The World to Come
by Eildon Rhymer
What if the Dark had won at the end of Silver on the Tree? The world is sliding into darkness, and only tattered remnants of the Light remain. Will, Bran and the Drews grow to adulthood, and each to their own destiny in this World to Come.
Part one: chapter twelve
The last dayI will never have to see any of them ever again, he thought, as he left the school for the last time.
They flapped around him. They follow him like waves in the wake of a ship. A few asked him to write. Most said little, though. I don't think they ever really liked me, Bran thought. But they followed him, and perhaps that was enough.
He was eighteen years old, and a man in the eyes of the law. Of course, he thought, and it was almost a sad thought, he could be anything in the eyes of the law. The law was the word of his dark guardian, who called himself Mr Mitothin. If the people in power said that black was white, and the sun came out in the evening, there would always be foolish sheep to believe it.
"I can't believe it's over."
Bran did not turn round. Simon Drew, he thought, recognising the voice.
"What are you going to do now, Pendragon?" It was a humble voice, but not so humble as Bran would have expected, when Simon had first come to his school.
He had not meant to answer, but he found himself doing so. There was a scent of summer in the air, and perhaps that made things different. "I haven't decided yet. My guardian has a place for me, but…"
"I wanted to be a doctor once," Simon said, "but that changed when I was… when I was at my last school. But I think I did pretty well on my A-levels."
Bran slowly clenched his fist, fingers curling onto his palm. "Do you really think that A-levels are going to be of the slightest important in the world that is coming?"
"Won't they?" Simon let out a breath. "I suppose they won't. You're right."
"You always say I'm right," Bran said, with a bitterness that surprised even himself. "You all do."
"We're scared of what you'll do if we don't."
The last day was over, and school was ended. The world was ahead of them, or Simon would never have dared say a thing like that. Bran knew he ought to shout at him, but all he wanted to do was stand in a place where no-one could see his face.
"My guardian's really high up in government," he said. His voice sounded strange, alien. "If I go and work for him, I'll be in a position to help anyone I know. I'll need people…"
"No," Simon said.
It hurt. Bran had no idea why it hurt. He turned round, his expression hidden by his glasses.
"I'm not a fool," Simon said. "I had an awful time at my old school, and that changed me. Then I came here, and I recognised you. No, not you personally, but the sort of person you were. You let me into the fringes of your circle, and that was good. It gave me the freedom to begin, just a little bit, to regain what I'd lost. But you didn't fool me into worshipping you. I know a bully when I see one. I know one all too well."
I'm not… Bran turned his back again. He knew what his dark guardian would say - that he had failed with Simon, because he had not properly won him to his cause. Simon Drew would be a good ally to have, a perfect way to hurt the last who remained of the Light. Through Simon he could reach the other Drew children, and then he could turn to the Stanton family, too, until there was not a single person left whom Will had known, who had not turned against his memory and his cause.
He still did not know why he had been unable to do it. He should have recruited Simon, or despised him. Instead, he had merely tolerated him, and ignored him, and this was his reward.
"I'm not necessarily going to do what my guardian wants me to do," he felt the need to say. "I make my own choices."
But he looked ahead, and he saw only emptiness. Other boys dreamed of travelling, but there was nowhere in the world that was hidden from the eyes of the Dark. Some spoke of study, or careers, but all such things filled Bran with bleakness. He had ruled this school, but the world outside was the one that had despised him.
I'm afraid, he admitted sometimes, in the darkness of the night. And his dark guardian came and offered, and he could see no ending to it.
Simon began to walk away, a man's footsteps on the gravel of the drive. There were no goodbyes.
Bran could not stop himself. "If you ever meet a boy called Will Stanton, tell him…"
Simon stopped. "What?"
Bran looked at his empty hands. "Nothing. And he is dead."
End of chapter twelve