Chapter 4
One, two, three, four? Five, six? Seven? There seemed to be seven irregular mounds there, in a circle, jagged stones and pieces of what were probably columns scattered about. Daniel looked down at the survey map in his hand. He never would've been able to tell from the lines traced out there that these were seven distinct objects. In fact, even looking at the site in person left some doubts, but it was the only thing in the vicinity that could be what Claudia had called the Seven Temples.
He refolded the map and tucked it into a pocket, then set off through a gap between two of the more distinct mounds, intending to cross the center of the circle instead of marching all the way around it. He'd come alone, feeling that a little quiet time by himself would do him some good right now. McConnell had offered to accompany him, but Daniel had politely declined. He had a lot to think about, but now that he was here, he found his mind simply drifting, taking in the warmth of the sun on his head and shoulders, the evenness of the scrub-covered ground he was traversing – some kind of courtyard in the center of the temple complex? – the slight bounce in his step that must be due to the slightly lower gravity on this planet relative to Earth. It certainly wasn't because he was feeling particularly light-hearted at the moment.
As he passed between another set of mounds on the northwest side of the circle, he completely forgot all about the random thoughts he'd been using to distract himself. His mind went completely blank for a few seconds, then was filled with a jumble of excited hypotheses.
The land here sloped downwards in a succession of evenly-spaced humps fanning out in a semicircle from a lower-lying area framed by several partially intact columns. It was obviously the remains of an amphitheater, but he'd never seen in any amphitheater – Roman, Greek or otherwise – anything even remotely like the pair of obelisks standing in front of the columns. He half-jogged, half-stumbled down the slope to the bottom of the amphitheater, narrowly avoiding tripping and falling in several places. She'd been right – he probably would've broken his ankle in the dark, if not a leg or even his neck. This was worth a couple of broken bones, though. Well, maybe not a broken neck.
Both of the obelisks were covered from top to bottom with carvings – not surprising given the inscriptions found on all the other ruins – but only one of them was Ancient script. The other one was covered with Egyptian hieroglyphs. He sucked in a breath as his eyes devoured the familiar symbols. It was a welcoming message, addressed to Ra and the members of his court. They had been invited here to negotiate a peace treaty. Astonishing subject matter, to say the least, but the implications of the message itself were shoved to the back of his mind when his eyes skimmed over the other obelisk and its Ancient inscriptions.
The linguistic team had been struggling with translating the written language of the Ancients, basing all of their efforts on the meager foundation Daniel had been able to piece together working with Jack when he'd started spouting Ancient-ese. Making connections between a completely unfamiliar alphabet and a spoken language that sounded like Latin but didn't match exactly had caused more than a little pulling of hair and gnashing of teeth. But now– There were words on this obelisk he was certain of, and as he looked back to the hieroglyphs, he realized the two inscriptions were the same.
"My God," he breathed, taking a stumbling step backwards and blinking his eyes hard to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "It's a Rosetta Stone." He fumbled for his video camera and set about recording both of the inscriptions. Thank goodness the device had a "steady cam" feature, or he doubted any of the footage would've been of much use due to the excited tremor in his hands.
Why hadn't the survey team found this? They'd have to be completely ignorant not to realize the importance of this find. Then he remembered this area of the ruins had been surveyed by air. From above, it was very likely the two obelisks looked like just another couple of columns. They were made of the same bleached limestone – or at least, something similar to limestone – as the rest of the ruins.
He was making a second, slower and slightly more steady pass over the Ancient script when he finally noticed the faded mark slashing across the obelisk at about the height of his chest. He lowered the camera and stepped forward, his fingers lightly tracing over the imperfection. The carved figures were deep, enough to withstand centuries of wind and rain, so the mark didn't obscure the writing, but it was very definitely there. He would have to get some people in here to run tests, and even then they might not be sure given the length of time since the event occurred, but it seemed to him that the mark might've been made by the grazing blast of an energy weapon. A betrayal in the midst of peace negotiations?
Whoa, Daniel. You're really running ahead of yourself here. Those kind of assumptions can be dangerous. But it would fit with what they knew of Ra. He certainly wouldn't put it past the late would-be god to have used a flag of truce to get close enough to ambush an enemy.
