A/N: Chap 50 review responses on in my forums as normal.
Part IV: The Enemy At the Gates
Chapter Fifty-One: Anointed
"Mum?"
Cathy Jackson looked up from the pottery wheel. Fortunately, she'd not long started her latest project when her son stepped into the hut. As so often happened lately, Cathy almost forgot she was looking at her son of just twelve years. Instead, she found herself drifting to the face of his father.
If she were honest, though, Amhar looked much more handsome than Harry Potter ever would. Her son, at twelve, already approached six feet in height. He wore his rich black hair long, to his shoulders. Brilliant, almost inhuman green eyes looked about him with a continuing sense of wonder, as if he could see things she could not.
Being a child infused with both his mother's Force gift and his father's magical strength, she realized he probably could see things she could not. Her own boost in the Force faded shortly after he was born, and she was never again more than just mildly talented. It was as if she gained power not just from his presence in her womb, but from the mere potential of his presence.
"What is it, son?" Looking at his youth and vigor, Cathy suddenly felt old and used up. It was a foolish thought, though. She was only forty-two. Despite living in the forests of the Nox home world, the Nox made sure her life was not too difficult. She found food by her hut every morning, and sometimes Lya would come and speak with her about the Force, or about the choices that led to her permanent exile for the last twelve years.
"The air feels strange," Amhar said.
Cathy removed the wet clay from her wheel and stored it in water. She washed her hands and pulled on a shirt to cover her bare chest. "Tell me," she said as she finished cleaning up so she could give her son her full attention. These episodes of his had begun just in the past few months—Amhar would sense something in the air and would remain unsettled for days on end if he couldn't talk about it.
The two left her hut and moved onto one of the many paths around the seemingly endless forest. Cathy knew the Nox themselves lived in a massive city floating on a cloud of anti-gravity in the lower atmosphere of the planet. The city near them was just one of two dozen that floated around the world. She suspected if the Goa'uld ever came in force the Nox could fly their cities off the planet entirely, invisible the entire time. Cathy learned that the Nox abhorred confrontation of any kind. Their dislike was not just limited to violence. Even in their personal communication, a mild disagreement was enough to make a Nox shake in anguish.
For a woman who grew up living for the thrill of a good debate, her last twelve (almost thirteen) years living with the Nox had been tantamount to hell. But she did it anyway, for her son. She studied his profile even now as they walked. He may have had Harry's hair and eyes, but his nose, chin and cheeks were hers, and it made for a breathtakingly beautiful boy.
Nor was the beauty confined to his face. She'd never heard of any twelve-year-old with the musculature of a man of twenty. But he truly looked like an Adonis, molded from the ideal specimen of the male form. Sometimes she regretted she was his mother, because it seemed impossible that any woman could resist him.
"Can you tell me about it?" Cathy asked.
He shrugged. Though he looked like a male supermodel, he was still only twelve and often times lacked the vocabulary to describe his feelings. Considering he was fluent in Goa'uld, English, Nox, Alteran and Furling, that said a great deal. Though the Nox left them largely to their own devices, Lya or others found themselves drawn to Amhar just like Cathy herself, and the boy soaked up information with amazing speed.
"Something's about to happen," he finally said. "Something important."
Cathy closed her eyes and tried to connect to the Force. Through most of her life, her connection had been weak. Now, though, her son acted almost like a signal booster, because the feeling flooded into her. Something important was going to happen, and it was going to happen in moments.
It should not have surprised her when their meandering footsteps led them to the Stargate. What did surprise her were the two figures who stood on either side of it. The first was Lya, unchanged in the years from when Cathy first met her. The Nox were ageless. If they died, ever, Cathy had never felt or heard of it. The ageless woman stood perfectly still, looking at Cathy with dark eyes gleaming with intelligence, but also concern.
Opposite the gate from Lya stood an unknown figure draped in powder-blue and white robes. He had a hood over his head, but his face was exposed to reveal bone-white skin lined in what Cathy recognized were truly ancient, Pre-Alteran runic symbols. In one hand he carried a brown leather book, and in the other a long staff topped with a white crystal. Though her eyes saw only the man, around him her other senses detected the Force screaming as if in pain. The air around him shimmered, repelled from his presence because of a deep core of black, black fire that burned in his chest where his soul should have been. This figure was not a man—not a human. Whatever animus he once possessed had been burned out, leaving only the black fire of an ancient, malevolent power.
