Daniel and Astarte
Artwork: Lamp of Psyche, Victor Haddad
Chapter Seven
Sleep
faded in a tangle of broken dreams and ruined hopes. He lay drifting in a grey
void, eyes firmly shuttered against the realities of the day, but however much
he wanted to avoid them, recollections of last night’s events seeped into his
memory, replaying in an endless loop, driving home just how much he’d been
pinning his hopes on Ba'al’s talk of peace. He’d known the Goa'uld was not to
be trusted, none of them could, and yet he’d wanted to believe, wanted to invest
some of himself in a future that promised peace. Not just for his planet but
for all of them out there – their people labouring away under the grinding heel
of slavery and oppression. And he couldn’t deny he wanted it for himself, too.
Five years of fighting on the front lines in a war that promised no hint of a
resolution - he was worn to the bone with it, tired in body and soul and even
worse, he feared he had little left to give, that his efforts would not be
enough when it really counted and he would let his team down in the one moment
they needed him. The thought of them being lost when he could have, should
have, prevented it…. He had enough nightmares to cope with.
Little
wonder he’d clutched at Ba'al’s honeyed words like they offered his own personal
salvation. It was too big a promise to have ignored. Now it was just another
sham, a lie designed to curry his cooperation in his own defilement. The
disintegration of hope was something he should be used to. He felt a chasm of
despair yawning beneath his feet, threatening to suck him in. He had nothing
left now….
Daniel’s
eyes flew open – thrown completely awake in one shocking jolt. He hung in
limbo, uncertain of anything except a dread that something else was wrong. Very
wrong. He stared at his hand, clenched on the pillows next to him. Something
was missing… what – oh, god.
“Sha’re.”
He whispered her name, his whole soul clenching in fright. His mind went blank,
empty of everything, even his own name. All he knew was a hole existed within
him. He had to find her yet he baulked, panicked at the thought of not being
able to remember her anymore. His hand curled into the pillow, crushing it. He
took a deep breath, prepared for the agony and pushed himself to find her….
There!
Her bright pixie face smiled down at him, dark sweet-scented hair curled over
her face, she reached out to him… and he felt her hand on his cheek. A wordless
pain-filled grunt escaped him. He still had her…. The relief was overwhelming,
and the anger that swiftly followed it was enough to push him up and out of the
bed. His pants had been removed by whoever had returned him last night. He cast
about for something to put on – and froze. Ba'al was calmly seated in an
armchair, staring at him with curious regard.
“You
bastard,” spat Daniel. “You lying, miserable snake.” He lunged forward, fist clenching, arm swinging back, fury
building hot and quick.
Ba'al
rose to meet him, intercepting the blow with admirable reflexes. He grabbed
Daniel’s wrist and twisted, using Daniel’s momentum to swing him around. He
wasn’t quick enough to dodge the elbow that smashed into his face, right
between the eyes. Ba'al staggered back into the chair but his grip on Daniel’s
arm didn’t slacken. Daniel rammed his left elbow into the Goa'uld’s throat, heedless
of the pain shooting up his right arm as Ba'al pushed it up between his
shoulder blades. Ba'al growled in his ear and pinned Daniel’s left arm in an
iron grip. A wriggle and a shove and Daniel was toppling off him to land on the
soft rug, Ba'al’s weight crushing him into the pile.
“I
will kill you, I promise,” Daniel ground out. “If I never do anything else in
my life, I will see you dead and hung on a fence, you son of a bitch.”
Ba'al
coughed and cleared his throat. “Come now, Daniel. We can discuss this
situation like civilized men.”
Daniel
heaved up but without the use of his arms he couldn’t shift the Goa'uld off his
back. “You’re not civilized and you’re not a man. You’re a reptile, a parasite,
a leech, alep, tahvt mekir, dool
hikmat….” His Phoenician pronunciation was rusty but the words rose up from
the depths of his memory with as much venom as he could muster.
“Such
language! You are angry, my Daniel. We understand.”
“Angry!
I haven’t even begun to be angry. “I, I’ll… nasak
ssohr yawm Ba'al mt.”
“Shhh,
calm yourself, Daniel. You feared the loss of your memories. How could you not
when you are unfamiliar with Our devices? It is most unfortunate that you woke
last night, just as We were at the point of examining the neural pathways that
contained the memories of your unhappy meeting with your wife.”
Infuriated,
Daniel cried out and lurched to one side, trying to shake off the body on top
of him. He succeeded in rolling onto his side but Ba'al remained plastered
against his back, trapping his arms and throwing a leg over Daniel’s for good
measure.
“We
feel the pain you suffer, Daniel,” Ba'al murmured. “We know what it is to lose
one We love and how precious their memory is. Believe Us when We say We would
never deprive you of the comfort of your wife’s memory. Believe Us.”
“I
don’t. I don’t believe anything you say anymore. And the minute you let me go
I’m gonna kill you. Believe me.”
Ba'al
chuckled, his breath sending a shiver down Daniel’s spine. “No-one will be
dying, We promise you that. You do not yet accept Our goals, Daniel. When you do and when you appreciate the role
you will play in freeing the people of the galaxy from millennia of torment and
slavery, We hope you will forgive Us for the insensitive methods We have
employed and the hurt you have experienced.” He tightened his grip into an
intimate hug. “Your name will be blessed and praised for all time, Daniel.”
Daniel
heaved up again but couldn’t budge the Goa'uld one inch. “I don’t want to be
praised or blessed or lied to or anything.
Why are you doing this to me?”
“We
have not lied, Daniel. Our actions have been, upon reflection, no doubt hard
for you to understand, but We have not lied. You do possess unique knowledge
that We require to bring Our plans to fruition.”
Daniel
shook his head, straining against the iron-like grip on his limbs. “If my
‘knowledge’ is so unique and your intentions so honourable, why not just ask me
for what I know? Why the subterfuge? Why kidnap me in the first place?”
“Ah.
So, if We had issued an invitation for you to come to Our home and subject
yourself to Our neural scanning process, you would have accepted? We see the
error of Our ways.” Ba'al’s voice was loaded with sarcasm. “No doubt you would
have presented yourself immediately, with the redoubtable Colonel O'Neill at
your side. We perhaps would not have been accommodating of the Jaffa Teal'c, or
Major Carter with her alliances to the Tok’ra – they may have stolen away Our
loyal warriors before we could have drawn breath.”
Daniel
suppressed a sudden pang at the thought of having Jack here with him. “So you
got me here, why not just ask what you want to know, instead of drugging me and
dragging me down to that… thing every night?”
