Stargate SG-1: Trial by Fire: SG1-1

by Sabine C. Bauer

  "Luli?" she asked.

  "Yes, Lady?"

  "Do you know why everybody's going up there?"

  "Not everybody, Lady. Only the women and children, and the crippled and old men who cannot carry arms anymore."

  Gracious! This child was sharper than she! She'd completely missed it, but he was right. They were hiding their women, young, and infirm, which could only mean one thing...

  "Why do you think that is?"

  "The Lord Meleq is angry. He has sent out his spirit to reclaim what is his. You shall see, Lady Siobhan." Luli kicked at a pebble that leaped in the air and tumbled through parched grass and pine needles and came to rest between the roots of a tree. Then he gazed up at her, a sly little grin on his face. "The Lord Spirit shall free us. And then he shall unleash Meleq's wrath on the Phrygians. You shall see."

  The Lord Spirit was more likely to unleash his own wrath once he discovered that his Colonel had disappeared. But if the boy was right and the Tyreans had come, hopefully they would be in time to find the man, rather than merely his body.

  Despite the sweltering heat, Dr. Kelly shivered.

  If at first you don't succeed, die and die and die and die and die and die and die again.

  Jack O'Neill took a slow breath and opened his eyes. A rock chamber, smudges of absurdly warm light quivering on walls and ceiling, and a sallow, narrow raptor's face above him. Right and wrong. There were bits missing. He should be laid out in the cold radiance of the sarcophagus. The face should have a fussily trimmed beard.

  No beard.

  No sarcophagus.

  The face pinched with concern, and that was absolutely wrong.

  "Wake up, Deodatus! Do you hear me?"

  Human voice, not that soulless metallic resonance...

  That breath he'd sucked in and held escaped in a shudder.

  Lines crinkled around hazel eyes as the face broke into a smile. Baal had a great sense of humor. No, really. Baal smiled at anything. A whimper, a moan, a scream...

  A hard, callused hand slipped under his neck, raising his head.

  "Drink!"

  When had he heard that before? Something had happened. Someone had said `Drink!' and something had -

  "Drink!"

  Flask. There'd been a flask. But this was a cup, and it smelled of nothing. No. It smelled cool. Water? Water.

  The cup nudged his lips, and he drank thirstily. It rinsed away the gooey taste in his mouth. Honey... There'd been honey, and swallowing hurt. His throat hurt, period. It felt tight and swollen.

  "More?"

  Jack nodded, clinging on to that ache in his throat. It made all the difference. He'd never hurt afterwards. The sarcophagus had seen to that. He'd been just as dazed as he was now, but he hadn't hurt. After a few more sips, he pushed the cup aside and decided to take a cautious sniff at what purported to be reality.

  He lay on a stone bench in the chamber he remembered. The one with the medallion and the raven and the lions. The stone bench had grown a pillow and a blanket to keep him warm. They hadn't killed him. At least he didn't think they had. But they were doing their impressive best to mess with his head.

  "Tertius?" Talking was less than comfortable, and he sounded like he'd knocked back a gallon of that high-octane paint stripper Daniel had taught the kids on Abydos to brew.

  The smile returned, riding on the back of a sigh. "Do you know where you are?"

  "Not in Kansas anymore."

  And he wouldn't even be here... la-dee-da-dee-da-dee-da-da... if he only had a brain.

  The smile crumpled into a frown. "Why didn't you trust me, Deodatus? It would have been easier. I gave you my word, didn't I? We'd never harm you."

  No. It was a ritual, wasn't it? To see what it would take to make him beg off? They'd pushed him to the edge and hauled him back, three times. Three elements. Water. Fire. Air. What about earth?

  "How often... How often do you get it wrong?"

  "Never. Not once."

  Perhaps. They'd timed it perfectly. Just long enough to make him lose consciousness. And a few bonus seconds to ensure he wasn't faking it.

  "How long have I been out?"

  "You woke up briefly and had some water. I'd be surprised if you recalled it. Then you slept for several hours, which is normal. You were exhausted."

