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 fifteen
Leaving
She learnt to keep her mind blank. When she stopped to think, the doubts came, leaving her clutching at the steering wheel in panic. What have I done? Oh, what have I done? Once, she pulled blindly into a lay-by, and sat there trembling, thinking of her luxurious home, and the man she had left, who loved her. Almost, then, she turned back. Almost…
When she stopped to think, she lost all sense of direction. She floundered, not sure whether to turn left or right, whether to go on, whether to go back.
She had no idea where she was going. When she stopped thinking with her conscious mind, she knew which direction to turn. Some distant magic was guiding her, tugging at her heart. It took her to places she did not know, through towns with names that were strange to her. She remained in England, but it took her to places she had never dreamed of.
It took her to a place where such things were true.
She was terrified of being stopped by the authorities. She had all the proper papers, but dreaded having to show them, in case her husband had issued commands that she was to be brought back. She trembled whenever she passed a checkpoint, conspicuous in her expensive car. Her husband had paid for her to have driving lessons years before, but a chauffeur usually drove her on the rare occasions she went out. She was sure she was committing errors. She was terrified that she would crash.
She drove along a street that reminded her so much of her childhood home, that she drove the next few miles with tears drenching her cheeks, thinking of her brothers, of her father, longing for a time when the future had been full of hope. She drove through an estate where soldiers patrolled, and blank-eyed children stared out from burnt-out houses. She drove on a motorway, and remembered when they had been full of traffic, and children have waved from the backs of cars, overjoyed at the start of the holidays.
And all the while, the call within her heart grew stronger and stronger, telling her that this was right.
Afternoon was heading into evening when she reached a small town, and then a hamlet, and then a shadowed, leafy lane. This is the place. She drove along the bumpy road. A short terrace of nineteenth century houses appeared on the left, overgrown with shrubs, and dingy with the air of neglect. The first one she passed, and the second. Here, she thought. She stopped the car. Here.
There were two other cars outside, one of them as expensive and sleek as her own. The other was dull and entirely nondescript, the sort of car that no-one would look at twice. That is his, she thought, but the other car worried her. It looked like government. It looked like the police.
Jane scraped her hands across her face. I should go. But that was the fear talking. That was the conscious thought. The thing inside her, calling to her, still told her that this was the right place. It still told her that this was right. It told her to go on.
She got out of the car, and pushed her hair back with shaking fingers. She felt like a child, diving into a swimming pool for the first time, sustained only by her mother's reassurance that everything would be well. Only faith sustained her. Everything else in her life screamed at her to run, but there was that kernel of certainty at the heart of her, telling her to go on.
Something flickered at the upstairs window, and she snapped her head up, but it was gone. A face? she wondered. Him?
Too late to run. The door started to open. For an eternity, the gap grew bigger and bigger, until there was the sorcerer, smiling at her, but with weary eyes. "You came."
"You knew." It was not what he had intended to say, but she knew it was true.
"Yes." He nodded. "I knew you were coming. I did not know if you would reach the door. You could have turned back at any point. I did not know that. I could not have stopped that."
"You could." This, too, she knew.
"Yes," he admitted, "but I would not have done so, not without betraying what I am."
She peered beyond him. It was a dull house, smelling a little of damp and neglect, but something intangible about it shouted of home. She wanted to go in, she realised. To go in was to commit herself to this sorcerer and his cause. It was to ally herself with her husband's enemies. It meant closing doors forever, and never going back. But she wanted to. It spoke to her, called to her.
"Come in." This time even his eyes were smiling. He stepped aside to let her walk through the door, and stayed behind her as she went into the front room. One step in, then two, and she entirely forgot about the sorcerer. Two men were there, and they were… Barney! That was Barney! And Simon… They were here! They were safe!
She stumbled forward, falling into their arms. She babbled; she did not know what she said. They were thin, they were drawn, and she worried about that. They exclaimed about her pregnancy. She wept because she had feared every day that they would be killed. They told her, and she told them. There were tears and laughter and hands clasping tight.
Light faded outside. She found that she was sitting down, a mug of tea clasped between her hands. Simon and Barney were on either side of her, but the sorcerer was gone. Her throat was sore from talking, but there was so much she had not said. They did not know who she had married. They did not know the cost she had paid for their lives, but perhaps they would hate her, and not think it a cost after all.
Her elation faded, and it was then that the sorcerer made his appearance, slipping in quietly from the stairs. But another man was behind him, awkward and stiff.
"Him!" Jane gasped. "You!"
She could have screamed. It was all for nothing. Pendragon had found them all. He had tracked them down, and this was the end of everything. She was caught in treachery, consorting with sorcerers. This was it. They would all die here. Her baby – my baby! - would never be born.
"It's all right, Jane," the sorcerer said.
Then he was in league with Pendragon, too, a traitor to his kind.
"It's alright, Jane," Barney said. "He… Will says…"
She looked at Simon, appealing to him to support her, but she was just glowering down at his hands. Of course, she realised, Simon and Barney had gone to prison before Pendragon had risen to prominence. They didn't know what he was capable of. They didn't know him.
"Jane." The sorcerer crouched down in front of her. "He is who you think he is, and I am who you hoped I was. But anyone can repent. Anyone can change. It is now that matters, Jane, not the past. It is now."
No, Jane thought sadly, it's the past. It's always the past.
End of part three: chapter fifteen