by J. C. Fiske
Renegade: Reborn
4
A Novel By
J.C. Fiske
Copyright © 2014 by J.C. Fiske
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Head Editor: Melissa McCann
Co-Editor: Valerie Withrow
Cover Art: Eugenio Perez Jr.
Cover Design: J.C. Fiske
www.jcfiske.com
www.twitter.com/gisbofalcon
[email protected]
For Deandra Marie, slayer of a real life Vile Lord . . .
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Prologue: The New World
The sky was purple, a purple so close to black, only those dwelling upon Thera could notice the slight difference. This purple, this combination of the Reath’s red sky, crossed with Thera’s original blue, was their new day, followed quickly by their new night, an unnatural night, seemingly darker than black, without a moon, or a single star to accompany it.
A host of vitamin deficiencies, and the overall sense of despair, fear, and weakness the ever-present darkness brought was now not just accepted, but embraced. When the light died, and darkness reigned, the people of Thera quickly discovered that hope was a commodity they could no longer afford. It was far easier to embrace the reality of doom, than the fantasy of salvation.
Fortunately for Thera, not everyone felt this way, and one such man continued his trek down the darkest side of the ice-encrusted mountainside of Soaria, where just beyond the mountaintop, across a sea of treetops, lay Paradisio, the newly constructed gated city of light, whose leader remained a mystery to the societies across Thera, and only a few, only those fortunate enough to be chosen, knew what lay behind the golden gates. But the Renegades, and others like them, were not products of society. They knew exactly what lay behind the gates . . . the tyrant, the man who saw himself as God made flesh, the Dragon Deity Drakearon. For them, the message was clear . . .
If you want light, convert. If not? Die in the darkness.
Rumor had it that if one wanted entry into Paradisio bad enough, they always found a way, and the Renegade’s scouting reports had confirmed this. Drakearon was targeting the weakest, most desperate people of Thera, promising them a new life, and a new life they would receive . . . as monsters for Drakearon’s army, an army that was growing bigger and stronger by the day.
The man couldn’t look at the city anymore. It had been so long since his eyes had seen such brilliance, such light, and that thought, hurt him deeply. In that moment, he chose to look away, but knew that others would do the exact opposite. He always believed in the freedom to choose, so how was he supposed to fight against something that people flocked to willingly?
He put that thought aside. It was something to ponder later. Right now, he had to keep moving. He was already gone too long. The others would be awake soon, and he didn’t want them to worry.
Finally, he had made it. It took some time for his eyes to adjust, to feel where he was, now that he was out of the absolute black shadow of the mountain, but it was his ears that signaled he’d found it. The sound of crunching snow under his feet had stopped, and now, he stood upon ink black ground that stretched out before him, ground that still impossibly warm from the unmeasurable explosion that had rocked the area three years prior, on this very day.
With his mind in the past, but his body in the present, the man made his way forward, feeling warm air rise from the ink black earth around him. It was nice, considering how cold the area that once held Heaven’s Shelter, secret dwelling for the greatest warrior culture on planet Thera, had become. Now, all that remained was a lone dark tower, a tower that used to glow a fiery blue and white. It was the only remaining proof of Heaven’s Shelter’s existence to the modern world.
The man stared up at the tower’s large, formidable doorway. He sighed deeply. Looking at the tower from this close, it seemed to be nothing more than a giant, ancient, glistening tombstone for what had happened that day . . .
The Rupture they had called it, where one of their best, was twisted and controlled by the Dragon Deity’s all-encompassing will, forcing him to lash out, to kill his own brothers, his own sisters, his own family, and finally, his own pride, right before Drakearon himself unsheathed his two bladed sword, and sliced the throat of his greatest love.
But that was no place the man was prepared to go. He had to get his mind off it, and so, with a hesitant reach, the man placed his hand upon the door. It was hot, yet, cold, and both sides seemed intensified at the same time. It was something his body wasn’t ready for, this, mixing of two opposites. It felt strange, foreign to him, maybe, possibly, because he wasn’t meant to, and at that moment, a surge of intense, deja vu, flooded his system.
He couldn’t help it now, a smile formed across his face and a memory, so clear, so vivid, danced before his mind’s eye as he saw his younger self, there, before the doorway, standing beside another boy, a boy, who had helped make him the man he was today . . .
“There’s no handle to open it.” Rolce said. Gisbo smiled.
“Well at least I’m good for something! I’ve been here before! How funny with all that planning, Rolce, and in the end you need me to open the door! Why don’t you say please, hmmm?” Gisbo taunted.
“Fine, don’t open it. I can pass the exam and get mine later. Your choice.” Rolce said, folding his arms. Gisbo’s eye’s turned the size of saucers.
“Chieftain Narroway’s domain!” Gisbo screamed.
Rolce Moordin smiled, and tears welled up in the corner of his eyes. The voices, they were so clear, so, real, and then, it was gone as quickly as it appeared, as he looked further up, into the sky, not knowing why.