  No kidding. He risked a sit-up and realized that somebody had put clothes on him in the meantime. Including the same white, embroidered tunic as Tertius and a pile-up of guys by the entrance to the chamber. They jostled for good viewing spots and ogled him with scary enthusiasm.

  "Salve, frater," blurted a daring spirit.

  Greetings, Brother?

  His left hand shot to the top of his head. Nope. Nobody had shaved him while he couldn't scream blue murder. Just checking.

  "Howdy." He decided on half a grin.

  The brothers murmured approvingly, still gawking as though they expected him to burst into song or, at the very least, into a speech. Jack looked away, scanned the rest of the room, until his gaze settled on the raven mask that sat next to him on the bench. He carefully ran a finger over its crest. The feathers were real and the craftsmanship amazing. The beak had been carved from a piece of olive wood and polished to a sheen. It gaped angrily. The bird was about to caw. And say what?

  "What does it mean?" he asked softly.

  "It marks your status among us," replied Tertius. "You are a neophyte, a Raven, who follows and lives on death."

  Did Tertius know how appallingly and unbelievably apt this was, or had it been fluke? The man's face gave away nothing, and Jack refused to pursue the implications of the totem he'd been assigned.

  "Who are you?"

  "Pater sum."

  "Aren't you a bit young to be their father?" His eyes found the audience again.

  Tertius chuckled. "I joined the brotherhood as soon as I was given a man's toga."

  "What about them?"

  "Caius here" - Tertius pointed at a scrawny guy in his sixties whose face was disfigured by a deep, puckered scar zigzagging across his cheek and down to his mouth - "is Heliodromus, a sun runner, who has reached the final stage of enlightenment. He is the most senior brother next to myself. Marcellus and Tullius" - two nods from among the throng by the door - "are Leones, at the beginning of their journey to spiritual wisdom. You've met them, of course."

  The lions. Oh yes. And obviously their candles had short wicks, although nobody was home to trim them. How come that, whenever he died, somebody insisted on hitting him over the head with an extract from Oma Desala's anthology of impenetrable mantras? So help him, if anyone so much as breathed the word `Ascension' he'd

  "And there," Tertius carried on, "is Gnaeus, whom you also know. He is Nymphos, a bride."

  "A... bride?"

  "Gnaeus has vowed to remain celibate for a year."

  Which would explain the attitude. Jack winced. The blushing bride beamed at him, revealing a startling gap where an upper incisor had lodged not too long ago.

  "Queaso, fratei; erudi me. Volo discere artificium tuum," Beefcake lisped through the gap.

  So he wanted to learn the trick that had cost him a tooth, did he?

  "Placet," agreed Jack, guessing that the least he could do was teach him. "Nunc?"

  The men laughed.

  "Your eagerness to instruct your brother honors you, Deodatus," said Tertius, grinning. "But fighting, even in jest, is not permitted in the shrine of Mithras."

  Who?

  Tertius flicked a glance at the relief on the head wall, the young man killing the bull. So this was Mithras. Jack rose, wandered over to the relief and studied it again, without drawing any conclusions above and beyond the fact that the bull looked doped. Where was Daniel when you needed him?

  Eventually he turned, challenged Tertius. "You promised to tell me about him."

  "I did."

  As if on cue, the men silently filed along the benches and sat down, impatient to listen to a story they must have heard time and time ag
ain. Tertius took a step forward, his face flushed copper by the torchlight, serene and intense at once.

  "Mithras is the god of truth and heavenly light, the judge of our souls, the star that goes with you and shines out of the depths. He was bom of the virgin mother - "

  That sounded familiar somehow.

  "and sent to be our protector and savior."

  "From what?"

  "Ahriman."

  "Harriman?" Actually his name was Davis, although it had taken Jack a while to -

  "Ahriman is evil absolute. Our legend says that he took the shape of a bull to fight Mithras. Mithras slew the bull, but Ahriman's essence remained. It crawled into a new shape."

  And that, too, sounded familiar. In a sick sort of way. "Ahriman is a Goa'uld?"

  A whisper traveled through the line of men, and Caius, the old boy with the scar, snapped, "You know of the Goa'uld? How?"

  "We killed a bunch."

