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 twelve

Ashes

The tree above him had shed the last of its leaves. They lay on the ground as fading skeletons, and the branches were no shelter from the winter sun.

I have been here before, Will thought. I have watched this before.

But it had never been like this before. Over the years, he had watched his family from the hidden darkness. He had watched tears and anger, grief and pain. Only sometimes had he seen smiles. For ten years, he had seen nothing at all. He was shocked by how old his parents were looking, and how slowly they walked.

The breeze stirred his hair. A robin sang on a gatepost. Mary saw it, and turned. For a moment, both Mary and Will were staring intensely at the same thing. Will shivered at the thought, but Mary turned away.

The family gathered close. Will could not hear what they were saying. He could have listened effortlessly, of course, but he chose not to. He was no longer part of them. He would be a stranger, intruding on their grief.

He did not think he could bear it.

Five years before, Will had stood on another, greener hill, and watched a funeral. For a wild moment, he had almost thought that that funeral could be a beginning. This one was an ending. Nothing would be the same after this.

They stood so close to each other, hand clasping shoulders, arms around arms. There were tears. All the terrible things in the world had still not inured mankind to grief. It never should. This was the third son Will's mother had lost. Only one, the baby, had left behind a body to mourn, to hold, to stroke his face. Will had been taken away forever, and of James, all they had was ashes.

That had been Anthony's task. Will himself had set the fire that had consumed James' body, but Anthony had been the one to deliver the ashes to his parents. It had been a dreadful thing to ask, but Anthony had done so without demur. Will knew Anthony would be discreet. Some secrets had to be told, to ensure his family's silence. On the other secret, Will had implored Anthony to stay silent. He could have forbidden it, but instead he had called on trust and friendship. "Not even a hint," he had said. "Not even a hope."

He did not know what Anthony had said on that dreadful morning. He did not know if his mother had screamed, or if she had stood there in silence, pressing her hand to her mouth and closing her eyes. He did not know if his father had shouted, screaming that Anthony was lying, that it was a trick. He did not know how they had contacted his brothers and sisters, and what lies they had told over the phone.

All he knew was that they were here now, mourning a son and a brother who was gone. They had no body, but they had ashes, and the day was a beautiful as days had been before the fall.

Robin and Steven were dragging a cart laden with firewood. That seemed to Will to be the saddest thing of all. James could not be mourned openly, because his death was a secret. The authorities could not watch everywhere, but if they watched this, there was a pretext. A family walk in the sunshine, to gather wood.

What a terrible world it is, Will thought, when a father cannot be seen to bury his son. He heard the echo of it on the wind, and realised that the words had been his father's, and not his own thought after all.

He wondered how much they knew. They had to know that James had been killed while opposing the government, because that was the only way the explain the secrecy. They knew they could not grieve while spying eyes could see. They had to speak of him as if he was still alive, and carry on unchanged. Any lapse would see them punished for aiding the Resistance. They had colluded in a cover-up, and Will had given them no choice about it.

No, he thought, he was the one who had had no choice. If his family had been given the choice, this was what they would have chosen. It was better to live in danger, than not to know.

Better, he thought. He clenched his fist. Better…

A tall figure came up beside him. "I am sorry, Will."

Will had not seen Merriman for over a year. He had told Merriman about James' death, but in his darker dreams, Merriman had flapped his hand, dismissing it as nothing important. Outside dreams, he had heard nothing.

Will wrapped his arms around his body, looking up at the sun. "They didn't even have this much, with me."

As a child, he had always been so glad to see Merriman. Now he only wanted him to be gone. There were people he wanted to be with, but they were on the hillside before him, and out of reach forever. Merriman was not them.

"Will…" Merriman began.

"Don't," Will begged him. "Don't tell me that things like this is the lot of an Old One. I know you've watched thousands of loved ones die. I know you think this is nothing at all, but to me it's not. Don't tell me that I shouldn't be thinking like this. Don't tell me I need to be an Old One, focused only on the Light. I know all this. I know everything you could tell me. It's just…"

"I wasn't going to say those things," Merriman said softly.

"It's just…" He turned his head away, unable to say the rest of it. It's just that, deep down, I'm a little jealous. At least they've got each other.

Below him, his father opened the simple wooden box, and scattered James' ashes to the wind. The wind took them, taking them away to the south, to open fields and slumbering trees and places where animals waited for spring. As he did so, the robin sang again, and this time they all turned towards it. Will saw his mother smile through her tears. He hoped they thought that James was singing, too.

"Goodbye, James," Will whispered. He knew that a part of his brother would seep into the ground, and that plants would grow from where he had fallen, and would flower in glory beneath the sun. The Old One was consoled by this; the brother only knew that James was gone.

His parents clasped hands, and Steven put his arm around Mary. Slowly, heavily, they started the walk back home. They talked as they went, and sometimes they even laughed. They seem lighter, Will thought. Happier.

Stray strands of thought came together into a sudden whole. He had never been in any doubt that his parents needed to know about James, even though it burdened them with dangerous secrets. They would keep that secret. And they would keep Will's, too. All he had to do was show himself.

There would be disbelief, but he had explanations. There was enough talk of sorcerers that he could broach the subject of his true nature, without it seeming impossible to them. James had called him cruel, so perhaps they would hate him for a while, but he could live with that. It was better for them to hate a living son, than the grieve for one who had disappeared.

He drifted forward. "Don't." Merriman grasped his wrist. His voice was soft, but there was command in it, too.

"But I can tell them now." Will turned to him with shining eyes. "They've already got secrets. They won't give anything away. Everything will be all right."

"No." Merriman shook his head. There was a terrible apology in his eyes.

Will strained against his grip. "It was different when it first happened, I know," he said. "The Dark was watching them like a hawk. But they're just another ordinary family now. There's no risk to them. Or, if there is a risk, it's the same risk they face just by living."

"Is it for their sake, that you would do this," Merriman said, "or for yours?"

"Theirs," Will cried, but he could not lie. "Mine, too. Please, Merriman, I was only twelve. I've done everything you've asked. You look at the people in the world and you just see children, but I grew up with them. They're mine, and I've been so lonely, and I know it's necessary, and I'd do it again if I had to, and I am not falling, not wavering. I am still of the Light. I'll do what I have to, but I just… I just wish…"

"Will," Merriman said, softly, terribly. "You cannot. You did what you had to do, and it cannot be undone. You must shed these attachments like a snake shedding its skin. You are an Old One, Will. You know this."

Will gave a sobbing moan. "Why are you so cruel?"

Merriman stood as tall as the sky, and as terrible as stone. "The Light is a harsh master, Old One." He let out a breath, and his face turned soft, his eyes full of gentle sorrow. "But it is my master, Will, as well as yours."

Will stopped fighting. His hands fell limply to his sides, and his head sagged. He let out a breath, and it felt like dying.

Merriman just looked at him. Above him, dead branches scored at a pure blue sky, but beyond that, not far away, people died in the streets. Men were dying in cells or wasting away in prison camps, and freedom was trampled beneath the feet of the lords of the Dark. That was what Will had to fight, and he knew it. He would never falter.

His family moved out of sight, and was gone. It felt as if they were taking his last chance away with them, and it was gone forever, and he was dead again, killed a second time.

Will raised his head. "I know," he said, but when he moved off, he walked alone.

End of part two: chapter twelve