Embedded Files
The Sun On The Horizon
Chapter Three
Silence Of The Heart
Blue blood dripped from his hands, congealed in sticky blue pools on the crisp sheet. Daniel dropped the sundered carcass, unable to meet the gaze of the good people standing at his bedside.
They’ll think I’m mad. Killed a helpless animal. They brought me into their homes and the first thing I do is kill… Have to tell them. Show them…
His leg pounded with pain, protesting his sudden movements. He hadn’t expected to have a Goa'uld, of all things, thrust at him. He sagged into the pillows, exhaustion eating at the last of his strength. There – a pencil and blank-paged book sat on the table near the bed. He lurched for it, but was intercepted by strong, gentle hands.
Haranith was there, kind eyes filled with concern. She wiped at his hands, cleaned the blood with deft touches and counted his thundering pulse. He indicated the book and she brought it to him. Daniel tuned out her ministrations to his leg, and paused, staring at the blank page. Words were no help: even if his preliminary assumption was correct that the language they spoke was a derivative of Ancient Egyptian, their written script must have evolved separately from that on Earth. Abydos only had the phonetic-based language he’d made up after the revolution. Likewise, the lost culture on P2Z-158 had left no trace of a written language. Unless, were hieroglyphs still used here? Rapidly he drew the glyphs for danger… and thrust the pad at Haranith. She studied it carefully, but showed no recognition of the symbols. So… stick figures it was.
He sketched a group of human figures: a happy adult, with a big smile; children and others nearby. Then a Goa'uld: immature like the one now removed from his bed. No need to complicate matters with the differences between immature and mature symbiotes. He lifted the pad as his sheet was whisked away. Next, the human: hands and face twisted in alarm with the Goa'uld poised to enter his neck. Then the symbiote was gone, the human’s eyes starred in agony. The final sketch showed the possessed human slaying the children. Crude, but he hoped it would convey the message.
The doctor settled a fresh sheet and blanket over him. Daniel handed her the drawings and watched anxiously as she went through the sequence. Doubt flickered over her face. Daniel tugged her arm, made her look at him. He mimed the snake attacking his own neck, his face changing from an exaggerated smile to a snarl and reached out as if to strangle her. His forehead creased in his effort to will her to understand. She mimed something wiggling then patted her chest. Daniel nodded and clapped his hands. He glanced around to see if the others understood, only to realise they had departed unnoticed.
Haranith stared at him, comprehension and alarm darkening her expression. Gently, she pushed him to lay back and tucked him in, then picked up the book and moved quickly from the room. Relief swept Daniel to a much needed sleep.
Sleep was about the only thing he was capable of for the next indeterminate number of days. His body – weakened from months of stress, infrequent meals and drugs, plus the shock of the crash and injury to his leg – decided it had suffered enough and would take no part in proceedings for the foreseeable future, thank you very much.
He woke when urged to, ate hot soup, and was barely able to tend to basic bodily needs before succumbing once again. Several times he woke to Haranith pricking one of his fingers. She seemed worried about his blood, but that was far outside his ability to be concerned and he subsided into sleep again.
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Finally one day he woke while Haranith and her helper – what was his name? – were sponging him clean. He let them finish that and a swift change of the sheets around him. When they were done he was surprised to find himself still awake. Even better, his mind appeared to actually be working.
He let his gaze travel around the room. Bright daylight filtered in through the curtain giving everything a warm, golden appearance. The bedroom was spacious but not large, despite the truly enormous bed he was occupying. It could easily accommodate three of the rangy natives. The textiles used in the sheets, blankets, curtains and decorative panels on the walls were finely milled and intricately woven, which suggested a high degree of technology existed on this planet. Lamps of engraved glass hung from ceiling chains and several potted plants climbed up the walls to entwine over the window architrave.
The assistant removed the laundry from the room while Haranith, her fussing over his leg complete, drew up a chair and sat by his side.
Hello. His silent greeting made her smile.
‘Nethur,’ she replied. Her careful pronunciation let him savour the words, rolling them over his muted tongue, to search for any clue to their meaning. Hints hung tantalisingly out of reach, but promised understanding. One day.
Haranith held up the latest blood sample she had taken from him. ‘Bydoth.’ She picked up a glass of water and held it next to the sample. ‘Latha.’ She held the two together and indicated his body, her concern plain to see.