“Alas,
dear Daniel, the knowledge we require is shrouded within your memory to such an
extent that – as Our experts advised Us – had we questioned you openly, your
attempts to remember may have only succeeded in burying the memories deeper.
The neural scanning was the only way We could find what is needed without
damage to either the knowledge you hold or indeed, your own precious memories.
Deception was required, and it has become Our undoing. We do bear you no ill
intent, Daniel. We wish you to understand this.”
“No, I
don’t buy that. Memory doesn’t work like that – and anyway how the hell can you
possibly know that I know something when I
don’t even know I know it?” Okay, that sounded like one of Jack’s lines, but it
served the purpose.
“We
have a… source. An irrefutable source, and no, We are unable to divulge their
name just at this moment.”
He
sighed and let his head thump down on the polished floor, the fight going out
of him. Ba'al would never admit to what he was really after. Daniel knew deep
down that waiting for rescue from the SGC was a long shot. He was going to have
to help himself. Somehow he’d have to find a way off this planet. He’d not even
seen a Stargate so far. If Ba'al had one it was probably hidden, so that left a
ship of some kind.
“So
what now? You going to keep drugging me, lock me up in my ivory tower, or just
lay here all day? Won’t your ‘Companions’ get jealous?”
Ba'al
chuckled a little and relaxed his grip. Daniel pulled his arms forward and
rolled away, bounding to his feet and retreating behind the armchair.
“We
wish your stay with Us to be as pleasant as possible,” Ba'al said, propping his
head on one hand, reclining comfortably on the floor. “To that end, Our
Companions have planned to take you on a picnic today – to one of the most
beautiful parks Our city possesses.”
“A pic- a- wha…?” Daniel blinked at him.
More and more he felt like he was falling down a never-ending rabbit hole.
“Come,
see, they await your presence in the gardens below.” Ba'al rose elegantly,
strode over to the open windows and disappeared out onto the balcony.
Completely
non-plussed, Daniel scrubbed a hand through his hair, then over his face for
good measure. Nope, I am awake. I think.
He took two steps after Ba'al then altered course and snagged up a throw from
the couch and wrapped it around his waist. He ventured out onto the balcony,
keeping his distance from Ba'al, and peered down into the gardens. Sure enough,
there were the Companions – Consorts and Concubines – milling on the grass
amongst a pile of wicker baskets, rugs and servants.
He
slid a sidelong glance at Ba'al. “And what happens after this little picnic?
You drug me and rape my memories again?”
“A
harsh word to use, Daniel. We are merely… browsing for the information We
require. It does no harm at all. You have not felt any ill affects, We
believe?”
“No
harm? Are you-, jeez, you have no concept of the word. You’re rifling through
my memories, the very things that make me – me.
It’s rape, pure and simple and I’ve….” Gone
through that once already. Twice…? His brain insisted on supplying the
doubt that he’d managed to keep at bay for a couple of years now. No point in
dragging it up here and now. Focus.
“I’ve had enough people messing with my head. Just… just let me leave.” It was
a futile plea but it popped out anyway.
“We
shall remove Ourselves from your presence today, Daniel. Oh, We trust you feel
no pain from your head injury? We were most alarmed to see you harm yourself
like that. The fault is Ours. We regret pushing you to such desperate measures.
It will not happen again.” Ba'al walked slowly back into the suite. “Enjoy the
day with Our loved ones.”
Daniel
watched him go, heard the click of the outer door closing, but stayed staring
after him for a long stretch of time. One hand absently rubbed the back of his
head, which bore no trace of his attempt to escape Ba'al’s invasion. In one
sense it was a relief to know that his suspicions of Ba'al’s motives had been
correct, but he still didn’t know what was at the heart of his plan. And he was
still stuck here, with no visible means of escape. So far. He glanced down again
at the picnickers. If he was free to roam the city then maybe he could slip
away somehow. Heaven helps those who help
themselves.
Slowly,
he walked back into the room, looking for his pants. They were nowhere to be
seen, and the chests that had held previous offerings of clothing were all
empty. Eyebrows furrowing he kept looking. I’m
getting out of here even if I have to go naked. If Ba'al thought the lack of clothing would be
sufficient to keep him prisoner, then the Goa'uld was in for a surprise.
“Good
morn, Daniel Jackson.”
Daniel
started badly and swung around to see Elsh standing in the doorway to the bath.
“Whoa, sneak up on a guy why don’t you?”
“My
apologies. I came to help you in your daily ablutions whilst you were in
conversation with our Lord.” Elsh walked silently into the room and placed a
brightly coloured cloth on the bed.
“Yeah,
well, I don’t need any help abluting. In fact I don’t even want to get in that
bath today. I just want some clothes,” Daniel replied grumpily.
“The
cloth you purchased in the market town yesterday has been prepared for you,”
Elsh said, indicating the golden cloth on the bed. “The weather is most warm
today. I hope you will find this comfortable.”
He
strode over to the bed and grabbed the garment. He shook it out, expecting a
pair of harem pants or whatever Helel called the flimsy things he wore.
Instead, the material was just that – a piece of material, oblong in shape,
intricately finished around the edges with lapis beading that matched the
fabric’s design. He turned it over – nope, definitely no pants involved here.
He glared at Elsh, so many scathing comments lining up in his mouth that they
log-jammed and nothing came out.
Elsh
took his silence as approval and took the thing from his hands. “This design is
much favoured by the Court members on hot summer days.” He pulled away the
throw rug then leaned close and wrapped the fabric around Daniel, circling it
to settle low over his hips before securing it over one hipbone with some
intricate silver catches. He picked up a fine chain supporting silver twists
and lapis pieces carved into the shape of butterflies and hung it around
Daniel’s waist. The dangling adornments tinkled and clanked over his hips.
“Oh. A
sarong.” He could live with that. “Fine, I’m out of here.” He headed for the
door, ignoring Elsh’s offer of breakfast.
Daniel
yanked open the suite’s door, not at all surprised to find his ‘honour’ guard
waiting attentively on the other side. He pushed through them and marched down
the corridor, his anger with Ba'al and impatience to find a way off this planet
making him walk much more quickly than a man wearing only a sarong should.
Eventually he slowed and adjusted his stride. He was through the imposing foyer
and out on the grass when Elsh panted up beside him, mutely offering a pair of
thongs for his feet.
Daniel
pursed his lips and took them, a grudging “Thanks” slipping out. He pulled them
on, quietly accepting it would be harder to make a break for it in bare feet.
The brightly-clothed members of Ba'al’s harem were coming toward him, all gaily
chattering with excitement about their day out and each apparently wanting to
show off a favourite feature of the city to Daniel.
