Renegade Rupture

by J. C. Fiske

  Vice lashed out with his mysterious power, lifting Gisbo and Fao up and throwing them into the side of an oak tree, hard.

  Gisbo winced, unable to move even a finger, as Fao whimpered in pain. Vice pressed them deeper into the tree. Gisbo heard the oak crack and felt splinters dig into his back and draw blood, but that didn’t bother him. What bothered him was Fao’s crying and whimpering.

  “NO! Don’t hurt her! PLEASE!” Gisbo screamed as he watched Fao’s head turn unnaturally to the left.

  “DAMN IT, NO!” Gisbo screamed.

  “Then stop me,” Vice said, arms folded.

  “I . . . I can’t!” Gisbo screamed.

  “What? I can’t hear you,” Vice said.

  “I CAN’T! I CAN’T, OK!? PLEASE!” Gisbo screamed.

  “Exactly,” Vice said. “Do you want to know why your father has such mental toughness? No, mental toughness is too weak a word. Mental tenacity is better. How, even though his body is beyond spent, limbs broken, he manages to continue to step forward, despite all odds?” Vice asked, getting so close to Gisbo they were now face to face.

  “Because he had to learn to fight me,” Vice said. Fao squealed in pain, screeching unnaturally. Tears of rage poured down Gisbo’s face.

  “Please, please . . . don’t hurt her,” Gisbo begged.

  “No, I won’t stop. You have the power to end this, so end it!” Vice ordered. “Embrace who you are! Embrace the monster within!”

  So much self-control, so much patience learned, and in a moment, Gisbo dropped it all, allowing his innermost feelings and disposition to take over.

  He saw red.

  Gisbo broke free and he threw all his pain, all his suffering into a single punch straight at Vice’s throat and ignited what remained of his essence. His fist went straight through the man’s voice box and out the other side in an explosion of crimson and black. Vice fell backward, grabbing at his ruined, fleshy, open throat as Fao dropped from the tree with a crash and final whimper. Gisbo ran to her, disregarding Vice.

  “Come on, girl, come on, it’s ok,” Gisbo said. “It’s . . .”

  Gisbo felt white pain wash across his vision as something hit the back of his head, so hard he felt his brain smash against the front of his skull. He was forced into a roll, and when he sat up, he looked into Vice Dastard’s face, his throat healed.

  “Look at my face, kid,” Vice said.

  “No,” Gisbo said.

  “Look at it, see the similarity? Your rage, your animosity, your quick hands and reflexes,” Vice started.

  “SHUT UP!” Gisbo tried getting up.

  “It all makes sense, doesn’t it? We are so alike! Hm, how do I say this, how do I reveal this without getting all cliché? Eh, what the hell, I’ll just come right out and say it. The man you know as Falcon Vadid is not your father,” Vice said, leaning in closer, grinning from ear to ear with a crazed smile so much like Gisbo’s.

  “I am.”

  Chapter Twenty Eight: A Widower’s Lament

  Gisbo couldn’t speak. His mind raced and spiraled about, trying to tie the pieces together, anything, anything to…

  Vice Dastard burst into hysterics, and Gisbo was instantly brought back to the day Falcon arrived at Oak County to take him and Rolce away and played a cruel joke on them.

  “Oh, wouldn’t that have been something? The look on your face! It’s just too much . . .” Vice Dastard roared as tears rolled down his face.

  “You’re insane,” Gisbo stammered out.

  “If only it were that easy, kid, if only,” Vice said as he wiped moisture from his eyes. “I needed that. If you’re going to come with me, and you will, we can’t be antagonistic. Now, down to business. You saw how quickly I decimated you and all your power. That’s just a fraction of my abilities, a taste. Do we understand each other, kid? Now, how about that deal?”

  “I . . .” Gisbo stammered, weighing every option. As if feeling his doubt, Vice walked toward Fao and reached down, ready to finish the job he started.

  “NO! NO, DON’T! PLEASE! I’LL COME! I’LL COME WITH YOU!” Gisbo yelled. Vice rose up to his full height and walked over to Gisbo.

  “You really have to get over your sentiment for animals. You ripped out your cousin’s eye over it. How awful. Now, go gather your things, and when you are ready to go, I need you to do one thing before you head off,” Vice said.

