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 twenty-one - plus notes

The world to come

Slowly, gradually, life resumed.

Governments toppled. Popular risings tore open the gates of prison camps, and for a while total anarchy seemed likely, until the police, with Pendragon at their head, asserted order with a firm yet gentle touch. Talks were convened. Trust was slowly built, where before there had only been hostility. The new leader of the Resistance met with Bran Pendragon in private, and much was said, and, months later, everyone was more or less agreed that things had started to turn around at that point.

On a warm day in autumn, Jane gave birth to her son. She looked deeply into its eyes for signs of magic, but she saw only love. "I want to call him Will," she told her husband, and he let her have her way. He did that often, now. He had lost his job and they had lost their rich apartment, but she was fairly sure now that she would stay with him, at least for a while. She still did not say so, though, just in case.

When the first elections were held, Barney Drew was amazed to be elected to Parliament. He saw Bran briefly at the inauguration ceremony, but few people saw Bran after that.

"I don't think he's dead," Simon said one night, almost nine months after the midsummer morning that had been both the ending and the beginning of a world.

Barney frowned. "I hope not."

Bran had been vital to the smooth changeover of government, but there had never been a place in the new world for him. The people were ready to forgive him his worst sins, but they could not see a man like that continue in power. Nor, Barney suspected, did Bran want to stay in power. He had briefly taken control only because Will had wanted it. As soon as the country was stable again, he had vanished.

Simon, much to everyone's surprise, had decided to stay at home and look after his mother, while studying at home through one of the newly-re-established universities. "I don't know what I want to do," he admitted, "but I mean to find out." One night, after a few drinks, he confessed more. "I've been trying to prove something all my life, you see, but now I can just be me, whoeever I am."

Jane's baby had its first birthday, and his parents were still together. I can leave at any time, Jane had told herself, every single morning for nearly a year. But now, on the morning of her child's birthday, she realised that she had not needed to tell herself that for months. I'm going to stay, she thought. This time she said it, and her husband's smile almost broke her heart.

Christmas approached, but, before that, the darkest night of the year. In a house in Buckinghamshire, an old couple raised a glass. "To Will," they said. "To our son."

The pale-skinned man on the other side of the hearth raised his own glass in return. "To Will."

He had come a year before, terrified of his welcome, but knowing only that he had to bring them news of Will's final hours. Instead, he had found himself embraced. He had stayed one night, and then two. Yes, they knew who he was, but they were too old to bear grudges, and Will had always spoken so fondly of Bran when he was young. They were lonely, it seemed, since all their children had left home, and they had this great huge house, just crying out for someone to stay.

"To Will." Bran lowered the glass, and afterwards, he stood in his room, in the room that had once been Will's, and looked out over the dark treetops, to the stars that shone in the night, each one a gleam of purest Light.

END

Thank you for reading. I can tell from the stats. that a lot of people have been following this story, but what did you think of it? I'm am insecure writer. Yes, I know common sense ought to tell me that people wouldn't bother following a story through 51 parts and 3 weeks unless they were getting at least something from it, but, still… Well, in other words, feedback would be lovely.

Rambling author's note

This was the most challenging thing I've ever written. When I wrote the original drabbles, I had never planned them to lead to a long story. The drabbles were set 24 years after the end of Silver on the Tree. In other words, they were set very near the end of the story. While I saw certain things very clearly – Simon and Barney in their prison camp, Jane in her gilded cage, Bran as head of the secret police – I didn't know how they'd got to those positions.

This meant that when I decided to expand the drabbles into a longer story, I was effectively writing the story backwards. I knew where the characters ended up, but I did not yet know how they'd got there. Normally I start a story with only a vague idea of where it's going. The characters take over and usually end up taking the story to places I'd never expected them to. I couldn't let this happen in this story. Simon and Barney had to end up in that prison camp. Bran had to end up head of the secret police. And so on.

This was rendered even more complicated by my decision to adhere to anything that I'd written in the drabbles, and to change nothing. I wanted "The World to Come" to be a story expanded out of those drabbles, not a story loosely inspired by them. A single word in those drabbles could lead to a whole plot arc in the long story that resulted from them, which usually was great, but sometimes caused me trouble.

