Renegade Rupture

by J. C. Fiske

  “Um, Dave! DAVE!” Ernie suddenly called, waving his hands above the crowd and pointed. They all saw an enormously overweight bear climbing a tree way too thin, even for the likes of Grandfield. The higher the bear climbed, the more the tree bent until the tip of it touched the ground, along with the bear’s goal: a huge beehive, dripping with honey and swarming with angry worker bees.

  “Aw, he’s just hungry!” Dave said, cooing as the bear finally pinned the beehive to the ground and began to crack the hive open like a giant walnut. He lapped up the sweet nectar inside, ignoring the stings. Slumby realized that this was not an ideal, comfortable position for eating such a wonderful treat, so he rolled forward, like a barrel, and propped the beehive on his chest and ate it like an otter.

  Unfortunately, the tree snapped back, ripping the beehive free from the surprised bear’s claws and firing it straight up into the air. Moments later, the big beehive slammed down into the center of the crowd and exploded in sticky, stingy goo, leaving the bravest warriors Thera had to offer running for their lives from tiny honey bees. The bravest soul of the day crawled forward, laid upon the ground, and ate up his prize with delight. Upon looking left and right, realizing everyone had fled, Dave ventured forward and sat next to his bear, raising a hand that his bear high-fived.

  “That’ll do, Slumby, that’ll do. Funny thing about bees. If you just stay still, leave ‘em be, they don’t sting ya! Ok, pal, time to share some of that free honey,” Dave said.

  That night, upon Gisbo’s request, much to Kennis’ surprise, they hung out at her place to spend time with Niffin and Kimjow, talking the night away and playing games. Kennis marveled at Gisbo and Niffin’s quick friendship, but also wondered what exactly had happened between the two of them.

  “I really can’t thank you enough for helping me and Fao here, Niffin. We didn’t make it, but her power and our friendship have doubled. I’m so thankful for your help, and just know that Kennis and I will be in the front row cheering you and Kimjow on!” Gisbo said. Niffin blushed.

  “Ugh, there’s just so much pressure! I’m not used to all of this, but Kimjow here helps me,” Niffin said, hugging her giant, drooling dog with a smile. “Perry said we are spending tomorrow improving everyone’s Boon’s power, and Kimjow’s and my abilities are going to be the focus. I’m so happy to help, but at the same time, it’s stressing me out to no end. I better get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day,”

  “No problem, none at all, and thank you, thank you so much,” Gisbo said as he gave Niffin a big hug, causing her to blush a fierce red. Kennis smiled and hugged and kissed Gisbo goodbye as well.

  Gisbo took his time making it back to his tree house, enjoying the cool night air, along with a blanket of calming stars above him. A natural smile of contentment crept upon his face. He was at peace and his normally chaotic mind was filled only with the beauty of Heaven’s Shelter.

  Crickets chirped and fireflies sparkled and soared all around him, and somewhere, a loon cooed it’s lonely song on a pond. He stopped a moment to take one last look at Kennis and Niffin’s tree house to see Kennis in the window, leaning on her elbows, watching him with a smile. She blew him a kiss, and Gisbo settled for a wave and continued his walk through the woods toward his tree house.

  He passed a pond, a pond that just two years earlier, during winter, he and his dad and all his friends spent the week playing hockey. Then, just as when he entered the Life End, a repressed memory shot to the front of his mind. He was transported away to a memory, not of his mother, but of his father . . .

  “So, that’s your boy, eh?” Ernie asked. Falcon looked up from his steaming cup of coffee.

  “That’s him, all right,” Falcon said with a proud smile as the last boy to tie on his ice skeets took to the pond, hockey stick in hand, and joined the other boys and girls skating about in a circle, warming up.

  “He’s no natural; his knees are wobbling,” Ernie said.

  “Can it, Ernie,” Falcon said. “He’s doing fine.”

  “If you say so. He looks like a baby deer on that ice compared to everyone else. He’s gonna get slaughtered out there,” Ernie said.

  “It’s good for him,” Falcon said.

  “This isn’t Heaven’s Shelter, pal. This is Snaeflur. They eat and breathe hockey out here. He still cooped up in his room all the time? Readin’? Not good for a boy his age,” Ernie asked.

