TDIR: Loyalty (2)
Fandom: The Dark Is Rising
Main characters: Will, Simon, OMC (sort of), Barney, Bran, Jane
Referenced characters: John, Arthur
Pairings: None
Contains: N/a
Rating: G
Summary: Six must be gathered again, to face an old threat wearing a new face.
Index: Here.
It was a lovely day, again. Will sat on the hillside, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, and watched. He watched everything: the tiny specks that were sheep and a dog and John Rowlands in a field down below, Bran and his father earnestly discussing something not so far away, and Simon Drew climbing up the slope towards him with a troubled look on his face. It was the kind of day when Bran said that the Welsh weather was conspiring to keep the English visitors happy, the kind of day Bran insisted wouldn't last.
He was probably right, Will thought. Storm clouds were coming, after all. Literal and metaphorical ones.
He was startled out of his line of thought when Simon plopped down next to him, muttering a greeting.
"Bore da," he said in reply, smiling a little.
Simon looked up. "Is that good morning, in Welsh?"
"Yes."
"Didn't know you could speak Welsh," he said, looking down again. Will wanted to tell him to look up: look at the sky, look at the green land, turn his face to the light and take it in while he could. He sighed.
"I can speak any language I choose," he said, very softly, almost regretfully. It was, after all, one of those talents that kept him apart from the human race in a general sense, no matter how close he was to certain members of it. Then he forced himself to brighten up, looking sidelong at Simon. "So what is troubling you today?"
"This whole thing," Simon said, after a pause. "All of it. Stupid dreams, Barney doing a crazy voice and acting weirdly, you saying you're not even human... I'm getting ready for A Levels. That's the only thing that I should be worrying about. I don't have time for this. I know -- I know you think this is really important, but just... hear me out, okay?"
"I'm listening," Will said. He sounded very patient, almost gentle.
"I don't think you're any better than me. I... I know Jane and Simon believe it, but all these memories, they don't feel like mine. It doesn't feel like this is my problem, if it's even a problem at all and not just in your heads. I'm not saying you're insane or anything, and even John Rowlands believes you and he's an adult, but..."
There was a long silence. Simon cleared his throat.
"Will?"
Will sighed, looking earnestly at Simon. "Simon... I understand everything you're saying. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if I'm mad, too, since there's no one of my kind left on Earth. Sometimes I think I just dreamed it all, but I don't have the luxury of hiding from what I have to do. The Light is real, Simon. And so is the Dark. At your age... at your age you're more susceptible than, say, Barney, because you have so much on your mind and you're so full of doubts, about everything. So the Dark can get to you and in turn make it harder for you to believe in the Light. All I can say is that the Light will never force you to fight. I shouldn't be bringing you into this to begin with. You can stay out of the whole struggle, if you so choose."
"You talk as if you're a grown up," Simon said, awkwardly, trying to break some of the tension that seemed to make the air around Will thrum. Will didn't smile.
"I haven't been a child since my eleventh birthday, when I found out what I was. Not a normal child, anyway."
There was another uncomfortable silence. Will closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face for a moment, feeling the slight warmth of Simon's arm pressed against his still. He tried to take in the day, the sun and the way everything was working, all parts of a whole. And then he felt it: a sudden cold, something that had nothing to do with the weather. He had time to jump to his feet before the power swept around him, forcing him to close his eyes and listen only to an intruding voice.
"Hail, Old One," it said, in the Old Speech.
Even as he rebelled against the almost-control, Will knew that it was not the voice of the Dark itself, but that of one of the Dark's tools. Most likely more dangerous than Caradog Prichard had been, partly by virtue of being less mad. One that had chosen that path rather than simply drawn onto it unwittingly like Caradog Prichard, bad man as he had been. It was the voice of someone who had not become part of the Dark before the time of its fall, and so had not fallen with it. That made the person who owned the voice one of the reasons Will had remained on earth.
Considering this, he felt he remained remarkably calm.
"Hail, man of the Dark," he said.
"You're very young," the voice said, as if in surprise. "Very young to serve those who stole my birthright. I am Mordred, son of Arthur ap Uther and the lady Morgan Le Fay."
"You are very young to try facing the wrath of the Light."
"There is only you," he said -- amused, then. "All alone on this earth, the youngest and weakest..."
