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Chapter 10 – Turning Point
Sitayi' face worried her. The flush of fever had departed some time ago, but in its place remained a cold stillness that worried Ouaou.
She feared that Sitayi' body, growing older as did her own, might no longer be able to survive the effects of a convergence.
Ouaou had often wished that she shared her sister's great gift, to see ahead, to know what was to come, but just as often had she witnessed the negative sides to Sitayi' gift. She had seen the near madness the gift had first brought when Sitayi had been a young girl. Then later, the effects of the torturous knowledge that her sister had had to come to terms with – that she knew who would betray her before they did, who would try to kill another, who would die too young. All seen already by her, felt by her, and yet beyond her control.
In her youth, Sitayi had tried at first to influence what she had seen, had tried to warn, advise, and even intervene in vital moments herself, but each time, whatever she had seen still came to pass. In fact, the fact that she had intervened had sometimes actually led to the outcome. It had been a heavy weight upon young shoulders, and a weight that had forced Sitayi to face eternal truths that few even three times her age had thought to consider. However, as horrible and difficult as it had been for her, it had, with time, turned Sitayi into an exceptional individual. Ouaou loved Sitayi dearly anyway, but she also greatly admired her sister's ability to remain calm in the face of horrors, to have become so wise and honoured.
Ouaou had been fortunate to watch her sister grow, watch her find her way with her gift, and be her sister's witness in turn. For even Sitayi, as wise and experienced as she was, needed someone to listen to her, to comfort and care for her while she witnessed the rest of the galaxy's future.
As a result, Ouaou knew things that no one else in the universe knew, other than Sitayi.
Yet, that knowledge had also taught her that the future was not quite so easy to predict as others believed, or feared. It felt to her sometimes as if the future almost had a life force of its own, which flexed and turned with the breeze of fate.
For though Sitayi had learnt through the worst ways that the future could not be changed by her intervention, she had also learnt that sometimes her own words said at the right moment, having already been foreseen by herself beforehand, could help shape a future. That her own life was a part of the interlaced complexity that was the future, and in that small way, Sitayi had found a way to influence gently, subtly, even if it was only to allay her own sense of responsibility to help others.
That skill, and her developed wisdom and insight that Ouaou could only faintly grasp from the outside, had turned Sitayi into one of the greatest seers their people had ever known. She was considered exceptionally skilled, even among the small number of other seers currently living. All of them sought her advice, her lessons on life, concentration, and skills as to how to work with their gift. Their people as a whole had been blessed with a wide variety of differing gifts, but to see the future was by far the most exceptional, and Sitayi the greatest of them all.
Yet, even Sitayi had no defence against a convergence. Such an event had only occurred a few times to Ouaou's knowledge, and only twice before she had been present at her sister's side as she was now.
The others times had not seemed as traumatic as this one, but perhaps that was because of the time passed since the last convergence. It had been decades ago, during the first fledgling days of the Alliance, when its raw fragile future had not been guaranteed. Worlds had been risking forces in secret, untrained and frightened, they had worked together to fight the Wraith as a unified group for the first time. The success of that venture had hung delicately in the balance and a convergence had torn through Sitayi. Yet, as Sitayi had emerged from that previous fever, her cheeks pale, her eyes had been bright. The future she had described afterwards had burned with potential, which Ouaou had now witnessed come to pass with her own eyes, and it was even more glorious than she had imagined. The Alliance had changed everything.
That convergence had led to great change, but it had also taken other seers' lives.
And now Ouaou feared that this one might take her sister's life. There was nothing that could be done to ensure Sitayi' survival, no one could influence the experience of living in too many simultaneous futures. All they could do was watch and wait.
But, the fever had broken some time ago now, and yet Sitayi had not come back to herself. That had not happened in the previous two convergences that Ouaou had witnessed. The best of healers had visited repeatedly, but they could do nothing but support Sitayi' body, they could not stop the convergence and its affects that came from a place no other skill could reach.
Sitayi was older now and it could be that the ravages of the convergence were too much. How much could one body take through such things? How much could one soul take?
There was nothing to do but wait.
To watch.
To pray.
Ouaou stroked a hand over her sister's pale clammy forehead, the full purple glow of health seeming a lifetime ago, her skin continuing to be the dull worrying pale lilac of illness. The colour of those near death...
Yet, a soft movement stirred under her palm, a soft letting go of breath.
Ouaou held still, watching her sister with such intensity that she realised she herself was not breathing.
She leant forward, leaning her cheek close to her Sitayi' lips, waiting for the soft breath against her skin that would confirm her sister still lived.
The last healer who had visited had told Ouaou that two other seers had already succumbed to the effects of this convergence.
The same fate could not befall Sitayi, not her beloved sister.
