by J.C. Fiske
Chapter 14: The Drakeness Lives
The large man from Rolce’s dream was dressed in Nazarite attire, except all was black. The top of his head was bald and blackened eyelids washed over white pupil-less eyes. A scraggly beard, also black, partially obscured an empty rotten-toothed smile.
Foxblade continued to hover in the air, staring at the new enemy to enter the fray. The man in black met his gaze and stepped forward, speaking in a booming, steely voice.“Foxblade! You look surprised to see me and . . . is that Falcon I see? And oh, Moordin? Moordin, Moordin, how are you, my old friend? How long has it been?” The large man said, his cruel tone clashing with the friendly words. Moordin leapt forward with a mix of surprise and fury in his features.
“Shax? You live? It’s not possible!” Moordin said, completely beside himself.
“One can live quite well when one never died, friend. Now,” Shax started but Moordin cut him off in a flash, a ring of madness to his voice.
“You are no friend of mine!” Moordin bellowed. Shax grinned wider.
“So touchy, you always were. Is that any way to greet an old friend? Your best friend, mind you? I would assume that after all these years away from each other I’d at least get a welcome back? I see you haven’t changed a bit since that day. The day you THOUGHT you killed me,” Shax said as Martha appeared by her husband's side.
“I don’t know how you returned from hell, but I have no problem sending you back myself, demon!” Martha said as she ignited her own Nazarite weapon.
“Ah, still letting wifey fight your battles for you, Moordin? At least something hasn’t changed,” Shax taunted.
“My husband needs . . . Martha continued until she was interrupted by Moordin.
“MARTHA! Behind me!” Moordin lashed out in a tone so determined, so unlike him, that even the tenacious Martha was startled.
“I, I understand,” Martha answered and she actually smiled, glad to retreat. This is the man I married! Do me proud, my Moordin, she thought.
“Ah now this, THIS, is much better. The Moordin I knew of old has finally arrived. It seems old age has not wilted your fighting spirit one bit, why,” Shax broke off when his wandering eyes fell on Rolce. Suddenly, his face and tone morphed from feigned surprise to real shock.
“I don’t believe my eyes! My boy? All grown up? Rolce?” Shax sputtered as he walked toward Rolce. Moordin jumped between his pupil and archrival in a flash and, with a spin of his staff, blasted the street. Thick stone rubble, now glowing green, flew towards Shax in a rain of death.
Shax, with a wave of his own staff, ignited his weapon. Thick black veins stretched across his body and his weapon smoked and dripped more black sludge. Shax surrounded his body with the stuff like a shield just as Moordin’s powerful blast collided with him like fireworks. The force shoved Shax’s feet across the ground, nearly toppling the big man over, even in his protected state. Particles of green and black sifted through the air like snowflakes in the aftermath and Shax shot a wicked grin of delight in Moordin’s direction.
“Moordin, that was a strike to kill,” Shax taunted, only to be interrupted by a frantic Lokin.
“SHAX! ENOUGH! Get me out of here, Narroway is ascending!” Lokin yelled. Shax turned a worried glance to see the powerful Narroway blasting in like a rocket aboard a skeeting sword. Lokin tossed Rake aside, grabbed Shax’s arm and in an instant both men were gone in a blast of smoke and sludge, leaving black, vein-like cracks in the ground where they had stood. The splattered sludge evaporated with a sound like crackling fire. Narroway eased up on his flight, disengaged his essence and landed neatly beside Moordin.
“Drakeness. So, the evil still lives on Thera. IAM help us all,” Narroway said to himself as the crowd gathered around the smoking remains. Moordin spun around to face his subordinate.
“Rolce, are you all right? You aren’t hurt?” Moordin asked with deep concern. Rolce's face was white as a fish belly. He stood for a moment, lip quavering, afraid to ask the question. The color drained from Martha’s face too, knowing full well what was on the boy's mind.
“Honey, I,” was all Martha could sputter out.
“What did he mean by 'my boy'? Was that man, my . . . ” Rolce couldn’t even say the word. His eyes pleaded with Moordin to answer no. Moordin turned away for a moment and covered his face with a hand. He then turned back, desolation in his expression. Rolce knew the answer before Moordin had opened his mouth to speak.
