STARGATE ATLANTIS

TO SEE THE SUN IN WINTERTIME

Chapter Two

SGA SGA SGA

"Put him there with the others."

The guard flung the John Sheppard's body down in the direction of the pointed finger but he did not stir at the rough treatment. Not even when he landed in a tangled heap with his head landing hard on someone else's thigh and his arms and legs slapping against two other dead bodies.

John had been thrown down on the ground with another couple of prisoners who had died from abuse. They loved that here: the guards. To rid of themselves of others who dared to intrude on them. They thought they all wanted what they couldn't get – the power they held privately for themselves. These three today had paid the price for their nosiness and greed. They would be sent out to the scavengers to pick the flesh from their bones at the next drop off. No trace would be left. Even their clothing would be flown away to line their nests of comfort.

…..

It was only a few minutes later when once again John's body was roughly hauled up and placed onto the top of a land wagon, along with the two others.

"Going out quick." Remarked one of the guards.

"Sun's coming down. Birds will be hungry, looking for food. Best time to rid ourselves of these three quickly before the smell overwhelms us!"

…..

Everything before now had been kept at a distance in John's mind. Soft and muted were his thoughts. They just didn't last long, then he was out again. Then…he truly woke and gasped at the pain, but instinctively stilled any movement when he heard the guards talking. He could hardly believe it when he had woken up in considerable pain and discomfort just minutes earlier. "Dead? I can't be dead!" He thought, because he had heard them. But the cold flesh of the dead under him kept him motionless and he kept his eyes closed.

Now, though, he was in motion again. The shrivelling sun, though still unbearably hot, beat on his upturned face and he felt overpowered by sickness and pain. The land of golden sand passed by in a dizziness he had never felt at speed. It was almost excruciating; enough to give up his pretence of being dead. Soon, he was going to have to move or be sick.

He lay on a wooden board on top of the moving cart, pulled by some sort of engine, and the other two unfortunate people lay on either side of him. He did tentatively poke a finger in each thigh – just to see if they were dead. But the hard flesh gave no indication otherwise. John was disappointed at the speed he was going. It meant they were getting further from the village all the time. Further from his friends…particularly at this moment - Carson. God, he needed Carson right now.

His eyes slid shut.

…..

When John woke next it was to searing pain like he had never felt in his entire life. He could not help but rise up towards the agony and swat away whatever was happening to him. There were no guards surrounding him any longer, he could just hear the dull roar of an engine some distance in the background. In front of him was a tall, black and red feathered bird, twice the size of a Condor. In its two middle talons it held a piece of flesh it had just ripped out of his thigh. John balked and would have screamed, but for his affliction. He kicked out with the other leg, but it was weakened and ineffectual. The bird swallowed the flesh and came forward for another bite, and John started panting. He was too weak. The bird was huge and strong and not in the least bit upset that it's stagnant pray was alive and well. It came in for more.

John frantically looked around him for anything he could use as a weapon. There was nothing to hand and he started to panic, inching backwards, dragging his injured leg. His hand met with something solid and smooth.

Bone.

It seemed he was last to the party; the other two having been picked clean first. A quick survey and there were only two birds – only!

He ignored that it was a skeleton, and quickly snapped off a rib, then another and held one in both hands. Hands that shook, hands that sweat was making the grip slick to say the least. He flopped down to one elbow with exhaustion. He couldn't do this. He was too weak and ill. The advancing birds were morphed into four, back to two and then one. The sharp peck on his back meant they had split up and he was under attack from the front and back. Adrenalin kicked in at the right time and he swung round to stab at the bird at his back, neatly slicing across the top of its beak making it hop a couple of steps back with surprise. Giving it a couple of seconds to rebound, John turned his attention to the one at his nose; literally!

Its mouth opened to snap at his face and John brought the stripped bone up and under its curved beak, straight into the hanging skin of its neck that offered no protection to its jugular, so blood streamed from the stab to its throat and John pushed the bone in further to its carotid artery; and took its life. It fell with a soft, satisfying slump.

The other one screeched near his ear and as John swatted and stabbed at it, it played a dance of survival with him; nimbly staying out of reach of his weapon. But it was toying with him, making him weaker. Waiting on a perfect strike to take its meal down.

John managed to raise himself round onto one knee; the ravaged thigh limp on the ground. He watched the bird in a dizzying array of feathers.

He wanted to shout, "Get on with it, and kill me!" but his useless voice betrayed him, instead he croaked and it stung.

When he felt something run down his back, it dawned on him the bird's strike from earlier had caused him to bleed; perhaps another bite of flesh away. He wasn't sure if he could keep going like this with more and more injuries being added to him. Things were getting desperate. He feigned unconsciousness, and allowed the bird to come closer.