"Ori," she whispered, recognizing the Enemy from her portion of the Ancient knowledge.
"The time has come," the prior of the Ori announced in a booming voice. "What was foretold has come to pass. You, Catherine Jackson, have fulfilled your destiny. The Ori are pleased with you. Through you has the true Chosen One, the Champion of the Ori, been born. In him the truth of Origin and the light of the Ori shall wash away the sins and evil of this galaxy. The time has come. Catherine Jackson, Amhar Potter, your destiny awaits."
"Lya?" Cathy called, confused and terrified for her son.
"It must be your choice, as always," Lya said, sounding sad yet distant. "The Ori cannot touch you if you stay here. That, I suspect, was why your aunt brought you here of all places."
"The choice has already been made, as it was foretold," the Ori creature boomed out. "The choice was made when you conceived the Chosen One. The prophecy was fulfilled. All that remains is to embrace the consequences of your choice. I name your son Orici. In this vast expanse that has sheltered evil and been led astray, he will be the beacon of light in the darkness. He shall be the truth and the light and the way to the warriors of the Ori, and to all who follow the true Path to salvation. With the wisdom of ages, he shall lead us to glorious victory over any and all unbelievers. And you, as the mother of the Orici, shall be loved and heralded as she who brought the Savior to us. Holy days will be appointed to celebrate you. You shall have the companionship you have always wanted. You shall have riches and regard and fame. All that you have always sought shall be yours. All you must do is choose to follow the Path set out before you."
Amhar took her hand and gazed at her with his heavenly eyes. "I understand now, mother," he said with a rapturous look of joy on his face. "I can see it now. All those dreams I've been having, they all make sense now! I am the Orici. I am their champion, just like my father is the champion of the true Enemy. You see it, don't you? Harry Potter isn't the bridge to heaven, he is a bridge to damnation! And it will be up to me to save him, or destroy him." He lifted her hand to his lips, and with the touch of those lips against her palm a wave of almost sexual energy shivered down her spine.
She didn't even look at Lya as the Stargate activated of its own accord and she and her son followed the Prior of the Ori through. When they were gone, Lya quietly wiped her eyes. The gate activated again, without dialing, and without another look the Nox disappeared through it.
~~Stars Alone~~
~~Stars Alone~~
YOUR FREEDOM IS A LIE!
WE DON'T WANT YOUR FALSE GODS!
IMPS GO HOME!
Hermione sat in the back seat of the heavily armored transport as it rolled along a cordoned street toward the former palace of the Morrigan on the world of Magtireth. Behind hastily erected barriers and lines of Imperial soldiers thousands of people shouted out their rage at Hermione's transport caravan, hers being the third of five armored cars that carried them from the stargate to the palace.
Signs written in Goa'uld expressed the rage of a people who never surrendered even after their goddess died in the Battle of Doran, along with the rest of the Goa'uld System Lords. Magtireth never joined the Empire of Kheb—they were conquered in the months that followed the breaking of the Goa'uld fleet.
Even fourteen years after their conquest—fourteen years of education and intensive propaganda —the majority of the planet continued to hate and protest their Imperial occupiers. Hermione's presence that day was the result of a riot in the capital city of Balor that left almost two thousand dead, a disturbing number of which were Imperial soldiers.
"Some would call that an open rebellion," Luna noted dryly during their briefing the previous day.
Hermione did not want to go; her seventy-first birthday was a week away and Harry promised to take her on a vacation. Fourteen years and his unwillingly fathering a child with another woman went a long way in helping ease the tension between them from her own infidelity, but they still didn't spend as much time together as she wanted. Things were better than they were, but not as good as she hoped.
She needed the vacation. The past fourteen years were the hardest she, Harry and Luna ever experienced in their roles as sovereigns of the Empire. That was because of the sheer number of worlds that continued to oppose them, both within and without the Empire. Some, like Magtireth, hovered on the edge of open and continuous rebellion. Some, like the ancestral Jaffa home world of Dakara, formed the backbone of a Jaffa party within Parliament that did everything in its power to hamper Imperial policy, but always within the framework of the law. Their leader, Minister Gerak, made sure to never step over the line of treason.
Fortunately the Jaffa party remained a minority within Parliament, and Luna's projections showed that within two generations it would diminish further as more and more Jaffa elected to have their children become Mal Jaffa. However, within the fresh infusion of almost one hundred and fifty worlds of mixed Jaffa and humans, even as minority leader Gerak wielded considerable power.