"I am not a mortal, Mordred, to doubt the cause I serve." Will made a tiny gesture, breaking the connection enough that his head felt somewhat clearer. There was still a buzzing in his ears, and he couldn't see the hillside or the person speaking to him, but he was protected. Inside, a voice that sounded much like Merriman's chided him for not taking greater care in the first place. "And you had no birthright."
"I should have been the champion of the Light, not my little brother."
"You -- " Will started, and then flinched awake to Simon shaking him vigorously, hands on his shoulders. Simon's face was horribly pale.
"What's going on, Will? First Barney going into strange trances and then you! This is way over our heads. Both of you really need to see someone, get something done..." He trailed off, taking his hands off Will's shoulders and taking a quick step back. "Are you alright?"
For a moment, Will just took several deep breaths. He felt almost sick from the powers that had been, without him even needing to think about it, fighting back the powers of the Dark. He wasn't sure whether to be angry or not that Simon had broken the contact, but after a moment decided that he couldn't have known anyway, that he was only doing what he thought best. Finally, he smiled at Simon. "I'm fine. I'm sorry to worry you."
"What happened?"
"The man from the Dark contacted me."
"That... Mordred?" Simon asked, almost reluctantly. And then, as if glad for the interruption -- "Look! There's Barney. I wonder what he wants... I thought he was out painting something or other."
Will gave Simon a rather piercing look. Finally, he shook his head, looking away from Simon and down the hillside to where Barney was making his way up towards them, with no particular care for taking it slowly. "Perhaps he got lonely."
"Oh, no," Simon laughed. "Barney would spend days alone with his paint and a landscape, if he were allowed to. I don't think he'd even stop for dinner."
"I would," Barney said, breathlessly, hearing the last just as he reached them. He grinned at them both. "I like dinner far too much to skip it, especially at the Trefeddian. Have you ever tasted their apple pie, Will?"
Will laughed. "I haven't. My aunt Jen's apple pie is probably better."
"I'll have to try your aunt Jen's apple pie then," Barney said, seriously, once he'd got his breath back. He glanced sidelong at Simon and then looked up at Will. "I wanted to talk to you about the... the scrying. I want to try and control it. You said that the more I practice, the more control I'll have over it, right? Since it might help, I might as well try. So... how do I do it? What should I do? Where's Bran, anyway? And Jane?"
"I don't know about Bran and Jane," Will said, thoughtfully. "They might have gone for a walk together... or maybe Bran's just busy. He works on the farm, you know. As for the scrying... it's a pity we don't have the grail anymore. That would be the best way. I could help you control what you're seeing then."
"Like the Dark did, with the oil on the water?" Simon offered, and then bit his lip.
"Like that," he agreed. He stood for a moment in thought, his hands thrust into his pockets. Barney was struck all over again with the feeling that Will didn't quite fit -- not his body, not the landscape, not their company. There was something about him unsuited to his entirely ordinary appearance. He almost jumped when Will spoke, his voice perfectly ordinary too, sounding soft and even thoughtful, but not as if the person owning it had any great power. "Oil on water in a bowl might work almost as well. It would be less focused, I think... I'm not sure. Come on. The men are all out on the farm and my aunt Jen has gone down to the market, so the house will be empty."
"Do I have to come?" Simon asked.
Will glanced at him, smiling sympathetically. "If you don't want to, don't. Nobody is forcing you to do anything, remember."
Barney looked at Simon too, then shrugged helplessly and started to rush in the direction of the house, not so far away over the field. Will laughed, and followed him.
Simon watched them go, hesitating, and then shook his head, turning to climb further up the hillside, as if to climb away from the whole thing. He glanced back only once, and saw Will pausing on the hillside below, turning to look back at him. It was too far away to see the expression on Will's face, but all the same Simon got the impression that it was troubled. Deliberately turning his back, he resumed his walk.
---
"Careful -- don't spill it."
"I've got it," Barney said, huffing softly at Will. Carefully he set the bowl down on the table, looking down critically at the oil floating on the surface of the water. "I feel like a kid playing. There should be something more mystic about it... candles on the table or something."
Will shrugged. "If we went that far, it'd feel more like playing to me. I think you'd be best sitting down... perhaps we should put it on the floor instead, and then you can look into it comfortably while sitting down. It can be... a shock."
"It felt awful yesterday. I was cold all over, so cold it ached..." Barney trailed off and then shook his head to clear it. "But I'm not afraid."
