Fic - Wild Blue
Title: Wild Blue
Author: Padawan_aneiki
Rating/Pairing: PG/None
Characters: Sheppard and an OC
Summary: Below-Ground Myrin encounters Outsider Sheppard, who dares her to dream of more than freedom, but of the stars above.
Wild Blue
"Once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return."
=Leonardo da Vinci=
He’s different, this one that walks among us, even now, even when he can barely raise his head to acknowledge the Taskmaster. There is far less defiance in the hazel eyes now, but I can still see it, that baleful flicker that says you do not own me, but he knows as we all do that to rebel is to invite pain, or worse…sacrifice to the Wraith.
I watch as he shuffles off to complete the task he has been given; he tries to hide it, but I know he’s hurting and ill. His face is pale as wirel flowers in the spring and is clammy with sweat despite the coolness of the caverns. He’s hunched over, carrying the waterskins with one arm and holding his stomach with the other. Khodi kicked him many times last night and I fear has hurt him badly.
I was born here in the caverns; my people are made to work the mines that allow the Traders to keep us all supplied with food and necessities. The Outside is forbidden to all but the Traders and the Hunters, and with good reason. Our people were hunted nearly to extinction by the Wraith; the very few who survived discovered the caverns and dug their way to the Home Levels, establishing a small colony that thrived and grew. Someone once told me that there is something in the rocks that hides us from the Wraith. I don’t know if I believe it; it could be a story for all I know.
He calls himself Sheppard; I have never heard such a name before. He speaks of things, forbidden things. Flowers and grass…wind and blue sky, the sun above. The Ancestor Ring, which I have never seen and never will see. Other worlds, where people live above ground despite the danger of the Wraith. In fevered dreams, I’ve heard him whisper other names I do not know, and of a City on an ocean.
When Sheppard first came to us, he was exactly like every other Outsider I’ve ever met; angry, defiant, demanding to be set free. Khodi took it upon himself to be the one to break him, and no one argued against it. Khodi is our Taskmaster, and he is not a man to be crossed or disobeyed. But Sheppard tested him often by trying to escape, but the Hunters always found him and he was punished for it.
“Myrin.”
He has come up behind me, startled me, and I resist the urge to push him away in my fright. We are not allowed to make much small talk during the working hours. This close, and I can see the sickness burning in his eyes, hear the ragged breathing and the soft grunts of pain. But he offers me water from the skins as this is his duty today, and I accept, just to hear his voice speak of things that have begun to visit my dreams in sleep.
“Sheppard,” I say softly, looking about to make sure Khodi is nowhere nearby, and I offer him a small smile. He smiles back, although it does not quite reach his eyes. I have often nursed him through the aftermath of his punishments and he told me I have kind eyes and gentle hands. The roughness of the mines have not made them so gentle, I think, but he told me it was so. “What do you wish to say today?”
His stories, he said, were to remember, and I believe him.
“I’m getting out of here,” he says to me, and I cannot help but be afraid for him.
“You must not tempt Khodi today,” I tell him, and my heart begins to hammer in my chest. “Sheppard, you are too ill to suffer a punishment today; you cannot even stand upright.”
“I talked Nurai into letting me go with the Traders later,” Sheppard tells me and there’s a cunning gleam in his eyes that I have not seen before.
“They’ll put a collar on you,” I tell him practically, and I know expression is doubtful. “The Traders might not care if you stay or go, but Khodi will not risk losing his…pet Outsider.” I do not mean to be harsh to him; he has seen enough harshness here, but I fear for his life. If he tries to run away from the Traders who take him today…
“I know,” Sheppard says with a small shrug. “But I’ll know how to get to the ‘Gate from here.” A smile graces the clever look in his eyes and I cannot help but melt a little and smile back.
“Do you think they are still looking for you?” I ask him now, lowering my voice even further to avoid attracting attention.
“Yeah,” he tells me, and now his expression softens. “My team’s out there. We don’t leave our people behind; they won’t give up.”
I hope so. I hope he is right. Their names are familiar to me now, although they still sound exotic to my ears. Rodney, the one for whom the universe is an equation to solve and whose intelligence is rivaled only by his fretful worrying. Teyla, the gentle, wise leader of a people unknown to me, whose kindness belies a greater strength within and the ability to fight for her own just as passionately. Then, there is Ronon, the fierce warrior, the Runner, no longer running for the sport of the Wraith and whose fearsome battle skills are tempered by deep loyalty.
Sheppard has spoken of them often, at first in hope, then in worry, and then in longing, and then again, finally, in hope. He has not been here long years, and he is of the Outside, and the Outside still calls to him like another Taskmaster. He is not like us, born to live below-ground.