Not used to having live carrion, the bird did not think anything of it but go towards the now dead prey and rip it to shreds. John felt the shadow of him cool the sun and knew he was upon him. He opened his eyes wide and neatly sliced into the large bird's stomach, quickly rolling with his last bit of strength out the way of its streaming hot innards and blood flowing out onto the ground.

John laughed then. It was a release of emotions and shock. It was manic in its entirety. He kept up his noiseless laughing until he felt a chill descend upon him and the sun vanished into the sand and he was wholly alone and had no way of moving or getting help. All he saw from his prone position was black feathers and sand. After gasping for a few minutes, he braved putting a hand behind him and felt the wound like a stab wound; skin intact but it had already stopped bleeding. His leg, however, was missing a flap of skin and he looked at the area missing with disbelief. The two other men had been skinned, but their clothes that had been ripped apart were still lying about in ribbons. John used the rib bone to pull a piece closer. Who knows how dirty it could have been, but it was better than nothing to protect his open wound to the elements. He tied it round his leg tight, and quickly before he passed out. He then started really shivering, with shock or cold it didn't matter, each was enough for his weakened state.

John found he was lying down without knowing when he had fallen. His head felt heavy and his throat was on fire. The sky had become a flaming torch of spinning blue and purple; mesmerising in its movements. The colours swirled and battled for prominence. A storm was brewing. Suddenly, John had to retch. He managed on his side in time, but he only had bile left to offer the ground. His hand quickly scattered the sand over it and he closed his eyes.

It was the screeching that woke him next. The sound of flapping wings landing nearby with their trumpeting calls, heralded the arrival of more of the vultures out to steal his life in the most vicious way.

Heels dug into the sand; John tried to push away from the scene he found himself in again. But they were advancing with a hop and jump way too fast for his addled brain and injured body to process a retreat.

Not like this, not like this.

John saw the sliver of silver and then another. Clicks and sparks flew. There was a sort of muted clanging noise. He paused in his descent of death for just a moment longer. Just…to see…what…was…happening…

"Hello?" Someone said. "Hold on. We've got you."

John saw an older man with his head wrapped in a thick black material – and was that the same feathers inter-twined? He was looking down at him with worry. His eyes looked kind. John nodded, but closed his eyes anyway.

...

"Hurry there is no time to lose, this man is in shock and could easily die from his wounds."

In the Trakda Caves, the Sand Dwellers had heard the call from the Namco birds coming from the same spot the dead were always dropped off at from the Village. They gathered basic medical supplies and mounted their Drokfo as fast as they could. Experience taught them that too many 'dead' people dropped off in the desert heat, were in fact alive at the time of being abandoned ...although in a sorry enough state they could be mistaken from it.

In the last two months, Shebo had overseen the retrieval of three more. One had died not long into the first night. Another had been well enough to leave a few weeks ago and seek his family, and another recent female had made good progress, but her memory had been wiped by what looked like a bullet wound glancing the side of her head and taking short term memory with it for she could still function as normal, except for the fact that she did not know who she was or where she came from, although her nightly dreams told him they were still there to come out.

Shebo had a soft spot for the dark-haired beauty as any loving grandfather would. So, he asked her to stay with them, until she recovered herself to move back to her people, or they found her. He had every faith that she would recover. She smiled her agreement.

She was one of the first to run to the men when they returned with another victim. She gave Shebo and his men a hand lowering the tortured man off the huge beast; which had startled her with a memory the first time she saw them for they looked like the humped creatures she had seen somewhere in her past. Shebo's wife readied the various lotions and potions to hopefully save this man's life.

The woman, they named, Jotan, put her hand over her mouth when she saw his leg. 'Quickly, he has been attacked by the birds!"

"And also take a look at his back, he has a wound I noticed amongst the bruises – he has been beaten badly." One of his sons threw over his shoulder as he helped manoeuvre the man from the carrying canvas to a deep mattress in the sandy stone shelf.

"Dear, man!" Shebo's wife, Aliass, exclaimed as she got nearer to him. "I do not think that is just the sun causing his skin to be this red, he has many bites on his skin."

Aliass checked the man over with seasoned hands, grunting at this and that. She rocked back on her heels and reported to her husband that his eyes were so red, and that his body's muscles quivered under her hand; she suspected he had been subjected to the Drenching. If that had not been enough, when Aliass checked his tongue would not choke him, she saw for the first time his ravaged throat.

"It's Peshwa! His voice is as raw as to have lost his voice. Run, ask our youngest to find the flowers and roots we need to cure him. The time is right to harvest it, as they flower at night."

Shebo went at speed to relay to his son what was required of him, leaving the two woman alone to tend to the poor man.

"If your head feels well enough to help me with him Jotan, I would appreciate the help, but I am not sure you should be straining yourself as yet, for we have to move him to the healing waters."

"I can help. I only have occasional headaches. It is clear today. I agree, we must quickly lower him into the water and clean his wounds before he starts a fever."

