by J. C. Fiske
“That won’t hold him. We can’t, we can’t force him to stay here. Can we?” Glinda asked as Rolce and Jackobi finished binding Gisbo’s arms and legs to the walls of his grandfather’s old room. Even after all this time it still contained his old putrid stink, and dozens of broken, and empty bottles lay everywhere. It was completely left as it was when the Flarian’s left for Cledwyn city.
“It will have to,” Rolce said.
“But it won’t! What if he breaks out? What if that . . . thing . . . comes out of him again? What if he kills us all in our sleep?” Glinda asked.
“What would you have me do? Put Gisbo out in a cage under the Diamond Mass like a Stonesythe?” Rolce asked.
“YES! That’s exactly what you should do, Rolce! What I said earlier, I meant it, but, but looking at him now, well . . . well just look at him, Rolce! It’s been three years since we’ve seen him. Three! Can you honestly say, without a doubt, the Gisbo you once knew, and the Gisbo here now, is one and the same?” Glinda asked.
“This isn’t up for debate, he’s staying,” Rolce said, eyeing her hard.
“What isn’t up for debate? Can’t a guy get some sleep around here? What the hell is . . .” Crass Bastio started, when suddenly he froze halfway down the stairs, staring into the open door where Rolce, Jackobi, and Glinda stood beside a chained Gisbo.
“Mother of . . . GET HIM OUT OF HERE! GET HIM OUT OF HERE, ROLCE! Or so help me, I’ll put a blade in his gut!” Crass yelled, suddenly charging across the arena, grabbing an empty whiskey bottle from the bar along the way, and shattering it as he made his way toward Gisbo.
“Crass, Crass wait! Stop!” Glinda screamed, but Crass pushed her aside and was about to charge when suddenly, Rolce wrapped him up in a sleeper hold, hoisting him clear off the ground.
“GRAH! DAMN IT, ROLCE! PUT ME DOWN! You’re . . . you’re too damn soft! You’re going, you’re going to . . . to . . .” Crass started, then went limp, and passed out. Rolce cradled him in his big arms and put him down gently against the entrance wall as if he were tucking a child into bed.
“I didn’t expect that sort of reaction.” Rolce said, looking down at the unconscious Crass.
“Can you blame him? Gisbo, when that . . . thing, came out of him, it killed his father.” Glinda started.
“What’s going on? What’s with the shouting?” Anaka Lauran asked, coming down the stairs in a white gown along with Whip and Grandfield. Even Niffin had left her room and was peeking over the banister.
“Um, it’s nothing, it’s . . .” Glinda said, when suddenly, Anaka’s hand went over her mouth as she spied Gisbo through the doorway.
“Rolce, how could you? How could you bring him here?” Anaka said, and with tears in her eyes, she sprinted back up the stairs and slammed the door behind her. Rolce felt himself falling back against the wall beside an unconscious Crass, and slid down, lowering his head between his knees.
“What would you have me do? I know what he did, I know what pain he’s caused everyone, but, but it wasn’t his fault!” Rolce said.
“That really him? He looks so, so,” Grandfield started, slowly, shuffling up the steps to join them, followed by Whip, and even Niffin. They all looked down upon Gisbo’s thin, pale, undernourished body that was covered in a host of bone white, callused scars. He had not one, but two black eyes, his lips were chapped and split down the middle, his hair was furled, caked with grime and grew down past his shoulders, and his face had grown a full beard with dried, crusted blood glistening off it.
“It’s him all right. I’d know that smell of his anywhere, only now it’s dim, covered up with the smell of whore perfume, stale cigarettes, blood, BO, and horribly cheap booze. Seems he’s been sampling all the wrong food groups . . .” Whip said.
“Whore perfume? How would you know?” Glinda asked.
“Fine. Broken in women. That better?” Whip asked.
“No! That’s horrid! Whip!” Glinda started, but Whip ignored her, his face, suddenly melding into one of concern.
“Ah, Gisbo . . . poor guy’s taken to the drink just like his Granddaddy, and probably hosts of Granddaddy’s before that. This kind of alcohol abuse? It runs in the family. It’s in his blood. At this point, he’d be better off chugging mouthwash for a buzz. ‘Least he’d smell better. Ugh, I gotta get out of this room,” Whip said, as he waved a hand in front of his nose and backed out of the room as surprisingly, Niffin, took his place. Carefully, she knelt down beside Gisbo, and began running her fingers through his hair, picking out the soiled clumps, and brushing his bangs out of his eyes.
