Title: Through Time VI: Last Voyage
Author: RocketMan >lbontger@wmcstations.com<
Disclaimer: I do not own Mulder and Scully but I own my own writing and
so maybe in a desperate way, I do own a part of them.....please?
Summary/Notes: This is a long-awaited sequel to my Through Time
series.....[insert laugh here] ...... and it has nothing to do with any
of the episodes. Don't you just love it? Also, it is the last in this
series, hence the play on the word 'Last' in the title. Aren't I so
clever? =-)

Through Time VI: Last Voyage

La Rochelle, France : July 24, 1684

Henri Joutel watched the French coast disappear in a haze of sunset and
water, a melding of the forge of sea and sky, and ominous sight for a
man of many superstitions.
Even though King Louis XIV had backed their sea expidition and had shown
great enthusiasm for a French colony in so aptly named Louisiana, Henri
felt danger looming over the darkening skies. Maybe it was the three
cannons decorating the deck with the name of the King's bastard son, Le
Comte de Vermandois admiral of France, or maybe it was just the gut
wrenching feeling that he had left life and civilization behind when he
had agreed to sigining on. 
The four ships that sailed together, the 'St. Francois', the 'Belle',
the 'Aimable', and the 'Joly,' were commanded jointly by Robert
Cavelier, Sieur de La Salle, and Captain de Beaujeu, and they had been
fighting ever since Henri had come aboard.
Joutel watched the sun leave them and the wind pick up, but no stars
showed their beauty tonight.
How would they know where they were going if they did not have the
stars?
He felt a touch on his shoulder and turned to find his wife, Charlotte,
beside him and also watching the signs of the sea.
"We're going southwest, Joulet, don't worry." she said, knowing him all
too well.
"Yes, I can feel that, but I do not trust our Captains. They never get
along."
She sighed and slipped in his arms. "What I don't trust are all these
men. They have that evil look in their eyes that says they would rape me
the second they got the chance."
He chuckled at her openess and pulled her closer. "I can understand
that."
She wrinkled her nose and sighed. "Seriously though, the men La Salle
chose to creat a colony aren't the best of society."
"Well, there are others on different ships, and even a few families on
this one."
"The name 'Belle' belies its crew, Henri."
"Well, of course it does. We're men! Not girls..."
She punched him and he gasped. "Okay, okay, on second thought, you're
not a girl either."
She smiled and kissed his wounded chest, standing on tiptoe to even
reach that.
Just as her name meant, she was little and womanly.
His face turned serious and he took her hand. "I'm just as worried. But
you get your signs from the poeple and the questions you ask, I get mine
from this gut feeling that Dante wrote 'Inferno' just for us."

Atlantic Ocean: July 13, 1684

Charlotte was disgusted at the crew and she did not try to hide it.
As a healer and certainly as good as any doctor, she had the job of
attending everyone aboard the 'Belle.' Due to horrible nutrition and
outright debauchary among the 80 men and women, disease was rampant and
evryone had the fever, no matter how careful he was. Even La Salle had
infrequent bouts of delirium, and Charlotte was about ready to toss
everyone overboard and let them fend for themselves.
Even the married women were allowing themselves to be whores to the
crew, seeking warmth in the isolation the sea coldly provided.
Henri could see she was furious.
"Cheri, stop trying to talk them out of it. You told them the first time
they got syphillis that it was because of their activities, but they are
obviously not willing to listen." he said, helping her wash the garments
she wore during her rounds. She had been taught by a midwife that
cleaning things lowered the risk of a disease from spreading. She didn't
know precisely why, but it worked and she would not question it.
"But I feel so helpless. They're killing everyone by being so
unrestrained. We've already had to pitch four men and three women."
"Their deaths were unfortunate and I know it is very bad, but it is
nothing we can change."
"Don't you understand, Joutel? We're going to hell!"
The fiery fear in her eyes sparked horror in him and he glanced
unconsciously to his large book of blessings and the old crucifix on his
dresser.
She drew closer to him. "La Salle has been navigating blindly, Joutel!
He has no idea where we are!"
Joutel's eyes locked with hers.
Her voice grew low and she shook slightly. "La Salle is dragging us to
hell."

