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I
Colors are never a certainty in life. Seeing color at all relies on one finding their soulmate. Many people do, however, as soulmates are never as fixed as novels and dramas make them out to be. One can even have multiple soulmates throughout their life, though having more than one at once is considered uncommon, unless of course it is a matter of platonic soulmates.
However, the ability to see in color is only linked to one’s very first soulmate. The predominant theory is that one’s first soulmate is a romantic soulmate, and a subsequent soulmate is be platonic or, in the case of the death of the first soulmate, a second romantic partner. Whatever the science behind it, the first soulmate is the most important. One starts seeing color upon their first meeting with their first soulmate and stops seeing color with that soulmate’s death. No amount of other soulmates will bring that color back.
This, of course, begs the question what happens if two people who have both lost their first soulmate, become as close as soulmates? The scientific minds of the day have lots of theories for that too. Some speak of a knowing; others say there is a spark at first touch. Still more claim it’s an impossibility and that the death of one’s first soulmate ends the ability to make soulmate connections with others. This last has been debunked thoroughly, but people are not quick to give up their theories. Most people do not question it, simply accepting it as God’s providence.
- qtd. from “A History of Human Magnetism” by E. J. Thomas, 1835
II.
James’ world had burst into color when he’d met midshipman Francis Crozier and it had been both exhilarating and terrifying at once. It wasn’t uncommon for a sailor to find a soulmate in his work, but given how first soulmates were treated as exclusively romantic, James had not expected his first soulmate to be found in the Navy. At the time it had not occurred to James that Francis might just be that. It was common knowledge that same sex soulmates were meant to be platonic, after all.
Now, looking back at the long years of his and Francis’ friendship, James felt like he could not have been more wrong.
“James?”
James looked up from his desk, where he’d been sitting and staring at a blank page in his journal. Ann was hovering in the doorway to his office.
“Dinner is being served. Will you be joining us?”
He hadn’t for the past two nights, having lost himself in formulating plans for his rescue expedition that would be leaving in two weeks’ time.
“Can we speak privately, later this evening?” He asked, shutting his journal and getting to his feet.
Ann frowned. “Of course. Is everything…” She trailed off, and James could only imagine she had realized that asking if everything was all right was, well, an unnecessary question to ask, because it wasn’t and it hadn’t been for some time.
“I’ll join you in a moment,” James said, trying to give her a reassuring smile.
Ann nodded, still looking quite worried, and left the room.
James loved Ann dearly. She was, like Francis, a soulmate. She had been quite forward in telling him that she could see color, which James had been grateful for. He’d certainly fallen for her quite quickly, but the confirmation that they were soulmates had been more than a little encouraging in the face of Ann’s parents' disapproval.
He had told her that she was not his only soulmate, and in her knowing way, she had guessed that it was Francis.
“It’s clear as anything that you love him,” she had said, and James had agreed that Francis was the dearest friend a man could hope for, but he had also implored her not to say anything, as neither he nor Francis spoke openly about it. There had been no one before Francis, and the implications of that could put them in a difficult position even if there was nothing to it.
James could not remember exactly Ann’s response to that, but it had been understanding, which had left him much relieved.
III.
Francis and James had never had a proper discussion about the fact that they were soulmates. It had almost put them at odds at first, as James had been uncertain how Francis would react to the situation, but things were quick to smooth over when they both reacted with tacit non-acknowledgement.
Francis had made it known that he could see colors before James had, but he deflected any questions about his assumed “significant other.” James, on the other hand, had made careful note to not mention that he could see color until he had met Ann. It may have not gone entirely unnoticed, since he had certainly done scientific work that was best suited to those who could see color (working with the natural sciences all but required seeing in color), but he’d had Francis and Blanky, and if not them there was always someone on the ship who could see color to “verify” things.
After the initial bumps, James’ friendship with Francis had grown rapidly. Francis was steady and loyal and balanced out James’ tendency to be rash and impulsive at times. Their easy friendship had been a great source of comfort over the years, and now… now… Now something had gone horribly wrong and all James could do was pray that he wasn’t too late to bring Francis aid.
