Each member of the team had been given massive cuts of meat to transport. The hunters had brought with them long poles stitched into sheets of leather. These had been quickly arranged to form makeshift sleds, and the now hard-frozen chunks of buffalo carcass had been piled on each one. Much meat had been left behind on the ice, ready to be picked up by a future expedition. The rest, seemingly enough to feed an army, had been loaded on to the sleds. Now each hunter dragged it through the storm, hauling the heavy burden against the crushing power of the wind and the deadening layers of snow at their feet. The going was tough. Very tough.
Ronon couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so exhausted. There’d been many occasions when fleeing from the Wraith (or hunting them — it was much the same thing) when he’d gone without food for days and trekked across harsh terrain. But Khost was something else. His lungs labored against the icy air, his fingers and toes had lost sensation, and his exposed cheeks and eyebrows were covered in a painful lattice of ice.
The hunters clustered closely together, taking turns to shoulder the worst of the wind. Ronon could see that many of them were near the end of their strength. All conversation had ceased. The storm had them in its grasp, and it wasn’t letting go.
“We close?” Ronon yelled at Orand, who was trudging along by his side.
“Nearly there!” It was hard to read the hunter’s expression. Almost his entire face was covered in his leather mask, now encrusted with layers of snow. “This storm’s a big one! They’ve been getting worse!”
Orand sounded worried. Up until now, he had laughed at nearly every challenge Khost had thrown at them. Now it looked as if they might have bitten off more than they could chew. Ronon had been reluctant to question Orand’s leadership up until that point, feeling himself a newcomer and not wanting to admit weakness. But it was clear now that the hunt was in danger of becoming their final adventure.
“We’ve gotta leave this meat!” shouted Ronon. “It’s weighing us down!”
Orand paused, panting heavily from the exertion. He looked in two minds. “We’ll never find it again! The snow will cover it!”
Ronon looked around at the rest of the party. They had also stopped in their tracks, some leaning heavily forward, hands on their knees.
“You think we have a choice?” he shouted. “Better to lose the meat than lose ourselves!”
For a moment longer, Orand hesitated. But he knew as well as the others that dithering out on the ice-sheets was the surest way to die. “Untie the sleds!” he bellowed. “We’ll pile them together and leave a jar’hram at the top. I don’t want these to be buried forever.”
With clear relief, the hunters unhooked the heavy loads from their waistbands and began to haul them into a cairn-shaped pile. The work was slow and difficult, frozen hands slipped and tired legs stumbled. By the time they had finished, the chill in Ronon’s bones had set in. They needed shelter, and fast.
“Let’s go!” The fear in Orand’s voice was palpable.
The party clustered together once more and battled onward through the snow. The absence of the load was a relief, but Ronon was dog-tired. Merely making progress against the inexorable storm was an achievement and the hunters leaned heavily into the wind, fighting against it just as they had done against the buffalo. But they were tiring, the slips became more common and every time one of them stumbled it took longer for them to get back up.
“We’re nearly there!” cried Orand, desperately trying to rally the group. But his voice had a hysterical edge to it and the effect was not comforting.
Ronon squared his shoulder to the storm, clenching his fists. He was coming down to the last reserves of strength, but was damned if he was going to give up. As long as there was icy breath in his body he would keep fighting.
Then the world lurched and everything changed. His foot, rather than crunching into a thick layer of snow, plunged deep into the ice beneath. He flailed and immediately sank up to his waist. A sudden wave of panic took over and he cried out in alarm. Hands reached for him, but it was too late. There was the sound of cracking ice, and everything below him seemed to disintegrate.
“Crevasse!” he heard someone shout, but there was nothing he could do. In a frenzied whirl of snow and ice, he plummeted downwards. He frantically tried to protect himself, cradling his arms around his head, but he was thrown in every direction by the tumbling snow. Rock tore at his thick fur hides, and then there was a shuddering crack as he hit something hard. Then everything went black.
