Renegade Reborn (15 page)

Kennis dropped to her knees, clutching her bleeding throat. With her last remaining strength, she managed to crawl beside him so that they were eye to eye. She reached out, grabbed his hand, and squeezed it tight, she tried to speak, to finish her sentence, to say that she loved him . . .

She opened her mouth, but no words came. A moment later, the sparkle in her blue eyes died, and he felt her hand go limp in his grasp.

“
No . . .” Gisbo stammered, tears streaming down his face. Drakearon turned his mask around and his soft, charismatic voice returned.

“
It is complete. From this day forward, you will never be whole again. You now understand. Soon, Gisbo, you will seek me out for peace. When that time comes, I will give it to you, and I will make you whole,” Drakearon said. He turned the mask back around to the monster face. He reached down and lifted Gisbo up by the neck, holding him tightly. The deep, maniacal voice came back.

“
But know this, I cannot lie to you. My other half may want to save you, but between you and I, when I stood there, when I held cold, sharp steel over your love’s throat and took her final breath . . .” Drakearon said, getting closer now, leaning and whispering in his ear. Gisbo felt his hot breath tickle the faint hairs within his ears.

“
. . . I enjoyed every moment of it.”

“He killed her,” Gisbo whispered to himself, suddenly feeling his tears take on a warmer touch.

“
This is folly. I’m the only one who can give you peace. I’m the only one who can fill you with purpose. I knock. All you must do, is open the door, all you must do is . . .”
The Dark voice started, but it was shut down, forced back into the darkness by something bigger and stronger . . . his righteous fury.

Gisbo slammed his fists upon the ground. He was breathing hard, like a bull about to charge.

“He . . . KILLED HER!” Gisbo screamed, shaking with rage. “Peace? Make me whole? He wants to give me . . . PEACE!?”

bold step forward, not running, but walking, taking it all in, strutting with his chin high, his chest out, filled with vigor, and strength. This time, the light did not burn him, did not fight him. It worked with him, keeping the Drakeness at bay, comforting him, and filling him with something he hadn’t had for quite sometime.

Hope.

“
The light of the Phoenix, it only brings to the surface what’s already there, much like the Drakeness. It clears the path for the real you to shine apart from your darkness. Rise, Gisbo Falcon, shine your light, and let others deal with the weight of who you are!”
The voice said.

With his wolf by his side, Gisbo climbed the hill, unfettered, eyes focused, stepping higher and higher until he made it over the crest, already knowing what lay atop it, and why it had left him before. He wasn’t worthy then, not because of his mistakes, or his sins, but because of his lack of faith . . . in himself.

The Phoenix blade, the original blueprint for every existing Talon sword, and the source of the blue white light, was stabbed into the top of the hill, standing nearly the length of his body, and had more than half the width.

“
This sword was crafted from space and time within the heaven’s themselves by a being free from sin able to give it form. The sword’s natural purpose is to keep evil at bay, because evil exists. That is why it landed here. It was here where evil was at its thickest. The light of the blade is without compromise or debate. It strikes without hindrance or pause. Its blue fire brings light to the darkness, and turns all lies into truth. Grasp the blade by the handle, and speak. Let it hear your voice, let it hear the truth inside you! Tell it who you are!”
The voice said.

Gisbo reached out and grasped the handle of the blade. It felt both hot, and cool to the touch, much like the Phoenix medallion hanging around his neck. No doubt, it was made from the same substance.

“I’ll tell you who the hell I am. My name is Gisbo Falcon; Flarian, Renegade, Man-Phoenix! And as for you, Drakearon . . . you want to give me peace!? I GOT YOUR PEACE RIGHT HERE!” Gisbo yelled as he saluted the sky with the middle finger on his free hand, and with a fierce tug, he pulled the blade free from the ground, raised it to the sky, and ignited its full power, and he disappeared . . .

In less than a moment, the world around him changed into sudden darkness. No, that wasn’t it. The world hadn’t changed, he had teleported somewhere, and the blade, along with its light, was no longer in his hands. It took Gisbo a few moments to adjust to the darkness around him, but when he did, he had a hard time believing where he was.

