Renegade Reborn (5 page)

And then Gisbo saw her, and what little remained of his heart broke again for the umpteenth time. To his right lay the waitress who looked so much like Kinny. Her face was slashed open, and her green eyes lay open, staring up at him, as if asking, why? And then, to his astonishment, the waitress’ mouth moved, and she spoke to him.

“
Why didn’t you save me? Why did you fail me, just as you did, her?”
The waitress said, the word ‘her’ hung and echoed as the fire flickered in her dead eyes.

The girl’s words may have been fantasy, but with it, came the reality of the situation. These people, just like his Renegade brothers and sisters, were dead . . . because of him. His fury was gone now, spent, and now, like always, despair and guilt fell over him, so heavy, it made him fall to his knees, then to all fours. His breath became wheezy, sporadic. He felt a panic attack coming on. The pressure inside him, it was so much now. If only he could cry, shed tears, anything to release it, but ever since the day of the rupture, not a drop had come, and none were coming now as he dry heaved, and sucked back in soot and rot filled air.

If only he had a drink.

Gisbo crawled forward, feeling broken glass dig into his knees, shins, and hands, but he didn’t even feel it as he desperately tried to find a bottle, anything to keep the pressure down, to keep the pain, the guilt, and the memories at bay. He found his way under the tables where just hours before, the fake Renegades were drinking, and he lifted up bottle after bottle upon the floor, and tilted them up to his lips, only to swallow cigar butts, tissues, backwash, and a host of other horrible things, but only minute traces. Not enough to break his insane level of tolerance.

With a vicious curse, Gisbo tossed the last remaining bottle beneath the table and it shattered against the brick chimney, the only thing still standing, like a white flag of surrender within a battlefield.

Surrender.

This was a word that was foreign to him up until now.

Surrender.

There it was again. The word floated in his mind, wonderful, beautiful, and comforting like sweet lemonade going down a dry throat on a summer day in Heaven’s Shelter.

Surrender.

This had to stop. He knew it had to stop. Because of him, too many people had died and while he still lived, there would be many more.

Surrender.

Why didn’t he think of it before? All of it, the pain, the guilt, the memories, it could all end, all of it. He remembered then, something his father had tossed at him in one of his famous rants . . .

“
When life is lived right, death becomes a reward.”

Gisbo quickly grabbed at several of the broken glass shards around him, held the sharpest pieces up to his wrists, took in a deep breath, and slit them open in a variety of spots, up and down, left and right, then, he moved up to his neck, where his jugular veins lied, and did the same thing.

Moments later, he was drenched in his own, hot blood. He saw his surroundings flicker in and out, like a viewing monitor’s screen turning off and on. Only moments away now, and he would be free. The world would go black, and he would finally have peace eternal, on his own terms, not Drakearons.

And then, the monitor, his life, came back on.

Shocked, Gisbo felt his neck and looked down to see that the Drakeness had already healed his would be fatal wounds shut and already, he felt new red blood cells being reformed within him, replicating in a numbing surge that filled his body.

“FUCK!” Gisbo screamed, slamming his fists down over and over, trying to cry, trying to release his pain, his guilt, but nothing came. There was only one way out of this now.

Gisbo quickly spied someone’s glinting dagger in the fire. He crawled to it, lifted it up, and held the dagger over a patch of fire, holding it there until the edge turned black, then a bright orange, hot as a poker. He knew that while the Drakeness could heal most any wound from minor ones, to major ones, there were certain things it couldn’t, like a stab through the heart for instance . . .

He hovered the searing blade over his heart now, knowing the orange blade would pass clean through his chest as if it were butter, and release, would finally be his. He couldn’t help but think of his Aunt then, who had died, stabbing herself through on Gisbo’s own blade, giving her life to save many. And now, here he was, about to do the same.

Gisbo took in his last breath, held it, tightened his grip on the dagger’s warm handle, and closed his eyes.

Rolce arrived back within the Ronigade’s old, nameless home, and didn’t even make it past the second door before being overcome by a very snappy, very worried, Glinda Bicknill.

“Where have you been? Damn it, Rolce! How dare you, how dare you risk your life for a damned memorial!” Glinda said.