He
could barely manage a civil expression on his face. These people – Goa'uld, for heaven’s sake – were
supremely unaware of what their Lord and love was doing to him, and he doubted
they would even care if they knew. Unable to muster acknowledgements to their
inane babble he started walking toward the citadel’s gates, Helel at his side,
the others swarming along behind them.
He
just needed to get away. Somehow there would be an opportunity to get free of
them and he’d just run. If he couldn’t convince anyone to help him, he’d make
his own way to the spaceport, sneak on board a cargo ship and get the hell as
far from Ba'al as he could.
Well,
it was a plan.
The
picnic party turned right at the end of the causeway and headed along the
shore, past busy fishermen and women sorting out the morning’s catch. The
neatly tended parklands abutting the sand gave on to a meandering track that
led in gently twisting turns up the side of the hill away from the town’s
homes. Daniel walked silently, watching the Goa'uld scamper and dart around
him, most of them excitedly teasing each other or collecting wildflowers, their
skimpy clothing fluttering in the still air. Often one or the other would bound
up to him, eager to show him a plant or bird or particularly favourite view
from the many bends in the pathway. They treated him like a long-lost brother, excited
to share their stories with him, to be friends with him and have him as one of
their own. They just didn’t act like the Goa'uld he was used to. Maybe they don’t get out much. He
gradually slowed his steps, letting them pull ahead until he was accompanied
only by Prize – striding solemnly in the rear.
This
guy was an even deeper enigma. While the others acted like a bunch of
teenagers, despite them no doubt being hundreds if not thousands of years old,
Prize bore himself like a servant. There was no trace of the usual arrogance or
confidence he expected in a Goa'uld. He was deferent to everyone. Daniel
glanced sideways at the man and found himself being studied in return. Caught
out, Prize blushed and quickly dropped his gaze to the ground.
“Forgive,
Adon. This one has no right to stare at you.”
Daniel
felt his eyebrows rise. “Oh, uh, sorry, I was doing the same. Can I ask you a
question?”
Prize
straightened up and nodded, his face still expressionless. “My duty is to serve
the honoured guest of my Lord.”
“Yeah,
well, you can drop the ‘honoured guest’ shtick. Truth is I’m a prisoner here.”
The young Goa'uld frowned slightly, not ready to believe that statement yet.
Daniel changed the topic. “Ba'al told me he renamed you ‘Prize’. May I ask what
your real name is?”
“My
name, Adon, is that which my master gives me. He who I used to be is no more.
Now, I bear the name of Prize. When my Lord Ba'al is satisfied with the
conclusion of his treaty with my – rather, the
Lady Morrigan, he may grace me with a new name that will bring him pleasure to
address me by.”
Daniel
sorted through that for a moment, then said, “So Morrigan gave you to Ba'al? To
secure, what did he call it? A business deal?”
“Well,
in truth my Lord Ba'al defeated Lady Morrigan’s troops during a ‘disagreement’.
There were many casualties, particularly within the ranks of my troops. My
failure to the Lady was just reason for her to take my life, but during the
negotiations my Lord Ba'al saw the… value, the Lady placed on my existence and
he insisted I be bound to him. He is most intuitive. The Lady Morrigan was
highly grieved to be parted from me.” A small sigh escaped him and he
whispered, “As was I from her.”
“Your
name is your actual status – a prize of war?” Daniel asked. “You mentioned
‘your troops’. Were you a First Prime of Morrigan?”
“My
rank was that of Vizier, Adon. It is the rank above First Prime, responsible
for overseeing the entire military component of a System Lord’s forces: ground
troops, space and air fleets, and the intelligence squads. The Lady Morrigan
placed great faith in my abilities and rewarded me with her personal company on
many occasions. My Lord Ba'al chose well in his desire to wound her with my
loss.”
So Ba'al takes Morrigan’s most valued general and
lover. Looks like the Goa'uld do place value on the lives of their own kind, to
some degree at least. Daniel regarded the man walking beside
him: the proud bearing clearly contained within a respectful, restrained
demeanour. His status was obvious in his dress – bare feet, simple green linen
pants, armbands joined by fine gold chains to a band on each wrist all bearing
the horned symbol of Ba'al. In contrast, the rest of the court was lavishly
decorated in every conceivable manner of jewellery they could display on their
bodies. Barely an inch of skin was left free of bands, bangles, rings, precious
stones and piercings.
“How
does Ba'al treat you compared to life with Morrigan? You obviously miss her.”
Prize
studied him, his expression carefully controlled. “My life belongs to my Lord
now. It is not for me to pass judgement on his treatment of me or any other,
Adon. We all have our place in his court. There is no desire for anything more
or less than that which we have.”
“You
don’t want to rise to a higher status, be favoured by him more than you are
now?”
“Should
my Lord elevate me to a status above, or below, that which I now hold, I will
be honoured to receive it.” A faint smile flickered over his lips for a moment,
then faded back into the usual stony façade. “Our ways are unfamiliar to you,
Adon. You walk alone, master of your own destiny. I cannot imagine what that
must be like. I’m unsure whether to envy your solitude or pity you for never
knowing how our kind views life.”
A
short, sharp bark of a laugh escaped Daniel. “No, don’t think for a moment I
want to experience life from a Goa'uld’s point of view. I’m quite happy being
me. Besides, Ba'al said he had no plans to use me as a host, if he can be
believed.”
“My
Lord would never be dishonest, Adon. That much I do know about him. Honesty is
everything to him. He must intend grand things for you if he does not wish you
to host one of us. You are truly honoured to be under his protection, Daniel.”
The
use of his proper name jolted him a little, realising it was the first time in
days that anyone other than Ba'al had not called him Adon. “Yes, lucky me.” A
sour smile twisted his face. “Prize, you’re not buying into this whole ‘Adon’
thing are you? You’ve seen the way life is on many different planets. You’re
not as sheltered as the rest of the Court. Why is everyone calling me Adon?”
“It is
a title of great honour, Daniel,” Prize hedged.
“No,
there’s more to it than that. Ba'al must have had other guests he held in high
status and they don’t seem to have been given the name. I get the distinct
impression people want me to be a new Eshmun.” He frowned as another thought
popped into his head. “Or the resurrection of the old Eshmun.” Prize offered no
comment to that speculation, so Daniel tried another tack. “Can you at least
tell me about Eshmun? How long ago did he die? Why is he so important to the
people of this city? I can understand them worshipping their ‘gods’ but to hold
a human in the same standing is pretty unusual.”
