Work Text:
The last touch of the lash hurt more than the first, if that were possible. Jack knew he was supposed to suffer in silence, but the best he was able to do was avoid actually howling with the pain. He was concentrating so hard on keeping his mouth shut that he barely felt the guards unbind him from the post and let him drop to the ground.
He rolled over, spitting dust, to see red robes, embroidered with black birds, sweep across the ground in front of him. Jack levered his head up and glared at the priest, whose name he'd never gotten. The priest was middle-aged, maybe a little younger than Jack, with a thick black beard and that look of arrogance that never boded well for interplanetary relations.
But apparently the priest--Jack dubbed him "Blackbeard" for lack of anything more creative--never got the memo on gloating. Instead of a ten minute lecture on the glories of his gods and how Jack had blasphemed by whatever it was he'd done, the priest just nodded shortly and turned away. His weaselly acolyte followed along, holding the parasol above Blackbeard's head to protect him from the weak afternoon sun.
The guards must have taken that nod as an order; they stood Jack up and dumped a bucket of water over him to take the worst of the blood off, and then dragged him to a cell and chained him up in the dark. "Son of a bitch," Jack muttered, and tried to lean back against the wall before being reminded that was a very bad idea.
Hours passed; Jack couldn't even bang and holler for the guards because the chain was too short for him to reach the door. Slowly the light eking under the door became thinner and thinner, and then disappeared entirely.
And then the temperature dropped; dropped hard, like falling off a cliff. It wouldn't have been so bad, if Jack still had his field kit--the SGC always laid out for the best gear--but the Temple guards had taken it all away. He was down to his shorts, which were still wet, and shuddering with cold. If he were smart he'd take the shorts off, but wet or not, they were the difference between being a prisoner and being a naked prisoner. So he kept them on and instead stood up as straight as possible, staying hunched over to keep the pressure of the chain off his neck. At least standing he could stamp his feet. Maybe if he moved around some more his shorts would dry.
Jack had had better days. First there was the two-hour journey here, arms bound behind his back, stumbling along the rough surface of the cart track, falling to his knees when the guards yanked at the halter around his neck. After that came the flogging, because he'd tried to kill one of the guards outside the compound gates. And now they'd chained him in here, buried in this dark cell next to the temple. Within thirty feet of the obsidian altarstone, with its carved runnels and the little moat draining away in the floor. Jack had gotten a good look while he was tied to the whipping post out front.
Seven years fighting the Goa'uld; Jack knew what a sacrificial altar looked like, recognized the hooks on the corners where the victims were strapped. So when they came for him in the morning, he figured, he was going to kill him a couple of the fat and lazy guards. No sorry-assed snake was going to be summoned with his red-blooded American... blood.
Damn, it was cold, and he was beginning to wonder if that knock on the head when they captured him had done more damage than he thought. If only he could stand upright. If only he had a blanket.
Hell, at this point he'd settle for a pair of socks.
But there wasn't anything in the cell: just a cold stone floor, stone walls, and a wooden door too far away for him to reach with this damned collar on. He'd tried to get the collar off; but it was bolted shut, and Jack would have needed a wrench to get it off. Trying barehanded just tore up his fingernails until they bled, and since he might--would--need his fingers later, he gave it up for a bad job.
Carter better get her act together soon, 'cause Jack was too old for this shit.
+=+=+
"A slave," Sam repeated, hoping she had misheard.
Barak nodded in confirmation, his fair hair falling in his face. He pushed it casually behind his ear and continued, "If he is well-behaved, they will not mistreat him. Violators of the holy grove are kept in the Temple, and the Temple slaves live well."
Daniel shifted his weight, and Sam could tell he was thinking the same thing she was. No chance in hell is the colonel going to be "well-behaved." "Ah," he said, ducking his head forward to look at Barak intently, "there's a holy grove?"
They were hunched in a circle in a dense stand of forest, not too far from the village where they'd gotten into trouble. Teal'c had placed himself some distance away, still within earshot, but with a clearer view of the surrounding countryside. They'd been caught off guard once already today; although realistically, how could they have known? P3X-418 wasn't on the Abydos cartouche, and they'd figured the planet wasn't inhabited.
