Renegade Rising (The Renegade Series) (5 page)

Gisbo sat on his front steps deep in thought, not uttering a word. Falcon sat beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, I know what this town thinks of you, Gisbo, I know. I say, don't let a name like yours become a hindrance. Instead, turn it into a strength. Consider your name a lucky one. Not every boy gets fighting experience every day by boys wanting to pound him. Either way, far as I'm concerned, you’ve been given quite a rare gift. Use it to help you in your quest to become a great warrior,” Falcon said. He rose and stretched with an obnoxious grunt. He then began to pat his pockets.

“Well, seems I’ve run out of speeches for the day. Got to go, kid. But hey, do me a favor, would ya? Never, ever lose those dreams of yours. Chin up,” Falcon said.

"Don’t you think your opinion is a little biased? What, being a fellow failure like me? You’re a janitor, man! And you clean up crap shoots all day long! A lot of heart and desire there I bet. Big dreams in an occupation like that. You must have found a hell of a lot of fortune cookies in the trash or something because . . ." But before Gisbo could finish his sentence, there was another loud CLUNK that echoed off his skull.

"AH! Where do you get off? Gahhh!" Gisbo said rubbing his head. Falcon smiled at him.

"Hmph, at least my words didn't fall on deaf ears; use 'em or flush 'em. Good luck with the tryouts, kid. Speaking of waste shoots, ugh, I gotta go clean out Karm’s waste shoot tonight. Yuck, all the guy eats is veggies. He’s all about the whole meat is murder deal. Hey, sure, meat is murder! But you know what else it is? It’s also delicious!” Falcon said as he began walking away, first talking to Gisbo and then to himself and before long he had disappeared into the mists of the rain.

Gisbo stared out after him, watching him until he could see him no more. Never had anyone taken time out of their day to talk to him about, well, remotely anything, and here was a guy who not only took the time to stop for a friendly hello, he had also stopped to tell him that he was
worth
something. No one had ever told Gisbo he could achieve his dreams. No one had ever cared enough. No one.

And all I could do was insult the guy?
Gisbo thought. He immediately felt bad.
Well, he may be crazy, but he’s also right. Pity party’s over, Gisbo, it’s time to man up! I’m better than this!

“Ugh,” Gisbo winced as he clutched his mid-section. “But first some sleep and possibly a body cast.” Gisbo entered his tiny home, each step a painful struggle, but with every step he grew more determined and the dream in his heart made it all worth the while.

Chapter Two:
The Tryouts

The moon was high and full, a wolf’s moon, as many called it in Oak County. Moon rays shone through the tinges of fog within the dark forest, giving the air a twinkling effect. The wind blew through the branches of the trees, sounding like a groaning dead spirit. Gisbo had no idea how he had gotten out at this time of night or just where in the forest he was. In fact, this forest wasn’t like anything he had seen before. It seemed otherworldly to him. Only the shimmering, full moon gave any remembrance to the familiar. He took a deep breath. He was lost and he hated the feeling. Hated the feeling of not being in control. Panic began to rise in his chest and then it skyrocketed. Suddenly, there was a crash behind him, as if something huge and hulking had dropped from a tree onto a patch of dry sticks and leaves.

Gisbo swirled around. There before him was a huge, black thing. Its body wasn’t visible, but its eyes certainly were. They shone like two red-hot coals. The contrasting fog made the eyes glow far brighter then they might have.

“Holy . . .” Gisbo managed to mutter in a quivering voice. He felt goose flesh rip across his whole body like some form of instant infection.

SHWOOSH! Suddenly, pillars of fire shot downward from the sky and began to swirl around the creature. The darkness hid its full identity, but even in the dark it was safe to say the monster stood a little over ten feet tall and had every intention of inflicting misery upon Gisbo.

