The Afterlife of Alice Watkins 2

by Matilda Scotney

“I can’t wait. It’s nice there will be another family on board, though.”

  “I think we’ve ushered in a new era in space travel. Military families.”

  “Not before time.”

  He kissed Alice, then swooped Eliza up and blew raspberries on her neck until she squealed, helpless with laughter.

  “See you soon. Call me when you get back and enjoy your visit with the A’khet. I’ll send an automatrans to take you to Tibet.”

  As always, Alice waited and watched until Noah’s shuttle was out of sight.

  “Daddy skoy,” Eliza said, pointing upwards.

  “Yes, Daddy’s going up in the sky and we’re going to see him there soon.”

  “On ‘is spayship,” Eliza wrinkled up her nose.

  “That's right. A new spaceship,” Alice still used her old-fashioned words, and Eliza was picking them up.

  “I’m going to visit A’khet,” Alice told the aunties. “Noah is organising a high altitude automatrans.”

  They were surprised at the sudden decision.

  “Oh, did you get an invitation?”

  “Of sorts, Auntie Mary. I think they’re expecting me.”

  “Would you like us to keep Eliza with us?” The aunties knew it was unusual for anyone without Knowledge to turn up at the monastery, but then, they didn’t know the full story. Alice herself didn’t remember the events of her last visit fully, and Noah never spoke of it.

  “I'll take her; she likes flying.”

  The Tabernacle automatrans arrived within a few hours, and Alice settled Eliza inside with toys for the trip, even though Eliza would most likely treat her to non-stop chatter.

  “We’re going to Tibet, Eliza. The first place your daddy took me,” Alice told her.

  “Tibbit,” Eliza echoed, but as she always did, paid little attention to Alice, instead fascinated by the Earth disappearing beneath them. Alice was glad she hadn’t asked for a regular shuttle. She wanted to do this at speed; finish her business with the A’khet—whatever that business was—and go home. Despite all the wonderful things and events of the past three years, joining Noah on the Magellan would be the first day of the rest of her life. Everything else was just a lead-up, a preparation. She had a place now, a place she loved, as Noah’s wife and as Eliza’s mother.

  Chapter 40

  Alice lifted Eliza from the automatrans and held the wriggling child tightly in her arms, remembering the sheer drop near the landing site. Not geared for child visitors, she thought. Alice didn’t take time to marvel at the scenery this time, just headed for the steps, Eliza in her arms. A female monk waited on the terrace and held out her arms to take Eliza from Alice.

  “Welcome, A’khet are expecting you. We will look after the little one. I’m sure she will love the little lambies in the meadow, won’t you, dear?”

  “Eliza loves lambs,” Alice handed over the curious child. “She loves any animals.”

  “There—we have lambs and lemonade. Shall we have those? Eliza, you say?” the woman took Eliza with a smile.

  "Yes—Eliza." She would be safe with these lovely people, and she gave Eliza a little wave, a wave the child ignored in anticipation of lambs and lemonade.

  Alice walked along the terrace unescorted. At the far end, a lone A’khet greeted her, speaking aloud and holding the door to the small stone room where they last met.

  "Alice, you brought your child. A'khet is honoured."

  “I’m expected?”

  "A'khet are happy you are here. Please, sit, and we will bring tea."

  “Thank you. I’m sure you know why I’ve come?”

  On cue, a monk brought in the fragrant tea she had on her last visit. This time, Alice considered it without interest.

  “Your child is beautiful, Alice, and a credit to you and Principal Ryan.”

  “Aunt Katya told you we had a child?”

  A'khet took the seat opposite her, not answering immediately. A'khet never hurried, and Alice felt no impatience, no urgency. It would unfold as surely it should.

  “When you visited with our brother, Noah, A’khet sensed such a course of events would follow. But A’khet rejoices with you.”

  “Thank you. A’khet, who am I?” she asked simply.

  “In physical form, Alexis Langley is before us.”

  “Why then, do you acknowledge me as Alice?”

