Renegade Rupture (42 page)

Gisbo stared on, horrified.

“I love fire. The way it dances, the way it brings light to the darkness, how it brings both pleasure and pain. It is my way of life, all willed forth by my mind, along with my other abilities that you have seen. Is fire evil? In itself? When it warms you, is it evil? When someone commits arson on your property, is it good?” Vice asked, disengaging the fire as his hand healed.

“I have no elemental essence flowing through me, Gisbo, none at all, and yet I can defeat any Elekai’ warrior with ease. Do you know why?” Vice asked. Gisbo only shook his head, staring at the heap of charred flesh upon the table.

“Mind over matter,” Vice said, propping a finger on his forehead. “It’s that simple, mind over matter. Say it with me.”

Gisbo stared at him, horrified, not about to say a thing to encourage the conversation further. He felt that overwhelming energy wash over him and he felt his tongue move and form the syllables all on its own.

“Mind over matter,” Gisbo said.

“Very good, Gisbo. My mind is a product of pain, pain so great, so vile, I shouldn’t function, but alas, here I am. When your mind undergoes massive mental trauma, does it not affect your health? Does it not send your body into a sweat? Or coldness? With enough mental anguish, pain can push the boundaries of your life, for we are nothing but cells, which are the building blocks of life, after all. Like trees, like this table, like fire, we are all matter. With enough constant pain, will, and resolve, one can twist the fabric of creation, as I have and continue to do,” Vice said. Gisbo sat, horrified. Vice stood up.

“Good, you’re finally afraid of me. That’s very good. You’ll need your fear, it will make you strong, and you will need all your strength if you wish to kill me and avenge your weak little friend. What was his name? Shaved Pubes or something? Weird name,” Vice said.

“WHAT IS THIS ALL ABOUT!? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, YOU SICK FREAK?” Gisbo yelled.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Vice said, smiling like a child and tilting his head back and forth in a “neener, neener” gesture.

“There are forces beyond your comprehension. Even beyond that of even Drakearon and his minions, no, slaves. What I want and what you want are the same exact thing, but before that can happen, you need much preparation. You need to know things that you could never learn from your father or within Heaven’s Shelter. They preach to ‘be yourself,’ that that’s where your power lies. You and I both know, Gisbo, that as long as those blocks within your mind are in place, so long as a part of yourself is held back . . .” Vice said, snapping his neck forward so they were face to face. “Simply put, you can never be yourself. You cannot be who you truly are, which is something you refuse to admit, so I will admit it for you.”

Gisbo felt his mouth clamp up and move on its own once more.

“A monster,” Gisbo said. Vice smiled.

“That’s right. A monster. Just. Like. Me,” Vice said. “Now, follow me. We have much work to do in a short amount of time, and you never know, I just might let down my guard long enough for you to kill me.”

Vice walked out the door and into the canyon as the sun rose. Gisbo shook all over, a mix of panic and terror. Never had he felt so helpless as he stared at the back of the mystery man walking out the door.

A monster,
the voice spoke within his mind. Gisbo winced, blocking it out.

monster, Monster, MONSTER!

Elsewhere, Rolce Moordin, not naturally stealthy, was trying his damnedest to be so. After one too many snapping branches, he realized it was useless.

“Harpie, let’s do it,” Rolce said as he let his great eagle loose to spy on his target and transfer its images into one of his eyes. He viewed the occupied cabin, what was now known as Strife territory in Heaven’s Shelter. The target set his gut on fire with a displaced rage that was so unlike his calm, composed self.

Everyone broke, this he knew, and this was his excuse. They were at war, no doubt about it, and Rolce’s foresight showed him where the tournament was heading. Eliminating him now was best, before he could pose a threat later . . . and he WOULD prove a threat later. Excuse after excuse had moved his feet to this point. One more may have caused him to break altogether and rush at his target headlong, just as Gisbo would do, if it weren’t for the sound of the girl crying inside. His calm, compassionate self showed up once again. He did his best to push it down, to embrace the dark part that lies within everyone, but he couldn’t. In frustration, Rolce slapped his hand hard against the side of the tree he was hidden behind.