Somehow, the sword, wherever it was now had transported him into the darkened forest of his dreams, the very same one where the phoenix first revealed itself to him. A full, ripe moon glowed in the sky. No, this wasn’t right. This place, it was all a ruse designed by Drakearon to hurt him. Wasn’t it?

Suddenly, something stirred in the branches of a tree above him, something big, something heavy. Gisbo looked up, and he understood immediately.

This was no ruse.

The emblazoned blue phoenix gazed down at him with its fiery red eyes, transient and real. It made not a sound, spoke not a word. It only stared at him . . . into him. For a long moment, Gisbo and the bird of legend just looked upon one another, still as statues, and then, the bird moved, spreading its wings, and letting loose with an ear splitting screech. The sound reverberated down Gisbo’s spine like a scream in an alleyway, filling him with chills, before the giant bird leapt off the branch, and flew down a path to his left, the same path that it had once chased him, and caught him, only to teach him the true meaning of courage.

Now, Gisbo chased, it.

He ran down the path for a little over a mile, when the bird finally descended, dropping atop something. When Gisbo caught up, he saw that it had perched upon a small cabin that was tucked neatly beside a moonlit pond. Through the windows, Gisbo saw that the cabin had a fire going inside, looking cozy and warm. Someone was in there, and that’s when he heard the voice, the same voice as before, except this time, it wasn’t echoey or distant, it was coming from behind the door.

“So, you’ve discovered how to wield the blade . . .” The voice said. The door then flew open, and out came a man shrouded from the flickering fireplace behind him. He was holding the Phoenix Blade and leaning it over his shoulder casually.

“ . . . But that doesn’t make you its master.”

“Who the hell are you?” Gisbo asked. The man paused a moment, and Gisbo saw his white teeth twinkle in the moonlight. He was smiling.

“Who the hell am I? Do you even have to ask? I am a believer in democracy; the will of the people, but the veil has become too thick and our people too foolish. They flock to Drakearon’s lies of security through him, rather than their own hearts. The people of Thera have failed to see their own digression and rather saw it instead as progression. My people have neglected their responsibilities and taken peace for granted, never realizing from whence it came. In turn, the fires in their hearts are gone, along with the belief in fighting for what is precious. They would instead run towards those who preach comfort if only they offer their souls. This evil, this Drakearon, is like nothing I have ever witnessed . . . “

Suddenly, Gisbo lost all breath. He knew that phrase, read it somewhere, but had never heard it spoken. Gisbo tried to reply, but found he couldn’t. The man continued, speaking in a gruff, powerful voice, a voice meant for leading men, and bringing out the best in them.

“We will pay dearly for this complacency, my dear friend. My heart aches for my people. The war progresses and passive souls have been slaughtered or worse, become slaves. A cancer has filled the land and it spreads and it hungers for everything. But there is hope. In the valleys, to the snow tops, to great oceans and forests, a battlecry is rising. Slowly, the people are beginning to realize that although they may not believe in violence, there are certainly those that do and they are always willing to preach. The will to fight is returning once more . . .”

“I . . . you’re . . . you’re . . .” Gisbo stammered. The man ignited the blade in brilliant blue and white fire that not only lit up the man’s features, but the whole encompassing area in a comforting, blue light, and across the blade, in fiery red letters, it read . . .

Vadid the Valiant, Man-Phoenix.

Chapter Seven: Painful Past

Rolce, along with the rest of the residents of Cledwyn city, marveled at the beauty of Stratataris, when suddenly, a cluster of yellow stars flew from the highest point of the city, and made its way toward them. They weren’t stars however, they were Soarians, and they landed gently before them, so gently, not one grain of sand popped beneath their feet.

There were three of them, all women, and all clad in shimmering, gold and white sleeveless silk robes. The first woman stepped forward, and Rolce, for the first time in his life, looked up into the eyes of a woman, and felt his cheeks get warm and his knees go wobbly. Power, she was radiated with it, so much so it was sending his whole body out of whack. At least, that’s what Rolce first thought. What he was actually feeling was dumbfounded, absolute infatuation.