Will smiled. "I know you're not. Let's go in that room... if anyone comes back, they won't see us right away to ask what we're doing and we can pack it out of the way if necessary. Grab that pack of cards, would you?"
"We could use cards," Barney said, thoughtfully. "At least, people always say it's possible to read fortunes from cards."
"It is, but cards tend to be limited and you'd need a specially aligned pack, and a book to help you interpret the message." Will shrugged. "Most people who say these things don't understand what they're talking about, they just happen to be incidentally right. Or maybe the true tales have become distorted through the years, like so many stories. Anyway, cards are hardly even worthy of your power."
Barney wrinkled his nose. "Should I be flattered?"
Will laughed, carrying the bowl into the small room and setting it down on the floor. "Well, it's hardly usual in these days to have scrying power like yours. So you can feel flattered if you like."
"So... what do I do?"
Will gave him an awkward look. "Well, this is going to sound cheesy... but just look down at it, clear your mind... try to feel open to anything it wants to show you or tell you. Perhaps if you focus on a certain thing you want to know about -- just one single thing, and concentrate on that."
"Mordred," Barney said, immediately.
Will paused for a moment, and then nodded slowly. "Alright then. If anything starts to feel wrong, just look away from the bowl. As you're looking into the water, just focus on the way the oil looks, and then focus your eyes as if you're trying to look through it... does that make sense?"
Barney nodded. He was already staring down at the bowl, crouched awkwardly beside it. After a moment he made an impatient noise and settled properly, leaning over it a little. He bit his lip hard. The oil made a pretty pattern on the water, moving gently because of his breath on it. For a minute he tried to hold his breath and then gave up, about to say that nothing was happening.
And then, like always, that was the moment something happened. Barney felt as if he was somehow tiny, falling into the bowl, swallowed up by it. He felt as if he could feel the oil cool and slick against his skin, and then the water... and then he saw.
The scene was oddly familiar and Barney realised it was Tywyn. Just plain old Tywyn -- nothing particularly interesting. The street was almost empty. It wasn't one of those close to the market, of course. After a minute, his ears popped and he could suddenly hear -- the way it feels when you go swimming and your ears are full of water and then suddenly you can hear properly again. He could hear the market close by, and a familiar voice, laughing and chattering away.
"Jane?" he asked, turning to look. She didn't see him. She looked as if she were trying to impress someone: her long hair was down, fluttering around her shoulders, and she was smiling her most radiant smiles, the kind he and Simon had always thought reserved for sucking up to someone. And she was wearing a skirt again.
The young man with her... it gave Barney a chill to look at him, his skin bright-pale and his hair midnight black -- really, truly black, though, so not really like midnight at all. He was smiling. Barney thought he looked superior and condescending, in the way that Bran sometimes had. Then he realised that he was feeling jealous that Jane had gone off with someone rather than staying with him, without even confiding in him, and he told himself firmly to stop. The young man was really quite handsome, he thought. No wonder Jane liked him.
"The boy who was calling down to you yesterday... that was Simon?" the young man said. "Your older brother?"
"Yes. My younger brother is Barney. He fancies himself an artist these days."
Barney tried very hard not to resent that comment, telling himself that Jane was just showing off. At that moment, the dark-haired young man looked up and -- saw him. Barney was sure he didn't really, but it was as if their eyes met. He drew back automatically, and found himself slipping back through the water, back through the oil, and blinking open eyes he hadn't known he'd closed to find the day too bright despite the sunshine and brightness of the street in Tywyn he felt as if he'd just been standing in.
Will smiled at him. "What did you see?"
"It was just Tywyn," Barney said, with a feeling of anti-climax. "Today, I think. I saw Jane, and a boy with her. Well. Almost a grown up. Older than Simon. Probably that friend she mentioned yesterday. Jane was just having fun, and he was kind of nice looking... She probably fancies him."
"Umm," he said, thoughtfully.
"That's nothing to do with what I was trying to see, though. It was just... a normal day in Tywyn, and Jane happened to be there."
"A stray thought about Jane probably crossed your mind just at the right moment. Or at the wrong moment, depending on how you look at it," Will said, still looking thoughtful.
"Unless..." There was a long pause, and Barney took a deep breath. "Could that have been Mordred? The young man I saw, I mean."
