Renegade Rising (The Renegade Series)

by J. C. Fiske

  “I could stand here for another week explaining in detail all of Purah’s legacy, but I know he would never allow it. So I will leave you with a few personal recollections from Purah’s closest friends, those who knew him best.” Narroway said, lowering his head for a moment as if in prayer before speaking again.

  “Even in death, Purah has victory and so can all of you. Praise his life; be happy for his next journey as you await your very own. My time now comes to a close. I know you are all curious as to the aspects of his death, but sadly I cannot reveal anything without more evidence at this time. I will however tell you this and this alone. The murderer will be brought to justice and all those connected to his death will feel the wrath of generations of Renegades upon them!” Narroway exclaimed with vigor, pumping his fist in the air as the Renegades followed his lead with a loud yell.

  Narroway stepped down from the platform and friends of Purah's came up to share a few memories of their time with the fallen hero, as well as a few funny stories to lighten the mood. All of this was going fine until a man with a red ponytail and long bangs came to the stage. Gisbo’s sorrow was quickly flushed away as a deep realization encroached upon him. Lokin surveyed the crowd before speaking.

  “Well, it is safe to say Purah’s and my synergy suffered a tragic loss when our member Shax died and now my best friend Purah up and leaves me…” Lokin said. Gisbo had heard enough. He grabbed Falcon’s shoulder with a strength he didn’t know he had.

  “Falcon! I need to talk to you right now! In private!” Gisbo ordered. Falcon, registering Gisbo’s frantic expression, nodded. They walked a ways away from the crowd and stopped behind one of the closed shops. Gisbo quickly recounted the full story of his misdemeanor and the conversation Lokin and Purah were having before Gamba and he entered the room. Falcon looked very surprised as he peered over at Lokin speaking and his face tightened in a snarl. He abruptly placed both hands on Gisbo’s shoulders and looked him right in the eyes.

  “Listen to me, Gisbo, I believe your story as well as your accusation. Purah was one of the most powerful warriors I have ever known and the only way he could have died is if he was caught by surprise, a Shininja’s specialty. Lokin has been under investigation for quite some time. Your information may be the final key. I want you to go find Moordin, Rolce and Foxblade. Tell them what you just told me. I am going to report this to Narroway immediately. Tell Foxblade and Moordin to head me off while you and Rolce go back to your tree house and stay put! This whole thing is not as it seems; trouble may be about, so take Rolce back to your room and stay there! Now go!” Falcon said as he broke into a fast trot, parting the crowd to get to Narroway. Gisbo spun about as well, pushing through, trying to spot his fellow synergy mate - only to slam into someone rushing in the opposite direction. It was Rolce, followed by both Moordin and Foxblade.

  “Rolce! I need to tell you something, I…” Gisbo said, but Rolce quickly cut him off with a wave of his hand.

  “I know! I know! I just told Moordin and Foxblade your story, but we need to find Falcon. Where is he?” Rolce asked.

  “He just went to tell Narroway!” Gisbo said, pointing. Moordin and Foxblade simultaneously turned to face the boys. Moordin pulled both of them close, staring into their eyes with absolute seriousness.

  “I am proud of you boys. Now go back to your dorm this instant, you hear? Much has built up these previous months and it is all about to explode. Don’t come out until we come to get you! Move!” Moordin commanded as he and Foxblade pushed through both of them a bit rudely, rushing to get to Falcon and Narroway. Rolce looked at Gisbo, a hint of rebellion in the normally obedient boy's eye.

  “You going back to the tree house?” Rolce asked.

  “Not a chance,” Gisbo replied with a grin.

  “Just as I thought. Way to go, Gisbo. You should have seen Moordin’s eyes light up when I told him. Apparently, this is just what they needed,” Rolce said, returning his grin. They set off to watch what was about to transpire.

  Falcon and Moordin reached Narroway, followed closely by Foxblade. Narroway’s face grimaced in curiosity only to turn to wide-eyed surprise and recognition, as if he had found the last piece to a puzzle lying on the floor. Falcon pointed toward Lokin, who was still speaking at the podium. From that point, everything happened very quickly. Lokin was still deep in his speech when suddenly, in a flash of green and red, Falcon and Moordin appeared at both sides of the Shininja. Falcon pressed the tip of his blade over Lokin’s heart while Moordin threw his pole-arm over the Shininja’s throat from behind, locking him in a chokehold. For a moment Lokin looked surprised, then a smile broke across his face.