“Niffin, I wouldn’t touch him. I’d . . .” Glinda warned, but Niffin only picked up Gisbo’s hand and held it in her own. Her eyes began to water as she spoke for the first time since the Rupture. It startled them all to hear her soft, kind voice again.
“You, none of you, have any idea what it’s like in that head of his. I do, and what I saw, almost killed me . . . all of you, all of you should be ashamed of yourselves for doubting him, chaining him up like this. He’s not a dog! He’s Gisbo Falcon! He’s our friend, our family, he’s our Renegade brother! It wasn’t his fault! It wasn’t! He’s . . .” Niffin started, when suddenly, she felt Gisbo’s hand in hers give a gentle squeeze.
“They’re right, Niffin.” Gisbo said. Everyone’s eyes went wide as Gisbo slowly rose himself to his feet. “I don’t belong here, I . . . can’t belong here, with any of you. Not anymore. Whoever I get close to is now a liability.”
Gisbo then gently reached out and placed his hand upon Glinda’s Flarian ringed finger. Powering up his essence, he snapped his chains with ease, rubbed his wrists, and walked out the doorway, then stopped, turned around, and looked Rolce, then Niffin.
“Sorry, but you’re both wrong. You say that I didn’t do this? That I was controlled? That it wasn’t my fault? Tell that to every one of my victims. The Drakeness . . . it doesn’t work that way. It’s not that simple. Honestly, what it is, at its core, is a flight past reason and logic for one’s pure, unbridled, desire. My desire? My Joy? I can’t help it. I’m a fighter by nature. I LIKE to fight. Violence, battles, war? It’s all the same. Where others feel fear, I feel peace. Where others feel death, I feel life. Where others feel conflicted, I feel free. The Drakeness, it knew what I wanted, and it gave it to me. It shut off my ability to reason, to see friend from foe, and I, I couldn’t resist it, and that, that’s the problem. I wasn’t strong enough. I chose not to prepare for the impossible. I got too caught up in my own damned pride and arrogance. I underestimated my opponents, my inner turmoil, and by doing that, I’ve damned myself, but, I won’t damn all of you . . .” Gisbo started, then held his words back and sighed deeply before continuing.
“ . . . Drakearon, what he did to me . . . I, I can’t feel. I can’t cry. I can’t get a release. There’s just, there’s just this numbing pressure, this tightness in my chest and stomach, like I’m on the verge of a heart attack that never comes.”
“Gisbo . . .” Glinda mouthed.
“There was just so much tragedy, so much death, all at once, that my mind can’t process it. Something’s broken inside me, making me doubt myself, and all my actions. I’ve never felt this way before, and until I fix it, I’m a danger to myself, but more importantly, I’m a danger to you all. I’m sorry, I’m just, so sorry. Please, Rolce, Niffin, everyone? Please don’t come looking for me again. If I ever hurt any of you . . . again . . . it would be the literal death of me.” Gisbo said. He turned to walk away, then stopped. When he spoke, he spoke to the ground, unable to look at his friends anymore.
“You know? My whole life, all I wanted was solitude. All I wanted was to be left alone, and now that I’ve had it? Well, it’s funny. All I think about is you guys. All I think about . . . is her.” Gisbo started, then swallowed hard, turned his back on his friends, shoved his hands in his pockets, and made his way for the exit. He was about to clear the arena and reach the doublewide door, when a figure stepped out of the shadows and b
locked his path.
“For one so full of shit, it’s amazing you can still walk.” Rake Lokin muttered, and with one quick snap of his fist, he cracked Gisbo between his eyes, knocking him out cold, and crumpling him to the ground. Everyone else ran across the arena, staring wide-eyed at the downed Gisbo, then, at Rake.
“What did you just do?” Rolce asked in a panic.
“I cashed in a promise. The moment seemed right.” Rake said, as he bent down, and lifted Gisbo up onto his shoulders.
“What, what is this? What are you doing?” Rolce asked.
“Doing what you can’t,” Rake said, as he carried Gisbo through the doublewide doors.