Prize
let out a thoughtful sigh. “As you know, Adon, Eshmun is much loved by our Lord
Ba'al and the Lady Astarte, as well as by the people of this city and
ourselves, the members of the Court. He was beautiful and very kind. When my
Lord Ba'al brought his people to this planet, its fields were very poor, and gave
little yield when planted with crops. The people despaired and feared death
from hunger. It is said that Eshmun went up the mountain to the source of the
watercourse that gives life to the whole city. There he bestowed his seed and
his life’s blood into the water. His Gift gave life to the land and the rivers
and the seas, and the people have never wanted for sustenance since.”
“It
sounds like a very compelling myth,” Daniel nodded.
“But
Eshmun’s tale is no myth, Daniel. All of my fellow courtiers have told me the
story and most of them were present when it happened.”
“He
was human,” Daniel protested. “He couldn’t possibly have had the power to bring
fertility to soil and life to rivers.”
“None
the less, it happened as the story says. Eshmun was so weakened by his Gift
that he slept for the whole of the winter season. When he awoke, spring woke
with him and the hills were covered with new crops. Fruit and vegetables grew
in abundance. Beasts fattened and gambolled like their own young. Fish were so
plentiful they threw themselves into the fishers’ nets. Such bounty had never
been seen and the Lords celebrated with the people. Eshmun lived with our Lord
and Lady. Every day and night was a joyous event for them, made possible by
Eshmun’s Gift. When the seasons waned and the harvests were over, Eshmun
renewed his Gift. Then, tired, he slept through the winter only to rise once
more with the spring. When the time came for his final Gift, our Lady Astarte’s
belief that he would one day rise again was taken up by all the people of
Tsydon.” Prize smiled as if he had seen the Gift himself. “Who can say how the
Gift happened, Daniel? The fact that it did and is a miraculous thing should be
enough for us, do you not think so?”
“Well,
in my experience, miracles usually have a reasonable explanation behind them,”
Daniel said grudgingly. Astarte’s obsession had turned into a myth believed by
the entire civilization here. There had to be much more to this story, but he
had a feeling only one person knew the truth and that was the one person he was
trying to get away from. He was just as much a prisoner as Prize, slotted into
a role from which there was no prospect of escape. Prize, however, was
completely accepting of his lot in life. There was not going to be any help from
him in leaving this place. Daniel fell into a brooding silence, strolling after
the company of picnickers and soaking in the increasing heat of the sun.
It was
a hot day. Very hot. He could feel the warmth sinking into the bare skin of his
back and shoulders. And the temperature did nothing to improve his mood. Each
twist and turn of the path offered views of the sea, sparkling out to the
cloudless horizon and dotted with more than a dozen glorious sailing ships
either entering the harbour or gliding away into the distance. He finally
stopped under the shady bower of one of the scenic lookouts next to another
small Eshmun shrine and gazed at the ships in thought. Naturally, the whole
company stopped with him. He tuned out their chatter and looked at Anath,
standing nearest and staring at the view with an appreciative smile.
“Anath,
those ships – where are they going?”
She
turned her head and smiled at him. “They journey to our sister towns up and
down the coast, Adon. They carry the bounty of our fields and goods for trade.”
She scooped a pottery dipper into a stone basin at the foot of the shrine and
offered him a drink of the cold stream water within.
“Thank
you. These towns, there’s a few of them? Are they large in population?”
“Some
are half the size of Tsydon, some are quite smaller.”
He
mustered a smile, trying to keep her interested. “They must be a long way away
if you transport goods by sea. I would have thought it’d be easier to use an
Al’kesh cargo ship… something like that?”
“Why
no, Adon. All vessels are prohibited from flying anywhere over the planet,
apart from the spaceport, of course. Our Lord Ba'al decrees that our people
should live in peace and not be bothered by noisy ships passing over their
heads. And they frighten the livestock. It is much nicer to see our magnificent
sailing ships plying their trade along the coast.”
“Oh.
Right. Good idea.” He nodded and resumed the walk along the path. Damn, that rules out heading for another
town. Spaceport it is then – wherever that may be.
The party
continued on: weaving along the path then heading inland through groves of
orange trees and fields of ripened crops crowned with glorious flowers. They
passed several more shrines tucked away in secluded niches or set out under
enormous spreading trees. Once, glancing back as they moved into an olive
grove, Daniel saw a woman standing at the tree-shrine dedicated to Eshmun they
had recently passed. He stared hard, certain that it was Astarte: standing
motionless, her red dress fluttering about her, staring directly at him.
Unnerved he looked away and followed Helel into the trees.
The
servants who had followed their procession like a warlord’s baggage train had
set up in the park that spread out halfway up the hill, erecting shelters of
fluttering cloth under which the Consorts and the Concubines arrayed themselves
in splendorous elegance, shaded from the sun and served with tantalising picnic
fare and endless glasses of effervescent wines. The park was every bit as
beautiful as Ba'al had promised. Garden beds planted with solid banks of the
same coloured foliage sat like squares on a patchwork quilt – blues, greys and
silvers bordered ranks of trees which themselves were an explosion of red,
yellow and lavender flowers. Beyond, the park blended into a leafy forest that
stretched up to the crown of the hill where a glint of sunlight on marble
indicated the three temples.
Daniel
sat apart from the others, some way up the hill, refusing food and company. He
kicked off the thongs that were not made for walking long distances, and leaned
back on his elbows, eyes fixed on the distant line where sea melded with sky.
Eyes closed, head tilted back and soaking up the sun’s heat, he deluded himself
for just a moment that he was somewhere else, another planet where heat was the
norm and there was the safety of love and family close by.
Sha’re….
The image of her holding her baby leapt to his mind, unbidden but startlingly
clear. Possessed by Amonet but still his beautiful wife, the flamboyant clothes
failing to hide the sweet uncomplicated woman he loved. The rest of the scene
played out once again, Amonet giving the boy to her servant, instructing her to
go to Kheb, stay hidden in case the tales of a powerful alien were true-.
Wait a minute. How
the hell could he know that? He’d never seen Amonet with the baby. Shifu had
already been sent through the Stargate by the time SG-1 arrived, leading the
rescue team in search of the kidnapped Abydonians. And yet, the vision had been
as lucid as any other that had been dredged up by Ba'al’s infernal machine.
More so, even. Daniel could feel the memory of the hot wind scouring the sands
of the planet, the astringent scent of the air – so different to other deserts
he’d been in. But the servant and baby had left the planet before he’d arrived
so how the hell could he have such a memory in his head?
He
felt a creep of unease sneak over him. He sat up, eyes still closed, and forced
himself to concentrate. He replayed the scene again and again. It was always
the same – the servant woman holding baby Shifu, staring into his eyes,
accepting instructions and turning to face the Stargate. The hand pressing the
symbols on the DHD that would send her to Kheb… the hand that was not his. The
hand that was wreathed in a twist of gold, fingers capped, crowned with a
glimmering jewel…. Not my hand. Her hand.