“Gisbo, I never blamed you for what happened here. I don’t know where you are, or what has become of you, or why you continue to shut me out, or, even if you’re alive, but, please, we’re scattered, we’re alone, we’re . . . we’re . . .” Rolce started when he felt a hand drop on his shoulder, but before he could feel alarmed, the hand squeezed his shoulder gently. Rolce turned slightly around. “How long have you been following me, Jack?”
The voice that replied, in such a place, Rolce half expected it to come out as his younger, boyish self, but in its stead was the voice of a man, deep, gruff, full of impatience, much like his fathers.
“Long enough for you not to notice,” Jackobi Foxblade said.
“Why’d you follow me?” Rolce asked.
“Friends are a resource scarce to be acquired nowadays. We all wanted to know you were safe,” Jackobi said. Rolce turned, and looked back at the door.
“Well, I know how, how every
one feels about him. I didn’t want to bring up painful memories by mentioning where I was going. I can’t help it, Jack. I still cannot help what I dream, what I see in my sleep. That somehow, ugh, I know it sounds so, so . . . I don’t know, I just, I think he’s still out there somewhere. I see him in my dreams, coming back to save this lost world of ours. All of this, wasn’t his fault. And does it not bother you, or strike you odd that this tower, is all that remains of our home? Even here, I can sense its power. Something’s in here, lying dormant, like, a sleeping volcano, and yet, Drakearon wants nothing to do with it?” Rolce asked.
“I doubt that he wants nothing to do with it. Within minutes, his gaze will be back on this place and your opening will be closed.” Jack said.
Rolce said nothing.
“What I think, is that he either knows not how to use it, or that he can’t. It’s been dark since the rupture,” Jackobi said.
“Why? Why does my head haunt me so? Show me things that will never be?” Rolce asked aloud.
“Coming from a blind man, that’s just another day in the life,” Whip Miles said. Rolce turned, and saw he brought company.
“I wish you all didn’t follow me. Don’t you . . .” Rolce started.
“No, I don’t. This may have been our home at one time, Rolce. But not anymore. It’s a crater, it’s dead. Everything that was the Renegades, everything that was . . . him. Died right here,” Crass Bastio said.
“It wasn’t him. It was Drakearon, it was always Drakearon. It still is, it,” Rolce started.
“Keep telling yourself that Rolce. I watched my father die right before my eyes on that rampage of his, and my mother, I never even saw her go. I know he was your buddy, hell, he was my buddy too, but even your owl, your boon, a piece of yourself, Rolce, it’s gone for good, killed by him.” Crass said.
Rolce stared at him, but said nothing.
“You want to live in the denial, live in the past, Rolce? Fine, but don’t endanger yourself to do it, coming out here. You know we can’t be separated, not now. Losing someone as important as you? I don’t want to see you lose yourself to a damned memory,” Crass said, and with that, Crass turned and began to walk. Then stopped and turned around. “Drakes will be on this place soon. I don’t plan to be around when they do.”
“Yeah,” Rolce said, as he retrieved a bottle of beer, opened it, and poured it on the ground before the doorway as an offering, a show of respect, since no flowers could be found, then, placed the bottle next to the other two, from the prior years.
“If that came from Grandfield’s stash, he’s gonna be pissed,” Whip said, his arms folded.
“It didn’t,” Rolce said, staring at the empty bottles, that had marked so much passage of time . . . and then, suddenly, he had an idea.
“Chieftain Narroway’s Domain!” Rolce yelled aloud.
Nothing.
“Come on,” Jackobi said, turning to leave, only to realize Rolce wasn’t following.
“Rolce, what you’re seeing, doesn’t mean it’s false. It’s, you know what, forget it. I don’t know what to tell you.” Jackobi said, biting the inside of his mouth.
“I don’t think I can take it any longer. Another year of hiding out? Doing nothing? Making no impact as people flock to his light? Trading their souls for a little comfort? Giving up free will, freedom, for a little security? And what’s worse, what kills me inside, is that he doesn’t even force it on them. They come to him willingly! I don’t think I can take it,” Rolce said. “I can’t take . . . living, in that cold, deserted Ronigade home. Don’t you feel any trace of him here, Jack? Anything? You were his Sentry, weren’t you? You had a special connection,”
“Sentry? Sentry’s do not fail in their mission. The moment, Gisbo died, left? Who knows, I think I lost that title,” Jackobi said. “Don’t you think, that if he were alive, he would have come to us by now? That you, with your mind-link, or I, would feel him? Be able to get in touch with him?”
“Am I the only one that still has hope?” Rolce asked.
“Hope is for fools. That being said, only a fool would hope to change what Drakearon has done to Thera.” Jackobi said, pausing, now looking up at the Rolce.
“And the biggest fool I ever knew . . . when authority, reason, logic, statistics, and definite failure crashed down upon him, told him to bend, he would look ‘em right in the eyes, sputter off something offensive,” Jackobi started, pausing, and giving a rare, slight grin before continuing.
“And punch their consciousness into tomorrow.”
