Author's Note: Hey everyone. It's been a long while, I know and I apologize deeply. Too many hurricanes and life changes basically stole all my creativity and I have been trying hard to get it back. I hate writers block.
But I still got reviews. I still got emails. And I thank everyone of you who actually reads my stories from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me through all this. You have been so great for me. Hopefully I can pay you back by getting this story out quicker and with the same quality (and more so) then I have already given.
Story Note: Okay, by now you have noticed that My Avalon seems markedly different from the one in the newest season of SG1. There is a very good reason for that. I started writing this LONG before the latest season. And while I am finally starting to enjoy the whole Ori thing a bit more, it will not be happening in this SG-1 Alternative universe I have created. So relax, enjoy, and let me make a mess in my corner of this sandbox. :)
Chapter 21 - Interlude 2
The city continued to burn.
The city had been pummeled for days on end by the silver slivers from the dark between the stars. Mile upon mile of land surrounding the great city of Avalon lay in ruins. Entire crops withered by the heated impact blasts. Herds of cattle laid to waste, the tangy sweet stench of meat wafting in the breeze.
But a day ago the bombardment had stopped, the storm of strange meteors spent, giving the great city a needed breather. Time to count and collect it's dead and to mourn.
And while every life lost was sacred and missed, not a single man, woman, nor child missed anyone more then the Blood of the Scion.
The great families whom had protected the empire with their lives for countless generations was now gone. They had outlived the Imperial family itself long ago, taking it's place. Not one single man nor woman among them ruled the people, instead governing by council.
But now they were all gone. Their great tower, a symbol of strength and resolve and honor among the Citizens of the Avalonian Empire was now nothing more then a burned out cinder.
The bodies, what remained of them, had been pulled from the rubble already, rolled in silks and placed in the sacred crypts. But the crypts had never been meant to hold so many, having been completely filled within a day when it had been meant not to be filled for centuries or longer.
The last of The Blood, Scioness Nikiski Noelani, stood among the hallowed bodies of her ancestors. Shrouded in the glimeirng black robes of mourning, she walked among each of the silken mummies, touching each bundle reverently. Tears ran down her cheeks in rivulets.
"I am so sorry." she whispered to her sisters. Her brothers. Her aunts and uncles and cousins. She walked from one body to another, offering them a silent prayer and a vow of vengeance.
And at the end of the precession of the dead was a final body. More intact then any of the others it sat on a throne of wrought iron. The corpse, draped as all the others, sat almost regally, instead of being laid down, and about it's shoulders was a cloak of magenta. The ancient Throne of the Dead. And behind it, seemingly carved into the wall, embossed in white and gold marble laminate, marble was the Eye of Tir'na'nog, symbolizing the forgotten passage to the land of Youth.
Nikiski's legs could no longer hold her. She trembled and fell to her knees and sobbed deeply. She clenched her fists and slammed the against the floor, screaming wildly and angrily.
"Father," she screamed, the tears taking flood down her stained cheeks, "I vow on my life that you will be avenged. I vow on my soul I will not rest until every vestige of the Nemesii has been cleansed from our worlds"
But the dead Scion did not speak. The dead Scion did not answer his only living daughter's vow. Because the dead do not use words to answer those who beseech them. They answer in other ways.
Or at least this was the legend that had been passed down through the ages. Very few believed that the dead could answer from beyond the Tapestry of Life. Very few believed, truly, that the dead had any true sway on the threads that bind the living.
No one truly believed any more.
Until now.
As Nikiski wept at her fathers feet, punching the ground until her small fists began to bleed, something that had never once happened in recorded history.
The Dead spoke back.
The Earth rumbled beneath the Scioness, the great Crypt shaking gently at first, then more violently. Bodies, stacked one upon another, fell from their slabs onto the floor. Ancient marble, so sturdy even through the great bombardment from space, quivered and shook, slaking fine dust from it't invisible cracks.
Tearstained, Nikiski tried to push herself up, looking every which way to see what what was causing this new disaster. Were the Nemesii attacking again? Were they finally returning to give the final death blow that would, once for all, erase the First City of the Avalonian people from the maps?
Guards ran into the Crypt, their energy lances held close to their sides as they made for their remaining Scion-blooded ward. Already bruised and battered from days of defending the city, be it on the ground or in the skys, they were not going to allow their last pure Blood of the Scion to die.
"Scioness!" The lead guardsman cried. "We must leave! NOW! A Nemesii ship approaches! We must get you to a safe place!"
Nikiski, in shock from this revelation, quickly braced one of the slabs, now bereft of a body, and pulled her self up. "Is it attacking already?" he asks, confused.
"No, Ma'am!" the guardsman told her as he came to her side, taking her elbow in his hand. His Armour, all black and gold, shone in the dim light. "But They will be soon. They are coming towards the crypt."
The Scioness stiffened. This wasn't right. None of this was right. "Guard. If they aren't attacking what is causing this?" he asks asked as the shaking got more violent, the walls seeming rattle and threatening to shake to pieces.
And, as if to answer her question, she saw that the dead had indeed spoken back to her. For this wasn't some portent of imminent death caused by their ancient enemy. This was something else all together.
The Scioness and the Guards-men watches as, behind the Throne of the Dead, the embossed Eye of Tir'na'nog cracked. But it did not crack into peices. The white and gold marble crumbled, slowly, peice by peice from the carving.
Which wasn't a carving.
White and gold gave away to dark Silver and grey. Each peice that fell from the Eye revealed something they never believed or even had any clue existed. The Great Eye slaked off it's covering, bit by bit. Symbols appeared with in inner tract. And the Arrows, interspersed around the ring, seemed to hum.
Light cut through the darkness as that inner tract lit up wiuth a trace of light that travelled the inner rim, highlighting unknown lines and dots quickly until it finally stopped on one.
And one of those arrows, now devoid of it's ancient laminate, made a lound clinking sound and lit up in a bright emerald green.
And Nikiski just stood there, the tears starting anew as she watched the Eye of Tir'Na'Nog come back to life. But they were not tears of sorrow. They were something entirely different.
Because she was smiling. Because she felt hope.
Because the dead had actually answered.
And the inner tract of light moved again, the opposite direction this time, quicker.. seeking another mysterious symbol.