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20.
Affliction
"Bitterness is venom that consumes its host." ― Matshona Dhliwayo
She feels warm despite the conspicuous absence of the weight of a blanket or bed cover, and refuses to open her eyes as she lazily stretches out her legs - too comfortable in this moment to attempt engaging with anything visual. If she opened her eyes, she'd have to deal with reality, and right now she's quite happy being warm and floaty, though she's vaguely aware that she can't move her hands from where they rest on her stomach.
She doesn't really want to move anyway, but there's a tiny voice in the back of her mind that is full of agitation because of something... something...
There is something that she is forgetting, and she is filled with that strange feeling she gets when she finds herself standing in a room, and cannot remember why she's there.
The tiny voice in her head grows louder, unrelenting in its attempts to force her from her warm cocoon, and she finally allows her eyes to open just fractionally. Immediately, she is greeted by bright white light that is too much... too much... to handle, and suddenly there's the odd sensation, right in the pit of her stomach, like she's falling very, very fast, because she has a memory of warm and floaty and bright and white that she doesn't really want to recall.
It is not a good memory.
She does not want to be in it, or in another hospital bed, for that matter.
Her eyes fly open then, and the whiteness that surrounds her is practically blinding though oddly it doesn't seem to hurt, like it's being filtered in a completely unnatural way. There is movement too, because she can hear it - sliding - around her as the light begins to dim, and she realises that there is something strange and dark appearing right in front of her face. It grows and widens, and it's a few panicked seconds before she understands that it's not something she's falling towards through the bright light; it's an opening. She can see through it into an unfamiliar space and an unfamiliar ceiling, because she's not falling at all - she's simply lying in a kind of bed.
Inhaling deeply, she sits up, and the unfamiliar space spins uncomfortably as she blinks, her eyes readjusting to the softer, weaker light bathing the room around her - which is surprisingly empty. As she exhales, she notices that there is no wheeze or crackle in her lung; no cough to shake her aching ribs.
No aching ribs at all, actually.
She still can't move her hands.
Sam looks down to find rope binding her wrists - to find herself still clothed in the plain and simple pants and tunic the village women had dressed her in. She was not in a hospital gown. She was not in the infirmary at the SGC. And there are stains on the front of the tunic; stains that she now remembers should indicate that she has a puncture wound under her ribcage.
And there should be stains on her back to match the stab wound from Sani, too.
She scrambles to pull at her tunic, first by her ribs, and then an awkward twisting to try and feel for the wound that she knows should be somewhere below her shoulderblade. The skin beneath her ribcage is pale and smooth, unmarked, and she can't really get anywhere near her back with her hands bound, but she knows there's nothing there because there is no pain - not even the tight pull of sutured or healing skin.
Her throbbing headache is gone, too.
She feels... kind of amazing, if she's honest.
And she's worked out exactly where she is, or rather, what she's sitting in, because she remembers reading about a sarcophagus in the mission report from the first trip to Abydos; a device that brought Daniel back from the dead.
Had she been dead?
She doesn't think so, but the last thing she remembers is Amun - Jack - lifting her from the ground and carrying her, not outside the temple, but further into it. She remembers something else, too: the heat of his body as she was being held against him, like he was burning up with fever.
Her stomach begins to tighten at the unwelcome thought forming in her mind, because Teal'c had told them that a Goa'uld had the power to kill it's host.
Was that what was happening to Jack? Was Amun killing him?
It didn't make sense.
Amun chose Jack. He chose him, and if he didn't like his choice, he could have any other host delivered to him by Sani at the snap of his fingers.
Why attempt to kill it's host when it had a choice?
She had been wrong earlier, when she'd woken in the healing hut back in the village; this was nothing at all like Kawalsky.
And she was wasting precious time sitting here.
Quickly pulling her knees up to her chest, she uses her legs to push herself up onto the edge of the sarcophagus, and swivels around before jumping down onto the surrounding platform. She feels unsteady for only a second before carefully stepping out of the way of the half-lid as it begins to slide closed over the top of the device.