He wasn’t particularly good company at dinner. It was a mostly silent affair, with the most extensive conversation being Ann coaxing young James into eating his peas. Normally, James tried to rally for his son’s sake, but the weight of the expedition he was undertaking was making even the most simple things woefully difficult to manage.
Once Ann saw to it that little James was put to bed, she pulled her James aside for that promised private discussion. Steering James into their bedroom and shutting the door behind her, Ann asked, “Will you tell what’s been troubling you so greatly that you’ve been skipping meals?”
James shook his head. “I don’t know how to say it.” He truly didn’t; it had been so often Ann who had spotted the source of James’ concern before he could find the words.
Ann seated herself on their bed and gestured for James to join her. “Try?” Then she paused. “Francis is still alive… isn’t he?”
“Yes, yes, he’s still…” James swallowed, he could feel the hot press of tears behind his eyes. “I’m so afraid to open my eyes in the morning. Every day we’re delayed is a day too long.”
Ann rose again, moving forward to take James’ hands and lead him to the bed. “Have faith in Francis,” Ann said gently, “As long as he lives there is hope for everyone on that expedition, you’ve said so yourself.”
“I love him Ann,” James choked out. “I didn’t think it possible, but I do… forgive me.”
Ann tutted, squeezing James’ hands as they shook. “There is nothing to forgive darling. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I had already assumed as much when you first told me about Francis. I- I thought that was why you begged my silence.”
Hot tears began streaming down James’ cheeks and Ann pulled him close, cradling his head against her chest as he wept.
“People say so many things about soulmates that are just utter nonsense,” Ann continued softly, stroking James’ hair. “I think it’s rather easy to imagine that the things cited as truths may not be wholly accurate.”
James slowly pulled back from Ann, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe at his eyes. It was another few moments before he found it in him to speak. “You truly are a gift, Ann.”
She smiled softly as she took James’ hand once more. “You will bring Francis home.”
IV.
There had been uproar when Lady Jane Franklin had come forward in full mourning regalia to declare that her husband was dead and would the Admiralty not prepare a rescue immediately.
They had not. They had instead argued that there were still two competent captains aboard the ships that would see the expedition through the Passage.
Lady Jane, a force to be reckoned with, even in her grief, had pooled her resources to launch her own expedition. It had not come to fruition, but she made enough noise to get the Admiralty’s attention as she reached out to those who had also lost soulmates on the expedition. Undeniable proof of significant loss of life that continued to grow, as more and more people came out with their stories to Lady Jane.
As soon as the Admiralty began making proper preparations James’ had, without hesitation, offered to lead the search. It had been an agonizing wait to sail and it was made more unbearable by the constant updates from Lady Jane with an ever growing list of dead. After Lady Jane had forwarded him a letter concerning the death of Lt. John Irving of Terror, asking him if he thought it was genuine, he’d stopped opening her letters altogether.
The letter, received the week before he’d sailed, had nearly broken him. As James had read through the letter, it became more and more apparent to him, for all that the letter was intentionally vague, that the sender (identified only as W. E. M.) was a young man. He could see how Lady Jane could have found it suspect from the vagueness alone, but James understood intimately the desire to not want to make what seemed to be like a romantic attachment between two young men public knowledge.
Lady Jane’s accompanying letter had ended with the line, You must bring our men home, their losses grow with each day.
He had burned the letter from Lady Jane in a moment of anger and hurt. As if he wasn’t deeply aware of what was at stake should he fail! James felt he would have crumpled entirely with that letter had he not had the knowledge that Francis was still alive to bolster him.
Standing on the deck of the Enterprise, James felt at the letter in his pocket. He’d kept the letter from W. E. M.; he hoped that what he found might bring some consolation to the young man who’d written it. There had been no return address, but with some digging James was sure he could locate the sender. He could start with Irving’s family, ask after friends, and hopefully someone would have matching initials.
V.