  You could have heard the proverbial pin drop. At last somebody whispered again, presumably a translation, and the murmurs grew louder. Beefcake gazed at him with undiluted reverence.

  "Goa'uld occidisti?"

  "I had help."

  "You forget his name, brothers." Suddenly Tertius was wearing his sphinx-smirk. "Deodatus is a gift sent by Mithras. With his aid we shall finish what we have begun."

  Or not. God's gift was gonna get cranky as hell if people didn't stop shoving him across the chessboard like a pawn. On the other hand, if there really was a Goa'uld involved... Jack had never even heard of this guy. Probably not a system lord. Probably some minor creep who was content to terrorize the population of some out-ofthe-way planet.

  "So what became of this... Ahriman?"

  "He became Meleq."

  "What?'

  Jack blinked. He had difficulty believing it, because they'd seen none of the usual red flags go up in Tyros. But Tertius didn't look like he was lying. None of them did. Unlike Jack's buddy, Kantankero the High Priest. Then again, if you were doing the enlightened thing and served the god of truth, lying would be a bit of a no-no, wouldn't it?

  "You're saying Meleq is a

  "Goa'uld. Meleq is Ahriman. Evil absolute."

  Yeah, well... a snake by any other word would smell as rank... Jack found a spare seat on the bench, sat down, and tried to digest the newsflash.

  "The Tyreans? Do they know?"

  "Only their Synod," one of the lions, Marcellus or Tullius, replied. "Meleq - Ahriman - loves deception. He will send his Jaffa to tend to the wounded, to distribute food to the needy, and to train the Tyrean soldiers so that they may defeat us one day."

  That solved at least one riddle. No wonder everyone had gone cross-eyed with bliss to see Teal'c. But it didn't necessarily mean

  "Where's the deception?" asked Jack.

  "He tricks the Tyreans into sacrificing their young."

  "Sacrificing them?"

  "They're killed. All of them, except the few chosen to be hosts. They're the unlucky ones."

  Too damn right, they were. "So that's why you

  "That is why we are raiding their temples and stealing their children," Tertius cut in. "Do you understand now, Deodatus?"

  "And I suppose you tried talking to them?"

  "We did. Many years ago, we had a settlement near Tyros. We traded with the Tyreans, and we talked to them, and some of the people began to listen. Then the Synod learned of it and ordered our village wiped out. The Tyreans killed indiscriminately, men, women, and children. The few prisoners they took died rather than submit to Meleq. After that, they started persecuting us wherever we went, until we fled into hiding on the islands."

  Holy crap... Sectarian zealotry was a lovely thing, wasn't it?

  "So the attack on the ship was a bit of both? Retaliation and rescue?"

  "Deodatus! You're not listening to me! We had nothing to do with it." Tertius lookedpissed, then he clamped down on his temper. No fighting in the shrine of Mithras. "Tell us about the ship!"

  As dispassionately as he could, Jack sketched out the sordid details for them. By the end of it, there was a stew of fury and dismay simmering in the chamber. These guys either were the most talented gang of actors he'd ever come across, or they'd genuinely had no idea. At last Tertius stirred, rubbed a hand over his face.

  "You say that Abibaal was among the dead?"

  Jack nodded. "He and two of his sidekicks, apparently."

  "This is very bad news."

  "Bad news? The other day in the square I didn't get the impression that Abibaal was any too popular with you folks."

  "Your impression is correct, Deodatus." Tertius had started pacing, round and round the room, to the point where Jack got edgy enough to want to get up and trot along. "What you don't know is that Abibaal wished to negotiate a truce."

  "A truce?"

  "He was an old man. Sometimes old men grow a conscience."

  "How did he contact you?"

  "We still have friends among the Tyreans. Not many, but some. His wish became known to them, and the message was relayed. We arranged a meeting. When Abibaal failed to come, I went to Tyros to find out what had happened. That was when you first saw me. If I hadn't had to run, I might have found out about the ship sooner."

  "Nothing personal, but you might wanna work on the camouflage. You didn't exactly blend in, did you?"

  "No." Tertius finally slowed to a halt. "It's a matter of pride, Deodatus. Foolish pride perhaps, but we are honored to wear Mithras' garments."

