The Forever Journey (14 page)

His mother raised an eyebrow at him, sipping the wine delicately. “An angel,
mon Diamant
, why what could you mean?”

Arnaud looked around, but no one seemed to notice him. It was as if he no longer existed to those inside the café. This suited him fine. He would rather sit and talk to his mother, than listen to the latest metaphorical obliquities of Stephane Mallarme, and so he did, pulling up a metal seat and resting himself upon it.

“You are not here to take me to the Pearly Gates?”

His mother laughed at this, and took his hands in hers. Arnaud closed his eyes, relishing the soft touch of her skin on his. “Oh, Arnaud,
mon Diamant
, Heaven is not for you yet. You have much more to achieve in life. Plus, I do believe a gentleman awaits your attention.”

“
Mère
, a gentleman?”

She looked away, and Arnaud followed her gaze. In the distance, across the
rue
, a man stood. He was indistinct, but Arnaud was certain he was looking at Nathanial, or at least a shadow of him. He looked back at his mother.

“How could you know?”

She tutted at him, and waved his question away. It was an act that brought a smile to Arnaud’s face; such a familiar gesture, one she had often used on him as a child, when he would tell her of the latest addition to his growing rock collection. She always seemed to know so much more than she said, certainly more than her youngest son could ever tell her.

Arnaud shook his head. “It does not matter,
Mère
, I, like you, have moved on from the world of mortals. There is no life for Nathanial and I. Even if I could return, which I cannot—I have never heard of any who has returned from death, certainly not after the destruction of one’s aether flyer. This was no bump on the head,
Mère
.”

“Arnaud, you are a brilliant man, and you make me proud in death as I was in life, but do not think you understand anything of the universe. There are secrets you have yet to learn, so very many. And that is why you must return.” For a moment his mother looked away, her blue eyes distant. “There are many trials coming your way, both for you and Nathanial Stone, and you will need each other.” She turned back to Arnaud, and squeezed his hands gently. “I am very sorry,
mon Diamant
, but you have much pain to endure before you will find your peace. The path you are on is not an easy one.”

“But it is one I must walk?”

Yvette Fontaine smiled softly, the depth of her sadness matching Arnaud’s love for her. “
Oui
, whatever may come, you must walk this path.”

3.

SHE WAS EXACTLY
as he imagined her to be. The little girl, in her petticoats and blue ribbons, continued to run between the trees as Folkard and Charlotte sat on the blanket, enjoying their little picnic. This was his last happy memory of he and Charlotte; the two of them holidaying in the Americas, before she caught yellow fever, an ailment from which she never recovered. She had been heavily pregnant when she caught it, but the child did not survive, either, both dying in labour.

With the defiance of grief, they named their lost child Felicity.

He always imagined that Felicity would grow to be like Alice during her adventures in Wonderland. Wise beyond her years, inquisitive, and full of questions. It seemed he was not mistaken.

This was indeed Heaven.

“I do not think I have ever been this happy,” Folkard said, looking into his wife’s deep brown eyes. “For eight long years I have waited to see you again, although I did not think it would be so soon.”

“My dear Jacob, it is good that you have discovered what awaits you.” Charlotte reached for the silver tray upon which sat a buttered scone. He took it with a smile. “But it is not your time yet.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Why, this is only a small visit,” Charlotte said, brushing the crumbs off Folkard’s shirt. “Felicity wanted to see you, she has heard so much about her father, the hero of the British Empire, and I arranged for this visit.”

Folkard shook his head. It was unlike Charlotte to speak so, to contradict what he knew to be true. He remembered clearly being on the control deck of
Esmeralda 2
, and knew that death had finally taken him. In the line of duty, such as it was. “Really, Charlotte, I do not see how you could have had a hand in what occurred on
Esmeralda
. I find myself here as a result of a most unfortunate series of events, which you could not possibly have been involved in.”

“Of course not. But we are all at the whim of a greater power.”