  “So, I assume there is a reason for this outburst?” Lokin said with an eerie calm. Narroway walked up to look Lokin right in the eye. For a moment, Lokin’s composure was nearly lost at the sight of Narroway’s enraged face.

  “You dare to speak of him as a friend, Lokin? You dare stand before us all and spout your lies? I have every reason to slice your tongue off this instant. You best have a good argument prepared, Lokin. You’re going to need it,” Narroway said, power dripping from his every word, conjuring up memories of his father. For a moment Lokin didn’t say anything as he tried to hide from the Chieftain's gaze. After a few long seconds, the Shininja finally mustered enough courage to face his Chieftain.

  “I need no argument, not one. I’ll tell you the truth right now, that I, Lokin Razgul,” Lokin paused, enjoying the crowd hanging on his every word. “Killed Renegade Purah!” Lokin finished.

  In a flash, Narroway’s Talon Sword was out and had joined Falcon’s, looming dangerously over Lokin’s adam's apple.

  “You admit it? Then . . .” Narroway faltered as if he had forgotten something, suddenly turning around to the crowd behind him, with his head darting back and forth in search of something.

  “That’s right, you think I’d come alone? Strifes! To action!” Lokin yelled as various people in the crowd threw back their blue hoods to reveal odd green uniforms. The green-clad invaders quickly grabbed whatever Renegade was standing nearest and held them tightly at sword point without releasing their essence. Lokin gawked at Narroway with a snide look.

  “You're not as slow as I thought. Slow, sure, but at least you realized it. Unfortunately for you, it’s too late. Now, let's pass the authority to me for a bit. You are going to let me walk away from here before you lose some of your precious Renegades to the Strife’s blades. Understood, Chief?” Lokin asked confidently, until he saw the smile of superiority on Narroway’s face.

  “I think you forget the place you have invaded. This is home to the last true remaining warrior culture on Thera. You honestly think they would allow you ground for bartering?” Narroway questioned with glowing pride.

  Blades were instantly wrapped around the necks of the Strifes by more Renegades. Suddenly, long ropes of energy in every color extended, attaching themselves to the Strifes' weapons, and they were immediately disarmed. Their lost weapons soared back along the energy ropes and into the open hands of Renegades, leaving a dangerous situation remedied and completely turned about. Lokin’s face went white. He wasn’t expecting this at all.

  “Always, always power up your weapon when in the presence of another Elekai' Warrior, Lokin. You never know when the same race is about you; even the Renegaras around here know the basic rule. You have come ill prepared, a trait that embarrasses your Shininja class. You will die, right here, for the death of one of the most noble men I have ever known,” Narroway said as he drew back his fiery sword, ready to sever Lokin’s head from his neck. Suddenly, a sharp yell hit the air.

  “No! Don’t do it! He’s my Dad!” screamed Rake, as he ran to the stage and wrapped his arms around his father in attempt to protect him from certain death. Narroway lowered his sword slightly as Rake held his father like a life preserver with tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “You can’t do it! He’s the only family I have left!” Rake screamed, his watery eyes pleading wit
h Narroway. The Chieftain stood staring at the boy as Falcon and Moordin released their grips slightly, enough for Lokin to grab Rake with blinding speed. The traitorous Shininja ignited his blade with his own fiery glow, not about to make the same mistake as the Strifes. He held the dangerous blade over his son’s throat.

  “Dad? Dad!? What, what are you doing?” Rake stammered. Lokin looked down at his son in his arms as if he was holding a priceless treasure, grinning with a greedy smile.

  “Shut it! Well, it seems my son isn’t such a failure after all. About time you served me some sort of purpose, eh boy? Now back away, all of you, or I will slice my son's throat open, right here, for all to see!” Lokin said, as he spun to leer at Narroway. “Is that something your conscience can take, Narroway? Well, is it? I never knew if I had the complete loyalty of the Strifes, so one must always have an ace up one's sleeve. I see all of you, even now, thinking how to kill me without hurting the boy. I think it’s time I keep your attention elsewhere. Thank IAM for such idiotic subordinates, eh Falcon and Moordin?” Lokin taunted with glee. Suddenly, two green-clad Shininjas dropped out of the trees, trapping Gisbo and Rolce’s throats behind their ignited blades.