“Damn it, why am I so weak?” Rolce asked. Harpie’s vision and hearing had become his own on the left side of his face. He sat and listened as Malik Strife and Nina stood at arm’s length from another in a heated discussion.

“You don’t understand!” Nina said.

“Then help me understand!” Malik said. “Please.”

“This was a mistake; it’s just like last time. Now I remember why we didn’t work, why we can never work,” Nina said.

“Nina . . .” Malik said in a pleading tone. “It’s him, isn’t it? It’s always been him . . .”

“I don’t belong with you,” Nina said.

“Says who!? A stupid voice in your head?” Malik asked.

“So now I’m stupid?” Nina asked.

“I never said that!” Malik said as he punched a wall as hard as he could, breaking through it with ease. He brought his fist back, his knuckles bleeding.

“See! That, that right there is what I’m talking about! A relationship needs to be push and pull, equal! I’m like your goddamned mother!” Nina said.

“Then why? Why come back to me? Why . . .” Malik said.

“Because, because I had no one else around here to turn to! He, he, he doesn’t want to be with me! He . . .” Nina said as she collapsed to her knees and cried.

“It hurts, it hurts so much. I love him, I love him with everything I am! I’m supposed to love him, I’m supposed to be with him, and I know how crazy that sounds! I do! But,” Nina started. Malik got down and wrapped her in his arms. She embraced him back, plowing her face into his chest as she cried.

“I won’t leave you, I never will. I’ll fight for you, I’ll protect you. You’re all I have, all I need,” Malik said, stroking her hair. “My only chance to be . . . normal.”

Rolce had seen enough.

“Enough, Harpie,” Rolce said. “What the hell am I doing here, girl? What was I thinking? That I’d march in there and kill the guy who beat my girlfriend into a coma? Curse this conscience of mine.”

Rolce got up to leave, took three steps forward, and heard a voice.

“You made the right decision, Rolce,” Shax said as he sat behind a tree, casually munching on an apple.

“Dad? What, what are you doing out here?” Rolce asked.

“Following you,” Shax said.

“What? Why?” Rolce asked.

“Because once you get to be my age, you recognize bloodlust in someone’s eyes as clearly as rain falling from the sky. Sit down, son, talk to me,” Shax said. Rolce did.

“I couldn’t do it,” Rolce said.

“I knew you wouldn’t,” Shax said.

“Then why follow me?” Rolce asked.

“I never said I wasn’t a little nervous,” Shax said.

“Sometimes, I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a Renegade,” Rolce said. “Fighting, violence, all of it . . . it just doesn’t come as easy to me as it does Jackobi and Gisbo.”

“And that’s exactly why you’re cut out to be a Renegade. Our strength, Rolce, is that we all are not the same. If we were, we’d be a military force, all under one ideal, one code. We are a society, made up of fighters who protect the right to believe, do, and think what we wish until such thinking endangers life around us. You’re pure hearted, Rolce. Being friendly, pleasing those around you just comes naturally. Believe me when I say that Gisbo and Jackobi both wish such feelings came easier for them,” Shax said. “What you are is nothing to be ashamed of. It should be embraced, held up, and cheered for, because when it gets the darkest, only people like you can lead us back to the light and save the day. Remember that.

“Now, we have a tournament to win, and no doubt, a war coming. Take your pent up frustrations, picture Kinny with every swing. Use her memories, don’t ignore her. She will be your strength, and when you need it, your light, as your mother is mine,” Shax said.

“I will, Dad,” Rolce said.

“Good, now get moving and start training. We need you,” Shax said, and with that, father and son made their way back.

Chapter Thirty One:
A Mother’s Murderer, Revealed

“Stop trying to kill me and kill me! You’re beyond strong for a Renegade, but already your Boon form’s wasted. Your essence is nearly gone, and I haven’t even broken a sweat,” Vice Dastard yelled, standing with his arms crossed.

Gisbo struck and struck, trying to break the seemingly unbreakable force field surrounding Vice. He slumped to his knees, nearing blackout. Vice crouched down beside Gisbo, looking him right in the eyes, and touched his forehead with two fingers.

