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 seventeen

The tree

Simon wanted to burst out laughing. The only alternative to that was to sob.

It was ridiculous. Why was he still following? It was not even light, on a misty morning, colder than was normal in the summer, and here they were, climbing a hill in the middle of nowhere, readying themselves to take on the dark sorcerers who were the secret rulers of the world.

It was ridiculous. If it wasn't for the memories that Will had awakened in him, Simon would be walking as fast as he could in the opposite direction. But the memories were true. He wanted to be able to denounce them as a trick, but deep down he knew that they were not. They were true, and he had once played his part in the fight against the Dark, and this was a chance that he had to take.

But with such company…! Will, who led them, looked shattered with exhaustion, and Barney had pointed out to Simon the night before that Will moved as if he was hurt. Simon and Barney were muscled from their labours in the prison camp, but run down from poor diet and captivity. Pendragon was Pendragon, and Simon refused to think about him any more than that.

And as for Jane… Jane was pregnant, for crying out loud. Pregnant, and she wouldn't tell them anything about the father, except to say that she had married him, and he loved her, and she would tell them everything one day, afterwards.

Afterwards, he echoed. If we survive. If the world survives.

He did not like to think of that. Instead, the laughter came bubbling out.

He thought of himself as he had been the last time they had stood on this hillside, so many years before. He was the firstborn, the oldest son, quick to lord himself over his siblings, and quick to defend them, too. He had been the tallest at his school, leader of a large group of friends. And then the Light, too, had chosen him, singled him out. He and his brother and sister had been given a vital part to play in defending the whole world from evil, and it was wonderful, it was joyful, it was special, it was him.

But what had it led to? The Light had been defeated. Hope had led to despair. He had changed schools, and had suddenly and inexplicably gone from class leader to victim. He had been bullied, and it had shattered everything he had ever known about himself. Unhappy, he had drifted, until the Resistance had found him. For a while, he had relished the prospect of glory in its ranks, but even that had led only to disappointment. He had been captured, defeated, humiliated, broken.

Better not to hope. Hope led only to disappointment. Hope only meant that you could not cope when disappointment came. A more humble boy, who had kept his head down in his younger days, could perhaps have coped with the bullying at school. One who had hoped less could have coped better with being captured.

"What?" Barney drew alongside him. "Why are you laughing?"

"This." Simon thrust his arm out, indicating their sorry little group. "How ridiculous it is. How… doomed."

"Is it?" Barney blinked at him. "I do not think so."

He even sounded like Will now. Simon's laughter died; it had been closer to tears, anyway. "I have to," he found himself confessing. "I have to think like this. Earlier… When I didn't… I…"

Barney looked at him with sympathy. He's wise, Simon realised. Wiser than I am. Perhaps he's always been, and I've just never thought to notice. He wondered if people were doomed by their childhoods. He was the oldest; Barney was the youngest. It made all the difference in world when you were ten, but no difference at all when you were in your thirties. The difficulty came in realising this, and learning how to be friends.

"I think…" Barney bit his lip, as if struggling with a hard truth. "I think this is where it went wrong, for you, Simon. I think part of you remembered. You remembered defeat, and it made you lose confidence. We noticed it, Jane and I, from that summer onwards. It started when we woke up outside the hotel, and didn't know how we'd got there. It wasn't the school that started it. It was there already."

Simon gaped. It felt as if Barney had thrust a fist in his stomach, winding him. It felt as if Barney had opened a door to the light, freeing him.

"Or maybe it was the Dark itself," Barney continued. "Maybe it was the Dark's way of punishing you for opposing it. It made you doubt yourself, and everything came from there."

"Don't," Simon rasped. He didn't want to hear any more. Barney understood him too well, and he couldn't bear it, he couldn't bear it. "It's too late."

Ahead of them, a dark strip was growing out of the mist. It revealed itself as a line of trees, but ahead of them, shimmering a little with unreality, was the enormous pillar of the Midsummer tree, just as it had been when they were children, and Merriman had walked at their side, old and wise and infallible.