Which came down to the last but greatest reason she did not want to come that day: Gerak sat beside her in the back of the transport, clad in traditional cream-colored Jaffa robes, while reading a data pad. Gerak was a tall, lean man with thinning to non-existent hair and a sharp, angry set to his features.
The former First Prime of Montu was an effective public speaker and assumed his office despite the fact he never actually left Montu's service until the Goa'uld underlord died. The Jaffa of Dakara chose to join the Empire and elected him as their minister, but the relationship was never good. According to General Teal'c, the man hated anyone who would dare give him orders.
"The people seem less than pleased by your presence, your Majesty," he noted without looking up from his pad. His tone sounded completely neutral.
"So it seems," Hermione said. "We can't compel love, nor would we want to."
"Just compliance?" he asked, looking up from his pad with what for him was a wry smile, though his eyes drifted past her to look out the transparisteel windows at the crowds beyond. Despite the insulation, armor and shields around each transport, the angry roar of the crowds had a visceral impact.
"Fourteen hundred Jaffa died in the riots last week." He lifted the pad to illustrate.
"As did almost six hundred Imperial soldiers," Hermione returned. "According to the governor, the protestors were given a route to march on, time and space to express their anger, and a promise of no recrimination. Instead, they ignored the planned route and rioted through the administrative sections of the gubernatorial palace and entered into open battle against Imperial forces. I regret any loss of life, Minister, but it is difficult for me to pity those who died as a direct result of their own crimes."
"No matter how just their cause?"
"I find questions of justness to be entirely too subjective to be valid, Minister."
"And interesting position for one of the Tripartite," Gerak said. He nodded. "Majesty."
Hermione tried to hold her anger as the man quickly disengaged from challenging her too far. Sometimes she felt every one of her years, while others, such as while in the present of the 172-year-old Jaffa, she felt young and inexperienced. The Force itself was oddly silent as well, making her feel even more uncertain.
The transports broke through the crowds and entered a shielded compound right in front of the opulent gubernatorial palace which previously belonged to Morrigan. Governor Montral, Hebridan by birth but an adopted son of Kalmah, stood waiting for her with his hands behind his back.
He bowed from the waist as she approached. "Your Divine Majesty," he said in greeting. He stood and nodded respectfully to Gerak. "Minister. While I regret the reason for your visit, nonetheless I am honored. Ordinarily I would offer you a tour, but given that I received my first tour of the palace from your majesty, I suspect that would be redundant. I do have quarters prepared if you wish to refresh yourselves."
"Thank you, Tinan, but I do believe it's best to get started," Hermione said. While most planets within the empire were allowed a certain level of autonomy, planets such as this one were ruled by governors either appointed or approved by the Tripartite Throne. Tinan Montral was one of her personal appointments.
"Of course, your majesty."
He led them through the sprawling, opulent palace. She noted with approval that most of the gold, titanium and naquedah paneling had been removed and smelted down from the palace, replaced by painted plaster. The proceeds from the precious metals were used to help fund the education initiative on the planet, for what good it was doing.
The conference with the Jaffa opposition on the planet took place within one of Morrigan's many boudoirs, each as large as the Solarium on Kalmah. This one still had much of the gold leaf on the walls, though the many formal portraits of the dead Goa'uld were gone, replaced by a formal portrait of the Tripartite Throne. Hermione hid a wince when she saw the gold-leaf halo the artist painted over her and Luna's head. The artist was obvious of Eridu origin since the halo had become incorporated in her cult there. The three ethereal beings in that portrait may have looked vaguely like Hermione, Luna and Harry in their faces, but felt like someone else entirely in their royal finery and divine trappings.
For the day, Hermione wore baby blue culottes and a loose blouse arranged to hide her lightsaber and the heavily charmed body armor she wore under it. Her guard, a body of ten dedicated rangers hand-picked by Harry himself, took up secure positions around the room.
The planetary opposition chose a Jaffa named Anir'Danu as their speaker. The woman stood as tall as Ishta, a head taller than Hermione herself. For a moment, Hermione regretted not bringing Ishta with her. As she approached, she dismissed those doubts and centered herself in the Force. She was Empress, and she would have this situation resolved one way or the other. Hopefully she could find a peaceful solution, but she wasn't leaving until these riots stopped.
Anir'Danu neither nodded nor bowed; a sign of contempt that Hermione chose to ignore as she sat down at the around table. Governor Montral sat beside her on her right, while Gerak sat to her left mid-way between her and the other Jaffa.