A soft movement of air ghosted across Ouaou's cheek, Sitayi' breath. Ouaou closed her eyes with relief, for now at least Sitayi still breathed.
Sitayi' forehead shifted faintly under her hand again.
Ouaou pulled back enough to look down at her sister's face. "Sitayi? Sister?" She called softly as she stroked Sitayi' forehead gently, willing her into consciousness.
Sitayi' eyelids flickered and slowly lifted.
Ouaou smiled, tears running down her cheeks. "Sitayi."
Only, as her sister's eyes appeared, her expression gathered into distress. Fear tormented Sitayi' pale face.
"They are coming," Sitayi whispered, her voice dry and fragile from ill use. "From the darkness previously hidden."
Ouaou felt a shiver run down her back, the rough words pulling at the dark future stories Sitayi had previously voiced to her.
"Not the enemy we fear?" She whispered. Why this future? Did it have to be this one?
Sitayi managed to nod slightly, her forehead crumpling further under Ouaou's hand. "They are moving."
Ouaou wished she could offer words of comfort for her sister, but what could she say? Who knew better than Sitayi of what was likely to come.
"But there may be hope," whispered Sitayi wearily.
The spark of hope was at least desperately welcome to Ouaou. She prayed that her sister was right, that hope could exist.
But would hope and prayer be enough?
"If he does not fall," Sitayi whispered, her eyes drifting closed. "He must not...alone in the dark, his discovery untold..." Sleep fell upon her as it did so heavily after a convergence.
Ouaou frowned at her beloved sister wishing there was something, anything that she could do. Yet, she feared all acts now were far beyond her and Sitayi' hands. If there was hope though...hope that the best of possible futures might come to pass.
The convergence was over, a future established, but which one would it be?
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John reached the foot of the Athosian staircase and stopped, his heart and head racing.
What had just happened?
He looked down at the thick Athosian rug under his boots, his laces pooled around his feet, like he was a teenager again thinking tying the things was uncool. He'd learnt pretty quick that there was a good reason to tie them up. He'd been stupid back then.
Not much had changed.
He was still just as stupid.
He gripped his jacket tighter in his fist, so angry and confused and...
He realised one of his pant legs was hitched up and that his fly wasn't even all the way up.
He needed to get presentable, just hide somewhere so he could deal with what the hell had just happened.
He looked around the small lobby, recalling that he had once used a restroom somewhere here.
Looking around nervously that someone might appear, he crossed the incense heavy lobby, running his hand along what looked like a seam in the fall wall. The door's trigger was on the far side. He jabbed at it and the small door slid aside to reveal the small Athosian restroom he remembered.
At least he could get something right today.
He shot inside the small room, dumping his jacket aside on a small table by the toilet as the door slid shut, giving him privacy. A basin sat on a bench was their version of a sink and he quickly thrust his hands under its delicate facet. Cool water rushed over his cupped hands. He splashed it up over his face, the cold a shock to his skin and just the snap to his senses that he needed.
He gasped into the cold flash, water dripping from his face as he stared down into the basin.
He felt shaky, his body reacting from the adrenaline.
And because of the hurting, twisting feeling in his chest and stomach.
Her last words were circling his head, along with other horrific snapshots of recalled words.
He shut his eyes tight, forcing some control.
He couldn't believe what had just happened. It almost felt surreal, but didn't the most shocking, violent moments of life always feel that way? He'd been in enough to recognise the feeling.
The water was still rushing around the basin, the sound of it running down the plughole a little too on point right now. He opened his eyes to the sight, wishing away the memory of her face, angry, pitiful for him, and then looking like she had been the one who'd been insulted.
He smacked his palms down on the cool hard edges of the basin, angry at her and himself.
She was going to get married tomorrow. To a Genii General.
He'd been so stupid. Always making the wrong decisions, getting himself into bad situations.
He waved a hand under the thin Athosian facet and stopped the water pouring down the plug. He set his faintly steadier hands back on the sides of the basin and looked up into a small, shell shaped mirror on the wall in front of him.
He needed to think.
Not focus on the worrying thought that he really had just been a passing fancy for her, a way to cement "good relations" with Atlantis.
And to think he'd been hoping she'd been feeling the same as him.
Why the hell did he choose the wrong women?
Why the hell did he keep getting himself into stupid situations?
Sumner was right – he didn't think first. He never should have kissed her that first time, never should have let his heart...
He grabbed one of the small towels folded up on a shelf by the shell mirror. He pressed the soft fluffy mass to his face, absorbing all the water that was drying his skin. If only he could take back all the stupid things he'd done in his life.
He'd thought he'd learnt his lesson well enough before.
Now he had just gone and shouted at an Elite warrior.
He rubbed the towel over his face and through his hair, running through what she'd said over and over, what he'd said back.
