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 eleven
Broken chains
Just act the way you've always done, Will had told him.
It was acting on top of acting. His whole adult life had been about playing a part. He had kept things inside, never showing anyone how he was really thinking. In the end, he had even fooled himself. Now he was Bran again, pretending to be Pendragon, when Pendragon himself had never truly existed. There were masks upon masks, and nothing else had ever been more difficult.
Every act, every word, was an indictment of what he had become. Every look, every word, showed how impossibly wrong everything was.
He parked outside the prison, in a place reserved for the governor. The Pendragon would do that sort of thing. He strode towards the gate, glaring imperiously at anyone who tried to get him to move his car. When asked for identification, he gave it imperiously, as if the guard was at fault for daring to wonder who he was. They fawned over him and trembled.
Pendragon would have thought it was good. Pendragon liked people to be afraid of him, because fear was better than mockery. Bran just wanted to fall to his knees and cry, "It wasn't me! That isn't me!" But it was. He had been Pendragon. He had done those things. He would have to live with that forever more.
Or die, he thought, as he let them escort him to the governor, one on either side of him, like honour guards to a king. He had brought about the ruin of the Light. Millions had died because the Dark had won, and all because of him. Even if Will's plan worked, there was no place in the future for him. He was the most hated and feared man in Britain. No-one would ever forget that. No-one should ever forget that.
Most of all, Bran would never forget that. Even if Will said… Even if Will still…
"Here you are, sir." They had reached the governor's door. One of the guards announced him, and Bran went in, drawing his Pendragon cloak around him as he did so.
Just ask, Will had told him. Don't offer explanations. Pendragon would never have felt the need to offer explanations.
He had to act as he had acted for years, but it had never been so hard. Arrogance had become almost a habit, but now he doubted every word.
He thrust his shoulders back, kept his head high. No explanations, just a command. "You are ordered to release two of your prisoners to me."
When the guards came marching into the dormitory, everyone stiffened. Barney watched them lying on their pallets, and watched how each one subtly relaxed when the guards marched past, and did not stop at them.
He wondered who it was this time. He wondered whether to fight. Someone had fought one night, trying to stop them from taking his friend away, but two men had died in the end, instead of just one. Even so, Barney sometimes thought he would fight, if it wasn't for Simon. Simon had never recovered from the shock of defeat, and sometimes Barney feared that the hopelessness would kill him. There was little that Barney could do to keep his brother's spirit alive, but he did what he could, and thought that perhaps he made a difference.
They marched on, past the person two to his left, past his neighbour. There were only two people to Barney's right, and then it was the end of the room.
They seemed to walk past him, but he did not let out a breath, not yet. Just after his bed, they stopped. "Prisoner Drew. You're to come with us."
A great calmness descended over him. He stood up, and turned to straighten the blanket on the bed. Best make the bed for the person who gets this after I'm dead. He presented his wrists for the cuffs, and the guards fastened them without meeting his eye. The guards never did, except for the cruellest ones, who liked to see your fear and pain when they hurt you.
He followed them through the dormitory, back towards the door. None of the other prisoners looked at him, either. Some shifted awkwardly, but most were looking away, pretending that this was not happening. It's as if I'm dead to them already, he thought. He hoped they would be gentle when they told Simon.
They led him outside into the yard, still warm and light in the midsummer evening. He took one last look at the sky, wishing for more light, or else for true darkness, with its silver stars. He wished the fence did not obscure the trees. He would have liked to have seen trees again, once more before the end.
Another group was approaching from the other side of the yard. His calmness shattered. "Simon!" he shouted. "Simon!"
Simon did not look at him. He was trudging, in a posture of utter defeat. "Simon," Barney hissed, when they were closer. "Why…?"
"Did you do something?" Simon said.
Barney wondered. Had one of them done something to bring this death sentence on them both. Or was it someone outside: Jane, or their mother? They would probably never know. They would be killed, and neither of them would know the reason for it. Perhaps there was no reason, just a whim.
"We've been dead for years," Simon said. "This is just an end of it."
I don't want to die, Barney thought. "I don't want to die!" he cried. He started to struggle. There was hope! He had never given up hope. The Resistance out there, fighting, and the sorcerers, and art, and family, and love. Goodness had to win – it had to. He could not accept a world in which anything else was possible.
"I didn't," Simon said, "but…"
"Stop talking," the guards commanded. Barney was struck on the back, and Simon on the cheek.