“Rolce, I never wanted to tell you; there are some things one just shouldn’t need to know. I only kept it from you to protect you from pain . . .” Moordin implored with concern.
“You still haven’t answered me. Is Shax my father?” Rolce asked, tone still beseeching.
“Shax Holiner is your father,” Moordin admitted, his head sunk low.
Gisbo stared at his friend, stupefied by the answer. Rolce stood with a distant gaze and walked away from the scene with his back turned to everyone, his wide shoulders hunched, then broke into a fast sprint.
“Go talk to him, please,” Martha pleaded with Gisbo. Narroway nodded his agreement. Gisbo inclined his head in assent as he turned to pursue his friend.
Gisbo caught up with Rolce in the forest, sitting on the steps to their cabin. By this time, Harpie was nearly full-grown and had learned to fly. She was perched on Rolce’s shoulder, head tilted in concern for her companion. Gisbo walked up to them slowly and sat down beside him on the steps. Oddly, Rolce wasn’t crying, but staring with empty eyes into the forest.
“Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t anyone tell me, for that matter? They all knew and they all promised no secrets,” Rolce said after a few awkward minutes of silence.
“I dunno, man,” was all Gisbo could come up with in response.
“He killed a boy, Gisbo, same age as you and me. Killed him and laughed afterwards. It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen,” Rolce said, shaking as he said it. Gisbo opened his mouth to say something, but immediately closed it. The words just weren’t there. Rolce continued.
“I have never seen true evil before, ever. Sure, I’ve seen some arrogant people in my lifetime, but when I saw his face, contorted in a smile, it honestly scared me. He looked like he was having the time of his life! I thought about my place as a Renegade, how I was being trained to stop men like him. I was ready to do my part. I wanted to save Jackobi so badly and now all I can think about is what if I become something like that down the line? What if I become my father? Ugh, just saying the word . . .” Rolce whispered as he dropped his face into his hands in shame.
“You aren’t your father,” Moordin said, suddenly appearing from behind the tree house. He sat beside his student on the steps.
“I’m so very sorry, Rolce, for not telling you. When you laid out the tale for me from your dreams that night, I was absolutely floored that you had inherited your father’s Sybil abilities. I didn’t quite know how to take it, to be honest with you. I told myself that I would tell you eventually, when I knew how and when I felt you had matured enough to take the news,” Moordin began, but Rolce didn’t look up at him.
“I realize you're upset, I really do. It was an error on my part as your class master. Foxblade was correct; I should have been straight with you. I just wanted you to enjoy your time at Heaven’s Shelter, enjoy your youth, but life just is not that simple, I’m afraid,” Moordin said. Rolce finally turned his gaze upward.
“I just don’t know what to think anymore. I wish I never knew the truth. He was the most wicked man I have ever seen and who’s to say I won’t turn out like him in the end,” Rolce said.
“Listen, Rolce, we all have the potential within us to go the way your father did. You have to understand that you are you, not your father. Lineage and family mistakes should be none of your concern, for I have seen your heart and it is pure,” Moordin said, fully confident in his subordinate.
“Yeah,” Rolce said.
“No, really. I knew your father from an early age. We were the best of friend
s growing up, your dad and me. Both of us were deemed rather brilliant from an early age. We relished lessons, soaked in everything we could like a sponge, clawed at knowledge as if we were starving. We spent many a day indoors locked in philosophical conversations while others were out playing clash or various other things,” Moordin smirked a bit, remembering the good times.
“I had never known someone quite like your dad. As smart as he was, he also had a brute strength about him that I had never seen before and then, only to add to his already immense potential, his Sybil abilities began to surface, opening a new gateway for us both to see into and discuss. A Sybil, you see, can interpret otherworldly things and acts almost like a conduit for these messages to pass through from IAM himself, but there is a problem every Sybil must face,” Moordin said. Rolce looked up at him with interest.
“What is it?” Rolce asked.