  “Alexis Langley never fully returned to us. Within her dwells the essence of another. It is this other who denies her the memories of who she truly is.”

  “You mean Alice Watkins?” A’khet did not respond. They didn’t need to.

  “It's strange, A'khet. I identified with Alice Watkins, but those feelings faded over time. I still don't remember my life as Alexis Langley or have any connection to her.”

  “How can you understand that which is not yours to know? A'khet sees the shadow within you, our dear sister, but it is a matter for greater powers than ours.”

  “Greater powers?”

  Again, the question went unanswered. A’khet instead asked one of her.

  “You have seen the source, the Substance, on the Significator—that which you call engines.”

  “I seem to remember something, yes. Is it important?”

  “To hear Substance sing, to see its light, requires Knowledge. You have Knowledge.”

  As A’khet uttered the word ‘Knowledge’, a memory hit her like a sledgehammer.

  “I did hear them!” she cried. “I remember! They chime, like bells, or like notes on a stave, with a music of their own, or the whisper of a breeze lifting leaves as it passes through trees; and the light, A’khet, I saw it as blue, but it came to me as purple. I have never spoken of it to anyone.”

  A’khet smiled in understanding.

  "All those who possess Knowledge receive the paralysis; they cannot share their Knowledge, other than that there is light and that there is sound. Those with other kinds of Knowledge also are unable to communicate if they attempt to speak of it or make explanation. Knowledge may also be given in areas other than those which Patrick possesses."

  “What I heard and saw, is it the same as Patrick hears and sees?”

  “It is the same, and Substance links the communication between two people with this Knowledge. They can have no discourse on Knowledge unless Substance is present. But it will speak to them singly.”

  “I can’t use Knowledge. I have no abilities with engineering as Patrick does.”

  “Because it is not necessary. Patrick combines his abilities with Knowledge. You have Knowledge of all A’khet. You are A’khet Umru.”

  Before Alice could ask the meaning of A’khet Umru, two other A’khet entered the room. Inclining their heads and smiling in greeting, they each placed one hand on the nape of her neck, holding their outstretched arms towards the first A’khet. A hushed reverence fell over them, even calmer and quieter than Alice felt in their presence on her previous two encounters.

  A vision appeared, covering the table in front of her. A small red-haired child, a child who looked remarkably like Eliza and an old woman, someone familiar, stood in a doorway. Alice felt herself lifted high and saw a vehicle that looked like a small aeroplane, but she didn't recognise its design. A man held her, kind and funny, with patchy hair; he seemed very tall. Alice looked down at the top of his head. He smelt of unusual spices. Alice inhaled. She could smell them now.

  A journey followed—he showed her pictures in a book, then he carried her up those same steps where only minutes before she'd carried Eliza. From the safety of his arms, she watched as the monks in their orange and brown robes gathered around with smiling faces. They were greeted and welcomed and she felt the shyness of a child.

  The vision fell in on itself and reappeared where the little girl ran and played, laughing as the tall man chased her and played hide and seek games with her. The monks made toys for the child and patiently taught her to read and write. Alice basked in indescribable happiness—he perfection of a happy childhood.

&
nbsp; But then the girl, perhaps ten years old, was crying and waving goodbye to the monks and the A'khet who stood on the terrace. She was sad because they were sad, and she clung to the tall man's coat.

  There was a school where the child found it hard to relate to the other schoolchildren. Her friends in her home in the mountains were secret, and no-one could ever learn of them. But once, trying to be accepted and join in with the other children, she tried to speak of them, only to find words deserted her. She cried as the other children laughed.

  At first, each day after school, she went home to the tall man, Uncle Martin. They had a beautiful home. A bridge spanned the harbour close to her bedroom window. Uncle Martin liked numbers, he wrote on whiteboards and explained formulae to her. She tried to make sense of it, but it was too hard, so he would tickle her to make her laugh.

  But he got tired and ill, and one day, he left her, and she had to live at the school, only staying at the house each school holiday with a lady Uncle Martin employed. She hated it and wondered why he didn't come for her even when she cried for him.