Barney must have been remembering the same. "We were too young to grow up," he murmured. "We were too young to lose our innocence. Merriman made up forget, hoping we could stay innocent for a little longer, but it was too late. The damage was done."

Ahead of them, Will and Pendragon had reached the tree, and had stopped at its base, close enough in the mist that Simon could barely see the gap between them. A fist of hatred closed itself around his heart. Pendragon had betrayed them all. He had no right to be there at Will's right hand.

"When you are young," Barney said, "you think that people older than you have all the answers. You know they will make sure everything has a happy ending. But then you grow up."

"Then why are we following him, then?" Simon gestured fiercely towards Will.

"Because faith does not need to be blind," Barney said, "and he has given us hope, not promises."

Simon did not understand. Jane had almost reached the tree, but paused to wait for them. Simon walked forward, frowning. Each step felt slow and terrible, but Jane was smiling nervously. He made himself smile back, and the nervousness left her smile. For a moment, she looked almost happy.

"Like the old days," she said.

Barney took her hand. Simon hesitated briefly, then took her other hand, and squeezed it. The three of them walked to the tree together, and even when they reached it, they did not drop their hands.

"We are here," Will said. "We five, we six, we many." He pointed up at the tree, to a place that chimed with newly-awakened memory. "Watch for the moment, Bran. Silver on the tree."

Simon watched Pendragon. He wanted to rage at him. All the things he had done… All the terrible, dreadful things… But Will had forgiven him as if they were nothing. The Light forgives him, and who are you to question the Light?

I have every right! Simon wanted to scream. I was there, too. I was betrayed, too. We did everything the Light asked of us, and he betrayed us, but you still treat him as more important than us.

The mist was slowly clearing. Low in the east, the sky was turning yellow with the rising of the midsummer sun. There was no sign of the Dark. The five of them, so tiny beneath the enormous tree, stood still and silent, and none of them had any idea of what to say.

Last time, Simon remembered, there had been Lords of High Magic, and heroes of old, and armies. Last time, the whole universe had seemed to centre on this one tree in the middle of England. Now, they seemed to stand in a patch of land bypassed by time, watched by no-one. It would all end in a whimper.

I want to say something, Simon realised. I need to say something.

The tree exuded calm. It had been here for ever, showing itself only when needed, and only to those with eyes to watch. The Light had dedicated itself to fighting the Dark for a thousand lifetimes of man, and they had lost everything by this tree, but still they fought on.

I'm so small, Simon realised. So little. For twenty-four years he had been wrapped up in himself, concentrating on his own misery, or trying to prove that he was not the victim that the bullies had turned him into. Even now, just moments before, he had looked at Pendragon, and fumed with furious jealousy.

But he, Simon, had been chosen by the Light, and had fought well, even though they had been defeated.

And he, Simon, could play a part in the final defeat of Dark – a wild, impossible hope, yet a hope nevertheless. Against that, what did anything else matter? The future of the world was far more important than one man's pride and despair and regrets.

He was nothing against the might of the tree, and he was everything. He was a tiny speck on the face of the world, and he was the man who could change the world. Everyone could change the world, in big ways, or small.

"I want the Light to win," he said out loud. "I want us to win."

As soon as he said it, he felt silly, sure that they would laugh, but when he dared to look at them, he realised that they were all smiling. Some had tears in their eyes. Pendragon – Bran, he corrected himself – looked almost awed. Will looked pleased, even relieved, though Simon could not understand why.

They felt like an army. Before, they had been a rag-tag collection of individuals, with their own hatreds and flaws. Now, in their smiles, they were forged. They became a group, and this time, when Simon laughed, there was no bitterness in it at all.

"But now," Will said, when the smiles had faded, "the time has come."

He pulled a box out of his coat pocket, and behind him, in the west, the sky turned grey.

End of part three: chapter seventeen