Embedded Files
The Sun On The Horizon
Chapter Eight
Campfire Nights
Wind battered Daniel’s face, errant grains of sand scored his cheeks, his hair whipped across his glasses and flailed his ears. He couldn’t hear much, talk even less: every sound he made was snatched away and flung far behind. His body bounced and jarred, collecting bruises with every passing moment – and he loved it all. He gunned the ‘ped harder, caroomed over a grassy hillock and soared down the other side, inertial dampers taking the landing in their stride. The smile etched on his face widened even further. Ahead and to the side other ‘pedders flanked him, racing home to the caravan with the setting sun warming their backs.
A shout of laughter escaped his lips, and was left hanging in the air behind him. Something inside him sighed and settled. Happiness, or was it contentment? Either way, he suddenly felt free: he’d finally loosed the chains of captivity and torment, responsibility and injury. Now was the time to live in the moment, to live for himself. Now, life seemed to stretch out ahead of him, instead of crowding noisily up behind him demanding accountability.
Time for some fun.
Daniel dodged the brilliant little machine around a clump of scrunt bush, almost accidentally sending a spray of sand in the pursuing Sabire’s face. Sabire slowed for a vital second and Daniel forged into the lead. To the right, Safia surged close, her brightly braided hair streaming over her shoulders. She glanced over at Daniel, winked and shot ahead.
No you don’t!
He coaxed a last burst of speed from the game little machine, angled around a dust-filled depression and raced for home, hard on Safia’s heels with eight other pedders close behind him. Ahead, the caravan came into sharp relief, etched by the afternoon sun against the deep blue sky. Safia seemed to fly across the final stretch and skidded to a halt. Defeated and grinning like a maniac, Daniel throttled back. The others closed up around him and they completed the journey together.
The caravan had halted for the night around one of the familiar oases, shade creeping across the arid soil from the bounty of tall palms growing around the fathomless depths of icy cold water. The ‘pedders moved sedately between the colourful vans, then split off towards their homes with a smile and wave.
Å
Day 48 – The Sendai Desert
Went ‘ped racing again today. For the first time I rode my own machine. Haranith replaced the cast with an even lighter one this morning and is pleased with the level of healing so far. I’m delighted. I can walk with much greater ease. Pain is almost negligible unless I do something stupid. The cast will be with me for a long while yet, but these days it is more a part of me, instead of me being an appendage of the cast. And I can fend off Sabire’s offers of piggyback rides with more honesty. I don’t want to be ungracious, but I do suspect an element of showmanship in the way he carts me around the campsite.
Nearly won the race today. Safia won. Again. Suspect she’s turbo charged her ‘ped somehow. Well, there’s always tomorrow.
Three days since the Skanders’ attack. Someone must have seen me in Danyk Town when we stopped for supplies. Sabire said the Skanders are opportunists, ready to make a quick profit on anything they can beg, borrow or steal. They’re outlaw nomads, a very small number who live outside the Clans. I just hope my appearance in Kemyt City does not cause an even bigger upset.
Gransire estimates a journey of sixty-seven days will see us through the desert and down the Shems river to Kemyt City. We could have done it in hours by air, but the elders rejected that because of the strict identity regulations for air travel. I’d be spotted in an instant. That in itself may not be so terrible a thing, but we have no way of knowing if Ba'al has found this planet yet. Until I know for sure there is no Stargate here – and surely the city founded by the revered Weril/Merul, near-mythic god and almost certain Goa'uld / Tok’ra saviour of the M’djay ancestors, has to be the most likely place for it – then I will reveal myself to the elder council, and hope my ‘arrival’ is not too disruptive for the culture. Shouldn’t be any more difficult than telling the Abydonians their entire belief system was a lie and their lord and master nothing more than a snake inside a boy.
Easy.
Oy, as Jack would say.
Jinya has claimed my dinner tonight. Stew and dumplings – yes!
And then there is Campfire. For weeks now I have listened to the life-stories of my fellow travellers. They give of themselves so readily, without expectation of a return gift. But, tonight, I think it’s time. I’ve always felt completely welcomed by the Clan. They demand nothing of me. All the more reason for me to give my own life-story to them.
Tonight – I think I’m ready.
Å
Dumpling stew, brewed cider, sweet-nut crumble and warm spiced mead: utterly satisfied, Daniel settled back in the lounging cushions. Dishes were stacked away, little ones put to bed. Adults and older children chatted softly around the darkening coals of the great fire.
Gramire looked up and around at her extended family. ‘Who will give us a story, this night?’