"No. I would feel it, if such danger like that came near Jane. And Mordred wouldn't dare threaten one of the Six." Will frowned, and then shrugged it off. "I suppose we'd better just chalk it down to your inexperience. Don't worry, I didn't expect you to really see anything just for the wanting to, so soon."
He smiled, relieved. "That's good. I wonder whether she'll introduce us to him, later... If she does, I'm going to try to embarass her."
Will laughed. "From what you say, you wouldn't have to try very hard. She probably desperately wants to impress him."
---
Bran heard them before he saw them. There was a dip in the hill on the way down to the Trefeddian and that's where he found them: Jane and the dark haired stranger, laughing and talking. There was something at the back of Bran's mind: a feeling of alarm, a vague warning, scraping at his consciousness. It had been there all day. He'd thought it was nothing, but as he looked at the face of Jane's friend, he felt it leap to life, and some strange part of him he wasn't used to yet wished he still had a sword. He cleared his throat and Jane looked up.
"Bran! We were going to come up and visit you in a bit, but we sat down for a rest and..." She trailed off and shrugged, patting the patch of grass beside her. "Join us? Oh, this is Michael. And Michael, this is Bran Davies. The boy I mentioned."
"Hello," Michael said, putting his hand out. Bran ignored it.
"Thought we were all going to meet up with Will today," he said, to Jane. "Didn't think you'd be sliding off with this guy."
"This guy has a name," Jane said, a note of warning in her voice. She looked at Michael, smiling. Bran's fists clenched tight at his side. He felt a skin crawling sensation he vaguely recalled... a mad man, and Will standing there, facing it out... the Dark, a presence almost tangible, something he could almost taste on the air... he shook his head slightly, pushing the thoughts away.
"Whatever," he said, as rudely as he could. He still didn't look at Michael. Jane, looking at them, thought they looked alike somehow. They were polar opposites, of course: Bran so pale he seemed almost translucent in the sunlight, and Michael's hair somehow darker than the darkest thing she could think of, a sheen of almost blue on it in the brightness. But there was something in both faces, something noble, something that reminded her of someone.
"I didn't know we were all meeting up today," she said, trying to placate Bran. She patted the grass next to her again. "Come on, sit down."
"I've better things to do," he said, shaking his head. For a moment, his eyes met Michael's, and Jane almost felt frightened at the intensity of their expressions -- Bran's almost puzzled, but hostile, and Michael's smoothly superior, somehow loathing. And then the moment was gone, and she thought she must have imagined it, because Michael was smiling.
He touched her arm, lightly. "Let him go," he said, and Bran wanted to hit him for the condescending note in his voice. "If he doesn't want to be civil..."
Bran straightened up, standing there tall and haughty, and anyone who had been told just then that he was the son of a king wouldn't doubt it. "I want a word with Jane a minute. Alone."
She hesitated. Michael shrugged. "Go on, I can wait here for you a minute."
Bran felt, again, the urge to hit him. He turned his back on him, even though at the back of his mind the warning of danger scraped at him again. He walked up the hillside, trying not to be aware of Jane rising to her feet, smiling ruefully at the stranger. He knew the look she'd be giving him. Don't mind him, it'd say. His da had worn it often enough, when he hadn't felt like playing nice with whoever was staring at him like he was some kind of freak.
He didn't stop until they were well out of earshot. Jane was a little out of breath, flushed pink and by that point, somewhat angry. "What's wrong with you, Bran? Just because you're jealous -- "
"Jealous of what?" he asked, hotly.
"Of him, because I was spending time with him!"
He shook his head. There was a hint of scorn in his voice. "If he's desperate enough to be chasing little girls, I just feel sorry for him."
Jane glared at him. "I'm not a little girl! You just don't like him. You don't like the idea of me having other friends, do you? You just want to keep me all for yourself!"
Bran laughed. It was the most derisive laugh he could come up with, and hearing it, Jane flushed even more. "Of course, that's what it's about. I can't be concerned for you, I can't just not like him -- it has to be jealousy."
"You don't have the right to tell me who to spend my time with," she said, obstinately. Their eyes met and they looked at each other for a long, long moment, and then Bran shrugged, shrugged it off, and turned away.
"True enough," he said, and walked off. Jane stood there watching him go for longer than she intended to, her eyes stinging a little, her hands in fists at her side. He didn't look back.
