Renegade Rupture (2 page)

Well done,
a voice spoke. Karm turned nervously and paced over to his tall standing mirror. He gripped both sides, staring into it with deep longing. At first he noticed nothing; then, he saw it, he saw . . . him.

“Yes, yes, my deity, my everything, my one. Everything is set in motion,” Karm said, smiling with delight.

“And I always reward my followers. Kneel, and I shall allow you to gaze upon my features,”
the man in the mirror said.

Karm wiggled with delight and fell down upon one knee. In the mirror, he saw a figure in a black robe with white and golden designs dancing all about it, shimmering like fireflies over a midnight pond. His every footstep was soft, gentle, yet purposeful as the figure seemed to glide over and stand behind Karm’s reflection. Karm trembled with delight and excitement as he heard a clasp unfasten. Karm saw a hand drop to the figure’s side holding a mask made from ivory, black diamonds, and shimmering gold, carved in an exquisite accuracy to match the heart shaped face and jutting jaw of the man standing behind him.

“Fall as One, to Rise as One. Die as One, to live as One. One as all, all as One . . .”
the man in the mirror said. Karm lifted his head slowly, taking in the lovely designs of the meticulous robe, with dancing glyphs and symbols all about, then the long, platinum white hair with golden, shimmering highlights, and finally the face, a face viewed only by a chosen few, the face of . . .

“. . . finish it,”
the man in the mirror asked, not ordered, in a sweet tone. Karm’s eyes bulged with excitement.

“My Lord, you’ve given me, you’ve given me the peace I’ve so desperately craved, cured me of my anxiety, my fear, with your healing light. I do not mean to question you, my Diety, but by ‘finish it,’ do you mean that, that your time draweth near? Lines have been added to the poem leading up to your return. Does it mean, does it mean we of your Holy Chosen have finally reached the final verse? Because, again, in all humbleness, I don’t consider myself worthy of saying such a . . .”

“Finish it
,” the man said softly.
“I believe in you.”

Karm’s face lit up like a child given the green-light to open presents at a birthday party. He looked into the man’s enchanting, black eyes and felt goosebumps tingle all over as he repeated the phrase and added in the final verse, the verse of the coming.

“I am, I am speechless and so, so honored you would choose me to speak such a hallowed phrase,” Karm said, stuttering. The man bent down and put a comforting hand on his reflection’s shoulder.

“Do not be afraid, for I am with you. Finish it, and signal the coming of everlasting peace this world so desperately needs,”
the man said.

“Fall as One, to Rise as One. Die as One, to live as One. One as all, all as One . . . for Deity Drakearon, my stars, my moon, my sun.”

Chapter One:
The Open Door

“Mommy? Where are we going?” Gisbo asked, looking up into the hazel eyes of a woman with long, dark brown, nearly black hair.

“Somewhere very special, honey. I’d like you to meet someone,” Nora Amari said, squeezing her son’s little hand tightly.

“Really? Who?” Gisbo asked.

“You’ll see when we get there,” Nora said with a warm smile.

The pair walked farther. As they did, small flurries of snow began to speckle down from the sky and dust their trail with sparkles in the morning light. Gisbo noticed something in the snow and knelt down to inspect.

“Hey, Mom! Mommy! Look!” Gisbo exclaimed. Nora looked down to see big, gaping paw prints imprinted on the snow.

“Ah, tracks,” Nora said.

“What are tracks, Mommy?” Gisbo asked.

“Well, living things leave tracks behind as they travel to their destinations. They prove one’s existence. See, look behind us, we too have left tracks,” Gisbo’s mother said. Gisbo did, then turned back, fascinated by the paw prints in the snow.

“So, whose tracks are these? A fox? I like foxes,” Gisbo asked. Gisbo’s mom knelt down beside her son.

“No, dear, these tracks belong to something much bigger and much fiercer,” Nora said.

“What?” Gisbo asked when a loud howl broke the silence of the forest. Gisbo startled and clung to his mother’s leg. Nora laughed.

“It’s ok, honey! Easy now,” Nora said.

“What, what was that?” Gisbo asked.