It must be programmed or activated by a sensor, she thinks, watching the last glimmer of bright light cut off as it seals shut. She stares at it, her ever present curiosity getting the better of her for a moment before shaking the plethora of questions from her mind, and turning her attention to her surroundings.
The room she is standing in is darker now, with only some sort of weak up-lighting lining the walls. There is dust in the air and a distinct mustiness of disuse that she can practically taste, and she wonders how long it's been since someone other than her or Amun has been in it; making the fact that there was still an active power source somewhere pretty damn interesting.
Stepping off the platform, she recalls that Jack had mentioned detecting naquadah in the temple, but Sani hadn't allowed her inside to investigate.
Sani...
She blinks rapidly at the memory of his wild eyes, the rage in his voice - at the resistance against her finger as she pulled the trigger.
She hadn't wanted to.
Even after everything, she hadn't wanted to, and she frowns at the realisation that Amun had chosen to put her in the sarcophagus - not his faithful servant, who was actually the most strategically important person to him at this point.
It just didn't make sense.
She takes a few cautious steps towards the corridor leading out of the room, her eyes carefully roving the space for anything with a sharp edge that may work as a blade to cut the binding around her wrists; the knots had been pulled too tight at this stage for her to be able to unpick with her teeth.
There was nothing, though - just some chairs and a bed on one side, adorned with heavy, dusty fabric and dulled gold, and the sarcophagus pretty much right in the middle of the room. She imagines that it probably all looked very opulent once, with Amun and Amaunet spending their private time here, languishing in their stolen bodies while their Jaffa and the local people slaved for them.
Died for them.
A shiver runs up her spine, and the urge to leave this place as quickly as possible compels her into a jog down the passage, the soft leather shoes she wears surprisingly quiet across the stone surface. She stops when she gets to what is evidently the door into the passage; a section of wall that appears to be stuck halfway open. Past the opening there is very little light as the sconces appear to go no further, and she peers into the dark beyond, hoping to make out something of the area ahead of her. It's a bit like when she headed into the tunnel in the mines after Jack told her to go for help, because she has no idea how long the passage is, or if it may split, but the difference this time is that she can't guide or defend herself very well with her hands tied.
She swallows, and steps through, keeping to the edge of the darkened room as she makes her way across the space, raising her arms in front of her as she tries to trace the wall with the finger tips of one hand. There's the sound of small rocks and debris skittering across the the ground as she moves, carefully, slowly, and she's so concentrated on the roughness of the wall and not tripping that she nearly bashes her head into a piece of stone partly collapsed across her path, her knuckles glancing across it just in time. She feels it out, ducking underneath it, and finds that she can straighten again on the other side of it, because it's no longer pitch dark - she can see light up ahead now.
The passage isn't as deep into the temple as she suspected.
Walking quickly, she exists the passage and finds herself back in the main chamber, which thankfully appears to be as empty as the rest of the temple, but she most certainly didn't want to take her chances with that assumption since Amun could've left guards posted outside.
Looking around the space for anything she could use to defend herself, she spots the knife that Amun had tossed away. It lies on the floor against the glyph-covered wall, uncomfortably near to the temple's entrance; the place posted guards were most likely to be.
Keeping her eyes on the entrance, she darts forward, scooping up the knife and then quickly backing up again before practically throwing herself behind the nearest pillar. She waits - for a sound, a shadow - anything at all that may indicate that someone was there and that she'd been heard. Her heart thumps loudly in her ears as she sinks slowly onto her haunches, and chances a look around the pillar.
There is nothing at all.
Just the flickering of the torches as a breeze wafts through the archway leading out of this wretched place.