Amonet’s. It’s not my memory. Hers….
His
eyes opened slowly and he stared unseeing at the grass in front of him. Amonet’s memories. I’ve got Amonet’s
memories in my head? His stomach
churned but there was nothing in it to bring up. After a few moments of hard
swallowing he got himself under control. Revolted, he concentrated on how this
could have happened. Sha’re’s urgent last thoughts to him as Amonet slowly
fried his brain had come to him via the ribbon device. Something more appeared
to have been dragged through at the same time. Was it just memories he’d
received or was there more? Was this what Ba'al was really looking for? If it
wasn’t the whereabouts of Shifu Ba'al was after, then what could Amonet have
concealed that Ba'al was this desperate to discover? Daniel considered delving
deeper in search of any other memories from Amonet, but his mind skittered away
from the task. This was not something he wanted to do here and now – alone on a
hillside amid the enemy.
I have to get out of here. If Ba'al is after something
that Amonet was hiding, then I can’t let him get it. Or can I? If it’s just the
Goa'uld’s secrets he wants maybe I should let him have them. I could let him
see whatever is there… and then what? He’ll let you go? Yeah, right. What if he
did, though? You go home like a good boy, tell the general what happened and
he’ll have to tell his superiors. I’ll be in a concrete room in Area 51 so fast
my feet won’t touch the ground. They’ll never trust me again.
I’m so screwed.
A
shout of laughter brought him out of his reverie. A game of tag had developed
further down the hill. Ba'al’s courtesans were chasing each other and
collapsing in clouds of silks on the ground, their shrieks sounding more like
children at play than adult symbiotes who could easily be thousands of years
old. As he watched, Nikkal snatched the wreath of flowers adorning the head of
Yarikh and raced away, her fellow Consort hard on her heels. He caught her and
dragged her squealing to the ground. Others joined in the tussle, even the
servants stopped their work to laugh and point at the melee developing on the
grass. And no-one was looking Daniel’s way.
He
picked up his thongs, rose and walked slowly, calmly toward the border of trees
nearby. His heart was thudding in his chest but he kept his pace until the
leafy branches enclosed him. He twisted around to see if anyone had noted his
absence but they were all concentrating on the mass-wrestling match that now
included Ba’al’s entire harem.
Daniel
turned and fled into the forest.
He
headed upward, logic telling him the spaceport had to be beyond the hill that
backed the township. He’d have to circle around the temple precinct at the top
and travel as high up as he could to get the best vantage point for scoping out
the landscape beyond. Hopefully, the spaceport would be within sight, otherwise
he was going to need to transport and that would present all sorts of problems.
He ran lightly, trying to stay on grass and avoid the scattered twigs and
fallen branches that threatened his bare feet. The flimsy shoes would be
useless, but he kept hold of them – no telling what kind of terrain he’d be
faced with on the far side.
After
a five minute flat-out run through the trees, he halted, intently listening for
sounds of pursuit over the labouring of his lungs. Nothing. So far, so good. He
bent, grabbed the back hem of his sarong, brought it up between his legs and
tucked it into the waistband, effectively turning the garment into a pair of
shorts. Much better for running. He yanked off the dangling decorations and
dropped them under a pile of fallen leaves. Set, he headed off once more,
keeping the sun over his right shoulder and moving at a steady, ground-eating
jog.
Keeping
to the trees, Daniel ran for more than twenty minutes before he found himself
at the forest’s edge and faced with open fields, sun-ripened crops bending in
the breeze. In the distance, a group of
farm workers moved slowly along the furrows, harvesting the grain. The sun
flashed off their long scythes as they swung in rhythmic sweeps. The cut stalks
were bundled and thrown into a hopper that floated along behind them on some
kind of anti-gravity field. Shaking his head over the incongruous sight, he
melted back into the foliage and continued on.
He
picked a course that angled away from the fields but kept taking him up. He ran
lightly, leaping over fallen branches and animal holes, searching for a way
around the hill that would offer continued cover from prying eyes. Yet each
time he tried to head east he found himself at the edge of cultivations – the
grain crops giving way to ranks of grape vines or bushes bent low under the
weight of their bright yellow fruits. He ground his teeth in frustration.
Further up there were rows of olive or citrus trees, which would at least offer
some kind of cover for a half-naked man wearing a bright orange sarong. Daniel
headed through the forest, fixing the orchard in the map he was building in his
memory. Only a hundred yards on he came across a tumble of boulders, large and
small, some type of quartz-filled rock that lay scattered between the trees.
Behind them rose enormous rocks, some the size of his car or house. Tree trunks
grew tenaciously between them, creating an effective barrier that forced him to
turn west in search of a path.
His
pace slowed considerably as he weaved between tree and boulder. Faced with a
step four feet in height he put a hand on the rock to pull himself up, only to
yank it away with a sharp hiss of pain as the exposed quartz cut into his skin.
His palm stung and bled from a dozen tiny wounds. Daniel peered closer. The
quartz gleamed like glass shards and it was everywhere, in each boulder, big or
small. He steadied himself and slid his feet into the thongs.
“Great.
Just perfect.”
He
pushed on, taking care not to step on or touch the boulders if he could help
it. But keeping away from them was also bringing him further and further west –
toward the temples and the chance of discovery.
Another
ten or so minutes of wary scrambling brought him to a sizeable river. Its cold
sparkling water churned rapidly down over a bed of polished stones and larger,
scattered boulders. Some of the boulders lay in groups and even supported
clumps of grass and a small plant with masses of large red anemones that
trailed down to float on the surface. The river was a least twenty feet wide
and quite deep in places but on the other side the terrain was gentler, the
rocks thinning out and replaced with grass and flower-covered soil. Daniel
gazed up. The east side of the river was an ever-thickening barrier of trees
and vicious rocks. No choice. He’d have to cross the river and hope to circle
around the west side of the hill. If he went high enough maybe he’d be able to
stay well above the temple precinct. He edged carefully out of the trees. There
was nobody in sight or ear-shot. A pair of large white birds settled in a tree
above him, squawking boisterously and making him jump. He glared up at them,
then took one final glance up and down the river. Assured he was alone, Daniel
waded into the swiftly flowing water.
The
deep-earth chill of it made him wince. His toes curled defensively as they
quickly lost feeling at each cautious step. He followed a line of large rocks
that stretched almost the whole way across, creating mini-waterfalls that
flowed out from under the flowering stems. The water-smoothed stones twisted
and gave under his feet, each step threatening to dump him on his ass. Progress
was painstaking and taking way too long. He felt exposed and vulnerable; his
back itched with imagined eyes peering at him.