Amidst the general clearing of throats and whispered encouragements, Daniel tentatively raised his hand. ‘Uh…’
Thrilled silence spread around the circle quicker than a rumour of Sabire’s latest conquest.
‘I’d, um, well, that is to say, if it’s of pleasure to my good hosts, I would give the tale of Daniel Jackson. Er…’ He trailed off, embarrassed.
Gramire leaned forward and nodded to him. ‘We would be honoured to hear our Daaniel’s tale.’
All eyes were turned toward him. Suddenly, the expected nervousness and trepidation faded away. There were no enemies here. He stared into the glowing coals, and began.
‘Daniel Jackson is my name. Hear my story.
‘I was born on the banks of a great river, in a land of plenty, surrounded by desert sands. A land which bears its history proudly, for all to gaze upon and wonder. My mother and father were children of another land, and so I belonged to both. They studied the stories of my birth-land, Egypt, and taught me to speak its words, to read its history.
‘I grew up and learned much. We were happy there. Then my parents travelled back to their homeland to share what they had discovered. I walked the soil of my second home for the first time. It was a strange place, frightening, exciting, but I was happy because mama and dad were there.
‘And then suddenly they were gone. Crushed by the stone temple brought from our first home. I was alone in this new land. It was not a happy time, but I kept the stories, told me by my parents, close in my heart and knew they smiled down on me from the Elysian fields.
‘When I left the home of the good family who cared for me, I continued the work my parents had started…’ He trailed off, suddenly assailed by a memory of that day at the museum with Sam: Merrie Stern chasing after them, revealing the existence of his father’s lost journals. He’d never had the chance to pick them up, and now probably would never get to know what they contained. She’d said they were from 1973, hadn’t she? The year the family had moved back to the US, the year everything changed. Why had his father left the journals in Egypt? They’d brought so much with them they’d filled half the hold of the ship. Merrie… she’d said his father had asked her grandfather to safeguard the journals until he returned to Egypt. But, as far as he could remember they had planned to stay in the US with the exhibition for at least five years. What could the journals possibly contain that would prevent them being taken to America?
Daniel shook his head and came back to the present. Oh. Oops. He’d been staring into space with his mouth open. Really have to stop doing that. He gave his audience a sheepish grin and launched back into the story.
‘I found friends, a lover, lost them again. At a lonely point in my life, chance—as it ever seems to—brought to me a lady named Catherine. Catherine asked for my help to open a doorway, a gate that had been buried for many generations. It was called a Stargate, and it opened the way to the stars.
‘We went through the Gate: a group of warriors, a man named Jack, and myself. We walked onto a planet, far, far away from home. It was called Abydos. We found a city full of people; lovely, friendly people who welcomed us. Theirs was a hard life. Their god demanded they toil in a huge mine to provide him with the ore he needed. They worked all day and had little time to themselves.’
The words wrapped around him, bringing him flashes of memory: warm spice-scented winds ruffling the canvas of the workers’ rest-tent, the stench of the mastage that dogged his footsteps, the awesome sight of the towering mud-brick walls of Nagada, the sparkling hazel eyes of his wife-to-be…
‘That night, the god Ra arrived. He was displeased with us and struck out at the Abydonians, hurting and killing many. We said this was not right, a god should love, not slay his people. We said to the people of Abydos that he was not a god, he was false. The Abydonians—’ A hand reaching down, pressing a trigger on the helmet of a fallen warrior… it was Jack revealing the human beneath the Horus helmet… yet it was his own hand…
‘The Abydonians rose up and cast Ra out. They rejected the false god and he came no more to harm them. Jack and his soldiers went home. I stayed on Abydos, my third home. I married a beautiful girl, Sha’re, and we were very happy.
‘A full year and two seasons passed. I studied the writing left behind by the false god, and taught the Abydonians to read and write the language of their ancestors. They taught me many things. I was in love, and loved in return.’ The smile that touched his lips was genuine, the grief that had weighted those memories now dulled to regret with the passage of the years.
Around the circle the Clan sat enthralled by his story, firelight flickering in their eyes as they journeyed with him to another desert world.
‘One day, the Stargate opened again, and Jack returned. A false god had come to Earth, my first home. As I showed Jack my discovery of Stargate addresses for thousands of planets, a false god came to Abydos and stole my Sha’re and Skaara, our brother. Though it grieved me greatly to leave, I journeyed back to Earth and began to search for my family.’ Murmurs of sympathy rose from the listeners. Daniel found the dull red of the coals beginning to blur.
