by J. C. Fiske
“Wait, what?” Gisbo asked, rising to his feet.
“I knew it; you had no idea. That’s what the Drakeness does. It heals your grievances, and you begin to space out, lose track of time. First seconds, then minutes, then entire days. You’ll find you’ve done things that you don’t remember doing, horrible things. It’s already happened. In one lost moment, you sent your friend to the intensive care unit. He has a severe concussion,” Falcon said.
Gisbo sat silent.
“You. Need. Help. No one is meant to tackle this thing alone. It eats away at all you are. You’ve already seen what happens when you lose control for a second. What then when it gets up to hours?” Falcon asked. “As your father, I order you to smoke those, at least three times a day. Let that logic sink in . . . if only your mother could hear me now. Also, end this sadistic training. In fact, no more training alone,”
Gisbo stood silent.
“I realize you’re a man. I realize taking help is hard. Your pride gets in the way. You get that from me, and for that, I’m sorry. But, please, don’t make the same mistakes I have. They say that pain is temporary, Gisbo, and for some things, that may be true, but when you’ve done what I’ve done . . . it’s eternal. You don’t want that. I’m not preaching to you. I’m only offering a hand, ok?” Falcon said.
“I know,” Gisbo said.
“And for the record, I know you can beat Ranto,” Falcon said, grasping his shoulder. “Now go visit your friend. And no more training alone, understand?”
“Yeah,” Gisbo said. With that, Falcon walked away. Gisbo looked at the pack of cigars in his hand and shoved them in his pocket.
I got to get out of here, get my mind off this, Gisbo thought as he went and got cleaned up.
“He’s in there,” Shaved said, motioning inside his tree house.
“He’s been really quiet, and quiet is not something that goes in the same sentence as Knob,” Grandfield said.
Gisbo felt a huge pang of guilt.
“Any idea what happened to him?” Shaved asked.
“Yeah, it was me,” Gisbo said.
“Wait, what?” Grandfield asked.
“Just what I said. I lost control of myself, of the you-know-what inside me. Just for a second, and that’s all it took. First the Zookoo, now Knob,” Gisbo said.
“Well, knowing Knob, he probably said something he shouldn’t have,” Grandfield said.
“That’s no excuse,” Gisbo said.
“He really is fine, just a slight concussion; you can’t blame yourself,” Shaved said. “Gisbo, never refer to the Drakeness as you-know-what. That’s fear talking, plain and simple. Say what it is. We’re here for you, we all are, and we always will be. All right, pal?” Shaved said.
“Please, don’t be this way. I’d rather you be upset with me! Get angry with me for what I did! Please, this is this worst,” Gisbo said.
“No can do. That’s what friends are for. We know you, Gisbo, who you truly are, and we know, in your right mind, that you would never hurt Knob. How can we be mad?” Shaved asked.
“It’s my fault,” Gisbo said.
“Please, you think this is the first time Knob’s had a concussion? The kid was bed-ridden after Kinny set him straight. Believe me, he’s fine. You can go in,” Shaved said.
“I want to say thanks, but I can’t bring myself to,” Gisbo said.
“Quit moping. Jeesh, I never seen you this way; it’s . . . unsettling,” Grandfield said. “Now, go in and talk to him.”
Grandfield opened the door and let Gisbo in, then closed the door behind him.
Knob was sitting up in his bunk. Gisbo found he couldn’t meet his gaze, but still greeted him.
“Hey, Knob, I . . .” Gisbo started.
“Get out,” Knob snapped.
“Knob, let me explain, I . . .” Gisbo started.
“Yeah, I heard your whole story outside, everything. Save it. You’re right, it is no excuse,” Knob said. “But you know what? I learned something, sitting in the hospital, something I’ve denied my whole life.”
“Excuse me?” Gisbo asked.
“I’m a joke. Nobody likes me. Nobody. I’ve been in the hospital, and who comes to visit me? Nobody, nobody but my synergy and only because they have to, and you, only because you feel guilty. Actually, I’m thankful you did what you did, Gisbo. Makes what happened even easier for me to deal with now,” Knob said.
“Knob, that’s not true at all! That’s,” Gisbo started.