Two-thirds
of the way across he placed his left foot on a large, semi-flat stone, and took
a step only to jolt sideways as the stone gave under him. Arms windmilling
wildly, his foot slid down into a silt-covered hole, ending up jammed at a
painful angle between two rough, hidden rocks. He got his other foot down
safely and caught his breath, vaguely registering a feeling of pain from his
numbed foot.
The
water around his legs gradually turned red. Bemused, Daniel watched the stain
spread downstream.
“That’s
not good.”
He
peered down through the water and saw the offending rock was covered in
glittering, knife-like shards of quartz. He dropped his backside down onto the
smooth boulder behind him, squashing the covering of flowers. Gingerly, he
twisted his leg and pulled his foot free, feeling the quartz scratch more cuts
into his flesh in the process. As soon as the pressure on his foot was gone a
dark red cloud flooded into the water, swirling around his legs before drifting
downstream.
“Oh, crap.” Spears of agony shot up from his
foot. He grabbed his ankle, gritted his teeth and took a close look at the
damage.
Three
long cuts along the instep and on the sole of his foot were bleeding profusely.
The flimsy thong was completely shredded. He pulled it off and tossed it away.
Daniel clamped his hand over the wounds, let out one of Skarra’s more choice
swear words and tried to compose himself. He pulled the sarong free from the
waistband and ripped a strip off the hem, quickly binding his foot as tightly
as he could. Instantly, the cloth was stained with blood. It probably wasn’t
life-threatening – he dimly recalled Janet saying foot injuries could bleed as
freely as head wounds – but his chances of sprinting over the hill to freedom
just narrowed considerably.
He let
his foot fall back into the water, hoping the cold would slow the blood flow.
His right foot was completely numb now. He balanced that up on a smoother rock
and rubbed the circulation back into it. The flow of the river continued to
stain with his blood. A long, thin trail of red water bled away from him,
bubbling over rocks until it dipped out of sight around a bend. His injured
foot began to throb, pounding up through his leg in time to the harsh beats of
his heart. Dragging in deep breaths, he hauled his leg out of the water and
clamped his hands over the wounds, pressing tightly and concentrating fiercely
on staying upright.
C’mon, gotta get moving. They must have noticed I’m
missing by now.
Urgency
gnawed at him. Daniel ripped another makeshift bandage from the sarong and
bound that over the first. Dismayed, he watched the blood seep quickly into the
new layer. He’d never get far running or even hobbling on it in this condition.
He’d have to find somewhere to hide until the bleeding stopped. He didn’t even
want to contemplate the possibility of infection.
Cautiously
lowering his leg, he got himself balanced and tried to stand. A hot spear of
agony shot up from his foot as soon as he put his weight on it. One hand
steadying himself on the flower-covered boulder, he found he could just
tolerate a little pressure on the ball of his foot. A grimace creased his face.
Ten feet of rushing, knee-deep water hiding who knew how many more treacherous
rocks lay between this exposed position and the riverbank. No choice. He took a
hobbling step, nearly slipped again, and ended up with his butt back on the
flowered boulder. The rocks under the water were worn smooth and covered with
slimy algae. Maybe he should just crawl on hands and knees over the
flower-strewn boulders. Getting wetter was not a problem. He pushed his glasses
firmly down over his nose and tried to map out a secure course.
A
sound broke his concentration. A cry? Someone yelling? Dammit, not yet. He looked up anxiously. There – coming into view
around the bend in the river – a man, two men, trotting along the bank,
gesturing at the water and the telltale stain of blood that was leading them
straight to Daniel.
He sat
back on the boulder, trying to look casual and not at all like he was escaping
from a nest of Goa'uld. The two saw him and halted in their tracks, staring
openly at him and then exchanging confused glances between them. They looked to
be priests from the temples – their red robes bore the Caduceus symbol of
Eshmun with Ba'al’s curved symbol and Astarte’s horned sun on either side.
C’mon, move along. Nothing to see here, guys.
They
edged closer, their heads swivelling to take in the thinning stream of blood in
the water and Daniel perched amid a carpet of red anemones, his sarong floating
out around him in the current. He tried to ignore them and slid back down to
his one good foot for another attempt at getting to dry ground, but his first
step foundered and his injured sole slipped and jarred on the treacherous
rocks. Another cloud of blood welled up, swirling around his legs before
floating off downstream. Even diluted as it was by the river, he knew he was
losing a lot of blood. The sight of it brought a sharp cry from the two
priests. He looked up and saw they were much closer now and as he watched, they
fell to their knees, clutching each other for support.
“Shapash,
can it be true?” cried one to his companion. “Our god returns to us! He rises
from the Bodashtart as the legends promised.”
The
second priest, bald and red-clad like the other, appeared a little less
hysterical and peered intently at Daniel. “We witnessed his resurrection from
the hand of our Lord Ba'al, Shalem. The people have already embraced him as the
Adon and now we see with our own humble eyes – he rises from the Bodashtart
amid the stain of rebirth.” An expression of near ecstasy filled the man’s
face. “You, the Priest of the Lord’s Dusk and I, the Priest of the Lord’s Sun, we
are truly blessed to be chosen witnesses of this holy event!”
Daniel
stared at them, his face creasing in confusion. Whatever these guys were on
about, he wasn’t going to stay and find out. He grabbed a hold of the trailing
flower vines for support and pushed through the water, trying to ignore the
stabbing fire of pain from his foot. He’d slipped and staggered at least four
more feet before he was halted by the sounds of a great many people calling and
moving through the trees he’d recently fled through. A desperate glance over
his shoulder confirmed the worst – they’d found him.
Brightly
clad bodies flitted between tree trunks, calls of “Adon!” and “Daniel!” mingled
with the squawks of disturbed parrots and the chatter of the picnic party –
wending towards him. He watched the stain floating away from him and for one
hopeless moment considered throwing himself after it. He closed his eyes,
defeat accepted, energy seeping out of him as surely as his blood was tinting
the water beneath him.
Loud
splashing brought his eyes open. Prize, Helel and Melqart had plunged into the
river, their faces etched with concern. The rest of the Court gathered on the
bank like a clutch of anxious mother hens.
“Daniel,
we feared we had lost you,” Helel called, picking his way over the sharp rocks
with elegant agility. “Are you injured? There is much blood-.”
“I cut
my foot, that’s all.”
They
gathered around him, steadying him, lifting his leg to exclaim in horror at his
injury. Over their heads, Daniel watched with sinking resignation as more
people rounded the bend of the river on the priests’ side, moving quickly and
obviously alerted by the trail of blood in the water. May as well have waved a flag.
