Renegade Rising (The Renegade Series) (3 page)

There it is again, that damned look! What is behind those eyes that makes me feel so, so,
Mr. Foogal thought.

Inferior
floated to the top of his mind.

It was then Gisbo gritted his teeth and took a bold step forward. Mr. Foogal’s eyes flashed with surprise and he found himself taking a nervous step backward right into a desk. He held up his hands in defense, feeling as if this moment wasn’t real, as if he were dreaming, when suddenly . . .

“OH GIZZZZZY!!!” a voice bellowed from behind the schoolhouse. Upon hearing the voice, a voice he hated much more than his teacher’s, Gisbo growled and stormed out of the schoolhouse without a glance back. Mr. Foogal let out a huge, shaky sigh of relief and he found the courage to shout out a few last words.

“You’ll get it this time! You’ve bit off more then you can chew now!” Mr. Foogal shrieked, laughing hysterically at his own clever pun. He mentally patted himself on the back, feeling good as he rose up to his full height and took a walk over to his desk and collapsed into a chair.

“You’ll get it this time, boy. The wolves are gonna get ya!” Mr. Foogal said, smiling to himself. “And I’m not telling a soul!”

The sky was heavy and gray. It seemed to swell, looking as if it would burst into rain at the slightest prick. Even so, Gisbo marched on behind the schoolhouse, through the bushes and past the fallen pine tree. His long, dark brown, nearly black, hair fluttered out and behind his tattered bandana. He was mad and when he was mad, his hazel eyes flared open like a bull’s.

I’ll kill ‘em this time, I’ll kill ‘em all . . .
Gisbo thought.

He came upon the open field as quickly as every time before. An ominous feeling of déjà vu swept over him as he glanced around, spying familiar faces. These familiar faces, however, he was only used to seeing on their own in a place like this, but now, they were all here, all ten of them, and together their faces morphed into an unholy collage of misplaced superiority and cruelty.

The Black Wolf Pack, as they were properly known, was Oak County’s pride and joy. They were the regional champs at a sport known as “clash,” which was played throughout Thera. Their black handkerchiefs fluttered in the breeze under their stuck up noses and shark smiles.

Gisbo recalled that there was a good reason for him being here, but with so much hot rage smoldering through his mind like a lava flow he couldn’t quite remember the specifics or why he had volunteered to face them all at once in the first place.

“Gizzzy!” the ringleader taunted. Gisbo cringed at the tone in which his name was being said. “What? You don’t like your name, Gizzy? Well, I could call you by your last name, but mummy and daddy didn’t want to share it with you . . . didn’t want anything to do with you! I can understand, what with an idiot like you for a son,” sneered Thomson Ricard, son of Karm’s renowned General Ricard, and leader of the Black Wolf Pack.

Gisbo said nothing. He only tossed aside his school bag and began to crack his knuckles and neck.

“Wow, your big fat mouth got you into this mess and now you got nothing to say?” Thomson asked, stunned.

Gisbo surveyed his competition. He took a moment to relish in the bruises and black eyes that he himself had inflicted upon Thomson’s band of savage wolves when he got them alone, all except for Thomson’s face. It was as clean as a fat man’s dinner plate. There wasn’t even a visible scratch. Today, Gisbo meant to fix that.

“Well . . . that’s a frightening look,” Thomson said, as cool as a winter breeze. “I would almost think you wish to fight. Look around, dumbass! If you fight all of us, you may not walk again for some time and come to think of it . . .” Thomson mocked, cocking his head upward as if remembering something. “ . . . that would make it impossible for you to try out for Elekai’ training tomorrow. What a shame. That’s your big dream, isn’t it? Become an Elekai’ warrior? Cute. Well, let me be the one to burst your bubble there, Gizzy. When it comes to Elekai’, lineage is everything and you, buddy, amount to jack squat. Me, on the other hand, well, my dad’s General Ricard! I practically have it in the bag! So, let me tell you something he always says, something you should remember. Some were made to do great things, like me. Others were made to serve those who do great things, like you. You can’t fight destiny, Gizzy. We are who we were meant to be,” Thomson sneered. On cue, his cronies cackled like a pack of hyenas, impressed by their leader’s dagger-like tongue. Gisbo continued to stand in silence.

