by J. C. Fiske
Malik’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m going to kill you, Malik. Right here, right now.” Gisbo said, as his eyes took a dark turn. He then planted the Phoenix blade back into the dirt so it stood at a ninety-degree angle.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Malik said, grinning. He then looked down at Gisbo’s Phoenix Blade. “But not with that you won’t. After all, there’s no justice in vengeance . . .”
“Shut up,” Gisbo said, as he gritted his teeth, and tried to call upon his Phoenix power.
“Having some trouble I see? Here, let me show you . . .” Malik said. He quickly clenched his fists, and in a small explosion, ignited his eyes in red flames, and ignited himself in turquoise and black Dragon Fire, then, with little effort, energy laden, scaled, bat-like wings sprouted up from his back like grotesque trees with a near ten foot wingspan. With one flap, he sent a gust of energy straight at Gisbo, who was knocked right off his feet, and to the ground.
“Even if you could call upon your Phoenix power right now, you think you’re my equal? I’ve been doing this years longer than you have. YEARS! I’ve dedicated my entire being, my entire soul, for this one moment in time, this one fight with you! Unlike the Man-Phoenix, The Man-Dragon’s relationship with the Dragon, is not a relationship or a partnership at all . . . it is a surrender. Every time you use the power it takes away my soul, my sanity, bit by bit, until, there is nothing remaining but the Dragon’s unbridled madness, but, oh, is it so worth it! For what is sanity anyway when you compare it with madness? Sanity is slavery, where madness? Madness, is freedom, and by the end of tonight, cousin, oh, I’ll make you beg for something as sweet, as madness . . .” Malik said, as he walked toward him, wings outstretched, looking more like giant, green clawed hands.
Quickly, Gisbo powered up his Flarian essence, full out, and his heart sank in his chest. Even after all his training, it was like a candle beside a lake of fire compared to Malik’s Dragon Fire . . . he tried to call upon the power of the Phoenix once more, but it was no use. There was far too much anger, far too much venom in his heart. Malik had made sure of that, and now, now he was coming to do the same thing he had done to his mother, to him . . .
“Might as well use it . . .” Gisbo said, gritting his teeth. He then charged at Malik, screaming, lost in blood lust as he connected solidly to the right of Malik’s jaw. It felt as if he had just struck the corner of a steel post. His knuckles broke, and his entire right arm turned numb. Gisbo leapt back, and Malik grinned wide.
“Again . . .” Malik said, pointing to the other side of his face. Gisbo, beyond thought, beyond reason now, leapt and hit Malik, over, and over, in explosions of fire that rocked the ground, crumpled loose stone from the wall, and still, despite it all, Malik stood, as if he were taking punches from a child.
Gisbo stood, hunched over now after his assault, fighting for breath, as Malik just looked down, shaking his head in disgust.
“Pathetic . . .” Malik said.
Gisbo went straight up into an uppercut, screaming, pouring out his hurt, striking Malik in every vulnerable position, every weak point, every pressure point, but it was as useless as fighting a boulder, and Malik, had now grown tired of him. In a mocking gesture, he reached out with two fingers, and flicked Gisbo in the forehead. Gisbo had been hit many times in his life, but this, just this one flick, it felt as if someone had stabbed an ice pick into his brain. Everything rattled inside as he flew backward and tumbled like a rag doll across the ground, and when he was finally able to reach up and touch his head with a shaky hand, he realized Malik had split his forehead open.
Behind Malik, Gisbo saw Jeshua, lead ghost wolf, begin to trot forward, but Gisbo mentally halted him. Those ghost wolves he summoned, even with their power, it wouldn’t be enough to take down Malik. Their power was too spread out, too wildly misplaced, and if he ran out of essence, he would need them. They were his trump card now, a last resort. There had to be another way . . .
Gisbo stared into Malik’s twisted face. It was the face of a disturbed child who was about to pull the wings off a butterfly, or burn ants with a magnifying glass. He had so much hate for him, so much rage, and those two ingredients is what fueled the Dragon’s power. He was doing what was natural for him, to reach God-like power, while Gisbo, in order to reach the same heights, had to do what came unnatural for him . . .
