Renegade Reprisal (The Renegade Series)

by J. C. Fiske

  “Oh, come on! COME ON!” Gisbo yelled and cursed as he turned on his back and attempted to reach for his aching ankle to no avail. Then he saw a thin woman, with short, blonde hair, peek into the room with a tray of food and drink, looking all about. She spoke in a soft, sweet, motherly voice.

  “Gisbo? Where are you, honey? I heard a bang,” the woman asked. Yeah, that was my head . . . this is embarrassing, Gisbo thought, but

  couldn’t say. Instead, he settled on just saying . . .

  “Here . . .” Gisbo moaned. He managed to give a friendly little wave and a sheepish smile while leaning his head against the puke-covered wall.

  “Oh, my goodness! Gisbo!” the woman cried. She dropped the tray on the nightstand and rushed to him. “Doug! Grab some towels, quick!”

  “What?” Doug yelled from across the doorway.

  “Towels! Lots of them! Hurry,” the woman yelled back. Gisbo heard footsteps and Doug arrived in the doorway.

  “Honey?” Doug said.

  “Behind here,” the woman said.

  “What’s going . . . holy . . .” Douglas said, stunned at the scene behind the door.

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry,” Gisbo found himself saying. Douglas shook his head.

  “Come on, up ya go, nephew,” Douglas said, helping Gisbo to his feet and walking him back to the bed. “Don’t you worry about this, we’ll get it all cleaned up. Just rest,” Douglas said.

  “I . . . thanks,” Gisbo said. “What the hell happened? I don’t remember anything and my head, oh, my head, the room’s spinning and I feel like a knife is lodged in my stomach . . . and brain,” Gisbo said, grateful to be back on the comfortable bed.

  “It’s something called a hangover, son. Don’t worry, it will pass, and I’ve already talked to your dear cousin about not trying something like that again anytime soon,” Douglas said.

  “Trying what? I . . . I’ve never drank anything before in my life and, and, I doubt I’ll ever try it again.” Gisbo moaned, rubbing his forehead.

  “That’s a very wise choice,” Douglas said.

  “I must have drunk a ton. I don’t remember anything,” Gisbo said.

  “Um, well, to be honest, all you had was one drink. The rest is the remains of the soup you ordered,” Douglas said.

  “Great, so I’m a lightweight, then?” Gisbo asked shamefully. Douglas shook his head.

  “Nope. You were just another victim of the infamous green grog,” Douglas said. Gisbo cocked a confused expression. Douglas sighed.

  “A mixture brewed by your cousin for training purposes. I’ll let him explain it. I doubt there is a stronger drink on Thera, to be honest,” Douglas said.

  “Gah, that explains the green, then. Ohhhh, damn, this sucks, I’m so sorry,” Gisbo said.

  “Don’t worry, dear, it couldn’t have been helped. See, all clean, no worries now,” the blonde woman said.

  “Gisbo, this is your Aunt Barb,” Douglas said. Gisbo squirmed.

  “Sorry to meet like this. Thanks for being so understanding,” Gisbo said. Barb shooed the comment away with a hand.

  “Oh, honey, this is the same lady who once changed your diapers. Trust me, all mothers are immune to such things,” Barb said.

  “Uh, thanks, I guess,” Gisbo said.

  “Don’t worry about it, dear. Now you get some rest. If you need anything, just give a holler, and when you’re hungry, there is some hot tomato soup and grilled cheese on the tray on your nightstand. So good to have you staying with us, dear. I know this whole transition must be overwhelming for you, but I promise we’ll do the best we can to make this feel like home for you,” Barb said. She smiled, bent down, and smooched Gisbo on the forehead.

  “Thank you,” Gisbo said with a smile. He wasn’t used to such treatment and had to admit, it felt good. He immediately thought of his own mother, but nothing came to his mind. Just blankness. The feeling of such motherly care, however, strangely felt familiar.

  “Same goes for me. Rest up, Gisbo, we’ll see ya in a bit, and you should know your cousin has been chomping at the bit to see you all these years,” Douglas said.

  “Really?” Gisbo asked.