  But one day, after many years, Uncle Martin did come, recovered. Smiling, he took her away. The girl—now a young woman—had made friends, become involved in her music and started university. Her old life had faded, and she made up a story to protect where she came from so it wouldn’t ever be exposed. But Uncle Martin made her go back—she was angry and wouldn’t speak to him. Her defiance reached into Alice’s heart.

  In the vision, Alice saw roofs, like the ones she saw at the Top of the World, Chinese roofs, ornate, red and gold, and a huge building—a university. The young woman studied the sciences, learned the language, continued her music and grew to love her new life, eventually forgiving Uncle Martin. She lived at the university and remained there after she graduated, returning quietly, as often as time permitted, to the monastery, where Uncle Martin became reclusive and eccentric and struggled to keep his mind still.

  For a moment, Alice found herself back in the room with A'khet but immediately sensed pain through her body, a pain which grew in intensity until she doubled over, her head touching the table. Her fingernails dug deep into the palms of her hands, her mouth opening to scream a scream which never left her lips. A'khet's hands stayed on her neck throughout her suffering.

  Her head snapped up. Uncle Martin was sad. An undeniable, agonising sadness. His face close to hers, he looked old and weary. She reached up to touch him, to comfort him, but her arm didn't move. He was carrying her up the steps, just as he had when she was a child. The monks stood about, weeping. She caught sight of her reflection in a terrace window. She had no hair, her face drawn and thin and she saw the frailness of her body in the glass. Pain tore through the length of her spine, and she couldn't feel her legs. Joy had turned to sadness.

  Although Alice had never seen any other room in the monastery, the vision cleared to show her the room Alexis Langley stayed in throughout her years there. Uncle Martin knelt beside the bed, crying and holding her hand. He rose often to pace the floor, and once, punched the wall in his anguish, then came back to hold her hands in his, blood seeping from his grazed knuckles. He held her hands against his face, begging her, willing her not to die. She felt the wetness of his tears and the weakness of her smile. He’d been so good to her.

  “Dear Uncle Martin,” she heard herself whisper, his sadness crushing her heart. “Don't cry. We were so happy.”

  As she tried again to lift her arm to comfort him, an intense peace filled her. Not like the peace of earlier in the day with Noah and Eliza, or even the peace of the A'khet. This was different. A complete and beautiful surrender to serenity. No need to breathe, no need for a heartbeat. Thoughts strayed in, her life, such a precious gift, and now, it was to end. Martin picked her up, and she rested a weary head against his shoulder.

  Then the vision stopped. A’khet removed their hands from her neck and with graceful bows, withdrew a short distance. Without their touch, their support in the vision, Alice faced the appalling grief at the sadness she witnessed.

  “What happened to her?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, unable to stop the tears slipping over her cheeks. She wiped them away with her hand.

  The lone A’khet responded with gentleness, knowing this vision would bring sorrow.

  “Your people give many names to the disease that would take Alexis from us. A'khet does not know disease and could not help our brother Martin nor our dear daughter, whom we loved beyond our existence. A'khet could offer no cure. Our despair so great, A'khet mourned.”

  “How did her uncle learn about the preservation technique?” Alice knew this was leading somewhere.

  “A'khet have both physical and non-physical existence. A'khet before you now is corporeal. When the time comes for renewal, our Umru renews us. We never die, we never experience sickness nor disease. And so, we never experience childhood, nor birth or the joy that is a child. As Alexis, you were to us the dearest and loveliest being to enter our world, our existence was enhanced by your presence and our spirituality edified as we watched you grow. When the disease struck, only death would be the outcome. We could not carry the burden. A'khet had only one sacred gift to offer.”

  The A'khet once again solemnly placed their hands on Alice's neck, and the vision returned.