Great.
Astarte was among them. She alone was not hurrying. Instead, she moved as if
she were in a dream: her bare feet almost floating over the grass, red dress
drifting around her body, a dreamy smile on her face. The two priests threw
themselves at her feet, talking over each other in their eagerness to proclaim
their discovery. She caressed their bald heads and moved past them, her eyes
fixed like a viper’s on Daniel’s. The babble of the gathering crowd slowly
subsided into an expectant hush.
Propped
up by Prize and Helel, Daniel found he couldn’t tear his gaze from the goddess.
She strolled forward, straight into the river and up to Daniel. She lifted a
hand to his face, stroked it gently, reverently.
“Beloved,
you have returned to me. I, who gave you life. I, who gave you death. The holy
waters took you away. Now they bring you back to me. My love, my life, mahhib.
My Eshmun.”
Beneath
them, the chill water of the Bodashtart mingled the blood of a human with the
red silks of a goddess, and the whole city seemed to sigh with joy.
They
insisted on carrying him. Ignoring his protests, Prize and Helel linked their
arms under his hips and carried Daniel at the head of an ever-increasing
procession, through the trees along the riverbank into the tended gardens
surrounding the temples. Astarte led the way: hips swinging, hair bouncing, she
was skipping like a girl.
The cuts on his foot were deeper than he’d first realised. The young
Goa'uld had hauled him out of the water and unwrapped the bandages, revealing
the three wounds had sliced through tissue and muscle right down to the bones.
His stomach had turned queasy at the sight. Astarte, on the other hand, had
taken an intense interest and dipped her hands into the blood still flowing
freely. Staring at him, unblinking, she then curled her tongue around her
fingers and elegantly licked his blood from them. Speechless, Daniel held her
gaze until she gave him a dimpled smile and ordered his foot bound.
Now, with Helel’s yellow silk shirt serving as another bandage, he was
carried in triumph through curious worshippers stirred up by the two priests
darting among them and loudly proclaiming the return of their lost god, Eshmun.
“It is true,” one woman’s awed whisper carried to him. “Eshmun has
returned as the Adon. My cousin Adarel serves in our Lord’s home. She saw Him
bring the Adon to life. He was dead before their eyes and our Lord gave him
life. Our blessings will be ten-fold now He walks among us once more.”
More than a little light-headed from blood loss, Daniel blinked muzzily
at her as he passed. She was just a normal woman, middle-aged, nicely dressed
in pants and embroidered shirt, face filled with adoration – for him? They want me to be their god. Ba'al had
promised he wouldn’t turn him into a host, but it seemed he’d achieved godhood
without the snake.
He watched Astarte lead the way, not into her own temple but along the
path leading up to Eshmun’s. She’s
obviously besotted with Eshmun. If she thinks I’m him returned… use it. Use
her. She’s a Goa'uld, she has power of her own; maybe she can protect me from
Ba'al. Convince her to let me stay here – it’d be easier to escape the temple
than the citadel.
Astarte was practically dancing as she led the way across the grass and
plunged past the vine-covered pillars and into the
“Your goddess thanks you, young ones. Leave now.”
“Iylit.” The two bowed deeply before Astarte, then gave Daniel the same
courtesy before backing out of the room. The door swung shut, leaving him alone
with the Goa'uld. She stared at him for long moments until weariness took hold
and he dropped back to lie on the bed, eyes fluttering half-closed.
“It is you.”
Not a question this time. Daniel paused, considering his response
carefully. Dangerous to masquerade as someone else; even more so to pretend
false godhood. Teal'c would have a fit. Jack… oy. Still, he knew what awaited
his return to Ba'al’s clutches – the invasion of his memories that was pure rape. There was no other word
for it. The agony he’d felt this morning when he thought he’d lost Sha’re…. I can’t face that again. And I can’t let him
take any more of Amonet’s memories either. If he could play them off
against each other, beg Astarte’s protection…. It was all he could do at the
moment. He rolled his head to face her, fixed her stare with his and committed
to a path to which he had no idea where it would lead him.
“Yes.”
She was by his side in a flutter of red gossamer. Soft hands bedecked with rings on each finger
feathered over his face, tracing the outlines of his jaw, temple, and cheeks;
renewing an association with her long lost lover who was now somehow different.
“I knew, mahhib, I knew when the bald men spoke of the one who rose from
my Lord’s gift of life – I knew it was
you. Why did you not come to me then? I have waited, so long. I said I would
and I did. I waited every dawn, every sunset. Every turn of the seasons, I
waited for you.” Astarte leaned close, her cheek brushing his, her breath
ghosting past his ear. Her lips found his brow with soft kisses. She covered
his eyelids with a kiss each, continuing on to nuzzle every inch of skin while
her hands ruffled his hair and caressed his neck and shoulders. “My love, my
lettuce, my honeyman…”
Daniel tried to relax into her touch, tried to hide the instinct to
recoil from such intimacies with a Goa'uld. He frowned at the way she referred
to herself as ‘I’, rejecting the royal ‘We’ that Ba'al used constantly. He
blinked hard, struggled to grab onto some kind of coherent thought. “I… I didn’t
remember. It’s been so long….”
“No matter, irshyt, I forgive you. Your sins of the past will no longer
stand between us. We will lie together for all time, my sha’r, my bar’ky.” She
slid onto the bed beside him, stretching her body along his, her hands fondling
his face and hair with needy, unceasing strokes.
Oh, maybe not such a good idea. Anxious to distract her, he let out a yelp when her foot knocked
against his inured one.
“Adon, you cry out! What pains you, mahhib?”
He rolled to one side, trying to slip out of her arms but she came with
him as he sat up. “My foot – I cut it. You know, the great bleeding gash down
there? Don’t suppose you have one of those healing things on you?”
Astarte glanced down his body and recoiled as if she’d not previously seen
the bloody bandage around his foot. “My lettuce! You cannot bleed – now is not
the time!” She leapt off the bed and flung herself through the door, returning
seconds later brandishing a healing device.
Daniel slumped back on the bed, weariness swamping him. “Finally.” Warm
tingles swept around his foot as she directed the healing beam over his
injuries. He could almost picture the blood vessels, muscles and skin knitting
back together, the deep gashes vanishing as if they had never been. As the pain
faded, so did his grip on consciousness and he fell gently into sleep.
He couldn’t have slept for long and when he did wake it was to find his
head being cradled against Astarte’s breast. She was rocking him gently and
crooning soft nonsensical words. He sighed and tried to roll out of her arms
but she clung to him tenaciously. Wetness splashed onto his forehead and he
realised she was crying.