  Falcon Vadid lay in his bed, arms folded behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. Unable to find the sleep he craved, he forced his mind to comprehend and accept all that happened within the day. The death of his best friend, the death of his son’s close friend, and the reveal that after fourteen years, Vice Dastard was still alive, well, and back from the deepest, darkest depths of Glaknabrade prison. It was all so much to handle, so much to take in, and he literally felt his tainted, Drakeness ridden blood rise and press up against his skin, wanting release.

  With a growl, Falcon rolled out of bed, grabbed a hand-wrapped cigar from his dresser drawer, walked out into the kitchen, grabbed a six pack of cold beer from the icebox, and made his way out to the front porch. He sat in his rocker, staring out across Nora Pond, named for his deceased wife.

  The night air was cool, with a slight breeze that sent tiny ripples across the water’s surface, making it twinkle in the moonlight as the frogs peeped and chirped.

  Falcon sighed, lifted his ring finger up, ignited it, and lit his cigar, inhaling deeply. He let the smoke fill his lungs before blowing it out in a thick plume, already feeling the pressure under his skin give way and relax. Subconsciously, in moments like these, he reached up to feel the pendant given to him by Vadid the Valiant himself, only to once again discover it was gone, passed on to his son’s rightful hands. He smiled at that and slid down deeper in his chair, taking in the peace of the night. He heard the front door swing open and out walked Shax Holiner, who sat next to him, a finely carved pipe in his hands. He handed it to Falcon, who lit it, then handed it back to him.

  “I hate those things. Can never keep them lit,” Falcon said.

  “You just don’t pack it right. It’s an art form,” Shax said, puffing away at his pipe.

  “I’ll admit pipe tobacco smells and tastes better, but it’s such a damn chore keeping the thing lit and clean,” Falcon said.

  “I enjoy the maintenance. It relaxes me,” Shax said.

  “You know what relaxes me?” Falcon said, as he inhaled the rest of his cigar and tossed the butt away, raising his hands up.

  “See, all clean,” Falcon said as he reached into his pocket and retrieved another.

  “Hm,” Shax muttered.

  “Trouble sleeping?” Falcon asked.

  “Sleep has never come easy for me, but now, well . . . does it ever get easier? Will it ever . . .” Shax started.

  “No,” Falcon said.

  “I see,” Shax said, leaning back in his chair, puffing away at his pipe. Falcon raised a bottle of beer toward Shax.

  “But this helps,” Falcon said, smiling. Shax took it and tossed it back for a quick slurp. “Having the Drakeness in you, it never gets easier, but as time goes by, you get stronger and it becomes manageable.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to stay with you. You’re the only one who understands, and I couldn’t, I just couldn’t return to my old house. Too many memories, too many . . .” Shax started.

  “Trust me, old friend, it goes without saying. Just as you don’t need to apologize for knocking me out,” Falcon said.

  “I never thought we’d be at this point in our life at our ages. Widowers, smoking and drinking every night just to cope,” Shax said, sighing.

  “Speak for yourself,” Falcon said, grinning.

  “Do you still miss her?” Shax asked.

  “Every day,” Falcon said. “You?”

  “Every day,” Shax said. “If you don’t mind me asking, I mean, I know many women, right now, who would be all over you within seconds. Why not accept their advances? Why stay lone
ly? Why not find another?”

  “I’ve had many people ask me that. When you had a love like me and Nora’s, well, anything less . . . You just can’t ever go back. She was my everything. I truly believe that IAM made her just for me . . . no one else could replace her,” Falcon said.

  “I sort of, understand that reasoning, but don’t want to believe it. I’d rather not be stuck here, next to you, the rest of my days,” Shax said.

  “Could be worse,” Falcon said. “Imagine if Moordin never married.”

  The two laughed at that.

  “I do miss the old Moordin, but I know that he’s happy,” Shax said.

  “Mm. You know the old saying that it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all?” Falcon asked.

  “Of course,” Shax said.

  “Or how love is all you need?” Falcon asked.

  Shax nodded.

  “All bullshit.” Falcon said.

  “What makes you say that?” Shax asked.

  “Maybe I’m just a bitter old man, but when you had what Nora and I had, there’s no recovering from that. When you’re single, it’s ok. You don’t know what love is yet, but once you cross that fence, know what it’s like having the love of another in your life, there’s no going back. Hell, I wish I could go back and tell my younger self to just stay the hell away from those pretty little things called girls, live in ignorance. Sometimes, I wish I never met her. Life, it’d be easier going, but only . . .” Falcon started, then smiled.