The woman was captivating.

Her body seemed to defy biology. She was incredibly tall, and thin, yet, had curves. Her hair was the color of goldenrod, and it grew down past her waist where the ends curled and lightened into bouncy, platinum blonde locks. She blinked and her long eyelashes fluttered like dark butterflies, bringing out her sky blue eyes that made so many remember, and long for the sun, as well as the rest of her face for her eyes were all that showed through her pearl white mask, a mask that reminded Rolce so much like Drakearon’s. He was about to speak, when she spoke first. Her voice was sweet, yet firm.

“I seek an audience with, Rolce Moordin. I assume that to be you?” The tall woman asked. Her subordinates stood at the ready, like lioness’ ready to pounce.

“I . . . um, yes?” Rolce said. His voice came out cracked, and squeaky. He coughed, and then repeated himself.

“I am Lady Seveara, ruler of Stratataris, the city before you. We do not land upon your world lightly or without reason. With us, reason dictates all. We’ve come to speak to you, Rolce Moordin, son of Shax, one whom our city reveres as a great man and great representation of Thera. We’ve come to seek you out above all others to . . .” Lady Seveara started.

“And you can get your tall gangly ass back in your little floatin’ city, Lady Giraffe, ruler of turd platform!” Morey shouted, his face flushed with color as he charged forward and pointed up at the tall woman, as she looked down at him like a parent would to a rowdy child.

“You foul little ape. How dare you pull such tone with me!” Lady Seveara said. Her escorts powered up their Soarian rings.

“Morey?” Rolce asked.

“Don’t listen to her lies lad! This witch is just that, a witch! Her and all her little holier than thou’ butt rumpin’ city! So go on and get on outta here before we make ya go, the Flarian way!” Morey yelled, followed by many Flarian cheers behind him.

“The Flarian way . . . you say that as if your gaseous, raucous displays of misogynistic bellows actually instill us with fright? Hah!” Lady Seveara laughed, folding her arms. “Back down, little man, before you hurt yourself.”

“Well, I don’t quite know what you were on about for, um, most o’ dat reply, but I heard gaseous! How dare ye mock me ulcer, witch! DAT’S PERSONAL! And, AND IT’S RIGHTLY UNCOMFORTABLE!” Morey said, thrusting a hairy finger up at her. Lady Seveara only scoffed.

“I don’t understand, what did . . .” Rolce started.

“Don’t understand? Well, let me inform ya, Rolce! Some here may not know, nor remember, but ol’ Morey does, and you can bet your shiny white ass he won’t ever forget! The night Drakearon fully revealed himself with his black abominations, guess where he came first? Here! Him and his Dragon assaulted us! I saw my brothers, my sisters, hell, even children get massacred, all to give Drakearon more power! But that’s not all I saw, oh, no, for there, up in the sky that night, and saw Lady Giraffe and her floatin city lookin’ down watchin’ us get slaughtered without liftin’ a finger to help us!” Morey said.

There was silence for a long moment. All eyes were on Lady Seveara.

“Your city was already fallen. To interfere would have been . . .” Lady Seveara started.

“Interfere? What? You mean how most all of Thera, ‘cept you lot, finally banded together to put a stop to Drakearon and win the day? Ye call dat

interferin’? Even the stubborn ol’ Warlords came around!” Morey said.

“Irrelevant, but you are correct. You won just that. The day. As long as Drakearon lives, which he does, it was just a battle in an everlasting war between the Dragon, and the Phoenix, until one side is eliminated. That day is now over. Drakearon has returned whether the world knows it or not, and because of this, I must speak with you, Rolce.” Lady Seveara said.

“Why? Why me?” Rolce asked.

“Don’t listen to her, Rolce,” Morey said.

“Because, Jackobi Foxblade will not palaver with us,” A woman to the right spoke.

“You’re damn right I won’t. You clucks are nothing but a waste of my time and oxygen,” Jackobi said, folding his arms. “Rolce, don’t cater to these hens, just walk away,”