We went through all of the usual ceremonies, where I said all of the appropriate things to all of the appropriate people, and everyone treated me with the kindness and consideration due to a supposedly devastated spouse. Everyone, that is, except Alden.
I knew he was grieving. He had been far closer to this mother than he was to me. I tried to do what I could -- tried to be the same sort of caring father I had been with Ajiana -- but he was so different. He was hot-headed and unforgiving, and nothing I did seemed to work. When I gave him the guitar I had had made for Fjord that Snowflake Day, intending to try to talk to him about her, he just glared at me and yanked it out of my hand then stalked off to the treehouse at the back of the property.
He spent a lot of time there, alone. Or he spent his time in the barn with Jocelyn and Derrick, talking about forming a band. His grades started to suffer. His language and behavior became more and more problematic. It seemed like the more I tried to get close to him, the more he pushed me away, and the more trouble he got into -- maybe to get attention, or maybe just to spite me.
One particular night it was Beryl, the last of our horses, who caught him behind the barn, where he was painting another of his "masterpieces."
She pranced over to where he was working, and whinnied a greeting. "Shush," he snapped as he sprayed another color over the others. "Stupid horse. Get lost."
She snorted at that, poking at his jacket with her muzzle, looking for an apple.
"Beryl?" Jonas called her name as he walked through the snow, finding his way in the bright list cast from the cabin windows. "Where'd you go? Time to get inside."
"I said shush," Alden whispered, pushing the horse's nose away as she nickered. "Go on!"
But Jonas heard the commotion and came around to the back of the barn. "There you are, girl," he called to the mare. "And Alden. What are you doing out -- oh." He frowned at the painted letters marring the bright red finish of the wood.
"FINE! Alden threw down his spray can, defiantly. He was quick as ever to anger. "Go rat me out to my dad so he can come yell at me again."
Jonas raised an eyebrow, not about to be goaded that easily. "When has he ever yelled at you before?"
"You know what I mean," Alden spat. "He doesn't get it. He just gets angry."
"Not angry," Jonas drawled. "More like disappointed. Which I suppose is worse."
Alden's cheeks flushed red, and his hands balled up into fists as he stood his ground. "That's just because I don't follow him around like his dog, hunting for nuts and berries like you do. I'm an artist, and a musician, not some idiot who writes children's fairy tales like they're classic literature, and then pretends he's a survivalist out in the woods all day."
"OK, listen you little punk." Jonas finally lost his cool. "I know your mom just died, but your father's not an idiot, and you need--"
"Of COURSE you defend him. You always do! It's not my fault he likes you better than me. That's his fault, and--"
"KNOCK IT OFF. Both of you." The two of them were practically snarling at each other, and so I had to shout to be heard as I walked up beside them. I laid a hand on Beryl's mane to calm her down, and then nodded Jonas toward the door to the stables. "Go get her some fresh hay for the night. Alden, come inside. I need to talk to you."
"I'm not finished."
"You are. And tomorrow you'll be out here cleaning this up."
He just stared at me, arms crossed, sullen and furious for reasons I didn’t understand. I stared back until he finally relented, kicking his spray cans back into their sack, and gathering it all up. "You're such a…"
I couldn't make out the rest of the mumbled sentence, but I was pretty sure it wasn't flattering. "Come on," I repeated. "Downstairs."
He took his time coming down to the cellar, but when he did, he stared around in wonder. "So this is where you spend all of your time?"
The small room was cramped and crowded with boxes and bins, crates and books, gems and plants and jars full of strange concoctions. All of my supplies were down here, collected over the years I'd been in Aurora Skies, and carefully preserved for all of the charms and potions I would have to craft. It was a true alchemist's workshop and unlike anything he had likely ever seen before.
"Yes," I answered him, tossing a handful of powdered sapphire into the cauldron. "And I wanted to show it to you. You're old enough now, and it's time you learn your true heritage. I need to explain things to you -- the reasons I sometimes don't spend as much time with you as you might like, or the reasons I might do things that seem strange to you. You need to understand who you really are, the secrets I've kept from you, and what all of this is."
He waved his hand in front of his nose as the cauldron sparked and simmered. "What it is, is disgusting," he snorted. "Holy cow, dad. That reeks, and this place is full of junk. What's the big secret, you're a hoarder?"
"No, I -- what? No." I blinked at him for a moment, until the cauldron started to boil over and I turned my attention back to the potion brewing within. "This is alchemy, Alden. Just like in the books I wrote -- the books about Ajri. These are the charms I wrote about. This is the magic. And you and I... you and I are den'Rhelys heirs."
If this were a movie, there probably would have been a dramatic swell in the soundtrack, and Alden probably would have stepped forward, intrigued and amazed as I turned to regard him with a proud smile. Instead, he just stared at me, suspiciously. "What?"
"In the books, you remember? There was a character named Jaffaran."
"Yeah... so?" He cocked his head, looking at me warily.
"So that's me. I'm Jaffaran."
His brow furrowed. "Like... You mean you based the character on you or something?"
I shook my head, watching him with an earnest expression. "No. I mean, I'm Jaffaran. I was sent here from Ajri to try to save it. I need to create a new line of heirs to take back with me to reseal the Gate."
"Sheeyah," he scoffed. "And Jonas is Torin. And Ilsa is some talking squirrel who gives advice to the wise old elders so they can bring balance to the Force or whatever. No, wait! I know... I know..." He paused, then adopted a serious, deep voice: "I'm Batman."
"Squirrels don't talk," I answered calmly. "And you're Alden den'Rhelys. The next heir to our house."
"WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" He raised his voice to a frustrated shout. "I'm Alden Dempster. Heir to nothing but your piles of junk! The house belongs to the Ingbergs, remember? We're nothing! We’re freeloaders!"
"Alden, I know this is hard for you to understand--"
"I understand more than you think," he snapped, cutting me off. "I understand you're INSANE."
"I need you to believe me," I pleaded with him. "Alden, please. I am here because my mother sent me here with a powerful spell. I have to found a dynasty of den'Rhelys heirs. Nine generations. You know this. I've told you all of this, in the stories I've been telling you since you were a child. You read the books. The Gate was opened. Ajri is in danger. Jaffaran was sent away to bring back nine generations, to re-seal the portal, and..."
"JAFFARAN IS A STUPID CHARACTER IN A STUPID FAIRY TALE! There's no Ajri, and you're no hero. You're just an ordinary guy with some serious delusions and a giant pile of other people's garbage off Craigslist." He waved his hands around to take in all of the collected items I had gathered in the workshop.
"Please, Alden. I'll show you. The potion I'm brewing is a simple one, but it will prove to you that alchemy is real. One sip... one drop in a glass of water and whoever drinks it will fall fast asleep."
"That will get you arrested, dad! It's not magic, it's a crime."
I blinked at him for a long moment, running out of things to say. This was going even worse than I had expected.
"Right," he finally said. "So, tell me this: have you always believed this story? You're a magic hero, with a magic quest? Nine generations and all that?"
I hesitated, uncomfortable with the characterization, but then nodded. "It's not a story," I said earnestly. "It's who I am."
Alden scratched at his wrist for a moment, nodding a few times as he looked at the floor. "Got it," he said at last. "At least now I know why you married mom. And I know where I fit in. We're all just part of your master plan."
"Alden, no... wait. You're my son and--"
"And heir to the Great but Fictional House of the den'Rhelys," he said sarcastically as he walked toward the exit. "Like I said. I got it."
"That's not what I was going to say, Alden. You're my son and I love you. But you have to believe me. This is all true!" But it was too late. I was talking to the empty ladder as he disappeared out of the basement.