Atlantic Ocean: August 23, 1684

"Pirates! Pirates!" came the sea shaking yell from the crow's nest.
Joutel jumped at the wheel and immediately began tactical evasion
manuevers, swinging hard to port ot avoid the ramming he knew the ship
would get.
La Salle came on deck and ordered signals to be sent to the other three
ships in their convoy, a warning of the danger.
Slowly, agonizingly, they watched as the large pirate ship grew closer.
In the sea, battles are swift only when the distance is small. 
Joutel eyed their course with fear as the dance began.
Ships at sea are not graceful things and turning hard had caused the
'Belle' to groan and shift as if she were already under attack.
The 'Aimable' had gotten the message he could tell, for it had carefully
swung to avoid the entire confrontation and was safe from the pirates.
That was the only ship Henri cared about; it was their supply ship. If
it sank, they were doomed.
The encounter played out slowly, the pirate vessel skirting around the
choppy wakes left by the 'Aimable' and the 'Belle' and heading straight
for the 'Joly.' At the last minute, just when it seemed the ship was
done for, the pirates swerved hard and rammed with sickening clarity
into the 'St. Francois.'
Charlotte's sister was on that ship.
Joutel felt his insides churn. He had been the one to convice her to go.
It was his fault.
The crew watched as the 'Joly' escaped and the other sank into the
depths of Posiden's embrace.
He could not tell her. She would be crushed. 
As the goods floated to the surface along with the crew and colonists,
the pirates picked each off one by one. First the salvageable goods then
the women and children.
Joutel prayed her sister was dead.
This was not a good omen.
The country bearing ship of their convoy had been ravaged by pirates.
And Charlotte's sister . . . lost in the sea.
The pirates moved away, shooting cannon balls as they did in mockery of
France's lost treasure.
Joutel felt his blood turn to ice and he relieved himself of duty, not
caring that La Salle gave him threatening looks.
No one respected La Salle anyway.
He was a blind, delirious fool who cared more about his own name and
postion than about the men and women dying under him.
Joutel went angrily to find his wife.
They had lost the pride of France.

Saint-Domingue, Cuba: September 1684

La Salle's fevered eyes stared defiantly at her, his sweaty brow lined
with fatigue.
"We shall move on, noble lady. We shall not suffer this giant a blow
simply because one man is sick."
Charlotte rolled her eyes. "You're not the only one, Captain. Many
others are suffering, and we need more supplies than what you've agreed
to sign for. If the crew doean't get rest and time to heal, you won't
have a crew."
Charlotte could care less about La Salle's own illness, all she could
think of was Joutel laying in a fevered daze in their small bunk, his
eyes glazed over and his body cold to the touch.
"Captain," she began again, taking on a sweeter tone that complimented
her small frame and delicate features. "You really need your rest.
You've had every disease that has shown its head these last few months
and if you're not careful, you could become gravely ill."
His face relaxed a measure and he grinned lewdly at her, his hands
groping to find her waist.
She dodged him expertly, certain she knew why he had caught every plague
on board.
"All right, Cherie, you have convinced me. We will stay here for -
uh.... how long do you think is wise?"
She scrambled for an answer. "Two months, Captain."
He nodded. "Two months. Fetch me the errand boy and I'll put it into
effect immediately."
She nodded and curtsied lowly to him, despising the nickname Joutel had
given her on this man's tainted lips.
She had the time needed to keep Joutel alive.
Now all she needed was the strength.
God give her that.
She could not face the sea without Joutel.

Saint-Domingue, Cuba: November 1684
Joutel, feeling alive after months of fever and horrible aches, stood in
his customary spot on the deck, breathing in the salty tang of brackish
sea water and the sickening smell of tar pitch. The ship was refitted
and her crew healthy once again. 
Charlotte came to stand beside him, the worry on her face predominant.
He slid an arm around her and kissed her forehead. "How you managed to
stay so healthy all the time, I'll never know, Cherie."
She smiled. "I was sick, once, at ten."
He frowned and kissed her teasing lips.
"I hope that lasts. Because you know we will need your services again,
Cherie. The men and the women do not listen."
She nodded and sighed, looking back to Saint-Domingue, where half their
number still resided.
"I still can't believe it."
Joutel shook his head. "Non, it's easy to believe. They are smarter than
us, I believe."
She laughed bitterly and he did not like the sound coming from her. She
had seen too much horror, too much of man's inhumanity to retain her
former innocence.
He held her closer as the sun once again set upon them.
Charlotte buried her face in his chest and he felt the tears slide away,
a much needed release for her.
She cried for her lost sister, for the idiocy La Salle had under his
command, for the crew she had lost, the innocence she had lost, but
mostly, she cried for the fear.
A fear that came because, as they sailed away from the Cuban port, they
sailed away from civilization, and they sailed away from 100 women and
men who had refused to keep going.
One hundred men and women their already dwindling colony badly needed.
What was to become of the rest?