“Will you go tonight?” I whisper, hesitantly. The Traders rarely stay away long; like the rest of us below-ground they fear discovery by the Wraith.
“Yes,” Sheppard replies and he looks around carefully to be certain no one has overheard us, and then he says something I do not expect. “Come with me.”
I look up into the pale face, and find that he is watching me intently, as if those hazel eyes would peel away the layers of dirt and fear and find my soul under there. I can’t hold his gaze; there are bruises and scars and fear. Yes, there is fear. I long to see his world, but I am afraid of my own.
I look past his shoulder, and reach for the water skin. “Khodi is coming,” I warn him and I can sense him tensing beside me even as he hefts the water skin to give me another mouthful of the water inside. I only take one; I’ve already had one and the others will need water as well.
“Sheppard!” Khodi bellows, and I can’t help but cringe. Some of the bruises and scars I bear have come at Khodi’s hands, and I have seen the ones he has given Sheppard. Sheppard gives me another smile, a small moment of defiance, as he pauses to cap the water skin before responding to the Taskmaster’s summons.
He turns, and Khodi is there, glaring. Sheppard puts on the easy smile he wore that first day, before his first punishment. He knows that if Nurai has given the word to allow him to go through the Ring with the Traders, then Khodi cannot contradict her.
“Good morning,” he says, although the word has little meaning here below. Morning, afternoon, night…all pass by beneath the rock. Sheppard knows this, and still he cannot help but goad the Taskmaster with it.
“You are to go with the Traders this day,” Khodi says, and then he points a rough finger in my direction. “Take the skins,” he tells me, and Sheppard turns back toward me. The movement hurts him; I see it in a pained flash of hazel, in the way his breath catches in his throat. Quickly I move forward and take the water skins from him; this is now my job today while Sheppard is gone with the others.
“Easy,” I whisper while Sheppard’s body blocks Khodi’s view of my face. “I have them.” As I ease the water skins from his shoulder, I can tell he is in pain. “I will go with you,” I tell him. “Go safely.” Now I step away; to linger is to invite Khodi’s curiosity, which does not need to be aroused.
He straightens as much as he dares, and despite the pain in his eyes he gives the Taskmaster a slight smile. “See you ‘round,” he tells Khodi and he walks past to go to the Trader’s den, close to the hidden entrance to the caverns.
I watch him go, and bite my lip; Sheppard is holding his stomach again but is trying not to hunch over; if he looks too ill, he will be ordered back to water duty and miss his chance to go above and see where the Ring stands.
“Get to work!” Khodi snarls at me; he is unhappy that he has lost his prize for the day and I can only hope that he does not decide to take out his displeasure on the rest of us.
The day passes slowly for me; I work the mines with the water skins, the men and women blessing me for bringing them some small relief. When necessary, I go back to the well cut into the ground and draw more water. I wonder how the trading has gone, and how Sheppard has fared working for the Traders.
At last I am told to return the skins to their place near the well, and to go back to my den. I have a small one, carved into the rock by my father’s father for himself, his wife and son. Perhaps it is a little large for an unwed, like me, but it is my inheritance among my people. It has also allowed me to care for Sheppard away from the curious eyes of my people, listening to his stories and healing his hurts.
I long to see the City that sits on the ocean.
The Traders return later than usual; I have been watching for them, and when they pass the tunnel that holds my den, I come out, following a few paces, and I feel my heart sink down.
Sheppard is ill; his head and shoulders are bowed low and the steps he takes are sluggish. Rinlen is supporting him; of all the Traders, Rinlen is the youngest and he is the most kindly of them. I can see where he would be more disposed to help Sheppard back to the caves.
“Rinlen!” I hurry toward them, and the closer I get, the worse I see Sheppard is. His breathing his ragged and raspy, and the hair-that-will-not-stay-still is partly plastered to a clammy forehead. His right hand is wrapped around a fistful of Rinlen’s cloak, and his left is pressed against his stomach. Rinlen turns toward me a little. “Bring him here,” I command, and while I am not one who can give a Trader orders, Rinlen begins to bear Sheppard to my den.
The sleeping pallet is familiar and soft, and Sheppard moans weakly as he is eased onto it. I look up at Rinlen. “What happened?” I ask as I move to retrieve some of my own water.
“He has been in pain most of the day, although he has tried to hide it,” Rinlen tells me, and together we settle Sheppard better on the pallet to make him as comfortable as possible. The heat I feel beneath my hand is not promising; that the fever has returned is dangerous.
“I will tend him,” I tell Rinlen. “Go and report to Nurai; do not arouse her suspicions.”