“You see this? I don’t think you’ve ever . . .” Vice started, but Gisbo had had enough.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT!? WHAT? I don’t understand any of this! Bad guys don’t kidnap people and train and feed them, but good guys don’t kill my best MY BEST FRIEND! WHAT ARE YOU!? FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY, WHAT AM I DOING HERE!? WHAT DO YOU WANT? I’VE TRIED EVERYTHING! I’VE THROWN EVERYTHING I AM AT YOU AND I CAN’T DO ANYTHING! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU!?” Gisbo screamed, expelling the last of his energy. He collapsed, tears of frustration pouring down his face. Vice stood up and looked over him.

“Labels. Bad guys and good guys . . . if only it were so cut and dry, so easy. So you’re saying that there’s nothing you can do right now? Nothing at all? Your anger, your fear, it’s all washed away; you’re telling me you’ve poured it all out?” Vice said.

“Yes,” Gisbo said, being honest.

“Good,” Vice said. “Now we can begin.”

With a lift of his palm, Vice shot Gisbo’s entire, helplessly drained body into the air like a ragdoll.

“For any sword to become sharp, it needs to be baptized in fire. For any blade to be pure, it needs to be remade, over and over again. As of right now, you are my blade,” Vice said. “Say it.”

“Damn . . . you . . . I’ll . . .HICK!” Gisbo squeaked as he felt pressure around his throat.

“For any horse to be useful, it must first be broken. You are no different if you wish to learn from me,” Vice said.

“I DON’T WANT TO LEARN FROM YOU! I . . .” Gisbo screamed only to be choked off again.

“I’m really trying here, Gisbo. I am. Oh well, with or without your approval, the training begins now. It will seem inhumane, it will seem beyond cruel, and for moments, you will float between life and death. You must embrace pain as easily as you have embraced fire. If you don’t, you will not survive what’s coming. I’ve seen your future, Gisbo, and all I see is death and pain. You aren’t ready, but thanks to me, you just might survive this,” Vice said. “Baptism by fire begins now.”

Vice hovered his hand over Gisbo. From the tips of his boots, to the end of his fingers, to the frays of his hair, he burst into fire. Gisbo screamed like a rabid animal as the flames engulfed his body, melting his flesh, corroding his bones, and all the while, it grew back, healed by the Drakeness, only to be burned away again in a constant state of rebirth.

“This will continue until nightfall. Embrace the pain, Gisbo, or die,” Vice Dastard said.

“GRAAAGHHHH!!!!” Gisbo screamed, unable to thrash, unable to move his head about. Vice allowed him to move his tongue, mouth, and throat, as if he enjoyed the sound of Gisbo’s screaming, as if he enjoyed watching the fire dance. If not for the Drakeness, Gisbo would have been dead in moments. Any hotter and the Drakeness wouldn’t have enough time to heal the damaged tissue and he would be overrun. Everything was meticulously arranged to wrap Gisbo in an everlasting state of pain and suffering.

“Stay conscious now, take it, make it yours, OWN IT!” Vice screamed. “You will either die up there, or you will break free!”

So many thoughts and emotions rushed through Gisbo’s mind: his hands around Vice’s throat, breaking it, Shaved’s dead eyes, his Aunt lying dead in his arms . . . The fire brought all the memories out of him, forcing him to deal, forcing him to face what happened. Years of repressed memories came to the surface: moments with Thomson, moments with his teachers, of Ranto, all going back to one singular point.

The now open door in his subconscious, the truth, everything he needed, flashed before his eyes, along with the man who killed her . . .

“Mom? Mommy, what’s . . .” Gisbo started when Gisbo’s mother clasped a hand over his mouth. She looked all about and listened. She closed her eyes, letting her instinct take over as she placed a hand over the sheath of her Sorwhip and unfurled it, letting it drape across the snow. She hovered her mouth over Gisbo’s ear and whispered.

“Gisbo, honey, stay quiet. Don’t mutter a sound. Nod if you understand,” Gisbo’s mother said. Gisbo nodded.

“No matter what happens, just know that I love you very, very much, and no matter what mommy says next, please, never repeat any of it. It won’t be very nice, and swearing is a very bad thing to do,” Gisbo’s mother said. She dropped the motherly tone of voice and channeled the powerful voice of her father, Vadid the Valiant, and all the strong ancestors that came before him.