One Too Many Planets Part 9
The walk was interminable, especially with the heavy and restrictive footwear she had been forced to wear. Her legs ached, her muscles screamed out and yet, forward she was forced to move.
She longed for a release from her captivity and yearned for the luxuries of a hot, oil scented bath and the firm, comforting hands of her maid, Misha, to soothe the aches from her shoulders, back, legs and feet. She would also have taken great pleasure in seeing the grey-haired one given a well deserved whipping.
And now, to make matters worse, there was snow, blinding and constant and perilously freezing. They had stopped at one stage and, unbidden, Sam had sunk to her knees only to be dragged back up as an extra jacket was wrapped around her, something thrust onto her head and over her ears and warm gloves pushed, none too gently, onto her numb stiffened hands. She vaguely felt relief but was unable to voice it and simply continued when pulled onwards.
For a long time Sam had been lost in her own nightmare world, capable only of placing one foot in front of the other. She followed in Jack's wake, her footsteps pressing down onto his where he had cut a path through the ever deepening snowfall. And when he finally stopped, she was so unaware that she barged into his back and would have fallen had his arms not reached out to grab and pull her close.
With no energy to resist, she stayed in his arms, aware of feeling relief that she had a body strong and warm holding onto her, but eventually she pushed herself away to stand erect, annoyed with herself for taking the comfort he offered and promising that it would not happen again.
Up above, the skies had blackened whilst continuing to hurl down a blizzard which impeded their every step. Hastily and with growing difficulty, Jack peered ahead searching desperately for anything that would afford shelter whilst keeping a firm hold on Sam's arm. When they paused she was more than grateful for the respite, pressed firmly against the sheer wall of the mountain, protected by overhanging rock and a few thorny bushes that had the temerity to try and eke out an existence in such a wild place.
Barely cognizant, Sam watched as a cocoon-type construction was erected in mere seconds and just before the storm descended in its entire wrath, she was pushed unceremoniously inside and though she was sure there could not possibly be room for another, in followed her captor.
Not even looking at her he began to pull equipment out of his pack and even more surprising the place was aglow with a light. She was even more surprised to find it produced a most welcome warmth.
"What is this thing?" she asked her eyes wide in wonder.
She realized that he was annoyed with her question and ignored her as he set out their sleeping bags, forcing her to scramble out of his way on her hands and knees, as he speedily arranged the interior of their refuge.
When he was satisfied with the arrangements, he took off his boots, inclining his head to indicate she should do the same. She hesitated until his eyes drilled into her.
"It's so cold," she complained.
"Get under the covers."
She had noticed the two individual sleeping bags had somehow been connected to make one larger one and Sam looked askance. She would have liked to refuse but the cold had entered her very bones and she away as she felt him join her and hoped he would turn his back to her shivered uncontrollably as she obeyed. She turned on her side, her back to Jack as she nervously felt him join her. She hoped that he would adopt the same position and turn his back to her also, however her breath caught as she felt his arm loop over her waist, drawing himself as close as it was permissible for two people fully clothed; she could even feel his breath on her neck!
And as she froze in discomfort, she heard his dry voice mutter, "You can breathe, Carter; I'm not gonna eat you."
----------------
She was convinced she would stay awake all night but realized she must have slept as she came awake and moaned softly as her body protested any movement.
"You're out of shape, Carter."
She stiffened, her eyes shooting open though she could see nothing in the darkness of the tent. Yet though her uneasiness at her captor's proximity was great, common sense told her that his warmth was her life's saving.
"My name is Sashai, not Carter."
She felt rather than heard him snort. "Whatever."
Listening, she was aware that the sharp winds that had blasted away at their strange tent had died down and the silence was eerie to her ears. Aware once more of Grey Hair's measured breathing, she relaxed and fell asleep to its comforting sound.
The following day was nightmarish for her. Having in her own mind led a pampered life, with her every whim taken care of - sometimes before she'd even thought of any demand - now she found herself abducted from a life of total luxury and forced on a march which for her was of epic proportions under the most appalling conditions, with the most objectionable of men as her gaoler.
Trudging her way through snow, still following in his footsteps, she stared at his back and wide shoulders, for a delicious moment imagining thrusting a knife between his shoulder blades. And as if reading her mind, he had turned mid-stride to stare at her with cold, harsh eyes and she felt a blushing stain leap to her face as if her guilt was obvious. His expression growing even more glacial, he had barked at her not to lag behind before he turned to fight his way onward.