He looked at his Phoenix Blade, standing up on its own in the dirt, remembered all the work he put into his body just to contain its energies, remembered how far he had come, just for this moment, and now, now he couldn’t get out of the way of his own blinding fury.
Mom, I failed you . . . I failed everyone . . . Gisbo thought, falling down to his knees.
“This is it, the moment I’ve been waiting for . . . silence . . . no more snappy comebacks, no more struggling . . . you’ve finally accepted, embraced, that I, I am not your equal, but your superior!” Malik taunted, standing over him.
“Look at me.” Malik said.
Gisbo stared at the ground.
“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want your silence. Rather, look up! Look up at the man who’s going to make you scream . . .” Malik said, as he grabbed Gisbo by the face, squeezed, and lifted it up, his grin growing wider, and wider. “It’s said, that a man shows his true nature when death is weighed upon him. How relevant, how right, that you would be on your knees . . .”
Gisbo found his eyes fixated on the scar across Malik’s face, the one he personally gifted him with. If only he could go back to that time, the time where they were equal in power, and finish him, undo everything, all the pain, all the misery, all the power, and just . . .
Who gave him that scar? Gisbo mentally asked himself. Malik was going on and on about what he was going to do to him, step by step, but Gisbo didn’t hear. This scar, this, strange scar upon his face, Gisbo became absolutely fixated upon it. Why didn’t he notice it before? He then immediately knew. It was too small a thing to notice unless you were on a face-to-face level. The scar was small, about the size of a small coin, and lay right under Malik’s right eye. Staring at it closely now, Gisbo thought it was one solid cut, but it was actually three, three deep stabs, or scratches? Gisbo didn’t know, but the cuts formed a letter, a letter, “N”.
Gisbo had been in Malik’s face plenty of times. He would have noticed that scar before, and, strangely, he was being drawn to it, wanting to touch it, press it, like a button. Malik prattled on, laughed, prattled on, and hardly noticed as Gisbo reached up, slowly, and pressed the, “N” on Malik’s face . . .
“GAGHHHHHHH!!!” Malik screamed in pain. To him, it was as if Gisbo had just stabbed him under the eye with a frozen letter opener, then twisted. He reeled back, and as he did, the letter, “N” began to glow green, not the Dragon turquoise green, but a Naforian green, bright, the color of a spring maple leaf, and just like that, scars, more of them, began to be etched down his face. It was as if an invisible fingernail was drawing lines down his cheek, one at a time, and with each slash, Malik reeled, screaming, and crying as if he fell into an acid bath. One letter appeared, then another, then another, until it formed this word . . .
N
O
R
A
That name . . . that’s my Mom’s name! Gisbo thought, his heart hammering in his chest. Each letter in the name now glowed that fierce Naforian green. Gisbo focused upon the light and before he knew it, his vision, everything, went green with such a bright intensity that Gisbo was forced to close his eyes. When the purple blotches behind his vision receded, only then did Gisbo slowly open his eyes, to find a site he wasn’t at all prepared for . . .
Falling snow.
It took him a moment to get his bearings, but once he did, Gisbo knew exactly where he was. He was on the same winter wonderland path that he and his mother had taken their walk together on the day they saved the big white wolf from the briars, and the day that she . . . died . . .
Snow, big flakes, fell to the g
round in the silence of the trees, and blotted out the morning sun, setting everything in a soft, comfortable glow. All was peaceful, all was calm, until, from somewhere in the forest, a wolf howled. Gisbo turned around, toward where the noise was coming, and lost his breath, blowing it out in a thick, warm, plume of smoke in the frigid air. His lower lip trembled. He felt his sinuses fill up with moisture, and before he knew it, warm tears sizzled down his face.
“M-Mom?” Gisbo asked.
