The bright sunlight started tears in Beckett's eyes as the door was shoved open. Holding a hand up to shade them, he blinked rapidly, trying to adjust his vision. On the other side of the hut, he heard Sheppard's door swinging open as well, and then rough impersonal hands were on his arms, dragging him onto unsteady feet, out of the sticky dark and into the humid light. The skin on his wrists burned as he twisted in their hands, fighting to catch a glimpse of the colonel. He hung unmoving between two of the guards. For a moment, Beckett couldn't hear through the buzzing in his ears. Frantically, he started struggling to get to him.
"Ye've got to let me help him!" he shouted, turning from face to blank face. "Please! We've done nothin' to ye!"
"We would be happy to allow you to help him. All you must do is help us, as we have asked you so many times before." Beckett stilled at the sound of the voice, and licked his dry lips before he turned to face the speaker. The chieftain of the clan, Kritan, stood before him. "His blood is on your hands," he continued, face impassive.
"Dinna give me that load of crap," Beckett spat. "Ye and your gormless fools are the ones doin' this, no' me."
Kritan just shrugged. "Until you agree to share in the ritual, we must do what we can to persuade you."
"Ritual," snorted Beckett. "Murder is wha' ye're talkin' about, man!" he snapped. Then taking a deep breath, tried once more to reason with the native. "Why will ye no' let us help ye? This is unnecessary. We have," and unconsciously his hands shaped instruments he didn't have, "we have magic that will make the crops grow faster, better. We sent our friends to bring back food and other supplies. Ye dinna need to sacrifice your children." The circle of villagers around him was silent and for a split second, Beckett thought he might have broken through, then the chieftain was shaking his head heavily, frowning.
"We do not want your magic. We have our own ways that have served us well for many years." With revulsed dismay, Beckett realized Kritan was genuinely disappointed and confused that the Atlanteans refused to participate in the ritual sacrifice.
"We mean no disrespect," he said hurriedly. "But we have our own ways, and they dinna include killing children." As soon as the words left his lips, Beckett closed his eyes, cursing his feckless brain, a flush burning its way up his face to the very tips of his ears. Even McKay couldn't have found a more offensive or insolent thing to say. The chieftain's eyes flared with anger.
"You 'mean no disrespect,'" he repeated slowly after Beckett, his face hardening "and yet you behave as though our ritual were a mere sport killing. What else is it to speak so of our young, our bravest, who go to the gods to speak for us? How can you respect what you reject? If we send your Sheppard to speak to the gods, would you respect him in his mission? No!" and he made a sharp downward motion with his hand. "You show by your very words you have no understanding, no reverence for our traditions. You mock our invitation to share your spirit power with us. But one way or another, whether through the ritual, or because we spill this man's heart blood, we will have it," and he gestured to the men holding Sheppard.
They dragged the colonel back toward the upright pole in the center of the village, and slipped the loops over the ends of the stick thrust behind his arms. Still unable to stand, all of Sheppard's weight came down on his shoulders, wrenching them back even further, and the half-strangled cry of pain had Beckett lunging again away from his captors.
This time they weren't so careful with the doctor, and a hard fist to his midriff had him doubled over, struggling for air. Another blow brought the bright taste of his own blood, and after a moment, he stopped struggling. Sheppard had mastered the pain, for the moment anyway, and lifted his head to meet Beckett's eyes. The physician swallowed hard against the rage and bile in his throat. Turning to meet Krinat's eyes, he clenched his jaw so tightly he thought his teeth would crack.
"I ask you one last time. Accept this knife and share your spirit with us by blessing our ritual." On the man's outstretched palms lay a long wicked blade, hafted in bone and bound with strips of rawhide leather. The bone and leather alike were stained a reddish muddy brown, and there was no question in Beckett's mind what the discoloration was from. "Either that," continued Krinat, "or the next blood this blade drinks will be his."
Beckett glanced around at the circle of villagers. There was no malice on their faces but the threat was unmistakable. He looked over at the high stone altar that had a place of honor in front of the temple, largest building in the village. There was a woman standing beside it; a child, wrapped in white linen-like cloth, clutched in her arms. The woman's eyes held him and he realized with a shock like a physical blow she was proud of the honor being bestowed on her and her child. Horror washed through him and he swayed on his feet. The child began wailing, a thin sound that carried clearly through the silent gathering. Taking one last look at the half-conscious man dangling from the restraints, Beckett felt his hands shaking.
