Henna
The Mess Hall was nearly empty at this time of night. Teyla and John sat alone at a table, each sipping a coffee in a comfortable silence. Hours ago they'd been teetering on the brink of death in a Genii facility and they'd barely escaped with their lives. It made quiet moments like this more special.
"How are you?" John asked, cradling his warm coffee in his chilly hands. An icy draught wafted over them and he twitched his nose.
"I am glad to be alive," Teyla replied, closing her eyes and breathing in, "but meditation would make me feel better and banish the last of the chills."
They both shuddered as they remembered the sub-zero temperatures of their icy prison on Stura. If they'd stayed an hour longer they would have died. The arrival of Lorne and his team on the Daedalus saved their lives. It was good that Ronon and McKay hadn't been captured since they'd raised the alarm and that kept John and Teyla alive. Another hour and they would have frozen to death in that blue hole of solid ice.
"You know, I reckon meditating would do me some good too," John told her. "The whole thing unnerved me."
"I would be honoured if you would join me," she smiled. He nodded and they clinked their mugs together, draining the last dregs of their coffee. With the warmth in their bellies, they put their mugs in the washing rack and strolled through the cold corridors to Teyla's room. Atlantis in the winter was not fun. Everyone preferred the warm summer breeze instead of the sheets of rain, ice and the occasional snow.
Her room was the warmest place he'd been to since being captured by the Genii. The lights turned on automatically but she lit dozens of candles around her room before Atlantis' lights dimmed to nothing. They sat cross-legged on her fur rug and John hoped that this meditation wouldn't be as boring as all the others. Teyla had a penchant for just sitting there and saying nothing.
This time was different. She pulled out a wooden box from under her bed and opened it. Expecting to find her glory box or something, John leaned forward, but he found nothing of the sort. It looked like a collection of… dye?
"What's that?" he asked.
"It is called Henna," she explained. "My people use it during cleansing rituals to tattoo their skin with healing symbols."
"So, ritual voodoo stuff?"
"Basically. Hold out your right hand, palm facing down."
He did as she said, and watched as she mixed together a dark brown powder with a leather beaker of a liquid. It gave off a slightly acidic smell and he fought to not wrinkle his nose. Soon the mixture resembled toothpaste and she dipped a brush into it.
"Keep still," she told him. His pulse quickened as he felt the coldness of the Henna on his hand. She held his wrist gently, running the brush over the back of his hand in intricate little patterns. Her hand moved with the air of having practiced and he reasoned she'd done a lot of this with her people on Athos. Every so often she dipped the brush back into the mixture before continuing the pattern. His eyes were captivated by the smooth strokes. When she finished his hand she moved to his face and began to paint. He stared at the patterns on his hand and wondered what she was drawing on his face. It was as if he was in a trance for the rest of the time until she had completed the Henna.
"You're good at that," he said, smiling.
"I've had a lot of practice," she replied. "Now you do me."
"Uh, I'm not sure-"
"I have faith in you."
Shrugging, he took the brush and began to draw on her hand. Her arm was bare and he dared to paint up it, swirling and attempting to match her style. He was no Lorne. There was no way he would ever paint as well as his second-in-command. After all, John's mother hadn't been an art teacher.
He did his best and was pleased with the result. It looked like a spider had spun thread all over her arm and even she looked impressed. Then he pressed a finger gently to her face, holding it still while he drew small patterns on the side, covering her cheek and the left of her forehead completely. When he was finished she smiled.
"Not exactly healing symbols," she admitted, "but much better than my first attempt."
"What happened with that?"
"I upset the Henna all over my mother's lap." She laughed softly. "Needless to say I have never made the same mistake again."
"I should hope not," he grinned. "So, what now?"
She pushed the Henna away and placed her hands on her knees. John copied her and they closed their eyes. He heard her breathe deeply and did the same.
"Every time I have meditated since arriving here I have hoped to see the ancestors," she said, her voice barely audible. "I focus on slowing my breathing and reaching out with my mind. I imagine seeing their faces and hearing their voices calling to me. This is what you must do, if you are to feel content. We must go on a spiritual journey."