“A greater power?” Folkard shook his head. This was absurd. There was no greater power involved in the events leading to his death, unless one wished to ascribe that title to the aether tear and the Mercurian plate, and he had no intention of doing so. He was reminded of his earlier thought, how everything seemed connected. The Heart, Hermes, the aether tear… If Charlotte’s words carried any weight at all, then perhaps the connection was this “greater power”? “Do you mean God?” he asked, shocked at the incredulity of his tone.

Charlotte did not answer immediately. Instead she allowed a silence to sit comfortably between them, their thoughts their own, while they both watched Felicity continue dancing among the trees.

“Perhaps,” Charlotte finally said. “Although not as you or I have ever understood the idea. But listen with your heart. Can you not feel his presence here?”

“How does one listen with one’s heart?”

Charlotte moved onto her knees and drew closer to her husband. She reached out and placed the palm of her right hand against his chest. “Remember when we first met, Jacob? We looked at each other and we knew. Our hearts heard each other’s.” She closed her eyes. “It’s the same thing.”

Folkard was sceptical, but he could not deny the truth of that moment. From the first it had been as if some force had bound him and Charlotte together—like their souls were made of the same thing. He closed his eyes and allowed his heart to feel. To
listen
.

4.

HE HAD BEEN
walking in the garden for what felt like weeks. Nathanial did not mind so much; he rather enjoyed the peace and quiet, being alone with only his thoughts. Occasionally he was joined by a young boy, who wanted to go and fish for tiddlers in the river that ran the length of the garden. From the first moment he was certain he recognised the boy; at first he thought it was him, back in the innocent days of his youth when he would pal around with Josiah Hawksworth on Putney Common, but the more the boy joined him, each time seeming a little older than before, Nathanial came to realise it was, in fact, Edwin.

He assumed he was dead, although he did remember dying. Unless he was dreaming. But it did not feel like a dream. Not like those strange dreams he had been having recently. This was more real, in a somewhat surreal sense.

Nathanial laughed at the nonsense he was thinking.

He stopped and turned, acutely aware of the presence before he saw it. Behind, where it could not have been before, was a gravestone. Curious, he walked over to it, reminded of his previous dream. Sure enough, the words engraved on the stone were the same. Only now the date of his death had changed. No longer was it September 28
th
1899, but instead it read,
And taken on the Second day of August, in the year of Our Lord 1893
. Only three years away!

What balderdash! This was no dream, of that he certain. He was dead already, and if there was one thing of which he was certain, one did not return from Heaven.

“Unless one knows how, Nate,” said a young voice behind him.

Nathanial turned and found himself looking at Edwin, now looking as he did when he had been twelve. Nathanial indicated the headstone. “What is the meaning of this?”

“How do I know? I’m only a boy.”

Nathanial narrowed his eyes. A boy, yes, but when Edwin had died in that house fire he had been a young man. “This is absurd. Am I to be haunted in Heaven?”

“Only the guilty are haunted,” said another voice.

Nathanial turned again. The headstone was gone. Now a very familiar figure stood there—it was he! Nathanial looked at himself with polite interest. Was that really how he looked to the world? Gangly, in grimy clothes, his ginger hair unkempt, his face covered in dirt and sweat. Or was that how he looked when he died?

Edwin stepped closer to Nathanial and took his older brother’s hand. “Don’t trust him, Nate. He’s not what he appears to be.”

Nathanial shrugged. “If there is one thing I have learned in my travels, Edwin, it is that no one is who they appear to be. Not even me.”

The other Nathaniel clapped his hands. “Well said. You came out into the aether to find only one answer, but instead you have found others to questions you did not even know you had.”

“Is this death?” Nathanial asked bluntly.

“This is…I believe you would call it paradise. Although it does have many names. Eden, Plypolyplon, Elysium…” The other Nathaniel shrugged. “Where it all began, and where it all ends.” He started walking towards Nathanial. “I have often wondered what happened, and so I have finally been able to take a look and see. Thanks to this.” He opened his left hand and the Mercurian plate appeared upon it. “It took a while to communicate with you all; your minds are more complicated than I remember. Or perhaps I am just out of practice?” He shrugged again. “Either way. At first it was while you slept, I pricked at your unconscious, tried to talk to in your sleep. But as you neared the doorway, it became easier. I was able to talk to you through visions.”