Feeling reasonably sure that she is alone - or at least unnoticed - she finally turns her attention to the knife in her hands; a knife that she realises is stained with her own blood. She stares at it for a moment before shaking the thought from her mind, and then turns the blade between her fingers until it rests against the rope binding her wrists. Bringing them up so she can see what she's doing, she awkwardly begins to work the blade back and forth across a section. Strands begin to fray and then split, and she pulls against the bindings as she continues to saw at them with increased urgency.
After a few more seconds, they give, the pressure on her wrists abating immediately as the rope begins unravelling, and she shakes and pulls, casting the severed strands to the ground with a mix of relief and disgust.
She is free.
She is free, and possibly her next best course of action is to avoid the village altogether and head for the gate. It would likely have a guard of village men by now, but if Teal'c and Daniel were still out there, uncaptured, that's where they were more than likely to be - waiting for their opportunity to contact the SGC.
If they hadn't already done so.
She knows that finding them is the smarter option; she knows it. She is safer with them, and together they are more likely to either survive until Stargate Command come looking for them, or come up with a plan to make it back through the gate.
But...
But...
Jack is sick.
She knows this, too.
He is sick, and the stone of dread in the pit of her stomach, rattling around her insides and making her feel hollow, is telling her that he very well may be dying. She cannot leave him alone with Amun, and if Amun's delusion continues to grow, perhaps perhaps, she can manipulate him - buy the rest of her team time, buy Jack time.
She glances across the chamber, fixing her eyes on the dark space that is the entrance to the passage leading to what must have been Amun's private quarters, and the sarcophagus.
It might just be her only chance of saving him.
/
/
He presses himself low to the ground, nearly shoulder to shoulder with Apenimon as they silently edge their way up the rise of one of the hills northwest of the village. They pause, and Teal'c glances to his right, to Apenimon's friend who has advanced ahead of them in a flanking position - an attempt at maximising their visibility of the village and any guards that may be posted to watch for he and Daniel Jackson. For a moment, the young man is focused only on what is ahead of him as he carefully scours the terrain between them and the village, and then he turns to Teal'c with a firm nod.
The way was clear.
The three men had approached their destination with the utmost caution, aware that the undulations of these hills they traverse could just as easily obscure vigilant men from view as allow themselves to advance unnoticed.
Teal'c reaches the apex of the hill they are on, finally able to view the village spread out below them. In comparison to their initial arrival, led by the children that played in the forest, the activity occurring below is somewhat... frantic. There is a sense of heaviness in the air, and Teal'c has the distinct impression that something serious has occurred.
He lets his eyes rove, searching for the source of this feeling, and sees that there is increased activity concentrated around a large hut that was located to his left, towards the outskirts of the village. It is not any of the structures they had visited previously, but it is similar to the building he had collected Daniel Jackson from while in Apenimon's village.
"There," he says to Apenimon, his voice low, indicating the direction of his gaze with a lift of his chin.
"It is a healing hut," the young man whispers. "Someone has been taken ill."
"Or is injured," Teal'c offers, as he observes two men carrying what looks like a large pail of water between them up the stairs and into the hut. His sense of concern rises as his thoughts immediately alight upon the missing Doctor Carter, but before he can inquire further on the likelihood that she may be the injured party, the distinctive bassy shout of an angry Goa'uld fills the air.
"Jaffa! Kree tal! Kel nema?"
Within seconds, it is as though a great pall has fallen over the village as all activity ceases. Silence descends, and the figure that is unmistakably O'Neill strides into view. He cuts through the space below with the sheer voracity of his presence, and halts before a small group of young villagers standing near to the healing hut.
"Kel nema!" he demands again, looming threateningly.
The young men shrink back from him, but Teal'c cannot hear, nor clearly see, their response from this distance; though he knows precisely whom the Goa'uld searches for.
"He looks for Sani," Teal'c says quietly, aware of Apenimon's confusion at the foreign tongue of the Goa'uld.
"This is your friend?" Apenimon responds, horror in his voice. "The one taken by the... Goa'uld?"