He grasps my arm, however, and I look up; he’s hurting my arm. “In his sickness, he spoke of the Ring,” he murmurs fiercely, but lowly, to keep from being overheard. “And of his friends from the Outside coming for him. Do you know anything of this?”
I cannot. Liars are punished. I instead look down to the pale face, listening to the strained breathing. He is in pain, even now; I can see it in the sharp lines around his eyes.
“His stomach pains him,” I state simply. “If he becomes too ill, or dies, Ancestors forbid, I will not be able to defend you to Khodi.” When I look up, I see I have struck a nerve with Rinlen; even the Hunters dislike the thought of making an enemy of the Taskmaster.
“I will see if I can bring you some bhina leaves after I have been to see Nurai,” Rinlen promises me, releasing my arm, and now he looks down at Sheppard. “He did well until the sickness overcame him,” he tells me, and I must admit, I am surprised Sheppard was allowed to speak during the trading. I do not ask him how that came about; I simply nod.
“Thank you, Rinlen,” I tell the Trader gratefully. The bhina leaves will soothe Sheppard’s hurting stomach; they are bitter but they are good for pain. Often I have hidden them in some broth or some tea to mask the taste.
Rinlin slips away to his expected meeting, and I am left alone with Sheppard. With no one to see, I run my hand along his forehead, brushing back damp locks of hair that do not quite rejoin their rebellious brothers.
“Mhhhmm…” I am a little startled when he responds to my touch; his eyes are glazed with fever and do not seem to see me and I lean closer.
“Sheppard, it is Myrin,” I tell him. “Just rest, now.” Recognition comes to him sluggishly, and a faint smile touches his lips.
“Myri…” he mumbles.
“Yes,” I reply with a small nod. “You’re not well, Sheppard but I will tend you.” It is the same promise I gave him after each punishment that placed him in my care. The smile is still there. “You saw the Ring.”
“Mm…uh huh,” he confirmed weakly, but I realize there is more to his pleasure than finding the Ancestors’ Ring. “Saw…th’ sky…” he whispers and blinks dizzily. “B…blue and…lots…white fluff’ clouds…” Sheppard sucks in a soft breath, wincing tightly as the pain steals his words.
“You would be flying,” I finish for him; it is something he has explained to me before, craft that can carry one into the skies above, although I can scarcely imagine such a thing. He nods agreement with me even as his eyes slowly close.
“S…so blue,” he whispers. “Big…wide blue…” There is a freedom in his words I dare to envision because Sheppard has found the Ring and because he asked it of me. “An’…stars, comin’ back…like the clearstones below.”
His people call them ‘diamonds,’ the clearstones in the tunnels deep below the Home Levels. I was as surprised to learn how prized they are by Sheppard’s people as he was to learn how little value they have here.
“Shhh,” I hush him now; his forehead has broken into a sweat as the pains demand more of him. “Do not speak, Sheppard.” Soft, panting breaths are my only answer, and I nod although he does not see it with his eyes shut. “I am here, rest for me.”
He drifts a little, although I can tell he is not fully asleep. At my small heating stone, I prepare a thin broth, something that will be gentle on his sick stomach while allowing me to give him the bhina leaves if they can be secured.
Rinlen returns, and in his pouch is a handful of the leaves; he passes them to me furtively, and smiles. “Nurai is pleased,” he said, nodding toward Sheppard. “She says your task is to care for Sheppard until he is completely well; neither of you are to be commanded by Khodi while he heals. I think she means to send him out with us more often.”
That is good news, for us both. It means Sheppard will be spared Khodi’s ill moods and, as ill as he is, the workload that would surely kill him.
“Thank you for the bhina; he is in need of it,” I say, and give Rinlen a smile. The Trader stays long enough for me to prepare the leaves, crushing them finely before mixing them into the broth. While they are bitter-tasting, the leaves actually produce a sweet scent when crushed, and my den quickly fills with it.
“If you need more, I will get them for you,” Rinlen promises, and then he is gone.
“Sheppard?” I kneel beside the sleeping pallet, and touch his face again. Hazel eyes roll open dazedly, and I give him a smile. “I have some broth here,” I tell him and he swallows weakly, his unhappy stomach turning the idea away. “There are bhina leaves in it, to ease the pain you feel.”
It is all the encouragement he needs to at least try; and that tells me he is hurting worse than I even realized. Sheppard allows me to slide a hand beneath him to lift his head; I watch as he takes shaky sips from the bowl in my other hand. He manages a little more of the broth than I thought he might, and that is well, both for the medicine and in giving some aid to his waning strength.
I know when the bhina leaves begin to soothe Sheppard’s troubled stomach; he falls asleep almost immediately as the sharp aching loses its grip on him.