Chapter Nine
Teyla was swimming, far out in the warm, balmy ocean. As she swam, schools of tropical fish slid past her, flicking their tails in unison. She smiled with delight and reached out to touch one. As her fingers closed over the darting shape, the water turned cold. She shivered and looked up. A massive storm cloud loomed on the far horizon, lightning lancing down from the skies. The blue waters turned gray, and the waves chopped in the rising wind. Panic seized her and she began to sink. She tried to cry out, but the words were drowned. She went deeper. Colder. Her temples thumped, her lungs ached. She tried to shout again, and this time a strangled sound burst from her lips. She broke the surface again. Ahead of her was the shape, the terrible face that had taken her…
Covered in sweat and shaking, Teyla woke into darkness and silence. She pulled her furs closely round her shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering sense of fear. She had no idea how long she’d been out, or where she was, or what had happened. The feeling of dislocation was oppressive.
Sitting up, she tried to get her bearings. There was very little light, just a faint red glow. Despite the fact she was clearly still underground, the surroundings were not at all like the settlement. The floor and walls were rock, but they’d been finely carved. The surfaces were as smooth as glass, reflecting the ruddy light. The air was clean and tasted wholesome; there was no aroma of buffalo tallow to taint it. Just on the edge of hearing, Teyla thought she could detect a low hum. Somewhere, there was machinery operating.
She looked around her and realized she was surrounded by about a dozen of the Forgotten. Miruva was among them, lying deeply unconscious like the rest. They looked unharmed and all were wearing their own clothes. Some even clutched what they had been working on when the Banshees came: bits of tapestry, bindings for the hunting spears, sewn leather shoes. All of the abductees were women and children. Had the Banshees ignored the men? Or was it just because most of the hunters had been out chasing the White Buffalo?
Teyla felt her equilibrium returning. Whatever had happened had left no obvious effects. She had only the dimmest memory of the Banshee itself. The shape had been insubstantial and hard to pick out. There was something familiar about it, but even now she couldn’t place it. Just like the dream she had awoken from: a faint memory, confused with other things, impossible to retrieve.
Miruva stirred and Teyla placed a hand on her shoulder. The Forgotten girl gave a frightened moan, then awoke sharply. For an instant she stared into Teyla’s eyes, looking terrified, then the fear subsided. Perhaps the bad dreams were all a part of the process.
“Do not fear,” said Teyla. “I do not believe we are hurt. We have been taken somewhere, but that appears to be all.”
Miruva looked around her, wide-eyed. “I remember the Banshee…”
“What do you remember about it?” Teyla said. “My recollection is unclear.”
Miruva paused and then shook her head. “It’s so hard. They were coming down the tunnels. You had your weapon, but it seemed to do no good. I can’t even remember whether you used it.”
Teyla looked around her, hoping against hope that the P90 had come with them. Unsurprisingly, it hadn’t. Whoever had abducted them wasn’t foolish enough to leave them their weapons.
“What did they look like?” said Teyla. “And why can’t I remember?”
“That is the way with the Banshees,” Miruva said. “Whenever they’ve come before, everything is confused afterwards. We can only recall
our fear.” She looked down at her lap, ashamed. “I just ran. I cared nothing for anyone but myself.”
Teyla shook her head. “I do not believe you were a coward,” she mused. “I ran myself, and that is unusual. I suspect that these Banshees have some kind of power over people, a power over their minds. We shall no doubt find out more.”
All around them, the remaining Forgotten were beginning to stir. Some of them were very young, and cried out in fear when they awoke.
“Calm yourselves!” ordered Miruva. She didn’t speak harshly, but there was a tone of command in her voice. “We must remain in control. We don’t know where we are, or when those things might come back. So let’s keep quiet.”
