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 three: chapter eight

Mother

"The challenge holds," the Lady said, and she raised her hand.

The sword slipped from Bran's grip, and he tried to catch it, but his fingers would not move. Then even the will to do such a thing was gone, stolen by a blue mist of forgetfulness, sparkling like a summer dream. For a moment, he saw the others ranged beyond him – Jane, her mouth open in shock, and Will, staring at him with an intensity of pain – but then they, too, were gone.

There was nothing but blue. His body did not exist. He heard nothing and felt nothing. The blueness was not something he saw with his eyes, but something that merely was. He was scattered and had become the sky; he was the smallest pebble on the shore, enduring all but seeing nothing.

And then there was not even thought, until he heard it, a soft, soft whisper. He blinked, and he had his body again, but he was no longer on the ship. He was in a field of green, and beyond it were stars, silver in a blue velvet sky. He turned round, wondering, and saw that the stars were all around him, as if the field was a disc, floating in space, and there was nothing all around him and beneath him but the emptiness of the night.

But he did not feel afraid. This is magic, he thought, some magic of the Light.

"Not them," the whisper said, and it became a woman's voice, soft and low. Blodwen Rowlands came walking towards him through the grass. She was small at first, as if she was far away, but she grew with each step, like a candle flame brought towards you in the dark.

"Stay away," he warned her. He reached for the sword, but of course he did not have it. The Lady had seen to that.

She shook her head sadly. "So lost in lies, cariad. So lost in their lies."

Once he had thought it, he could not let it go. The Lady, forcing him to drop the sword… Will, so shocked and betrayed and horrified… The Lady and the Light had snatched him from his friends and now he was here, lost beyond the stars. "Lies?" he faltered. "No, you're the one who lies."

"So they told you," she said, "as they had you doing their work for them. Filling your mind so you spoke with a voice not your own. You joined with them to banish me, who had never done you any harm."

"You…" He licked his dry lips. "You… pretended…"

"Nothing, cariad." She touched his cheek, as he remembered her doing so often when he was young. "There was no pretending on my part. I watched over you. They stole your mother from you, but at least you knew the softness of a woman's touch. Remember, Bran." Another touch. "Remember."

He remembered days spent with John Rowlands, listening to songs and stories, while Mrs Rowlands brought him cakes and drinks. He remembered her putting a plaster on his knee when he fell over in the yard, and listening as he poured out the truth about school. "It will get better," she assured him. "Once they get to know you, they'll like you. They couldn't do anything else." Cuddles and comfort from her, when his father had just grunted and turned away.

"Lies," he whispered. "You're lying."

"I was there," she said, "and where were they? Where were your friends of the Light? They abandoned you to a lifetime of loneliness and mockery. They only turned up when they needed you, but I was there all the time."

He tried to edge away from her backwards, but he was too afraid of falling into the darkness. "You weren't who you seemed to be," he stammered. "You're not really…"

"Does it matter?" she asked gently. "What is more important: who we are, or how we act? John Rowlands loved me. Was that a lie? It made him happy. The Light stole that from him and broke his heart. So self-righteous, so hypocritical… I gave love and comfort to a lonely boy. Does it become any less real now you know who I really am?"

Yes, he wanted to say. Yes. But she had always been kind to him, and all his memories of her were warm, and the Light had never been there when he was young, only her.

"But… but the Dark killed my dog," he blurted out, "and he was a better friend than you ever were. If you cared so much, why didn't you save him?"

"Bran," she said. "Bran, the Light killed Cafall. I'm sorry, cariad. They killed him, so they could have your whole heart, without distractions. They wanted to rob you of everything you cared for, so you had nothing left but them."

"But Caradog Pritchard…"

She gave a sorrowing smile. "It is not just the Dark that can control a man's mind, Bran. At least the Dark is honest, and does not lie about it, or try to put the blame on someone else."