Gunshots rang out as a P-90 was discharged into the air over the crowd's head. It was the sound he'd been praying to hear, but it still took Beckett a moment to understand. Then he snatched the knife out of the hands of the stunned chieftain, and tearing loose from the hands of his guards, ran straight for Sheppard. With a curious abstraction, Beckett found himself noticing the dust on the ground beneath Sheppard was pocked with small round dark circles where drips of blood had flipped away as the colonel writhed in pain.
Around him it was total chaos as the villagers ran screaming and gunshots continued to ring out, adding to the confusion. Unwilling to cause Sheppard any more pain, and yet desperate to cut him down, Beckett was grateful to find McKay at his shoulder. The Canadian was pale but braced himself under Sheppard's arm and nodded grimly to Beckett. He caught around the colonel around the waist as he collapsed, and Beckett swiftly sliced through the remaining bonds. With a fierce distaste, Beckett eased the rough pole from between Sheppard's elbows. The half-conscious man moaned in agony as blood-starved muscles and tissues began their painful return back to life. Now Teyla was also beside them.
"He is not going to be able to walk," she said tersely. McKay didn't bother to respond. Stooping down and muttering about slipped discs, he yanked the colonel's limp form over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and started staggering in the direction of the gate. Watching, Beckett grimaced for Sheppard. Even unconscious, he moaned at the rough treatment, but better that than dead.
The clan woman stood watching, unmoving through the bedlam. Beckett could see the baby's mouth open in a wail, but couldn't hear the child over all the other noise. He found himself moving toward them and suddenly Teyla was there, catching at his arm. She pulled him around and after McKay, who was weaving a little under Sheppard's weight. Beckett dug in his heels and looked down at Teyla, shaking his head. "We need to bring them, too," he said, pointing to the woman.
Teyla shot him a confused look. He had to make her understand. He looked up around the crowd, eyes finally fixing on the building. He couldn't see the altar through the melee. He looked back at Teyla, pitching his voice to be heard over the din. "The pair of them is what this was all about," and he waved an arm wildly in the clanswoman's direction. The Athosian woman still looked unsure but ran to the clanswoman and spoke to her softly. The woman shook her head without ever taking her eyes from Beckett, and Teyla spoke more urgently. After a moment, though, she allowed Teyla to swiftly lead her away from the others.
Two Marines closed in behind them and another grabbed Beckett, and shoved him toward the gate as the villagers, realizing that no one was actually being hurt by the noise, started moving meaningfully toward the physician. A spray of bullets tore up the ground causing dust to billow around the mob as they started back in anger and fright.
Through the haze and the shouts, Beckett felt Krinat's eyes on him. Once again he felt himself shaken by the level of confused betrayal in the clan chieftain's expression, and then he was stumbling toward the gate, gladder than he'd ever expected to be to step into the shimmering aqua surface and emerge chilled and breathless into the gateroom of Atlantis.
He saw his medical team already working on Colonel Sheppard, McKay hovering uneasily just outside the circle of medics. He had taken two steps in that direction himself when he was stopped by Dr. Weir.
"Carson, are you all right?" Her grey eyes were filled with a warm concern.
"Aye, lass," he responded automatically, his eyes beyond her to where an IV was being inserted into Sheppard's arm even before they moved him to the infirmary. "Mind his ribs," Beckett called over her shoulder. "He was handled very roughly. Ye'll need X-rays before the MRI. An' he's very dehydrated, better get some fluids runnin' into him, stat."
"Carson," and Weir tilted her head, filling his line of vision and forcing his attention back to her face. "Trust your people to do their job."
Beckett drew a long shaky breath and tried to speak. It was clear though, from the confusion on Weir's face she couldn't understand him. He tried again, more slowly. "My fault," he muttered tonelessly and a wave of dizziness passed through him. The trivial thought refused to go away, and then it was more than a thought. It was a reality and the floor was coming up fast and he mentally sighed as he felt the darkness take him. He'd have to stop teasing Rodney now about fainting, what a shame.