  “Ernie . . .” Falcon said, warning to his tone.

  “What? All I’m saying is that a future Renegade has no business sticking his nose in fantasy books and drawing silly pictures. The boy’s got to get out and learn to kick some ass! Not read about it,” Ernie said.

  “Are you his father?” Falcon asked.

  “You know I’m only messing with ya, come on, lighten up! Perry sticks his nose in the books and IAM knows I’d want nothing to do with him in a throw down,” Ernie said, suddenly pausing. “And don’t you ever tell him I said that neither!”

  “Noted,” Falcon said.

  “Damn, look at Narroway’s kid. Ranto, right? The big guy flies across the ice. He’s a natural. Much like you back in the day. You were the best player I ever coached, and that’s saying something,” Ernie said.

  “We played against the same team every week, Ernie. It’s just a game,” Falcon said. Ernie looked at him bewildered.

  “Hockey? Just a game? Are you out of your damned skull? That wife o’ yours is makin’ you soft, boy! Hockey, it should be the start of every young boy’s life! It’s not just a sport; it’s a life lesson. When you step out on that ice, you’re prepping for battle on unstable ground, AKA life! Your pads are your armor, your stick is your weapon, and that puck is life itself. Some people chase it, some people go where the others are going, but the smart ones, the Renegades, they don’t go where it is; they go where it’s gonna be. You learn to adapt to your environment, rely on others when you need to, and when to take the shot. Just a game . . . damn you, Falcon,” Ernie said as he tossed back a beer.

  “Ain’t it a little early for that?” Falcon asked.

  “Do I tell you how to live your life?” Ernie fired back.

  “Yes,” Falcon said.

  “Oh, well . . . screw it,” Ernie said as he popped open another beer. “Seems your little guy has some friends.”

  “Mm,” Falcon said, watching as a group of three older, bigger boys skated in stride with Gisbo. They were talking with him, but even from afar, Falcon saw the snickers and glints in their eyes. Gisbo just smiled back, ignorant of their cruel intentions.

  “Yer kid’s about to get popped,” Ernie said.

  Sure enough, the lead boy, in one swift hip check, hit Gisbo off balance into his bigger friend, who then bounced him over to their other friend who waited with a cross check that hit Gisbo so hard, his feet flew over his head. Ernie roared with laughter, smacking his knee.

  “Up and away!” Ernie said. “Welcome to hockey, Gisbo, and welcome to a little thing called strength in numbers!”

  Both men watched Gisbo spin out and glide across the ice into a snow bank. After sitting up, tears swimming in his eyes, face red with embarrassment, Gisbo pulled himself back up onto his skeets and skated over to the entryway of the stands, clearly done for the day.

  “Well, old friend, not everyone’s cut out for hockey. Just take him home and get him patched up. He can try again next year,” Ernie said.

  “Hmph,” Falcon mumbled, rising to his feet and walking down the stands, one bleacher at a time, until he came face to face with his son.

  Gisbo, his eyes red from tears, shook from head to toe from the shock and hid from his father’s gaze. Falcon looked down at his son.

  “Look at me,” Falcon said.

  Gisbo continued looking down, then slowly looked up at his dad.

  “Why are you crying?” Falcon asked plainly.

  “Because . . . because they hit me,” Gisbo said through sniffles.

  “Knock it off,” Falcon said in a powerful voi
ce. Gisbo quit his sobbing. Falcon leaned down and put both hands on his son’s shoulders and looked him square in the eyes.

  “I want you to look at me, son, and listen to what I’m about to say. Nobody, and I mean nobody, has the right to hit you. It is better to know now, when you are young, that you can defend yourself when your life is on the line, and even more importantly, defend those you love. It is always better to have something and not need it, than need it and not have it. Understand?” Falcon asked.

  Gisbo nodded.

  “Now, next time they try that, anybody for that matter, this is what I want you to do. I want you to chase them down and hit them back as hard as you can, square in the nose. Do you understand me? There will be time to turn the other cheek, but you can’t turn a cheek you don’t have,” Falcon asked. At that moment, Gisbo felt a little funny. His heart skipped as he felt a rush of excitement come over him. He felt like a hero from his books and his father had given permission to slay a dragon. He smiled, causing his dad to smile, too.

