Otherworld: A Son of Two Realms

Chapter 21: "Inquisition"

"You've made quite a fuss in a short time," Cera said, breaking some of the tension that still hung in the room. "I hear you told them your name."

"They asked," Jack replied.

"Perhaps a name doesn't carry as much weight in your world," Cera said, walking to the first row of benches. As he sat down at the end of the bench and relaxed his body, Jack caught a glimpse of his true age. "Especially your name."

"And what weight does my name carry here?" Jack asked, stepping over to the bench across from Cera's. The old man's eyes followed Jack as he sat, analyzing him with terrifying intensity.

"I saw that you knew the meaning of my name the moment that soldier said it. And yet, you don't know the meaning of your own."

Was that a riddle? Jack thought. "My name has no meaning. Jackson literally means son of Jack and my father's name-"

"Was Marcus," Cera finished. "Marcus Ward."

Jack blinked. "You knew him?"

That seemed to surprise Cera. "I called him brother, once. Didn't he ever tell you how he earned his name?"

"Earned?"

"Did your father tell you nothing?" Cera said with a crooked grin.

Suddenly, some of Marcus's final words flashed through Jack's mind: 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.

"Marcus was not always a Ward," Cera said. "To be named a Ward of the Realm is a great honor, one that can only be given by a King, very rarely, to individuals who have performed heroic feats and saved the realm from defeat or disaster. That is how Marcus and I earned our names."

"Cera Ward?" Jack said. In the books, Cera had no name. He was just Cera. Like Bono. "But how did dad earn that name?"

"By helping me save the realm, of course."

So casually were Cera words that Jack didn't fully comprehend them at first. Then, it began to sink in.

"Your father and I earned it the day we smashed Kurzon's horde at the Red River. For years after, we shared that name as brothers, driving the brigands back across the Dragon's Teeth to their pox-infested continent, and holding the peace for nearly two decades. Wayland granted us the name after the war, though it was a somewhat paltry offering considering we had just saved the realm he was about to lose."

Jack had stopped listening. In his mind, he recalled his father, sitting in the library at his desk, wearing a tweed coat and horn rimmed glasses, writing on a legal pad. That man, who once fired a chef using the wrong type of cheese in a sandwich, had led 80,000 Kingsmen against an army of bloodthirsty thugs.

The whole idea was so absurd, Jack couldn't help himself but laugh.

Cera's brow furrowed in concern. "This amuses you?"

"This surprises me. I never saw my father as a warlord."

"Warlords do not posses magic," Cera corrected. "We are called warlocks."

If Cera had gone on to describe them riding dragons over rainbows, Jack wouldn't have been more shocked. "Magic?"

In response, Cera glanced up at the iron chandelier above them. There was a flash of fire and suddenly all of the candles burned brightly. Cera titled his head to one side and the yellow flames flickered to blue, then green, then black. Then, a stiff puff of air blew through the courthouse, extinguishing the candles. "Magic."

Jack thought back, feverishly searching his memory for any possible clue of his father's magical ability. But there was nothing.

If Marcus had magic, why hadn't he used it? Though he had died the richest author of his time, Jack remembered a time before the money, back when Marcus had struggled to raise a son with just his writing advances. And if he really had magic, couldn't he have done something to save Emily?

"I can see this is a lot for you to take in," Cera said. "And I can tell this world is foreign to you. Yet I am curious how you recognized my name."

"That's a long story," Jack said, his voice distant. "Dad wrote about this world, but...it was a fantasy world."

"Fantasy?"

Jack fumbled for the right words. "Dad wrote books about Guildron but he told everyone they were just stories he'd made up. He never told me it was real, or that he came from here."

"Made up?" Cera laughed at that. "Hah, so that old bastard left me here to run off and become some bard in another world."

Jack smiled too. For the Champion of the Realm, Cera was surprisingly approachable and for the first time since his arrival, Jack had the feeling that everything would be all right.

"You were actually the main character," Jack said. "And his books are incredible successful. Pretty much anyone in my world knows you as a sort of mythic hero."

Cera laughed again. "Imagine that. I am a hero in two worlds."

"Yeah but in my world, you're imaginary," Jack said, joining in Cera's infectious laughter.

"Your world sounds like a strange place indeed. I'd very much like to visit it and see why Marcus decided to abandon us there."

"I wouldn't mind getting back there myself."

"Quite right," Cera said, wiping a tear from his eye as the laughter finally subsided. "Well, lead on."

"Okay, I'm on it!" Jack said, as if he was finishing a joke. But then Cera stopped laughing.

"Go on."

Jack looked around the courtroom, as if Cera was referring to something he couldn't see. "I don't understand."

"Take us to your world."

"I can't."

Cera's smile dipped. "What do you mean? You brought yourself here. I believe you that Marcus didn't explain our world but I can't imagine he would send you here without a way back."

A tingling sensation crept up the back of Jack's neck, a primal instinct that something was wrong. "He didn't tell me anything."

Any hint of humor left Cera's face. "You cannot reopen the portal to your world?"

"Sorry," Jack said, unsure of how else to make that clear. "I'm not even entirely sure how I got here in the first place."

Cera stood, his presence towering over Jack. He was silent for a long moment, then said, "You know, many people say that magic is a gift. This is a simplification. Magic is a tool, like a hammer, meant to be used for a purpose. And like a hammer, magic can used to both build and tear down."

A tingling sensation drew Jack's attention to his back of his mouth.

"Unfortunately, there are no spells that force people to tell the truth," Cera said, stepping forward. "This has compelled me to develop more...inventive uses for magic."

Jack opened his mouth and felt around his teeth. The molar in the back left was twitching, each movement sending tiny, sharp pains through his jaw.

"These uses have proved most effective in the past," Cera said, now standing directly over Jack. "I want you to know that I will learn the truth. The only question is how long it will take you to admit it."