“Which is?” Rolce asked.
“Fixing him,” Rake said, without turning around, as the doublewide doors shut behind him. Suddenly, Jackobi appeared beside them and he put a hand on Rolce’s shoulder.
“We’re going on a little trip, Rolce. Don’t wait up. You’re right, we’ve sat back long enough. It’s time to do something. You say you’re not a leader, and maybe that’s true, but you damned well led us here. Take it a little further, get everyone out of this depressive darkness, and blow it up on your way out,” Jackobi said.
“But what if we need this place? What if we . . .” Rolce started. Jackobi looked all around and sniffed the air with a disgusted face.
“Nobody needs this place,” Jackobi said as he threw two travel bags over his shoulders and joined Rake and Gisbo beyond the double doors, leaving Rolce, Grandfield, Whip, Niffin, an unconscious Crass, and Glinda speechless. The silence, it was so discomforting, so . . .
CRISSHH!!!
Everyone spun about toward the source of the noise to see Grandfield, holding a freshly opened beer can with foam pouring down the sides.
“What?” Grandfield asked, as he raised the can to his lips, and tipped the warm beer back without remorse.
When Gisbo awoke, he had the odd sensation that he was floating. It was peaceful, but only for a moment as a sudden burning, digging sensation in his wrists became apparent. He went to scratch at his right wrist, only to realize he couldn’t. Ropes bound both of his wrists, and he was dangling thirty feet above a dark, seemingly bottomless pit.
“What, what the hell?” Gisbo asked groggily.
“For one so full of shit, it’s amazing the ropes haven’t snapped.” A familiar voice from below said. Gisbo looked down to see Rake, and Jackobi standing around the rim of the pit.
“Huh?” Gisbo asked, blinking furiously.
“Any idea what’s below you?” Jackobi asked.
“Well, as far as I can tell, a black pit and a couple of asshole friends?” Gisbo snapped. “Get me down!”
“For one so full of doubt, you said that pretty confidently.” Rake said.
“And what the hell is with you and these shit jokes all of a sudden, Rake?” Gisbo asked.
“We are on Daresnap Isle, located a ways away from the place that the Strife’s call home. Below you is the entrance to the infamous Glaknabrade prison, or rather, what’s left of it. The Strife’s, low on morale, have banded together, walling themselves in their home, and left this place and its remaining prisoners to their own devices, and madness.
Since then, this place has become a homing beacon and a birthing ground for some of the worst Drakelings imaginable. Here, rumored to be the very birthplace of the Dragon itself, they devour one another, becoming better than the sum of their parts, to possibly, rise to the level of a Drakeknight, naturally, if you could call it that, beyond Drakearon’s encouragement, only leaving when they receive an order to retrieve a lost sheep or two from Drakearon’s flock.” Jackobi said.
“That’s nice and all, but, why am I hanging over it?” Gisbo asked.
“Simple. We’re making their lives easier. We’re bringing the lost sheep, to them,” Rake said.
“WHAT!?” Gisbo yelled, shaking desperately at his ropes.
“This is what is called tough love, Gisbo. The world is too dark a place now for someone with your potential to do nothing but drown in liquor, vaginas, and self-pity. Remember our promise, Gisbo? When one of us crosses the line? I’m fulfilling my end of the deal . . .” Rake said.
“This, THIS ISN’T WHAT I MEANT!” Gisbo yelled, shaking at his binds.
“But it’s what I meant. Due to that mark on your head, you will be like a torch in the night. The Drakes down there, and across this island will sense you, smell you, and they will attack. If you wish to survive, and escape this island, you must remove all doubt. You, and you alone, must find a reason to live again. If you don’t, you’ll die, or worse, end up as Drakearon’s lap dog. Really, it’s quite simple when you think about it.” Rake said, folding his arms.
“This isn’t simple, it’s insane! This is . . .” Gisbo started.
“Extreme? Yes, with such extreme pain and sorrow haunting you, it will take equally extreme measures to heal you. Gisbo, I’ve never seen you back down from a challenge in your life. Right here, right now, you need to decide who you are. Are you Gisbo Falcon, Renegade, Man-Phoenix? Or are you Gisbo Falcon, Mopey, Pussy Ass Bitch?” Jackobi asked, with a snide smile. In that moment, he was Foxblade Dreadka, returned from the grave.