Their first winter in the ice bore no results and their food supplies were not sufficient for a second winter—damned Admiralty for cutting corners and damned suppliers for shortchanging the amount of food in the tins—but James refused to be deterred. For the winter of 1849, they returned to Greenland, where James set about getting the ships restocked, wrote back to England for further supplies and sent home the men who could not handle another season in the ice.
The Admiralty, in a shocking turn (prompted by Lady Jane, no doubt), sent most of what was requested. A number of the crew aboard the supply ship even volunteered their services to replace the men who had been sent home, including a Commander Edward Charlewood.
“Captain Fitzjames was a good friend of mine,” Charlewood said, by way of explanation as they sat discussing just what Commander Charlewood’s position would be aboard the ship. “And there’s no need to position me according to rank, as I’m not serving in any official capacity. I’m not receiving any more than my half pay for this.”
James raised an eyebrow at that, to which Charlewood replied, rather morosely, “It’s a rotten bit of politics for my exemplary service in Mexico.”
“Ah,” James said. “Well, we were short-handed before you lot arrived, so your presence is far from unwelcome. I’d have you aboard the Enterprise, unless you have any objections.”
Charlewood shook his head. “No, sir.”
There was a heavy beat before James spoke again. “You referred to Captain Fitzjames in the past tense… have there been reports of his death?”
Charlewood flinched and James immediately realized the error he’d made. Charlewood had fought tooth and nail to volunteer to go North with supplies for the Enterprise and Investigator, to the point of serving on half pay, when he rightly should be receiving double pay. There did not need to be public confirmation of Fitzjames’ death, not for Charlewood.
“There have been rumors,” Charlewood said, slowly, “about his death along with that of Captain Crozier.”
“I am sorry,” James said. He was wracking his mind to think of some way, any way that he might get across to Charlewood that they were here for the same reason. Well, perhaps not the same, but similar; Charlewood was likely looking for answers, perhaps hoping to bring Fitzjames’ body, or some part of him, home, while James could still hold on to the knowledge that, whatever struggles Francis and his men were facing, Francis was still alive.
Charlewood watched James closely. “Do you believe the rumors?”
“About Francis? No,” James said, raising his eyes to meet Charlewood’s. “But I’m afraid I can’t speak for Captain Fitzjames.”
Charlewood crumpled at that and it led to a long, and much more earnest, conversation. Fitzjames, it turned out, had died not two months after James had sailed, and, feeling unable to come forward about his status as Fitzjames’ first soulmate, Charlewood had joined Lady Jane’s efforts to send another expedition following James, which had ultimately ended here.
VI.
James’ optimism in Francis being alive had been baffling to some, even before they’d set out. Surely, they thought, with the news of Franklin’s death, doubt must be cast on the survival of the expedition as a whole. And further, with Crozier unmarried and unattached at the time of the expedition sailing, there was, of course, no way of knowing if he was alive or dead.
Of course.
James knew there were whispers among his crew, even now, that he was blinded with the belief that Francis still lived in the face of what was already confirmed to be an overwhelming loss of life. It was not dangerous murmuring, however. His crew, James was well aware, were grateful that they were wintering in Greenland instead of in the ice and were unlikely to mutiny. It could have been better, but it could have been much worse as well.
But for now, all James could do was cling to the fact that his world was still in color. Vivid color, though sometimes, in his worry, he thought he saw flashes of grey out of the corners of his eyes. The theory that there was a decline in one’s sight as your soulmate was dying had never been fully proven, though there was interesting speculation that, in his earlier years, had fascinated James endlessly. He certainly couldn’t bring himself to examine those theories too closely now.
They sailed for the Arctic at the earliest possible date, with supplies and crew replenished and ready for another season in the ice.
VII.
The Netsilik man had to be wrong. Either that or both he and his interpreter, Thomas Abernethy, were missing something. Francis couldn’t be dead and gone. It was simply impossible and it made James want to scream. But he couldn’t, because the only other person on this blasted expedition who knew that James’ colored sight was connected to Francis and not Ann was Commander Charlewood, who was back at their base camp.
“It can’t be true,” James muttered as they exited the tent.