end part one
adios
RM
'what do you think?'
Subject: Through Time VI: Last Voyage (2/2) by RocketMan
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Title: Through Time VI: Last Voyage (2/2)
Author: RocketMan >lbontger@wmcstations.com<
Disclaimer: I do not own Mulder and Scully; CC, 1013, and Fox own that
honor.
(see part one for other)

Last Voyage

400 miles west of Mississippi River: January 1685

"Anastase, come hold this, please," Cheri called out to the friar, who
had agreed to help her with some of the medical tasks.
Anastase Douay pushed his long sleeves back up his arms and heaved his
heavy weight over to her, where she was ready to deliver a woman's
child.
He took a long look at the woman's pasty face and heard her healthy
screams and trembled slightly, before taking the instruments from Cheri
and crossing himself fervently.
"Prayer for me, Friar," the woman whispered through clenched teeth.
Anastase looked to Cheri and saw the grimness in her eyes, a look of
calm detached science that told him the women would not make it.
She did not have a prayer.
He nodded and began mumbling his all too frequent prayer, the one to
send her own in harmony and peace, her soul comforted in God's love.
Cheri delivered the child expertly, after some trouble the mother had in
pushing, but the little girl came into the world nonetheless.
And the women died as her eyes caught sight of her baby's wailing face.
Cheri held the girl tightly, cleaning up the afterbirth and cutting the
cord, and tried not to let it get close to her.
But Anastase could tell it was hurting her.
"I will tell her husband," he whispered softly.
She nodded resolutely and began feeding the girl with a goatskin bottle,
her actions automatic and coming from years of training.
It was hard to lose someone who had such a wonderful reason to live.
Anastase left quietly, placing a healing hand to her forehead and
shutting the door behind him.
The child's howls diminished until all Cheri could hear was the suckling
of her mouth and the contented sighs.
A hand made her jump and she looked up to see the father, his face grim
and utterly lonely, but determined.
"If you don't want her-" she began.
"No. No, I want her. She's my wife's child. She's mine. I want her." The
man took the child and held it tightly, and the girl did not stir.
Cheri rose and walked out, pulling her bloodied clothes off as she did.
The men eyed her as she walked back to her cabin in nothing but the
undergarments, but she did not care.
When she got to the cabin finally, Joutel was waiting, arms open to her.
She walked into them and collapsed.
The sea was their enemy and she did not know how much longer she could
fight it off.

Matagorda Bay: January 1686 (year later)

Joutel felt the signs before he saw the clouds.
He heard the angry rushing of the witches of the sea and felt their icy
touch.
Cheri, laying beside him in bed, moved in her sleep anxiously and he sat
upright, knowing it was coming.
He quickly shoved on his clothes and crept out barefoot, hoping he would
not wake her.
He found the bridge and peered through the darkness to the starless sky.
Shivers glanced through him and he found the sailor manning the wheel.
They talked for a moment until Joutel felt it again.
The sea.
He rushed down to La Salle's private bunk, skirting the sailors sleeping
in the halls.
He banged open the Captain's door and ran in.
He shouldn't have.
One of the younger boys that was made to clean out the ship's hold was
lying prone on his stomach, his face smashed into the bed covers to
muffle his screams.
Joutel retched in the doorway before he could do anything, and by that
time, La Salle had seen him and was jumping away.
"Joutel!"
He shook off the horribleness of the scene and edged closer to the boy,
grabbing him and shoving him out of the Captain's cabin before anything
else could happen.
The look of rage on La Salle's face made him back up.
"Captain, storm's coming," he said quickly, and then ran out again.
He went looking for the boy, who was evidently in hiding, but needing
help. He didn't care what La Salle did with the information.
But as he heard the men being called up to lash the deck down, he
realized that he would not find the boy in time to go get Cheri.
He headed back for his cabin, being careful to avoid the men he knew
would snitch on him to La Salle.
As he drew closer he found hte boy, huddled in the doorway of his cabin
and sobbing.
But Cheri's arms were around him and he was weeping into her clothes.
He squatted next to them and brought his lips to her ear, making her
jump and frighten the boy.
In whispered words he told her what had happened, about the storm and
the Captain's proclivity.
She hugged the boy tighter and stroked his hair, her eyes wide and
filled with horror.
He pulled her up, dragging the boy with them and rushed her out to the
deck.
"Whatever happens, Cheri, don't go below deck."
She looked at him oddly, her eyes ready to doubt. They always went below
during storms.
"Cheri, just don't. This isn't a normal storm, and we're not where we're
supposed to be."
"What do you mean?" she said harshly, holding tighter to his arm.
He took her arm in his large hands and began steering her to the forward
mast. The sails were furled and everything tied down. He hoped this one
would not split, but the main one could.
"I mean, we're not in Louisiana, Cheri. I've been before and this isn't
it."
"How do you know? You've only been once. You couldn't know it-"
"Cheri! Just do it!"
He left her.
She watched him disappear into the wind.
She held onto the boy and placed her back against the rough wood of the
forward mast.
And then she heard the waves.
Slashing and crashing and falling onto the 'Belle' and destroying.
She could hear them destroying.
And then the wind drowned everything out save her own wildly beating
heart.
<Oh God, save us from the sea.>