The woman standing behind him was dressed in a beautiful, silken robe, garbed in the colors of the Renegade. Her cloak flapped about, moving seamlessly, beautifully with the wind, as if it were dancing, and her thick, dark brown, nearly black hair, Gisbo’s hair, was its respectable dance partner. She looked at him now with her hazel eyes, heart-shaped face, solemnly, still, and then, slowly, like a rising crescendo, her face lit up, and she smiled, wide, and crazily . . . just like her boy.
Gisbo didn’t let her reply, he ran to her now, and wrapped her up in a hug. He was taller than her now, by about a head. They held one another and Gisbo felt his chest grow warm, then wet. She was crying, but a happy crying, a relieving cry, and when they both had their fill, they stepped back, Mother wolf eyes, matching her cubs . . .
“Hi, sweetie,” Nora mouthed. Gisbo looked down at her, rubbed the side of her cheek and sniffed hard, sucking back dripping fluids from his nose.
“Are, are you real?” Gisbo asked.
“What does your heart tell you?” Nora asked.
Gisbo hugged her again, squeezing her tight
“Oh, honey . . . my boy, my only, only boy . . . let me look at you,” Nora said, pulling away, she rose both her hands up, touched at the scars upon Gisbo’s face, rubbed her hand through his hair, then, grabbed at Gisbo’s whiskers, and pulled, hard . . .
“OW! OW! OW!” Gisbo said, being pulled down to her height.
“And what the hell is this!?” Nora asked.
“It’s, it’s a beard, it’s . . . OW!” Gisbo started, then, Nora let him go.
“It looks like you taped a bear’s ass to your face! How do you expect to get a girlfriend looking like that?” Nora scolded. Gisbo rubbed at his chin hairs.
“But . . . wait . . . Dad! He had a beard!” Gisbo argued.
“Your father had muttonchops, and they were trimmed, and brought out his cheek bones! This,” Nora said, smacking the side of his face. “All this beard says is, ‘I don’t give a shit’.”
“But, I really honestly don’t and . . . HEY!” Gisbo said, as Nora grabbed his earlobe and pulled.
“All this time away and the first thing you do is backtalk your mother? Everything you wear, everything on your person, shows the world what sort of person you are! And right now, you look like your father coming back from a weekend of boozing!” Nora said.
“I . . . you . . .” Gisbo started.
“You’re gonna quit while you’re ahead? Damn, right you are!” Nora said, folding her arms in finality. Gisbo found himself, giggling, then laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Nora asked.
“Dad always said you never put up with his bullshit.” Gisbo said.
“Where do you think you get it from, kiddo?” Nora asked, smiling, then shaking her head, looked her son up and down, beaming.
“Oh, Gisbo. Look at you, all grown up . . . and, I know you’ve aged quickly recently, but, your eyes, your face, just, so much unnecessary weight, and pain to them . . . all because, because of people like him . . .” Nora said.
“Mom? How? How are you here? Am I, am I dead?” Gisbo asked.
“No, honey. You’re about as alive as could be, but, unless you find a way to clear your thinking, and gain access to the Phoenix power, your birthright, you will be. That’s why I’m here.” Nora said.
“But, how? How are you here? Where is here?” Gisbo asked.
“Look, behind you . . .” Nora said. Gisbo turned around to see the snowy pathway, and the trees, and . . . the trees . . . even the sky, everything where the path turned, was now gone, as if someone with a giant eraser, had reached down, and just, wiped away reality, and in its place, was darkness, a void so black, so all encompassing, it made him break out into a nervous sweat.
“What, what’s happening?” Gisbo asked.
“I don’t like to admit this, but on that day, the day the Goat Man came, he beat me, beat me terribly . . .” Nora said.
“I know, but,” Gisbo started.
“No. I don’t think you do. He, outright, defeated me, as if I were one of these snowflakes, but don’t think I just bent over and took it. No. Your mother stood tall, and proud, and even in my final moments, I never gave in to that man. I went to the grave, cursing, and spitting in his face.” Nora said. Gisbo smiled at this, feeling a bit relieved. “But, this man, Gisbo, he was filled with so much hate, so much malice . . . it was practically dripping off of him, I could feel it, like a burden, weighing down upon him, and every time he hit me, every time he struck me, I felt it grow lighter, and lighter . . .”
