The Forever Journey

by Paul F Gwyn

  He burst through foliage and into the maze of trees. He heard a giggle and his eyes darted around manically, looking for the girl. He needed to find her; he needed to make sure she was all right.

  There she was! The girl was peeking out from behind a tree trunk to the right of Folkard. He rushed over when the girl withdrew back behind it.

  He searched behind the tree, but she was gone. There was the giggling again, this time from behind him. He spun around and saw the girl running in between trees and branches, as if she was playing a game and still Folkard could not make out her face.

  “Wait! Come back!”

  He began running again and the girl shrieked playfully and tried to evade the man running toward her, but Folkard was in no playing mood. She continued to prance around, and into thicker foliage where Folkard struggled to follow.

  The laughing of the girl became louder and more intense and seemed to come from all sides. Folkard was losing his wits.

  She was to his left, no his right, or was she behind him?

  Folkard felt beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and he thrust an arm out and grabbed the girl by the arm while she danced past him.

  The girl screamed. A loud thudding…

  Folkard sat straight up in his cot, the pounding coming from the door. He was shaken and he wore a cold sweat. “Yes, who’s there?” he called out.

  “Sir, sorry to wake you,” came the voice of Fenn from the other side of the door. “But did you find anything odd with the controls earlier? I did ask Miss Somerset but she said you didn’t mention anything.”

  Folkard cleared his throat. “No. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Fenn, is it really necessary to wake me in such a manner?”

  “Apologies, Captain, I was just experiencing a few irregularities in the engine room and wanted to check everything was in order. I must get back to it now, sir. Sorry again for the disturbance.” Fenn’s voice trailed off in his rush back to the engine room.

  “That bloody lad,” Folkard said shakily under his breath.

  He began to lower his head to his pillow when his eyes locked on to something. The ornate storage chest in the corner. He unbuckled himself from the cot and, using his right leg against the wall, pushed with just enough force to propel him gently across the room.

  He opened the chest and began to rifle through his collection of books. Surely a book would take is mind off things.

  He pulled one out. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. For a moment he stood there, just looking at the cover showing Alice in her blue petticoat. A flash of the girl from his dream rushed by and he shuddered.

  Deciding that reading was not such a brilliant idea after all, he returned the book to the chest and returned to his cot. As he set his head back down on the pillow he closed his eyes, still haunted by the vision of the girl running from tree to tree.

  5.

  NATHANIAL LOOKED AROUND the dark room, trying to remember how he had got there. There was nothing in his immediate sight to help him figure out where he was and his memory was foggy, unresponsive. All was silent. It was as if the ship itself did not dare make a sound for fear of disturbing something. He found himself stealing his breathing, worried his breath might attract unwanted attention. He walked forward, each footstep echoing loudly around the room. A muffled sobbing came from the room adjacent to his; Nathanial thought to call out to the intrusive noise, but his instincts told him otherwise.

  He walked through the doorway and in to the new room, the volume of the sobbing increasing as he closed in on its source. The room he had entered was dimly lit; a solitary candle the only source of light. It smelled musky, the kind of aroma only a room left alone for years could create. He ran his forefinger over the table by his side, dust creating a film of dirt on his finger. Disgusted, he rubbed it off on his trousers, looking around the room as he did so. There was an air of familiarity about the place, something he could not quite put his finger on.

  His eyes adjusted to darkness, finding the origin of the sobbing; a man Nathanial had never met. He had his back to Nathanial, his shoulders hunched over the light. He did nothing to acknowledge Nathanial’s presence in the room. Nathanial watched him for a moment in silence as he considered his next move.

  “Sir? Hello. I am Professor Nathanial Stone. What ails you so? Where the dickens am I, and come to that, how the deuce did I get here?” He looked back at the door, closed now. He frowned. “I was on board my aether flyer one moment, the next I am here, wherever here is. What is going on?”

