Chapter 3
Time never used to be something that Jonas worried about. To him it was just another factor in life, a life that didn't last nearly long enough. Tears sting his eyes again and he blinks them away. He can't break down, no matter what. He draws a shuddering breath and ignores the fire and pain it sends through his body.
Breathing isn't supposed to hurt. Breathing is a force of life; it's an automatic function, just like the beating of the heart. What happens when those forces take concentration? What happens when breathing causes suffering and a heart beat causes groundbreaking pain? What happens? One dies. That's what happens, one falls victim to time and realizes that he doesn't control his fate any longer.
Jonas's fate is in the hands of time now. It's a dangerous place to be, because time is not gentle. Time is rough and unpredictable. It's painful, yet it can also be wonderful. How can something be all those things at once? He doesn't know, but time is all those things at once. It's pain and suffering, but it's also joy and contentment.
The wind dies with a final whisper and leaves Jonas in a silence so thick that he feels like he's drowning in it. He can't surface for air; the silence is pressing down on him. He hears his heart struggling to beat slowly in his chest; his breathing is sharp and raspy.
So much pain. He never knew that so much pain could exist within him. He's cold, he's alone, and he's dying. He can feel it; he can feel his life abandoning him only to toss a malicious smile back toward his suffering body. Death is mocking him, laughing at his misery.
They say that misery loves company, but Jonas has no company, he's alone. The silence of the world drags on and Jonas lets his mind float. He wants to remember.
The day had passed in quick succession, one thing happened after another and it all seemed to have been heaped upon them at once. Between gratitude and festivities, the team of SG-1 had been overwhelmed by mid afternoon, but there was so much more to come.
The betrayal had come slowly. It was a betrayal of trust and friendship. Nobody knew what had exactly caused it, they only knew that it had happened. There were theories about what had done it. It may have been the fact that O'Neill had saved a child from dying by seemingly amazing powers to the planet inhabitants, or it may have been the disagreement.
The disagreement. That was almost certainly what had brought war to crash down on them.
It wasn't even a true disagreement. It was more like differing views. They had been taken away from the festival at roughly three in the afternoon. The inhabitants' leader had led them to something like a shrine. It was a majestic building of pure white marble. It had a high roof and elaborate pillars in the front.
Quietly, they had been led in. It was dark when the doors were closed and the only light came from the sun filtering through the elegant stained glass windows on all four sides. The room was vast and it was open, except for a raised platform in the front with an altar placed strategically in the centre to catch the attention of someone as he walked in.
There were candles attached to the walls, but none of them were lit. They walked slowly toward the platform and their shoes clicked against the floor to fill the immense room with the echo of footsteps. They stopped and the sound died away.
"Drop to your knees in the presence of greatness. You do not want to anger the deities." The leader had said.
"What deities?" O'Neill had asked casually, surveying the walls.
"Those that should be worshipped."
SG-1 had hesitantly dropped to their knees, but did nothing more. The leader turned to face the right wall, and SG-1 followed. The man had spoken then.
"Apollo, lord of light and truth, I humbly ask you to forgive our visitors, for they do not know our ways. Bless us with your greatness and teach us to do your bidding." The leader was silent and turned to face the left wall.
"Aurora, goddess of the dawn and new beginnings, I ask you as well to forgive our visitors who do not know our ways. Bless us with the arrival of a new dawn and give us a chance at a new beginning." Silence again, then he turned to the back wall.
"Pluto, you control the dead and the underworld, protect our loved ones that have passed." He turned to the front wall.
"Janus, you see the past, present and future. You control passage, time and space. I humbly ask you keep us safe and lead us in our journey." He stopped.
Jack had looked to Jonas.
"Roman gods and goddesses." Jonas had answered. Jack had made a face of realization and got to his feet following the leader.
"Come, I will take you to the inner chamber where you can understand more deeply." The leader replied and led them to a door in the wall of Apollo. He had opened it slowly and walked inside, followed by SG-1.
Upon entering, the team had stopped. The walls of the room were painted with eloquent pictures and foreign writing. Jonas had gone to the nearest wall and investigated it carefully.