‘My journeys have been long, strange, exciting, terrifying. Filled with sadness, and happiness. We met good people, like Tupelo and the people of the Land of the Light, who have taken in many others lost or driven from their homes. We sat on a mountaintop and watched the Lolani people perform the Dawn Rising: flying on silk wings in the thermal currents over a bubbling lake of hot mud. We joined the Adorea people of Marana on a rare conjunction of their three moons and surfed the enormous tides in amazing crystal boats. The demon who possessed my wife, Sha’re, stole many of our people from Abydos. Jack and my fellow teammates from the SGC tracked her down and rescued the captives. I saw Sha’re and went to her, but the demon attacked me and was killing me.’ The glow of the campfire blurred into the beam of the hand-device, Sha’re’s eyes glowing, then fading, her lips whispering ‘I love you, Daniel’. He coughed, cleared his throat. ‘My warrior-brother Teal'c had to shoot at her to save me. My beloved died. She is free of the demon Goa'uld. She sleeps wrapped in the warm sands of Abydos, now.’
He kept his eyes on the coals, the silent empathy around him just as warming as the fire. ‘We’ve met many other good people: Lya from the Nox; the Tollan; the Tok’ra; Martouf and Selmak, Narim, Bra’tac, Thor of the Asgard. My brother Skaara fell amongst the Tollan, a good people who regarded the law most highly. They invited us to argue for Skaara’s freedom from the Goa’uld who possessed him. We won, and we celebrated long and mightily.’
He went on, his tales wrapping around the gathering, words floating up into the clear night sky. He told them the tale of Ba'al, Astarte, and his strange capture—leaving out some of the more bizarre elements—and the wave of Fate’s hand that brought me here, to my fourth home.’
Å
‘Daaniel?’
‘Yes, Shanti?’
The young man paused, his fine henna brush poised over Daniel’s right arm. The intricate patterns he’d created swirled up from his wrist, drifting like a clutch of delicate seed heads, tiny twin-winged craft caught on an imaginary breeze, up past his elbow to circle his bicep.
‘You searched many years for your love, did you not?’
Daniel let his gaze wander over the camp’s evening bustle. More active than normal, they were setting up for a rest day tomorrow. Celebrations were in preparation for Sebu day, which required a rolling all-day feast, dancing and personal decorations: gold-hued henna-like designs painted on as much of one’s body as was decent to bare. Shanti had won the scrum to decorate Daniel, although half the Clan were gathered around, critiquing his work.
The dye, made by Safia from plants grown on the rooftop gardens shone brightly on every Clan member’s limbs, child to adult, all bore decorations declaring their individuality. On Daniel, the dye was less eye-catching, but Shanti had mixed in another pigment and was producing a stunning shimmering effect.
Daniel watched as a little flying insect emerged from Shanti’s skilled hand. Sitting in the shade of the awning over Sabire’s home, and lulled to a half-doze by the brush strokes on his skin, he took some time to answer Shanti’s question. Behind his lidded eyes he could see himself doing this with Sha’re—painting her golden skin with images or words, secret little messages declaring his love, their happiness.
‘Yes, Shanti. My search was long.’
‘She is greatly honoured by your dedication.’
A faint smile dimpled the corners of his mouth. ‘Thank you.’
‘Will you join with another, Daaniel?’ a young woman – Anala – asked from the gathered watchers.
‘Perhaps. Yes, I hope so. One day.’ A day he could not envisage at the moment, but could still be possible, in the future.
He kept silent during the rest of the session. When Shanti was done Daniel stood, arms spread and displayed himself. Clad in an open sleeveless tunic and very loose pants that were split to mid-thigh, his arms, chest, leg, and cast were decorated in tiny insects darting among the floating seed pods. Higher and higher they went up his body, thinning out until a lone almost-butterfly settled on the side of his neck.
Murmurs of approval rippled through the audience. Both Daniel and Shanti took a bow.
Å
Shouts of laughter and discovery drifted on the still-cool morning breeze. The early morning start had brought them to Masima Oasis just in time for… elevenses as Daniel termed it, applying a British term to the all-in gossip and tea session that the Clan indulged in every day. If they were on the move it took place over the open intercom, but when a suitable rest stop presented itself, they were parked and unpacking kettles and cake quicker than a guy could blink.
This oasis was a tiny stream meandering between enormous boulders, weathered beasts from a long ago age, cracked and blasted to expose fossilised shells and animals. Everyone was having a ball crawling around the rocks. Daniel’s own path took him out of sight of the vans, drawn on by tracks made by some type of small reptile. Sabire ambled behind him, singing snatches of songs he’d composed. With the last elegant notes echoing off the rocky surrounds, Sabire caught up to him.
‘Sing me a song from your world, Daaniel.’
