Renegade Reprisal (The Renegade Series)

by J. C. Fiske

  “Little brother!” the man said. Falcon laughed as he met him halfway and embraced him in a tight hug as they patted each other’s backs roughly.

  “Good to see you again, Douglas, it’s been too long,” Falcon said as they released each other.

  “And this . . . this is . . .” Douglas said almost in disbelief as he walked forward. Falcon crossed his arms and grinned.

  “Exactly who you think he is,” Falcon said. Douglas brandished a proud smile.

  “Gisbo! My, look at him, Falcon! I don’t believe how fast the time went! You don’t remember me, Gisbo, but I am your uncle, Uncle Doug. Welcome home!” Douglas said, sticking out a hand. Gisbo embraced it willingly and felt the strength and calluses of a formidable warrior.

  “Uh . . . hi,” Gisbo managed to say.

  “No need to be shy, nephew, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. You’ll be staying with your aunt and me while you’re here, but, Falcon, why have you come so early?” Douglas asked.

  “Recent events have presented themselves. It couldn’t be prevented,” Falcon said.

  “You’re not in trouble, are you?” Douglas asked.

  “No, not yet, just nipping the touble in the bud, is all. Everything should be fine now, and, on top of all that, Gisbo has already struck me,” Falcon said with pride. Douglas’ eyes went wide at this.

  “Wow! Good for you, Gisbo! You bring honor to our bloodline. I’m sure Dad would be thrilled to . . .” Douglas started, until a gruff voice boomed from the open doorway behind them.

  “That is quite enough of all this,” said the man in the doorway. He was dressed in Berserker attire, except, just like Douglas’, his was red also. Gisbo could certainly tell the man was in his late 60s, with white, fraying hair atop his almost bald head. His eyes looked like a hawk’s, and his skin was leather with marks carved into his face that, at one point, may have been scars before his skin creased over them, but the thing that stood out most was the man’s right arm . . .

  It was gone.

  “The intruder needs to leave . . . now,” the old man said.

  “Dad, you can’t be serious. He only just arrived,” Douglas started, until two men in Shininja attire appeared at each side of the doorway, daggers drawn.

  “I don’t believe I stuttered. Rules were made to be enforced, not bent,” the old man said.

  “Dad, please,” Douglas said, until Falcon cut him off.

  “It’s fine, Douglas. A guy can take a hint when he’s not wanted.”

  “Dad? What is he talking about?” Gisbo asked. Falcon turned to his son with heavy eyes.

  “I . . . I’m not allowed to be here, son,” Falcon said.

  “What do you mean? You’re not coming with me? But my bands! We were supposed to spend the year together!” Gisbo stammered out. Falcon placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, trying to find the words.

  “Never told him, did you? Can’t imagine why,” the old man taunted. Falcon glared at the old man before turning back to Gisbo.

  “This is a necessary step in your training, Gisbo. The other Class Masters and your friends will be here in a month, but I . . . I am not allowed to be among them. I’m sorry,” Falcon said.

  “And he still doesn’t tell him. Typical,” the old man said. Falcon lost his calm, cool composure, something Gisbo had never witnessed before.

  “Shut your mouth, old man!” Falcon bellowed.

  “Oh, my, my. Well, my dear boy, why don’t you come give it a shot?” the old man snickered. Falcon started toward his father when both Shininjas were immediately at Falcon’s side, grasping his arms before he could retrieve his sword.

  “Take your hands off me before I do it for you,” Falcon said, glaring back and forth at the Shininjas to his left and right.

  “That a threat? I’d love to see . . .” one Shininja started. Falcon’s ring glowed brightly and he thrust out both arms with a yell, igniting a small, contained, red explosion in the process that sent both Shininjas colliding with the cavern walls. The old man laughed.

  “And the temper still remains! Just leave, boy, before you hurt yourself, as well as those around you . . . again. You seem to be good at that,” the old man said.

  At this point, Falcon was shaking with rage. Gisbo had never seen his father in such an uncontrolled state.

  “Falcon . . .” Douglas started. Falcon raised his hand in the air for silence and turned to leave.