  The words had no effect, leaving Nathanial trying to think what to do. He repeated the questions several times and lost his patience. Quite forgetting himself, he made to shake the other man to his senses. However as he grabbed at the stranger, Nathanial fell through him and on to the floor.

  He looked back at the man who now sat above him. He was staring at himself.

  The other Nathanial’s eyes were wrinkled, with a sadness carved deep into them. His body frail, barely an echo. Still he ignored Nathanial, the sobbing unrelenting.

  Nathanial got back on his feet and dusted himself down. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but could not. He knew it was pointless to attempt to hail the other him, so instead he searched for something else. Looking around he noticed another door to the right, and proceeded through it. What greeted him on the other side was a mist so thick he had trouble finding his footing. Something contrived to trip him up, knocking him out in an instant.

  He did not know how long he had been unconscious, but when he awoke he knew something was amiss. Where he had previously been on cold, hard floor, now he found himself on wet grass, rain falling heavily upon him.

  Giant oak trees cast spidery shadows across the ground, slivers of moonlight finding their way through the gaps in the branches. The whole area was surrounded by wrought iron fencing, rusted and topped off by spiked shapes.

  It took him a bit longer to notice that every few metres there were rows upon rows of tomb-stones; a cemetery.

  He got to his feet and peered through the dense mist. He walked over to a decrepit, mossy tombstone and wiped away most of the dirt with his sleeve. He stood there, frozen to his core, and read the words over and over again.

  Here lies

  Nathanial Ronald Stone

  Born to this world on the First day of April,

  In the year of Our Lord 1863

  And taken on the Twenty-Eighth day of September,

  In the year of Our Lord 1899

  “Bread of deceit is sweet to a man;

  But afterwards his mouth shall be filled with gravel.”

  “Wake up, Nathanial. Wake up! Nathanial, wake up!”

  With a sharp sting he jolted awake on his bed. Arnaud was standing over him, his right hand hovering over Nathanial’s face. His cheek stung.

  “Desole, mon ami, I was afraid. I could not wake you, no matter how I tried. You were shouting in your sleep.”

  Nathanial looked at the distressed Arnaud and smiled gently. “Thank you,” he said, simply, rubbing his sore cheek. His mind was in a fugue, but he dimly recalled the details of his dream. The words on the gravestone would be seared into his mind for some time.

  Arnaud looked at Nathanial carefully. “How do you feel?”

  “Well enough. I think.” His throat was parched.

  “We should talk about your dream. It could have not been pleasant to have caused such a reaction.”

  “Like you talked about your dream?” Nathanial snapped.

  Arnaud shrank back. “My apologies.”

  “No, I am sorry, Arnaud,” Nathanial said, his tone gentler, although in his mind he felt anything but. “Each man, when he is asleep, is in a world of his own.” He shook his head. “I would rather just take a drink of water and return to sleep.”

  Arnaud looked as if he wanted to argue, but Nathanial gave a look that stopped him. Nathanial rose and walked off to get water. Returning to the cot he found Arnaud was already asleep. Nathania
l looked down at him, a smile creeping across his face.

  He climbed back into the cot, this time lying in the same direction as Arnaud, but before he could reconsider his actions the comforting arms of the other man embraced him. Nathanial settled his head on the pillow, and closed his eyes.

  Chapter Three

  “Something Isn’t Right Here.”

  1.

  ANNABELLE WOKE UP, her breathing laboured. Another night, another dream. She was becoming most weary of them. Sleep was now her least favourite activity on the flyer. Spending time in the company of others recently had not been a priority of hers, but some duties had to be attended. Nathanial was too busy with his lab to notice, the others with their own thoughts. Today, she decided, she would keep to herself.

  She tried to remember the latest part of the “story” that had been steadily unfolding in her dreams, but it was like trying to catch a snake in tall grass, and after a while of attempting, she forfeited. There would always be tonight’s dream.

  A glance at her pocket-watch told her it was about time to get up and breakfast.