The next few days are spent caring for Sheppard, sponging a wet cloth along his feverish face, feeding him sips of water and broth when he can tolerate them, holding his hand when the fever drives him to wild and frightening dreams, stroking his face or the back of his hand when his stomach hurts and he thinks I am his friend Teyla. Rinlen brings me leaves when he can, and I am grateful for the relief they bring.
Khodi is unhappy with Nurai’s decisions regarding the Outsider, but Nurai has spoken and he knows she will not tolerate defiance from him.
The fourth day, I am dozing by the heating stone when a soft groan rouses me; quickly I get up and go to him, lest the fever-dreams prompt him to try to leave the den; that has already happened once.
“Sheppard?” I murmur; I am pleased when his eyes open and they are neither dulled with pain nor glassy with fever. Further, it seems to me that his color is better than it has been in many days. Smiling gently at him, I press my hand against his face. “No fever,” I declare. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” he answers roughly; his voice is still weak from being so sick, but I can hear it even there, that he is nearly well. “Thank you,” he tells me, and I cannot help but pat his shoulder.
“You are welcome, Sheppard,” I tell him simply, and he gives me a smile, one that reaches his eyes and I give him some water to drink. “You should rest a day yet, regain some strength. Nurai means to send you with the Traders; Khodi cannot command you any more.”
“She’ll be disappointed,” Sheppard declares, and the smile turns knowing, and I pull in a deep breath. He means to leave, and I have promised to go with him. I look around, partly to be sure we are not overheard, and partly in farewell to the only home I have ever known.
“Yes,” I say carefully and quietly. “She will.”
I manage to convince Sheppard to rest a few more hours, however; he will need his strength for the leaving; it does not surprise me when he returns easily to sleep.
At last, when the work ceases and all have returned to their dens, I wake Sheppard, and help him to sit upright. Standing up is a whole other thing; he’s still unsteady after being confined the pallet for the past few days. Sheppard is stubborn, however, and remains upon his feet.
In the stillness of the sleeping, the slightest noise can echo and carry throughout the caves and tunnels; we creep carefully from one spot to another, using as many alcoves and empty dens to hide us from anyone who might be awake.
Finally, we reach the exit the Traders use, and John motions for me to stay behind as he moves forward to check the way ahead; from his boot he removes a knife, and I blink. I know that blade; it belongs to one of the other Traders.
“Sheppard!” I whisper, frightened. Surely he does not mean to kill? He looks back to me and motions for silence, and now I see something in his face I have not seen before. He is a Hunter among his people; he must be. He has the look of a fighter, and I bite my lip. Finally I look away; if he must fight to secure our freedom, then he must.
Sheppard returns, after what seems like forever, and he wraps his hand around my wrist, tugging slightly. “C’mon,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s warm out tonight.”
Out. I have never been, and suddenly I am afraid. He must sense it; Hunters know fear. He draws closer, puts an arm around my shoulders, and coaxes me to join him.
“Sheppard…” I cannot help the tremor in my voice.
“Look up,” he whispers, and I do.
“Oh, Ancestors! It is…it is beautiful. Are those stars, Sheppard?”
“Yes,” he answers, and his voice is a mixture of amusement and kindness that warms me. “Those, are stars.”
I could have stayed there forever, looking up at those sparkling dots above us…but we haven’t got the time, Sheppard says. “It will be dawn in a few hours and we’d better be to the ‘Gate…the Ring…by then.”
It turns out to be a longer trip than I imagined, but Sheppard does not stop, moving unerringly under the amazing stars and what he tells me is the light of two full moons. He leads me along a pathway that in the pale light looks to have seen much use, pounded down and dusty, but not very wide. There is little cover, but the path leads downhill, away from the caverns and I imagine we are running over some of mining tunnels and dens far below.
“What is that?” I stop sharply, and Sheppard’s hold on my wrist is lost; he stumbles a step or two and returns. In the pale light, his smile has turned into a grin, although I can tell his energy has begun to wane once again. He’s breathing hard and trembling slightly.
“That, Myrin, is the Stargate,” he answers my question. As I gaze upward at the large Ring, he moves to a smaller structure and begins to press parts of it. Lights appear on the Ancestors’ Ring, and his hand hovers over the center part of the smaller device. “Now this,” he says, “is pretty cool. Just stand back and watch,” he tells me.
The rush of blue that suddenly reaches out through the Ring and then transforms into a rippling curtain startles me, and I can hardly catch my breath. “And this will take us away from here?” I ask, and Sheppard joins me.
“Yeah,” he says, and takes my hand. “Nothing to it; you just walk.” He grins in the light of the stars. “And tomorrow, we’ll fly.” This time, I do imagine it, flying among the stars, above all the world below.
