/
14.
Bearings
"Every man had to find his own way, steered by some secret compass of the soul." ― Arthur C. Clarke
The feeling of water coursing over skin is the first thing he notices; the second thing being that the skin does not feel quite like his own.
It is a curious thing.
He opens his eyes, barely noticing the old priest standing before him, fussing over something yet again.
Lifting his hands, he turns them palm up, and examines them dispassionately. They are large and well used.
Strong; as he suspected them to be.
He is pleased with the height of this host, too - being brought to the level of a child had been humiliating.
Anger swells in his chest at the thought, because it was all her doing.
His lover, his betrayer... his Amaunet.
He shifts his attention to the priest then, letting his hands drop to his sides, realising for the first time that something was missing from his grasp.
"Where is my weapon?" he thunders, enjoying the flicker of fear in the old man's eyes at the force of his words.
"My God, you took the weapon with you to question the prisoners," the priest says, evidently surprised.
Amun pauses at that, and finally takes in his surroundings. He is standing at the base of the steps leading up into the temple, a building that is now merely a shadow of its former self.
Pitiful.
He notes as well that it is still night, and the water saturating him is the typically frequent rain of this planet - he misses the dry comfort of a palanquin.
He also does not recall how he came to be here.
Agitated, he turns back to the priest. "And how long ago was that?"
"A little while ago now," the priest says, staring up at him in confusion. "I greeted you here on your return, but you appeared to be... reflecting."
Amun is aware that the priest is choosing his words very carefully, as seemed to be the old man's manner.
It was not an unhealthy skill to cultivate.
Before he can pursue the discussion any further, he notices torches of light quickly approaching, and two men from the village appear at a run. They slow, glancing between him and the priest, clearly unsure of him and the power dynamic at play now.
Because it was always about power.
It rankles him that they defer to the priest, inclining their heads and communicating something that immediately alarms the old man.
"What is it?" Amun demands, all eyes suddenly on him, as they should be.
The priest drops to his knees on the wet ground, urging the other two men to follow. Fear melds with confusion and reverence in a heady mix that Amun finds that he has missed.
"My God," the priest responds, keeping his head low, "these men have brought word that the female accompanying the usurper's servant was seen near the village. Our men have pursued her into the forest."
"Pursued?" Amun spits. "They bring word of pursuit and not capture?"
"These men are messengers, Amun - they came to bring us this information as soon as the alarm was raised," Sani adds, daringly raising his head then, his expression imploring.
Amun narrows his eyes, rage flaring, and turns once again in the direction of the mines. The priest and his messengers follow on his heels like dogs, the old man silent for a change as Amun stalks the passage to where he knows that he left the female prisoner locked in a cell by herself. He recalls with a vague sense of pleasure the woman's stupidly thankful reaction to his offering of tea, completely taken in by the apparent innocence of a child, but the feeling quickly shifts into disgust.
He had been a thing of derision: a God in the body of a boy.
Practically an infant.
And she had looked at him as such.
He will make her fear him.
He finally enters the space, and comes to a stop, eyeing the cage that now uselessly holds nothing at all. In one corner of the cell, the bars are bent, leaving a gap big enough for her to have escaped.
He is furious.
He turns to stare down at the old man standing at his side, mouth agape. "It is true..." he says quietly, his ageing mind clearly incapable of offering anything other than the obvious.
Amun manages to hold back his urge to strike him - the priest was necessary for the time being.
He lets his eyes drift past the small group of men, and wordlessly turns on his heel, heading in the direction of the other cells. He wants to confirm with his own eyes what he already suspects - what he feels is somehow being hidden from him as he probes at this host's mind.
He is not surprised at the empty prison cells that greet him this time.
The door of one cell hangs wide open, a ruin of twisted metal, while blast marks blacken the walls either side of where Apophis's First Prime had been chained. The ropes that had bound his legs trail across the floor, and Amun knows the Jaffa walked towards him - towards this host. He sees himself throw the staff weapon, and his enemy's most loyal subject catch it.
