Title: Midnight's Children (chapter 9)
Rating: R
Genre/pairing/warnings: Daniel/Vala, Drama, Action-Adventure, mentions of torture in some chapters
Setting: Post-Ark of Truth
Word count: 4,441
Summary: Daniel and Vala, captured and held prisoner, struggle to survive a dark and painful ordeal. Not to mention each other. The bonds forged through hardship may prove to be the strongest of all, if only they can see them.
Meanwhile, planet designated P4X-235
The small yurt was draped with a heavy cloth, tasselled, dense, and redolent of many rains and a thick, sweet incense. It blacked out the light and lent the interior an old sort of mystique, the sickly yellow glow of tallow candles the only source of illumination.
Sam ducked her head, mindful of the low cross beams, and allowed the flap of stiff fabric to collapse behind her, sealing her inside. She picked her way respectfully through the detritus of domesticity - a set of porcelain bowls arranged on a tray, chipped and worn and beautiful for it; a rug in progress, the skeleton of its weave stretched on a rack and awaiting the skilled fingers that would clothe its nakedness; the piles of skins, fleeces and furs, opulent and warm and absolutely precious. These were the trappings of a life both simple and complex, the necessities for survival enhanced by the craft of those living it.
"Come, child," a voice beckoned, and she crossed to the two stooped figures, a swirl of scented smoke curling about their heads.
She laid the offering at their feet in hushed reverence, a spare handful of steppe flowers rendered colourless in the flickering light. A round appliquéd cushion offered the only seat and she lowered herself onto it, her legs folding awkwardly and her position graceless. She didn't quite know what to do with her hands.
Weather-worn fingers accepted the gift, scooping the delicate plants from the mat and removing them from sight. The trade of commodities was forbidden here. In the morning, an exchange of goods would be welcomed; knives, tools, cloth and cooking wares were invaluable to a nomadic people whose lifestyle limited industry of their own. For now, a token of respect was all that was required, and it appeared that Sam had chosen well.
"You honour us," the voice spoke again, thickly accented and gravelly. "How may we honour you in return?"
Sam finally allowed her gaze to travel upwards, taking in her hostesses and their exquisitely finished clothing. The speaker was an older woman with loose black hair which was unadorned and straight as a die. Her kindly eyes sparkled with shrewd intelligence and the crinkles at their corners spoke of someone quick to laughter.
Beside her was an elderly woman of many years, her skin wrinkled and liver spotted. Rheumy eyes peered at Sam over sunken cheeks, and her silver hair was bound in two thick braids that spilled over her shoulders. Both wore skins of the finest workmanship, the luxuriant fur turned inwards and the leather patterned with decorative stitching, bright beads and tinkling silver bells. Their feet were clad with closely fitted skin boots stuffed with dried grasses to pack and line them.
The two women sat across from Sam on seats piled high with furs, the back rests fashioned from interlocking antlers filed smooth and white at their points. All about was evidence of this people's hallowed beast, every part used and not a thing left to waste. There were bone-handled knives with leather sheaths, scrimshawed antler scraping tools, soft and pliable skins worked until supple, and strips of drying meat to see families through leaner times.
Sam shifted under the measured scrutiny of the two matriarchs, the weight of tradition bearing heavily down upon her.
"Honoured mothers," she recited, the scripted words tasting somewhat clumsy in her mouth. "I come seeking guidance, for myself and my travelling companions. They are sons of the Great Herd, and may not enter here."
The younger woman smiled and inclined her head; Sam had spoken correctly. Her eyes still on Sam's, she leaned close to her elder and translated the words, her language guttural and alien yet strangely musical. When she had finished, her eyes danced with a playful amusement at odds with the formality of her speech.
"You seek that which is lost," the woman intoned, "and you wish to know of success if you are to quest further. Many come seeking such assurances."
Sam allowed herself a polite smile. SG-1's mission here was widely known. SGC personnel had been stationed on P4X-235 since the fateful mission that had broken her team in two (others saw it more of a paring down, she knew, but had the sense not to say so in her presence), and had only encountered the migratory natives several months into a long-term study of the planet's orbital behaviour. It had a fascinating gravitational relationship with its closest neighbour in the system and this area's substrata exhibited properties that had Geophys in raptures. Sam would have found the place intriguing, had circumstances not been very different.