I fling my arms wide and walk into the Ring.
Author: Padawan_aneiki
Rating/Pairing: PG/None
Characters: Sheppard and an OC
Summary: Below-Ground Myrin encounters Outsider Sheppard, who dares her to dream of more than freedom, but of the stars above.
Wild Blue
"Once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return."
=Leonardo da Vinci=
He’s different, this one that walks among us, even now, even when he can barely raise his head to acknowledge the Taskmaster. There is far less defiance in the hazel eyes now, but I can still see it, that baleful flicker that says you do not own me, but he knows as we all do that to rebel is to invite pain, or worse…sacrifice to the Wraith.
I watch as he shuffles off to complete the task he has been given; he tries to hide it, but I know he’s hurting and ill. His face is pale as wirel flowers in the spring and is clammy with sweat despite the coolness of the caverns. He’s hunched over, carrying the waterskins with one arm and holding his stomach with the other. Khodi kicked him many times last night and I fear has hurt him badly.
I was born here in the caverns; my people are made to work the mines that allow the Traders to keep us all supplied with food and necessities. The Outside is forbidden to all but the Traders and the Hunters, and with good reason. Our people were hunted nearly to extinction by the Wraith; the very few who survived discovered the caverns and dug their way to the Home Levels, establishing a small colony that thrived and grew. Someone once told me that there is something in the rocks that hides us from the Wraith. I don’t know if I believe it; it could be a story for all I know.
He calls himself Sheppard; I have never heard such a name before. He speaks of things, forbidden things. Flowers and grass…wind and blue sky, the sun above. The Ancestor Ring, which I have never seen and never will see. Other worlds, where people live above ground despite the danger of the Wraith. In fevered dreams, I’ve heard him whisper other names I do not know, and of a City on an ocean.
When Sheppard first came to us, he was exactly like every other Outsider I’ve ever met; angry, defiant, demanding to be set free. Khodi took it upon himself to be the one to break him, and no one argued against it. Khodi is our Taskmaster, and he is not a man to be crossed or disobeyed. But Sheppard tested him often by trying to escape, but the Hunters always found him and he was punished for it.
“Myrin.”
He has come up behind me, startled me, and I resist the urge to push him away in my fright. We are not allowed to make much small talk during the working hours. This close, and I can see the sickness burning in his eyes, hear the ragged breathing and the soft grunts of pain. But he offers me water from the skins as this is his duty today, and I accept, just to hear his voice speak of things that have begun to visit my dreams in sleep.
“Sheppard,” I say softly, looking about to make sure Khodi is nowhere nearby, and I offer him a small smile. He smiles back, although it does not quite reach his eyes. I have often nursed him through the aftermath of his punishments and he told me I have kind eyes and gentle hands. The roughness of the mines have not made them so gentle, I think, but he told me it was so. “What do you wish to say today?”
His stories, he said, were to remember, and I believe him.
“I’m getting out of here,” he says to me, and I cannot help but be afraid for him.
“You must not tempt Khodi today,” I tell him, and my heart begins to hammer in my chest. “Sheppard, you are too ill to suffer a punishment today; you cannot even stand upright.”
“I talked Nurai into letting me go with the Traders later,” Sheppard tells me and there’s a cunning gleam in his eyes that I have not seen before.
“They’ll put a collar on you,” I tell him practically, and I know expression is doubtful. “The Traders might not care if you stay or go, but Khodi will not risk losing his…pet Outsider.” I do not mean to be harsh to him; he has seen enough harshness here, but I fear for his life. If he tries to run away from the Traders who take him today…
“I know,” Sheppard says with a small shrug. “But I’ll know how to get to the ‘Gate from here.” A smile graces the clever look in his eyes and I cannot help but melt a little and smile back.
“Do you think they are still looking for you?” I ask him now, lowering my voice even further to avoid attracting attention.
“Yeah,” he tells me, and now his expression softens. “My team’s out there. We don’t leave our people behind; they won’t give up.”
I hope so. I hope he is right. Their names are familiar to me now, although they still sound exotic to my ears. Rodney, the one for whom the universe is an equation to solve and whose intelligence is rivaled only by his fretful worrying. Teyla, the gentle, wise leader of a people unknown to me, whose kindness belies a greater strength within and the ability to fight for her own just as passionately. Then, there is Ronon, the fierce warrior, the Runner, no longer running for the sport of the Wraith and whose fearsome battle skills are tempered by deep loyalty.
Sheppard has spoken of them often, at first in hope, then in worry, and then in longing, and then again, finally, in hope. He has not been here long years, and he is of the Outside, and the Outside still calls to him like another Taskmaster. He is not like us, born to live below-ground.