I don't want to die, Barney thought. He looked at Simon, and for the first time in years, it seemed that genuine communication flowed between them. So much had gone wrong over the years. If Simon hadn't been bullied at school… If they had told each other when they had joined the Resistance, and fought side by side, with no secrets… If he had listened to his premonition on the day they had been captured… If he had done more, had tried harder, to bring Simon out of his despair…
"Good will win," he said, "even if we aren't here to see it. People are decent at heart. They'll overthrow this…"
"No," Simon said. "They aren't, and they won't."
A fist stopped him, bringing him to his knees. Barney started towards him, but was dragged back. A guard made as if to kick Simon's fallen body.
"What's this?" a voice boomed. It was the governor. He was an arrogant tyrant, but peering up at him, Barney thought he could see fear in his eyes. "Bring them straight to me, I said, with no diversions. Lift him up." The guards did so. "And follow me. Our visitor does not like to be kept waiting."
"Here they are," the governor said.
Simon glanced at the man sitting in the arm chair, and then could not look away. Pendragon! It was Pendragon, ruler of the school, commander, protector, bully, enemy. Despite everything, despite the years of disappointment and despair, his first thought was that this was a rescue. No, he told himself sadly. Things like that don't happen. This is the end. Things will only get worse.
Pendragon sat with his legs crossed, his face a mask of arrogance. "The sentence on you was too light," he said, "for members of the Resistance. The Resistance is mine. Strings were pulled by a traitor to save you from the punishment you deserved. He has been exposed now, and justice will be served."
Outside, Simon had told Barney that he wanted to die, because even death was better than this life. Now he fell to his knees. "Please," he begged. "You remember me? We were at school together, and you…"
Pendragon stood up slowly. "Unlike some," he said coldly, "I would never put friendship or family connection above my duty. I knew you once; I know you no longer. You are a traitor, and that is all. You are coming with me."
"To die?" Barney asked.
"It is not for you to question." Pendragon snapped his fingers. "Bring them to the gate." He spoke to the governor as if he was a slave. "If they are well cuffed, I will take them from there." He pushed back his jacket to show the gun at his side.
"You came alone?" the governor asked.
The look Pendragon turned on him could have frozen a summer's day. "Are you questioning me?"
"No, no." The governor shook his head. "I…"
"Then have them brought to me." Pendragon went to the door. "You don't want to keep me waiting, do you?"
They were cuffed in the back of the car, locked behind a bullet-proof screen.
I have to talk to them, Bran thought. I have to…
He was afraid. His hands were shaking as he gripped the steering wheel. He drove through the evening, heading he knew not where. Only the markings on his car kept him from being stopped and questioned by the checkpoint guards, but his progress would be marked.
He wondered if the governor was already on the phone to London, reporting what he had done. He knew he had aroused suspicion by driving two prisoners off in his own car, without any guards, but how could he trust any of his men to be party to this? He had awed them into obedience, and could only hope that he had awed them into silence, too. If he had not… If they talked…
He could not think like that. Bring them out, Will had said. That's what matters more than anything. Do it, Bran, please.
They were there in the mirror, every time he glanced there. Simon and Barney Drew, who had almost been his friends when he was a child, before the world ended. They thought he was going to kill them. He had to reassure them as soon as he could, but how could he? They wouldn't believe him. Even if they believed him, they would hate him.
I can't, he had begged, but Will had said, You have to. His hand had closed round Bran's wrist, leaving blood-stains that he had found afterwards. I know you can. I trust you.
He had laughed derisively, then, but it was the only thing keeping him alive. Will trusted him. Will forgave him. Despite everything, Will still…
"I'm not going to kill you," he blurted out. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm rescuing you, but that was the only way I could do it. I'm sorry. I had to… They'd have suspected, otherwise."
"It's cruel," Barney said, "to try and fool us with these tricks."
"I know you have every reason to hate me," he told them. "I've done terrible things, but I'm sorry. I…"
"Sorry," Barney said. He sounded almost like Will, so quiet and detached. "Does sorry make it better? Will you still be saying sorry when your men are torturing us to death?"
He looked at the road signs. Hours to go before he met Will. Hours to go before Will could take over, and he could hide.
"Why would you rescue us?" Barney said. "Because Simon knew you at school? I don't think so." His voice shook. He was far less calm than he sounded. Glancing in the mirror, Bran saw that Barney was crying. A voice did not have to tell everything, when it spoke in the darkness, from a face that was hidden.
They don't remember anything, Will had warned him. "A friend," Bran said. "Someone who knew… who knows your sister. He's called Will. He made me realise all the mistakes I've made. He asked me to get you out, and I did it… I did it for him, and for me, to atone…"
"You cannot atone," Simon said harshly. "The past is done. The past is always done."
"Yes." Clutching the steering wheel, Bran stared straight ahead, at the never ending greyness of the road. "But you can do what is right, even so."
End of part three: chapter eleven