Aliass and Jotan picked up the canvas and then lowered him into the water only a short distance away. Aliass had seen many men without their garments, but she had no idea of Jotan's past, so she threw another sheet over the man to keep his dignity intact as she stripped him nude to the waters healing properties. But it was Jotan who held him in the soft flowing shallow stream, whilst Aliass gently poured several bowls of water over him to cool and clean. He never woke up once.

"He shivers under my hands" Jotan said.

Aliass put the back of her hand to his brow. "He is fevered after all. The water will help, but the wound on his leg is very bad. Hold him back whilst I lift his leg and thoroughly clean the skin on his thigh. It will need pulled and stitched shut or he will die of it."

"His back?"

"It is not stripped, but there is a deep hole. It too should be stitched shut. We have a few things to take care of with this young man." Aliass shook her head sadly.

The two men studied the man's face as he occasionally jerked is body.

"Jotan? Are you okay? Is he too heavy in your arms?" Seeing the younger woman's face take on a surprised look.

"No…it's just…I really noticed his face for the first time, and... when I touched his head…"

"He is familiar to you? My goodness, is he…"

Jotan put out a hand to stop her. "No, it's nothing like that…I think. It's just holding him like this, I just… feel a need to care for him. Is that silly?"

Aliass smiled, "not at all, Jotan. You have a kindness about you. That we knew when you returned to consciousness that first day when I held you in my arms in this same water when you were in his position."

Jotan smiled at Aliass, and took the proffered bowl from her hand. "Perhaps you could wash the sand from his hair, whilst I continue washing and oiling him?" Jotan accepted, and methodically poured the water again and again over his head until the black hair was free of sand and grime and Aliass readied the canvas to take the man back to his mattress in his allotted alcove.

Two of her sons now arrived to carry him back, and they did so with great care.

Dried and breathing easier with the redness of the sand bites reduced significantly, and although still unconscious, Aliass set about sewing the man's wounds up before he woke. His back only took a little amount, but Aliass had to pull quite a bit of skin to make a flap over the raw and exposed thigh. It would definitely scar – she just hoped it would hold together and he would heal well enough on it to walk without a limp. Fever was another thing. The Drenching and his throat's ill effects from the Peshwa would further endanger his recovery.

Just as she was unrolling a clean bandage to cover his thigh, the man starting stirring.

…..

John's eyes felt like they were glued shut and he could just not open them. His body had different parts of him screaming in pain. He had no idea which part hurt or bothered him the most. Then there was the matter of what had happened since he fell unconscious. Where was he? Who was holding him and stroking his forehead in such a familiar manner? Through strong will, he managed to crack them open at last to a sight he never thought he would ever see again – Teyla!

His mouth opened in shock and surprise and he called her name, "Teyla?" – But, of course, it only came out as a deep and painful croak. He wriggled on the mattress and frantically reached out for her hand. Is it really you, or am I dreaming?

Jotan…or Teyla … soothed him and took the flailing hand in hers if it would pacify him as he was starting to get agitated.

"Calm down, you are among friends." Teyla said.

John starting panting in pain, knowing he was going under again because of it. "What happened?" He mouthed.

Teyla knelt further towards his ear. "Sssh. Sleep. It will aid your recovery."

"She is correct, young man." Aliass added. "You are safe here among us. We are the Sand Dwellers and you are many miles away from the village in the Trakda Caves: our home."

John's pain filled eyes tracked her mouth movements, but all too often kept looking back at Teyla. He reached a shaky hand up to the side of her head which had been shaved to clean the wound where the bullet must have just grazed her, but not entered. Teyla, once again took hold of his hand and explained. "I was hurt, also. These kind people are to be trusted. They nursed me back to health as they will you, too."

John nodded, and his head fell heavy into his pillow. He smiled at Teyla, who responded in kind.

Aliass brought a cup of water to his lips. "Drink. Slowly mind. You are severely dehydrated with exposure and blood loss. Not to mention the poison within you. I have sent my sons out to retrieve an antidote for your throat. You will feel better faster with that in you."

John nodded. Drank the water, and another, before calling time. He took one long last look at Teyla before he felt relief, so consuming on finding her still alive, he could easily let go for once and sleep.

"The young man seems to find favour in you caring for him." Aliass said with a knowing smile.

Teyla flushed. "Quiet, old woman!" She also smiled, though.

"...but perhaps he is already married."

Teyla flung a sponge at her.

"All said, I trust it wouldn't be a problem if you stay and look after him tonight with me?"

Teyla smiled, and took the sponge back again from Aliass, soaking it and started smoothing it over the man's chest. The two woman watched him for a while in silence as they continued to cool him. He grimaced in his sleep often, and whoever was nearest sought out his hand to still him. It seemed to calm him.