“Will you go tonight?” I whisper, hesitantly. The Traders rarely stay away long; like the rest of us below-ground they fear discovery by the Wraith.
“Yes,” Sheppard replies and he looks around carefully to be certain no one has overheard us, and then he says something I do not expect. “Come with me.”
I look up into the pale face, and find that he is watching me intently, as if those hazel eyes would peel away the layers of dirt and fear and find my soul under there. I can’t hold his gaze; there are bruises and scars and fear. Yes, there is fear. I long to see his world, but I am afraid of my own.
I look past his shoulder, and reach for the water skin. “Khodi is coming,” I warn him and I can sense him tensing beside me even as he hefts the water skin to give me another mouthful of the water inside. I only take one; I’ve already had one and the others will need water as well.
“Sheppard!” Khodi bellows, and I can’t help but cringe. Some of the bruises and scars I bear have come at Khodi’s hands, and I have seen the ones he has given Sheppard. Sheppard gives me another smile, a small moment of defiance, as he pauses to cap the water skin before responding to the Taskmaster’s summons.
He turns, and Khodi is there, glaring. Sheppard puts on the easy smile he wore that first day, before his first punishment. He knows that if Nurai has given the word to allow him to go through the Ring with the Traders, then Khodi cannot contradict her.
“Good morning,” he says, although the word has little meaning here below. Morning, afternoon, night…all pass by beneath the rock. Sheppard knows this, and still he cannot help but goad the Taskmaster with it.
“You are to go with the Traders this day,” Khodi says, and then he points a rough finger in my direction. “Take the skins,” he tells me, and Sheppard turns back toward me. The movement hurts him; I see it in a pained flash of hazel, in the way his breath catches in his throat. Quickly I move forward and take the water skins from him; this is now my job today while Sheppard is gone with the others.
“Easy,” I whisper while Sheppard’s body blocks Khodi’s view of my face. “I have them.” As I ease the water skins from his shoulder, I can tell he is in pain. “I will go with you,” I tell him. “Go safely.” Now I step away; to linger is to invite Khodi’s curiosity, which does not need to be aroused.
He straightens as much as he dares, and despite the pain in his eyes he gives the Taskmaster a slight smile. “See you ‘round,” he tells Khodi and he walks past to go to the Trader’s den, close to the hidden entrance to the caverns.
I watch him go, and bite my lip; Sheppard is holding his stomach again but is trying not to hunch over; if he looks too ill, he will be ordered back to water duty and miss his chance to go above and see where the Ring stands.
“Get to work!” Khodi snarls at me; he is unhappy that he has lost his prize for the day and I can only hope that he does not decide to take out his displeasure on the rest of us.
The day passes slowly for me; I work the mines with the water skins, the men and women blessing me for bringing them some small relief. When necessary, I go back to the well cut into the ground and draw more water. I wonder how the trading has gone, and how Sheppard has fared working for the Traders.
At last I am told to return the skins to their place near the well, and to go back to my den. I have a small one, carved into the rock by my father’s father for himself, his wife and son. Perhaps it is a little large for an unwed, like me, but it is my inheritance among my people. It has also allowed me to care for Sheppard away from the curious eyes of my people, listening to his stories and healing his hurts.
I long to see the City that sits on the ocean.
The Traders return later than usual; I have been watching for them, and when they pass the tunnel that holds my den, I come out, following a few paces, and I feel my heart sink down.
Sheppard is ill; his head and shoulders are bowed low and the steps he takes are sluggish. Rinlen is supporting him; of all the Traders, Rinlen is the youngest and he is the most kindly of them. I can see where he would be more disposed to help Sheppard back to the caves.
“Rinlen!” I hurry toward them, and the closer I get, the worse I see Sheppard is. His breathing his ragged and raspy, and the hair-that-will-not-stay-still is partly plastered to a clammy forehead. His right hand is wrapped around a fistful of Rinlen’s cloak, and his left is pressed against his stomach. Rinlen turns toward me a little. “Bring him here,” I command, and while I am not one who can give a Trader orders, Rinlen begins to bear Sheppard to my den.
The sleeping pallet is familiar and soft, and Sheppard moans weakly as he is eased onto it. I look up at Rinlen. “What happened?” I ask as I move to retrieve some of my own water.
“He has been in pain most of the day, although he has tried to hide it,” Rinlen tells me, and together we settle Sheppard better on the pallet to make him as comfortable as possible. The heat I feel beneath my hand is not promising; that the fever has returned is dangerous.
“I will tend him,” I tell Rinlen. “Go and report to Nurai; do not arouse her suspicions.”
He grasps my arm, however, and I look up; he’s hurting my arm. “In his sickness, he spoke of the Ring,” he murmurs fiercely, but lowly, to keep from being overheard. “And of his friends from the Outside coming for him. Do you know anything of this?”