He looked a little more closely at the obelisk, then at the other, then at the columns behind. There were no other marks that he could detect. A single shot? Would Ra have placed himself in such great risk merely to eliminate a single enemy leader? Or had he simply not come to the conference, sending his apologies in the form of an armed assassin?
Okay, now he was really going out on a limb with the speculation. He turned back to make one more camera sweep of the obelisks. Ra was dead. So was his victim, the one here added to the many elsewhere. The Ancients, though, could well be very much alive, and a definitive key to their language might just take them that much closer to making contact.
"Damn." He lowered the camera and took a deep breath. The adrenaline rush was wearing off now, but oddly, his hands were shaking even worse then before. Then he realized it wasn't just his hands that were shaking. The ground was trembling ever so slightly underneath him. He froze. "Oh, shit." Even after living in California, he hadn't gotten used to this. If anything, his college years had made him even more aware of the damage even a small 'quake could cause. The obelisks had survived for this long, but it would be just his luck for them to be thrown to the ground now.
As the shaking increased in intensity, the obelisks only swayed a little bit. He, on the other hand, did not have the steadiness offered by the weight of tons of stone. Dignity went out the proverbial window as he was tossed to the ground like a toy discarded by a distracted child – a very large, very temperamental child.
He landed on his back with his arms flung out to either side. He made one attempt to sit up and quickly decided it would be best to stay put until the earthquake subsided. As long as the obelisks remained intact, he seemed to be out of the way of any falling debris.
He'd forgotten about the columns, though. They weren't directly over him, but they were close enough and tall enough that a chunk of one of them decided to bounce over and check him out. Or rather, check out his right hand. He supposed he should be glad of that since if it had chosen his head, he'd be the one doing the checking out.
The rock landed squarely in the middle of his palm and rolled away, its momentum deadened by the impact. Thank God it wasn't the hand still holding the camera.
His mind told him there should be pain, but there wasn't. At least, not initially. Just a vague, aching numbness. As the rumbling of the ground gradually stilled, he made an attempt to pull the hand towards his face to get a better look. He instantly regretted it.
There weren't many things he'd experienced in his life that hurt that much. A blast from a Goa'uld staff weapon was close. He made another attempt to move his hand and decided maybe it was a toss-up as to which hurt more.
Gritting his teeth and choking back the yell that was trying to rip itself out of his lungs, he rolled the rest of his body towards his hand. If the hand won't come to Daniel, Daniel must go to the hand. Okay, piece of cake. Large, dry piece of cake, with no milk to wash it down, but still… Now for a real challenge – sitting up. It was a good thing there weren't any penalties for screaming in the process or he certainly would've been into negative points.
He bent one leg and tucked the ankle beneath his other knee to keep from falling over again and deposited the camera carefully in his lap. Those concerns taken care of for the moment, he reached out to pull his injured hand slowly towards him, bending the elbow with excruciating care, and finally bringing the back of the hand to rest on his knee.
The effort made his eyes water. Passive movement hurt a bit less, but not much. He sniffed and dragged the back of his good hand across his runny nose before returning his attention to his injury.
Just looking at it was making him nauseous, or maybe that was more the result of the ache gnawing its way up his arm, into his shoulder, and down his side. Really, though, all things considered, it didn't look all that bad. His palm was badly cut and scraped and was oozing blood, but at least there weren't any bones sticking out. He'd seen a compound fracture on a dig in Egypt once and really had no desire to ever see one again, much less on his own body.
It didn't take a doctor, though, to know the bones in his hand were anything but intact. The real question was how many pieces they had been broken into. He hoped not many. He didn't much fancy the idea of setting off the metal detector at the entrance to Cheyenne Mountain for the rest of his life.
He tried to summon up the courage to prod at his palm to determine the extent of the injury. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, and he was fairly certain the only result would be to cause him to scream bloody murder.
He was saved from his dilemma by a pair of feet – feet wearing sandals under the dragging hem of a dark robe. He thought about looking up, but decided he already felt light-headed enough as it was. He knew who it was anyway.