  “But of course, then I wouldn’t have Gisbo, and without Nora, I probably would have died a long time ago. Listen to me complain. Poor ol’ me, pah! Some say that love gained, then lost, is the biggest pain to ever overcome. You’re not a man until you can get over that kinda hurt. Some never do. I disagree. The pain of love, true love, lies not in its loss, but knowing who sets your heart afire and realizing that you can’t ever be with them again. No one will ever make me feel the way Nora did. I’ve made peace with that, and it could always be worse. I loved her so much. That’s the problem with finding your soul mate. No one else will ever do,” Falcon said, raising a cigar to his mouth.

  “I wish you never said that,” Shax said.

  “Why?” Falcon asked.

  “Because now I know for a fact that I’ll be dying, old and grey, parked next to you in this rocker . . .” Shax said.

  “Again, speak for yourself, old timer,” Falcon said.

  “How’s Jackobi?” Shax asked.

  “Doing about as well as any boy could after watching his father die,” Falcon said.

  “I never saw it coming. I had no idea; it was . . .” Shax started.

  “He knew he was going to die,” Falcon said. Shax turned to him, surprised.

  “What?” Shax said.

  “When Foxblade walked into that arena, he knew it would be his last fight. That’s why he gave me this,” Falcon said as he pulled a letter out of his pocket and held it up. “For Jackobi’s eyes only, but I can guess what it says.”

  “Why haven’t you given it to him?” Shax said.

  “You know Foxblade. There’s a specific moment when I’m to give it to him. Every one of his actions is calculated, planned. Even his own death was by his choice,” Falcon said. “He had that little prick dead to rights.”

  “And when’s the right moment?” Shax asked.

  “When he asks for it,” Falcon said. “Foxblade gave his life for a reason. What that reason was remains to be seen, but in doing so, he saw no other option. If I can guess, it’s because he thought that the only person alive able to put down Grayn, forever, is Jackobi. As smart as you and Moordin are, when it comes to Foxblade’s foresight and ability to prepare for the worst, I doubt there’s another being on the planet with such skill, the skill needed to kill his brothers and the Fox of Blades himself, single handedly shutting down possibly a millennia of tradition and death,” Falcon said.

  “I see,” Shax said.

  “But even knowing that, it sure as hell doesn’t keep the hurt away,” Falcon said. “The old bastard was one of my best friends, and as we both know, at our age, friends are hard to come by.”

  “I always respected you, but I never understood you like Moordin did. He has his wife now, he has Rolce under his wing. People change. Moordin knows I wasn’t responsible for what happened, but it doesn’t make dealing with it any easier. I still think I’m responsible. It’s just been . . . I’ve felt out of place since I’ve come back, a man once dead, trying to find his place among the world of the living. And well, thank you again, Falcon. You have given me something to work for, to live for, and have made me laugh. Thank you,” Shax said.

  “Cheers,” Falcon said, raising up a bottle, and together they took a swig. Then, their vision went black, and Rolce’s voice was in their minds.

  “Dad, Falcon, you need to come to our tree house right away!” Rolce said in a panic.

  “Whoa, calm down, son, what is it?” Shax said.

  “Just come! Now!” Rolce said, and with that, the Mind-Link was cut off. Shax and Falcon looked at each other, put out their smokeables, and were off into the night.

  When Shax and Falcon appeared on the scene, they were greeted by a crowd of green uniforms surrounding their sons’ tree house. Falcon and Shax pushed their way through and toward the middle, where they found Rolce seated upon the front porch with Kennis, Chieftain Lamik, Narroway, and Sybil Honj all present. Upon climbing the stairs, Narroway stopped his heated conversation with Lamik.

  “What happened here? The hell’s going on?” Falcon asked, taking in the Strifes’ grim faces and Lamik’s embarrassed face.

  “Falcon,” Rolce said, walking up to him and handing him a written letter. “He left this.”

  “Who left this?” Falcon asked, then noticed Kennis seated with red, wet, dewy eyes.

  “Just read it,” Rolce said. Falcon did.

  Dear everyone,

  The fairy tale is over; I know what I am now. I know what I have to do, and only I can do it. It was fun while it lasted. The end has come, and I must go to meet it.

