Otherworld: A Son of Two Realms

Chapter 74: "Father & Son"

"To start with, I'm dead."

Marcus said this with such cavalier, like he was telling Jack the sky was blue.

"Yeah, I remember," Jack said, his heart racing, still not fully recovered from his father's sudden appearance. But it wasn't just that his father was here. The last time he'd seen Marcus, the man had been dirty, unshaven, and completely detached from reality. The Marcus Ward standing before him now was the man found on the back flap of The War of the Roads novels; the effortlessly charming, quietly brilliant author who could ace an interview and work a room of critics with ease.

"I'm not your father." Marcus paused, scratching his eyebrow. "Wait, let me start back. That wasn't the best fact to open with. I mean, the person you see standing before you is not Marcus Ward. I'm a shard, a memory of your father that he implanted in that pen."

Jack glanced down at the ink pen with a newfound scrutiny, but still saw nothing special about it. "How could he even do that? I thought there was no magic on Earth?"

"As you know, your father..." Marcus paused again. "I suppose I should just refer to myself for sanity's sake. As you know, I spent a long time studying portals and what they could do. Turns out, portals aren't just for transporting you to your destination. They can also transport your destination to you, in a way. I figured out how to turn that book into a doorway to Guildron without ever leaving Earth. It's true that Earth has no magic, so, I brought the magic to Earth. It wasn't perfect and I wasn't nearly as powerful as I was in Guildron, but it gave me enough to perform a few small tricks, one of which was saving part of myself in this pen."

"So, you're like a clone of my dad?"

"Not quite. Think of me more as a living memoir. A guide to help you navigate this new world."

"A guide? But then why didn't you give this to me before I got the book?"

"Before?" Marcus furrowed his brow. "You didn't get the pen first?"

Jack shook his head. "I found the book in an envelope on your desk. It took my to Guildron and when I got back, I found the pen in your safety deposit box, with your journal."

Marcus slumped his shoulders in disappointment. "You've already been to Guildron and back?"

"It's a long story."

"Damn that Cera! I was going to drop the book in the mail a few days before...you know...so that you didn't get it until after...well, that's what I get for trying to plan ahead." He shook his head and waved his hand. "No matter, I suppose. Que sera, and all. You still came back with the pen."

"And why did you want me to bring it?"

"Why?" Marcus repeated, his voice distant. "How many times you must have asked that of me. After I died so mysteriously, after I sent you here without explanation, after you realized the truth of Guildron. I left you with so many questions, Jack. I think that is what I regret the most."

Jack knew that the image before his eyes was not real. He knew this Marcus was an illusion, an elaborate magic trick. But the way the illusion spoke, the regret that soaked each word, left no doubt that he truly was speaking to his father. Across time and across death, Marcus was talking to him.

"I knew that I would die soon," Marcus said. "Cera's grip grew tight, choking my mind. If you saw me before the end, I'm sure I appeared senile, at best. I should have told you sooner but how could I have found the words to describe all of this? How could I have made you believe? I sent you to Guildron because it was the only way to show you where you come from."