Main characters: Will, Simon, OMC (sort of), Barney, Bran, Jane
Referenced characters: John, Arthur
Pairings: None
Contains: N/a
Rating: G
Summary: Six must be gathered again, to face an old threat wearing a new face.
Index: Here.
It was a lovely day, again. Will sat on the hillside, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, and watched. He watched everything: the tiny specks that were sheep and a dog and John Rowlands in a field down below, Bran and his father earnestly discussing something not so far away, and Simon Drew climbing up the slope towards him with a troubled look on his face. It was the kind of day when Bran said that the Welsh weather was conspiring to keep the English visitors happy, the kind of day Bran insisted wouldn't last.
He was probably right, Will thought. Storm clouds were coming, after all. Literal and metaphorical ones.
He was startled out of his line of thought when Simon plopped down next to him, muttering a greeting.
"Bore da," he said in reply, smiling a little.
Simon looked up. "Is that good morning, in Welsh?"
"Yes."
"Didn't know you could speak Welsh," he said, looking down again. Will wanted to tell him to look up: look at the sky, look at the green land, turn his face to the light and take it in while he could. He sighed.
"I can speak any language I choose," he said, very softly, almost regretfully. It was, after all, one of those talents that kept him apart from the human race in a general sense, no matter how close he was to certain members of it. Then he forced himself to brighten up, looking sidelong at Simon. "So what is troubling you today?"
"This whole thing," Simon said, after a pause. "All of it. Stupid dreams, Barney doing a crazy voice and acting weirdly, you saying you're not even human... I'm getting ready for A Levels. That's the only thing that I should be worrying about. I don't have time for this. I know -- I know you think this is really important, but just... hear me out, okay?"
"I'm listening," Will said. He sounded very patient, almost gentle.
"I don't think you're any better than me. I... I know Jane and Simon believe it, but all these memories, they don't feel like mine. It doesn't feel like this is my problem, if it's even a problem at all and not just in your heads. I'm not saying you're insane or anything, and even John Rowlands believes you and he's an adult, but..."
There was a long silence. Simon cleared his throat.
"Will?"
Will sighed, looking earnestly at Simon. "Simon... I understand everything you're saying. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if I'm mad, too, since there's no one of my kind left on Earth. Sometimes I think I just dreamed it all, but I don't have the luxury of hiding from what I have to do. The Light is real, Simon. And so is the Dark. At your age... at your age you're more susceptible than, say, Barney, because you have so much on your mind and you're so full of doubts, about everything. So the Dark can get to you and in turn make it harder for you to believe in the Light. All I can say is that the Light will never force you to fight. I shouldn't be bringing you into this to begin with. You can stay out of the whole struggle, if you so choose."
"You talk as if you're a grown up," Simon said, awkwardly, trying to break some of the tension that seemed to make the air around Will thrum. Will didn't smile.
"I haven't been a child since my eleventh birthday, when I found out what I was. Not a normal child, anyway."
There was another uncomfortable silence. Will closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face for a moment, feeling the slight warmth of Simon's arm pressed against his still. He tried to take in the day, the sun and the way everything was working, all parts of a whole. And then he felt it: a sudden cold, something that had nothing to do with the weather. He had time to jump to his feet before the power swept around him, forcing him to close his eyes and listen only to an intruding voice.
"Hail, Old One," it said, in the Old Speech.
Even as he rebelled against the almost-control, Will knew that it was not the voice of the Dark itself, but that of one of the Dark's tools. Most likely more dangerous than Caradog Prichard had been, partly by virtue of being less mad. One that had chosen that path rather than simply drawn onto it unwittingly like Caradog Prichard, bad man as he had been. It was the voice of someone who had not become part of the Dark before the time of its fall, and so had not fallen with it. That made the person who owned the voice one of the reasons Will had remained on earth.
Considering this, he felt he remained remarkably calm.
"Hail, man of the Dark," he said.
"You're very young," the voice said, as if in surprise. "Very young to serve those who stole my birthright. I am Mordred, son of Arthur ap Uther and the lady Morgan Le Fay."
"You are very young to try facing the wrath of the Light."
"There is only you," he said -- amused, then. "All alone on this earth, the youngest and weakest..."