The Forgotten listened to her, and roused themselves more quietly. The few remaining sleepers were gently awoken, and soon the entire band was fully aware, huddled together like children in the night. Teyla was impressed by Miruva’s air of leadership. Not for the first time, she wondered whether the next generation of Forgotten would lead their people more ably than the last.
“Let us take heart,” Teyla said, addressing the group. “None of us seem to be hurt. Whatever has taken us here clearly has no immediate desire to harm us. We are also together. I have traveled across many planets, and been in many dangerous situations. Believe me, if we stick together and do not lose hope, we stand every chance of coming safely back to the settlement and being reunited with our loved ones.”
The Forgotten looked back at her calmly. The first blush of fear on awaking seemed to have passed. They were refusing panic. This was good.
Teyla turned to Miruva. “We need to find out more about this place,” she said. “Without food and water we will soon begin to suffer. I should begin to explore.”
“I will come with you,” she said. “But what of the others? Some of them are merely children.”
Teyla smiled wryly. “Believe it or not, there are some worlds in this galaxy where children are all there are,” she said. “But I agree with you. We cannot all go together. The two of us should scout ahead, and return when we have found something of use. Is there someone among this group who can lead in your absence?”
Miruva looked over the huddled band. “Gretta,” she said. “Teyla and I are going to explore our surroundings, to see what kind of place we have been taken to. You will stay here and look after the young ones. We will not be long.”
A young woman with mouse-brown hair and a sensible look about her nodded in assent. Teyla and Miruva rose. There were walls around them on three sides, but in one direction the chamber simply disappeared into darkness. There was only one way to go.
“Keep close to me,” said Teyla, as they started out. The thought of running into the Banshees again was not a pleasant one, but at least she had some degree of martial arts training.
Miruva raised an eyebrow at the condescension. “And you to me,” she said. “I know how to look after myself.”
Teyla noted the gentle reprimand. “Then we should be well together.”
Together, the two women crept forward. After only a few paces, they were lost in shadows.
Sheppard jogged down the passageways of the settlement, McKay in tow. Things were calming down around them. The corridors were still full of grieving Forgotten, but they were less manic. He tried the radio again.
“Teyla,” he barked. “You copy?”
Nothing.
“Ronon?” he tried. “Anybody?”
And things had been going so well. Now half his team was missing and out of radio contact, and they were still no closer to getting the Jumper back working.
“This looks familiar,” said McKay from behind him.
Sheppard stopped, following Rodney’s pointing finger. The problem with the Forgotten dwelling chambers is that they all looked the same.
“You may enter, Colonel Sheppard,” came a familiar voice from inside.
He ducked under the low doorway, followed by McKay.
Aralen sat in the center of his modest quarters, clearly distraught. A few of his advisors clustered around him, also seated. None of them looked in great shape.
When he saw them enter, a cold smile crossed the old man’s features. “So you are safe,” he said. “You may sit.”
Sheppard didn’t feel like sitting. He found himself bursting with questions. While all hell was breaking out across the settlement, he couldn’t believe the Foremost was sitting quietly on his own with his council. This thing needed leadership, direction.
“We’re fine,” he said, staying on his feet. “But what the hell’s been going on here? And where’s Teyla?”
Aralen looked down at his feet. “I am sorry. Your friend Teyla has been taken. There was nothing we could do.”
John felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. For a moment, he struggled to find the words to respond.
“Taken? What do you mean, taken?”
“She is not the first. There are many…”
Sheppard held his hand up. “I don’t care about that!” he snapped. “Where’s she gone?”
Aralen’s face was hollow and Sheppard suddenly realized that all of the Forgotten seemed stricken with loss.
“My daughter was one of those taken,” Aralen said. “Just as her mother was before her. So you see, I have as much cause for grief as you. And others of my people have gone. We will never see them again.”
“The Wraith,” Sheppard breathed.
Aralen looked uncertain. “When you first arrived, you spoke of these Wraith. This term was unfamiliar to our people, but perhaps it signifies the same thing. Perhaps I should have told you of this earlier…”
“Damn straight,” Sheppard scowled. “Perhaps you should.”