“Look over there and see for yourself,” Gisbo’s mom said. She knelt down, cuddled him up in her arms, and pointed to a briar patch where a young, white wolf was tangled up. The wolf thrashed all about and small droplets of blood splashed upon the snow’s surface. It whined and howled and writhed desperately to free itself.

“The poor thing’s trapped,” Nora asked. “What should we do about it?”

“We should help it!” Gisbo said. “Come on, mommy!” Gisbo wriggled himself free from his mother and ran to the trapped wolf. Nora smiled, her chest filling with pride as she watched her son bound toward the trapped creature with a natural compassion all his own.

“What, what is it?” Gisbo asked. Nora joined him.

“It’s a wolf, but not like any I’ve come across. It’s the purest white I’ve ever seen, even more so than the snow,” Nora said.

“She’s . . . she’s so pretty!” Gisbo said, dropping to his knees.

“How do you know it’s a she?” Nora asked.

“Um,” Gisbo stammered.

“That right there, honey, is a boy wolf. It’s much too big to be a girl, and you see its mane? It’s bigger and fluffier than a female’s,” Nora said.

“Oh,” Gisbo said.

The wolf looked up and howled again, causing Gisbo to dive for his mother. Nora wrapped him up in her arms.

“Don’t worry, dear, he won’t hurt you as long as I’m here. Remember, Mommy’s a Naforian. Mommy can understand animals,” Nora said. “Here, take this. Cut the briars loose around the wolf’s neck and you can save him.”

Nora handed Gisbo a small dagger. “Be careful now, it’s very sharp.”

“Can’t you do it, mom?” Gisbo asked. “I’m, a little afraid.”

“Then you simply must do it,” Nora said.

“Why?” Gisbo asked.

“Because, honey, only when you know fear, can you know bravery. Do you want to be brave like your Daddy one day, Gisbo?” Nora asked.

“Yes!” Gisbo said.

“Then, go for it,” Nora said. “He won’t hurt you.”

“Ok,” Gisbo said. He walked over to the wolf slowly and bent down beside it. The wolf looked up at Gisbo with dewy, wet, hazel eyes and Gisbo froze, enchanted by them.

“Mommy, his, his eyes, they look just like yours . . .” Gisbo said.

“As well as your Grandfather’s and yours, Gisbo. A wolf’s eyes, as a pup, are blue, but as it matures, sees how the world truly is, they darken,” Nora said. “Go ahead, honey, you can do it.”

The wolf trembled and breathed hoarsely as its chest rose up and down. Gisbo raised the knife and the wolf thrashed again, sensing danger, and shed more blood.

“Tell him it’s going to be ok, Gisbo, talk to him; look him right in the eyes and tell him everything’s going to be all right. He can understand you,” Nora said.

“I . . . ok,” Gisbo said as he leaned forward, looked the wolf in the eyes, and smiled. The wolf suddenly stopped its writhing, as if seeing something he recognized. “It’s . . . it’s ok, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to help you, ok?”

The wolf eyed him suspiciously, but stopped thrashing. Gisbo lifted the knife slowly and began to cut the briars around the wolf’s neck, then the one around its chest and feet. Upon the third snap, the wolf bounded out of the briar patch and leapt right over Gisbo, causing him to fall back with a yell. The wolf ran up a small incline and was lost to view.

“It’s ok, honey, come on. Up you go,” Nora said.

“I . . . he, he ran so fast! Don’t tell Daddy that I screamed, please?” Gisbo asked. Nora smiled and made a zip up motion across her mouth.

“Never, ever tell!” Nora said, giggling.

“Promise?” Gisbo asked.

“Promise! Hey, look up there! Seems somebody wants to thank you, Gisbo,” Nora said, pointing up at the rocky incline. Gisbo followed her finger to see the white wolf standing tall and proud, its mane wafting in the breeze, watching them curiously as it howled. Gisbo smiled, and then found himself frowning.

“He, he sounds so sad. Why is he sad, mommy? Why is he howling like that?” Gisbo asked.

“He’s lonely. Being alone can make somebody very sad, Gisbo. You see, wolves travel in packs, families, but every once in a while, you come across one who left their pack to go through life alone,” Nora said.

“Why do they do that, mom?” Gisbo asked.