Blood like water. Images flashed across his mind: flickering lights; sharp pain; red-hued faces pressing close; blood dripping, pooling around his feet, pouring away into the night.
A cool hand on his arm snapped him back to the present. Daniel looked down at his wrist, turned it over and found, like a bizarre confirmation that a nightmare was true, a pale pink scar blemishing the skin. He looked at his left wrist and found a matching scar there too. Shaking off Haranith’s grip he flung the bedclothes aside. A paired set of scars shone on his upper thighs, right over the femoral arteries.
It was real. All real. Of course it was…
He rubbed at the scars, wishing fervently they had merely been a product of his dreams.
They really did it. Stood me on that cliff and bled me dry… and— No.
Humiliation heated his cheeks. He stared at his body, unable to look at Haranith’s kind face, even though she could not – would not – know of the other offering he’d been forced to give.
His fingers scratched at the scars. No wonder I’m anaemic. The sarcophagus was set too low to replace all that blood in such a short time. How… inconvenient. Hysteria threatened to take over, but he shook his head and forced himself to focus on the more recent damage his body had suffered.
Wow. A truly impressive collection of bruises mottled his skin, from toes to… yep, even his hair hurt. Many had bloomed and were now fading into ugly purple and yellow patches, but his right elbow still held a nasty ache. And his leg: wrappings covered it from shin to foot and over that a translucent cast, peppered with tiny air holes, held the broken remains together. He touched the cast, impressed by the absence of weight and the thinness of the shell.
Bet Janet would love that.
Daniel sagged back into his pillows, retrieving the blankets and some sort of modesty. His hand brushed something cold at his waist.
Oh, jeez.
The enormous ruby Ba'al had hung on him was still dangling from his navel, giving him the appearance of a particularly expensive prostitute. Face twisted with loathing he clawed at it, suddenly desperate to get it off. Then Haranith’s deft fingers, so dark against his pale skin, stilled his own and freed the jewel. What she did with it, he didn’t see or care.
After a while, enticing scents of hot food brought him away from his rather desperate attempt to sleep, and he opened his eyes.
The young assistant had returned bearing a tray loaded with food. His stomach gurgled loudly, making the two healers laugh. They propped him up and he attacked the food with as much grace as possible. He couldn’t remember the last decent meal he’d had – apart from Haranith’s soups – and it tasted amazing. Warm herbed rolls, a pot of lentil stew and one of vegetables in a purple tomato-type sauce, boiled eggs, fried slabs of something under rich gravy: it all vanished with indecent savour.
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A long time later he was still sitting, staring at the refracted light in the engraved lamps, his mind turning in infuriating circles. The middle finger of his right hand traced the scar on his leg, the too-smooth skin an accusation under his fingertip. Snatches of images flickered through his brain: the noisy colour of Ba'al’s courtesans and concubines; Astarte, sanity buried in lust for her long dead child; the effigy of Eshmun sailing out into the darkness of the sea; Goa'uld in the pool, snakes in the grass, Ba'al pinning him to the floor…
Daniel closed his eyes. He reached almost desperately for sleep, but it eluded him. Mechanically, his finger rubbed and rubbed. Had he died? It took less than three minutes to bleed to death from a severed femoral artery – field first-aid 101. They’d cut both, and the veins in his wrists. The blood had poured from him, down into the water, the sacred river rushing over the cliff into the pool, splashing on the legs and hands of people exalting in his life’s blood, his life… draining away like so much waste… His hand shook. He clenched it into a fist, thumped it on the mattress. Cold washed over him. He was fraying, coming apart piece by piece, hair by hair, thought by thought.
No. I won’t let you win. You can’t have me. I belong to me, not you, you rancid reptile.
He sucked in air through gritted teeth. Get a grip, Danny. Losing it here.
He closed his eyes, pictured Teal'c sitting cross-legged in his room, candles holding back the dark with their warm glow. Centre your mind. Banish despair. Reject anger. Find the silence within your heart and embrace it.
Slowly the anger and confusion faded. His breathing evened and Daniel lost himself in the peace of his silence.
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Haranith emerged from Sabire’s home confident her patient would recover from his physical wounds, but greatly disturbed about the cause of some of those injuries. His anaemia indicated major blood loss, yet it had not occurred in the crash.
Those scars – so perfectly situated. Were they self inflicted?
