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 two: chapter five

Like strangers in the night

When the door opened, Merriman opened his eyes, but did not move. He was sitting in the battered leather armchair in the corner, still wrapped in the dark coat he wore outside. The fire had burnt down to almost nothing, and the candles remained unlit in their wall sconces. The room was cold enough for his breath to turn to steam, wreathing around his face.

Will entered quietly, closing the door behind him. He did not see Merriman. Merriman's shoulders slumped a little when he noticed that. He was not deliberately hiding. Will ought to have been instantly aware of him. The fact that he remained unaware spoke of a truth that Merriman wished was not true.

Will leant back against the door for over a minute, his eyes closed, head leaning back against the scarred wood. When he finally walked to the fire, his steps were weary. He was limping, and his right arm was pressed to his side, guarding an injury either in the limb, or on the side itself.

He knelt down in front of the fire. Merriman heard him suck in a sharp breath as the movement pained him, but no pain showed on his face. Even when he thinks himself unwatched… There was too much sorrow in that thought.

There was a crate of chopped logs beside the fire, and Will reached into it with his left hand, and threw one log into the fire, and then another. The fire darkened for a moment, then brightened, throwing its flickering light onto Will's weary face. It made the shadows seem deeper, or maybe Will had lost more weight since Merriman had last seen him. Maybe the shadows would be there even in the brightest sunlight.

Will held his left hand out to the fire, palm outwards. It was not a gesture of power, but the gesture of a freezing man who needed warmth. His face visibly tightened with pain as he brought the right hand out to join it. There was no blood on it. That at least was something.

He thought himself alone. Merriman felt a sudden stab of guilt at watching him like this, although it was his right. He had spent thousands of years watching unseen. People showed things when they thought no-one was watching. If he knew I was here, Merriman thought, would he show even this much pain? He thought the answer was no.

He was not aware of moving, but the chair creaked gently beneath him. Will whirled round, his hands outstretched in warding. "It's me, Will," Merriman said softly. "It's only me."

Will lowered his hands. Merriman could see the breath painted in the air, shallow and fast.

"I startled you," Merriman said. "I'm sorry. I should have used mind-speech first." The sense of an Old One, mind to mind, could not be replicated even by the Dark. Everything else could.

"I shouldn't have been startled." Will did not move from the fire. His back was half turned to Merriman, his face slightly shielded.

"Yes," Merriman said. "Yes, you should have. With the things we are facing, and the things our enemies are capable of, it is better to err on the side of over-caution."

Will gave a bark of bitter laughter, hastily cut short. He threw another log onto the fire, still using his left hand.

"You're hurt," Merriman said, when Will was still again.

"Nothing that won't heal." Will used the tone of polite finality that Merriman had used so often on prying mortals.

"Sit down." Merriman stood up, offering Will his chair. "I'll get you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry," Will said, but he took the chair. He lowered himself stiffly, but relaxed back into it with a sigh. "A difficult few days," he said, in useless explanation, "but I did what I meant to do."

Merriman did not ask what it was. They worked independently, and had done so for years. Will had been an Old One since he was a child, but the human part of him was now fully adult, too. They both worked for the same purpose, but they seldom met. Will had his secrets. More than I had realised, Merriman thought.

Merriman, though, had the greatest secret of all, and one that could never be told.

"A drink, then," Merriman offered. He poured Will some water from the pitcher in the corner. "It's somewhat cold, but pure, and that's something."

Will took it, but did not drink. "Why are you here?"

A memory came to Merriman then. It felt like a lifetime ago, although in the endless years of his immortal life, it was but yesterday. Merriman had driven up to Will's parents' house, ready to take him to Cornwall. Will had been outwardly polite, a stranger greeting a stranger, but inside his mind, he had been over-joyed. It's marvellous to see you, he had told Merriman, meaning it with everything that he was.

Now it had come to this. There was no-one to watch them, but they hedged around each other like the strangers they had once pretended to be. Neither of them had smiled since meeting tonight.

"I had time," Merriman said. "The Resistance is flourishing in the north now. Their leader's a good man. He needs to make his own choices. We have to play a more active role in man's affairs than we used to, but we are not like those of the Dark. We step back when we can."

"Yes." Will pushed his head back into the high armchair, and closed his eyes.

Merriman knew how to read his expression, but he did not say anything. It was harder for Will to step back than it was for Merriman. Merriman was insulated by the years. For millennia, he had watched men rise and fall. He had watched friends die, and flame and battle consume places that had once been beautiful. He had lived through the darkness that followed the loss of Arthur, and he seen the harshest winter finally give way to spring.

Will had none of Merriman's armour. Will had been separated from his family at twelve, and brought up by Merriman, who by necessity had treated him entirely as an Old One, and never as a boy, but that changed nothing. Will had been born into this world, and was still tied to it. He had family and friends here, and he had known no other world. Merriman watched, but Will was part of it. As the world crumbled, he crumbled, like all who were born on the earth, and lived to see such a thing.

Merriman had not wept for more than a thousand years. He did not weep now, but he knew that the tears were there, just a thought away.

"I came to see you, Will," he said softly. Will's eyes snapped open, but his face stiffened like stone. "No, not to hear any reports from you. I trust you. Just to… see you."

"Oh." It was the slightest little breath of a sound. Will closed his eyes again, leaning his head against the wing of the chair.

Merriman opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. When he took the glass from Will's hand, Will made no move to stop him. "Sleep," Merriman whispered. "I'll watch over you."

Will made an indistinct sound. Within a few minutes, he was asleep.

How long had it been, Merriman wondered, since Will had been able to relax in sleep, knowing that there was no need to stay on guard? The Dark could attack in sleep and dreams, and an Old One was as vulnerable as any mortal if attacked when unconscious.

I am so sorry, Will, he thought. There was never going to be a good ending for you.

If the Light had triumphed, Will would have been left alone, the last Old One remaining in the world. It would have been a cold path, but a necessary one, and the world would have been full of love and light and freedom. Instead, the Dark had triumphed, and Will was faced with this.

I could have eased it for you, Merriman thought. I could have been less harsh. I could have pushed less. I could have given you more. I could tell you what I have seen.

He let out a breath, moved his hand above Will's sleeping face, as if to stroke the cheek that he would never touch in the flesh. But I cannot. I could not. I never can.

End of part two: chapter five