  Her body lay in a shell-like dish, hard and cold against her thin flesh and protruding bones, but she rested now, waiting for the end. She didn't have to fight to breathe anymore—her chest rose and fell gently, the effort of past days now gone. She heard Uncle Martin sobbing as A'khet led him away. Peace descended on her, and a feeling of being washed clean; the pure water of the end of life trickled into her. She heard the slow beat of her heart and imagined the blood flowing ever slower. Soon, her heart would stop its struggle. There would be no more pain; only peace, perfect peace.

  Again, the vision folded in as Alice was pulled up and away. She watched as A'khet formed a semicircle around where Alexis Langley lay unmoving. Many A'khet stood, each with one hand on another's shoulders, Alexis's body bathed in a glistening sac. Below her, the still body of a single A'khet—sacrifice of Umru. From their mouths, A'khet pulled a gossamer-like thread. As the thread left their mouths, it lifted to weave itself around the capsule and Umru, forming a dome above. Alice saw the colours of Knowledge and heard its chimes. Within the sarcophagus, Alexis Langley changed from blue to purple and back to blue. Alice felt Alexis smile as she listened to the chiming; comforting her, speaking to her as she entered her long sleep.

  A’khet saw her expression and the vision ended.

  “It spoke to you.”

  “Yes, more than just a light and a sound. And the peace. The serenity. No wonder science failed.”

  "Umru joined with your body," A'khet continued, "to protect and nourish until humankind found a cure. We are artisans; we do not cure disease, but never has A'khet Umru—renewal—joined with another species, nor our own renewal continued for so long. The one who nourished your body never returned to us."

  Alice knew A’khet would read her thoughts.

  “Umru didn’t return, A’khet,” she said, the words never reaching her lips, “because Alexis Langley didn’t return to you.”

  “A'khet joined with you, joyously, that your life be preserved.”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m not Alexis Langley. I’m not the one for whom you made such a terrible sacrifice.”

  “A’khet made the sacrifice willingly. There is no regret.”

  “Can this be undone? Can Alexis return here, to her body, to her rightful place?”

  Alice spoke the words aloud, more as an affirmation to herself, that for so long, she had believed herself to be Alice Watkins; but then, as those memories faded, convinced herself she was truly Alexis Langley. She knew now, her first instincts were correct.

  “You never truly believed you were Alexis. You are the custodian of her body, and A’khet must respect and honour this mystery.”

  �
��I thought I believed, for a while. Why didn’t science suspect A’khet were involved?”

  “It is a spiritual joining to the physical, there is no science. That is why Alice Watkins recognises Knowledge, she can learn its power if she chooses. When one of our chosen lays down in death, the human spirit is released from A'khet Knowledge. Within the chamber, as with your body, A'khet are bathed by the non-corporeal Umru until our bodies renew. When renewal is complete, the union dissolves, no trace is left. It is beyond human science.”

  “Did Uncle Martin know this?”

  “Our brother Martin saw you after the renewal ritual when you were safely and peacefully sleeping. In his grief and anger, he believed the chamber would be breached and all A’khet secrets revealed to the world. He would not be consoled. In his madness, he placed tissue samples you worked on during your visits here, and even heads of recently departed monks. He made written statements and recordings, believing this would encourage any future scientific investigation to consider more conservative techniques of his time. A’khet could not soothe his distress. He believed you had died.”

  “What about the capsule? I understand it was analysed?”

  “Simple material from your time. Resin. Our brothers, the monks, used such vessels for growing tomatoes.”

  “My goodness!” Alice almost laughed. A’khet also saw the humour.

  “The plague ravages other worlds,” A’khet told her. “This world will never suffer the effects again, but it leaves such devastation. Your species struggled to rebuild after the final wave. The spirits of your people became low—apathy and pointlessness came over mankind and despondency clouded the world. A’khet was saddened, so we revealed ourselves to humankind. They accepted us because we offered a solution; A'khet had a purpose. On our world, long since gone, we are artisans, builders, architects. We gave Knowledge and techniques to help rebuild cities and utilities that would have taken humankind decades, possibly centuries to restore. We removed this Knowledge, for fear of abuse, choosing only those subjects worthy of receiving it.”