Before any formal greetings or introductions could be made, Anir'Danu spoke. "The people of Magtireth reject the authority of the Empire of Kheb. We reject your claims to this world or its people, and demand that you withdrawal from this world and its system immediately."
Hermione would have been stunned by the woman's impertinence if she were not already familiar with the Jaffa method of diplomacy.
"The Empire of Kheb owns this world by Right of Conquest in accordance with your own traditions, and by the Khebbish Accords of Year 32. More importantly, this system is one of strategic importance to the security of the Empire." Hermione spoke firmly as she met the taller woman's gaze. "We will not withdraw. So then the question becomes whether you wish to live as responsible citizens of the Empire, or as conquered subjects. But know that I am not leaving until your people have chosen one, or the other."
The Jaffa woman did not even try to control her angry flush or the flaring of her nostrils. Hermione wondered for a brief moment if the warrior was foolish enough to resort to violence, but evidently even on Magtireth they knew how powerful the tripartite were.
"Perhaps there is another way to resolve this conflict," Gerak said into the tense silence. "I've recently been contacted by an interested third party that might be able to find a different solution."
Hermione felt the first hints of warning in the Force. She turned and studied Gerak's seemingly earnest face. "There are no other interested parties involved, Minister. This is an issue between the people of Magtireth and the Empire."
"With all due respect, Majesty, there are always other interested parties," Gerak said. His smile took on a sinister hint at the corners. "The universe is, after all, a very large place."
A previously hidden door opened and two people stepped into the boudoir. The first was a tall, strikingly handsome young man who, despite his height, looked so young he didn't appear to even be shaving yet. He had a head of rich black hair and sharp, planed cheeks that made him look almost like a New Hebridan sports model. What was most striking about him, though, were his eyes. They were the exact shade as Harry's.
Something about him made it difficult to look away, but when she did she felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. She rose to her feet, aware that her rangers all around the room had come to attention and had their hands on their weapons. "Cathy!"
"Hello, Aunt Hermione," Cathy Jackson said with a feral smile. She looked beautiful and slim, glowing with health, power and good living. "This is my son, Amhar. We represent a new power in the galaxy."
Like a veil dropping, suddenly Hermione felt power emanating off the young man she now knew had to be Amhar Potter; power the likes of which she'd not felt since Harry nearly ascended years ago. The young man was far more than a mere human, and the realization did not terrify her, it sickened her. This was her adopted daughter; the sister of the heir to their throne. This was her husband's son.
"Oh Cathy," she whispered with tears in her eyes. "You don't know what you've done."
"I know exactly what I've done!" Cathy snarled, her feral smile turning into a hungry, angry grin. "I've given the galaxy a choice! You forced your husband on us all. The chosen of the Ancients. If you were so secure in your faith in the Ancients, you wouldn't need to force people to follow you. My son is also a Chosen One. He is chosen of the Ori, and we walk the path of Origin. And now the people will choose which path they wish to walk."
"Know this, Aunty," Amhar spoke for the first time. Despite his obvious youth, his voice sounded alarmingly deep and smooth, as if he were a trained singer. His gaze made Hermione shudder because it was so very much like his father's. "Those who do not walk the path of Origin must be destroyed. The people of Magtireth have chosen wisely. I give you the same chance. Choose Origin and join us, or be destroyed."
Upon this threat, the Rangers around the room reacted instantly. Blasters were pulled and the soldiers were fully prepared to fire. Amhar raised his hands and the Force screamed; all around Hermione Rangers collapsed dead to the floor.
"What is happening here!" Montral shouted. His horror provided eloquent proof that he was not a part of this conspiracy. Unfortunately, he did not live long enough to do anything about it. Anir'Danu removed a small Khebbish blaster from within her robes and shot the governor at point blank range. She'd had it the entire time—this whole meeting was an ambush that Hermione never felt coming.
"Choose, Empress," Amhar Potter. "Walk the path of Origin, or be…"
The boy may have been as powerful as Harry, but he was still young. The Force lightning she struck he, Cathy and Anir'Danu with was the most powerful she'd ever generated. It was not just energy, but a kinetic blast as well that sent all three flying back with hurt cries.
Gerak fumbled for what she could only guess was a weapon within his robe, but Hermione's lightsaber removed his head before he could find it. She turned to apparate when she felt a blast of heat and what she could only ascribe as magic slam into her back.