  “Yeah, Dad,” Gisbo said.

  “Atta boy. You are my son and I’m going to raise you to be a man, not a fairy ass. Now go, and whatever you do, don’t tell your mother,” Falcon said with a wink and a smile. He gave Gisbo a friendly knock on the side of the helmet. Gisbo beamed and immediately skated back out onto the ice.

  “Gisbo,” Falcon said. Gisbo stopped in his tracks and turned to face his dad.

  “Yeah?” Gisbo asked.

  “I’m proud of you, son,” Falcon said. Gisbo beamed and skated away as Falcon returned to the stands and sat next to Ernie.

  “Well, I best get this game underway. What’d you say to make him skate back out there?” Ernie asked. Falcon took one sip of his coffee and stared at his son, skating with a renewed energy and, for the first time, looking like he really enjoyed it.

  “What I’ve always wanted my father to tell me,” Falcon said.

  And then, as quick as the memory grabbed him, it let go and Gisbo found himself back within Heaven’s Shelter, overlooking the pond. He smiled and felt a tear come down his face, wondering what was so dangerous in recovering a memory like that. Before he could ponder any further, he heard a heavy branch crack to his right and came eye to eye with Ranto. The two of them passed one another, looking with curious eyes, but without words. Ranto didn't smile, only averted his gaze ahead and continued walking. Gisbo stopped and watched him until he disappeared into the darkness.

  What the hell is he doing way out here? Gisbo thought. He thought about following him, but knew that was stupid. As much as Gisbo hated him, Ranto was a Renegade, and a powerful one at that. They all needed to come together for this tournament. Gisbo was surprised by this thought and smiled as he continued his trek home under the stars, destined for a good night's sleep, with a clear head . . .

  . . . before hell came with the rising sun.

  Chapter Fourteen: Murder in the Night

  “Gisbo, Gisbo, wake up, please wake up!” Kennis said as she shook him. Gisbo woke up with a smile, seeing his beautiful blonde leaning over him, but it quickly diminished. Kennis’s face was white with terror.

  “Baby? What’s wrong?” Gisbo asked, leaning up. Kennis sat on the foot of his bed, shaking her head.

  “It’s not me, it’s Niffin,” Kennis said. “Just, just come with me.”

  Gisbo dressed in minutes, and he and Kennis ran to her tree house and up the spiral staircase. Kennis paused before opening the door.

  “Nobody knows yet, except Roarie,. Just . . . We need help and she requested you for some reason,” Kennis said.

  “Help with what? I don’t understand,” Gisbo said. Kennis sighed.

  “It’s awful in there. Just prepare yourself,” Kennis said. She rubbed at her eyes and thrust open the door to reveal a grisly scene.

  On the ground was Kimjow, his head twisted and broken to one side, dead, in a pool of dried, crusted blood, with Niffin wrapped in her mother’s arms, crying fiercely as Roarie rocked her.

  Gisbo bent down and put a hand on the dog’s head and stroked its fur, feeling an overwhelming pity come over him, knowing just how much the dog meant to Niffin. Just as quick as the pity came on, Gisbo thought of his walk home last night and Ranto’s face flashed within his mind. He looked at the dog’s giant head, twisted to one side. Not many people in Heaven’s Shelter had the strength to do such a thing. Anger rose up within Gisbo, an anger that he spent his whole life fighting. This time, rather than fight it, he embraced it willingly, letting it fill him up. Without a word, Gisbo rose to his feet, turned around, and stormed outside.

  “Gisbo! Gisbo! We need your help, we . . .” Kennis yelled.

  “I’ll be right back. I know who did this.” Gisbo said.

  “Then I’m coming with you. I . . .” Kennis started. Gisbo spun around and thrust a finger at Kennis.

  “YOU STAY RIGHT HERE!” Gisbo snapped with such ferocity Kennis froze in her tracks. Gisbo didn’t even bother to apologize as he ran as fast as he could through the trees, past the commons, and out to a couple of cabins around a pond that his father, Shax, and Narroway called home.

  Gisbo bounded up Narroway’s steps, the biggest cabin with the best view, especially out the back, and pounded on the door until it creaked open to reveal Narroway’s haggard face.

  “Come in, Gisbo. I know why you’re here,” Narroway said.