‘Sing?’ A faint thrill of alarm ran through him as the last time he’d sung came to mind. Not many rowboats out here.
‘Your Earth does have songs?’ Sabire peered at him with comic concern.
‘Yes, of course. I’m just not much of a singer. I can play music on an instrument similar to your harpishone, but songs…’ He knew a few Ancient Egyptian ones, more as poems really. There was that album he’d been fond of while he worked on his second thesis, though.
‘Hello darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again…’ Simon and Garfunkle’s song rose into the air of a whole new planet and followed Daniel and Sabire as they meandered around the rocks. Daniel sang a line in English and then tried to translate it - not always successfully. By the end of the song they were both laughing. ‘Ow!’ His foot jarred on the uneven ground, making him wince.
‘Are you well, Daniel?’
‘Oh, yeah, I’m okay. Just overdid it a little. Leg’s hurting a bit.’
‘Here – I will take you on my back and return to camp’
‘Oh, no, I can make it Sabire.’
‘You are tired and in pain. I will carry you.’
‘Sabire, I don’t need to be carted around like a child.’
‘Did I say you were a child? You are a grown man, of significant height and weight.’ A look of cunning crept into his eyes. ‘Will you deny me the opportunity to impress the lads and lasses with my incredible strength and unassuming concern for my friend?’
‘Oh, well when you put it like that, how can I refuse? And, unassuming? In your dreams big guy.’
‘Sit up on that rock and pull your robes up. Your singing is bad enough without you sounding like a castrated fehkah.’
‘Oh really? Just for that, here’s another.’ He launched into He Ain’t Heavy, trying to translate as he went, then somehow found himself segueing into Bridge over Troubled Water. ‘Er, whoops, that’s not right. Wrong song. Oh, shut up.’
Å
‘Daaniel.’
This night, where the leaping flames of the bonfire barely drove back the numbing cold of the desert night, and all the youngsters were already tucked warmly in bed, this night it was Gramire who addressed him, intent to question clear in her eyes.
‘Gramire, yes.’
‘You have told us of the ancestors who made their home here, of the old home in Newbeea?’ He nodded at her careful pronunciation. He had indeed told to them his theory that whichever Goa'uld had settled this planet had taken people from Ancient Nubia, that great land south of Egypt through which the mighty Nile flowed; that they were a race of warriors and craftspeople, kings and slaves alike.
‘Some of us have been discussing these ancestors.’ She fixed him with her intent gaze. Past her, he could see heads nodding: her ‘tantesh’ group, practitioners of a kind of martial arts/recitation exercise that held him astonished every time he watched them; their advanced age and athleticism not the only causes for admiration.
‘We wonder,’ her voice snapped his attention back to her, ‘if any of the ancestors’ folk were left behind, on your Earth?’
‘Left…?’
‘Are there those on Earth who would claim kinship with us?’
‘Ah, well.’ Deep breath. ‘Er…’
‘If there are ancestor-kin we would wish to know how they fare, for possibly we will one day meet them.’
Oh boy. Of all the races they could be descended from— Maybe he should have guarded what he’d said. Or just kept his trap shut. Hammond would have kittens.
Expectant faces ringed him, the flickering shadow from the firelight gave the impression that others lurked in the black beyond, listening. Well, he’d told the truth so far. He would not lie now.
‘Yes, Gramire. There are still people on Earth descended from the Nubians your ancestors may be related to.’
A pleased murmur ran around the circle.
‘How do they fare? Their land has always been coveted by others for its gold and sadly many have invaded and oppressed the Nubians in their quest for it. There has been war and unrest for centuries between the different races of the north and south. And the tribes of the north who pray to a different god from those in the south rule unfairly and repress the rights of the southerners. They have raided their homes, taking children to use as slaves or soldiers. The country has been locked in brutal, devastating war for many years. Famine has also plagued them.
‘In recent times, there is a new gold – oil, a resource from far under the land itself, which has brought the greedy and ruthless from many different lands to plunder and dispossess the people. The land is called Sudan now. Energy hungry nations such as China, and quite possibly my own, conduct unlawful dealings there, ‘buying’ the right to drill for the oil in villages but many times the money is never given to the villagers and they are left with wells and land poisoned by oil leaking from poorly maintained equipment.
‘Your ancestor-kin are driven from their homes, robbed of their cattle, their lands… They do not fare well.’
Shame kept his head bowed. Ridiculous to admit that, while his own country reaped the benefit of civilised living and interplanetary travel, there were still people on Earth committing genocide, racial cleansing, whatever the current term was for mass murder.