Too carefully.
He'd deciphered the writings and with the few lines he'd translated he had had enough information to draw a conclusion. He had turned to O'Neill and spoken.
"Goa'uld." He'd said quietly.
"Are you certain?" Teal'c questioned.
"Yes."
"Excuse me!" Jack had replied rather loudly. The leader had turned.
"I hate to break it to you, but those four yahoos you just made us bow to aren't gods."
Silence had fallen, thick and unsteady while anger had boiled in the air.
"You dare to question the deities in their shrine?" The man said vehemently.
Colonel O'Neill had always been a firm believer in his opinions, and he never failed to voice them, no matter what the location was.
"I do." Jack replied stiffly.
"Quickly, we must leave before they hear your doubts. Come along!" The leader had sounded panicked and he'd quickly ushered them outside the temple and into the street.
"You have tainted the sacred space with your ridiculous words, feel you no shame?"
"Sorry, I don't." Jack had responded.
"No matter, we will let it go. We mustn't jeopardize our friendship. The relationship between our people has so much potential."
"Yes it does, but I'm not going to go back on what I said." O'Neill stated.
"You needn't have to, perhaps you did not anger them with your doubt. We will see, but until then, let me show you the rest of our town."
"It'd be a pleasure." Jack said, but his voice was dark.
Pleasure, Jonas doesn't even know the meaning of that word any longer. All of his pleasure has vanished and it does not seem eager to return.
Darkness is beginning to fall and still, he has not been rescued. He hasn't even heard any signs of other people. The smell of blood is all around him, invading his nose, and clouding his weary mind.
Weary, he's so weary; he wants the pain to go away. He doesn't want to continue like this. He can't do it. He hates feeling helpless.
'No, don't give up, just wait a little longer. Maybe someone will come to you.' He thinks silently to himself because thoughts are silent.
There's so much silence weighing down on him. He feels lost, overwhelmed, frustrated and angry. There shouldn't be this much silence. Life is not silent, so why should the last moments before death be silent? They shouldn't be, they should be full of laughter and conversation, they should echo of a strongly beating heart, no pain. The last moments of life should be the same as the previous moments, but he knows that it doesn't work that way. He's seen enough death to understand that it causes great suffering. It comes up unexpected; it is unforgiving and merciless.
Not even the wind cries it's sad song in Jonas's last moments. It's too quiet and his mind fades into the past…
It was nearly five in the afternoon before the day had calmed and people made their way home. SG-1 had been left standing near a small shop speaking with the leader who had offered them unexpected hospitality for the night.
Who knew hospitality was so highly priced?
SG-1 had reluctantly accepted, not wishing to shatter the fragile trust that had been started and the leader had taken them to a nearby home. The team had started to settle in when a shout from the streets had drawn their attention.
Jonas had gone to the window and was greeted by the young man that he'd been speaking with during the festival. The young man's name…
What was his name?
Oh yes, his name was Tobian. He was twenty-two. He greeted Jonas with a wave and a smile.
"Come outside and take a walk with me. Our conversation was interrupted earlier. Let us finish it." Tobian had replied.
Jonas had hesitated, but Sam's voice from next to him changed his mind.
"Go on, Jonas. We'll be here when you get back." She had smiled and Jonas had looked to O'Neill for confirmation. He'd been eager to finish the conversation from earlier, but until now, he hadn't had the chance.
"Yeah, go and talk about your dusty old books, we'll wait up for you." Jack said.
"Thank you, I'll see you later." Jonas replied and went outside to greet the young man.
See you later? Why didn't I say goodbye? I should have said goodbye, but I didn't know it would be the last time we saw each other.
Jonas's mind is foggy, he can't think. Pain fires through him, he breathes deeply and despite his best efforts, he can't stop the anguished tear that falls on his cold cheek.
Why wasn't I suspicious of him? Why couldn't I see he had ulterior motives? How could I have been so blind?
He lets those questions boil in his thoughts and continues to think.
TBC…