  “Oh, yes. As you can imagine, well, my son . . . he’s not close to many people his age, and mostly everyone here is too old for him to relate to. I tried to send him off to Heaven’s Shelter some time ago, but he really did not enjoy himself and did not fit in with the Renegas at that time at all. They weren’t very accepting of his . . . uniquness, you can call it, and he couldn’t take the teasing anymore. He’s been waiting for you for quite some time. I have a feeling you guys will kick it off very well, being family and all. Well, be seeing ya,” Douglas said as he rose, smacked Gisbo on the back, and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Gisbo sat up, grabbed the tray of tomato soup and grilled cheese, and began to eat slowly, as if asking his stomach permission. It must have said yes as, within moments, Gisbo was dipping the sandwich in the soup and raising the bowl to his lips to finish it off. With a sigh of contentment, Gisbo let himself relax and slid under the covers with a hot meal in his belly. He thought of what Doug had said about Phil being teased. He’s a lot like me, after all, Gisbo thought and drifted off to sleep.

  After a few hours passed, Gisbo awoke with a stretch and a yawn, feeling refreshed and much better than he did earlier. For a moment, he looked around at his new surroundings once again, realizing he missed the flashing numbers on his Breeze Harmonic and the skylight window above his bed showing the star-studded sky. Gisbo would have been thankful just to know whether it was day or night in the constant twilight state of the Ronigades home. With another stretch, Gisbo rolled back his covers and stepped out of bed.

  Across from him, he spied his freshly-pressed blue Renegara uniform folded neatly on the desk. As he retrieved it, he noticed an exact replica beside it, except this one was dyed the Flarian red. There, in between the two uniforms, was a note written by his Aunt.

  Hello, Dear,

  Douglas and I stepped out for the night to the surface to visit some old friends in Soaria. Leftover chicken and rice are in the ice-box for you and Phil when you both get up. I have been working on this Flarian version of your Renegara uniform for some time now and would love to see it on you while you’re here, but understand fully if you want to stick with your traditional. See you both tomorrow morning and keep a good eye on Phil for us. Don’t get into too much trouble! 

  Love, your Auntie Barb

  Gisbo picked up the red uniform and held it out in front of him. Hey, why not? Gisbo thought with a smile.

  Fully dressed, Gisbo strutted out of his room and into a small family room where a large, cushy couch that looked like a big marshmallow circled around a cedar coffee table, and several paintings of landscapes adorned the tanned, stone walls. With another groan and a stretch, Gisbo looked up and couldn’t believe his eyes. He saw stars! The night sky was right above him, but he knew it must be impossible. He was interupted by an obnoxious noise behind him.

  “GRAAGGGHHHH!!!” Phil groaned, thrusting open his bedroom door with a kick, and walked out into the family room. He stood groggily for a moment or two, trying to take in his surroundings, when suddenly his eyes brightened as he noticed Gisbo.

  “Aye! Lookee there! It be Gizbo! Nice suit, cousin, I . . . ah . . . ah . . . CHOO!” Phil sneezed with surprising force in the direction of the star-studded ceiling. The sky rippled about like the surface of a pond, revealing the tan ceiling beneath, and then settled back into the view of the stars. Gisbo looked on in amazement.

  “Neat, eh? Changes, ya know, and shows whatever is directly above us,” Phil said, jerking his thumb to the ceiling.

  “How do they do it?” Gisbo asked.

  “Aye, who knows, some Soarian technique I wager we traded some tings fer, but welcome to our ‘umble ‘ome, cuzin! Come now, let’s go get some grub in the kitchen and talk some,” Phil said, motioning with his good arm for him to follow.

  G
isbo followed Phil from the cozy living room through a set of swinging double doors into a kitchen complex. White tiles covered the floor, as well as walls and the ceiling. Steel-plated cabinets, ice box, counter tops, and a matching, circular table with four chairs covered the rest. The white combined with the steel gave the whole place a pleasant glow and was lit brilliantly by two black lamp poles with tiny, dwarf suns floating atop them.

  The entrance to the McCarley household was also in the kitchen and two large windows were conveniently placed on each side, looking down to the arena and the marketplace below. Phil walked toward the window and smiled.

  “Aye, seems like they be ‘avin a ‘ell of ah time down there,” Phil said. He thrust open the doorway and walked outside, leaning against the balcony. Gisbo followed and looked down to see merriment all around. The Flarians sang songs, clinked glass and steel mugs together, played cards, and wrestled each other in the arena under warmly lit torches. Gisbo couldn’t help but smile until he looked down the balcony aisle to see Malik Strife peering down, as well, several homes down. As if sensing his gaze, Malik cocked his head up and smiled evily.

  “Somethin’ the matter der, Gizzy?” Phil asked. Gisbo kept his glare on Malik while he answered Phil.