"I am not a mortal, Mordred, to doubt the cause I serve." Will made a tiny gesture, breaking the connection enough that his head felt somewhat clearer. There was still a buzzing in his ears, and he couldn't see the hillside or the person speaking to him, but he was protected. Inside, a voice that sounded much like Merriman's chided him for not taking greater care in the first place. "And you had no birthright."
"I should have been the champion of the Light, not my little brother."
"You -- " Will started, and then flinched awake to Simon shaking him vigorously, hands on his shoulders. Simon's face was horribly pale.
"What's going on, Will? First Barney going into strange trances and then you! This is way over our heads. Both of you really need to see someone, get something done..." He trailed off, taking his hands off Will's shoulders and taking a quick step back. "Are you alright?"
For a moment, Will just took several deep breaths. He felt almost sick from the powers that had been, without him even needing to think about it, fighting back the powers of the Dark. He wasn't sure whether to be angry or not that Simon had broken the contact, but after a moment decided that he couldn't have known anyway, that he was only doing what he thought best. Finally, he smiled at Simon. "I'm fine. I'm sorry to worry you."
"What happened?"
"The man from the Dark contacted me."
"That... Mordred?" Simon asked, almost reluctantly. And then, as if glad for the interruption -- "Look! There's Barney. I wonder what he wants... I thought he was out painting something or other."
Will gave Simon a rather piercing look. Finally, he shook his head, looking away from Simon and down the hillside to where Barney was making his way up towards them, with no particular care for taking it slowly. "Perhaps he got lonely."
"Oh, no," Simon laughed. "Barney would spend days alone with his paint and a landscape, if he were allowed to. I don't think he'd even stop for dinner."
"I would," Barney said, breathlessly, hearing the last just as he reached them. He grinned at them both. "I like dinner far too much to skip it, especially at the Trefeddian. Have you ever tasted their apple pie, Will?"
Will laughed. "I haven't. My aunt Jen's apple pie is probably better."
"I'll have to try your aunt Jen's apple pie then," Barney said, seriously, once he'd got his breath back. He glanced sidelong at Simon and then looked up at Will. "I wanted to talk to you about the... the scrying. I want to try and control it. You said that the more I practice, the more control I'll have over it, right? Since it might help, I might as well try. So... how do I do it? What should I do? Where's Bran, anyway? And Jane?"
"I don't know about Bran and Jane," Will said, thoughtfully. "They might have gone for a walk together... or maybe Bran's just busy. He works on the farm, you know. As for the scrying... it's a pity we don't have the grail anymore. That would be the best way. I could help you control what you're seeing then."
"Like the Dark did, with the oil on the water?" Simon offered, and then bit his lip.
"Like that," he agreed. He stood for a moment in thought, his hands thrust into his pockets. Barney was struck all over again with the feeling that Will didn't quite fit -- not his body, not the landscape, not their company. There was something about him unsuited to his entirely ordinary appearance. He almost jumped when Will spoke, his voice perfectly ordinary too, sounding soft and even thoughtful, but not as if the person owning it had any great power. "Oil on water in a bowl might work almost as well. It would be less focused, I think... I'm not sure. Come on. The men are all out on the farm and my aunt Jen has gone down to the market, so the house will be empty."
"Do I have to come?" Simon asked.
Will glanced at him, smiling sympathetically. "If you don't want to, don't. Nobody is forcing you to do anything, remember."
Barney looked at Simon too, then shrugged helplessly and started to rush in the direction of the house, not so far away over the field. Will laughed, and followed him.
Simon watched them go, hesitating, and then shook his head, turning to climb further up the hillside, as if to climb away from the whole thing. He glanced back only once, and saw Will pausing on the hillside below, turning to look back at him. It was too far away to see the expression on Will's face, but all the same Simon got the impression that it was troubled. Deliberately turning his back, he resumed his walk.
---
"Careful -- don't spill it."
"I've got it," Barney said, huffing softly at Will. Carefully he set the bowl down on the table, looking down critically at the oil floating on the surface of the water. "I feel like a kid playing. There should be something more mystic about it... candles on the table or something."
Will shrugged. "If we went that far, it'd feel more like playing to me. I think you'd be best sitting down... perhaps we should put it on the floor instead, and then you can look into it comfortably while sitting down. It can be... a shock."
"It felt awful yesterday. I was cold all over, so cold it ached..." Barney trailed off and then shook his head to clear it. "But I'm not afraid."