Nathanial remembered the story Annabelle had told him. Of the little girl. And then was… “Sébastien. That was you?”

“Of course.
Monsieur
Fontaine’s father is a most clever man, but I doubt he is able to transport himself to an aether flyer without aid.” He stopped directly in front of Nathanial, barely inches between them. “It was so hard to reach you… Each of you have so many contradictory thoughts and feelings. Especially you. You are the most interesting among them. You are constantly fighting with yourself. I do not understand why.”

Nathanial wasn’t sure what this other him meant by that. He just wanted to know one thing. “Are you God?”

The other Nathaniel laughed. It was a strange sound to Nathanial’s ears. He had never heard his own laugh outside of himself before. It was most disconcerting. “What is God but an abstract concept, created by people who need to feel there is a purpose to their lives?”

“I shall take that as a no.”

“If you wish.”

“My father would love you,” Nathanial, more to give his mind time to think over what the other him had said. “To deny God’s existence; a construct created by man? Oh yes, I can see how well that would go down.”

“But father is somewhat blinkered in his adherence to ‘God’s Law’. What would he think of the conflict in you?”

Nathanial looked down at Edwin. Not sure his brother should be privy to this conversation. Edwin was gone, even though up until that moment Nathanial had felt his brother’s hand in his. Had Edwin been an illusion? Perhaps all of this was. Maybe he had been wrong, and this was just a dream. His mind trying to work through his feelings for Arnaud, sort through the conflict in him.

He was probably lying in the cot in the lab on
Esmeralda
, Arnaud tinkering around him, while Folkard and Annabelle sat on the control deck and Fenn awaited Nathanial to relieve him.

He turned away from his other self. “This is nonsense. I can believe in many things, and I have seen much that has challenged my beliefs in this past year, but I will not accept that God is a mere construct of man’s desire for purpose.”

“You may believe as you will. We have much time to work through these beliefs of yours.”

Nathanial began to walk away, no longer caring for talking to himself. His thoughts had been much easier to understand than an actual conversation.

“You can walk away,” his voice said behind him. “But I have use for you. For you and your friends. Much I must understand. It is not only you who seeks understanding, Nathanial Stone.”

For a moment Nathanial stopped, and turned slightly. “Then seek your answers without me. I am dead, finally. Or I am sleeping. Either way, you will not find what you seek with me.”

The other Nathaniel smiled. There was something beneath that smile, something that put Nathanial on his guard. “As you wish. Keep walking, but you will not find your friends here. They have their own answers, and are no longer needed here. You will be alone.”

This time it was Nathanial’s turn to shrug. “At the end of the day, are we not all alone?”

5.

THREE DAYS TO
Mars-fall. Since escaping the pull of the aether tear very few words had been spoken, each of them had kept their own counsel on the events. Arnaud noticed that both Annabelle and Folkard carried themselves with a sense of contentment he had not seen in either before. It was as if they had made their peace.

No one talked of it, how they had escaped the tear. But he could tell they all remembered it well. There was a certain look in their eyes from time to time, as if they were remembering their own deaths. For his own part Arnaud remembered it clearly. The lab being torn apart around as the aether tear sucked him towards the porthole, Nathaniel and he clinging fiercely to each other.

And he remembered what happened after. Meeting his mother outside the
Café Procope
, and the discussion that followed. As much as it jarred with his beliefs, he
knew
he had experienced a taste of the afterlife. Not Heaven, but some other existence. A place where loved ones were reunited. Where his mother continued to live, and waited for him.

He looked up from Nathaniel’s diary. Speaking of loved ones. Nathaniel was currently in the engine room with Fenn, preparing the propeller governor for aeronautic manoeuvres when they entered the Martian atmosphere. Ever since their return from the afterlife, Nathaniel had been a little bit distance. He, like the others, did not wish to talk about the mystery of their survival, but when Arnaud has pressed him, Nathaniel had said; “If there is one thing I have learned in my travels,
mon toujours
, it is that nothing is as it appears to be. Not even our survival.”