Matagorda Peninsula: January 1686 (a few hours later)

"Charlotte!" 
He felt his blood thrash in his veins, his heart skipping the beats it
needed to keep him alive.
"Charlotte!"
What if she hadn't made it? They had run aground, but surely, with her
being on the deck she hadn't been hurt.
Please, God.
"Charlotte!"
He scanned the beach again, waiting for one of the blurs to break away
from the rest and coming running to him.
But none did.
He went back to the boat, climbing up the side ladder to get back on as
others tried to get off.
He went through every cabin and bunk and was ready to give up when he
saw her bright red gold hair through the crowds.
"Charlotte!"
Yet she still did not turn around.
Troubled he drew closer to find she was bandaging others, healing their
hurts as best she could.
He saw an ugly gash on her forehead and he went to her, touching her
shoulder softly.
She jerked wildly before seeing him and smiled in an odd little way that
made his heart break.
He kissed her cheek and saw in the corner of his eye, that Anastase was
helping her, along with the boy.
He called the boy over and drew eye level with him, one hand still on
Charlotte's shoulder.
"What's your name, boy?"
The boy stuck his chin up and said, "Lucas Antoine, sir."
Joutel nodded. "Well, Lucas, help me bandage my wife, all right?"
Lucas nodded and grabbed some of the not quite white rolls and handed it
to him.
Joutel pushed away the others, telling them that they could see her
later, when everything was off the ship and it was repaired safely.
"Henri," she mumbled, but her word was garbled and strange.
He took her face in his hands and traced the gash along the eye ridge,
seeing her shudder at the wave of pain.
He shook his head and bathed the area carefully, washing away the blood
so he could see how bad it was.
Not too deep, but horribly swollen.
He carefully wrapped the bandage around her forehead, binding it tightly
to keep it from opening.
She nodded when he was done and he realized she was oddly silent.
She turned to Anastase and the Friar came to her.
"Cheri?" Joutel whispered, a cold wind running through him.
She did not turn at his call.
He touched her shoulder and saw the tears in her eyes as she turned back
to him.
He was speaking and she could not hear.
She reached out and touched his moving lips, the eery silence that was
wrapped around her like cotton kept her from him.
He shook his head in denial, brushing her hand away angrily and grabbing
her shoulders.
He yelled as loudly as he could and all she got was a half sigh.
He stopped, his senses coming back to him, and pulled her agianst his
chest, mumbling he was sorry even though she could not hear.
She understood though.
And held him tightly.
Nothing would change; she wanted to believe that. She could never be cut
away from him; their communication went beyong words.
He pulled her up and grabbed her and tightly, then motioned for Lucas
and Anastase to follow.
He walked proudly off the ship, Charlotte beside him.

Fort St. Louis on Garcitas River: December 1686

Joutel touched her subtly and she turned to face Anastase, who was
coming towards them.
Anastase waved and smiled, then hugged her as the room began to fill
with the men and women left at the colony, only 180 settlers.
After the storm last year, they had built the fort under La Salle's
orders and all knew they were not in Louisiana.
The water was brackish and unable to drink, swimming with vermin and
mud. La Salle was continously going on expeditions, wasting precious men
to search for the Mississippi River when they were needed to build and
cultivate.
At the moment, La Salle was gone again with three other men, his most
loyal.
But the next expedition was already scheduled and Joutel and Charlotte
were on the list.
They would be leaving in January of the following year and something had
to be done.
The colony was dying.
Joutel watched in silence as Captain Beaujeu pushed to the front and
began addressin the assembled men and women.
"We are tired of La Salle. We are tired. He is killing us with his
obssessive search. And we must do something before there are none of us
left."
A few nods and one cheer.
Joutel turned to Charlotte, seeking the inner quiet in her eyes that she
always lent him. He did not like what they were proposing to do.
Beaujeu spoke quietly: "In the next expedition, he is dead." 
The silence attacked and left the maimed assembly to fend for
themselves.
Then slowly, a pulse began to throb among the men and it caught to the
women and soon everyone was chanting.
He was grateful for once that Charlotte could not hear it.
It was abominable.
He took her outside, sinking against the side and pulled her close to
him for warmth.
Her lips found his and she sighed as he kissed her back ferociously.
She could read lips now, and heard some of what she was saying, so she
wasn't completely deaf. But in a crowd, everything got lost.
She preferred being alone with him and Anastase.
Even Anastase was caught up in the bloodletting.
But something had to be done.
Before they all were dragged further into hell by La Salle.

