Otherworld: A Son of Two Realms

Chapter 11: "The Truth About Guildron"

Jack stood frozen in place, unable to comprehend the scene. His mouth hung open, no words able to escape. His earlier feelings of dread and repressed anger vanished, replaced by a sense of sorrow for the madman who now stood before him.

Unaffected by Jack's gawking, Marcus whirled around, searching through the stacks of paper carpeting the floor, snatching up a select few. "We haven't much time, son. He's nearly found a way through and you must be long gone before he does. My time is short but you will survive." Marcus's voice was hurried now, full of purpose. "I was a fool not to tell you sooner."

It took a moment for Jack to digest his father's ramblings. "Dad, slow down. What's going on?"

Marcus hurried downstairs. "I should have told you the truth. I didn't think you were ready to hear it but now I've just wasted all this time."

"What truth?"

Approaching the oak table, Marcus unceremoniously dropped the pages and began sifting through the stack. "It's real. All of it. I didn't make it up."

"Dad, you're killing me with the pronouns," Jack said, his hands starting to tremble from a mixture of confusion and frustration. "Just talk to me. What is real?"

"All of this."

Jack stared at his father, no closer to understanding. Then, he noticed Marcus's hand resting on a copy of The War of the Roads.

"Guildron is real," Marcus said, enunciation each word carefully. "Cera is real. And he's looking for me. He wants to kill me."

The room seemed to shrink and Jack suddenly felt like there wasn't enough air. He took a few steps back, holding his hands out to combat the sudden rush of claustrophobia. His father was going insane, that was the only explanation. Jack didn't even know how to respond. What could he say or do? He briefly wondered if this was some elaborate joke but the certainly in his father's eyes dismissed that theory.

"This will come as a shock, son, but you have to know. I don't have much more time–"

"Stop it!" Jack said. "Just stop all of this. What are you even saying?"

"I should have told you earlier, Jack, but I was afraid you would react...well, the way you're reacting now."

"What is this really about?" Jack walked around the table, looking at the pages of nonsense. He picked one up at random and started reading, "'The nature of portals is fickle as we have only scratched the surface of the Ancients' knowledge.'" He picked up another. "'In Year 354 after Maragon's Invasion, the Lord Mayor of Perdan brought forth a decree that each family would submit one son over the age of eleven to join the war against the Warlock Kareck.'" Jack let that page fall to the ground. "This is some crazy writer's thing, isn't it? Are you working on the next book?"

"This isn't about books. I'm trying to tell you, Guildron is real and you are in danger."

"Dad, stop this," Jack said, holding out a hand. "I don't want to hear any more about Guildron."

"You don't understand, son."

"Of course I don't," Jack said. "Because what you're saying is insane."

"I know you don't believe me. That is why you must go. I'm sorry, but you must see what I have seen and fix what I have broken." Marcus's voice trailed on into a muffled grumble. "I have stayed in the world too long. I should have returned as soon as Emily..."

Jack looked up at the name. "Mom?"

Marcus turned away. "It's too late for regrets. Too late for sorrow." Pushing away a mound of paper, Marcus picked up a polished prop dagger, examined it in the firelight, and tossed it on the floor. "I can't make things right but you can."

"I got into American University," Jack said in a desperate attempt to pull his father back to reality. "I haven't declared yet but I'm considering creative writing. Not fantasy, of course, but I think I have a knack for drama."

Marcus stared ahead blankly, processing the words, but then he shook his head. "Don't bother. None of that matters."

Jack wanted to run out of the library, out of the house, put as much distance between himself and his father. He wanted to turn the table over and throw every copy of The War of the Roads into the fire. But instead he just stood there and watched his father read through another creased page.

"Dad," Jack said.

"It won't be long. I have felt Cera's presence in my dreams. I have–"

"Look at me, damn it!" Jack shouted, pounding his hands on the table. Marcus shook, losing his grip on the paper and blinked at Jack as if seeing him for the first time. "I didn't fly halfway across the country to hear your crazy ramblings. I have a life now and it doesn't involve you. For once, I can be my own person and that began the day I left this house."

Marcus raised his eyebrows. "You left this house because you were an ungrateful brat. I gave you everything-"

"But you were never here! And I couldn't stand everyone else telling me how lucky I was to be your son!"

"Don't turn this into some spat with me, boy. This is bigger than you."

It was like a cold slap in the face. "Of course, it's always bigger than me."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Ever since I was born, this..." Jack picked up a nearby copy of the Official Guildron Atlas. "...has always been bigger than me!"

"You don't understand."

"And I never will!" Jack shouted, throwing the book on the table. "Why do you think I left in the first place?"

"Because I spoiled you when I should have been preparing you."

The comment was meant as an insult, but Jack was far too confused to be offended. "Preparing me for what?"

"The truth," Marcus said with a sense of finality. He held Jack's gaze for another moment, before dropping into a chair and opening a thick tome.

For a full minute, Jack watched his father, his head filled with things he wanted to shout at Marcus. Old feelings of hatred and resentment suddenly awoke in him, feelings borne out of a thousand little arguments, a thousand disappointed glances, and a thousand other people who had told him how lucky he was.

He thought of Kate, the first extraordinary thing to happen in his life and how, with a simple lie, he might lose her. Jack knew he only had himself to blame for that, but it didn't stop him from hating his father even more.

All of his rage and frustration threatened to boil over when, suddenly, Jack took another look at his father. Suddenly, in that instant, he wasn't angry anymore. He didn't see his father as an oppressive, self-obsessed, egomaniac. Instead, Jack saw an old man whose mind had collapsed under the weight of his imaginary world.

Suddenly, Jack couldn't feel angry toward his father. Instead, he simply felt sorry for him. Here, after a lifetime of fame and success, Marcus Ward sat alone in his mansion, lost in his own creation.

"I'm sorry," Jack heard himself say.

Marcus's eyes paused and without looking up from the page, he uttered, "No, I should be apologizing."

That came as a shock. Never in his life had Marcus apologized to anyone for anything.

"I should have prepared you better," Marcus said, "for what is to come."