Possible, but in her heart she thought not. The man’s distress at discovering them spoke of a trauma so great it appeared to have been pushed from his memory. And the jewel… She drew it from her pocket. Sunlight caught in its facets, as if it had a life of its own. Truly a precious thing, yet it held no attraction to the man. For days she and Pana had wondered about it, assuming it was a personal decoration or symbol of his wealth or status among his people, yet when he realised it was there he seemed repulsed by it, and had come near to tearing his flesh in his clumsy attempt to remove it. Very curious.
There was another problem: a person needed a name. Denied his own, the Clan were busy making up their own for him. Lostling, Ashen, with the most popular Pyt Xur orSky Fallen, were circulating through the groups of people who appeared to be spending their days standing about speculating, gossiping and plain making up stories about their guest. No, the man needed his own name and for them to discover that he had to be freed from the vile device silencing him.
Haranith slipped the jewel back into her pocket, dodged the inquisitive gossipers descending on her and aimed for the elders’ home. She trotted up the steps, clanged the brass bell to announce her presence and entered the dim, comfortable house. The entrance hall led into the large day room where Gransire and Gramire, elders and leaders of the Kendasai Clan, conducted the Clan’s business in their gentle, informal manner.
‘Haranith! Be welcome.’ Gramire greeted her with a hug and pressed a cup of hot tea into her hands. ‘Sit, dear.’
‘How fares your patient?’ Gransire enquired. Binish the Learner and Mother Jacuna, already ensconced with tea and cakes, leaned forward eagerly.
A sip of the fragrant tea warmed her spirit and set her a little more at ease. ‘He sleeps well. His body begins to heal. He has eaten his first solid food today and I’m sure will welcome another meal in a short time. His strength returns slowly. I will have him start to move around tomorrow.’ Haranith frowned into her cup. ‘I worry, though. He suffered an… injury, before the crash of the vessel from the stars. Some time ago, judging by the scar tissue. Four cuts, on wrists and thighs, over the major arteries. His red blood cell count is so low he must have endured a major loss of blood. I believe another person inflicted this harm upon him.’
Over Gramire’s horrified gasp, Gransire asked quietly, ‘The same ones who bound him and stole his voice?’
‘Impossible for us to know, but it would be a likely assumption. They cannot be good people – harbouring those parasites, treating this good man so vilely.’
The story of the worm’s death and the visitor’s graphic illustration of the danger it posed had spread throughout the Clan like a southerly wind change.
‘How can you know he is a good man?’ Binish demanded. ‘He may be the same as those who held him captive—worse, even.’
Haranith nibbled her second tiny cake. ‘He may be, but I think not. His manner is gentle. He listens with great care to our words. He makes no violent move and appreciates all we do for him.’
‘Apart from ripping the creature apart.’
‘Apart from that,’ she conceded. ‘I will believe the best of him until proven otherwise.’
‘A person denied his voice cannot defend himself,’ Gramire said. ‘We must discover a way to free his voice – then we shall hear his tale.’
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The next few days saw Daniel rapidly regain his strength. After his first all too short hobble around Sabire’s bedroom, which left him dizzy and panting, he swiftly graduated to cautious steps around the house, balanced on a beautiful pair of hand-carved wooden crutches. A young man, introduced as Shanti, had shyly presented them to him, tentatively touched Daniel’s proffered hand, and fled with a huge grin on his face.
The lightness of the cast helped his hesitant steps. He couldn’t guess at the material it was made from, but it had none of the heaviness of plaster. One more thing to ask about.
The home was interesting. Oblong in shape, its main feature was a large room, bordered by floor to ceiling windows and furnished with comfy-looking chairs, piles of enormous cushions, rugs and potted plants. Musical instruments of all sorts hung from the walls and roof and were dotted around the room. A mini waterfall tinkled down one glass wall beside a standing keyboard instrument that immediately piqued Daniel’s interest.