He remembers now.
A strange feeling creeps up the back of his neck then, like a low vibration, a feeling of uneasiness in this skin, and the urge to laugh is nearly overwhelming.
Only, there is precisely nothing humorous about this situation.
He abruptly reaches for the door of the cell, taking the metal in his iron grip, and wrenches it from its hinges before hurling it across the room. It strikes the wall with a clang which reverberates in the space, and it crashes to the floor, a deep groove scored across the hard stone where it hit.
The priest and his men retreat into the passage.
Amun stares at the heap of metal on the ground, revelling in his strength, letting it assuage his frustration at this confusing loss of control to his host. Perhaps the stasis jar had weakened him more than he'd anticipated - he knew of no accounts of the after effects of release from one. Or perhaps the shift from a child to this larger, stronger host had required a longer melding period.
He had never before been forced to take a child as a host.
Amun raises his arms to stare once again at the palms of this host, and clenches his fists. They are his hands. And no matter the reason for the momentary weakness, he would not relinquish control again.
"Priest!" he bellows, and the elderly man slinks back into the room with his head bowed.
"Yes, my God."
"Send your men back to the village, and tell them to take a large party to guard the Great Ring," Amun commands, glancing at the shadowed passage on the other side of the room - the passage he knows leads to a ring transport.
"They will have the advantage of time," Amun adds, his lips curving into a knowing smile as he spots the dark trail of what could only be dried blood staining the reddened earth beneath his feet, "but we will have the advantage of speed."
Sani nods his head vigorously, and disappears up the passage with the two villagers.
Amun lifts his chin and follows.
/
/
The rain coats everything in a glossy sheen, and darkens their clothing, making it impossible for Teal'c to assess the extent of Daniel Jackson's bloodloss as they make their way across open grassland in what he estimates to be the direction of the Stargate. Teal'c has never found it difficult to orient himself on foreign planets - he'd fought too many battles on the worlds of others to be stumbled by such a thing. He knows they are well north of the village, giving it a wide berth, as O'Neill had advised.
He is thankful that there seems to be no forest along this route for the present moment, nor in the visible distance ahead of them. Their progress has been slow, despite both of their efforts, and they cannot afford the time it would take to navigate through wooded area in such difficult conditions; the little light available from this world's moon was nearly obscured by the storm that had gathered, though thankfully it looks to Teal'c like the worst of it may soon pass.
Teal'c shifts his grip on the man whose weight he is trying to help bear, and the doctor groans.
"Can we... stop, for just a moment?" Daniel Jackson asks, and Teal'c can tell that he is keeping the pain from his voice with great effort.
Teal'c considers his words; they have an acceptable head start at this point, and the route they are taking to the Stargate is more direct than their previous journeys, but he knows they are moving at barely their usual walking pace. He is reluctant, but with the rain abating this may also be their last opportunity to take in water - his symbiote will sustain him, but human bodies were far more fragile.
Wordlessly, he comes to a stop, and carefully assists Daniel Jackson in lowering himself to the ground. The doctor stifles his groan this time, and sits silently for a moment before tilting his head back - whether to look up at him or the sky, Teal'c is unsure, but rain beads on the cracked glass of the eyewear the doctor uses to assist his vision.
He wonders if Jaffa without symbiotes would ever need such things.
"Thank you, Teal'c," he says. The Jaffa inclines his head to one side and nods before dropping to his haunches, attempting a closer examination of the doctor's wound. Unprompted, Daniel Jackson turns his palms up to the rain to collect it.
"What happened back there?" the doctor asks after a few small mouthfuls, wariness clear in his tone.
Teal'c probes at the injury, provoking a wince, which he ignores. "I have never seen such a thing after a melding, Daniel Jackson."
"OK, so let me rephrase," the man responds. "What do you think happened?"
Teal'c pauses, catching the doctor's eye. "For a long time, I suspected something such as a stasis jar to be merely legend. For a god to be imprisoned by such a thing..."