“The problem is that a Sybil hears not only IAM, but things from the other end as well, IAM’s opposite. There are many names for him, from many other cultures. He is good at what he does, a little too good. We all hear conflicting voices in our minds, especially when attempting something valiant, the faint whisperings of negativity and disbelief in our own abilities. In our right mind, while attempting something courageous, would we honestly put ourselves down? I think not, but to us regular folk they are mere whispers in our minds and we sometimes mistake them for our own thoughts. To a Sybil, however, it can be as real as the conversation we are having right now; crystal clear, with vivid imagery and, like the weather, you never know when the intimations will hit. These messages, from both sides, are sometimes hard to interpret. You need a powerful mind just to be able to cope, let alone discern between the conflicting voices, especially nowadays with so much knowledge at our disposal; good and evil are no longer clear cut. There are loads and loads of gray.
“You have to understand that as much as there are battles here between good and evil, there is an unseen battle going on, a spiritual battle, right now, between two warring Gods that affects the course of history. The evil is clever at what it does, wrapping itself sometimes in messages of goodwill. Drakearon was a master of such things, but always remember: the pathway to evil is usually paved with good intentions. I’ve yet to meet somebody who just outright chose to be evil one day. Unless they are psychologically disturbed, most usually start out with good intentions and lose themselves along the way. Your father was no exception. These spiritual battles that I speak of, a Sybil can receive brief glimpses of these battles, messages about things to come, revelations of the past and paths we should take. This was your father’s downfall for he had a curiosity for knowledge that rivaled even my own. It is even safe to say, as much as I don’t want to admit it, that the synergy he belonged to was the most powerful Heaven’s Shelter has ever seen and yet, your father was never complacent. An admirable trait, but this was also his downfall. He wanted to know everything: good, bad and everything in-between. At one time, everyone followed the same rules of what good and evil were, but over time, such beliefs are relative to the person. It’s no longer clear cut, as I said earlier, and the Drakeness, what I see as evil, to others, was an opportunity for power. I know not how your father infused himself with the Drakeness, but I will never forget that day,” Moordin reflected, trailing off before he began his story.
“You see, when Vadid strangely disappeared from our midst, your mother, Shara, gave birth to you. Your father couldn’t have been happier to have himself a family. It was for so long a dream of his that was finally realized. I knew your mother well, Rolce. She was the friendliest and most thoughtful person I know. Both of you share the same heart. IAM knows why she was a Renegade, I couldn’t see her hurting any living soul. She was a very beautiful woman; nearly every man desired her, but she had eyes only for your father.
“The wedding was perfect and I was Shax’s best man. Life was good then and peace reigned even in Vadid’s absense. However, we Renegades remember how easily peace can be taken away if not prepared, so constantly we train, to protect the unprepared. Both of us brought noble ideals to the table and quickly joined with Purah to start the Purist movement against Karm’s Freeist party. Seriously, if I could sit and listen to two people talk for the rest of my days, it would be Shax and Purah conversing. It was simply awe inspiring the amount of wisdom these two men had to share,” Moordin recounted with a grin. Rolce smiled too, enjoying the fact that his class master admired Purah as much as he did.
“Anyhow, that is when things started to change. I noticed your father began to distance himself from the rest of us. Not abruptly, no, but over time it came to the point where I hardly could speak to him at all. This was something only a best friend could notice, but I was not alone. Shara, his own wife, found that all she could wring out of him were a few grunts and he would be off for the day, only to return to their dwelling for sleep. She was concerned and asked me to see what I could do. I did and discovered him deep within the forest one evening. I sat with him on the ground and we talked just like in the old days of our youth, but there was something not right about him. In this conversation, he mentioned a number of things about how limited the Renegade knowledge was and how much he, as a Sybil, could see compared to the rest of us.
“In the course of our talk, it was then he showed me his ability. He powered up his staff and instead of the usual green, I saw something totally different, totally outlawed, and in that moment, I lost my friend forever. The Drakeness flowed through him. In a voice so unlike him, he offered to share his newfound power with me, to break the barriers and know true understanding. He told me there was another voice besides the one we were told to listen to. He said it was much more vibrant, more revealing, and that it offered so much more than the voice of IAM. He claimed that both powers were equal, one driven by war, the other by peace. I admit, I was tempted for a brief moment, I really was, but I saw through to what that voice was . . . evil. Shax did not take my refusal kindly; took it as a slap in the face, really, and I did nothing to stop him as he disengaged his power and stormed off,” Moordin said with sorrow in his voice.