Will smiled. "I know you're not. Let's go in that room... if anyone comes back, they won't see us right away to ask what we're doing and we can pack it out of the way if necessary. Grab that pack of cards, would you?"
"We could use cards," Barney said, thoughtfully. "At least, people always say it's possible to read fortunes from cards."
"It is, but cards tend to be limited and you'd need a specially aligned pack, and a book to help you interpret the message." Will shrugged. "Most people who say these things don't understand what they're talking about, they just happen to be incidentally right. Or maybe the true tales have become distorted through the years, like so many stories. Anyway, cards are hardly even worthy of your power."
Barney wrinkled his nose. "Should I be flattered?"
Will laughed, carrying the bowl into the small room and setting it down on the floor. "Well, it's hardly usual in these days to have scrying power like yours. So you can feel flattered if you like."
"So... what do I do?"
Will gave him an awkward look. "Well, this is going to sound cheesy... but just look down at it, clear your mind... try to feel open to anything it wants to show you or tell you. Perhaps if you focus on a certain thing you want to know about -- just one single thing, and concentrate on that."
"Mordred," Barney said, immediately.
Will paused for a moment, and then nodded slowly. "Alright then. If anything starts to feel wrong, just look away from the bowl. As you're looking into the water, just focus on the way the oil looks, and then focus your eyes as if you're trying to look through it... does that make sense?"
Barney nodded. He was already staring down at the bowl, crouched awkwardly beside it. After a moment he made an impatient noise and settled properly, leaning over it a little. He bit his lip hard. The oil made a pretty pattern on the water, moving gently because of his breath on it. For a minute he tried to hold his breath and then gave up, about to say that nothing was happening.
And then, like always, that was the moment something happened. Barney felt as if he was somehow tiny, falling into the bowl, swallowed up by it. He felt as if he could feel the oil cool and slick against his skin, and then the water... and then he saw.
The scene was oddly familiar and Barney realised it was Tywyn. Just plain old Tywyn -- nothing particularly interesting. The street was almost empty. It wasn't one of those close to the market, of course. After a minute, his ears popped and he could suddenly hear -- the way it feels when you go swimming and your ears are full of water and then suddenly you can hear properly again. He could hear the market close by, and a familiar voice, laughing and chattering away.
"Jane?" he asked, turning to look. She didn't see him. She looked as if she were trying to impress someone: her long hair was down, fluttering around her shoulders, and she was smiling her most radiant smiles, the kind he and Simon had always thought reserved for sucking up to someone. And she was wearing a skirt again.
The young man with her... it gave Barney a chill to look at him, his skin bright-pale and his hair midnight black -- really, truly black, though, so not really like midnight at all. He was smiling. Barney thought he looked superior and condescending, in the way that Bran sometimes had. Then he realised that he was feeling jealous that Jane had gone off with someone rather than staying with him, without even confiding in him, and he told himself firmly to stop. The young man was really quite handsome, he thought. No wonder Jane liked him.
"The boy who was calling down to you yesterday... that was Simon?" the young man said. "Your older brother?"
"Yes. My younger brother is Barney. He fancies himself an artist these days."
Barney tried very hard not to resent that comment, telling himself that Jane was just showing off. At that moment, the dark-haired young man looked up and -- saw him. Barney was sure he didn't really, but it was as if their eyes met. He drew back automatically, and found himself slipping back through the water, back through the oil, and blinking open eyes he hadn't known he'd closed to find the day too bright despite the sunshine and brightness of the street in Tywyn he felt as if he'd just been standing in.
Will smiled at him. "What did you see?"
"It was just Tywyn," Barney said, with a feeling of anti-climax. "Today, I think. I saw Jane, and a boy with her. Well. Almost a grown up. Older than Simon. Probably that friend she mentioned yesterday. Jane was just having fun, and he was kind of nice looking... She probably fancies him."
"Umm," he said, thoughtfully.
"That's nothing to do with what I was trying to see, though. It was just... a normal day in Tywyn, and Jane happened to be there."
"A stray thought about Jane probably crossed your mind just at the right moment. Or at the wrong moment, depending on how you look at it," Will said, still looking thoughtful.
"Unless..." There was a long pause, and Barney took a deep breath. "Could that have been Mordred? The young man I saw, I mean."