"So who appointed you my guardian angel?" He mentally congratulated himself for keeping his voice reasonably steady – no small feat at that particular moment.
She didn't answer him, but knelt down at his side. The veil was back over her face. She reached out towards him. He jerked away reflexively, without thinking.
If pain had a color, it would definitely be red. Or maybe black speckled with silver flashes. That was certainly what he was seeing at the moment. As for what he felt – it might've felt better to chop his hand off with an axe and be done with it. Good thing there wasn't one nearby. He might've been tempted.
His body curled protectively around his hand, but somehow, he managed to retain enough presence of mind to drag the camera out of his lap and set it on the ground beside him. Didn't want to get blood on it. He knew the thing was supposed to be waterproof, but he didn't want to take the chance. Silly, really, since both of the obelisks were still standing, but California had also taught him that sometimes the aftershocks were the biggest worry. There had only been a few minor, almost imperceptible ones after the first earthquake a couple of days earlier, but who knew this time.
"Let me see your hand," she said gently, but firmly. He was reminded of his mother, insisting that he take his hand out from behind his back, the hand that was holding the ankh he'd filched from the table full of artifacts waiting to be catalogued. He hadn't thought it would be missed, one small object among so many.
"No." His voice sounded petulant to his own ears, much like that long-ago child insisting he wasn't hiding anything. He wasn't a kid, though, and hadn't been, really, since the day he lost his parents.
"Daniel. Please."
He finally managed to unclench his shoulder and stomach muscles just enough that he was able to sit up straight again. He looked her in the eye, or rather, he looked at the part of her veil that he knew hid her eyes. "I can't let you do that." If he'd had that kind of resolve when he was a kid, he'd still have that damn ankh.
"Pain in the ass." It was the last thing he expected her to say. He couldn't help but let out a short bark of laughter. His guard dropped. She saw her opening and grabbed.
It felt like she'd come armed with that axe he'd been thinking about, but then the pain was gone. Both of her hands were wrapped around one of his, warmth and tingling energy spreading from her palms into his hand, up his arm, easing even the ache and the nausea. "This is who I am, Daniel. This is what I do. They may try to deny me a name, but they can never take this away."
"Claudia…" He stretched his free hand out towards her face, but she flinched back, then fell back, landing rather ungracefully on her backside. He didn't know whether to laugh or be angry – maybe both, but in what order? Then she gasped and doubled over, her arm clutched tightly to her chest – her right arm…
"My God." He was painfully aware of the irony of that statement. Yes, it had been her gods who had done this to her – a miracle of suffering. And she had accepted it, made it part of herself, made it her whole self.
He reached out to her again, but she twitched away and tried to push herself up from the ground with her left hand. He saw the blood on the other hand, the beginnings of the swelling, the shape of shattered bones under the skin. His own hand twinged in sympathy, and he tried to ignore the new ache spreading through his chest, a new pool of nausea in the pit of his stomach, the symptoms not caused by any physical injury this time.
He had seen the scars, and Darien had told him in words, but somehow that simply hadn't prepared him for the reality. One part of him wanted to turn away, but another part wanted to gather her up in his arms and simply hold her, rock her gently as his mother had done for him when he had suffered some scrape or bump or bruise. But this was so much more than that. He wasn't sure there was anything in the world that could ease that kind of pain.
She abandoned the struggle to stand and fell back to the ground in a heap, her veil half slipping from her head. She tugged it back in place and pulled her knees up against her chest, her hand pinned in between. "Go away."
"No." He said it in a normal tone of voice, very quietly, but there was no doubt in the word. You push, and I'll push back. He could do insistent as well as the next person, probably better than most.
She tried to top insistent with adamant. "I said, go away. Leave me alone."
"No." Again, quiet, controlled. His mother would've been proud. Or annoyed.
"Why will you not listen to me?" It came out half as a growl and half as a wail.
"Why won't you let me help you?" He reigned the anger in. Push only as hard as she pushes – no more, no less.
She was silent for a moment, then thrust her hand out towards him. "What help can you give me for that? There is nothing you can do."