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have left, I . . .” Rolce started. Suddenly, Glinda’s normal snooty demeanor broke. Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her face as she wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m, I’m so sorry, Rolce. I shouldn’t have sworn at you. I, we, we were all so worried you got taken or, or something worse! You and your mind-link, you were what brought us back together after the . . . you know. Without you, we wouldn’t be here. Times are so dark, so dark, but at least we’re together. At least we all have each other. Some people don’t have anyone!” Glinda said, burying her face in Rolce’s chest. Rolce stroked her hair back, shushing her, until she finally took in a deep breath, and together they walked through the second set of doors.

“Are you the only one still awake?” Rolce asked, when a voice spoke in the dark.

“Hell no,” said a slurred voice.

Role looked over in a darkened corner of the underground Ronigade home to see Grandfield Groggo seated at a table, picking at his second box of stale donuts, and washing them down with an enormous mug of ale.

“Grandfield! Those things are put aside for emergency rations! You keep eating those things and you’re gonna . . .” Glinda started.

“Have a heart attack? Die? Good! Something exciting for a change! I welcome it!” Grandfield said shoving another donut into his mouth, and lifting his mug back lazily as ale dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt.

“Grandfield!” Glinda snapped.

“Just let him be. We all deal with pain in different ways,” Rolce said in her ear.

“He’s gotten so heavy, Rolce, I worry about him. He’s even taken off his Elekai’ ring,” Glinda said.

“Don’t think I can’t hear you two! Fine, if I’m such a big fat eyesore, maybe I’ll just go to bed! Maybe I’ll just, I’ll just . . .” Grandfield slurred, but didn’t finish as he got up, walked through them, and waddled up the stairs to his Uncle Morry’s old dwelling, slamming the door behind him. Rolce sighed deeply, and collapsed into a chair by the cobweb-ridden bar. Glinda joined him.

“I can’t do this, I thought I could, but I can’t . . .” Rolce said, placing his face in his hands. “I’m no leader, Glinda. I may have brought us together, but, what have we accomplished in the last three years? Nothing. All Jack and Rake do is train for a battle that’s not coming. Niffin shuts herself in her room and won’t come out. I don’t think I’ve heard her say a word after what happened. Crass and Anaka just badmouth Gisbo, putting the blame on him for everything. Grandfield eats his feelings, no doubt into a soon coming heart attack. Knob’s gone, Shaved’s dead, Kennis’ is dead, Ashlin’s dead, and Kinny is . . .” Rolce started as tears came to the corner of his eyes, but he fought them back. “You and Whip, you are the only ones with hope, the only ones who want to do something. It just, uh, damn it all, what’s the point? How can we put on our blue uniforms, in the colors of the phoenix, embodying freedom, and attack something that people flock to willingly? Who are we to take away their freedom of choice? Even when we know it will kill them in the end. I can’t, and won’t put myself, or any of you on a pedestal. And I, damn it all, Glinda, every night I go to sleep I still see him. I still see him leading us with that big stupid smile on his face. Then I wake up, and before my mind’s eye, I see him again in that awful, dripping wolf-form, shredding through everyone I’ve ever loved, and my, my Harpie . . . I miss my fluffy little girl more than I ever thought I would . . .”

“I never much cared for, Gisbo. We all know that,” Glinda said quietly. “But even I know that what happened, it wasn’t his fault. You will never see me badmouth him for what happened, and this is coming from someone who watched Ashlin, my synergy mate, die by Drakearon’s hand, not Gisbo’s.”

Rolce fell silent.

“I know how much of a friend he was to you, Rolce. I know he’s part of the reason you are who you are today, and I can’t help but think, what if I were in your shoes? What if the same thing that happened to Gisbo, happened to Anaka or Ashlin? I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling. Plus, with your Sybil powers, your higher sense of things . . .” Glinda said, pausing. “But, Rolce, to be honest, part of me believes that you may be clinging to a memory. Memories, they belong in the past. You need closure, Rolce. We’ve all seen the state of Heaven’s Shelter. No one could have survived that blast, whatever it was. No one.” Glinda said.

“But, the tower . . . the blue light is gone, but it still stands, it,” Rolce started.