  “You could say that. How much trouble would I be in if I walked over and punched that kid in the face?” Gisbo asked. Phil laughed and looked across at Malik.

  “Oy! Save your strength there, Gizzy. Wouldn’t you rather pummel ‘im in front of all yer friends next month? I know I would,” Phil said.

  “I’ll get to fight him then?” Gisbo asked, turning his gaze to Phil.

  “Aye, I can almost guarantee it,” Phil said. Gisbo smiled and looked back to where Malik was standing.

  “Perfect. Everyone tells me I need to learn patience. This is something I don’t mind waiting for . . .” Gisbo said as he made a slitting motion across his neck with his thumb toward Malik. The Strife Prince grinned wider and flipped Gisbo off before returning indoors.

  “Tis only natural he hates your guts, Gizzy,” Phil said. Gisbo looked at him curiously.

  “Why do ya say it like that? I’d hate me, too, if I gashed a cut across my face. He started it, though,” Gisbo said. Phil shook his head.

  “Well, we’ve had enough fun from yesterday. We’ll take ‘er easy tonight, on Phil’s honor, er, what’s left of it, anyway, har-har, and we’ll talk some and explain some tings,” Phil said, patting his cousin on the back.

  “Yeah, I still feel a little spacey, and, jeesh, every one of my burps burn like hell!” Gisbo said, burping, then coughing hoarsely.

  “Aye, dat it should, but you took the ol’ grog like a champ! Dat you did!” Phil said.

  “Did I? I don’t remember anything,” Gisbo said.

  “Aye, dat you wouldn’t. I tried warning yah me grog was tough stuff, but you wouldn’t take no for an answer and downed a mug before you nearly finished your soup,” Phil said.

  “I did?” Gisbo said.

  “Right you did, and ol’ Morry was amazed you were still kickin’ after it and dared you to ‘ave another and that’s when, well, you took a digger off the chair and I carried ya back meself, then joined Morry for the rest of the night,” Phil explained.

  “Cripes, well, thanks, I guess,” Gisbo said.

  “Not ah problem, cousin, and tank yer liver as well,” Phil said, smacking Gisbo’s back.

  “So, why do you drink that stuff?” Gisbo asked.

  “Aye, for me one of o’ kind fightin’ style, I calls it the drunk nasty,” Phil said proudly.

  “The drunk . . . nasty? The hell is that?” Gisbo asked.

  “Exactly what I said! The drunk nasty is just me, my metal-clad fists, and me metal-clad feet. Oy, I found out through a series of . . . fortunate events that when most people drink, they gets all tipsy and can’t fight fer nutin’. But ol’ Philly, on the other hand, gets a whole lot better! I jerk around so much I can ‘ardly be hit, and I get a clarity, strength, an’ speed I didn’t know I ‘ad when I was sober!” Phil said. “Plus, this bracelet I got is a device I built meself. Just in case I don’t have me some alchy, I just pop this baby off and it sends stuff shootin through me bloodstream,”

  “Really?” Gisbo asked.

  “Aye,” Phil said.

  “But that can’t be very good for your . . . brain, could it?” Gisbo asked.

  “Well, just between you an’ me, Gizzy, when I’m not drinkin’, me brain can be quite a scary ol’ place. Especially when I’m by meself,” Phil explained. There was a touch of fear to his voice.

  “Why’s that?” Phil asked.

  “I . . . I hear things, Gizzy, voices an’ such, strange things. Some good, some bad, an’ it’s enough to drive a lad, well . . . crazy. Dunno why I hear the tings I hear, but I just do, ever since I was a wee lad, and a man’s gotta improvise o’ bit to cope. The alcohol lets me think clearly . . . a bit, ya hear me?” Phil asked. Gisbo could tell he really didn’t feel like talking about it much anymore and obliged by changing the subject. Still, Gisbo believed the alcohol wasn’t making him think clearly. If anything, it dulled things. But if it was better than the alternative . . .

  “No need to explain, pal. Let’s go get some of that chicken in the fridge and talk some in there, sound good?” Gisbo said.

  “Aye, now yer speakin’ me language,” Phil said.

  “One more thing, though. Why do you talk that way? It’s close to the Flarian accent sometimes, but then you sputter off into a buncha different tones. Your dad and mom don’t speak that way. Just call me curious, is all,” Gisbo said.