Next to him, Abernethy sighed. “Whether it’s true or not, there’s nothing we can do… but the proof did seem convincing and they have no reason to lie to us.”
James blinked back tears. As true as that may be… it meant… it meant that somewhere out in this white waste Francis was not only still alive, but that he didn’t want to be found. He swallowed; he was at a loss. Did he turn around and head for home, having failed so utterly? Or did he stay, push his men further and keep looking for Francis?
He knew his only choice would be the first, unless he either found more information or decided to admit before all the men with him that Francis was his soulmate, and more than that, his first soulmate. It would explain his otherwise blind seeming devotion to this task, but it could also ruin him just as easily. That sort of thing simply wasn’t done, at least not by people in reputable circles.
“We’ll stay here until tomorrow,” James said. “There may be information we can find that can lead us to the trail Franklin’s men took. If we can’t bring home survivors we may as well try to bring home pieces of them.”
Abernethy nodded and James dismissed him so they could gather information separately.
It was a hedge for more time and James also wanted to talk to the Netsilik man again, alone. Not much was known about how the Inuit dealt with soulmates, though it was noted that they had them; even the most primitive cultures did. Still, it was a gamble that James was willing to take; it would be far safer than revealing himself to his men. It would just be a matter of making his meaning clear.
He stepped back into the tent to beg another moment of the man’s time.
VIII.
Francis had just gotten to his feet when he heard James’ voice from inside the tent again and he paused.
“I know you didn’t tell us the entire truth,” James said. His voice was tight and Francis could hear him tripping over some of the words. “I know Aglooka is still alive.”
There was a long sigh from Tetqataq. “I am sorry, your friend is gone. There is nothing more I can offer you.”
“He’s…” There was a hitch in James’ breath that betrayed his tears. “He’s not. He’s my soulmate, I would know… I-I would know.”
Francis squeezed his eyes shut. To think that this was how those words were first spoken aloud. He could hardly bear it.
“There is nothing more I can tell you,” Tetqataq repeated, keeping Francis’ confidence as Francis had asked him to. “I am sorry.” There was a long pause, then… “If you ask there may be others who would say more.”
He means me, Francis thought, and before he fully realized what he was doing, his feet had carried him around to the front of the tent. He caught himself before entering, waiting to hear if James might respond.
There was a strangled sound that Francis had only ever heard in frustration, but now it was tinged with grief as well. He raised his hand to push open the tent, but then thought better of it.
“Thank you,” he heard James say at length, sounding more grieved and distraught than Francis had ever heard him before and then there was the sound of movement from within and Francis stepped back from the tent’s entrance. He forced himself to remain in place, watching as James’ swept out of the tent and froze as his red rimmed eyes met Francis’.
IX.
James surged forward, throwing his arms around Francis as a sob escaped from his throat. He wept openly, face buried in the collar of Francis’ parka and Francis could do nothing but hold James in turn.
“I’m sorry,” Francis murmured, his own eyes welling with tears. “That was cruel of me.”
James shook his head. “Don’t, Frank… I…” He trailed off, hiccuping on a sob.
“I should apologize,” Francis said. He’d hoped that James would have kept his promise to Ann and stayed home, taking comfort in the fact that he knew Francis still lived. It had been a horrible misjudgment.
When James pulled back from the embrace Francis steered them toward his tent, so they would have proper privacy, even if none of the Netsilik could understand their language.
James remained quiet until the tent flap fell shut behind him. “Why would you… why would you have them tell me you were gone, Frank? You had to have known I would come for you…” He looked almost as lost as Francis felt.
“I had hoped knowing I was still alive would be enough,” Francis said, trying to swallow back the tears that had been pricking at his eyes. “Selfish of me, I know.”
“Yes,” James replied, but then his face fell, clearly regretting it. “Was the rest of what he said true?” He asked softly.
Francis could only nod. He didn’t have the heart to tell James the whole story. There were things best left unsaid, the cruelty that had befallen them in the end.
“Will you explain what he meant by…” James hesitated, seemingly loath to ask Francis to relive any of what had clearly been unimaginable horror.