  “Where is he?” Gisbo asked, trembling all over.

  “Come, see for yourself,” Narroway said, opening the door. Gisbo walked in and followed Narroway across the kitchen and out back, where the bedrooms were, and down the hall to Ranto’s room. Before Gisbo looked inside, he saw the door hanging on by one hinge, and it was charred black with a single fist-hole straight through the center.

  When Gisbo rounded the frame to look inside, he saw the remains of his cousin’s room. It looked like a bomb was set off. There were piles of ash, broken furniture still burning, and countless pieces of paper scattered all about the room. A breeze came through the open porch door and blew a piece of paper towards him, a drawing. Gisbo picked it up, looked at it, and felt his stomach flip.

  He saw a detailed depiction of a man with an axe through the top of his head. Gisbo walked through the room to find another with a man arched over, a sword through his stomach and all of his entrails pouring out of him like a melted pizza, and magazines depicting the most hardcore, sexually explicit images he had ever seen or known.

  “He’s gone, Gisbo,” Narroway said. “I’ve failed him.”

  “Niffin’s dog, he murdered him, snapped his neck. Where is he!?” Gisbo said.

  “There’s no proof of that, but now he’s in the only safe place for him. With the Strifes. Ranto has defected and joined them,” Narroway said, walking out onto the back porch and slumping into a reclining chair. Gisbo followed him out and looked down at his uncle, who was in utter dismay, a position he had never seen the Renegade Chieftain take on before.

  “Ranto . . . he’s with the Strifes now?” Gisbo asked.

  “I’ve been a fool. I let my love blind me,” Narroway said. “It’s all my fault; I didn’t act quickly enough.”

  “If . . . It doesn’t make sense. All right, I’m just going to come out and say the obvious since a lot of Ranto’s past behavior suddenly makes sense. If Ranto’s . . . gay, why would he join the Strifes? They hate gay people as much as they hate Drakearon!” Gisbo said.

  “It’s more than that, Gisbo. Ranto values control above all else, which is another word for dominance and another for power. However, something finally came into his life that he couldn’t control: his sexual urges. He’s fought it ever since puberty. All I’ve been is what I thought was loving and accepting, but he saw it differently. He didn’t want to embrace who he was. He wanted to be rid of it, and the Strifes offer programs to be rid of such feelings. They think it’s a choice, and for Ranto, it is. It’s a choice he fights every day and he says no. I’ve been to and seen Strife rallies about homosexuality. It’s one
of the major reasons we disagreed. Your father was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. Their prison, Glaknabrade, do you know what part of it was originally designed for?” Narroway asked.

  “No,” Gisbo said.

  “They meant to put homosexuals in there, put them away from the rest of society, lock them up and . . . cure them. I don’t care what anyone says. Anyone who focuses so strongly on what sex someone prefers to the point they build such a horrible place isn’t about curing them at all. They want to cure themselves, and rather than accept who they are, they take out their rage on those brave enough to come out and say, ‘I am who I am,’” Narroway said. “Ranto is now a part of that world, and he goes willingly. Don’t think I don’t know that this tournament is a precursor for a war. I know this, I know it’s coming, but that day is not here yet. We have peace for now and we must use that to prepare and strategize. When war comes, as I know it will, we will have already broken their foundations.”

  “Peace for some, not for Niffin,” Gisbo said. “Narroway, I don’t care if he’s my cousin. He’s no family of mine! If I see him, if he shows his ugly mug, I’m going all out on him. He’s a monster, and monster’s need putting down,”

  “That’s not an opinion I can accept. When you have a son one day, you will understand. Do not let your personal feelings get in the way. Ranto may have joined the Strifes, but it doesn’t mean he killed Kimjow,” Narroway said.

  “I don’t understand. I know the whole nature versus nurture deal, but how on Thera could a guy as great and kind as you raise,” Gisbo started, then looked all about the destroyed room, “This?”

  “One’s past weighs a great deal on their future, but that’s a story for another day. Right now, you and Kennis need to be there for your friend and leave Ranto to me. Understood? He is with the Strifes now, and we cannot risk an all out war, not yet. You will be calm, understood?” Narroway said.

  “I won’t promise anything,” Gisbo said.