Gisbo’s eyes narrowed onto Jackobi.
“See? There! There it is! That’s the look! You’re still in there somewhere, I know it. No one beyond salvation stares into the void of Drakearon’s influence, every day, and says, ‘no’.” Jackobi said.
Gisbo thought about that.
“All of us have a hole inside, and we all try to fill it with something of our choosing, but we’re different, Gisbo. We’re killers. For people like us, we don’t get to choose. That dark part of us, the beast inside fills that emptiness right up. The best we can do is throw them a few scraps every now and then, to keep them there. That is our struggle, that is our battle, but it allows us to carry a little darkness on our backs so that others don’t have to.
We need you. This world needs you. This island? It will be your therapy. This is how you’ll come back. Holding all that anger, all that guilt, all that pressure? This place will help get rid of it, give you some breathing room. What you’ve seen has changed you. Talking it out won’t help you right now, later maybe, but not now. You need action, you need to cut loose, and luckily there are plenty of things here ready to take it, and no innocents for miles around. To kill these Drakelings, these once former people, would be a mercy. They’ll thank you in the afterlife.
It’s time to face what you’ve become, and to leave this island, it will require not some of what you are, not most of what you are . . . it will require all that you are . . .” Jackobi said.
“Please, just one drink? One drink before . . .” Gisbo begged.
“The drink, or the dream? You’ve lost your dream, so, you replaced it with drink. The answer is no. Good luck, Gisbo. Here’s a parting gift. You can make it up to me later.” Jackobi said, and with a thrown, sharpened star, one of the ropes snapped and left Gisbo swinging only by his left arm.
“Whoa! Whoa! Hold on you guys! Rake, Rake buddy! Please, come on, you’re gonna let him do this to me?” Gisbo asked.
“He’s your Sentry right? Guardian knows best.” Rake said, turning around for one last look.
“We can’t force you to get better, Gisbo. Only you can do that. I’m a naturalist. Only the strong survive. You’re now a part of this island’s eco-system. Only the environment can save you now.” Jackobi said.
“Save me!? It’s going to kill me!” Gisbo screamed.
“Only if you let it. If you can survive this, face what Drakearon did to you, then Gisbo? There’s nothing on Thera that will be able to stop you, except, of course, me.” Jackobi said with a cocky wink.
And with that, the two Shininjas left a cursing Gisbo, hanging and swinging like a morsel of meat, a treat, for the malformed, hungry offspring of Drakearon below.
“Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” Rake asked Jackobi as they arrived on the shore o
f the beach, trying to ignore the terrifying chitters and chatters, and shrieks and roars behind them.
“Right? There’s nothing right about this, but I have my orders from something, something I both understand, and don’t understand. It seems, my role of Sentry, is not yet over . . .” Jackobi said.
“Whose orders?” Rake asked.
“Someone I can’t not listen too. The Drakes aren’t the only things on this island. Something else is here, something, Gisbo needs, something only he can use.” Jackobi said.
“Really?” Rake asked.
“Something that will finally allow him to use the powers of the Phoenix, and become who he was born to be.” Jackobi said.
“And how is he going to learn to use such power? Who’s going to teach him?” Rake asked. Jackobi only smiled and looked up into the sky.
“We’ll have to wait and see,” Jack said. “Ready?”
“Why did we walk all the way out here? We could have teleported an hour ago.” Rake said.
“Now we can, we’re far enough, but if we did while still on the island, it would have given the Drakelings another trail of power to pursue besides Gisbo’s. No, my authority won’t let me. It wants the whole island after him.” Jackobi said.
“Seriously? I’m all for tough love, but . . .” Rake started.
“This authority, it knows him better than I do. It knows what he can take,” Jackobi said.
“Why do I feel as if you’re not going to mention anything more?” Rake asked.
“Because, you’re right,” Jackobi said, and with that, they both vanished leaving a black, webbed crater in their absence.
Chapter Three: Natural Selection
Gisbo continued to hang from his sole suspended rope, not even bothering to shake himself free. The skin on his left hand had begun to heal over the frayed rope. Any more shaking and it would rip free and more blood would drip down and splash into his eyes, and shaking, is the one thing he couldn’t help but do.