"Indeed," Teal'c replies, and cannot keep the disquiet from his tone at the sight of such malevolence exuding from the typically forthright and honourable man that was O'Neill.
"Kel nema!" the Goa'uld barks again, striking one of the men to the ground with the back of his hand.
Teal'c sees Apenimon tense beside him, coiling like an animal readying itself to pounce forward, and he moves quickly to draw his attention from the scene by placing a hand heavily on his shoulder. The young man stills immediately, turning his gaze to Teal'c. The question is clear on his face, and the Jaffa knows he must compel the youth to understand.
"No matter what you see here, you must remember that this man's actions are not his own; they are those of the debased creature inside of him, and we cannot be distracted from our objective."
Teal'c says the words with a forcefulness and conviction that he knows is as much for himself as for Apenimon. He fights his own urge to rush into the village and restrain O'Neill, to seize the Goa'uld as soon as possible, but it would be foolish to take any such action without first ensuring their advantage, and minimising the risk to these people.
Teal'c feels the tension ease from Apenimon as he nods his assent, and signals his friend to hold his position - the other youth evidently readying himself to follow Apenimon's lead. Together, they return their attention to O'Neill - Amun - as a much younger boy runs towards the group of villagers. He looks to be all but a child, but he falls to his knees before the raging Goa'uld, bravely putting himself in front the fallen man while gesturing emphatically towards the healing hut.
Teal'c realises what has occurred: realises the reason for Amun's anger and the palpable fear of these people.
The Goa'uld has lost his mouthpiece.
"It is Sani who is injured," he states with surety, watching as O'Neill's attention turns towards the hut, the fearful young men before him now all but forgotten as they help their companion to his feet and scamble several paces back from the Goa'uld.
They may not have a better opportunity to enter the village than now, with its people so obviously preoccupied.
"Where would the villagers keep weapons, Apenimon?" he asks with growing haste.
Apenimon considers his words for a moment. "Weapons for hunting and skinning would be kept openly in communal spaces as even the children would know how to use them safely - I do not think Sani would allow such access to the weapons you have described."
"Agreed," Teal'c says with a nod. "Where would access be most easy to restrict within the village?"
The young man beside him blinks, his expression shifting from one of concentration to realisation. "Sani's own dwelling," he replies, and turns his attention back to the village, his eyes searching.
"That one," he whispers, raising his hand to indicate a larger and more isolated building to the right of the village, almost at its edge. "Such a home could only belong to a person of status."
"Are you certain, Apenimon?" Teal'c asks as he scrutinises the hut. "It does not look dissimilar from the healing hut."
"I am certain," the young man responds. "The path leading to it is not worn enough for it to be frequently travelled by healers, and those they tend."
Examining it more closely, Teal'c agrees: not only was the way to it lightly used, but the building looked to be more finely made and maintained than the more practical and plain dwellings closest to it.
It's location was extremely convenient.
He feels the eyes of the two youths upon him, waiting for his command, and he is reminded uncomfortably of his role as First Prime - the ease with which one could send young men to their demise at the behest of their god.
How relieved he had been to relinquish the role of leadership to O'Neill, and he wonders for a moment if the loss of this man - his friend - will mean the loss of his new found position, and his purpose within the SGC.
There is, however, no time to dwell on such thoughts.
"We will take the route behind the hills there," Teal'c says, indicating his desired path, "and approach Sani's dwelling from the back."
The two men nod their agreement, and all three retreat from their elevated vantage points, each moving swiftly around to their right - careful to remain in the shadow of the hills obscuring them from view.
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A/N: I can't believe it's been nearly a year. Thank you to those that have taken the time to read a story that hasn't been updated in so long – and to all those who have waited so patiently for a new chapter!
Life has not been easy this past year, but we muddle through. The story's outline and a lot of the later chapters are written, but a creative headspace has been extremely illusive. I hope you are all well!
Always also a big thank you to all the followers, favouriters, and readers!
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.