“Astarte?”
“Sweetling. Honeyed One. Our days together have come again. The temple
will ring with our love. The little ones in the city will sing with our
happiness. Such wonderful hours will be once more.”
“Well, as nice as that sounds, I’m afraid Ba'al might have something to
say about it.”
“Our Lord will share our joy, mahhib.”
“No, I don’t think he will. He won’t let me stay here, Astarte.” Daniel
peered up at her. She was staring off into a future he couldn’t and probably
didn’t want to see. “You don’t know what he’s been doing to me. Every night, he
drugs me, invades my mind, steals my memories.” He took a gamble that he was
actually getting through to her and reached up to stroke her cheek.
Immediately she gazed down at him, her arms wrapping him in a grip that
was fuelled by Goa'uld strength and uncounted years of longing.
“You are here with me now, my Eshmun. You are safe.”
Safe even from Ba'al? He had to drive the point home. “Help me. Protect
me from him. Let me stay here with you.”
“Yes.”
Uncertain relief flooded him. He relaxed into her embrace. Then she
spoke again.
“Until the darkness takes you away.”
She couldn’t help herself. So ecstatic was she to have her lost love
returned, Astarte stayed with Daniel on the bed for only a few minutes more.
She wouldn’t elaborate on what the darkness was that would take him away, but
he knew with dread certainty that his gamble was not going to pay off the way
he’d hoped. She kissed him soundly and bounced off the bed. Running to the
doors, she flung them open and proclaimed to the hundreds of people who had
silently gathered outside; “Eshmun, God of Our Land, Bringer of the Gift, has
returned to us! Give thanks, all, and spread the news to the citizens of His
Land.”
A great cry of delight rose up from the people in the temple. Many went
running to spread the news. Astarte’s priestesses came forward bearing glass
bottles with unguents and oils, dishes of aromatic food, cloths to wash their
new-found god with and silks to dress him in.
“Oh, boy.” Daniel crawled off the bed as they advanced on him but he
couldn’t fend them all off. They quickly stripped away the torn sarong and
washed him where he stood; scented bubbles slid down his skin, cleansing the
dirt and blood stains, then the women rubbed him dry. Well done, Daniel. You’re a god now, better get used to this.
They dressed him in flowing green satin, a tight wrap around his hips
that fell away to reveal his legs. His chest was once again bare and he slapped
their hands away when they came at him with what looked horrifyingly like
nipple rings. He strode over to Astarte. She wrapped her arms around his neck
and kissed him soundly, then grabbed his hand and tugged him out into the
temple. Everyone bowed down before him, his protestations ignored. As Astarte
led him along the main winding aisle, people reached out to touch his feet or
legs or even just to let his garment brush their fingers. Some sobbed quietly
and Daniel began to have grave misgivings about what he’d gotten himself in to.
Then they were at the main entrance which was crowded with priestesses,
priests from Ba'al’s temple and what had to be priests – shaven headed and
green clad – from Eshmun’s temple. These last in particular were weeping with
joy. They parted silently, giving way before their risen god. And at the back
of the crowd, standing in a shaft of brilliant sunlight was Ba'al. Astarte let
out a cry and ran to him, flung her arms around his neck, laughing and sobbing
with happiness.
“Our love has returned to us! I knew he would return and he has, he’s
come home to us. We are complete again!”
Ba'al hugged her gently, looking over her curls at Daniel with an odd
mix of curiosity and sadness. Astarte dragged him back to Daniel, proudly
showing off her new acquisition.
“You’ve had a busy day, Adon,” Ba'al said.
Daniel shrugged. Ba'al knew exactly what he’d hoped to achieve by his
little deception. He caught Astarte’s eye and she leaned into him, caressing
his skin.
“He is mine now. All shall be as it was before, won’t it? We shall spend
our days in bliss, my lettuce.” Her hands slid around his hips and blatantly
squeezed his groin.
“Whoa! Hey, uh….” His brain helpfully supplied the little fact that
lettuce was considered an aphrodisiac in Phoenicia, while his tongue tried to
untangle itself. “Remember – love – you promised I’d stay with you always. You
promised to protect me.”
“For ever more will you lay by my heart, my irshyt.” Her amorous
assertions did nothing to help his confidence, particularly as Ba'al sidled
closer.
“Of course, my dear. As before. Darkness falls however.”
“And then the light rises,” she murmured into Daniel’s shoulder. She
took his hand in hers, kissing his fingertips one by one. She sucked on his
index finger in a completely pornographic way then offered his hand to Ba'al.
Ba'al took Daniel’s hand, leaned close, and as Astarte nuzzled and
kissed his chest, Ba'al wrapped a hand around his neck and kissed him hard on
the lips. Astarte scraped her teeth over his nipples and Daniel shuddered with
unwanted sensations. Ba'al pulled him close, his arms firm around his
shoulders. Daniel stared past him, scattered brain cells only managing to take
in the darkening sky outside. Huge thunderheads boiled up over the sea,
blotting out the horizon, streaks of lightning illuminating the last few
fishing vessels hurrying into port.
Astarte stepped back, her whole being alight with joy and desire. She kissed
his fingers one final time then dropped his hand. Ba'al’s grip on him was
unbreakable: Goa'uld strength subtly applied, keeping him pressed close to his
captor. Entreaties and protests on his lips, Daniel couldn’t utter a word
before something sprang up around the two of them, wrapping them in a dizzying
spiral. There was a feeling like gravity failing and then suddenly he was on a
stone balcony, the threatening sky much closer, surf pounding below on the
foundations of the citadel.
He was back in the palace, his gamble for freedom an utter failure, and
now he had the amorous Astarte to deal with as well as Ba'al’s machinations.
Ba'al released him and he staggered away, exhaustion and blood loss
taking their toll. He leaned on the parapet, sucking in deep lungfuls of salty
air. Lightning speared through the inky sky in a soundless blaze that sent the
hairs on his arms prickling. The merciless ocean continued to throw itself
against the stone below and for a moment he considered doing the same, but even
death was not an escape from the Goa'uld and the sarcophagus he was sure lurked
somewhere in the palace. Just the thought of that thing sent shivers over his
bare skin.
Daniel hugged his arms around his chest and tried not to think of what the night would bring.
* Phoenician words
·
alep – ox
·
tahvt mekir – under trader
·
dool hikmat – without wisdom
·
nasak ssohr yawm Ba'al mt – cast back the
time of Ba'al to death
·
Mahhib – lover
·
Irshyt – desire
·
Sha’r – flesh
·
Bar’ky - gift