop kidding ourselves. We may be Flarians, but we were once Renegades, damn it! Heaven’s Shelter is where we met each other and, right now, that place, our place, is in danger of being eradicated,” Douglas said. There was a soft murmer of surprise through the crowd.
“So I say that it’s about time we repay our brothers-in-arms and pull their asses from the fire and march into battle, one last time, as Renegades!” Douglas said. There was a loud cheer to this.
“And then, when we save our brothers from Heaven’s Shelter, only then will we be fit to call ourselves Flarians again. What is a Flarian without his culture? Without his city? It’s time we take it back! FOR FLARIA!” Douglas screamed with vigor. Douglas paused before he had his final say.
“Renegades, prepare for war . . .” Douglas said. The crowd erupted into cheers and, upon hearing the very word “war,” the crowd dispersed as the Ronigades threw off their Red uniforms, some of them torching them in the process, and ran back to their homes, whooping and wailing. Within minutes, they were clambering out of their houses, fitting themselves in the blue uniforms of their past, remembering their fallen comrades, and cladding themselves in what they sought to save. Douglas looked over at Foxblade.
“Don’t know where all that came from,” Douglas said.
“You should know by now that I’m always right,” Foxblade said.
Now that they had an official gathering spot big enough for preparations, Foxblade ordered Phil and his current company to relocate everything to the Flarians’ home. They did so with relish and felt much better about their odds. That is, until Foxblade, Doug, and Rolce began to lay out the plans and certain news from Flarian Shininjas that troubled them.
Gisbo sat in on the meeting as three of the smartest men he had ever known gathered in one place to discuss strategy. Rolce, although he had hardly any battle experience, brought so much to the table with his theories and mathematical calculations. Foxblade brought his personal battle experience and killer instinct, and Douglas brought years of personal experience himself, with added fervor, considering his love ones were also at stake. Together, Gisbo knew, they would come up with a fool-proof plan. Everything was going quite well until the Shininja reported troubling news.
“Karm has sent men to assist Sand Lake?” Foxblade asked. The Shininja nodded.
“Yes, more and more of them have poured into the city over the last few days, all armed to the teeth. They have shaken off their drunken ways, as well. They are preparing for battle. They know we are coming,” the Shininja reported.
“Thank you for your report, Lark, keep me posted on any changes,” Douglas said.
“There is one more thing,” Lark said. All three of them looked up.
“That abomination, the Mara, it’s been up and about lately, no longer being kept secret. He patrols the area, shouting unrecognizable things. He is hungry for blood. I’ve seen him kill some of Karm’s own men to satisfy his bloodlust. If you want my opinion, that thing alone is a small army in itself. If we can’t find a way to isolate it and destroy it, it will wreck havoc on us while we engage Karm’s men, let alone the devoted priests and priestesses, all who will fight with a death wish,” Lark said.
“This is troubling. Return and gather the rest of your men, Lark, then come back here. I don’t want any slip-ups,” Douglas said.
“Right away, sir,” Lark said, leaving with the trademark Renegade salute. Both Doug and Lark smiled upon participating with the Renegade salute once again. Rolce sighed before speaking.
“And our plans need to change yet again. We were already outnumbered by the priestess’ followers. Our skill, however, compared to theirs, put us on top. But now we have actual trained men of battle. Not to Renegades standards, of course, but I’ve seen General Ricard in action. Their Elekai’ skills are not to be taken lightly,” Rolce said.
“And, of course, the Mara,” Foxblade said.
“That is something I’m not too worried about,” Douglas said.
“And why might that be? The thing incapacitated me without effort, nearly killed us all. What it is made up of, I don’t really know; think a walking, massive set of armor with no weak points. If anything, you could do more damage to the armor than the monster. So, I am curious, Douglas, why are you not worried?” Foxblade asked. Doug smiled.
“Because of what Lark said. He said it is an army in itself. And what do you throw at an army? Another army, of course, and, lucky us, we got one, by the humble name of Camlin Aver McCarley,” Douglas said.
“Your boy?” Foxblade asked.
“The very same. I know very well what that monster was shouting. He wants Phil. Only Phil could give him the fight he is looking for. Phil has heard him in his sleep, his dreams, calling to him. And for Phil, this may be the very reason why he was born. He is a special boy, a little too special for his own good,” Douglas said.
“But to trust one man against him, is that . . .” Rolce said.
“I don’t think either of you understand. Phil is a power like nothing you’ve seen. For him, walking around Thera is like strutting through a world made of delicate ice sculptures. He’s always cautious not to lose control for, if he does, he could break something or worse, someone. He has lived
isolated because of it, his poor mind going haywire all the time with only alcohol to soothe himself. He doesn’t drink to gain some form of power or some kind of bizarre training. That’s just what he tells folks. He drinks to keep it down, to maintain it. You’ll see; Phil was meant for this, he was made for this. This creature, this monster, is going to test him like never before and, in the aftermath, with everything he has spent, maybe, just maybe, Phil can have a shot at a somewhat normal life after he spends all this couped-up power, power from something beyond the elements,” Douglas said. “So, let’s move on.”
“I’ve seen Phil myself. He took down a Stone Scythe with his bare fists,” Gisbo said. Foxblade whirled on him.
“Stop telling me stories,” Foxblade said.
“I have no reason to. I know what I saw; he cracked it open like a lobster,” Gisbo said. Foxblade looked at him for a long time, then back to Douglas.
“He speaks the truth,” Douglas said.
“I’ll take your word on it, but that is something I will have to see to believe,” Foxblade said.
“Jeesh,” Rolce found himself muttering in disbelief.