I cannot. Liars are punished. I instead look down to the pale face, listening to the strained breathing. He is in pain, even now; I can see it in the sharp lines around his eyes.
“His stomach pains him,” I state simply. “If he becomes too ill, or dies, Ancestors forbid, I will not be able to defend you to Khodi.” When I look up, I see I have struck a nerve with Rinlen; even the Hunters dislike the thought of making an enemy of the Taskmaster.
“I will see if I can bring you some bhina leaves after I have been to see Nurai,” Rinlen promises me, releasing my arm, and now he looks down at Sheppard. “He did well until the sickness overcame him,” he tells me, and I must admit, I am surprised Sheppard was allowed to speak during the trading. I do not ask him how that came about; I simply nod.
“Thank you, Rinlen,” I tell the Trader gratefully. The bhina leaves will soothe Sheppard’s hurting stomach; they are bitter but they are good for pain. Often I have hidden them in some broth or some tea to mask the taste.
Rinlin slips away to his expected meeting, and I am left alone with Sheppard. With no one to see, I run my hand along his forehead, brushing back damp locks of hair that do not quite rejoin their rebellious brothers.
“Mhhhmm…” I am a little startled when he responds to my touch; his eyes are glazed with fever and do not seem to see me and I lean closer.
“Sheppard, it is Myrin,” I tell him. “Just rest, now.” Recognition comes to him sluggishly, and a faint smile touches his lips.
“Myri…” he mumbles.
“Yes,” I reply with a small nod. “You’re not well, Sheppard but I will tend you.” It is the same promise I gave him after each punishment that placed him in my care. The smile is still there. “You saw the Ring.”
“Mm…uh huh,” he confirmed weakly, but I realize there is more to his pleasure than finding the Ancestors’ Ring. “Saw…th’ sky…” he whispers and blinks dizzily. “B…blue and…lots…white fluff’ clouds…” Sheppard sucks in a soft breath, wincing tightly as the pain steals his words.
“You would be flying,” I finish for him; it is something he has explained to me before, craft that can carry one into the skies above, although I can scarcely imagine such a thing. He nods agreement with me even as his eyes slowly close.
“S…so blue,” he whispers. “Big…wide blue…” There is a freedom in his words I dare to envision because Sheppard has found the Ring and because he asked it of me. “An’…stars, comin’ back…like the clearstones below.”
His people call them ‘diamonds,’ the clearstones in the tunnels deep below the Home Levels. I was as surprised to learn how prized they are by Sheppard’s people as he was to learn how little value they have here.
“Shhh,” I hush him now; his forehead has broken into a sweat as the pains demand more of him. “Do not speak, Sheppard.” Soft, panting breaths are my only answer, and I nod although he does not see it with his eyes shut. “I am here, rest for me.”
He drifts a little, although I can tell he is not fully asleep. At my small heating stone, I prepare a thin broth, something that will be gentle on his sick stomach while allowing me to give him the bhina leaves if they can be secured.
Rinlen returns, and in his pouch is a handful of the leaves; he passes them to me furtively, and smiles. “Nurai is pleased,” he said, nodding toward Sheppard. “She says your task is to care for Sheppard until he is completely well; neither of you are to be commanded by Khodi while he heals. I think she means to send him out with us more often.”
That is good news, for us both. It means Sheppard will be spared Khodi’s ill moods and, as ill as he is, the workload that would surely kill him.
“Thank you for the bhina; he is in need of it,” I say, and give Rinlen a smile. The Trader stays long enough for me to prepare the leaves, crushing them finely before mixing them into the broth. While they are bitter-tasting, the leaves actually produce a sweet scent when crushed, and my den quickly fills with it.
“If you need more, I will get them for you,” Rinlen promises, and then he is gone.
“Sheppard?” I kneel beside the sleeping pallet, and touch his face again. Hazel eyes roll open dazedly, and I give him a smile. “I have some broth here,” I tell him and he swallows weakly, his unhappy stomach turning the idea away. “There are bhina leaves in it, to ease the pain you feel.”
It is all the encouragement he needs to at least try; and that tells me he is hurting worse than I even realized. Sheppard allows me to slide a hand beneath him to lift his head; I watch as he takes shaky sips from the bowl in my other hand. He manages a little more of the broth than I thought he might, and that is well, both for the medicine and in giving some aid to his waning strength.
I know when the bhina leaves begin to soothe Sheppard’s troubled stomach; he falls asleep almost immediately as the sharp aching loses its grip on him.