Her heart didn't quite know what to feel when they began the descent into the next great valley – elation that they had succeeded or dread at the distance being put between herself and her home.
Her intense weariness was not the sole reason for her hunched shoulders and bowed head. She felt subdued by the presence of the Grey Haired one's strength and uncompromising disposition, troubled by his never foundering belief that she belonged to him.
That very morning, in her anguish she had screamed her loathing of him when he had attempted to speak further of her 'real' life and she had rounded on him in a vitriolic verbal attack, telling him in no uncertain way that she had had enough of his lies – she knew she was his prisoner, his to do as he pleased, but she would hear no more of his falsities. It was enough.
When she had finished her tirade, her blue eyes blazing with a furious light, she had been stunned by the despair revealed for just an instant in his face which had gone deathly pale, but then a pulse jumped in his temple and she knew without being told that this was a sure indication of his wrath. She had waited for the storm to descend on her, expecting violent retribution for her insolence. Instead, to her consternation, he had ignored her totally other than to ensure she followed him closely when they did break camp. Sullen and unresponsive to any questions she dared raise when he had, on one occasion faced her, she had backed away from the cold flatness in his dark eyes and so now she chose silence to accompany her own grief.
----------------------------------
When the attack came it was done so speedily and stealthily that Sam could barely discern the impact of it. Grabbed from behind, she had only the chance of a feeble cry before a dark, foul-smelling hand was clamped over her face and she felt herself being bodily dragged back. Fear froze her as she saw another squat but powerful assailant launch himself at the Grey Haired one who had started to turn, weapon raised, at her warning. But the lethal knife grasped in the assailant's fisted hand was already lunging out, its silent, deathly descent watched by her in an agony of desperation.
As she saw the shudder of pain pass through Grey Hair, her own body leaped to resist and her fingers and nails reached for face and eyes, booted feet lashing out in a frenzy of hate that soared through her like molten lava spewing forth from a monstrous mountain come to life. As she felt her nails rip through toughened flesh she had the satisfaction of hearing a roar of pain before a blow to her head had her reeling back, black spots clouding her vision before darkness and dread enveloped her.
She felt pain in her head as her senses slowly returned and as she fought the black fog which swirled in her brain she felt herself being shaken at the same time as an annoying voice demanded she wake up.
As her faculties returned, she was able to push away the offending hand that seemed to be delivering blows to her already painful head as she was shaken to respond. Whereupon opening blue eyes marred with pain, she found herself looking up into dark brown eyes seemingly devoid of all expression other than anger.
"My head is painful enough without you causing further discomfort!" she moaned, further incensed that Grey Hair looked as if he blamed her for the attack. And remembering exactly what had happened, she struggled to sit up, looking about until her eyes fell on a huddled figure just beyond. "Is he…is he-?"
"Dead. The other decided retreat was the better part of valour, especially as you'd clawed his face to shreds. No looking in the mirrors for him for a month or two."
Sam gulped, not entirely sure whether she could cope with seeing a dead body, but to her surprise she gave it no further thought, more intent on getting to her shaky feet.
The ground seemed to tilt for a while and she had to grab Grey Hair's arm until the land stilled and the pain in her head subsided. She put a trembling hand to her head – there was a throbbing lump under her gentle probing but she was relieved that there was no blood.
"You okay to keep going? We'll be out of the snow in a little while." His words were spoken gently, concern at last showing in his expression.
She nodded and instantly regretted the movement, but she was already aware that Grey Hair was alert, wary in case of other 'friends' in the area. They needed to move on quickly. She sensed his reluctance to stay in this place of death and though she was aware that every step took her further away from her people and her mother, for once Sam did not hesitate, taking up her pack and moving ever downward to the welcoming sight of the green valley.
-----------------------------------
As tired as she was, she started to notice that their pace had definitely slowed and this caused her some surprise as she had been in no doubt that once they had moved out of the mountain's snow, the warrior's tread would have lengthened. Glancing sideways at his profile she was startled to see his features devoid of any colour, dark circles beneath his eyes which seemed full of desolation. And as her gaze dropped, she suddenly pictured the shudder of pain as the assailant's knife had lunged towards him.
Gasping in shock she stretched out a hand to his arm.
"The Canvar's knife struck you!"
Dark, shadowed eyes met hers but her hand was shrugged off as he kept up his pace. She hesitated, wondering if her eyes had deceived her, but then a swiftly growled order had her moving to catch up and she decided his apathy must be due more to his tiredness than her own heightened imagination.