  "So if you didn't attack the ship, who did?"

  "Isn't it obvious?" asked Caius. "It could only have been

  "Tertius! Tertius!"

  The shout bounced through the cavern outside and ricocheted up the tunnel and into the chamber. Despite the distortion from the echo Jack thought he'd identified the voice. The other men instantly came to their feet.

  "Hic, Flavie!" Tertius hollered back. Then he said, "You will have to wait. Flavius wouldn't come here, unless it were important."

  Jack groaned. He'd let himself be folded, spindled, and mutilated just to get that goddamn answer, and now MrNosegay had slammed the door on him. "Look -"

  Flavius came skidding in, sweaty red and yelping. "Naves tres, domine! Naves longae! Tyreni veniunt!"

  Time seemed to freeze. Even if Jack hadn't understood what Flavius was saying, the look of shock on every face would have been enough.

  "Geez, Carter... Your timing sucks," he muttered softly.

  Tertius heard him anyway. "Carter?"

  "My second-in-command. You didn't think my people would just shrug and move on without me, did you?"

  "How did this Carter find us? And why did he bring the Tyrean ships?"

  "Probably because one of the very few things she can't do is fly. As for -"

  "She? Your second-in-command is a woman?"

  "Oh yes. And right now she's your best guarantee for damage limitation. She won't allow any knee-jerk reactions on the part of the Tyreans if she can help it."

  You got that, Carter? No knee-jerk reactions!

  n the glittering waters of the fjord below the ships were dying, floating fireballs that sent dark columns of smoke roiling between the cliffs that closed in the harbor. If you listened closely, you could hear the sputter of the flames all the way up here.

  It had to have been the priests' idea, and it left a bad taste in Dr. Jackson's mouth, which had nothing to do with the smell of burning wood and hemp and canvas that hung in the gorge. It was unnecessary. Mindless vandalism. Nobody could have taken these ships to sea. The Tyrean galleys effectively blocked the harbor entrance.

  "Great," he hissed. "That leaves us in a really strong bargaining position."

  "From their point of view it's a strategic move, Daniel. No ships, no raids."

  "Sure. I just have a feeling that the decision wasn't quite as lucid as you make it out to be."

  Teal'c unhappily contemplated the giant smoke signal. "It would appear that we have lost the element of surpris
e."

  Daniel fancied he heard a familiar voice growl Ya think? and pushed it away. Hang in there, Jack.

  "If we ever had it." Sam shrugged. "I can't see these folks sitting around, waiting for the sky to fall. They must have some kind of advance warning system."

  It made sense. Homing pigeons and plenty of lookout points in the mountains, and the place was perfectly protected. The only decent route inland was the path beneath them. Which could be defended by a crew of altar boys armed with Popsicle sticks, even against the small but exquisitely peeved army marching up the trail now.

  Predictably, their suggestion to ask questions first and shoot later had met with a pronounced lack of enthusiasm from Lords Tendao and Fuano. Fuano had launched into the Tyrean equivalent of fire and brimstone, and Tendao had turned the color of an overripe eggplant and displayed all signs of an imminent cardiovascular event. This despite, or maybe because of, the fact that Hamilgart had been as good as his word and sat on the fence with great dexterity, which hadn't exactly endeared him to the priests. It was to be a show of force, designed to make the Phrygians tremble before the wrath of Meleq.

  Peering down from his aerie, Daniel figured the Tyreans were eminently more likely to be the ones doing the trembling - before the wrath of this unit of twenty men that straddled the narrowest point of the pass. They were outnumbered ten to one, but their position was unassailable from the path and they weren't altar boys. They were tall and brawny, and their build and demeanor made them professional soldiers. They didn't wield Popsicle sticks either. They had swords and javelins.

  Until a few moments ago they'd been sitting tight, waiting for the first head to poke around the shoulder of rock that shielded them from below but also obstructed their view of the path and the harbor. Then one of them had spotted those fingers of smoke poking into the sky, and they'd obviously guessed what it meant. Reactions were distinctly on the pissed side.

  "What are you going to do?" muttered Daniel.