He didn't flinch. At least not outwardly. He took a deep breath and very carefully cradled her hand in his own, mildly surprised she didn't try to pull away. She simply sat there, shoulders slumped, head bowed. His was only a simple, human touch. He couldn't heal her the way she had healed him. He couldn't take back the pain.
But now, even as his astonished eyes watched, the injuries were disappearing from her hand, the bones knitting themselves together, the torn skin closing, leaving only a patchwork of fine scars. Maybe there was something he could do after all, something that required nothing more than a simple, human heart. Sometimes hope was born of nothing more than words, and he had plenty of those to give. "You told me you thought I must love my wife very much to keep searching for her."
"Yes." Her voice had taken on an icy calmness, but he could sense the warmth still stirring underneath – the fire of pain, the flash of anger, maybe even a flicker of lamplight in the dark. "Love like that is very precious."
"But you won't accept it for yourself."
"I have no need for love."
"Everyone needs love, Claudia."
"Oh?" The word was a bitter, twisted sound. "Tell me who could love this." She pulled the veil away from her face as she had done before in the marketplace. "The moonlight may fool you into thinking I am no different from any other, but look at me in the light of the day and tell me that anything human could love me." Her voice was shaking with anger, and he could see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, but he knew she would fight with everything she had to keep them from falling.
"You said this is who you are." He stretched a hand out towards her face again, and this time she didn't move at all. She let him touch her, let him cradle the side of her face in his hand, even as she continued to stare defiantly at him. "There was a poet from my world who said that 'beauty is truth, truth beauty – that is all you know on earth, and all you need to know.' These scars are your truth, Claudia. Don't be ashamed of the beauty and compassion they represent."
She continued to stare at him in silence for a moment, and then the tears did fall – a single tear at first, sliding quick and bright over her cheek and down to the corner of a trembling mouth. Then another tear followed down the same shining track, joining with the first to form an even larger tear that slipped over her chin and down her neck. And then she stopped fighting and let the facade crack and split apart. He found himself thinking how truly horrible most people look when they are weeping, which is only natural since the tears are a reflection of horrible pain, but somehow, the tears made her beautiful.
He gathered her into his arms and rocked her gently. Maybe just holding someone wasn't so useless after all.
He let her cry, not saying a word, just being there, feeling the damp warmth of her face pressed against his neck, the grip of her hands, both hands, one around his arm, the other grabbing a fistful of his shirt, both hands strong and whole, as she was strong and maybe could be whole.
She finally quieted and went limp against him, her breath gradually slowing and evening out. He rested his chin on the top of her head, her dark hair soft against his skin, warm from the sun, from the life in her. "Darien still loves you, Claudia."
He thought he felt a brief surge of tension ripple through her shoulders, but then it was gone again. "I know."
"Do you still love him?" It smacked vaguely of shrink-speak to him, but he couldn't recall any psychiatrist ever asking him about love. Telling, maybe, but not asking.
A heartbeat of silence. Maybe two. "Yes. But it is not as simple as merely loving."
"Sometimes it is, Claudia. Sometimes you just have to have the courage to live from the heart, as someone once said to me. I've tried to do that. It isn't always easy." Memories of Sha're, pregnant with the child of Apophis, came back to him. "But I think it's worth it in the end."
"Perhaps," she finally admitted, then pushed herself gently away from him. No need to push back now. That was over and done with.
She remained on her knees beside him, her hands folded in her lap and her eyes fixed intently on her hands, so he stood up, flexed his right hand experimentally, then offered it to her. She looked up at him, her face pale and blotched, her eyes red-rimmed, but a hint of beauty still clinging to her, like mists lingering in the valley after the sun rises.
She took his hand and let him raise her to her feet, then smiled at him briefly before she pulled the veil back over her face. It wasn't what he expected, but then, what had he been expecting? That she would march back into town with her veil thrown back and her chin held high?
His disappointment must've shown on his face because she gently squeezed his arm as she said, "The truth is not always easy to accept, Daniel. But I will think about what you have said to me."
And then she turned and walked away from him, leaving him standing there, staring after her until she passed out of sight between the temple hills. He almost forgot to pick up the camera and take it with him when he finally followed.
