Stargate SG-1: Trial by Fire: SG1-1 (14 page)

As well he might. It could be bad news. In Daniel's experience,
the only gods who ran around showing their faces tended to be
conspicuously bright-eyed. On the other hand, it was equally
possible that one of the priests simply dressed up as the god.

"What did he... uh... look like?"

"Masterful. Tall and dark, clad all in black, as befits the god of
storms. When he spoke "

"How did he sound?" Daniel struggled to keep the alarm out of
his own voice.

"Like the gales that announce the coming of the tempest."

His Tyrean friend seemed to be back in lyrical mode, which
wasn't overly helpful, and Dr. Jackson figured that any queries
regarding drainpipe acoustics might be counterproductive. A new
tack maybe...

"So you've only seen him that one time?"

"Alas, it is true. You must understand, I am a mere acolyte. Only
the priests are permitted to regularly behold the Lord Meleq."

Which kind of lent credence to the costume party theory. If
the priests were faking divine appearances, they wouldn't risk
discovery by overdoing the act. And the fact remained that so far
the team had found no evidence of Goa'uld activity on the planet
- by and large a pretty hard thing to overlook. Still, better to make
sure.

"So none of the ordinary people ever see him?"

"No. Not unless -" Hamilqart cut himself off. "But that has not
occurred for many years, Me1eq be praised."

A fat drop of water tore loose from a low-hanging branch and hit
the brim of Daniel's hat with a loud splat. A warning from Meleq
against undue curiosity? He decided to take his chances.

"Unless what?"

"Unless a person commits an act of grave heresy or treason.
They are much the same thing, obviously."

"Obviously. So what would happen if a person committed such
an act?"

"Once they are apprehended - which they will be, naturally,
because the Lord Meleq will not let traitors and heretics go
uncontested - they are brought to the temple. The High Priest
invokes the Lord Meleq and begs him to grant Purification."

"Purification?" Call it a wild-ass guess, but Dr. Jackson didn't
think soap and water came into it.

"It is a great ceremony," explained Hamilqart. His voice
trembled, and he displayed an air of gravity that clashed absurdly
with his drenched robes and the untidy black curls plastered to his
forehead. "Our highest ceremony, because it reveals the majesty
and the mercy of the Lord Meleq. It also is the only one that may
be attended by all the people."

"And it entails what exactly?"

The Tyrean had straightened from his crouch, as though the
matter were too exalted to be discussed in proximity to lesser things
such as mud. Or perhaps it was the good old fight or flight instinct
kicking in. Arms spread wide, Hamilqart stood in the pouring rain
and began to chant.

"Submit, oh child, that thou mayest be cleansed from thy
transgression. Submit, oh child, that thou beest purified in Meleq's
fervor. Submit, oh child, that thou shalt be consumed by the blessed
Mysteries of Meleq..." The arms drooped, and he trailed off, like
someone had suddenly pulled the rug out from under him. "Forgive
me. I... I get carried away... You may be lucky enough to witness
a Purification."

"Witness it?" Daniel wasn't entirely sure he'd appreciate the
honor. "How come? Didn't you say this hasn't happened in a long
time?"

"I did. But look around you, Daniel Jackson. The Phrygians
openly challenge the Lord Meleq and attack us and our children.
With your help we shall find them and when we do, Meleq shall
receive our children and he shall purify the transgressors, Phrygian and Tyrean."

"There are... uh... transgressors among your own people?"

"Ale!"

It was difficult to tell whether his panicked little squeal referred
to the fact that there were spiritually and politically unsound
elements among the Tyrean population, or to the slip of the tongue
that had let this particular cat out of the bag.

"Do you know who they are?"

"Oh no! No, of course not. Such people are very clandestine, are
they not? But the Phrygians knew... things... only one of us could
have known. They knew of the side door to the temple. They knew
the children had been chosen. They knew it was safe to come to the
harbor." Hamilgart had slumped back into a squat, as if weighed
down by mortification, and now he switched topics, prattling on
aimlessly. "The harbor was a pleasant place once. A fishing village.
My wife Ayzebel was born there, but it has been abandoned since.
You -"

At that moment a sliver of sunlight pierced the clouds, widening
and reflecting in a myriad drops of water. Over the Stargate and
the temple precinct rose a rainbow, luminous against the leaden
sky. Latching on to it with something bordering on desperation,
Hamilgart clapped his hands.

"I am wrong to quail," he exclaimed. "Look! Even now the Lord
Meleq tells us that we are not beyond deliverance. There is hope
yet! My son shall be returned to Meleq's service, and your friends
shall be redeemed."

Redeemed.

Daniel wondered about the Tyreans' idea of redemption. He
gladly would have settled for found - alive and in one piece, if that
wasn't too much to ask the Lord Meleq. Watching the rainbow fade
as the cloud cover swelled solid again, he had an ugly suspicion
that it just might be.

t least they'd unshackled his feet, which made it easier to walk
in a straight line. Terra firma, his ass! The ground moved,
and never mind that they were climbing a pass. Rough-hewn stone
treads gently bobbed under his boots, up and down and sideways.
His inner ear hadn't adjusted to dry land yet - although dry was
relative. Thick clouds shrouded the peaks and sagged all the
way onto the trail; the next best thing to being wrapped in a wet
blanket.