‘Well.’ Gramire’s strong voice cut the heavy shocked silence. ‘When we have found your Stargate, Daaniel, we shall travel to your Earth and invite our ancestor-kin to come home with us. We have plenty of space to share.’
Nods of agreement sealed the decision. The circle broke, people headed to their beds. Daniel watched them go, admiration, trepidation and foreboding making his head spin. Hammond really would have kittens.
Å
The last couple of hours’ travel had brought a new variant of the unending sea of sand. Travelling along a valley between two of the highest dunes, Daniel and Sabire – sitting up on the roof, the two of them shaded under a polka-dotted sun umbrella – saw the first stunted bush pass by. Then there was another. Then wiry tufts of grass. Then an actual tree: bent and blasted by the sandy wind and only four feet high, but a tree all the same. Soon the ochre sands were filtered with green and birds were swooping over their heads, flicking an inspecting eye over the caravan before darting away, following the same course the humans were on.
Distracted, Daniel lost another game of Senet to Sabire. He glared ruefully at Sabire and declined a fourth game.
‘I’ll have to teach you something I can win at.’ He fingered his pawn, stuck on the House of Re-Atoum, carved with exquisite skill by Somi.
Sabire yawned into a full-bodied stretch. ‘Indeed. I believe there are soon to be interesting things to view.’ He stood and leaned out over the prow of the house. ‘Hah! I am correct, as always. Look there, Daaniel.’ Pointing a long arm ahead he indicated past the lead vans to a glimmer of blue.
Daniel levered himself out of his chair and clomped forward. ‘Another oasis?’
‘I believe not. We approach something greater…. Yes, there, just past Tretish’s van. Do you see, Daaniel?’
He squinted in the general direction, slanting afternoon sun and months-out-of-date optical prescription not helping. It looked like a long band of green where the dunes sloped down, and behind that a sparkle of water, much more than the trickling streams usual in the oases they had previously passed.
‘A river?’
‘The river. Shems. The mother of us all. Our pathway to Kemyt.’
A grin worked its way across Daniel’s lips. Twenty minutes later the Caravan emerged from the dunes at a natural ford. Daniel gaped in delight at the dark green waters, almost a mile wide and flanked by marshes on both sides. With a shout that echoed through every home, Shanti took the lead van straight into the water without pause.
‘But…’
His protest faded as the house bobbed in the water, the desert skids folding over and converting into pontoons. One by one, the Clan’s home followed suit. Sails unfurled from flagpoles-come-masts, and they were sailing, pushed by wind and current.
‘This is so neat.’
The caravan headed downriver, bound for Kemyt City.
Å
Day 87
Sailing is such a peaceful mode of travel. I’ve only ever sailed twice before, once on the Nile taking my parents to their rest, and once with Jack, Teal'c and Sam, back in our fist year of exploration, across the Mermer with the Biklik people to visit the Temple of the Departed. The Nile trip was exciting, scary and sad; the Mermer fascinating—in between storms. Note: never get between Sam and a sick bag.
This river, though, is Haven itself. It’s crowned with flights of birds, teeming with uncountable fish, and water lizards five feet long. We’re flowing sedately along with no sense of urgency at all. There are rafts of papyrus drifting along with us: genuine papyrus that must have its origins in the Nubian Nile. Magic.
The words trailed off. Daniel watched once again the rippling water beyond the window. Deep emerald green, a colour he’d never seen in any Earth river, it was hypnotic and soothing. Train of thought parked at the station, he settled back in the huge chaise, pen dangling from one hand, the other idly rubbing the itch of healing bones in his leg.
There was something different about travelling on water. The usual sounds of movement replaced by slurps and splashes. More than that, there was a feeling of ease, unhurriedness, or was it just freedom, that you didn’t get on land. Being a nomad in the vast deserts had a certain kind of charm to it, but a traveller on Shems was close to heaven.
A thought made his brow wrinkle up. A river nomad. That’s what I could be. Spend my days floating along with the papyrus. I could paint or draw, earn my keep. Maybe build a little house of my own. Although, the Clan might not stay here…
The idea that he might separate from the Clan, find himself alone, sent a chill down his back, swiftly followed by surprise. When had he become so attached to his rescuers that their presence in his life felt as necessary as had the previous three families he’d loved and lost? It was a nice revelation. Surprising. Scary, but nice. Less nice was the realisation he may never travel through the Stargate again, that his days as an explorer were over. Then again, you have a whole new planet here to explore. For many people that would be a lifetime’s occupation. When had one world become too small for him? When those he cared about were no longer on it…
Well, that longing would fade in time. It usually did. And there were worse places he could be.