“Tuunbaq.” Francis shook his head. “I do not think I could describe it any better. It is not something we were meant to know about. If you must make any report about it, say it was a large vicious polar bear.”
James swallowed, closing the distance between himself and Francis. “I won’t press further then. You can tell me when you’re ready.”
When James took Francis’ hand, Francis felt like he might shatter. How could he tell James that there was no coming back from this? That there was no way he would survive a life in England now. “I don’t think we have that sort of time, James dear.”
Francis could feel James’ hand trembling. “You don’t meant that, Frank.”
Francis hung his head. “I can’t go back James.”
James was silent, but his grip on Francis’ hand did not falter. After what felt like an eternity, James raised his other hand to tip Francis’ chin up to look at him. His eyes were wet and his face was streaked with tears. “We’ve been through so much danger together, at both the poles, but I never really believed that the Arctic would take you from me.”
“It hasn’t,” Francis said. “I’m still here.”
“But once I leave for our camp tomorrow, that will be the last I ever see or hear of you.” In a rather bold move he shifted his hand to brush Francis’ cheek tenderly before withdrawing his hand and Francis found himself wanting desperately to chase the touch. “We’ve already lost so much for leaving the fact that we’re soulmates as an unacknowledged secret. I… It’s killed me to watch all the other wives and lovers fall apart, always fearing I’d be next to wake up to a miserable world of grey.”
X.
It felt like a brand had been seared into Francis’ chest to hear James speak those words.
“I’ll write,” Francis said. “We pass by trading posts… I won’t leave you in the dark.”
James smiled sadly. “I suppose I’ll have to be content with that. Will I be allowed to bring back answers or would you ask me to maintain your fiction, that you’ve died?”
Francis heart jerked in his chest. What would he ask James to say? He had hardly thought that through. This had all happened so quickly, so impulsively. He let go of James’ hand and shuffled over to the small canvas pack he kept next to his bedding. It was full of little tokens he’d kept: a scrap of fabric that was all that remained of Fitzjames’ white sweater, a collection of buttons from Irving’s coat, Little’s pocket watch, the straight razor that was really more Jopson’s than it was his.
He pulled out a worn piece of paper and, turning back to James, held it out for him to take.
It was a chart, old and worn, that Francis had used the back of to make the best approximation he could of a new chart of the coast of King William Land and the route they’d taken. He’d done his best from memory and the first chart to mark all the graves.
“If I take this there will be questions,” James said, glancing up at Francis. “And if I tell the Admiralty you are alive and did not come back… they will send other people after you. Lady Jane…” He trailed off.
“Lady Jane would take it as a personal slight” Francis shook his head. “She will be unhappy with any answer given about Sir John’s death.”
“I won’t ask you to come back just to quell rumors,” James said firmly. “But tell me what I should say.”
XI.
Francis watched from the edge of camp as James’ figure became increasingly distant. They’d talked long into the night about anything and everything they could think of: Their years in the Antarctic, Ann and young James, the idiocy of the Admiralty, how damned foolish they were for not having properly discussed their status as soulmates sooner.
James had left Francis with an empty journal and ink for letter writing, begging a letter just as soon as was possible. Francis had promised and James had kissed him. Francis had hardly known how to respond. The emotions he’d pushed aside for decades had come surging back as they slept curled close in Francis’ tent. They’d shared one last kiss in the tent before James had to leave.
What Francis would have given to have that affection five years ago, but it was far too late now. His life as Francis Crozier was over, had been over when he’d found the last of his men dead and dying two years ago.
“I thought you would have gone with him.” Tetqataq said, as he came up next to Francis. “You are soulmates, yes?”
“Yes,” Francis admitted. “But there’s no life for me in England anymore. I can’t be the man I was.”
“Has he asked you to be?”
Francis was silent. James would be out of sight soon. It was true; James had asked nothing of Francis and accepted easily that a return would mean too much pain, had given him nothing but understanding, and yet… he’d also given a glimpse of what they could have had… what they could still have… if only. He had made a terrible mistake.
Francis turned and fled back to his tent. James wasn’t out of sight yet. There was still time.