  “Dad! Dad, wait!” Gisbo yelled after his father. Falcon ignored him and marched ahead without a glance back. Gisbo chased after him, only to see Falcon place his hand on the cavern wall and begin the words to teleport.

  “Wait! Dad! I . . .” Gisbo started, and then, without a glance in his direction, Falcon was gone.

  “Dad?” Gisbo muttered to himself in disbelief.

  “You’re wondering how he could just leave without saying goodbye? Pah! Get used to it, kid. Let him go; you’re better off without him,” the old man said, turning and walking back inside the giant doors as he did so. Gisbo collapsed to his knees as sorrow embraced him. His uncle walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Come inside when you’re ready. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” Douglas said before he also turned and walked through the doorway. Gisbo reached up and felt at the cold cavern wall, trying his best to hold back a tear, but to no avail. The image of his father’s back turned on him with absolute heartlessness etched a picture he doubted would leave any time soon.

  Why didn’t you say goodbye? Gisbo thought as he got up and walked through the doorway, only looking back once.

  As Gisbo walked through the door, he found a sort of waiting chamber with another set of doors in front of him. Two benches lined the walls, and Gisbo took a seat at one of them, not even realizing who was sitting across from him until he felt a familiar stare upon him. He looked up to see who was causing such uneasiness. Malik Strife met his gaze.

  Chapter Four: The Nameless City

  When Gisbo’s eyes met Malik’s, he felt it again, the strangeness of looking into a set of eyes that were so much like his own.

  I wonder if he even remembers me, Gisbo thought.

  “You done cryin’? It’s pathetic,” Malik said. Gisbo glared at him and Malik smiled.

  “Can’t say I blame ya, though. I’d be cryin’, too, if I had a dad like yours,” Malik said, leaning back comfortably.

  “Whadaya mean by that?” Gisbo asked sternly. Malik simply shrugged.

  “Oh, nothin’. I’d just hate to have a dad weak enough to turn to the Drakeness for power, is all. Because, if your dad’s weak, that makes you weak, too,” Malik said.

  Is this guy just a massive butthole or does he remember me? Could he see everything that went on in the cave that night? Gisbo thought to himself. To answer his question, Malik lifted a finger to the side of his jaw and scratched at it.

  “You got somethin’ right here,” Malik said. Gisbo reached up and felt at the scar Malik had given him a few months back. It stretched right next to the one Falcon gave him. How appropriate, Gisbo thought.

  “How come it looks like somebody smeared their ass across your face?” Gisbo fired back, cocking a disgusted grimace and motioning his finger across his own face above the nose at the scar Gisbo had given Malik in return. Malik’s eyes pulsed with anger.

  “I don’t like you,” Malik said plainly.

  “Good,” Gisbo muttered. Malik shook his head.

  “No, I don’t think you get it. I REALLY don’t like you, and when I really don’t like somebody . . . I kill them,and then, your dad’s next. People with the Drakeness in them, don’t deserve life.” Malik said. None of Gisbo’s rivals had ever made him nervous before, ever. In fact, Gisbo never really considered them rivals, just annoyances that needed their bluffs called. As soon as the words left Malik’s lips, Gisbo knew he meant every word. Gisbo found himself rising out of his seat and walking over to Malik. Gisbo bent real low so his face was right in front of the young Strife.

&
nbsp; “Go for it, ass face,” Gisbo said. Malik smiled as he too rose to his feet. Both boys stared at each other in absolute contempt, neither of them quite knowing why. The feeling of destiny washed over Gisbo once again. He felt as if he was looking in a twisted mirror . . . and he didn’t like it . . .

  “Sorry to keep you both waiting,” Douglas said as he walked through the door. Gisbo and Malik quickly stepped back from one another.

  “Is . . . everything alright?” Douglas asked.

  “What’s a Strife doin’ here?” Gisbo asked, pointing.

  “Don’t you know what this place is? Did Falcon fill you in on anything?” Douglas asked. Gisbo looked down.

  “No,” Gisbo said.

  “Oh, well, you know what a Ronigade is, right?” Douglas asked. Gisbo grimaced. Malik chuckled under his breath.

