by Stefan Lear
From his left side he heard a snarl. He turned just in time to dodge the sharp claws of the barghest. His shirt was sliced but his shoulder had survived with millimeters to spare. He turned and watched as the barghest turned to make another charge.
Paul took a stance, his right foot planted behind the left. He brought his hands up even to his face level, palms facing toward the beast. Paul’s stand seemed to anger the beast and it made another charge. As the barghest lunged at him, Paul summoned his will and grabbed the beast in midair and tossed it over his head, slamming it to the ground.
It made a whimper as it collided with the ground, but was back on it’s feet, warily pacing back and forth watching Paul, realizing in its own that it now faced an opponent instead of prey. The barghest paced warily, stalking Paul as it timed its next attack. It saw Paul smile, and that enraged the creature. It sprinted toward Paul with all its strength. It would bite a hole through his spine. It wouldn’t play with it’s prey like it usually did.
The moment it lunged, Paul hit his knee, extended his will toward the barghest and picked it up in the air and used the upward momentum of his toss to extend the range of the barghest’s lunge. It went up and over the chain fence that separated the walkway from the banks of the river. Paul heard a loud hissing sound and then a loud explosion.
“That sounded painful,” Paul said to Magnus as he turned toward him.
“Good job. Don’t let it get to your head.”
Paul saw a figure approaching them, walking toward the direction of the Broadway Bridge. “What should we do?”
“Wait a minute,” Magnus told Paul. “Let’s see who it is first before we do anything. Relax for a minute.”
“Standing down momentarily.”
The stranger looked to be a man. He was almost to the concrete staircase now. He seemed to be walking with purpose. As he passed out of the shadow of the concrete, he started slowly clapping. Each clap was thunderous. It was a slow staccato, each clap measured an purposeful. “Bravo,” the man yelled loudly to them. “Bravo.”
Paul looked over his shoulder at Magnus, who stood with crossed arms watching both him and the approaching man. “It’s another test isn’t it, you old corn-hole?” Paul smiled and turned back toward the approaching man.
The man continued to advance, still clapping. Paul changed his stance to one that was more ready to defend or attack. The man walked into the light from the streetlamp and all color drained from Paul’s face. The man stopped clapping and stood just feet from Paul.
“Hey, son. It’s been a long time.”
Paul just stood there slack-jawed. The memory of his mother being brutally stabbed flashed in front of him. All he could see was his mother’s agony as the blade slipped into her chest again and again. Seven times she had been stabbed with the blade. He had watched helplessly, unable to defend her and too scared to move. He had watched the man with steeled jaw stab her the seventh time, leave the blade in and turn to face him. There was no emotion he could find on that face, the face of his father, the face of the man that now stood before him with a smile on his face.
Paul shook his head back and forth. “No. No,” he breathed. “It can’t be.”
“It’s me.” The man shrugged. “Dear old Dad.”
This man had stripped him of his childhood. Because of his actions Paul’s had been harder than it would have been. Anger started in his crotch and boiled upwards. It was heated by the time it reached his stomach, and hot and righteous by the time it reached his throat.
With every bit of uncontrollable rage inside he yelled “I hate you! Why don’t you just DIE.” With that last word a spiraling tempest of flames erupted from his hands, directed at his father.
His father shielded himself from the flames and braced himself against the onslaught. The flames continued for ten or more seconds. When they stopped, he looked up. Paul was in an aggressor stance and was reaching toward him with a mental grip. It took considerable effort to knock it aside.
Paul wasn’t finished. Ball after ball of energy was launched toward the man that stood before him. The man that had killed his mother. Paul wanted him to suffer like she had. As Paul threw the last energy ball toward his father, he formed a shield on the left side of his father and swept it toward him. It knocked him off balance just as the energy ball hit and knocked him off his feet.
Paul ran toward him and jumped atop him. With pure rage and fists he began assaulting his father. The blows opened cuts on his fathers face and sent satisfaction cresting through his body in waves of satisfaction.