“What did you do afterwards?” Gisbo asked, totally immersed in the story. Moordin lowered his head and, this time, reluctantly continued the tale.
“A few days had gone by and Shax disappeared altogether. I told not a soul of Shax’s choice to infuse himself with the Drakness, except his wife. We thought that together we may be able to change him, bring him back and make him see reason. Even to this day I wish I could go back and do things differently. Maybe if we had, then you would have a mother today, Rolce. As I’m sure you can anticipate what happened, Shara and I finally found Shax yet again, hiding in a series of dark caves. We used to play in these caves as kids and it was a popular hangout for us both. I think he was expecting this encounter and went to this obvious place purposefully. However, these caves were forbidden because over the years the ground became unsupportive and could break, sending someone to certain death in pits where you could not see the bottom.
“We found Shax there alone, practicing his newly found Drakeness powers. His face was not even recognizable anymore. It was as if he had flung himself completely into the tantalizing dark power. His eyes were nothing but white shining orbs, his eyelids completely blackened, and his teeth looked rotten to the core. We tried to reason with him, tried to bring him back, but it was no use . . . he attacked us, fiercely. We Renegades, even to this day, lack nearly all knowledge of any sort of Drakeness abilities. We couldn’t hope to prepare ourselves for such an enemy, who was also my best friend. I was caught off guard and Shax lashed out in a wild attack. He locked me to the wall, all my limbs encircled by rings of blackness, and forced me to watch as he tested his newfound powers on his own wife, Shara. He laughed wickedly as his wife cried out in pain. Never once did she even try to fight back,” Moordin said as a tear trickled down his solemn face. He didn’t speak for a good long minute before continuing the tale.
“It was then, I don�
�t really know why, maybe it was the screaming, maybe it was because I finally realized the friend I once knew was never coming back; either way, I broke free of my chains and threw everything I had at my lost friend. Green clashed against black in a fearsome battle, the cave nearly collapsed upon itself. In the end, I don’t really know who defeated who. The cave floor couldn’t support both of us and it happened in my favor that it disintegrated under Shax’s feet and sent him falling to a certain death, or so we thought. I struggled with awkward footing, making my way to your mother. In the midst of the battle, I didn't realized when the yelling stopped; anyway, as I stood over her, I realized I was too late. Shara was dead. I then returned to Heaven’s Shelter after giving her a proper burial and adopted you as my own. Martha, my girlfriend at the time, was overjoyed. By the spring, we were married,” Moordin finished. He then placed both of his hands on Rolce’s shoulders.
“Adopting you was the best decision of my life, Rolce. You have received your father's strength and intelligence, but also your mother's kindness and gentleness. You will be among the elites one day, Rolce, and with your gifts, you will do all things in fairness, all things in moderation and all things with a caring heart. The world needs a person like you more than anything right now,” Moordin said as he finished his tale
“You said, you said you buried . . . my mom? Can you take me there?” Rolce asked. Moordin smiled.
“Of course, I think it only right you pay your respects,” Moordin said.
Both class master and student were streaming tears at this point as they got up and left Gisbo sitting on the steps, feeling stunned. It made Gisbo start to think about his own origins, but he decided he’d rather not know, for he had a bad feeling. If they never told Rolce about his, then surely Gisbo's could only mean bad news. He promised himself he would keep his curiosity at bay. He would just live in the present and look to the future. There was really no need to know, none at all. He was Gisbo Falcon now and that was just fine by him. Even as he rose to his feet however, his mind betrayed him with a nagging sensation.
As he let his feet carry him, he tried to imagine himself in Rolce’s shoes; how he would take it, knowing he was the son of an evil Sybil who had killed his own mother. He figured he would be very upset at first, but later he would be filled with thoughts of revenge. Rolce was different, though. Gisbo knew he would take it differently; how, he didn’t know, but Gisbo resolved to help him come to terms with his family's past.
Gisbo subconsciously made his way back to the common grounds, now nearly deserted as people were taking down flowers and other decorations from the funeral. It was then he noticed Rake sitting alone against the side of a hut, his face still wet from tears. Gisbo just shook his head. How could people be so cruel? How could people like Rolce’s father and Rake’s be so selfish? Gisbo knew what it was like to live alone, knew it well, and seeing other boys going through the exact same thing hurt him deeply. He didn’t know why; he never cared for people before coming here. Ever since the incident with the wolves, he just had a strong desire to befriend people and that is the only explanation why he made his way over to Rake and sat down beside the very same boy whom he had hit just the day before. Rake's nose was still bandaged and he didn’t look up when Gisbo sat next to him.