  “No harm done, I know you and Falcon were in a rush. A Ronigade is, well, a Renegade whose synergy mates have all died,” Douglas said.

  “Oh,” Gisbo said, not knowing what else to say.

  “Our group here is made up of both Renegade and Strife Flarians who have lost their team members and are now alone, all started by your grandfather, Frank McCarley,” Douglas explained.

  “So that’s my real last name, then? Gisbo McCarley?” Gisbo asked.

  “That’s correct, and while you stay here, I imagine that is what people will call you. We tend to do things differently here than in Heaven’s Shelter,” Douglas said.

  “I see, but I don’t get it. Why did you guys want to leave Heaven’s Shelter for this place?” Gisbo asked.

  “When all our teammates passed on, we lost touch with Heaven’s Shelter. It is a wonderful place, but it is focused on combined effort and a form of Isolationist living. We lone Flarians realized it was time to take responsibility for our homeland and try to bring it to its former glory, hence our secret mission. This is where the first Renegades were formed, you know,” Douglas said.

  “What secret mission?” Gisbo asked.

  “A secret’s a secret until one proves himself trustworthy to keep it. If you prove yourself, you may come to know of it soon and you may even help us,” Douglas said.

  “Yeah, yeah, more secrets, I get it, but don’t you guys miss Heaven’s Shelter at all?” Gisbo asked.

  “Of course, we do. It is just that the best parts of Heaven’s Shelter were the brothers we fought with. When they died, Heaven’s Shelter took on a new light for us and never felt the same. Everywhere we walked, ghosts of our fallen comrades would haunt our souls. I guess you can say we had to move out, to move on, and it refocused us Flarians to finish something we started long ago for the benefit of Thera itself.”

  “But what about those who weren’t Flarians whose partners died? What happened to them?” Gisbo asked.

  “Every civilization out there has its problems, no doubt, but we Flarians, our culture, everything is nearly gone. A lot happened here within the past century and for nearly that long, it has been left that way. For every Flarian that knows what happened here, something in their soul refuses to let it go. It is a part of us and something the other races could never understand, nor can they help with,” Douglas said.

  “I see,” Gisbo said.

  “The Strifes also follow along the same curriclum as the Renegades, they just have more . . . theological differences. Malik is here because of the same reason as you. He managed to hit Chieftain Lamik a month ahead of schedule. With Lamik’s schedule busy as Chieftain for the Strifes, he asked if we would take him off his hands, and we kindly obliged,” Douglas said.

  “Wait, so we’re going to be training . . . with the Strife kids?” Gisbo asked.

  “That you are,” Douglas said.

  “This is stupid,” Gisbo said.

  “Can I go now? I know all this stuff,” Malik said, standing with his arms folded and tapping his foot.

  “Oh, sure, Malik, that’s fine. You know your way around here, anyhow. I won’t keep you,” Douglas said.

  “Good,” Malik concluded as he left without a look back.

  “There something wrong between the two of you?” Douglas asked.

  “It’s nothing,” Gisbo said.

  “You should know your dad loves you very much. It’s rough between him and your grandfather. A lot of bad history,” Douglas said.

  “Yeah, I know. He could have at least told me goodbye and told me I’d be the only Renegara without his Class Master for the next year,” Gisbo said, collapsing in his chair with a sigh. Douglas sat down beside him.

  “There is a lot you don’t know about your father, Gisbo. And while you’re here, you will hear a whole lot of versions of his story. You musn’t listen to them, the Strifes especially, and most especially of all, your grandfather. Most people knew your dad on the surface, nothing more. People are two things, you understand, what you think you see and what they want to show you. I’m one of the only ones here who knew your father’s heart, and it was good, Gisbo, and still is.”

  “What don’t I know about?” Gisbo asked.

  “I will tell you his story over this term, the real story. You have my word,” Douglas said.

  “Something tells me I won’t like it,” Gisbo said.

  “All of our lives are a story, Gisbo, like one giant book, and every day of our lives is a chapter. Like every story, there are triumphs and there are failures. In your father’s case, there were great triumphs, but also great failures. So come on, let’s show you around the place, hm?” Douglas said.