The blow was more powerful than her own and sent her flying through the air until she slammed into the opposite wall. She stood on shaky legs and looked over her shoulder to where Amhar Potter ran toward her, his green eyes glowing with rage. Behind him, Cathy and the local Jaffa leader were still trying to pick themselves up.
It occurred to Hermione that, if not for her armor, she would be dead.
The boy raised his hands and lashed out not with Force lighting, but with blinding streaks of white power that, though visually similar, harnessed something that made the Force scream as if violated. Hermione slipped her kera'kesh on and summoned her most powerful shield.
It held, but she could feel that it would not hold on long. The boy harnessed as much brute power as his father did, and while Hermione could fight Harry in sparring, if he'd truly wanted to kill her, she knew he could. This boy wanted to kill her.
She apparated out from behind the shield and appeared right behind him, her lightsaber flashing toward his head. Her blade came to an abrupt halt against a blade of black fire that sprouted from a hilt he grabbed from his hip as fast as any Imperial Knight. He smiled at her over the blade before trying to punch her.
He moved with inhuman speed and power; Hermione moved just as fast, guided by the Force and over fifty years of training with a former Sith. As powerful as Amhar was, he was very young. She slapped his fist to one side, slammed a foot into the back of his knee and slammed the point of her saber into the middle of his back.
The blade scattered and the hilt grew hot in her hand—shielded naquedah body armor. She jumped away before he could recover enough to take advantage of her momentary distraction. "You're not the only one with armor, Auntie," he said.
Despite his grin, however, Hermione could tell the boy was shaken. He'd not expected any type of resistance. "You are powerful, Amhar," Hermione said as she studied him. "But we are too. It's not too late for you. You could come back to us. No matter how you were conceived, you are Harry's son."
"I am no son of that blasphemer," Amhar shouted, all semblance of control lost. "He had his chance and exiled my mother and me to a cesspool. Only the Ori showed us love or respect! We walk the path of Origin, and if you will not walk it with us, you…will…be…DESTROYED!"
The blast of fire was more powerful than anything short of Harry's fiendfyre, and like her lightning it came on the crest of kinetic energy beyond her ability to withstand. She harnessed her most powerful shield, closed her eyes, and then charmed her own body with a feather-weight charm. The blast shot her like bullet through the walls of the palace and into the open air of the planet.
She could feel blood flowing as the stone in her chest struggled to repair the damage to her tattered body. The runes in her armor flared sharply before failing completely, overwhelmed by the attack. She floated mid-air only because she still had the feather-weight charm, and it was because of her facing the blue sky that she saw a billow of flame in orbit. The formation of dagger-shaped Khebbish destroyers had fallen under attack by large, horse-shoe shaped craft that fired relatively slow beams of Ancient-style disruptor energy.
One of the destroyers did not shield in time and erupted in a huge plume that was what originally caught Hermione's eyes. The other two returned fire against the superior force, fighting valiantly with Ancient-equivalent weapons and shielding. While they were comparable technologically, in this case the five Ori ships overwhelmed the Khebbish task force by sheer force of numbers.
A surge of danger in the Force overcame Hermione's shock and mild concussion. Centering herself in the Force as the stone in her chest continued to heal her, she turned and looked down at the angry crowds of Jaffa below her. Many were firing traditional staff weapons at her, though missing because of the distance and the jostling of those around them. That would change shortly.
She disapparated and appeared a second later at the stargate, emerging in the middle of a pitched battle. The task force that accompanied her through the Stargate were falling before the overwhelming tide of the native Jaffa. Hermione raised her kara'kesh and spun around as she summoned a fire whip. The magical construct forced the attacking Jaffa back with terrified screams.
"Captain, dial Kalmah and retreat immediately!" she shouted.
"Yes, ma'am!" The ranger captain, an Eridu, was already doing just that. Hermione pushed more magic into the whip but could feel a greater threat approaching. Amhar was coming. He didn't know how to apparate yet, she suspected, but he was moving far faster than any normal human could move.
The gate boomed open and the rangers formed up around her. "Majesty, we must evacuate!" the captain shouted over the roar of fire and rage.
She pumped as much magic as she had left into the fire whip and connected it to the ground—it would sustain itself for a few minutes or until Amhar Potter overwhelmed it. With that last defense, she spun and ran through the gate with the tattered remnants of her guard coming right after.
The world of Magtireth was lost to the Empire; the Ori War had begun.