Yet her presence in this tent was a charade. In truth she had been summoned to receive a 'telling', and advised she would do well to answer the call. It was a great privilege to be granted an audience here, she'd been told, and continued diplomatic relations demanded she acquiesce gracefully. That she was the most senior female officer available was merely an inconvenience she would have to weather.
"I humbly beg your wisdom," Sam said with a bow of the head.
"It is not our wisdom, child," the woman answered with good-natured condescension. She narrowed her eyes just slightly, and Sam sensed she was being weighed and found wanting. "You have doubt in your heart."
Sam did not know what to say.
The woman nodded to herself. "We will consult with the ancestors and learn their insights. Then we shall see if you can be swayed."
With no further signal Sam could discern, the intricate ritual began.
Chanting low in her throat, the elder of the two women accepted the objects of her calling from her aide: a single feather, long and grey, which was passed over Sam's head to some invisible choreography; a tight coil of dried herbs set smouldering and fragrant, its smoke coaxed to play about Sam's nose and eyes; and a shallow bowl of milk, its surface sprinkled with spices and shared between them, thick and creamy and with an earthy flavour exotic to Sam's palate.
Preparations complete, Sam offered her hands when prompted. The old woman took them into her own, her arthritic joints gnarled and awkward, the skin of her knuckles paper thin and soft, her perfect fingernails trim and neat. Together they sat, heads bowed and silent, as their breath steamed between them in the chill air.
When she finally straightened, the elderly woman released Sam's hands and spoke softly into the ear of her companion.
"The items from the two," the younger woman prompted, and Sam surrendered the pouch from her belt.
The elderly matriarch ran her hands over each of the objects presented to her, humming approvingly with each one. For Daniel, a bandanna, its corners creased from repeated knotting. For Vala, a hair clip, the iridescent plastic rounded and tarnished with use.
A meaningful silence was held over each in turn and they were placed back into the little bag. Sam received them with a nod of thanks and watched patiently as the reading was given, the younger of the wise women leaning close to catch every softly spoken word.
There was no dialogue between the two, but rather an imparting of knowledge from one to the other, the recipient bowed respectfully in waiting. When the process was complete, there was a period of silence, the women deep in contemplation, the implications of what had been learned perhaps requiring a moment to interpret.
Sam felt her attention wander slightly, lulled by the building warmth in the dark and humid space, until the younger wise woman straightened to deliver her verdict.
"I am Ingá," the woman spoke at last, her hands passing over her face in greeting. "Our Great Mother bids you welcome and invites you to share in our shelter for the duration of your stay."
"We are honoured," Sam replied, remembering the expected response. The woman smiled.
"Our Great Mother has asked our ancestors for their wisdom and has been shown your path, if you would know it."
"I would, as it please the ancestors," Sam dutifully replied.
Ingá paused, and for a moment Sam worried that she'd strayed from the script SG-11's anthropologist had rehearsed with her. The elder reclined further into her seat, eyes closing in rest.
"Our Great Mother sleeps," Ingá observed calmly, as if all was as it should be. "I will tell you of her words. But first I would know you, and the others that make up your number."
The woman took Sam's hands again, her grip firmer and cooler than her elder's had been. She turned her face towards the ceiling of the yurt and shut her eyes, her head cocked slightly to one side as though listening for some far off music. Sam waited, surprised to find herself nervous and somewhat impatient for the telling.
"You are a strange people," Ingá began, her words sombre and evocative. "Leaders you have in great numbers, and many of them sons. This is not our way, but it has served you well. Our people know it takes a great many to follow, and but a few to show the way."
Here Ingá stopped and brought her head down, her eyes finding Sam's with piercing intensity. "He who leads you now did not desire it. He struggles to step out from an overbearing shadow, yet it is his own self-doubt that casts the greater shade."
Sam felt her brows knit. She didn't understand. But of course, the readings would be intentionally vague. She wondered why she felt disappointed.
Ingá took a breath, her gaze returning to the heavens, her eyes slipping closed.
"One son is not as the others. He has carried a great evil within him, yet strove to shrug off its yoke." Again her eyes opened and she looked directly at Sam, her message parsed from her observations. "He has led a double life, and chose to sacrifice one to preserve the other. The choice, when it came, was easy for him to make, though he mourns the memories he has set aside."
The fine hairs on the back of Sam's neck lifted in unison. As far as they knew, this society had not encountered the Goa'uld for some time. They had told no one of Teal'c's origins, and no one appeared to have recognised him as Jaffa.