The man raised his palms up toward Paul and pushed upward. Paul went flying and landed on his back. “Enough,” the man yelled. Paul started getting to his feet. “You’ve trained my son well, Magnus.”
“Thank you. He’s as stubborn as his mother.”
Paul was stunned into silence by the exchange between his father and his mentor. He felt like he had been punched in the gut. “Tell me it’s not true, Magnus.” Paul’s eyes showed confusion.
“Do you remember when I told you that this would be neither easy nor light on you? This isn’t even the hardest part. It was your father that had me train you as I trained him. What you have become is because he wanted it so.”
Paul shook his head. “It can’t be.” He staggered to his feet and backed away from the men. He turned and fled toward downtown.
“Paul!” His father called after him.
“Let him go. He just had his reality turned inside out, killed a barghest, and fought a father he thought was dead. He’ll be okay after he’s had some time to process everything. Besides, he kicked your ass.”
“He did get the best of me, didn’t he?”
“Yes he did.”
“You’ve done a fine job training him, my friend.”
“I think I did a fine job,” Magnus said proudly.
“Hey, let’s go have a drink just like old times. Tell each other lies and see who has a worse hangover tomorrow. What do ya say Magnus?”
“Sounds good to me.”
With that they walked toward the closest bar in downtown.
Chapter 11
Paul sat at his desk, sipping on coffee and nursing a hangover. His sense of betrayal still reached his brain even through the fog of alcohol that soaked his brain this morning. The man that had been his mentor for the last chapter of his life was friends of his dad, the man that had brutally killed his mother. His head was still spinning from the sudden revelation last night.
Magnus had shaped him into who he is today, had saved him from being murdered. Magnus had taught him to use magic, to be able to stand on his own and defend himself against anything life threw him. But Paul had not prepared for this. Magnus knew how he felt about his father, the loathing and rage he felt. He had lied to Paul this whole time. Not once had Magnus ever told him he knew his father, much less that Magnus was friends with him. Who could he trust now?
Paul took a sip of coffee and tried to piece it together. He turned on the radio hoping music would soothe and distract him. Little Broken Hearts played. He closed his eyes to relax. He calmed his thoughts as much as he could. After a few minutes, his head didn’t throb so much and he could relax to a degree.
Paul was jarred by a knock on the door. He ignored it. He didn’t want to be disturbed today. Another knock at the door. “Go away,” he said in a raised voice.
The front door of his apartment swung open. Paul swiveled in his chair to see Magnus standing in the doorway.
“Go away,” Paul angrily said. “You’re not welcome here.”
Magnus entered the apartment and closed the door behind him. “Look, Paul, I get that you’re upset. Probably more than a little mad. I don’t blame you. But there are some truths you need to hear. None of it’s pleasant or feel-good stuff. But you have to come to grips with all of this.”
“You mean the fact that you’re friends with the man that killed my mother. Or the fact that you never bothered to tell me.”
“There are reasons for my deception.” Magnus stared at him. “What I did might be wrong, but it served a purpose.”
“Yeah? What purpose was that? To destroy my trust and alienate me? Congratulations, mission accomplished.”
“No. It was to protect you. The way you were inducted into the world of magic was screwed up. But because of who you are, you don’t have the luxury of letting hurt feelings cloud your thoughts. Do you remember when I told you that most of what you consider fact is nothing more than a fiction crafted to keep you safe from the stark realities and lies of the magic world?”
“Yeah, I remember. It’s becoming more clear every day.” Paul’s words were soaked in sarcasm.
“You have no idea, Paul, just how far down the rabbit hole goes. But since you were never given a choice between the red pill and blue pill, you have to deal with it. That’s your burden. You inherited a fucked up reality. I’ve done what I can to shelter you from it, but it finally caught up. So now it’s my job to prepare you for it.”