Fort St. Louis: January 1687

Seventeen men and two women lined up outside the fort, their bodies
shivering in the cold and their eyes in hot with the fire of hope.
Charlotte snuck her hand into Joutel's and squeezed it. Beside her
Anastase trembled slightly, his soul burdened with the weight of what
they would do.
But the thing that troubled Joutel was that this expedition was a search
party, to find help.
Was La Salle coming around finally?
Lucas looked up at him with clear blue eyes and his purpose solidified.
After what he had seen in La Salle's bunk, he could never forgive the
man.
He took Lucas' hand and squeezed it, hoping the boy was not as
frightened as he looked.
Joutel still could not understand why La Salle had picked Lucas to go
with them; it didn't make sense, unless he had forgotten already.
Lucas would never forget.
"Luc, check my pack." Joutel said, giving the boy something to do
besides wait. Luc obediently tightened the straps and made sure he had
all the provisions.
"You're good." he said.
Joutel thanked him and as he did, La Salle came forward, his pack
carried by another boy, one who was no doubt getting the samew treatment
as Lucas had.
Cheri squeezed his hand. Her eyes gave him reassurance.
He knew why he was doing this.
For Lucas, for Anastase and the rest of the colony, but most of all, for
her.
Because her sister was lost, her innocence shredded, and her hearing
gone.
He had to make it right again somehow.

Trinity River: March 1687

Blood.
Blood.
Blood river, flowing through his hands and across his chest as he
carried the dead man.
Cheri's hands soaked in it as she had, at the last minute, tried to save
La Salle when the Friar had called out to God.
Cheri now walked silently beside him, clutching his belt, gliding
through the reeds to the river like an appirition.
She was pulling away from him.
And blood soaked through his body, into his soul and stained him there.
Lucas, ahead of him, had actually shot the bullet that had killed the
man, but no one was going to tell him that. He needed his innocence,
whatever was left of it.
Anastase walked beside Lucas who alternately wept and crowed as they
drew closer to the river that would become La Salle's resting place.
And the blood, the blood.....
it flowed like rivers of water rushing to the fall....
the blood, the scarlet flags of injustice mocking him......
the blood......and Cheri, her eyes troubled.....

Trinity River: March 1687

They stood on the bank, watching the body of a perverted forty-three
year old half-man sink to the muddy depths that were appropriate for
him.
Cheri stood in his embrace, her chilled body seeking warmth in their
isolation.
They turned away as the sun set on the dirty river but the stars did not
follow.
Lucas turned to him and his eyes were pits of despair.
"We did what was right, didn't we, Joutel?"
Cheri was watching him.
"We did what we thought was right."
"But *was* it right?"
He was anxious to know. His sanity seemed hinged on it. "Was it right?"
Cheri was watching him.
Anastase was staring into him.
He turned to where Charlotte, his beloved cheri, could not see his lips.
"Yes, Lucas, we did what was right."
Lucas turned in relief as Anastase turned in disgust.
Joutel turned to Cher for assurance.
She was shaking her head.
"I know." she said softly, the words odd on her tongue.
"I know, Henri."
His name on her lips was sweet and he walked into her arms, collapsing
there.
He had helped to drag them out of La Salle's Inferno, only to thrust
himself further into his own.
But Charlotte was saving grace.
She did not turn away from him.
"Us, forever," she said and pressed rough wood into his palm.
He looked down and saw a carved fox, the eyes touched with flowers of
sorrow.
It had been her father's childhood toy at one time, and before that no
one knew. It was her prized possession.
He felt the peace return and took her hand.
They turned away from the river.
They could not return to the dying Fort, nor to the death of the sea.
They headed instead for north and freedom.
<God be with us.>

end
adios
RM