Å
The river widened as they moved along it, stretching out of sight from bank to bank. The caravan sailed sedately along, pace dictated by the winds and the steady current. Normal daily life continued amongst the Clan, unaltered by the presence of so much water – apart from the odd overly exuberant child going overboard. Sabire assured Daniel that swimming was taught to everyone, almost from the day of birth. They swam and dove like seals and refused to leave Daniel behind. Before the first day was out, he was floating in the river, supported by a translucent shell-like river-lounge.
On the second week the desert dunes shrank, gradually giving way to sparse grasslands and the occasional cluster of cultivated fields. Semi-nomadic families waved to them from homes along the water’s edge.
At night the caravans came together, lashed to each other to form one large floating village. Anchored in calm bends, the Clan gathered on the rooftops for dinner, story times and the odd party.
It was the middle of the third week, when Daniel was engaged in his new-found passion: paragliding. Soaring 100 feet above the river, the silence of the air loud in his ears, he spotted the outskirts of the city of Kemyt.
Rising like an upthrust jaw of razor-filled teeth stood a row of monuments: sharp-sided mini pyramids, tombs mirroring those still standing in the Nubian desert of Sudan. These however, were no isolated clutch of ten or so. Here they arced around from the banks of the river in a single line, marching off to vanish into the distance. An astonishing, defining boundary to the city beyond.
A whoop from off to his left pulled Daniel’s attention away. ‘Daaniel! We arrive! Kemyt City! We have come!’ Somi, dangling from a gaudy yellow glider, waved and jiggled with excitement.
A thrill ran through his bones, hanging here in the warm air, water stretching out below his feet, green landscape beyond, Daniel felt the city pulling him in, beckoning with a promise to fulfil hopes he had all but given up on.
Å
Kemyt was sprawled over a delta, formed in a great bend of the mighty Shems which curled away to the west. Smaller streams were channelled into canals where barges ladened with goods ploughed along the waters. It took three hours to make their way along a smaller arm of the river, up an increasingly crowded riverfront to the public berthing parks on a large spit of land near the centre of the city. Small, nimble water taxis darted between the heavier vessels, delivering people to piers all along the elegantly treed boulevards that lines both banks of the river. Daniel had returned to the van, the exhilaration of the glider leaving his blood singing with anticipation.
He stared through the windows, barely listening to the chatter of Jacuna, Sabire, Haranith and Lilya behind him. The architecture of Kemyt was even more bizarre than in Faransi. Angles, curves and colours warred with every conceivable type of building material. Houses leaned on each other, sheds, barns, warehouses and shops made their presence known in unexpected places. He drank in every new sight possible: watching the way the people interacted, craning to make out the cargoes on passing barges, striving to catch the varying dialects of the traders, shoppers and passers-by.
Once again he was swathed in robes and veil: his only-white-man-on-the-planet-going-outdoors outfit. Keen to avoid possible culture shock, the plan was to seek council with the Amhyt Clan Elders, the governing body on N'Has'y, introduce Daniel, his history and predicament, then slowly let word filter out to the populace that they were no longer alone in the universe.
A hubbub at the door announced unexpected visitors. Daniel and Sabire, along with the others had been getting ready to depart, but there, marching through the door with broad smiles and welcoming arms were five men and women, their bearing announcing them as quite important.
Sabire meeped in surprise. ‘The Amhyt!’
And there goes that plan. Daniel edged back as Gramire and Gransire greeted their guests. His veil slipped and he quickly held it up over his face.
Introductions and greetings made, eyes began to turn in his direction. Feeling exposed he shuffled back, bumping up against the harpishone. He ducked his head, shielding eyes that would easily give him away.
‘This person is known to us?’ A clearly interested voice cut through the conversations.
Daniel glanced at Sabire, resisting the urge to greet the woman staring his way.
‘Ah. Yes. That is, well, I’m not… uh, perhaps… tea! Shall you take tea in my humble home, Elder Constile?’ Sabire edged between Daniel and the woman, but she moved him aside with ease.
‘Such pale hands.’
Oh. Daniel looked at the hand in front of his face: no gloves, dark henna swirling over white skin. He looked over to his own elders and received a resigned nod.
Gramire stepped forward. ‘Elder Constile, honoured Elders, we came to Kemyt to seek your wisdom. Chance has brought you to us. A gift of great value,’ she smiled at Daniel, ‘has fallen among us. We would make known to you Daaniel, Daaniel Jaaksun, a person of good intent, from the land of Eart, a planet far in the sparkling night sky.’