“I wanted to apologize to you, Rake, for hitting you yesterday. I think I misjudged you a bit,” Gisbo said as he offered the Shininja boy his hand in greeting. Rake turned and looked at the outstretched hand, then up at Gisbo. He rose to his feet, shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away with his head down. Gisbo sat for a moment, not at all hurt by this. He understood where Rake was coming from and knew he would just want to be alone, too. It was then he heard footsteps to his right and, turning, he saw Falcon standing over him. His class master took the seat beside him with a proud smile.
“That was a very noble thing you just did, Gisbo. Believe it or not, Rake knew it too and I am sure he was thankful for it. You both know what it means to be looked down on and feel isolated. I bet with time you can help him see the light just as Purah helped me those many years ago,” Falcon suggested with pride.
“These past few days have been unbelievable, haven't they? It’s like a whirlwind hit this place,” Gisbo said in a distant tone, with a sigh.
“It sure seems like it. But time moves on and with it, all wounds will heal,” Falcon said in response.
“I’m just confused by the whole thing! And who were those green guys?” Gisbo asked. Falcon sighed deeply.
“Strifes. They are Renegades of the Renegades, if that makes sense,” Falcon said.
“Not really,” Gisbo stated.
“Well, us Renegades are an idealistic bunch. We once clung to political party lines back in the days of Oak County, before we realized that true change couldn’t be solved through means of democracy and, if anything, it split people in two. We realized people are individuals with individual beliefs that stem only from what they wish to protect. Nowadays, most of the citizens who aren’t Renegades in Heaven’s Shelter hold to the Purist party. Which is fine, either side, Freeist or Purist. But you must understand there are such things as hardcore Purists and those types can be just as scary as the Drakearon lackeys, no matter how good their intentions. A good half of the people that live within Heaven’s Shelter are not Renegades, but hold to the Purist political thought as I said. But back in the day, these hardcore Purists disbanded from us under the leadership of a proud Purist leader named Lamik. He, unlike Narroway, believed that their ways and point of view should be forced on common people and be enforced by the sword, claiming it was for the people’s own good. Now calling themselves Strifes, they put themselves on a moral high horse, claiming themselves above reproach and deeming everyone else who didn’t follow along their sinful enemies.
“Needless to say, Narroway didn’t put up with such nonsense. He saw people for what they were, people, just like you and me. We so few individual thinkers, as well as Renegades, hold the stable ground in a world broken in two by extremes. Both of these sides hold the possibility for wickedness in their shouting for good and it breaks my heart to see,” Falcon said. Gisbo nodded in response.
“As I’m sure you’ve heard before, one cannot look at the world in black and white anymore. There is a sea of gray now and you mustn’t put yourself on the edge of either side, but rather pull what’s best from both camps and hold them center. You can’t agree with everything a Purist has to say, just as you can’t agree with everything a Freeist has to say either. You are an individual mind, be who you are and don’t dissolve into the masses. This is what it means to be a Renegade. For example, I believe in equality and peace, a Freeist trait, but at the same time I believe in swift justice so as not to give evil breathing room to ruin peaceful lives, a Purist trait. Hence, I did what I did to Cannon and Scarrr and also why we immediately went after Lokin upon your testimony, you see? And believe me, it wasn’t a rash decision. You gave us the final clue in our investigation,” Falcon explained and Gisbo again nodded.
“This world is a confusing place; just know I’m not preaching to you. I’m showing you the options and who’s to say my way is the correct way? I am here to show you the paths and, in the end, you must seek the one you feel is right. Just as long as you don’t become a Strife!” Falcon said jokingly before continuing.
“I don’t like the color green anyway. So why did they attack us today? At a funeral no less and why the hell did only a few of them come? Even to me, it doesn’t make sense!” Gisbo wondered.