Still aware of his grim manner, it was with obvious relief that they made camp in a small sheltered gully which offered protection from searching eyes and potential enemies. No fire was built but she was offered some unsavoury looking food which she managed to consume as her hunger had taken over from her palate and she wolfed the fare down with an eagerness she would have found astonishing two days earlier, uncaring of what made up the grim looking stuff. When she finished her own she looked up, suddenly noting the barely touched plate of her captor, and feeling the rumble of her own stomach she regarded it longingly until her eyes rested on Grey Hair's face.
He was struggling to maintain a neutral expression as he felt Sam's eyes upon him but there was nothing he could do to hide his laboured breathing nor, as he reached over to place his food on the ground, the sharp intake of breath as pain ripped through him. His face was ashen, with a fine sheen of sweat, and there was no mistaking the pallor of sickness about him.
"What ails you? And do not say 'fine'."
He blinked at her in surprise. "Nothing. I'm fi…okay." His words trailed off as her own eyes flared in surprise.
'How had she known he would use that word?' "You do not look 'okay'."
His voice, almost too low to hear, barely above a whisper, commanded her to sleep, and turning carefully on his side he made to settle for the night.
It was only a little later, ensconced in her sleeping bag that she realized she had not been forced to relinquish any article of clothing or her boots.
She felt warm and comfortable and for a moment wondered why she had awoken in the middle of the night. Listening to the sounds around her, senses alert now to the possibility of danger, she lay completely still.
His voice, when he spoke, startled her and she jerked in shock.
"Go back to sleep, Carter, there's nothing to worry about."
Allowing her body to relax, Sam was aware there was something still bothering her and, reluctant as she was to leave the warmth of her temporary bed, she sat up peering into the darkness until her eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light.
Knees bent slightly, he leant against the trunk of a tree, his body hunched over, a hand held to his side. Without speaking, Sam reached for the water container, removed the stopper and took it to him, holding it out for him to take. She felt his eyes searching hers for a moment then he took it and drank deeply.
But as he handed it back, she felt heat emanating from him and frowned.
"You have a fever!"
"Ya think?"
Peering at him more closely, she saw him drop his gaze, looking somewhere into the shadows over her shoulder.
"You must seek a medicine woman."
"Know just where there is one," he said lightly. "Might take a little while getting to her, but Doc'll fix me up."
Sam studied his features a little longer, not convinced by his calm manner. Reaching into his pack, she drew forth the instrument that gave light and moved back to his side, switching on the device.
"I will see your wound." She sounded determined. So was he. A firm grip held her wrist preventing her from gently pushing aside his jacket as she had intended. "I'll be fine."
That word again. The one she knew to doubt, she knew not why.
She placed the light on the ground and with her free hand pressed it against his forehead, alarmed at the amount of heat there.
"Your body burns fiercely!"
He groaned irritably. "Tell me something I don't know, Carter." He sounded infinitely tired now and annoyed at her persistence. "For crying out loud, turn the damned flashlight off."
Any other time, she would have been stung by his harsh words and quick to give a sharp reply, but Sam felt his manner was more to cover his own weakness which the light had laid open to her appraisal. Without speaking, she did as he bid, returning to her sleeping place. But she did not sleep again and knew the warrior did not either.
------------------------
For a second time that morning, Jack stumbled, losing his footing and falling to his knees. He swore bitterly whilst sucking in air sharply through gritted teeth, eyes closed, and head bowed as he fought to gain mastery of the pain that lanced through his side. Dark spots danced before his eyes and he felt nausea rise up in his stomach threatening to leave him more vulnerable than he already was. Desperately, he called on inner reserves to push himself to his feet, staggering from the weight of his pack. Suddenly, he felt it slipping from his shoulders and tried to prevent it.
"I have it."
Unwilling to show more weakness and yet relieved to have such a burden removed, he allowed Sam to take the load, merely nodding his head in acknowledgement of her actions.
"You need to rest."
He didn't even look at her. "We keep going."
"You cannot keep this up, you are losing blood." She stared at a dark stain on the left hip of his trousers which she couldn't fail to note had gotten progressively larger.
"I'll let you know when I'm goddamned ready to stop. Now quit pestering me!"
She threw her head high at his pig-headed determination, throwing him a cold glare as she spun on her heel and stomped ahead.
'Let him run himself into the ground,' she told herself spitefully, 'it will solve my problem nicely.' And she warned herself that she would not be so foolish as to show her concern again.