They were sadly wrong. Whatever it was they'd done, things had gone sour fast, and the colonel had ordered Sam to head back towards the Gate while he drew off the pursuit. It was simple, clean; it was the sort of tactic they'd used a hundred times in the past. She hadn't even had time to acknowledge the order before he was gone.
They searched for four hours after losing the pursuit, but they found only O'Neill's P-90, shoved under a bush. That had given rise to an argument, Daniel wanting to go right back to the village, and Sam insisting on a more cautious approach. In the end she'd pulled rank; Daniel had backed down, but his eyes were resentful, the frown permanently embedded in his forehead. Teal'c, rather more familiar with military protocol, had advised her without question, and she leaned on him with relief. This was her job as second in command, but she wasn't so confident she couldn't use the help.
They were at least four hours' walk from the Stargate, and it was dark, with no way to track the colonel's captors. It made more sense to scout the situation here, and see if they could locate the colonel, before calling for help from the SGC. By the time they got a message back, the colonel could be--well. Sam wasn't going to accept that as a possibility, and she sure as hell wasn't going to leave anyone behind, much less the colonel.
Luckily, not long after sunset, they spotted a young man heading south fast and quietly, a pack on his back. He was leaving the village, and it wasn't likely anyone would miss him for a while; and they needed the intelligence. He was remarkably amenable; Sam couldn't even really call it an interrogation. Which didn't make Sam all that willing to trust him, but information was information.
"Tell me more about the sacred grove," said Daniel.
"It's an Oulster thing," Barak said, with a disparaging shrug, rolling his eyes. "They think the Goddess lives there, in the trees; so of course when someone violates it--someone who isn't a priest--he must be condemned. Marked to serve the Goddess."
"The Goddess does not, then, live in the trees?" asked Teal'c quietly. It was very dark; all Sam could see of him was the glint of Daniel's flashlight reflecting off his eyes.
"Of course not," Barak said, as if Teal'c had asked if goats had five legs. "She lives in the sky, in her great house."
Her great house. Sam glanced at Daniel; he raised an uncertain eyebrow and pursed his lips. Sam put it aside for the time being. "So where is this Temple, where they keep the slaves?"
The young man--a boy, almost, Sam suspected--cocked his head, looking around, and then up at the stars, barely visible through the trees. "That way," he said after a moment, and pointed back towards the village. "On the mountain."
They'd seen the mountain; Sam had determined that it was the likely source of the strong naquadah readings she'd been getting. The mountain loomed over the low hills and green rolling countryside, a solitary cone, reaching so high that its peak was ice-clad even in this warm weather. Its history had given Sam and Daniel meat for a rambling argument on this morning's hike, as they threw geological theories back and forth, neither willing to admit that they were mostly guessing from this distance. The village sat at its foot, astride a broad cart track that ran from the south and headed uphill, swinging back and forth as it climbed through the trees.
Teal'c stood up, looming over the slight frame of the boy. He was really good at looming. "Can you find the track in the darkness?"
Barak blinked. "You want to go now?" He looked around at the deep shadows surrounding them, the trees that were almost indistinguishable in the darkness. "It's night-time. And the head priest--he's not going to help you. He never lets go of any of his peo--possessions."
Teal'c leaned a little closer; Barak scooted a little backwards. "Yes, now," said Teal'c.
Barak chewed his lip for a moment, glancing from one of them to another, and then shrugged. "If that's what you want, I can take you there, but it won't do you much good."
"We'll take our chances," said Sam, climbing to her feet.
As Barak led the way through the underbrush, Daniel put a hand on Sam's arm. "Sam, are you sure we can trust him? I got the feeling he's got some kind of grudge against the villagers."
She shrugged into her pack and tightened the straps on her hips, not looking at him. "I don't think we've got a choice." Teal'c's flashlight beam bobbed through the trees, about twenty feet away.