Gisbo swallowed hard, then gritted his teeth.
“But, it was what came after, after I was gone, is what you had to witness, something, no little boy, should ever, ever see, but we won’t talk of that, and you, you won’t think of that. You understand? Ever. What I want to talk about, is what happened before . . .” Nora said.
“Before?” Gisbo asked. He turned, to see the pathway was now half gone, just, melting away, joining the blackening void.
“It’s ok, we have time. My soul, right now, is wrapped around you. To everyone else, you are garbed right now in a bright, green light, untouchable, unbreachable . . .” Nora said.
“But, how?” Gisbo asked. Nora took in a deep sigh.
“It’s not easy, Gisbo, for a warrior to know, he or she, is going to die. It’s rightfully, terrible, but this, this was different. This young man, he explained things to me, his whole plan, why, he was doing this to me. He wanted me to know everything, and to realize that it was all because of you, something you would do in the future to wrong him, and how he now had come back, to change you, and your destiny, forever . . . lock away your Phoenix power, so you wouldn’t be able to use it when you needed it most, and well, your mother wasn’t about to let him . . . so, I cut him, and with each cut, I put inside him, pieces of my soul, so that when the time came, I could arrive, like a good mother should, and give her son a fighting chance . . .” Nora said. She then looked around at her fast, deteriorating world, and smiled. “My soul, once the scenery fades, will be complete, and I, I can finally move on, but not before, we have a little talk, mother, to son.”
Gisbo saw that now, even the sky was fast becoming black. Nora quickly put two hands upon his cheeks.
“Don’t look at that. Look at me, honey.” Nora said.
“Ok,” Gisbo stammered.
“This man, I don’t know the specifics between you two, but from what I gather, it’s over a woman, over a lost love, and whew boy, that, that can lead to some very powerful feelings, feelings, that through the Dragon, has made him a literal juggernaut, but, even back then, I could see the toll it’s taken. He’s done things, seen things no mortal man should ever see. He’s played with Time in a way Drakearon would never dream of, due to the risks, and now, his mind, his sanity, it’s hanging together by literal threads . . . but, for him, it’s better than the alternative, a life filled with pain, and sorrow. He’s in pain, Gisbo, terrible pain, and yes, he blames you, but mostly, he blames himself . . .” Nora said.
“You make it seem like I should feel bad for him, empathize with him, I . . . I can’t do that . . .” Gisbo said. “Not after what he did to you, to us!”
“Honey, I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to stop him, but to do that, you need not make this personal. If you do, then he’s already won.” Nora said.
“But, how? How can I not make this personal?” Gisbo asked.
“By stop being selfish.” Nora said.
“Selfish?” Gisbo asked,
surprised.
“You think it’s all about you, but it’s not. If he wins, then Drakearon wins. This anger, that you feel inside you . . . I know it all too well. You get it from me, sweetie, and the worst advice anyone can give you is to tell you to calm down, and take a deep breath. That anger of yours, it’s not going anywhere, and if that’s the case, you may as well learn how to use it . . . properly . . .” Nora said.
Gisbo said nothing.
“This is why you need to stop being selfish, and with selfishness, comes pride. And honey? You’re full of it, just as I was. Pride, it is a dangerous thing. The more pride you have, the more you see it, and feel it in others. You have to let it go, and either forget yourself entirely, or think of yourself as a very small, worthless thing. When you do that, when you let go of your own pain, and focus on the pain of others, and let your anger rise over their mistreatment, that is anger being used properly! That is righteous fury, and that’s what the Phoenix Fire runs on! It’s easier said than done, I know, but you must learn, or everything ends, right here, right now. You’ve felt righteous fury before, haven’t you?” Nora asked.
“Yeah, yeah I have . . .” Gisbo said.
“Then you’ll find it again.” Nora said.
“I feel so stupid . . . it all feels so simple, like it was right in front of me all along. Why? Why do I forget such simple things?” Gisbo asked.
“The most important virtues in life, are the simplest, and yet, always need reminding . . .” Nora said.