  The common room was, thankfully, empty. She pottered around preparing food and, once finished, made her way back to her cabin. Before entering, she took a quick glance up and down the gangway. She heard Nathanial and Arnaud deep in conversation in their lab; they had grown most comfortable with each other. Glad that they were otherwise occupied, she re-entered her cabin.

  She sat at her desk, eating her pork loaf. It was nothing special but it would suffice. Annabelle was not one to do nothing for more than a few minutes, but since they had left Earth, she had the unusual feeling of being devoid of mental and physical energy. Everything was sapping. She tried to shake the muggy feeling that was afflicting her brain.

  A giggle resonated around her room, as if it was trying to push its way into her mind. “What…?”

  She looked around her cabin, but there was no-one there. The giggle had the high-pitched, playful sound of a young child. It came and went in seconds, not betraying its source at any time.

  Annabelle stood up from her desk, to better see from where it came. She searched all over her cabin, but found nothing. She listened intently, hoping that she could locate the little giggler, however the giggling changed into frightened fits of sobbing.

  “Hello? Are you okay?”

  No answer.

  As if lightning had struck her, she jolted up and across the room, and flung open her cabin door. The child had to be outside! There was nothing there to greet her. The usual hum of the flyer; a rhythmic clanking from the engine room; the low noises of the two in the lab, yes, but no actual person. Even the sound of giggling had gone.

  She travelled up and down the gangway, but there was no sign of a child. She shook her head, hoping to rid herself of whatever was playing tricks on her mind, and re-entered her cabin.

  Inside she made one final sweep to make sure there was nothing there. There wasn’t. Maybe sleep would cure whatever had been ailing her? She undressed and climbed under her covers, pulling the netting over herself. Lying down seemed to empty her head, and sleep soon followed.

  2.

  NATHANIAL AND ARNAUD sat comfortably close to each other at the table. Some of their notepads pinned down with magnets, others hovered in the air. “How is your food?” Nathanial enquired while pulling one of the notepads from above him down to the table.

  “It is most delectable, for flyer food,” Arnaud said, winking. “There is something different in the taste of chicken stew from a tin, oui?”

  “Well if you will take that attitude, I shall not make food for you again, my friend.” Nathanial stood up from the table, and took steps away from it, in mock affront. He turned back to Arnaud leaving a lingering gaze on him, watching the Frenchman’s reaction amusedly.

  “I meant no offence, as I am certain you know.” Arnaud stood up, touching Nathanial’s shoulder delicately. “I will say just this, when we are back on terra firma I will show you the culinary skill for which we French are known.” He kissed his fingers. “There are no words to describe the perfection. It would be a disservice to even attempt to.”

  Their laughter was interrupted by the familiar sound of magnetic shoes clicking on the metal grating outside the room.

  “Is there something amusing, boys?” Annabelle asked as she entered.

  “We were just sharing our appreciation of the wonderful food we are subjected to,” Arnaud replied. “It is most delectable, non?”

  “Quite,” Annabelle said, carrying on their playful manner. “I would not change it for anything in the aether. Earth food on the other hand…” She mimed being sick.

  They all looked at one another, trying not to laugh, but the temptation was too much. When they had managed to stem their laughter, Annabelle excused herself to make some food. Nathanial sat back down at the table, gesturing Arnaud to join him. They carried on with their work, sidling closer together. When Annabelle returned to the table, she gave the two an inquisitive look as they quickly edged away from each other.

  “I do believe this is the first time the three of us have been together since we left Earth,” she said.

  Nathanial and Arnaud looked at each other. “Well I never,” Nathanial responded, shocked. “I am sorry, my dear Annabelle. How are you? I have been so caught up in the lab with Arnaud, I have been unintentionally negligent of you.” Although he had enjoyed spending time with Arnaud, he realised he had not properly seen Annabelle since the night with Folkard in the control deck. Even then, he had not been as good a friend as he should have been. How woefully remiss of him, he thought, shaking his head.