"He could be lying. Jack could still be--Sam, the ancient Irish weren't all nice people. They made sacrifices..."
His face was so earnest; Sam hesitated, and let go of the petty resentment she'd been clinging to. Daniel wasn't out to undermine her command: he was just worried about the colonel, the same as her. "Look, we've got a good lead here. We don't have time to go back to the SGC for backup. Given the situation, I'd prefer the sneaky route to the frontal assault."
"Because of the naquadah."
"Not just because of the naquadah." Although it was a very strong reading; Sam suspected there was enough naquadah under that mountain to fuel a thousand reactors. "I don't want any killing, especially because they might hurt the colonel before we could get to him. But Daniel, you know that the colonel--"
He sighed and nodded. "He'd agree with you too. Mission priorities."
"Mission priorities." Sam held back a tree branch for Daniel. "Look, when we get him back we'll see what he says."
"Ten bucks he gives us shit for taking so long."
"I'm so not taking that bet."
Daniel's chuckle was like a hand on her shoulder, and the muscles in her neck and shoulders loosened. They'd lost the colonel, but they were SG-1, and they'd get him back. That was what they did.
+=+=+
Daniel was tempted to kick himself, but it wasn't as though he could have known this was one of the Morrigan's planets. Still, the evidence was clear: red hair and Celtic names, and of course that circle of trees they'd stumbled through was a sacred grove. Outside the circle had been an array of gift objects, sacrifices to petition the gods or spirits for mercy, justice, guidance. He hadn't really paid attention to the trees, other than to note the way the gifts evidenced a certain level of technology: a small copper pot; a bow with fine inlay on the grip, the string long since rotted away; some nibbled scraps of indigo leather that might once have been a boot.
The Goa'uld were all about co-opting human religions, and these people had clearly been taken from Earth long before Saint Patrick was ever brought as a slave to Ireland, carrying Christianity with him. The astonishing thing was how little had changed: stone cottages with thatched roofs, shaggy long-horned cow-type animals in the fields, and--if Daniel wasn't mistaken--cooking fires fueled by peat rather than wood. Some day Daniel was going to write that paper about cultural stagnation under Goa'uld rule, once he figured out how they did it.
What Daniel wasn't about to mention to Sam was that, in those romantic Celtic legends, the stories of Finn MacCool and Brian Boru, you were likely to get a lot of violence: blood debts, killings, beheadings, and blood sacrifices to the vicious whims of the gods. Daniel suspected that Barak's long hair had little to do with counter-cultural statements, and more to do with tempting his enemies to string up his decapitated head with his own hair.
Although, to be fair, the boy didn't look like a warrior: the only weapon he had on him was a small knife tucked into his worn leather belt. He wasn't a peasant, though: he wore a striped shirt colorfully embroidered at the cuffs and collar, and around his neck was a silver torc, the ends etched with the snarling head of a mythical beast, jewelry and needlework alike curved and coiling in familiar Celtic patterns. On the other hand, he was barefoot on this cool spring evening, his leather leggings laced to his knees.
"So," said Sam quietly as they followed Barak on a looping path around the village and up onto a ridge. "Why are you willing to guide us, Barak? We could be the enemies of your own people."
"Although we're not," Daniel hastened to point out. "We don't mean any harm." He bit his lip on the caveat that the situation could change, depending on the condition in which they found Jack. The path skirted along the edge of some fields inhabited by the shaggy cattle-analogues Daniel had noticed earlier. He wondered idly if bride-prices were paid in cattle here.
There was half of an enormous moon in the sky, providing enough light to follow the young man along the narrow track through the woods--and to see the look on Barak's face. "I'm not an Oulsterman," he said defiantly, responding to Sam rather than Daniel. "They're not my people."
"Then, why are you here?" asked Teal'c, who had not disarmed his staff weapon since the moment they'd snatched the boy off the cart track. Barak's tiny knife had disappeared into Sam's pack, but they hadn't bound him or threatened him in any way. If their past history with local informants was any indication, Daniel suspected that this wouldn't make any difference. Either the boy was trustworthy or he wasn't, and there wasn't much they could do about it either way.
