Chapter 7

Daniel froze for a fraction of a second when he saw his four captors looking at him, then pushed himself up, spun and stumbled out the door into the dark. His numb legs refused to hold him up, and he fell forward onto his knees, then pushed himself up again, ignoring the pain shooting through the rest of his body. He limped and shuffled forward toward the trees, already knowing it was hopeless as he heard the heavy footsteps behind him. A huge hand grabbed his arm, and another his other shoulder, and he yelped as he came to an abrupt halt. His legs started to give out again, but he was firmly pulled upright.

"Please," he gasped, "you don't have to do this. Placebo, kree! Tek necesse non via kho'rem. There must be another way!" He was sure his syntax was wrong, but he thought they should understand him.

The woman looked down at him sadly."Me paenitiet," she said, shaking her head. "Non via kho'rem tek."

The two other men came out of the shack into the small clearing. One carried a torch, the other more rope and a large, ancient sword.

"Mainz gladius," Daniel thought inanely, automatically categorizing the sword. He wondered what it would feel like to be run through by an authentic 3000 year old weapon. Probably not so good. And was the tearing asunder part before or after the running through part?

Daniel started to struggle fiercely, but the two holding him outweighed him by 300 pounds, and they barely shifted in reaction to his efforts. The man—Haloran, he thought—grabbed him at the waist and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of grain and started to move forward. From his upside-down vantage point, Daniel saw the other men follow. The woman stepped back and said, "I will summon the others," and disappeared into the trees in the opposite direction.

Daniel bounced uncomfortably against the huge man's back. Each jolt pulled on his injured hip and strained shoulders, and the nerve endings in his numb legs were sending out unhappy signals that they were no longer asleep. He tried to pay attention to his surroundings, in case he could find a way to escape, but beyond the small circle of light cast by the torch, he could make out only the vague shapes of more trees. The bouncing motion and the smell of sweat and smoke emanating from the man's tunic started to make him ill, and he closed his eyes.

He had no idea how much farther they had gone when his "escort" stopped abruptly. Daniel heard the sound of murmuring voices gradually quieting, and then silence. He opened his eyes and saw that they were in another clearing, this one larger than the one that had held the shack. They were in the middle of a large circle of low stones, and outside the circle stood maybe another dozen oversized men and women, all with fake tattoos of varying design on their foreheads. There were a few more swords, these much more primitive than the first, and some heavy clubs. Some of the men wore only long open tunics and loin cloths, and he could finally answer the question of whether these people were Jaffa. As he'd suspected, there were no pouches, no symbiotes. Human then.

His viewpoint suddenly shifted, and he was upright again. He had a moment of vertigo, and a man he'd never seen before grabbed him to keep him from falling. When his vision cleared, he saw that he stood before a tall wooden post in the middle of the circle, with hooks on either side at the top. Haloran, if that was his name, had taken the rope they'd brought and draped it over the hooks. He and the other man brought Daniel to the post and turned him so it was against his back. The "stranger" lifted him up, and Haloran pulled Daniel's arms over his head to secure them to the post, causing Daniel to shout in pain. Haloran seemed to hesitate briefly but then quickly tied Daniel's wrists with the rope. Daniel gasped again as the rope scraped and pulled at his bloody skin, then shouted once more as the man holding him released him, causing him to drop suddenly.

"Ah, shit, shit," Daniel thought. He hung helplessly, his feet dangling above the ground, and tried to keep from sobbing from the pain in his shoulders and shredded wrists. "Please," he whispered in English, then in Arabic, before remembering where he was. "Placeo!" At the Latin word, the man who had dropped Daniel turned to Haloran and spoke rapidly. Haloran simply shrugged and shook his head. To Daniel he said sharply, "Ha're kree!" and raised his hand threateningly.

Daniel shut up, taking short, shallow breaths to try to control the pain. He looked around for a sympathetic face, maybe the woman from the shack. There had to be a way to reach these people. He was not ready to die here. He squinted through his glasses, now covered with grime and dirt, held to his head by the elastic band he for once had had the foresight to attach. In the dim light from the torches he could barely make out the features, but he saw that several men and women looked away from his gaze, as if ashamed. Maybe. . . .

He started talking rapidly, mangling the language he was sure, but desperate to make contact. "Please," he said loudly, "Please don't do this. I am a peaceful explorer in your land. I will help you find another way. My friends and I can help you protect yourselves from your gods; we can take you from this land to a place. . . ."

Daniel was concentrating so hard on getting through to them that he didn't see it coming. Haloran's fist crashed into his face, knocking him to the other side of the post. His cheek exploded in pain and blood filled his mouth, and his body swung from the impact. He tried to stop his movement with his feet on the post, but it was no good. Whatever was wrong with his hip kept him from pulling his legs up, and so he swung. The ropes bit into his wrists and yanked at his shoulders, and he wished he could pass out.

At Haloran's violent act, shouting broke out. He was chastised for the punch, and the newcomers around the circle began to shout questions. The others wanted to know how Daniel could speak to them if he came through the great circle, and one man wondered out loud if this was a sign from the forest spirits that he should not be sacrificed. A woman shouted him down, asking if he'd like to trade places with "the little man," or if his daughter should be next. She was shouted down in turn. And then the woman who had given him water in the shack stepped forward, and the rest quieted.

"The angry gods of the forest require a sacrifice," she said. "We have lost many through the seasons, and I believe this man was sent to us to save our children from such horror, at least for this day. If that is not so, then the spirits will leave him untouched. Let the gods decide! It is the way."

An elderly man, dressed better than the others in a long garment tied at the waist, stepped forward. "Are we in agreement?"

A few looked away, but most nodded.

"Then we prepare this body for its sacrifice," he said.

Daniel dangled from the post, still blinking tears of pain from his eyes, and watched as several men stepped forward into the circle of stones, carrying the heavy wooden clubs and blunt swords. The old man took the ancient sword Daniel had admired and turned toward him.

Oh, God. Daniel looked wildly toward the woods. Isn't it about now that the team is supposed to swoop in and rescue him? He looked back at the men and the people standing outside the circle and saw their faces grim with purpose. Daniel's breathing quickened till he was almost gasping, and his bound hands started to tremble

No, he thought. No. If he was going to die here, it wasn't going to be like this. He heard Jack's voice in his head saying, "Never let them see the fear, Danny boy. Never let them see the fear." Daniel deliberately slowed his breathing. He couldn't stop the shaking that seemed to be spreading through his body, but he clenched his fists to still his hands and looked directly into the old man's eyes.

The man looked back at Daniel and said, quietly, "We thank you for this service to our people." And with strength that belied his age, he raised the glittering blade above his head.