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 six

A walk in the park

Barney stood beside a weed-choked patch of land, that had once been a glorious flower bed. He did not even have to close his eyes to imagine what it had once looked like. Stuffed into his pocket, his hand itched to paint it. He would fill the painting with sunlight and flowers, but most of all, he would fill it with people.

There were still people out in the park. Boys still played, kicking footballs at make-shift goals. Young families brought their children out to play on their bikes, or just to practice running free, in a place where the air was relatively free of smoke. There were times in the summer when you could even pretend that nothing had changed, as long as you did not look up or left or right; as long as you did not blink.

Barney was here in the park to meet someone. He did not know who it would be. That was how it always was. Safer that way, they told him, and he supposed he agreed. Still, sometimes it would be nice to meet the same person a second time, and perhaps, in due course, to build up a friendship. Strangers were safer than friends, but less satisfying. He missed friendship most of all, more even than the art. At least the paintings lived on unhindered in his mind. No-one could take that away, or ever would.

He started to stroll along the path. There were few eyes in the park, and no ears, but it did not do to stay still for too long, not without a clear purpose. His course took him close to the boys who were playing football, and he stopped to watch them for a while.

He heard the footsteps come up behind him, of course. He did not turn round, did not alter his stance in any way, but he was aware of them. He was ready for anything, except for what he got. "You!" hissed a voice. "What are you doing here?"

Only at the end of it did he recognise his brother. Barney turned round slowly, but inside he was thinking furiously. Was it better to play this as a family encounter, or to feign indifference? He could think of advantages to both. If They were watching… If They knew…

He made up his mind. "Simon!" He hugged his brother, and continued to hold him by the upper arms, shaking his head incredulously as he looked him full in the face.

Simon frowned. He looked cold, or perhaps even hurt.

"You can at least pretend this is a happy reunion," Barney whispered, his smiled never faltering. "Just in case someone's watching. Just in case someone's been wondering why I've been hanging around in the park for so long."

Simon hesitated for too long. When he finally hugged Barney back, it was stiff and awkward. Oh well, Barney thought, it will just look as if we've had an argument. Countless families have. At least it will give us an excuse if we talk intensely in whispers. We're English. Can't be washing our dirty linen in public, after all.

"What are you doing here?" Simon demanded, when he had released Barney. "You should go. I'm supposed to be meeting…"

"Me," Barney told him placidly. Simon was wearing the pre-arranged sign, as was he. There was no mistaking it, though Simon evidently wanted to.

"You." Simon frowned, shaking his head. "You're in the…"

Barney hushed him with an urgent hand on his arm. There were no ears here, but there were some things that you never said out loud, even when alone.

"How long?" Simon's arms were hanging limply at his sides. He looks as if I've punched him, Barney thought. I wonder why.

"Six years," Barney said. "Not long after they killed Mr Thomas."

"Six years." One of Simon's hands slowly clenched into a fist. "You were only a child. You didn't tell me. You didn't tell any of us."

"Of course not. Only a fool tells anyone about something like this." Barney shook his head. "Is that what you're upset about, Simon? Because I didn't tell you?"

"I'm not upset," Simon said stiffly. Barney had never realised how bad his brother was at lying. Or maybe it was just that Barney had become so good at it. He had been playing a man's role since the age of sixteen, working in a role that could get him tortured and killed if he made a single slip. It had been so hard at first not to tell his family. Part of him had still been a child, but he was a child no longer.

But Simon still is. The thought was strange, and he did not know where it came from. He's older than me, but younger, too.

Perhaps the years had made him cold, too, for all he said was, "There's no time for this. You came here with a message for me."

"For you?" Simon echoed. "Are you the…"

"Of course not." Barney was amused, rather than irritated. "I'm just a messenger, like you. I'll pass it on to the person I need to pass it on to, and what happens after that, I cannot wonder. No-one knows names. No-one knows the leaders. That's how it is. We're just minor cogs in the wheel, and we never see the rest of the wheel, but…"

"And you're happy with that?" Simon had both fists clenched now. "After six years, you're still a messenger boy? I'm not like you, then. I want to make a difference."

Amusement warred with resentment. For Simon to stand here, preaching… But this is his first job, Barney realised. He'd seen others like him over the years. Sometimes people joined the Resistance because they dreamed of glory and heroism. Most of them soon realised that even the smallest, most unsung job served the cause, and buckled down. The few who did not were dead.

This last thought killed both laughed and anger. "You can't carry on thinking like that," Barney whispered fervently. "It will get you killed."

"If I die," Simon declared, "then so be it."

Barney could have shaken him. There were so many things he needed to say to him, but there was so little time. Even here in the park they had to guard their words, and keep things short. There were some things that could never be said.

"Simon…" He raked his hand through his hair, sighing. "Simon, please. You can't let it matter. You can't let any of it matter. So I joined before you did. So I kept it secret. That's how it is. You have to keep your head down, and do whatever task is asked of you, however small. It's not a competition. The cause matters. The cause is all that matters. I'm just one of the many, and so are you."

"I don't want to be…"

"No," Barney commanded him. "What you want doesn't matter. You said you're willing to die for this. Better, though, to live. Show your devotion to the cause not by embracing a heroic but senseless death, but by enduring small, boring tasks, by enduring loneliness, by doing what is needed, even if no-one ever knows it was you who did it."

"You make me sound so petty." Simon sounded crushed.

"You are." Barney felt no remorse. It was better to crush Simon now, than to see him killed. If Simon was captured, the whole family would tumble like cards, and the cause would be worse off by two men.

"I wanted it to be different," Simon whispered. "I wanted…"

"I know," Barney said gently. "Now tell me your message, and go back and tell your captain that you did the task as asked, and that you did it well."

Simon told him. His voice was low and defeated, but by the end there was anger in his eyes. He turned and left without a goodbye.

I have lost him, Barney thought. Such things mattered. He could not act on them, but they still mattered.

End of part two: chapter six