Barak didn't answer, and Sam repeated the question. "What were you doing at the village, Barak? And why were you leaving in the darkness?"
"I have a friend in the village," he finally said, his voice sullen. "A girl. I'm not--I'm a Traveller. It's not allowed."
Daniel raised his eyebrows thoughtfully, but Barak had turned his head away and ducked beneath a tree that had fallen across the trail. So Barak's people were outcasts from the rest of society here, and there seemed to be some religious dispute as well. Marvelous. When Sam raised her eyebrows at him, Daniel shrugged and shook his head; he didn't know enough, and what he did know just made him want to get to Jack faster.
Two hours later, after a steep climb, Barak pointed down into a valley. "There," he said, indicating a complex of a half-dozen buildings in the center of a field, fences and roofs all silver-grey in the moonlight. "The Temple is in the center; that is where your friend will be."
"The Temple must be guarded," said Teal'c, after studying the valley for a few moments. "How many are they, and how are they armed?"
Barak shrugged. "I'm not sure, maybe five? Who would attack it? It's just a little temple."
"You've seen bigger ones, then," noted Daniel, remembering that Barak wasn't a local.
"Sure, in the city. This place is nothing compared to Ballihoo." Barak's voice was derisive; despite the hair and the torc, he could have been any big-city kid stuck visiting his relatives in Nebraska.
Sam checked her watch. "Okay, it's almost midnight now, and it'll be dawn in a little over five hours. I want to get in and out by two: if we're lucky, we'll be halfway to the Gate before they even notice the colonel's gone."
"Um," said Barak. "You don't--I mean, you don't need me any more, right?" Daniel wasn't entirely surprised: who would want to sneak into a temple with armed invaders? Just because it was the kind of thing that SG-1 did all the time--and okay, sometimes enjoyed--didn't mean it was actually wise.
Sam didn't even look up from where she was crouched, double-knotting her bootlaces, the way she always did before they went into action. "Oh, you're coming with us. We'll still need a guide, and we can't risk you raising the alarm. Accidentally, of course." She straightened and met Barak's eyes with a sharp look.
The boy swallowed, but the look of attentive helpfulness didn't change. "Oh. Well, uh. I--if that's what you want. I mean, you're not going to kill anyone, right?"
"Indeed," said Teal'c. "The boy raises a good question: what weapons shall we use, Major Carter?"
To Daniel's relief, Sam replied, "Zats first, unless we're trapped." Guns were both louder and more permanent than zats; if they had any hope of returning here to establish relations and investigate the naquadah Sam had detected, they'd do well to avoid gunfire if they had the choice. And so far as they knew, the priests hadn't done anything to Jack other than imprison him.
But Daniel remembered a long-ago text about the rituals of the druids, and made sure the cartridge on Jack's P-90 was full, just in case.
+=+=+
Major Carter took point, moving silently down the hillside; she was followed by Daniel Jackson and the boy Barak, who was still unarmed. Teal'c took the rear, watching carefully for both activity in the Temple complex and any sudden betrayal by Barak. He was reassured that the boy had led them to the Temple complex, as he'd promised; but that didn't mean he was entirely reliable.
The trees thinned as the slope levelled out, and ahead of them Teal'c could see rows of some kind of vegetable crop, and some small hooved animals huddled against a fence. SG-1 would have to cross this open area in order to enter the Temple, and while there were few guards, Barak had said that as many as twenty priests and brothers served the goddess here. Despite the hour, someone could be awake, and could raise the alarm before SG-1 achieved its goal.
Carter looked cautiously around, shrugged, and stepped out of the trees, keeping to the narrow cover of the rough stone walls lining the fields. As they moved across the open ground in silence, the sky began to lighten above the ridgeline to the east. "Must be another moon," whispered Daniel ,to Teal'c, almost voicelessly.
Teal'c did not feel this required a reply, and merely nodded.
A thin arc of silver began to creep over the ridge. Barak stopped and stared at it for a moment until Daniel gave him a small push to get moving again. They were about fifty yards from the gate in the low wall surrounding the complex; so far they could see none of the guards.