The woman paused once more, again looking away.
"Your fourth sought long for that which has been lost. He has known much grief and fears to tempt it again." Sam was prepared to hold the woman's eyes this time and fought to suppress the prickle of apprehension that sensitised her skin. "Your fifth has a fiery spirit, and she too has prevailed despite great injustice. They wait for you, and for each other. Do not delay too long."
Sam felt a flush of warmth travel up her neck as those eyes, astute and assertive, maintained their direct link with her own. This hit too close to home. There could be no misunderstanding, yet Sam's scientific mind raced for a rational explanation. She believed in coincidences, if belief even came into it, the mathematics of chance a comforting and certain principle. Yet she found her logic being overridden by an instinctual resonance, by a natural compunction to find meaning in random parallels.
Her turn was next, and she found herself balking at the prospect.
"And what of you, daughter?" Ingá asked, a knowing glint in her eyes. "What path have you followed as we follow the herd, its trail ever true over tundra and steppe? What obstacles have you overcome in that great unknown?"
Sam's breath caught, her pulse thudding, the gentle squeeze to her fingers preparing her for the words.
"Your heart is full, but your mind is strong. It can be hard to know which to heed. Your fear holds you back when it should galvanise you. Do not mistake it for weakness; use it to help you seize your potential."
Before she could stop herself, Sam was shaking her head. "I've tried leadership," she said with a brittle laugh. "I'm not really sure it's for me."
It was Ingá's turn to shake her head, though she smiled gently as she did so. "It is the way of the herd for the mothers to lead. The doe protects her calf. She guides it to fresh pastures and searches out nourishment from beneath deep snows. She holds the memories of her many years and uses her wisdom to find the best path. And she is fierce. In winter she keeps her points so that she may ward off attack from the many foes that would assail her. She does not discard that which is of value, though others may replace the old for new."
Sam's hands were not released immediately, though she had no desire to pull away. She felt mesmerised by the words, their meaning teasing at the edges of her mind. She swallowed thickly, her throat constricting against an emotion she couldn't name.
Ingá sought Sam's unfocussed gaze once again, this time softened with a maternal kindness that she found she couldn't look away from. "We each follow a path, its end obscured by distance and time. Understand that it is not a line we follow, but a circle, an ever-repeating cycle, a rhythm that governs all things - the beasts that follow the seasons, the people that travel in their wake, and the worlds as they circle the sun, ever to return to the place of their beginning. Learn from your journey, and you will never be lost."
Sam felt her face pulling into a smile, responding to the encouraging smile on Ingá's own. This was a pep talk. One she hadn't realised she'd needed. This woman, this stranger, had a faith in Sam that she hadn't had in herself for a long time, and it was strangely welcome, even if it meant nothing more.
Ingá slapped her thighs, casting aside the sombre mood as quickly as it had fallen. "And now, we come to it. What you came for. Forgive an old woman's ramblings."
The woman rummaged among belongings stored in bags by her seat, withdrawing a long-stemmed clay pipe and packing it with nimble fingers. She lit it and puffed, leaning back to begin her telling. "You are close, closer than you know. The patterns you study hold the answer, if you'll take the time to look. Let them guide you, as bird and beast navigate by the night sky. And remember that some points of light can only by seen on the darkest of nights."
A ring of smoke shimmered in the air between them, pushed on Ingá's breath into a spinning, expanding loop.
"I will tell you now of our Great Mother's words," she continued, watching as the ring dispersed into the darkness over Sam's head. "She bade me tell you an ancient tale, one we tell the young of every generation. It goes like this. In eons past, we were of one people…"
~o0o~
The air was crisp and clean when Sam emerged from the yurt, the grass frosted and glittering beneath her feet. The clanking of crude bells drifted from the distantly corralled herd, the groaning of the reindeer an ever-present comfort for their human caretakers. Their musk was pervasive, but not unpleasant. Sam breathed deep.
The others rose from their makeshift seats and approached when they saw her. Teal'c eyed her speculatively. Mitchell clapped his gloved hands together and rubbed them vigorously against the cold.
"So," Cam began, scepticism evident in his tone. "Anything?"
Sam allowed her thoughtful silence to stretch longer than she'd intended.