With a screech, the thing lumbered forward, slowly, with a confident stride. Gisbo began backing up. Every part of him was screaming at him to turn and run, but he found he just couldn’t take his gaze off those hypnotizing red eyes. The creature, as if sensing this, started to laugh. The laugh was deep and unnatural and made the fluids in Gisbo’s stomach boil. Then, the thing started to charge. The way the monster’s pounding footsteps sounded broke Gisbo from his paralysis. He turned directly around and began sprinting as fast as he could. Even as he ran he could still feel the fiery eyes of the creature burning into his back. Gisbo leapt over a log and, a few seconds later, the monster tore through it like a hot knife through butter, sending old, crusted bark flying.

Cripes! He’s right behind me! DAMN IT!
Gisbo thought, as he ran like mad to try to claim some distance. Apparently he had run a little too mad, for it was then he tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his face. He slid a good ways and felt pine needles, pebbles and sharp pointed acorns dig into his face. If Gisbo had one thing going for him, it was his tolerance for pain. Undeterred, Gisbo rolled and jumped back to his feet, already feeling the sticky pine sap drying on his face, but it seemed the forest floor had other plans . . .

Large, vine-like roots shot out of the ground like hissing pythons. In a speed Gisbo couldn’t prepare for, the roots wrapped about his feet and prevented him from leaving. Gisbo pulled as hard as he could, but to no avail. The roots began to spread now and wrapped themselves tightly around Gisbo, turning him into a living sushi roll snack for the monster who had now caught up. The demonic red eyes of the creature seemed to pierce his very soul. They were wild, untamed, dangerous. Its breathing was heavy, like an early spring wind current. Gisbo’s hair fluttered back with every snort from the creature’s nostrils. The monster then raised its massive arms and more fire erupted from them with a roar. The flame pillars spread and encircled Gisbo, the heat unbearable . . .

And then Gisbo awoke. He snapped upward and felt himself all over, never having been more thankful to see the interior of his run-down shack of a home. Breathing hard, he did his best to shake the remnants of the dream, assuring himself he was back, back to reality, but try as he may, a feeling of déjà vu crept over him anyway. He had had versions of this dream as long as he could remember. He fell backward on his pillow with a loud THUD realizing too late it was actually his wooden headboard.

“DAMN IT! Ugh, my poor head,” Gisbo yelped. At least the pain to his head confirmed the thought that he was indeed back to reality. He sat up again, massaging his throbbing skull. The demon seemed to be getting closer and closer over the years, but he had never gotten this close. He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen the next time he dreamed of it. Would he die? Was it some kind of bad omen? He didn’t know, nor did he ponder it any longer. The sun was about to come up. It was time. The tryouts were about to start.

Gisbo rolled out of bed, got dressed and dug out a small piece of fruit from his food crate to munch along the way. Playing a game of hopscotch, he skipped around his messy room. It was piled almost ceiling high with books. After some effort, he had cleared a path and made his way to the door where he paused, noticing his ratty bandana hanging on the wall by a nail. Smiling, he tied it on, remembering all the things it represented, dreams he had almost abandoned. He silently thanked Falcon under his breath and he was out the door in a sprint, but it soon turned into a slow stride.

The aches that covered his body popped up to say hello and reminded him of what happened yesterday. Gisbo managed to grunt a few curses and made his way slowly, but surely to the castle courtyards. Soon, excitement took over, dulling the pain. Not only would he be able to display his fighting talent and become a respected soldier, he might even get to slam Thomson’s face into the ground in front of everyone. This thought alone made an evil smile stretch across his face. Adrenaline rushed through him, replacing his pain with a prickly sensation throughout his body. His slow stride became a sprint again as he neared the gates of the castle. They were wide open, welcoming him, challenging him. With all pain forgotten now, Gisbo charged through it, bandana tails flowing behind him in the breeze.

Upon entry, the prickling feeling intensified as he spied them, Karm’s Elekai’ warriors. All of them wore matching, mirror-like armor that glistened in the sun and reflected the scenery around them. Gisbo’s smile widened. The thought of someday being one of those soldiers and fighting for Warlord Karm was an outright euphoria to his mind. Gisbo got in a line with the other kids, which was quite long. Many parents and grandparents had come out to see their children off and wish them luck, beaming with pride.

