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 sixteen

The gathering

They were gathered in a circle, unconsciously echoing the Circle that had gone. But that Circle had been united and true, forged by Light. This circle was fragmented already. There was no time for it to be forged as one. Each of them would have to face the battle disjointed and alone.

I wish I had more timeWill thought. Time was nothing to an Old One, but here, at the end of things, Time was the most important thing of all. Time for Simon to recover the confidence he had lost so many years before. Time for Bran to forgive himself. Time for the others to accept Bran. Time for Will to spend with his family. Time to say farewell.

There was no time. This fractured group was all he had. These fractured hearts would have to heal themselves, afterwards. He could not hide for another year, waiting for another midsummer. It had to be now.

He took a deep breath. Jane and Barney were looking at him expectantly, but Bran was looking down at his hands, and Simon was pointedly looking anywhere but at Bran. "You all now remember," he began, "how it was last time. What we hoped. How it… ended."

"Because of him." Simon spat the words out like poison.

"Because of the Dark." Will had said it so many times, and he was tired of it. "The Dark chose Bran as its target, because he was the greatest prize. If it had chosen you, Simon, you would not have been able to resist."

"I would have," Simon protested.

"No." Will looked at him until Simon was forced to meet his gaze. "You would not have. I know the Dark better than you ever will. You would not have resisted, nor you, Barney, nor Jane."

"But you would have," Simon said bitterly.

"I am of the Light," Will told him. "The Light is my nature. I cannot turn against my nature, but even so, the Dark has made me… waver, once in a while. With fear, with threats… once with my sister's life. The Light always offers choice. The Dark offers no choice, or else twists the choice so it becomes no choice at all. That is how it was with Bran."

"But…" Simon was clearly furious. Bran was gazing at Will with misery and desperate hope.

No time, Will thought. No time…

"I still don't think…"

Will raised his hand, cutting Simon off. He made himself tall, his voice terrible. "But we will not speak of this again. The Light forgives Bran, and who are you to question the Light? You will work together for the cause of the Light. I will not have the future of the world thrown away because you cannot rise above your past resentments."

He was weary when he had finished. So they will hate me now. He sat still, and did not blink. And I probably deserve it, but it matters not at all.

"The Light and the Dark," he spoke into the silence, "have fought for thousands of years over the world of men. Much came down to choice, but some was foretold. Some things had to be. When the time came for the final Rising of the Dark, either the Dark would win and banish Light forever, or the Light would win and banish the Dark, and then…" He stopped. No need to tell them yet what would come after.

"But the Dark did win," Bran said hoarsely. Will glanced at him, surprised, knowing what it had cost him to speak.

"No." Will shook his head. "The Light won every stage of the battle. The six were in place; the signs were gathered. But then, right at the end, the Dark tricked… they cheated, if you like. It was enough to scatter the Light and banish many of them, but some of the Light remained. It was not a proper victory."

"You mean it doesn't count?" Simon said incredulously.

"Yes," Will said. "I mean just that. It was not a complete victory. The Light won every other battle. As long as just one of the Light remains, there is still a chance to undo that final moment, that final slip."

"Then why wait twenty-four years," Barney asked, "if we could have tried again at any time?"

"We couldn't." Will shook his head. "While the Old Ones remained, the Dark was always on their guard. Bran was too well guarded. We could never have reached him successfully. We would never have had a chance to do what I am planning to do. But now… They think the Light has gone. They think they have won. They don't know that I am still here."

How much had Merriman foreseen, he wondered. Merriman had made him fake his death, saying it was for his family's protection, and perhaps it was, in a way. But had Merriman known, even then, that this chance would come one day? Had he known that the future of the world would one day hinge on the existence of one last Old One, when the Dark thought that all Old Ones had gone?

"Tomorrow is Midsummer's day," he told them. "Every year, the Midsummer tree blooms, although there are none to see it. There is still a chance to set things right. The Light had almost won. At the very end, things went wrong, but we will undo that error and…"

He faded out, eyes closing. "Will," Jane said quietly. "There are only five of us."

Will opened his eyes. "You three are what you were. Bran is still the Pendragon; nothing has changed that. But I am not what I was. I…" He could not look at Bran. "I died."

"But an Old One can't…"

"No." He looked at Jane, not at Bran, who had spoken. "We die, and we come back, changed."

Was this true for all the Old Ones? It was the one thing that the Book of Gramarye had been silent on. Did all Old Ones only come into their full powers after they had died as a man, and come back? Dying, he had hovered on the edge of Time and eternity. He had seen and understood things that had always been veiled to him. Merriman was part of him now. All the Old Ones who had ever gone out of Time were part of him, and he of them. He was no longer a boy called Will Stanton; he was Light.

His eyes were brimming with unexpected tears. "And there is a seventh." He looked at Jane until her hand, faltering, moved to her belly. "In the eyes of the Light and the Dark, the unborn can play their part, Jane. But not a harsh one. Whatever happens to the world, your son will be safe."

"But… But how…?"

"What are we going to do?"

He let them question him. His mouth opened, and spoke words, answering them. Inside, though, his mind was drifting.

He thought of his lies. Hinting to his mother that he would come back… And Bran, who thought he could face the future with Will at his side, championing him even when the rest of the world was hostile. And Simon, who needed help, and the baby…

"Do we really have a chance?"

He looked at their faces – at the lines etched in them by years of fear and misery in a world ruled by Darkness.

He had no words. He could not answer true. He breathed in, and out again. "It is better than no hope at all."

End of part three: chapter sixteen