"Wouldn't make them much of a god," Daniel Jackson interrupts, and Teal'c allows it, responding with a single nod.
"Indeed," Teal'c continues, "but it also made for an unpleasant comparison to the purpose of my people."
"A nation of vessels," the doctor adds quietly, his words barely audible over the sound of the ebbing storm.
Teal'c does not respond. It is an inconvenient and upsetting thought with no time for exploration in their current situation.
"Give me your jacket," Teal'c demands, wishing to both change the direction of the conversation, and get them moving again as quickly as possible.
A puzzled expression on his face, the doctor does as instructed, and quickly removes his jacket. Teal'c twists the sodden piece of clothing into a suitable binding, and prompts the other man to lift his leg from the ground so that he can encircle it with the cloth.
"This will not be pleasant, Daniel Jackson."
The doctor nods, and Teal'c pulls the knot he has made above the wound tight. Daniel Jackson tenses, his fingers momentarily digging into Teal'c's shoulder, and then exhales a long breath.
"Kinda didn't answer my question though, Teal'c," he says as he collects himself.
Teal'c gives him a sidelong glance - Daniel Jackson seemed to be a difficult man to distract when focused. "I suspect the Goa'uld is in a weakened state: a stasis jar is a form of punishment, Daniel Jackson, intended to keep a symbiote aware of it's imprisonment, without the option of escape."
"So," the other man concludes, "barely alive would be good enough."
"Indeed," Teal'c responds, taking the doctor's arm once more in preparation for helping him rise to his feet.
Teal'c practically drags him into a standing position then, and the man hops precariously for a moment, testing his injured leg and his balance. He does not cry out, and Teal'c is impressed with the man's endurance; he had witnessed many a young Jaffa break over less, and yet he was a scholar, not a warrior.
Teal'c finds that he does not understand O'Neill's reticence to rely on the doctor in combat.
Although, he did seem to have a proclivity for injury.
"I hope Sam made it to the gate," he says as they walk onwards once again.
Everything is slick from the rain, and Teal'c is forced to adjust his grip before increasing their speed slightly. "Doctor Carter would be moving at a much more desirable pace," he responds, hoping to reassure the other man. "And Sani may not even be aware of her absence."
"But Jack would, and that means Amun does too..." the doctor lets his words trail off, and Teal'c can tell that he is trying to make sense of what they had seen, and what he knew of the Goa'uld - Teal'c was uncertain of what he'd seen himself.
"How did Jack know there was a ring transporter?" he adds quietly, after a few minutes have passed.
Teal'c had asked himself that very question when they'd found the rings earlier, as stated by O'Neill, and he was no closer to an answer. The momentary lapse of control of a host body was one thing, but a host's ability to access the memories of the Goa'uld inhabiting him was another - in all the time he had been carrying his symbiote, he knew of no mechanism to communicate with it.
"I would advise, Daniel Jackson, that our energies are best saved for reaching the Stargate," Teal'c responds, finally.
"No talking," the doctor says, his breathing slightly laboured. "Got it."
Teal'c readjusts his grip on the other man once more, and attempts to increase their pace.
/
/
Amun stares dispassionately at the set of dry clothes that are offered to him by the priest immediately upon entering the village. They are crude and inelegant, unfit for a God, but would have to make do until he could make contact with his former territories, and summon the Jaffa still loyal to him - they would know how to treat their God.
They would slaughter these people for the indignity he is suffering.
For now, though, he would have to exercise tolerance, and ensure their continued co-operation, so he nods his head minutely at the priest in acknowledgement of his offering.
The man looks disproportionately pleased, and Amun carefully hides his disgust, instead turning his attention to the large fire in the dwelling he has been brought to - apparently the priest's own, as there was no one of higher status in the village than him, and nowhere more appropriate for Amun to be sheltered.