“Hmph, what a stupid mutt! He’s so scared he can’t even respond to me, Heff,” continued Thomson. “Heff?”

Thomson turned as Heff continued picking his nose in the deepest of concentration, smiling to himself with greed. Thomson replied with a swift backhand to the side of Heff’s head. Gisbo couldn’t help but laugh despite the seriousness of the situation. Seeing this enraged Thomson all the more.

“You hear something funny, Gizzy? A dog like you wouldn’t last in a pissing contest!” Thomson jibed with an arrogant assurance.

Gisbo took a few threatening steps forward as another voice sounded behind him.

“Hey, Thomson, I’ve got his bag!” yelled Rowley as he began to dump its contents onto the dusty ground. He picked up a large storybook, looked at the cover with a scoff and chucked it deep into the forest.

“Say goodbye to your wittle faiwytales, loser, it’s time you got a dose of reality,” snickered Rowley.

Gisbo let fly an abundance of expletives as he watched one of his most prized possessions fly into the dark abyss of trees. He then turned and stared at Rowley with two crazed eyes. Suddenly realizing he was alone with Gisbo, Rowley retreated back to the safety of the Black Wolf Pack in a nervous sweat.

“So, mutt, we gonna fight or what? If we do, I better tell you my dad’s first rule of combat since you won’t be hearing it tomorrow. Rule number one: Never challenge your superiors when faced with impossible odds,” hissed Tomson. Gisbo snapped his focus back to Tomson and cracked an evil smile.

“That last part’s not gonna work for me,” Gisbo said.

In an instant, the silence broke at the sound of Gisbo’s battle cry as he charged straight for the son of Ricard. Thomson raised his forearms in defense as Gisbo reared his right fist back to swing. The distance rapidly decreased between the two fighters.
Please, what kind of idiot reveals his attack from such a distance? Oh yeah, Gisbo would,
Thomson thought, chuckling to himself. He changed his stance once more, readying for Gisbo’s attack.

Gisbo reached attack range. He swung with a fierce right hook, missing his target by half a foot as Thomson reared backward out of the way. Thomson began to lean back up with a smug look on his face when he felt the sharp pain in his gut that took his breath away. Gisbo had faked the punch and instead plunged his shoulder into Thomson’s gut. The general’s son gasped for air as he hit the ground, sending up a cloud of dust. Gisbo sat atop Thomson’s stomach and began decorating Thomson’s face with striking blows before his cohorts could join the struggle.

Gisbo fell into a crazed laughing fit as he began ripping up grass-ridden dirt clods and shoving them into Tomson’s gaping mouth, giving him dirt instead of air. It was then Gisbo realized hands were upon him, big hands, and his new opponent had succeeded in lifting him off Thomson. Out of impulse, Gisbo plowed his grimy fingers into the eyes of his attacker. It was Heff, Thomson’s largest crony. Gisbo had never been fond of him and vice versa. They had had many scrapes and there never was a true winner. Gisbo meant to fix that too.

The big boy screamed in pain, dropped Gisbo and clawed frantically at his throbbing eyes. Gisbo landed on his back, but did not hesitate. Upon landing, he leaned backward and kicked out with both heels into Heff’s gut. Heff let go of his eyes and instead wrapped his arms around his belly before falling backward into two of his rushing comrades.

Gisbo rolled to his feet and ducked, dodging a shot from one of the Wolves who had joined the fray. While ducking, Gisbo eyed a vulnerable area and let loose with a straight right punch. The victim fell, squealing like a pig and holding his groin.

WHAM! A surprise right hook connected to the back of Gisbo’s skull, sending his vision into a white flash and felling him to the ground. Gisbo’s vision was blurry, but his instinct and experience in dirty schoolyard brawls served him well. He managed to get on his back and caught the boy’s foot in his hand, stopping all attempts of it digging into his face, only to have another boy put him into a full nelson. Other boys quickly jumped in, claiming each of Gisbo’s limbs as their own as they held him down to the ground, face up.

Gisbo struggled and thrashed with all the strength that he could muster, but it was useless. It may have taken five boys to hold him down, but regardless, he was now caught. It was then that the one boy Gisbo never wanted standing over him was back on his feet. Thomson stood, breathing hard. Blood, bruises and dirt covered his haughty features. Without saying a word, Thomson reached down and grabbed Gisbo by the throat. Thomson’s mouth quivered and his eyes bulged from his skull. Gisbo glared at him, snorting like a captured animal.