She'd been wearing that damned 'Elite mask' of hers, all in control and insulted by his questions. All political warrior, like what they had just done had meant nothing to her. All these past months meant nothing.
No, she'd been all Elite, just thinking about the Alliance. And John didn't fit into that anymore, into her "purely political" plans. He was out. Just like that.
Well, if it was none of his business anymore, then he'd make sure she'd see that. He would refuse to work with her again, not look her in the eye ever again. Maybe he'd ask Carter to reassign him, say he was missing the fieldwork for the two days a week he had been visiting Athos.
If Atlantis still had a future with Athos that was, now the damned Genii were going to be here. And what about things with the Elite?
He threw the damp towel into the small laundry basket beside the bench.
He needed to get out of here, start thinking about what all this was going to mean for Atlantis, since it was all about politics after all.
Well, he could play that game too.
After all he was here to look out of Atlantis' interests, and they had just taken a major blow.
Determination fired up with the still burning anger, he crouched down and quickly did up his laces and adjusted his pant leg.
Standing back up, he properly secured his fly and checked his holster and belt. He reached for his jacket and pulled it on roughly, adjusting and flattening it down, then trying the same with his hair.
The overhaul was giving his focus, giving him time to push everything back, everything but the angry determination. He'd been an idiot, but there was time to make up for it. He needed to talk to Woolsey and the Colonels. The Genii were still a threat to Atlantis, and they were about to get a whole lot more powerful.
Ready to face the world outside the restroom again, he took a quick breath and triggered open the door.
Afraid for a second that she might be out in the lobby, he tensed up as the door slid aside. The lobby was empty.
He needed to get out of here, quick.
He hurried across the lobby's thick rugs, willing her not to appear. With her desperate pleas for him not to get too upset, like he was some lovesick puppy.
He stormed through the exit from the family area of the complex as it opened, past the guard on duty outside and headed down the long corridor at full military speed.
The sooner he got off Athos the better.
He checked his watch as he took the right turn at the end of the corridor, almost colliding with an Athosian woman carrying some plates. He apologised and then regretted it because he realised the posh china was probably for tomorrow's wedding.
He hurried on, darting around another woman with traitorous dishes and cups. He checked his watch again, properly noting the time. Had it really only been half an hour since he'd left Woolsey and the others? How could that be right?
He took another left turn, but paused, looking around, lost for a moment. Yes, this was the way; the vase here had the half vertical blue lines on it and large orange flowers in it. He carried on down the corridor, passing by other Athosians now, all carrying cutlery, potted plants, and some banners, all for the damn wedding.
He cut a sharp right, but turned back and continued back straight down the corridor, confused for a second which direction he was heading in. What that woman could do to him!
He recognised a junction up ahead, and was actually pleased to see the guards stationed outside the closed doors. He was back where he needed to be.
He slowed his speed slightly as he headed towards the entrance into the Tea Room, after all he didn't want to alarm the guards. They recognised him without comment, one opening the doors for him.
The relief at hearing Woolsey's voice told John just what a state he was in. He smoothed down the front of his jacket, his mind focusing a little more on where he was as he re-entered the Tea Room. He needed to be cool.
"...should be lovely," Woolsey was saying. He glanced up from his cup of Athosian tea with a smile as John approached. "Ah, Major Sheppard, good to have you back," he grinned. Clearly the political talk had been going well in here.
John didn't trust himself to reply so he just headed for the empty seat at the low table, the promise of sitting down for a second suddenly seeming a real good idea. He needed to think.
He sat down with practised skill on the small beanbag seat beside Zabetha, Ford across from him.
"I trust your meeting with Honoured Elite Emmagan went well?" Woolsey asked as John settled onto his beanbag.
How the hell was he supposed to answer that question? "Sure." Like a kick in the head.
His attention shifted to Torren sat at the head of the small table. The man's expression was closed, cautious.
He knew about John's relationship with Teyla. John was certain of that now.
John recalled Torren's long walk to the family area, all the words making total sense now. The guy was worried Atlantis was going to freak at the new Genii joining Torren and the Elite's family.
John had liked Torren until today. Now he hated him, had visions of the guy urging Teyla on to make her stupid marriage. No, no one forced Teyla into anything, but Torren was party to it. John could see the man's eyes studying him, worried from behind that poker face.
Just like Teyla when she had gotten all high and mighty.
While she had stabbed him in the back.
Of course it was all just political to them.
John turned his attention to the teapots in the centre of the table as Woolsey started up his jabbering again. John reached for the one empty teacup left at the centre of the table. The cool china was oddly nice against his fingers.
"...we will be pleased to discuss it all tomorrow," Woolsey was saying, and the reference to tomorrow caught John's attention.
"Leader Torren was just telling us about Honoured Elite Emmagan's wedding ceremony tomorrow," Woolsey explained to him.