Even better, a few days earlier Binish – the man who had thrust the Goa'uld at him – had presented him with a brightly coloured electronic box which detailed their beautiful, decorative script. He lost himself completely, discovering the intricacies of what proved to be an abjad, with additional phonetic complements to differentiate homophones. He copied the characters with painstaking accuracy until he reached a firm recognition of them. Then he progressed through the learning tool, identifying simple objects with their names, practicing their correct spelling and sounding out their pronunciation in his head. The language appeared to have no gender and he couldn’t wait to plunge into the syntax and morphology. Absorbed, the bed strewn with paper covered in carefully drawn script, he’d spent hours running through the basic lexicon. A thrill of discovery had run through him; by the end of the first day he had confirmed that while the inhabitants had developed their own unique writing system, with a high probability it was rooted in Protodynastic cursive Hieratic, the spoken language had its origins in the Egyptian-based Napatan dialect of Earth’s Ancient Nubia.
The discovery was welcome and firm evidence their ancestors had been transplanted. He was certain that somehow, someone had brought these people’s ancestors from Ancient Nubia.
‘Xanam?’ Sabire’s deep voice brought Daniel out of his musings. Following the very human need to call another by a name, any name, Sabire had chosen their word for friend. ‘Day fades, food comes.’
Well, it was a rough translation, but he got the drift. A glance outside confirmed the sun was low over the horizon. It must be dinner time.
Sabire beckoned him to the outer door. Heartily sick of eating in bed, Daniel carefully picked his way out. He took his first step outside—and stopped, astonished at the sight around him.
How many times… Never assume. In the immortal words of Jack O'Neill, D’oh.
Considering his only glimpse of the home he’d been in had come while being funnelled head-first through the door, and that the homes next door had been so close, he’d never realised… They were mobile. The whole ‘village’ was supported by inflated wheels. The homes ranged in size: some smaller than the apartment he’d been evicted from the day before he met Catherine, to elegant double-storied constructions that looked as if they would never possibly move. Many sprouted gardens on their roofs; he caught glimpses of a number of goats grazing under and in small trees. Some caravans were linked to smaller homes by covered walkways. Shade sails leaned at different angles and every one of them were brightly painted in murals or sweeping geometric designs.
Daniel glanced around. He stood on a small porch on Sabire’s home, a narrow stairway led up and Sabire himself stood at the bottom of four steps leading to the ground.
Ah. This could be a problem.
An excited shout made him look past Sabire. People were emerging from their homes, staring at him with keen interest.
Great, an audience. He peglegged across to the steps. One small step for the Earthman.
‘Ii!’ Sabire held out his hands, ready and willing to lift him down.
Not wanting to fall on his face in front of so many people, Daniel swallowed his pride and nodded.
Sabire’s strong arms wrapped around his waist and instantly others were there to take the crutches. Daniel was set gently on the ground and supported while he got the crutches sorted. He looked up to nod his thanks and realised exactly how tall the man was – easily well over seven feet tall. Indeed, all the people crowding around were taller, women, even some of the children.
He felt even more out of place. The borrowed clothes fit him well, some of the many that appeared in the bedroom each day: gifts from these kind people. A loose over-shirt and pants coloured in hand-dyed reds made him blend a little in the riot of colours around him, but he was the lone pale figure in this crowd of rich black. A sudden spark of understanding hit him: in all his travels he had rarely come across a population of one single ethnicity. Most people encountered on other planets had been a blending of the races transplanted by the Goa'uld. Abydos had been an exception. Now, here was another.
The villagers kept a respectful distance as he limped slowly along. Over-curious children were restrained and the whole party gradually delivered him to a central dining area: a crackling bonfire warded off the evening chill for the seats set around a large circle. From the homes, men and women brought out platters and pots full of steaming food. Family groups settled as Daniel was ushered to a chair next to the elder leaders. Haranith appeared and arranged his leg in the weightless field of the… whatever it was that had kept his leg from touching the bed.
Daniel sank into the big cushioned chair with a sigh. The short hobble felt like he’d run a race. Amazing how quickly you could lose your fitness when you were stuck in a bed for a week. Then again, he’d had a few other things to cope with before that.
He focused and nodded to the community’s elders. The matriarch, Gramire, Sabire had called her, leaned over and patted his arm. He smiled back at her enquiring expression, then Haranith was back, a large bowl of food in her hands. Settling back, he savoured the meal and absorbed his surroundings.
Folk sat around the large circle, eating, talking, moving from one group to another or calling loudly to someone across the way. Children sat with parents, escaping to play and were hauled back to finish their dinner. Men and women gossiped freely, some flirted, some laughed, some spoke with serious intent. Most, at one time or another, cast a glance in his direction and, if he met their gaze, returned his regard with a smile or a nod.