"No," he whispered. He thought of Will, coming to see him after Cafall's death, refusing to let him grieve in peace, trying to force him back onto the stupid quest. Had Will all alone been…?

"It is true," another voice said, soft as the petals of a rose. Bran twisted round, turning a neck that had suddenly gone stiff, and saw a beautiful lady in a flowing robe.

"Who…?" His voice died in his throat. He tried to ask again, but only his lips shaped the word. Who…?

"You know who I am, my son." The lady smiled, a smile of infinite love.

"You…" He moistened his lips. "You're…"

"I am your mother." She started to cry, tears pouring freely down her cheeks, although her face remained beautiful and smooth.

"My mother…" His own tears answered hers. His strength failed him, and he fell to his knees, but she was there, gently raising him up. Her arms were soft and strong, and everything he had ever dreamed of. She smelled of flowers, and love, and home.

"I have longed for this for all these countless years," she murmured into his hair.

He could have sunk into her embrace and lived there forever, but there was too much pain in his past. He extricated himself, and stood up, and for a moment he was taller than she was, gazing down at her through the blur of tears.

"You left me," he accused her. "You brought me through time, and then left me."

"Not by choice." She reached towards him like someone drowning. "Merlin forced me. He tricked me. He stole you and took you through time, and I didn't want him to. I just wanted to keep you. I wanted to bring you up as my own son, just me and your father, a real family. I would have loved you and cherished you. You were my heart. But Merlin stole you. I was ripped away and cast back through time, and the door was locked behind me." She showed him her hands, and each nail was edged with blood. "I clawed and clawed to get back to you, but only the lords of Light can open the doors in time, and they had locked them forever."

"You chose it…" He felt as if he was tumbling from the highest rock on Cader Idris, and there was nothing beneath his feet but the pit. "He said… They said…"

"They lied." Her eyes turned cold.

"But…" He swallowed hard. "But…"

"It was all lies," Blodwen Rowlands said from behind him. "They lied to you in every word. They pretended friendship, but only to get you to do what they wanted – the Old Lion, lord of lies; and the Sign-seeker, worst of all."

Will, his mind pleaded. It isn't true. He likes me. He's my friend. And the others… Jane, Barney… It's too soon now, but maybe, later…

"I have waited an eternity to see you, my son." His mother grabbed his hand and caressed it. "They locked all doors. I can only see you now because the Light imprisoned you out of Time, and the Dark reached out their hand and made this place for us. If they win, I will never see you again."

"If they win," Mrs Rowlands said, "the world will be a prison of lies. At least with the Dark, each man is free. We do not hide our true motives in tricks and false words."

His mother grabbed him, her voice warm and alive on his cheek. "If you love me," she murmured, the words suffused with the scent of roses, "then you will hate the ones who tore us apart. Of all the people in the world, only I have ever truly loved you."

I know, he thought, with a long, slow sag of pain. Then he raised his head, clenching his fists. I know.

The Light had tricked him. Will had only pretended to be his friend. They wanted him to wield his sword and destroy the Dark, and then he would be cast aside like unwanted rubbish. But if he failed to play his game… If he failed to grant them total victory… It wouldn't mean that he had turned to the Dark. Perhaps the Light would win another way, but Bran would not be part of it. Or perhaps nothing would change, and there would still be Light and Dark together, carrying on their petty little squabbles while mankind got on with the things that really mattered.

"I will not play their game any longer," he said out loud. He tried for hatred, he really did, but all he could feel was sorrow.

He had thought that Will was his friend. He really had, but now…

"But be careful," Mrs Rowlands hissed from behind him. The stars above were beginning to fade, the dark blue fading to the light blue of a summer sky. "Until you stand before the tree, let them think you are still a prisoner of their lies."

"I will," he vowed, as pale blue swelled and encompassed him, then faded away entirely, leaving him on the deck of a ship, surrounded by the lying eyes of traitors.

He raised the sword, and they, too, were suffused in blue.

End of part three: chapter eight