Renegade Reborn by J. C. Fiske

Albright lead the way, throwing back his long hair as Stave Dasto, Randy Rasgard, and Cyrus Carson followed behind.
    “Come this way boys, stand in a line and,” Lamik started.
    “Is it true? Has Malik gone?” Stave asked. Lamik breathed out a heavy sigh, looked back at his brother and friend, then turned to face the young Strife.
    “What you have heard is true. Malik has left and from what I gathered, he is not coming back,” Lamik said, his arms folded across his chest.
    “It’s because of him, isn’t it?” Quil asked.
    “Vengeance has invaded his mind. He is lost to us. Fixated on killing someone who, by all accounts and reports, is dead already. Do not dwell on him. Do not think about him. He has abandoned us in our darkest hour, set his personal insecurities above the needs of the world as a whole, and that, that is not what a Strife does. He has chosen disorder over order, chaos over righteousness, and,” Lamik stopped, not wanting to go further. “Now, why don’t we . . .”
    “Hearing you talk about righteousness is like hearing a pig speak of cleanliness,” A deep, haughty voice suddenly spoke.
    “Who goes there?” Bosto demanded, trying to determine the location of the voice, when out of nowhere, there was a burst of black.
    Ranto Narroway appeared before them at the opposite end of the table as his father.
    In an instant, all weapons were drawn and ignited, and an instant later, black tendrils shot out from all directions, and everyone but Ranto was on the floor, writhing in their own guilt, their own pain, helpless to amount a counter attack.
    “Now that we got that out of the way, I have something to say to all of you, but first, I have something to say to your Chieftain,” Ranto said. He moved his way across the room, his weight making the floorboards whine under every step. He hovered over Lamik, then, bent down on one knee.
    “I don’t know what you want, but you need to . . .” Lamik started, until a giant palm flew forward and covered his mouth and face.
    “No. It’s time for you to be silent, and listen. I have but two words to share with you . . .” Ranto said, leaning close and getting his lips right up against Lamik’s ear. The Strife Chieftain felt Ranto’s breath prickle his ear hairs as he said the two words, two words, that he had feared hearing his whole life . . .
    “I remember . . .” Ranto said.
    Lamik’s eyes went wide as the Drakeness charged through his system, and a memory, long repressed, was freed and he was helpless to stop it.
     
    “Thank you for coming, Chieftain. Please, sit down. We must talk, and this, this will go no further than this room. I promise you.” Mrs. Dodard said, but Lamik remained standing, eying her cautiously.
    “What is this all about, Mrs. Dodard? Your message sounded, urgent, as if it was life or death, and yet, I see no danger. I have much to attend to, and would rather you . . .” Lamik started.
    “It’s about your son,” Mrs. Dodard said.
    “What about him?” Lamik asked.
    “Sir, Chieftain, I don’t mean to pry, but, compared to the other children, mainly the boys, he’s been, acting . . . rather strange . . .”
    “Strange, how?” Lamik asked, not liking her tone.
    “Well, most boys around four, when their motor skills are more under control, decide it’s time to start testing them, and playing with other boys. The boys in their free time, hit each other, wrestle one another, and test one another’s strengths as boys are want to do, while the girls, like the good little girls they are, do arts and crafts, play with dolls, play house, pick flowers, and do each other’s hair . . . preparing for their role as women, so they may one day, submit to their husbands, and run the home. Roles between men and women are important. We both know and believe this, my Chieftain.” Mrs. Dodard said.
    “Mrs. Dodard. I have very little time to spare in my position, please, tell me what this is all about.” Lamik said, sighing and