"Um," said Barak, stopping again, this time in the shadow of a hedge thickly covered in yellow flowers. "That's a full moon," he said.
Teal'c frowned. Carter signaled them to advance, but this time Daniel held up a hand, waving her back to join them. "What does a full moon mean, Barak?" Daniel asked, the same foreboding in his voice that Teal'c felt, looking at Barak's anxious face.
"It's an Oulster thing," said the boy. "On the day after the first full moon of spring they honor the Goddess." He didn't look directly at any of SG-1. Teal'c felt an eyebrow begin to rise, and he lifted his staff weapon.
"How do they honor the Goddess?" asked Carter, her voice very soft, but her eyes hard. She looked, for the first time since O'Neill disappeared, actually angry.
Daniel sighed. "It's not songs and dances, is it, Barak?"
Barak's hair swung around his shoulders, the beads braided into it catching on his shirt as he shook his head. "The Goddess demands blood, always. Usually it's a bird, maybe. Or a goat. But if they have someone that--" He stopped when Teal'c looked at him. Wisely.
"Someone who gives them trouble," finished Carter, her face grim in the moonlight. "Okay," she said after a moment. "This doesn't really change anything. Except now we know there's no room for error; if we don't get him out tonight, they'll kill the colonel in less than seven hours."
"Sam," said Daniel, and raised his zat in inquiry.
She thought for a moment, and then shook her head. "We're too far from the Gate for an open battle, with no backup. Let's at least start without casualties."
It was at moments like these, moving into position outside the Temple gate, that Teal'c was made aware of all that he had lost --and all that he had gained. Under Apophis, he could have ringed down with a brigade, and threatened the pitiful villagers with thunder and destruction unless they turned over his comrade. But Apophis would never have concerned himself with one lost soldier, no matter his rank or worth. Apophis would have blasted the entire valley for challenging his authority, condemning his own man to salve his pride. Whereas Major Carter would risk them all, as O'Neill had in the past, to save just one member of the team. It was an unconscionable use of resources, by Goa'uld calculations. Teal'c preferred the New Math, as O'Neill had referred to it once.
There were two guards on the gate. Barak did as he was told, and hailed them; the first was hit by a zat blast from Major Carter, while Teal'c silenced the second with a large hand. They dragged both guards into the field and tied them securely before rolling them under a hedge. "It's not that cold, they'll be fine," hissed Carter, as Daniel hesitated.
"Right," Daniel said, and followed Carter to the gate, which was still open. They slipped through, weapons raised, but saw nothing other than an empty yard in front of a modest temple, its roof thatched as humbly as every other building they had seen on this planet. To the left was a well; to the right a wooden post about six feet high, topped with a metal ring. Teal'c knew what that was, and did not need to step closer to identify the dark spots on the dusty ground around the post.
Instead he reached out and seized Barak by the collar, pulling him close until Teal'c's mouth was at the boy's ear. "Where would they keep a prisoner?" The thought of O'Neill chained to a post and whipped made his vision dim with rage. There would be no sacrifice in the morning; or not one the Goddess, whomever she was, would appreciate. "Bring us to him, or I will not need to use my weapon to kill you."
But Barak didn't move; he simply shuddered in Teal'c's grasp, and threw a desperate look of appeal at Daniel. "I don't know! I've never been here before!"
"Well, crap," said Carter quietly, turning to look at all the dark doorways around them.
Teal'c thrust the boy away from him in disgust. "Indeed."
"Um," said Daniel. "What about there?" And he pointed to a small shed-like annex to the Temple--a tiny building that was, unlike all the other structures, bolted from the outside.
+=+=+
At some hour of the endless night, there was a soft thump outside, and then a scrabble at the door. It didn't wake Jack up, because he couldn't sleep naked on the cold stone; instead he'd been leaning against the wall--leaning on his shoulder, not his back--trying to remember the SGC designations of every planet he'd ever been to, in chronological order. He'd gotten up to Edora and then lost track; he was shaking with cold, and he couldn't concentrate. At some point he'd found himself fantasizing about the chicken soup in the SGC canteen, which was a pretty good sign he was delusional: the soup there was terrible--that was why he always stuck with the mashed potatoes.