For example, Simon's entire plot arc grew out of his listlessness in the original drabble. He seemed so defeated – more so than Barney. Why? I mused about the answer, and his entire story emerged – his awful experiences at school, his high hopes in the Resistance etc. Another example comes from Jane's drabble, when she thought that Will was "one of those Resistance sorcerers." From this came the whole storyline of the Old Ones in the Resistance. From this also came the whole "sorcerer" issue – i.e. the Dark going public about the Old Ones, branding them as "sorcerers." Even though I was never entirely happy with this, I had to stick with it. Jane had thought "sorcerer" in the drabble, and this needed to make sense.

The other challenging thing about the story was the sheer length of time it covered. I normally write fairly intense stories, that cover only a few days. I rarely have more than a few hours between scenes. In this story, however, I had 24 years to cover, from 6 different viewpoints. If I wrote in my usual way, I would end up with a 10,000 page story.

I decided to write it as a collection of vignettes and short stories, each one focusing on one character alone. I felt that this was the only way I could cover the time properly, and also this fitted in with the feel of the original drabbles. However, this caused its own problems. I was seeing a snapshot of a character aged 17, and was then not seeing them again until I glimpsed them aged 26. It was a challenge to keep hold of the characters. It also meant that every single chapter was like chapter one of a new story. I always find beginnings hard, but in this story, I had 51 beginnings.

Yet, at the same time, it was a really enjoyable experience to write. It took me a long time, but I made it.

I am now jumping into Diana Wynne Jones fandom to write a sequel to "A tale of two wizards." After all this angst, some quirky comedy-adventure is just what I need.

The original drabbles

Memories

"Do you remember," Simon asked, "what it was like… before?"

Barney chewed his dry bread. Sunlight. Colour. Smiles.

"Of course, you were just a child. I envy that, sometimes. It's worse, remembering."

Barney smiled. "But you're wrong, Simon."

Sunlight dancing on water. Children laughing. A leaf in autumn. A brush moving on canvas, and mother's smile.

"Memories are like paintings," he said. "They make the world seem less bleak."

"Or make the darkness seem darker." Simon curled his chained fist. "Things won't change. Better not to hope."

"Never think…"

But the overseer returned, and there was no more talking that day.

Chains

He was chained at last.

The lords of Darkness lurked behind every throne. The four who stepped from behind the curtain were a power not even he could resist.

The least of them turned to the brown-haired general who thought he ruled the land. "Oh, well done, sir. This will shatter them forever. Their last sorcerer." His grabbed Merriman's chin. "The last of your kind, Old One. Think on that, in your eternity of despair."

Laughing, they blasted him out of time, but they never touched his secret, locked in his heart. It, too, was chained.

Not the last. One remains.

In the mirror

Once, he had been unloved. Once, he had been powerless.

Then the foul sorcerers had come, to make him their slave. They wanted the world to stay as it always had been, but why on earth would he want that? That world was teasing and loneliness, and so he had raised his sword, turned on those false friends…

And the world had fallen into place around him.

Those who had once teased him now fawned on him, or trembled. "It's better this way," he said.

The face in the mirror looked back at him, and did not know how to smile.

Gilded cage

Far below her golden balcony, a man was on the run, shot at by Pendragon's men.

Jane turned away, and the same man appeared before her, dirty and bloodied. Jane clapped her jewelled hand to her mouth. "How did you…?"

Sorcery. It had to be. But weren't the sorcerers dead? A sorcerer from the Resistance. But her brothers had already… It would break her mother's heart if she… That's why she had married…

"Please…" Leave me, she meant to say, but, "Please save me…" The words wrenched out of her throat.

He nodded once. "But another first." And then he was gone.

Second meeting

The most feared man alive stood alone on a threshold.

Will readied himself in the shadows. For years, Merriman had forbidden Will from doing this, but Merriman was gone. Will was leader of the Resistance now, the only Old One left in the world…

And very possibly a monumental fool.

Fifteen years ago, the Dark had come rising, and the Dark had won. Cruelty and terror had claimed the world, but Will had never given up hope, and never would, until… Unless…

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward. "Hello, Bran."

Bran raised his hand. "Will Stanton," he said, and he smiled.