“I don’t think your services will be required anymore, Magnus.”
“Let me ask you something. If you can answer it truthfully, I’ll leave you alone and you can carry on with your life without me.”
“Go, ahead, ask away,” Paul said. He took a drink of his coffee and waited.
“Besides the seven times that your dad stabbed your mother, what else do you remember about her? What color were her eyes? What was she wearing when she died? What were your parents doing before that, right before that? Were they arguing, fighting? You should be able to remember something as significant as that.”
Paul held the coffee cup and thought about it. “My mother was wearing a dress when she was stabbed. She had a snake pendant around her neck, and her eyes were green.”
“Ok, what else do you remember?”
Paul thought hard about it. All he saw from memory was his father raising a knife in his hand and stabbing his mother in the torso. It was like watching an action film scene in slow motion. “I remember my father stabbing my mother seven time with a knife, her screaming while it happened, and when he finished he looked at me. That’s all I remember.”
“That’s it, huh? No other details. Have you ever wondered why you can’t remember what happened before that? Or anything that happened directly after that? Did the cops show up and take your father away in cuffs, did he just walk out the door never to be heard from again?”
“I don’t remember. How many times do I have to tell you? People sometimes don’t remember traumatic events.”
“That’s true. Trauma can cause temporary memory loss. Or people can suppress their memories. But in each case there is always a relating negative behavior, some maladjustment. Have you suffered from maladjustment, Paul, or has your life been fairly normal? Well, normal except for some missing memories.”
Paul thought about the question. He had to admit he had a fairly engaging life. Life had been pretty good up to now. “What are you saying? That I’ve had a good life in spite of the fact that my dad killed my mother? Ok, I’ll give you that.”
“No Paul, that’s not what I’m telling you. I’m telling you that you led a normal life because those memories of your father stabbing your mother never happened. They’re implanted memories. They were given to you to protect you and to hide you. That’s what I’m telling you.”
“What? That’s just wacked. Who would want to give me fake memories? It doesn’t even make sense.”
Magnus stared at Paul. Stared until he saw the wheels turning in Paul’s eyes. There they were. The questions that started challenging the reality Paul had grown up with. “I planted those thoughts in your head, Paul, and allowed them to grow over the years. If anyone can be held responsible for your hate toward your dad, it’s me.”
Paul stared at him and searched his face. Paul looked for hints of deception. He could see none. That didn’t mean they didn’t exist, though.
“I don’t believe you. Why would you give me memories that were blatant lies, Magnus? It doesn’t make sense. Because if my memories are just lies, then my mother is still alive.”
Magnus said nothing. He just waited for the dawning to spread across Paul’s face. Magnus sat there stoically. Then it began, the dawning.
“Wait, you mean to tell me that... You’re telling me that my mother is alive?” Paul was stupefied. “Where is she, then? If what you’re saying is true, why hasn’t she tried to contact me?”
“That was the whole reason for the memories. You were safer thinking your mother is dead so that you wouldn’t seek her out. After many long discussions your dad and I decided it was the best course of action to keep you safe.”
“Safe.” Paul tasted the sound of the word. “Safer from what?”
“Safe from your mother, Paul. That’s who we wanted to keep you safe from.”
“My mother?” Paul asked incredulously. “If my mother is alive, why would you need to keep me away from her? She my mom!”
“True, she is your Mom. But you wouldn’t be safe with her. While you were still a child, your mom and dad were both powerful people. Their magic was strong. They might have been the most powerful couple in the country. As you grew older, their power grew, too. Then a group of people called The Restoration came into the picture. They began talking to your mother, seducing her with promises of power and the chance to rule over the earth.”
“Where did this group The Restoration come from,” Paul asked.
“No one is exactly sure when they rose to power, but they were powerful and had followers everywhere. From the clergy to the the highest offices of government. I think at first your mother just wanted to keep you safe, and her decision to join them was fostered by her desire for your safety. I mean, how safe would you be if your mother ran the world? No one would be able to touch you.”