Once Gisbo’s eyes had their fill staring at the soldier’s armor, he took sight of the scenery around him, which was a sight to behold. He had trouble taking in the whole view at once. The place was in a frenzy as groundskeepers, gardeners and soldiers alike went about their daily duties. The grass was a luscious green and carpeted the entire castle grounds. Elegantly trimmed hedges in the shapes of animals stretched all around the walls and the scent of roses and jasmine wafted through the air. It was then Gisbo spotted it, on a far distant corner at the base of the wall: a lone flower whose color was different from all the rest.

He did not think it had been there a moment ago; he probably would have seen it. It was a short, brilliant red lily, which shone beautifully out of place amongst the other flowers around it. Gisbo didn’t have time to stare very long however. A gardener, armed with pruning shears, rushed towards it as if it would set the castle on fire and snipped it clean.

Gisbo didn’t mind though. He accepted the ban of the Flarians along with their color, as everyone else. The word Flarian was equivalent to a boogieman. Parents used to tell their disobedient children that if they misbehaved, they would be tossed out of Oak County to live with the Flarians. Gisbo remembered his books had detailed the murderous atrocities of the barbaric race quite vividly. They said that if you even looked at one wrong, they could set your whole body on fire just by snapping their fingers.
At least I’m not THAT bad
, Gisbo thought to himself.

The line continued moving at last. Gisbo was nearing the front and it was then he saw them, the last known living heroes from his books: The Elekai' Elite. Gisbo practically vibrated with excitement. These three men were Warlord Karm’s top warriors, but they were more than that. They were a symbol of hope that all in Oak County aspired to. Each of these warriors was considered to be masters of their own racial element. Alone, these warriors were statistically at the top of their game, but when working together, they were unbeatable. Gisbo knew this wasn’t just a theory either. History backed them up.

The legends all sat a large oak table, signing autographs and signing in hopeful Elekai’ warriors for the tryouts. Gisbo was now close enough to see their weapons. To him, the weapons themselves were far more intricate and beautiful than the entire castle grounds. Each of their weapons sparkled with the elemental race of their wielder in hues of yellow, green, and blue. Vivid images of warriors questing for treasure, fighting monsters and battling across open fields against the evil Flarians began to fill up in Gisbo’s mind. He then found himself frowning as he looked past the warriors and noticed the men with overweight guts from too much beer at the tavern, women discussing and judging all the latest fashion trends as if it were as important as life and death and spoiled children having temper tantrums over souvenirs from the various display carts. Gisbo just shook his head and sighed, wondering if too much peace was a good thing and if he too was going to end up like them one day.
No way,
Gisbo thought.
Not if I pass these tryouts!

If he became an Elekai warrior, he would get a taste of the old world that he desperately craved. This day was the first step and he knew it would be his only one. The pressure both terrified him and excited him and now the Elekai' Elite now stood right in front of him.

On the left side of the table, Gisbo noticed Captain Scarrr. Gisbo’s books called him a ruthless, cutthroat warrior of the elemental class of wind, the Soarian race. A mysterious helmet graced his head and covered his entire face, all except for his mouth. Gisbo could make out the edges of three long scars etched down his chin in a neat row. Many rumors circulated of what lay beneath the helmet of Scarrr. Some guessed that he was horribly burned or born horribly ugly.

A boy with thick-rimmed glasses stood in front of Gisbo. A thick book graced his hands. Gisbo recognized him as Sid Lurney. Much to Sid’s dismay, everyone called him number two. This wasn’t because of the bodily function, but because whenever the test scores were put on display, Sid was always number two, which infuriated him. Either way, Gisbo knew Sid didn’t stand a chance in hell at becoming an Elekai’ warrior. He was about as brave as a retreating dove, but, like Gisbo, he too was fascinated by Elekai’ warriors. He read aloud in a prissy, educated tone to his best friend Mort.

“Let’s see . . . Captain Scarrr . . . Oh! It says here that he has the ability to suppress gravity around him and avoid friction altogether. This allows him to move so swiftly that he can become almost invisible to the naked eye. Cool!” Sid said as he pushed his glasses up with one finger. Gisbo smiled at the kid’s enthusiasm. Sid continued reading, moving his index finger across the page.