John clenched his teeth together forcefully and simply nodded.
"We have been invited to attend and it should present an excellent opportunity to meet some new faces in the Alliance," Woolsey continued, clearly looking forward to the nightmare tomorrow.
Did he say 'we'?
"I'm not sure if we'll be free tomorrow," John began.
"Nonsense," Woolsey replied immediately, his smile strained as he glanced aside to Torren. "We would not miss such an important occasion, especially if it will be as lovely as your wedding ceremony, Lady Zabetha."
"We'll have to see if the team can be spared," John argued. Woolsey was stepping over the line if he thought he could make that kind of call.
Woolsey looked daggers at him. "I'm sure it will be fine."
"Still I'll have to clear it with both the Colonels," John pushed, but he already knew that Sumner had his team earmarked for the next check in with one of the refugee groups tomorrow. Sumner had insisted that the Athosian visits would never interfere with his schedule. On this John was certain he could trust in the Colonel's stubbornness.
And there was no damn way John was going to actually be at Teyla's marriage ceremony.
"If it is a problem for the rest of your team, then just you and I can attend," Woolsey insisted, his eyes boring into John. "After all, Athos is so safe," he added to Torren, the smooching making John's stomach turn.
He turned his attention back down onto the china cup in his hand.
The sight of her stubborn, angry face replayed in his head.
God, it really was over.
"...the Offering Ceremony will be first," Torren was saying. "During which it is likely that only one or two will officially make an offer for my daughter's hand."
"Only one or two?" Woolsey asked. "I find that hard to believe." God, he really was laying it on thick with Torren today.
"The process of deciding who shall offer for someone's hand in a Political Marriage is quite involved," Torren replied. "The others who wish to place offers of marriage negotiate among their number long before the ceremony, exchanging trades and agreements to remove themselves from the running. Eventually usually only one or two people remain to put forward their offers during the Offering Ceremony."
John glanced up from his empty cup. They bartered for the right to make an offer to marry Teyla? Like she was some piece of meat that only the highest bidders could win?
"Then my daughter will make her choice out of those final offers."
"But you're only expecting one final offer tomorrow," John found himself saying. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zabetha glance at him worriedly. "Right?" John added with a more polite tone and an attempt at a smile.
Torren met his eyes directly. "Most likely, though there could still be a last minute offer."
"Can't imagine any of the Alliance going up against the Genii," John found himself arguing. Ford and Cadman noticeably tensed at hearing the news.
"Perhaps," Torren replied.
After all Athos needed its strong new ties.
Torren looked back at him with a level gaze, but the former caution John had seen in the man's expression now looked disgustingly close to sympathy.
"What if she doesn't like any of the finalists?" Ford asked, cutting through the moment.
Torren looked away to Ford, sparing John from having to glare at that regretful look any longer.
John turned the small china cup between his fingers as Torren explained that it was rare that a Political Marriage was not decided during the Offering Ceremony.
"Usually there is some time between the Offering Ceremony and the Marriage Ceremony, but occasionally they are on the same day, as it will be tomorrow. My honoured daughter is due to leave for a vital mission tomorrow eve and so the Marriage Ceremony will immediately follow the Offering Ceremony."
So she was getting married and then running off on some big mission. He wondered if she would have her new Genii husband in tow. Not that he cared.
He didn't care that a "vital mission" probably meant dangerous. He'd probably not even hear if something happened to her, once he got himself reassigned off the Athos duty. He didn't care.
He set the empty teacup down onto the tabletop, suddenly feeling really tired, all the way deep down to his bones.
He just knew then that he wasn't going to be able to get out of tomorrow. As if anything was going to go his way. He was going to have to stand and watch her publically 'decide' to go with her Genii offer.
The Genii and Athos, and the Elite...
What would that mean if Kolya made another attempt on John's life? Would the Elite side with the Genii? Would they come to Kolya's defence if he was actually working with Cowen's consent?
Elite storming Atlantis...
The spout of a teapot came into view above John's cup and he watched as warm golden tea flowed down into it. He looked round to see Zabetha set the pot down and gently push the cup closer to his hand. He glanced up at her face and she smiled softly.
It was a smile that was achingly similar to Teyla's right now.
But it was the look in her eyes that really hurt. Pity and offered support.
He looked away to the cup as he picked it up.
He wished it held something stronger. He wondered what would happen if he got blind drunk when he got back to the city. Maybe he'd be too hung-over and a possible embarrassment to come back here to watch the wedding tomorrow. To come back and watch his heart being crushed. Crushed under the heel of a Genii.
But then, not coming back would be letting them win. Would make it seem as if he couldn't handle it.
It had just been an affair.
A brief thing; easily thrown away. Apparently.
He picked up the teacup and downed the warm spice in one go.
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TBC