“But we have no means of knowing when they will strike! We always hope they will leave us alone. When you arrived, I thought that perhaps they would no longer dare to come.” Aralen shook his head bitterly. “While you were away they swept through the whole place. I have never seen so many of them.”
Sheppard clutched the sides of his chair. If there were Wraith here, then things just got a whole lot worse…
“You’d better tell me everything,” he said, with a touch of steel in his voice. He didn’t like things being concealed from him, and now his team were suffering.
“We call them ‘Banshees’,” said Aralen. “They have been coming for us more and more. Even as the storms grow worse, so they plague us in greater numbers. At first, the few reports of them sounded like ghost stories. I myself was slow to believe the tales. Perhaps my faith in the Ancestors blinded me. It matters not. None of us question their existence now.” He looked up at Sheppard, his eyes imploring. “Truly, has any people had to endure as we have endured?”
Sheppard worked to curb his impatience. He needed to know about Teyla, but Aralen seemed crushed by Miruva’s loss. He had to tread carefully. “I’ve been on a few planets in my time,” he said. “You’ve got some problems, sure. But I’ve seen worse.”
“What were these… Banshees like?” asked McKay. “Did they come in ships? Wear armor? Did you get a look at their weapons?”
“Ships? No, they are ghosts, flitting between the rocks like a gust of wind. Every attempt to engage with them fails. We never know when they’ll come. Sometimes weeks pass with no visitation. Other times they are here for days on end. All we know is that they steal our loved ones away.”
McKay looked at Sheppard. “That doesn’t sound much like the Wraith to me.”
“Except the part about people going missing,” John agreed. He turned back to Aralen. “Look, if we’re gonna help you, you’re gonna have to help us. Can’t you fight back?”
“When the Banshees come into the caves, there’s panic. It’s only once we’ve recovered ourselves that we’re able to take stock. Then we notice the missing ones. They never come back.”
“You must see something,” McKay objected. “I can’t believe that in a place like this no one even catches a glimpse of what these things are doing.”
“You’ve never been present during a raid by the Banshees,” Aralen said tolerantly, “so your ignorance is forgivable. But, believe me, there is no time to watch. When they come, we all run for our lives. All of us.”
Sheppard saw McKay’s face redden at the word ‘ignorance’, and moved quickly to prevent him replying. “Do you have any idea what these things want?”
Aralen shook his head.
“No,” he said. “If I did, believe me I would tell you. Perhaps there is a link between them and the storms, perhaps not. Whatever the truth, it underlines how much we need the Ancestors. They will listen to our prayers. Whatever you say, Colonel Sheppard, I still believe your coming has something to do with our faith in them.”
Sheppard shifted uneasily in his seat. It was never fun being mistaken for emissaries from the gods. You were always liable to disappoint.
“Yeah, well maybe we’ll see about that,” he said. “Right now we need to figure out a way to do something about these Banshees.”
He hefted his P90 and gave Aralen a hard look that said, ‘Sitting around on your behind ain’t gonna get this sorted’. “Where I come from, we leave no one behind,” he said, his voice bleak. “I promise you this, Aralen. We’re getting Teyla back, and the rest of your people. I don’t care how big and scary these monsters are. We’re going after them.”
Teyla and Miruva crept forward. The light was so low that it was hard to see where they were putting their feet, and the ambient glow seemed to be unevenly distributed. It was relatively strong in the area where they had awoken, but the further they went, the dimmer it got. After some distance, the level surface beneath their feet began to slope downwards. It remained smooth and unblemished, and several times they nearly slipped on its flawless surface. The walls and ceiling were the same. It felt as if they had ended up in a beautifully carved black marble tomb. That wasn’t an image that Teyla enjoyed, and she worked to put it out of her mind.
STARGATE ATLANTIS: Dead End Page 11