"I knew this was a waste of time," he continued before she could interrupt, and Sam had to reach out a restraining hand to remedy the misunderstanding.
"She told me a story."
"A story."
"Among other things." Sam scuffed the toe of her boot into the permafrost. She would keep the reindeer analogy to herself. The last thing she needed was Cam comparing her to a ruminant at every opportunity.
"Anything that might suggest fancy tech?" Mitchell pressed. "No hidden cities? Mysterious overlords? Phase-shifting doodads?"
"She said that legend tells of a time when her people were divided, or split in two. The two tribes were able to develop their own ways, one choosing to move with the herds, the other presumably going down a more sedentary route in more favourable climes. I took it to be a metaphor for the parting of company, each following its own path and so forth. I think she was trying to be comforting."
Teal'c looked thoughtful. "It was not unheard of for the Goa'uld to transplant populations of slaves to other locations, much as one might manage breeding livestock. There may well be a number of small communities located throughout more temperate regions of this world."
Sam wished it were that simple. "I think this is pretty much it, Teal'c. The habitable regions on P4X-235 are limited to a narrow band around the equator, and it doesn't get much warmer than this, even at the height of summer. The seasons here don't fluctuate in the same range as on Earth."
Teal'c conceded to her point by inclining his head.
Sam sighed. "I know what you're thinking. I'm sure their society is steeped in history and that their folklore is based on fact somewhere along the line, but I just don't think there's anything here that could account for our detour. There's only one 'gate on this planet, and the missing MALP definitely isn't here."
It had taken weeks of trying to replicate the phenomenon that had delivered the team to the unknown destination that had eventually separated them. Sam suspected it was loosely related to timing - both of the rerouted 'gate activations had taken place just before midday Earth time - but had yet to confirm the conditions required to trip the malfunction, if that's even what it was. Their S&R teams hadn't detected even the faintest signal from the one MALP that had made it through to the mystery site since the wormhole had closed behind it. Wherever it was, it wasn't on this planet.
Teal'c exuded a regal calm the fur-lined hood of his coat could not disguise. "The secondary Stargate theory may indeed be erroneous, Colonel Carter. I believe however we would benefit from closer inspection of the DHD, if only to eliminate other possibilities. And we must observe this people's customs if we are to gain the information we require."
"You're right, Teal'c," Sam agreed. And he was; any amount of weirdness was worth the small chance they might find something, even if it was only confirmation of their doubts. "And it wasn't even as bad as all that. It was certainly… interesting."
"Oh yeah?" Mitchell prompted, sensing she was holding something back. "Not going all mystical on us now, are ya?"
"I was as dubious as you going in, Cam. You know what I'm like."
"Sure. You're the Scully to our Mulder." Sam's deadpan stare matched Teal'c's perfectly, and Cam frowned. "What?"
Sam looked about at their surroundings for inspiration, at a loss as to how to describe her impression of the place. "It's just that I get this feeling that something's not right here. Something's… I don't know. Significant, somehow. I know how ridiculous that sounds."
"It is my regret that my gender prevented me from being able to receive the reading in your place, Colonel Carter."
"Don't quite trust me to be open-minded, Teal'c?"
Teal'c inclined his head respectfully. "On the contrary. Only that your wont is to analyse, as you are trained to do. I however have had many years to find insight into the spiritual and the ephemeral."
The mood changed subtly in the pause that followed. "The right person for the job is the one who's not here."
It had become a habit of theirs not to address the elephant in their midst directly. They skirted the thing, almost afraid it would take physical form if it was acknowledged with more than allusion and coded references. The rare times they did so seemed to suck the air from the room, and Sam was almost sorry to have done it now.
"Daniel Jackson would no more have been granted entry than I," Teal'c responded with a patient calm that Sam had come to rely on more and more often these last few weeks. She realised how much she had missed hearing that name spoken aloud.
"We should go get warm," Sam said, deftly changing the subject. "We've been offered the hospitality of the tribe for the night. We're looking for a yurt with a dark red entrance."
Cam turned to cast a doubtful, sweeping glance across the clusters of beige, brown and earth-tone dwellings, then threaded his way hesitantly among the structures.
"We will find the answers we seek elsewhere," Teal'c assured Sam as he passed, and she gave him a grateful smile that only made her cheeks ache slightly.
But as she followed her team into the encampment, she couldn't resist a final glance back at the yurt behind her, the taste of spices still fresh on her tongue.