  “Couldn’t really tell ya, cousin. It’s me brain’s fault, scary place it is. However, when I’m fightin’ sometimes, everything seems to clear up and for that moment I can be, well, what most of ya would call normal . . . and that, Gizzy, is a great feelin’! Nothin’ like a knuckleduster to clear me head and work on me secret mission!” Phil said.

  “The Flarian secret mission?” Gisbo asked.

  “No, no, Gizzy, this be Phil’s very own secret mission . . . I, I haven’t told anyone ‘bout it cept me dah an’ mum. In a way, I tink it’s why I hear dese voices. I want to keep it in the McCarley clan, if yeh hear me, and well, to tell yah honestly, I’m friendly with everyone ‘round here, but could never connect on the personal side of the fence, if ya hear me true. I just be entertainment for the bunch of ‘em.

  “Family, though, we understand each other without havin’ to say nutin’ an’, well, when I heard I had a dear ol’ cousin close to me age, well, I got darned right excited, that I did! I dunno, ol’ Phil might be drunk off his rocker a bit, but I was sort of hopin’, if you wouldn’t mind much, bein’ me friend, Gizzy. I’ve never had a real friend before.” Gisbo couldn’t help but look at the sincerity in his cousin’s eyes. Gisbo knew what he was feeling, deeply, and deep down back in Oak County, all Gisbo really wanted was a friend in place of his rage.

  “You know what, Phil, friends isn’t a good enough name for me and you. Friends can get mad at each other and stop bein’ friends for stupid reasons, but cousins . . . Well, buddy, we’re stuck with each other for life and I wouldn’t want it any other way. Besides, you’re way better than . . . some other cousin I just found out I have,” Gisbo said, wincing a bit. Phil looked at himoddly.

  “Aye, you be talking ‘bout that fat, barrel full o’ crap, Ranto?” Phil asked.

  “Yeah, he was here last year, wasn’t he?” Gisbo asked.

  “Dat he was. Sort of an irritable feller, had more in common with dem Strifes than you nice Renegades, if you be wantin’ my opinion. He came into the place sportin a ‘tude as high as the moon and, well, let’s just say ol’ Philly sent him flyin’ back down to the mud where he belonged,” Phil said with a thumbs up.

  “Really? That’s awesome! You fought him?” Gisbo asked with a wicked a grin. Phil nodded.

  “Just sparred with ‘im, was all. Gave the feller a black eye and he skipped like a stone across water when I kicke
d him in the gut. Everyone had a good laugh,” Phil said.

  “Man, then . . . then that’s why he came and attacked me and Rolce that day. You, you gave him that black eye!” Gisbo said with a wide grin. Phil cocked a curious glance.

  “What you be sayin’?” Phil asked.

  “Everything makes sense! Soon as he got back, he came charging for me and Rolce with a rage I’ve never seen before and trounced us both on our way to class!” Gisbo said. Phil growled.

  “Oy! No kiddin’? If I had known me beatin’ his sorry arse would have led to him takin’ it out on you, dear cousin, I woulda outright snapped his big ol’ neck, that I would have! I apologize, cousin. You see, most fighters like to fight just for the opportunity to test demselves. But when I looked into that ugly cuss’s eyes, well, Gizzy, he did it for the thrill of hurtin’ people, the sense of bein’ dominant an’ such. I got a sense for such tings, and after I beat ‘im, it musta shook his world and he tried to reclaim it by goin’ after you. You must ‘ave gotten under his skin or somethin’; watch out for ‘im. May take one to know one, but he ain’t right up in the brain. All I’m sayin is, if he picks on ya again, cousin, just tell ol’ Philly,” Phil said with a wicked smirk as he pounded his fists together. Gisbo laughed.

  “You got it, but I’d rather put his face through the floor myself, if you don’t mind. He’s got a head start on me in training, but I’ll catch up,” Gisbo said. Suddenly, Phil spoke again, and this time, his voice was perfectly clear, free of an accent and scattered speech.

  “Good to hear! And no worries, mate, but, Gisbo, I can’t tell you what this means to me, you being my cousin and all, especially for my secret mission. Just know that, no matter what, through thick and thin, I’ll always have your back and pummel anybody that crosses you,” Phil said, smiling with a twinkle in his eye. “Wow! Phil! You just spoke normally! But hey, what about this secret mission of yours, though?” Gisbo asked. Suddenly, the clarity in Phil’s eyes faltered and the clarity in his voice left him.

  “Oy! I’ll tell ya all about it soon, fer you may be the secret key I be needin’ to figure it all out!” Phil said.