“Shut up! Just shut up! Look at you! Look at how far you’ve come! It’s not fair! How come you get everything, huh? Look at you. Good looks, you’re funny, you’re popular, you’re dating the hottest woman alive, Whip gets to kick ass in the Boon battle, Rolce gets respect for his brain and his brawn, and then there’s me,” Knob started. “Look at me! I’m the guy that nobody asked to the dance, I’m the guy who tries to get noticed, and I get made fun of. Do you know, do you know how much that freakin’ hurts!? Do you have any idea? Any at all!? No, nobody does. I thought, I thought Heaven’s Shelter would be a new start, but you’re all the same,” Knob said.
“I, Knob, if you knew anything about my past, you’d know that I,” Gisbo started.
“You know what? Screw you, Gisbo. Look at Grandfield and Shaved, how they acted when they found out you did this to me. You can send me to the hospital and people still love you. Maybe, maybe that’s why, ok? Yeah, maybe I have been following you around lately after the battle at Sandlake. Maybe, I thought if I watched you, hung around you, I could find out what makes you who you are. You’re exactly the sort of person that I want to be, and what do I get from you? Nothing, nothing but a cold shoulder, a sharp remark, and a hospital visit. Now, please, get out . . .” Knob said.
“Knob, I . . .” Gisbo started.
“GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!” Knob screamed, chucking an alarm clock from his nightstand as he fell to one side and cried into his pillow.
“Knob, you’re my friend and always will be. What you say about me, what you see is completely wrong. You have a very inaccurate image of me. Where I came from, I had no friends. I was the bane of existence in their eyes, and I was the last one to know I was a Flarian. I was picked on, beaten up every single day. I went to bed with cuts, bruises, their words haunting me and hanging over me. My whole life was like that. I know loneliness, pal, I know it better than I know anyone here. I’m no role model, I’m no hero, I’m no one to look up to, I . . .” Gisbo started.
Knob just lay there.
“Never mind, I’ll stop. Just know, Knob, that I’m so sorry,” Gisbo said.
By the time he left Knob’s tree house and said his goodbyes to Shaved and Grandfield, the sun was setting, casting off a blood red sky. As he walked, he pulled out the pack of cigars Falcon gave him.
A crutch, that’s all this is. A crutch for the weak. Help is for those who can’t stand on their own two feet, the voice said.
Gisbo winced at the voice, now louder than ever.
“Falcon’s right, but he’s not. I’m the one in control here, me, not you. I can do this, and I’ll beat you and control you on my own merit,” Gisbo said.
So now you’re talking directly to me? You’ve embraced the madness? You’ve never done that before. I welcome you to try, the voice said.
The voice was so clear now, it was like a person standing right behind him. Gisbo turned around in surprise to see nothing. Gisbo didn’t even realize he had spoken aloud. It shook his very foundations, foundations that were his own, he told himself, foundations that he controlled, no one else. He was not weak, he was strong, and he had the blood of Vadid the Valiant flowing through his body. This was all just a minor setback. He saw, through Knob, what would happen now should he lose control again.
Gisbo took one last look at the box of cigars, grasped it tightly, and ignited his essence, burning it away as ash in the breeze.
Chapter Nineteen: The Flarian Event
Every able-bodied Renegade tried out for the Flar
ian event. For any fighter, but especially a Renegade, nothing was better than the thrill of a no holds barred, all natural fist-fight. Only this time, they weren’t going to fight amongst themselves. This time, green clad warriors would take their hits, and the Renegades were allowed a rare opportunity to cut loose against a real, live enemy with Elekai fueled, purpose driven fists. Lamik and his troops had already lost the first two matches, leaving the Renegades with two prime slots in the final Battle Royal bout.
The Renegades needed all day to fit everyone in to show their stuff in mock, sparring battles. The greatest minds of Heaven’s Shelter, once again working with the Mind-Link, spent more than just a day planning. In their time, it was more like weeks. Upon completion, Narroway posted the list without an ounce of doubt in his heart that these four fighters were their best chance for victory. In no specific order, the list went as follows . . .
Foxblade Dredka, Gisbo Falcon, Rake Lokin, and Kinny’s dad, Gilfrid O’Leary.
“Seems I’ve always been better with a weapon in my hand,” Falcon said, staring at the list.