"No. I would feel it, if such danger like that came near Jane. And Mordred wouldn't dare threaten one of the Six." Will frowned, and then shrugged it off. "I suppose we'd better just chalk it down to your inexperience. Don't worry, I didn't expect you to really see anything just for the wanting to, so soon."
He smiled, relieved. "That's good. I wonder whether she'll introduce us to him, later... If she does, I'm going to try to embarass her."
Will laughed. "From what you say, you wouldn't have to try very hard. She probably desperately wants to impress him."
---
Bran heard them before he saw them. There was a dip in the hill on the way down to the Trefeddian and that's where he found them: Jane and the dark haired stranger, laughing and talking. There was something at the back of Bran's mind: a feeling of alarm, a vague warning, scraping at his consciousness. It had been there all day. He'd thought it was nothing, but as he looked at the face of Jane's friend, he felt it leap to life, and some strange part of him he wasn't used to yet wished he still had a sword. He cleared his throat and Jane looked up.
"Bran! We were going to come up and visit you in a bit, but we sat down for a rest and..." She trailed off and shrugged, patting the patch of grass beside her. "Join us? Oh, this is Michael. And Michael, this is Bran Davies. The boy I mentioned."
"Hello," Michael said, putting his hand out. Bran ignored it.
"Thought we were all going to meet up with Will today," he said, to Jane. "Didn't think you'd be sliding off with this guy."
"This guy has a name," Jane said, a note of warning in her voice. She looked at Michael, smiling. Bran's fists clenched tight at his side. He felt a skin crawling sensation he vaguely recalled... a mad man, and Will standing there, facing it out... the Dark, a presence almost tangible, something he could almost taste on the air... he shook his head slightly, pushing the thoughts away.
"Whatever," he said, as rudely as he could. He still didn't look at Michael. Jane, looking at them, thought they looked alike somehow. They were polar opposites, of course: Bran so pale he seemed almost translucent in the sunlight, and Michael's hair somehow darker than the darkest thing she could think of, a sheen of almost blue on it in the brightness. But there was something in both faces, something noble, something that reminded her of someone.
"I didn't know we were all meeting up today," she said, trying to placate Bran. She patted the grass next to her again. "Come on, sit down."
"I've better things to do," he said, shaking his head. For a moment, his eyes met Michael's, and Jane almost felt frightened at the intensity of their expressions -- Bran's almost puzzled, but hostile, and Michael's smoothly superior, somehow loathing. And then the moment was gone, and she thought she must have imagined it, because Michael was smiling.
He touched her arm, lightly. "Let him go," he said, and Bran wanted to hit him for the condescending note in his voice. "If he doesn't want to be civil..."
Bran straightened up, standing there tall and haughty, and anyone who had been told just then that he was the son of a king wouldn't doubt it. "I want a word with Jane a minute. Alone."
She hesitated. Michael shrugged. "Go on, I can wait here for you a minute."
Bran felt, again, the urge to hit him. He turned his back on him, even though at the back of his mind the warning of danger scraped at him again. He walked up the hillside, trying not to be aware of Jane rising to her feet, smiling ruefully at the stranger. He knew the look she'd be giving him. Don't mind him, it'd say. His da had worn it often enough, when he hadn't felt like playing nice with whoever was staring at him like he was some kind of freak.
He didn't stop until they were well out of earshot. Jane was a little out of breath, flushed pink and by that point, somewhat angry. "What's wrong with you, Bran? Just because you're jealous -- "
"Jealous of what?" he asked, hotly.
"Of him, because I was spending time with him!"
He shook his head. There was a hint of scorn in his voice. "If he's desperate enough to be chasing little girls, I just feel sorry for him."
Jane glared at him. "I'm not a little girl! You just don't like him. You don't like the idea of me having other friends, do you? You just want to keep me all for yourself!"
Bran laughed. It was the most derisive laugh he could come up with, and hearing it, Jane flushed even more. "Of course, that's what it's about. I can't be concerned for you, I can't just not like him -- it has to be jealousy."
"You don't have the right to tell me who to spend my time with," she said, obstinately. Their eyes met and they looked at each other for a long, long moment, and then Bran shrugged, shrugged it off, and turned away.
"True enough," he said, and walked off. Jane stood there watching him go for longer than she intended to, her eyes stinging a little, her hands in fists at her side. He didn't look back.