That didn't sound too fun to him, but he swallowed down his protest.
"It is known as Am'ri'ka and is very difficult to achieve. However I believe that our combined strength will manage it. We must focus on the flow of energy around us and within each other, reaching out to them with our minds. Do this with me, John."
Together, their breathing evened and they adjusted to their lack of sight. John wished he could open his eyes, but he fought the urge. He had to do this for Teyla. The Henna was already drying on his skin and cracking uncomfortably. It made it difficult to focus.
Then, slowly, his mind relaxed and he felt himself drifting away. Somewhere in the distance Teyla was sighing and he felt her presence. It was strange though. They were floating in blackness with their eyes closed, yet they could see through their closed eyes. She wasn't exactly a form, but a sense that he couldn't understand. He knew she was there yet he could not physically see her. His mind was filled with light and when it ceased he was floating in space. Teyla was beside him, her own eyes closed. She tried to speak but her voice didn't work.
Something shimmered in front of them. Slowly a white being came into focus with gauzy tentacle-like things and a light that glowed from within. An unfamiliar face appeared inside the being and John recognised it as an ascended being – possibly an Ancient.
It has been a long time since anyone has walked this path, it said. I am Aysala Sim, one of the priestesses of Ascension and healing. I sense that you have souls that harbour blackness.
What is this place? John asked, finding his voice.
This is the void between physical existence and Ascension, Aysala whispered. I guard this path with my sisters. No one has travelled along here in a long time – not since the last Lantean ascended.
Well, we don't want to ascend just yet, Teyla murmured. We only wish to go on a journey to cleanse our bodies of coldness. We seek your healing.
You called to me and I answered, Aysala said simply. I do not ignore a summons. Your bodies have been marked by Henna, I sense. It is the symbol of our healing. Without it I would not have sensed you.
Pride filled Teyla. John had done a good job with the Henna and it was obviously good enough for this Ancient to hear their call. He felt similar pride and she saw him smile through closed lids. She suspected that if their eyes were open they would be overwhelmed with the sight of an ascended being in its native home. It could drive them insane.
We wish for healing, Teyla breathed.
Yes, John agreed. Aysala's human face within the glowing white smiled and disappeared. The light expanded, enveloping them, and they felt a feeling of elation higher than anything they'd ever experience. It was pure contentment and all negative feelings inside them were being sewn up like a wound seeping blood. The blood could no longer get out into their system and everything negative was being drawn out. Their spirit forms rippled and spun around into a black void, landing with a sudden ferocity back in their bodies.
Gasping, John opened his eyes. The Henna was burning against his skin and he stared down at it. The crust had fallen off, leaving a temporary tattoo inked into his skin. Surprisingly, he didn't mind. Now that the brown paste was gone he quite liked the look of the brown lines against his skin. Slowly the burning sensation decreased and he sighed.
Teyla was in the similar position, bracing herself against the pain of her Henna. John watched as a flush of life emanated from the Henna, spreading through her body, filling it with a revitalised look. Teyla in turn watched as the gaunt look on his face was replaced by peace and satisfaction.
"What just happened?" he asked.
"I believe we communicated with an ascended high priestess called Aysala Sim," she replied. "She healed us of blackness in our soul."
Thinking about it, he realised she was right. Not only did he no longer feel cold, but for three years he'd been guilty about Ford, Beckett, Weir and everyone else who'd died on the expedition. He'd felt guilty about things on Earth and allowing people to die. Now though, it was gone. He was faced with the realisation that their life threads had run out and there was nothing to do that would change it. Teyla had realised a similar thing and she no longer felt guilty for leaving her people to join the Earthlings. Everything felt right.
"So, the Henna did this?" he asked in confusion, staring down at the tattoo on his wrist. Yes. Without the Henna, the sacred pasted used by Aysala, they would never have communicated with the Ancient. Teyla had never used Henna while meditating before, since it was traditionally used for healing ceremonies, but this meditation was meant to heal them. And it had succeeded.
"Yes," she smiled, "the Henna did this."