---------------------
She hated to think what might have happened if she hadn't looked back over her shoulder, and when she later recalled the scene in her mind she would shudder, flinching from the close call.
On turning to check his progress, for now she walked ahead, she had cried out, instantly dropping both packs as she raced back the hundred yards, her mind screaming in silent desperation. Dropping to her knees, she had grabbed his collar, yanking him back out of the water. They had both drank at the stream but then he must have fallen face down after she had continued on, apparently losing consciousness.
Uncaring when he cried out, she dragged him back at the same time rolling him over onto his back. She rejoiced in his cries of pain as a measure that he was alive and hadn't drowned, and now she knelt at his side, head bowed, hands on waist gasping air into her own tortured lungs.
Unsure why she was so angry, she pulled his jacket none too gently from his side, moving away his t-shirt while pulling at his trouser waistband. Her eyes narrowed as she tore away the dressing. She cursed soundly when she saw the ugly gash which was surrounded by inflamed skin, the actual wound weeping.
"You try my patience!" she gasped, all too aware that there were limits to her healing capabilities.
In confusion, she felt an inner war with her emotions, one half rejoicing that she was no longer held captive and the other half, the one she despised, urging her to help the warrior.
Brown eyes, glazed with fever, opened slowly.
"'s okay, Carter, no sweat."
She glared at him, a mounting frustration smouldering within her.
"We must move from here; it is unsafe. Can you walk?"
"No, but I can sashay," he barely grinned.
She stiffened and nearly reacted to his droll wit at her expense. But, instead and to her own surprise, she reached out to him and taking her proffered hand, he pushed himself up. On his feet he swayed dangerously and Sam had to use her own body to steady him, taking one arm over her shoulder.
"If I'm not mistaken, Carter, we're a couple of clicks from a town." He flinched as a shudder of pain passed through him, biting down on his lower lip; he fought to override the pain burning across his left side. He failed to notice her frown as he continued. "…need to circumvent it, head north until…reach lake, then arghh!"
He stumbled over the rough ground wrenching his side and turning white with the unexpected pain which doubled him over, nausea churning in his stomach.
"Son of a bitch!"
Gently Sam led him into the centre of a shield of bushes some distance from the water, and encouraged him to take a break.
"We must rest," and seeing him about to resist, continued, "but only for a little while, just until you feel stronger."
Understanding the logic and unable to summon any energy to drag himself one step further, Jack nodded a reluctant assent and leaning against a young tree, he allowed his body to slide carefully down, his left arm still favouring his side all the while.
"A little while, Carter, just a little while." And his head dropped to his chest as exhaustion took a firm hold and relieved him of his wits.
He didn't wake when Sam removed his jacket and eased him down onto his sleeping bag and only a soft groan escaped his lips when she turned him, better to work on the wound.
She knew she had no choice but to build a small fire, hoping that the bushes and trees would conceal the light and smoke. Once it was burning well she boiled water from the pond where Grey Hair had almost drowned, amazed at her new found skills, doubly amazed at how her care for him seemed to signal a discomforting lessening of her resolve to hate him. And when the water was bubbling she dropped in pieces of cloth she had torn from her vest, then scooping one out with a knife she had taken from Grey Hair's scabbard, she hesitated momentarily, her eyes straying to his pale features, a sudden memory of having done this very same act once before making her frown in bafflement. She shook her head to erase the strange image from her mind; she needed all her concentration now. This was no time to be daydreaming she chastised herself.
The violence of his movements as he lurched up attempting to escape this new agony had Sam totally unprepared and she found herself being thrown viciously back, feeling her hip and shoulder impacting with solid ground. Winded, she came up on her knees rubbing the areas on her body, easing the parts she knew must be bruised.
He sat upright, eyes wide, breathing heavily, the cloth cast aside as his one coherent thought was to stop his suffering.
"Easy, easy," she whispered soothingly as if attempting to calm a spooked stallion, returning to his side and gently pushing him down. "It is well, lie back now and rest."
She could feel his fevered eyes watching her every move, a wildness about them.
"I have to finish cleansing your wound, prevent further infection."
The lines above his nose deepened as the meaning of her words lowly sank in. His wary gaze wandered to the simmering water and a look of revulsion crossed his features. Then he nodded, his jaw locked in grim determination and as she hovered over him, his dark eyes looked past her into the far distance as if sending his mind to a far away place, away from the pain and agony of this moment.
He flinched as the second boiling cloth made contact with his wound and he stiffened trying to live through the torture, both hands twisted into fists pushing against the ground.