“Look what you did to me! Who the hell do you think you are? I’ll kill you, I’LL KILL YOU! I’ll rip out your freakin’ eyes, I’ll . . . “

Gisbo didn’t let him continue into another haughty diatribe. They may have held down all his limbs, but he still had control of his noggin and he used it by throwing his forehead straight into Thomson’s nose. There was a crunch, followed by a burst of blood. The son of Ricard reeled back, let go of Gisbo and clutched his nose with both hands as blood poured from it. In a fit of rage, he dove forward in the same manner Gisbo had done earlier to him. He sat upon Gisbo’s stomach and pummeled him with blow after blow, letting his own nose bleed freely over Gisbo like a runny faucet.

“Come on, trash! Let’s hear your smart talk now! I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” Thomson yelled, continuing his onslaught on Gisbo’s face. The rest of the group added their fair share as well as they kicked and punched at his body, chuckling with every strike. This continued for several long minutes until the boys seemed to have had their fill and Gisbo had stopped moving. Heff stood, out of breath, with a worried expression across his face.

“Man, we went too far, Thomson! What will we do if someone finds out? We could get kicked off the clash team for all of us teaming up on one kid!” Heff exclaimed. Thomson threw him a withering look.

“Please, this isn’t just any kid. Everyone hates him! Hell, my dog gets better treatment then he ever will. All we have to say is that we were on our daily run through the woods and this lowlife demanded my wallet and proceeded to attack me; nobody would believe his word over mine. Especially if he’s dead.” Thomson replied with an assured smile. “Come on, let’s get out of here, it stinks.”

Thomson and the wolf pack turned to walk away. When they neared the clearing, one of the boys turned around for one last look and froze in place. Noticing this, Thomson turned as well and didn’t believe what he saw.

Gisbo stood, hunched over, breathing hard. His knees wobbled like a drunk, but standing he was, with his fists still clenched. Thomson was stupefied. How could someone still be afoot after receiving such a beating?

“HEY . . . ya . . . you . . . call that a beating!?” Gisbo yelled through choked breaths. “I’m not through yet! I came here for one bastard and I got ten! I’m . . . I’m calling you out, Thomson!” Gisbo screamed, pointing a shaky finger at Thomson. For a moment, the finger scared him, but then he realized his wolf pack was with him. This brought his courage roaring back.

"Hmph . . . you had your chance and you failed. You have no fighting style and you’re not worthy of any more of my time. Besides . . . I have a
family
to return to," Thomson said and with that, he turned and walked away in silent victory. The pack followed.

Gisbo had had insults aimed at him his whole life and brushed off most of them. He had outgrown the nights of crying himself to sleep, but there were times when these poisonous arrows were unavoidable. That last remark hurt and it hurt badly. Thomson managed to land the final knockout blow after all. All strength and spirit left Gisbo and he felt himself slump to the ground with his head between his knees. His rage quickly turned to deep sorrow as he sat in silence, watching his enemy walk away with his head held high. At this moment, the swollen clouds finally burst. It began to rain. Gisbo cursed to himself and, after a few ill attempts, managed to rise to his feet to begin the long walk home. With every step, the clouds seemed to grow blacker and the rain became an outright downpour.

Even nature has it out for me,
Gisbo thought.

Worst of all, the rain was cold and it stung at his injured body. As Gisbo walked the cobble-stoned road down the main street of Oak County, he couldn't help but stare into the warm, lit windows of the homes he walked past. They seemed so cozy and glowed a comforting orange color, like a fruit. He couldn’t help himself. Gisbo walked up to the nearest house and peered through the glass window. It was then he saw it, the very thing he had always longed for, but could never have. If only it was just a glass window that truly separated him from it, but it was much more complicated than that.

Gisbo saw a father and son wrestling across a carpeted floor, laughing, while a mother made a dinner that smelled so good it made Gisbo’s mouth water. However, the corner of the mother’s eye spotted Gisbo’s head in the window. In a quickened shuffle, she made her way to the doorway and thrust it open. Gisbo tried to open his mouth to say something, but it was of no help. With a speed that didn’t fit her age, she took off her shoe and threw it at Gisbo, hitting him in the side of the head.