He didn't think he was hallucinating the noise outside, though, since it was getting louder. Given the otherwise complete silence outside, Jack was pretty sure this wasn't Father Blackbeard come to get the lamb for the slaughter; but he pulled back into the corner and gathered as much of his chain in his hands as he could. Just in case.
The door eased open, and light came through it. Not the flickering lamplight that the locals would use; this was sharp white light--a good old-fashioned American flashlight. Jack wanted to say something sarcastic, but the wave of relief that swept over him was too strong, and by the time he'd gathered himself, Carter was crouching over him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "Colonel?"
"'Bout time you showed," Jack muttered, but shook his head when Teal'c took his hand to pull him upright. "Chain's too short," he explained.
"Jeez, Jack, what'd you do?" muttered Daniel, as he turned his flashlight on Jack's hands. "We leave you alone for less than a day--"
"Yeah, well, they really put out the welcome wagon here," said Jack. He was too damned cold to quip; it felt like his brain was congealing.
"Teal'c, watch the door," said Carter, and with Daniel holding the light, set to work on the collar around Jack's neck. Her hands were warm: hot, even, on his cold skin. He was shaking even harder now, as if his body knew he'd warm soon and wanted them to hurry. "Just a minute, sir, and we'll get you out of here."
The light wobbled; Daniel had stuck the flashlight in his mouth and was digging in his pack with his hands. Carter said, "Daniel," irritably, and then looked up to see what he was doing. In a moment Daniel emerged from his pack with--oh, god--socks in his hands. He made Jack lean against him and picked up each foot in turn, pushing the socks awkwardly up and over Jack's freezing and battered feet. Jack wanted to groan with relief, but the reality was his feet were kind of numb with cold, so he couldn't tell the difference. He was grateful anyway.
"Why the hell is it so cold in here?" Daniel muttered. "Sam, we've got to get him--"
"Done," she announced, and the collar fell away.
"Carter," mumbled Jack, as Daniel and Carter helped him to his feet, "I take back everything I ever said about you."
"I know, sir," she replied.
Daniel got a shoulder under Jack's arm and followed Sam to the door. When they got outside it was warmer, if not yet warm. The yard was empty, the light of the low moon casting the shadow of the whipping pole in a bar across their path to the gate. The gate of the compound hung ajar; they were almost out, almost away. But there was a whisper of wind in the eaves of the Temple, followed by a soft scuff of something moving along the ground.
"Where is Barak?" asked Teal'c urgently, turning around.
But by that point it was too late. The guards stepped out of the shadows all around them: almost a dozen of them, all armed with those small but vicious crossbows.
Carter and Teal'c brought their weapons up immediately, Teal'c stepping neatly sideways to cover Jack, who was both unarmed and unpantsed. Daniel was a little slower, since he had to drop Jack's arm to bring up his weapon. Within about two seconds they had a standoff. The locals might think they had the upper hand, given their numbers, but the reality was that they had no chance against two P-90s and a staff weapon. Even if they won, they lost.
"Heretics!" said a voice from the shadows. Jack scowled as Blackbeard stepped into the light, staying out of the line of fire of his guards. "The sacrifice has been marked for the Goddess!"
"You see?" said a boy by the open gate. Unlike the guards and the priests, his fair hair hung loose around his shoulders, and some sort of necklace glittered at his neck. "They would have escaped if I hadn't warned you!"
Carter scowled. "I thought you'd never been here before, Barak." She backed up a step and turned a little sideways; it gave her a better field of fire. Jack suspected he should try to get the jump on the closest guard, but decided he was more likely to just fall down. And he could do that later.
"Barak?" the priest said. "I know that name. You, come here!" He snapped his fingers at the youth, frowning.