“Oh, there could be many reasons for that, Gisbo, but mostly it’s due to aggression from the pack’s leader, the Alpha, or from being picked on for being weak or different. It could be because of his color. I’ve never seen a white wolf in these parts. You’ll mostly find black or grey,” Nora said.

“He doesn’t look very weak to me,” Gisbo said. Nora smiled.

“No, no, he doesn’t, does he? The odds are against him, that’s for sure, but this one, he’s never given up. Look at him now. He’s beautiful, isn’t he? And strong!” Nora said.

Gisbo smiled.

“Gisbo, can you do me a favor?” Gisbo’s mom asked as she walked, still holding him.

“What?” Gisbo asked.

“Can you promise me that no matter what, even when things seem hopeless, when things get darkest, and they will, that you’ll stand strong, plant your feet, and never, ever give up?” Nora asked.

“I promise, Mom,” Gisbo said.

“I love you, sweetie, so much. Can you give mommy a kiss?” Nora asked. Gisbo wrapped his arms around his mom’s neck and kissed her gently on the cheek.

“Boy, you’re getting heavy! Mommy’s got to put you down now, ok?” Nora said as she put her son down on his feet and held his hand. As they walked, Gisbo looked back to get one last look at the big, white wolf, but it was gone.

After a little ways, mother and son came to their destination, a place just on the outskirts of Heaven’s Shelter, a place of solitude, of mourning, a hallowed place known to the Renegades as the Life End, where hundreds of small trees were planted in a perfect grid, each exactly seven feet apart.

Gisbo and Nora walked through the tiny trees taking two lefts, then a right, and stopping in front of one of the smaller ones. Upon the tree was a plaque written in the same colorful, fiery letters as the “Welcome Home” sign to Heaven’s Shelter.

“Mom? Where are we?” Gisbo asked, gazing about at the beautiful, multi-colored trees around him.

“The Life End. This is where Renegades go when they . . .” Nora paused, “ . . . leave this world. Put your hood up, Gizzy, out of respect.”

Gisbo obeyed and the two of them put the hoods attached to their ponchos up and knelt before the tree.

“You mean, when people . . . die,” Gisbo said.

“That’s right, dear. When a Renegade passes on, they are buried here, holding a seed, a special Naforian seed that grows overnight into an Evergrowth tree,” Nora said.

“An . . . Evergrowth?” Gisbo asked.

“Yes, the tree is unique in that it binds with the Renegade’s leftover essence and blooms into a beautiful reminder and representation of their life. Every Evergrowth tree is different. Some sprout flowers, some have different hues of bark, some are taller than others. Some are blue, some are pink . . . every tree represents how the person lived, how much they sacrificed, how much they loved, how much they gave, not how they died. Evergrowths are much more personal and beautiful than a simple, cold gravestone,” Nora said.

“Whose tree is this, mom?” Gisbo asked.

“Below this tree lays one of my dearest friends who has . . . passed from this world,” Nora said.

“To . . . la . . . To . . . la. What does the sign say, mommy? I can’t read her name,” Gisbo said.

“Are you giving up?” Nora asked.

“I . . . no, I just,” Gisbo stammered.

“Come on, you can do it, sound it out,” Nora said. Gisbo took a deep breath.

“Too . . . la . . . Tula?” Gisbo asked.

“Very good, honey! Keep going,” Nora said with a big, encouraging smile. Gisbo smiled in return and looked back at the fiery letters.

“Tula . . . Ta . . . Ta . . . row? Tula Taro?” Gisbo asked, biting his lower lip, hoping he was right. Nora moved in and planted a kiss on his forehead, causing him to beam.

“Very, VERY good, Gisbo. Yes, her name is Tula Taro, and she, she was my very best friend,” Nora said. Gisbo looked from his mom back to the plaque.

“You miss her, don’t you, Mommy?” Gisbo said.

“Yes, very much,” Gisbo’s mom answered.

“I . . .” Gisbo started when, to his left, he heard snow crunching and saw a man, ten trees down, dressed in an all white, long cloak that swept the snow as he walked, erasing any footprints, any reminder that he was even there. The man in white bore a large sword across his back and gave the Renegade salute to every tree he passed by thrusting a fist forward, raising two fingers to his forehead, laying it down, then stamping the same hand across his chest as he lowered into a bow.