Three youngsters, long limbs still padded with baby fat, wandered close and stood staring at him, mouths agape with unabashed curiosity. Daniel waved at them and was pleased to see them wave back, then they dashed off to tell their families.
Haranith removed his empty bowl – a beautiful hand-turned pottery piece – and it was replaced with a deep oval plate by a middle-aged lady who watched him tentatively. Daniel nodded his thanks to her.
She beamed. ‘Jacuna’, she said, patting her ample bosom. ‘Jaa-coo-naa’.
The loss of his voice cut deeply, once again. But, he did have a limited vocabulary gleaned from the teaching module. He leaned toward Jacuna and carefully mouthed, ‘Son-day’, their word of thanks, if he hadn’t mangled the pronunciation.
‘Sond-ai? Sondaye!’ she sang out loudly, adding an extra syllable to the suffix. ‘Sondaye!’ Enchanted, she grabbed his hand and pumped it enthusiastically. As she returned to her place, she spread the news to everyone she passed, producing a fresh round of admiring or thoughtful looks.
Inordinately pleased, Daniel tucked in to the cheese and dried fruit on his plate. But the flush of success quickly faded. There had to be some way to remove Ba'al’s silencer. He needed his voice; he needed to communicate with those around him. There was so much to ask them, tell them, learn from them and while he was confident of learning their written language, his main medium was speech. This was not some long-dead language hiding clues of a vanished people. It was a living, vital key to his understanding of his rescuers, and could seriously influence his chances of one day going home.
Frustration had his fingers clawing at the thing before reason could catch up. Pain lanced through his throat and set him coughing in silent, heaving gasps.
A hand slipped into his and he gripped it a little desperately. Haranith knelt next to him, rubbing his back, murmuring a soothing litany. When his breathing finally eased, he looked up and was met by a circle of concerned faces. He managed a feeble smile.
Across the dinner circle a shout went up. A middle-aged man jumped to his feet, urged on by those around him. As the man trotted toward where Daniel sat, a ripple of rumours spread from his companions, out to either side and around the circle, leaping from person to person with such speed that the gossip chain reached Sabire, sitting next to Daniel, at the same moment its instigator reached them.
Beni halted in front of the elders and the Sky-Fallen, his sudden inspiration having carried him to the strange one’s feet before he could think properly. Now he halted, awe swallowing his unformed words. Truly, the sky lived in the man’s eyes. The blue shone like beacons and gave the shockingly bleached skin a saving grace of life. Beside the Sky-Fallen, Haranith pointedly cleared her throat.
Oh. He was gaping at their guest like an unmannered babe. Beni straightened up and pressed his palm to his heart in respect for Gramire and Gransire. He repeated the gesture to the Sky-Fallen, and to Haranith for good measure.
‘I… I have an idea, honoured ones. For the—the Sky-Fallen. To free his voice. I have a friend.’
Gramire gave him an encouraging smile. ‘Friends are great blessings, Beni. What could this friend do for our guest?’
‘Yes. Ah. She is greatly skilled with electronic devices. She once helped develop the processors that drive the peds. She might be able to…’ He trailed off as his eyes were drawn to the glint of silver on the Sky-Fallen’s throat. ‘To help our guest retrieve his speech. She lives in Faransi.’
He backed up a few paces, his gaze darting uncertainly between the Sky-Fallen and the elders.
Daniel hadn’t been able to follow much of what the man had said, but from the looks now coming his way, it had to be about him. There was a flurry of conversation around him, then Haranith took over and sharply questioned the man. Finally satisfied, she nodded to the elders and everybody seemed pleased.
Well, glad that’s been sorted out. He raised an enquiring eyebrow at Sabire as the decision sent a ripple back around the circle.
‘Pyt Xur’. Sabire embellished his speech with exaggerated flourishes. ‘Go’, he pointed out into the encroaching darkness. ‘House’, or was that gathering… town! ‘Mend’… Sabire slapped his hand to his throat, then pulled it away and let off a loud yodel, then gestured at Daniel’s silencer.
Go to a town and get this removed? His fingers rubbed the cold metal and he looked at the others for confirmation. They watched him with a mix of hope and encouragement. Slowly, he nodded. Anything to get it off. He looked up at Beni and smiled, more grateful than he was able to express.
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