When she eventually removed the cloth he seemed to sink into himself. Peering at the wound, Sam was pleased to see that the weeping fluid had disappeared and she smiled encouragingly hiding her own trembling behind gentle words.
"Once more."
"No!" he snapped gruffly, his head rising as he fixed her with a powerful glare. "Enough… it's enough. Just cover it, for cryin'out loud." His head fell back, and his eyes closed, his lips pressed tightly shut.
As she bent to the task, one of his hands shot out encircling her wrist in a painful vice.
"In the morning, you wake me. Understand?" Then shaking her weakly he repeated, "Understand, Carter? …got to find the Stargate…must get to the Stargate."
His hand dropped from hers and she watched over him as he drifted off into unconsciousness.
------------------------------
Through the night he drifted in and out of uneasy sleep, occasionally crying out as the fever took a deeper hold.
Sam's disquiet grew with every passing hour as she realized her own ministrations had done little to stop the passage of the infection. The warrior needed a healer or, she knew, the only reality was death.
In sleep he looked so different from the cold, aggressive man who showed no sign of compassion. And even though tired to the bone, she felt compelled to study his features as if trying to solve some unfathomable mystery.
In the early hours of the morning she came to a decision and quickly changed attire, replacing the strange, oddly comfortable clothes for her more familiar dress. It was almost with a sense of loss when she changed her footwear, her pumps, torn and ragged, but now fitting her purpose.
Having given him the last of the unusual medicine which she had come to learn helped him sleep, Sam knew she would have a few hours before the pain of his wound and the fever woke him.
-------------------------
The smell of wood smoke alerted her to the proximity of buildings and people long before her eyes were able to discern the outskirts of the town. She didn't stop to wonder until much later how it was she was able to move so easily and without fear through the deserted streets, her eyes constantly searching for the sign which would show she had found a healer.
Small beasts scurried away at her footsteps' approach but she neither paused nor trembled as she continued her search by the moon's pale glow.
Eventually her prayers were answered and Sam stood before the large wooden door, the sign of a large hand extended in comfort a sure sign that she had arrived at the right place.
She looked around, noting that only one building opposite had any lights showing; all the rest in the narrow stone built street were in darkness.
She rapped gently with the metal knocker, hoping it would be enough to rouse the occupants, but in growing dismay her knocking grew louder and more insistent yet still there was no sign of life from within. Stepping back, she looked up to see if any light had been turned on and it was then the husky voice of a female startled her.
"Cease your banging yonder or you'll be waking the whole neighbourhood, Mistress."
The words were not spoken in ill temper, they were simply the truth and Sam nodded her head apologetically to the head poking out of an upstairs window belonging to the building situated opposite the healer's home.
"I beg pardon for the disturbance," she uttered softly, facing a well set woman in mid-life with a cheerful countenance and laughing green eyes. "I seek the healer. Is he not home?"
"Nay, Mistress, he will not return these days and it's an ill wind for any who fall sick and require his services."
Not understanding why, Sam felt her heart drop, a pain like no other flaring as she realized just what the woman's words meant to the wounded warrior.
The older woman must have seen the sudden dejection of Sam's demeanour for she closed the window and quickly appeared at the door, a look of concern on her kindly face,
"You are ill?"
"Not I. My…my Lord. We have travelled over the mountains and met with the Canvar. My Lord was sorely wounded and lies now outside this town, disease and fever upon him."
Trying hard to fight back tears, Sam realized there was nothing she could do but retrace her steps. Her spirit was heavy with a sense of keen failure.
The voice stopped her in her tracks. "Wait, child. Let me see if there is anything to be done."
------------------------
He was dimly aware of voices above him and hands touching him, disturbing him, irritating him. He could hear Sam's voice but she was speaking in words and phrases that were unfamiliar; he frowned as other voices penetrated his throbbing head. A louder, insistent voice, sounded just next to him and then he was being turned and hands were at his side hurting him. He protested in the only way he could, cursing soundly. But he could not prevent himself being picked up nor could he avoid the pain that arced across his side burning into his very vitals. He cried out and heard a strange, gentle voice hush him. He sensed movement but a cool hand on his brow soothed him when he would have struggled.
He drifted in and out of a wakening but though he tried hard to stay conscious and to understand what was happening, he was unable to stop the tide of feverish tremors which wracked his weakened body.