Elsewhere, at that same moment, General Ricard sat within his office quarters, doing his best to drown out the noise being shouted outside the window of his keep. He was Warlord of Oak County now, a position; he never wanted, unlike his predecessor, Karm. If anything, he considered himself a placeholder, until the next in line would reveal himself, but from what he had heard, Heaven’s Shelter, The Renegades, and the line of Vadid, was no more.
“Amnesty for all, or amnesty for none!” A woman with a shrill voice shouted, as a host of others echoed her cheer.
Ricard sighed deeply. He was not a politician, he was a warrior, a warrior still piecing back together his shattered pride since the day Falcon Vadid, a Flarian Renegade of all things, had walked into Oak County, in front of everyone, and walloped him and his entire Elekai’ Elite with little, to no effort. Since then, Karm’s reign, Karm’s carefully ladled lies on the history of Thera to control his people, slipped from his grasp, and things were never the same. Soon, people had Renegade headbands on, waiting, as if one day, The Renegades would come for them, as they did for Gisbo.
Gisbo Falcon, once just shy a level higher than a maggot on a turd, had now climbed into people’s hearts, as the boy who believed, believed he could be anything, and do anything despite where he came from. Society was changing. The whole appearance of The Renegade, standing beyond society, beyond government, beyond measure, became a symbol. People began to remember, remember a time when they weren’t a political party, weren’t their job, weren’t their past, weren’t sheep! Their names were their own, their bodies their own, and their minds, their own, to forge their own paths, their own destiny without anything, or anyone, to tell them differently.
Ricard, in his heart, sided with these folks, but now, they were few and far between. Over the years since the arrival of Falcon, these people left Oak County, sick of the politics, and worse, sick of the people, voting, giving up freedoms, and turning over their lives to people in authority with relish, and even glee, letting a few speak and decide for the many, and Ricard couldn’t blame them. Some people, just didn’t have what it took, others did. How were they to help that? And now, with the sun gone, the past few years were hell. People were frightened. Hell, he was frightened, but mostly, annoyed, having to serve his duties not only on the battlefield, but in meetings, and proceedings, doing his best, to protect his people from themselves, but above all, protect them from the corrupt that seemed to have populated like black rabbits since Karm’s demise, all with their own stubborn agendas, ideals, and ways to fill their pockets. If only . . .
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Ricard said. Hearing the door open, he turned, and saw the last person he wanted to see. A very short, portly woman, with beehive hair and a long, horse face, waddled through the door. As usual, her chin was stuck up, her cheeks were red as a rose, and she was out of breath from walking up the high, winding stairs to his office, nestled on the north side of the castle walls.
“Ricard . . .” The woman greeted in a haughty tone. Ricard gave her a hard stare, right in her eyes, eyes that seemed to always be bugged out of her head, as if she was constantly offended by all she saw, which, in fact, was very close to the truth.
“Mrs. Remil, I . . .” Ricard started, and upon mention of the name, her eyes bugged out even further, like a chameleon’s.
“MISS Blackbox if you please!” Miss Blackbox said.
“I’m sorry, I just assumed that s
ince you were married that,” Ricard started.
“That I would take my husband’s name? That, my dear Richard, is exactly why my Freeist party, and I, do, what we do, to STOP traditional assumptions in their tracks, and stop any and all old, ancient, neanderthal Flarian and Purist party propaganda, or, to put it more accurately, EVIL, in its tracks!” Miss Blackbox said in a huff. Ricard rolled his eyes.
“With picket signs and shouting? All day and night outside my home?” Ricard asked.
“Until you listen, yes! Peaceful ends can ONLY be accomplished, by peaceful means, Richard, something one of your . . . background . . . could never understand, but perhaps if you hear it enough . . .” Miss Blackbox started.
“Miss Blackbox, if you would, please, state your business. I have much work to attend to.” Ricard said, closing his eyes, and rubbing his temples with his fingertips.
“You won’t listen to reason, you won’t listen in proceedings, so, I have come to you personally! The Freeist Party has had it with . . .” Miss Blackbox started.
“And I’ve had it with your unrelenting nagging and one-sided way of thought! The military, is not going anywhere, Miss Blackbox. Weapons will not be melted down. Elekia’ will not be outlawed, and to do away with even one of those things, would only invite more crime within our walls! Just this week we’ve arrested ten men from Black Scar, for rape, murder, and a host of other things I do not even want to discuss in front of a lady,” Ricard said. Miss Blackbox scoffed at the term, ‘lady’ as if he had just violently cursed.
“Spare me your chivalry, Richard. It is not required, and it only belittles me, a woman, in front of your prescence as a man. It only shows that you believe I am inferior.” Miss Blackbox said. Ricard took in a deep breath.
“Fair enough, but what I’m trying to explain to you, Miss Blackbox, is that at one time, criminals had reasons for what they did, whether it be food, water, money, they were fulfilling a need, but now? Ever since this, this damned darkness, people, criminals are changing. Those bordering on the edge, I feel, have gone over, and those already over, well, they have become something worse and are now fulfilling carnal, primal needs, making the darkness their ally.