The light from the fire is a warm orange that pleases Amun, stirring a memory of fierce torchlight lining the archways of his once beautiful temple of Kar-nat. Only, the memory also calls an image of her to his mind, and the exquisite bronze of her sun-darkened skin in the glow of firelight.
He cannot stop the sudden rise of anger from twisting his face, and he abruptly spins away from the fire, and the gaze of the old priest that seemed to be fixed on him almost ceaselessly.
It was exhausting.
He lets his eyes wander, searching for any distraction, and they fall upon the strange weapons taken from Apophis's servants. They have been ordered neatly across a low table, their shapes angular and almost primitive, varying in shape and size in a way that was unlike any Goa'uld weapons he had ever seen, and yet... despite his ongoing struggle to delve into this host's memories, they were not unfamiliar. He lowers himself, kneeling before the table, and sets the dry clothes aside before reaching for one of the smaller weapons, taking it easily in his hand as though he'd held it thousands of times before.
It sits heavy in his palm, the handle textured in such a way as to provide a firm grip, and a sense of calm descends on him, of ease. It was more than simple knowledge of how the device operated - it was feeling.
Feeling that was not his own.
He finds that he cannot put the weapon down fast enough.
A raised voice at the entrance to the hut happily draws his attention then, and that of the priest, and the old man crosses the space quickly. He exits, leaving Amun blissfully alone for a few moments, and converses with one of the villagers outside, their voices raised slightly over the continuing rain until the priest returns, his features clearly betraying his eagerness to share whatever had been discussed.
"What is it, Sani?" Amun demands impatiently.
"Our men bring news that the female slave has been recaptured, my God," Sani responds, pressing his hands together reverentially. "She was found, unconscious, in the stream that crosses through the forest, and is being brought to a healing tent to be examined by our female healers."
Amun laughs darkly at the implication of Sani's words. "I would hardly consider that to be recaptured."
The pleasure on the priest's face shifts into confusion. "My God, no, she is apprehended - she did not reach the Great Ring."
"By her own misfortune," Amun says cooly, challenging Sani to contradict him. He rises languidly to stand before the priest, using every bit of his greater height to intimidate. "Had she not fallen, would she have reached the Stargate?"
"Of course not, oh God!" Sani exclaims, and then immediately regrets the force of his outburst, hastily taking several steps back and bowing his head submissively. Amun allows him to collect himself.
"Regardless, I expect more, Sani," he says slowly, deliberately, so that the priest cannot possibly mistake his intent. "I expect the others not to be recaptured by mere chance."
"We will not fail you," Sani says, the passion in his tone tinged with fear. "They will not reach the Great Ring first."
Amun allows the silence in the hut to grow, the old man uncomfortable under his pointed gaze.
"Good," he drawls, a cold smile curving his lips. "Now, you will leave me, so that I may change into dry garments, and then you will bring me to where the woman is being treated."
Sani looks up at him once more, happy to be given a task, and leaves without a word to wait outside the entrance. Amun strips the wet fabric from his body, dropping it unceremoniously onto the ground next to the fire until he finally stands naked in its warmth. His limbs are long and toned, and he finds that he is not displeased - this host was not dissimilar from his former one, though indeed paler, and perhaps a little older aesthetically.
It mattered not; the age of a host, once taken, could be preserved for millenia, and Amun had always preferred a certain level of maturity.
He pauses, lets his eyes fall closed, and pushes.
Immediately, he feels resistance, and his anger swells at the continued insolence of this mind. He lashes out with a single, searing thought, stabbing through memories that dissolve and blur even as he tries to examine them.
Where?
He knows he is close.
Are you from?
Amun smiles, finally rewarded with an image he recognises: Ra.
His host is Tau'ri.
How... interesting.
His smile falls as a series of scenes are suddenly pushed at him. They are jarringly vivid, and saturated with pleasure: an explosive device, a ring transport, and an unnaturally bright light stretching across a deep blue sky.
The death of Ra.