  - Gisbo Falcon

  “What does that mean? Is he going to . . . kill himself?” Kennis asked, shaking with worry. Falcon crumpled up the letter.

  “Falcon, may we talk in private?” Sybil Honj asked. He enacted the Mind-Link, so only those who needed to listen could hear.

  “Falcon, it’s all coming together. The vision, what we saw. The boy is too powerful. He could destroy us all, along with himself, if we do not . . .”

  “NO!” Falcon yelled, and suddenly, he was back within reality. Sybil Honj toppled to the ground from Falcon’s mental push.

  “How, how did you do that? How did you,” Sybil Honj asked.

  “Listen up, all of you! You call yourselves Gisbo’s friends, Gisbo’s teachers, and yet all I see is blind ignorance! Have you ever known Gisbo to have such good grammar and to write so poetically? My son is a lot of things, but he’s no poet! Would he ever give in and throw his life away? NO! Gisbo didn’t write this letter. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. My son is not weak. My son is the strongest boy I’ve ever known and I’m leaving, right now, to go and get him back. This tournament needs him,” Falcon said.

  “Falcon! It’s more than that! Vice Dastard, he escaped. He was tracked here and . . .” Narroway started.

  “You don’t think I could’ve piece that together myself? I know how the man works, I know how he functions, probably even better than I know myself. I’m leaving, with or without your approval,” Falcon said. “And I’m taking Jackobi with me. If anyone has any more doubts or wants to stand in my way, then step on up!”

  Nobody said a word.

  “That’s what I thought,” Falcon said. In a flash, he hopped atop his Talon sword and skeeted away into the night sky, leaving a heated red trail in his wake.

  “He’s letting his emotions get the best of him. He’s not looking at the big picture, Narroway! We cannot deny what we saw in my ch
ambers, we cannot deny . . .” Sybil Honj started.

  “And we can’t deny what I saw either!” Rolce jumped in. “Falcon’s right! I trust Gisbo. He’s like a brother. He’s never let me down, and I’m not going to start doubting him now!”

  “I don’t think we understand the true problem here, do we, Lamik?” Narroway asked. “I always knew you were cutthroat, willing to do anything to achieve your goals, no matter how many are torn asunder, but to throw criminals from Glaknabrade at us rather than your own men? It’s deplorable! It’s . . .” Narroway started.

  “It’s what needs to be done to defeat you and protect this planet! I’m in the business of SAVING lives, not ending them! And while you Renegades stay lax, the world falls apart around you! The time for action is now, and under my leadership, all will be made well! Even if I have to wipe you Renegades and all your ideals away!”

  “Vice Dastard was YOUR responsibility! A part of our peace treaty! I wanted him alive to give Falcon and Gisbo a sense of possible peace one day, and you let him escape! You’re a fool, always have been. Saving lives? You’d rather it be baptized in blood before you save it,” Narroway said. “All of you, get back to your rooms as I ponder our next move and how to clean up this mess you’ve made.”

  Lamik gave Narroway a dirty look, and in silence, he and his men left together, leaving only those clad in blue.

  “This is a nightmare,” Narroway said. “Vice Dastard running free . . .”

  “Who is he?” Rolce asked.

  “If Falcon was Drakearon’s right hand man, Vice Dastard was his left, and he was Falcon’s childhood friend,” Narroway said.

  “But if he’s not a Renegade or a Strife, then what is he?” Rolce asked.

  “Fire to a brush, water to a flame, wind to a weak structure, earth to a tomb. Some men want to change the world, some men want to understand the world, some men want to rule the world, and some want to cut it open just to watch it bleed. Vice Dastard’s power lies not in his heart or his soul, but in his mind. With enough will, he can bend the elements. In other words, he can bend all that make us human with just a thought or a whim. He didn’t earn his power, he was born with it, and believe me when I say he never took it for granted. In name he was with Drakearon, but in deed, he worked only for himself, for whatever amused him. If it wasn’t for him, Vadid never would have had a chance of sealing Drakearon in the Reath. Vice paralyzed Drakearon. Vice threw him into the Reath. Vadid, he only opened and closed the door. We know what Lamik plans, we understand his motives. We do not fear what we can understand, we fear what we can’t, and that is Vice’s true power.”