"His throat looked very painful." Aliass remarked after a time. "…and his clothes were ruined. Can I leave you with him whilst I rustle up something for him to wear? He might be a proud man. When he wakes fully and finds himself naked it might disturb him"

Teyla nodded. "Of course."

Alone, Teyla was puzzled. This stranger – everyone was a stranger really – seemed to stir something in her. His long, lean body was cross-crossed with many scars. The faint one on his chest she fingered guiltily, before snatching her hand back when she saw his eyes were open in slits watching her.

"Oh, hello again. Can I get you more water?"

John nodded, relieved. It had not been a dream, she was alive, although she did not seem to recognise him. Carson would call it short term memory loss – he hoped it wasn't permanent; that she would get it back. He licked dry lips, baked by the sun. He thought it prudent to not push her. Let it happen naturally.

A cup broke his reverie and was placed at his lips. He allowed her to hold it for him, and then to minister to him, checking his wounds and bruises. He felt weaker than a new born kitten, and his muscles felt really stiff and painful – then he remembered the seizure, and it was probably the after effects of that. But when she started peeling back the bandage on his thigh, he gasped and grabbed her wrist to stop her. The pain was unbearable; burning.

"Sorry! I am sorry, but I need to check your wound."

John started to ask how it was, but yet again his croaking voice failed him. "Do not speak, yet!" Teyla said, her voice soothing and gentle. John laid back down and curled his fists into the soft mattress under him, very much aware the wound needed several checks throughout his recovery. He wanted to know if there had been enough skin around the wound to stretch, but, of course, he could not. He would look later when he had the nerve. His did jerk it once by instinct, and it felt tight and hot. Teyla gave him a look for moving his leg – one he knew so well; it actually made him smile.

"You are in pain, yet you smile?"

John grimaced as if to verify her results. He nodded. Yes, he was in pain, but he was also incredibly happy Teyla was alive and here with him. He had found her. He would get her to Carson as soon as he could and take them all home. So, he would suffer through his recovery and be a good patient – as much as his stubborn body and mind would allow for as little a time as possible.

And yet, life was a funny thing.

…..

Later that night, Aliass came running at the garbled noises coming from the area she had left the stranger with Jotan. When she arrived and saw the man thrashing about, she landed on her knees beside Jotan, her nightdress fluttering beside her on the carpeted ground. The man was yet again in the throes of a fever.

"His leg is still the cause of the fever." She gave her results after checking the man over.

"His throat?"

"It is red raw, but my tincture should help him soon now that we have the antidote for that. This fever, though, might be a stubborn one. We need to keep him sponged down."

"…and keep his legs elevated for shock." Teyla said without thinking.

"Why ever would you say that?"

"… I do not know why I said that." Teyla admitted.

"Several things you say make me think you have looked after people before, my friend. I think this man is helping your memories along."

Teyla considered that. "I think you are right. It feels – natural."

"Well, you are looking after him well. Even in obvious unconscious pain and discomfort he seeks out your hand."

Teyla saw the older woman was correct and took it into her own. Swiping her fingers along his wrists pulse points seemed to sooth him, so she held his wrist and continued the processes well into the night, the next day and the following two, taking breaks only when Aliass forced her.

Four days later, John finally clawed his way through his deep, restorative sleep and woke to being fever free at last.

"Hello, young man." Shebo said, as he sat watching him take in his surroundings. It was his turn to sit with him. "You have had two woman caring for you for many days now, I am sorry you woke to see my old and wrinkled face first." He smiled.

John relaxed into his pillow, and smiled with the older man. He seemed to remember him but it was Teyla he wanted. He must have drifted off again because when he woke next she was sitting there holding his hand once again.

"Hi." He croaked, and was surprised it did not pain him just as bad, although it was still a croak.

Teyla and the older woman helped him to sit up against a stack of larger pillows. "Here, drink this." Teyla handed him a cup of water that he took in shaky hands. He nodded his thanks and drank the cool water. It went down pain free and he was giddy with relief at that. Teyla left his side for a moment.

"I am Aliass. You have been very ill, but your fever has broken and you are starting to heal. You must be very hungry. We will start you on a simple broth, but I don't think it will be too long for your throat to be able to swallow some meat. How does that sound?"

John put his thumb up automatically.

Aliass laughed. "That is a great way to show us how you feel. I may copy that!"

Teyla returned with the broth. "I will help you. You will feel very weak for a time yet."

John then allowed Teyla to feed him the broth, which was warm and had a chicken like taste to it." He didn't feel embarrassed or annoyed at his frailty. Just being with Teyla was enough for him at this time. The only thing that concerned him, of course, were the others. He was told that days had passed since he had been taken in by them from the desert heat. Days of not knowing what had happened to his friends was killing him. The irony was, several days ago his friends had now thought him dead, along with Teyla. Boy, were they going to be surprised.

SGA SGA SGA

To be continued…