“Oh, cheer up, mate! You’ll get ‘em next time. Sorry I had to embarrass ya out there. What’s that make our record now?” Gilfrid asked.
“300 to 301,” Falcon said.
“Oh, wait though, I’m confused. Who has the 301?” Gilfrid asked, leaning in, cupping a hand over his ear. Falcon sighed deeply.
“You do,” Falcon said.
“Oh, I didn’t quite hear ya. Louder, this is my bad ear, donchaknow,” Gilfrid asked.
“What’s our record with full on weapons in a full on fight, Gilfrid?” Falcon asked.
“Hey! That’s not what we’re talking about,” Gilfrid said.
“Can’t even say it out loud, can you?” Falcon said. “One can only fight a short, stump of a man like you for so long before he gets a low blow in and . . .”
“All right, all right, we’ll call it even. No more, no more! You know I’m self-conscious, but hell, your boy there? Damn, that lad can fight! True Flarian blood courses through his veins,” Gilfrid said, motioning to Gisbo, who just noticed his name upon the list.
Falcon turned to look at Gisbo. “To think that you of all people surpassed me in a single area. I never thought it possible.”
“Yeah,” Gisbo said.
“What? No snappy comeback? No jokes? Are you ok, son?” Falcon asked.
“Just focused is all,” Gisbo said. He turned and made his way out of the crowd, leaving his worried father behind.
“He always that serious?” Gilfrid asked.
“Can you excuse us, Gilfrid?” Narroway asked, coming up behind him. Gilfrid looked back and forth at the two men and sighed.
“One of the consequences of last tournament’s champion, I’m afraid. They’re always seeking my advice. Be thankful you lost in the first round last time,” Falcon jibed. Gilfrid only growled and walked away. Once they were alone, Narroway spoke.
“I had to choose him against my better judgment. The boy, if anything, has grown exceptionally powerful in a short amount of time. His tenacity, his focus, its rather revolutionary,” Narroway said.
“All traits he gets from his mother, no doubt,” Falcon said. “And what of Ranto?”
“Under no condition will I allow Gisbo to fight him. He’s too emotionally invested,” Narroway said.
“In other words, you don’t think he can win,” Falcon said. Narroway fell silent for a moment.
“My son is not like your son. My boy has issues . . .” Narroway.
“And mine doesn’t? We all have issues, Narroway,” Falcon said.
“My son’s been blessed with a body good for one thing: destruction. Between his speed, his size, and his rather brilliant mind . . . I don’t think anyone in Heaven’s Shelter could stand toe to toe with him in a fist fight,” Narroway said.
“So, you’re telling me that strength is not earned, but something you’re born with,” Falcon said, folding his arms.
“It’s the hard, honest truth, Falcon. We as Renegades and Elekai’ warriors know this more than anyone. We were chosen by something beyond ourselves. I’ve seen what my son can do . . . I’ve read of epic struggles of past warriors, I’ve seen what today’s generation has to offer. Ranto’s power, at least with this event, is beyond measure . . . Under no condition will Gisbo step into the ring with him. I fear for my nephew’s life,” Narroway said.
“Even though you promised him?” Falcon asked.
“What would you have me do, Falcon? It’s not just fear for his safety. Part of me does not want to see my own blood beating the piss out of each other,” Narroway said. “I hoped to show Gisbo with my training that he couldn’t face him. I hoped to discourage him, to show him his limits.”
Falcon sighed and placed a hand on Narroway’s shoulder.
“My dear brother-in-law, you know I have the utmost respect for you, and I know you have the best of intentions, but clearly you know nothing of my son.”
“And you know nothing of mine,” Narroway said.
“Oh, we men and our silly pride. It not only extends through us, but our bloodline. We both know it, we both feel it. We’re fighters, and each of us, deep down, wants to see the boys go at it. We can’t help ourselves. It’d be wrong, wouldn’t it? As fathers, we want to let our sons become men and settle their own affairs. It’s too bad we’ll never get to see them fight,” Falcon said. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, Narroway.”
Narroway watched him go, said nothing, but thought a whole lot.