He only knew the journey had ended because it hurt so much when they moved him. He tried hard to bite his lip, to keep within him the insistent urge to cry out, but as numerous hands reached out, holding, jostling him, he moaned and fought as a wave of intense nausea rose up his throat.
"Carter," he rasped, his panic intense as he longed to be put down so he could crawl into a dark corner. "Gonna puke!"
A cool hand turned his head as he felt cloth placed next to his head and movement stopped as his stomach expelled what little was inside him. When he'd finished, a crisp command had them moving and at last he felt his body being lowered onto a bed.
Half opening his eyes, he was alarmed at the bright colours and the strange faces.
"Doc…?"
This wasn't the infirmary – where were the grey walls and bright lights?
The same authoritative voice he had heard earlier reached his buzzing ears.
"…strange attire…water…cool him."
He felt his shoulders being raised and water was trickled between his dry, parched lips. He drank greedily until he realized it wasn't water but some bitter, obnoxious liquid which made him retch. He struggled to push the cup away, alarmed that he was going to throw up again.
Hands were at his boots now and he understood that someone was removing them.
"No!" His voice was a mere croak but he knew he must stop this. He needed them – he'd never get to the Stargate without them.
"No…don't!...Need get Stargate. Carter!"
His head thrashed from side to side; his body fought those hovering over him. He couldn't understand where Sam was, why she wasn't stopping this. He felt insistent hands at his belt buckle and feebly he tried swatting them away.
"Hold him still."
That same voice, annoying the hell out of him, writhing and squirming to escape the demanding hands which lifted and restrained, pulling and tugging.
He desperately wanted to hold on to his clothes but there were too many hands, too many faces and they began to whirl in his vision.
An ice cold cloth was pressed against his face and he leaned into it unable to prevent the whimper of relief as his blurred vision went suddenly black.
--------------
"Gentle with him," Christa commanded as they laid him on the large bed. She was a large woman in both size and demeanour but it was her kind nature which made itself felt and Sam instantly felt safe with her. "Let us remove his strange attire, clean his wound and work to lower his fever…Sura, fetch the special root tea."
With level-headed, smooth commands the older woman had the others in constant motion. And when Jack refused the tea, Christa cradled his head in her arms and coaxed him, through her soft but persistent determination, to take a little more. Only when satisfied he had drunk sufficient did she allow him to lie back except he was instantly struggling when his boots were being removed.
Christa at his side placed cool hands on his brow, pushing back his sweat sodden hair, soothing with her hands and voice. "Be still…," and turning to Sam asked, "What are your names, child?"
For a moment she hesitated, and not sure why, she answered, "I am C…Carter, he is…," her memory strove to remember what he had told her. "…Colonel."
Christa stared at her with puzzled eyes. "Strange attire to go with such strange names."
"W…we have travelled far and--."
Christa held up her hand. "Later child. First let us deal with your Master and then we can learn your story."
Christa turned back to Jack, all the while holding him down by his shoulders. "Listen to me, Colonel. We are trying to help you. Do not fight us."
One of the other women who had been struggling with Jack's belt buckle stepped back in consternation. "What perplexing thing is this?"
"Here, let me." Sam stepped forward and without knowing how, was instantly able to open it. She looked up in the others' eyes shrugging and then attempted to remove Jack's pants until the one Christa had sent to get the herbal tea, shook her head and pushed Sam gently out of the way, nodding to a companion to assist.
Heedless of Jack's ineffective attempts to stop them, they speedily divested him of his garments and immediately cool, wet cloths were laid on his burning skin, left there a moment and removed to be replaced by cooler ones.
Four pairs of hands worked relentlessly on him to lower his heated temperature.
At times, the wounded man lay quietly, seemingly unaware of the heightened activity surrounding him, while at others he would attempt to twist and writhe away from those who held him and wiped him down as the fever raged within him.
Keeva and Jantha, two women a little younger than herself, Sam surmised, and who were dressed in the most exquisite of garments, sat back while Christa attempted to coax Jack to take more of the root tea.
"Your Lord looks to have been in more than this one battle, Carter," said Jantha eyeing some of the scars running across the man's body and indicating the newer ones on his thigh and arm. Sam had admired the length of the young woman's auburn hair which fell down her slim back all the way to her hips but now, in her guilt, she coloured, stammering, "H…He is a great warrior."
"And as good a lover, I'll bet," chuckled Keeva with a sparkle in her eye which was not unfriendly.
Sam stiffened, her eyes widening in shock as she quickly uttered, "I could not answer that."