Even though he’d known this moment was coming, it was too soon. Unprepared, but seeing no way out with everyone looking at him, Daniel rested one hip against the harpishone, let the veil fall and pulled off the head covering. This was so different from all the other first encounters he’d experienced. He wasn’t a traveller, an explorer, he hadn’t come from ‘over the hills’ or ‘beyond the Great Circle’. He didn’t have an escape-wormhole at his back if things went pear-shaped, he didn’t have an over-armed, over-protective team at his back either. Anxiety speared him: if the Elders were horrified by him, recoiled at his presence, would the Clan stand by their own people and reject him? Cast him out? Attack him, even? To lose their support now, the loss was unimaginable, and yet the possibility twisted his heart.
Should have taken the path to Sha’re… The thought flashed through his head in seconds. He jumped as a large warm hand landed softly on his shoulder.
‘Daaniel is as born to the Clan Kendasai.’ Sabire, his rich, deep voice full of pride and possessiveness.
His moment of panic curled in shame and died. Daniel looked up and met the gaze of the Elders, saw astonishment, curiosity, amazement and delight. No horror, no running screaming at his alien presence. He inclined his head. ‘Nethur. Greet the day, my Elders.’ His oddly accented words sent a thrill through the visitors, and they inched closer.
‘Going to need more than tea,’ muttered Sabire above him.
Å
The telling – and retelling – and questioning of Daniel’s story took hours. With a meal and two rounds of tea and three of drinks that set Daniel gasping, the Elders were getting accustomed to this world-changing stranger in their midst. The missing Stargate and the truth behind their founding mythologies were scrutinised in depth.
‘No more tea, good host.’ Koma, a tall—very, very tall—gently spoken man with greying temples, stood up. ‘We must spread this wonderful news to our Clans, and root out this magical Gate of Stars.’
‘Now?’ bleated Daniel, taken aback once again. It was twilight now. He’d thought they’d take at least this evening to get used to the new situation.
‘Such amazing possibilities await us all, good Daaniel. You have given us a past unknown to us and a future unimagined. We must find the Great Gateway.’
‘Now. Oh, boy.’
Everyone was on their feet, already heading outside where most of the Clan had been anxiously clustered for hours. Beyond, the city streets and canals teemed with people moving through the gathering glow of street lights.
Haranith leaned down to peer into his face. ‘Are you well, Daaniel? I will not permit them to drag you off if you are lacking in energy.’
‘No, thank you, Haranith. I’m up to this. I think.’ He flicked a smile at her and heaved himself up. A quick, relatively speaking, trip to relieve himself, and he stepped outside into the cooling night air. With Sabire and Haranith flanking him, Gramire and Gransire in front, the Elders leading them and the entire Clan surrounding them all in a defiantly cheerful mood, Daniel limped out into the streets.
Å
It didn’t take long. A few quick words from one Elder or another to a passer-by, strolling shoppers noticing the person at the centre of the group, the news spread almost visibly. Like a snowball rolling downhill, tendrils of people attached to the moving crowd, swelling its size which in turn drew more people. All above the chatter and laughter, Daniel could hear words such as ‘stranger’ ‘visitor’ and ‘sky-fallen’ tossed up into the air, to fall down and spread out even further in ripples of wonder.
Folks came out of homes and shops, somehow spotting him through the forest of tall bodies around him. He gripped his walking stick tightly, trying with everything he had to look friendly and unthreatening, to smile and nod at everyone whose eye met his. At least the blended tone of all the voices sounded friendly. He’d been in crowds that had turned ugly and the mood here was vastly different to those.
The tide of humans flowed through the city streets, widening and contracting against the meandering garden fences and shopfronts. Then they were under a sharply angled archway, waving to people clustered along it, and they spread out into an open square filled with garden beds, what looked like fruit trees and bordered by at least ten imposing buildings.
Elder Constile turned to face them. ‘Here we may find your answers, Sky Fallen Daaniel Jaaksun. The Marshal of Sciences, the Institute of Public History, the Archives of Sed and the Library of Thoth. Surely, within these walls lay our answers.’ She turned to a young woman who had joined the group some time ago. ‘Mheme, go wake the curators, have them open the doors. We have much to seek.’
Daniel took in the multi-storeyed, many windowed buildings, each as large as the British Museum. ‘This might take some time,’ he called to Sabire over the noise. A surge of anticipation ran through him, and he followed their guides into the imposing Archives.