  Annabelle smiled at him. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Nathanial. We have all had our minds on other things. In fact…” She stopped. “Never mind,” she muttered.

  “Come now, Annabelle, whatever is the matter?” Nathanial asked. “Your face is a paler shade of white, something is clearly bothering you. Spit it out.”

  She hesitated a moment longer before finally speaking. “On the topic of things on our minds, did anyone, perchance, hear a girl laughing or crying last night?”

  “A girl? We did not hear anything of the sort. What a most peculiar thing to hear.” Nathanial thought about the last week. “There does seem to be something most odd occurring at the moment, however.”

  “Odd?” Annabelle stole closer to the two men.

  “Both Arnaud and I have been having a series of dreams. Continuous dreams, running consecutively night after night. It is highly uncommon for such a thing, but it is not completely unheard of.”

  Annabelle’s face dropped in shock. “You have had them, too?”

  “Too?” Arnaud responded.

  “Yes,” Annabelle said darkly. “They are horrible, truly.”

  The three looked at each another, unsure of what to say. A dark shadow fell across their faces. Arnaud was the first to speak. “This can be no mere coincidence. Annabelle, if it would not be too impudent of me, may I ask when your dreams started occurring?”

  Nathanial looked up sharply at him. “You believe there to be some correlation?”

  “I am not too sure, but it would appear so. Annabelle?”

  “Let me think, it must have been… Five, yes, five nights ago.”

  “Mon dieu!” Arnaud exclaimed. “That is exactly when they began for me, and the following night for Nathanial. What could all this mean?”

  Again they were all shocked into silence. They looked at each other, worry etched onto their faces. Nathanial did not like the sound of what was being said. He found himself wishing for the simpler days of working on aether propellers for Her Majesty’s Navy, before he had been enlisted on that fateful mission to Luna oh so long ago it seemed now.

  “Oh, Nathanial, I do not like this,” Annabelle said. “What could possibly be occurring? Maybe there is a lack of oxygen on board, causing us to have these dreams?”

  It was a very real possibility, Nathanial supposed. One they should at least loo
k into to be sure.

  3.

  STEAM HISSED VIOLENTLY from a gauge, its freedom short lived. Fenn hurriedly quelled the leakage; he had spent so much time in the engine room of Esmeralda that he had become synchronised with the engine to a near uncanny degree.

  He walked over to the rear of the room to check the boiler, its large bulbous shape dominating the cramped room. A loud clanging sound rang out, the vibrations being felt from the floor. Fenn span around, nearly tearing himself from the magnetic grip of his shoes in the process. His hand lunged at a nearby balustrade to steady himself.

  “What the bloody…?” He cut himself off, quickly realising that had the noise been caused by someone entering, they might not take so kindly to his language. He spent most of his time alone in the engine room, so he’d got used to saying such things with only himself to hear. He called out. “Is anyone there?”

  There was no reply, but through the dispersing cloud of steam a form could be seen, though not clearly enough for him to identify his visitor.

  “Professor?” He moved over to the figure, waving the steam out of his way with a flailing hand.

  A large noise, sounding like an eagle’s cry, burst forth from somewhere behind Fenn. He flinched, covering his head with his arms. A pipe must have ruptured. He doubled back and rushed to where he calculated the noise had come from, but he saw no leakage or breaks.

  He checked pipes at the rear of the engine room, craning his head up, down and around to try and spot any cracks but there was no damage.

  He turned back to the person who’d entered the room, expecting to be able to see them clearly now the steam had dissipated some. He shook his head. There was no one there. He put the noises down to being over-tired. He had been on shift for over ten hours now, no wonder his mind was so tired. Perhaps he could ask the professor to relieve him for a spell?

  No one worked such long hours in Sovereign’s engine room, the chief wouldn’t let them. Fatigue must be working at his mind. That, and other things. But no sense in adding guilt to weariness. Best to get back to work. What was done was done. Any ordinary man would have done the same, surely.