  Panic stretched across Falcon and Moordin’s faces as Lokin walked with his son past Narroway, making his way through the crowd. Instantly, those around Lokin ignited their weapons and surrounded him. Lokin simply smiled and stared at Narroway as if to say, 'Well?'

  “Let him through,” Narroway ordered, causing Lokin to smile even broader. All the weapons disengaged their essence and parted the way for Lokin to pass. Gisbo and Rolce stood looking at each other each saying the same thing with their eyes: “How could we be so stupid?”

  “I figured you heard me outside Purah’s office, mutt, but it really didn’t matter. How ironic that you got sent there for punching out my poor excuse for a son. Oh, don’t worry, I could care less. The little weakling probably deserved it. You have incurred my wrath for one thing, though, and that’s squealing. Let me show you what happens to squealers where I come from . . .” Lokin said as he made his way closer to Gisbo.

  Gisbo squirmed every which way, but it was no use against the essential power of the man holding him. He watched as Lokin reached to his side to pull his other dagger from its sheath, powered it up, and spun it around his fingers playfully. Gisbo winced. Lokin was within striking distance. The Shininja grasped his dagger tightly and reared back for the kill.

  Gisbo closed his eyes, bracing for a strike that never came. He opened them only to see Lokin, frozen, focused on something behind him with a look of horror and surprise.

  Foxblade struck quickly, coming out of a stealth position with both daggers glowing a brilliant yellow. He wasted no time plunging his first blade through the Shininja holding Gisbo. The Strife let his weapon drop from Gisbo's throat, roaring from the pain that seared his kidney. Foxblade reared back and plunged the same blade deep into the Shininja’s chest, planted his foot beneath the new wound and kicked forward to free his blade once more. The Strife fell backward, dead before he hit the ground. Foxblade wasn’t done with his combo quite yet. He swung his other leg in a roundhouse kick, catching the chin of Rolce’s capturer who dropped the young Renega.

  “Duck,” Foxblade ordered Rolce, who obeyed immediately, gaping as Foxblade continued his dance of death. With his other dagger held at the ready, he let loose, slicing the throat of the green-clad Shininija with a back hand while spinning his body for velocity and force. The Shinija grasped his bleeding throat and toppled over, gurgling. Foxblade completed his spin and thrust the same blade upward at Lokin, his aquamarine eyes as like blue fire. Lokin took a step back from Foxblade, clutching Rake even closer to himself like a shield.

  “Drop your boy and I’ll kill you. Best I can offer,” Foxblade stated. Both Renegades locked eyes.

  “Back off, you’ve already spilled Strife blood, Fox of blades. They will come for you especially. I’ll be sure of that,” Lokin threatened, nervousness crackling in his voice. Foxblade didn’t bat an eyelash.

  “Let them come. I’ll arrange a place of meeting on the morrow and kill them all. My original offer stands,” Foxblade said without moving his eyes from Lokin, who took another step of retreat. Foxblade sheathed his other dagger and let that free hand fall into his side pouch, pulling up three razor-sharp throwing discs. Lokin’s face crinkled in fear, but his eyes widened.

  “You wouldn’t. What if you miss? You could kill my boy!” Lokin said, trying to dissuade Foxblade from a reckless decision. Lokin turned with a quick glance at Narroway, Falcon and Moordin’s reactions. All radiated confidence.

  “I don’t miss,” Foxblade said and drawing back his arm, he threw an energy-charged disc, aimed directly at Lokin’s head. The disc would have hit true if it weren’t for the black, slick, oil-like substance that surged up around Lokin. The sludge blocked the shot with a resounding metallic clang and black smoke spiraled in the air upon the point of impact. Foxblade spun around as a newcomer blasted a ball of the same black ooze at him, narrowly missing. The Renegade Shininja leapt into the sky, called upon his innate Soarian power of flight and hovered in the air, watching the ooze hit the ground. Within moments, it had eaten through it like acid, leaving a crator. You couldn’t see his face under the mask, but Foxblade’s eyes betrayed his surprise. The other Renegades who saw the figure standing before them gasped, especially Rolce, who clutched Gisbo's shoulder with thick stabbing fingers and pointed frantically with his other hand.

  “Gisbo! It’s him! The man from my dream! The guy who has Jackobi!” Rolce screamed.

  Chapter Fourteen: 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.