  “Sure,” Gisbo said.

  “That’s the spirit,” Douglas said, rising to his feet and patting Gisbo on the back. Both of them walked through the heavy doors and, somehow, they slammed shut behind them with a bang. Gisbo couldn’t believe his eyes when he walked through the doors.

  The first thing he noticed was just how miniature the place seemed compared to Heaven’s Shelter, and also how brightly lit such an ordinarily dark place would be. The familiar dwarf-suns were speckeled across the grounds, and there at the center of it, just like Heaven’s Shelter, was a statue of Vadid the Valiant with his white lion beside him. However, unlike the larger, gold-plated version in Heaven’s Shelter, this one was carved from stone, but with the same artistic detail. Gisbo couldn’t help but walk up and stare into the fierce eyes.

  My grandfather . . . Gisbo thought to himself. He still remembered how taken aback he was by the statue in Heaven’s Shelter, but this was a whole new experience with Falcon’s reveal. Being life-sized, Gisbo could appreciate the detail a whole lot more.

  “Wonderful, isn’t it?” Douglas asked.

  “It’s incredible. I can’t believe I’m related to . . . to that,” Gisbo said.

  “Ah, so Falcon at least shared with you a few things. Good. Where we are standing is the center of our little home. If you look to the right and to the left, our whole area is basically three circles all touching one another in a triangle shape. The circle to the left is the battle arena. You’ll enjoy that. The circle to your right is our humble marketplace, as well as eatery, and where you’re standing is a hangout of sorts.

  “If you look above, you will see balconies stretching all the way around. This is where homes are located. Remember, me and my family, your family, lives in cabin number seven. No need for a key, we are all family here. You won’t be doing all your training inside here, either. We will be going to the surface to train you kids, as well,” Douglas said.

  “Jeesh, this is all happening so fast . . . my dad leaving me here, finding out I have family . . .” Gisbo said, sitting down at a table.

  “I know it’s a bit much. I’ll tell you what, I’ll head back home and see if your aunt can get some dinner going. You go ahead and take your time and have a look around. Come up whenever you’re ready. If it helps, I’m very glad to have you staying with us, Gisbo, and I look forward to getting to know you. Remember, cabin seven, whenever the urge strikes you or hunger hits,” Douglas said, smacking Gisbo on the back before turning and ascendin
g the flight of stairs to the balcony.

  Seriously, what the hell just happened . . . Gisbo thought as he leaned back in his chair and slumped his head on the small card table in front of him. Still, all in all, not a bad place they got here. Almost like Heaven’s Shelter Lite, if it were underground and all made of stone.

  He looked around and saw various Flarians, all playing cards with oversized mugs of beer in front of them, laughing and cursing at every good or bad hand. In the next circle, he saw many Flarians bartering in the marketplace and sitting down to meals. In the farthest part, he saw several Flarians partaking in what could only be what Rolce called bare-knuckle boxing as they hit and parried each other with big grins on their faces, enjoying every minute of it.

  This is it, huh? Drinking, fighting, and eating? Not a bad way to go, I guess. Hell, this is practically paradise! Gisbo thought with a smile, before laughing to himself as one drunk Flarian stood atop a table to pronounce his love for an attractive girl on the balcony, only to slip and fall on his face with a crash. Then Gisbo saw what Douglas had meant by family. Sure, his fellow card players laughed to see him fall, but they were laughing with him, not at him, as they all got up from their chairs and helped their friend to his feet before marching him back up to his room.

  But even behind it all, all the excitement and fun, Gisbo saw a deep sorrow lingering in their eyes, as if this was the only way they knew how to deal with their pain, and to do it, they had to cut themselves off from those who wouldn’t understand.

  My friends can’t get here soon enough. I just wish I knew somebody here. It feels so awkward, Gisbo thought as he played with the black glittering medallion hanging around his neck. A graduation gift from Falcon that once belonged to Vadid the Valiant.

  “Aye, you got a new face to ya,” said someone with a thick, outlandish accent. Gisbo looked up to see a man with a broken arm in a sling looking down at him.

  “Excuse me?” Gisbo asked, looking up at him.