“So she joined The Restoration?”
“Yes. At first it was out of desire to protect her family. Later, though, the power and breadth of The Restoration seduced her more and more to the dark side. As she grew in rank, she grew in power and influence. There were few that could challenge her. But you, being the child of two powerful beings, you might eventually challenge her throne. Your father watched helplessly as your mother became obsessed with her newfound powers. He wouldn’t challenge your mother, though. He loved her too much. And though he might have been able to beat her in a challenge, those that followed your mother would have come after him and you, so he decided that it was better to give you some false memories and suppress others. We always believed that if you thought your mother were dead, you wouldn’t try to find her. And not finding her or wanting to find your mother has kept you safe.”
“Wow. This is as fantastical as the day I found out magic is real.”
“Yeah, it’s a lot to take in all at once. You need to hear it from someone that was there during your mother’s whole seduction. Her gradual embrace of being evil.” Magnus saw that Paul had already guessed saw what he was going to say. “Your father loves you Paul. He gave up being in your life to make sure you were safe. Does that sound like the actions of the kind of man you remember?”
“It might. But if I do remember him that way, its your fault. Just how fucked up do you have to be to make a child think that one of his parents killed the other?”
Magnuson smiled with irony. “You have no idea how twisted it is. You also have no idea just how successful it was.”
“So if I meet my dad, it’s on my terms and where I say to meet. Deal?”
“Deal.” Magnuson reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Is this where you want to meet him?” He handed the paper to Paul.
Paul unfolded the paper and glanced at Magnuson. “Yeah. That’s the place.”
“I’ll let him know, then.” Magnuson turned and walked towards the apartment door. He grabbed the handle and looked back over his shoulder. “And Paul? I really am sorry for everything. But I think our decision was a successful one. You tur
ned into a fine man that any father would be proud of.”
With that Magnuson turned the door handle and walked out.
Chapter 12
Paul came here after he talked with Magnuson last time. This was the tournament field where he had been trained by Magnuson. Here he had been taught to use his will to defend himself and smash his opponent. Everything was set.
Paul waited for his dad to arrive and went over what he wanted to say. There were so many things to say, so many questions to ask. He didn’t know where to start. There were so many, all of them just as important as the next. Mostly it all led to the same question: what every made you think the best course of action was to let me think my mother was dead?
“Hello, Paul.”
Paul turned around to see his father stand less than twenty feet from him. A ball of tangled conflicted emotions settled in Paul’s gut. What did he call him? Father, bastard, betrayer, Mr. Logan...there was no easy choice for Paul.
Paul chose the least difficult. “Hello, Mr. Logan.”
““Mr. Logan, is that what I am now?”
“Yes, to me, that’s who you are. You have to earn the title of father, and you’ve done little to earn that title from me.”
Paul’s father shrugged his shoulders a little. “If that’s how it has to be, then Mr. Logan it is then.” He stared at his son, pride filling his chest. “Can I at least shake your hand? I doubt you want a hug right now.”
“Sure,” Paul said and stuck out his hand. Paul would give no ground to this man. His father walked to him, hand outstretched to Paul. As their hands clasped the others, Paul dropped and rolled backwards, lifting his feet to his chest. As he rolled he pulled his dad down with him until his father’s chest landed on the soles of his feet. With every ounce of strength and anger Paul had, he launched his dad into the air.
As soon as he pushed his dad with his legs, Paul rolled and sprang to his feet. He quickly gathered his will and sent a blast of energy hurling toward his dad. The blast was effective and threw his dad against the trunk of a nearby tree. Mr. Logan thudded against the tree, rattling the leaves. He fell to the ground, and groaned. It was a few seconds before he attempted to get up off the forest floor. When he did rise, he started chuckling. “That was a hell of a punch. Magnuson trained you well.”