The threat is clear, and the momentary feeling of vulnerability that washes over him has him reaching for the bundle of dry garments still sitting on the floor before he stays his hand, for it is his hand.
He laughs, and revels in the irritation that ripples like a drop in a pond across his own consciousness, for it is not his irritation, and he is done with entertaining this host.
He dresses quickly, and exits the dwelling. Sani waits with an umbrella this time, rudimentary, but effective in shielding them from the now drizzle of rain - a mere lull in the storm, Amun suspects. The priest guides him through nearly the entirety of the village to a series of buildings that are larger, but considerably more modest and functional, than the old man's home. There is much activity around one of the huts; the village women bring jars of water and other supplies while a few of the village men remain outside, knives tucked into the leather of their belts as they stand guard.
Sani stops at the base of the steps leading up into the hut, and grasps the arm of one of the women that attempt to pass them. Amun cares not for the exchange that follows, but when released, she hurries into the building, and moments later all of the women make a hasty exit.
Sani inclines his head towards the entrance. "I am told she is still unconscious, but she is in the process of being examined here."
Amun starts up the steps, but turns a questioning eyebrow towards the priest when he realises that he does not follow.
"I cannot enter, my God," the old man says, shaking his head. "To enter the women's healing area would make me unclean."
"Oh?" Amun asks, his insinuation clear.
"It would be impossible for you to be made unclean, Amun," the priest quickly adds, spreading his hands, palm up, in a placating gesture.
Amun regards him for a moment, but does not pursue the matter further, finding that he is much more interested in seeing the woman.
A woman of the Tau'ri – he is certain of this now.
He enters the hut, and like the other large buildings in this village, a fire burns at its centre. A pot heats on a stone placed on the edge of the flames, steam beginning to curl over the lip, and his eyes finally find her, lain out on blankets near to it as though sleeping.
She has been stripped of all but her undergarments, the bare skin of her arms and legs glowing like polished ivory in the light of the fire.
So unlike his Amaunet, he thinks.
He cocks his head to one side as he examines her form, and then slowly drops to his knees beside her. Leaning forward, he captures her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and turns her face towards him, noting the swelling of the large bruise discolouring one temple, and the dried blood - caked onto her face and matted into her flaxen hair. A golden halo, so unlike the flowing ebony of his Amaunet.
But no less... alluring.
The thought is greeted with an unpleasant wave of emotion that he finds he does not understand, and realises that it is shame.
Gods do not feel shame.
He releases her chin abruptly, roughly, and she does not stir.
The feeling lingers, like the aftertaste of something vile in his mouth.
It is disgusting.
He pushes to his feet and paces away from her, back towards the entrance, before turning to look at her once more as though compelled. The feeling abates, but there is something else seeping in to replace it: a scant trickle, but there nonetheless.
Gods do not feel concern, either.
He shakes his head as though he could cast if off physically, and exits the hut, Sani wordlessly falling into step beside him with the umbrella. Amun is pleased by the uncharacteristic silence, for he realises that he is tired - clearly still weakened by his time in the stasis jar.
Yes, all that was required was rest, and once plans were sufficiently underway, a treatment of his own.
"She must not be allowed to escape again, priest," Amun says finally as they reach the old man's home.
"She will not be left unguarded, my God."
Amun waves his hand dismissively, and enters the dwelling, crossing the space towards the meagre offering that was apparently considered a bed. It would have to do – for the moment, it was enough that he was alone, and could allow himself to be overwhelmed by his exhaustion.
The last image that drifts through his mind as he eventually sinks into the deepest of sleeps, is a halo of golden hair.
/
A/N: I can only say that this chapter has been delayed because I moved countries – an entirely terrifying and time-consuming process, which I am yet to recover from. In any case, I am deeply sorry for keeping you waiting (if indeed you were waiting). The song was Be On Your Way by Daughter (if interested).
As always, thank you so much all followers/favouriters/readers/reviewers!
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of the Stargate franchise. All other characters mentioned in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.