It seemed to her that all the women paused to stare and Jantha, being the youngest and less inclined to good manners, was unable to remain silent and demanded incredulously, "You have not lain with him?"
Feeling a hot flush of blood rise up her neck and over her cheeks, Sam shook her head, her eyes remaining on Jack's ashen face.
"Enough idle chatter, ladies. Keeva, take our guest and have her bathe and rest. It will be many hours before we know how things will go with this warrior."
"I would stay with him," persisted Sam, her hand reaching out of its own volition to touch his forehead.
Jack's eyes shot open, their darkness wild and glazed.
"Carter…Stargate!" he gasped pushing up from the bed catching Christa unawares as his delirium lent him an unexpected energy.
Both the older woman and Sam reached restraining arms out forcing him back onto the bed.
"Carter? Carter?" He struggled in their arms until her voice reached him.
"I…I have not forgotten, Colonel. Just rest now. Soon, very soon we will go together," she promised softly. And her words induced him to relax and close his eyes whilst Christa nodded approvingly.
--------------
They worked on their fevered patient through the coming hours, a constant supply of ice cold water provided in which to soak linen cloths which were then placed on Jack's body.
In the quiet moments, he would lie almost at peace, the odd word murmured, taking comfort from the cooling treatment. At these times, Sam would sit next to him automatically removing one piece of linen and replacing it with a fresh one. She watched his face for signs of change, alert to the fact that the moment his words became more like commands, that he would be moving into a period of intense resistance, when he would fight and struggle against those trying to help him. It would take four of them to hold him down and even then they had all suffered blows to their bodies. Sam's cheek was already swelling even with the ice pack Christa had pressed on to it, but now she appeared oblivious to her own discomfort as she watched over this strange man who had managed to inspire such conflicting feelings within her.
In the beginning, her shyness had surfaced when she realized that Christa and the others had expected her to bathe Jack's fevered body and she had hesitated to touch his naked skin, but as she observed the others working furiously to aid the sick man, she had put her own qualms aside and so, many hours later, his lack of clothing was so irrelevant that she would probably have been surprised to realise she had been remotely embarrassed.
She watched now as Christa allowed drops of water from the ice to drip down between his parched lips, marvelling at the patience this woman had with someone she did not know.
As she wrung out some used linens before dropping them into fresh iced water, Sam raised her tired head asking, "Why do you do this for him?"
Christa looked into her eyes, pausing for a moment before speaking. "He is important to you?"
Sam hesitated, looking away. "I…I do not know, yet he gained his wounds helping to save me."
"Then you must mean much to him."
Sam heard Jantha sigh dramatically. "Would that I had such a handsome warrior to defend my virtue."
Which immediately set Keeva to chortling in amusement. "There's a hundred would take your virtue, not save it!"
"Enough, ladies," intoned Christa smiling tolerantly. "Pay no heed to this mindless chatter. They are good souls when you learn their ways."
Again Jack's head began to toss from side to side, as he began to call out.
"Sam, don't…Don't do it, Sam. No…no I can't…No, no, no!" He fought to sit up calling out Sam's name, eyes wide yet unseeing in their fevered intensity.
As gently as possible, they held him down, holding him while his body convulsed, Christa uttering soothing words in the hope of reaching through his delirium.
A little later another young woman, hair tied back in a long dark plait which hung over one shoulder, came in, eyes warm with sympathy for Sam as she handed over a jar to Christa.
"Thank you, Gulda."
Then Sam watched in horrified fascination as the older woman reached into the jar with large tweezers and extracted a writhing leech-like creature.
"What is this?" she demanded, revulsion clearly written across her tired face.
"These hard working fellows will finish our work in cleansing the wound of any remaining infection."
And without further ado, Christa placed the leech inside Jack's wound and when he would have bucked and strained against the rot eating creatures, hands held him still as more of them were placed in the wound.
----------------
"Water."
The voice was weak and barely audible but it was enough to jolt Sam from her half sleeping state to rest on Jack's ashen features, dark blue shadows under his eyes. Realising he wasn't delirious and about to launch himself out of bed, she relaxed giving him a weak smile.
"Hot."
Reaching for the mug on the side, she put her other hand behind Jack's neck and gently raised him up whilst placing the rim of the cup to his lips.
He grimaced as the liquid touched his lips and would have turned his head away but Sam was ready.
"Ah ah," she remonstrated, smiling as she prevented him from turning away. "Christa says you must drink every last drop of this special brew."
She saw his frown and, even so weak, he tightened his lips defiantly.