Å
It was a circus. A loud, rambunctious, friendly, fascinating circus. Daniel’s stamina had started to ebb before they’d made it out of the Archive building. Someone produced a smaller version of a ped and, embarrassed but grateful, he’d allowed himself to be wheeled along echoing slate-lined corridors, stopping frequently to talk with the archivists. Then it had been the Marshal of Sciences which contained not only earth and mechanical but medical and biological sciences. Moving into the Institute of Public History they’d added a bevy of journalists to the entourage, complete with cameras and microphones and booms, reporters taking every moment he wasn’t talking to an elder, archivist, scientist or curator to pepper him with questions. In each building they’d been treated to a substantial meal – that it was the middle of the night was no impediment to hospitality. The night sky was fading with the dawn rising as they entered the Library of Thoth.
Thoth? He blinked with surprise and made a note in his tired brain to ask one of the librarians the source of that name. Despite, or perhaps because of the overwhelming amount of information he’d adsorbed in the last ten hours, Daniel couldn’t help a growing feeling of discouragement. The Archives and Institute held an astonishingly comprehensive collection; records of deeds, discoveries, explorations, personal biographies and state records that stretched right back to the founding of the colony by Weril, aka Merul. Barring the odd natural disaster, nothing had prevented the collection and preservation of the history of N'Has'y.
A pang of regret ran through him for all the books, libraries, even whole cities lost on Earth because of human conflict. Now, as daylight faded the electric lamps in the round foyer of the library, he felt himself drooping with weariness. A hand clasped his shoulder and Haranith loudly declared, ‘We have seen all we can see for this time. Our Daaniel must rest.’
‘I’m okay…’ he protested, way too feebly. She clucked her tongue and took charge of his wheels, moving him toward the arched entry way through the surging crowd. Sabire, Chanla, Jacuna and Kinkala formed a wedge ahead of them to clear the path. Daniel leaned back in his seat, drinking in the stacks that pin-wheeled out in all directions from this circular hub, rising for four floors above them. His near future would involve a lot of reading, for sure.
There was a logjam at the entrance; one of the sound crew’s booms caught on another’s and in pulling it free the operator smacked it against the plastered arched entry. To the outraged cries of the head librarian, a chunk of plaster broke loose and dropped off , and plopped neatly into Daniel’s lap as he passed underneath. He caught it, and offered it up to the librarian with an apologetic grimace.
The hubbub around him quietened, the glare of lights dimmed. All he could see was the inner side of the plaster, held aloft in his hand. The librarian reached for it. He withdrew it, cradling it to his body. A stupid smile spread over his face – the one Jack said made him look like he’d wandered out of a special needs school. He touched the indented pattern with his fingertips, just to make sure. Yes. It was real. As familiar as Braille to a blind man, a pattern he’d seen every day of his SGC life.
‘Hello,’ he muttered in English. ‘Strange it should be you. But, maybe not. You’ve always shown me the way when I was lost.’
Two points at the top, two at the bottom, connected concave lines joined in the centre: Orion. It had opened the way to the stars for him so long ago. Now, here it was, guiding him home again.
He looked up. There it was. Dull grey metal gleaming in the reflected light, the glyph that had imprinted in the plaster revealed for all to see. He stared at it for uncounted time, then his bubble of silence burst and the surrounding noise washed over him. People calling his name, the librarian angrily protesting her damaged doorway, dozens of voices chattering at once: he ignored them all. He was out of the chair, clambering awkwardly onto the seat, trying to reach up. As he rose above the crowd he got a proper look at the archway: ten feet across, perfectly circular – it had to be. The chair rolled under him and he teetered. To a collective gasp he overbalanced and fell into Sabire’s arms.
‘Daaniel? What are you doing?’
‘Have you no regard for yourself?’ Haranith bawled in his ear.
‘Look what you have done to my door!’
‘Six hundred years old is that arch. Get out, vandals!’
‘The foreigner has gone strange, I fear…’
Daniel yelled into Sabire’s ear. ‘Lift me up, Sabire, please. I need to see.’
Excitement coursed through him, certain he was right; just as certain his hopes would be dashed.
Strong arms grasped his waist and hoisted him up, another pair lending support. He rose up to the apex of the archway. Tentatively he touched the grey metal, that strange coolness that somehow hummed with life of its own. He broke off another chunk of plaster. Dozens of overlaying coats of paint had evened out the groove of the inner track, obliterated the glyph, and yes, the chevron with its ruby crystal still embedded.
Perhaps it was chance, or fate, that someone in the past had thought it a good foundation for an archway and placed it here, just waiting for the right person to come along and discover it all over again.
Daniel looked down at a sea of faces staring up at him.
‘It’s your Stargate.’
Å
An 'editor' once told me there were "no rivers in deserts"... ;-p
Photograph C Aldo Pavan
Photograph C Aldo Pavan
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