The boy hunched his shoulders and shuffled over to stand in front of the taller man. When they came face to face, Barak straightened his shoulders and put out his chin, as if at military inspection. "You!" exclaimed the priest, drawing back in disgust. "You're the Traveller boy who's been sneaking around. Why are you here?"
"Oh," said Daniel quietly, as if illuminated. "What do you bet the priest--"
"--is her father?" finished Carter. "I'm not taking that bet."
Jack snorted, deciding that he was too damned cold to stand around much longer, crossbows or no crossbows. So he poked his head around Teal'c, careful not to lean too close and spoil Teal'c's aim. "Hey aren't we having a standoff here? Or can we all just go home while you resolve your domestic disputes?"
The guards shuffled uneasily, but none of them lowered their crossbows. SG-1 kept their weapons raised as well, although Jack sensed Teal'c relaxing minutely; nobody was shooting, after all. The priest pushed Barak aside and stepped forward a pace, raising his arms in malediction. "Do not think you can escape! The Goddess has marked you!"
"That's as may be," said Jack. "But we've got the weapons. Carter?"
On cue, Carter raised her P-90 and looked around. On the low peak of the Temple was a rough wooden outline of a crow, wings outstretched. She considered that, hesitated when Daniel shook his head, and instead took aim at a bucket across the yard. "Don't freak," said Jack, raising his hands, as Carter squinted in the poor light and then fired a quick burst on automatic.
The gunfire broke open the stillness of the night; one of the crossbows went off, a bolt hammering into the wall of the Temple behind Jack, and a dozen birds shot upwards from behind one of the buildings, squawking in alarm. Barak and one of the guards cried aloud, although the priest didn't move. The bucket, needless to say, shattered into fragments.
There was a profound silence.
"So," said Daniel genially, for all the world as if he were facing the priest across a pitcher of beer and half a pepperoni pizza. "Still think the Goddess has marked him for sacrifice?"
The priest didn't back down; Jack suspected he couldn't. He stared at Jack for a long moment before turning to look at the remnants of the bucket. When he turned back, there was no change in his arrogance, but Jack knew they'd won. "The Goddess has marked you," he announced, "but not for sacrifice. You have brought us news from a distant land, and weapons of great power: you are her couriers. Praise the Goddess for her generosity!" He stepped back and raised his arms again. "Praise her!"
The guards followed his lead, lowering their weapons and cheering, if raggedly. The boy Barak cheered with the rest of them, oblivious to Teal'c's disdainful sneer.
"So," said Carter as she lowered her P-90. "We do think the Goddess is a Goa'uld, right, Daniel?"
"Oh, yeah. The Morrigan, probably." Daniel gave a meaningless smile to the nearest guard, who was still fingering his crossbow and staring at Jack. "I'm sure she'll be overjoyed to learn the SGC is her representative."
Teal'c shifted his gaze to Daniel long enough to state, "It is fitting that we should use the Goa'uld's own theological hierarchy to undermine their position on this world. This is the literary concept known as 'irony,' I believe."
Yeah, irony, Jack thought: the irony of being nice to the bastards who'd flogged him, because not being nice meant killing them all, and he was too old to think that death was an appropriate payment for stupidity. No matter how much he'd really like to put a bullet into that black-bearded arrogant bastard. Still, he sighed and began to relax. One of the guards was wearing a long woolen cloak against the night air; in the moonlight the plaid was grey on darker grey. In one of the buildings nearby someone started singing, a slow mournful chant full of long drawn-out vowels. Jack could smell woodsmoke, goat poop, and something pungent he suspected was himself.
"Hey," he said, and took a step, wincing at the sharp stones of the yard grinding into his stockinged feet. At least he could walk without leaning on anyone; that was good.
"Sir?" asked Carter, giving him a bright smile. Mission accomplished, and with no casualties; Jack couldn't be prouder. They might even be able to negotiate for naquadah after all.
Jack hesitated, and Carter kept smiling, looking only at his face. For which he was grateful, because now she was grinning; and so was Daniel. "This is great and I'm happy to be rescued," said Jack. "But can someone get me a damned pair of pants now?"
END