~o0o~
The newly fallen snow was already freezing into a light crust. Sam could hear Cam's boots crunching with each step. She'd known he'd be the one to find her after she'd slipped out, even despite his half-hearted grousing about the ever-present cold.
He came to a stop at her shoulder, his gaze fixed on the stars above. "We never expected it to work. We all said that going in."
The nights were so bright here that Sam could see eddies of snow crystals curling lightly in the wind, minuscule drifts reforming fluidly across the vast stretch of tundra before her. "I know. Can I still be disappointed?"
"Sure." Cam produced a lopsided grin. "I am."
Sam wanted to return it, but found she couldn't match his self-depreciating humour. "I guess I just hoped for something, you know? A miracle, maybe."
"You're not alone there."
A stronger gust shook flakes from the boughs of the stunted pines flanking the encampment and stirred the fur lining of Sam's hood.
"Yeah, but usually that's not me," she countered, angry with herself. "I thought we were just doing this to cover all the bases, double check the other team hadn't missed something—"
"Convince ourselves there's still something to try?"
"Right. Now that the formalities are out of the way, tomorrow we can sit down with the elder women and negotiate for more intensive access to their 'gate."
Cam nodded, filling in the blanks for himself. "A long shot, but the last thing we have left to go at."
Sam threw a frustrated arm out to one side and rubbed at her forehead. Despite the cold, her hairline was clammy beneath her many layers. "I already know it's pointless. I can't think of any scenarios where the receiving 'gate could be the problem. Not when there's been no activity this side."
"But it's worth a shot."
"Maybe. I don't know. The thing is, I thought I was just playing along. That taking part in their ritual would help smooth the way."
"Don't wanna come late the party without at least complimenting the salsa. Because that would be rude."
Sam smiled despite herself and let Cam put a friendly arm around her shoulders. "Got your hopes up, didn't cha?" he guessed, and Sam ducked her head.
"It's more than that," she admitted. "I believed. For a second there I really thought she'd have the answer, and when I came to my senses I felt like an idiot. Of course she can't predict the future, or speak to spirits, or read our palms. Teal'c may be able to rationalise all that to himself, but I can't. None of it meant anything."
"Hey. Don't be so quick to dismiss it. I had my fortune told once and I swear at least half of it came true."
Sam cast him a sideways smirk. "Let me guess: tall dark stranger? Long journey?"
Cam released her with a smile. "Something like that."
Sam raised her eyes back to the starscape sweeping above her like flicks of bright white paint. Even the brightest constellations were lost to the sheer density of so many fainter points, their clarity outshone by their dimmer, more distant cousins which clustered together and glowed in a way so rarely witnessed on Earth. With her naked eye Sam could see detail that light pollution would otherwise have robbed her of. She so seldom took the time to marvel at the beauty of a clear night's sky anymore.
Cam followed her gaze, content to take the brief silence as his cue to steer away from troubled waters. "Big moon out tonight," he commented, hands coming to rest on his hips.
Sam smiled, appreciative of the effort. She knew what he was trying to do.
"Actually," she replied, "it's not a moon. It's another pl—"
She stopped so abruptly, it was as though her face was frozen in a rictus. She turned, mouth still open, and gaped at the man beside her, her thoughts elsewhere entirely.
"Sam?"
Of course. How could she not have seen what was right in front of her?
"The worlds as they circle the sun," she repeated quietly to herself, her thoughts whirring.
The MALP they'd lost had transmitted a series of final, jumbled images before the connection had been broken. One of the last had contained the fuzzy outline of a tree canopy, the freeze-frame captured as the vehicle had been toppled onto its side. Just visible between the leaf cover had been patches of night sky, stars smeared to streaks by motion blur. The constellations had been impossible to distinguish, but there had been something else visible she had dismissed at the time.
She needed those images from the lost MALP. She would check, but she already knew what she would find.
What they'd taken for a moon had loomed large in the picture, and she remembered now the oddly familiar feature on its surface. It had a distinctive darker band through its middle, almost as though its circumference was marked by a smudge of shadow.
Not shadow, she realised now, but light. They'd been looking at a distant stain of vegetation, the tree line and tundra giving way to frozen wastes on an otherwise uninhabitable planet.
They'd been looking at the planet they'd dialled, the one the MALP hadn't reached.
They'd been looking at P4X-235.