“You’re grasping at straws, Rolce. The visions you’re seeing, remember, remember when Drakearon came, said something about that he can influence people’s visions? Made Gisbo see something that wasn’t true? Some kind of memory he thought was from the Phoenix? And it was all just a lie? All in an attempt for him to make friends, us, just so he could take it all away, just so he could give him a pain so severe, so massive, that the only way he could recover was to turn to Drakearon for peace, and in turn, give Drakearon access to the Phoenix’ power? Maybe, maybe he’s doing the same to you? Like, when you told me he opened that portal through you. Who’s to say he’s not just confusing you? Trying to keep the hope fresh, so that the pain stays fresh, like a wound opening and closing over and over again so even you, may give in and crave the peace that Drakeness offers?” Glinda asked.

“It’s not peace! It’s more power for him, and slavery for us! Replacing our own consciousness with his! Giving up our pain, for his numbness as a Drakeling? You call that peace?” Rolce asked.

“Rolce . . . no, that’s not what I,” Glinda started.

“Again, how can we rise up against something, something that people are flocking to freely? We’ve seen it! His city has grown from a village to a damned resort, to a full out city in three short years! We’re Renegades. We can’t interfere in people’s choices. That’s, that’s not what we do,” Rolce said.

“Don’t give me that, Rolce. You saw what Drakeaon did. You saw his true colors that night, and that other half of him, part of him? When he flipped his mask around? What was that all about? He was mad, insane! Give it time, I guarantee that that side may overcome that enigmatic side of him, and when it does, all of Thera will no longer be given a choice to receive the Drakeness, they will have to.” Glinda said.

“People don’t even know he’s back.” Rolce said.

“I believe all of this is a ruse, all of it! He’s waiting to reveal himself. He’ll show his true colors eventually!” Glinda said, tightening her fists. “Who I am, it’s all I have now! I’d rather die as an enemy of the people, than live as a hero in the eyes of the followers of Drakearon!”

“I understand why you and Gisbo never got along now,” Rolce said, a smile across his lips.

“Hm?” Glinda asked.

“You two are too much alike,” Rolce said.

“Yeah, maybe. He may have been a chauvinistic, sexist pig, but he was your best friend. What I’m trying to say, Rolce, in a roundabout way, is this. I think that if you can’t Mind-Link with him, even after all this time, and Jackobi, he can’t sense him through that Sentry connection you talk of, then, I think, it’s time you accept that he’s gone from this world. You need closure, Rolce, to move on. Even if you have to visit that memorial site again, I’ll come with you. We can all do it together. We, we need you at your best.” Glinda said. “The others, they won’t listen to me, but they’ll listen to you. They respect you,”

“They respect you, Glinda.” Rolce said.

“Maybe, but, never in a leader position. Like you, I’m no leader either. I’m good at bossing around a few people, but all of us? I know what my voice sounds like. Even I’d get sick of me.” Glinda said.

“I don’t think that a leader, necessarily, needs to be bossy, all up in your face, Glinda. Bosses boss, and leader’s lead. Ernie and Dave were my bosses, but Narroway, he was our leader. To lead, it, it takes something else. It takes a characteristic that one’s born with. Remember back then, when we were facing down the Holy Chosen, ready to charge into Sandlake City?” Rolce asked.

“How could I forget?” Glinda asked.

“I was supposed to lead that charge you know.” Rolce said.

“You? You were supposed to lead us? But why didn’t you?” Glinda asked.

“Because, my legs, they just wouldn’t move. I had never been more terrified in my entire life. I was from the best of warrior stock, had the best of training, and, even with all that, I could barely move, let alone raise my voice. I remember hating myself in that moment, feeling like such a coward, and I remember looking around at everyone else. All of them, they had their gazes downward, into the sand, shuffling their feet, doing all they could to control their fear. Even Rake looked beside himself, just, numb, and then, then I looked at him,” Rolce said, pausing, feeling an involuntary smile form. “I looked at Gisbo. He was pacing, back and forth, hands on his hips. He was, impatient. He was like a controlled explosion, just waiting to burst, and his gaze, it wasn’t toward the ground, but straight at Sandlake’s open gates. They didn’t move from that spot as he paced. I never saw anything like it. I knew what needed to be done, so, I walked up to him, and I begged him to lead the charge, to say something to everyone, anything, to get you all going.” Rolce said, pausing again. “It was only then that I saw fear on his face, at the thought of saying a speech,”