"John, what are you doing?"
"Just bored, I guess." John didn't even glance over; he was occupied, as far as Rodney could tell, in a minutely detailed examination of the rear wall of the cave. "I figure I might as well find something to keep myself busy until I lose control again and chop your head off for real."
Rodney shook his head slowly but didn't answer. He didn't know what was happening any more, or how it was going to turn out; all he knew was that neither of those things could be good, and that didn't seem like the right thing to say.
John switched tacks abruptly. "Why do you think we're here?"
"Here?" Rodney cocked his head quizzically. "As in, in existence, or in the Pegasus galaxy specifically?"
"Neither." John slapped the wall in front of him. "Here as in this cave. I mean, obviously, I came here and you followed. But why did I come here in the first place?"
Rodney shrugged. "How should I know?"
"That's the problem. I don't know either. We've never been here, have we?" John's voice was growing softer, as if he were talking to himself. Rodney had to get up and stand next to him to hear what he was saying. "So how'd I know the address?"
"The sword," Rodney completed, aghast. "You think it told you where to go."
"Yeah," said John bitterly. "And I went. And here we are, exactly where it wants us."
"And there's nothing we can do about it, either." Rodney waved at the storm outside, which—contrary to his prior assertion—showed no signs of letting up. "Sandstorms have been observed on Mars that lasted for months, did you know that?"
"That's encouraging," John said absently, still running his hands over the stone. "Hand me the sword, will you?"
The request was so casually put that Rodney actually moved towards the sword before he realized what he was doing. "I'm sorry, I can't do that."
"Really." John finally turned to face Rodney, his eyes rapidly darkening. "I'll just get it myself, then."
Rodney moved to block him, but John dodged him (how could the man always move so fast?) and snatched the sword from the ground. "Here we go," he muttered to himself as the blade flashed into existence.
Rodney gulped and took a step back, but the sword didn't seem to be focused on him for the moment.
John stepped back as well, holding the sword out in front of him at a level so that it pointed directly at the wall he'd been examining. The blade flared for a second and then leapt away from the handle, hitting the wall dead center and vanishing instantly upon contact. John tucked the handle into his belt, watching with evident satisfaction as rock began to melt away from the point of impact. Within seconds, most of the wall was gone, revealing a tunnel that led further back. It was illuminated slightly by a flickering blue glow, but a bend in the tunnel made it impossible to see the source of the light.
John grinned widely and started toward the entrance, but Rodney reached out and grabbed his arm, taking a step sideways so that he blocked the tunnel entrance. "Come on," he said frantically. "Snap out of it. There's no way in hell I'm letting you through here, so just forget about it."
By way of response, John lashed out with his sword arm. A brief flash of light shot out of the sword handle, knocking Rodney to the floor. He sat back up almost immediately, one finger gently probing a freshly bloodied spot on his cheekbone. If the sword could do that . . . But John was already disappearing around the curve in the tunnel, so Rodney heaved himself upright and followed.
The tunnel turned out to be nearly half a mile long, but the ground was smooth, and in about ten minutes he came out the other end into another chamber. This room was relatively small, about fifteen feet square, but the ceiling was nearly thirty feet up. And the entire space was filled almost entirely with a huge, irregular mass of glowing blue crystal, undoubtedly what had been illuminating the tunnel. The light inside it was actually pulsing—like a heartbeat, almost, Rodney thought. Like it was alive.
John was standing very still just ahead, staring at the crystal. The sword was in his hand again, but the arm hung loosely at his side. Rodney advanced and walked around to face him. John's eyes were once more, thankfully, hazel, but something darker was glimmering behind them. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?" he asked bitterly.
"Apparently not," Rodney said, wondering how long he'd still actually be talking to John. "Especially not when I said I was going to help you."
John smiled faintly. "Well, you get points for effort, anyway." All of a sudden, the crystal began to pulse more quickly. He gasped, clutching for Rodney's arm with his free hand. "Oh, God . . ."
Rodney tensed, grabbing John's hand and squeezing it gently. "What is it?"
John gasped again and sank to his knees, pulling Rodney to the ground with him. The darkness behind his eyes was flickering more strongly now. "It wants me," he said hoarsely. "It wants to take me over. All of me."
"John, we've got to get you out of here. Maybe if you just get further away from this thing . . ." Rodney tried to pull them both back up onto their feet.
John only tightened his grip, holding Rodney down. "I can't," he choked. "It's too late."
"It's not," Rodney insisted—but his words were empty, and they both knew it. "You're stronger than it is. You have to fight back." But John didn't say anything; he was trembling again. The sword clattered to the ground, but at this point Rodney didn't think that meant much.
Their gazes met, and Rodney saw in John's face—for the first time since they'd met—fear. Not just fear, even. John was terrified, and Rodney couldn't help him. Couldn't save him. All he could do was hold him a little closer, as if to do so would somehow protect John from losing his mind.
Slowly, John raised his now-empty right hand to touch Rodney's bloody cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and
(holy shit, said a very small voice in the back of Rodney's mind)
kissed Rodney.
And, after one stunned moment, Rodney was kissing him back as deeply as he possibly could, so that for those few final seconds they knelt there in one last desperate embrace.
Then John pulled away. "Rodney—" he began, and then a black curtain dropped down over his eyes and he was gone. In an instant, he had let go of Rodney and was back on his feet.
Momentarily paralyzed in shock, Rodney could only sit there and stare upwards. "John?"
"I am the Swordbearer," said the person standing over him. "John Sheppard is no more."
The sword jumped, seemingly of its own accord, from the ground back into his hand, and the blade flicked out again. It seemed to shine more brightly than ever before.
Rodney scrambled to his feet and ran.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: I think this chapter more than exemplifies my fondness for short punchy paragraphs. Probably another side-effect of reading Stephen King :)
With sincere and extreme gratitude to Leah for shredding me to bits :-P The changes made to this chapter are genuinely important improvements to the original text. This is not a ploy to get extra feedback, I swear.
But feedback still makes me happy. Which is good for you. It gets you Chapter 12 sooner. (Chapter 13 will be up on Halloween, no sooner and no later, no matter what anyone does.)
If anyone's archiving this . . . please make sure you replace the old version of this chapter. Thanks.