"If it's so great…why doesn't she drink it?"
A hearty laugh from the room's entrance revealed that Christa had heard O'Neill's words and was clearly amused. She strode across the room, her shoes tapping against the wooden floor, whilst Sam found herself frowning, wondering distractedly just why this sound should seem so familiar.
"So, he is awake and sound of mind," she spoke warmly, her large mouth opening to reveal white pearly teeth. Jack's tired eyes saw a large woman in a richly embroidered gold dress smiling down at him in satisfaction. She had an appealing face though not one he felt to be messed with, her strong eyebrows pointing to a determined nature.
"Men, possibly as brave as you, have risked their lives to collect the root of this plant and I think it would be a grave disservice to refuse this gift." And ushering Sam out of the way Christa took her place, supporting Jack's head and shoulders on her ample bosom whilst holding the offending mug most determinedly to his lips. "This will help break your fever, Colonel, and I must insist you take every drop – with or without your assent."
There had been no raised voice or hardening of her tone yet Jack was under no illusions that the brew would have to be drunk one way or another. He wrinkled his nose. He had a feeling that any form of resistance would be met with decisive action that he wouldn't be all that thrilled about. He opened his mouth almost, but not quite, finishing the liquid, pulling a face at the vile taste.
"Well done! Well done!" His head was allowed back on the pillow and a soft hand brushed the hair back from his warm forehead. "You may take the last drops a little later."
Rolling his eyes in disgust, he decided that he should be pleased not to have the remainder forced down his throat but then stiffened as the older woman carefully lifted the cool sheet away from his body, examining the wound at his side. He would have been interested in that himself except that he was uncomfortably aware of his complete lack of clothing and preferred that his attributes weren't a showpiece for every female around - and he'd seen plenty in the short periods he had been lucid.
Oblivious of his embarrassment, Christa studied the deep gash above his left hip bone, a slight frown on her forehead.
"The weeping has ceased – a good sign. We may yet have to repeat the treatment with the leeches."
"Leeches?" Jack still had the strength to sound aghast.
Christa smiled widely bestowing a special comfort, amused by her patient's revulsion. "Your stubborn fever is not yet broken but we will beat this yet." And without another word she was gone.
Jack watched her leave, grateful that the sheet had been replaced. He searched Carter's concerned eyes. "Looked as if she was on a mission," he whispered, his lack of voice lending to his state of exhaustion.
Gently, Sam laid a cool cloth against his cheeks and neck.
"We are greatly in her debt. She and her ladies have spent many tireless hours helping to cool your body – they were unstinting in their toil."
Jack groaned, though not from his wound. "Aw, c'mon, Carter, can't you let up on this language thing – start to talk like you…used to? We need to…."
The urgency to ask where exactly he was and who these people were, however, proved too much as, against his will, Jack felt his eyes closing. Damned drink. He fought to stay awake, to hold back against the insistent demands of sleep. "Stargate, Carter, don't for..."
------------------------------
When his temperature began to spike yet again, many were at hand to wrap the warrior in sheets soaked in alcohol. In his delirium he struggled against the bindings, but so securely was he cocooned that his writhing was in vain and only his fevered brain was allowed free flight to soar through his tangled memory, reliving nightmares which seemed to Jack just as real as any he had experienced in life. He felt his fingers crack one by one as he was tortured and he screamed in agony as the Iraqi officer beamed down in orgasmic pleasure.
--------------
"What demons are these that trouble his very soul?" demanded the older woman to Sam breathlessly.
They had just spent a furious few moments fighting to hold Jack down as another nightmare impinged on his memories and he twisted and bucked trying to escape from what tormented him. But Sam could only shake her head in despair, worn out by the battle and apprehensive for his recovery. She'd watched a thousand times it seemed as Christa reached out and put a hand to Jack's face but this time the look she sent Sam was triumphant as she rubbed thumb and fingers together testing their touch.
"It breaks!" she cried wearily causing Sam to rise up from her chair and reach out to touch O'Neill's skin.
They stared at each other, grinning as they realized they had won the battle, had pulled their patient over the crest of his illness.
Straightening her stiff body, Christa looked down on the man they had spent so many hours working on, his gaunt face now bathed in perspiration.
"I am too old for this sort of nonsense. I will leave you to him and will send girls with clean sheets and cool dry linen to wipe him down."
She gave strict instructions to continue encouraging him to drink the herbed fluid, making Sam's eyes roll in uneasiness.
Go to Part 10