A few hundred feet below, the two ships lay moored in a
sheltered inlet that started to melt into fog and drizzle. On the path
behind him, cajoled up the mountain by a contingent of Phrygians
or Romans or whatever, followed the older children. The four
youngest had been taken by riders who'd left the moment their
horses were brought ashore. Luli was with the older ones, tired and
scared and cold but otherwise unharmed.

The bad news was that, so far, opportunities for escape were
so scarce as to be non-existent. A steep chasm to his left, equally
steep mountainside to his right, a pass that didn't do his knees
any favors and could be closed by two armed men, and his hands
were securely tied behind his back. Besides, there was nowhere to
run. They were on an island. Given the situation, he supposed he
should feel flattered to rate a total of four Schwarzenegger-sized
babysitters who rewarded unscheduled stops with fits of pique.

"Moh-vay!" barked Goonius Nosenseothumorus and coupled it
with a shove, in case there were any linguistic ambiguities.

Jack stumbled and barely checked the impulse to head-butt the
guy. It might be refreshing but the end result would probably prove
unhealthy. For him.

"How do you say Next time I'm gonna beat the crap outta you
in Latin?"

His crash course in ancient languages courtesy of Malachi's
machinations had been sadly deficient where it came to Latin
cuss words. It had taken him five loops to discover something that approximated 'idiot'...

But Goonius had caught his drift anyway, because he didn't
repeat the maneuver. Instead the tip of a sword grazed that tickly
spot in Jack's neck. Not quite an answer but the prospect of a few
inches of steel up the medulla was persuasive enough. He bit back
a curse and walked on.

Heavily leaning on a stick somebody had cut for her, Miss
Marple was hatchoo-ing her way uphill some ten meters ahead of
him. Either the sneezes were an homage to Dr. Jackson or she'd
caught a whopper of a cold. Other than that she clearly preferred
sailing trips to hiking, despite the fact that her hands were untied.
Maybe he should give these folks a heads-up on the true nature of
the beast. Jack grinned a little. She'd been right, though: this was
like something out of Gladiator. Question was when they'd meet
the lions and tigers and bears, oh my...

A little later the unlikely trek of children and legionnaires
and assorted prisoners reached the crest of the pass, and Colonel
O'Neill developed a hunch that the menagerie would pose the least
of his problems. He found himself gazing into a valley enclosed
by sheer rock. The only access route he could see was the one he
currently stood on. It led to a fortified settlement. The surrounding
land had been cleared for farming and offered pasture, grain crops,
vegetables, and practically no cover unless you fancied your
chances of hiding behind a pig. Except, it wouldn't come to that.
On his own he might have been able to sneak out unnoticed and
make a run for it, but not with Kelly and the kids. He couldn't
leave them behind, it was as simple as that. They either all went or
nobody did. He'd just have to think of something else. Diplomacy,
for instance.

"God help me," he whispered and received another polite
invitation to keep moving.

Picking his way down the trail, he foraged for any facts left over
from long-ago, paralytically boring history classes. The garrison -
village, really - was based on a Roman encampment. Rectangular
layout, single-story houses instead of tents, passages and alleys
intersecting at right angles. A sturdy wooden wall topped a manhigh earth berm, which explained where all those trees from the clearing had gone. Watchtowers reared above it at regular intervals,
but only every other was manned. By a single soldier.

Staff shortages? Maybe. It looked like Kelly had been right on
this one, too: they'd pulled out all the stops to stage the raid on the
temple.

But why take that risk? Why leave the settlement vulnerable?
Cockiness? Hardly, considering they'd bent over backwards to
make sure he wouldn't get `rambunctious' again.

What then? What could be so important about abducting those
kids?

Eventually the gradient eased and the path dipped into an olive
grove. After that it flared into a gravel road that led straight on for
about a mile and ended at the only visible gate in the perimeter
wall. As they approached, the gate swung open, disclosing a town
not quite drab but modest, a stark contrast to the colorful affluence
of the market of Tyros. Main street was split by a fragrant sewer and
lined with workshops; a fletcher, an armorer, a couple of weavers, a
cobbler, a blacksmith, a variety of woodworkers.

Now and then craftsmen glanced up as they walked past; furtive
smiles for the kids, bemused or startled frowns for the prisoners.
The latter suggested that adult captives were a novelty, but he
already knew that. They hadn't taken prisoners on that ship, had
they? Fighting to push past unbidden images of carnage, Jack
wondered what the sudden change of SOP meant and ended up
with lions and tigers and bears. Oh my.

At last they arrived on a large square at the heart of the
settlement. It was framed by houses and at its north side loomed
a building with a portico and lots of pillars. Internal Revenue? A
bunch of men, women, and children stood waiting in the drizzle,
the first group who openly acknowledged them - or the kids, rather.
There were calls of salvete - welcome - and excited nodding and
pointing of fingers.

His babysitters parked him next to Kelly. She looked pale
and disheveled, looked her age. Being a pain in the mikta had its
drawbacks.

"How're you doing?" It came out more gently than he'd
intended.

"How the devil do you think I am? I'm wet, my sciatica is
playing up, and I've caught the dreaded lurghi."

The what? Whatever it was, it couldn't be that bad if it hadn't
affected the attitude. Good for her. He grinned. "You haven't yelled
at me for a while. I got worried."

" Silentium," snarled his pal Goonius.