“Well, back in the day we were constantly battling it out, green versus blue, until Narroway met with Lamik and organized a peace treaty. Nobody knows what this treaty contained, but I remember his face looking ever so grave after the meeting. Whatever Narroway gave them, it worked and we haven’t received trouble from them for years, until now. From what I gather so far, I can offer you this theory on why they attacked today. We know now who was behind the kidnapping of the kids and I believe Lokin and S
hax also took some of the Strife children, forcing the small group of Strife fathers to go along with their plans. What those exact plans are I do not know, but you can be sure we will find out. Till then, I want you and Rolce to train as hard as you possibly can. I believe we will be needing the both of you in times ahead, do you understand?” Falcon asked. Gisbo gave Falcon a quick salute and received a smile in return.
“Good. And do try to cheer Rolce up. Tell him he is Rolce Moordin now, not Rolce Shax. He is his own man entitled to his own decisions. If he wants to be one of the good guys, then he will be,” Falcon instructed as he patted Gisbo on the back and trekked off towards a destination unknown.
Gisbo sat and smiled to himself. Falcon always had a way of making him feel better, always. If there was one man he wished to be like, it would be Falcon Vadid. Never before was he so proud to have such a great instructor and friend. He couldn’t wait to begin training with him one on one and was glad Falcon was back to his old self again. Still, the two sides to him he saw earlier that day haunted him - he was still a Flarian, after all. Gisbo rose to his feet as his stomach growled deeply. He made his way towards Dave an’ Ern’s Mach Shop to find Shaved, Grandfield and Knob and get some much-wanted food together.
Time passed after Purah’s funeral and the air became frigid as the days of fall came to an end. By winter, both Gisbo and Rolce got back into their usual mode of life, although Rolce rarely talked about the things that were troubling him. They trained exceptionally hard for Roarie and had finally arrived at her final class. She stood in front of them, almost on the brink of tears as she addressed her class for the last time as a whole.
“Well, boys and girls, apparently your time has come to an end with me. I am proud to say that all of you have passed. You have prepared your bodies and been given the tools necessary to keep them strong. The rings will encourage you should you fall lazy through the winter months and anytime you feel that sting, think of your pretty little instructor Roarie. Now, before I personally brand your bands on you, I would like to give out two awards for exceeding the call of duty in my class. The first award given is called The Most Improved. This award is bestowed upon the student who got the most out of this class and underwent the most dramatic transformation to reach their current state. They receive a special tattoo from me for their hard work and dedication. Please give a round of applause to the rightful owner of this award, Grandfield Groggo!” Roarie yelled, setting off a wave of energetic clapping.
Grandfield blushed more than would have seemed possible as he stepped forward. Roarie powered up her essence with a ringed finger, held up Grandfield's forearm and began to trace the shape of the tattoo. Grandfield winced in pain slightly as Roarie held his wrist firm and finished. There on Granfield's arm was a jet black tattooed band, extending around his forearm with an added design beneath it, reaching toward his hand. Granfield smiled as he held up his wrist and twirled it around, examining the band before he pumped his newly decorated arm to the sky with a fist, causing the class to break into applause once more. Roarie quieted them before continuing.
“This other award is known as The Instructor Award. It is given to one who went above and beyond the call of duty and encouraged others around them to do the same. This term we have two! Would Rolce Moordin and Gisbo Falcon please step up to me?” Roarie announced as she began to clap again.
Gisbo and Rolce looked at each other as they each broke out into smiles and stepped forward. Roarie gave them both hugs as the applause continued and tattooed Gisbo and Rolce with the same figure as Granfield. All three boys pumped their fists in the air with yells of triumph. When the class was quieting down, Roarie made her way to stand in front of Gisbo.
“I still remember your first day here, you little twerp. I hope by now you think of me a bit differently. Well?” Roarie said with a touch of sternness. Gisbo stood for a minute, looking down at his short instructor.
“Well, you are a lot stronger then I originally thought. I was definitely wrong in that area, by a landslide! For that I’m sorry,” Gisbo admitted, surprisingly sincere. Roarie smiled.
“But I’m also sorry that you will always be a little old hag!” Gisbo added as he broke into a run, laughing crazily. A bewildered look flashed across Roarie’s face and then she ran after him, causing the class to break into fits of laughter. Roarie pounded her student into the ground for the last time before giving the rest of the class their bands.