Training with the team was not what Gisbo had planned. Not once did he show up for practice. Fighting was like breathing to him. He had no doubt that Ranto would reveal himself at the tournament. A fighter like him lived for such moments, for the chance to display his natural talent. It’s what fighters did, and Gisbo waited for his chance to meet him head on. Although he found he could hide from most, even while training he couldn’t be away from his Kennis. She was with him through his final days of preparation and looked worried beyond belief with each passing hour. It got to the point where she was silent and pale, and Gisbo’s focus was broken.
“What’s the matter?” Gisbo asked, as he took one last, good, heavy right hook to the pad wrapped around an oak. Kennis sat on the picnic table, twirling her hair with a finger, a nervous habit.
“You want to fight him, don’t you?” Kennis said.
“Fight who?” Gisbo asked, turning away from her and hitting the tree once more.
“You know who. Ranto. I know all about your rivalry. Heck, all of Heaven’s Shelter knows about it, but if what you told me was true, he is your family. Are you really willing to kill your own family member?” Kennis asked.
“That’s what you’re so worried about? I’ve thought long and hard about it. Family is what I have here, within Heaven’s Shelter. You should know that as well. Both of us, Kennis, have lost our mothers, and now, just because we share some relatives, I’m supposed to go easy on someone who joined the other side? Who threatens our home, our way of life, and all we love? I say screw that,” Gisbo said with a leaping roundhouse kick.
Kennis was silent for a moment, and then she spoke three words that he would never forget.
“You won’t win,” Kennis said. Gisbo halted his attack on the tree, stunned, and spun around to her worried face.
“What did you say?” Gisbo asked.
“You wouldn’t listen to reason, so I need to be blunt. You don’t understand what you’re going up against. If you fight him, you’ll… I don’t even want to say the word. You’re strong, brave, but Ranto, he’s . . . you don’t understand. He’s a force of nature; you just don’t get it,” Kennis said.
“And you do?” Gisbo snapped.
“Yes, I do. I’ve seen what he can do, firsthand, and it was terrifying,” Kennis said. Gisbo looked at her, curious. “You’ve been training like mad, and I thought at first it was because you wanted to protect our home, but when I saw your eyes . . . They’re full of only hate,
and then I heard the news that Ranto defected, and it all made sense.”
She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “As soon as I figured it all out, why you’ve been training so hard . . . I can’t sleep, I can’t even think right, all I can think of is what I saw that monster do, and all I can picture is him doing it to you . . .” Kennis said as she folded her hands, trying to hide their trembling, and fought back tears.
“You obviously know something I don’t. What exactly did you see?” Gisbo asked, reliving the memory the Drakeness showed him, of Ranto killing Niffin’s dog.
“Have you ever wondered why you’ve never seen Ranto with his synergy members?” Kennis asked. “When we first arrived, Ranto was on the front of every red-blooded girl’s brain. He was tall, ridiculously muscular, and so handsome with those dreamy blue eyes. I admit, I had an awful crush on him, along with Kinny. We’d follow him around, watch him from a distance, write him love notes, you know, middle-school girl stuff.”
Gisbo rolled his eyes and scoffed.
“One day, we saw him training by his then tree house with his synergy mates. We watched him. At first, they took turns, fighting one another, sparring, first with no essence, then full essence. Kinny and I were entranced. We’d never seen a full on Elekai’ fight before, and Ranto was brilliant. He trounced his synergy mates without any effort. Then he suggested that they both come at him at once, and his teammates declined. Out of nowhere, his whole demeanor changed. It was like he had a whole new face, a whole new voice,” Kennis said.
Gisbo’s mind flashed to the memory of Ranto attacking him and Rolce out of nowhere, in the woods on their way to class after his defeat against his cousin, Phil.
“Even his synergy mates seemed terrified of him. They started to back up, raising their hands, trying to calm him down, but they only made him more upset. He, he charged at him, with just his bare fists, and fought them, hit them, and kept hitting and hitting. I wanted to look away, but I just couldn’t. I saw him pin one of his friends to the ground, I saw his fist raise. It was huge, like a hammer, and, and he just kept bringing it down on his face, over and over again. I actually heard the boy’s face break open, I saw, stuff fly up out of it, and . . . then he did the same thing to the other boy. It was . . .” Kennis started and tears fell from her eyes. Gisbo walked over and put his arms around her.