Rodney watched with a growing sense of doom as Ren and Stimpy were joined by Tav and a handful of steroid-enhanced Pawnim warriors. They plucked Sheppard off the ground like he weighed no more than a toddler, and had him in shackles before the colonel could even get in a good punch. Not that he actually could have—the way his right arm was hanging, Rodney guessed it was either broken or dislocated, and the sheen of pain-induced sweat on Sheppard's face told him that it was bad.
Sheppard kept looking over at him, his eyes radiating guilt—as if it was somehow John's fault that they'd fallen into a trap. Rodney knew that if anyone was to blame, it was himself. He should have known all the attention and praise was too good to be true. His eyes, no doubt, reflected John's guilt right back at him.
Ren and two of the new guards dragged Sheppard twisting and struggling out the door and Rodney could hear him alternately cursing them and calling out to him, telling him to be brave. Like he had any choice!
"Where are you taking him?" Rodney demanded with as much bravado as he could drum up, still pressed flat as he was to the marble floor of the library.
"We cannot allow him to interfere in the preparations," Tav answered serenely, and ordered the rest of his men to lift Rodney to his feet. They didn't bother cuffing him like they had Sheppard, but they did remove his pack and his gun. "Don't worry, we will allow him to witness the sacrifice."
"Oh, I'm so relieved," Rodney bit back venomously in an attempt to disguise his panic.
Tav smiled benignly back at him, taking his words at face value. "Byleist will want you prepared for the mountain's fire. We must hurry—he demands a high-moon sacrifice."
Rodney's stomach plummeted. "Mountain's fire? You mean 'volcano'?" he squeaked, his throat suddenly tight and dry. Tav didn't feel it necessary to answer him, and at his signal, Rodney was manhandled out of the library.
A cheer rose up from the crowd gathered outside the building. It looked like half the town had turned out to watch Rodney's capture and subsequent assassination. Rodney felt his legs go weak—this was really happening—they were really going to burn him to death, and even if he could break free of the guards, there was no way he could escape half the townsfolk who were out for his blood.
Rodney craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of John in the crowd. He was nowhere in sight, which probably meant they'd taken him into a building nearby. He was probably being shoved into a dingy jail cell at that very moment, and Rodney could only hope that the guards were going to take him to the same place. He needed Sheppard—he didn't think he could get through this without him.
As he continued to scan the crowd looking for John, or maybe Ronon and Teyla, on the off-chance they'd returned early from contacting Atlantis, Rodney began to wonder why the guards hadn't taken him anywhere yet. Why were they just standing there? A few seconds later Rodney had his answer, although it wasn't one that he liked.
To his complete mortification, the guards started slicing his clothes off with their knives and distributing the shredded material amongst the rowdy masses. The deadly blades cut precariously close to his skin and Rodney stood stock-still, scarcely daring to breathe as the sharp metal glinted and flashed all around him. Within minutes he was left standing naked in front of a village full of approving spectators, and as he watched the last shred of his clothing disappear along with his dignity, Rodney fought the overwhelming urge to completely flip out and run screaming through the crowd. If his sense of survival hadn't been so strong, he just might have done it.
Rodney covered his private parts as best he could with his hands and tried not to think about how one of his worst nightmares had come true. Instead, he focused his attention on what the guards were doing. They had held back the items that couldn't be shredded until the end, and now they were handing them out whole to onlookers whom they deemed worthy of the honour. McKay took careful note of who received his gun, GDO and boots, refusing to accept that he wouldn't be needing them again. The implication of having his belongings turned into relics was not lost on him. The thing about relics was that they were really only worth something if the person they came from was dead.
Tav came up beside him and grabbed his arm in a bruising grip. "Bind him," he ordered, and Rodney couldn't help it—he started kicking and punching anyone within reach, twisting and squirming for all he was worth. Sadly, it was a wasted effort. The overgrown warriors brought his struggles to an end after a pathetically short struggle, trapping him motionless in their grasp. Rodney watched helplessly as the one he'd called Stimpy appeared before him carrying a length of thick, rough rope.
"No, no, no, no, no, no…" Rodney muttered as his hands were forced together and tightly bound in front of him. It was all too surreal to truly be happening. The cheering, swarming masses of people; the bite of pebbles under his bare feet as he was led through the crowd; the hands—God! The hands!—that stole across his skin, invading places on his body that didn't bear thinking about; the unrelenting clamour of the people and the blur of torches as he stumbled across the courtyard. It had the same, slow-motion, graphically detailed feel of being in a car wreck; like he was there at the centre of it all, and yet somehow he remained detached from the experience. Like it was happening to someone else—some other poor sucker who was about to die. And it seemed to go on forever.
