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 seventeen
Doors close
The sun turned bloody in the smoky autumn sky. The lurid light flooded Bran's devastated office, and made it look as if he was standing ankle-deep in blood.
"He has been punished, of course," his guardian was telling him. "Only a fool falls for a trick like that."
The head of the secret police had committed everything to thwart the expected attack on Windsor, leaving nothing behind to defend their own base. The prisoners in the holding cells had been released, papers and possessions had been stolen, and those that could not be taken away had been destroyed.
Bran felt violated. Mine, he thought, imagining them stamping through his office and rifling through his desk. Foul Resistance creatures, tainted with sorcery... "I will make them pay," he swore.
"Of course," his guardian said, with a quick and chilling smile. "You are taking his position. The secret police is yours now." He smiled again. "See that you do not fail as he did."
He strode out, splashing through blood, wading through it, drowning in it.
Far below, in the only cell that was still occupied, Barney shivered. "Something…" he whispered to Simon, who could not hear him. "Something… evil." It was a strong word to use, but it felt right. He did not know what had prompted it.
The bloody sun did not penetrate the place where Simon and Barney were. There had been no light since the cell door had been slammed shut by the soldiers. Barney had no idea how many had escaped, or who had organised it. As far as he had been aware, a big operation was planned for Windsor, and not here. He could only assume that the Windsor plans had been a distraction, and he had not been trusted enough to know the truth.
Which is good, he thought, because that means there are fewer people for me to betray when they break me.
He no longer feared the footsteps. He could have run, and he had stayed. When they came, they came. He could not fear it and he could not regret it. He had made this choice, and that was that.
When the footsteps came, he took his place at Simon's side, and held his brother's hand.
On the far side of London, Jane imagined how it would be. They were not hurt in her imagination, though, and Simon was the strong one, shielding his younger brother as the door opened. She wondered if they had been afraid when the time came. She wondered if they had been afraid, just for a moment, that this meant death.
"It's done?" she asked him.
He nodded. "It is done. They are on their way to the camp." He took her hand and squeezed it. "It's all I could do, Jane. I couldn't free them, not for this. At least they're alive. They'll have to work, but they won't be ill-treated. I promise you that."
"Yes," she said. She wished she could have seen them. She wished she could have talked to them. A tiny, terrible part of her wanted them to know. I paid the price, she wanted to cry to them. I paid it so you can be free.
"Come on, Jane," he said, picking up a wine bottle and heading for the bedroom. "There are better things to do on our wedding night than talk."
She followed, walking slowly, and painted a smile on her face. The bedroom door closed on the last of the sunlight…
And then there was night.
"So close." Will paced up and down in front of the shattered window. "I didn't know. I could have…"
"No," Merriman told him. "You could not. You should not. You must forget it."
Bran was at Windsor; he had known that much. He had found Bran's office, with "Pendragon" on the door, but he had not entered, had not touched a thing. He had shielded their flight, and they had escaped without casualties, their objectives achieved.
It was only afterwards that he had learned that Simon and Barney had been there, and had been left behind.
"We are fighting to save the world, Will," Merriman said sternly. "We cannot throw that away because of one person we used to know."
I don't like him any more, Will thought, and he felt a stab of pain worse than he had felt at James' death. Merriman was his only friend. He had been father and mentor to him. As a child, Will had longed for him. It was the most dreadful thing of all, to find that worship turned to this.
"I knew them longer than you did, Will," Merriman said softly. "I grieve, too, but…"
But you cursed Hawkin, Will thought, whom you loved.
"I don't want to be cold," Will cried, almost sobbing it.
"You have no choice, Old One," Merriman said, and he closed the door and left Will alone with the night.
End of part two
Part three will resume six years in the future. Part three is the final part, and has 21 chapters. I will be posting them three a day, rather than two. I want to finish posting this story by the end of next week, since I'm away next weekend.