The next few days are spent caring for Sheppard, sponging a wet cloth along his feverish face, feeding him sips of water and broth when he can tolerate them, holding his hand when the fever drives him to wild and frightening dreams, stroking his face or the back of his hand when his stomach hurts and he thinks I am his friend Teyla. Rinlen brings me leaves when he can, and I am grateful for the relief they bring.
Khodi is unhappy with Nurai’s decisions regarding the Outsider, but Nurai has spoken and he knows she will not tolerate defiance from him.
The fourth day, I am dozing by the heating stone when a soft groan rouses me; quickly I get up and go to him, lest the fever-dreams prompt him to try to leave the den; that has already happened once.
“Sheppard?” I murmur; I am pleased when his eyes open and they are neither dulled with pain nor glassy with fever. Further, it seems to me that his color is better than it has been in many days. Smiling gently at him, I press my hand against his face. “No fever,” I declare. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” he answers roughly; his voice is still weak from being so sick, but I can hear it even there, that he is nearly well. “Thank you,” he tells me, and I cannot help but pat his shoulder.
“You are welcome, Sheppard,” I tell him simply, and he gives me a smile, one that reaches his eyes and I give him some water to drink. “You should rest a day yet, regain some strength. Nurai means to send you with the Traders; Khodi cannot command you any more.”
“She’ll be disappointed,” Sheppard declares, and the smile turns knowing, and I pull in a deep breath. He means to leave, and I have promised to go with him. I look around, partly to be sure we are not overheard, and partly in farewell to the only home I have ever known.
“Yes,” I say carefully and quietly. “She will.”
I manage to convince Sheppard to rest a few more hours, however; he will need his strength for the leaving; it does not surprise me when he returns easily to sleep.
At last, when the work ceases and all have returned to their dens, I wake Sheppard, and help him to sit upright. Standing up is a whole other thing; he’s still unsteady after being confined the pallet for the past few days. Sheppard is stubborn, however, and remains upon his feet.
In the stillness of the sleeping, the slightest noise can echo and carry throughout the caves and tunnels; we creep carefully from one spot to another, using as many alcoves and empty dens to hide us from anyone who might be awake.
Finally, we reach the exit the Traders use, and John motions for me to stay behind as he moves forward to check the way ahead; from his boot he removes a knife, and I blink. I know that blade; it belongs to one of the other Traders.
“Sheppard!” I whisper, frightened. Surely he does not mean to kill? He looks back to me and motions for silence, and now I see something in his face I have not seen before. He is a Hunter among his people; he must be. He has the look of a fighter, and I bite my lip. Finally I look away; if he must fight to secure our freedom, then he must.
Sheppard returns, after what seems like forever, and he wraps his hand around my wrist, tugging slightly. “C’mon,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s warm out tonight.”
Out. I have never been, and suddenly I am afraid. He must sense it; Hunters know fear. He draws closer, puts an arm around my shoulders, and coaxes me to join him.
“Sheppard…” I cannot help the tremor in my voice.
“Look up,” he whispers, and I do.
“Oh, Ancestors! It is…it is beautiful. Are those stars, Sheppard?”
“Yes,” he answers, and his voice is a mixture of amusement and kindness that warms me. “Those, are stars.”
I could have stayed there forever, looking up at those sparkling dots above us…but we haven’t got the time, Sheppard says. “It will be dawn in a few hours and we’d better be to the ‘Gate…the Ring…by then.”
It turns out to be a longer trip than I imagined, but Sheppard does not stop, moving unerringly under the amazing stars and what he tells me is the light of two full moons. He leads me along a pathway that in the pale light looks to have seen much use, pounded down and dusty, but not very wide. There is little cover, but the path leads downhill, away from the caverns and I imagine we are running over some of mining tunnels and dens far below.
“What is that?” I stop sharply, and Sheppard’s hold on my wrist is lost; he stumbles a step or two and returns. In the pale light, his smile has turned into a grin, although I can tell his energy has begun to wane once again. He’s breathing hard and trembling slightly.
“That, Myrin, is the Stargate,” he answers my question. As I gaze upward at the large Ring, he moves to a smaller structure and begins to press parts of it. Lights appear on the Ancestors’ Ring, and his hand hovers over the center part of the smaller device. “Now this,” he says, “is pretty cool. Just stand back and watch,” he tells me.
The rush of blue that suddenly reaches out through the Ring and then transforms into a rippling curtain startles me, and I can hardly catch my breath. “And this will take us away from here?” I ask, and Sheppard joins me.
“Yeah,” he says, and takes my hand. “Nothing to it; you just walk.” He grins in the light of the stars. “And tomorrow, we’ll fly.” This time, I do imagine it, flying among the stars, above all the world below.
I fling my arms wide and walk into the Ring.