He was aware, in his detached way, that he was being dragged down a wide street which opened onto a square packed full of excited townsfolk. At the centre of the square was a huge, ornately carved fountain, depicting the volcano and the gorge of waterfalls they'd had to cross to get to the town. The replica was almost as stunning as the real thing—carved in a jade-like stone with multiple fountains cascading down to a shallow pool at the base, mist rising up from it in gentle, billowing clouds.
Rodney yelped as he was forced down to his knees before the fountain, his skin abrading where it smacked hard against the paving stones. The sudden, sharp pain was like getting a bucket of icy water dumped over his head, bringing him out of his trance so fast it made his stomach lurch.
Ing Tal, dressed lavishly in brightly beaded garments, emerged from the crowd and stood next to the large fountain facing the people. Raising his arms majestically, Ing Tal silenced his audience and he turned to address the fountain. "Byleist, we have done your bidding and brought before you the travelling scholar. Is it your wish that we should proceed with the sacrifice?"
Rodney held his breath, hoping that the elder had realised he'd made a mistake and was trying to save face in front of his people by claiming the fountain had given him a sign from their god. Surely, if the Pawnim were gullible enough to believe their god was still protecting them, they would believe whatever Ing Tal said without question and set Rodney free. The last thing Rodney expected was for Byleist to actually take shape within the mists of the fountain to answer the elder in person, but that's exactly what happened.
Byleist was as tall as most of the Pawnim warriors and his long, dark hair was braided in the same fashion worn by all the men. It was obviously a holographic projection, but whether it was a simple recording, responding to a pre-programmed set of variables, or if there was someone, somewhere, controlling it, was unknown. Rodney had read that Thor had appeared to the Cimmerians in the image of a Viking warrior so that the people would trust him, but he'd also set up recorded messages to handle situations in his absence. That meant there was no way of knowing whether the person speaking to them from the fountain was live or Memorex.
"Proceed with the sacrifice as instructed, and bring the other travellers to bear witness. Once I have received the offering, your people's safety will be guaranteed until the next harvest moon." The hologram's voice was deep and sonorous—a commanding voice—but McKay was so caught up in the science behind the projection that he almost missed what Byleist had said. He blinked vapidly up at the apparition a few times as the words began to sink in.
"Our god has spoken," Ing Tal declared, once more turning to face his people. "We must move quickly if we are to reach the summit before the moon is high."
There was a flurry of activity around him, and Rodney was unceremoniously yanked back onto his feet. Rodney's brain scrabbled to escape, to detach the way it had earlier, but it was no use—he was grounded by his fear. As they began marching him out of town, he was hyper-aware of everything: the cold sweat that prickled his exposed skin, the chafing of his wrists as Tav pulled him along by the tail end of the rope, the tickling, stinging, biting bugs that he could no longer brush away, every cut and bruise inflicted by the stones beneath his feet. But what was worst of all was not having John, Teyla and Ronon there with him. If they were there, Rodney felt sure they would have somehow managed to get him out of this mess. He would gladly suffer the childish teasing about his public nudity and his unmanly tears if only they would show up and take him home.
John paced restlessly in the tiny room the Pawnim had locked him in. His arm hurt like a son of a bitch, and he welcomed the pain—it kept him alert. There were no windows in the stone cell, and the door was four inches of heavy metal, with no hinges or bars to provide even the faintest hope of escape. He kept his footsteps silent, his ears straining to hear any noises coming from outside. His only chance was to wait until someone opened the door and charge them, even though such an act would undoubtedly lead to him curled up in a ball of pain on the floor. Still…he owed it to Rodney to at least try.
They'd left him his watch, so he knew that he'd been locked up for just over an hour when he finally heard someone approaching his cell. John braced himself against the wall, preparing to throw himself at whoever opened the door. There was the sound of keys jangling, the heavy clunk of the lock disengaging, followed by the rumbling grind of the metal door sliding open.
John seized his chance, hurtling towards the tall figure that filled the narrow opening. As he'd expected, the whole thing ended with him writhing in pain on the floor. Ren stood above him, shaking his head in amusement at his pointless attempt to escape.
"I was hoping I wouldn't have to carry you up the mountain," said Ren. It was the first time John had heard the man speak, and he was hoping it would be the last. His voice was so ordinary and blasé that it didn't seem natural coming out of the brutish thug. Ren snapped his fingers and two more Pawnim guards made quick work of binding John's hands and feet.
John clenched his teeth against the pain in his shoulder as the guards bound him and slung him over Ren's back in a mockery of a fireman's hold. It was everything he could do to remain conscious as the strain on his dislocated joint shot waves of nauseating pain throughout his entire nervous system. If Ren was planning on carrying him all the way up the mountain this way, he knew he wouldn't last.
As they entered the street, John noted that the crowd was moving, heading along the main road out of town. He searched the torch-lit street for any sign of McKay, but the scientist was nowhere to be seen. He did, however, see something that made his heart sink—coming up the street behind him were four Pawnim warriors, and between them they carried the unconscious bodies of Ronon and Teyla.
